As the Blackbird roared to life and the machine’s control system came on line, Logan tightened the buckle that would keep him in his seat. He had managed to stay on the ground for a couple of months now, and he had liked it that way. But the allure of leaving Mexico had been enough to make himself get on the plane, and now here he was, a fucking sitting duck. His tension oozed through his pores, he knew it, and while Storm and Charles might be more acquainted with his hatred of flying, he tried to willfully relax his muscles in front of Rogue. It didn’t help that he was also now strapped into some ridiculous, antiquated X-Men get-up for flying, all of it head-to-toe leather. These suits had never been comfortable, particularly for someone of his size. In a fight, they were even worse. Stiff, and hard to move in.
Up ahead, Storm manned the panel, running through the coding mechanisms that would help them travel undetected over the Atlantic, hopefully without running into any trouble. Charles was by her side, and while Charles knew how to fly the plane, could probably fly it without operating the computer system at all, Storm was the real pilot. She could fly the fucking thing in the dark, through anything, and when there was no enemy or outside threat zeroing in on them, she flew it as steadily and as gracefully as she could, taking both Logan’s stomach and nerves into consideration. Meanwhile, Rogue had trailed behind Logan onto the plane, and now sat, calmly, in the seat next to him in the second row.
Logan hadn’t slept. Part of it had been the result of the lingering feelings of anger and frustration from his earlier altercation with her, but he realized now that restlessness was also to blame. Whereas Logan’s tension had grown from the moment yesterday when Rogue had stepped off the plane, the woman sitting next to him seemed steadily more at ease. Logan hadn’t missed the fact that hair her hair fell down her back now, free and soft, and the initial tension that had hung to her body yesterday was diminishing. Even when they had been boarding the Blackbird, he had sworn he had heard Rogue laugh gently at some intelligent joke Storm had made. It seemed that being among the last of the X-Men had lessened the steady squall brewing in Rogue’s mind, for now, at least. Thinking back to last night, Logan wasn’t sure if he had helped that process along or had stalled it. With his luck, probably the latter. Fuck tequila.
The whole goddamn interior of the jet began to vibrate as the Blackbird ascended slowly, and then sped up, and Logan caught Rogue stealing a glance at him, a strange, small smile on her face.
“Don’t,” Logan snapped defensively, practically growling at her. The plane’s steady hum drowned out the best parts of his hearing. There was nothing to look at, and with them rocketing forward several hundred miles per hour, he couldn’t smell anything. Everybody smelled like nothing. Every one of his senses felt useless. Nothing aboard the whole goddamn plane felt right or natural to him.
“You still hate it, huh?” Rogue said quietly, a bit amused.
“I said, don’t,” he warned again, snarling slightly. Rogue seemed not the least bit threatened though, and was now smiling at him wildly. And while we’re at it, fuck schadenfreude too.
He thought he heard a slight chuckle come from the front seat, most likely from Charles, and Logan scowled even more. Charles wasn’t one to go snooping about Logan’s mind, but Logan was sure he had amped up the volume on that last thought a little too loud.
“It would have been better if you slept,” Rogue said after a minute or two, her concern more thoughtful as the thousands of feet between them and the ground grew.
“Yeah well, never been too good about that,” Logan grumbled. “And how did you know I didn’t sleep?”
“Just a sense,” she said, through shrugged shoulders. The playful look stayed in her eyes, though, dancing back and forth, and suddenly she seemed younger. Logan would have savored it if he had his damn wits about him.
“Anxiety and irrational thought spike when you don’t sleep, you know,” she added, for good measure.
“Must make me a fucking basket case then,” Logan murmured, hands finally loosening his grip on the arm rests as the plane leveled out.
“You should try meditating during the day,” Rogue added. At that point, Logan looked directly at her, mildly insulted and more than a little confused. Cold and now warm. Her scent this and that. It was enough to keep throwing him off her trail.
“You giving me advice now?” he asked grumpily.
“Just helpin’ where I see fit.” Then, out of nowhere, there it was: that twinge of a southern accent. Logan’s gut twisted. She hadn’t once shown her Mississippi roots since he’d seen her again, but now it was there, mild and good, like the wet grass after a long, summer rain. “I think it might work for you, sugar.”
“Sugar?” Logan’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. Rogue instantly blushed, turning a bright shade of crimson as she realized the slip she had made.
