Chapter 8: Then
The news of the updated Sentinel designs had shaken them all. Marie was anxious, more willing to vocally advocate for what some mutants had been taken to calling “the cause,” whereas Storm grew more absent, overseeing the repairs and upgrades to her precious Blackbird, while Charles was often locked away in his room with Erik, deciding the best course of action. Meanwhile, Logan watched them all, their worries and emotions orbiting around him. In more ways than he would care to admit, he kept incredibly close tabs on them. He knew their locations at all times, tracking their comings and goings, their scents memorized, zoning in on the speed and tempo of their pulses. There was little else he could do, he realized, other than pace, wait, and prepare for the worst.
As the news spread that Charles Xavier and the last of his few precious X-Men were here, the compound grew steadily more crowded, as more leaders of more mutant rights factions increasingly flooded into Cape Town. They were practically walking over people in the hallways now. He could sense the unease of the Wolverine as the population within the compound doubled, and then tripled. It was hard to focus through the noise, for one. For another, Logan grew nervous at the presence of so many powerful mutants in one centralized location. It was Warfare 101; never have so many people with so much influence and control convene all at once in the same place, lest you be attacked. Had any of these people fought in any major war beyond the one they currently found themselves in, they would know better. Logan also understood what most of the people here wouldn’t admit or were too ignorant to know: despite their lack of flashy powers, humans were better at warfare. They had been doing it a long fucking damn time, centuries before the X-gene manifested itself in anyone.
Logan had been advocating to Charles, almost to the point of outright annoyance, that they would need to leave soon and seek out a smaller compound. Some place up north during winter would provide better cover, he had argued. Logan knew that Erik, particularly, found this plan repulsive. Magneto contended that they had no actual confirmation that the new Mark Xs had even been built yet, but Logan knew not to be optimistic. Whenever and wherever Hank had procured the plans, they must have already included or at least now contained outdated information. The longer they sat here, the more jeopardy they were putting themselves in. Charles, at least, seemed to be aware of this fact, and Logan was relieved to see that Charles, for the first time in a long time, appeared to be listening to him. Charles also seemed uneasy with the growing numbers at the compound and now wanted a plan ready so that they may mobilize. Storm had been recently sent out on a solo mission, upon discovering that Blink was also in Africa. She had been integral in several of the mutant rescue missions, and was one of the more powerful and useful mutants to have around. The move, however, had left Logan without his original partner in this mission, and Logan realized his relationship with the only woman left associated with the X-Men grew more tense because of it.
Sparring with Rogue was steadily becoming the preferred form of release, and the only way he could ease the pressure between them. Rogue was a complicated creature, and when they weren’t engaged in hand-to-hand combat, Logan was either frustrated with her resolute loyalty to the “cause” or so fucking hard by her sultry, red mouth that he couldn’t see straight. Whatever the fuck he was feeling for Rogue was complicated, snarled in confusion and longing, but ultimately still threaded with a vague sense of distrust. Their arguments often got heated, him pushing for more information and she retaliating. After these skirmishes, Logan often found Rogue swimming, which had become a sort of safe haven for the woman, particularly since she knew it was the one place Logan wouldn’t go. Everyone knew you jumped in the lake when the bees swarmed too close.
But the physicality of fighting helped them both. His muscles, typically taught with anxiety, loosened under the continual use. The sight of Rogue’s sweat on her temple, the sheen on her skin, was also a thing to behold. With more mutants in the facility, Rogue often covered up more than Logan suspected she would have normally, but during their fights she wore less, back down to some pants or shorts and a sports bra, as their intricate dancing and knowledge of how to block and move just centimeters away from bare skin evolved. Seeing her like that, stripped down to her core and in her element while fighting, did something to Logan he couldn’t quite explain. While on the sparring mat, it was still inevitable that they brushed skin from time to time, but all of this had resulted in no response, and not for the first time Logan had vaguely wondered if her mutation was somehow, at least in some small way, psychosomatic. When she concentrated on something else, it took longer for her to do any damage. Logan cared for and nestled that little fact away some place important in his mind.
Their sparring, if you could even call it that anymore, had also warped itself into something more convoluted and visceral. Logan could hold his own just fine, being quicker, more skilled and knowledgeable in all forms of martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, but he knew for certain now that Marie was stronger than him, even if she continually held back. He began to become obsessed with trying to get her to hit him, moving beyond the steadfast rules of sparring. He pushed her, goaded her into throwing harder punches. He was probably the farthest thing away from masochistic there could be, but he was becoming steadily more curious how strong Rogue really was. Obviously he knew she wanted to avoid causing him pain, which he couldn’t give a shit about, but he also suspected Rogue held back because she simply wasn’t sure yet how to use her strength in a way that benefitted her. She had never been trained to do so. So over the next two weeks that passed, Logan intentionally developed a plan to move slower and clumsier. He knew to abstain from just trying to stand there and let her hit him. For one thing Marie wouldn’t allow herself to do it, and for another whatever hit Rogue managed on him deserved to be earned, at least in her mind. But Logan still broke the rules here and there, along with also taking up the devious task of fucking up her concentration over not hurting him by pummeling her with questions too, throwing her off balance even more so.
“Do ya think,” he said, as he just barely dodged a blow to his back, “If you were all riled up and in the right mood, you could flip over a car?”
“Shut up, Logan,” was her typical reply.
