“Hey, Jack, you still got that room upstairs?” Logan asked the bartender, plucking the cigar from his lips.
He watched as the burly man poured another pitcher of beer and set it down in front of him. He’d switched from bottles to pitchers when he realized that he couldn’t drink enough bottles fast enough to get drunk. Sometimes having regenerative powers was a real bitch.
“Yeah, why? The little woman throw you out?”
No, actually, she invited me in. So, naturally, I ran out on her as fast as that damn motorcycle would go.
“Something like that,” Logan hedged. Apparently, not everybody spilled their guts to the bartender. “Can I use the room for a while or not?”
“Sure. You wanna do the same arrangement as before for the rent?” Jack’s close-set blue eyes glowed with the memory of the small fortune he made the last time the mysterious Logan had crossed his path.
“I thought the cops had shut down all of the cage fighting around here.” Logan took a long drink from the pitcher and welcomed the buzz he hoped—please, God, just this once—would lead to an alcoholic oblivion deep enough to make him forget the sight of Rogue, bare breasted, her long, wet hair covering her smooth shoulders, water drops sliding along the curve of …Oh, fuck!
He finished the pitcher in several long gulps, handed it back to a wide-eyed Jack and nodded toward the tap. Jack refilled the pitcher, put it back in Logan’s waiting hand, and watched in disbelief as the guzzling continued.
“Uh…only the operations they could find. They confiscated my cage, but I’ve got a new set up a couple miles past the city limits, way off the beaten path. Local cops got no jurisdiction and the staties and the feds have bigger fish to fry, so they’re not interested.”
“I’m not sure how long—belch--I’ll be staying,” Logan replied. He knew he wasn’t going back to the mansion anytime soon, but he didn’t really want to be the star attraction in Jack’s fight club either. This was just the first stop on what could turn out to be a long ride.
“How about I just pay you in cash for a week up front?” he continued as he peeled five twenties off a wad of folded bills and laid them on the bar. His intention was to stay drunk for as much of the week as he could; he figured it would take all his remaining cash to make that happen.
Jack flexed his fingers back and forth twice, indicating, Keep peeling.
Logan’s eyes bulged. “Holy hell, Jack, it’s the size of a goddamn prison cell and the bed is an old Army cot! I have to come down here to use the bathroom, for crying out loud!”
“Well, you could always throw yourself on her mercy and beg her to take you back. Or you could save your pride—and your cash—by earning your keep. What’ll it be?”
Her mercy? Hell, throwing himself on her was what he was trying to avoid.
“How many nights will this buy me?” Logan asked, nodding toward the cash on the bar.
Jack started to say “One,” but changed his mind when he recalled what most of his customer’s opponents looked like when he was done with them. He figured he shouldn’t push his luck.
“Two. I’ll even throw in one meal a day, whatever Smitty’s special is.”
Logan shoved the money across the bar.
“I’ll take the two nights, but Smitty can keep his specials. I’m allergic to road kill.”
---------------
“Rogue? Is that you?” Xavier called out through the open door of his office.
Silence.
“I know you’re there, my dear. It’s quite pointless to hide from me,” he scolded softly, rolling toward the hallway where Rogue stood, stock still, just to the left of his doorway.
“Then why did you ask if it was me if you already knew?” Rogue shot back. She was in no mood to cut anybody any slack, even Fearless Leader. She hadn’t been sleeping or eating well since things changed. At the moment she was cranky and her stomach was growling.
“I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, hoping you were willing to abide by the conventions of polite society.” He smiled knowingly, one eyebrow went up. “For a change.”
Damn, why did the old guy have to be so cussed charming? She softened toward him, in spite of herself.
“I’m sorry, Professor. I wasn’t hiding from you in particular. I’m just bad company right now.”
“Nonsense. I was just about to have some tea. Would you care to join me?”
The last thing on earth she wanted right now was a cup of tea—a shot of Jack Daniels, now that was an idea—but she knew she was being tested, so she said, “Of course. That would be lovely.”
“Marvelous. See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” he asked as he rolled back toward the small table where the silver tea service waited, gleaming in the morning sunshine that streamed through the tall windows of his office. The wheels of his chair hummed softly as they rotated over the thick carpet. The sound, small as it was, focused her attention on Xavier’s state-of-the-art personal chariot. For the first time, she saw it as something else—a prison.
“Do you ever wish you could get out of that thing and walk again? Do you ever feel trapped?” she asked with genuine interest as Xavier poured her a cup of tea and then added milk to the one he’d poured for himself earlier.
Xavier grew quiet. The hand stirring his tea stilled.
“You know, I don’t believe anyone has ever asked me that before,” he answered candidly, picking up a plate of pastries from the tray. “Scone?”
