Value

 

 

Category: UST, light angst

 

Rating: PG

 

Disclaimer: They're not mine- I'm a poor and having fun... take pity...

 

Distribution: my site, WRFA, anywhere else please ask first :)

 

Summary: Fiat experimentum in corpore vili trans: Let the experiment be made on a body of no value.

 

Author's notes: Well, I can’t quite get to fluff with these two yet, but this is MUCH lighter than Generations! This is in response to tinhutlady’s bunny fling to use the phrase “Fiat experimentum in corpore vili” as inspiration for a fic. Also, the phrase really is used by Thomas Shepard in Puritan writings, that was one of the first things that came up when I Googled the phrase. However, I basically made the rest up to my own purposes. Thanks to Jenn for the beta!  

 

Feedback PLEASE at: [email protected] I love anything constructive! Blatant flames, however, will be disregarded and used to roast s'mores....

 

*~@~*

 

Rogue had been doing research on Puritan America for her History thesis when she’d run across the phrase in a copy of an old sermon.

 

Fiat experimentum in corpore vili

 

Being the curious girl she was, and the ever vigilant student, she’d Googled it right away. She couldn’t get its English translation out of her head now. It ran over and over in her mind as she tuned out her professor’s lecture and drew swirling patterns on her forearm with her black gel pen.

 

Let the experiment be made on a body of no value

 

She wasn’t quite sure what about it stuck in her mind, but it had been bothering her ever since she’d read it. It bothered her so much she’d jumped away from the computer in the University Library, attracting the attention of the roomful of studying co-eds.

 

She rushed out of the library, and here she was, three days later, still preoccupied with the swirling emotions she felt at the mere thought of the phrase.

 

Pulled out of her thoughts by the sounds of scraping chairs in the lecture hall, Rogue shoved her books back in her bag and stood, her hand automatically moving to cover her arm back up with her sleeve. She stopped suddenly, staring at the pattern.

 

Among the swirls and random lines was a pattern she knew very well: the silhouette of three claw marks.

 

*~*~*

 

Back in her apartment, Rogue stared at the pattern she’d drawn before scrubbing at it furiously. It had been almost six months since she’d seen him: since she’d seen any of them. She’d been awarded a full ride at a liberal arts school in Pennsylvania, and for the last two years she’d been living alone in a small apartment a few miles away from the school, hoping to finish her degree early by working through the summer and winter sessions that most students took as breaks.

 

She’d gone back to the Mansion for Christmas, but he’d only been around for two days of the week she’d been there. She’d hoped a surprise visit would have been welcome, but she’d apparently showed up during a busy week for the school as they were in the middle of finals, and the X-Men were being occupied by Friends of Humanity forces on the west coast.

 

They’d shared two meals and a long drive on his motor cycle, all stuffed into a hectic forty-eight hours. It wasn’t what she’d hoped it would be. While her crush on him hadn’t faded, and their infrequent correspondence kept them close, she missed the complete feeling she’d had when she’d spent her days with him when she was still living at the mansion.

 

Rogue scrubbed off the gel pen, biting her lip. Her arm still dripping, she went into the living room and picked up her cell phone. She hated feeling weak. She hated having to call him when she felt like this instead of to share some good news or to simply catch up. But something told her to. Something inside said she needed to. In the last three days she’d woken up screaming from his nightmares any time she closed her eyes, the Latin phrase lingering in her mind. She hit the speed dial and took a deep breath.

 

“Xavier’s School for the Gifted.” It was a young voice, one she wasn’t familiar with.

 

“Is, uh, is Logan there?” She sounded far smaller and much more nervous than she wanted to.

 

“Who’s calling?”

 

“Ma- Uh, Rogue. It’s Rogue.”

 

“Hold on.”

 

Rogue stared at the phone. Kid must be new; she’d never been put on hold before. She listened to the pre-recorded spiel that poured out in Ororo’s measured speech. “At Xavier’s School for the Gifted, your child will receive a world-class education both inside and outside of the classroom. A number of field trips are required in our curriculum-“

 

“Rogue?” The Professor’s deep voice floated through the phone.

 

“Oh, Professor, I’m sorry, I told them…”

 

“You were looking for Logan, I know. He’s not here at the moment.” The Professor took a deep breath, and Rogue felt nervous talking to him all of a sudden. “Rogue, are you all right?”

