Act II
1.
Logan found himself restless, even after two hours of pounding drunk soldiers and federales into submission. He climbed out of the cage to the roar of the crowd and nodded at Ororo.
She followed him into his office with a full bottle of tequila. It was rare for him to sit and drink alone these days, but his anger at the sheer helplessness he felt was gnawing at him.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asked softly.
"Get yourself a glass and come on back," he muttered. She smiled sadly. If he was willing to drink with her, he wasn't that bad off yet. She walked back to the bar and grabbed a glass for herself.
Meanwhile, a young couple entered the bar, turning many heads. The woman was beautiful -- incandescent, even -- her ivory skin lightly sprinkled with freckles and her chestnut hair shot through with two bolts of pure white, framing her delicate features.
The man was tall, blond and handsome; his ice-blue eyes scanned the room, searching for someone or something, as his companion led him to a table in a dark corner of the bar. He walked with a cane, favoring his right knee and occasionally shaking the woman's arm off.
"I'm fine, Rogue. Stop helping me. I can't look weak in public," he said through gritted teeth, the smile never leaving his face.
"Hush, Bobby. If your knee gets infected again, we'll never make it to Canada."
Ororo looked over at them and the glass fell from her hand. It shattered, bringing Jubilee to her side.
"You okay, 'Ro?" the younger woman asked. Ororo simply jerked her chin in the couple's direction, and Jubilee gasped. "Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit."
"My feelings exactly," the weather goddess said wryly.
"No, you don't understand." Jubilee's voice dropped to a whisper and Ororo had to lean in close to hear. "They were going to buy the papers from Toad. Now they're going to be stuck and Bobby's going to end up back in a camp -- and this time, Rogue'll be with him." Ororo face held no expression. "I've got to warn them," Jubilee continued, slipping out from behind the bar.
She made her way over casually, shooing away the waiter already headed in their direction.
"What'll it be, folks?" she asked, as if they were strangers.
Bobby smiled. "I'll have a beer, Jubes. Rogue?"
Rogue was staring at the cage in the middle of the bar, lost in thought. "I'm sorry, what?" She blinked and then exclaimed, "Oh, my God! Jubilation Lee. Working as a waitress in a fight bar."
"Keep it down, Rogue," Bobby muttered, kicking her under the table.
"No one can hear me over the music," she replied. "How are you, Jubes?"
"Hangin' in. Listen, they're expecting you guys. Toad's gone -- probably dead. Two hours ago they shot him down, right in here."
Bobby's lips tightened in disappointment. Rogue looked at him in concern. Jubilee didn't notice. She continued, "Look, if Remy can't help you out, I know some people. Me and 'Ro got a thing --"
"'Ro?" Rogue had gone very still.
"Yeah, me and 'Ro work the bar. It's like old home week down here. Magneto owns La Café, Remy's the governor -- if you can believe it -- and we're all here at Sam's."
"All?" Rogue had gone pale.
"Yeah. Look, I gotta get back behind the bar. A beer for the Iceman, and what do you want, Roguey? Still got a thing for Black Russians?"
"Wild Turkey, neat."
Jubilee blinked and dropped her voice to a whisper as the music from the jukebox died out. "Okay. We'll talk more about meeting up later when I come back. Be careful. Don't trust anyone here, especially not that back-stabbing Cajun bastard, okay?"
Bobby nodded and then turned back to Rogue. "What's the matter, babe? Even though he was supposed to be helping us, I can't feel bad that Toad is dead. He was our enemy for a long time. And I know everyone is down on Gambit, but I have a feeling he's gonna come through."
"Yes," she said absently. Then, seeming to come back to herself, she stood. "I'm gonna put some songs on the jukebox," she announced. "I can't take the crowd noise."
"Sure thing," he replied, taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to it before she walked away.
Ororo followed her progress across the room and met her at the jukebox.
"Hello, Storm," Rogue said softly, seeing her reflection in the glass.
"Hello, Rogue. I never expected to see you again."
"It's been a long time."
"It has. A lot of water under the bridge."
