He awoke abruptly, covered in a slick sheen of cold sweat, his heart pounding, a whimper trapped in his throat. He hadn't screamed, though. Oh God, he hadn't screamed. He felt the cool breeze of the A/C kiss the skin of his legs as it embraced his body and realized that the sheet he had fallen asleep under was pooled on the floor by the side of the bed. He must have kicked it off as he had dreamt. Thankfully, no one had come in to check on him, otherwise they may have gotten an eyeful of parts of his body they had no business seeing.
It was THAT dream again. Not the one from before, the one of men in white lab coats drinking champagne in a green haze. He hadn't had that one in quite some time now, more than a year as a matter of fact. Not since he had left Stryker in the middle of the frozen wilderness. He was at peace now over that; he didn't need to know everything anymore.
This dream, this nightmare, was far worse. It wasn't exactly the same, either, though it began the same way it always did. Stuck on that damn rock that tried to pass for an island, surrounded by debris and death; the sounds of a war ringing in his ears even as the scent of blood and destruction assailed his olfactory nerves. There was no haze in this dream, no film of green or blue or red or any other color. No, this was in Technicolor - High Definition even. And he could still feel everything he felt while trapped inside it.
Above all, there was Phoenix, standing in front of him and snickering, almost daring him to keep coming. She was waiting, that bored and vacant look in her dark eyes, her lips twisted into a disgusted sneer, hair flying up and behind her like flames. It was the first time he had ever thought her unattractive: at that moment, she was death.
He felt everything as he walked toward her, slowly moving closer. He would not voice the pain he felt from her awesome power, as flesh and muscle were torn from his skeleton only to grow back within seconds. After a walk that seemed to take eternity, she stood before him, her eyes black and cold, veins protruding from her face. He was close enough to touch her and he knew that he would have to do it quickly, before he lost his nerve.
But then her face changed. For a moment, she was Jean again. And her eyes weren't unfeeling but sad and pleading as she begged him to kill her. She wanted it over, too. Phoenix was eating her up from the inside, devouring her mind.
Logan didn't hesitate. He plunged his claws into her chest, listening carefully as her heart rate slowed, feeling the warmth of her blood on his hands. And he closed his eyes, not wanting to watch her die.
And then his nightmare that had plagued him for the last three weeks changed drastically. Normally, he would jolt awake at that point, alone and not nearly as afraid. Sure, his heart was usually racing, but he was never drenched in sweat and he was never on the verge of literally screaming for help.
This time, the dream was significantly different: instead of starting awake as usual, he heard a small gasp of surprise. He opened his eyes again to see her brown eyes staring into his, filled with contempt and blame. And hatred. Her lips were twisted into a snarl, an angry growl rumbling up from inside her chest. Even her scent changed. Jean had always smelled like roses and sophistication with a faint smell of medicine mixed in. Phoenix had shared this scent, but an unmistakable note of danger underlay it.
This scent smelled strongly of honey and magnolias. Of crisp tenderness and dreams. Here too, there was an undeniable danger, but it was open and unfocused and mixed with tenderness. And it clutched at his heart harder than the image of Jean had. He opened his eyes and found his claws imbedded in Rogue's chest, her blood spilling out and pooling around him. There was a thin trickle of it trailing out of her mouth and down her cheek.
He couldn't move - and didn't want to - as she reached for him, her hands bare and her mutation humming. She moved to touch him and he welcomed the electric shock her mutation always brought with it. He closed his eyes; ready for whatever she would give him. He could feel the heat of her skin when her fingers where only a breath away. And then… Nothing. No warm fingers against his face, no pull, no deathly lethargy. He opened his eyes slowly and realized right away why she hadn't touched him. She was already gone.
And that was when he woke, bolting upright. In his dream, it wasn't the woman he had lusted after for over a year that he had murdered, but his friend, the best he'd ever had. He had killed the one person who never judged him or questioned his behavior without good reason, the one woman who had accepted who he was without a moment's hesitation.
