The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Time is a slippery thing. When you want it to go fast, it drags. When you’re rushed, it flies by far too quickly. And when you’re hiding away in a lake house hoping you don’t have to confront anyone or deal with issues and... stuff... It trickles along so slowly it practically stops all together.
It’s been three days since I visited Scott. Three days is a long time to think. That’s seventy two hours. Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes. See? It’s so frickin long I’ve had time to calculate the math.
Why am I still here? I have headaches, yeah, but they’re controllable. Kinda. I have funds in the bank... even though I probably shouldn’t have. There are entirely different countries out there I could visit. I could go to Paris. To England. Anywhere.
So why don’t I? What’s different about this time?
I tuck my bare feet underneath me in one of the faded armchairs, sinking deep into the cushions shaped with years of use, and look at the room around me. The flicker of sunset on the lake reflects through the window and casts watery ripples across the whitewashed walls. A small pile of books sits comfortably at my feet. Books that I have actually finished for once. The key to the front door lives on the narrow table out in the hall, and it’s for my use only. The quietness. The stillness.
I like it here.
"‘Ro’s been dating Hank on and off for over a year now."
My eyes drift closed as I sigh to myself. Every time I remember Scott’s voice, something sinks through me. I can’t quite decide if it’s fear, elation, or some twisted combination of the two. The sensible part of me keeps saying ‘so what? Doesn’t make any difference at all...’ and I try to listen to it. After all, look what happened last time I tried to talk about my feelings. Big mess. Big mistake. I mean, I know I’m working on all this anti-denial stuff, but some things are best not thought about too much. My feelings for Logan. Everyone said it was just a crush. So it’s just a crush. I’ll get over it.
Yeah.
Maybe if I say it often enough I’ll start to believe it.
Then I remember the heat in his eyes as he leant close, to tell me in his gruff way that it’s normal for things to suck, and every nerve in my body tingles.
I don’t understand life.
I mean, I want to get past this so bad. Why isn’t that enough?
A knock at the door jolts me out of my thoughts, and I frown as I get to my feet. Moira has already been today. I’m not expecting anyone else... am I? Padding my way over I open it inwards, peering into the crack of bright afternoon light it reveals.
Ororo gives me a slight smile. "Can I come in?"
Oh.
I bristle slightly, suddenly very protective of my new-found solitude. Why her, of all people? I resent that! ...Although I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. She’s been nothing but nice to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.
You want me to say I didn’t sleep with ‘Ro? Because it’ll make you feel goddamned better?
"Rogue?"
I hesitate, then reluctantly step aside to let her in.
Her scent brushes past me, and I feel her presence like a live wire. It puts me on edge. Ugh, I wish I could just get it over with and really hate her. That would make things a whole lot easier.
But even though the gnaw of jealousy makes my mutation itch with anticipation, I won’t set it free. I refuse to become that person again. Besides, over the last few weeks some annoying part of me has grown a conscious and won’t let me. It’s the stupid part that rationalises everything. The part that I love and resent all at the same time, because it’s what makes me... well... me. Unfortunately.
Doesn't mean we have to be friends though.
She doesn’t choose one of the deep armchairs by the hearth, or the steps of the decking out back; instead she heads towards the kitchen, leans against the counter as if she’s not planning on staying too long. Which is fine by me, whatever this is about.
... Um. What is this about? We've never exactly been close.
I hover awkwardly, wondering if I should sit down at the table, or if I should invite her to sit, maybe offer her a drink... although that would look like I want her to stay... which I don’t... but I don't want to look like I don't, so I'm over compensating and... what the hell am I doing? Why are pointless little things like this suddenly so important to me? And how can I suddenly feel so awkward in the same place I felt so comfortable in only moments ago? I hate that!
"I hope you don’t mind me stopping by," she says, looking around at the semi-organised clutter. Even when I’m tidy, I’m not...tidy.
"It looks nice, this place. You’ve done it good." Her voice is warm, despite the lack of emotion expressed on her face. She’s always been like that. Calm. Controlled. Smartly dressed. Neat hair falling quietly over her shoulders and spilling onto her colourful top, every strand in perfect order. She’s totally serene and comfortable with her surroundings; a total contradiction to the riptides of emotions and personalities that constantly batter and fray the frazzled edges of my mind.
I wish I knew how she does it.
"This is awkward for you, isn’t it?"
Am I that transparent?
