Sorrow and the scarlet leaf, Sad thoughts and sunny weather; Ah me! this glory and this grief Agree not well together! –Thomas Parsons, A Song for September
Marie finally had to end things with Bobby because he did understand that she would never be just herself; that there would always be others in her head that whispered and spoke to her in voices he could not hear.
He was one of them, but his voice was the quietest--a mere whisper compared to the others. St. John she could handle--she was surrounded enough by boys his age that she barely even noticed--and Bobby never seemed to find trouble much with that. She often thought maybe he liked it; her having a bit of an edge over other girls, since she suddenly liked hockey though she'd never watched a game of it in her life before that little incident with Pyro in Boston.
It was Logan he resented, and in the end, she knew she had to let Bobby go because he'd never be able to move beyond it.
In the turmoil of being an adolescent and ending the only relationship she'd ever had, she made one small mistake that was akin to throwing a snowball down a mountain and watching in surprise when an avalanche followed in its wake.
She'd let him out.
She'd been inundated with Logan after Liberty Island, and he'd settled within her and never truly left. She usually didn't mind, except that she sometimes stared a bit too long at Storm or any number of attractive women and felt foolish when they met her gaze, because she didn't like women, but Logan most assuredly did.
That was kinda hard to explain, though she figured Storm understood.
The Professor had taken one look at her when they'd brought her to him after Liberty Island and shaken his head, an expression of controlled concern on his face as he urged her to relax. She'd snarled a bit, called him Chuck, flexed her hands as if she were waiting for claws to spring forth, but in the end, she’d submitted.
They both trusted the Professor, her and Logan both, and of course she trusted Logan, who’d saved her life.
The Professor had done something to her, but it wasn't as if Logan's presence in her mind had been erased completely. Rogue imagined that all the people she absorbed ended up in a separate box. She'd been so overwhelmed by her adamantium knight she'd almost forgotten the other, quieter presence that had taken up residence.
The Professor had not been concerned about Logan; or at least, not overly so. It was the man who had touched her before Logan that had worried him, and that was the box he'd sealed up nice and tight with the strongest of mental chains. "Just keep him out of your mind," he'd said with a small smile, and Marie had nodded. She had no interest in sharing her mind with him.
She watched him in the jet on the way to Alkali Lake. A smug, arrogant man, she'd disliked him and had intended on draining the bastard dry of his powers when he’d taunted her--and would have, too, had Bobby not stopped her. Later, she'd blamed her desire to hurt Magneto on Logan, but it was mostly her doing. She’d never forgive Magneto for what he’d try to do to her, never.
Every time she saw even a picture of the Statue of Liberty, she had a nightmare.
Bastard.
However, she was young and it was easy to forget these things as life slipped back into normal, familiar rhythms. She forgot about him, and hoped the box he was in would simply disintegrate and then there would be nothing left.
Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out that way.
She was so tired of fighting with Bobby that she wanted to remain calm and collected, and from what she remembered of him, he was that way even when he'd strapped her in that damned machine.
I’m sorry.
She’d never heard those words spoken with such insincerity as she had that night. If he could apologize for attempting to kill her with such sincerity, she could certainly borrow a bit of that in order to break up with Bobby without being hurtful? Couldn’t she? She was the one who had to live with this strange gift of hers, wasn’t she, so surely she could at least find a way to make it work for her?
So Rogue had allowed him out, briefly, to deal with Bobby. She'd felt strangely comforted by the chill brush of his mind against hers, and it had worked; she' d not screamed nor cried as she'd been so afraid she would. What price she would pay for her dignity remaining intact, she had not known.
Once she let Erik Lensherr out of his box, it was nothing less than a struggle to force him to return.
It started off rather benignly, at first.
Her grades in physics improved.
Marie had always liked science, but she'd always struggled through her physics classes with the Professor because she could never remember the formulas. He was patient with her, but it was rather obvious it'd never be her best subject, and she wasn’t planning on taking any more classes.
Suddenly she started to understand it; concepts that had seemed foreign to her before were suddenly crystal clear, and she felt rather stupid for not having understood it before. When they arrived at the lesson on magnetism she found herself listening with something like a smirk on her face and refusing to take notes.
She'd gotten an A on the test for that section. The Professor had given her a thoughtful look along with her graded exam that irked her. "Didn't think I could get an A?" She'd said, pleased with her results and vaguely confrontational.
"Of course not, Rogue. You can do anything you put your mind to." There was a hint of something darker in his words; as if he hadn’t meant to call her Rogue at all.
She’d merely laughed somewhat unpleasantly at that, and left his office with an uncharacteristic smirk on her face.
Her next Latin test was returned to her by a scowling Storm. "If you want to transfer to Mr. Wagner's class, you don't need to do this, Rogue. You could have just mentioned it."
She’d been confused at that. Mr. Wagner taught German, and she was in Latin because she liked the fact she didn’t have to try for an accent since everyone who spoke it was dead.
Somehow, though, she'd answered the English-to-Latin translation section on her test entirely in German.
"I didn't--" Marie stared at the test, tears of frustration brimming in her eyes. "I don't know German," she protested softly, though Storm had retreated back into the classroom and did not hear her.
"You don't," a voice said quietly behind her, "But Erik does. It's his native language."
She turned to see the Professor there and she was awash with a confusing barrage of emotions as she met his patient stare. Anger, affection, even an urge to reach out and touch him...yes, that was what she should do, because he wouldn't mind, would he, just for a moment...she pulled her glove off, reaching out towards him.
And then, quite suddenly, she couldn't move.
"Stop it," Charles said in a stern voice. "You weren't supposed to let him out, Rogue." He sounded vaguely disappointed, and his disappointment called up a cold fury that was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
Nothing I do will ever make you proud of me, Charles.
Rogue smiled as she heard the Professor’s indrawn breath—it was obvious he’d heard that thought, her own and yet not. "Too late," she whispered.
“You have to fight him, child,” he whispered, obviously concerned, and Rogue felt something in herself shatter and re-form, and for a moment, Erik was gone.
“I’m trying,” she whispered, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “I didn’t mean to let him free.”
“I know,” he murmured, “I know. We’ll see what we can do about it. Come along.”
Unfortunately once he was allowed out of his box, Magneto wasn’t keen on returning to it.
She had to start taking her meals in her room, and she did her homework there too, sequestered away and muttering as if she were mad. She left the room at night and wandered through the halls, and Magneto urged her to do things, terrible things…
Touch Charles. Use Cerebro to finish what I started, and get rid of them all, the humans. They’ll never like you, Rogue, it’s the only way you’ll be safe, they’ll burn you like the witches they tell you about in History class…You know how easy it would be…
No.
