The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter would never have made it without empressnan's and dutchxfan's sushi & Japanese skills *g*. They are both awesome for taking the time to help me on this. Thanks guys :o)
Have you ever had one of those moments, when what’s happening just hits you like a bolt out of the blue and you wonder if you’re imagining it? Because there is no actual way on this whole green Earth that it could possibly be real? When you just stand there. Stupified. Completely bereft of things to do while every part of you tingles and hums with untold fear and excitement until you don’t know whether you’re going to soar, faint, babble uselessly, or just remain stuck, frozen in time that way, forever?
This would be one of those moments.
Logan’s taking me out.
The most massive, lip biting, embarrassed grin crawls across my face. We had a talk, or rather, he talked, and now he’s-
...Oh fuck, I have nothing to wear.
Um. Um. Ok, random panic. Thoughts going everywhere at once and none of them making much sense. Do I get changed? Um. Yes. I’m still in my sweaty running clothes. Not that I have much to change into, another pair of jeans that aren’t mine...dammit I really need to go shopping at some point. Do I go for something smarter? That would look like I’m making an effort. Right?
...Is that good or bad?
Maybe I should just stay as I am. Need a shower though. Should I bother washing my hair? Or have I subliminally mastered that tousled just got out of bed look?
I fumble my way to the hallway mirror and flick on the light.
Christ, no. Look in no way mastered. Fix. FIX!
I run upstairs. Slam on the hot water, bang my knees against the side of the old fashioned tub as I try and move too fast for my brain to keep up. The shampoo gets in my eyes as I drag my hands through my wet hair. Wash my face. Clamber out again. Adrenalin pumping. Look in the mirror. Stupid eyes with their stupid crying puffiness. I’m not sad anymore! You can go down now! Look normal again.
Damn. At least it’ll be dark outside.
I root around for a nicer top to change into, my decision made, after all, this is a... a...
...What is this exactly?
I stop, mid panicked fumble, top hanging loosely from my fingers.
Food is not necessarily being asked out. Food is food. Especially to guys. Especially to Logan.
Maybe he was just being practical.
You see? This is the stuff I’m no good at. This is the stuff I don’t understand. I’m not a game player... but then neither is he... is he? Well he never was around me, but with others? Memories of his past flings rear their ugly heads... shit, he can be a real bastard when he wants to, but I already know that, and that’s what he said himself, although it doesn’t make this whole thing any clearer to me... Oh fuck it, maybe I need a second opinion.
I think about this for a moment, then drop the top, flop down on the bed and reach for the phone on the bedside table. Before I have time to think about what I’m doing and realise that it’s probably a stupid idea, I thumb in the extension for Scott’s room.
It rings quite a few times. Oops. Maybe he’s asleep. Okay, now I feel guilty, which is just another emotion to add to the layer that’s mixed up in my-
"Hello?"
Yes!
...I try and ignore the fact he sounds groggy and annoyed. "Scott? I need your assistance. As a man."
There’s silence on the end of the line and it gives me the time to think about how that came across. More innuendo than cry for help. Not quite as I intended. "I mean, I need your opinion. A guy’s opinion."
He sighs. "Rogue?"
I wince slightly at his tone. "...Yeah."
"Go on then. Out with it. Maybe it’ll explain why ...ohhhh, you had a talk with Logan didn’t you."
Damn it. I’m actually kinda put out that he guessed. "Maybe..." It doesn’t sound as enigmatic as I hoped.
"That explains why you sound like you’re bouncing off the walls. I take it things went well?"
Ummmm... "Well, not exactly, no... at least not at first... but now we’re going out for food."
"And...?"
"And nothing! I just... you’re a guy, you know...guy stuff... does going out for food count as a...date? Ha!" I laugh nervously. "I mean... I...I...um..." What do I mean? Why does the word ‘date’ sound so wrong when referring to Logan? I mean, what else can I call it? A rendezvous? Ha! That’s even worse. Shit, Scott’s saying something. Listen girl! Stop panicking! "What was that?" Why does my voice sound all shrill? That’s not normal!
"I said are you talking about food with Logan?"
"You see my problem?"
"No." I can hear his exasperated sigh. "What does it matter?"
Ugh. That’s a typical guy answer. "Because I’m terrified it isn’t, and I’m even more terrified that it is!"
"Well, it won’t make a lot of difference then..." I can almost sense him rolling his eyes. "Look. Did he say anything to you to suggest it might be?"
