1. College Life in the Big City
Aimée was there when Rogue came home for the Memorial Day weekend just after her junior year at Fordham. The new French teacher was petite, with curly black hair and a lush figure. She was sophisticated and smart; she smoked her little French cigarettes like there was no tomorrow. She hadn't made many friends in the month or so she'd been at Xavier's school, but she'd made one very good one -- Logan.
They were lovers.
Rogue had dealt with his feelings for Jean. She had dealt with his inability to stay in one place for more than a month at a time. She figured she'd learn to deal with this new woman as well.
Rogue had long since given up on the idea that Logan would fall magically in love with her once he noticed she was no longer a scared sixteen-year-old. Four years had passed, and while they were still close, she knew he'd never love her that way. She just wasn't his type, and he definitely had a type.
She was currently not dating anyone. Her relationship with Bobby had ended when she'd accidentally touched him and put him in a coma for a week. It wasn't that he hadn't been willing to stay with her, because he was. She just couldn't bear the thought of hurting him again. After Logan, he was everything to her.
So they'd parted, and she'd heard from Kitty that he was seeing someone he'd met at school. That was back in their freshman year of college. She hadn't been in a relationship since. She'd only been on a handful of dates, though she could have had almost anyone she wanted. She was considered an exotic mystery at Fordham, small as it was, in the heart of Manhattan.
Professor Xavier was allowing her to live on her own, in an apartment he owned on West 58th Street between Broadway and Columbus, since it was right up the block from the school, where she was studying drama.
She'd never taken full advantage of it, though. The idea of getting close to someone scared her, especially someone who didn't know what she was capable of. She had friends, who'd known without being told, that she was a mutant. One or two secretly confided that they were mutants themselves, with minor powers that didn't get in the way of "normal" life. Amazingly, it was among them that she felt most carefree. They touched her without thinking, and after a while, she'd stopped flinching. At the mansion, she was always aware of the hesitation, however minute, before most people touched her, no matter how covered up she was.
She had fits of rebellion and had gotten herself a permanent reminder of one of them. The biohazard tattoo on the small of her back had been the result of a dare from one of her castmates in Hello Dolly! her freshman year. She'd explained her mutation solemnly to the tattoo artist. He'd winked, shown her his webbed fingers and his gills, and then double-gloved to do her ink.
When people asked, "Why biohazard?" she replied, "I believe in truth in advertising." No one at the school, outside of Bobby, Kitty and Jubes, knew she had it. Except for Hank and Jean, of course -- the doctors. Which meant Scott probably knew as well, but he'd never said anything. She'd never gotten the nerve up to show Logan. She wasn't sure how he'd react. It had been bad enough listening to Jean tell her how dangerous they were and how unattractive and on and on. Hank had winked and laughed at her explanation.
She was content with the life she'd made for herself, alone for now, and willing to learn to like Aimée.
The woman made it difficult, though. She was polite and friendly, but condescending as all hell. At least Rogue thought so. When she mentioned it to Storm, the white-haired woman replied, "She seems nice enough to me. Perhaps you are a little harder on her than you would be on anyone else, Rogue. You know you feel no one is good enough for Logan."
And so Rogue didn't mention it again. It had been bad enough when she'd had a crush on Logan to have to listen to everyone's teasing and advice. But that crush was at least three years in the past. Okay, maybe only two, but it was still past.
They'd settled into a comfortable friendship, going to hockey games and just hanging out. He visited her in her apartment once a week. It had started out as a spur of the moment thing, right after she and Bobby broke up. Apparently, Logan was still taking his promise to protect her very seriously at that point, because he'd shown up at the door to her apartment ready to do anything -- even sit through a chick flick -- to cheer her up. She'd been touched by his willingness to suffer Meg Ryan for her, and settled down instead to watch Monday Night Football, secretly grinning at his overt relief.
And then he'd stopped by one night after getting back from a mission, just to let her know he'd gotten home safely. He showed up so often her sophomore year that she gave him a key. She knew he liked the idea that he could crash on her couch when life at the mansion felt too confining.
She'd gotten used to finding him sitting in her living room when she got home, beer in hand, dinner in the oven.
The first time he'd cooked for her, she'd been shocked. "You cook?"
There was a faint hint of color across his cheekbones. "How do you think I got by all these years, kid? Can't eat out every night."
It was never anything fancy -- steaks or burgers, or a pot of spaghetti with awful jarred sauce that she ate only because he cooked it.
Sometimes, even though she was over the crush, she allowed herself to fantasize what it would be like if this was real, if they were just a normal couple chatting about their day over dinner.
And then he would unsheathe his claws, or they'd talk about the X-Men's latest mission, and the fantasy would fall to pieces. It was better that way, she told herself.
Especially since now there was Aimée. Scott told her during one of their weekly phone calls how good the woman was for Logan, how she seemed to be able to keep him content, or at least as content as anyone had ever seen him.
"He doesn't even bark at me anymore," he said, laughing. "I kind of miss it."
She smiled and mumbled something about being glad that Logan was happy. And she was. She really was. She just didn't like Aimée.
She was glad she'd already decided to stay in the apartment all summer this year, because she'd gotten used to living alone. Otherwise, she was sure they'd all attribute her reluctance to move back into the mansion to Aimée's presence, which wasn't the reason at all.
Logan was the only one who truly understood. Once you'd been on your own, living in a house with dozens of people, half of whom always wanted to know where you'd been and where you were going, was stifling. And Rogue found that she needed space, needed time alone, even though Jean thought it wasn't healthy for her to spend so much time by herself.
It was a peculiar effect of her mutation. No one could touch her, and at first it had been fear that made her keep to herself. Her first year at the mansion, the year Logan had been away, had been the hardest. Learning to deal with him and Erik in her head. Learning to live with the fact that there was probably no cure, no treatment even, for her.
But Bobby and Kitty and Jubilee had drawn her out of herself, made her feel welcome and normal when they included her in their outings and foosball games. She had made a home for herself outside her own head, but sometimes she needed to withdraw. Scott understood, as well. He knew what it was like to constantly be on guard against harming someone else. He knew that being around people meant always being aware, and how tiring that could be.
So he said nothing as the others tried to convince her first to commute to school -- "Why not go to the Rose Hill campus, Rogue?" Jean had asked reasonably. "It's closer, and it's beautiful. You could drive or take the train every day."
"They don't have the theatre program I want," she'd replied firmly.
It was the same back in March when she'd gone home for spring break. "Is it all right if I stay in the apartment all summer?" she'd asked the Professor on her last night at the mansion. "I've kind of gotten used to being alone. It's not that I don't love Kitty and Jubilee--"
"But you don't want to live with them in such close quarters anymore. I understand, Rogue. You're growing up. It's certainly fine with me. We'll miss you, though. Logan more than anyone."
She'd grinned at that. "He knows where to find me, Professor."
