My house was in a trendy part of a neighborhood right outside of Salem Center. The entrance to my home was on the porch level, but then you had to walk up a flight of stairs to get to my spacious, sunlit flat. I rented out the ground floor which was an almost subterranean unit.
The first thing I did when I got in was call my best friend Scott. It rang three times before he picked up, breathless.
“Hello?”
“You weren’t masturbating were you?”
“I just walked in from racquetball. And I don’t masturbate. I’m not that lonely.”
I grinned at the smile in his voice. “Liar.”
“So why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be breaking Drake’s heart right about now?”
“Mission accomplished. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.” I winced thinking of the mean things I said to Bobby. Then I pictured Logan’s hands again and felt my face flush. Well, it was where I pictured them that made me burn.
“Am I to understand he wasn’t crushed by the thought of never again touching your fair skin?”
“He said sex with me was lackluster!”
Scott chuckled. “You can’t be that bad.”
I held the receiver out and crossed my eyes at him. When I put it back to my ear, he was laughing. “Rogue, didn’t your mother ever tell you your face could freeze like that?”
I harrumphed. “How’d you know what I was doing?”
“I know you.”
True. Scott Summers and I had been best friends since freshman year of college. He was a few years older than me and since we didn’t really have any classes together we never really had the chance to talk and get to know one another. But then one day I was running late for school and driving a little faster than I probably should have. It was just my luck that a huge chuck of tree limb fell right in front of me on the road while I was distractedly adjusting my seat belt. By the time I slammed on the breaks it wasn’t fast enough. I drove directly into the tree limb and smashed the front of my car. Somehow, during the blur of events and twisted metal, my left leg got caught in some of the crushed metal and my seatbelt got stuck and I couldn’t get out of the car.
Insert Scott. My guardian angel. He happened to be jogging in the area while I was having my brush with near death. He rushed over and yanked the seatbelt apart and pulled me out. As I hugged him with gratitude he just smiled sheepishly and said, “You sure know how to rogue a car.”
The nickname stuck. And we’ve been best friends ever since.
“So what happened?” he asked me.
I gave him all the details, including the slimy tongue down the throat just to giggle at his reaction. When I was done, he simply said, “You got what you wanted.”
I knew that. Still.
“You did what you thought you had to do. Time to move on, Rogue.”
“Jeez, thanks for the compassion.”
“Any time,” he chuckled. “You want to come over?”
“Temping. But I think I’m going to stay in. It’s late and I have to be at work early tomorrow.”
“When? At ten?”
Wise ass. “So I don’t like to wake up at dawn.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He sighed. “But I was hoping you’d bring takeout with you.”
Notice how he didn’t ask me to cook for him. Boiling water taxes my culinary abilities. “Sorry. You’re on your own.”
“Damn. I’m hungry.”
As he was always hungry, I didn’t feel any real sympathy for him. “Order a pizza. You know you’ll be happier not sharing with me. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? At class?”
Before I could listen for his answer, my call waiting went off. I moved my cell phone away from my ear and looked at the screen. Wince. My mom. “I gotta go, Scott. My mom’s on the other line.”
“See you tomorrow, Rogue.”
Taking a deep breath, I switched to my mom’s call. “Hey, Mom.”
“How you are, Marie-Elizabeth?”
“Fine.” She was the only person who called me by my whole name. “How was Africa? You’re back, right?”
“I had a good time. It was nice visiting my home again and I managed to do some worthwhile work at a nursery while Charles finished crosses his T’s and dotting his I’s for the new Youth Home he’s opening up.”
My parents often headed out to different locations so that my dad could help runaway teens and other underprivileged children and orphans. Both my mom and dad were make-a-difference types, with my dad dealing mainly with people while my mom, the ultra-earth conscious one, handled her own missions of the environmental variety; saving plants and hugging trees. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone with a heart bigger than either of theirs.
“But that’s not why I called. Have you talked to Jean?”
Jean is my nemesis. And my sister, but that’s secondary.
“Not in a few days,” I said guardedly, even though it was more like a few weeks.
“I’ve been trying to reach her all day but she’s not answering. I’m worried about her.”
Of course this was about Jean. It was always about Jean. I should have known my mom didn’t call to talk about me. I wanted to say maybe their precious angel didn’t answer because she was getting laid, but that sounded implausible even to me. Jean didn’t have casual liaisons. Actually, Jean didn’t have any liaisons-- she was too busy saving the world. So I just muttered “Hmm.”
“When did you say you’d last spoken with her?”