I frown as I think. Lots of emotion. Intense glances. But... no. Not really. "We agreed we were having a conversation about it?" I try. "I mean... about us. I mean... me and him. You know, as a – well, as in... together. Maybe."
"The stuff of epic romance. No, really..."
"Oh, you’re no help at all!"
"Just... take things as they come."
Okay. I can’t help myself. The adrenaline that’s coursing through me is on overload and I giggle. It comes out all panicked, high-pitched and squeaky.
"...Not like that. Look. Calm down. Stop working yourself up and go find yourself a... strong drink or something."
"There’s nothing like that here."
"Under the loose floorboard, the one that creaks, third from the window in the hall."
"A secret stash?" Okay, that’s kinda cool.
"Left over from my under-age days when we used to hide it from the Professor."
"Neolithic or Jurassic?"
"I’m not much older than you!"
"And you tried to hide this from a 'path?"
"Go! Drink!"
I’m still grinning to myself as I hang up the phone, settling for my trusty jeans and a t-shirt. The stash is right where he said it would be as well. Four dark bottles, a little dusty, but still good. I make a mental note to bring him one tomorrow, medication or no, he deserves it.
I then spend five minutes of my precious getting-ready time in the kitchen hunting for a bottle opener, only to find out when I finally unearth one, that the bottle’s a screw top. Idiot. Less haste, more speed, as my father would have said. Oh God, I wonder what he would think of Logan. Heh! He’d be terrified. ‘Marie,’ he’d say. Then he’d give his thoughtful frown. I practise it in the mirror as I pass. ‘I really don’t think it’s appropriate or responsible to date an older man with an anger management problem and six indestructible knives in his hands.’
Or at least that’s what he would say, if he was still speaking to me.
Meh.
I shrug the thought off and I swig a mouthful straight from the bottle, wondering if it’s normal for emotions to rollercoaster like this.
Then I freeze like a rabbit in headlights at the sound of a knock at the door.
Already? That was quick! My heart thuds and suddenly my palms go all clammy.
He doesn’t bother waiting for me to answer it... I never do. The door just swings open to reveal him waiting there in his trade-mark jeans and worn leather jacket. He frowns as his eyes narrow on the bottle in my hand.
Shit. Caught.
"Um... Dutch courage?" I try, hopefully. Okay, I know it’s alcohol, and my experiences with alcohol haven't exactly been good recently, but at least I’m not a teary eyed mess this time. Or a homicidal maniac. That’s an improvement. Right?
He reaches for the bottle. For a moment I think he’s going to chew me out over it big time, but then he raises an eyebrow as he hands it back to me. "Look’s French to me, kid."
Okay... what?
Seriously.
...Did Logan just make a joke?
I have a feeling I’m staring at him in open-mouthed shock. It can’t be attractive.
He gives me a twist of a smirk, obviously enjoying having the upper hand, and then he heads back towards his bike. He fires it up with a growling roar. "So, you comin’?"
Am I still breathing?
Okay, so I think I might have just found my new favourite hobby. Astride Logan’s bike, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed into the warm leather of his jacket as the world races by me in a blur. My hair whips back in a streak of white from my face, my stomach a nervous tangle of knots that have nothing whatsoever to do with the speed we’re travelling.
I don’t ask where we’re going. To be honest, part of me is enthralled by the idea of it being a surprise...the other part is just too scared. Wimp. Don’t want to ask him in case I’m making it up. Can’t trust what’s going on in my head these days. We’re heading into the city though, I can tell that much, real or not. The dark skyline of tall shadows grows on the horizon, until we’re over the bridge into Manhattan, heading off the main roads into a square maze of side streets, where we park up outside a tiny restaurant, barely noticeable apart from the golden glint of Japanese symbols over the door.
I get off first; my legs slightly shaky as my feet touch ground again. I wonder if he can sense that.
Heh. Probably.
"I never had you down as the Japanese type," I tell him, trying to sound casual to cover my nervousness. I watch him pocket the keys and follow the broadness of his back inside.
"Used to live there," he says over his shoulder.
Oh. Right.
...That explains some of the memories I inherited. And why I suddenly developed the skill for chopsticks.
From the contrast of the rusty side street, it’s like stepping inside a lagoon of calm. It smells delicious, and it’s all concentric circles and screen walls, creating small secluded areas where groups of people chat and eat around stubby candlelit tables. Giant vases of twisted willow cast spidery shadows up the wall. It’s minimal, exclusive, and very stylish. And expensive. I catch a glance at a menu and nearly choke. No prices. Very expensive. Not the kind of place I expected Logan to bring to me. Where’s the grungy roadside diners? The burger bars? Christ, I’m still in my skanky jeans as well! He should have warned me!