It wasn’t just a morbid, selfish curiosity either; Logan had very practical reasons for training Rogue and getting her to open up. If they needed her in the upcoming battles, which would inevitably happen, it would be valuable if she could use her strength to its fullest potential. And then, of course, there was the most important reason: Logan also needed her to stop holding back from everybody, particularly herself, if any sort of real trust between them was to happen.
One morning a few weeks after arriving in Cape Town, Logan and Rogue were both breathing heavily, moving quickly on the mat, sweat beading on skin. Logan noticed that this morning they had attracted a crowd of onlookers. It wasn’t the first time they had done so, and Logan found he didn’t very much like the attention. It wasn’t that he didn’t get turned on by a crowd; he’d been a cage fighter for fuck’s sake. But unlike the drunken crowds in places like Laughlin City, these buffoons mainly just gawked and stared awkwardly, strangely enthralled by the one-sided violence and maybe, he guessed, the physical attractiveness of his sparring partner. Also, if this was a goddamned war they were supposed to be preparing for, he wasn’t so sure why everyone was just fucking standing around. Sometimes, to break them up, he’d bark orders at them. Get on the goddamn mat and practice. Today though, as he ducked and weaved, he realized Rogue was more apt to want to punch him, probably because of the argument they had had last night, and he could care less about the punks on the sidelines. Logan intentionally made his movements more predictable, hoping Marie would get the fuck over herself and clock him right.
“So… you’re an idealist, then?” Logan asked through heavy breathing, trying to once more talk her into distraction.
“What?” Rogue asked, dodging his own attempt to take her to the floor.
“Last night, all this loyalty shit, you an idealist then?”
“What’s so wrong with that?” she said, breathing hard.
“Nothing. Just wasn’t the girl I knew,” he said, realizing he’d struck pay dirt with that comment. With that, her eyes narrowed, and he hesitated just long enough for her fist to make contact with his left shoulder. He stumbled back a few feet, but that was all. Fools’ gold.
“That was pathetic,” he told her flatly, pausing for a second.
“Too bad,” she said, through another breath and a small smile.
“Hit me harder,” he challenged, rounding on her to engage again. He realized, during these sparring sessions, that he was royally fucking with the inner animal and his core instincts. The Wolverine knew better than to fake punches and to stand there and take hits, but he also liked being this physically close to Marie, savoring the smell of her skin and the feel of her sweat, taking an especially sick, deviant pleasure in how fucking rough it all was. Ultimately, her strength was mouthwatering to him in just every way possible. They were, in many ways, evenly matched.
“I am,” Rogue said, wiping the sweat from her brow, before finally hiking a leg up to make contact with his left arm. Again, he lost his footing for a second, before regaining it.
“Liar. Harder,” Logan growled, not being able to help smirking a bit at the innuendo as he easily moved out of the way of another attempt.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” she said, her typical line.
“You can’t. I’ll fucking heal, Rogue,” he said, although he cursed his instincts as he involuntarily and intuitively ducked a punch that would have surely sent him flying across the gym.
It was then suddenly that Logan’s periphery senses detected a change in the room, and he took his focus off of Rogue. A mutant whose name he should have remembered but couldn’t recall for the life of him had just come barreling through the doors, and now he talked in a rush of low tones and whispers to a small group of spectators. Instantly the group disbanded, headed for the door, and like that, fucking dominos. Just as Logan noticed how the effect rippled through the gym as various people stopped training and started whispering to each other before bolting for the door, Rogue’s side kick made forceful contact, now with his right shoulder. This time, a soul-sucking, snarling pain overtook him as he heard the crude snap of dozens of tendons and ligaments, as Rogue effectively dislodged his humerus from his shoulder socket, adamantium bones and all.
“Jesus mother fuck!!!” Logan said through gritted teeth, as he staggered back several feet, but somehow managed to stay standing.
“Oh, fuck, sugar. Shit, that looks ugly. I thought you saw me coming. Um, sorry?” she said, eyes wide, as she walked over to him. He looked at her sharply, a wild and primal anger at being hit overtaking him momentarily, before his rational brain worked through the pain and reminded him that he had asked for it. He realized she was discreetly massaging her own foot while she stood, most likely from the direct forceful contact with the adamantium, and for a moment Logan took some sick pleasure in seeing her discomfort, too.
“I don’t think anyone’s done that since the fucking metal,” he choked out, although he could already feel his cartilage and repairing muscles working quickly to force the bones back and to thread up the tissue around it. It hurt like fucking hell when it all snapped back into place, metal scraping against itself. If it had not been for the adamantium, she would have snapped his collarbone with a kick like that. And Logan had known she was still holding back.
Rogue looked at him more intimately now, feeling guilty as hell. The look of longing helped to dissipate any lingering anger he felt.
“It’s ok, darlin’,” he said, swallowing back the swell of nausea from the pain as he stood to his full height once more. “I asked for it,” he breathed. He looked at her for a moment more, before subtly nodding his head at the last of what had been happening around them, the remaining mutants gathering their things and talking hurriedly before heading for the door. She finally looked up too, noticing the shift. Something big had happened. Most likely important news. By the time she looked back at him, his shoulder had healed, but the pain still scorched his skin, radiating downward.
“Better go get the Professor,” he muttered.
--
After just coming back from a larger meeting with several leaders of the mutant factions that had arrived, the X-Men had their answers. The news: a powerful mutant named Bishop had been captured and had been taken to Camp X-Ray at Guantanamo Bay. The real news: a Mark X Sentinel had been the one apprehended him.
