Chapter 2: Rogue
It was quiet in the house, the morning light falling softly onto the canvas as Marie softly dipped the brush into the glass of water. The room was small, more of an alcove than anything, but it had been a little place that Logan had purposefully remodeled for Marie. It had a small window, a sitting chair, but most importantly an easel and a little writer’s desk, mason jars filled with paintbrushes and fountain pens. Classic ink-drawn National Geographic sketches of egrets and octopi and Spartina grass were framed on the walls. A bookshelf, of course, with some of Marie’s favorite titles she had begun collecting secondhand once more for herself, most of them from Kay’s antique shop, although there was still a decent little used bookstore in town Marie occasionally perused for newer titles. In the end though, it was a space meant for her, in a house that was otherwise full of markings of the two others in her life.
It was a habit they had developed. Logan woke to see Laura off or to take her if he was feeling up to it, and then he would often sleep the morning away. It was a deep, heavy sleep too, sleep he wasn’t getting in the middle of the night. Something about the ease of morning helped, Marie thought. She sometimes would lay down beside him, but lately, she was feeling antsy during the mornings, and that, she assumed, was what had led to this.
She didn’t come by painting naturally. She had no terms for the techniques or the mediums she had chosen, and she was only able to summon the most colloquial words like “watercolor” and “pastels” when she had purchased the materials. But she hadn’t felt compelled to read lately. The last book she had read, The Year of Magical Thinking, had been about grief and it had deeply disturbed her, and she felt no inclination to pick up another anytime soon. Of course, there had been a lot of cooking, cleaning, helping finish the lake house, but it still wasn’t enough. Perhaps what she needed was to simply create. Make something out of nothing. Creation was a form of control, and control was something Marie was in short supply of these days. Painting helped.
Running the wet bristles in the dry black, the paint began pooling at the tip of her brush. Marie then drew the brush carefully and deliberately across the blank surface, a dark grey line centered horizontally across the white canvas. One large, sooty stroke. She stared at it for a moment, blinking. Why had she done that? She had had no plan in mind, no real intention other than to be abstract, but a black line? Was she trying to depict a horizon? A plateau? A division of some kind? Shoreline. Timeline. Lifeline. Flatlined. She shook that last thought from her head. No, not that.
It was the hitch in his breath before the cough that had woken her. She had been sleeping by his side for five months now after almost three years apart, but it had taken her a significant amount of time to subconsciously inventory every type of strangled breath, every hint and sign of trauma. The sharp inhale, he gasping for oxygen that just wasn’t there, and she was startled awake before she even realized fully what was happening. Then he was coughing violently, sitting up as his muscles convulsed and shuddered throughout his beautiful body in the dark, and she could do nothing during the worst of it but rest a quiet hand on his arm. I’m here, she told him silently. You’re safe. Logan hated it when she made a big fuss, and it wasn’t likely to do any good anyway. This time though, it was worse, so much worse, and she couldn’t help but suck in a breath as she witnessed his claws spring free involuntarily. That reflex was typically reserved for the worst kind of pain he could feel.
Finally, the fit slowly dissolved, each cough lasting a little less, and she willed herself to move once more, walking quietly to the bathroom and running a washcloth under warm water before coming back over to him. His lungs still struggled to work. On his face, a weariness typically reminiscent of the dead. She was silent as she sat back down on the bed next to him, before gently running the dampened washcloth over his forehead and then down lightly to his mouth, wiping away the spatter of blood that just barely graced his bottom lip. His eyes were closed as he shuddered, wincing in pain as she gently brought the washcloth down to his hands, his poor hands, where the claws had once again done their damage. Whenever they met air now, for however short of a time they were out, the wounds they left behind would take half a day to heal. The pain, she realized, must be excruciating.
“Just breathe, sugar,” she finally murmured.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she heard him gruffly whisper in the dark, and she realized he was tightly holding her wrist that clutched the washcloth. She blinked once, keeping tears at bay, and willed her voice not to shake.
“Yes, you can. You have to,” she said, and suddenly he was angry, practically growling as he shoved the washcloth aside, brushing past her and stumbling into the bathroom, flicking on the light and the tap to run water over his battered hands before bringing them up to run them over his face.
“Sugar,” she could barely breathe as she instinctively stood.
“Just…. stop Marie,” he snarled. Not for the first time, when he got like this he reminded her of a wounded animal that found himself ensnared in a trap. Confused and hurt and mad as hell, so much so he might snap at you, even if you were only trying to help him free.
She still didn’t back down. She approached more gently, coming to quietly stand beside him, as he indignantly stared into the mirror, either hand resting on the bathroom counter. She glanced up at their reflections and found both of them, slightly weathered and much more tired, staring back.
It was only then that she touched him again, moving to place a soft hand on his broad, strong back, and she felt him practically flinch under her caress, tensing up.
“Stop,” she said, voice quiet but firm.
“Stop what?” he growled.
“Stop pulling back from me,” she said carefully, and again she ran a hand deliberately down his arm. He only grumbled a bit stubbornly in response this time, but now let her lean her head on his chest as she still cradled his hand.