I didn’t. “I’m sure she’s fine, Mom. She’s probably all wrapped up in work. You know how she gets.”
My mom harrumphed. “Sometimes I wish she were less driven about her work. Like you, Marie-Elizabeth.”
Backhanded compliments were a fact of life with my parents where I was concerned. And it generally led to a list of all the areas where I lacked in comparison to Jean. I walked into the living room and flopped onto the couch. At least I could be comfortable while she ragged on me.
But instead of launching into a tirade about my job-- she hates that I’m a system administrator instead of doing something worthwhile, like researching childhood diabetes-- she said, “Her thirtieth birthday is coming up. I was thinking about throwing her a big party. What do you think?”
Hours of listening to my parents’ friends rave about how great Jean is? Terrible idea. “Is she coming home?”
“She’ll come home,” Mom said confidently.
I couldn’t help but remember six months ago when Jean came back to Westchester for Christmas. Pure hell. All I heard was Jean this and Jean that. I knew my sister was perfect-- I didn’t need it crammed down my throat.
I’d been ecstatic when she went off to Washington DC and stayed there. I’d thought, finally, I wouldn’t be crowded by her enormous shadow anymore.
What happened, though, was kind of like when a rock star dies at the height of his fame-- instant immortality. I had to live with the specter of Jean hanging over my shoulder, at home, and at school. Thank God we hadn’t attended the same university-- I think that saved my sanity. It was bad enough that I wasn’t out to save the world like Jean; at least I didn’t have teachers comparing my mediocre intelligence to her brilliance.
I won’t even touch the fact that I dropped out of college after the first year to go on a road trip through Canada, and the furor that caused.
“Marie-Elizabeth? Are you there?”
I shook my head and relaxed my too-tight grip on my cell phone. “Yeah.”
“What do you think?”
“Uh---” I had the distinct impression I’d missed something. “Sounds great.”
“You weren’t listening to a word I was saying, were you?”
“No, actually.” I winced, but I didn’t bother to deny it. Ororo Monroe-Xavier had Spidey sense where her daughters were concerned.
“I was saying that, while it’s great that Jean is so dedicated to her work, she needs balance in her life. How long has it been since she’s had a boyfriend?”
Was this a rhetorical question? “Not sure.”
“That’s what I mean. Jean should take a page out of your book and find herself a nice man like Bobby.”
I didn’t want a nice man. And I certainly didn’t want Bobby. My mind flashed on Logan’s capable, MacGyver hands, and I shook my head. “Mom, Bobby and I---”
My mouth snapped shut as her words registered. Holding the phone out, I rubbed my finger in my ear. Did my mom just say Jean needed to be more like me?”
“I have to tell you, Marie-Elizabeth, I think Bobby is absolutely wonderful. He’s respectful and does good work for the environment. Your father approves of him as well.”
When I brought the phone back to my ear, she was still talking, oblivious to my stunned silence. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve found such a great man. If only Jean would, too. She should be more like you, Marie.”
Be more like me? Twilight Zone alert.
Mom went on like the world wasn’t spinning off its axis. “I haven’t always understood your choices, Marie, but I can’t approve of Bobby more. You’ve done really well this time. He’s the son your father and I always wanted.”
I felt a familiar sharp pang in my chest. I was a very successful system administrator, owned a house, and was a third degree black belt in Kung Fun, but to my mom my best accomplishment was the guy I was dating. Who I wasn’t dating as of twenty minutes ago. “Mom, listen. About Bobby--”
“I have to admit that having Jean come here for a party is only secondary to having her hear so I can show her how well you’ve done for yourself with Bobby. Maybe you’ll rub off on her.”
My mouth clamped shut. I couldn’t believe it. Me, a role model for perfect Jean-Grey. For the first time ever.
“Maybe you and Bobby can come to dinner later this week?”
I needed to tell mom I’d broken up with Bobby, but the words role model and rub off on Jean swirled around in my mind.
But it was now or never. She’d given me the perfect opening. So I took a deep breath and said, “Sure, Mom.”
Wince. Not exactly the right words.
“Okay, honey. I’ll call you to arrange dinner. And to let you know the date for the party.”
“Right.” I hung up and stared at the ceiling.
I really should have told Mom I’d broke up with Bobby, but I could just hear the tirade-- how I always messed up things in my life. Like college. My career choice. And now the perfect man. Gag.
But, to tell the truth, the most intoxicating part was that Mom, and Dad by default, finally acknowledged that Jean wasn’t so great and I was. Sure, it wasn’t for the most optimal reasons, but beggars couldn’t be picky and I’d been waiting for this moment for twenty-four years. No way was I going to let it pass by.
