It was hot. It was stuffy. It was dark. Rogue could not sleep. And she was starving. All-in-all, the perfect combination. Today, it was safe to say, had not been a good day. In fact, it had pretty much sucked. Apart from the stunningly shiny silver lining that was Logan’s return.
Truth be told, she couldn’t believe he was back. It had been two and a half years since he had left, leaving her with dog tags, a promise and the certainty that he’d come back for her. A certainty which had faded somewhat with every passing month with no contact, until eventually she’d stopped believing he’d be back at all. After all, really, what was there for him here? A bunch of mutants who, combined with her, had almost got him killed, healing factor and all, a seventeen year old ‘kid’ whom he’d given a ride, stabbed through the chest, and played saviour to, all in a matter of days, and a medical room that had become far too familiar because of said ‘kid’. She would have run for the hills and never looked back if she was him.
Shit, she was hungry. And bored. Flopping onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, one arm thrown above her head, and contemplated the day’s events. Stepping out to the poolside earlier had taken a lot of courage on her part, and she had been wondering why the hell everyone was staring at her (surely the suit wasn’t that stupid??). Bobby’s voice had been the most beautiful sound in the world, and then she had turned towards said heavenly sound, and seen him.
Her first reaction had been to stare. Do a double take. Have a secret heart attack. God, he was gorgeous. Two and a half years on the road, drinking, fighting, and fucking had done absolutely no damage to his looks. The mercies of a healing factor, she supposed. She had appraised him, drinking in the sight, from the tips of his boots, to the mussed tips of his dark hair, windblown and scruffy. His t-shirt had been the perfect fit, not ridiculously tight, but tight enough to emphasise the movement of muscles as he shifted, and his faded blue jeans fitted snugly in all the right places. Ahem.
He was masculinity perfected, even his bloody voice growled and oozed that rough-tough factor thing he had going on. She was nineteen, almost twenty, and his mere presence was enough to reduce her to thirteen year old, hormonal school girl behaviour. It was ridiculous really. Demeaning. And the worst part was she really didn’t give a damn.
Of course, after she had stared at him for an eternity, things had gone slightly wrong. She had managed to retain a few vestiges of pride by not gushing exactly how much she had missed him. Thrown those last vestiges to the wind by throwing herself at him. Quite literally.
Although, he hadn’t seemed to mind, and had hugged her back just as tightly. In fact, if he hadn’t been the Wolverine, she might have sworn she heard him sniff.
And then, just as things had been going well, pure irritation had swelled up inside her, anger that he had left for so long without a word, and then just swanned back in as though everything was normal, anger that he had left in the first place. And she had stepped back, and slapped him as hard as she could.
Where the hell the courage to do that had come from, she had no idea. But fuck had it hurt. More her than him, an advantage of metal bones, but she thought she had gotten her point across. He had stared at her, shock filling the piercing hazel eyes, clouding them, and she had to wonder whether any woman had ever slapped the Wolverine before. Although judging from some of his memories (yes, she had been peeking, what of it?) he had certainly deserved it.
And then, as if hugging him and slapping him hadn’t been enough, she had proceeded to dunk him. Oh yeah. Go Rogue. Nice move. Thrashing to the surface of the pool she had planned to apologise, but then he had heaved himself out of the water, with surprising grace she might add, for a man of his weight, and she had frozen. Guh. Even thinking about it made her throat go dry. Apparently Jubilee’s insistence that any guy that looked good dry, looked twice as good wet, was completely correct. Because, holy fuck, he had looked…edible.
Anything she had planned to say had simply stuck in her throat and she had stared, eyes drinking him in. When she had finally managed to meet his eyes, one eyebrow was raised and it had been obvious he had known exactly what she was looking at. Not fair.
Mesmerised by the look in his eyes, she had only vaguely registered the exchange between him and Jubilee before muttering some garbled crap of an apology / excuse and running. Like the true coward she was. Everyone thought Jubilee was the yellow one, but she was seriously starting to wonder whether they should switch wardrobes. If that heinous McKeith woman was right and you are what you eat, then she should be living entirely off custard and bananas. And writing in yellow highlighter and…She winced and shut off that train of thought. What was wrong with her?
After she had retreated to the haven of her room she had showered for a very long time, in an attempt to wash the blush off of her cheeks, and then locked herself in her room for the remainder of the day, only sneaking down to get dinner about an hour after everyone was usually gone. Just to make sure and all that. Sure, she and embarrassment weren’t exactly strangers but even so, today of all days, she didn’t particularly feel like revelling in the fact she had made an ass of herself. And she was not in the mood to deal with the teasing that was surely destined to come.
Despite consuming some cold and slightly stodgy lasagne, she was now starving. A glance at her bedside clock told her it was now two thirty-seven precisely. She had been lying in her hot dark room for three hours, and she was no nearer sleep now that she had been said number of hours ago. And she really was hungry. And craving a beer. Or at the very least something cold and very alcoholic. Courtesy of the Logan in her head. She had been craving cigars too, when she had first absorbed him, but she had beaten that particular desire around the head with a pointy stick until it had died. Logan might be able to heal from any amount of damage done by lung cancer, but she certainly couldn’t. Unless she touched him, and that was never happening again. Ever. Neeeevvverrr eeveeerrrr. Shut up, brain.