And he'd had to acknowledge the truth of that. He was the only one who knew where Logan was spending most of the nights he didn't return to the mansion. There were rumors, of women stashed in different places, of cage fights and motorcycle gangs and bar brawls. And some of the stories were true. But for the most part, before Aimée had come along, Logan spent his nights on the couch in Rogue's living room, drinking beer and watching television while she did homework and then fell asleep on his shoulder.
Now that he had a girlfriend, Logan had settled into a routine. He spent Wednesday nights with Rogue. It was an unspoken rule that nothing short of world save-age was allowed to violate. She never asked him what Aimée thought about their friendship, and he never mentioned it.
2. At the Ballet
"Giselle, Ororo! Giselle at the New York City Ballet. You have to come." Rogue spoke excitedly into the phone.
"It is such short notice, Rogue."
"Come on, please? For me? I don't want to go alone and I've got two tickets -- center orchestra."
"How did you get such good tickets at this late date?" Ororo asked.
"I won them in class. They were the prize for the person who did the best job with their monologue. And I won. Please, Storm? If you can't, then send Scott? I just -- " she fumbled, trying to explain why this was important. Her mother had taken her to the ballet as a child, and she didn't want to share it with just anyone. It was about family. She didn't say that, though. "I'll be waiting at seven thirty by the fountain. Be there or be square." And she broke the connection.
Rogue sat by the fountain, the Metropolitan Opera House rising like a fairy cathedral behind her in the fall night. She picked imaginary lint off her long black skirt, waiting for Storm. Or possibly Jean or Scott. She never expected to see Aimée, in her Manolo Blahnik shoes and her faux-chinchilla wrap, cigarette dangling from her red lips.
Her smile was tight as she rose. "Aimée," she said, putting all her acting skills to work. "What a nice surprise. I was expecting Storm or Scott."
Aimée smiled genuinely in return. "Yes, but when Ororo mentioned to me that you had tickets to Giselle, I couldn't contain myself. It was my favorite as a child, and I haven't seen it in years." Her voice was throaty, lightly accented. "You must know that Logan wouldn't be caught dead at the ballet." And she laughed.
Rogue had to laugh with her at the picture that presented. "He'd be outta there as soon as the first guy came out in tights," she agreed. "If not before."
"So, shall we?" Aimée said, linking her arm through Rogue's. Rogue nodded and decided that she was going to try harder to like this woman who had made her best friend so happy.
After the show, which they both agreed was spectacular, they had dinner at one of the many restaurants lining Columbus Avenue. Aimée insisted. "An evening like this is to be savored, my dear. These are the nights you will tell your children about -- the night you saw Sabena Dorsey dance Giselle. Mark my words, that girl is going to be a major star."
Rogue laughed. "My momma used to tell me all about seeing Baryshnikov. I only ever saw him on television, in The Nutcracker. If I ever have children," and she wouldn't dwell on the seeming impossibility of that now, "I'll certainly tell them about this. And I'll say, 'Aimée told me I'd remember this night and bore you kids with it.'"
The conversation broadened, then, and Rogue found Aimée to be smart and well-read. To her surprise, she liked the woman and found that her condescension was only a front -- a defense.
"I was fourteen when my mutation manifested," Aimée confided. "I was a gymnast, the next great Olympic hope for France. And then I missed a vault in competition. An easy vault, one I had made a dozen, a hundred times. I was so angry, I just wanted to break the vaulting horse. I stared at it with such hatred, and it fell apart as the next girl took her turn." She sighed. "Thank God, she wasn't injured. I'd have felt so guilty on top of feeling like an outcast."
"So you're telekinetic," Rogue said, not having bothered to learn before. "It must be great to be able to stay in bed when it's cold and have your stuff come to you." Then she blushed, thinking about Aimée in bed with Logan there to keep her warm.
The Frenchwoman smiled. "Yes."
They chatted about nothing in particular after that, and the two women went home much more in charity with each other than they'd ever been before.
3. The Bug Fluke
It was such a small thing and it turned out to have such huge consequences.
He was waiting for her when she got home from the party. He could hear her in the hall. And she had some bozo with her, who was too drunk or too stupid to realize he wasn't going to get laid that night. He heard the jangle of her keys and a giggle as the jerk murmured, "Just a little kiss, Rogue. I promise I'll leave after that."
"I don't think so, Tommy," she said.
"Then at least let me use your bathroom. I really have to pee."
She laughed. "We just walked three blocks from the Coliseum and you have to pee already. Tiny bladder," she teased.
He stood as the door swung open, staring at Marie and her erstwhile suitor. "You're late," he said.
She blinked. "Logan! What are you doin' here? It's not Wednesday, is it?" She turned to the boy who held her hand. "The bathroom's right there, Tommy." His eyes were wide as he took in the sight of the Wolverine, beer in one hand, remote in the other, standing in Rogue's living room. He knew he wasn't getting any action tonight.
He came out of the bathroom and said, "Well, Rogue, I'll see you in class on Monday." His eyes darted nervously toward Logan, who was sprawled on the couch again, and then he left.
Rogue closed the door behind him and gave her protector a darkling look.
"Was that really necessary, Logan? He was too drunk to try anything."
Logan raised an eyebrow. "That's not what it sounded like to me, kid."
She flopped onto the couch next to him. She smelled of beer and smoke and underneath it all, Marie. He loved the way she smelled.
"Well, I appreciate the sentiment, Logan, but you can't be here every time I bring a guy home. You'd kinda get in the way." She closed her eyes and didn't see how he tensed at her words.
"You bringing men home now, Marie?" His voice was low and serious.
Her eyes opened the tiniest bit as she looked at him. "Maybe, maybe not."
He got up and started pacing. The idea of her fooling around, of her having sex, was disturbing. He wasn't quite sure why.
"I really think, you know," he began haltingly, "you should wait, Marie. Wait for someone who loves you and isn't just looking for a quick fuck. Sex is supposed to be, it should be special and --"
That woke her up. Her eyes were wide and she laughed. "This is coming from you, king of the one-night-stand? A little hypocritical, ain't ya?"
He scratched his chest. Yeah, he was. But this was different. "Yeah, but this is different. This is you we're talking about Marie, not me. I got, I've done some things, I've done a lot of things I regret. It's bad enough you got me in your head, that you know all that shit. I don't want you making the same kinds of mistakes I've made."
She rose from the couch and walked toward him. "Regrets, huh." She closed her eyes for a moment, letting his memories rise in her mind, and rested a hand on his chest. His breath caught at her touch. She opened her eyes and said, "Do you regret Tina in Las Vegas? Or Doris in Sault Ste. Marie?" She ran an elegant finger down to his waistband and circled his navel through the t-shirt. "What about the twins in Kalamazoo?" Her eyes followed the path her hand traced and she grinned as she felt his muscles tighten in reaction.
He grabbed her hand. "Marie," he warned.
The grin disappeared. Her voice was sarcastic. "Jean already gave us this little talk, a long, long time ago. Along with the one about condoms and HIV. I'm twenty years old, Logan. What makes you think I haven't had sex already?"
