Logan found Jean working in one of the labs, trying to keep herself from thinking, from worrying. She looked ragged, but still beautiful.
“How are we holdin’ up, Jeannie?”
She jumped slightly, turning on her heel to face him. “Oh. Uhm. Not bad. We have enough supplies, the generators will be fine for up to a month...”
Logan’s eyebrows rose just a fraction. He’d never actually seen her this shaken before, without someone having had a near-death experience. No one had, this time––or, at least, not yet. “How about you, Jeannie?”
She looked up almost reluctantly, and her pretty green eyes were slightly wide, and her brows drawn with worry. “I’m...trying not to think about having soldiers tromping about through my childhood home and the one place I’ve always held to be safe and sacred. And I’m worried about the kids. And Scott.” She sighed raggedly, shaking her head. “But so long as I can keep finding things to do, I’ll be fine.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“I’m trying to figure out if it’s below me to go for an innuendo that easy.”
Jean promptly blushed, shutting her eyes, but her scent indicated a slight increase in her level of interest. “Logan...” Her voice, however, indicated exasperation with her own reaction, as much as with Logan himself.
“What do you think of me, Jeannie?” he asked suddenly. His voice was oddly solemn, darker than it had been a moment before.
Jean could tell that he wasn’t talking about anything sexual this time, but couldn’t for the life of her figure out what he really wanted. “What do you mean?”
“How do you see me, aside from the sex appeal.”
Jean’s brow furrowed. It was cute. Then she thought about it for a few moments, looking more serious, and a little more at ease, slipping into her usual serene demeanor. “I...think you’re more morally grounded than your realize, but in a way that most of us don’t understand; you have a...Spartan sense of honor with a realist, ruthless bent to it. You don’t think of pain like the rest of us do. I’m not sure what exactly...how you think of it, because even when you’re injured on a mission, it never seems to effect you, but I can sense how much pain you’re in.” She looked down. “And you’re...haunted.” She said it as though it meant ‘fragile.’ “I worry that what has happened to you in the past-”
Logan laughed, very quietly, but it somehow savored of disappointment. “She was right.”
“Who was, Logan?”
“Rogue.”
Jean appeared at a complete loss. “What?”
“Why are you scared of her, Jeannie?” His smile was lightly amused, but bitter.
“I-” She hesitated. “I’m not scared of her. I’m just concerned that-”
“She’s no more unstable than I am, just so ya know. And neither of us are likely to loose control of ourselves,” he said quietly. Instead of sounding annoyed or irate, as his words should have merited, his voice was almost sad; but the anger did show in his expression, and in the heat that darkened eyes.
Jean started to speak, and then stopped when she saw that heat; it was so different than his usual expression toward her, that she found herself unnerved. “Logan?”
“You’re right about the things you admit to not understanding, but I know the rest of what you’re sayin’, and none of it’s gonna be quite on the mark, if you’re gonna start out with being concerned about me bein’ ‘haunted’ or any of that crap.” He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and sliced off the end with a claw.
“I...just can’t assume that you are an emotionless machine, and that you, unlike the rest of us, aren’t susceptible to weakness of judgement based on emotions. Especially with the way you act around me, and how often you run off when things don’t go your way,” Jean said quietly, her light glare showing a bit of her stung pride.
But it was also the first time she’d ever sounded almost afraid of him, and that was all it took for Logan to see through her, and see that he’d been wrong about her, too. “I’m sayin’ I misjudged your ability to understand my mentality. I’m not a machine, but I’m also not prone to letting emotions get in the way of my decisions––ever. That’s what war does to you. That’s what happens when you can’t control anything but your own mind, and so ya damn well learn to do it right so you can live through the day. For me, that sometimes means gettin’ away from here to clear my head, so I don’t do something even more stupid.” He held her gaze, his eyes piercing. “I figured you’d understand the bit about control, if not the parts about war.”
Jean opened her mouth, and then shut it, taking in a breath. “I’m sorry, then, Logan.”
