The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
I’m sitting in the library when I finally hear it; that unmistakable rough growl of a bike. The way my heart jolts in my chest is almost painful. I feel my pulse race. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
...Is he really back?
Suddenly I feel the urge to run away. Or hide. Or look busy. Or... or flirt with Remy, or do any goddamn thing that does not involve looking eager to see him. Which is crazy! And sensible. But crazy. And that doesn’t make any sense.
I don’t want to get up, in case it isn’t him. I don’t want to look in case he’s still angry at me. I don’t want to stay here in case it is him. And most of all I don’t want to want this so bad! Dammit! What happened to the good old days of cold denial?! Have I’ve grown that weak over the last month?
Besides. He’ll come and find me... right? He was the one that asked me to stay. There must have been a reason for it. He’ll want to see me. So it’s better all around if I just wait here.
Right.
...Just... wait.... here. On my chair.
In the library.
Looking at the rows and rows and rows of book spines. Yep.
Waiting.
Argghh! Where is he?
I’m sitting stiff backed and awkward, my eyes sliding off the page, words blurring into indistinct lines as my ears try and reach for any tiny sound that might mean he’s really here.
He is here... isn’t he?
I wait. Muscles tense, all senses alert.
Maybe I imagined it. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. When I was seventeen, I looked for him in every person that entered through that stupid front door.
Ugh, this is not fun.
How is it that even the sound of his bike has me on the edge of my seat? Maybe it was the pizza delivery boy? Freaking Fed-ex? ...Do they even use bikes? Why don’t I know that? You’d think I’d know. And what the hell am I rambling on about? My mind is officially a mess! Even by my standards.
Eventually I can’t sit still any longer; my brain is scrambled and my legs are itching with the need to move. So I slide my book back on the shelf, possibly upside-down, and quietly make my way out to the staircase in the main lobby, intending to slip back to my room to grab my running shoes, the only sure-fire way I know to take my mind off things.
I barely put a foot on the first creaking step when the front door swings heavily open and I freeze, standing stupidly where I stopped.
One hand goes to nervously play with my hair, the other clenched in a white knuckle death grip on the banister like it’s some sort of life line. I stare forcefully at my feet, trying to fight the draw of my eyes, but the sound of his duffle hitting the floor jerks my gaze towards him, and I can't help it.
My stomach lurches. He’s so real. Scruffy, ripped jeans and dirty boots, hair all mussed up from the road. God, I almost feel sick! Why is this affecting me so badly? Is his arrival the only thing I’ve been waiting for the last month? Has he even noticed me? Is he feeling any of this? Is he-
"Hey Logan!" Storm comes in and interrupts my thoughts, and my eyes instantly flick up.
He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at her.
"Good to have you back." The warmth in her voice slides around the room and rings in my ears.
"Hey," I hear him say back, his gruff voice so achingly familiar. He steps close enough for her arms go round him in a sweeping hug and the smile they share is one of... of... God I don’t want to know what it is. Black spots dance in front of my eyes, my throat knotting as my hand falls to my side like a dead weight.
The movement is enough to attract his attention. He looks up, as if seeing me there for the first time, and he gives me a slight nod of acknowledgement before following Storm in the direction of the Professor’s study. Then he’s gone.
I just stand there like an idiot. For ages.
My feet seem to forget that they actually have a purpose, and my hand clenches, or rather it would clench... I wish it would, but instead it just seems to tremble. I can’t believe he’d just...
...just...
I look down the now empty corridor and something wakes inside of me.
That’s it?
That’s IT?
She gets everything, while I fight a losing battle every day to stay here and stay sane and make it through a jumble of touch and non-touch and whispering remarks, and all I get is a slight nod? A fucking NOD?
What the FUCK am I even doing here?
My mind is such a fury of emotions that I can’t understand what I feel. Oh but cheated is at the top of my list. Hell yeah. Jealousy is there too, and hurt, though I want to shriek and stamp on that one until it's trampled and dead. I don’t want to be goddamn jealous! I want to scream at the unfairness of it all!
That’s it. I’m going. Fuck them and their X-men. Fuck Mystique and all her big plans. Fuck ME for being so stupid and naive and gullible again. And most of all, FUCK HIM!