“Why didn’t they just kill the sorry fucker then?” Logan grumbled, leaning against the wall near the door after they had made their way back to Charles’ room. Rogue shot a poisonous glare his way, obviously annoyed, but Logan only returned a smirk.
“We believe that this was a test to see if the designs were effective,” Erik said, tension laden in his voice. “Nevertheless, this changes everything.”
“How?” Rogue asked, unafraid to go head-to-head with Magneto if need be. Logan found himself, despite the discouraging news, smirking yet again, proud of her spunk. “How does this change things?” she added, a new worry in her voice, looking fairly suspicious of the three other men that surrounded her. At that, Logan’s smile lessened slightly.
“We have less time, for one thing,” Logan muttered from his place by the door.
“Logan’s right. We’ll have to move quickly if we’re to leave South Africa before autumn is over,” Charles added.
“Leave? Why?” Rogue pressed. Logan saw that she turned around the room desperately now. She knew she was outnumbered, and not for the first time Logan wondered what Storm would have to say. Not only because of her gender, but also because Storm typically stayed calm, collected and was not easily swayed by troubling news.
“We have made contact with several prominent mutants in North America who have been rumored to be living in a small compound. It was our hope to settle there for winter and reassess,” Charles explained, ever poised and even in his tone.
“Plus we’re sitting ducks here,” Logan muttered unenthusiastically.
“This new information is… troubling to say the least. We need more supplies, time to plan tactical strategy and to optimize what we can do as a team together,” Charles explained. “Logan has had a few ideas on the subject that are quite promising.”
Rogue whipped back around to Logan so quick Logan almost flinched. She looked at him severely, just as another shot of pain radiated down Logan’s arm, his muscles twitching slightly. Logan merely offered a half-hearted shrug in reply.
“So we just… go into hiding up north then, and, as we do, countless more die?” Rogue asked, no longer able to keep the emotion out of her words. Logan winced a little at this, but was intent to get her to see what he already knew was happening, cause or no cause.
“We’re not ready, Rogue. We may never be,” Logan murmured, walking over to her spot and putting an arm on her now-covered shoulder. Rogue sloughed it off in anger almost immediately, but it was enough time to feel that her muscles were stiff. There was also that god awful sense of betrayal in her eyes. Shit.
Logan knew Rogue was passionate about the cause. At first Logan had chalked this up to some strange amount of guilt over taking the cure, but he had started to realize her concern went beyond that early mistake. Unlike Logan, Rogue would throw herself into the fight until the whole world burned, no doubt, desperate to set things right. Logan was willing to fight, but he was intent on having their team survive also.
“With all due respect, Professor,” Rogue said, trying to temper her voice and corral her anger. “It seems since I’ve arrived here all we have been doing is reassessing. What about action? If we cannot demonstrate our humanity, how can we possibly hope to win? If they can’t even see us as human-”
“We are not human,” Erik scolded her, and Logan found himself silently snarling, flashing his teeth a little at the fucker. Charles might feel differently, but Logan trusted Magneto as much as he trusted a tank of gasoline near an open fire.
“We must find a way forward,” Charles said after a bit of silence, “Sparing as many lives, human and mutant, as we can. Which unfortunately means, in this case, Rogue, heading north for the winter and mobilizing in the spring.”
“This ain’t about winning. It’s about surviving,” Logan said quietly to her.
“You’ve already given up, haven’t you?” she said quietly to Logan, her words pained, but measured carefully once more.
The room went quiet for a bit, the silence awkward, until Logan realized that Charles was speaking to Rogue telepathically. At whatever the Professor had told her, her face softened slightly, and then she left the room calmly without making a big fuss about doing so, her scent trailing behind her.
“Logan, I’ve just told Rogue a few things, one being that while Storm is gone and especially with the influx of new mutants, that you are to share a room with Rogue. I’m sorry, my friend, I know you are one for privacy, but it can’t be helped any longer, I’m afraid. We’ve moved you both to a suite, so you’ll still have your own rooms but certainly a shared living space, but, given your natural gifts and proclivities, you should be… prepared.”
--
Out in the hallway after their little meeting was through, he found her. She had lingered outside of Charles’ room, and he was happy to find that she wasn’t necessarily all that angry any longer, although he could tell she was still processing the information, a little wary and flustered. The pink lingered in her cheeks and a few strands of her hair, still pulled up in a high braid from their sparring earlier, had become loose. He could tell the conversation had exhausted her.
“Hey,” he grumbled softly, walking up to her.
“Hey yourself,” she murmured back, taking part in their relatively new habitual greeting with her usual reply.
“You wanna go somewhere?”
“Like where?”
“About time you had some Tequila, right?” he asked, hoping it was the right thing to say. It sure as fuck looked like she needed it.
“Not much alcohol ‘round here, I’m afraid” she murmured, glancing up and down the hallway at the place that all of them were steadily growing sick of, despite its apparent luxuries.
“Not here, out there,” Logan gestured behind him to the elevator.
“Yeah, ok,” she said simply.
--
The bar Logan had staked out a couple of weeks ago was small, dimly lit, and served a certain type of mutant. Logan had been called many a thing before, “tough” and “hard” and “animalistic” among them, but he still looked like a fucking man, so he was usually the prettiest one in the place. Well, until Rogue walked through its doors, that was.
“Lovely,” Rogue murmured under her breath, tucking back a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she took in the scenery. Two horribly abnormal mutants sat in the corner, hard whiskey in hand, while another tended bar. The décor wasn’t much better. The wallpaper was falling off in long strips along one wall, the floor was damp with something, and some of the chairs had been repurposed with ducktape.