 

“Yeah… I…” She stuttered over her words.

 

“Are you sure? I can send someone to come get you…”

 

“No, no… I’ve just, something…” She sighed. She could tell him. He was like a second father to her, and she’d never had trouble talking to him before. “Something triggered Logan’s nightmares again, is all. I was hoping to talk to him. Helps to talk to him.” The end trickled off into a whisper, but she took a deep breath and kept going. “I didn’t mean to bother you," Marie forced a smile into her voice, "it’s really nothing.”

 

“If you’re sure…” He sounded concerned and wary; she wouldn’t be surprised if she felt the tickle of Cerebro in her mind later.

 

“I am. Maybe, maybe you could just tell him I called, when he gets back?”

 

“Of course. And as always, I’m here if you need anything.”

 

“Thank you, Professor.”  They hung up after a quick goodbye, and she shivered. This was really getting to her. Something about that phrase was turning her inside out, and she couldn’t tell what it was. It was distracting her in class, giving her nightmares, even making her nervous to talk to the Professor!

 

With a huff, she headed over to her small bedroom, shucking off her layers and throwing on an old t-shirt to sleep in, comfortable in her solitude.

 

She knew she wouldn’t get through the night, but it didn’t matter. Any sleep she could get would be more than welcome. Maybe it would get rid of the twisting feeling she was having. She burrowed under the covers and looked at the clock. Barely nine at night. Didn’t matter. She’d probably be up by ten, anyway.

(1/3)

*~*~*

 

She was panting and staring at the ceiling when she heard it. A glace at the clock told her it was three AM, just about time for her frat boy neighbors to be stumbling back drunk anyway. She ignored the shuffling in the hall and tried to slow her breathing.

 

A few seconds later she heard the knob rattle, and a light knock on her door.

 

She nestled back in her blanket, turning over and ignoring the sounds. She did not want to deal with them tonight.

 

Another knock, louder this time.

 

She threw back the covers in a huff, pulling on her robe and grabbing a miss-matched set of gloves that were on the top of her laundry pile. “Look, I don’t care what frat you guys are in,” She yelled at the door, “it doesn’t give you the right to knock my damn door down at three AM!”

 

She stood at her door, wishing there were a peep hole, and waited for a response. What she got was not what she was expecting.

 

“Marie, what frat boys are bothering you?”

 

Her hands shook as she undid the deadbolt and chain, pulling the door open to reveal a very windblown and very feral Wolverine. She didn’t say anything.

 

“Marie?” He stepped forward into the apartment, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Marie? You’re scaring me, Kid.”

 

“I…I…” He closed the door with his free hand before putting it on her other shoulder, her big, wide eyes still staring at him. “You didn’t need to come.”

 

“Chuck said that you sounded upset, that you needed to talk to me…”

 

“You could have called.”

 

“You needed me." He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His face changed and she felt his body tense as his eyebrows knit closer together. "Does this have something to do with those frat boys? What are they doing to you?"

 

Marie closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Nothing, they're just annoyingly loud in the middle of the night." She shrugged, sighed, and stared at him, not quite believing he was here. "You didn't need to come."

 

"You said that already.” He looked at her, and then looked her over again. She didn’t look like she’d been asleep; her eyes were bright and awake, even if she was shaking slightly. “Marie, I’m starting to get really worried… will you tell me what’s wrong? Just-"

 

“Fiat experimentum in corpore vili.” She spit out, holding her breath after she said it.

 

“What?”

 

“It…I…. Fiat experimentum in corpore vili.”

 

His face flushed and he dropped his hands from her. “Where’d you hear that, Kid?”

 

She watched as he became nervous, and it didn’t help her state of mind. “What does it mean to you?”

 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He watched her for a moment before sitting her on the second hand futon that served as her one and only piece of living room furniture. He sat next to her, elbows on his knees. “Where did you hear that?”

 

His tone left no room for argument. She rubbed her face, pulled her hair back, and smiled nervously. “It, uh, it was in one of the historical documents I had to analyze for a History thesis. It means…”

 

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I know what it means.”

 

“But, what does it mean to you?” She looked at him, nervous.

