Ungh. Unghgngg.
That was pretty much the first thing Rogue thought when she woke up the next morning. She made three basic mistakes. The first was rolling over onto her side. The second was cracking open one eye to check the time. The third was attempting to think at all. God.
She felt like she had spent the night in a bush. Her throat was scratchy, her head hurt, and in fact she felt generally drawn out and hung-over. Probably the result of a six-pack of beer (Logan’s fault), a very disturbed night (also Logan’s fault), and the crick in her neck that was a result of holding herself stiff the entire night (also possible to blame this on Logan). God, she hated him.
She wasn’t sure quite why she was awake, it was just gone eight o’clock and she never woke up this early, but she was almost positive she wasn’t up to considering this mystery too closely. That was until the Professor’s voice rung out loud and clear in her thoughts. Mystery solved. Hello, Sherlock Holmes.
{Rogue?}
[Ungh.]
The Professor’s responding chuckle sounded painfully loud in her sore head. So she was never at her best first thing in the morning, what of it?
{Rogue? I’m very sorry to disturb you, but…}
The thought in her head was cut off as she was distracted by her door flying open, and Logan appearing, fully dressed, including boots, and looking quite disgustingly cheerful. Clearly he was somewhat recovered from his strange mood last night. She glared at him balefully. He chuckled.
‘Morning, kid. Get your ass out of bed. Emergency meeting, upstairs lounge, fifteen minutes.’
He swung on his heel, leaving the door open behind him, presumably off to cram in a cigar before this ‘meeting’.
She’d kill him later.
Turning her attention back to the Professor, she apologised for her short attention span.
[Sorry, Professor]
{What happened?}
[Logan]
The Professor seemed happy to accept just this one word as an adequate explanation and really, she wondered what that said about them.
{Anyway, my dear, as I was saying, I’m very sorry to disturb you, but your presence is required at a…}
[Emergency meeting of the X-Men, upstairs lounge, fifteen minutes?]
There was a mental silence.
{Rogue?}
She smiled.
[Logan]
Once again the one word was enough.
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Really, Rogue thought, as she hurried to the lounge on the second floor, sometimes she was actually a miracle worker. It was Sunday morning, and by some insane turn of events, she was up, showered and dressed by a quarter past eight, and, even more incredibly, she had achieved this feat in no more than fifteen minutes. Give the girl a medal.
Or so she thought, until she walked in and Storm exclaimed,
‘My goodness Rogue, you look terrible!’
Rogue gritted her teeth, forced a smile, and replied,
‘I had something of a disturbed night.’
She made sure not to look in Logan’s direction, but the pointed nature of her comment was enough, and she saw him shift slightly in the corner of eye, Logan’s version of squirming.
Giving the lounge a swift scan she noted all the members of the X-Men present and correct, apparently she was the last. Scott and Jean were seated on one loveseat, both looked starched and correct, whilst the couple on the other loveseat were an entirely different story. Remy was slouched against the back of the seat, his long legs seeming to take up metres of floor space, and a ruffled looking Jubilee was next to him, slumped against his shoulder, seemingly asleep and drooling slightly.
Bobby was on the floor, Kitty between his legs; the fireplace supporting his back, and his chest supporting Kitty. Neither looked particularly alert, but at least they were conscious. Piotr was sitting in a deep armchair in the corner of the room, his large frame filling the entire chair, which could easily seat both Jubes and Rogue together on a good day. His face was set in a mask of calm, and he appeared as stoic and unruffled as usual.
Hank was standing in one corner of the room, his not-quite- joke about shedding on the furniture meant he usually remained standing. He was a sight for sore eyes this early in the morning, the combination of his blue skin, blue jeans and red and white striped shirt making him look uncannily like a tube of toothpaste.
Logan was leaning in the other corner of the room, just as quiet as Piotr, hazel eyes piercing. Rogue could sense he was uncomfortable, and she wondered why, he had said that they had got out of the mission okay. As she watched, his nostrils flared a couple of times, scenting the air and that only increased her feeling that something wasn’t right. They were in the mansion, for god’s sake, why would he need to check for any unusual scents? He knew all of theirs like he knew his own name.