That I’d broken up with Bobby the night before? Minor technicality. I could fix anything. MacGyver wasn’t my idol for nothing.
----------------------
Rrrep. Rrrep. Rrrep.
I slammed my first down on the shrieking alarm clock four times before it shut up.
Damn alarm. Who in their right mind woke up to one, much less got up predawn? Because eight-thirty was predawn in my book. I covered y head with my comforter and tried to find that warm spot to snooze for a few more minutes.
Oh yeah, right there. I snuggled down and closed my eyes…
Rrrep. Rrrep. Rrrep.
I shoved the covers off me, picked up the devil’s appliance, and threw it across the room. When it hit the wall, I heard the faint snap of plastic breaking.
“Shit. Now I’ll have to fix that,” I muttered as I stumbled out of bed. First things first, I needed caffeine and I needed it fast. I pulled my robe on, flipped the hood up, and headed ot the kitchen.
I felt human after two cups of coffee. However, I probably still shouldn’t have answered my cell phone when it rang. Especially since the screen read Jean.
But I did. “What?”
“Mom’s left a dozen messages for me in the last twenty-four hours.” Her low, calm voice set me on edge. “Are they back?”
I refrained from saying that, as their favorite daughter, she really should have a better grip on their schedule. Yeah, I’ve been working on my self-control. “They came back yesterday.”
“Hmm.”
I pictured her lower lip sticking out and her long, graceful finger tapping it like she always did when she was thinking. It should have made her look dorky but on Jean everything looked good.
It just killed me.
Jean was the Road Runner to my Wile E. Coyote. My greatest efforts never paid off, and she could do no wrong. While she didn’t intentionally try to foil my every move, it still worked out that way.
I’d concluded that she was genetically superior years ago. She was taller, curvier, and smarter. Everything about her was shinier. For example, we’d inherited auburn hair from my father’s side--- technically. But Jean’s was shinier and looked fire-lit, and somehow mine had a lot more chocolate in the strands, making it my hair look like a mud puddle. Then there was the bizarre streaks of white in my hair that I’d had since birth. Big, bold markers that screamed ‘look at the freak!’.
As if that wasn’t enough, she was also a do-gooder. She worked on finding cures for bizarre childhood diseases and spoke in front of Congress and National Boards on many occasions-- so resenting her took extra work. But younger sisters were supposed to resent their older sisters, right?
Blame it on the caffeine kicking in, but I decided to make an effort to reach out. “So, how’s it going?”
“Okay.”
I frowned. Something in her voice said that it was far from the truth. “Are you sure?”
Instead of answering, she neatly diverted the conversation. “How are you doing?”
I try to be a caring sister and she doesn’t respond. Typical. “Pretty good. I got a raise at work.”
“You’re saving your money, aren’t you? Do you have some kind of retirement plan at work?”
I wasn’t even twenty-five and she wanted me to worry about retiring? At least I owned a house; Jean only rented a condo.
“I’m doing okay.”
“Because you can’t depend on other people,” she said bitterly.
I frowned. Jean, cynical? Not natural. One of her most unattractive traits is her never-ending optimism. She makes Marry Poppins look dour. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Even she realized she didn’t sound convincing, so she repeated it more forcefully. “Nothing. Really.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” she sounded like she was forcing a smile. Then she sighed again. “I have to get back to work-- I’ll let you go. Talk to you later, Marie.”
“Right,” I murmured, totally confused, listening to the dial tone. This probably wasn’t one of those presuicidal calls. But if it was, I hoped she left me the leather jacket she got in Paris. Jean had great taste in clothes.
Nah, I shook my head, flipped the phone closed, and tossed it aside. Jean would never hurt herself. She was too conscious of other people’s feelings. Her empathy made her the ideal research scientist. Our parents always bragged about how brilliant and altruistic she was.
Like being a system administrator wasn’t noble. I’ll have them know that without me, a whole lot of people would be without Internet access. And imagine where humanity would be then.
--------------------------------
I figured out what I was going to do about Bobby and my parents that afternoon. Mom wanted someone charming, handsome, and successful as bait for Jean. Bobby was just a convenient body, someone at hand who fit the bill. But I could get any other guy with those qualifications. What did it matter whether or not it was actually Bobby? A rose by any other name and all that. There had to be a number of men who would pass muster.
I ran my idea by Scott as were sparing in Karate class that evening.
“What?” He stopped with my arm leveraged behind my back, a fist wrapped in my hair, arching my neck uncomfortably.