She stayed there for a long time, listening to the steady thud of his chest, even while she brought the washcloth back up to his palm, gently cleaning his wounds methodically, and after applying antibiotic ointment, slowly and lightly soothing the numbing balm into his knuckles. He was already on antibiotics to fight off infections that might make their way into his blood stream, but this practice was a ritual now, once he had finally let her do it. You’re hurt, you’re mourning, and I acknowledge that. I still love you. At least, that was what she hoped she was saying.
“Sunseeker,” he barely murmured after a bit of time.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“Charles’ last words,” he said, as she finished drying his hands lightly from the balm and he took a step back looking at her before gently stroking a strand of platinum hair. “I was trying to buy a boat. To get him away from people. His last words were about the boat.”
Marie blinked once, and this time she couldn’t help the hot tear that fell down her cheek.
“You did all you could,” she murmured, but she could see his vision unfocus, and he was lost somewhere in his own memories, a distance cropping up once more between them. It was times like this that were the worst. What had Laura called them? Malas Noches. Bad nights.
Marie frowned slightly as her memories from last night subsided, considering the painting once more. Before she even realized what she was doing, she moved to add a deep blue to the grey line, settling on making it water. Peaceful, cool, steady water, maybe the surface of the lake. Better. Much better. Marie bit her lip as she took in her handiwork, suddenly compelled to add a tiny sailboat, just balancing on the line between dark and light. The surface. The division between reality and not. Between her life and his. Bracing for the storm? Alone…or together? Somehow in between? Her thoughts drifted as she added tendrils, webs forming underneath the surface, deep and down and sinking…
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard him clear his throat intentionally. She swiveled back around in her chair to look at him. He had showered, and he smelled clean and looked clean and seemed so different from the lost man she had caught a glimpse of in the middle of the night. Jeans. A wifebeater. A blue button down, still unbuttoned. His chest, forever muscular on display through it. Knuckles finally healed again too, she noticed as he reached up to take a sip of coffee from the I’d Rather Be in Canada mug he held in his hand. He’d always sport the scars, but open wounds on Logan had begun to scare Marie, especially after reading Didion’s book. Terms like full body infection from its pages were now stamped across her mind. Terms suggesting illnesses that he didn’t have, but could eventually get. Terms she was beginning to fear. Once more, she shook her head, willing herself back to the present. Back to the here and the now.
“How long have you been watching me?” she asked, summoning a small smile onto her face as he quietly padded over in her direction, studying the painting behind her. As she noticed his gaze settling on the thick, black line, now with the slightest hint of blue, she couldn’t help but blush a bit as she turned to look at it too.
“It’s not very good. And it’s not done yet,” she muttered.
“It’s beautiful… but a little lonely, eh?” he asked, through another sip of coffee. She knew he had noticed the boat, both of them maybe understanding that its presence on the canvas after their conversation last night about Charles’s final words was no coincidence.
“Perhaps,” Marie murmured, before turning back to him.
“Thinking about taking a couple small jobs today,” he said into his mug. Marie looked up to him sharply once more, but knew now to hold her tongue before she protested. It was delicate, this dance. There were only so many things they could admit, own up to at once. They were always honest with each other, always would be, but some topics came with a heftier price tag than others lately. Marie’s anxiety over Logan’s ability to keep his physically demanding job was one of them. Sure, in the daylight he didn’t seem all that different, and beyond the telltale limp he could sand, drill, saw and patch like the rest of them. But she knew, just how the malas noches went sometimes, that it took a toll.
“What sort of jobs?” she asked carefully.
“The kind that pay,” he said flatly, intentionally avoiding her question. He had taken up a spot in the arm chair now, only a few feet across from her. Marie bit her lip slightly, considering this. He didn’t really have a point. They didn’t have endless amounts of money, that was for certain, but the profits from almost every job she had taken over the last few years since she had lost him after Westchester had been put into a private savings account, and she had spent practically nothing in that time, drifting from place to place as she had. Combined with what Logan had saved, it had been enough to afford this house, plus enough for them to live off of fairly comfortably for the next couple of years, if they played their cards right.
“Besides, this town needs all the help it can get,” he said through a mild grin, trying to trend to the lighter side of conversation once more. Marie offered another small smile back in his direction.
“I love you baby but I think it still probably somehow managed before you showed up,” she teased, and Logan snorted a bit in response.
“Yeah, maybe. Still a lot of shit that needs fixin’ though,” he said. Marie sighed. Fixing things that were broken. Another type of control. She let it go then, turning around to look at the picture once more before setting the brush in the water with finality. The rest could wait.
“I’m thinking of going into town too. To see Kay,” she said, before peeling off the still-dry oversized sweatshirt she had been wearing as a smock and hanging it on the hook by the door. Now she was only in a sheer tank top, underwear, and wool socks.
“Yeah?” he murmured, eyes all over her.