“You actually judging?” Logan queried, toying with her a bit, as they found their way over to the vacant bar.
“No, I just-” she attempted, before he interrupted her again.
“They speak English in this fucking joint, ok? And that’s good enough for me.”
“What’ll be, Wolverine?” a large, portly, mostly green-colored man with a Nigerian accent said from behind the counter. Rogue simpered at the mutant bartender’s use of the nickname, but sobered a bit when the larger mutant glared at her.
“Tequila, Oladimeji. Shots,” Logan looked back her way with a small grin on his face, when, yet again, he felt the pain radiate down his arm where she had popped it out the socket this morning. “Better make ‘em doubles,” he added, still staring at Rogue. “Limes ‘n’ all.”
“You in the habit of ordering for other women?” Rogue sassily shot back, taking a seat next to him at the bar.
“I do when they don’t know what’s good for them,” Logan responded bluntly, loving the feeling of getting under that fatal skin of hers. Meanwhile, Rogue huffed a little at his remark.
“A feminist, through and through,” she added snarkily.
“Hey, I’m all about equal rights, about every which way you wanna dice it, but, some things, for some people, are just…the way they fucking are. Natural.”
“Natural,” Rogue said, toying with the word on her mouth. “Yeah? Like what?” Logan’s expression darkened as he threw her a predatory glance and she stiffened a little, finally taking his meaning. For a second no one spoke, the things they hadn’t said clear between them. He deliberately lightened after a bit, once more pulling in the Wolverine.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he added playfully, before she rolled her eyes once more.
At that point, Oladimeji came back with the double shots, two wedges of lime on a fairly dirty plate, and some salt.
“Ok, here we go,” Logan said, pulling the drinks and condiments towards them. “You know how to do this, right?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” she said, before she gave her hand at the base of her thumb a long, languid lick, before shaking some salt on it and licking it again, tongue running along skin. Fuck.
“If you were born in the nineteen eighties,” Logan finally quipped, sucking on his own hand for a moment before taking the salt from Rogue, “You were born yesterday.”
“Don’t get creepy,” Rogue added, handing him his glass.
“Bottoms up,” he said through a grin, and they both knocked back their drinks at the same time. The liquid still burned on the way down, the tequila not near as good as the shit he could get back in Mexico, but he hoped it would still do the job.
As Rogue sucked on her lime, Logan turned back to Oladimeji.
“Two beers, bub, and don’t give us that piss water you pass off on the newbies,” he growled. Oladimeji grunted something noncommittal in response, but still put two decent pale ales in front of them after a second or two. Logan offered a slight nod in approval, and after a moment he was ushering Rogue over to a table near the back of the bar, where they could talk more quietly.
“So,” Logan said, the feeling of the tequila softly floating through his head, realizing it was working a bit quicker than he would have thought. “What’s up with you?”
“With me?” she asked, suddenly a little stiffer.
“Yeah,” Logan said. Rogue bit her lip a bit, and then took a long swig of her beer.
“I don’t like the plan,” she finally said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that,” Logan muttered.
“It feels like giving up,” she added for good measure.
“We haven’t even started fighting yet, Rogue,” Logan shot back, yet again indulging in his beer.
“That’s my point,” she added. Logan considered this as thoughtfully as he was capable of doing.
“Rogue, what you were talking about in there… changing the way the world sees us… We were fighting that battle fifteen years ago. That’s about all the X-Men used to do, and that ship has long since sailed, darlin’.”
“So then what?” Rogue questioned, a new terseness in her tone. “We fly to Canada or Russia or someplace remote, as countless mutants die?”
“They aren’t killing us yet.”
“You know they will.”
“But not yet,” Logan reminded her. “We have time. We need time.”
“We’re putting others’ lives in danger so we can sit pretty up north,” Rogue stubbornly continued. “We’re sacrificing our kind.” Logan recoiled at her use of the word.
“Our kind? You’re starting to sound a bit too much like Erik,” Logan murmured. “Like a fucking Brotherhood bumper sticker”
“Don’t be silly,” she retaliated.
“What about practicality? About being resourceful, realistic?” he asked.
“Realism. That’s what’s gotten you this far, has it?”
“Sure as hell ain’t been anything else,” Logan remarked, taking a long swig of his beer, polishing it off, and gesturing for another.
“Sugar, talk yourself around the truth all you want, but you’re an idealist, same as me. You pretend to be so detached, so noncommittal, and here you are, yet again, running around with your precious X-Men.”
“Our X-Men. Remember, you’re on our team again. And we know when to fight and when to not. I wouldn’t risk my neck for half of these jokers anyway.” Logan threw his eyes around the room and out onto the street. At this, Logan was surprised to find Rogue’s anger intensify.
“That’s your line, is it? You’ll take the X-Men, but not the rest. Is it all so bad to have to count yourself among us?”
Logan stopped himself for retaliating, and instead simply sat up in his chair a bit.
“You want to be normal,” Rogue practically whispered, eyes narrowed. Logan actually growled a little in retaliation.
“I thought you just had me pegged as a mutant idealist,” he retorted.
“You’re a hypocrite,” Rogue accused. At this, Logan almost laughed. You’re smarter than whatever’s holdin’ ya back, kid, he thought.
