When Jubilee leaves, Marie is once again left with more questions and not nearly enough answers. Why does it have to be so flippin’ convoluted? She much preferred it when it was just bad guys versus good guys and she could stay out of it. She didn’t like what the Brotherhood was into, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth either. They took her in, fed her, and she didn’t have to pay in any way for it. Well, until Carol.
“DAMMIT!” She lets loose as she sprawls on her vacated – and now nail polish chip free – bed.
A knock on her door interrupts her spiraling thoughts and before she can thank the heavens that at least this person doesn’t just barge in uninvited –
Logan fills the doorway. Without waiting for her permission to open the door. He’s nothing if not consistent.
One hand on the doorknob, the other braced against the doorjamb, he looks around and finally fixes his gaze on her. Then quirks The ‘Brow.
“Everything all right in here?”
Oh, right. They’re neighbors. Oh how convenient.
Marie closes her eyes and just nods, not trusting her tongue to keep from forming every sarcastic comment rolling through her mind. When she opens her eyes again he’s still there. Staring at her.
“Fine.” She manages, with a forced smile plastered onto her face.
She doesn’t need to be a telepath to know that he doesn’t believe her. Hell, he can probably use those senses of his to figure that out, though she doesn’t know what he’d get off of her.
“You didn’t eat.” It’s not a question so she’s not entirely sure what to say to that. Does he want a confirmation anyway? An explanation?
Logan lets go of the doorjamb, steps aside and cocks his head towards the hallway. “C’mon.”
There’s white noise in her head. Not unpleasant. Definitely not interference from a Brain Tenant. Marie just genuinely doesn’t know what’s going on.
“Uh…it’s…late.” She looks at the alarm clock to confirm and yes, it is in fact quite late. She briefly wonders if he’s just getting back from that mission before remembering that she shouldn’t care.
He grunts, of course. “Since when do you eat on time?”
Since never, her inner petulant six-year-old self replies in her mind. The one that didn’t get her Barbie dream house for Christmas and pouted for months after, only using that same tone of voice.
“I don’t have good luck with kitchens.” And really, she doesn’t. Every big meltdown/takeover has occurred in that room. Marie does a little, mild mental probing and finds that Carol is silent, but experience tells her how quickly and unexpectedly that can change.
He looks at her disbelievingly. “So you’re just gonna stay out of the kitchen, huh? Just not eat, then? That your plan?”
That damn petulant six-year-old Marie wants to pipe up again, so Marie just nods to avoid saying anything stupid. She’s also hoping that maybe he’ll drop it, leave her to her own devices, and be done with it.
Apparently they’re not on the same page.
“You ain’t starvin’, now get your ass in gear. C’mon.”
“I’m not going into the kitchen with you!” It comes out a bit louder, a bit shriller than she wanted, but the meaning is the same. Kitchens, plus Maries, plus Logans, equal inner ear deficiencies and unwanted telepathic invasions and images of his half-naked post-shower body. Danger! Danger!
Logan gives her the glower of the year before he barks out a “Fine!” and slams the door on his way out.
It’s 2 a.m. when Marie finally creeps down to the vacant kitchen to grab some food.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Right from the get go, Marie’s meeting with the Professor the next day is tense. He’s as unflappably kind as ever, but she feels guarded. With the conversation she had with Jubilee the day before, the cold shoulder she’s been getting from everyone, and the constant nagging in the back of her mind about Logan’s odd…everything, she doesn’t feel like sharing. Add to that one niggling thought that’s been infecting her mind since her first meeting with the Professor and she doesn’t really feeling like processing. Her answers to his questions are short, succinct, and most definitely lacking in detail. The chance of projecting her thoughts keeps her on edge, forcing her to focus on the sheet music she pilfered, reciting the notes to the pieces she knows by heart, building up to chords, and then finally adding the pieces together to form a melody.
