The feeling of déjà vu from waking up in the med lab again with Logan sitting in the corner is really messing with Marie’s already fractured sense of sanity. The tray of food on the table next to her gives some credence to what she believes has already happened.
She’s still tired, feeling like an insomniac yearning for any sense of oblivion. In spite of that her stomach growls in the presence of food.
“Eat.” Ah, the statue speaks. Me Wolverine, me command you.
She reaches for the tray, resting it on her lap once she gets herself propped up. “You draw the short stick, sugar? They give you babysitting duty?”
When he only grunts – and really, what else did she expect – she turns to the food they had left her. Carrot sticks, applesauce, some brown rice-vegetable combo and water. Nothing too heavy for her neglected stomach of course, but like before, she still wants to snicker at the wholesomeness. She takes tentative spoonfuls of the applesauce, her blood sugar screaming for it and goodness…it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. Her stomach doesn’t rebel, her taste buds practically rejoice, and in the bliss of finally consuming food for the first time in ages she can’t remember why she only ever gave applesauce a passing “eh” before now.
“You two need some alone time?” At Logan’s question, Marie opens her eyes and realizes that she must have been enjoying her reintroduction to sustenance a little too much. She forces herself to calmly set down the cup and spoon, laying it on the tray like the little southern debutant she once wanted to be.
“I’m hungry.”
“Apparently.”
She glares at him and he returns the look with a hint of amusement. That actually…well, it doesn’t look bad on him. Not at all. And that just pisses her off.
“Seriously, why’d they put the mighty Wolverine on babysitting duty? Ya’ll don’t really think I’m that much of a threat, do you?”
He shrugs, “You did take out one of our team members.”
Marie immediately notices the lack of the word “kill” in his statement. She could’ve let that go, should let that go…
“Your professor tell you to say that?”
Another shrug, “He didn’t tell me to do shit. He gave us the run down of what happened. Keep eating.”
She scoffs and bites off a chunk of carrot. “So what, now all of a sudden I’m absolved or something?”
He gives her a feral grin, devoid of any semblance of humor. One she was sure Brotherhood members had seen a time or two. “I ain’t in the business of absolvin’, darlin’.”
It’s her turn to grunt – must be contagious. At least he’s moved on from “kid”. Marie just continues munching on her carrots, her thoughts running back and forth from her new Wolverine-shaped shadow to the likelihood that the X-Men wouldn’t buy the kind of precut carrots that were rinsed with bleach. She really wants to get to the bottom of why he’s always around. If the Professor isn’t forcing him to keep an eye on her, which she doubts, then what in the hell is he doing? Did he just up and decide to stalk her, growl at her, indirectly threaten her for kicks and giggles? Yeah, yeah he probably would do that. Well if the Wolverine wants to follow around the crazy poisoned- skin girl then it’s his loss.
She takes a few bites of the rice-veggie thing before her stomach tells her it’s full. Marie just hopes that it will stay down. She turns back to the glowering statue. “So…when can I leave?”
“You can’t. You heard the professor. Gotta stay here.”
Well, that’s not exactly what Xavier said, but…”I meant down here. When can I go back up to my room?” Or should she have said “the room”? It isn’t really hers, per say…
“Mmph. Whenever.”
O…kay. Right. Well then. She’ll just take her tray, slip out of the nice little medical bed with its cute little mental ward restraints and…oh…damn. How the hell do these doors work? There’s no doorknob and she’s only seen them swish open and Erik is really poking through her barriers for some attention…
“Just walk up to it.” Logan’s right behind her and takes the tray from her wobbly grasp. She just turns and gapes at him. A man of his size shouldn’t move that silently. She couldn’t have a normal stalker of the toothbrush-stealing, panty-obsessed variety, no. Hers has to have metal claws, be super stealthy, and distractingly attractive.
Wait. Where’d that last bit come from?
She feels a nudge at the small of her back. “C’mon, kid.” Oh, we’re back to that are we?