“Sorry. Old habit,” she murmured, before she turned away from him. Old habits may very well be the case, but she had never, not once, called Logan that in all their history. Logan cleared his throat, facing back ahead, as they both fell into silence then, lost in past worlds. Meanwhile, the Blackbird rocketed east, toward the Atlantic, toward Africa.
---
It had long since been established that South Africa had steadily become a safe haven for mutants over the last decade or so, after Apartheid had finally ended. As Trask industries rose to power, for whatever reason South Africa had blindly offered its opposition to the concept of mutant registration, to mutant camps, and to inhibitor collars, and it was now rumored to be one of the few places left where even the most obvious mutants could walk around freely, without threat of persecution. Logan was starting to understand that at one point or another in his past he had been to Africa, but Charles and Erik had frequented South Africa more than once, and recently. Cape Town especially was a place to reconvene, to speak freely. Storm had mentioned that the growing trouble with the border wall between the United States and Mexico had been the reason they had left, but with the information Rogue likely had, the only way they’d be able to discuss what she knew without threat of detection would be under the relative safe haven of the southernmost point of a foreign continent.
The Blackbird now took up residence in a mutant-operated airplane hangar, and upon making arrangements beforehand, they had been safely transported to a mutant-friendly zone of Cape Town that had been recommissioned for the purpose of supposedly protecting mutants from the typical zealots and fanatics spawning from the human rights groups. The zone was also run completely by a mutant government, although Charles had eluded to the fact that their resources were beginning to wear thin. As they passed through the armed gates, Logan noted that his unease did not wane, even if they had seemed heavily and sophisticatedly armed. Deep down, the more of the world Logan saw beyond the Canadian Rockies and the safe, gentle shores of Japan proved that something sinister, something dark and unchangeable was happening. Gone was the freedom, in the United States particularly, of being able to walk around undetected and without threat, with as many mutant monitors there were plugged into every street corner of every major city. Most mutants left in the more populous parts of northern America lived in some form of walled-off ghetto community, now. Humans also had the means of capturing mutants, and some of the strongest and most powerful mutants Logan had come across were now dead.
He glanced over at Rogue as the armored SUV slowed, the car carefully pulling under the veranda of a very large, once very ornamental hotel. He suspected that Charles had pulled strings to get them here safely, but as they slowly exited the vehicle and the sliding doors opened, Logan could not hide his shock at the stark and complete juxtaposition this place was from the unfriendly, inhospitable confines of the Bunker. There’s no way it operated as hotel any longer, as it was known to be a mutant compound, but the plush carpet and brightly lit lobby could have fooled him. It wasn’t a place Logan would easily call home, but it would certainly do in the interim. The plan was that Magneto would meet them in four days’ time, and hopefully by that point they would know the extent of the information Hank had left with Rogue.
Logan causally noted as they traveled up the elevator to a series of well-kept rooms that Rogue’s was next door to his own, although he only had the energy to murmur a “see you soon, kid,” before stumbling into his own room, exhaustion finally having his way with him. As he found his way inside, he was greeted by clean sheets, and the cool, artificial scent of air conditioning. Logan groaned as he heaved his heavy body onto his bed, the mental anguish of a long flight and a litany of more thoughts and feelings than he was used to experiencing falling down into bed with him. As he lay there and his breathing steadied, however, it was then he realized that he could hear Rogue’s soft movements through the wall that separated them.
Through the drywall and framing, he picked up on the small sounds, all the tiny noises that were inherently Rogue. The slip of her pack being unzipped, the swipe of fabric, most likely her gloves coming off. The snap and fizz of her opening a beverage, then the gentle hum of the radio. Logan imagined her stretching, hair down, it’s dark hazelnut shade contrasting with all that creamy, white skin. He realized that he was taking some sort of sick pleasure in knowing for the next couple of days at least he’d be able to hear her every move. Just tell yourself it’s so you can ensure she’s safe, came a sly, little voice in Logan’s head. Logan selfishly sloughed off the thought though, even as all of the sounds started chirping together, forming a soft lullaby of sorts. It was to this, and without much thought to anything else, that Logan finally slept.
---
He wasn’t sure what time it was when he awoke, but the sun was low in the sky. Slowly groaning as he turned over, checking the alarm clock, he realized it was late afternoon, and he recognized, guiltily enough, that he had been sleeping for a long time. Yawning loudly, and moving to sit up, he perked up his hearing, instantly listening for her. The tick of a clock, the hum of the AC unit. But no Rogue. Dutifully moving to the edge of the bed, he set his nose on the job, trying to pick her out from all the other scents. Only Storm, he realized, headed down the hallway. Quickly, and without much thought to his decorum, he pounced on the door, opening it swiftly, startling the other woman so much her hand flew to her chest.