He was clever, Magneto, and…determined. She had never felt such drive, such ambition and such focused intent. Magneto taunted her with a voice turned sly and coaxing—Come to me. Come to the Brotherhood, Rogue. You won’t have to hide all alone in your room with us. We would understand you as the rest of them do not…
It was a tempting, seductive lure, this idea. As she debated over it, rocking back and forth on her bed, she half-convinced herself it was what she should do, for the good of all the rest of them, her friends, whom she was placing at danger every minute that she succumbed to Erik’s frightening, terrible mind…
That was him, too, the clever bastard. Rogue was simply too tired to care. She tossed a few things in a bag, and made her way out of the mansion, not even pausing to care as she set off an alarm on her way out.
Inside her head, Magneto laughed softly, triumphant.
Rogue began walking, the gravel crunching beneath her boots, the brisk autumn air and blood-red harvest moon a fitting accompaniment to her self-imposed exile.
He caught up with her after a half an hour, and simply waited, as he’d done the first time they’d met and she’d been walking down the road with a coat and a bag over her shoulder.
“Get in.” He’d rolled the window down; she could see his breath dance on the air.
“No, Logan, I can’t—” She shook in her misery, trembling, trying to make Magneto be quiet for just a minute so she could talk to him. Logan. Her knight in tarnished steel. She laughed mirthlessly. “I can’t go back.”
“Look, kid. I ain’t here to bring you back. Gonna take you somewhere so you can get that psychopath outta your head.” There was utter conviction in Logan’s voice; and she relented, just a little, though his words clearly upset Erik.
“You think you’re smart enough to do that, Wolverine? Shall you force him out of my mind with those sharp sticky claws?” She hated that she was saying these things to him, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Nope,” Logan said easily, seemingly not bothered by the uncharacteristic tone of her words.
Magneto, for his part, seemed to find this amusing and urged Rogue to accompany Logan, though he did not for a moment think that the Wolverine would be able to do a damned thing.
Marie just wanted to escape, and she had always wanted Logan. Too easily buffeted about like flotsam on the waves of her mental anguish, she gave in and jerked the car door open, tossing her bag in the back. “No beef jerky this time?” she joked weakly, and Logan gave her a fleeting smile.
“We’ll eat when we get there.”
Marie leaned her head back against the seat, and lulled by the motion of the car and the silence inside her mind, she fell blissfully asleep.
She slept the entire trip, waking only when he’d stopped the car and muttered, “Wake up, kid. We’re here.”
Here was some cabin in the woods, and she saw the moonlight reflecting off something behind the house, something fluid and gently moving. Water. A lake. In the daylight, the surroundings were probably very beautiful with all the vibrant fall foliage, but all she saw was darkness and the great hulking, looming shapes of the trees. There was a light on in the cabin, which reminded her of horror movies she’d watched with Bobby where the unsuspecting couple ventured to the cabin in the middle of nowhere and ended up dead.
Cheerful thought, Marie.
“Where are we?” Marie stepped out of the car and pulled her coat around her; the air blowing off the lake was chilly. “This Charles’ place?”
“That’s the Professor to you,” Logan said blandly, moving past her to fumble with a key and open the wooden door. Something scurried in the woods, and Marie moved a bit closer to Logan.
“You call him Chuck,” Marie reminded him, fighting back a smile. Magneto seemed quiet, for the moment, as if sizing up the situation and unwilling to pass judgment until he’d done so.
“Yeah. I ain’t a kid,” he said, pushing the door open. “Might be older than him, anyway. Got your stuff?”
Marie nodded, shouldering her bag, and followed him into the house. She wrinkled her nose immediately. “Smells musty,” she said, dropping her stuff on the floor and glaring at him. “We supposed to stay here until I’m bored to death or somethin’?” The regular rhythms of her own speech patterns were comforting after Erik’s strangely accented syllables.
“Nope.” Logan went into the small kitchen situated off the living room, searching through the refrigerator. She heard him growl and smiled.
“No beer?”
He shut the fridge and looked back at her, surprised.
“Magneto ain’t the only one in my head, sugar. He’s just been the loudest lately. I still got you in there, too.” She smiled at him, relaxing a bit. Maybe this hadn’t been that bad of an idea. If she could relax, maybe she’d be strong enough to defeat Magneto after all.
“Think you best go to bed. There’s only one bed in this place, you take it. I’ll stay on the couch.” The living room was small, with a loveseat and a chair and a stone fireplace that was cold and unlit. A low coffee table sat between the couch and the sofa. There was a pair of sliding glass doors, reflecting the interior lights, which presumably led out into a deck. A small table and chairs were situated in front of the doors. There were two doors that most likely led to the bathroom and the bedroom, and she headed towards them. Logan was sprawled on the couch, lighting up a cigar, and she felt his momentary pleasure at smoking indoors.
“He’s still gonna know you’re smoking inside,” she said, taking her bag into the single bedroom. Besides a double bed and dresser, there was a small window and nothing else. She dropped her bag on the old faded quilt of the bed and stood, arms akimbo, hoping there weren’t any spiders. She picked up the pillow and peeked underneath mistrustfully.
“Not for a while,” Logan called back, and it made her laugh as she righted the pillows. She felt, for the first time in weeks, more like herself.
She stripped her clothes and dressed in her customary long nightgown that covered her skin. She took her hair down and brushed it out, looking at herself in the mirror for the first time in days. There was the slightest bit of relief that it was green eyes looking back at her, not cold blue ones.
Though she felt a momentary pang of self-disgust as she saw herself in the long white nightgown, a precaution in case she had to be moved in her sleep, one the Professor had always insisted upon her following. Every night, without fail, she wore the damn thing to bed just in case.
Feeling rather daring, she pulled it off and crawled into the bed wearing only her panties. The sheets felt good against her body; soft cotton sliding sensuously against flushed skin, it was a luxury she was not used to. Despite the chill of the cabin, she resolutely refused to put the damned thing back on.
She could smell Logan’s tobacco smoke wafting in under the door as she drifted off to sleep beneath the quilt; it was comforting, pleasant.
Her last thought before falling asleep was not.
Magneto sees no advantage to this situation right now. When he does, he’ll be back.
The next morning, she dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, and went out to find the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.
There was no sign of Logan, and Magneto was quiet in her head. She was herself, for the moment.