"It’s okay," she gives me that kind look again. "I understand."
No, she doesn’t. How could she possibly?
"I’ve been talking with Scott."
Ah.
Okay, maybe she does. Suddenly I feel a whole lot more awkward. "What do you want?" It comes out sounding suspicious, and probably confirms everything she’s thinking about me.
"Do you mind if I ask you something personal?" She looks at me directly. "The night you left, the second time... you and Logan had a fight, didn’t you?"
It’s not so much of a question, more of a statement; one that I want to deny. So what if we did? I don’t want her to know! But I’m terrible at hiding my reactions these days; just thinking about that night brings a whole heap of emotions to the surface, and I’m pretty sure her answer shows clearly on my face.
"Scott didn’t tell you that," I mumble.
"He mentioned... something else to me, you’re right. But I remember that night. When Logan heard you had taken his bike, he was furious. But he was far worse when he came back without you."
So...what? What’s that supposed to mean?
She tucks a loose strand of hair unconsciously behind her ear and the gesture spawns all sorts of completely irrational thoughts. Did Logan do that to her? Play with her hair? Is he the sort to play with hair?
I swallow and push the images away. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you should talk to him."
"We talk."
"No you don’t. Not properly."
"About what?" I snap back, my temper finally beginning to rise.
She takes a deep breath. "You know," she says quietly, "this isn’t easy for me either. I don’t like to talk about my personal life."
I fold my arms. Then unfold them when I realise it looks defensive. "Then why are you?"
"Because it needs to be said. Logan and I, we... well it was a long time ago. After Alkali Lake."
Oh.
To my extreme embarrassment, I actually feel colour begin to prickle up through my cheeks. I’m not sure I want to hear this.
"It was about comfort, I suppose. Nothing else. Not for him anyway." She gives me a small smile. It’s sad, I realise. Resigned. "We haven’t let it come between our friendship. Don’t let it come between yours."
Don’t let it come between what? There’s nothing there for it to come between. That's the problem!
And for some reason my legs seemed to have turned to jelly. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the conversation, I don’t know, but I'm no longer sure what to do. What you say to something like that? I feel so awkward and out of place, it's like I’m watching the whole scene play out from very far away.
"Rogue?"
My ears ring and I just want her to go away. I don’t want to have this talk. Not now. It’s not fair to play with my stupid, gullible emotions like that. To give me hope. I hate hope! Hope’s bought me nothing but disappointment.
"Talk to him."
"I don’t think I-"
"Please?" She smoothes her hands down the front of her jeans, and I notice for the first time that they’re as unsteady as mine. "He’s a man. An intensely private one at that. Men are terrible at admitting these things at the best of times, but him? He’s far more stubborn that most."
"But why are you-"
"Because I’m not blind," she says, and she takes a deep breath, as if the worst of it is over. "Promise me you’ll think on it at least?"
Think on it?
It’s well over three hours later, the sun’s set and dusk is creeping in, and I’m still stood in the kitchen where she left me. Still thinking on it.
I watch the shadows creep up the walls until they are no longer shadows, they’re just darkness and my eyes strain to make out the fuzzy shapes of the room around me. I listen until the sounds of the day merge into the muffled quietness of night, nothing but the hum of the fridge and the gentle rustling whisper of the trees. Still thinking.
Then without warning, I propel myself away from the wall, grab my jacket in one hand, key in the other, and let myself out into the night.
I walk really fast towards the Mansion. Mainly because I know that if I slow down, I’ll stop completely and never go through with this.
I try and think sensibly about everything 'Ro said... and fail. I try and tell myself that it won’t make a blind bit of difference anyway. After all, me knowing new information doesn’t change Logan, does it? He knew it all along... although like ‘Ro said, he is stubborn... and I’m not even sure I’m making sense... God why am I doing this? Even if he does think about me in that way, he’s never acted on it. It just makes him fee guilty. Or worse. So why would now be any different?
But I’m still walking, and my mind is racing and my heart is hammering and even as I’m doing it, I can’t quite bring myself to comprehend that I’m actually...
Christ, I actually feel faint.
The quietness of the Mansion twists my stomach into knots. Most people are probably in the rec room, I realise. Or eating. Or out. Maybe Logan’s out. Maybe this is pointless. Maybe it’ll be... no. I’m gonna do this. Whatever this is.
I head towards his room.