Rogue continued to look at the songs available. Ororo appeared serene, but tension was coiled tightly in her stomach. She knew now what Remy had been trying to tell them earlier, and damn the man for being so cryptic.
"Where's Logan?"
"I don't know. I have not seen him all night."
"He works here as well? When will he be back?" Rogue asked.
"Not tonight. He went home."
"Does he always leave so early? Isn't there anyone still willing to fight the Wolverine?"
"He is with Jean. They are together now."
Rogue closed her eyes and Ororo hated herself for causing the girl -- she couldn't think of her as a woman, an adult, even after all they'd been through -- pain, even after all the pain the girl had caused.
"Leave him alone, Rogue. You are bad luck for him." A CD caught Rogue's eye and she pressed some buttons. Storm looked at it and said urgently, "Please, Rogue. Don't play it."
But it was too late.
2.
The soft strains of U2 echoed through the bar.
You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want your story to remain untold.
All the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you.
The door to Logan's office slammed open and he charged out, livid.
You say you'll give me a highway with no one on it
Treasure, just to look upon it
All the riches in the night.
He caught sight of Ororo at the jukebox and stormed over. He drew a fist back, ready to smash the machine. "I thought I told you to get rid of that fucking CD, 'Ro--"
And then he saw her, smelled her, God, he could practically taste her, she was so close.
You say you'll give me eyes in the moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbor in the tempest.
All the promises we make, from the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you.
"Logan." It was barely a whisper.
"Marie."
Bobby reached them; hobbled by his injury, he wasn't as quick as he'd once been, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself by using his power to slide across the room.
You say you want your love to work out right
To last with me through the night.
You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold.
All the promises we break, from the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you.
"Rogue, come on," he said softly. "Hello, Logan."
"Bobby--" she said, but it had all just clicked in Logan's head.
"You're the infamous Robert Drake." He whistled again. "I never made the connection." He couldn't believe the goofy kid who'd dated Marie in high school was the leader of the Mutant Resistance.
All I want is you
All I want is you
"Why don't you join us?" Bobby asked politely.
Storm went back to the bar at Logan's nod and the other three walked to the table.
Remy re-entered the tavern. Spotting his quarry, he sauntered over to the table, seemingly oblivious to the tension surrounding its inhabitants.
"Ah, mes amis, here you all are," he said jovially. "It has been a long time, non? Mais oui, too long. Remy is so glad to see all his friends are still alive."
Jubilee came over with their drinks and Bobby said, "What'll you have, Logan?"
"Logan never drinks with the customers," Remy said, laughing.
Logan glanced at Rogue, who was looking down at her hands. "Wild Turkey, neat."
"Well, a precedent is being broken," Remy exclaimed. "It must be the presence of the most beautiful Rogue, causing our grouchy Wolverine to play nice."
They ignored him.
"You hear a lot about Logan in Tijuana," Bobby said conversationally.
"And about Robert Drake everywhere," Logan said.
Bobby inclined his head. "Interesting place you've got here. Congratulations."
"Congratulations to you, Iceman," Logan replied.
"For what?"
"Your work."
"I try," Bobby said modestly.
"Lotta people try, kid. You succeed."
"I can't get over this," Remy said. "You two all cozy. It warms my heart. Vraimént."
"Let's see," Rogue murmured, "the last time we met --"
"Vesuvio Caffe," Logan supplied.
"How nice. You remember. Of course, that was the day they bombed Oakland."
"Not an easy day to forget."
"No."
"I remember every detail. The fires, the screams… You wore blue that day; the soldiers wore green." It was burned into his mind -- the soft blue silk of her scarf and gloves, her hair blowing like a flag in the late summer San Francisco wind.
She looked up at that. "I don't wear blue anymore," she said. "When it's safe to go home again, I will." Brown eyes locked with hazel, and the world stood still for a moment.
"Amazing, Logan. The fierce Wolverine is a romantic. I knew it," Remy interjected, breaking the mood.
"Well, Rogue, it's late," Bobby said, taking advantage of the interruption, obviously unhappy about her fascination with another man. "We should be going."