Using her scarf as protection, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Look me in the eye and tell me you have, and with who, Marie."
Holding his gaze she said, "It's none of your goddamn business." She jerked her chin defiantly out of his hand and walked to the bathroom door. "I'm going to bed now, Logan. You know where the extra pillows are if you're sleeping over. Good night."
She slammed the door to the bathroom and turned the water on. How dare he lecture her on sleeping around. She was the one with the deadly skin, the one no one could ever touch. What gave him the right to tell her not take whatever normalcy she could get when it was offered? She fumed as she brushed her teeth, working herself into a lather over his hypocrisy.
She and Bobby had had sex -- or tried, anyway. That was how he'd wound up in a coma. It wasn't exactly her proudest moment, and she hadn't told anybody but Jean, who'd been the one to find them -- Bobby passed out on his bed and Rogue unable to stop crying icy tears as she froze everything around her.
She figured she was two for two -- first kiss, coma; first sexual encounter, coma. She hadn't even attempted holding hands with anyone since then, except with Logan. And that didn't count.
She stomped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, making noise so he'd know she was upset. Reaching for the light switch, she felt something skitter across her hand. Jerking reflexively, she turned the light on and shrieked when she saw the roach. It was about two inches long and it had just crawled over her hand. Her bare hand, since she'd taken her gloves off to wash and brush.
Logan was there instantly, claws out, ready to kill anything that attacked her. She couldn't speak, she was so freaked out. "Bug," was all she was able to say. "Over there." She pointed as it ran across the wall, trying to escape.
He picked up one of her shoes -- there were more than he cared to count scattered across the floor -- and went after it. She followed him with tissues, trying to help. The bug went splat and Logan went tripping over a pair of boots and sprawled onto the bed. His long legs kicked out and caught Rogue behind the knee and she landed on top of him, too stunned to move.
They rolled, and he pinned her, laughing. "Dammit, Marie, that thing was more afraid of you than you were of it," he said, looking down at her, a rare smile on his face.
"I don't care," she replied, firmly. "I don't want 'em livin' with me." She shifted her hips and slipped her hands beneath her butt so she wouldn't be tempted to reach out and touch him. He was so close, and she was only human, even if her crush had fallen by the wayside.
He growled when she moved, bringing her groin in close contact with his and rubbing him just the right way. Her eyes caught and held his. He felt himself falling into their velvet depths. Without thinking, he pulled the scarf around her neck over her lips and kissed her, hard. She tasted like toothpaste and Marie. It was a heady combination.
She responded eagerly, her tongue meeting his and then boldly exploring his mouth through the thin material. He slid his hands down her body and began rocking his hips into her, instinct taking over. "Marie," he murmured against her lips, moving to kiss her jaw and neck through the soft and now damp silk.
She couldn't think, the heat of his mouth a thousand times better than anything she'd imagined over the years, the rhythm of his hips against hers driving her crazy, making her ache for more. There was a thought trying to force its way to the surface of her kiss-addled brain. She tried to push it way, but she had a feeling it was important. His tongue traced the delicate swirl of her ear, which tickled and she laughed, wishing she could return the favor. Aimée had told her -- dammit! Taking him completely by surprise, she shoved him off.
"You have a girlfriend!" she gasped, jumping up off the bed and wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, as if to erase their kisses.
He sat up and looked at her, shaking his head as if to clear it. The touch of her lips, the feel of her body against him, was electrifying. It was as if, in kissing her, he'd just woken up from a deep sleep and was feeling things for the first time. "Marie," he began.
She was pacing back and forth, fretting at the scarf. "It was an accident. I swear. Aimée doesn't have to know." She looked over at him, sitting on the bed. "Dammit, why'd you have to go and do that? I finally learned to like Aimée and now I feel like we betrayed her. Cheated on her. I'm over you, I really, really am."
"It was a kiss, Marie. We didn't run off to Rio and shack up." She looked really upset, so he said, "You're right. It was a mistake. I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I enjoyed it too much. And I ain't gonna feel guilty about it. Aimée doesn't ever need to know. But you're right. We can't do it again. " He got up and put a hand on her shoulder, looking down into her eyes and threading his other hand through one of the white locks that framed her face.
He enjoyed it. She hugged that to herself before she remembered she was over him. "Okay, we're agreed. It was a mistake, a horrible, horrible mistake and we'll never... do it... again..." her voice died away as she swayed toward him, her eyes locked on his lips. He growled and pulled her body tight against his, using one hand to move the scarf into place and the other to press her hips against his.
His lips were soft as a whisper against hers, and she had a moment of clarity; she knew she could continue to kiss him and embark on an affair that would probably burn her up and leave her broken at the end, or she could stop it now and salvage the friendship they shared, and her self-respect in the bargain.
"I can't do this, Logan," she murmured, pulling away. "This is wrong."
He sighed and let her go. "You're right. You're right." He repeated it a couple of times, but he didn't believe it. How could us being together be wrong? he wondered. She felt so good, so perfect in his arms -- she fit like no one else had ever fit before.
He ran a hand through his tousled hair and said, "Good night, Marie."
"Good night, Logan," she said in a small voice. "Thanks for killing the bug."
After she went to bed, he sat up for a while, thinking. He'd never looked at her that way before. Oh, yeah, he'd let the thought cross his mind occasionally, as he did with any beautiful woman he'd see, but-- She really is a beautiful woman, he thought. Young, he reminded himself, though no longer a child. Feeling how her curves molded to the hard planes of his body convinced him of that.
He realized why he was unnerved by the idea of her having sex. It was her having sex with someone who wasn't him. Dammit, he thought. Stop thinking like that. She could be your daughter, for Christ's sake. But she wasn't, and he knew it. He started wondering what she would be like in bed, how she'd look and sound, and how many different ways he could make her scream his name.
What the hell am I going to do?
He stopped coming over, spending his Wednesday nights watching TVLand in the living room at the mansion, growling at anyone who approached or tried to change the channel. He decided that he couldn't do anything with Marie. She was too young and he didn't want to complicate her life. His own life was complicated enough -- he was with Aimée and he was trying to make that work. For the first time he could remember, he was working on a relationship. She didn't ask for much and he was getting laid regularly. It was everything he'd ever wished for in a relationship, until he looked at Jean and Scott and wondered if he and Marie could have something similar.
That thought sent him fleeing from the mansion. He started going out drinking Wednesday nights, trying to drive the taste and smell of Marie from his brain. But she was imprinted on him, she was somehow part of him, the way he'd become part of her when she'd absorbed him that night on the Statue of Liberty.
He'd stumble home early in the morning, smelling of smoke and whiskey and, occasionally, blood. He'd grab Aimée and they'd fuck -- even he wouldn't dignify what happened during those nights as anything more than that -- and he'd fall asleep. Aimée never looked happy on Thursdays, her mouth pinched and her eyes shadowed. Everyone in that wing of the house could hear them shouting at each other and they wondered what had soured the happy couple.
