He'd thought it would get easier as time passed. That he wouldn't still feel the ache Marie's absence caused every time he thought of her. He wondered sometimes where she was, what she was doing. He wondered if he could find her and how she'd react if he did.
He began to realize that in getting the one thing he always thought he'd wanted, he'd lost the one thing he thought he'd always have. He wasn't one for introspection, and he hated the relationship psychobabble Jean sometimes foisted on him, but he knew, deep down in his unbreakable bones, that he'd fucked up massively, and he had no idea how to fix it.
At first, Jean thought it was sweet. Everyone had thought Rogue's crush on him was adorable and his gruff regard for her endearing. None of them realized how deep the bond ran between the ageless man and the girl who was old beyond her years.
A month and then two passed since Rogue's departure, and Logan still didn't seem to be getting over it. Jean could see the shadows in his eyes whenever he walked past the girl's room, feel the eagerness radiating from him whenever a strange car pulled up, convinced it would be her this time, coming home. Rogue was still alive, Xavier assured them, and doing fine, but she was a ghost in their relationship, and she didn't fade.
He started spending more time away from the mansion, taking trips to the mountains or down to the shore. After the first couple of times, when he'd snapped at her to leave him alone, Jean stopped asking to go along. She moved back into her own room, slept alone there once or twice a week.
Somehow, Marie and Jean had switched places in his life, and he'd been too stupid to figure it out. It took him a little longer to say it out loud. Jean had known what they'd had wasn't love -- just sex and the need for the forbidden. She'd always known the real object of his frustrated desire was Rogue, even if neither of them did.
She saw him gradually realize it. Even though she wasn't trying, she could sometimes see what he was thinking when they were in bed together. Right after Rogue left, when he closed his eyes, he'd see Marie's face, stricken at the sight of him with Jean. Then the images changed. He began imagining Rogue in bed with him, slowly driving him to ecstasy.
After four months, she was alone more often than not. Jean knew it was over the night she saw an old pair of Rogue's gloves draped over the chair in his room. He knew it too, and he finally told her.
He still hoped Marie would come home, hadn't planned on hunting her down, until the night she called. They asked him how he could be sure, since the person on the other end had hung up when he answered, but he was.
He'd gotten to the hall phone first, and grunted, "Xavier's." There was a gasp and then a click. It had to be her.
The next morning, he was gone, leaving a note to Chuck promising to bring the bike -- and Marie -- back in one piece. He had no idea where she was, but he was sure he could find her if he tried hard enough. He had to.
Rogue had settled into a routine in the four months she'd been in Juneau. She enjoyed bartending -- it was sociable work that didn't require touching. They were so happy to have her that no one commented on her eccentricities. At least, not within her hearing.
She'd spent a month just taking her time across the country, at first calling the mansion every night to assure the professor and Ororo that she was safe. As she got farther away, she called less and less. She knew he was keeping tabs on her, and she didn't get into any trouble.
Well, outside of that little fight in Billings, but those Friends of Humanity bastards deserved the ass-kicking she'd given them. Her training and Logan's memories had come in awfully handy that night.
She hadn't followed the route she'd used the first time she ran away, driving instead across the amazing expanses of the West until she reached Seattle. After a few days there, she headed north and crossed the border into Canada.
It was cold up where she was -- had been since September -- and she silently thanked the professor for the long heavy coat and the fleecy sweatshirts he'd insisted she pack.
She'd found Scott easily enough. His family owned the Summers Inn on Shelter Island, just north of the city. They were letting her live there, and they'd hooked her up with a job in town at the Whaler, a local pub.
And since the weather had turned, she'd made a discovery. A startling, wonderful, life-changing discovery.
The cold retarded her mutation. For a few minutes at least, she could touch other people without hurting them. And somehow that made everything better.
Scott was teaching her how to skate and she fell through some thin ice. In the process of rescuing her, he'd come in contact with her bare -- and icy -- skin. And nothing happened.
She still wore her gloves and kept covered up -- hell, even people without brain-sucking powers did up here -- but just knowing that she'd have the chance to touch again, under the right circumstances, even for just a few minutes -- changed her whole outlook on life.
She'd always known Alaska was going to be good for her.
Logan had almost given up in disgust. He was never going to find her. He was so sure she was on her way to Alaska, but he'd picked up no trace of her. The trail was too cold.