“I’m not a kid.” Although she bites that out with more heat than necessary, she still gets the hint and makes for the weird X-door. Sure enough, it swishes open once they come close enough. Neat.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re all grown at the ripe old age of seventeen, ain’t ya?” Once again Marie turns to him at the blatant mocking in his voice. She knows she looks youngish, but geez, she didn’t grow up with a Flintstone vitamin everyday and the nutritious X-Men diet.
“You blind, old man? I’m twenty-one.” Yes, don’t just tease the Wolverine, downright insult him, right in his face. Excellent plan on her part. At least she’s not doing it as slowly as she did in the kitchen earlier.
Instead of filleting her like a fish right there in the X-hallway, or whatever these people call it, Logan just narrows his eyes. Then leans in and sniffs her. She supposes she’s going to have to get used to being sniffed again.
He lifts a brow, “You’re not lyin’.” It’s not a question, but she feels the need to reply anyway.
“No. I’m not. I can drink and buy cigarettes and guns and order stuff off of infomercials. I can do it all at the same time if I wanted.” Well maybe not. She’s never really done much of any of those things. The last three on her verbal list never held any special appeal and the idea of someone with her mutation getting drunk probably isn’t a good idea. She certainly isn’t a teetotaler by choice.
Logan actually seems confused for a moment, contemplating the floor like it’s about to turn into quicksand.
“Mmph. Still a kid. Get movin’.”
It takes all her willpower not to roll her eyes and stomp away like a kid.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After spending a couple of hours exploring her room Marie decides that she is going to go insane with or without the Professor’s help. Not from mutation side effects. Nope, death by shear boredom. Sure she spent most, if not all of her time sequestered in her little room while she was with the Brotherhood, but at least she had her toys. Magazines, TV, laptop, iPod. Her digs here in the mansion are far more accommodating, but there’s nothing to occupy her time but think. And thinking leads to introspection, which isn’t good for someone who had mutation-induced multiple personalities.
Marie sprawls out on the oversized bed, fiddling with her gloves. No one ever outright said that she’s quarantined to her room. The halls had always been suspiciously empty during the few times she had to make her way around and she can’t help but wonder what kind of reaction she would get from the other residents of the mansion if she comes out of hiding. It’s doubtful that she could just plunk down in the living room and join in on a tv show. The Professor might be all reassuring smiles and empathy, but even his X-Men clearly have a hard time following his example. No, there would be no open arms from anyone else. As Jubilee so eloquently put it, they’d let her burn.
Still, this place is huge. There have to be ways around the crowds, places where few people linger and even then, the threat of her skin alone could make anyone abandon their spot. Either way it’s a danger; face the other occupants or continue wandering through the overgrown thicket in her mind. Resolved, she pulls herself up and out of the bed. She peeks out of the door once she has it open and checks both ways, looking for an irate mutant that would run her down like a truck. All clear. With a deep breath she sticks close to the walls as she meanders through the mansion.
When she passes the hall clock she notes that most should be at dinner, hopefully giving her more time to roam free. She explores the game room with its foosball table that’s much more broken in than the pool table. The overuse of the handles and little plastic players obvious compared to the minimal scratches on the swath of green felt next to it. The differences in abuse show which forms of entertainment the younger generations of the mansion prefer. Naturally, every board game ever to exist form neat stacks in the corners and if she looks hard enough, Marie knows that they’d be organized in some systematic way.
The library is much like the Professor’s office. Expected in its quality, but still surprising nonetheless. As much as she likes to read, the excitement of the few opportunities she had to go to a library, or even rarer – a bookstore – was always overshadowed after her mutation struck. It was just so daunting and that feeling is something that flows through her now as she tours the stacks, never getting close enough to engross herself in a title. There are just so many, so much to learn, all that knowledge to soak up. Just as before, it all culminates in making her feel a bit bereft. Marie assumes, that unlike most, there isn’t an unending possibility to how much she can gain from studying. She knows how skewed that line of thinking seems, having spent years warring with herself about that concept. However, the more she pressed on in the past, trying desperately to disprove her fears, the more tangible her limitations became. She doesn’t get the luxury of losing herself in a story anymore. Her mutation, the lifetimes of memories stored in her own mind, act as a cap and she’s already all full up.