4. Guilt and Jealousy
It was silly, really, Rogue told herself. She dreamt of being on stage, being an actress. With her gloves and her scarves and her inability to touch, how could it come true? But she didn't let that deter her from studying theatre. Among the millions of eccentrics wandering around the streets of New York, she fit right in. She was excited when she was cast as Desdemona in Othello. She went around quoting Shakespeare at anyone who'd listen.
She was at the mansion for the weekend, since Kitty and Jubilee were home, and they had gotten tired of her constant rehearsing. She cornered Scott in the living room.
"I wish I could play Iago," she said dreamily. "He's so evil and opaque."
Scott laughed. "You'd make a great Iago, Rogue. No one would ever believe for a moment you were double-crossing Othello. Which makes you perfect for Desdemona. You have that air of innocence that will make people think Othello would have to be crazy to believe Iago's story. No one would ever peg you for a cheater."
She tensed. "Do you ever wonder why people cheat? Does it ever mean more than just seizing the moment?" she asked.
He sensed the change in her demeanor. "Is there something you'd like to talk about, Rogue?"
She fluttered her hands and laughed nervously. "No, no. I was just thinking about the part. You know. Acting is my life and all."
He looked at her intently. Did she know something about what had happened between Aimée and Logan? She was closer to him than anyone else. He sighed and let it slide, but kept her question in the back of his mind. "Do you want me to run lines with you? I know the play by heart, practically. I teach it every year."
Her eyes lit up, nervousness forgotten. "That would be so great, Scott. Everyone else thinks I'm crazy. Just let me go get my script. I'll be right back."
She got the script from her room and ran back down the stairs, almost colliding with Aimée in her haste to get back to Scott.
"Sorry," she said, "Shakespeare waits for no one."
Aimée smiled. "Shakespeare is it?"
"Othello," Rogue replied. "Scott's helping me rehearse."
"Would you mind if I joined you? That is one of my favorite plays."
Rogue shrugged. She'd been uncomfortable around Aimée since The Incident in her apartment, and had gone back to avoiding the woman whenever possible. She heard the rumors that something was wrong and she prayed her name wouldn't come into it.
"It's amazing how jealousy can make one irrational," Aimée said as they walked to the living room. "You tell yourself that it's nothing, but when someone's behavior changes so markedly..." She trailed off and stopped walking, turning to face the younger woman. "You're close with Logan. Has he said anything to you, anything at all about why he's so -- distant lately?"
Rogue laughed nervously; it sounded false even to her own ears. "That's just him. He never stays in one place long."
"He never stays in one bed long, is what you mean."
Rogue shrugged and tried to ignore the guilt she felt. It was just Logan's way. It had nothing to do with the kiss. "He doesn't like to be tied down." She lifted the script. "What with rehearsal and all, I haven't seen him much lately." Keep telling yourself that's why, and maybe you'll believe it someday, she thought. The kiss had ruined everything.
"Yes, you're busy. That's nice." Aimée let the subject drop as they entered the living room.
Scott raised his eyebrows when Rogue returned with Aimée, and he sensed the girl's tension around the older woman. Rogue obviously did know something about the recent strain and it made her uncomfortable. Is it possible that Rogue is the reason for Logan and Aimée's problems? he wondered. No. It can't be. He listened with only half an ear as Rogue slipped into the role of Desdemona, wondering why her husband had suddenly turned on her. She's a beautiful girl, and she and Logan are closer than most people ever get. They spend a lot of time alone in her apartment. Or they did, anyway, he thought. Maybe it is possible. He resolved to talk to Jean about it and see what she thought.
5. Scott & Jean Make a Plan
"Do you think Logan and Aimée are going to break up?" Scott asked his wife a few days later. The other couple had just had a screaming match over his inattentiveness lately, which had resulted in Logan tearing off on Scott's bike, bound for who knows where.
Jean rolled over and looked at him. "It wouldn't surprise me," she said. "He's not exactly Mr. Commitment, now is he?"
"Do you think he's cheating on her?"
Jean was quiet for a few seconds. It was no secret that Aimée thought that was the case; she had practically screamed the house down. She was surprised at her conclusion. "Honestly, no, I don't. At least not physically."
Scott nodded. "Rogue."
"You lost me there, Scott," Jean said. "He doesn't even go see her anymore, from what she's said lately."
Scott told her about his conversation with the girl and Jean tapped her lower lip, thinking. "When does the play open?"
"Next weekend."
"What do you say we all go see Rogue play Desdemona?" Jean asked.
"We were going to anyway," he said.
"Yes, but let's take Logan and Aimée with us. Maybe Aimée will see that she's letting the green-eyed monster get the best of her."
"Or maybe Logan will see that he's letting the love of his life slip through his fingers," Scott murmured.
"You're such a romantic, Scott. I don't think Aimée is the love of his life."
"Who said anything about Aimée?"
6. Logan Has An Insight Upon Watching Rogue Play Desdemona
He shifted in his seat. He couldn't believe he'd allowed Red to talk him into this. He had planned on seeing Rogue in her play -- he always managed to, without making it a big production -- but he hadn't figured on Jean wanting to make a night of it. He'd had to dress up (which for him meant black jeans and a black button down shirt) and drive the car -- he wasn't letting Scooter drive -- and worst of all, he had to sit in the audience and watch Marie while Aimée sat next to him. That meant he couldn't indulge in the fantasies about her that he'd been prone to lately, the ones that sent him off in the middle of the night looking for a bottle of bourbon and a jackass to fight.
He slumped down in the chair as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, lost in thought and barely paying attention to the action on the stage.
He hadn't meant for it to happen, hadn't expected to spend hours dreaming of Marie while he did his work around the mansion. He was content with Aimée -- she was experienced, she didn't try to rein him in, she just expected him to be with her when they were together. But more and more, he wasn't. He closed his eyes as he moved in her and saw Marie's face, heard Marie's voice. It was damned disturbing. And Aimée had picked up on the change. Where he'd once been fierce and relentless with her, now he was perfunctory. He knew she thought he was cheating -- hell, the whole school knew, she'd shouted it loud enough for Rogue to hear her in Manhattan -- and he knew that, The Incident aside, even though he'd been physically faithful, in his mind he'd betrayed her time and time again.
And in doing so, not only had he lost her, but he seemed to be losing Marie as well. He'd kept well away from her after their kiss, knowing she was right. This was why he'd avoided relationships for so many years. A quick fuck was much better, cleaner -- get laid and get out. Now there were all sorts of expectations and accusations. He didn't want to hurt Aimée, and he really didn't want to hurt Marie. When he and Marie got together -- Goddamn, when did that become "when"? he wondered -- he wanted it to be untainted by his past entanglements. He didn't want her to think it was some strange rebound thing. And he certainly didn't want it to be a clandestine affair, conducted in secret, hidden from the world. He wanted to let everyone know that she was his.