Until he hit a bar in Billings, Montana. It was a small, dingy place, much like the one in which he and Marie had met. There was even a cage, and he made a lot of money that night.
Afterwards, he listened with half an ear as the bartender and one of the waitresses reminisced about some of the fights they'd seen. They got his attention when the waitress mentioned that strange little girl with the gloves.
"Gloves?" he asked, trying to sound uninterested.
"Yeah," the waitress replied. "Beautiful, leather gloves, came up to her elbows. And these skinheads started picking on her. Well, she cleaned their clocks straightaway. Never seen nothing like it."
The bartender nodded. "She was something else. Makes you wonder what lucky man's got that spitfire sleeping next to him."
"Is that all you think about, Gary?" the waitress said.
"This girl," Logan asked, casual, "she say where she was headed?"
The bartender smiled. "See, Louise, that's the kind of woman for the Wolverine." Logan growled and Gary got back to the question. "She mentioned something about friends in Alaska. Didn't talk much, really. Had a shot of bourbon and asked if I sold cigars." He shook his head. "Strange."
Summers was in Alaska, he knew. He hadn't listened much when Jeannie told him the story of Scott's miraculously reappearing father, but he vaguely recalled something about an inn. He could always call Xavier for the information, he supposed.
It didn't come to that, though. In Edmonton he stopped at a cybercafé and talked a pretty girl into finding out the information he needed.
He was on the hunt now, and nothing was going to stop him.
He arrived in Juneau a few days later, and took a room at one of the lodges in the city. He went out to Shelter Island to have a look around, and he saw her. Saw them. And felt like he'd been kicked in the balls.
She was with Scott and they were having a snowball fight. Nothing unusual at first. He just hid and drank in the sight of her, not worrying about getting caught. He planned on making his presence known soon enough. But when they were finished, he heard her say, "My hands are cold."
And then One-Eye was pulling off her gloves and kissing her fingers.
Kissing her fingers.
Christ on a fucking crutch, Logan thought. Since when had she been able to do that? And why was she doing it with Scooter? He felt the claws come out and the pain sharpened his focus.
"Stop being silly, Scott," she was saying, laughing.
"Why is it silly, Rogue? You went a long time without anyone being able to touch you. I'm just trying to make it up to you."
She smiled at him, and Logan felt his chest constrict. Had his stupidity driven her into the arms of his biggest rival? And would she be devastated when Scott went back to Jean, as he would eventually?
He'd lost track of their conversation and was startled by how close she sounded when she said, "I have to work a double shift tonight. Betty's youngest is sick, and there's the big happy hour crowd."
Scott laughed. "There's never been more than twenty people in the Whaler on a Monday night, Rogue."
"Hey, twenty is a big crowd for us, and I'm the only one working."
They went back into the house then, and he made his way back to the mainland, where he scoped out the Whaler.
He was seeing her tonight, and if all went well, he'd be touching her, too.
He saw that Scott was right when he walked into the bar. It was a cozy little pub, all dark wood and moose antlers. The people who frequented it were fishermen, and he could smell their profession from a mile away. He didn't know how Marie stood it.
She had her back to him as he walked in and slid onto a stool at the end of the bar closest to the door. She was busy serving some food and he watched how her hips swayed as she moved, and how her jeans pulled tight across her ass when she bent over the bar.
He lit a cigar and waited.
One of her customers pointed out that someone new had come in. He saw her eyes flick to his in the mirror and then widen in shock. She pulled a bottle of Wild Turkey down off the shelf, picked up a glass and sauntered over.
"That it, sugar?" she asked, pouring the bourbon into the glass, as if he hadn't broken her heart and sent her running across the country.
He nodded. "How much?" he said, as if he hadn't driven six thousand miles to find her.
"On the house," she replied, putting another glass on the bar and filling herself out a shot. She knocked it back and wrinkled her nose at the burn going down her throat. "I don't know how you drink this shit, Logan. It tastes awful."
"You don't seem surprised to see me."
"Ororo called and told me you were on the way." She turned to walk away but he grabbed her hand.
"That's it?" he asked. "I drive across the fucking continent to find you -- Chuck wouldn't fucking tell me anything, which is why it took me so long -- and that's it?"