“S’ok. It’s apparently not the most common mentality around. I can’t assume you’d know to look for something you’d never seen.” He flexed his fingers as though his knuckles were sore. “I just thought maybe you saw it in the mirror now an’ then, but that was me lookin’ for something that wasn’t there.”
Jean tried not to think about what he implied––that his attraction had been more than just physical all this time. “Are you––are you sure that Rogue has the same control?”
“Would you be able to assimilate all of the memory and personality of a complete stranger and be as collected as she is?” Logan asked.
Jean lowered her head. “I...”
“Or would you panic?”
“Panic, I think, would be a normal, healthy response for a sane mind,” Jean said quietly.
Logan chuckled bitterly. “That’s just it, Jeannie. We aren’t normal, even in a house full of mutants. But you can trust us, Jeannie. We’re insane in beneficial ways, for the most part, and we’ve both learned, through the hardest possible ways, how to keep control of ourselves and get through Hell unfazed. Why would a little thing like getting pissed off or depressed send us over the edge? It might inspire me, personally, to run off and attempt to get drunk, but that’s better than the alternative, yeah?”
Jean sighed, sounding a little frazzled, and tired. “I’ve been treating her like a kid, huh?” she said, sounding half-amused and half-ashamed through her sad smile.
“A radioactive one.”
She winced. “Okay. It...it’ll take me a while to get used to thinking about all this.”
“That’s fine. It’s not the world you’re used to. In the world you’re used to, the government doesn’t send kidnappers into yours house at night. That’s why I’m on this team, Jeannie. My world isn’t a pretty one, and I’d like to keep you knuckleheads from falling into it.”
“Yes. And thank you.” She ran a hand through her hair nervously. “...I need to get out of this lab for a while.”
“I think the kids are still playin’ cards out there.”
“That sounds good. I can watch Jubilee and Remy try to out-cheat each other until John gets so jealous that something bursts into flame,” Jean murmured, sounding almost nostalgic, as though this were some delightful memory of good times past.
Logan laughed, and it was less bitter this time. “Alright, come on.”
Everyone had taken to life in the hangar as a challenge, and luckily some of the people were interesting enough to keep the boredom from driving them mad. Unless she saw some labor she could help with, Rogue sat apart, listening and watching, usually somewhere either out of sight or deliberately inconspicuous so that people did not see her. Occasionally, Logan had taken a break to sit with her, and they shared companionable silence, but he had often been called to help Hank with fortifications, or strategy.
She was disturbed when someone else finally got up the nerve to approach her. It was Remy Lebeau, and he sat beside her with a kind of easy confidence that came with being a New Orleans swamp rat, and a master thief. Rogue was mildly suspicious, but not actually perturbed; he was a very pretty man, and he knew it, and that made her wary of his intentions.
“You spend a lotta time alone, petite.” His red-on-black gaze held hers without hesitation. It was refreshing to see that Logan wasn’t the only one who could manage it.
“That, Monsieur Lebeau, would be the story of my life,” she replied dryly, but her words were more idle than hostile.
“By choice, or circumstance?”
Rogue was intrigued by his easy manner, and admitted that he had a very handsome smile. Yuriko’s past experiences with men brought the phrase tomcat to mind. “Choice early on, but it eventually became necessity. It was not so hard an adjustment as it might have been, had I not been who I was.” A story as true for Marie as it had been for Yuriko.
“Ah. You like bein’ alone, den, most times. But always, petite? Dat don’t seem possible. Not while you still live an’ breathe an’ talk like any other human.”
Rogue contemplated this. “I don’t think to miss it as much as I would, perhaps, if my mind were a better example of psychological health. My life circumstances, over the last few years, have instilled in me an instinct to avoid people. I’ve only recently had the opportunity to recall and reflect on what I’ve missed.”
Remy’s mouth formed a thoughtful moue, which Rogue thought was unnecessarily distracting, and cursed Yuriko’s memories for supplying her with the ability to realistically imagine what that mouth might feel like kissing hers. “I t’ink dat’s very sad, petite.”
