Normal by lunarkitty

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Author's Chapter Notes:

Okay, so it's been a crazy couple of weeks. Broke my foot (stress fracture) lots of homework, etc., I'm gonna have the last chapter of Need you Now up soon, then I'll focus on the rest! Enjoy this little tidbit! :)

Suggested listening: "Huckleberry" by Toby Keith

Baby I'll be your huckleberry
You don't have to double dare me
When the storms get wild and scary
Count on me to be right there
You're so extraordinary
Sweet like maraschino cherry
We'll grow up and we'll get married

Normal.

What the fuck is normal anyways?

I know what she wants, well, what she should want. A white picket fence, yellow house and a green tin roof, couple o’ dogs, maybe one of those finicky tomcat wannabes prowling a garden full o’ roses and wildflowers, trying to catch the songbirds that flutter around tin-roofed feeders.

And kids.

Yeah, a couple of those too.

Probably wanna name them somethin’ preppy-like. Skyler, Kinsley, or Collins. Collins Logan? What kinda name would that be, like two last-first names rolled in one and all confused about which is supposed to be in front.

We’d make breakfast every Saturday morning - those cinnamon rolls Marie makes from scratch, maybe some biscuits ‘n’ gravy. The kids could watch Saturday morning cartoons, play in a backyard with a normal, cheapo metal swingset and a plastic castle covered in mold and rust from exposure.

Friday nights I could grill out, ribs, pulled pork, covered in vinegar sauce an’ spicy as hell...o, but I couldn’t cuss around the kids, specially if they’re old enough to repeat what I say. When the young ‘uns were sleeping, I’d pull out one of those special numbers I bought for Marie in Paris, turn the dimmer switch down and convince her to make another baby.

And when the kiddos are old enough, we’ll send ‘em to Xavier, let him handle them. She’ll touch me, reverse any agin’, because she loves me too much to go and die on me - trust me, the feelings mutual...

And we could start all over again.

I’ve built the house already - down on the far side o’ the lake where no row-boating mutant-spawn could spy on us. Even if we want normal, we’re both too important to the X-men to ever be far - gotta be ready to hop on the Blackbird at a moment’s notice.

Xavier told her last week I was out on a mission.

I was - finishing up the last few touches on the handmade bedroom suite, and headin’ up north to cash in on a few lucrative cage matches. Stole one o’ her rings on the way out the door, a costumey piece that shock-n-awe kid got her when she was younger so she wouldn’t notice.

Bought her a diamond ring that Queen Victoria would’ve been proud of, I’m sure.

Now I’m back, lookin’ for my girl. I can’t plan a surprise, I’m no good at that. She’s not in the library studying, or paintin’ nails with those gigglin’ fools in the ladies room. I follow her scent up the stairs, towards my room, our room when no one’s lookin.’

Openin’ the door, I see her sittin’ in my favorite chair. The window’s open, blowing her long hair back towards me. Gaw, it smells awesome. Some girly Jane Austen book is propped like a teepee on her chest. Obviously she didn’t wanna get out o’ bed this mornin,’ she’s got on a short-and-pj top set made of white cotton. Her eyes are closed, a faint little snore slipping from between her lips.

I sit on the ottoman, can’t help it now, I’m grinnin’ like a cat. I lean over, kiss her smack on the lips - skin control is a marvelous thing - and she opens her beautiful brown eyes and smiles back, reaching her arms over her head and stretchin.’

“Logan,” she purrs, shifting so she’s sitting with her legs spread invitingly, arms outstretched. I fall into her embrace, clutchin’ my little velvet box with a death grip. Her lips tickle my ear, and man o’ man, I’m rip-roarin’-ready-to-go-to-town now!

I shift backwards onto the balls o’ my feet, then slide to my knees so she’s cuppin’ my cheeks with her hands, face puzzled.

“Marie,” I gulp, shiftin’ so one knee’s up like I saw on one o’ those romantic comedies, “You might think this is a lil’ sudden, but...”

I open the box.

She gasps, her hands are tremblin,’ now she’s not strokin’ my cheeks, she’s clingin’ to my shoulders for dear life.

“Marry me?” I whisper. Now our noses are touchin,’ then our lips, pulled together like magnets. She’s devourin’ me, all whimpers and snarls and yes, yes, yes, yes over and over again.

Somehow the ring finds the appropriate finger as we stumble backwards towards the bed, my clothes are gone, her legs are around my waist and we’re already - man, I should propose every day - and Xavier’s mind-fuck-intercom interrupts.

“Rogue, Wolverine,” he coughs, mentally, “We have a situation.”

I groan, “Gawd, can’t we ever do anything normally around here?”

Marie looks at me, one eyebrow lifted quirkily, and kisses me right on the tip o’ my nose before wiggling out from underneath me, “Sugar, there’s nothing normal about us.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” I ask, suddenly worried. I can’t give her fairy-tale normal, even if I try harder than all the prince-charmings in the world.

“No sugar, I love our life, just the way it is,” Marie quips wiggling her diamond-studded finger at me, “Wanna race ya’ fiance to the locker room?”

Normal is overrated.

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