Rogue knew it was pointless to ask him not to leave. She watched as he opened the door and the orange light of the late summer sunset poured over his hair, somehow making it look like a dark shadow towering over his head. To some it might have looked demonic, but this was the man she loved, so Rogue saw only the handsome profile, the rough features blending perfectly together into what had become her ideal of masculinity. He never looked back to see her standing in the hallway behind him, staring at him, although he had to know she was there. His senses probably provided the information all too easily. He just didn't care.
Oh, he was protective of her, treated her as if she were made of spun glass. He never noticed that she had a spine of steel to rival his adamantium one. He had taught her how to fight but seemed unable to believe that she could take care of herself. Some women might like that. Rogue did not. He never saw that she had a wild side equal to his own, perhaps because when they first met she had been a scared runaway girl who hid behind layers of reserve as well as clothing to make sure she didn't ruin the best shot she thought she could have at a normal life. And he never, ever noticed the way that her hungry eyes followed his every move because she had become adept at lowering her lashes once he looked her way. Sometimes she wondered why he couldn't smell the arousal on her. The sickening realization that he probably could and dismissed it as unimportant hit her like a sucker punch to the gut—and she'd received plenty of those, in training and in combat, to know what it felt like.
As the door closed behind him, Rogue leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. She knew where he was going. She knew what he would do once he got there, down to the order that events would occur. He'd drink himself into as much oblivion as he could manage. He would find a woman—there was always a willing one for him. They would fuck either near the bar, at a sleazy nearby motel, or maybe at her apartment if it was close enough. He would go back to the bar, sober up enough to drive, which wouldn't take long with his mutation once he stopped swilling, and then he would come home. He would get upstairs one way or the other, whatever method was the quietest, and then he would open her door to check on her. It wasn't like she was ever anywhere else, but he would check on her like a fucking father figure or something. Unbeknown to him, she was always awake when he did this, still smelling like beer or whiskey and cheap perfume, the kind she would never degrade herself enough to wear. He would shut her door and stumble to his own, and Rogue would close her eyes and try to get some sleep so that her students wouldn't ask any inconvenient questions about the circles under her eyes the next morning.
This was his routine ever since the horrors of Alcatraz three years ago, one he conducted at least two or three times a week. This night would make the four hundred and sixty eighth time. And when he came home later, she would be gone. Rogue was finally fed up with her own childish hope that he would notice her, see her as a woman. That hope had died, killed inch by agonizingly slow inch over the six years she had known him, murdered by his indifference to her as anything except his neatly labeled “kid.”
Recently, feeling like nothing but a hollow shell and hating it, Rogue had decided to take a leave of absence from teaching history at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. It was an open secret held by the adults at the mansion that housed the School. Rogue would be gone, for an unknown period of time, to pursue...something. A purpose to her life that did not include Logan, many supposed. So no one was to tell Logan. That was the unspoken rule these past weeks as she planned this with Professor Xavier's help. Plane tickets were bought with a credit card given to her by the Professor under a name Logan would not find out. She was given a driver's license with that name, all pertinent documentation such as her degree and her teaching certificate also changed, and a car had already been purchased for her at her destination, registered under the same new name. That was as far as Rogue was willing to allow the Professor to go in helping her, but he hadn't agreed to her leaving until she made that compromise.
Rogue hadn't even looked at her new name yet. That part didn't matter. All that mattered was getting out, getting beyond the reach of Logan's senses because, for whatever reason, he was unwilling to let her go off on her own as she had hinted many times she would like to do. Each time he had protested a small bit of her hope was restored, only to be dashed onto the rocks of his indifference yet again at another time. Now he had no choice in letting her go. She had spent a quarter of her twenty-two years pretending that someday he might look at her and realize that he loved her. It was time to go find the love that she craved if he wouldn't give it to her.
Maybe if Logan had looked back this time, looked at her, he would have realized that something was up. Rogue had tried to give him that chance, stupid as it was. She wasn't exactly dressed in pajamas or clothes that a normal person would wear to lounge around the house. Her black skirt stopped a couple inches above her knee, and if his eyes had traveled down he would have seen knee-high black leather boots with a chunky heel that should be fine for traveling. Her crisp red blouse with the small ruffle around the neck might have seemed demure if it weren't for the fact that she had left a good expanse of chest showing by leaving the first three buttons undone. Her black leather purse was slung over one shoulder. What would really have gotten his attention, if he'd bothered to look at her, was the backpack on her other shoulder and the two black suitcases, large enough to accommodate a decent wardrobe, sitting next to her.
“Time to go, chica,” her best friend Jubilee said from behind her. Rogue nodded her head silently, straightened her back and raised her chin. She put one ungloved hand, a small detail unnoticed by Logan throughout dinner, on the handle of her rolling suitcase while Jubilee grabbed the other one, and then the two headed to the garage where those members of her family that she hadn't already said good-bye to waited.
The Professor and Scott, both miraculously recovered from the torture the Phoenix had put them through, were closest to the door. She leaned down to hug her mentor briefly, whispering a thank you in his ear that encompassed so many things, mostly his help while her mutation was returning after the “cure” wore off, his patience in guiding her to the control she had so recently won over it.
Scott's hug was a little stiffer. Even after having spent the past two years as his teammate, Rogue saw how guarded he was with his emotions. Scott had learned a hard lesson at the hands of the woman he had loved so much. Rogue felt a twinge of empathy for him at that one. She, too, had learned such a lesson.
Ororo smiled sadly at her when it was her turn to give a hug, perhaps remembering how cruelly she had ignored the younger woman after she received the cure. They had long since hashed out that particular sore spot, though,and the hug they shared was full of a sisterly devotion they might not otherwise have felt. “Take care of yourself,” 'Ro whispered in her ear. Rogue just nodded. That was the point of this whole journey.