He closed his eyes put his head in his hand and thought about how to extricate himself from this charade. Having to stand by and congratulate Marie as a friend while what he really wanted to do was take her back to her apartment and make love to her 'til neither of them could walk. He stifled a groan at the thought, and then realized that, even if he was free to do so, there was no guarantee Marie would want him. She'd said she was over him. Even though she'd responded to the kiss, he'd noticed no other signs of attraction. He let loose a growl that had both Jean and Aimée shooting him dirty looks. Scott just grinned smugly.
His attention was finally caught by the kid playing Othello. He was good. He strode the stage, pleading his case to the senators, explaining how he'd won the fair Desdemona.
Logan thought how much he and Othello had in common. He was a soldier, built to kill, and with little to offer in the way of romance. Marie was a young woman who dreamed of being a star, who read romance novels with titles like Undying Passion and Temptation's Flower. He could give her the passion, but not the flowery speeches that went with it. He shifted again, vowing to watch the play and stop thinking.
He was fine until Marie entered. Dressed in flowing white, her platinum locks braided into a crown while the rest of her hair spilled down her back, she was a vision of innocence and beauty. He sat up straighter.
She spoke her lines softly, yet projected her voice well enough that everyone in the theatre could hear. There were tears in her voice as she asked to accompany her new husband to Cyprus.
Was it possible Marie could feel about him the way Desdemona felt for Othello? He let himself think about what would happen if that were so, and what he could do to find out. He sighed. First he had to break it off with Aimée. It might be awkward, but it had to be done.
With that settled in his mind, he allowed himself to be drawn into the play. Marie's part, though pivotal, was not large, and he savored every moment she was on stage. She was good.
At halftime, "Intermission," Jean corrected him absently, he said as much. "The kid's good."
Scott raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprised."
Logan shrugged. "I thought she was good, but y'know, I'm not exactly Pauline Kael."
"Pauline Kael?" Scott was really surprised now.
"Hey, I'm not completely uncivilized."
"Boys," Aimée intervened, taking Logan's hand and brushing a kiss across the back of it. They subsided as the lights flickered, signaling the end of the intermission.
He was intent on the stage as Iago's evil plan built to its climax. When Othello finally confronted Desdemona, Logan wanted to yell at him. Couldn't the bastard see how much she loved him? He'd have fought every Turk in Cyprus to have Marie look at him that way for real. And it was all Logan could do to keep his claws sheathed when Othello smothered her. He was out of the play now. All he saw was some asshole trying to hurt his Marie.
~Logan, calm down.~ It was Jean. ~It's make-believe, remember?~
~Oh. Yeah.~ He slid down in his seat sheepishly.
Jean grinned at Scott.
Rogue was surprised to see Aimée and Logan accompanying Jean and Scott when they came to see her after it was over. Logan usually waited in her apartment to grunt out his approval of her performance. Of course, since The Incident, he hadn't been over at all. She'd missed him more than she'd expected. She'd gotten over the crush, but the friendship that replaced it was precious, and the kiss had made her wonder if more was possible.
She quashed those thoughts as the two couples approached. He's got a girlfriend. It was just hormones, it was nothing. You spent two years getting over him and you are so not going there again. Plus, he's got a girlfriend. And she's standing right here. But damn, he looks so good. She kept repeating to herself, He's got a girlfriend. It helped a little.
They all hugged her and Scott presented her with a bouquet. Logan growled. He wished he'd thought of that.
She introduced them to her friends and Logan saved a special glare for the boy who'd played Othello. Rogue slipped her arm through his and shot him a warning look.
"I suppose you're not coming back to the apartment," she said, looking up at him through her lashes.
"Do you want me to?" he asked, hoping she'd say yes, intent on her. He hadn't been back since The Incident. Aimée's expression was unreadable.
She laughed, her eyes holding his. "Anytime, silly." She wasn't going to let one little kiss ruin their friendship. She'd forgotten how great it was to see him and be comfortable with him. "But if you're not, I'm going to go out with the guys." She gestured vaguely to some of the other actors, who were pulling their jackets on.
"Guys?" he said, tensing.
"Guys," she confirmed. "It's pansexual, Logan. Includes both males and females. Guys."
He gave her a considering look. "I guess." He thought for a moment. "You should go out with your friends." He raised his voice slightly, knowing her friends could hear him. "Anybody gets fresh with you, Marie, you let me know." He was rewarded with startled looks from the boys and a light smack on the arm from Rogue.
"Lo-gan," she cried, embarrassed.
"Just lookin' out for ya, darlin'," he said, raising a gloved hand to his lips. Then Jean was leading them back to the car and the night was over. He'd made his decision. He just had to figure out how to make it work.
7. Aimée and Logan Have a Talk
The ride back to Westchester was uncomfortably quiet. Chatter about the play had lasted them through the Bronx, but once they hit the Hutch, it died out. Jean and Scott cuddled in the back seat, ignoring the tension up front.
"Rogue looked very beautiful," Aimée ventured as traffic slowed ahead of them.
Logan growled. "Those guys better keep their hands to themselves." Marie might not know what those boys were looking for when they invited her out, but he surely did, and it wasn't milk and cookies.
"Keep your mind on driving," Scott said from the backseat.
"Shut up One-Eye, and go back to feelin' up your wife."
Jean blushed. Logan grinned at her in the rearview mirror and winked.
"And buckle your seatbelt." Scott had heard the story of Logan and Rogue's first meeting many times.
Logan flipped him off and changed lanes. "I don't need driving advice from you, Scooter."
"Perhaps you should put your seatbelt on, Logan," Aimée said, but without her usual authority.
He grimaced, but did as she said, sticking his cigar into his teeth and pulling the belt across his chest. "Buckle it for me, will ya?" he said, handing it to her without taking his eyes from the road. There was a time when he'd have made a naughty suggestion, and perhaps winked, but she realized those times were gone. She stared straight ahead for the rest of the ride, thinking.
When they finally got back to the mansion, Aimée put a hand to her head. "I have a headache. I will see you in the morning, Logan."
He blinked. Since they'd taken up together, she hadn't spent more than a couple of nights in the room Xavier had assigned her when she'd arrived. He followed her upstairs. "Is something wrong?" He wasn't normally the most perceptive guy, but even he could see she was upset.
"You tell me."
They entered her room and she took her coat off and hung it up. He could smell her tension and nervousness. She stood at the closet and said, "I think we both know this is over." He opened his mouth and she said, "Let me speak. I knew when it began that it wasn't a lifetime commitment. I wasn't looking for that, and neither were you. I was willing to accept your feelings for Jean--"
"I--"
She held up a hand. "I know you want her. She's an attractive woman and very in love with her husband. That is one thing. We all are attracted to other people at times.
"But to play second fiddle to a girl who's half your age, if that! She's a very sweet girl, Logan, but a girl nonetheless. You're in love with her and you don't even know it. I can see it in the way you look at her, the way you stand when she is near you. Don't deny it.