She sighed and tried to remove her hand from his. "How's Jean?"
He closed his eyes. "Didn't 'Ro tell you?"
"She said you'd left. This afternoon she said you were coming here. That's all." She tried again to take her hand back. "I have customers, Logan."
He looked around. There were the three at the other end of the bar, two guys playing pool in the back, and three women sitting in a booth. "It ain't exactly Grand Central Station in here, Marie."
She smiled at that, before she remembered she was mad at him. "I kinda like it."
"It's cozy," he agreed, and again she smiled. It was like it used to be between them, before he'd gone and messed up. He released her hand. "How's Cyke?"
"Scott's fine. He taught me how to skate." She didn't mention their discovery. She wasn't sure what Logan would say when he found out.
I hope that's all he's taught you, Logan thought, scowling down into his empty glass.
"Do you need another?" she asked, wondering at his change in mood. He was the one who'd brought Scott up; he had to know it wasn't exactly an easy topic, because thinking of Scott automatically led to Jean. He nodded and she poured.
"Leave the bottle," he said when she went to put it back behind the bar.
"Logan, I--"
He grabbed her hand again. "Leave it, Marie," he growled. His fingers played over the smooth satin glove. "Why are you wearing these?"
She swallowed at the sensations he was causing in her stomach. "Life-sucking skin, remember?"
He brought her hand to his mouth and took the tip of one finger between his teeth, pulling the glove off.
"Logan, what're you doin'?" she gasped, jerking her hand free, leaving the glove in his teeth. He reached for her bare hand and she skittered away, hitting into the shelf behind her. "Are ya crazy? You'll get hurt."
He stood and leaned over, reaching for her. "Ol' One-Eye didn't," he growled.
Her eyes widened then narrowed. "Were you spyin' on me?" she said angrily.
"I wanted to say hello, but I didn't want to interrupt such a tender moment." His sarcasm was cutting.
"What the fuck is it to you, Logan? Why don't you just go back to Jeannie and leave me alone?"
Her voice was loud and the others turned to look, unhappy at seeing their sweet Rogue being harassed. They'd taken to her in the months she'd been there, and more than one of the regulars had asked her out.
One of the large men playing pool walked over, and put his hands on his hips. "This guy givin' you trouble, Rogue?"
Rogue sucked in a breath, knowing the potential for violence had just escalated. Logan's eyes narrowed as he took in the fisherman's belligerent demeanor. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked, turning to face the local man, menace implicit in his stance.
"Logan!" Marie barked. "Granger, this is my friend Logan from New York. Logan, this is Granger, one of the very nice people I've met here in Juneau."
The two men eyed each other suspiciously and everyone else in the bar held their breath.
"Nice to meet ya," Granger finally said, perhaps realizing he was overmatched. Logan grunted in response and the fisherman walked away.
Rogue turned on the other man. "What the fuck was that?" she hissed furiously. "Why are you comin' in here and makin' trouble for me, Logan?"
"You ain't old enough to be working in a bar, Marie," he answered, sitting back down and sticking the cigar in his mouth. "You don't turn twenty-one until May."
"You gonna rat me out?" she asked skeptically.
He smirked. "Not if you tell me what the hell is going on."
"Blackmail? That's low, even for you," she replied. She knew he didn't have a leg to stand on -- you only had to be eighteen to serve liquor, but she let him think he was the one in control.
He took a drag off the stogie and then said, "You don't know how low I can go, kid. Now why were you letting Scooter drool all over you and how come you didn't absorb him?"
She looked down at her pale hand, almost golden in the dim light of the pub. "It's the cold. When my temperature goes down, my mutation is blocked." She laughed nervously. "I guess I shoulda dated Bobby after all."
The joke went over like a lead balloon. Logan was still trying to get his mind around the ramifications of what she was telling him. "So if, say, we were out in the snow, or if we maybe get some ice..." he muttered and her eyebrows flew up almost to her hairline.
He did not just say "we," she told herself. Did he?
"Look," she said, "I have to work until three. Hang around or come back or whatever, and we can talk then."
He nodded and drank the rest of his bourbon. "I'll be back," he said, throwing down a twenty and getting up. "Don't go anywhere."
She had just finished closing when he knocked on the door. She grabbed her coat and hat and went outside to meet him, carefully locking the place up.