“What I want to know, darlin’,” he started, trying to pick his words carefully. “Is why you’re always tryin’ to find a reason to rail against me. Because it seems like all we do is go ‘round and ‘round and end up right back where we started again. You wanna talk about hypocrisy? Go live as long as I have and try not wishin’ to God you were normal, Marie. Or, better yet, remind me who was the first one standing in line to make themselves human, not all that long ago?”
“Watch it, cowboy,” she warned. Logan sighed, practically jerking the new beer out of Oladimeji’s hand as he did so, caring little that the other mutant was now actively eavesdropping on their conversation.
“We can’t keep doing this, baby,” he said, before taking a heavy pull of the beer, wishing suddenly he had ordered a whiskey.
“What are we doing?” Rogue asked evenly.
“I’m trying to figure you the fuck out, and you won’t let me.”
“And why do you want to do that?” It might as well have been a playground taunt in how she delivered the question, but Logan knew better than to take the bait and offer up some sort a knee-jerk, amateur response. The intent behind her words was real. She still wasn’t trusting him, or herself.
“Because…fuck,” he said, stopping, taking another swig of his beer. As he set the glass down, he tried to keep calm. “Look, whatever you did, that’s on you. I know you fucked up, big time, or you wouldn’t be acting like this. Paradin’ around like some martyr, feeling fucking guilty as hell, drinkin’ the kool-aid, not ownin’ up to whatever you did. And I don’t really have a right to judge, but…you know I give a shit about what happens to you, Marie. We go back a long while. And you can’t just throw your life around like it’s worthless for some cause, no matter what.”
“Stop,” Marie practically whispered.
“Stop what?” he asked.
“Just...stop,” she said calmly, but her eyes were steely, a warning if there ever was one. Another failed attempt. His expression must have made Rogue feel a little guilty, because she filed down her sharp edges a bit, softening.
“Another round?” Rogue asked coyly, the double meaning hanging in the air as she did so.
“Shit, darlin’. Do I have a fucking choice? Whatever. Yeah. Let’s do it.”
--
The conversation had lightened after a couple more drinks, but Logan’s mood had steadily declined. Two beers in, and Rogue had dismissed herself. He had realized half-heartedly after she had left that this was the first time he had ever gone drinking with her, and he sorely regretted that he had fucked it up. He had always envisioned the event happening drastically different, maybe after a birthday celebration back in Westchester and maybe their clothes would have come off and maybe he’d bite her bottom lip and maybe he would have fucked her up against a wall, deadly skin be damned. At least, that’s how the fucking fantasy had always played out.
She was getting to him, the vixen. Despite it all, she was getting to him. Those muscles and the way they flexed when she knocked the shit out of him. The way she smelled or moved or breathed or thought. Even as annoying as all her self-righteous, save mutant-kind bullshit was or how frustrating she could be when the conversation came screeching to a halt before he could figure her out, and she was still getting to him.
Logan sighed, intent on another drink. He had been here a handful of weeks off and on and he was already a favorite customer, knowing full well that whatever measly salary— pocket money, really—he was being offered was barely enough to afford his drinking habits. He hated being tied to someone, even if that person was someone he respected enough as the Professor. Logan wondered for the umpteenth time why he had signed up for this gig in the first place.
Because she’s right. Sometimes, you’re a straight-up sucker for some justice league bullshit. He hadn’t seen Rogue in years and after three weeks she had already figured him out, had his number. Why, with all his supposed impressive super senses, couldn’t he do the same to her?
Logan staggered a bit over to the bar after a while. Not for the first time, he found himself adjusting his right shoulder a bit more, as if something were still out of place. Little shots of pain still flew their way down it, particularly when Rogue was around, he grumpily realized, and that wasn’t normal. He could mentally recall painful experiences, yeah, but to feel this sort of pain physically, hours after it had happened? With the exception of Japan, that was a fucking first. He dutifully took up blaming Rogue, but only because he had no other reason.
“’Nother?” Oladimeji asked, from across the bar’s divide.
“One more for the books, bub, then close it,” Logan said. He grumpily looked around the bar as he waited. She had been right about the place; it wasn’t a pretty thing to behold. Mutants with extreme mutations, mutants who were purple or who had fucked up appendages or who were missing an eye. Once more, Logan thanked his lucky starts he looked relatively normal. For the first time in a while, his thoughts settled back again on Hank, and his frown deepened.
Rogue had to have killed someone she shouldn’t have. Or betrayed someone in some way. He was almost sure of it. She had put lives in jeopardy at the very least, probably over some stupid mistake that shouldn’t have mattered. The guilt, the attitude, all of it had to be about that. As for the rest, as for the fucking cure, Logan also vaguely, not for the first time, wondered if there had been another…person involved.
Was it worth it? he had asked.
Yes, she had said.
Logan swallowed hard. Despite his possessive tendencies, jealousy wasn’t necessarily his favorite flavor. Not when it tasted like this.
After the last drink, he stumbled out of the bar, and he realized Oladimeji had done right by him. His healing factor was just behind him and he could feel it desperately working, trying to catch up, but he figured he had about a good five minutes of this sweet sort of drowning before he began to sober. He knew his senses were fried, the input scrambled, and he was fine with it. He managed to get back to the compound, only because it was a short walk and only because the place they were staying was so fucking obvious. The term sitting ducks sluggishly crawled across his mind once more as the elevator slowly ascended, and another shot of pain traveled down his shoulder. Goddammit, Rogue.