Ahem. Yeah fine, bad example, but the point still stood.
Seeing as every other seat was taken, Rogue joined Storm on the sofa, folding her legs underneath her. Clearly the rest of the team (with the exception of Jubes and Remy obviously) had also picked up on the not-quite-right vibe because the room was filled with silence, and that was very unusual. She distracted herself by watching the ticking of the second hand on the clock.
At eight seventeen and thirty-four seconds precisely (God, she was tuning into Scott), the door swung open, and Rogue turned, expecting Professor Xavier, as you know, per usual. He certainly appeared first, wheeling through the door, looking exactly the same as he usually did, but he was followed, by not one, not two, but three other adults. And a little girl. Now that had never happened before.
Over in the corner Logan stiffened, lip curling slightly in a feral snarl, and it was obvious from his posture and body language that he was not happy about this. Not happy about this at all. And really, she couldn’t say she blamed him. Especially when a patch of air shimmered in front of the little girl and a large silver wolf appeared before their eyes, snarled right back at Logan, and then slunk to the girl’s side, where she wove her fingers through the fur at the scruff of his neck and held on tight. Rogue swallowed heavily, her dry throat returning. Something was very, very wrong.
The X-Men were no strangers to strangers. Mutants turned up every few months, waifs and strays from all over, searching for a place of salvation in a world of hate, but these, these people were different. She didn’t have to have Logan’s animal instinct and enhanced senses to know that danger hung around these three like a cloak.
They were mutants, no question of it. They say if you’re gay, you develop Gay-dar and the ability to spot those like you, well she was a freak, in fact, she was a freak among freaks, and if anyone had a…a…’freak-dar’, for want of a clever or witty name, it was her.
There was a shift of movement in the corner of eyes, and she turned, ignoring the voice inside her head that screamed at her not to turn her back, to see Scott, gripping the edge of the love seat, his knuckles white. From this angle she could see his profile, and she stifled a gasp as she caught sight of a gash, several centimetres deep, marring his neck, from the base of his jaw, stretching down into his shirt. It was red, angry looking, and she was reminded instantly of the gash on Logan’s temple that she had seen the previous night. Holy shit, clearly last night there had been a severe deviation from the plan. If there had even been a plan, and if Logan had been in charge then she doubted it.
She heard Bobby clear his throat, and looking at him, she saw his eyes dart to Scott, to the newcomers and back again. He looked at Xavier, but it was Logan who spoke.
‘Who the fuck are you people?’
He appeared to be trying to control his instincts somewhat, but his words rumbled a little at the end, and he took a deep breath, clearly trying to remain in control.
That went out the window when the little girl frowned, and moved her hand to the wolf’s head. It snarled ferociously at Logan. Who snarled ferociously back, curling his lip, hazel eyes burning. The wolf took a few steps forward, Logan straightened up. If it had been in any other situation it would have been hilarious, the sight of the Wolverine (she had a sneaky feeling that Logan was not in the driving seat at the moment, if you got her drift) and an actual wolf having a macho competition. It was uncannily like watching him and Scott facing up to each other, but Scott’s counterpart was a lot hairier.
And when Logan’s growl upped a little in volume and he stepped forward, and the wolf, clearly sensing it had met its match, flattened itself to its belly and crawled backwards, Rogue found herself frantically strangling the hugely inappropriate desire to laugh hysterically, despite the present circumstance. A choking gasp escaped Jubilee; clearly she had no such self-control, and she was red in the face and shaking with the effort of suppressing her laughter. The tall-dark haired man shifted his gaze to her, and she stopped abruptly, shrinking closer to Remy.
Rogue felt sheer irritation welling up inside her at this, and she turned to Xavier,
‘Someone had better start talking.’
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The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
So, after the freakishly long introduction, I'm actually going to introduce some PLOT! (For me...this is big). Please don't be put off by the OC's, bear with me, none of them are Mary-Sue's. Special thanks to AnnieHowlett and velvetemr73 for the reviews. They make my day :)