 

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He stood and walked away, putting his back to her, running his hands over the chipped paint on the walls. “You should have let me help you pay for a nice apartment…”

 

“Don’t lie, Logan. And stop avoiding the issue.” She stood, pulling on her gloves.

 

“I’m not, I would have helped you with this, you deserve something bigger… nicer…” He picked up an empty Snapple bottle that held some dried flowers, then put it back down, shrugging his shoulders.

 

She moved closer to him. “No, about the worthless…”

 

“Stop!” He strode to her, clasping her shoulders and shaking her before pulling her to him, holding her tighter than she ever remembered being held, the surprise evident on her face as she gripped his arms. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say it, or think it, don’t… don’t even remember that phrase, Marie.”

 

“What does it mean Logan?” she sobbed out, caught between the absurdness of the scene, the fear his intense reaction brought, and the ecstasy of being held so close, so tightly to anyone.

 

“Nothing. Not a thing. I want you to forget you ever heard it, Marie.” he whispered into her hair

 

“I can’t, Logan.” she whispered, letting her arms wind around his back. “That’s why… why I needed to talk to you. I know it means something to you. It… it brought back your nightmares.”

 

“Damnnit!” he cursed under his breath, laying his forehead on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you ever got those damn things, Marie.”

 

“I know… I know.” She could feel his pain rolling off of him in waves as clearly as if she were an empath. She didn’t have the heart to ask him about it again, not when he was holding her so tightly and she needed this moment.

 

She knew, no matter how old she got, that the best cure for one of Logan’s nightmares was always going to be the man himself. Until she could see him, hear his voice, reaffirm that he’d not only survived the torture, but was continuing to thrive, she’d feel off balance. After the last few days there was nothing that could make her feel better than this moment, in his arms.

 

She wished she understood why it worked so well.

 

Soon, their breathing slowed and began to complement each other’s, and Logan stepped back. His face was uncharacteristically blank, and it scared Marie for a minute. She forced a smile, her hands slipping down to his. “Have a seat, I’ll get you a beer.”

 

“Good,” He nodded, dropping hands and moving back towards the couch, “I think I’ll need one.”

 

*~*~*

 

She was sitting on the couch; her feet curled up under her, peeling the label off of her half empty beer. Logan was a foot away, elbows on his knees, nursing his third bottle after downing the first two. They’d been silent for so long, she was afraid to speak.

 

Logan looked over at her, and put his beer on the cardboard box she’d turned into a coffee table.

 

“I heard it in the lab.”

 

She’d known that. She realized it the first night when she returned to the labs in her dreams. She put the beer to her lips, gulping down a few mouthfuls. There was more he wanted to say.

 

“They’d say it, in Latin, anytime they’d cut into one of us… right before they’d do it, like some twisted prayer. I don’t remember when I learned what it meant, or how really, but it’s just…” He shook his head, and popped the claws with a startling *snikt.*

 

Slowly, Marie put her hand out, letting it rest on the top edge of the blades, the corner of her gloved thumb softly rubbing Logan’s knuckle. “It’s not true, Logan.” She didn’t quite know how this had turned around, turned from him being here for her, comforting her, to her reassuring him. “You know how I feel about this…”

 

He slid the claws back in slowly, and turned his healed hand over to hold her small, gloved one. “I know.” He rubbed her knuckles, mirroring her own action. “But it’s hard to forget.”

 

They sat there forever, hand in hand, letting the moment wash over them. He’d never been ashamed of the things she’d learned about him, but he wasn’t happy that he’d introduced her to the worst pain and cruelty that humanity was capable of. With a sigh he dropped her hand and picked up the three beer bottles.

 

“C’mon Kid, you got class tomorrow, and I’m sacking out on your couch.” They stood, eyes locking just for a moment before they moved away from each other.

 

Marie brought out a quilt and pillow, making up the futon as Logan watched from the kitchen doorway. He moved in as she finished, and let one hand fall over her hair, brushing down until it shielded him as he cradled her cheek. She leaned into the touch, craving it more than she thought possible. His thumb brushed her bare cheek and before she knew it, his hand was gone.

 

“Goodnight, Marie.”

 

“Goodnight, Logan.”

 

And they reluctantly moved apart.