“Yeah,” she said, turning back around to face him, a coy smile on her mouth as she studied him once more. The grey in his beard, still shaved into his signature look. Hair just a tad bit too long, looking a bit more like the Logan she had met so long ago, the smug, immortal man in the leather jacket, swinging his leg off the bike casually in front of the mansion after she had run out there like a sorry, desperate sap to greet him.
Hey, kid.
Quit calling me that. I’m nineteen years old. I’m not a kid.
Yeah, right.
It must have been the look on her face, because something in his eyes had moved from playful to predatory.
“C’mere,” he practically growled, setting down his coffee on the end table as he did so. She smirked, taking her time as she walked the handful of paces to where he sat and sultrily moved over him, simply straddling his waist for a moment. She finally began running a hand through his hair as he intuitively leaned his head into her touch.
“You want me to drop you off?” he was lazily murmuring, practically purring as her fingers idly stroked his temple. Then her lips were gently pressing kisses down the side of his face, working their way down his jaw, the hair coarser there, the feeling of it rough and good on her lips. Meanwhile, she could feel his hands on her waist, lingering possessively on either side of her ribs, just barely grazing her breasts.
“I think I wanna walk,” she mumbled, as his thumbs lazily traveled over her nipples through her shirt. At her comment, though, he stiffened a bit, pulling away a little and frowning.
“By yourself?” he asked. Suddenly, Marie was frowning a little too. She knew he didn’t like when she walked alone. It was a couple of miles in good weather. The snow was melting but it wasn’t gone yet and the path was tricky to manage, even if you knew where you were headed.
“You forget that’s how I spent nearly the last three years of my life,” she murmured, tossing a bit of dark humor his way. “And if you’re gonna work anyway and I have to be alone, I’d rather do something with myself. Clear my head,” she said through a light smile. She felt his grip on her tighten.
“You know not to wander off too far, right? And take a god damn cell phone with you this time,” he grumbled. Then she was smirking again, adoring the worried little look on the hardened man’s face.
“Don’t wander off?” she joked, before leaning in again, lips hovering just beyond his ear. “So responsible and straight-laced nowadays, aren’t we, cowboy?” she joked, before kissing his neck then sucking on his earlobe slightly. She could feel him balking at her teasing before growling gently, grabbing her ass just for good measure as she reached for his chest, snaking her hands underneath his button-down.
“Yer askin’ for it,” he grumbled.
“I thought you were going to work,” she teased, before he pulled her in for a rough and savage kiss.
--
Walking into town, Marie was grateful for the sun on her face and the last of the lingering snow melting under her hiking boots. It was a gorgeous afternoon, the sky a brilliant, wild blue, the asphalt roads wet and gleaming black. She breathed deeply, the cold air biting, but not impossible like it had been for the past few months. Her bottom lip was stinging in that good sort of hurt, still tender from where his teeth had nipped it, her skin still flushed from the way his hands had held her down, her veins still praising the song of him within her.
Rising up and down on him, she slick and wet and dripping as she moved.
They always found their way back to each other after rough nights, and usually then the sex was slower, but none the gentler. Slower, and yet somehow more intense.
Her arching up off of him as she came, the low growl in his voice. Then him easily taking them both to the floor, the new wooden floorboards hard and cold underneath her naked back as he drove into her, hard and deep, so entirely desperate to show her something…what?
She knew he was apologizing for last night. He always did even if he didn’t need to. But it was more than that. What had it been?
Pulling out right before he came, urgently needing to see him on her, the pearly white of his seed painting her torso, shimmering brightly in the late morning light. These were white, clean lines instead of the sooty black she had painted onto the canvas. After he was through he lazily ran his hands over her, rubbing it in to her skin of her belly, even lapping up the taste of himself here and there, before idly running a finger along her navel, offering her the taste of him.
She remembered the twinkle in his clear hazel eyes as she took his finger into her warm, hot mouth, all of him man and not the slightest hint of animal, as he paid the closest attention to her care. And he hadn’t even been done with her yet…
In the shower, her hands scrambled for purchase, screamed his name as he had her up against the tiled wall. She had remembered that tile, remembered picking out the color: eggshell. The name of the color was in her mind as he deliberately and roughly shoved his entire length into her once more, the warm, steady water beating down on them both. It had been take all of me baby and god I’m gonna come sugar and let me watch you darlin’ and more! and fuck! and god! and oh!
As Marie turned the last corner of the drive and made her way onto one of the fringe streets of town, her face was now burning hot, and she found herself unzipping her coat, shedding it and tying it around her waist, grinning. They weren’t young anymore, not by a long shot, but god how good it still felt to lose herself in him. It felt right, sturdy, even as her legs throbbed and her head felt dizzy. He had barely made it into his truck without her attacking him once more, and as he set out she had waved a small goodbye, a goofy smirk on his face, the night before, the awful, awful night before, almost forgotten.