“Jesus, Logan,” Storm managed. She was all cool skin and the welcoming smell of honey and lavender, although he could also hear her heart beating more quickly.
“Sorry, Storm,” he managed gruffly, his voice rough from sleep. “Where’s Rogue?”
“She’s in Charles’ room,” Storm said, putting a hand to her head, rubbing her temples. Logan must have made a move toward crossing the hallway before Storm scolded him lightly.
“Uh uh, hey, that’s none of your business right now.” When Logan glowered at her, she just gave him a curt, pointed look. “Not trying to tell you what to do, bad boy. It’s just that they need their privacy. Charles is in the middle of trying to help her extract the data.”
“The data?” Logan questioned.
“The design plans, from Hank,” Storm said, gently reminding him.
Shit. He had forgotten all about them. He was fucking rusty as hell at this whole X-Men team member thing.
“How long will that take?” Logan asked, pressing.
“Don’t know, but the last time I talked to Charles after the first attempt, he talked about multiple… sessions.
“Multiple sessions? How long have I been out?” Logan asked, suddenly becoming restless in the doorway. Storm still stood out in the hallway, and he could tell she wished to be done with this little skirmish.
“You’ve been in there for a day and a half,” Storm sighed. “And there’s a lot in Rogue’s head, Logan. It’s going to take some time.” That shut him up. Of course he knew that about Rogue. Of course he did.
“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Storm,” he said. And then, as an afterthought, he yelled down the hallway a little too loudly, “You need me to do anything else?”
“You’ll know if I do,” she yelled back. “In the meantime, don’t leave the building. Focus on enjoying the amenities.”
---
As the afternoon wore on, Logan became restless. He had taken a long prowl around the place, and found it decently stocked with food, water, and other mutants he didn’t want to quite deal with. The old restaurant that had been a part of the hotel had been converted into a cafeteria, most of the tables shoved to the side to foster a sort of free-for-all kitchen. He was also happy to catch sight of a gym and training room. There was an indoor pool too, not that Logan had much interest in it. Outside, the street bustled, and a part of Logan wished nothing more than to disappear onto the city streets, setting out to find the nearest bar. He had, however, been given strict orders to stay put, and with Rogue still locked in Charles’ room, Logan wasn’t going anywhere.
Back upstairs, the animal in him caused him to pace. It had been a couple hours, at least, since he had awoken, and the hot shower had done little for him. His ears desperately searched for a sign of her walking back from across the hall, to no avail. Logan’s knuckes itched. Apart from the occasional nightmarish memory, he had stubbornly kept the claws sheathed, and he realized that he had never quite been in as helpless as position as he was now to use them. The Wolverine felt even more caged, constricted. Logan was a being that needed release, at least every now and then, and the situation looked grim.
At least in Mexico, there had been a couple women. Logan wasn’t necessarily proud of that, but they had been looking for a short, quick fuck, and he was more than willing to comply. It had satisfied the Wolverine, at least momentarily, as he had run his hungry hands down mocha skin and through dark hair while they screamed, even as he quickly and with little regard to their own pleasure found his release. The sex had barely been enough, but he’d surprisingly managed to stay out of most bar fights, and, of course, after he slunk back to whatever hole in the wall he had been staying at, Logan had been grateful that he and Storm had rarely stayed together in the same place, in order to avoid further detection. Ultimately, Logan understood by now that to deny the feral, innermost parts of him only led to his own home-grown brand of private chaos. If he’d been anywhere near the wilderness he would have at least fucking hunted something down.
And now Marie, walking into his life, smelling and acting like she did. She was a gorgeous person, Logan had always known this, but now, now, something about her had stuck and it wouldn’t unstick. She wasn’t to be trusted entirely, he repeatedly and routinely reminded the Wolverine. She was hiding information, potentially important information from them all, no matter how fucking tempting the red lips of her mouth curved upward were or how her trim physique rippled under clothing, practically begging him to run his tongue down her body…
The fourth hour passed, and Logan left his room again, intent on the training facility. He was desperate to do something physical, and as much as he didn’t want to make friends with anyone, maybe he could find someone to spar with. At the very least, he could run through his memorized kata, if only to find balance, or to release some of this potent, visceral energy.