"So," she said, not knowing what to say. "How's it goin'?"
He shrugged. Logan was able to convey more with a single shrug than most people could with hours of speech. "I'm here, ain't I?"
"I see that. What I wanna know is why?" Her voice quavered and she silently cursed herself. She didn't want to hear about how he was sorry he didn't love her and she didn't want his pity. She really didn't want to hear about how great life was in the arms of Jean Grey. She started walking toward her truck, not waiting to see if he'd follow. Hell, he'd driven six thousand miles to see her; he could walk a few more feet.
He took in the beat-up truck and couldn't help but smile. "You know how to travel," he said.
"I learned from the master."
"I guess." It wasn't something he was particularly proud to have left with her. Hell, he wasn't proud of most of what he'd given her. "I heard you put on a show in Montana."
She grinned ruefully. "I let my temper get the best of me, I suppose. Turning the other cheek seems foreign to me now."
"Well, I'm glad, 'cause otherwise I might not have found you so quick." He stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say, and how to say it. "So you and Scooter-- are you--?" he couldn't bring himself to say the words.
Her brow furrowed. "I live with them. Chris -- that's his dad -- is very cool. Like a laidback version of Scott." She shook her head. "There are some words I never thought I'd use together in a sentence. And his grandparents are very sweet." She nodded toward the Whaler. "They got me the job here, since there was no need for a second bartender at the inn."
"You're one of the family, eh?" he asked hoarsely, throat tightening. He'd fucked up and he'd waited too long to fix it. He'd lost her.
Her eyes grew wistful. "Sorta, yeah. It's nice." She turned toward the truck. "Scott's a great guy."
"You love him."
Rogue was surprised to find Logan staring at her intently. She blinked. "Like the brother I never had," she said, nodding.
He exhaled loudly in relief, but said, "This afternoon didn't look brotherly to me, kid."
"That's none of your damn business and you know it, Logan." She pulled open the door and then relented. She looked him in the eye again and said, "You know, when you haven't touched anybody in more than four years-- He's just, he's bein' Scott. Helpin' me so he doesn't have to think about his own... problems." There it was again, the oblique reference to his relationship with Jean.
She pulled her coat tighter and he could see she was shivering. The breath from her mouth wreathed her in fine mist. He leaned in close, acting on instinct, as usual. He pressed his lips gently to hers and waited for a response. Her hand came up to rest on his chest and she pulled away as soon as she felt the connection open up. But it had been a kiss, a real kiss, and it had lasted long enough for him to know that no kiss with her would ever last long enough.
He rested his forehead against hers, where the wool from her hat would protect him. She licked her lips and swallowed hard. "What, what was that?"
"A kiss," he whispered, his breath brushing her lips, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the temperature down her spine.
"Rogue!"
She jerked away rapidly and would have fallen if Logan hadn't grabbed hold of her coat and steadied her.
It was Scott, pulling up in the jeep. "We were worried--" he broke off, realizing with whom exactly she was standing.
"I'm fine," she said, batting at Logan's hands nervously.
"Cyke."
"Logan."
The weather had nothing on the ice in the voices of the two men.
"Get in the car, Rogue." It was his Fearless Leader voice -- the one that commanded instant obedience. "You can come back for the truck tomorrow." She started toward him automatically.
"Marie." She kept walking. "Dammit, Marie. Just let me explain--"
"Come out to the island tomorrow, Logan," she said softly, knowing he could hear her. "And then you can head on home." She got into the car and he watched as Scott drove away, grim-faced and silent.
"He's no good for you, Rogue."
"Don't you think I know that?"
Scott bit his lip. "He kissed you." She said nothing. "How did he know? What did you tell him?"
She stared out the passenger-side window. "He knew already. He was watching us this afternoon."
Scott processed that. "Why is he here?"
She shrugged, still not looking at him. "He didn't say."
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
As she was walking up to her room he said, "You still love him."
She paused on the stairs and looked at him. "Don't you still love Jean?" He smiled sadly and turned away. She knew she'd made her point.
She lay awake the rest of the night, finally falling into a fitful doze at dawn.
Logan was at the inn at ten o'clock. The man behind the desk looked like Scott would in about thirty years, with salt and pepper hair and sharp blue eyes. "Can I help you?" he said pleasantly.