Right before she left her room earlier to head to his office, Marie considered telling the Professor about her suspicions with Carol. The more she considered it, the more she figured it was a bad idea. What was there to tell anyway? Jubilee was the one that threw the ideas out there, intentional or not. There’s no proof, nothing to corroborate the theories. Even with the strange conversation she had with Johnny, Marie knew that she’d end up walking into the Professor’s office, flinging crap up against the walls and seeing what stuck. No, she had made up her mind before she even reached the bottom of the main staircase. There was nothing, at this point, to tell. What she thought she really needed were the right questions to ask him. She didn’t even have those.
So she sits before him now as he looks at her, occasionally peering at the notes he’s jotted down. Her memory travels back to the conversation she had with Logan about the Professor’s skills at reading body language – or lack thereof.
“Rogue?”
She’s interrupted from doing her best Jubilee impression. Except her gloves ruin the effect by covering any nail polish she’d have on. And she’s pretty sure Jubilee wouldn’t have classical music floating through her head. When the Professor has her attention he gives her that grandfatherly smile and continues.
“I can’t help but notice your reluctance today. Is something the matter?”
Feigning nonchalance, she shakes her head.
“Very well then. I trust you found what you needed in the music room?”
Now he has her attention. Just as her eyes narrow the Professor smiles. Smiles!
“I thought you said I was hard to read.”
“Unless you project.”
“But…I wasn’t thinking…”
The old fool chuckles now. First smiling then laughing at her expense. Well she must be a riot.
“Rogue, you were trying so hard not to think of anything but music, that I was bound to catch pieces of it. Do you have a preference for Beethoven or was Für Elise a spur of the moment choice?”
“Preference.” She reluctantly grumbles.
He simmers once he sees that her mood won’t lift. “Well then I hope the collection we have on hand suits your needs.”
“How could you tell? How’d you know which piece it was? Took me a while to get to the melody.”
“No, I recognized it myself. It’s been quite a while since I’ve played, but that piece was a standard that I was expected to practice meticulously.” At the wistful twitch of his lips Marie just nods, despite the fact that his eyes are trained on a place years behind her.
The alarm they agreed – but she originally suggested – on setting to mark the regimented two hour meeting time sounds and to Marie, it’s almost as beautiful as the music she had been reciting in her head. She’s about to jump up and make a hasty exit when the Professor’s voice stops her.
“Rogue. I would be remiss if I did not express my concern of your reluctance to share today. The fact that you’re using a distraction to keep your thoughts guarded…well, I just wonder how we can make any progress if this continues.”
Marie gauges that patented grandfatherly smile and weighs each of his words. Her immediate reaction is to look for the thinly veiled threat there, but she’s not sure she can find one without jumping to conclusions. She’s so caught up in her theories and assumptions, that when she remembers that he’s expecting a response, she doesn’t think about that constant infecting thought that comes out of her mouth.
“Then why bother?”
His raised eyebrows are the only movement from the man and although they’ve touched upon this subject before, Marie realizes that she hasn’t been satisfied with where they left it. Not by a long shot as it seems.
“I believe we discussed this.”
“And I don’t believe that we really did.” This isn’t a conversation she intended on having. Sure she thought about it, wondered about the details, but something new always popped up. Whether in the form of a Carol takeover or clashes with the other residents, it was always pushed out of her mind.
She’s not entirely sure she wants the answer he’s going to give, but not knowing is going to eat her alive. “Yeah there’s been a comment here or there, you not thinking I’m the enemy, but that can’t be it. That’s not all of it. I can’t sit here and expect you to do all this work for someone who’s Brotherhood.”
He leans forward, arms clasped on his gleaming desk and pins her eyes with his own. “And why is that, Rogue? Why should that matter?”
“Because it does! Because your team and Magneto’s team are constantly fighting! Because I kil – I’m the mechanism that took the life of one of your X-Men! You can’t really sit there, after all of that bad blood, and think to help me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you Rogue, other than that’s exactly what I intend.”