Downstairs was less populated now, and regrettably he found the sparring space practically empty. Just like the restaurant, most of the decade-old exercise equipment and weights had been shoved to the side, and large training mats sat in the middle of the floor, ready to cushion the fall for the mutants he needed them. The notion had his muscles brimming under his skin. To bring someone to the ground, to throw his weight and force into another being. The blood sang in his veins.
Logan shook his head, once more intent on control. Obediently, he refocused himself, determined to run through the kata and keep himself in check. Restraint, balance, focus, control….and it was then he saw her, through the clear windows separating the gym from the indoor pool. Her small, lithe frame in the water, her lean arms slicing through the rippling surface as she did laps back and forth across the pool. She had somehow made her way downstairs right under his nose.
The sight of her stirred up some relatively recent memories of the girl he had once known. He had forgotten Marie liked to swim. Cooking and swimming, she had once said, brightly revealing a little portion of her own identity to him in the mid-afternoon sun. One for control, the other for release. Logan knew Marie wasn’t lying about either. She was bossy in the kitchen, to the extent of annoyance, but he had also received the hard-earned result of her efforts: at least two or three times he had tried her food in the X-Mansion back in the day, and it had been as close to heaven as Logan would likely get. And for the swimming, well…it just made sense. To swim was to feel everything, the water pulsing and flowing and moving around you, coursing over each and every muscle taught muscle. It was to feel free and effortless and without burden…
Jesus, get a hold of your fucking self, he inwardly scolded.
He found himself padding over to the pool area through a propped-open door, his bare feet from the intended effort to spar slapping against the wet tile underneath him. He could be silent if he wanted to be, but now was not the time. The room was hotter and more humid in here, he realized, but for a brief minute it was enough simply to admire her. She was swimming hard, intent on her laps, and she shifted between a forward and backward stroke as she made her way back and forth. Her hair was up, but no cap. He could hear her heart pounding, the quiet breaths she took when her lips emerged from the water for the briefest of seconds, sucking in more air, and then back under again. She was fluid, one with this element that had long since been a mystery to Logan. Logan arched an eyebrow at her, arms crossed as he watched. There was no question about it; Marie was fucking beautiful in the water.
Finally, she seemed to sense his presence. She stopped mid lap, emerging from the surface and smiling at him. He was surprised to see the quick upturn of her mouth, but still offered a quirky smile back, as she began to swim toward the edge of pool where he stood. She undid her hair from its bun as she made her way to the edge, resting her arms on the tile near his feet.
“You coming in or you just plan on standing there?” she said, a playful look on her face. Yet again, Logan noticed that her mood had lifted even more so, and it was the most like Marie he had seen Rogue since before he had left all that time ago.
“I don’t swim,” Logan said simply, knowing she already knew this.
“Suit yourself,” she smiled, throwing his own words from a couple of days back at him. She was about to turn around, to continue her laps, when Logan felt a compulsion to get her to stay where she was.
“Looks like you’re done with the professor,” he murmured. She turned back to him, her smile dampening just slightly.
“Yeah a little while ago. One more session and he thinks he’ll have what he needs,” she said, and then, gesturing to the water around, she added, “This helps after. Clears my head.” Logan gave her the slightest of solemn nods. It was the same reason he sometimes went looking for a fight.
“I haven’t been in water this clean, let alone a pool, in years, though” she added. “It’s amazing.”
“I bet. The water all around ya’, feeing weightless,” Logan murmured, lost momentarily in a harmless memory from a handful of decades earlier, the water of a clear Canadian lake surrounding him on all sides.
“I thought you didn’t swim,” she said, throwing a careful look his way.
“Not anymore,” he said, leaning over the water and looking at it more cautiously. “I’d sink like an anchor.”
“Have you even tried it, you know, since?” she asked, skeptical of his wariness.
“Tried drowning a couple times. Wasn’t for me,” Logan said matter-of-factly.
“I don’t remember you regaling me with those particular tales,” she said, as Logan realized she was making her way over to the ladder.
“Happened early on. Didn’t know about it until recently,” Logan said, without thinking. She turned to look at him from the ladder, pausing momentarily, before climbing out. Logan had to suck in a breath, and hold it.
She was only in a one-piece meant for serious swimming and not for flaunting a lean figure, but nevertheless the muscles of her taut stomach were evident under the wet fabric. Her skin, luscious and pink, was speckled with drops of water, and she practically glowed. It was also more bare skin on Rogue than he had ever seen in his life. He realized, partly, that despite her deadliness, she was much more comfortable in her own body now. More so than Logan thought she might ever be.
