"Harder!" A low command. "Grip it harder." Rogue looked into his face, he was dead set on this course of action. "Push!"
Her concentration slipped and Wolverine went down on one knee. He was breathing hard but hadn't loosened his hold on her.
"Oh no! I'm sorry. Are you okay?" She asked as she let go of his arm. He looked up and she could see the disappointment in his eyes.
"Don't ever be sorry," he growled. Her gaze traveled further down to where his fist lay flush with her sternum. The perfect angle to stab her with his claws.
With a heavy sigh she admitted defeat, "Can we take a break?" Training wasn't finished for the day and he gave her a withering look. But she'd learned a thing or two in the month or so with Wolverine. "Top side?"
This time, he rolled his eyes in defeat.
Of all the lessons, intentional and unintentional, Wolverine taught her this had been the easiest to pick up on. Going topside for a beer was one of the few things he did every day. If the day had been particularly long, the beer came at the end of the day with a cigar.
They'd stop by the room, pick up a beer and climb the old ventilation shaft. It was a short distance up the rungs to the wooded area above. This afternoon, they would find a sunny place to rest before Wolverine declared she was making him soft and training resumed.
Jiu-jitsu, randori, countless martial arts, even good old fashioned grappling, all swirled in her head. All necessary, important lessons; he assured her. He wouldn't always be there for her to rely on.
The hardest lesson for her to master came the second morning. Lack of privacy, not that she would get much more down the hall with the others. She'd hedge her bets that she was safer with one Wolverine than a dozen or more females.
At first, it had embarrassed her. Wolverine would undress and dress right out in the open and she'd quickly learned in the mornings to face the back of the couch.
Now though she was comfortable enough to be in her underwear in their room with him present. Not that she paraded around in front of him, but long enough to make it to the shower stall. After showering she would towel off and put on clean undergarments before pulling back the curtain to finish dressing in the room itself.
After a few weeks, she quit rolling over when Wolverine got up in the morning for his shower. Closing her eyes was good enough. She'd tried pulling the blanket over her head, but that was harder to see through.
Who was she kidding? There were some mornings she kept her eyes open. He was a fine example of the male physique and she was a nineteen-year-old, of course, she looked. Their eyes met occasionally, but he'd continue on as if nothing was different. He would not take advantage of her, no matter how badly she wanted him to.
Leaning back against the old rock wall she sighed contently. Her life had taken a turn for the better when the X-Men found her. The second Great Depression had quickly rolled into a third depression, and trying to keep out of danger and put food in her mouth had become too big of a struggle. She'd been ready to walk back into that free clinic her parents left her at to trade the last of her dignity for a meal and a place to sleep.
The most she had to worry about here was a bruise from training or a few extra memories to sort out in her head from the slip of her mutation earlier. The day was cool and quiet, a perfect time to examine what little she'd absorbed. It never hurt to have a few extra fighting techniques in her bag of tricks.
"Who's Jean?"
Wolverine paused, bottle held to his lips, before taking a large gulp of beer. "Cyke's wife." When Rogue had said her mutation was absorption, he'd thought she meant other mutations. Probably should have clarified that earlier. "Get memories too?"
Nodding, she asked, "What happened to her?"
"I killed her." It was a flat admission with a hint of regret linked to it.
They didn't normally talk about what came before she arrived. The past was the past, or so Wolverine had told her. Learn from it and leave it there. But how could she learn if she didn't question things?
"An accident?"
"Nope. Skewered her through the heart." He took another swig of his beer, resting the bottle on his knee.
Rogue thought about their earlier training session and how it had ended. She couldn't imagine him purposely killing Scott's wife. Scott was a good man, Wolverine hadn't come right out and admitted it, but he more or less said so. She didn't think Scott would pick a wife that needed to be killed.
Again she thought of this morning, trying to put a vague memory of this Jean in her place at the end of his blades. Rogue turned to him, brow wrinkled in a question she didn't know how to ask. Or if she should even ask.
Wolverine never thought he'd be in a situation where he'd want to explain this piece of his past to anyone. Yet this girl…young woman had lodged herself somewhere in his heart and he continually found himself wanting to explain things to her. He had teased her that she was making him soft, but it was true, at least it was true where she was concerned.
Pointing a finger to the rubble that was the remnants of Xavier's School, he cleared his throat. "She was a friend, a teammate. A little over five years ago she started having problems with her telepathy." He shrugged. "She was possessed by some force. Xavier tried to help, but in the end, neither of them were a match for the force. It killed him and was tearing the mansion apart when Scott finally got through to Jean."
Wolverine paused, looking at his hands and released the claws on one hand to push back the memory. "She said there was only one way to end it."
Rogue watched him retract the blades, the same disappointment on his face from earlier during training. Closing her eyes she could now visualize it all from his memories.
Ms. Frost off to the side, shining like a diamond, checking on an unconscious Scott. Wolverine, approaching the beautiful Jean Grey, his flesh burning away from the forces' fiery onslaught. Pieces of the mansion flying around as students and staff fled.
Jean should have been tougher. She should have been able to control it. Wolverine didn't want that kind of death for Jean, didn't want Rogue to end up like that either. He drank the last of his beer. There was still time, Rogue was young and eager to learn. Even though he wouldn't tell her, she was the quickest study he'd ever had.
Rogue stood up and brushed off her bottom. She understood why he wanted to leave the past where it was, but she'd also learned why he pushed her so hard.
"Come on. You're going soft on me." She offered her hand to him. "We better get back to training before you go all sentimental too."
Wolverine snorted at her suggestion and took her proffered hand.
~*~
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