"I didn't believe it, didn't even think of it until tonight. I thought you were cheating on me. I was jealous. But you've been faithful, haven't you? At least physically." She walked over to him and looked into his eyes. "Yes. I can see that, too. But you haven't been with me here," she laid a finger on her temple, "or here," her hand now over her heart, "in weeks."
"Aimée, I, I never meant to hurt you." He'd never said those words to any of the women he'd been involved with before, but this was different. He liked Aimée, respected her, would even want to be friends with her. "I never thought-- I mean, Marie is--"
She cut him off. "Yes, well, there it is. So, please leave. I'm sure that we can get along as professionals, for as long as I'm employed here, but I don't think we're going to be friends."
He sighed. "I'm sorry."
"We can't help what we feel, Logan, but we can control what we do about it."
She was right.
He went back to his room and lay on the bed. He was free now, free to make Marie his. And he began thinking about how he could her make her love him.
8. Ice Cream and Chocolate Kisses
Logan was sitting in front of the television, staring blindly at an episode of "Facts of Life" when Scott walked in.
"It's Wednesday," Scott said.
"All day."
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Scott prodded.
Logan took a slug of beer and said, "Who watches this shit, anyway? Can you believe people got paid money to make this crap?"
"Hey, don't knock Mrs. Garrett and the girls. I had a huge crush on Jo when I was a kid."
Logan arched an eyebrow. "Not Blair?"
"I had a thing for bad girls," Scott said.
Logan snorted. "You kill me, Cyke."
"You're evading the issue."
"What're you, my secretary? What the fuck is it to you if I sit around and watch TV all night?" He looked around; none of the students were in the room. Since a television had been installed in one of the larger rooms in the dormitory wing, they all gathered there, leaving the adults to the living room.
Scott had the grace to look sheepish. "There's a Star Trek marathon on channel eleven tonight."
Logan actually laughed. He changed the channel as Scott settled on the couch next to him. "And you could have gone upstairs and watched it with the kids. What do you want?"
"Why don't you go visit Rogue? I know she misses you." Scott said it casually enough, but he could feel the other man stop breathing.
Finally Logan exhaled. "Yeah, well, I don't want to get in her way. She's got a life and friends and all."
Scott was taken aback by Logan's diffidence, but he didn't show it. "Don't you think she wants you to be a part of her life? Aren't you friends?"
Logan slammed the bottle of beer down onto the coffee table and stood up. "Stay the fuck out of my business, okay, One-Eye?"
Scott chuckled softly to himself when he heard the motorcycle leave the garage ten minutes later. He had no doubt he was doing the right thing.
It was late when he pulled up in front of Marie's building. He'd driven around for a while, and then stopped into a bar for some whiskey. He needed something to get his courage up. He could face an army without fear, but facing this slip of a girl sent him into tremors.
Finally, he pulled out the key and unlocked the door. The doorman nodded. It had been a couple of months, but he was good at his job and remembered Miss Xavier's friend. Logan punched the button in the elevator and told himself to take deep breaths and stay calm. It was Marie he was going to see. At the moment, he thought he'd rather face Magneto.
He unlocked the door and was surprised that the lights were all out. She must be in bed already. It's late, he reminded himself. It was after midnight. He wouldn't stay. He'd just make sure she was okay and he'd leave.
Walking into the bedroom, he stood watching her sleep. She was so delicate, so young, so beautiful. He cursed himself for a fool and was getting ready to walk out when she woke up.
Eyelids fluttering, she looked up at him sleepily. "Logan? Is that you, sugar?" Her voice was husky with sleep, and it sent a thrill down his spine. Not to mention the tightness in his chest at the endearment.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, trying to suppress his body's immediate response to her. "Yeah, kid."
She sat up and he sucked in a deep breath at the sight of so much bared skin. She wore a white tank top that clung to her like it was painted on. It left nothing to his imagination. Breathe, he told himself.
"What's up?" she asked, drawing her knees to her chest under the comforter and wrapping her arms around them.
He remembered the last time he'd been in her bedroom and wondered if it was safe to sit on the bed. "Aimée and I broke up." Shit. He hadn't planned on telling her so abruptly.
She blinked. "I'm sorry, I guess. Should I be sorry? Or is it a good thing?" She looked adorably confused.
"I don't know, Marie. I've never been dumped before. I was always the one who did the leavin', you know? It's kinda strange."
She nodded. "This calls for ice cream," she said solemnly, throwing off the covers and swinging her long, long legs out of bed. He stared. He couldn't help it. She was wearing boxer shorts. He'd never seen so much of her before. Her legs are fucking amazing, he thought.
She blushed under the intense scrutiny and reached for her gloves. "Leave them off," he said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.
"Are ya sure?"
"Yeah."
They had been sitting in silence for God only knows how long, and she was getting restless. He stared moodily at the television. He was being awfully quiet, even for him. The kiss had changed everything. Made everything awkward. And now, he was free. And she wasn't sure what that meant for her, if anything.
They'd shared the carton of ice cream and he'd laughed when she told him that this was a definite chick ritual after a break up. Then she'd offered the use of her Meg Ryan movies, which he'd quickly declined. She liked that she could make him laugh, even when he must be hurting. She didn't believe he was in love with Aimée, but still, his ego was bruised, even if his heart wasn't. And while most people would have thought it a good thing for the arrogant Wolverine to suffer such a setback, Rogue wasn't one of them. You never get used to rejection, no matter how much practice you have. Mutants learned that earlier on than the rest of the world.
So, here they were, watching some dumb infomercial for hair care products in awkward silence.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. "So how did Mary Ingalls go blind, Logan?"
He looked at her in surprise. "What the fuck?"
"Mary Ingalls. You know, Little House on the Prairie. She went blind. How'd it happen?"
He cracked his neck. "How the hell should I know, Marie? I don't even know my own name." A few minutes later, "She got kicked in the head by a horse and caught rheumatic fever."
She started giggling. "I don't even want to know how you know that, Logan."
And somehow, things went back to normal.
9. Party At Rogue's
He felt like he wasn't making any progress with the Wednesday visits. He certainly wasn't seeing her often enough to satisfy his craving for her.
One Friday night, about three weeks later, he found himself at loose ends. He was sitting in a bar somewhere in Hell's Kitchen when he decided he had to see her. He was too close to pass up the opportunity.
Five minutes later, he pulled up in front of her building. Looking up, he saw lights on and heard noise coming from her apartment. Of course, he had to investigate. He could smell them from the lobby -- the beer and the smoke and the cheap cologne. He could hear the music thumping and he wondered why no one in the building was complaining. The doorman said, "Miss Xavier's party is the talk of the building, sir. Everyone was invited. Even old Mr. Sheffield."
Logan grunted and got on the elevator. If everyone in the building was invited, it couldn't be much of a party, he told himself. Which was all to the good. He could imagine what mischief all those hormonal twenty-year-olds could get up to, and he didn't like Marie involved in it one bit.