“So you’ve never thought about it?” she nudged, sitting in the chair across from him and taking one of the triangular delights. She stifled her urge to shove the entire thing into her mouth. Instead, she only nibbled a small bite and laid the rest on her saucer.
From anyone else, Xavier might have thought such a personal question rather rude, but he found Rogue's guileless probing both refreshing and revealing.
“I’ve never really had to. Thanks to this chair and our various X-vehicles—the jet in particular—and, of course, Cerebro, there is nowhere in the world I cannot go. So, then, I suppose the answer to your question is no, I don’t feel trapped.”
“Oh, right, I hadn’t thought about Cerebro.” She wanted to ask him if he pictured himself in the wheelchair when he used Cerebro, or if he saw himself walking or flying or shimmering in and out of places, like the crew of the Enterprise on “Star Trek.”
But Xavier spoke before she could form the question on her lips.
“Now, can I ask you a question?”
In the five days since her mutation had gone missing, Rogue had been practicing the technique the professor had taught her for shutting down the parts of her mind inhabited by Logan, Magneto and anyone else she’d ever touched with her bare skin. She’d gotten pretty good at it and had even added her own twist, constructing a mental barrier to hide her secret from prying minds. She’d had a ten-minute conversation with Jean yesterday at breakfast and the telepath hadn’t gotten so much as a glimmer from her.
However, the professor’s power was a far cry from Jean’s. She sensed that her new wall was about to be truly tested.
“Of course,” she replied. Shields up, Mr. Sulu.
“Why do you think you are bad company these days?”
These days? Not just right now, today?
She shrugged her shoulders and picked up her tea cup with both gloved hands, stalling while she analyzed his choice of words. Was he trying to tell her that he knew she was different, had been different for days? Or was it simply an expression with no particular significance?
Breathe, girlfriend, just breathe. Shit!
Unable to think of a neutral answer that wouldn’t betray her one way or the other, she silently sipped her tea and looked out the window behind Xavier’s massive desk. She could see the garage from where she sat. One door was open and the red fender of Scott’s car peeked out at the morning sunshine. She couldn’t help remembering the heartbreaking sound of Scott’s motorcycle speeding down the driveway.
Oh, Logan.
At the mere thought of him, the walls came tumbling down.
“We all miss him, my dear.”
Rogue’s head swiveled sharply, returning her gaze to the man in the wheelchair.
“Pardon?” she muttered, shocked that she had any composure at all, let alone enough to exhibit even that small degree of social grace. Was that really all he read in her head—that she was missing Logan?
“The wistful look in your eyes when you saw the garage gave you away. Please don’t fret, Rogue. He’ll come back. He always does.”
Xavier’s eyes glittered with an alertness that belied his comforting tone. He watched her intently as he continued.
“Is his leaving the reason you are out of sorts? Or is there something else?”
Shields up, dammit! UP! UP!
“Marie…?”
Xavier’s voice whispered inside her mind, calling to her as if she were someone he knew long ago, someone he wasn’t entirely sure he recognized. His expression never wavered, but she could have sworn she saw something resembling pity in his eyes.
For an instant, she considered vehemently insisting that he was wrong, that she was in no way different—or, rather, less—than what he had always known her to be, but what was the use? She was exhausted, not just from the mental strain of walling off her secret, but also from all the sleep she had lost crying over Logan and the dreams he killed when he rode away.
A memory floated back to her. She was on a train, alone at first, and scared, and then Logan sat next to her and she was no longer afraid—or alone.
“There’s not many people who’ll understand what you’re going through, but I think this guy, Xavier, is one of them. He seems to genuinely want to help you. And that’s a rare thing…for people like us.”
She looked up into the professor’s knowing eyes. Whatever she had thought was pity had been replaced by a deep compassion.
“He was right, you know. I do want to help you. I always have. Will you let me help you, Marie?”
She managed to set the tea cup down on the tray without spilling it, a small miracle considering that she could barely see through the tears flooding her eyes. She tried to force words past the lump in her throat, but couldn’t, so she simply nodded. Then she covered her face with her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
---------------
Later that same night, in a broken down barn a hundred miles from Xavier’s office, Logan had just finished off his sixth opponent when Jack sidled up to the outside of the cage and announced in a hushed voice, “I’ve got two Marines lined up next, but they want to fight you as a team. You okay with that?”
“As long as I get a double share of the take on this one, bring ‘em on,” he answered, twisting his chin up and to the left until he felt the metal-coated bones in his neck pop.