Meanwhile, smaller houses and buildings began populating the side of the street as she walked her way into the north side of town. Hay River was sleepy today, the lunch crowd having died down and the streets practically empty. As she caught a glimpse of the telltale building of Kay’s shop, and the apartment still above it, Marie’s heart thudded a bit heavier with nostalgia. As much as she loved the beauty and space the lake house offered them all, part of her would always secretly adore the little snug apartment above Kay’s shop. It had been the start of a new life, a life shared. Marie’s mood was warmer now, much better with the exercise and fresh air, especially coming off the late morning of lovemaking, and she smiled brightly as she swung open the door to Kay’s antique store.
“Xahto, Kay,” Marie said, the shop bell ringing as the door swung shut once more.
“Xahto, dear,” Kay said, looking up from dusting a large oil lamp. The shop was empty—it typically was this time of day— and Marie was thankful for it. The shop was also warmer, the sunlight through the windows heating up the little place and Marie inhaled in a quiet bliss. Everything was where it should be, but Marie noticed Kay’s selection of records, books and DVDs had considerably thinned, most likely due to Logan, Marie and Laura’s recent purchases.
“We’ll have to get you some more entertainment inventory,” Marie smiled, before dutifully plucking a spare dust cloth from the box on the counter and going over to Kay to help with another lamp.
“The point, my dear, is to sell things,” she said through a smile, before briefly setting down her own cloth and placing a wrinkled hand adorned with several sterling silver rings, some of them flecked with topaz, on Marie’s own. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t expect you.” Marie smiled back, clutching Kay’s hand momentarily. Marie liked almost everything about the older woman, and they tried as much as possible to keep in contact with her, despite the ending of their lease. Logan especially seemed to be adamant on looking after Kay’s wellbeing, and even though Marie sensed Kay had no problem being alone, Logan had been trying to find ways to include her. Maybe we should, you know, have her over for dinner one night, he had said a few days ago. Marie had smiled, loving the cliché domesticity of his request. I just…she’s all alone, you know?
“Just wanted some company for a while,” Marie finally settled on as a response.
“Nághaye is working today?” Kay asked, mildly frowning at the concept.
“Yes. He insists,” Marie said waving her hand around exasperatedly in the air as the sun reflected off the dust particles, just as an electric boiler started to whistle. The older woman sighed, setting down the cloth and moving back to the counter to take the boiler off its platform.
“A stubborn one, that man,” Kay murmured as she poured the hot water into a pot. “Tea?” she added. Marie nodded as Kay began preparing two cups, pouring a little sugar into each.
“Yes, he is stubborn. Prideful too,” she said a bit tiredly, stopping her idle polishing of the lamp momentarily, lost for a moment in thought.
“And how are you, my dear?” Kay asked, the shuffle of the older woman’s house shoes, which she always wore around the shop, shuffling back over the dusty floorboards as she offered Marie the warm cup.
“Oh, you know…good,” she muttered, taking the mug from Kay and smiling politely once more, although Marie couldn’t help but find her eyes cast downward to stare a cardboard box of discarded forty-fives.
“And honestly?” Kay asked carefully, a knowing look on display through her reading glasses. Marie took a sip of the tea, savoring the taste on her tongue, as she considered this.
How did she feel this morning? Many things. Anxious over Logan’s health, worried about Laura fitting in at school, sated after the shower she had shared this morning with Logan, but also…
“Sort of bored, actually, especially now that we’re done with the house,” she went with, through a guilty grin at Kay. Kay smirked back at that.
“Oh, so you only come to see me because you’re bored?” she teased.
“Oh, no. No. It’s just…” Marie stammered, before Kay put a gentle hand to Marie’s arm once more.
“Kidding, dear. And bored…yes. That makes sense. You didn’t honestly believe that happily ever after would take up all of your time, day in and day out, did you?” Kay grinned. Marie blushed, looking up to her bashfully. Kay’s remark should have been an almost cynical quip, but Marie knew better than to read into it as such. There was an odd note of truth in Kay’s voice and maybe sadness too, and Marie realized Kay was right. Marie was happy, happier than she had been in years, but…but.
“No. I mean, I am happy though, taking care of them,” she said honestly. Kay nodded.
“They need you,” she said, as if it were a truth as plain and simple as the fact that the sun rose and set each day.
“Yes,” Marie murmured.
“But…” Kay pressed. Marie sighed.
“I like to keep busy. Like, before this. I was always…moving. It was almost a compulsion, you know? I never settled down very long in one place, constantly working, searching. It’s just… a shift…settling from that life to this,” Marie finished lamely.
“You shouldn’t feel guilty about that,” Kay said sincerely through her steaming cup. And then Marie’s phone was ringing in her bag she had left by the door, and, looking up, she threw Kay an apologetic glance, and Kay only smiled as Marie went to fetch it. On the lock screen, the number Marie had saved as LAURA’S SCHOOL – PROBABLY NANCY illuminated, and Rogue bit her lip. Shit. She reluctantly pressed the button to take the call.
“Hello?” Marie asked meekly.
“Ms. D’Ancanto?” the voice asked.
“Hi Nancy,” Marie said, even as her gut tightened. Nancy was the school’s part-time secretary. And Rogue was now on a first-name basis with her.