She smelled coffee and poured herself a mug, then padded outside to small patio with a table and chairs where she could sit and drink her coffee overlooking the lake. She tucked her bare feet underneath her and watched the leaves flutter off the trees and land on the water, drank her hot coffee and felt tension ease out of her neck. She’d been right, the night before, as the scenery really was glorious. Pristine and perfect, it failed to impress her, for although the air that caressed her face here was fresh and clean it was still the only the thing that could.
She felt him standing there before he spoke, felt the energy shift subtly to include his presence.
“Owe you an apology.” His voice was gruff, as if he’d had gravel instead of coffee for breakfast.
“Why?” Marie continued staring out at the peaceful, autumnal scene of the lake, soaking in the quiet both around her and in her head. That, at least, was a comfort. “Ain’t your fault I did that, lettin’ him out.”
“That ain’t it.” His voice dropped several octaves; she twisted around in her seat to look at him, unused to him sounding so…abashed.
Her heart caught a bit, now that she was fully Marie again, at the sight of him. He was dressed similar to her—jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt—hands shoved in his pockets and head slightly bent. His dark hair was messy as usual, and her gloved fingers curled in on her palm, wanting to brush strands away from his scowling face. “Why?”
“Thought you was just doing it for attention.”
He said it so softly, she could barely hear him, and when she did it took a few moments for the impact of his words to settle around her. “I—I see.” She turned around to stare at the morning sun sparkling off the water, blinking rapidly against the hot press of tears against the back of her eyelids. The wind rustled the trees and dotted the small patio with acorns—she picked up one that fell on the table and rolled it between fingers encased in her gloves. She had a momentary desire to take them off and feel the smooth wood of the little nut; she had not realized how much she craved tactile sensation.
“No, you don’t,” Logan said gruffly, a hand on her shoulder. She tensed immediately at the contact, and tilted her face up to look at him.
“Shouldn’t do that,” she said, though her voice was almost as deadened as the leaves clinging to the trees above her. “I’m dangerous, remember?” She tossed the acorn down and watched it bounce, watched it fall over the edge of the patio and tumble down to the woods below.
Logan made a choked noise at that. “Yeah, kid. I remember. I thought you were having problems with that boyfriend of yours.” His voice was rough. “You know.”
She twisted away from him, staring up at a squirrel dashing about on the limbs of the large oak tree. “Bobby? Yeah, I remember,” she snapped sarcastically, hands grasping the handle of the coffee mug tightly, as if it offered her salvation from the rising storm of emotions between them. “I broke up with him, Logan.”
“I know,” he said, voice oddly gentle. There was a wealth of meaning in those two words; so much so that she knew he was aware of why they’d broken up. That Bobby would never be him, and would always be jealous of him. She tried desperately to change the subject, grateful at that moment Logan couldn’t read her mind.
“So why’d the Professor send you here? To get Magneto out of my head?” Her voice was full of disbelief.
“Somethin’ like that.” Logan moved around to sit on the chair opposite her, and now he was part of the scene, and all she could concentrate on was him.
Neither of them spoke again, and the wind tossed leaves around the porch as if commanded to do so for their entertainment. It was enough to just sit there drinking in the silence and the coffee both, and not have to think.
Later that day she found some groceries tucked away in the cabinet, pleased to discover they had all the ingredients she’d need for homemade biscuits.
She set to work at once, falling easily into a familiar routine, though she’d not done it in years. Why make biscuits when you had a full kitchen and a chef? It made her happy to cook, because she could use her senses in a way she was normally prohibited to. It was nice to feel the dough press under her bare hands, to smell the yeasty scent of it, to form them into shape and place them on the pan.
Logan appeared when the smell of biscuits wafted through the cabin, as she rather thought he would. She’d cleaned up and put her gloves back on, the biscuits piping hot and waiting in a basket on the table. “I can’t reach the honey,” she lamented, searching through the cabinet over the stove, standing on tiptoes. “I see it right there, but I can’t quite get it. Can you reach up here?”
He stood behind her and she smelled his familiar scent of tobacco and maleness, and his breath on her neck stirred all the hairs there as it fell down upon her. Damn him. She was still so angry with him for not believing her about Magneto, for thinking she’d made it all up, and here she was reacting to his nearness and that light brush of his breath on her skin.
Damn him, damn him.
“I ain’t that much taller than you, kid,” he said, but he used his claws to knock the honey down onto the counter. It bounced amusingly and she scrambled to catch it, bumping into him and feeling the shock of the contact rush through her body as she moved away from him.
“Good thing it was closed,” she said petulantly, but gave him a slight smile as she carried it over to the table. “You want some?”
He nodded and took a seat across from her, sprawling in a languid, graceful arrangement of limbs over the wood of the chair. He was watching her with his customary moody expression—she often thought it was his defense mechanism against people asking questions that he didn’t want to answer.
“I would never have made it up,” she said softly. She pulled her gloves off, not wanting the sticky confection to get all over them, and attempted to put the honey on her biscuit.
Honey stuck on her fingers and she licked at it, forgetting her manners for a moment, because it wasn’t as if she needed to impress him. The honey was sweet as she caught it with her tongue, feeling as restless as a bee buzzing around a flower.
“Marie,” he said, gruffly, and she looked up with her finger in her mouth and slowly drew it out, watching him carefully. The sun shone in, bright and cheerful through the glass doors, and it might have been a pleasant scene if she were anyone else.
“Yeah?” There was the vaguest hint of challenge beneath her breathlessness and her eyes narrowed angrily. He was ruining her illusion that they were having a nice meal like normal people, and she didn’t like it. It would turn into the horror movie again soon enough, and the monster would come back.
“Why’d you do it?” He was ignoring his food and that only furthered her annoyance, so she shoved the butter over at him in an attempt to force him to eat. The honey she kept for herself, because there wasn’t that much left in the clever bear-shaped bottle.
“Why’d I break up with Bobby, or why’d I let Magneto out?” She sucked at her finger again, this time more from nerves than anything else. The brief press of her tongue on her skin made her shiver and it saddened her further that this was all she’d ever had.
“Both.” He picked up the knife and opened the container of butter.
“Why d’you think I should tell you? Sure you won’t think I am just makin’ it up?” Her voice was sarcastic as she stared down at her honey-and-butter laden breakfast, her appetite diminished.
“Marie,” he chided her, and it was in such a gentle tone she felt petty and childish for her answer.