I’m not staying here another goddamn minute.
I storm up the stairs to my room, feeling my power flair to life in response to my anger. I ignore it. So what if anyone brushes up against me. Teach them to keep their fucking distance.
I grab a jacket and head outside to call a cab. I don’t care who sees me. And I don’t care anymore about any fucking promise. A promise is only a promise if it means something, and right now it means jack.
Woofuckinghoo. Look at me. The unnoticed one again.
The worst thing of all is how much it hurts. I resent that. I had all these things I’d planned to say, all these small ideas. I wanted to tell him that I’d changed. That I regretted what I did. That I could be Marie again, because at least Marie meant something to him.
Yeah right.
Why on earth would he want to hear that? I’m just another kid. Another stray. A clingy rescue job that just doesn't seem to get that he doesn't feel-
... I hesitate...
A thought strikes me and change direction, crunching quickly across the gravel.
His bike. It’s parked in the garage.
Something crosses my face. It’s not a smirk, it’s too hurt for that, but it’s a damn good effort at one. Maybe it’s a snarl. Who gives a fuck.
I go over to it, run my hands over the smooth body work. It’s blackened with an oily grease from his journey and it smells of the road, still warm. There are no keys, but that's no hindrance. I may not have picked up Mystique's skill with men, but there were a few useful things I learnt in my time away from the mansion.
As I hunker down beside it, I start to feel a little better, fingers pulling at the wires. Nothing like a little criminal activity to pep up a crappy day. Ha. It’s all so easy as well. Within minutes, I’m astride the hunk of purring metal as it growls to life beneath me. I can barely wait for the garage door to be open before I power it out into the night beyond.
I tell myself that I love the way the gravel sprays up when I turn too fast, yeah, that’s why I’m doing this. I love the way the wind stings my eyes too, tracing patterns of wetness across my face, because, you know what? If I believe that, I can pretend that they’re not tears. My skin vibrates with the power, the force that whips my hair away from my face. It’s gonna look a right mess by the time I get to wherever the hell it is I decide I’m going, but right now? I don’t give a fuck. And I tell myself that I love that too.
I hunker low as I lean round the bends in the road. The bike is about five times to big for me and I feel like a child driving daddy’s car when he’s not looking. Ha! The connotations of that make me laugh until the tears that are now streaming from my eyes almost blind me and I giggle hysterically to myself the whole way to the nearest bar. Which seems as good a place to stop as any. Because... yeah. What the hell else am I going to do? Where am I going to go?
I hesitate a moment after cutting the engine. Sniff as I wipe my face on the back of my sleeve. Then I mentally slap myself out of the funk that’s making me feel about two foot tall and tell myself to get a fucking life. Denial. See?
Let know one say I'm not good at it.
I leave the bike out front and adjust my top so that I’m showing more than enough cleavage to guarantee me entrance. Yeah I’m legal...just, but I don’t have any ID on me and I’m well aware that I look younger than my years. My luck’s in however; the bouncer just gives me a seedy leer as I pass, his glance following my ass as I wind my way to the bar. I swing my leg over a stool in a way that’s guaranteed to get the attention of half the men in here, and point to the empty space on the bar in front of me. "Vodka and coke," I tell the barman, "and make it a double."
Did that sound cool? I hope it sounded cool.
I ignore the way the barman's gaze lingers a little too long on my chest, because so what? At least I get served first because of it. And it reminds me that I’m not invisible. Which is always nice.
Confirmation that I actually exist.
Yay.
I hand over the money with a clank of loose change, and order a second. Tell myself this is fun.
After a while though, the darkness creeps up on me. It’s fairly busy, tinted lights flash over couples writhing on a smoky dance floor, all of whom I pointedly ignore because how DARE there be freakin’ happiness and couple-ness in the world when I feel like such shit. Instead I try and pretend that I like the stupid music, letting the irritating beat thud in my ears as I drink another... and another.
Maybe if I drink enough I can pretend I’m someone else.
Yeah. There’s an original thought for you.