The sky is the limit! A banner she remembers seeing in her fifth grade reading class that she doesn’t think applies to her anymore. Secretly, Marie tried online classes, having to hide it from Mystique and Magneto because they didn’t approve of her curriculum choices. She didn’t, and still doesn’t, want a life of politics and law, so in their opinion, what good was continuing her education if it wasn’t going towards the mutant cause? But those pre-requisites had to be taken anyway and try as she might, the information wouldn’t stick. Unbidden memories and catatonic states would increasingly interrupt her studying. The various people she had unwillingly absorbed offering their two cents when she came across something relevant to them. She can thank the presence of her crotchety old neighbor for blacking out while writing an essay on the Korean War that ended up taking a pretty racist slant. And the F that it earned.
Very distantly, almost unattainable in its hiding place in her mind, is one of the precious few pieces of literature that she’s able to keep from her pre-mutation days. Something that’s remained untainted by foreign impressions and stolen beliefs. The idea of a “mind-attic” she first read about in middle school, which held no real meaning for her then as it does now. She revisited the passage years later and re-read the words from A Study in Scarlet, hoping to find something more than just the feeling of being able to relate. Instead of the answers and comfort she hoped for, the words she read left her more shaken than her last absorption.
“It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it, there comes a time when, for every addition of knowledge, you forget something that you knew before.”
From that moment on, Marie felt like a timer had been started, counting down every second she was losing.
Something as basic as words are largely denied to her and the few that aren’t only leave her feeling cold. No, she doesn’t belong in this room.
Marie slips out of the library and is about to test another door when a burst of commotion breaks into her thoughts. The dinner rush is over. She’s caught like a deer in headlights when a group of teens round the corner, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Marie recognizes Jubilee as one of them, but the others are indistinguishable in their fresh faces and carefree attitudes. All of which promptly change when they notice her pressed against the door she wants to slip into. She matches the gaping looks they all give her…well all of them except for Jubilee.
The teen who didn’t get the message that the nineties wanted their frosted-tipped highlights back sneers at her, “What are you snooping around for?” Nope, definitely no hugs from this group.
“I’m not snooping.” Marie straightens up, refusing to let a bunch of kids, even if they were a few years younger than her – she must have caught Loganitis – get the better of her.
“Psh, yeah right. You want to tell us how you didn’t kill an X-Man too? C’mon, let’s see those Brotherhood lies at work.” Okay, that snotty little sneer was just itching to be smacked off.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” High road, take the high road. If only they hadn’t cornered her, she could’ve walked away like the mature adult she sometimes pretends to be.
“No?” The little bastard leans closer, repeatedly flicking a lighter open in his right hand. “The Professor might believe your bullshit, but the rest of us know what’s really going on.”
“Dude, Johnny, just leave it. C’mon.” Marie can’t tell if Jubilee is piping up in her defense or just to avoid a confrontation.
This Johnny glances over his shoulder at Jubes before focusing back on Marie, raking his eyes over her, measuring her up rather than undressing her. She wants to curl her lip as much as his in response to the challenge.
“No, why should I? She hasn’t been taught her lesson and maybe the Prof really is losing it if he can’t see that.”
The lighter catches and Frosted Tips captures the flame, forming it to fit in a ball over his palm. Well there goes his bag of tricks. Still, Marie bristles. “Back off, flamer.” Ah yes, head straight for the homosexual innuendos to piss off a boy.
“It’s Pyro.” He bites out. Okay, maybe she hit a really sore spot. Still, Marie’s the one bribing the judges here, so this kid is getting zero points for name originality.
“Maybe you should just go back to your room.” Oh now Boy Band wants to get involved? This other boy, who was All-American personified, levels his stare at her, probably doing his best impression of his hero, Scott.