"I need to talk to -- Scott," he said, stumbling a little over the name.
"He's out back chopping wood," the man said. "Do you want me to get him?"
Logan shook his head. "No. I'll find him."
"Just go 'round the side," the older Summers said.
"Thanks."
Logan followed the directions and stood, silently watching the younger man chop wood.
Scott finally paused and looked up, feeling someone's eyes upon him.
"Logan," he said. "What do you want?"
"You should go home. Jean needs you."
"Son of a bitch." Logan inclined his head, not sure if Scott was directing the epithet at him or not. "You have some nerve coming out here and telling me that." Logan said nothing. "And what about Rogue?"
"I need her."
There was no way to be sure, but Logan was willing to bet that such a blunt statement made Scott blink behind those fancy red glasses. "Really?" He hadn't expected the kid to be able to fit that much sarcasm and disbelief into one word.
"And she needs me." Scott just looked at him steadily. "We belong together."
"Which is why you broke her heart and screwed around with my fiancée."
"Jeannie's got nothing to do with this."
Again, "Really?" in the same sarcastic tone. "Look, you come out here after she hasn't heard word one from you for months, and you expect her to fall at your feet?" He shook his head. "She's happy here. She's made friends; she's got a job. She's even taking classes over the Internet."
"And where will she be when you go runnin' back to Jean?"
"You just said Jean had nothing to do with this."
Logan was exasperated and getting close to angry. "She's got nothin' to do with me and Marie. Jean and I were -- it's complicated. It was a mistake. A bad one. I know that now. Shit, I knew it then, but it's hard to resist when the object of your fantasies..." He noticed Scott's grim look and switched gears.
"Without Marie, I'm only half a person. Hell, I'm only half a person to begin with -- no memories, no past, nothing to offer a girl like her. But I need her. And she needs me." That had been his mantra on the road as he struggled to find her, the only thing that kept him going when he thought he never would. He struggled to find the words to explain.
He'd never been much of a talker, but he spent a lot of time alone on the road, and that had made him more of a thinker than most people expected him to be. "She makes the world right. Knowin' that Marie is around makes me think there's something worth fightin' for." He pulled out a cigar and spent a minute clipping and lighting it, torn between explaining why he had to see her and finally having it out with One-Eye.
Scott, meanwhile, was considering Logan carefully. Everyone had thought they knew what was best for Rogue -- none of them thought Logan was it. He was too rough, too wild, too prone to using and breaking things -- even the things he cared about. Maybe especially the things he cared about.
But they underestimated Rogue's strength and resilience. She'd survived eight months on the road alone, and hadn't lost the innocence that radiated from her even now, almost five years later. She'd had the nerve to hide in Wolverine's trailer, to stand up to him, even after she'd seen what he was capable of. She taken him on, and Magneto, and assorted other heartaches in the past four and a half years, some of them at Logan's hands. And she hadn't been broken yet.
Was it possible that she was what this rough, lonely man needed to heal some of the wounds on his soul? Had Logan fallen in love with her? After the past few months, Scott was half in love with her himself, so he conceded it was a possibility. And Rogue had so much love to give, he'd learned. She was his best friend.
"She's inside," he said, "waiting for you."
Logan walked back the way he came, stopping once to turn and say, "Thanks."
"If you hurt her again, I'll kill you myself, healing factor or no," Scott called before he returned to chopping wood.
Logan walked back into the cozy building and she was there behind the desk, chatting with Mr. Summers. "Marie."
"Logan. Want some breakfast? Laura makes a mean Western omelet." She had dark shadows under her eyes, and her collarbones were visible under her skin. He stared at her in the light of day and wondered why she looked so frail all of a sudden. Had he done this to her? He could tell she hadn't slept and he cursed himself for a fool. "Logan? You okay?" Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"I could eat," he grumbled, as if that's what he'd been thinking of.
She led him to the dining room and they joined the few guests who had lingered over coffee that morning.
"The inn only has ten rooms available," she told him as they waited for their eggs. "So it's a very small group who gets to stay here. Chris and Scott take them fishing and hiking, and Laura, Chris's girlfriend, does the cooking."
"Girlfriend?"