I’m still wondering what we’re doing here, when the owner comes over and greets Logan with a formal bow, then a warm smile and the clasped hand of an old friend. "Too long," he says by way of an introduction. "It’s been far too long."
"Been away a lot." Logan’s voice sounds gruff in comparison. He indicates to me with a nod of his head. "This is Marie. Marie, this is Katsuro."
Okay, so he knows the owner. Again, that makes things make more sense.
I think.
Actually, I’m not sure what it means. Generally I’m just very confused right now.
Katsuro smiles kindly at me, and I roll the guy's name around in my head, trying to replicate the way Logan pronounced it. The weird rolling 'r'. He did it so well that it sounded strange coming from him. He must've lived in Japan for quite a while.
It's also kinda sexy. I wonder if he's fluent?
Man, I am so out of my depth.
We’re led over to a quiet corner, left to our own devices. My knees bang into Logan’s as I slide along the bench on my side of the table, and I blush furiously. "Sorry," I mumble, staring very pointedly at the decorative carvings adorning the table top.
"What for?"
Christ, I don’t know.
I risk a glance upwards, and my skin tingles all over when I realise he’s looking at me. Which is stupid really, I mean, why wouldn’t he be looking at me? I’m sitting opposite him. He’d have to be staring at the table top to be looking somewhere else. Like I am. God, I’m crap at this. It’s far too grown up for me.
"What’s up?"
"Nothing." It comes out too quickly. Kind of squeakily as well. Not exactly good for convincing.
"You want to go somewhere else?"
I shake my head. "Nope. No."
"You’re scared."
"Nope." Again, far too quickly.
He just gives me a look. "I can smell it."
Damn it! Could he not just pretend he had normal senses for a few hours? "I’m nervous. Different to being scared, okay?" If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was enjoying this.
"You want somethin’ to drink?"
That at least brings a smile to my face. Not at the thought of alcohol, I’ve not gone down the desperate dependency road yet, but that he’s making an effort to be nice. I nod, and he gets up to go over to the bar.
Suddenly faced with an empty table, it gives me a moment of space. Some time to think about all this. Whatever this is. God, here of all places? I swear the guy in the booth over there is on TV. This is a rich people hide-out. Although any sort of hide-out is good for a mutant I guess...
Still, it’s not what I expected at-
A laugh from the bar area distracts me, and I look up to see a tall blonde flirting openly with Logan. That’s so unfair! Not only that’s she’s doing it, that she’s doing it so well!
I shoot daggers at her with my eyes. Not that anyone notices, well, apart from the rugged looking guy in the hat she supposed to be here with. He gives me a curve of a half smile and a shrug as if to say, ah well, win some lose some, raising his drink in my direction before turning back to the bar.
Damn it. I don’t know how he can be so complacent about these things.
When Logan finally makes his way back to the table, drinks in hand, he takes one look at my scowling expression and raises an eyebrow. "What?"
I can’t help it; my eyes flick over to her. His follow.
"You’re jealous?"
I don’t answer, but my silence tells him all he needs to know. He slides back in to our booth. Pushes the beer in my direction. "Good."
Good? Good? What kind of answer is good? That’s not fair!
Our food, when it arrives, is an array of neat little packages on shiny black square dishes. To be honest I have no idea what half of it is. Apparently this is not the sort of place where you waste time ordering stuff, it’s just suddenly in front of you. Or again, maybe that’s just because Logan knows the owner. Or maybe he ordered it at the bar. Maybe that’s what they were laughing about. Is ordering food funny these days?
... The thought begins to dawn on me that maybe I’m analysing this a little too much.
I give the rows of pretty-coloured apparently edible things a suspicious stare and aim my chopsticks towards something sushi...ish, sniffing it cautiously. It ain't no fried chicken, collard greens, and cornbread, that's for sure. I give it a cautious taste...
Hmm. Okay. Weird... but not bad.
I nibble another very tiny mouthful, then realise Logan’s quietly laughing at me. "I’ve never lived there like you," I defend. "This is all new." Hell, I’ve never even left the country. I’m just overflowing with the wealth of travel experience. Not.
He picks up his chopsticks, and the ease at which he uses them puts me to shame. I find that I'm staring in fascination at his hands. They're such strong hands. Such long fingers. Yum.
I watch as he dips something pinkish in a tiny dish of dark liquid. "Try it with the soy sauce," he says. "Like this."