If Rogue noticed he was ogling her, she made no move to show him that she knew it. Despite being dripping wet, she coolly and casually moved over to a table close by and grabbed a towel, and made her way over to him once more.
“You’ve figured out more about your past?” she said, as she ran the towel down her arms, drying off.
“More or less,” were the only words he could find to say.
“Anything juicy?” she asked, teasing him slightly, while droplets of water evaporated on her skin. She was breathing a little hard still from the water and the wet tendrils of her hair snaked down her front, barely grazing her chest.
“Logan?” Marie said again.
“Yeah, umm, the wars,” Logan murmured, before he could think about what he was saying.
“Wars? As in, more than one?” Marie asked, a sudden more serious look on her face.
Fuck. The last thing he needed was Marie knowing how fucking old he was.
“Uh, yeah,” he murmured, giving his head the slightest shake, a new, interesting idea taking hold in his mind. “Speaking of kicking ass,” he added, even as Marie snorted at him a little, “You wanna spar later? It’s been awhile,” he said through a devilish smile.
A small grin appeared on her face as she ran her fingers through her wet hair, “Are you asking me to fight you?”
“Spar,” Logan corrected, but he had secretly loved her question. “Like I used to teach all you kids in class.” Rogue wrinkled her nose at this a little, but let the knock about her age slide.
“That was a long time ago,” she said, half-serious.
“Hope you haven’t forgotten what you learned,” he taunted.
“Not quite,” she said evenly, her eyes narrowing, detecting the challenge
“Consider it the way I clear my head,” he nodded. You in?”
A new hunger appeared on her face as she weighed her options.
“Maybe,” she said. “Depends on how willing you are to lose, sugar.”
Logan’s eyebrows shot up at this, before his eyes also narrowed, a new fire boiling in his blood. He’d let her have it, alright. Just wait.
“Eight. Tomorrow morning. The gym. Be ready.”
---
The next morning she walked into the training room wearing athletic pants that hugged her ass, a sports bra, and a high braid that worked its way down the back of her head, platinum hair woven in with all the rest. Her taught stomach was out on display, and Logan had a hard time remembering to breathe.
“Jesus. You planning on killing me, Rogue?” he asked friskily, arms crossed, but smile wide. The remark had not been so much about the miles of uncovered skin she currently sported but more about how strikingly fit she was, but he would leave it up to her to guess. She simply smiled diffidently, before slinging around her pack, grabbing a couple of items from inside.
“Of course not,” she said. He watched her as she quickly slipped into a long-sleeved dri-fit athletic shirt and then smoothed on a pair of thin black gloves.
“That’s all I can do for you, sugar,” she said, setting her pack down and walking onto the mat. “As for the rest…” she pointed to the flawless skin on her neck, face, bare ankles and feet, “Just watch yourself.”
Logan huffed a bit at this, but he was glad to see she was barefoot. Particularly after Japan, Logan preferred sparring that way. The less clothes on while sparring, the better, in his opinion. Following his own advice, he stripped off his shirt, not sure if what he was doing was a message to her that he wasn’t afraid of her skin, a warning of his own strength, or some sort of come-on, or maybe all of those things rolled up into fucking one. Either way, he knew what women thought of his body. He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t a fucking boy scout, either. With all the shit that came along with his mutation, this was the healthy silver lining. Marie didn’t say anything, but he knew when a woman was admiring his physique.
“What style?” she said spiritedly after couple of stretches. “Jujitsu, karate… maybe boxing?” Logan laughed at that last one.
“Maybe let’s not make it so complicated,” Logan answered, a bit skeptical. “Let’s just see what you’ve got, first.” Logan noted proudly how she quickly got into the correct position, right foot just slightly in front of left, feet firmly planted on the ground. He did the same, and they began.
He took a couple of mild swings at her first, which she quickly dodged.