Remy smiled thinly. "Oui. There is a curfew here in Tijuana these days, and it wouldn't do for any of us to be caught outside after it is in effect."
Bobby looked around at the thinning crowd. "I hope we haven't stayed too long."
"Not at all," Logan replied. He motioned Jubilee over and said, "It's on my tab."
"Another precedent gone!" Remy said. "Rogue, you are clearly a good influence on mon ami, Logan." He turned to Bobby then, and said, "I'm sorry to bring this up, old friend, but Cameron Hodge is here in town, and he wishes to see you, immediamént. Tomorrow, ten o'clock, my office, yes?"
Bobby smiled grimly. "Sure, Remy."
They all rose.
Remy pressed a quick kiss to Rogue's gloved hand and exited.
Rogue glanced toward the bar. "Good night, Ororo," she called. The other woman inclined her head, unsmiling. "Night, Logan."
"Night, Marie," he said gruffly.
Bobby took Rogue's arm and they also left Sam's.
"Logan's not much of a talker, huh?" Bobby said.
"He never was."
"I didn't realize you'd seen him in San Francisco."
"Oh, that. He and Ororo were there. Trying to get to Canada, just like everyone else was."
"You were going to go with them?" he asked gently.
She nodded. "I'd rather not talk about it, okay, sugar?"
He sighed, and they walked silently to their hotel, each lost in their own thoughts.
3.
Logan sat alone in the dark. The staff had been gone for over an hour, the bar closed for almost two. He poured himself another shot of bourbon as the lights from the border checkpoint swept over the room. There was another glass on the table, in front of an empty chair.
He knew Ororo was behind him, but he didn't answer when she said, "Logan." She repeated it twice before he replied.
"What?"
"You should go home to bed."
"Not now. Not yet."
"Are you planning to go to bed in the near future?"
"No."
"Are you ever going to bed?" she asked, striving for a lightheartedness neither of them felt.
"No."
"Jean is waiting."
"Fuck that," he growled, knocking back another shot. It had been a long time since Storm had seen him in such a black mood.
"I am not tired, either," she said finally.
"Good. Have a drink."
"Not tonight."
"Then don't have a drink. Who gives a fuck?" he snapped.
"Logan, let us go home." She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Come. You can stay with me tonight, if you wish."
"I'm waitin' for a lady, 'Ro. I ain't leavin'."
"Logan, please, let us go. No good can come of this," she pleaded.
He shook his head. "She's coming back. I know she is."
"We can take my car and drive all night. We can head to Enseneda and get drunk and go fishing. You used to love to go fishing with me, Logan. We can stay away until she is gone."
"Shut up and go home, Ororo," he snarled.
"I am staying right here, my friend." She poured herself a glass of water and wandered over to the jukebox, planning to remove the CD Rogue had played earlier.
"They whack Toad, and then she walks in. I guess that's the way it goes. One in, one out." They were silent for a few moments, then, "'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.'"
Snikt
He shredded the table at which he sat, shattering the glasses and spilling bourbon all over the floor.
Outburst over, he collapsed into his chair, head in his hands.
"Play it, 'Ro," he growled.
"What do you mean, Logan?"
"You played it for her, you can play it for me."
"I do not know what number it is. I haven't any singles," she said quickly, falsely.
He stalked over and slammed some money on top of the jukebox. "If she can take it, I can take it. Play it, dammit!"
Ororo fumbled with the money, then did as he demanded. The strains of "All I Want Is You" sounded throughout the tavern as Logan stared off into space, remembering.
4.
San Francisco, two years earlier...
He walked through the Farmer's Market. It was early. Since the attack on the mansion, he had taken to staying up all night most nights, drinking, fighting, fucking -- anything to help him forget he hadn't been in time.
He'd been in Canada, still questing for his stupid, unknown past. His obsession with the past had blinded him to the events of the present. And by the time he'd paid attention, it was much too late.
As soon as he'd realized what was going to happen, he'd hopped on his bike -- Scooter had forgiven him long ago for taking it -- and headed back to Westchester, but the cross-continent trip was never short, and with checkpoints and increased border security, it was even longer, since he tried to avoid the authorities whenever possible.