Oh. Okay.
I risk another tiny bite. Hope that whatever I'm eating wasn't alive five minutes ago.
Yeah, okay. It's nicer with the sauce. I'll give him that.
Logan's next mouthful goes in the mysterious little blob of green stuff.
"What's that?"
"Wasabi. It's strong."
My nose wrinkles. I think I might just give that one a miss. "So, how do you know the owner?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
"His father was a friend of mine."
I glance over at the white haired man standing at the bar, greeting a new guest. Really? He looks twice Logan’s age. "What, back when you were in Japan?"
He nods. "You should go there one day."
"Maybe I will." Who knows. This is nice though. We used to talk like this when I first came to the Mansion and he was the only person I trusted. He'd let me talk to him about the unimportant things and I miss that, I realise with a pang of sadness. Much more than I would let myself believe.
He seems different from those days now though, despite what he said about being dangerous. He is that, I don’t ever doubt it, but he’s more... settled.
Is that because he can remember more? Japan’s new. He’s never talked about living anywhere else before.
"What?" he says, looking at me quizzically.
"Nothing..."
"I can see you thinking."
I shrug. "I was just... how come you can remember it anyway? Japan? I thought your past was a big blank?" I wonder if it’s pushing a bit too far, but the worst he does is raise an eyebrow.
...Is that a good eyebrow, or a bad eyebrow?
Argh! When will I stop over analysing things?
He takes a swallow of his beer. "When I went away, not long after I pulled you out that damn bank, I found out a few things."
"Oh." I’m not really sure what to say to that. I cringe at the bank reference as well, the memory of pain rolling into acute embarrassment.
Logan doesn’t volunteer any further information and I’m sure as hell not going to pry into details, not right now anyway, so instead I try and stick to the vague and non-committal. "Was it... useful?"
"Haven’t decided yet."
Okay. Both treading the edges. Careful conversation. I can cope with careful.
I hope.
...Although, it does make a couple of events click into place. When he left and asked me to stay... was that why he was so keen to see the Professor when he got back that ti-?
"I’m over a hundred and twenty years old."
Jesus! I choke on my rice ball, spraying bits of it over the table in the most unattractive fashion ever. "You’re what?"
He looks at me warily. "Is that a problem?"
Fuck!
I mean... Fuck!
No wonder he was freaked out about me being young. My father wasn’t even born when he was growing up. Hell, my grandfather wasn’t born. I’m not even sure if my great grandfather was more than a child. Christ! I shake my head, trying to convince myself as much as him that it’s fine, gulping down a mouthful of beer to try and stop the convulsions in my throat. "No. I just... I... really?"
He nods.
"...Really?"
He folds his arms. Leans back against the bench, trying to look put out, but he’s failing. Probably because I’m still in complete shock and I must look totally ridiculous.
I manage a croaky, "Wow."
"What?"
"You just... you look really good for your age... that’s all." The last bit comes out as a nervous laugh. More at myself than anything. Apparently I’m never going to be one of those people who takes things in their stride.
All the things he must have seen. All the things he must have done! I shake my head. It’s actually really hard to take in. I mean, I knew his regeneration affected his age... but this? No wonder he hates getting attached to people.
I fish around inside my brain for something sensible to say. I’m not sure how well it works. "Are you um...glad?"
"About being old?"
Oops. It did come out like that, didn’t it. "That you can remember. I know how important it was to you."
He chews on a mouthful of food before he answers. "I can’t remember everything. Just pieces. Places, experiences, faces...I guess... but yeah. At least this way I know I have..."
"Roots?"
He nods. "Yeah. Something like that. An origin."
I hadn’t thought about it that way before. Being Southern is so much a part of who I am, I can’t imagine not having that. He must have felt so anchorless. No wonder he’s a drifter. "So, where did you grow up then?"
"Northern Alberta."
"In Canada?"
He continues eating, but gives me a nod. It’s slightly tense though, so I’m pretty sure he’s not up for me delving much further into his childhood. Obviously not all happy memories.
"How ‘bout you?" he says, turning the focus away from him. "You miss the South?"
I shrug. "Sometimes. Although to be honest, it feels like so long ago that I lived there, that I don’t belong there any-"
"Excuse me?"
I frown up at the owner, who’s now hovering over us with a nervous expression twitching across his face. "I thought you might want to know. We’ve just had a call from Senator Edson’s staff. He’s demanded a table here at nine."
Edson? As is the force-behind-the-Mutant-Registration-act Edson?
Logan reassures him. "Don’t worry, we won’t go messin’ up your place here."