“Fine,” she said, looking at him with an even look. “Bobby couldn’t handle he wasn’t the only one in my head, and I can’t deal with all that cryin’ and emotional crap,” she said with a low growl, sounding a bit like him. “So I thought if I could just be kinda rational and calm…”
Logan choked on the bite he’d just taken. “You think Magneto is rational and calm? The guy tried to kill you.”
Marie glared at him. “Yeah, Logan. I remember that. And you weren’t there, when he explained it. He was real rational about it all,” she muttered, taking a vicious bite out of her biscuit in memory. “Even told me he was sorry, before he—” she broke off, shuddering a bit and swallowing, though the biscuit tasted like dust in her mouth.
“So you thought if you could all nice and calm about it, Bobby wouldn’t…what? Be angry? Upset? You think any man likes to hear his woman is lettin’ him go because of some other man?” Logan was now eating his biscuit with the same angry bites she had used on hers.
She stared at him, shocked. “What?”
Logan pointed his knife at her. “I know the story, kid. You couldn’t be with him because it was someone else. Don’t matter if you’re calm or not, he’s still gonna be pissed.”
Marie stood up, pushing her chair back so that it scraped against the wood of the floor and made an unpleasant sound. “That’s great, Logan. Thanks a lot. Not only do you accuse me of makin’ everything up, now you tell me how pointless it was for me to do what I did since it wasn’t going to work anyhow.” She shook her head in disgust. “And the Professor thought it was a good idea to send you with me, why?”
She grabbed her coat from where she’d tossed it on the sofa next to the door.
“Where you think you’re goin’?” Logan barked, standing up as well. The chair nearly toppled over and the dishes rattled on the table from his quick burst of fierce motion.
Marie whirled on him, two bright splotches of red staining her cheeks in her ire. “Outside!” Her voice was a whiplash as she yanked the door open, the hinges of the door slackening under her assault. She slammed it behind her, with satisfaction.
Right then, she wished Cyclops was around. She’d have liked to touch him and then glare at Logan until he exploded.
She thought seriously of walking down the driveway to see how she might escape. Though really, where would she go? The idea of running off to Magneto no longer appealed to her, now that he was quiet in her head.
She went and sat down by the lake instead, throwing rocks and trying to skip them over the water, which she wasn’t very good at. She was acutely aware of the cold nipping at her fingers as she wasn’t wearing her gloves.
He came to find her, of course. “You ain’t supposed to run away like that,” he said, sitting beside her. The dry leaves crackled beneath him, and she stared at a particularly lovely red leaf that was trapped beneath his boot.
“Ain’t runnin’ away,” she whispered, pulling at it the leaf and tearing it into pieces. She held them up, one by one, so the wind would catch them. She felt envious as the brightly-colored bits of foliage were carried off.
“No? You been runnin’ away for a long time, seems to me.” His voice was very matter-of-fact, as if he were lecturing her about fighting stances. It annoyed her to be treated as a student.
“I ain’t runnin’, Logan. I wanted some peace and quiet, s’all.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared ahead at the water. As lovely as this place was, a change of scenery was not going to change her. It was depressing.
“Hey, kid, look. I ain’t blamin’ you none. I run away, too.” There was a slight hint of sadness in his voice, akin to the light touch of coolness in the autumn air.
She looked up at him, surprised, studying his face. He too was staring off into the water, distant, eyes a million miles away. It occurred to her that when he stared at the lake, he probably saw the one at Alkali. She would have touched his shoulder in comfort but her gloves were still on the table, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture anyway.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” she said miserably, curling up tighter against herself. She supposed he did know what it was like to love someone who rejected you for someone else. Maybe she’d been too hard on Bobby.
“Nah. Don’t be. We weren’t right for each other, and she loved him.” He paused for a moment, then continued in an ironic voice, “Don’t know why, of course, but there you have it.” He stood up and brushed the leaves from his back. “You wanna go inside now?”
She looked up at him and nodded, reaching for his hand a moment before she remembered she couldn’t touch him. The brief light went out of her eyes, and she stood on her own volition and followed him into the house, leaves clinging to her hair.
That night he made dinner, and they ate in silence, both of them lost in memories and unwilling to talk. She ate her pasta with little interest, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by not having any.
Finally, as she finished the dishes—only fair, since he’d cooked—she put on a pot of coffee and watched it brew, taking pleasure in the heady aroma of it. It’d be hard to sleep, but she thought that’d be a given so they might as well have some coffee.
She fixed him a mug and then added cream and sugar to hers, carrying them both into the living room. She handed him his and he acknowledged her gesture with a soft grunting noise, moodily staring into the fire.
She sat across from him in the overstuffed loveseat, curling her feet underneath her, hands clasped around the coffee as if she were praying to it. The crackle of the fire became an annoyance instead of a pleasure and she broke the silence between them at last.
“Why did he send you here with me, Logan?” She watched the way the cream swirled in her coffee in pretty little patterns, unwilling or unable to look at him.
“Cause he ain’t stupid,” Logan answered. “He knows why you’re unhappy.”
“Because I have his arch-nemesis living in my head?” she joked weakly, sipping at the coffee. The warm, slightly bittersweet beverage did nothing to warm her. Cold was seeping through her body as if her very blood was infused with it, and she felt Magneto stir.
What interest could he possibly have in this conversation?
“No. Cause you have me in there.”
That finally made her raise her eyes to him, and it was Erik’s slow smile and chill voice that escaped her. “And he thinks that is what makes me miserable, does he? That the Wolverine lives in my head and ruins me for other men?”
Logan gave a low trickle of a growl. “You tell him to shut up, Marie. I ain’t talkin’ to Magneto. I’m talkin’ to you.”
She settled back in the chair. “What if there is no me, Logan? What if I’ll always be this, this thing, some puzzle made up of pieces of everybody else?”
Logan shrugged. “Then that’s what you’ll be.”
She laughed harshly. “That’s easy for you to say. You ain’t got a crowd up here.” She touched her head lightly with her fingers.
You can certainly say that again. Magneto’s amused drawl; for once, it made her laugh.
“What?” Logan growled, eyes narrowed. “You havin’ a laugh at my expense, you and that sociopath?”
He’s more perceptive than you think, Marie thought, then chided herself mentally for having conversations with Erik in her head. That probably wasn’t healthy.
“Okay, you want the truth? Yeah. I couldn’t be with Bobby because he was jealous of you, and I got sick of it. He didn’t like that you lived in my head, that sometimes I did things that were…” she closed her eyes, somewhat humiliated in admitting this. “Not like a girl.”
