The glass was already mostly empty. The acrid scent of the double vodka was still burning in his nose, but the alcohol wasn’t doing shit. Logan frowned deeply as he drained the last of the liquor and sloppily set down the glass with a bang. Shit, don’t break the fuckin’ glass. Don’t need the attention.

“Another.” He growled at the bartender. The man was fat, bald, and had a slightly greasy sheen to his skin that made Logan want to grimace. Why the hell was the guy so greasy? It was well below fucking freezing outside. The guy looked back at him blankly, clearly not understanding him. Logan grunted and motioned to his glass. A look of dawning comprehension lit up the man’s face and he poured another double into the chipped tumbler.

He noted the swirl of discordant conversations around him. The mutters and grunts of foreign tongues. Mostly Russian. Some Chinese. The place was fucking desperate. Not so different from some of the little towns he’d see in Alberta. A fishing town, trying to survive. The bar was crowded and cramped, and as another glass appeared before him, he tossed the drink back in one smooth motion, no longer minding the harsh burn of cheap vodka. Another, and maybe it’d work. He needed the dulling effects of the liquor more than the taste, and quick. He’d barely been able to regain his control on the beast since he’d taken over back in the woods. He hadn’t been able to help the instinctual, guttural response to seeing Rogue in an animalistic, feral state. He’d felt the Wolverine light up and growl in approval at the sight and scent of her body as she’d come stalking toward him. Fuck, he’d wanted her like that. All wild and out of control and -

Goddamnit. Knock it off!

The animal snarled at him again and Logan licked the last few drops from the glass before motioning again to the greasy man, who scowled at him, but complied and poured another double. He was just considering asking for the bottle when he caught a whiff of her as the door opened up and a snap of frigid air hit the place. Her smell. Like gardens and fucking sunshine. And the Cajun too. Logan growled lowly, tossing back the third drink just as he heard her slide up to the bar next to him.

He inhaled deeply as she neared him and clenched his jaw at that snarl of awareness that ripped through the animal. They needed to get the fuck outta Siberia before he did something he’d regret.

“You doin’ okay, sugar?”

“Fine.” he practically growled at her, unwilling to bring his gaze upward.
“Alright,” she said slowly as she eased up next to him at the bar.

He could tell she was just tryin’ to check on him. See if he was okay after what had happened back by that frozen creek. But he didn’t want her anywhere near him. Even after several hours of riding through the blistering cold, trying to drown out the taste of her against his tongue, the animal was still too fucking close to the surface. He needed her to get the hell away from him.

“You enjoy your cuddle time with the Cajun?” he spat at her. He couldn’t keep the acerbic bite out of his voice. The animal was pissed. He wouldn’t shut up about how good Rogue smelled, how sweet she had tasted on their tongue. Couldn’t stop questioning Logan about just why the fuck he was still holding back after all this time. She’s too young. She’s ours to protect. Not to screw.

We could protect her a hell of a lot better if she was next to us in bed.

A bolt of lust shot through him at the thought of a naked Marie plastered against him, her body warm and sweaty from a fast bout of sex, and he bit back another growl as he shoved the thought down and brought the glass up to his lips again.

“Yeah. I did.” She had some fire back in her tone now, and Logan could tell she didn’t like him pulling at that sore thread between them. “They got any food in this place? I’m starving.”

“Fuck if I know.” He set the empty glass down on the counter and slid it back and forth from palm to palm, the worn tumbler sliding easily on the chipped and polished wooden bar top.

“Jesus, Logan. Lighten up. We didn’t freeze to death. I didn’t get mauled by wolves - well,” she paused taking in her shredded and bloodied uniform, “Maybe a little.”

Logan blatantly ignored her, moving to stand to once more command the bartender’s attention. “Hey. Hey! You got a phone in here, bub?” The bartender gave him yet another blank look and he clenched his jaw in annoyance. “You speak English?”

“Keitai motteru?” he muttered, attempting some Japanese, to another confused stare. Logan sighed, pulling out the very little, very rusty bit of Russian from the recesses of his brain.

"Ehh...May I do one calling?" he asked the bartender in halting Russian, who had gone back to washing glasses but turned around once more, obviously highly annoyed.

"Man, you're already drunk, sorry," the surly man muttered, taking Logan’s empty glass away from him much to Logan’s frustration. Logan visibly pointed to the man, than to himself, and then to the space between them.

"You. To me. Phone."

It was obvious the bartender knew Logan wasn’t from around here, and he sneered a bit, before muttering,“The foreigner, his mother..."

“Motherfucker,” Logan growled, gripping the edges of the bar now in anger. “How the fuck are we supposed to get out of this shitty little town if I can’t even borrow a goddamn phone?”