Finally she was able to load her suitcases into the trunk while Jubilee, who was driving her to the airport, started the car. The others watched the car pull out and then went inside to prepare for the coming storm that would have nothing to do with the beautiful white-haired woman among them.
Logan stumbled as he made his way into the mansion through one of the side doors. Even in his inebriated state, he knew it wouldn't be a good idea to be caught by Ororo or Scott coming into the School through the front doors. Actually, his inebriated state was the problem. It had taken two bottles of whiskey to do it, and even now his healing factor was slowly taking away the buzz of forgetfulness he'd tried so hard to cultivate. It had lasted long enough for him to forget himself in a good fuck, though, so that was a good thing in his book. She was a red-head, like most of them were, but she'd been a little boring. Sometimes he wished for something a little more creative than a quickie in the alley behind his bar of choice for the night, but it was better this way. He never brought any of them home. They weren't the kind of girl you bring home.
The stairs seemed like a little too much of a challenge for him, so Logan took the elevator to the third floor. Since it was three o'clock in the morning, none of the adult occupants of the School were out of their rooms, wandering around. He preferred it that way, when he was coming home drunk. Still, he had obligations, so he headed towards her room. The check-in after a night out was a ritual for him, even if she never knew. Her door was the third on the right. To his confusion, it was open a crack. She never left it open.
Logan pushed the door, widening the crack. The faint light from a full moon shone into her room. That was strange. She hated to leave the blinds up because she faced the east and didn't want to wake up at dawn. They'd discussed it before. Logan's fuzzy brain took in the pristine room. Wrong. It was wrong. She was a mess, hated cleaning up and usually only went so far as to make sure the floor was relatively clear. No clothes littered the floor around the bed, no papers were balled up on the desk. Her laptop was missing.
The growl started low in his stomach and burst out as his shock turned to rage. What had they done with her? Where was she? He turned around on his heel in the middle of her room, barely aware that he had come so far in, the anger having burned away most of the remainder of his alcohol haze.
“I guess she got tired of being taken for granted, Wolverine,” a voice snapped at him from the shadows across the hall. He was out the door before he registered that it was a familiar voice, his hand raised as if to grab the speaker by the throat.
“Where is she, Jubilee?” It was low, a warning growl still apparent.
“Why the hell do you care, Wolvie? You ignore her half the time, play friend the other half, and go out to drink and fuck most nights of the week. What business is it of yours if Rogue has decided to actually get a life for once?!” Jubilee hissed.
Logan scowled darkly at the pipsqueak in yellow pajamas standing defiantly before him. “When did I ever say that Rogue couldn't have a life? When have I ever held her back? And quit it with the goddamn nickname!”
Jubilee laughed. “If you don't get it, I'm not helping you! Just leave her alone, Wolvie. Let her find her own life away from here. It's what she's wanted for a long time, and she finally got the balls to grab it and hold on tight,” the young woman told him.
Logan felt the claws slide out. “Tell me where she is!” he barked at her.
Shaking her head, Jubilee just grinned meanly. Logan hadn't even really been aware that she could look so malicious, despite the many pranks the girl had pulled throughout her time at the school as a student. Now that she was a teacher, he thought she had settled down.
“Not happening, Wolvie. Good night,” she said with a little wiggle of her fingers before she disappeared back into her own room across the hall, shutting the door firmly. Logan considered clawing his way through the door, but then he heard her voice through the thick wood.
“Chica? Yeah, it's me.” A pause. “Yeah, he got back okay. He saw your room.” A longer pause while Logan strained to hear the voice on the other side of what must be a phone conversation. “Look, it's probably not good to talk right now. You alright?” Pause. “Good. That's good. Have a safe flight, honey. Call me when you get there.”
Rogue hadn't just run away. She had flown. The information tore at Logan. The girl had known exactly how to run without him being able to chase her, and the thought was almost more than he could handle without going into a full on rage. Breathing heavily, he made it to his own room, fell onto his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. Logan didn't get any sleep that night, but it took the sun rising for him to notice the white index card propped up against his unlit lamp. Flicking the switched, the raised the card and stared at the familiar hand-writing.
Logan,
Please don't be angry. I didn't leave to hurt you. I left because I hurt, and I need to find somewhere where I can heal—away from you. I'm sorry I couldn't just say this to your face. I guess sometimes I can be a coward. I may be back someday, once I get my head on straight. I'll understand if you're not there when I get back, though, so don't feel like you have to wait around for me. I know how much that can suck. Have a good life,
Rogue
She hadn't signed it Marie, even though that was what he always called her when it was just the two of them. She hadn't promised to come back, just said that she might. Logan stared at that damn white card with its red and blue lines and black ink for a few minutes before tearing the fucking thing into shreds.
He didn't sleep for many nights after that.
~ End
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
A/N: Okay, as usual I was influenced by a song into writing this. Sorry, y'all, but I love country, and so many of the damned things are sad that I get all this angsty material lately. I think the rating on this is appropriate, but if you disagree, let me know, and I'll consider changing it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. That's probably good 'cause I'm really into the angst lately as far as writing goes, but I actually do enjoy a good happy ending!
Disclaimer: Not mine. That's probably good 'cause I'm really into the angst lately as far as writing goes, but I actually do enjoy a good happy ending!
Chapter End Notes:
This is just a one-shot. However, there are evil little bunnies hopping all around me about this one, and my muse has this sadistic glint in her eye that means I might be coming up with a sequal. Or something.