(2/3)

*~*~*

 

Marie ran around the apartment the next morning, frantic to get to class on time. She’d actually slept, and then slept through her alarm to boot. Logan stirred on the futon, sitting up as she packed her bag, tossing in an apple for good measure before zipping it up and running back into her room to change.

 

By the time she was ready to go, so was Logan. “Hey Kid, I’ll give ya a ride to school.” He said it with a lopsided smile, waiting as she just stared at him. “C’mon, I brought the Harley…”

 

She smiled and opened the door, following him out. It was going to be a good day.

 

*~*~*

 

From the hallway Marie could smell the odor of fresh paint as she turned the key in the lock. Inside, her walls had been painted a dark yet vibrant green, a tarp and closed paint can still sat in the corner, tray and roller visible on the kitchen counter. She put her bag on her futon, the quilt and pillow from the last night folded and stacked on the corner, and stared at the raw wood table in front of here where her dressed up cardboard box had been. Below it, a new hammer and a box of nails sitting next to a small can of unopened stain. On top, a note scribbled on a napkin.

 

Was hoping to be here when you got back. Was hoping to finish the table too. Chuck called, gotta go save the world again. Hope you like the paint Kid. If you don’t I’ll come back and change the color. Call ya when I can.  -Logan

 

Marie sat down, running her hand over the table, and smiled.

 

*~*~*

 

Professor Sanders walked among his students, dropping papers on desks as he did so. One by one the frantic students flipped through their work, skimming over red inked comments in favor of finding the final grade on the last page. Rogue was no exception, but she was confused by what she saw: “Interesting POV, see me after class.”

 

“Some of you did very well, others did not. For future reference, proper spelling and grammar are not choices, they’re requirements. Also, copying and pasting a paper from the internet, or not citing your sources, is known as plagiarism. I’m sorry to say that at least two of you will be hearing from our Dean.” Rogue flipped through her paper as Professor Sanders continued, trying to stay calm. The paper was her own, and she’d cited all of her research perfectly. She was starting to get nervous.

 

After the professor dismissed class, Rogue picked up her paper and walked down to his desk.

 

“Ahhh, Miss D'Ancanto.” Marie walked up to the desk and stood in front of her seated professor. “Your paper was extraordinary.” He took the paper from her hands, starting to flip through it. “’On Value and Worth: A Hypocritical Stance.’”

 

“But?” she asked, still nervous.

 

Professor Sanders smiled. “Yes, unfortunately there is a ‘but.’ Your paper was extraordinary, but it was not the paper I assigned. While you did touch on the religious sermons we’re studying, they were not the focus of your paper.” He closed the paper and handed it back to her. “I should fail this.” Marie’s face fell, she’d worked very hard on the paper, starting the day after Logan left and working for a week straight on what she felt was her crowning achievement in argumentative writing to date. Her professor cleared his throat, getting her attention again. “However, it is a wonderful piece of work: well thought out and presented to the point that I’m going to encourage you to try to get this published. So, I’m going to give you a chance to convince me that this paper is not only on topic, but that it should get the grade that I think it should.” He smiled at sat back, folding his hands. “Go ahead.”

 

Marie’s eyes widened, and she twisted her hands. “Well…” She took a breath, and then smiled. “In doing my initial research into the Puritan speaker you assigned me, Thomas Shepard, I came across a Latin phrase that affected me quite strongly. Fiat experimentum in corpore vili. Then, working my way through many of his writings, which reflected deeply on self worth, I saw a pattern emerging that is pertinent to many cultures and societies. My paper, based on psychological studies, historical documents, and historical writings, attempts to prove that people search for a group to persecute to alleviate feelings of worthlessness and gain righteousness. This includes religious groups, such as the Puritans, who went from being persecuted, to being the persecutors. This is relevant in today’s society as tension shifts from racial prejudices to the genetic, painting mutants as the downfall of society.”

 

When she paused to take a breath, her professor held up a hand. “I think that’s enough. I wanted to make sure that this was planned and not you trying to pull one over on me.”

 

“No, sir.” Marie said, clutching her hands together.

 

“Then you get the A. And in the future, Miss D’Ancanto, either stick to the given topic, or see me *before* you write the paper.”

 

*~*~*

 

Marie opened her e-mail, hoping to see a response to the e-mail she sent yesterday. While she trusted her professor’s judgment, she was still craving the approval of someone else. She smiled and opened the message she had been hoping to see.