“My mom only wants me to bring some guy whom she deems as perfect to push Jean into a relationship.” I tried to wiggle my arm out of the figure-four lock but he held strong. “It doesn’t matter who it is.”
“You’re missing one key element to this equation, Rogue.”
I looked at him. My head was torqued so didn’t have to do more than move my eyeballs. “What element?”
“Your mom wants Jean to see a well-matched couple and the benefits of settling down. She’s not going to be happy if you bring Bill Gates to dinner if you don’t care about him.” He kicked my feet out from under me so I landed on my back, breaking my shoulder and arm and causing head trauma. In theory. In reality, he let go of me so I could break my fall.
I frowned up at him from the mat. “I still don’t see how that’s going to be a problem.”
Scott held out his hand to help me up. “So you’re going to find a guy you’re genuinely interested in to the point of love in the next week-and-a-half.”
“Why a week-and-a-half?” I took his hand, hopped up, and promptly used it to leverage him down to his knees.
“Because Jean’s birthday is in three weeks and you need to introduce this paragon of manhood to your parents well enough beforehand so they actually believe you care about him. Ow, Rogue, ease up on my wrist.”
“Oh, sorry.” I let go of his hand, and then because our instructor, Dwight, was giving us dirty looks, I finished Scott off with an outside crescent kick to his head that sent him flying. Well, I grazed by his face and smacked his open palm, which he’d help up as a target for me. But otherwise he would have gone flying.
“Why are you doing this?” Scott asked as he got to his feet.
I blinked demurely, trying to stifle a grin. “I’m being a good role model for my older sister.”
“In other words, you want to rub it in Jean’s face.”
I frowned. Was that wrong? “You’d do the same in my shoes.”
He snorted as he pulled out the rag from his belt and mopped his face. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m more mature than that.”
Fortunately Dwight signaled the end of class so I didn’t have to reply. Grabbing my water bottle, I took a long drink while Dwight went over what he wanted us to study this week. He loved giving homework from stuff like practicing nonjudgmental to breathing. And I liked doing it. I was all for personal growth.
This month, we were supposed to be aware of opportunities, no matter what guise they presented themselves in. piece of cake. I was always open.
I headed to the changing room to get my bag before the guys started disrobing. Usually, they let the women have the room first since there was only one changing room, but tonight I was the only woman who showed up for class and so I had to fend for myself. I didn’t really mind changing with them-- I was all for naked male flesh-- but Scott would be in there and that was just too weird. I mean, I’d seen his bare chest plenty of times. But seeing him in his skivvies? Totally disgusting.
In his defense, Scott did have a really nice body. He looked kind of uptight and lean in clothes, but he was actually nicely sculpted. Thin with long muscles. There was a space of about twelve minutes in college when I thought Scott was perfect and that we might be more than friends, but then we kissed. To me, kissing him was like kissing a brother: just plain wrong. I still thought he was perfect, but for someone else.
As if my thoughts had conjured him, I ran into him on my way out of the changing room. “Hey, Rogue, want to grab a beer?” he said.
“Jubilee’s?” I asked rhetorically. Jubilee’s was my favorite bar. The atmosphere was relaxed, the food was good, and the Guinness was sweet and creamy. “Meet you outside?”
“Wait for me by the door. My car’s down the street.”
I rolled my eyes and headed to the bathroom to change. I was a third degree black belt but his vein of chivalry ran so deep he still insisted on walking me around when it was dark.
Scott finished dressing first and was waiting for me, leaning against the front door. “Ready?” he asked, bending down to pick up his bag.
“Let’s go.”
Because it was a weeknight, we found parking practically right in front of the bar. I waited in the rain while Scott secured his Mercedes Jeep with The Club and then we walked inside.
I headed toward two empty seats at the far end of the bar, running my hand along the gleaming dark wood of the bar top. Jubilee’s was classier than the typical bar, but, like I said before, the Guinness was really the shining star here.
Scott ordered for us as he took a seat.
I hopped up next to him. “Guess who I saw this morning?”
“Who?” he asked absently, as he pulled out his wallet.
“Are you paying?”
“First round. Second round is yours.”
He always said that, but we never ordered a second round. Oh, well-- I’d get it next time.
“So who’d you see?”
“Mystique.” Raven Mystique was my tenant and an enigma I was always trying to decipher. I didn’t understand why a woman like her wanted to live in the dark basement space I rented out. She was strikingly beautiful and expensive looking-- the type of woman who belonged in a penthouse in Manhattan instead of a musty cave.
He stopped riffling through his wallet and looked up. “No way.”
“For real.”