Rogue leaned over the bar and smiled warmly at the bartender as she drawled out a sultry “Hi there, sugar.” Logan scowled as he noted the man looked a little too goddamn interested for his peace of mind, his gaze blatantly roving over her curves that were showcased all too well by the leather. She calmly mimed picking up a phone and holding to her ear, and to Logan’s complete and utter annoyance, the bartender calmly pulled out a faded yellow rotary dial phone.

“You fuckin’ kidding me with this thing?” He growled at the bartender who gave him another dirty look as he slid a fresh set of glasses toward Rogue. “You know how long it’s gonna take me to make this goddamn call on this ancient piece of shit phone?” The man cocked an eyebrow at him as he set a full bottle of top shelf vodka next to Rogue’s pair of tumblers.


“Don’t be such an ass, Logan.” And with that, she grabbed the empty glasses and bottle and strode over to where the Cajun had secured a pair of chairs at the far end of the bar.

Scowling as he noted just how fucking close the swamp rat sat to Rogue, Logan dug around his memory to summon up the international emergency number that phoned the mansion, nearly ripping off the dialer with each agonizingly long spin of the sticky finger holes. The phone rang several times, and right as he was about to give up, Scott-Mother-Fucking-Summers answered the phone.

“What the fuck, Cyke?” Logan barked into the receiver.

“Wha-? Logan?”

“Yes. Logan. Get us the fuck outta here.”

“Jesus. Who else made it out with you?”

“Rogue and Gambit. Now get your skinny ass back on the bird and pick us up.”
“Tell me your location.”

“How the fuck should I know where we are?!” Logan growled, shooting a glance across the bar to a guest. “Hey! Hey bub. Where the fuck are we?” The man only sneered at him, and Logan snarled in return.

“Hell if I know, Cyke. Can’t you figure this shit out?”

“Hold on. I’ve got Kitty with me. We’re tracing the number….”

“Take your goddamn time why don’t ya,” Logan muttered, throwing another glance over to the pair across the bar. In the few minutes since she’d left, she’d managed to acquire a bowl of pretzels and was tossing several back, inhaling the badly needed calories greedily as her body worked to replenish what it had lost. He gripped the phone cord hard in his left hand as he saw her smile at something the Cajun had just whispered in her ear, and he turned his back to them.

“Huh,” Scott said after several minutes of silence. “Looks like you’re in the tiny fishing village of Yuryung-Khaya. Hell, Logan. That’s like a hundred miles away from the facility. How the hell did you make it that far?”

“Too long a fuckin’ story,” Logan grumbled. He wasn’t about to relive the last twenty-four hours. Not when he was still dealing with the consequences of everything that had happened.

“Well, we can have the Blackbird there in forty-eight hours,” Scott said evenly.

“What? Forty-eight FUCKIN’ HOURS? What the fuck are we supposed to do until then?”

“Jesus. I don’t know Logan. Get drunk. Enjoy your goddamn vacation. You need to wait there. We just got back to the mansion, and we’re debriefing, trying to get our heads wrapped around the news.”

Scott’s voice was laced with tension and it put Logan on edge. “What news, Cyke?”

“You got enough money for food and a place to stay, right?”

“What fuckin’ news?” he asked again.

“We’ll debrief you when you get here. It’s concerning the weapon Kitty found,” he said evenly.

“Shit,” Logan said.

“Forty-eight hours.”

Logan found himself staring at the phone in disbelief. Scott had just hung up on him. He slammed the ancient handset back into its cradle and shoved it away from him, the mechanical bell ringing slightly with the force of his push.

Nothing about this sounded good. Whatever Scott was sitting on was just more bad news on top of an already shitty situation. He glanced back to where Rogue and Remy sat and frowned, resigned to standing. There weren’t any spare seats left and as much as the Wolverine approved of starting a fight, Logan knew they didn’t need any additional attention caused by him forcibly removing some drunk asshole from his chair. ‘Sides, the two of them had been by themselves too fuckin’ long anyway. He slowly stalked over to the other side of the bar, and though Rogue’s back was turned, he could see Remy’s eery red eyes follow him the whole way over.

“Listen, Rogue-” Logan began, purposefully avoiding addressing the swamp rat.

“-We know,” she grumbled, turning quickly in her chair to look up at him. Those brown goddamn eyes of hers staring daggers at him.

“How the fuck? How do you know?”

She was frowning, and only cocked an eyebrow at him. He must’ve looked at her with a confused expression, because she pointed to her ears then waggled her fingers at him. Of fucking course. Her skin. She still had the remnants of the earlier absorption. She would’ve overheard every word from his brief phone call with Scott.

Logan spotted Remy watching them, an expression of deep amusement plastered on his arrogant face, and Logan heard himself snarl in frustration.

“You forget so easily about this morning, homme?” he asked, a small smirk on his face.

“Shut yer mouth, Cajun. Didn’t ask ya,” Logan muttered, and Marie turned to angrily stare at him once more.

“You interrupted us, sugar,” she practically purred as she inched closer to Remy.