“You’re faster than you used to be,” Logan remarked, swiftly doing some of his own dodging, as a high kick from her bare foot nearly grazed the side of his head
“Thanks, sugar,” she said, grinning widely, quickly blocking an attempt by him to take her to the floor. They danced back and forth like this for a while, and he felt like they were back in his class, him holding back much of his strength, letting Rogue set the pace. It was the tiny hints she gave away, though, that were starting to interest him. He realized her skill and expertise were both exceptional, far better than they had been twelve years ago; however, as time wore on she also got a little antsy, despite all of her grace. He would usually chalk this up as a sign he was sparring with partner who, for whatever reason, was trying to hold back some of their power for a longer stretch of time, but this was Marie…
Finally, there, he saw an in. She was distracted by a couple of younger mutants who had just made their way in the gym when he struck low, swiping her legs out from under her, mere centimeters away from making contact with the bare skin of her ankles, before putting her back on the ground. It was the roughest he had been with her so far, maybe ever, and he was happy to see she was smiling ear-to-ear, exhilarated.
“You don’t fight fair,” she breathed, pushing one gloved hand up from the mat, getting up slowly. His eyes quickly darted to the two young punks who were currently ogling her, and he let out a short growl in their direction before turning back to Rogue.
“Hey, I’m pretty sure I taught you to never fight fair. Your enemies sure as hell don’t fight fucking fair. And you know that I know- holy shit!”
He had relaxed his own stance while he was talking, and immediately felt a roundhouse kick to his own calf. He partially toppled over, one knee saving him from falling on his ass.
“How the fucking hell?” he grumbled. He looked up to see her still grinning, and he playfully grinned back from where he knelt on the floor. “Now that’s more like it, darlin’,” he praised her.
“Darlin’?” she asked, offering her gloved hand to haul him up. “That a new nick name?”
“Well,” he groaned, cracking his neck, the subtle sound of metal clinking together, as he stood back up. “You ain’t no fucking kid.”
They sparred for a bit longer, testing each other’s endurance. Logan was pleased to see Rogue keeping up, spotting weaknesses in his position where she needed to, taking hits where she could. Logan intentionally kept it light enough, but found himself working up to a bit more of his own strength the harder she hit back. He sensed the session coming to an end soon, and he decided, perhaps intuitively so, to let them end up in a grid lock after he had lightly grabbed her wrist as it had been in the air and turned her around, her back to his, him holding one of her arms behind her.
He applied a little pressure, just because he could, and for a moment the wolverine savored her submissive position and scent and intimacy such a move provided him. He was inches away from the bare skin of her throat, a steady jugular beating just beyond the surface. He fought back the urge to sink his teeth into her. Realizing he had the upper hand for too long though, he began to let her go. But, before he could realize what was fully happening, she snarled at the continued pressure, suddenly throwing her body backward to get out of the lock and easily tossing his entire weight off of her, enough to where he fell backward onto his back, body whistling in pain as it forcibly made contact with the floor, mat or no mat.
His body already knew the truth as his mind was catching up. She had been toying with him from the beginning. Somehow, some fucking way, she was just as strong as he was, if not stronger. Which was physically impossible.
“Rogue, the fuck was that?” he said, more astonished than angry, watching her as she stood there, embarrassed. This time, she made no move to help him up.
“Sorry,” she grumbled, clutching one arm at the bicep with her gloved hand and then releasing it quickly, before grabbing her bag and leaving through the door, without so much as another word.
---
It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door, just as he was finally about to climb into the shower. He huffed, breathing out slowly, running a quick hand through his hair and then over the stubble on his chin. His body quickly mended the sore muscles, but his mind had been thrown, still practically on the ground in the spot where she had tossed him so easily like a rag doll. So Rogue had some sort of inhuman strength, but she hadn’t back when he had known her. Another secret. Logan knew the main trait of Rogue’s mutation was to temporarily adopt other mutants’ powers when she touched them, pulling in their thoughts and memories too. The memories stayed, that she had revealed to him forever ago, but, for her to retain the powers, he knew she would have had to hold on a lot longer than anybody he had ever witnessed her touching, included himself.
He heard the knock again, and he reached out an arm to stop the water, threw on some jeans, and made his way over to the door, opening it to find her standing there. She had showered and changed into a white cotton t-shirt and her own pair of jeans. It was a remarkably innocent look, as if she hadn’t just thrown a man three times her size and at least three times as heavy to the ground.
“So, who’d you kill?” Logan asked blankly.
Rogue sighed. “Can I come in, at least?” she asked, a little annoyed. He opened the door a bit more, and she walked inside quietly. He saw her look around slightly, inspecting his room a little. She wouldn’t find much. Among a pack with a few spare changes of clothes and a straight razor, Logan owned hardly anything now.