“We tried reaching Mr. Howlett, but we think is phone is off,” Nancy said. Their guess was probably not far off the mark. Logan often turned his phone on silent when he was on a job, only checking it every thirty minutes or so, particularly if he was in the middle of an especially tricky project. Marie sighed, bracing for news like one might brace for a storm, their tiny boat once more out on the open, floating from the deep blue into the rough waters of stormy grey.
“What happened?” she asked.
--
Marie could only stare at her phone a little as she hung up, jaw hanging open a bit in shock. Soccer game. Another fistfight. Injuries that had suddenly disappeared. Mrs. Gundalson needs to speak with you immediately.
They know.
“Yes,” Kay was saying. Marie whipped her head up from her smart phone, realizing she must have spoken that last thought out loud. They know. She looked closely at Kay, and there it was, the same knowledge, maybe from all along.
“Wait, you know?!” Marie couldn’t help but blurt out, and then immediately cursed herself for opening her big mouth. Hell. Shitfire. Logan was gonna gut them both. Laura for outing herself at school and Rogue for spilling the beans to Kay. They were on fucking fire today. Meanwhile, Kay only shrugged her shoulders, as if they were discussing Laura’s favorite color or what book she liked best.
“Nághaye’s essence is wild. The sekui too. They sense the world differently. I only assumed. Yeh shughu tqit'a da,” she finished. Marie had heard Kay use this phrase before, as it was one of Kay’s favorites. One night, Marie had looked it up, and she knew roughly it translated to It’s the way it is. And then Kay was speaking quietly once more.
“You too, my dear,” she murmured knowingly into her tea cup. Marie whipped her gaze up to the older woman once more, both sets of brown eyes meeting.
“How can you possibly know that?” Marie barely whispered.
“Honestly, dear? It’s in your movements. You are careful, so careful, not to touch others when you are not thinking about it. Each touch you give is deliberate, so well thought-out. Always in your head, you are. Except for with Nághaye. With him you share the world. As Laura keeps telling me: Amor,” she said simply, through a little grin. Marie was blushing five shades of crimson now, even if Kay’s words were not meant to embarrass her. A wild anxiety was now coursing through Marie as she realized what this knowledge might mean to others.
“We’re not here to hurt anybody,” she whispered carefully, despite Kay’s continued warmth and open demeanor. Too many memories of that other time. Hell, there were too many memories from this time.
“Of course not,” Kay said softly.
“We just want peace,” Marie found herself barely murmuring. At this, Kay looked at her thoughtfully.
“And have you found it?” she asked.
“What?” Marie questioned.
“Peace, dear?” Kay asked. Marie only blinked at her, eyes wide, before her phone illuminated once more. She had texted Logan as soon as she had hung up with Nancy, and now he was texting her back. Quicker than she would have thought.
Across town. Pick you up? the text read. Quickly, she responded.
No. I’ll walk. Only two blocks. We’ll probably get there the same time. Then Marie found herself gathering her things, gently walking the cup back over to Kay’s counter before staring intently at the woman once more.
“I’m not sure what this is going to mean, but if you could keep our secret, at least for now, although I’m not sure how much a secret it even is anymore….” She trailed off hopelessly.
“Of course,” she said through a knowing smile.
“And Kay…if you’ve known from the beginning, thank you,” Marie murmured.
“For what, my dear?”
“For seeing our humanity,” Marie said simply, hand tightening around the strap of her bag. Kay only nodded knowingly, and Rogue smiled at her once more before pushing open the door to the shop and walking back out into the cold.
--
Marie walked in through the double doors of the middle school to find Logan sitting on a line of benches in the hall, waiting for her. It was an ironic place for him to take a seat, because on the more-than-few occasions Laura had gotten into scuffles at school, Marie had usually found her sitting in the same spot Logan was now, the same angered look on her face and the same brow cocked in a quiet loathing. They looked so much like each other sometimes it was practically laughable. This time, however, Laura was nowhere to be found. Something’s different. Meanwhile, upon seeing Marie, Logan immediately stood.
“They know,” she hurriedly whispered.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“What do we do?” she asked, eyes wide.
“We see what they say. We’ll pull her out of here if we have to,” he said, a little too bitterly.
“Would it even make a difference?” she had just began asking, before Nancy came out through the office door.
“Mr Howlett? Oh, and Ms. D’Ancanto,” Nancy said. On any normal day, Marie liked the secretary. She always wore apple red cardigans and had a romance novel propped open at her desk, despite the fact she worked at a middle school, whenever Marie had to come into speak with Mrs. Gundalson. Now though, Nancy seemed as nervous as they were. As the woman ushered them inside the administrative offices and to the left to the principal’s, a cynical thought passed through Marie’s head and she wondered if Nancy was nervous because she realized she was in the presence of a mutant family, but Rogue immediately banished the thought. Don’t be hateful, she could practically hear her mother lecture her in her own head.