“Where’s she been? It’s been a long time since there was a Raven sighting.” he nodded to the bartender, who set our drinks in front of us, and handed over a bill.
I didn’t ask her where she’s been. Not that she’d tell me that. That woman has secrets.” This was one of our favorite games: speculating about Mystique’s life. She was so private. And mysterious. In the Employee section of her renter’s paperwork she’d printed: Self-employed. “I can tell you she had a black case with her. And when she saw me, she tried to hide it.”
“A black case? What do you think she had in there?”
“Sex toys,” I said confidently.
Scott chocked on his beer. I leaned closer, waiting to see if it would shoot out of his nostrils, but he pushed me back. “You aren’t still waiting for me to gush liquid out of my nose, are you?”
“Hell, yeah.” The one time it happened back a couple of years ago had been incredibly entertaining. The fact that it got all over his starched white shirt and he freaked out over the mess was practically icing on the cake.
Smart man, he changed the subject. “Why do you think Mystique has sex toys in her bag?”
I shrugged. “I know we thought she was a spy--”
“Or a hitman.”
“Right. But I think we were wrong.”
Scott glanced at me curiously. “What does she do then?”
“She’s a high-priced call girl.”
“Have sex, will travel?”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
He scrunched his face and touched his glasses in that way he does when he’s considering a complex scenario at work. “You might have something with that theory,” he said finally.
“I know. The way she comes and goes at all hours of the day. The way she’s gone for days---” I snapped my fingers. “I bet she gets hired by rich men to pleasure them for weeks at a time.”
“She does like to wear leather,” Scott said slowly, getting into the game.
“Maybe she’s a part-time dominatrix.”
“What kind of sex toys do you think she has in her case?”
I thought about what I’d put into my bag of tricks if I were a high-priced working girl. “Vibrators. Lots of them in all sizes. And whipped cream. And that oil stuff that you blow on and it makes your skin feel hot.”
Scott blinked at me. “You’ve given this some thought.”
I felt my face flush. “I just have a fertile imagination.”
“Do you have her phone number?”
“Yeah,” I frowned. “Why?”
“If she has anything like what you just mentioned, maybe I should make an appointment with her.”
“Oh, gross!” I whacked his shoulder. “That’s disgusting. She’s my tenant.”
“It wouldn’t be like we’d have sex under your roof. We’ll got to my place. Or a hotel so that oil stuff doesn’t stain my sheets.”
I punched him again.
“Ow.” he rubbed his shoulder. Then he grinned. “Had you going, didn’t I?”
“Now every time I see her I’m going to imagine your scrawny ass on top of her.”
“So, I’d let her be on top.”
I glared at him, but he just laughed. Abruptly he sobered and said, “Are you sure about this, Rogue?”
“About Mystique being a call girl?”
“No. About this Jean thing. It’s not a very nice thing to do to your sister.”
“I’m not doing anything to my sister.” I took a swig of beer to stifle the guilt that swelled around my heart. Then I thought about all those years living in the black void created by Jean’s dazzling being; my spine stiffened and my lip protruded. “What’s so wrong, Scott? It’s not like I’m hurting anyone. I just want a little---” I paused to find the right word.
“Revenge?” he offered helpfully.
“No. Just a little attention from my parents.”
Scott shook his head. “Sounds like revenge to me.”
I decided to try another tack. I leaned closer to him and grabbed his forearm. “Don’t you remember what it was like for me? Everyone comparing me to Jean, asking me why I didn’t get as good grades or why I didn’t apply myself like Jean. Why I wasn’t serious like Jean. How it was unfortunate I wasn’t as pretty.”
He covered my hand with his. “Yeah, but it wasn’t as bad as you think.”
“My parents didn’t come to my high school graduation because of Jean.”
You said she was getting that special science award.” He frowned at me. “You know that was a big deal for someone so young.”
“Still,” I said stubbornly. “I was never good enough. Even now, even though I’m damn brilliant at what I do, do I get any recognition? No. why? Because she’s out saving orphans. No one realizes without people like me, the networks and computers they need for their work wouldn’t be available.”
He studied me in that kind, all-knowing way he’d had since probably before puberty. Finally, he said, “I just want you to be happy.”
“I’ll be happy when I prove I can do something better than Jean.” I smiled, hoping it reached my eyes.
Scott looked like he wanted to say something more but he didn’t. Thank God.
I diverted our conversation back to Mystique, only speculating on her career wasn’t as much fun anymore.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Marie talks to a few people and realizes she has a chance to prove a thing or two about her life. More Logan to come in the following chapters!