Logan snorted. “What the hell do you mean by that? You tryin’ to pee standin’ up or something?”
Surprised, Marie giggled and then threw a pillow at him. “No! I was just…well, I guess he thinks girls outta be more like Kitty. You know.” She waved her hand airily. “Girly.”
“And that’s my fault?” He sounded slightly insulted.
Marie rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “Not really, but I guess…kinda. Logan, look,” she said quickly, wanting him to understand. “If you hadn’t’ve done that to me, I’d’ve been dead for sure. So I don’t blame you for it. It’s just…Bobby couldn’t deal with it, and I…” her voice trailed off and she sipped more of the coffee; more for a pause to collect her thoughts than because she actually wanted any.
“You couldn’t deal with Bobby,” he finished for her.
She nodded, but said nothing.
“The Professor thinks you gotta learn to let Magneto be in your head but not take it over,” Logan said slowly. “He said you wouldn’t be able to do that at the Institute, because Magneto has too much of an interest in Charles and Cerebro and other things to let you learn how to do that.”
“He’s probably mad at me,” Marie said softly, “For letting Erik out.” She peeked at Logan, surprised to see he was watching her rather intently.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “He said you’d think that, but that what he did when you got back from Liberty Island was only meant to be a temporary fix.” He smiled briefly. “You know Chuck. Thinks we all have the same strength of will he does. He said if you just tried, you could learn to control Magneto and might even find some use outta havin’ him in there.” Logan made another growling noise, and sensitive to his moods she looked up questioningly.
“What? I get the feelin’ you’re not tellin’ me everything here.” She sat her coffee cup on the stone hearth and started twining the white lock of her hair around her fingers, as she tended to do when she was nervous.
“Chuck talked to him, Magneto. He told him about you, ‘bout the way you had him in your head. He was…amused.” Logan narrowed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists. “I wanted to claw the smile off his arrogant face for that.”
“You were there?” She could barely breathe. “You saw Magneto?”
Logan shook his head. “Professor did that thing he does, you know? Where he touches your head and shows you stuff?”
Marie shrugged. “He can’t do that with me, remember? My skin? And if he knew it’d make you mad, why’d he show you?” Her voice sounded skeptical.
Logan was watching her very carefully. “Because he…knows something.”
Marie waited patiently, one brow raised. A trick she’d never been able to master until recently. Logan scowled again.
“The Professor showed me because Magneto…figured somethin’ out. About you.” He said those last two words in a mumble; it took her a moment to understand what he’d said.
“About me?” She shivered at that, not liking Magneto knowing anything about her. It was one thing to have him in her head; she didn’t want to necessarily share the privilege.
Logan nodded and reached a hand out to her. “Yeah. And me. Come here and I’ll show you.”
Marie stared at him, body slowly infusing with warmth at his words. Obediently she stood up and stretched her hand out towards him.
“Take your gloves off.” He sounded determined.
“Logan…” she looked at him, shaking her head. “I got enough of you in there already.”
“Just do it, Marie.” His tone of voice brooked no argument.
She pulled her gloves off and tossed them negligently on the chair behind her. Reaching out she placed her hand in his calloused one and waited for the inevitable.
Logan was concentrating very hard, staring at her and breathing very quickly. Nothing happened—there was not a single pull of her power against his, and she stared at him completely in shock.
“What…” she couldn’t speak beyond that, trembling like a mad thing.
“Somethin’ about…the metal in my body. If I concentrate hard enough, I can…stop you from doin’ your thing.” He was looking down at her hand on his.
“For how…how long?” She felt tears prick her eyes as she clung to his hand, overwhelmed by the shock of new flesh. This was the longest physical contact she’d had with anyone in her entire life.
Logan relaxed slowly. “I practiced. I can do it for about thirty minutes at a time without havin’ to think too hard about it. After that, gets a bit too difficult.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile, and Rogue felt herself dissolve at his words and the touch. It was all too much…her chest felt like there was a great knot of aching emotion inside that would burst free, and she could no longer see for the tears that blurred her vision. His hand was so warm.... Her last coherent thought was that everything she wanted was finally within her grasp.
She started sobbing and collapsed on him, unable to stand, for once not having to be strong and endure. His arms caught her up and he held her, hand patting her back awkwardly. His embrace was the most comforting thing she had ever known—better than any blanket, better than anything.
“So Magneto showed you that trick?” She sat next to him on the couch when she had finally quieted with her hand in his, still marveling at what he could do. So much physical contact…she was unused to it, and it was making it hard to talk. She still had that lump of emotion buried in her chest, though she should have cried it all out.
Logan nodded, his other hand tracing the curve of her cheek. His fingers tickled but she didn’t want him to stop. She was afraid at any minute she would wake up, would have been dozing in front of the fire, and all this would have been a dream.
“Doesn’t seem like something he’d do,” she said breathlessly, closing her eyes in pleasure.
“That’s what I said. Told the Professor he was lyin’, so that you’d accidentally kill me or somethin’. The Professor said maybe Magneto felt bad about bein’ in your head all the time, but I don’t think that’s it.” Logan’s voice was husky, and she pressed her fingers to feel his throat vibrate against her fingers.
“Probably not,” she agreed, captivated with the feel of his stubble. “Probably just wanted to be all smug and have you know he figured it out first,” she said with a small smile.
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Logan murmured.
So lost in her exploration of human skin was she that Marie did not notice the way his voice was slowly becoming husky and dark. She slid her fingers up his chin and pressed them against his lips, entranced.
“Marie,” he breathed, and her eyes raised slowly to meet his.
He was staring at her with a look on his face she’d only dreamed would ever be directed at her. Still as an animal caught in the predator’s fearsome gaze, she licked her lips and waited anxiously for him to do something…anything.
He leaned forward and she moved unconsciously to meet him, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it even without the aid of heightened senses. Unfortunately, she was so captivated by him that the other who lived in her mind took her distraction as the perfect moment to make an appearance.
As Logan pressed his mouth very gently against hers, she murmured, “So Charles showed you how to finish it, then.”
Logan’s growled his answer against her lips. “Finish what?”
“Finish making it so I can’t ever have anyone but you,” she said cruelly. Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said, and how she’d said it, and she clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. “Logan—”
He pulled away from her immediately and glared at her. “Is that what you think?”
She shook her head, huddling back into the couch. “No,’ she said unhappily. “It’s what he thinks.”