The smells and sounds were even stronger as he got off the elevator. Smoke (only cigarette, thank God. He didn't want to deal with a bunch of stoners), beer, lust and sweat mingled with the scent of hairspray and cologne. The door to the apartment was open and he pushed his way in.
People stopped and stared as he entered. He was used to that -- it was the common reaction. Flaring his nostrils, he picked her out amidst the torrent of scents bombarding him. He could hear the whispers even with the music blaring. "Who's that?" He recognized one or two people from the play. He heard someone say, "Hey, that's the guy I told you about. The one who was here the night I came home with her." It was the boy she'd brought home the night of The Incident. He bared his teeth at the kid, who suddenly decided to head for the bathroom. Tiny bladder, Logan thought, amused.
Marie turned just as he reached her. "Logan!" she exclaimed. "Omigod! It's so cool that you're here."
"Chuck know you're havin' a party in his place?" he asked.
She looked him up and down and he felt himself grow warm under her regard. "Hmm. You sure look like Logan. How come you sound like Scott?" He growled and she laughed.
Grabbing two beers from the refrigerator, she nodded her head toward the kitchen window. "Come on." She took his hand and they threaded through the crowd of people. She leaned over and opened the window, her shirt riding up to expose porcelain skin marked with black ink.
He sucked in a breath. Damn. He'd always found tattoos on women attractive and damn, did he want to get closer to Marie's and check it out. Preferably with her shirt pulled up and her pants down.
She was already out on the fire escape while he stood there, fighting his body's natural urges to throw her up against the wall and take her hard.
"Comin', sugar?" He blinked. "Come on, Logan. In or out?" she said.
He climbed out and joined her, cursing his dirty mind. She leaned against the metal railing, applied the bottle opener to the beers, and handed him one. Then she tapped her bottle to the top of his, sending beer foaming up the long necks. "Drink," she ordered, tipping the bottle to her mouth before it could spill over the top. He did the same, his eyes never leaving her as she drank the amber liquid.
He finished the bottle. She drank about half of hers before putting it down. "It's not Wednesday," she said.
"No shit, Sherlock." She stuck her tongue out at him and he looked chagrinned. "Can I only see you on Wednesdays? Is that the rule?"
"There is no rule. You can come see me anytime, sugar," she drawled. She shivered a little and he realized how cold it was. New York in the middle of November could get nasty. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "My hero," she sighed, leaning against him as he wrapped an arm around her and hugged her to his chest.
He kissed the top of her head, wondering what he could get away with and a little turned on by the idea of fooling around with her while there was an apartment full of people behind them, oblivious. Then he thought about how much she'd probably had to drink and decided he didn't want her to have any regrets, any second thoughts when he told her how he felt. He certainly didn't want to take advantage of her. He sighed.
"What's wrong, Logan?" she asked, her voice a little muffled. "Are you still upset about Aimée?"
God, no. He bit back his first response. "It's not that. This just ain't my kinda party, kid. I'm gonna head back to the mansion."
It was her turn to sigh. He was still hurting, she thought. "Hey, maybe you could come over Sunday? Watch the Giants? They're playing the Cowboys."
"The 'Boys ain't shit, Marie," he grumbled. It was an old argument. He couldn't understand how his normally sensible girl could root for those showboating assholes. He was a Raiders fan himself.
She laughed. "Is that a yes, Logan?" She pulled away and looked up at him saucily. "I'll make it worth your while."
"There's an offer I can't refuse, darlin'," he replied. "What do ya got in mind?"
She twirled a lock of white hair around a black-clad finger. "I don't know. A little wager to make things interesting?"
"What are you willing to give me when the Giants whip your 'Boys?"
She pouted. "Whatever you want." Whoa, he thought. If you only knew what I wanted, you'd toss me over the railing. She was still talking. "But it won't matter, 'cause we're gonna beat the Giants. They got no offense. When I win, I want you to teach me to drive the bike."
It was his turn to laugh. "You're on, babe. See you Sunday." And he climbed down the ladder to the ground.
Babe? He's never called me that before, she thought, pulling the jacket tight around her. The jacket. "Logan," she called out, leaning over the railing, "Your jacket."
He stopped and turned as she dangled it over the side. He climbed up far enough to reach it, and they stood looking at each other for a moment, a modern-day Romeo and his Juliet, silvered in the moonlight of the New York sky. And then the moment was past, and they were Logan and Rogue again.
10. Logan Goes A-Courtin'
After the football game, which the Giants won handily, Logan stared at Marie. She shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose you wanna collect on the bet now," she grumbled. "I can't believe they lost."
He grunted. "I'm gonna hold off on collecting, Marie. I wanna think about what I want from you." I don't want you to run screaming into the night when I tell you how I feel. He stood and stretched. "Why don't we go out and grab some grub?"
"We could order in," she suggested. "Have an indoor picnic, eat on the living room floor."
He grinned slowly. "Yeah. I'd like that."
They ordered Chinese and he knew it wasn't the General Tso's chicken making him hot as he watched her eat. She did it, as she did most things, delicately, with an elegance that was so far removed from his general crudeness that he wondered once again if she could ever have real feelings for him. He didn't doubt he could make her want him, physically. He knew he was attractive, and she was inexperienced, despite her protests. But he wanted more than that.
He began visiting more often, dropping in and taking her to movies or dinner out instead of just sitting around her apartment watching television like an old married couple.
For her part, Rogue wondered what was going on. Suddenly, he was around all the time. She wondered if she was dying and no one had told her, or if maybe he was sick... no, that was silly. He didn't get sick.
She found herself looking forward to seeing him, and she felt absurdly proud when he took her out. They'd walk and he'd put an arm lightly around her shoulders, or hold her hand and she could see other women checking him out. She always stood a little straighter, thinking, He's out with me tonight, sweetie. Which was also silly, because they were just friends and someday soon he'd find some new woman to take back to Westchester and get busy with.
Though she'd heard from Scott that he'd been either surprisingly discreet or unbelievably celibate in the weeks since the break up. Scott seemed to think this was significant in some way, but for the life of her, Rogue couldn't figure out why.
11. Under the Mistletoe
She went home for Christmas and it was great. She and Logan spent every waking moment together.
Scott walked around looking smug the whole time, until Jean smacked him around a bit. "So you were right," she said one night as they prepared for bed. "There's no need to strut around like a peacock."
"I'm just waiting for him to come out and say it. The poor girl has no clue what's going on."
Jean looked at her husband sternly. "You are not to interfere, Scott. Let Logan do this his own way."
He sighed. "Oh, all right. I suppose it'll be just as much fun watching him squirm." He grinned, then, as a thought struck him. "I won't say anything to her, but maybe I could offer him some advice?" he asked hopefully.
Jean laughed. "What am I going to do with you, Scott?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I have a few ideas that have nothing to do with Logan and Rogue."
"I'm sure you do. Don't be too cruel when you tease Logan, okay? I'd prefer not to have to sew you back together again."
She walked over and joined him in bed, and all thoughts of the other couple were forgotten.
"Jubes, you're insane."