“No problem. Their entire unit must be in here and they’ve all got money falling out of their pockets. I didn’t know the military paid that well. You need a bathroom break before I bring ‘em over?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Logan opened the gate and jumped off the platform onto the concrete floor of the huge barn where Jack and Smitty had built their new cage fighting enterprise. The two redneck moguls had sunk all their money into the cage, the platform and a whole television studio’s worth of state-of-the-art video production equipment, which left exactly nothing for improvements to the structure itself. The bathroom, Logan had discovered, was a hundred-year-old outhouse. He usually opted for a thirsty-looking tree, which is how he ended up standing in the woods with his fly open contemplating the sorry state of his life.
Getting drunk had proved to be expensive and pointless, so he’d spent most of the two ‘cash rent’ days riding Scott’s motorcycle through the countryside, wondering if Rogue had been able to keep her secret in a school run by a guy who could read minds. Not likely, which meant that the geeks probably already had her under a microscope, something he knew she would hate with a passion. And he’d left her there, alone, just her and the geeks.
He relieved himself at the base of a large tree outside the reach of the spotlight on the barn’s back corner. Unbidden, Rogue’s plaintive cry echoed in his head.
Don’t tell any of them. Don’t tell them. Them.
As much as the professor and the teacher’s pets liked to think Rogue belonged to their happy little mutant family, Logan knew she didn’t, not really. Of course, neither did the Wolverine, although Professor X and his pals had never been the least bit deluded about that.
No, he and Rogue had both been brought to the school out of necessity, not any desire on either of their parts to join the fight for truth, justice and the American way.
Still, he had been sincere that day on the train when he told Rogue that Xavier genuinely wanted to help her, that she should give the geeks one more shot.
You also promised her you’d take care of her. Remember that, Bub? Fine job you’re doing. Really.
When he wasn’t out riding, he was lying on that miserable old cot, listening to all manner of insect and rodent vermin—his roommates—cavort in true vermin fashion in every corner and behind every wall. It was better than listening to that nasty little voice in his head that kept reminding him what an asshole he was for running like he did, even if she had said she’d understand.
As if he needed reminding.
This was why he was a lone wolf, no ties, no commitments, no promises, nobody depending on him, nobody to disappoint when he couldn’t live up to their expectations. You can’t fail if you’re not expected to even try, right?
And then a beautiful dark-haired girl had looked up at him with tears in those deep, brown eyes and he fell all over himself making promises he had no idea how to keep. All he knew was that she made him want to try when no one else ever had.
How could that ever be enough for her? How could he let her settle for that?
She deserved better than him. She deserved somebody steady, somebody who knew how to keep promises because they had a long and storied history of doing just that. Somebody like Iceman, or even Cyke-o-geek; they didn’t come a whole lot steadier than good ol’ Scott. Hadn’t Jean christened him ‘the good guy’?
Guess you know what that makes you, huh?
And that just opened up a whole other can of worms. Shit.
Zipping his jeans, he went for a short, uncharacteristic wallow in self-pity, beating himself up for failing to keep even a promise to himself, specifically the one he made when he swore he was only staying at Jack’s for two days and he was not—no fucking way—getting in that goddamn cage of his.
He wasn’t the same mutant who fought his way through a meaningless existence day to day, cage to cage, like he had before he met Rogue that fateful night in Laughlin City. Like it or not, he had changed during his time at the school. He was an X-man, and while he’d rather cut off his own head than admit it to Scooter, wearing that stupid leather suit and being part of something worthwhile had come to mean something to him. Not nearly as much as Rogue meant to him, but something all the same. So taking Jack up on his offer seemed like more of a step backward than he was willing to make.
He actually got as far as bidding Jack and Smitty farewell on the morning of the third day, climbed on the bike and roared up the road. But when he reached the turn off that would have taken him to the interstate, the pathway to anywhere but where she was, he found himself easing off the throttle and stopping to stare helplessly at the road sign that pointed the way back to Westchester at the top, and forward to all points north at the bottom.
In the end, he had taken the high road, turning the bike around and driving back to Jack’s place, because the thought of being any further away from her than he already was made him ache in ways he couldn’t begin to describe, let alone understand.
Still shrouded in the darkness of the woods, he looked toward the barn. Through the big, sliding doors at this end, he could see about a hundred people milling around, placing bets, ordering drinks, operating the film equipment. In the center of it all was the cage, his second home.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out how he ended up back in that monstrosity. He’d had a weak moment and Jack seized on it like a lion taking down a wounded antelope. Logan had to admit to a certain grudging respect for the guy; if their roles were reversed, the Wolverine wouldn’t have hesitated to pounce on a golden opportunity either.
For the first few fights, he had still been numb, he recalled, shell shocked to discover that he could no more leave Rogue, really leave her, than he could fly to the fucking moon. She was welded to his soul, as much a part of him as his adamantium claws.