He'd made it back in time to find Ororo, unconscious and dehydrated in the rubble that had been the mansion. He'd found Xavier's body, Scott's body, bodies of children barely old enough to understand what had happened to them.
He'd been too late to protect Marie -- his promise broken, he poured all his energy into getting Ororo medical care and getting the hell out of Dodge.
He hadn't been able to sneak back across the border with Ororo -- she was wanted. They'd made their way across the country slowly. San Francisco was one of the few cities left that still had a living mutant population, and it was a popular destination for those seeking a way out, north to Canada, south to Mexico, or West toward Japan or Australia.
As Ororo healed, she told him about everything he'd missed in his four years away, all that the letters and phone calls had never been able to convey. Marie had grown up -- she and Bobby were second only to Scott and Jean in the minds of the students as "the perfect couple." His heart broke twice -- he hadn't been the one who made her happy, and he hadn't been able to protect her so she could be happy with the man she'd chosen.
He shook his head -- he hated thinking, these days. It only got in the way of what had to be done.
And that's when he caught the scent. He stopped. In order to divert suspicion, because no one wanted to be caught loitering, even in the market, even at dawn, he eyed some apples warily, picking up one or two as he sniffed the air and tried to trace the scent back --
~You're crazy,~ he told himself, even as his heart raced. He scanned the crowd and there she was -- a woman with two locks of pure white entwined in her mahogany ponytail. Tossing the guy at the cart some change, he took an apple and followed her.
She was beautiful. Thinner than he recalled, but her deadly skin -- what he could see of it -- glowed like fresh cream, and she smelled of clean clothes and good memories. She had a basket over her arm -- little red riding hood, off to market. She appeared lost in her own thoughts, paying no attention to the man who stalked her.
"Marie." He was amazed at how harsh his voice sounded on the one hand, and amazed it even worked at all, on the other.
She swung around, startled. "Logan!" she gasped, throwing her arms around him and giving him a hug that resembled nothing in his limited memory.
She pulled back a little, keeping her arms around him, and he laughed, suddenly. He hadn't laughed in years, he thought. But with her in his arms, it was all right, everything was all right. He presented the apple he was carrying.
She laughed. "Just what I needed," she said, taking it from him and biting through the shiny red skin into the crisp white flesh. She slid the arm that was unencumbered by the basket through his and offered him a bite of the fruit.
He took it and bit it just where her mouth had been, closing his eyes for a moment at the sweet taste of her mingled with the tartness of the apple. Swallowing, he found himself with a head full of questions. "How are you? How did you escape? Is anyone else with you?"
She smiled. "Logan, since when did you become Sherlock Holmes? So many questions. Let's just enjoy the morning -- it's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" And she laughed again.
He pulled her close for another hug. "It is now."
They spent the morning in a café, drinking espresso and talking about the past -- her past, the birthdays he'd missed but always sent a gift for, the high school graduation, the things that made their present circumstances seem so far away.
He took her to lunch at Fisherman's Wharf and laughed more in the time they spent there than he had in the twenty years of his life he could remember.
As the wind whipped in the late afternoon, Rogue looked at her watch and gasped. "Oh, my. It's so late." She stood quickly, picking up her groceries and leaning close to press a kiss to his mutton-chopped cheek, where it was safe. "I have to run, but we should see each other again before you leave San Francisco."
He grasped her hand. "Tonight? Nine o'clock? Lefty O'Doul's?"
She smiled. "You're on, sugar."
He brought her hand to his lips and then watched her hurry off, hips swaying hypnotically.
Rogue arrived at the bar a little early. It was a neighborhood place, lots of wood and brick and pictures on the wall. She ordered a Molson and stared at the photographs.
Logan slid into the booth quietly and said, "This place has been around forever."
Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Cool."
He lifted his beer and they clinked bottles. "Here's lookin' at you, kid," he said, grinning.
After an evening filled with some very interesting lessons in how to hustle pool for Rogue and many, many beers for Logan, the bartender signaled last call.
"I don't want this night to end," Rogue murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning against him as they left the bar.