He first stumbled to the door of the room he had been staying in, and, realizing his key wasn’t working, he looked about purposelessly for a minute or two. It took a few useless tries on a few other rooms until he found the correct room a few down, loudly opening and closing the door behind him, not giving a shit who heard. The room was dark, but he could tell all the furniture was in a different spot, and he wondered if he had made a mistake…
“You’re back?” he heard, and Logan turned around to see her standing her. Damn it. He had completely forgotten about sharing rooms. She was dressed modestly in a tank and pajama bottoms, but…fuck him to hell…he noticed immediately she wasn’t wearing a bra. The curve of her breasts, the upturn of her nipples through the sheer fabric. He would have taken an oath of celibacy right then and there if he could have just put his mouth to one nipple, biting down gently and then sucking hard…
“Logan?” Rogue asked again.
“Yeah?”
“You ok?” she asked, and he knew she was realizing he was drunker than his healing factor typically allowed.
“You were with someone, weren’t you?” he asked bluntly.
“Excuse me?” she said, blinking at him.
“After the cure?” Logan tried to clarify. They stood like that for a moment, still in the dark a few paces between where he stood and she did.
“Yes,” Rogue finally admitted tiredly. “I was. Not that that’s any of your business,” she grumbled, her thin arms crossing themselves.
“But it wasn’t that ice prick,” Logan said. “And it wasn’t about being touched. It was about somethin’ else, somethin’ real.”
“I-” Marie began, before stopping. Meanwhile, her scent lingered between them, the scent of chamomile tea and tooth paste, but also something that ran deeper, something natural and close and wet…
“But it’s not part of the reason you fucked up, is it?” Logan continued, knowing his guess was dead-on just by her scent. But it was in his mind on a loop now, replaying the idea of some idiot who didn’t know what he was doing, his hands traveling down her touchable skin, the feeling of her warmth…
“Fuck. Fuck,” he said, growling.
“What?” Marie shot back, growing steadily angrier at his intoxication, his inability to collect his scattered thoughts.
“I hate, fucking hate, that someone else put his hands on you first,” he blurted out, before he could stop himself. All of the sudden it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, everything hot and still as he realized what he had just said, what he had admitted to her. Fuck tequila.
“What?” Rogue was asking softly, her voice barely above whisper.
“You heard me, Marie,” he said, swallowing his pride.
“But I thought….Jean…” Rogue whispered.
“Yeah, Jean. Jean. She was there, she was beautiful, and you were too young back then, for me to….to do what I wanted.”
“What you… wanted?” Rogue asked.
“Yeah,” he growled possessively, some of the thoughts he had stopped himself from thinking years before now rushing forward.
“I was deadly then, like now. I would have dropped you to the floor,” she said, gaining some of her composure back as she spoke.
“Like I fucking care about that,” Logan muttered. As he spoke, he realized the feeling of intoxication was already slowly lifting, as his healing factor made up for lost time, while a different sort of feeling overcame him.
“You should,” she said more defensively.
“Don’t go playing the victim card,” he growled, intuitively stepping closer to her, close enough for him to hear every little movement, every little sound her body made. “There are ways around it,” he said, and he felt her take in a sharp breath of air as her heart thudded loudly in her chest. “You know there are. And I swear to God I would’ve found a way, Marie, had I wised up enough to have found the fucking chance.”
He was so close he could feel the heat rising off her skin. And then the room was spinning again, as even the slightest hint of her arousal flowed over him. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the sweetest fucking thing he had ever sensed, and then his head was pulsing and he was swaying on the spot.
“Easy there,” she whispered, practically into his ear, mistaking his unsteadiness for the alcohol instead of what she was doing to him. Rogue grabbed his forearm to steady him, and he noticed for the first time she was wearing gloves. Silk.
“You don’t need these ‘round me,” he said, fingering the silk a bit, rolling it between thumb and index finger.
“Yes, I do. Or do you not remember what happened last time we touched?” she said. The feel of your soft hair under my chin, the way your body felt up against mine. Logan shook his head a little and ignored the comment, still woozy from the aroma.
“Let’s…get you to bed, sugar. You could use the sleep,” she managed to say.
“Hey,” he said, impulse making him stop and hold her gloved arm a little tighter.
“Hey what?” she murmured, turning to look at him again.
“This guy you…knew. Did he care for you? Look after you?” Logan asked, honestly. His hope diminished a bit to see Rogue’s eyes darken more at that question.
“I thought he did. Or, he did for a time, and then he didn’t,” she said, as Logan felt another wave of jealousy, now laced with a new brand of anger.
“Huh. If I’d’ve been there and saw he’d done wrong by you, I would’ve sliced his fucking head off,” he muttered.
“I’m sure you would have sugar,” she said through a small smile. “No half-measures for you.”
--
The light coming in through the window toyed with him a bit before his eyes lazily lifted open. He was in a new bed, all the scents were different, until hencaught wind of the humidity in the air from a recent shower in the other bathroom, the smell of mint in the shampoo. There was the fragrance of coffee too, freshly brewed, but also dissipating, meaning she had taken it to go. There was the scent of freshly washed denim and the leather of her boots, also fading smells. Marie wasn’t around, and it was one of the few times he was grateful for it.
He groaned a little as he sat up, still woozy from a hard night. Still woozy…the fuck was happening to him? Logan stalked over to the bathroom and ran the water under his hands, the warm liquid dutifully massaging his joints. As he looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror, he realized he looked like shit. He needed a shower and a shave, that was for fucking sure.