 

"I am quite impressed; I always knew you had the potential to do great things with yourself. I do believe that your current professor is right, this should be published. If you agree, I can contact a few friends on your behalf. I also showed it to Logan, as you asked, and though I’m sure you’ll be hearing from him soon, he expressed great pride in not only your writing ability but your maturity and point of view as well. He seemed… peaceful. Please think of coming back soon, we all miss you quite a lot. Yours, Prof. X"

 

Marie smiled, and replied quickly, telling him that she would appreciate it if he could talk to some people for her, but that she would rather have her work speak for itself, and not be published just because it was a favor to him. After promising to visit soon, she sent the mail and closed the window.

 

A timid knock sounded, and she headed over to the door. “Who is it?”

 

“Me, Kid.”

 

Marie smiled and opened the door. “Hey.”

 

“Hey, Marie.” He walked in, taking a look around the apartment.

 

“You keep showing up like this and I might just get you a key made!” Her joke fell flat, but he raised an eyebrow at her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You, uh, want a beer, or something?”

 

“No, no, I just… I read what you wrote; Chuck said you wanted him to show me.”

 

“I did.” She shrugged and leaned back against the door, sticking her own ungloved hands in her pockets. “I’m not sure why… I just thought…”

 

“I liked it, Kid. It… it made me feel better. I don’t know how to explain it, but it made me feel better.” He shrugged and turned away, and Marie thought it was somehow endearing that it was difficult for him to get his emotions out. She never quite knew if it was an issue of manliness, or an issue of repressed emotions going back to his lab trauma, but it softened him in her eyes, making him a little more human than invulnerable hero every time it happened.

 

She walked up to him and put a hand on his leather covered shoulder. “I think the part that made the most sense to me was that the people who do these things, who say these things, are really just taking their anger and hatred for themselves out on someone else. That, maybe, they’re as afraid as we are, but somehow, out of a quirk of fate, they’re the ones with power, but that it doesn’t mean they’re right.” She sighed, then startled when Logan’s gloved hand reached up to cover hers. “It’s not about you, or me, or even Puritans or mutants. It’s about people being afraid, and the only way they can get in control again, handle that control, is by hurting others.” She walked around, facing him, “I’m sorry they hurt you, Logan.”

 

He took her in his arms, afraid to speak. After a few minutes he cleared his throat. “So when are you coming back to the mansion?”

 

“I still have a while left. I might be able to swing a winter graduation instead of a spring one, so that would be a year instead of a year and a half. But I think I’ll be stopping by when I get a break next month. Besides,” She shrugged in his embrace, pulling back a bit, “I just got my apartment painted, I couldn’t leave now.”

 

Logan chuckled a bit, “Glad you like it, Kid.” Another long, quiet moment passed before Logan pulled away. “I uh, I need to get going, I’m actually on business for Chuck, just passing through.” He ran a hand through his hair and she smiled.

 

“I’m glad you came, though.”  She blushed just a little, making him smile. “You can stop by anytime, you know. I would really like that.”

 

“Me, too.” He stepped back to the door, and stopped with his hand on the knob. “Let me know when you’ll be back, alright, kid? I miss ya.”

 

“I will, Logan. I miss you, too.” Before she even realized it, he’d turned around, kissed her full on the lips, and slipped out the door. She stood there, staring at the door, unsure of what to do next. It seemed like something very significant had just happened, and yet it had been nothing at all.

 

She sat on her futon and tucked her feet under her, the words running through her mind again: Fiat experimentum in corpore vili, Let the experiment be made on a body of no value. It wasn’t true. Not only had she aced the paper, and possibly found a way to become a published author, most importantly, she’d helped Logan to feel better, to find some peace. She’d felt it when she was writing the paper, an easing of the tension that each sentence caused.

 

She decided then, in her emerald green room with her unstained coffee table, that she’d really like to keep making Logan feel better, in a lot of different ways, all of the time. She wanted to write papers and poetry for him, rub his knuckles after a fight, hold him close when the nightmares were bad… she wanted to be there for him, show him just how much value he held to her, in every way she’d ever dreamed of since her eyes had met his in a little dive bar in Laughlin City. Touching her lips, she thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be interested in that, too.