Logan raked his hands through his hair violently. “You’re gonna have to learn to shut him up, Marie. We ain’t leavin’ here until you do.”
He stood up and left her there on the couch, and she stared into the fire for a long, long time, fingers touching her mouth where his had been.
Maybe I never want to leave, Logan.
Finally, she went outside without her gloves, without a blanket, without a coat. She felt much too warm after sitting in front of the fire for so long, and the bite of the cold air was welcome. He was sitting in the chair she had been in that morning, his booted feet up on the table while he smoked a cigar.
Tendrils of smoke curled around her like a caress—she leaned forward, as if she was going to wrap herself in it. “Why’d you want to kiss me?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, seduced by the smell of tobacco and restless, aching tides of desire running through her body.
“Wondered when you were gonna ask that,” he muttered, though he did not turn around to look at her.
“I was a little distracted,” she reminded him dryly. She waited patiently, staring up at the vast expanse of stars sprinkled liberally in the night sky.
“You got me in that head of yours, and you can’t figure it out?” He put the cigar to his lips and blew a smoke ring out; it made her smile fleetingly. Show off.
“I ain’t a mind reader,” Marie said with a brisk laugh. “Logan, why won’t you look at me?”
He feels guilty that he did it. Because he doesn’t want you. He’s never wanted you…
Shut up. I ain’t in the mood for you right now.
Great. More arguments with the psychopath in her head.
He turned his head to look up at her. “You ain’t got a clue, do you? None at all.” He shook his head. “The Professor was right,” he muttered, taking another drag from the cigar.
“About what?” Marie snapped, losing her patience. She glared at him, though he was staring straight ahead and ignoring her gaze.
“He came to me before you tried runnin’. Told me what was happenin’, then asked if I knew. About Magneto.” More smoke drifted lazily up into the air and Marie followed it with her eyes as it traveled up to join the stars, remaining silent.
“He thought I knew, see. Since he’d noticed I was watchin’ you all the time.”
Startled, her eyes returned to his face. “What? Watching me when?”
Logan shrugged, gaze fixated on the moon shining off the gently rippling waters of the lake. “All the time,” he whispered, and the words curled around her much as his smoke had done; tempting her, seeping into her skin.
“Why?” she whispered, and she thought she heard Magneto make some derisive noise in her mind; she pushed him away, irritated. This was much more important.
He looked up at her, finally. There was a mixture of shame and lingering desire on his face. “You know why, Marie.”
“I know what I’d want it to be,” she said slowly, embarrassed at this admission but determined not to misunderstand him. “Don’t mean that’s what it is.”
“You should probably have your answer, then.” He still sounded moody. “Seeing as how I was trying to kiss you before your metallic friend there showed up.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it,” she snapped out, rubbing her hands up and down the skin of her bare arms to warm herself. The touch of her bare hands on her flesh almost made her cry, knowing now what it felt like for someone else to touch her for longer than a few seconds.
If Magneto took offense to being labeled her metallic friend she took no notice, lost in her own thoughts and Logan’s intense stare.
“I’m not,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Marie, you’re what, seventeen? I’m…God only knows how old. You’re a student. I should be thinking of you like a daughter, not…”
“Stop it!” Marie resisted the urge to clasp her hands over her ears like a child. Kid was bad enough, but daughter? She shuddered. “I get the point, Logan.”
Logan laughed harshly and stubbed out his cigar in one quick, violent motion. “No,” he muttered, “I don’t think you do.”
He was coming at her before she could move, though really, she didn’t want to. His hand tangled in her hair and she waited breathlessly for whatever it was he was going to do, though all he did was look down at her.
“The Professor sent me here because he knows what you want. He knows what I want. Somehow, he was willin’ to overlook why this is so wrong in order for you to get Magneto outta your head.” He was backing her up, through the open sliding glass doors, into the living room.
Marie moved with him; their movements resembled some manic waltz as he pushed her back towards the bedroom. Her heart started racing, pupils dilating until the faint spill of light from the kitchen hurt her eyes. “Logan, I—”
“You just be quiet. You wanted to hear my answer, so you’ll hear it.” He pushed her through the door to the bedroom and started tugging at her sweater. Marie put her arms up over her head so he could pull it off, not bothering to struggle.
This was just…surreal. She couldn’t even think to stop him, just let him tug at her jeans until she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but her bra and panties. She couldn’t even feel the tiniest bit of embarrassment, as she probably should, because…well, this was Logan.
This was what she had always wanted.
He paused for a minute, doing whatever it was he did that allowed him to touch her—she still wasn’t so clear on that, and perhaps he wasn’t either—and she didn’t make a single sound, just waited, until he was satisfied he’d taken the necessary steps to protect himself.
He shoved her back on the bed and she went eagerly, twisting her hands together with nerves.
“I told the Professor this was crazy,” Logan continued, pulling at his shirt. He tossed it on the floor. “Said you were too young for me, I was too mean, and what if he was wrong? Maybe you only wanted me ‘cause I was in your head.”
He paused next to the bed with his hands on the buttons of his jeans. “That it, Marie? You only think you want me, ‘cause there’s part of me that is in your head?”
Marie stared up at him; all fierce proud male, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a look on his face like he was going to devour her, leaving nothing left of her when he was finished, and she choked back a wild laugh. Was he serious? How on earth would he think any sane woman wouldn’t want him?
“No,” she breathed, having difficulty finding her voice. “No, that ain’t it. I—it was before you ever touched me—” she blushed at that. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face, though really, the rest of him was awfully nice to look at.
Logan stilled at that. “You mean that?” he demanded, looking angry.
Marie nodded, bewildered at why her confession should make him so angry. She’d thought he’d always known…?
“Good.” With that, he tugged his jeans off and crawled on the bed in a way that made her think of predatory animals again, and she found she rather liked that. She squeaked and nearly fainted as he moved on top of her, his hard body pressing hers into the mattress, the shock of bare skin against her own making her cry out.
“Logan,” she gasped, as he pulled back and forcefully shoved her hands up and over her head, pinning her.
“What?” he growled, kissing her, and it was all rather clumsy and rhythm-less at first—her head was tossing about against her pillow like a ship in a tempest and he was scraping her skin with his teeth in his haste. He held her wrists easily with one hand as his other moved over her body, tearing at her bra, trying to get it off of her.
She bucked up against him, feeling him hot and hard against the cotton of her panties and hooking a leg around his so she could rub herself against him. “I could help you if you’d let me go,” she said breathlessly. He was still struggling with her bra.
