Logan stood with his back to the door, the room spinning slightly behind closed eyes. His jaw and fists were clenched, as he tried to prevent himself from ripping open the door, grabbing Rogue, and tossing her onto the bed in a fury of animalistic need.
What the fuck had just happened?
The smell of the Cajun’s charged card was still burning in his nostrils along with the spike in Rogue’s adrenaline as the two of them had nearly killed each other in the hallway.
Never had his senses been such a fuckin’ curse. He tried, with everything in him, to block out the sounds coming behind the two closed doors that separated them, but nothing seemed to be able to stop the onslaught. Muffled voices. Hushed whispers. He groaned, stumbling forward to the small twin bed in the cramped room, the mattress sagging under his weight.
Even now, the spinning was slowing and senses sharpening, as his healing factor viciously fought the copious amount of vodka he’d consumed. He couldn’t take much more of this shit.
Then. A sudden silence rang in his ears. It was deafening. The lack of sounds was somehow worse than the small noises that had been coming from the adjoining room. His imagination kicked into overdrive. There. A rustle of fabric against skin and the low murmuring of words.
“Motherfucker.” The word was barely intelligible, strangled by the thick growling that seemed to be coming from his chest as rought the sudden rage of the animal at the mental picture that surfaced in his mind.
If that’s the way she wants it, ain’t no way I’m gonna stick around to witness it.
He sprang up from the bed, the coils of the mattress creaking in protest at the sudden movement.
What the fuck is wrong with me? He thought as he sped out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Fuck the bartender. He needed more vodka. Now.
Why was all of this bothering him so fucking much? Rogue was grown. Her own woman. She’d dated others before. So what the fuck was up with him? Why the shitty goddamn attitude?
Don’t be an idiot. You know. Was the immediate response from the back of his mind. She’s ours. And we’re tired of her not really bein’ ours.
The fuck she is. If that was the case, doncha think she’d be here right now? Instead she’s in there. With the fuckin’ swamp rat.
Instead of the smartass response he expected, all he received was a scoffing noise.
Logan didn’t have time for this shit. He pounded down the stairs and headed straight for the bar.
One look was all it took. He leaned his weight against the thick oak bar top, slapped some cash down, not knowing or caring about the actual amount, and without question, filched a bottle. A grunt of acceptance, as he gripped in tightly, stalking over to the far end of the bar, back to the wall, inclined to drink himself into oblivion. He’d stay there all night if he had to. Whatever it took to get rid of the memory of those fucking noises.
The air was thick with the scent of tobacco now, and for a while Logan did nothing but drink. His mind was finally quiet, and he sank into the silence. No one dared bother him, the crowd was dwindling anyway, something Logan found himself grateful of.
He had been staring down at the peeling label of now only half-full vodka bottle, and when Logan looked up, he saw him. For an instant, he thought he had to be hallucinating, but... no. He could smell him from here, the swamp rat having just stalked down the stairs, drunkenly making his way over to the other end of the bar. Logan’s muscles tensed, the possibility of such an appearance almost too much to fathom. Why the fuck was he down here? He finished already?
Logan tried to cast out his hearing upward, toward her room. Nothing though. No noise to speak of. Not a fuckin’ shred of evidence as to what had happened, other than the bastard’s presence in the bar. The animal gave a low rumble of approval at the sight of him. That meant he wasn’t upstairs with her. As far as he was concerned, that was a good thing. But Logan knew what he’d heard. He couldn’t fuckin’ unhear it.
He frowned, glancing back at LeBeau once more. The Cajun’s movements were stilted and slow as he stumbled over to the bar, loudly demanding vodka. A couple of bruisers around him, fellas not as tall and certainly not as lean, noticed. He had a fucking fist on the table now. And then, one of the guys was tapping Remy’s shoulder, saying something loud and rude in Russian, and then, fuck.
He had to hand it to the Cajun. He was quick with a punch. The man stumbled backward, and his buddy was already on LeBeau, knocking him backward with a swift punch to the nose. The swamp rat shouted and Logan swore under his breath.
People were already crowding around the three, and Logan sneered as he pushed a couple aside. They were wailing on him, but then Remy was fumbling in his pockets, where he kept his cards…
One quick motion and Logan was on his feet, reached around to the bar stool, and threw it across the room at the fight. He didn’t care who he hit as long as it kept Remy from revealing his fucking abilities. He was already suspicious as fuck with those red glowing eyes.
The brawl exploded then, the barstool having splintered when it collided with flesh and a part of the oak bar. Logan didn’t waste any time but strode through the crowd, shoving anyone who was stupid enough to try and slow him down aside.
Finally, he grabbed a hold of the fuckin’ swamp rat’s wrist, jerking him forward outta the center of the fight, and hauled his drunk ass outside into the cold. The hostility of the crowd lessened as they saw Logan taking the troublemaker out of the mix, and the noise of the bar resumed its normal buzz as the door slammed behind him.
Nothing like subzero temperatures to sober you up, he thought as he tossed Remy head first into a snowbank.
“The fuck is your problem, Cajun?” he growled in a low voice. “You want every Russian in a hundred mile radius to know there are a buncha mutants hiding out in their pissant town?”
Remy scoffed as he dragged himself out of the bank, wiping a smear of snow mixed with blood from his face, before spitting at his feet.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est pour toi, chien?”
Logan knew enough French to know when he was being insulted. He reached down to grab the swamp rat’s collar and hauled him up so that he was eye-level with Logan. The movement forced an assault of scent to reach his nostrils. He could smell the tang of of Remy, the sourness of alcohol, the gas from the snowmobiles, the underlying acrid scent of the wolf pack they’d encountered. And Rogue. Goddammit. Her scent was all over him. His gut twisted as he inhaled deeply. Fuck it all.