"Scott's mom died a long time ago. In the plane crash that caused Scott's -- control problem." A woman a few years older than Rogue entered the room bearing a coffee pot and all its accessories. "This is Melayna, Laura's daughter. Mel, this is my friend Logan." He grunted at the woman, who flashed a smile and headed back into the kitchen. "She's shy," Rogue whispered as she poured him a cup of coffee and then fixed her own.
"Christ, Marie, have some coffee with your sugar," he teased as she spooned the white crystals into her mug with abandon.
"I don't complain about your strange habits, Logan. I'd appreciate the same courtesy from you," she said with mock hauteur, which made him smile. She caught her breath at it, it was such a rare sight. One that she'd been used to seeing, before he'd gotten involved with Jean. After that, all his smiles, if there were any, were for the redhead.
She dropped her eyes and stirred her coffee intently. "Why are you here, Logan?" she asked.
Good girl, he thought. Right to the point. "I think you lost these." He pulled the dog tags off and held them out to her. "I came to bring you home."
Her eyes flew up to meet his and she saw nothing but warmth in their hazel depths. "Maybe this is my home now."
He shrugged. "Wherever." He reached out for her hand and placed the dog tags in it. "I don't know that Scooter and I could live under the same roof again, Marie. But I suppose we could give it a try."
"Back the fuck up," she said, refusing to believe what he was saying, clutching the metal in her hand 'til it pinched.
"Such language, Marie," he said, once again teasing. But it only lasted a moment. He was serious when he said, "You're a smart girl, Marie. Figure it out." He was reaching out to take her hand again when Melayna came in with their eggs. He leaned back in his seat and eyed her contemplatively. She was thinner than she had been five months ago, paler, but her eyes weren't haunted anymore and she seemed to be free of anger.
"Maybe I need to hear it from you," she replied.
He sighed. "I'm sorry. I hurt you and I'm sorry."
She took his hand. "You love her. I understand. It's just-- I know it wasn't personal, Logan, that you weren't trying to hurt me. It took me a long time to figure that out. I needed to go away to see that."
He shook his head, frustrated at her lack of comprehension, and squeezed her hand. "No, Marie. You don't understand at all. I never loved Jean. Never. And I know that she never loved me. It was lust and sex and --"
"Wanting what you can't have," she whispered. "I understand that."
He brought her gloved hand to his lips. "No." He shook his head again. "I'm not sayin' this right. I want you, Marie. I need you. If you wanna stay here in Alaska, then I'm stayin' too. If you wanna go back to New York, well, my bike will fit in the back of that truck."
She swallowed hard and blinked to stop the tears that threatened. "I-- Logan, I don't know what to say. Why-- how-- " she couldn't seem to get her voice to work.
"You didn't fade away. I closed my eyes and could still see your face, hear your voice. Please." He got up and knelt in front of her, running a hand down her hair. "Don't run again." Then, "I love you, Marie."
His lips were gentle against hers, fearless, as the connection opened and she felt him, all his love rushing into her before he pulled back, weakened.
She thought about all the pain and anger. She thought about the man outside, who'd lost everything because the woman he loved couldn't stay away from the man in front of her. "I love you, too, Logan," she whispered. "I just didn't expect--"
"I know it's hard, Marie. And I understand if it takes you a while to trust me. I don't deserve it. I know that. But I'm willing to wait." His mouth quirked in a grin. "I got plenty of time."
"You'll stay here? I don't want to go back yet. I don't want to rush into anything."
"Whatever you want. I got a room in town. We can play this your way." He knew she was afraid. Afraid that he wasn't going to stick around, afraid that she'd get hurt again. "I promise to take care of you, kid. I never meant to hurt you and I swear I'll try never to do it again. I love you, Marie. I ain't never said that to anyone else, I'm pretty sure. I'll do whatever you need to make you trust me again." She opened her mouth to speak and he said, "Shh," sitting back in his chair and hauling her into his lap. "No more talking."
Scott found them that way a while later, the gruff man with the metal bones and the fragile girl with the lethal skin, and he was glad that they had made their peace.
Logan always said Marie was the smartest woman he'd ever met. She'd known when to run and when to stop running. Neither of them would ever run again.
End
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I couldn't leave it alone. And since I kept listening to "Ghost in You" [I adore the Counting Crows' version] this happened.