“It was another mutant, obviously,” she finally said, turning back to him. Logan’s eyebrows raised at that. He intended it as some sort of tasteless joke, but it was clear he had been right about her. So if she holds on long enough to hurt, she gets their powers temporarily. If she holds on long enough to kill, she keeps them. God fucking damn.
“When we were underground, another faction felt it best to try to betray our location,” Rogue started. “We had to fight them off along with earlier prototypes of the sentinels, and, at one point, I was left to do…what I do…” she trailed off, looking at him meekly. “It was earlier on, after, you know, it came back,” the skin in question had turned a bit pink in embarrassment, and he sensed that she was ashamed of what she could do now. “I didn’t know what I was doing, back then.”
“Well, hell, darlin’, that’s one heck of a useful mutation. And the strength…that’s an invaluable thing during a fight,” he said. He hoped the thing he was elduding to was that it didn’t very much matter to him how strong she was. She could knock him on his ass whenever she damned well pleased. He’d welcome it. “You tell Charles yet?”
“No,” she said, finally sitting on his bed. Logan noticed the move, and found himself standing uncomfortably by his own bedside. Freshly showered and smelling wonderful, Rogue had just accidentally ensured that the whole damn bed would smell like nectar and mint for days. His chance of sleeping was fucked.
“Why not tell him?” Logan finally asked.
“Well, for one, he probably already knows, and for another-” she abruptly stopped talking, as if she had just realized the words she was about to say. Logan senses sent off alarm bells again.
“What?” he pushed, realizing how much he had bristled at her hesitancy.
“Never mind,” she said coolly, all of the sudden detached from the conversation. Logan’s previous frustration from the first night he had talked to Rogue suddenly came back.
“Now don’t go pulling that shit again. The secretive shit. It already doesn’t make sense,” Logan said, pacing a bit in front of her.
“What doesn’t?” she asked, dodging his initial threat as if she was still sparring with him.
“Zuccotti. OWS. Mutant Factions. It isn’t you.” Logan looked at her a little more sternly.
“Is it so different than what the X-Men stood for? What they did to make mutants lives better?”
“What the X-Men stand for. We’re not all dead. At least not yet. And I always thought we had a little more class.”
“You mean more money.”
“No, I don’t. And you know I don’t give a shit about that,” Logan retaliated.
“I know… It’s just-” Rogue began.
“-Zuccotti was a nightmare,” Logan interrupted
“You don’t think I know that?”
“And you went into that mess, knowing it was likely doomed? That, instead of saving people, you were recruiting them to be sitting ducks. That you were risking their lives, all in the name of a protest?” He felt Rogue get a little angrier, but she stayed level-headed. Meanwhile, Logan had no idea why all of this what flying out of his mouth, although he assumed it was partially because he had been astonished to know Zuccotti had happened after first hearing about it in the first place. Particularly now that he knew Rogue had been involved.
“I was with a smaller team, and we were called in to plan last minute protocol.” There was that team again. Something about that irked Logan, too.
“So this team of yours… is it the same team you took on the mission to get the plans from Hank? The former team?”
“Logan,” she warned.
“So they all died somehow. And I’m assuming, since you’re not blue and bulky, you didn’t actually kill Beast, and that happened some other way, in the end,” Logan said, knowing he should have shut his mouth about five minutes ago. Rogue seemed to bring out the worst in him, always riling him up. Or did he just rile himself up in front of her? Whatever the reason, the fragile friendship that had started to crystallize again over the last few days felt in danger of cracking.
“Logan, drop it,” she said quietly, but with force. Unlike last time, the anger, or whatever emotion she was feeling, was much more closely guarded. He let it go, realizing how close he had been to some part of the truth, but also had close he had been to really upsetting her.
Some silence passed between them, but still she didn’t leave.
“How long?” he murmured after a while, finally choosing to sit on the bed next to her, a careful two feet of space between them.
“What do you mean?” she asked, toying with a fraying thread on the comforter absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze.
“You know what I mean,” he said. How long had the cure lasted? How long had she been able to do what she always longed to do?
“It’s not something… I’m proud of,” she murmured.
“Why not?” Logan asked.
“Like I said, back then, I didn’t know what I was doing. It didn’t matter in the end anyway, did it?” she said, the fraying thread still between her fingers. Logan’s eyes settled on the strip of creamy white skin where her gloves ended and the sleeves of her T-shirt began.
“Was it worth it?” Logan finally asked. Her lips quivered at this, finally looking up at him, while the vision of Marie touching anything without gloves ran on a loop in his head.