The poor man shuffles nervously. "I don’t like asking you to go, but I can’t refuse him. He’d end me."
"It’s okay. Really. We’re good to go anyway." He looks over at me, "Right, kid?"
Oh, so I’m 'kid' again. I frown. That’s probably not a good sign.
Still, I can’t exactly say no, can I?
...Well, heh, I can, and a few months ago I probably would have. But I know Logan’s not one to avoid a confrontation. If he’s leaving to spare this guy some hassle, then I know he’s probably got his reasons. "Yeah, I’m done."
The guilty relief that crosses Katsuro’s face is almost palpable. I begin to feel sorry for him. "Food was good," I add. I’m such a sucker for guilt these days.
Outside, the evening air washes over me, refreshingly cool after the warmth of the restaurant. We both look at the bike for a moment and I try and work out what Logan’s thinking? Is he wondering whether it’s time to head home? Does he want to go somewhere else inst-
Oh. Apparently not. He swings his leg over the seat.
"Sorry that was so short," he says gruffly, as I climb on behind him.
"Doesn’t matter. I’m stuffed anyway."
"You’re a bad liar," I hear him say as he guns the engine into life. It sounds like he’s smirking as he says it though. "Hardly touched a thing."
"Meh." I shrug. I hope it’s nonchalant. Although it’s so sudden I think it probably looks more like I have hiccups. Dammit, he’s too close and I can’t concentrate.
The whole ride home my mind is spinning. When we finally pull up outside the lake house, my fingers are numb, and the night is cold and clear. Logan kills the bike engine and turns around to look at me. For a dizzying moment he’s so close that I let myself think maybe... just maybe this is a real date...
But... no...
Nothing.
He just gives me the ghost of a smile. "We okay?"
I climb off, disappointment sinking through me. So, that’s what this was. "Yeah." I manage a smile in return. "Okay. I had a nice evening. Thanks."
I’m at the door before I realise he’s followed me up the pathway.
I frown at him. "You coming in?"
His lips twist in a half smirk and he shakes his head. "No..."
Meh. Fine. "You making sure I get back home okay?" I say, looking pointedly at the very short, very safe pathway we just walked up.
His smirk begins to break into a grin. Is he laughing at me and my paranoia? "No..."
"Then what-"
My heart lurches as he steps closer. One of his hands moves to the white streak in my hair, watching me the whole while, sliding his fingers slowly through it. "You sure you want this?"
My stomach flips and I look downwards, away from the intensity of his eyes, trying to think of the words I need. But it’s suddenly impossible to concentrate, especially when his hand trails down from my hair, blood rushing through my ears as the backs of his fingers graze the side of my face, under my jaw, pressing it upwards until my gaze is drawn higher and I’m suddenly aware of how much taller he is than me. Then there’s a breathless moment when my stomach does about a dozen flip-flops as I begin to comprehend what he's going to ...ohfuck.
His mouth is on mine, hot and dark and suddenly my whole body is liquid with lust. Heat surges through me, through him. I feel his hand sliding round my hip, tightening, pressing me closer, up against him, warm and solid, deepening, that scratch of stubble against my chin, the kick that rocks right down to my toes at the giddy shock of the first touch of his tongue against mine, and I’m lost. Dizzying, drowning in it, head over heels, fingers curling into denim, into the warmth of him, melting away from the coldness of the night because I’m so fucking lost.
Even when he slows it down, when his lips move more gently, moving away, then returning again, I’m reeling with it. He breathes out through his nose, I can feel it against my cheek as he tilts his head to find my tongue again, and desire curls through me as every sensible thought I’ve ever had floods directly south.
When he finally pulls away, I bury my head in his open jacket, not ready to face him. Not just yet. My lips are still damp from his and I can hear his heart thudding through the soft material of his shirt. I think he’s breathing as heavily as I am.
Wow.
"You okay?" His voice is husky. So close.
I’m not sure I know how to begin forming words, let alone come up with an answer. I nod against his chest. "Mmf"
He huffs out some kind of laugh. "What's Mmf?"
"I’ll let you know just as soon as I remember how to stand upright," I mumble giddily, trying to cling on to the warm heat of his body, which is already disappearing as he steps back to look at me.
He runs a thumb softly over my lips. "I’m gonna go," he says reluctantly. "Before I think that going is not such a good idea."
Fuck that. I already think that.
"But I’ll see you tomorrow."
Uncertainly creeps through me again. "You sure?"
He gives me a faint smile. "Yeah. I am."