“I don’t really feel ‘sad’ much. I’ve rarely had the time.”
“Now dat remind me of de Wolverine. He never sit still, but when he’s doin’ somet’ing else, like smoking and listenin’ to everybody within a half-mile ‘round. Is dat what you doin’ here?” the Cajun inquired.
Rogue nodded. “Yeah. I listen, watch, think.”
“But not feel much, non?”
She held Remy’s gaze. “Not really. I’ve had most normal ‘feelings’ burnt outta me.”
Remy nodded, and murmured, “Dat, too, I seen in him.”
“Same Hell burnt it outta him, too,” Rogue murmured.
“Same Hell you fight up in de house last night?”
“The agents of it, at least,” Rogue admitted.
“You protect us all from it, before you even meet us. Why?”
Rogue met his eyes again. “Because there’s parts of who I am that not even Hell could ever burn away, Monsieur Lebeau.”
He did not quite hesitate, but he did allow for a pause, curiosity written across his handsome face. “De fire made you strong, petite. Like tempered metal. Is dere anyt’ing left in you dat is more fragile?”
Thinking about it, Rogue remembered Logan’s touch, his fingers gently stroking her back. She had shivered, and not known why until she realized how warm she had suddenly felt, how wanting and how vulnerable it felt; it had been as though he had reached under her armor and found a place that she had not known was rubbed raw until he’d gently touched it, as if asking her if she knew that it hurt. “I’ve got few sore spots, perhaps, that are not as hardened-over as the rest of me. I’ve been running long enough that I hardly feel any injuries or weak spots, anymore, if I still have many to speak of.”
“Y’ never get tired?”
“Only when the adrenaline and rage wear off, which hasn’t been often thusfar.”
He smirked a little. “C’est la vie; as a mutant, it jus’ be one thrill after another.”
“Thrills. Sure. We’ll call ‘em that. It’s politer than what I was thinking, anyway.”
Remy laughed softly. “You still got a sense a’ humor, den. Dat’s good. You gon’ need it if y’ plan to stay sane in dis house, wit’ all of us in it.” He gestured toward the group of students all seated and laying in a circle in the middle of the hangar. There was a question hidden in his words, but it became clearer when he looked at her again.
“I was planning on staying. I don’t want any of you to go through what I have,” she answered softly.
Remy smiled and held out a hand to her. “I ‘ppreciate dat. An’ if y’ gonna stay wit’ us, den come an’ join us for a while, petite. Get to know your new family, oui?”
Rogue considered it for a long moment, looking at Remy’s hand.
“You still wary about de touchin’, non? Okay.” He lowered his hand. “But will y’ come along, den?” He gave a slight jerk of his head in the direction of the group. He was older than most of the others, no longer quite a teenager, but still closer to a student than a teacher. He was a good intermediary to invite Rogue into their fold.
Rogue unfolded her legs from lotus position, and got to her feet. “Okay.”
Remy gave her a truly dazzling smile, and got to his feet as well. He moved with fluid grace, and Rogue narrowed her eyes just a little in recognition of his skill set: savate, aikido, and she should be wary if he had a weapon such as a cane, staff, or even a sword––it was all there, just in the way he moved as he got to his feet. As he led her toward his posse, she asked lightly, “How long have you practiced savate?”
His footsteps paused momentarily and he looked at her with wide eyes, although his smirk remained firmly in place. “You got a good eye, petite. And I been workin’ at savate as long as I remember.”
Rogue nodded, and they continued on. Only then did she notice Storm seated with the students, who were all talking loudly. Remy noted her glance and moved toward her, knowing Rogue’s familiarity would put her slightly more at ease.
“Remy persuaded you to join us at last, then?” Storm asked gently a faint smile on her face. She was gentle in nature, but had a core of steel, and Rogue respected that. The woman had seen more of the world’s bad side than she let on.
Rogue answered her with a light affirmative as she sat near the weather goddess. She eyed the others more warily, but was subtle enough not to attract attention.
Still, Jubilation Lee had an annoying tendency to notice what she shouldn’t. “Hey! We got company!”