“Don’t got time,” he told her, and he was making a snarling sound that excited her, and his claws shot out, and he cut the fabric off her skin entirely.
At the touch of the metal against her, Marie went a bit crazy. It wasn’t her fault he’d seemed to determine to enact every single crazy fantasy she’d ever about him, and feeling that sharp metal against her bare skin—
The metal….
“Logan,” she moaned, arching up, wanting to feel his claws dragging down her body. “Please…”
He laughed huskily. “Next time. I only got about twenty minutes left, remember?” He pulled back to grin at her; though it was hard to call the expression on his face a smile, it was as dear to her as it could be.
“You spent too much time talkin’,” she gasped, panting as he went to work with the sharp edges of his claws on her panties, obviously thinking if it had worked once…
There was soft sigh in her mind that broke through her frantic desire, for just a moment, and she thought for a moment she wasn’t the only one who liked the metal pressed against her body.
Can’t really blame you there, buddy, she thought, and for a moment she was in harmony with Magneto in her mind, which was nice.
“Yeah, well.” When she was finally naked he released her hands and she drew her nails down his back as he lay on top of her again. He started kissing his way down her chest, and she felt his hand—claw-free, to her vague disappointment—slide up her thighs. “I ain’t gonna need thirty minutes,” he said in a smug voice, and Marie laughed huskily.
“Prolly not,” she said agreeably, biting her lip as she felt his fingers teasing her, and she put her face in his neck and licked him, tasting salt and realizing that touch was more than just hands-on-skin, it was scent and taste and so many other things she had never, ever realized…
He was right. It took a lot less than twenty minutes. It actually took less than two, which she would have noticed if she’d been coherent enough to count.
“Marie, baby, look at me,” he coaxed, and she had to pull her face out of his neck to stare up at him, eyes wild.
He was breathing very fast, and she could feel him pressed hard against her, and she made a whimpering sound and wrapped her legs around him, urging him to finish it, to take her. “God, Logan, please…”
He kissed her, mouth ravaging hers, and drove himself into her in one very hard thrust. It did hurt, but it was the kind of pain she’d never thought she’d ever be able to feel, and therefore she thought it was delicious.
He took her with the same savage exuberance she saw in him when he fought; growling and nipping at her neck, leaving marks on her skin, pushing her and demanding she give him everything he wanted. She dug her nails into his sweat-soaked shoulders, thrilling to the hiss of pleasure she heard when she did it, finding out the simple joy of feeling someone react to her touch.
That Logan was that someone….
She almost couldn’t bear it. Almost.
He linked his hands with hers, at the end, and pushed her arms up again over her head. She understood his instinctive need to dominate and she gave in, struggling happily beneath him, twisting and keeping him close with the intimate embrace of her legs around his waist.
He rasped out her name on a ragged breath when he came and released her hands to pull her close to him. She convulsed beneath him once more from the strength of the emotions she sensed beneath the surface. Pleasure was dancing over her body and making her shiver and fall in breathless abandon over the edge. When she finally opened her eyes it was to see him beneath her, as he’d moved quickly to arrange her on top of him.
“Hi,” she whispered, strangely shy. Her fingers, shaking slightly, pushed the damp hair off his brow as she’d wanted to do earlier that day.
He smiled at her, a satisfied look on his face. “Hey, baby.”
She sighed a bit at the endearment. “Can’t believe you really…wanted this,” she said, fingers tracing over his skin.
His hands were on her back, moving up and down in a gentle pattern like water rushing over her skin. She sighed in contentment and laid her head down on his chest.
“Guess he was right,” Logan muttered, and she giggled.
“He’s a mind reader, Logan. He ain’t normally wrong.” The bone-deep satisfaction she felt was beginning to shift a little bit, and she felt the slightest press on her mind. “Ah. My unwelcome visitor is back.”
Logan tensed beneath her; she felt his hands fist on her back. “Yeah? What, is he jealous?”
“Don’t think so.” She felt the shifting presence that was Erik settle itself around her, beginning to understand just a little how he could exist without consuming her.
“I think he wants you to scratch my back with your claws,” she said, hiding her smile in his neck.
“Oh, does he?” Logan growled. “He got a fetish for claws, then?”
“Mmm, yup,” she said, nipping at his skin and giggling. “Think so. Maybe you’ll have to do that later. You know. So he’ll be quiet.”
“The things I do for you,” Logan said, amused, and she raised her head from his chest and grinned.
“Yeah. Just awful, ain’t it.” She wiggled on top of him playfully.
He flipped her over easily, pinning her beneath him, claws out and resting lightly on her throat. “We’ll see about that—” he said in a mock-threatening voice.
They must have felt it at the same time as he moved quickly off of her just as she felt her powers begin to pull at him. “Oops.”
Logan reclined on his back across from her, his smile as intimate as a caress. “Maybe we need a timer.” He grinned wider; she found him almost irresistibly adorable and had to stop herself from leaping on him.
“Maybe. Wait. I got the world’s most obnoxious nightgown for a reason.” Scrambling up, she found the nightgown and pulled it over her head, effectively covering her skin, then found another pair of gloves on the dresser and tugged them on as well. Shyly, she curled up next to him.
He arranged himself so that he could hold her without his skin coming into contact with hers. “I’ll get better at it, I promise. Someday maybe you won’t need this thing,” he said gruffly, plucking at the nightgown.
Tears filled her eyes at his words as she settled down to sleep. “Someday,” she whispered, wondering if he understood that, for her, someday had finally arrived.
Several months later, she went to the Professor and asked him for a favor.
Charles regarded her steadily for a long time, then gave a brief nod. “I suppose you know well enough the risks involved,” he said, and she nodded.
“I do. Thank you, Professor,” she said warmly, pleased she could be herself around him; she no longer had any desire to call him Charles in that voice laced with cynical irony. “For everything,” she whispered, thinking of Logan, and blushed.
Marie turned to leave, but she paused at the door, wondering how to word her request. She was asking an awful lot of the Professor and Logan both by asking to do this alone.
“I won’t tell him, Rogue, because he’ll insist on going with you. And I do not think that would be wise for a variety of reasons.”
Apparently, just thinking it was enough. She nodded and left his study quietly, a tad nervous about what she was going to do. It was dangerous and possibly stupid, but she could never truly be free, never learn to be herself even with the bits of others stuck to her brain, unless she confronted him one last time.
It was odd to come face-to-face with him after so many months of him living in her head. He was remarkably ordinary looking; distinguished, even, in his grey slacks and black sweater, wearing a perfectly normal black wool coat, black hat, and gloves.