When had that happened? He’d walked away before, gone a lot farther and been away a lot longer than this little jaunt to Bumfuck Nowhere, without it feeling like he’d used his guts for a drive belt. Oh, he had missed her on those other journeys, but he’d never let himself acknowledge the fact while he was gone. It usually hit him like a baseball bat the minute he walked back into the mansion and saw her for the first time in however long it had been.
“Hey, kid, you stayin’ outta trouble these days?”
“What do you think?”
And then she would hug him. Not just a quick, arms around the shoulders hug, but a full on, God-I’m-so-glad-you-came-back embrace that made him feel like the world’s biggest idiot and the luckiest man alive all at the same time. An idiot for leaving in the first place; lucky because he knew there was no one else on earth she hugged like that.
Who the hell was he kidding? He knew exactly when and why everything had changed. A vision of Rogue’s naked form floated up from the deepest part of his mind, where he kept that precious image hidden most of the time. On the rare occasions when he slept, he surrendered all control and she danced in his dreams –vivid, erotic fantasies from which he awoke so hard he hurt.
No matter how many layers of clothing she wore to cover herself, he would never look at her again without seeing her perfect body--her creamy, untouched breasts, her long, flawless legs, her exquisite ass—Damn! His heart was racing and his dick was growing just thinking about her. He was a hundred miles away from her, for Christ’s sake! How could he ever be in the same room with her again, let alone touch her, without losing his mind—or worse, his control?
But it wasn’t just her nudity that fueled his lust; it was that look in her eyes as he was leaving her room, the one that stared him down in every one of his dreams, the one that said she was his for the taking.
And that was exactly why he had to stay as far away from her as he could get. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her, and with her mutation being on the fritz, there was nothing to stop either of them from acting on their urges. He couldn’t let that happen, because once it did, she’d be doomed. She’d give him her heart right along with her virginity only to have him cut it to ribbons the first time he took off and left her. And he would leave eventually; he always did.
He had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her. Well, maybe Jean, once, a long time ago. But he wasn’t so blinded by lust that he couldn’t see Rogue wasting her life, wasting her love on him. Maybe if he stayed gone long enough she would finally get tired of waiting and share her secret with the Drake kid, or some other boy who had more to offer her than a Wolverine ever could. Then, she would belong to him—
No! She’s mine!
Rage seared through his veins with such force it knocked the wind out of him. His chest hurt and his knees buckled. He had to brace himself against the tree to keep from falling into the puddle he’d just pissed on the ground.
He wanted to howl with the pain that came with imagining her in another man’s arms, another man’s bed, but instead he shoved it down deep inside, where the Wolverine would feed on it and gain strength for the coming fights.
Striding back through the crowd toward his chain-linked domain, Logan had a sudden flash, a vision of himself inside the thing. Only this time, it wasn’t a fight cage; it was a metal wheel and he was the rat running for his life.
Now that just won’t fucking do.
The Wolverine was no damn rat in anyone’s trap! But where was he going to go? Hitting the highway had proven impossible and he sure as shit couldn’t go back to the mansion. She’d greet him at the door with that mischievous smile and heart-melting hug. Then he’d haul her up to his room and in the time it took to tear her clothes off, throw her on the bed and quench this unending thirst, he’d simultaneously ruin her life and wear out his welcome in Xavier’s world forever.
He couldn’t have her and he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her.
He couldn’t go back and he couldn’t get away.
The teeth-grinding frustration generated by those irrefutable truths propelled him up into the cage where the two Marines were waiting. With their hard bodies and their superior military training, they appeared smugly confident that they would succeed where lesser men had failed.
He heard one of them whisper to the other one, “We took everything they threw at us on Paris Island and came back for more. I don’t care how tough Jack says he is; this guy hasn’t got a prayer.”
Logan just smiled as Jack slammed the gate shut behind him.
You think Paris Island was tough? Compared to me, boys, Paris Island is gonna look like fucking Disneyland.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry it took so long to update, but I was trying to actually finish the story before I posted again. Then I realized that posting a chapter at a time generates more reviews, and since we all know I'm a review junkie...
Let's just say the remaining two or maybe three chapters will come along a lot sooner than this one did. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The X-Men do not belong to me, but their various antics in this story do, all except for the quote I lifted verbatim from X1. If you've seen the movie, you'll know it when you read it.
Let's just say the remaining two or maybe three chapters will come along a lot sooner than this one did. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The X-Men do not belong to me, but their various antics in this story do, all except for the quote I lifted verbatim from X1. If you've seen the movie, you'll know it when you read it.