Some guy buys me a round of tequila. The Eric in my head escapes his cage and tauntingly tells me I should turn him down... who’d want a little wretch like me... but I ignore him. Besides, the guy’s not that bad looking. Okay his nose is a little wonky, but he seems to have an endless supply of money and that helps to make him a lot more attractive.
So what? I’m shallow.
Or at least I’m trying to be.
Ugh but it’s not that easy. Every time he leans in closer I find myself instinctively shifting further away. Maybe I need another drink.
I managed to extract myself from his crawling hands and disappear to another corner where I slug back another shot. God, that tastes disgusting. Why am I doing this again?
Oh yeah. The nod.
Nothing I appreciate more than a dramatic gesture of affection. No, really.
But what did I expect? Bells and a freaking fanfare? Ugh, I am so stup-
"This seat taken?"
I glance up into the carefully preened face that belongs to the voice. Shrewd eyes are watching me and foppish brown hair is oiled sideways in a style I thought went out of fashion in the thirties. Christ yeah; this seat is so definitely taken.
"Sorry," I slur...badly. "Yeah. It’s... like... y’know. My boyfriend's jus’ gone to the restroom, so he’ll be back soon." I jerk my head in the rough direction of the men’s, hoping he’ll take the hint.
But no.
"I’ve been watching you for a while sweetheart. If he’s in there, he’s been there a very long time."
Busted.
"Yeah whatever. He’s a wrestler."
"Sure he is. You gonna let me sit?"
Is he deaf? Am I deaf? Did I hear that right? Of all the arrogant, jumped up... Fine. Lie number three. "You wouldn’t want me. I’m pregnant," I hurl at him.
"You’re drinking like a fish."
Like fish even drink... do they? Ugh. Now my head is starting to hurt. "I’m a lesbian."
"Now you’re just turning me on..."
Is he for real? "I’m a nun."
"A pregnant, lesbian, nun? Right... Y’know. If you weren’t interested, you could have just said ‘thank you, but I’m not interested.’"
I give him a glare for being such a smart ass. "Thank you," I mimic, "but I’m just not interested."
"Fine. Enjoy your night."
Ugh. When did being hit on stop being fun? What a jerkoff.
I stare down in to the bottom of my glass, hoping to find some sort of answer, or revelation, or something... yeah right. Even some more drink would do. God, my head’s gonna hurt worse than hell in the-
A sound next to me catches my attention and my eyes snap up. "Look I said fuck OFF! I have Herpes!"
Or not.
Um. Shit?
Weird oily haired man is gone. Grouchy Logan man is very much present.
Did I say Herpes?
I hate. My mouth.
I wish it wasn't embarrassment that washes over me, but it is. I wait for the telling off, the shame, the inevitable ending of the world...
...But... nope.
Nothing.
Which is something which is becoming all to frequent these days. Am I that bad at reading a situation?
Logan just rolls his shoulders in his jacket. He casts an eye slowly over the dingy contents of the small bar, before raising an eyebrow subtly in my direction. The master of small talk. Ha.
I glare at him. Childishly.
Eventually, he does give in and speaks. "I’ve been told the Professor is expectin’ your help this evenin’."
I roll my eyes. Who cares? "Go away..."
In response he folds his arms, leans back frustratingly casually against the bar, as if it was his idea to come here, which...oooh really pisses me off! What’s he doing here anyway? This is MY self-pity party!
"Why you?" I throw at him. "Why does it always have to be YOU coming to find me? To drag me in like some sorta freaking stray dog when it suits you, or the Professor, or the X-men, or whatever. Why not Kurt... or... or Pete? Huh?!"
"Actually," the eyebrow raises further if that’s at all possible, "I came for my bike."
He... what?
Well fuck him!
"Fine. Take it. It’s out front."
He throws me a look. "You comin’ back? Or you jus’ gonna sit there an’ drown in alcohol?"
"Let me see.... hmmm..." I pretend to think about it for a moment. "It’s a tough choice," I begin sarcastically, but he doesn’t wait to hear me out. He just turns as if he can’t be bothered, and disappears towards the door.
Fine.