It would be easier for her to turn tail and leave, but hell, she’s riled up now.
“I was here first! Last time I checked, ya’ll were just passin’ through.” She gives Boy Band – Bobby¬, thanks to Carol – a deceptively sweet smile, which has the small mousy girl at his side frowning. “So don’t let me keep ya.”
“And last time I checked, we lived here.” Ice forms on his hands, starting at the tips of his fingers. Oh he is going to have to take more Leader Lessons with Scott if he loses his temper this quickly. A trickle of Carol’s memories siphons off to show Marie what this Bobby kid can do…and what he calls himself. Seriously, where’s the imagination?
“Look, Icehole –“ Oh yeah, that got him. “I’m plenty free to look around. No one said I couldn’t. Even if they did I sure as hell wouldn’t take heed if it came from a little boy like you.”
Pyro snorts, “Fuckin’ Brotherhood.”
Marie pretty much agrees with that, but they’re beyond the point where she would let them know now. Instead she leans closer to the fire-manipulator, against her better judgment, and rakes her eyes over him just as he had done to her, letting it show that she found him wanting. Then gives a sneer of her own.
“Fuckin’ hypocrites.” And that is exactly how she feels. This is Xavier’s next generation of tolerant X-Men? Good luck to the guy.
“You’re really in no position to talk!” The mousy girl is all brass, no real discernable courage that Marie can tell even with no background on the girl. She has to dig deeper into the small leak of Carol’s memories to find the identity of this one. Apparently she doesn’t readily register on Carol’s radar. No, not mousy – Marie has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling at the flow of info – in personality yes, but her name is Kitty, Shadowcat. She’s still usually quiet as a church mouse and about as interesting as a sponge. Yeah, Carol didn’t give her any regard.
Marie knows it isn’t in her best interest to bait them, but she can’t resist. Maybe she’s more Brotherhood than she thought. She brings a hand to her chest and in her best southern drawl she breathes, “Well, whatever do ya mean?” It was a close race between that or an “I do declare!”
“Stop playing us!” Icehole is so not earning his X-Men merit badge today. “What do you want? What are you after?”
Marie drops the front along with her arm. She knows they won’t believe her, but she still makes an attempt to keep her tone businesslike. “Nothing. I’m not after anything. I don’t want a damn thing to do with ya’ll. I’d be just fine staying out of everyone’s way, which is what I was trying to do before ya’ll ambushed me!”
Both Icehole and Flamer open their mouths to retort when Jubilee gives each of them a shove. “C’mon, don’t be dicks. Let’s just go. We’ve got Tactical in the morning.” When they still don’t move, she snaps her gum and shoves them again, harder. “I said let’s go! Work on your trash talk later.”
“Is there a problem here?” Every head swings around to see Scott striding down the hall next to a beautiful woman with striking, white hair. Another piece of the dam falls away and Marie is able to connect the new face with a name; Storm to the kids, ‘Ro among the adults, Goddess to a tribe half a world away.
“No Mr. Summers.” Marie wants to roll her eyes at Bobby’s tone. All it’s missing was a “golly” or an “aw shucks”, maybe an earnest bob of the head.
“She got out.” Pyro doesn’t bother looking at her when he cocks his head in Marie’s direction, flicking the lighter again. Marie takes stock of the situation and notices that the ball of flame is gone just like the ice on Bobby’s hands.
Scott seems to be doing his own assessing, but Marie can’t really tell with those red-tinted glasses. After a moment he gives his protégés a tight smile. “It’s okay. Rogue isn’t to be contained.” Oh well bless him. Him and his dispassionate delivery of that news.
Pyro snorts at that, but the others remain impassive. Bobby and Kitty soaking up Scott’s presence as if he’d test them on how to iron a crisp pleat in a pair of khakis, Jubilee snap-chewing her gum and examining her nails, the last one that is with them – the only one to remain silent throughout the whole ordeal, Piotr – imitating a blank expression the Wolverine would be proud of.
