The Mansion

Four Years Ago

“Remind me again why Ah asked y’all t’do this?”

Logan looked at Rogue over the rim of him his beer bottle and said nothing. He’d told her what he thought of the party when she’d asked him: he saw no need to go through it again now. Besides, every time they opened their mouth to each other these days they seemed to argue, and he was tired of it. Tired of getting angry, tired of watchin’ LeBeau snicker while they slammed doors on one another. Around him the atmosphere practically hummed, smoke and loud music and the press of bodies mixing together. It smelt like every party he’d ever been at, the air stale and kinda desperate, time staggering rather than flowing; he wasn’t surprised she didn’t like it. This wasn’t Marie’s kinda party at all.

But then, like everything else in her life these days, it pleased LeBeau, and that was (apparently) all that mattered to her.

He didn’t wanna admit that it bugged the hell outta him.

“Logan, are you even listening t’me?”

Again he didn’t answer. Just made decent, steady eye-contact with his beer. She was tottering in a pair of six inch stilettos, holding herself up against the wall like she expected it to up sticks and run away on her. Had been ever since LeBeau started pouring bourbon down her gullet three hours ago. Her face was clammy and pale, the skin that strange mix of nearly dead and flushed alive that alcohol produces. Her pupils were dilated and her breathing laboured. Something told him it wouldn’t be long before she collapsed.

He was right.

When he wouldn’t answer she made a try for the door on the other side of the room, shifting her weight forward suddenly. Her knees buckled under her and she sailed forward, too drunk to stop herself from freefall. Without even thinking about it he jumped out of his chair and caught her, narrowly missing Storm’s favourite coffee table in the process.

“Oops!” she giggled. “Didn’t think Ah could fly!” It hadn’t even occurred to her how much danger she’d been in.

Stupid Kid.

She was sprawled haphazardly over his knees now, her arms nearly touching the floor. Still giggling, his arm still locked around her waist. From the way her weight pressed into him, he could tell that her balance was completely shot; she wouldn’t be standing up any time soon. Again he felt a surge of anger at LeBeau. Her laughter trailed off and her expression became puzzled, her nose scrunched up in concentration. If it hadn’t been so damn disturbing to see her out of it, she might’ve looked cute.

Silence, as she stared at him. Blue eyes on his.

It was the damndest thing, but suddenly he couldn’t hear the music anymore.

The heat of her body pressed into him now, his arm still snaked around her waist. Shift of muscle and bone and never-still life as she moved now. She didn’t feel like a Kid, suddenly, lying in his lap with her hair falling around her face. Didn’t feel like a kid at all. Without saying a word she pulled herself upright, gingerly swinging her legs up over his and twining her arms around his neck. She had the weirdest expression on her face, like she was trying to figure out how her limbs moved, how they worked. Felt like they’d crawled inside a bubble universe, just the two of them. Hesitantly, the fingers of her left hand went to his jaw, trailing against his beard. They stopped for a second at his Adam’s apple, before continuing down to his chest. His heart.

“Logan,” she whispered, in a voice which definitely didn’t belong to a Kid, “Why are you so mad at me now?” Her lashes swept her cheeks, her face incomparably grave. “What did Ah do?”

“You-” he began, “Marie, you-” He couldn’t find the words. Maybe there weren’t any. She was staring at him, real clear and straight, blue eyes honest. Sober. Without willing them to, his gaze flicked down to her parted lips, just for a second. When the hell did she grow up? Because she looked like a woman in the shadows, and he hadn’t visited the shadows in oh so long… Hadn’t ever really been there, not even with Jean-

Jean-

“You’re drunk.”

He heard his voice say it. Funny thing, but he couldn’t remember running that one past his brain, let alone giving it clearance. Just like he couldn’t remember deciding to pull her arms away from his neck. But he still did it. “You’re drunk and you’re not thinking straight Marie,” he continued sternly, trying to quiet down the small part of him that was screamin’ bloody murder at his words. He wouldn’t let himself register where they’d been going, what he’d wanted. How far from a Kid she’d been to him in that moment. He just concentrated on keeping his voice even and calm and steady. “You can make LeBeau jealous some other way.”

“You sonofobitch.”

Marie forced herself to her feet, any trace of her drunkenness gone. It was as if she couldn’t bear to have him touch her, and maybe she couldn’t. Her expression had passed from furious to hurt to coldly cynical in the space of a second, and her eyes now blazed into his. “This has nothing to do with Remy,” she hissed, “And we both know it. Least one of us has the balls t’admit it.”

He could feel his temper flare up, the way it always did with her. Kid could push his buttons like a pro. “This has everything to do with Remy and the way he treats you-”

“Least he doesn’t wait until Ah’m drunk.”

In the days and weeks to come Logan would wish that he’d said something, anything in those next few minutes. That he’d stood his ground or tried to talk, or even given into his first instinct and beaten LeBeau three shades of blue for getting her drunk in the first place. Then maybe everything would have worked out different. But he just picked up his jacket and walked out the door. Stole Storm’s bike and rode it so fast he couldn’t hear himself think, let alone remember the shape of her melded into him. He didn’t come back until noon the next day, reeking of liquor, and by that time Marie and the swamp-rat were long gone. Two days later they got a call from Vegas, saying they were married. And then, for four years, silence.