“Well, excuse me darlin’, but we needta figure out what the fuck we’re gonna do here for forty-eight hours. Cause I gotta tell ya, I don’t like the sound of it. Like fucking sitting ducks here.” He couldn’t help but glance around the bar again, took a sniff of the air to detect any familiar scents. But all he got was vodka, sweat, grease, fish, the charged scent of the Cajun, and the underlying freshness of Marie.

“Quit being so goddamn paranoid and learn to relax a little sugar,” Rogue said through another deep swallow of vodka, and Logan once more frowned. A handful of fuckin’ pretzels in two days and now two or three rounds of liquor. Remnants of his healin’ factor or not, she was gonna be in a world of hurt if she kept up that pace.

“Oui, homme. Listen to mon chere and relax a little.”

“Seems like you two are doin’ enough relaxin’ for all of us.”

“Seems like we doin’ just that,” Gambit smirked, and Logan watched as he deftly snaked an arm around Rogue’s shoulder. For a moment, just for a moment, it seemed to surprise Rogue, but she covered it up instantly, painting a smug smile on her face.

“If you wanna be so serious about everything sugar, why don’t you find us a place to stay?”

Logan only growled in response, shooting Gambit another threatening look, before storming off back to his spot at the bar.

“Hey, bub,” he gestured at the now belligerent bartender. “Uh, I have three room numbers for us,” he stuttered. Russian never had come easily to him. He had no idea if he was asking for three rooms, or three eggs. “Also, the fuckin’ bottle,” he barked.
____________

As all three of them drunkenly plodded upstairs an hour later, Logan could almost feel himself swaying on the spot as he stared once more at the keys in his hand. Two keys. Two keys. Meaning….two rooms. Only two goddamn fuckin’ rooms.

He swung the keys in Rogue’s face a little, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “Looks like yer with me kid,” he slurred, gesturing toward the room on the right. Rogue’s eyebrows shot up in offended surprise, as she looked back to Remy.

“What makes you think, for one minute on God’s green earth, that I’m gonna be shackin’ up with you, sugar?” she said, throwing Remy a side glance and a smile.

Something in Logan almost snapped. The vodka, mixed with his earlier frustration, caused the animal to rise even closer to the fucking surface. And he just wasn't fuckin’ having it tonight.

“If they find us, and trust me darlin’, they will, who do you think’s gonna be the one to take a fuckin’ bullet for ya and live to see tomorrow?” he practically spat. At this, Remy, even as drunk as he was, began to take the bait, and the air around them all suddenly singed with energy.

“You wanna fuckin’ take me, gumbo?” Logan snarled, beginning to back him against the hallway, before Rogue brought one gloved hand to Logan’s forearm and shoved him away from Remy.

“For the last goddamn time, both of you, stop it!” she practically shouted, forcibly bringing Logan’s arm down.

“You need to stop makin’ my decisions for me and let me handle this goddamn thing on my own,” she exclaimed through gritted teeth. “Come on, Remy.” and she grabbed one key from Logan’s outstretched hand before he could stop her.

Before he could get a handle on the situation, he felt the animal rise up and growl at her complete denial of the situation. His chest began to rise and fall rapidly as the pace of his breath increased. He tried to control the sheer rage of the beast coursing through him. How could she choose him?

He snarled, his hold on the Wolverine breaking as he stalked forward, shoving Remy back against the narrow hallway, roughly forcing himself in between the two before he could realize the full extent of his actions.

“Logan!” he heard Rogue shout, before Remy’s eyes darkened into a blaze of red fire. He noted the crackling spark of energy snap between his fingertips as he gripped a card in his hand, having procured it smoothly from the inner lining of his coat pocket.

Rogue stepped closer to Logan, only centimeters away from him now as she held his gaze. “Please,” she said simply. “Stop.” And this time, she didn’t have to touch him for him to understand, for him to realize what he was risking. What he was assuming. What he was asking of her. Something in him gave way then, as the look in her eye commanded him to calm down, to lower his guard. And accept her decision.

“Fine,” he growled once more, turning abruptly away from them both in that moment, the other key in hand. He stalked to the door on the right, wrenching it open. He took one last glance at them both, before slamming it behind him.
Chapter End Notes:
Sorry for the delay in getting this next chapter out. Our thoughts on collaborating over the holidays were full of good intentions. But did you guys know that family expects you to spend time with them over Christmas and such? We sure didn’t...

Also. The two of us were randomly in the same city for a few days just this week and founded and participated in the first ever official ROGANCON. The next one is gonna have to be bigger, and more than just the two of us drinking in a rustic bar in Phoenix.

We really like to make a special shout out to @anniebirdy for helping us with Logan’s Russian. Not only did she given us the best lines out of this whole chapter, but she responded lickedty split to our strange requests. We are greatly indebted to her wisdom.

Coming up in the next chapter...things get fightier. Yes. It’s a word.
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