“Tactical class begins at eight a.m. sharp –“ Jubilee groans at Scott’s news, “–tomorrow so I suggest all of you turn in early. I expect you guys to be on your game.” In other words, “no fighting in the halls, children. Run along now.”
They begin to file down the hall obediently…well, somewhat obediently – Bobby and Pyro shoot her a couple of dirty looks.
“Oh Jubilee, I need a word.” The girl in question drops her head and sharply turns on her heel to face Scott. Marie half expects a mocking salute to follow.
“We need to talk about your schedule for summer school.” When Jubilee groans again Marie has the sudden feeling that was missing during the argument with the X-Kids, that she doesn’t belong out of her room. Storm turns to her and Marie really hopes she’s not another telepath. A thought jumps out in Marie’s mind like a hand in the dark and no, this mutant isn’t of the mind-reading variety. Thank goodness.
The goddess inclines her head and unlike so many of the nonverbal head gestures she had been given in the past few days, this is more of a “won’t you accompany me?” and less of a “hop to, underling.” Marie appreciates that now that she has experienced the difference. She follows Storm in the opposite direction Pyro and Friends had taken, away from Jubilee’s unwilling obedience.
“You were not at dinner. Have you eaten already?” Storm’s voice washes over Marie, deep and smooth.
“I ate once today.”
“Hmm, that will hardly do. Come with me and we shall find you something.” Is everyone at the mansion obsessed with feeding her? “I’m Ororo Munro or Storm, if you prefer.”
“I know.” Half a second too late Marie realizes that it would’ve been better to just smile and nod at Storm’s introduction. To her credit, the X-Man doesn’t falter.
The rest of the walk to the kitchen is silent, which Marie greatly appreciates. Only after Storm gestures for Marie to sit at the island in the kitchen does she
start questioning her. She keeps it limited to food selection, a very precise smile on her face the entire time. Whatever self-control Kool-Aid the adults are drinking clearly hasn’t been given to the younger mutants in the mansion. Marie knows that despite the civility, the X-Men don’t trust her, don’t want her there, and for very good reasons. Shelving that line of thinking, she agrees with Storm that soup would be the safest bet for her abused stomach. She’s not sure what to do, her Mississippi roots urging her to remember her manners and give Storm a hand since it’s Marie’s food she’s preparing, but the possibility of coming into contact with her is too great a risk, even if she is covered head to toe. So Marie just sits, fiddles with the loose strings of her gloves, and pushes down those ingrained manners.
Just as Storm is setting down a bowl of tomato soup, toast, and ginger ale in front of Marie her growly stalker saunters in.
He’s toweling off his damp, unruly hair. He’s naked from the waist up. He’s glistening.
Oh…oh, damn.
Marie doesn’t know if that thought came from her or not, but if it was Carol’s, then they are finally in agreement about something. She’s far too busy appreciating the flex of his arms and abs as he’s drying himself off on his way to the fridge, the cording and stretching of his muscles as he moves.
And that’s how Marie ends up spilling hot soup all over herself. Before knocking over her glass of ginger ale in her haste to contain the liquid. On top of it all, her toast falls to the floor, butter side down.
Another pair of dirty gloves. Fantastic.
“This is why I can’t have nice things.” She grumbles, firmly keeping her eyes away from exposed Wolverine parts. She hears someone sigh as a roll of paper towels is tossed her way. Whoever made the noise – she couldn’t agree more. Probably figuring that Marie isn’t going to pull anything shifty while cleaning up, Storm and Logan leave her to her own devices.
“You hear the shit Scooter’s pullin’ with the firecracker?”
“If you mean the schedule he’s setting up for Jubilee to re-take calculus this summer, then yes, I did hear about that.”
Logan grunts at Storm’s statement. Well, at least he’s an equal opportunity grunter. Marie doesn’t quite know if she should be glad about that or disappointed that he isn’t saving up all of his precious grunts for her.
