The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Two years ago...
- And you'll have to bear with the lack of Logan in this chapter, he'll turn up later. Promise *g*
- And you'll have to bear with the lack of Logan in this chapter, he'll turn up later. Promise *g*
Another day, another job.
I have myself a grungy little motel room, the seventh in three months. I suppose you could say that I’ve been travelling. Heh. In a way.
Certainly not the sort of travelling I planned all those years ago, when my finger trailed across that map in the afternoon sunlight and I was all sweetness and teenage lust to the boy next door.
No, this is different.
This is freedom. This is independence. This is self-reliance. No family to worry about me, no Logan to protect me, no Xavier to overshadow me. This is me and it is mine. I have struggled, I have scrimped and I have saved. I have turned all that weighed me down into something that I can live for. And you know what? I relish every moment of it.
Freedom.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I throw the ratty blankets to the floor. I could stay in bed if I wanted. I could stay there all day and no one would judge. But today I have plans and I’m looking forward to them, so I get up, knowing it’s my choice.
I don’t bother making the bed. I’m leaving anyway.
The shower is scolding hot. A thick, rusty flow of water that dribbles loosely over my skin; pipes clanking as they strain to produce more. The longer I stay in, the more the mirror fogs and the tiles grow slick with the soft touch of steam. The room becomes muggy, the air damp and warm as I draw it into my lungs, but I stay under for as long as possible. Savouring it. Tensing as the hot runs out, challenging myself, waiting for the icy cold sting to take my breath away.
When it does, I shiver, and I stay where I am for as long as I can possibly bear it. Then I shriek and grin, scrambling out, teeth chattering as I laugh like a child, wrapping myself in the warmest towel I can find.
I know it’s a stupid game, but you know what? I don’t care. No one is here to see me, so what does it matter? I enjoy it. I relish pushing the boundaries of my skin.
Ever since the cure wore off, it’s become more sensitive than ever. Now even the faintest little touch can send my thoughts spiralling in all directions at once. It’s an experience, let me tell you. One I’m not afraid of anymore.
My skin; my hindrance. It no longer holds me back.
It’s become my greatest asset.
My weapon.
A pair of loose black jeans, a baggy white t-shirt; they are nothing beautiful to envisage, but they suit my new lifestyle just fine. I brush my teeth, scrape my still damp hair into a pony tail, loving the small preparations for the day. It’s these little things that somehow make me feel alive.
Then my duffle bag, the same bag I’ve had since I first left home, is slung over my shoulder, and just like that I walk out the door.
Another day, another job.
The morning is blindingly bright. I have to blink a few times to let my eyes adjust, and as I walk I let the warmth of the sun bathe my face. It casts hard shadows on the summer baked concrete, filling my nose with the sweaty bustling scent of the city, but I don’t mind. Today I’m leaving. Moving on.
The thought fills me with a sense of immediate satisfaction.
It’s a short walk to the coffee shop where I’m to meet my contact. When I get there it’s no surprise to find that she’s late. She always is. C'est la vie. I don’t let it bother me. I simply kick my duffle under the nearest table and sink back into a spongy booth, ordering a coffee while I watch the world pass me by outside the window.
People flow past in an endless stream. Like a river of well tailored ants, all scurrying somewhere at once. Stepping quickly, places to be, no time to waste. Tall people, short people, smart people, rich people, poor people. Always in a rush. Business men and formidable women. Hassled mothers dragging children late for school. All heading somewhere. All caught up in the rat-race of city life.
I watch them through my window, the sounds of their shoes and cars and chatter dulled by the thick glass between us, and I sit back to enjoy my coffee. Content in the knowledge that while they are out there, I am in here.
Yeah, it would be fair to say I like my life.
The soft sound of a chime and the door swings open. A tall blond walks in, lips curling in a sardonic smile as she spies me and slides in opposite. My contact.
No, more than that.
She’s become a friend.
We are very similar, her and I, even if we do not look it on the surface.
She slides a slip of paper over to me. "Everything arranged?"
Oh yeah, it’s arranged. I take a quick look, memorising the code scrawled across it in her familiar blue inked style, before screwing it up and aiming it towards the bin. I miss, and the waitress gives me a disapproving frown before disappearing behind someone else’s order.