Mrs. Gundalson, the principal, wasn’t as near as coquettish. She had a careful, even look on her features as she opened the door and invited both Marie and Logan inside. Gundalson was a stout woman, typically stern but always fair, black hair usually worn up in a tight bun. Marie wasn’t sure how anyone could run a middle school for as long as she had, even after teaching at Xavier’s all those years. For one thing, public school was different. Sure, Gundalson didn’t have to deal with mutant students potentially setting parts of the classroom on fire or mentally reading her thoughts, but at the rate they were going with unevenly matched fistfights and muddy soccer games, Marie was sure the woman’s headache was still big enough. Still though, Marie liked Mrs. Gundalson because the woman didn’t take anyone’s shit. Not from the boys who sometimes tried to bully Laura, but also not from Laura herself. She also didn’t seem to be afraid of Logan and his cagey, intimidating demeanor in the slightest, and this is what had won Marie over for good. Conversely, Marie also knew Logan often felt slightly threatened by Mrs. Gundalson’s presence. Two alphas in the same room. In many ways, they were evenly matched. Both strong, foreboding personalities. Both willing to make sacrifices where they needed to. Both fiercely protective. Gundalson wasn’t a feral mutant, as far as Marie knew, but she might as well have been.
“Please sit, Mr. Howlett. Ms. D’Acanto,” the principal said, gesturing to the two open seats on the side of her desk closet to the door. The office was clean and in ship shape, a sturdy clock on the far side and three framed degrees from the University of Calgary, a PhD among them, Rogue noticed, on the wall behind her. The walls were a nautical blue, and the bold colors suited the woman. Marie also noticed as Mrs. Gundalson closed the door behind her, still Laura was nowhere to be found. Had they let her just resume classes? That didn’t seem normal for them, especially after the knock-down, drag-out fight Nancy had described on the phone. And yet…
Marie glanced at Logan, dying to know what he was thinking. His button down sleeves were rolled up on his forearms and she could tell his muscles were tense, but that was about it. He was stone still, quiet as they came, and no matter how this thing went Marie realized she would be breaking open the decent bottle of whiskey tonight for both of them.
“So… I’m under the impression from our gym coach that Laura punched another boy,” the woman said curtly.
“Yeah, and?” Logan replied gruffly, crossing his arms as he did so. Marie knew he did this when Logan detected a threat, but was in a public space where he couldn’t do anything about it.
“And also that she didn’t start it. The boy did, and it seems Laura suffered a few nasty wounds too. That she immediately healed from.” Mrs. Gundalson said, without pretense.
“So?” Logan asked immaturely, and Marie shot Logan a look. He only offered a hmmf in response. Gundalson watched this little tête-à-tête between them, before clearing her throat, her look softening somewhat.
“Mr. Howlett, I’ll remind you I wasn’t born yesterday. And we here at Princess Alexandria take our students’ safety very seriously, and we like to consider Laura one of our own, like all the rest. So, if Laura’s a mutant, it would have been information we would have benefited from knowing at the beginning of the year.” Logan’s eyes widened, his guard dropping momentarily as he directly looked at Marie now for assistance instead of just stealing a glance her way. It wasn’t a surprising way to react. The woman’s veracity and her matter-of-factness had surprised Rogue and Logan both.
“So…she is a mutant. Yes?” Mrs. Gundalson asked. Logan glanced back over to Marie, and she gave him a defeated look and a slight shrug of her shoulders. Logan cleared his throat, turning back to the principal.
“Enrolling her as such… That didn’t feel like the safe thing to do at the time,” Logan said carefully, eyes still a bit narrow in suspicion.
“You know that we have anti-discrimination laws here. Plans in place to help genetically diverse students. All public schools in Canada do. Or did…when we needed them…” Gundalson trailed off.
“So you’re not kicking her out?” Logan asked, looking surprised.
“Excuse me? No. No. Of course not. We had dozens of mutants in our school district, back when…. Well, back when there were…”
“When there were more of us?” Marie finally spoke up, eyes focused intently on the older woman across the desk. Now, both Logan and Gundalson looked at her like she had suddenly decided to light the desk on fire, and then she could feel Logan grabbing Marie’s thigh firmly before Marie deliberately sloughed it off. Something about Kay’s acceptance perhaps, or the fact that Transigen was now finally dissembled in Canada, or perhaps just because she had witnessed so much of Laura’s fiery bravery in the past few months one of those things or all of them perhaps had given her courage for that particular quip. Rogue looked back up to Logan, staring into those same hazel eyes that, only a few hours ago had been brightly consumed with lust as he licked her body clean. They already know, so why not be honest? she hoped she was communicating to him. Meanwhile, Gundalson had regained her composure, now looking a little more knowingly and with more respect to Logan and Rogue both.
“We’re only here to help Laura,” she finally said calmly and simply. Logan still seemed tongue-tied, so Marie spoke up once more.
“Uh…Mrs. Gundalson, you mentioned there were… plans… of some sort that could be put in place?” Rogue asked, breaking the tension between the two.
“Well, an IEP for one,” the principal said.
“IEP?” Logan asked quizzically.