“Yes,” she said, holding his gaze, the telltale sheen of something just before tears in her eyes.
“And now?” he asked.
“I still…can’t control it, Logan. I’ve tried, but I can barely control...” she stopped, gesturing to her head, “…and I lost…a lot that night. In New York.” Logan felt pulled by a new strange sense of guilt, but it wasn’t the only feeling rising to the surface. He felt pulled in several different directions with Rogue. His instinct warned him to be suspicious, the Wolverine was becoming steadily more aroused by her proximity, and part of him just felt, well, bad for her.
“I’m sorry, Marie,” he said quietly. She blinked at him through just one or two tears, and as she did so his arm moved on its own, lingering just beyond her for a moment, before carefully swiping the warm pad of his thumb across her lips, so quickly and lightly that nothing came of it but a small shudder from Marie.
It was then, as they were both lost in the connection of what happened, that he realized he had asked much of her this morning, and she little of him. Wanting the conversation to end differently, he offered up a small, sacred piece of information, something relevant, sturdy, something he hoped she could depend on.
“Nazis,” Logan murmured.
“What?” That got her attention, pulling her out of her inner-most thoughts once more.
“The wars. Vietnam. Nazis. The trenches. The fucking Ottoman empire.”
“Logan…” she said, a frantic desperate note in her voice. It was information that would be hard for anyone to hear, but now that he started, he was going to tell her all of it.
“Maybe even further back than that. My best guess? Mid-nineteenth century.”
“Oh, sugar…”
“We’re fucked up, Marie,” he said assuredly. “In ways the world can’t fucking comprehend. And, in my experience, what they can’t understand, they always, always, get rid of. That’s why we need you with us darlin’, why we need the whole you with us, past and all.”
The verge of tears that Marie had been on had subsided now, her expression steadily growing more hardened.
“Because, eventually,” Marie said, resounded and once more steely-eyed, as much as she had been the day she walked off the jet. “They will come for us.”
Logan’s face sombered a bit as he let the truth they both had realized some time ago sit between them.
“And when they do,” Marie added, a dark look quickly flickering across her features. “They’re going to kill us all.”
---
Two days later, in Charles’ room, Rogue and Logan once again found themselves face-to-face with Magneto. Logan noticed that, very much like Charles, he seemed older, more resigned and tired in his features. Certainly less threating, now void of helmet and cape. They sat around a small table together, all of them, Storm, Charles, Erik, Logan and Rogue. Now, the last of the remaining X-Men.
“We have known for a considerable time now that the humans have been giving mutants drugs in the American ghettos in order to exterminate the X-gene in their potential children, and grandchildren,” Charles said evenly. “But we had no idea of knowing that most of the American human population has been receiving doses of the very same thing.”
“So it’s eugenics, now. Dear god,” Storm said, her voice even, but just so. Meanwhile, Logan glanced at Rogue, from across the table, but she didn’t look up.
“But the far more insidious news, I’m afraid, lies in the Mark X’s design,” Erik added.
“You mean the sentinels?” Logan asked, knuckles suddenly aching from a sort of imagined, phantom pain.
“Not the version some of us at this table are familiar with,” Erik added, looking at Rogue directly now. “The humans had been using the original prototype as a police force of a sort, punishing those they deemed criminals, but ultimately maintaining some semblance of normal law.” Logan again stole a glance at Rogue, wondering how conscious she had been of the information she had been delivering before her meetings with Charles here at the hotel. Based on what she had said a couple of days ago, however, he would bet she knew far more than she had let on.
“The new design,” Charles added solemnly, “seems to…adapt, as it best sees fit.”
“What do you mean, ‘adapt’?” Storm asked, worry threaded in her voice.
“It seems to be able to take on other mutant abilities in order to fight off others,” Rogue finally responded for the first time, and the small group looked at her knowingly.
“And why would it do that?” Logan looked at Rogue to ask her directly now, anger rising in his voice. “What purpose would that serve? They’ve already got most of us rounded up into camps, world-wide. They can take away our powers with inhibitor collars. What else would they need to do to us?” Rogue looked back at him, and he realized she already knew he was aware of his answer. They all were. Rogue said nothing though, glancing down at her own gloved hands, a look of pain on her face. Logan’s heart thudded a little more loudly.
“Why the answer is simple, Wolverine,” Erik added, looking at Logan, then to everyone else sitting at the table. “One purpose only: mass exterminations. In a word, genocide.”
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