I turn back to the bar, try to-
A hand grabs my arm and yanks. It drags me roughly through the crowds of people, not caring about how many feet I trip over or how many tables my knees bump into on the way, until I’m suddenly outside in the fresh air. I blink, reactions slow and confused, the music from inside sounding hollow and tinny in my head.
He’s already heaving the bike into the back of the truck.
"Get in." he doesn’t even look at me as he says it.
"No!" I put back, I even manage to sound indignant. Which is quite impressive, seeing as right now I don’t think I could pronounce it.
But he’s all business. The bike's secured, back of the truck's secured, and then he comes round to look at me. Furrows of a frown appearing beneath his weird hair style that shouldn’t suit him as well as it does. Dammit. Lips pressed together. Huff of a sigh from his nose. Judging. "You’re drunk." It’s disapproving, of all things. God I hate that.
"I don’t care."
"You’re a mess. I thought you were doin’ better than this."
Haven’t we been here before? I roll my eyes. "I said I. DON’T. CARE. Do I look like I care? Does it look like it matters to me? Do I CARE? NO! I DON’T. FUCKING. GIVE. A. DAMN."
Gettit?!
I clench my teeth. Revel in the fact that he actually looks slightly shocked.
He just looks at me coldly. "You finished?"
Am I finished? You know what? No I’m fucking well not! "Look!" I yell at him, oblivious to the now thankfully fairly empty parking lot around me. "I stayed. I STAYED! I’m still here! But it makes no FREAKING difference at all!"
"Kid-" His hand reaches out, as if attempting to calm me. But fuck that.
"Kid. Always kid. I’m so stupid. I’m so, so, fucking stupid" Am I crying? I can’t even begin to tell. "You asked, and like before, like every other stupid time, I WAITED for you to come back. But you didn’t notice. You NEVER notice. What did I get? A nod? A FUCKING NOD? Well FUCK you Logan."
"Y’need to calm down." He tries to grab a hold of me, but I bat him angrily away.
"I don’t WANT to calm down! I don’t CARE anymore. I don’t even care about hiding it. Because what does it matter? You know, don’t you? I HATE that it was always Jean. And I HATE the fact that ‘Ro replaced her. And I HATE-
"Is that what you think?" This time he does grab my hands, hard, knuckles gripping tightly around my wrists to stop me from hitting him. His face is suddenly in front of mine, and for some reason it’s furious. "Do you have ANY idea?"
I try to look away from him, but he wrenches my chin back up.
"What do you want me to say?" he hisses. "Huh? That I didn’t love Jean? You want me to lie?"
Oh God. His eyes bore into me and I instantly begin to regret my outburst. My stomach twists and cold clarity begins to seep belatedly through my veins. This time I know I’ve crossed the line. Like seriously crossed.
He snarls. "You want me to be glad she’s dead?"
No!
"You want me to be thankful I had to kill her?"
No! I don’t want that. I don’t I don’t I don’t... I’m not a monster.... Am I?
"You want me to say I didn’t sleep with ‘Ro? Because it’ll make you feel goddamned better?"
This time his words really do crash around me and my head swims with the giddiness of it all. Oh God he really did. They really-
"You have NO FUCKIN’ IDEA!" he yells. "You think I was oblivious to your feelings? You think I never saw you?"
Please... just stop. Just... stop.
"You think I never looked at you that way too? HUH?"
His grip tightens so hard it’s almost painful.
"Do you have ANY idea what it feels like to wake up and realise you have feelings for a sixteen year old freakin’ KID? How THE FUCK do you think that made me feel?"
He shakes me so hard, that all I can seem to do is cry pathetically. I try and wipe my eyes, but he won’t let go to let me.
"I was supposed to be your teacher... your friend. Supposed to look out for you. You were the first chance I got in a long time to NOT screw somethin’ up. But I seem to have managed it all the same."
"But you were never there." My voice sounds so small.
"And why THE HELL do you think that was? Huh?"
For a moment I just stare at him, while his words swim around my mind. But then the fight seems to drain out of him, and he shakes his head as he drops my hands and steps backwards.
"Forget it," he says. "You were right. It’s better that you leave." He swings open the door and gets in. "I’ll send Kurt back for you."
And with that, he revs the engine to life, and he pulls away in a screech of tires.