My resolve lasts all of about twenty seconds before it crumbles and I hesitate, then stop altogether. I start to convince myself that actually talking to him in the morning... or in fact, not talking to him at all, and hiding away for the rest of my life is a far more likeable option.
I turn around; head to the kitchen instead, thinking maybe I should pretend I came here for a drink... that’ll work... right? People will believe me? Not that I’m planning on talking to...well... people. Feeling every inch the coward that I am, I wonder if I should just run back outside instead where it’s... it’s...
I stumble to a halt again.
I almost, almost change my mind, and in a moment of rash bravado head back towards his room... but... well... no.
Kitchen it is. Hoping no one’s watching me and my weird stuttering little hallway stop-start dance.
Besides, it’s much better this way anyway. At least now if I do decide to go and talk to him, whatever the hell ‘talk’ means these days, then it’ll not be on an empty stomach. See? Rational thinking. That’s what’s behind this. There’s no fear involved at-
I stop completely dead outside the kitchen doorway, so suddenly that it must look like I’ve crashed into an invisible wall.
Through the faint slice of light that escapes from the kitchen I can see the balcony door ajar, and the scent of a familiar brand of cigar carries to me on the faint breeze.
Every fine hair on the back of my neck stands up.
It has to be him.
Shit. Shit! Most of me wants to use the moment to bolt back to the lake house and hide there until I’m starving and forced to eat the carpet. But while my apparently none-too-stable brain tells me that’s a fantastic idea, the rest of me seems to have other thoughts and I’m already peering past the open balcony door, trying to see...
A kick of emotion rocks through me. It's him alright. I’d recognise the set of his shoulders anywhere. That ugly shirt. Those tight jeans...
Okay. Now I’ve peeked, I can go, right? Because I’m still unnoticed...
...Or not.
His shoulder’s tense.
My pulse hammers through my head and I feel almost dizzy.
He doesn’t turn around though. Doesn't say anything. Just stays right where he is. Damn it! He’s not helping! And I can’t just go now, he’ll know I perved at him, then ran... which is far, far worse. Now I’ll have to say something. At least this way I can pretend I came here with a purpose. Which was... well...
Oh God. I’m not grown up enough for these kinds of conversations. Not with him.
My heart judders erratically in my chest and I wonder if there’s a chance I’m actually going into cardiac arrest. Because right now, that would be such a convenient escape route...
Argh! Why am I feeling so completely on edge?! And it’s just me as well. He’s appears to fine, damn him! He’s not a trembling mess. He still hasn’t moved! Not even an inch. And I know he must sense my fumbling panic, but he shows no outward effects. He just continues looking out over the grounds into the oncoming night, elbows leaning casually on the smooth railings, his shirt shadowed and creased in the falling darkness.
Damn him and his... his gruff... ignoring me... manliness...
I scrunch the sleeves of my sweater up in my fists, and take three long, deep breaths, but far from calming me down, they just send more oxygen to my brain and everything goes into giddy overdrive.
I can’t do this.
I turn, walk away really fast, almost blind to the other people wandering the school corridors. The voices in my head are repeating stupid. Stupid! And they’re right, I know they are, but right now I don’t even care where I’m going, as long as it’s away. Shit. What a screw up.
I head over to the East Wing without thinking. Realise belatedly that I’m now trapped and if I want to get out, I’ll have to go back the way I came, past the kitchen. Fuck. I’m not making this any better! I have four or five seconds of complete blind panic, then make an instantly bad decision, and let myself into Scott’s room.
There’s a lamp in the corner casting out a circle of soft light, but other than that the room’s reassuringly dark. I close the door behind me, lean back against the cool wood, my heart rate finally beginning to return to normal.
That was so embarrassing.
"Did it cross your mind I might be asleep?" The slightly grouchy voice doesn’t come from the bed. Rather, the chair beside it.
I cringe slightly. "Sorry. Actually, I was kinda hoping that you were."
He huffs out a bark of surprise, and I belatedly realise that I must sound like some sort of stalker or total pervert. "I didn’t mean," I add hastily, "I didn’t come here to... fuck," I curse, then realise that went wrong again. "I mean... shit. I mean...Oh for God’s sake will you just shoot me now and put me out my misery?" Can I get nothing right?
He’s laughing at me. The bastard is laughing.
"Truth?"
I sigh. "Hiding. Like a complete coward."