“Listen to me you little shit. It’s fuckin’ freezing out here and yer about to get our asses kicked outta the place we’re supposed t’be stayin’. So you better have a fuckin’ good reason to go startin’ a fuckin’ brawl like that, you slimy rat.”
Blood continued to pour from his nose as he sneered at Logan. He was still impossibly close to him, but Logan refused to stand down.
“And Remy’s supposed to be listenin’ to the likes of you now, eh, homme?” he breathed bitterly. The man’s eyes were on fire, and Logan could feel himself struggling to keep hold of the animal.
And then, the scent again. Or, rather, the lack of.
See? Ours.
The realization slammed through him, and the relief must have shown on his face because Remy snickered at him and jerked himself loose from Logan’s grip.
“That’s right, homme. You win. Ma chere, non. She don’ want Remy. And Remy done bein’ rejected.” He shoved Logan away from him and turned his back. “Don’ act so surprised, homme. Anyone could see it. An’ you, wit’ ‘dem senses. Must’ve guessed by now.”
Logan didn’t know what to say. While logically he understood what the swamp rat was alluding to, he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Rogue had turned him down. Meaning, she didn’t want Remy. That last shred of doubt surfaced in his mind as he flashed back to after she’d absorbed LeBeau outside the facility. He’d smelled the arousal on her. Fuckin’ hated that he could. Fuckin’ hated that it was Remy that had caused her reaction. Maybe that’s why he’d hated it so goddamn much. ‘Cause it wasn’t him that was causing her to react that way.
It had been a fuckin’ joke, paradin’ around, claiming he wanted to simply protect the woman.
“Well. Fuck,” he said simply.
After a slightly awkward silence, Remy had motioned with his head to the closed door of the bar.
“Think they let us back in?”
Logan frowned. “For as much money as I dumped at the bar, they’d fuckin’ better.” And he strode forward to throw open the door. The atmosphere that met them was anything but hospitable. A few glares. A rumbling of angry Russian voices. And the tilt of the bartender’s head upward, obviously communicating he wanted both of them back in the rooms they had paid for. Logan couldn’t help but issue a low growl at being told what to do, but he silently followed LeBeau past the lingering patrons to the back of the bar, and then finally up the stairs once more.
Realizing they still had a decision to make about who would be in what rooms, Logan could feel the tension rising once again. Would he really be the one who got to share a room with Rogue? His thoughts went into overdrive at the thought. But then he noticed Remy had stopped, standing just outside the first of the two rooms, the last of the fight seemingly drained from him. His shoulders began to shake slightly, and for one horrifying second, Logan thought he was crying. But instead, he slowly turned to Logan, with a huge grin on his face as he gestured to a note that was crammed into the crack of Rogue’s door.
First one of you that comes inside this room is the first one dead.
“Well, Cajun. Looks like she’s taken the decision out of our hands.”
Logan took the key from his pocket and stepped past LeBeau to unlock his room. As he swung open the door to reveal the small twin bed, he grimaced.
“Look. Seein’ as you had a rough night, why don’t you take the bed. I’ll do just fine on the floor.”
Remy raised an eyebrow at Logan, seemingly suspicious of the gesture. “You sure, homme? That floor don’ look too clean.”
Logan shrugged. “Ain’t anything it can give me that I can’t heal from.”
The two settled into an uneasy silence, though it wasn’t long before Remy’s breathing evened and slowed. The past two days had been hard on all of them. He hadn’t slept last night, and now exhaustion mixed with the vodka was dulling his senses. Still though, he willed himself to pause, and to listen. Just there, the sound of her breathing, and the steady thud of her heartbeat in the next room. She was asleep. Close enough to hear. Safe.
__
The whine of the familiar engines had Logan jerking awake. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, and the distant noise of the Blackbird had him instantly alert, springing to his feet from the hard wooden floor.
“The fuck?” he muttered, his voice deep and rough from sleep. He tiredly began to wonder what Scott was doing here a day and a half early.
Who cares. Gets us the fuck outta here.
Logan raised one eyebrow as he agreed with Wolverine and moved over to the bed to shake LeBeau awake.
“C’mon, Cajun. Grab yer shit. Our ride is here.”
He slammed his fist against Rogue’s door a few moments later, well aware that he was risking her early morning, pre-caffeine wrath. “Rise and shine, kid. Time to go.”
He heard her rough groan from beyond the door and the sound of a muffled, “Fuck,” as she threw back the sheets. Shoving aside the mental picture of a warm and sleepy-eyed Marie, he growled as he let out a, “Hurry the fuck up. Don’t want the whole goddamn village seein’ the bird.”
They all three stumbled out of the bar in the early dawn light, and through the grit-covered window Logan could make out the outline of the Blackbird on edge of town, having landed in the snowy field beyond. Rogue turned to look at Logan, before sighing, stomping resolutely forward toward the jet.
Minutes later, Scott looked them up and down, taking in their stolen coats, rumpled appearances, blood-stained and torn uniforms, and signs of exhaustion from Remy and Rogue.
“Jesus. What the hell happened to you three?”
Logan had no patience left. “Fuck off, Cyke, and get us the fuck off this continent.”
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Chapter End Notes:
Contrary to the pace of this story so far, we do have intentions of this being a shipper fic. So just hang in there. We’ve spent some time and mapped the rest of the story out and know EXACTLY when smut will happen. Here. We’ll give you a clue. Soon. But not too soon.
Seriously. Thanks for all your reviews and love. It’s appreciated. Let’s keep this shipper world going, yeah?
Seriously. Thanks for all your reviews and love. It’s appreciated. Let’s keep this shipper world going, yeah?