Those eyes she remembered all too well; wintry blue and pitiless, they stared at her with as much emotion as the night he’d almost killed her on Liberty Island.
Which was none at all.
“Hello, Rogue. Rather surprised you wanted to see me.”
His voice was as devoid of emotion as his eyes, and her shiver was not due to the winter air that seeped beneath the protection of her heavy coat. She was not pleased at where he’d agreed to meet her—the top of the Empire State building—but she’d come regardless.
“Yeah, bet you are,” she muttered, keeping her distance from him. Her left hand was bare in her jacket pocket, in case she needed to do something to save herself. Oddly, she did not think he would attack her. He had no reason to, and Magneto did not do anything without a reason.
Still, she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Charles tells me I was quite the imposition on you for awhile,” he said, and his voice had that arrogantly amused tone that made Logan stir in her mind and want to smash his face in.
That brief caress of Logan’s presence calmed her as nothing else would.
“You did. I had you in my head—still do, really—and I was all sorts of mixed up,” she said, moving a bit closer to him. “S’okay now, though.”
“I’m quite pleased to hear it. Now, why is it you wished to speak with me? Not wanting to change sides, are you?” He sounded rather hopeful.
She laughed. “No, actually. I’m quite happy where I am.” She moved until she was standing directly in front of him, and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. He was taller than she remembered.
“A pity,” he said, then sighed. “I suspect you want to know why I told Charles about the Wolverine, yes?”
She gaped at him for a second. She hadn’t even told the Professor why she’d wanted to speak with Magneto.
He laughed at the look on her face. “My dear, not all of us have to be mind readers to know things.”
She scowled at that. “Yeah. That’s what I want to know. Why? You ain’t known for being the humanitarian type.”
He rolled his eyes. “Try and kill a girl once, and your reputation suffers forever.”
Marie narrowed her eyes at him, drawing her bare hand out of the pocket of her coat, so he could see.
“Oh, my dear, no need for theatrics,” he said smugly, that infuriating smile still on his face. It disturbed her that he could smile and have it completely miss his eyes. “I suppose I shall answer your question.”
She waited, brow arched, an expression on her face that gave him pause. “We’ll see if it is anything I can believe.”
He laughed and this time there was actual amusement in the sound and his glacial eyes warmed the slightest fraction of an increment. “You really do have me in your head, don’t you? I believe I might almost pity you.”
She saw it then; the slightest flash of regret on his distinguished features, and it made her think better of him, briefly. “Yeah. Don’t. I can deal with it. Now tell me.”
His expression tightened at the tone of her voice. “Charles puts up with much from his students. I do not tolerate such rudeness among my own. Perhaps you could do with a few weeks in the Brotherhood to straighten you out.”
The tone of his voice frightened her, but she gave no quarter and kept her eyes trained on his impassive face. “Just tell me,” she demanded quietly, as the wind howled around them, pulling strands of hair from her ponytail and whipping them around her face.
Somehow, he managed to keep his hat, which sort of infuriated her. Maybe he put metal in it so he could keep it on his head. Marie squelched the urge to laugh with effort, thinking that might enrage him.
His eyes touched briefly on the white streak in her hair before he answered. “Perhaps I do not exactly relish the thought of you having a part of my mind inside yours, though I am not sure why I do not like this. It could be pity for you, or perhaps it is hubris on my part that my genius might be wasted.” His lips quirked.
“I didn’t think you’d answer.” She turned to go, but he placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and she stilled immediately.
“I wanted to you to be the savior of all mutant-kind, Rogue. I intended for you to die; not for you to be tormented with my presence for the remainder of your days. I had thought it would be a temporary situation,” he said in a tone that expressed his displeasure in his failed plan.
“So you showed Logan how to touch me in order to, what, assuage your guilty conscience?” She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and fought against the writhing mass her hair had become. “Spare me your stories.”
“I’m not telling you a story, girl.” His voice was as cold as the winter’s air around them, and it lashed against her just as harshly. “You may believe me if you wish or not, it makes no difference to me.”
Turning slowly, she regarded him evenly. “I’m sorry about what they did to you, when you were young,” she said in a clear voice, “But you’re going about this all wrong, you know.”
His face shut down further. “So pleased to have your verdict in the matter. And you have no right to speak of such things to me, regardless of what pieces of myself reside in your admittedly juvenile little mind.”
There was an old anger and an ever older pain under his callously spoken words. Rogue had an odd impulse to hug him. Though he’d likely shove something metal right into her heart.
“Yeah, well. Thanks, Erik. For what you did. For whatever reason you did it.” She gave him a steady look, devoid of anger or suspicion, showing him as best she was able that she meant it sincerely.
He inclined his head to her, appearing mollified. “You’re welcome. Now leave before I forget I am a gentleman and do something dreadful to keep you from ruining my reputation by saying I’m a nice man.” His eyes touched on the metal fencing surrounding them on the deserted observation deck.
That surprised a genuine grin from her. “I ain’t gonna say that to anyone, Erik, don’t you worry.” She cocked her head thoughtfully at him. “Next time I see you, it’ll probably be in a battle somewhere. Will be interestin’ to see who wins if we fight each other, won’t it?”
A small smile crept over his face. “It shall indeed,” he said, and gave her a neat bow. “I look forward to it, Rogue.”
She smiled back at him; Logan’s smile, fierce and dangerous, and her voice was a trickle of a growl as she spoke. “You ain’t the only one, Magneto.”
“Give my regards to Charles,” he called as she struggled to open the door in the wind. A soft hum and the door swung open, pressed back against the wall and unmoving.
“Oh, he knows all about your regards, Erik,” she called back, stepping though the doorway into the building. Her mouth curved into a slyly satisfied smile, and she raised one hand and tapped her index finger on the side of her head in a gesture he was fond of.
Her only answer was the door slamming shut behind her.
On her way home, she asked the cab driver to take her by Liberty Island. She stared up at the Statue of Liberty from her seat in the warmth of the cab, the monument looking exceptionally vivid against the slate-grey sky. The cab driver heaped effusive praise upon the statue, telling her proudly how he’d stayed up all night just to see it as the sun rose when the ship docked in New York on his journey to America. It healed something broken inside of her to hear that others saw it still as a promise of hope.
That night, safe in Logan’s arms, she did not dream of anything but him.
~Finis
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Story Notes:
Thanks to jazzypom for reading this, TWICE, as it is very long indeed.