Slowly, some of the hazy memories of last night came knocking on his door. He remembered falling into bed as she had politely said goodnight, desperately trying to keep up whatever defenses she had constructed before she had walked off that plane three weeks ago. But he had sensed it, her arousal, and the memory of the scent shook him to this core. He only wished he had been a bit more sober and not so fucking clumsy.
But part of what he had been feeling had only started making sense to him last night. Sure, Marie was beautiful and sultry and so temptingly fuckable, and he had had his fantasies, but the Wolverine didn’t typically mind which woman was in them, as long as there was one. On the surface, it made a little bit more sense: Rogue had been the only close company of the female persuasion he had been keeping lately. And it was no wonder with all those fucking sparring sessions. But… the first man to lay his hands on you? Logan shuddered a little at the thought. What… like some kind of feral, possessive animal? Virginal blood and all that fucked-up bullshit? The Wolverine sang out in approval even as the man recoiled at the thought.
There was no helping it now, though. The cat was out of the bag about how he fucking felt, and he would be damned if he’d go around meekly ignoring what had happened, no matter how many barriers Marie tried to keep around her. It only would make things worse between them to disregard it all, and Marie wasn’t some little girl whose emotions were too fragile for him not to share a little with her. She could handle herself; at least, he sure as hell hoped she could.
Freshly showered, shaved and clothed, Logan exited the hotel room, feeling a bit better and looking more like his usual self. He was intent on finding her, if only to prove he wasn’t a fucking pansy, and was happy to see that she was in the cafeteria, coffee in hand, a look of relative peace on her face.
Logan took the seat across from her, and she smiled a bit at him. He smiled back.
“How’s your hangover?” she teased.
“No hangovers, darlin’,” Logan partially lied. “Healing factor, remember?”
“You suck,” she said over a smirk. Logan just shrugged his shoulders, a bemused look on his face.
“So,” Logan said, intent on making her blush, riling her up, whatever he could to get some of his pride back, “What’s the name of that dumbass who got it wrong with you so I can go kill him?”
“You’re more than a little messed up, you know that, right?” she shot back.
“Yeah, I got it. What’s this fucker’s name?” he asked again, and Marie sighed a little, setting down her coffee.
“Henry,” she said softly. Logan just blinked at her for a second.
“Henry?” he asked, almost not believing her. The name sounded stiff and antiquated as his mouth made out the word. It also wasn’t a name he knew, or at least he thought he didn’t, which for some reason set him more on edge.
“Don’t you start your teasing, or I’ll hit you into next week,” Rogue warned, although he was comfoted to see the playful, knowing look still in her eyes. Enough time had passed then, and Marie was over whatever damage he had done to her. Henry also seemed to be entirely unrelated to what had happened with Hank, whatever the fuck that was about.
“So, what could Henry do, to make up for that lame-ass name? Levitate? Fly? Make a woman come just by fucking looking at her?” Rogue blushed at this last one, and Logan smiled wickedly.
“No… no,” Rogue said firmly. “He couldn’t do…anything,” she finished, a bit lamely.
“Wait, wait…you’re telling me Henry was a fucking human?” he lowered his voice a bit on the last word, throwing her an accusatory looking at her across the table.
“We’re all human, you dimwit,” she retaliated.
“Tell that to Magneto. Or to the United States military,” he added. Rogue’s smile fell a bit at this, and he silently cursed himself for failing to keep the mood light.
“So, regular old Henry, eh? Henry the Human. What about all of your gung-ho mutant rights shit?”
“I’m not…some sort of purist. And stop patronizing me,” Rogue warned.
“Ok, sorry. But this Henry, he ain’t real high up on your list anymore, right?”
“No. Absolutely not. But it’s... complicated,” she said evenly, through narrowed eyes.
“Aren’t all good stories?” he goaded.
“You’re pretty stuck on yourself, considering what a tottering mess you were last night,” she said coolly.
“I meant every word,” he shot back, and at this she blushed again. Strike two, baby, he thought friskily.
“So, you really… regret…not?” Rogue trailed off.
“Baby, had I known any better back then, I would have fucking feasted on you,” he said through a vicious smile. There it was again, the red blooming in her cheeks, reddening her lips and making her look all the younger for it. He had her. With this, he fucking had her.
Just as Logan was about to triumphantly add another point to his mental scoreboard, however, he felt the world shift. Rogue’s coffee cup shuddered. The water of the pool Rogue loved rippled just so. The mats they sparred on lifted slightly. And then his veins hummed a warning song. Danger. Threat.
“Logan, you better not think that just because-” Marie began, before he cut her off.
“Shut up,” Logan said, suddenly standing, fingers barely holding onto the lip of the table, listening carefully.
“But-”
“Shut up,” he said again, quickly. Where was the sound? Where was the sound? Down the street, several blocks away. Desperately, Logan threw out his hearing as far as it could stretch, trying to catch the vibrations, the tremors. And there it was, the sound of asphalt cracking, buildings burning, people screaming.
“We need to leave, now,” he said, his voice threaded with tension.
“Logan, what?” Rogue asked, even as she instinctively stood with him, eyes wide but body ready, belief and trust of his senses etched into her every feature.
“We need to get to Charles and get to the Blackbird, now.”
Just then, the ground beneath them literally did shake, and they suddenly both heard Charles’ urgent, harried voice in their head. Logan, Rogue, get to the Blackbird! Erik is with me. Five minutes, or we leave without you.