“Yes. Sorry. Individualized Education Plan. A personalized plan tailored to Laura’s needs.” The woman now had Marie’s full attention as she considered deeply what Gundalson was saying, The fact of the matter was that, in this area of education, both Logan and Rogue were largely ignorant. She knew they were both thinking back to Westchester, which was a private school only for mutants. Marie didn’t have the foggiest as to how public schools chose to assimilate and offer assistance to mutant children. If anything, she just assumed they didn’t or couldn’t. A privileged and altogether false assumption, if there ever was one, Marie realized quietly.
“Needs? How would you even know what she needs?” Logan was saying and Marie scowled at him once more. Logan was taking this a lot harder than Rogue was, maybe for good reason. Gundalson, too, seemed to sense this and Marie could tell she was choosing her next words very, very carefully.
“I don’t pretend to completely understand Laura, Mr. Howlett. And your insinuations are partially right in the fact that we are rusty. We haven’t seen a mutant child in this school for several years. Just over seven, in fact. And, other than the fact that Laura can heal— if that is really the case like this afternoon suggested— you’re right that I do not know exactly what the rest of her abilities regarding her mutation are and I won’t know unless you choose to disclose them to me. But I have been watching Laura all year, and I may have an idea or two of what might help in facilitating her learning, if you allow me.”
“Like what?” Marie was surprised to find Logan asking.
“I could see a plan including…more physical space. Extra recess time, a chance be outside to let out some of her physical… frustrations.” Marie appreciated this woman more and more. She used the correct terms, not the old euphemisms or slurs most people found themselves relying on. Abilities regarding her mutation instead of gifts or powers. Gundalson was careful, clinical, and most importantly respectful. But if Marie could see inside Logan’s mind, and goodness knows she had in the past, he was probably thinking the same thing she was right now. Gundalson was one woman. And Logan and Laura and Rogue knew the school was full of people who were merely on a spectrum of tolerance, if at all, some welcoming and some not. Logan had told Rogue early on that Laura had been on the receiving end of several racist slurs in the past. How was the children’s knowledge of her mutation going to make that any better?
“Laura’s already pushed around at school though…ostracized. How is flagging her as more different going to help with that?” Rogue offered, as she felt Logan cock a brow in her direction.
“Well for one thing it’s confidential as far as the paperwork is concerned. No other child or family gets to read her file. That being said… bullying happens. We try to prevent it, but let me remind you both that it seems Laura made an intentional choice today, in some form or another, to show the other children what she could do. Maybe, in a way, she wanted someone to know. And the fact is we can’t take that back. But we can protect Laura better, if we understand what she is capable of, if you choose to let her stay here.”
It all seemed so simple, but Marie knew what memory Logan was, had to be, summoning forward right now. It was the one from before the jump, the one of Logan carrying an unconscious girl with an ugly M scrawled onto her face as he rushed down the internment camp away from hate, away from intolerance, away from them. But how much longer could they run? They weren’t young. Logan was sick. Laura needed a place to call home. And now wasn’t then. Rogue was surprised to see that Logan began speaking first, although she could tell it was taking all he had to relinquish, to come to the same acceptance of the knowledge Marie herself had just arrived at.
“She’s a feral. So, that means she… uh…”
“She has heightened senses,” Marie found herself murmuring, trying to help out.
“Uh, yeah. That’s right,” Logan said, shooting Rogue an appreciative look for her nudge as he did so, before continuing on. “She can see in the dark. She can smell, hear…everything,” Logan said through a bit of a tired exhale and closed eyes. Rogue noticed Mrs. Gundalson studied this, and then the principal was looking up at Marie, and Marie could only smile faintly. Then Logan was talking again.
“She reacts naturally, ahh I mean more instinctively, to things she feels are threats. That’s why she keeps clocking kids, I think. She’s stronger than most too, so that’s why she was able to give that kid a concussion.” Gundalson did a good job of looking impassive, and Marie was surprises to find her sighing a bit after Logan was finished.
“This explains… a lot. So much. Alright. And she can heal in seconds, from any wound?”
“Yes,” Logan said, and they watched as the principal was now taking steady, even notes on a piece of paper.
“Anything else?”
Logan looked to Marie, and Marie knew her eyes had gone wide once more. There was no way they could tell her about the adamanitum. It was the result of experimentation, obviously no sort of mutation produced that, and unless they wanted to receive a call from child protective services, forged identities or no, they had to refrain from telling the whole truth. Some things, regrettably, just couldn’t be said.
“No,” Logan lied quietly, before looking down at his boots.
--
Marie quietly trailed behind Logan as they made their way out to the parked Bronco. Marie had been right that Laura had never been pulled out of class after the skirmish, and now that school was almost over, the plan was to wait here until the proverbial bell rang and finally take Laura home. Logan slammed the car door shut behind him, sighing heavily, as Marie rubbed her eyes, the lack of sleep now finally catching up with her. She should have slept the morning away with Logan when she had the chance.
“Shit,” she finally said, now taking to blankly staring out of the Bronco’s front windshield.
“Yeah,” Logan murmured. “Cat’s out of the bag.”
“Laura’s gonna kill us for telling on her,” she said, bringing a hand to her head once more. At this, Marie was surprised to hear Logan scoff.