Marie groans and runs both hands through her hair, not caring of the disarray it causes, not caring how condescending her tone turns. “What? Is this rehab? Are you going to bring me to your side, Professor? Turn the Brotherhood’s Rogue into one of your gleaming X-Men?”
“Rogue, I –“
“No! You should have thought about those damn lofty intentions when you were in that round room of yours picking your recruits!” And there it finally is. She huffs and thinks, to hell with it.
“I know what you do with Cerebro! I know how you go looking for kids and send your finest to get them and save the day.” More incensed than she can ever remember, Marie leans forward, planting her hands on Xavier’s desk. “You’re keeping me here because you’re too damn scared to go up against me. Magneto must have really talked me up to you guys.”
She straightens and whisks herself towards the door on the heels of her ire. Before she completely slips through the opening, she shoots a glance back at Xavier. “If you really wanted someone like me to be one of your good guys, you would have tried a little harder the first time around, when I was barely surviving on the streets. All this after the fact crap is too little, too late.”
The Professor’s unwavering expression tells her everything she needs to know.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
She’s in her room packing.
Except she owns nothing that she’s been using or wearing since she got to the mansion. For that matter, she doesn’t even have anything to put all of her non-possessions in. She has nothing. Looks like this will be easier than she thought. That notion erases all fire she felt in Xavier’s office, which had also helped propel her up the stairs to her room. Or “the” room, as it’ll soon be. Damn depressing is what it really is.
She never intended to have that conversation with the Professor. Even now most of her thinks that just letting sleeping dogs lie would have been easier, but it had been silently building up in her. She’s been preoccupied with all of the Carol-related trouble from the get go. The snubs of the main team of X-Men, the blatant mistrust of the juniors in-training all adding up to making her feel more isolated, more of an outsider than ever. Considering her mutation, that’s saying a lot. Just like with Jubilee, Marie initially thinks her execution could have been better, but she’s still not done feeling angry, she can’t see past all of the slights to really figure out how to handle her suspicions better.
The fact of the matter is that she’s a fly in the ointment. In a school full of nothing but mutants she’s still the outcast and not just because of her skin this time either. With her unwelcome insider’s tip, Marie knows how everyone comes to have a place at Xavier’s. Out of Cerebro, through the Professor’s direction, and via the X-Men’s heroics, everyone here has been handpicked. Saved from hell or the threat of one and shown a bright leather-clad future.
Everyone except for her. She ended up here because they don’t know what else to do with her. Kill her, punish her, help her, save her, they just don’t really know. Not even the great Charles Xavier. No, if he wanted her he would have found her just as he did with all of the others in the mansion. Normally, Marie would try to shrug that off as fine, but it’s not fine, it doesn’t feel fine. It just is.
With that thought and a final look around at all of the things that aren’t hers for the taking, she feels that familiar undertow of exhaustion well up inside of her. Marie leans over from her sitting position on the floor and curls up on her side, deciding to wait until well after everyone is asleep to leave.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
She doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until she hears pounding on her door. Like clockwork, Logan enters without an invitation and after blinking against the bright light he flips on, she sees the deep set scowl in his features. All dark shadow and sharp planes. He knows. Damn telepath can’t keep a secret.
Marie holds up her gloved hands and when she can work her voice, it’s gravely with sleep. “Just…just don’t toss me in a cold shower this time, okay?”
His hulking frame marginally loosens and after taking a long look at her crumpled form on the floor he roughly scrubs a hand down his face before sighing. “Get up.”
“But –“
“Not one fuckin’ word.” He growls.
He waits until she starts moving to leave, not quite slamming the door behind him.
Unlike that one afternoon she ended up on her butt after nearly smacking into him, Marie is prepared to see Logan in the hallway. She’s even prepared for the scowl and the reflexive clenching of his fists. When he turns to leave he gives no indication for her to follow him, but she knows he expects it.