His breath caught. "It doesn't have to," he said softly, wondering if she was really offering what he thought, hoped, she was.
She turned to face him and snaked her other arm around him. "Please?" she said. "Logan?"
He bent his head and brushed his lips lightly against hers, so quickly that her skin had no time to react. He untied the cotton bandanna around her neck and placed it over her mouth so he could kiss her fully.
The heat of her mouth warmed him, and the cloth was soon damp enough that he could almost imagine it wasn't there, that he was sliding his tongue against hers without a barrier between them.
After a seemingly endless kiss, he whispered, "Are you sure?"
"Come back to my hotel," she replied. "I'm sure."
It was something he had dreamt of, those long, cold nights in Canada. When he'd first left Westchester, his fantasies had been full of red hair and green eyes -- Jean's long legs and soft hands touching him. But over time, she was replaced by Marie's white stripes and leather gloves, the honey lilt of her accent breathing his name, and the smell of her -- somehow always clean and pure, even the first time they'd met, when she'd been on the road God only knew how long.
She smelled of fine, French-milled soap and lemony shampoo. It clung to her letters and the little gifts she sent him -- it had been that, and not any lack of computer-knowledge, that made him resist getting an email address. Email was too ephemeral; it didn't appeal to the senses -- there was no sound of rustling paper, no feel of ripping open the envelope, no scent clinging to an email, calling him home while her words drove him away. She had been happy with Bobby, and her happiness meant more to him than his own, so he'd stayed away.
And now, almost a year after he'd given up hope of ever seeing her again, she was in his arms, kissing him, inviting him back to her hotel room. He had a hard time believing she was real; he refused to let go of her hand on their walk back to the small hostel at which she was staying.
Once inside her room, he slowly undressed her, reveling in the sight, scent, taste, feel and sound of her as he made love to her. He finally understood all that crap about the difference between fucking and making love. He poured his whole self into the act, telling her with his body what he'd been unable to ever express in words.
When they were done, she curled up against him and he whispered, "I love you, Marie."
"I love you, too, Logan. Always have."
He felt his heart turn over at her words and he slept dreamlessly for the first time in years.
The next morning he asked her again how she'd escaped, and she told him how she and Bobby had gotten away and gone to his parents' house. They'd taken them in and hid them for a while -- long enough for Bobby to be able to mobilize some of Xavier's contacts, and make a name for himself as a crusader for mutant rights.
She had been out shopping when the Friends of Humanity busted down the door to the Drakes' Long Island home. Bobby had been taken prisoner -- too valuable to execute. His parents hadn't been so lucky. She arrived home to a burning house and two dead bodies on the front steps. Since then, she'd been running, trying to stay ahead of the police, the army, and all the other mutant-haters hunting them. She sometimes found herself in deep sympathy with Magneto, and understood more than ever why he'd tried to use her.
"No more questions," she said, then, pushing him onto his back and straddling him, taking a condom from his wallet.
They were hardly ever apart those first two weeks. Sleeping at her hotel, so as not to disturb Ororo, who lived with Logan in a small apartment in the Haight, they spent most of their time making love.
One afternoon, Rogue decided she wanted to see more of the city. They rode the cable cars, and Logan stared at the passing scenery unseeingly.
"Penny for your thoughts," Rogue teased.
"That's probably all they're worth," he responded.
She shrugged. "Tell me anyway."
"I was wondering why I'm so lucky. How I managed to find you, after all this time, and you feel the same way about me as I feel about you. I've never been lucky. I'm not used to it." He gave her the half-grin she found so endearing. "I like it a lot, though."
"I've been lucky since the day I hitched that ride with you, Logan. I never looked back."
He put an arm around her and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "What do you say we skip this sight-seeing crap and go back to the hotel?"
"I could go for that," she giggled, stroking a hand down his chest.
A week later, the news came. San Francisco was going to be "cleansed." Troops were being staged to the south and the government promised that mutants who didn't fight back would be treated gently.