“Hey, she’s the one that put us in this situation. Kid had her chance. She went off testin’ those fuckers and got herself shoved to the ground, what did she think was gonna happen?” Marie sensed a new steeliness in his voice, and even though the anger wasn’t directed at her, she felt her own body tensing regardless.
“It’s not all her fault,” she began, before he interrupted her.
“—I’ve told her a thousand fucking times. She’s gotta learn to control it. Sure, she’s born with this thing inside her, but she still makes choices, Marie. And now she gets to walk around with this IEP like it’s some kind of fucking golden ticket...” he trailed off, but she could tell his anger was still rising.
“What do you mean ‘golden ticket’?” Marie asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Do you think I ever caught a break like that? Or hell, how about you? It’s just…I’m startin’ to think it’s too good to be true. ‘Genetically diverse student population’ my ass. They’ll find a reason to turn on her. They always do. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. Fuck. Shoulda left and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck on the way out while I still had the chance. The problem is I’m too old and tired for this shit,” he spat, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Marie put up with this little tantrum the best she could, letting him finish before she turned and stared at him the way she might a petulant child.
“Well just listen to yourself,” she blurted out.
“What?!” he snapped.
“You forget you made choices in there too. You heard what she had to say, and you took the bait. And you so sure she’s lying? You have to admit, baby, there wasn’t a false note in that woman’s voice. That’s why you said what you did. And you need to cut Laura a break. You’re not her. You forget you’ve got a couple centuries of experience on her,” and as Logan began spitting in defiance she quite literally snapped her fingers in the air at him, muttering a “Let me finish. Laura’s not even twelve yet. You forget she’s still a child. And at least she’s trying to fit in. From what I recall you were always at the ready to tear off on your Harley whenever you got the slightest bit uncomfortable-”
“How would you know? All you know about that is whatever the old me me was doing, darlin’. Or did you go mixin’ us up again—” he tried to say before she interrupted him.
“Oh, don’t give me that song and dance. I’ve got the old Marie in my fucking head too, so I know that particular fact about you holds true on this timeline, on that timeline, probably on every single fucking timeline, ad nauseum. You need to remember, baby, that she’s different than you. There’s a whole half of her that’s someone else we don’t even know, and, most importantly, she’s also her own person. And, to top it all off…she’s…” Marie found herself stopping, realizing better a little too late and biting her lip.
“She’s what?!” Logan snarled. Fine, Marie thought. Let him hear it.
“Well, she’s a girl.”
“So?” Logan retorted.
“So… it’s different for her. I love you baby, but mutant healing abilities or no, you get caught up in your privilege all the same. How she’s expected to be is different than what was expected of you. In some ways, she’s got it worse. I bet your bottom dollar that she feels compelled to push the wild thing inside her down even more, especially as she gets older.”
“How so?” he asked carefully, and Marie realized he had corralled his anger, so much better and more effectively than he ever would have when Marie first had met him. Rogue simply sighed in response.
“Well…with girls and women—and I say this not believing there’s much of a difference naturally or biologically speaking—but socially, there’s a currency. We’re taught not to be as physical, as rough, without reaping the consequences. She’d still scare the shit out of the other kids if she was a boy, but she’d be better respected. As a girl, some people still think she’s supposed to be inherently well…gentle. Serene. And that isn’t Laura. I’m not saying she should be that way, but because of the way it all is, even in Canada, she’ll probably always have that demon on her back,” Marie finished quietly.
Logan breathed out steadily, his anger gone as quickly as it had come, before murmuring, “Fuck. Maybe you’re right.”
“Yep,” she said.
“You think she’s doomed?” he asked gloomily.
“Doomed? What? No! Lord, baby, that timeline and those sentinels did a fucking number on you. My point was that she’s just...she might be like you in every single way sugar, and she’s growing up in a different world than you did. So… your way of getting by and her way of getting by might be… different. She’s got to find her own path, but I can say without a doubt she’s still going to need a whole lot of your help.”
“For as long as that lasts,” he muttered bitterly, and she looked up to him sharply, tears practically begging to spring from her eyes at his wounded, defeated tone. She hated when he got like this.
“Hey,” she said forcibly, and he looked up to her reluctantly.
“Listen to me, James Howlett. You need to understand that this is not about you. Last night might’ve been, and this morning you sure as hell got what you wanted-” and she watched him smirk in spite of himself, “But this afternoon, right now? This isn’t about you. It’s about her,” she finished, and she watched as he sighed as the last of the fight left him and Marie wondered if that was any better.
“Hell, kid,” he said after a little bit of time. “I know you’re right. I’m sorry I’m such a paranoid, selfish bastard. It’s…well, I just…” he stammered.
“I know,” she murmured, cutting him off and willing him to look her in the eye. He did, albeit slowly, and her heart did a flop at the pained expression she found there. “I know,” she said again. And then she heard it before it happened, the sounds of sneakers, the doors opening up, the laughter of children, and Marie barely murmured, “School’s out.”
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