It’s late and the halls are devoid of activity, everyone already in bed for the night except the same kid Marie passes on her way to the kitchen at night. Like every time before he’s watching TV and takes no notice of them. When Marie and Logan get to the kitchen he flicks on the light and she fully expects the little plastic switch to break with the force of his hand. It doesn’t though, neither does the refrigerator door when he flings it open before diving in to root through the contents. She wonders if the air conditioning can be blamed for her trembling.
She doesn’t realize that she’s stalled in the doorway until he directs his glare to her and gives a grunt. “C’mere.”
Marie moves stiffly, cautiously, despite the impatience in his demeanor. Not Victor. Not Victor. Not Victor.
Logan stands and thrusts two six-packs at her chest, forcing her to grab hold before she can decide not to. If not for the padding of her bra, she’d have some interesting bruises later. After shifting things in the fridge with as much care as he handled the cans of Molson and soda Marie’s holding, the Wolverine finds what he’s been hunting for. A growled, “C’mon” is her next direction to follow him and his pizza box to the back deck. Another light switch becomes a victim to his abuse and the nighttime is bathed in artificial light.
Oddly, Logan doesn’t choose the nice patio set, what with its proper table and matching chairs to sit in. Tossing the thin box down on the planks, he parks himself on the wide deck steps, facing the illuminated backyard. He throws a look back at her, once again paralyzed in another doorway, the lingering cold from the cans seeping through her shirt. With another tip of his head and a grunted, “Sit”, she finally moves, gingerly seating herself on the step, as far away from him as possible. Not Victor. Not Victor. Not Victor!
“I’ll be takin’ my beer now.”
Her arm is shaking as she holds out his six-pack, cans clanking together with a dull, tinny sound. Logan gives that arm a long look before taking his beer and with a deep sigh the rest of the tension leaves his body.
“You gotta cut that shit out.” Although his voice is noticeably softer, it still carries that distinctive rumbling timbre. The change in tone helps a little.
Marie tries working her throat while he pops the tab on a can a takes a long pull. She’s still clutching the soda in her right arm.
“I –I c-can’t…h-help it.” No matter how much she wants to. No matter how damn weak she feels when her body goes on auto-pilot around the threat of anything remotely Victor-like. The indignity of having Carol takeover her body almost pales in comparison to the automatic lockdown she goes into when the memory of one intimidating mutant washes over her.
“Yes you can.”
She manages to at least make her neck work, shaking her head in disagreement as she watches him reach back for a slice of cold pizza from the cardboard box.
Logan shows her that his lack of manners extend to talking with his mouth full, too. “You can. Just gotta work harder.” When she still only shakes her head he finally turns his attention away from the slice he’s holding and takes her in. “Yes, you do. You haven’t been workin’ hard enough and you keep avoidin’ shit. You or Carol or whoever’s got problems with me, then have out with it. Don’t keep fuckin’ runnin’.”
He takes another healthy bite, fully engrossed in the overloaded slice when Marie finally manages to force a gravelly, broken sentence. Hating. Hating her own weakness.
“It’s not…it’s not that. Y-you…It’s not C-carol…now. It – it’s y-you…You remind me…when you’re…w-when you get l-like that...it reminds me…of – of Victor.”
Logan chokes on the piece he swallowed, turning his wide-eyed gaze on her while coughing and thumping his sternum. Old manners suggest that maybe she should thump him on the back, but she doesn’t think any help would be welcome.
The space between them is heavy and thick with tension when he finally clears his airway. She briefly considers what that must smell like to him. After a few deep swallows, Marie flicking her gaze between his thousand mile stare and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, Logan remembers the slice of pizza in his hand and he flings it back in the box with a curl of his lip.
Pure, unfiltered disgust registers on his face as he drains the rest of the can, and now it’s more a chore than anything, the enjoyment of the beverage gone. When he pops open a second one, drains it and goes for a third, the repulsion in his expression gives way to something that looks far more resigned. Logan spends the next ten minutes with his back bent, elbows resting on his knees, working through the rest of the six-pack and not even looking at her.