My contact just laughs. "Nice aim."
"Why, thank you sugar," I slant back, lacing my voice with all the illusions of Southern charm. "Shall we go?"
"Car’s out back." She says it with an inclination of her head.
Good. Nice and close. That’ll make things a whole lot simpler.
Duffle in hand, I step back into the hubbub of outside and instantly three things happen. A man gets out of a cab across the street and leers at my contact. I ignore it as she leers back, nothing to do with me, but he’s in the way, and a bike swerves out into the traffic to avoid him, a car screeching in sympathy as it fights not to run him over.
A young mother stares and gets so caught up in the moment that I nearly trip over her speeding stroller, dodging smoothly out the way with a sway of my hips, just in time. The baby’s fast asleep, oblivious in the way only the young can be, but while the mother mumbles a hassled apology, the child attached to her hand stares at me with open interest.
"Mama mama! That lady’s got really strange hair."
At that the mother flushes bright red. "Sorry," she manages again, before towing the child away.
I just smile. Children have a way of stating the issues that everyone else tiptoes around, and I like that. The moment becomes a bright spark in my day.
Beside me my contact mirrors my expression. I suppose if you think about it logically, it could be a wedge between us. But I was never one for logic, and it isn’t. And I’m glad.
"Fashion statement," I say to her with a twist of my lips.
"You know I’ve always loved it," she replies.
Then we make our way to the car without the need for further words.
It’s a car in the loosest sense of the word. We don’t want to look flashy. It’s pretty much held together by all the rust, but we worked hard to get it and it’ll serve its purpose. We’ve made sure of that.
First thing’s first, I make sure the holdall is safely stored. I can still hear the bustle of the main street from here, but it’s a dark enough ally to be at threat from the underground thieving rings that operate in the area, so I’m careful, tucking it safely out of sight.
Then there’s a moment before I close the trunk. I hesitate, just briefly, change my mind and yank the zip of my holdall back open, pulling my good luck charm free and stashing it in my back pocket.
"You never know," I say, slamming the lid down with a reassuring thunk.
"You never do." She’s leaning against the wall, waiting for me. "You ready?"
"Hell yeah." I’m more than ready. I’ve been waiting for this. Planning, building up to it for the last three weeks. "And y’know what?" I flash her a grin. "This time I think I’m due a little... revenge."
I slide off one of my gloves.
Then I touch her.
It’s only for a moment, a brush of skin against skin, and she’s warm, thinking about ice-cream and a man with long blonde hair. It’s not much, but it’s enough to knock the breath out of her. It’s enough to cause her to lean against the wall for support. Enough to unbalance her disguise for a moment, so that her eyes glow with a flash of yellow.
And it’s enough to give me a hit of her powers.
"Today," I announce with an air of the dramatic, "I am going to be.... St John Allerdyce."
Oh yeah. Revenge.
I close my eyes, feeling that satisfying slip of moulding into new shapes, like sliding into new skin-tight clothes. Sinking into liquid. My arms feel heavier, more bulky, chest is deeper, my head is lighter... less hair, I realise with a sly smile. My jeans feel tighter, but they were loose before. I was expecting this. They are not uncomfortable.
When I hear her voice, it’s through strange ears. "Interesting choice," she says, and I know she’s pleased.
"You think it’ll work?"
"People only see what they want to see. Of course it’ll work."
Yeah, we have a lot in common her and I. And in this messed up world we found each other. Both failures of the cure. United by the discrimination against us. Tied by our hatred of Magneto; mine through trauma, hers through rejection.
When I open my eyes, she’s gone, and a balding middle aged security guard stands in front of me instead. He gives me a seedy grin, flashing yellowed nicotine stained teeth. "Let’s go."
I love how she does that. Right down to the last detail.
A few steps and we round the corner. A few more and we are walking through thick revolving doors, into the clerical quietness of the city bank. I smile idly at the cameras as they fix their stare upon me. Then I walk up to the nearest teller.
"Good morning, sir," he says, distractedly. "How can I help you?"
In more ways than you could ever imagine, I think, looking at his bored face. Then I pull my good luck charm from my pocket and point it at his head.
"At the risk of sounding clichéd sugar," I say. "This? Is a stick up. Put your hands where I can see them."