A few heads turned, surprise evident on people’s face. St. John actually smiled.
Rogue offered him a faint smile back, just for a moment. Then she addressed the others casually: “Where did you guys get the cards?”
“Remy has an endless supply of decks in his coat,” John explained, jabbing a thumb in the Cajun’s direction.
“I go nowhere wit’out it. Grabbed it on de way out de door to my room,” Remy explained.
“Fond of card tricks, I assume?” Rogue inquired.
Remy pulled two cards from his sleeve with a lazy grin. “Which you be, Rogue? Queen o’ Clubs, or Queen o’ Spades?” He flipped the cards around for her to see.
Rogue considered with a faint smirk. “Tough choice, but I’ll go with Spades.”
Remy’s red-on-black eyes shone with amusement. “Somehow, I not surprised.” He charged the card very slightly, making it glow violet, and when he let it go, it floated over to her, its edges darkened.
With a deft move, Rogue caught it in mid-air as one extended claw pierced the corner of it. She plucked the card off and retracted her claw, looking at the card, and then back at Remy.
“I charge much more, an’ it coulda blown up, but Stormy get very mad when I make t’ings ‘splode aroun’ her.” He shot Storm a charming smile.
The weather goddess only shook her head at him; although she did smirk a little: amused despite herself. Remy tended to have that effect on a lot of women, but he had not made the mistake of expecting Rogue to fall into it easily; the others were a little more surprised.
“What game?” Rogue asked.
“Texas hold ‘em,” Johnny said. “Of a bastardized sort.”
Rogue watched a couple of rounds, and figured out what he meant. She quirked a brow, but only said, “Deal me in, next round.”
Logan and Jean came in when Rogue was on her second round. She had the best poker face of any of them. Yuriko had been notorious back home as a bit of a card shark; Rogue had not quite inherited her easy conning-demeanor, but she’d kept the card skills. She’d won her first round easily enough.
“You pretty good, petite,” Remy said idly, but there was a challenge in his smirk.
“I have my moments,” Rogue said lightly, and her face revealed nothing. She then turned her head as she heard Logan’s measured footsteps and Jean’s more careless ones. Her eyes scanned them both as she took in their scents; again, her face revealed nothing of her own thoughts or emotions.
Jean gave a wide, reassuring smile that did not quite reach her eyes, and sat on the other side of Storm. Logan settled in next to Rogue, sitting closer than the others dared get.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and a little rough, but he seemed amused to see her playing poker.
“Hey yourself, Sugar,” Rogue countered, raising an eyebrow at him slightly.
He just shook his head a little and chewed on the end of his cigar lightly.
She gave a light nod of understanding and looked at her cards again, her face becoming once more unreadable.
Rogue almost won, but for Jubilee having a slightly higher straight.
“She cheats, ya know,” Logan warned quietly. “So does the Cajun.”
“No wonder ya can cut the sexual tension there with a knife,” Rogue whispered back, deadpan.
Logan gave a low laugh.
Remy won the next round. Then the bets got a bit higher in the next round, and Rogue promptly beat the pants off of them.
Both Remy and Jubilee appeared both put-out and a little confused, but kept playing. The pattern went on, with the usual power-struggle between Jubilee and Remy, interrupted only when the bets increased just enough and Rogue quietly reaped them in. When Logan asked to be dealt in, however, it got a little more interesting, and terrifying. John was about to quit, when Rogue winked at him. Bets were high again, and somehow Johnny won. He then promptly quit while he was ahead and sat back to watch the pros.
There was a question of where the money had originally come from, but no one asked it.
The games only ended late into the afternoon, when Betsy finally contacted Jean. Everyone went quiet, allowing her to focus.
The redhead’s green eyes went wide, and her voice seemed distant. “The soldier’s aren’t leaving. Even with the press increasingly up in arms, even with the growing public outrage Betsy’s helping to foster, they’re still waiting up there and guarding us. They aren’t even sure we’re here, but they won’t leave,” Jean whispered.
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