He drops his head down and Marie has to strain to hear the rumbled question. “What’d he do?”
She’s back to shaking her head again, even though he can’t see it and the lack of verbal response prompts him to turn his head, still bent over as he is.
“N-n-nothing.”
At her whisper, Logan straightens and breathes deep, he shakes the can in his hand a bit before finishing it off and reaching for another. “You’re lyin’. What’d he do?”
“N-not what you’re probably thinking.” The slowing of his movements, the noticeable deliberateness of them since the shock she gave him, bolsters her voice some.
“Then set me straight. What did he do?”
“Got backhanded. Knocked around. That kind of thing. Nothing more than that.” Hunched over the sodas still clutched to her chest, Marie chooses her words carefully. Realizing for the first time how dangerous and damning pronouns can be.
“The night you got sick?”
“Not him.”
He slowly nods at her succinct answer. They sit like that for a while, silent, pizza untouched between them. She flicks a glance over to him out of the corner of her eye and can barely keep up with all of the emotions passing over his normally stoic face. None of them pleasant. Despite her earlier reaction to his demeanor, she can’t help but feel guilty now. After all, it’s not his fault; she now knows that he’s not going to physically harm her. He hasn’t needlessly intimidated her just for the hell of it. Throwing around his weight to get off on her fear like the only other feral mutant she knows. Years of conditioning are hard to erase though. Logan just has the misfortune of sharing some growling, feral characteristics with the Brotherhood’s resident psychopath.
“It – it’s not you, y’know. It’s just…the intimidation thing.”
He’s quiet for a long time after that, but when he does speak his tone is as quiet and resigned as she’s ever heard. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid.”
“I know.” She’s quick to assure him. “I know that now. I mean, I didn’t at first…uhm, because of – of what I did. To Carol. Your teammate. It’s just…now, it’s just habit. I was with the Brotherhood for so long…I know you’re not like that –“
He snorts. “No ya don’t. Not really.”
“Well, I think I do. Okay, so I may not know you, but I know Victor…and you’re not like that.” She takes a deep steadying breath, her next words coming out in a rush. “You wouldn’t have stopped yourself that day you showed me to my room, or y’know…any other time I pissed you off…if you were.”
And she is sure of that now that she’s got her emotions back under control. Logan may have a point; she doesn’t know him very well, but she can tell the difference so far. She knows what it’s like to live under the constant fear of Sabretooth’s ire and perversion and although she expected that same treatment when she first got here from the only other feral man she met, Logan didn’t follow through on her expectations.
Marie doesn’t know why she has an overwhelming urge to reassure Logan. Her only explanation is that comparing anyone to Victor, no matter how bad the offense, isn’t ever deserved.
“Sometimes it’s just Carol, y’know? Not all the time, but sometimes she acts up around you, so…that can’t really be helped.”
She can’t tell if he’s thinking about that new piece of information or still hung up on the Victor comparison. His expression is back under lockdown. Once again full of those sharp planes & dark shadows. The only thing she can figure out by the few shakes he gives the last empty can he’s holding is that he probably wishes he had another beer. Realizing that she’s still clutching the now luke warm sodas, she pops one off of the plastic ring and offers it to him, making sure to extend her arm enough so that he notices how steady it is now.
He does notice, taking an even longer look than he did before when it was shaking. A quick glance to her face and he takes the can from her, the little reluctance he shows having to do with the fact that the beverage is lacking in alcohol. He takes a few swigs, wincing at the sweetness and just as Marie’s thinking about grabbing a slice of pizza she hears his voice.
“And why would she do that?”
She has to take a moment, having forgotten what she had last said that would prompt his question. He decides to jog her memory for her.
“Carol. Why does she act up around me?”
“Oh. I…don’t know.”