She turned onto her side, pulled the covers up to her chin, tuned out the murmurings of the people in her head and forced her eyes shut. She was going to sleep. And that was final. And she wasn’t going to move until that happened.
Unfortunately, pulling the covers up to her chin was a mistake, and she stubbornly endured it as long as she could before breaking her non-moving rule, and shoving them down to her waist, her face burning slightly.
Mmmmmm beer. Cold, bitter, alcohol, cooling her down…Rogue gritted her teeth. Fuck this. No one was going to be up at half past two. And clearly sleep was so far off the agenda it might as well be in Tokyo, so she was just going to get up, sneak downstairs and find something to satisfy her beer craving. And then tomorrow she was going to slap Logan again, because he was entirely to blame, both for the sleepless night, and the beer craving. Urgh.
Slipping her arms into a silky robe, she forwent slippers and her customary gloves because the likelihood of anyone being up was so low it was almost negative. Apart from that boy who didn’t sleep. But she’d just avoid him.
Stepping out into the hall, she welcomed the cool wood of the floorboards below her feet, and padded down the stairs and across the foyer to the kitchen. As she tiptoed past, she absently noticed that hideous still life that hung in the hallway. It really was ugly, and she had always wondered why the Professor kept it. His taste was normally impeccable.
She could see the rec room light was on, and so she avoided it, slipping past the door like a wraith, whatever the hell that was. It was a strange power that boy had. The ability to change channels with his eyes, and the inability to sleep. As far as suck-ish powers went, it was right up there with her own.
She slipped into the kitchen; turning on the small lights above the counter, figuring that having the main one on might attract too much attention. Checking the freezer, it appeared her luck was finally in, because there was a pint of cherry ripple ice cream, and another of fudge. She couldn’t be assed with a bowl, so she grabbed a spoon and dumped the cherry ice-cream onto the counter. Then, bending double, she rummaged in the pasta cupboard, removing bags and bags of pasta and rice, before finally coming across the three bottles of beer she had hidden at the back, several weeks ago, in case of Loganish emergencies. Figuring that settling the food craving would be enough to crush the beer one, at least for a while, she stuffed two of the beers into the fridge to cool.
The ice-cream was blissful. No other word for it. Just. Blissful. Cool and sweet. It really was her one weakness food-wise. Sadly, she had only taken a few spoonfuls when she heard the low rumble of voices in the room next door. Great. Unless she was supremely lucky, she was about to get company. The kitchen was the favourite night-time haunt of mansion residents; she knew this from past experience. Oh God, please don’t let it be Bobby. She could not face a poorly disguised third degree about the Logan Scene right now. Don’t let it be Bobby. Please God, don’t let it be Bobby. Not Bobby. Not Bobby. The door swung open a few inches and the smell of cigars permeated the room. Oh Holy Mother of Moses. It was Logan.
She had to give him credit. He didn’t blush or fidget when he saw her. She did both. Coward. Instead he merely raised one eyebrow and said,
‘Doesn’t anyone sleep around here?’ in a tone that suggested he was not altogether displeased to see her.
She shrugged.
‘I guess not.’
Seriously, why had she never won medals for her stunning ripostes?
He opened the fridge. Scanned it briefly, frowning. He looked confused. Presumably he could smell the alcohol, but couldn’t see it.
‘You got any beer?’
‘This is a school’
‘You got anything other than chocolate milk?’
So a hatred of chocolate milk was something they shared. Bobby had always remarked how bizarre was that she could eat chocolate ice cream by the gallon but wouldn’t touch the stuff in liquid form. She had never thought it was all that remarkable. Taking pity on Logan, she grinned.
‘Fridge. Left vegetable drawer. Stuffed behind the cabbage.’
He smirked, and rummaged for a second, before discovering the bottle, flipping the top and draining half of it in one gulp. He sighed in satisfaction, and she did the same, watching the play of muscles in his throat as he swallowed. Noticing her watching him, he proffered the second bottle.
‘Surely you shouldn’t be encouraging me to drink?’
‘I’m not your father, kid, I’m your friend.’
A somewhat contradictory statement but she let him off because it was three in the morning. She took the bottle.
‘Whose is this anyway? Scooter wouldn’t keep beer in a school, Jean drinks that awful weak beer that tastes like piss, and Storm’s a gin and tonic girl.’
Rogue grinned, and took a swig before answering.
‘It’s mine’
‘Yours?’
‘I’m legal, aren’t I?’
He grinned at her, and raised the bottle.
‘In that case, cheers.’
He sat down and they both nursed their drinks in silence for a moment before he looked up.
‘So, you and Bobby, huh?’
What had given him that idea? Oh…the ecstatic expression on her face when he called her over earlier.
‘It’s not what you think.’
Up went the eyebrow.
‘No, seriously, it’s not. He’s just a friend.’
Logan nodded.
‘What is it he does?’