"It’s good to know I still have some uses," he tries for sarcastic, but he’s still smirking a little. "Are you going at least tell me who from? Liven up my very dull evening? Is Hank back and looking for lab volunteers again?"
"I’m not really... I mean I..." I trail off as I become increasingly aware of footsteps. Long striding footsteps. Getting louder. "Oh shit! He followed me?" I make a dive for the closet.
"He? It’s Logan isn’t it. You know, if he’s tracked you into here, he’s going to know you’re in the closet. He’s the best hunter I’ve worked with."
"Shut up and give me some moral support here. Just... lie to him or something. Tell him I jumped out the window." I whisper loudly, wading my way through various shirts and pants. Christ, these are all very neatly pressed. I guess some things never change. I pull the door quietly shut on its hinges until thin crack of light disappears and I’m enveloped in a stuffy darkness.
There’s a soft creak as the door handle to Scott’s room turns.
"You still awake Cyke?"
I hear a huffed out sigh. "No."
"Y’know. It’d do you some good to get out of here. Get outside."
"Stop trying to play the nice guy. I liked you better when I didn’t have to like you."
"Look, I ain’t gonna disturb you. Wallow in self-pity as much as you like. Just tell Rogue to come find me when she’s finished hidin' amongst your underwear, okay?"
Damn.
I flinch as the door shuts behind him. Then I count to at least a hundred before I’m sure he’s far enough away. Well, I try to. I only make it to seventy eight before Scott coughs very unsubtly.
"Unless you’ve fallen asleep in there, now would be a really good time to come out."
Ugh.
I do as he says. It's not graceful.
Right now I really miss the old Scott. The Fearless Leader. Mainly because he’d have been far too uptight for this conversation to go the way I have a horrible feeling it’s going to go.
"So..." he says, almost too congenially. "You... Logan...?"
"We’re not."
"I can see that. Even without my eyes. What I’m interested in, is why you keep running away like a frightened kitten every time someone so much as mentions his name."
"I’m not a frightened kitten," I grumble, giving him a scowl for good measure. "I just... he’s... like... It’s complicated. Okay?"
"Do you like him?"
"As a friend? Of course I-"
"Do you like him?"
I stare at him for a moment. Then I nod. Cowards way out, I know. Pick the path of communication he can’t-
"Are you nodding?"
Fuck it. Life hates me today. I take a deep breath. "...Yeah."
"Do you like him enough to do something about it?"
For some reason I go all hot and cold. "Like what?"
"Oh, I don’t know... You could maybe, and I’m just throwing this out here, talk to him?"
"I tried. Why do you think I’m here?"
"In my closet? Wow. It obviously went well."
"Well, I didn’t actually get around to the saying anything part."
"Why not?"
"Because he might actually hear me!"
"And what would be wrong with that? What have you got to lose?"
"I..." A long list of words comes to mind. Pride. Self-respect. Reputation. The will to live. But they’re all things I screwed over a long time ago. I’m just plain scared. "Because he’ll say no. Then he’ll leave again."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because it’s what he always does!"
Scott almost throws his hands up in exasperation. "For someone with perfectly good eyes, you don’t see much, do you?"
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"He’s a moody bastard to everyone else in this place, except you. He swears too much, fights too much, smokes too much, except around you.You’re the one that keeps him human. You’re the one he wants to save time and again."
"He said he stayed away from here because of the way he felt about me." I grind my teeth. Almost hiss it out. "He yelled it at me."
"You were a kid. It probably scared him shitless. He did the right thing."
"I’m not a kid anymore!"
"Well you’re still acting like one!"
I glare at him. I don’t even care he can’t see it. "Coming from you? That’s rich," I bite back. "At least I’m not afraid to leave my room."
"At least I’m in a room. You’re behind the walls in your mind. Lot smaller."
I open my mouth to yell something back... then realise I have nothing to say. I hate that! I huff angrily; screw him if he’s gonna be all... all.... argh! I don’t have to stay here and listen to this!
Yeah. And I slam the door satisfyingly loud behind me as well.
Ugh.
That’s two lectures I’ve had in one day. First Storm, then Scott. What is it about me at the moment that makes people feel the need to offer me advice? I don’t want it! I’m quite happy coping with existing, and dealing with the fucked up hours between waking and sleeping in my own time, without anyone else sticking their oar in. I don’t want that pressure. I don’t want them to assume things about me. I don’t want them to tell me what I should do.
And damn it, I don’t want them to be right about it all.