Instantly, Logan was headed toward the lobby and Rogue followed hurriedly, just as others were starting to look up from their breakfast and notice their silverware shuddering on the table in front of them.
“But Storm?” Rogue hesitated, grabbing his arm and stopping him for the briefest of seconds, as Logan’s senses screamed in warning. He shook his head slightly, and started moving again.
“She’s in Libya. She’ll find us. Now let’s go, now. Run!” Just as he said so, they could both hear the screaming outside. The lobby quickly poured out of their vision as they ran through the revolving doors, down the stairs, and into the sun-scorched street.
Beyond, further up the way, people had started running. High up behind them, something, Logan couldn’t quite make out what, was hovering, its head alit. Rogue ran closely behind him as they fled, and Logan quickly calculated the hangar was at least half a mile away. Then the sky was on fire, and then a building was on fire. The streets became more congested with every passing second, cars slamming into each other, screams and shouts blinding his hearing as people rushed out of buildings. And suddenly just up ahead, from seemingly out of nowhere, men heavily armed and in riot gear began came pouring out from vans right in front of them, blocking their path.
“Behind me, now!” Logan shouted. He snarled as his claws tore through his hands, the blades singing triumphantly in the open air as ribbons of his own blood fell onto the concrete beneath them. Rogue quickly slipped further behind him, knowing what it would cost him, realizing it was the only way, just as it began raining bullets, the metal quickly and effectively pummeling his torso. He held his arms out reflexively for a moment, before throwing his fists, claws dutifully following, up into the first sorry motherfucker he could find.
What happened next felt like one of his unrealized and nightmarish memories. The blades reverberated loudly as they gouged and slashed, the feeling of beating hearts shuddering and ending the lives of those whose organs his claws easily carved through. Logan took down whoever was in his way as they both still ran, trying to maintain their speed. He stole one more glance behind him to realize whatever the fuck that thing was they were running from was steadily gaining, and that’s also when Logan noticed that yellow was now raining from the sky, ugly plumes of smoke billowing up. Chemical warfare, a different, more experienced part of his mind told him. The acid rained down yards behind where they had just been, a ruthless weapon intent on killing mutants and human soldiers alike.
“Logan!” Rogue desperately shouted, as he ripped his claws out from another soldier, effectively disemboweling the sorry bastard, a splatter of fresh blood left in his wake.
He looked to Rogue, and in one quiet moment, he realized the ugly truth. There was no way they could get to the hangar in time and survive. As he looked around desperately for a building, anything to hide out in, more gunfire rang out and the screaming started again. He ran toward Rogue, pulling her close to shield her, as his eyes barely caught sight of the smoky, blackish purple window in his periphery. He turned them both then, retracting his claws and rolling them through the opening, the portal hungrily swallowing them up milliseconds afterward.
Instantly, they landed hard on the steel floor of the Blackbird just as it began shuddering to life, humming as it transitioned into stealth mode and made its way up into the air. Logan’s body was still exorcising bullets as quickly as it could, the sound of metal clinking to the floor, but he realized through a hazy fog that he had lost a lot of blood.
“Logan, Rogue!” Blink shouted, as Logan whipped his head around to realize what had happened. Despite his best attempts to shield her, Rogue had a nasty cluster of three gunshot wounds in her chest, and she had lost consciousness.
He scrambled over to her. There was still a pounding in his ears as he critically sought out and found her heart still beating, although he heard it starting to shudder, threatening to slow. He lifted her small body then, placing her in the chair and strapping her in using his teeth to tighten the harness, as the Blackbird roared to its maximum speed.
“I’m so fucking sorry, kid,” he muttered under his breath, words pained as he braced himself and finally took her hand, their bare skin making direct and profound contact as he cradled her a bit more to him. Logan was instantly thrown back into the memory of last time, on top of the fucking Statue of Liberty. Unlike then though, there was no pause, no trick of the wind, as Rogue’s skin quickly and ruthlessly pulled him in. Logan tightened his grip, even as her power began greedily taking more, every new and disgusting memory that he had rediscovered in the years since they had last touched, each dark and deep truth he would have happily died before he subjected anyone else to experiencing, most especially her.
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Chapter End Notes:
Whew. Y’all…ok? I had to drink about eighteen cups of coffee today and put on my Wolverine socks to face the music and finish this one. These “Then” chapters are super fun to write but they are behemoths to edit and post.
My hopeful plan is that things don’t slow down with writing this, even as the fall semester gets underway and the number of college students I teach increases tenfold. Nevertheless, I’m hoping to have this sucker done in the first few weeks of the semester, by mid-September hopefully, because after that shit gets too crazy to regularly post anything. Regardless, I was thinking of writing a little sequel-y thing after this monstrosity is finished. Maybe some smaller one-shots that are fluffier and less angsty, just to satisfy random whims and urges I have.
Oh, and thanks again for all the feedback and love on this site. It mean a whole lot to me, and keeps me at it.
My hopeful plan is that things don’t slow down with writing this, even as the fall semester gets underway and the number of college students I teach increases tenfold. Nevertheless, I’m hoping to have this sucker done in the first few weeks of the semester, by mid-September hopefully, because after that shit gets too crazy to regularly post anything. Regardless, I was thinking of writing a little sequel-y thing after this monstrosity is finished. Maybe some smaller one-shots that are fluffier and less angsty, just to satisfy random whims and urges I have.
Oh, and thanks again for all the feedback and love on this site. It mean a whole lot to me, and keeps me at it.