‘Iceman’
He grunted, presumably not particularly impressed.
‘What about your other friends? That lot down by the pool?’
‘Jubes can produce sparks of kinetic energy from her fingertips. Kind of like fireworks. It’s actually pretty cool. Kitty, sometimes we call her Shadowcat, can walk through walls. Well, anything solid actually. Very useful when we’re doing something illegal. Not that we do. Often.’
He looked amused. Blushing slightly, she carried on.
‘Remy is kind of like Jubes, but he projects his energy into objects, makes ‘em explode. And the Professor reckons he has some empathetic abilities as well. We call him Gambit. And then there’s Piotr. The big bloke with all the muscle? He can turn to metal. Pretty much invulnerable to harm. He’s Colossus.’
Logan’s forehead wrinkled.
‘Storm, Cyclops, Wolverine. Iceman, Shadowcat, Gambit, Colossus? You’ve all got codenames.’
She nodded.
‘Yeah. We’re in training to join the X-Men when we complete college. We’re a sort of back-up team at the moment. Junior X-Men.’
Logan sputtered out a mouth of beer, slamming the bottle to the table.
‘The Professor is letting you train as X-Men? What the fuck is wrong with him? You’re kids; you’ll get fucking slaughtered out there!’
She glared at him, copying his action with the drink.
‘Bullets bounce off Piotr. Bullets phase through Kitty. Remy can create bombs without a second thought. Bobby can turn to ice. I can kill with a touch. Believe me, we would not be the ones getting killed.’
He glared. She glared. He sniffed. She sniffed. Eventually he lowered his gaze, and took a last swig of beer.
‘So what do they call you?’
She wondered whether his brain had been affected by the sniffing and glaring contest.
‘Rogue’
‘I thought they called you Rogue in everyday life.’
‘They do. You’re the only one that calls me Marie. I never told anyone else. But they’re not stupid, they know Rogue isn’t my real name and so they’re happy to call me that. Jubes doesn’t have a fancy nickname either. She’s Jubilation Lee, so we just shorten it to Jubilee and leave it at that.’
He grunted, clearly not interested in Jubilee’s name.
There was a silence, whilst she tried to sort through, file and categorise the many questions she wanted to ask. She couldn’t decide which to ask first and was determined not to seem too pathetic by jumping in with questions about why he had come back, and whether he was staying, and, god forbid, whether he had missed her.
Clearly she had taken too long because he spoke again.
‘You happy here, kid?’
She looked up in surprise, the question not being what she had expected.
‘It’s fine. I have security, education, friends, what more can I reasonably ask for?’
‘You didn’t answer the question.’
She shrugged. It was a good question actually. Was she happy at Xavier’s? Happier than she’d been since her mutation kicked in certainly, yet, hiding in her room day after day, seeing the flickers of fear and the flinches that affected everyone when she came near, the wariness of the younger students, even of her friends on occasion, and not being able to touch anyone, having to keep her distance from everyone she cared about? Well, if you could show her someone that could deal with that and still have an honest claim to happiness then she’d eat her diving suit.
‘You’re the only one that doesn’t flinch away.’
Shit, she had not meant to say that out loud. A look flickered across his face that she hadn’t seen before, passing too quickly for her to get a handle on what it meant.
‘I’m sorry, kid. I thought you’d be happy here.’
What the hell was he sorry for? Jesus, he wasn't responsible for her. There was no other option for her but to stay at the mansion, so what the fuck was the point in pitying her? She didn’t want his pity. She was sick of pity.
‘Like Ah said, Logan, Ahm fine.’
Her emphasised Southern drawl betrayed the truth of that statement. She drained the last of her drink and stood up. Time to go.
‘Ahm gunna try and get some sleep now. Ahll see you tomorrow. We can catch up then.’
His nostrils flared slightly, and she had a horrible, creeping suspicion that he could smell the anxiety and the uncertainty and the lies she had just told him. Bastard. He nodded.
‘Fine. Maybe we can go out for a drink or something.’
Her brain stopped. Like a date???
‘You can buy. You owe me.’
Ah. That would be the first referral to the disaster by the pool earlier. She felt red spreading over her cheeks in an unstoppable flush.
‘Uh…sure. For the record, Ahm sorry ‘bout earlier. Ah didn’t mean for that ta happen.’
He snorted.
‘G’night kid.’
‘Night Logan.’
She moved away to the door, dumping the ice cream carton and the bottle in the trash as she did so. Logan could take the blame for the beer if Scott decided to go through the garbage. God knows why he would but you never know. Slipping out into the hallway, she was moving to close the door when she heard it. A whisper, spoken quietly and clearly not intended for her ears.
‘I missed you, Marie.’
Marie. Not kid. Marie. She tried, and failed to stop the stupidly large smile that was spreading over her face at the statement. He had missed her. Logan, the big, bad Wolverine had missed her. Drawing her robe more tightly around her, she hurried up the stairs to bed.
That night she fell asleep with a smile.
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A special thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed so far :) And especially to Xanthaie, because she listens to my rabbiting about plot ideas and mutation.