They all knew it didn't matter what they did -- if they were caught, they would be interned, or killed outright. Logan knew Marie and Ororo were both on the FBI's most wanted list, and he figured he'd probably die defending them.
That night at the Vesuvio Caffe, they listened as bombs fell on Oakland, their recalcitrant sister city.
Logan didn't like the looks of things, so he shepherded them back to his apartment.
"They'll be here tomorrow," Logan observed as he sat down at the table with their drinks. "We should take the early train."
"What?" Rogue looked up, obviously not paying attention.
He set the bottle of Wild Turkey in front of her. "We're all out of champagne, I'm afraid," he said wryly.
Ororo poured out the bourbon and downed a shot. She, who had never been one for drinking, found herself understanding why Logan so often found solace in the bottle. Though he, of course, rarely felt its effects for any period of time. "This sort of takes the sting out of being occupied, though, does it not?" she asked, feeling the burn spread in her chest.
"You said it, 'Ro," Logan agreed. He raised his glass and gazed at Rogue. "Here's lookin' at you, kid." They clinked glasses.
Ororo looked at the lovers and rose. "I am heading to bed, Logan. We will take the early train at Union Station, yes?"
He nodded, not noticing Rogue's grimace at the question. When Storm was gone, Logan turned back to Rogue. "Bed sounds good to me, kid. How about you?"
She nodded and he led her to the bedroom, where they made love with a passion and desperation that might have worried him, if he'd thought about it.
"I love you, Marie." He found it surprisingly easy to say to her. He'd never said it to anyone before, never expected to have the opportunity, once the troubles began, yet here they were. He was happy for the first time in his life that he could recall.
"With everything fallin' apart, we picked an odd time to fall in love," she said wistfully.
"Yeah, but then, my timing has always sucked." He pulled her into his arms and buried his head in the hollow of her neck, breathing in her scent and imprinting it on his mind. "I can't believe I wasted four years looking for a past that don't even matter, when I could have been with you," he murmured.
Her eyes filled with tears as he kissed her hungrily. "It's strange how I still know so little about you," she whispered.
"I don't know much more about you, kid, except that you taste like heaven and I love you." He kissed her again, marveling at his sudden turn toward the poetic.
"Be serious, sugar. You and Ororo are in danger. You need to leave."
"We need to leave, Marie."
"Yes, yes, of course, we--"
"The train leaves for Vancouver at six am. We can leave here at five and still make it easily. We'll just stay up all night," he said, kissing her yet again.
"No, I, I have to go back to my hotel," she said quickly. "I have things I need to pack. I'll meet you at the station, okay?"
"Okay. At quarter to six." He was silent for a few minutes, thinking. Then, "Hey, why don't we get married in Vancouver?"
"That's too far ahead to plan, Logan."
"I guess it is. What about the engineer? Can he marry us on the train?"
"Oh, sugar--"
"Well, why not? The captain of a ship can -- " Rogue started to cry softly.
He gathered her closer. "Hey, hey, what's wrong, kid?"
"I love you so much, and I hate this war so much. Oh, it's a crazy world. Anything can happen. If you don't get away -- I mean, if something separates us -- wherever you end up, I want you to know--" She stopped, her voice breaking. He kissed her tears through the silk of her scarf. "Kiss me as if it were the last time, Logan," she begged.
He stared into her deep, brown eyes and then did as she requested. He pressed her to the mattress and trailed kisses along her body, stopping to pay his respects at her breasts before continuing his way down her stomach. He settled the scarf between her legs and kissed her there, slowly, languorously, as though they had all the time in the world. He savored the taste of her as she came, biting her own hand to keep from screaming and waking Storm.
Then he raised himself up and, after sliding the condom on, he entered her. Again, he took his time, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting himself deeply into her. Her hips rose to meet his and her eyes stayed open and locked on his as they came within seconds of each other.
Exhausted, she huddled next to him and slept.
When he awoke, she was gone.
It was pouring and there were crowds of people everywhere, pushing and screaming, all trying to get onto the train to Vancouver. It was the last train out before the army would arrive to occupy the city.
Logan put his duffel bag down and glanced at the clock above the schedule board.