He remembered the night after he had killed Jean. He had come home, locked himself into his room and cried. He cried the entire night, ignoring all knocks on his door, all those damn people with their good intentions. And in the morning, when he had cried all that he could, he picked himself up and moved on. He emerged into the world, once again steady and ready to help pick up the pieces.
He worked with the new team, helping them to understand their powers. He made repairs around the house, delegated duties to the students and even started overseeing the history department. There were only a few more weeks in the school year and the kids were afraid of him, so it wasn't that bad, but he was surprised to discover how good he was at it.
Rogue had been gone, but he had known she would be. She had chosen the cure and he wouldn't hold that against her, just be here for her when she returned. She would be able to help out, too…
That was when it hit him. It had been three weeks since the battle on Alcatraz; a few days more since she had left, and there had still been no word. He hadn't heard from her and that wasn't like her. He knew she had nowhere else to go, either. She wouldn't go back to Mississippi. She hated her parents for the way they practically pushed her out of her house. There were no distant relations that would take her in.
He had thought to give her some time to get herself together and figure out what she wanted, but it looked like too much time had passed. He shouldn't have let her go. He should have gone with her or at least tried to talk her out of it. It was too dangerous. But he had been so wrapped up in his own little world, he hadn't realized the magnitude of what she was saying before she walked away and he hadn't noticed when she hadn't returned.
He stood then, willing himself to dress and wake everyone in the mansion. He needed to know that someone had heard from her, someone knew where she was; someone had to know something. Didn't they?
~*~*~*~*~*~
They all stood around the giant conference table in the middle of the War Room, bleary-eyed and yawning, aggravated by the rude wake-up call. No one really knew what this was about or what the problem was. He hadn't said much after growling and snarling that everyone needed to get dressed and into the conference room immediately. Even Colossus was looking a little put out.
“Do you know what time it is, Logan?” Storm asked angrily, glaring at him from across the table. “Unless there is an attack that needs us all or - ”
“Has anyone heard from Rogue?” Logan interrupted point blank, ignoring Storm completely. “Anyone seen her since she took off? Talked to her?”
The others did nothing but look at each other quizzically, waiting for someone to confirm, well, anything. No one said a word.
“I tried to look for her,” Bobby said softly, his voice hoarse with sleep. He looked to the others for some support, but none was offered. No one had even known about this. “She went and took the cure, Logan. She's probably on her way back to Mississippi or something right now.”
“And you don't think that it's weird that she hasn't called anyone? That she hasn't let us know that she's alive?” He couldn't believe the stupidity of the group. They saw worse happen on a daily basis and not one of them was even a little concerned.
“Logan, we would have expected her to call you,” Storm said briskly, irritated and rubbing the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. She was obviously tired, but Logan couldn't seem to feel at all guilty for waking her. Even her flowing bathrobe wasn't tied properly and her hair was askew. “I'm sure she's fine. You taught her how to fight and she was on her own for a year before coming to us. She knows how to take care of herself and she knows how to contact us in case of an emergency.” The weather witch studied his face closely, noticing his hard countenance and the darkness in his eyes. “If it will make you feel better, Bobby and I will both sit down and call all of the clinics tomorrow morning. Did she tell anyone her real name?”
Logan watched as they all looked to one another again and smirked as he realized no one actually knew. Not even Iceprick.
“Her name is Marie D'Ancanto,” Logan snapped as he turned to leave. “Contact me if you find her.”
“And where are you going?” Storm yelled at his retreating back.
“To find her,” he tossed over his shoulder as he slammed the door behind him.
Eerily controlled, Logan quietly entered his room and went to the closet. He pulled out a large green duffle bag almost identical to the one Rogue had held in her hands when he let her into his truck. He headed out after throwing in a few bare essentials, ready to start a search he wasn't sure would ever really end.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Again, thinks goes out to biohelixx, you are so good at what you do!
Chapter End Notes:
Working on chapter 3 now, feed back always appreciated!