“But you got some theories.” It should be a question, but it’s not and Marie can’t help but wonder how he can be so sure of that statement when even she isn’t.
“I don’t really know that either. I mean, I don’t know why she only acts up sometimes around you, not all the time. Why it’s different…” She trails off, not at all sure that she wants to get into what Jubilee told her.
“Why it’s different with Jeannie and Scooter?” He’s really throwing her off. She remembers the comment that slipped out the last time they were on the deck. So he damn well knows that Jean and Scott are involved in some way, no need to ask. Maybe he wants her to hear herself confirm it.
“Yeah.”
She knows she’s not ready for this conversation. She’s not ready to untangle the gossip from the truth that seems to have wrapped around the main team. Moreover, she’s not prepared to do that with someone who’s involved in all of it. Marie closes her eyes, sees ivory keys and slick black varnish, imagines pale fingers stretching to create different chords. She’s about to pick a scale to recite when her stomach grumbles. Loudly.
Her appetite is a threat to that damn inner peace.
She opens her eyes and wonders if Logan can see her embarrassed flush in uneven light. She can certainly see the quirk of an eyebrow and the twitch of his lips. Not completely letting go of the dark thoughts still clouding his features, but it’s a vast improvement. He slowly reaches over and opens the pizza box for her. Marie has to make a conscious effort not to shove the slices into her mouth like a rabid heathen. She flashes back to a memory of her fourth grade class pet, Mr. Slithers, and how the snake would consume his food in one large bite. She thinks she’s hungry enough to unhinge her jaw and do the same with the pizza she’s rapidly consuming. Maybe if her deteriorating table manners are disgusting enough Logan will lose his appetite and she can have the entire thing for herself. She’ll revisit that odd thought when she’s full.
“Don’t forget to breathe, kid.”
Marie blinks at him like she’s been caught, but he’s not looking at her. He’s slightly less involved in his own food. “Might want to do a finger check too.”
Forcefully, Marie takes daintier bites of her pizza and once she swallows the last bit she does check. Yes, all ten, still there, no bite marks. She’s still slightly civilized. Mission accomplished.
They sit in a much lighter silence for a while after their demolition efforts, leaving the carnage in the cardboard box. No one should have to see that. Marie yawns and she’s fully prepared to go hide now and beach herself like the whale she’s currently feeling like.
She hazards a glance in Logan’s direction. Although lighter with a considerable amount of effort, his expression is still as closed as Fort Knox. Another regret to add to her list. She should’ve just let him continue thinking her reaction had something to do with absorbing Carol. Just one of many examples of how nothing good comes from Sabretooth. Not even mentioning his name.
Logan glances over at her and nods towards to the kitchen. “Go on. I’ll take care of this.”
Ah yes, he’ll dump the evidence. They are now partners in crime.
She reaches the sliding glass doors when she hears the comment he tosses over his shoulder.
“We still got unfinished business.”
Marie stands there for a few seconds. Her brain and the neurotransmitters in it doing the happy dance that comes with stuffing oneself with obscene amounts of food. That’s probably what’s fueling her sudden good mood and the humor she finds in his last comment.
“Pistols at high noon, then?”
Logan turns around to face her and she sees that it only takes a second for his familiar “where do we keep the straightjackets” look to change to “I might find that kind of amusing” look.
She’ll take it.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Please don't hate me. Again, no good excuses except for a resurgence of particularly hateful germs. Other than that I've just been dicking around. I actually haven't written anything new for this story since like March. This is why I like having things written in advance - because I'm a d-bag. I hope you guys enjoy. As always, big thanks to my beta/life-coach Wendie & her ridiculously cheap (free) fee.
Chapter End Notes:
I know I'm a couple months early for that certain American holiday, but I'd just like to offer up a completely unrelated note - I'm very grateful I was allowed to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show as a kid and subsequently know all of the words as it plays in the background as I type this. Carry on, kids and kindly review.