"All aboard, last train leaving in three minutes. All aboard!" came the announcement over the loud speaker.
Logan stared at the clock, and said, "Where is she? Have you seen her?" when Storm materialized at his side. "And can't you do anything about this damned rain?"
She knew he was upset at Rogue's lateness, so she ignored his last question.
"I cannot find her, Logan. She checked out of the hotel. But this was left there for you." She handed him a note.
"Logan, I can't go with you or ever see you again. Don't ask why. Just know that I love you. Go and be safe. Please. Love, Marie."
He could smell her scent on it, and mixed in with the ink was the smell of salt, of tears. The rain was washing the ink away. He roared and fought the urge to pop his claws.
"I'm going to find her," he growled.
"Logan, no," Ororo pleaded. "The train is leaving. Please. We must get away."
"Goddammit, 'Ro! I can't leave her here. Not after finding her again."
"Logan, please --"
"You go. I have to find her."
"I shall not leave you," the weather witch said softly, her eyes beginning to go white as she used her power to calm the wind and the rain.
The train pulled out of the station and the sky began to clear.
Logan crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket, determined to find Marie before it was too late.
5.
Tijuana - Present...
Logan looked at the wreckage he'd made of the table. "I need another drink," he mumbled, going to the bar.
Ororo took a broom from the back room and began sweeping up the broken glass.
The door opened, and they both turned to see Rogue standing there. She hesitated a moment before walking over to the bar where Logan stood.
"Logan, we need to talk."
He could smell her nervousness, but he knew her, and this was her determined face. He set the bottle of bourbon on the bar with a thump. "Have a drink with me. I saved some Wild Turkey for you."
"No, Logan. Not tonight," she said.
"Especially tonight."
She sat on one of the barstools and searched his face, but it was expressionless, the hazel eyes cold.
He shrugged and poured himself a drink.
"Please?" There was something in her voice he couldn't quite place.
"Why did you have to come to Tijuana? There are other places," he said.
"I wouldn't have come if I'd known you were here. Believe me. I didn't know," she pleaded.
"It's funny how your voice is exactly the same. I can still hear it. 'Logan, I love you. We'll be together forever,'" he said mockingly.
"Please don't, Logan. Don't. I understand how you feel--"
He slammed the glass down on the bar. "You understand?" he growled. "You don't fucking understand anything." He took a deep breath. "How long did we have together, honey?"
"I, I didn't count the days."
"Well, I did. Every frickin' one of them. Mostly I remember the last one. The big finale. A guy standin' on a platform in the rain with a stupid look on his face, because someone had just ripped out his insides." He ignored the glass and took a long swallow directly from the bottle.
"Can I tell you a story?" Rogue asked.
"Is there a big finale?" he said caustically.
"I don't know yet how it ends."
"Go ahead. Tell it." He waved his hand. "Maybe you'll think of something as you go along."
"It's about a girl who discovered that she'd never be able to touch another human being ever again. She ran away from home and met a man, a man who promised to take care of her, who saved her life three times. She loved him. She did, more than anything. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. She looked up to him, worshipped him, even. But she knew him, knew he didn't feel that way about her, so she moved on, learned to love someone else.
"A boy her own age, who tried very hard to make up for all the bad things in her life. He made her laugh and held her when she cried. He wasn't afraid to touch her. He was there when the other man, the man she loved, wasn't. And she decided she couldn't spend her whole life waiting, so she gave up on the dream of the man, and let herself love the reality of the boy, who became a man she could respect and cherish."
"That's real pretty, Rogue." She flinched almost imperceptibly at the use of her name, the one he never called her. "I heard a story once. As a matter of fact, I've heard a lot of stories in my time. They usually go along with the smell of cheap perfume and the sound of bad music on the speakers. 'Mister, I met a man once when I was a kid,' is how they always started. I guess neither one of our stories is funny."
His face changed, his eyes honing in on her intently. "Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Frosty or were there others in between? Or aren't you the kind of girl who tells?"
His head snapped back from the unexpected punch she threw at him. Before he could react, she was gone. He slumped down, putting his head on the bar.
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