Sunday Morning
“We are all in agreement, then,” Bobby whispered as they huddled over breakfast together, “we don’t talk about last night, and we don’t ever try anything like that again.”
“Agreed,” chimed Kitty and Jubilee, but Rogue remained silent.
“Rogue?” Bobby prompted her.
“Okay, but only if nothing else happens. If we invited something bad into the house, we’ll have to hope it either goes away, or we have to make it go away, since it’s our fault. I mean, I slept fitfully, had weird dreams, but nothing ‘unusual’ if you take into consideration what we did last night.”
“You think that we actually did raise a ghost, then?” Bobby questioned her.
“Do you have any better explanation for everything that happened? The cold? The shadows outside the door that you felt rattle half off it’s hinges? The face Jubes said she saw in the crystal, and the soldier that Kitty saw in phase? Do you still think it’s all Logan pulling one over on us?” She nervously sipped at the hot coffee in her mug.
“Speak of the devil,” Jubilee whispered as Logan strode into the room looking distracted. His hair was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned, and his chin was unshaven. Making no eye contact with anyone, he grabbed coffee and a newspaper and left quickly, heading for the terrace behind the mansion.
Rogue started to rise to follow him, as Jubilee hissed, “We agree - mouths closed on the subject, until further notice.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess...” Rogue agreed distractedly as she left the table and followed Logan onto the terrace.
The day was bright and clear but chill as golden leaves tumbled over the lawn, pooling in piles within the terrace wall in corners and beneath steps. Crunching intentionally through them, she stepped to his side where he leaned against the wall, scanning the headlines and swigging down the hot coffee. “Mornin’, sugar.”
“Hey.”
“Bad night?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Logan emptied the cup and flipped to the sports section.
“Me, too,” Rogue sighed, and leaned against the wall beside him. His hazel eyes came up at that, and he turned toward her.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, concern showing in his face as he regarded her eyes, dark circles beneath showing through the pale skin. He tugged one strand of her straggly white hair before she self-consciously tucked it behind one ear.
“Yeah, just a rough night, too much in my head, some nightmares. You havin’ nightmares again?” She bumped a shoulder against his arm in camaraderie.
“Yeah,” he confessed, but said nothing else.
“Same stuff? Military stuff? Lab? Cage?” Rogue baited him for information.
“Yeah, same shit, different night,” he avoided the subject without confirming anything. “What’s got you stirred up and not sleepin’, kid?”
“Oh, nothing - just been watching too many creepy shows lately. Promise me we’re not going to a horror movie, and I’m yours for the day. If we’re still on for that matinee, that is...” she rolled her eyes up toward him.
“We’re on - you pick it, just... no love stories or dying relatives or crap like that. And no animated penguins or dancing pigs or teenage vampire angst.”
“What’s left?” she giggled and snagged the entertainment section from him.
Three hours later, they were knuckles-deep in a giant tub of buttered popcorn, taking turns in grabbing handfuls so Rogue could go bare-handed and not soil her gloves. Rogue felt painfully aware of Logan’s warm, hard bulk beside her in the close-quarters seating. She instinctively snuggled against his shoulder as the scenes flickered by. Halfway through, his arm was around her shoulders and they sat in snug silence through the rest of the movie.
Walking back to the truck, Logan asked her, “What was all that seance stuff last night? You takin’ up witchcraft or somethin’?” His sly smile told her he in was teasing mode.
“Yep - if I can’t control my mutation on my own, I’ll just hex myself and solve everyone’s problems.”
“You’re not a problem, and you’re not ‘everyone’s,” Logan pulled the truck door open for her. “There will be no hexing, or I’ll kick your ass.”
“If my cunning hex works, you’ll be able to ‘touch’ my ass,” Rogue wriggled her eyebrows and gave him a cheesy grin.
“Tease.”
“I’m hungry - want a burger?”
“Sure.”
Dinner that night was spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread, and Rogue woke at two am with raging indigestion. Sorting through her medicine cabinet, she grabbed antacids and ate two before closing the door again.
For a split second, she thought she saw movement behind her, reflected in the mirror’s surface, and turned with a start. No one was there.
“Remind me not to eat salty popcorn and cheeseburgers as an appetizer before garlic bread and spaghetti,” she mumbled to herself as she wandered back toward her bed. Before she could pull up the blanket, she heard a hoarse male cry from a distance. Grabbing a robe and sliding it on, she instantly ran for Logan’s room. It had to be the nightmares again.
Racing to his door, she heard him muttering inside. Pounding on the door, she shouted, “Logan? Logan, wake up!” He didn’t respond. Grabbing the knob, she swung the door wide, glad that he’d left it unlocked, but she ventured no further than the threshold.
Enough moonlight flooded the room that she could see him sitting straight up in the bed and trembling, his head cradled in both shaking hands. He muttered, ‘holy shit, holy shit’ repeatedly as he shoved his fingers through his hair, then held them stretched forth at eye level, seemingly searching his hands for some unseen thing.
“Logan, talk to me,” Rogue spoke softly, trying to ease him from the night terrors. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned and waved off Storm who approached with stark concern showing on her face. “It’s okay, I got it.”
Storm nodded her acknowledgment and returned to her own apartment.
“Loga...” Rogue began again, before he cut her off.
“Yeah, kid, I’m... awake,” he hesitated, choosing the words carefully. “Did you see anyone standing beside my bed when you opened the door?”
“No, no one. Were you dreaming?” She stepped quietly into the room, closing the door behind her, less wary now that Logan was awake and conversing. She sat lightly on the bedside and rubbed one gloved hand over his bare shoulder. “What did you see?”
“Soldiers. I was dreaming, I guess,” he shook off the adrenalin rush and turned to her in the gloom.
“Stryker’s soldiers? The ones from the lab?”
“Yeah... no. It was.. I don’ know,” he was clearly rattled, still trying to make sense of the experience.
“Was it the tank-in-the-lab dream again? The ones I have?”
“No. No, it was...” his voice drifted off, then, “I need a beer. Wanna raid the kitchen?”
“Sure,” Rogue blinked in surprise as he turned on the bedside lamp, intently studying his hands again. “What are you looking for?”
“I dunno - thought maybe we had a plumbing leak upstairs. I thought something was dripping on my hand, but it’s dry. There’s nothing there. Just the dream, I guess. Let’s go.”
Over beer and hot tea, they sat in the kitchen as the low chatter from the TV room flooded the background. Artie was scanning channels slower than usual. Logan monitored the TV sounds, then the background behind that, and Rogue saw him physically relax then. He spoke first, “You ever dream about the raid, kid?”
“Lots of times. You?”
“Tonight’s the first time.”
“What was the dream? About Stryker?”
“No. It was the soldiers I killed in the hallways. I thought I saw one of them standing beside my bed when I woke up,” he pulled a long drink from the bottle.
Rogue felt herself grow cold inside, then softly asked, “And you haven’t ever dreamed about them before? Specifically them?”
“Nope.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah. Let’s get some sleep. You’ve got classes in the morning.”
Rogue lay awake long into the night, wrestling with herself over what to do, who to tell, and what to say to them. She slept little and fitfully until the alarm went off and the school day began.
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