“Well it’s bullshit.” That is a matter of fact voice if she ever heard one.
Storm has the gull to laugh. Oh yes, silly Wolverines. Marie thinks this woman is heading for a stabbing.
“Logan, you know that she has to pass this one course in order for her to earn her diploma. She failed it the first time and frankly, Scott is going out of his way to ensure that she has one-on-one instruction instead of waiting until the fall and placing her with other students. At that rate she would also have to wait until the following winter to really train for the team.”
Something pounds against the counter, either Logan’s fist or the beer he grabbed from the fridge.
“Then maybe it should wait! She’s too young to be on the fuckin’ team anyway. She’s just a goddamn kid!” Marie wants to snort. Looks like he’s equal opportunity with the word “kid”, too.
“She is eighteen. You two have had this conversation before. In fact, you’ve had this conversation with just about everyone. Loudly, too. It’s her decision.”
“Well it’s a fuckin’ lousy decision.”
“I’m sure Jubilee could use your support rather than your condemnation.”
“Right. The only thing Yellow is gonna get from me is a hard time in training.”
Storm sighs as she sets another bowl of soup in Marie’s line of vision. She looks up at that, into the woman’s dark eyes.
“Try to be more careful with this one.” Marie has to fight the knee-jerk reaction of averting her gaze and mumbling “yes ma’am”. Instead, her eyes are drawn to Logan like a magnet. Okay, maybe not his face at first. It takes a while for her gaze to travel north, what with all of the nice rest-stops to make from the waist up, but when she finally settles on his scowl she has the sense to feel like a royal pervert. Is he scowling at her? Or is it residual scowling? From the conversation with Storm? Ugh, she just wants to ogle him and eat in peace. Nonononono! Eat, she just wants to eat in peace. Nothing else. Marie makes a mental check to see if Carol is listening, but all’s quiet on the home front. Oddly enough Carol’s presence is still there, but she’s hanging back, clearly withholding something. Unlike the Professor, Marie can’t help but think that this is a good thing. Carol’s lecherous thoughts are a bit much for Marie. She can handle her own PG-13 comments, but her new resident has far too much experience and not nearly enough shame.
Ducking her head, Marie forces herself to stare intently at her soup while she eats, lest Carol decide to get involved and ratchet the situation up to X-rated. X-Rated X-Men. She chokes a little with that thought.
“You turned the safety controls back on after your simulation, right?”
Some reluctant grumbling from Logan. “Yeah, yeah. Scooter’s scheduled after me. I don’t wanna hear anymore bitching from Ms. Delicate if he breaks a fuckin’ nail.”
He leaves right after that and Marie closes her eyes to fight the urge to ogle his backside. When did she turn into such a perv? This gives a whole new meaning to the show, To Catch a Predator. She’s already sitting on a kitchen stool, she might as well have a pack of wine coolers with her, chatting with Chris Hanson from Dateline and waiting for the police sting. A mental nudge from Carol lets her know that she can switch out the wine coolers in that scenario to a six-pack of Molson.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm so sorry this took so long, but Life happened to both me & my beta, who has been wonderfully patient and kind considering all of the stuff she has to do. To make up for the wait this chapter is longer than usual. I can't promise regular updates thanks to that Life thing I mentioned earlier, but know that I've got nearly 12 chapters written so I'm NOT abandoning this or you lovely, lovely people. I hope you guys like this next bit. To prove my hectic craziness, I actually freaked out a bit with the quote in this chapter & almost took out my APA Manual to see if I cited it correctly.....Conclusion: grad school ruins the mind. Any mistakes are the result of my inability to format & type suggested revisions. Enjoy the read!
Chapter End Notes:
I suggest googling or youtube-ing To Catch a Predator if the reference escapes you & you're dying to know. Other than that I hope you guys liked this & are intrigued. I can't wait to read what each of you thought! Even you lurkers out there! Yes, you. I was one of you once. I know you're there ;)