"No, Rogue, really. He hasn't brought anyone home since he and Aimée broke up, and he's all sad looking when you're not around." That was Kitty.
"Sad looking? Logan?" Rogue was incredulous.
Jubilee nodded. "Well, more like angry-looking, but in a sad way. And you should see how he runs for the phone, hoping it's you."
Kitty nodded and Rogue considered that. It was true that her weekly phone calls to Scott had turned into almost daily phone calls to Logan, who rarely let Scott have the phone at all. She'd begun to wonder why he was always hanging around, answering the phone. It wasn't like they had real conversations. Just her chattering about her day and him grunting in response. Though she supposed for him, that constituted the bulk of his conversation. He didn't let many people see the thinking, philosophical side he sometimes shared with her, late at night, after a particularly exciting hockey game.
She hadn't told anyone about The Incident, but now she found herself spilling to her two best girlfriends.
Jubilee shrieked, "He kissed you? And you didn't tell us?"
"Jubes, shh."
"And then he and Aimée started having fights all the time. He wants you, Rogue. You just have to play it cool and be ready to fall into his arms when he finally makes his move," Kitty said wisely. She and Bobby had finally gotten together, much to the delight of everyone who knew them.
"Wait for him?" Jubilee said scornfully. "Dude, we've got to push him into action, or he'll never have the balls to do anything. He'll think all he has to do is look feral and manly and hang around shirtless and you'll come running." They all thought about that for a moment.
"That'd work," Rogue acknowledged.
"On me, too," Kitty said, and they all laughed.
Christmas morning finally arrived and there were kids running around all over the place, making a racket. Logan grumbled and was headed back up to his room when Rogue stopped him. She stood in the doorway, wearing a long red velvet dress and gloves to match. There was a sheer red scarf tossed casually around her neck, and her hair was pulled up into a French braid.
"Merry Christmas, everybody," she said softly.
The comments came from all sides. Bobby: "Whoa, Rogue, you look awesome." Jean: "Great dress, Rogue." Storm: "I like your hair."
And then, the bombshell. "You're standing under the mistletoe," from Scott, who rose, grinning impishly, to give her a kiss.
Logan was not one to miss an opportunity. With two steps, he cut Scott off at the pass. His quickness was amazing for a man weighed down by almost two hundred pounds of metal.
"Allow me," he murmured, pulling the scarf over her lips and kissing her gently.
Scott returned to his seat and Jean rolled her eyes. ~You're such a yenta, Scott.~
He laughed and no one could figure out why.
Rogue and Logan spent the rest of the day circling each other warily. She could never forget the pained look in Aimée's eyes when Logan caught her a second time under the mistletoe. She knew then that she'd made the right decision the night of The Incident.
What she didn't know was how to deal with the situation now.
So she did what she and Logan both were best at. She ran. Oh, not to Alaska or Timbuktu, or even New Jersey.
She went back to the apartment on the day after Christmas.
And found it waterlogged and in sore need of repair.
Old Mr. Sheffield in 8K had left his bathtub running while he fed his cats, one of whom ran out the kitchen window and down the fire escape. In his haste to get Theo back, he'd forgotten the running water.
It flooded his apartment and soaked through the ceiling, bringing down plaster and staining the walls of the bedroom, bathroom and living room. Which were basically all the rooms in the place.
"Professor," she said anxiously, "there's been an accident."
He was very understanding about the whole thing. It wasn't her fault, after all.
12. Three Small Words
After the landlord had everything replastered and repaired, Logan came over and insisted on doing most of the work over again.
"Those guys do a half-assed job, Marie," he said. "If you want something done right, you do it yourself."
That afternoon, they had painted the apartment. A whole group of her friends, both from Fordham and from Xavier's, agreed to help out. It had been a fun day, having everyone around, laughing and joking while they worked. In the end, though, just she and Logan were left.
She went into the kitchen, and hung her head out the window. "Damn, I hate that new paint smell." She looked at Logan sympathetically. "It must be sheer hell for you."
He grimaced. "Yeah." He was going to say something else when she turned away, leaning once again on the widow sill. Her shirt rode up, exposing the black ink he'd gotten the barest glimpse of the night of her party.
"Marie? What the hell is on your back?" he growled. He thought it was incredibly sexy, but the idea that some other hand had marked her skin made him jealous on a primal level.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "That's my tat. Like it?" She raised the shirt to give him a better view.
Oh, yeah, he thought. "Um, ah, lemme get my gloves and take a closer look." She quirked an eyebrow but said nothing else. He walked up behind her and lifted her shirt. It was an odd symbol, one he could have sworn he'd seen before, but where? "What is it?"
"Biohazard."
He let out a sharp crack of laughter. "You would do that, huh, kid?"
"Seemed fitting."
He slid a hand onto her hip, feeling her whole body go still. "Logan, what are you doing?" His other hand moved around to rub gently against her stomach, under the t-shirt she was wearing. Again, "Logan?" There was some confusion in her voice, but no fear. He pulled her back against him, both hands on her hips now, her head resting against his chest, just under his chin.
"There's something I need to tell you," he whispered, his breath in her ear sending shivers down her spine.
She swallowed. Good news did not generally follow those words. But then, he wasn't really a man of words, and his actions were saying something that was pretty hard to ignore. He wanted her, if nothing else. She could feel that in the bulge pressed against her back.
He turned her around to face him, and she noticed how nervous he looked. His eyes locked on hers. "Marie, I -- dammit, it always looks so easy in the movies. Marie, I, I --"
Come on, Logan, spit it out. "You want to run away and join the circus?" she cracked, giving him an out.
He didn't take it. "Don't joke, kid. This ain't fucking funny. I've never said it before, and I want to get it right."
She slid her arms around his neck, one hand playing with the hair that fell over the collar of his shirt. She leaned her head back and said, "I'm waitin', sugar."
"I love you." He said it all in a rush, as if he were afraid he wouldn't be able to get it out if he didn't do it all at once.
She felt the tears prickle in her eyes as she said, "I love you, too, Logan." Her lips were parted and her skin flushed.
He took the scarf around her neck and placed it over her mouth, kissing her gently. "Goddamn," he whispered. "I love you." It seemed to get easier each time he said it, and he loved the way it made her look. "But this whole place reeks. You wanna go home?"
She kept his hand in hers as they ran downstairs to the bike.
She lay quiet and sated in his arms, amazed at the feelings he was able to coax from her body and stunned at the effect she had on him. As she drifted off to sleep, she remembered something she'd been meaning to tell him for weeks. "You were wrong, ya big ninny," she murmured drowsily, "Mary Ingalls went blind from scarlet fever."
He snorted and kissed the top of her head. "Go to sleep, Marie. You need to rest up. I got big plans for the morning. Love you."
She smiled and snuggled closer, content. "Love you, too, Logan."
End
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Pure foof. Thanks to Jen, Meg, Pete and Dot for the lovely beta. And dammit, Marie could be Italian, and know that jarred sauce is EVIL.
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation