TITLE: Further To Fly
AUTHOR: m.jules
RATING: Heavy R, for language, violence, and sexual
situations.
SUMMARY: On her
twentieth birthday, Rogue decides it's time to grow up, but she can't move on
while she's holding on to Logan... can she?
DISCLAIMER: Practically nothing in this story
belongs to me except my style.
("Kill my style and you break Pavlowa's legs; you blind Ty Cobb's
batting eye." - Carl Sandburg.) All
titles and section-opening quotes are from "Further to Fly" by Paul
Simon and the whole thing got started because of a Sarah Masen song titled
"She Stumbles Through the Door."
THANK YOU: To Sarah Masen and Paul Simon,
who unknowingly let me pirate their lyrics, and to Marvel for letting me play
with their characters. When Rupert
Murdoch and I are on speaking terms again -- and that could be awhile, seeing
as he's on my long list of People I Blame For The Way The X-Files Ended -- I'll
thank Fox too.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: When certain ideas in this story
related to Carol Danvers came to me, I didn't know what really happened. I do now, but I like my version too, so it’s
a Ms. Marvel AU. Also, many thanks to
Taryn, Terri, Andrea and Jen for the beta.
I couldn’t have done it without you.
DEDICATION: This is for FLa, whose ponderment
on what makes an adult gave me the final insight I needed into Rogue's
motivation and who called me at 11 pm after a 12-hour workday just because of a
frantic message on her answering machine from a friend who is entirely too prone
to sincere histrionics. I owe you. Again.
<HR>
PROLOGUE: The Strength To Let You Go
"There may come a time when you'll be tired -
As tired as a dream that wants to die."
xXx
He'd seen her before, maybe a million times. He'd seen her coming home from long battles,
bone-weary and half dead on her feet.
He'd seen her first thing in the morning, sleep still clinging to her
eyelids, dreams still kissing her goodbye.
He'd even seen her blinded by tears, torn by inner pain and plagued by
the shadows of the nightmares that wake them all sometimes.
Every time he'd seen her, without exception, her head had
been held high and her step steady, confident, even defiant. She was, after all, Rogue. Nothing touched her. Her layers of defense were much more
substantial than her gloves and scarves.
When they said she was invincible, they meant it in every way possible.
But this time he hadn't seen her for four days, and his
world was thrown completely off its axis when she stumbled through the door at
5:26 AM, all running eyeliner and rumpled shirt. He recognized the shirt -- it had been Logan's -- and the smell:
stale cigarette smoke and alcohol. Lots
of it.
"Rogue--"
He stood there stupidly then, her name hanging in the air between
them. He didn't know what to say.
"Scott."
Well, at least her voice was steady, and she wasn't
slurring. In fact, when he looked more
closely, her eyes were clear and bright -- maybe too bright for 5:27 in the
morning and probably little to no sleep the night before. Maybe all the nights before.
"Where've you been?" he asked, hoping he'd managed
to keep any judgment from his voice.
"Around," she answered vaguely, silently passing
him and going up to her room.
He nodded, glad she hadn't lied and glad she hadn't told him
the truth. He didn't want to know what
could make Rogue stumble, although he had his suspicions. He didn't want the responsibility of knowing
where she'd been and what she'd been doing.
If he didn't know, he couldn't be expected to do anything about it.
He just hoped no one decided to tell him.
***
Four days earlier…
She was tired of it, she really was: tired of the waiting,
of the pitying looks she got from Kitty and Jubilee and Ororo and the
Professor, especially tired of Jean's slightly superior smirk... and most of
all, tired of having only a cold metal reminder of a promise she seemed to be
the only one keeping.
She knew that as long as she had his tags, his tangible
promise, she'd never be able to really let him go. True, no one ever saw her wear the tags -- she kept them hidden
away except when she wore them under her uniform on missions -- but
<I>she</I> knew she had them.
She pulled on his shirt -- the one she kept the tags hidden
in -- and slipped the cold metal chain over her head, tucking the tag into the
collar of the shirt.
Promises were important, the Logan in her head told
her. That's why he didn't make them
often. In the fifteen years of memories
that swam in her head, she could pick out all of two promises he made before he
met her -- and both were to himself.
He promised himself to find out who he was and what had
happened to him; and then he promised himself revenge on whoever had stolen
that knowledge from him in the first place.
He was keeping his promises to himself; she saw that he would keep his
promise to her. Seeing that was what
cemented her own decision.
She’d been holding on for years. Holding on to the knowledge that yes, he would come back. But now she was letting go. She decided she would see it as a chance to
learn instead of staying in the haze of living in-between. In between Rogue and Marie. In between woman and girl. In between indifferent and desperate. It was time she found somewhere to settle --
one or the other.
So she let go; it was time, she thought, to cancel his
promise for him. To let him know he was
free to go and be wherever and whomever he chose -- because otherwise, she
would never have the same luxury...and being free was the only thing she really
needed anymore. She was twenty years
old today; it was time she grew up and got her own life.
With just a tiny theft from a willing psychic and her
borrowed sense of pursuit from Logan, it only took her two and a half days to
catch up with him -- just outside of Laughlin City, of all places. He was sitting in a bar; less approachable
than the first time she'd seen him, if that was possible. She hadn't approached him then, but she'd
been different then.
People had talked to her then. People didn't dare to look at her now. She had left who that girl was so far behind, so deeply buried in
memories -- her own and those belonging to other people –- that she only knew
herself as who she was now: Rogue.
Except in the part of her mind that was his: in that part, she still
heard her own voice saying, "Marie."
But Marie was who he'd left, and Marie was the one who had
stayed where he'd left her -- living between childhood and adulthood, not
knowing what he would need or want her to be when he got back. Marie was the one he'd promised to protect
and to look after. But that promise was
broken by time, by distance, by circumstance, and now by her own choices. Rogue was here now to tell him she didn't
need him anymore.
It was Rogue's hand that dropped the dog tag on the bar in
front of him; Rogue's eyes that met his as he looked up in surprise; Rogue's
voice that told him, "Thanks. You
don't have to come back now, but I wanted to say thanks." As an afterthought, she tagged on, "I
owe you."
It was Rogue who turned around and left before he could say
anything and flew the distance back to the mansion, stopping in at a bar
several hundred miles away to drink a little and smoke a lot. It was Rogue, with only the vaguest touch of
Logan, who tossed back rich brown liquid from fragile, tiny glasses that she
knew she could break between her fingertips.
It was purely Rogue who won a small fortune kicking ass at
the pool tables -- and it was Rogue who left quite abruptly when her last
defeated opponent told her she "ought to try that Wolverine guy next time
he comes in - show him a thing'r two."
But it was Marie who choked down her tears and stumbled
through the door of the mansion. It was
Marie who collapsed into her bed and bit her lip to keep from whimpering. Maybe Rogue didn't need him anymore -- and
maybe Marie didn't either -- but that didn't mean she didn't want him.
But he didn't have to come back now. If he did, it would be because he wanted to,
and she only wanted him to be there if that was where he wanted to be.
So she let go.
xXx
PART ONE: That Falls Against You Gently
"And I'll think, 'Am I crazy,
Or is this some morbid little lie?'"
xXx
It didn't hit him until after she was gone. He supposed that he had been distracted by
the clatter of his dog tags hitting the bar, the soft slide of her voice, the
bravery and pain in her scent and in her eyes, the rapid rhythm of her heart.
It wasn't until these distractions were removed that he
noticed -- she'd been wearing his shirt.
He snatched up the tag in his fist and marched out of the
bar, hoping against hope that he could catch her or at least scent which way
she'd gone, but she was nowhere to be seen or smelled.
He let out a small, quiet growl and went back into the bar
to pay his tab. He was almost tempted
to just order another beer and sit down, but her words were still loud in his
ears.
"You don't have to come back now."
Like hell he didn't.
She had some explaining to do.
***
"Where is she?" he demanded before the door was
even fully opened. He supposed, in
retrospect, that he ought to have knocked, but Xavier <I>was</I>
psychic after all.
"Good morning, Logan," the Professor said with a
warm note of amusement. "It's nice
to see you again."
"Where is she?" he growled again. He really should be more polite, he
realized, but he'd had a long ride from Laughlin City to think about what Rogue
had said and why she might have said it.
The more he'd thought about it, the more unpleasant ideas had occurred
to him.
None of them were fully formed or rationalized, but he had
the vague notion of her having met someone, or deciding she just didn't ever
want to see him again, or something similar.
Only one thing kept him from believing these theories: she'd been
wearing his shirt.
"She's not here right now," the professor told
him, interrupting his troubled half-thoughts.
"She's on a mission with the team."
A mission?
His eyebrow quirked.
"They should be home in a day or two," Xavier
added. "You're welcome to
stay."
He thought about it for a minute, then nodded.
"Thank you," he said.
His voice was a little gruff, but as far as manners went, it was a
start.
"Of course."
So Logan waited.
***
He tried to behave himself -- he honestly did. He spent his time either inside the mansion
or in the gardens nearby -- always close enough that he would know when the
team came home. He did his best to not
growl at anyone and even tried to cut down on the glaring. Around 10 AM, though, he decided it was just
easier to avoid everyone altogether.
That evening at dinner he heard murmurs that he was being
unsociable. That only went to prove
that most of the little upstarts were new -- of course he was being unsociable
-- he was the Wolverine, after all.
So on the morning of the second day, he tried playing
basketball with a couple of the students, but when one of the boys off-handedly
commented on Rogue's "hot body," he couldn't control his reaction
quickly enough and the game ended with the deflated basketball dangling from
his claws. He decided rumors of pining
were probably safer than accidentally impaling a live human next time and kept
to himself in the garden for the rest of the day. He could detect a vague lingering scent of her among the flowers,
and it helped soothe him... sort of.
By the third day of waiting, his patience was wearing thin
and the boredom was getting to him.
Almost unconsciously, he found himself in Marie's room. Every sense on alert, he prowled, a steady
low growl rumbling softly in his chest.
There was a strong scent in the room -- one that most
certainly wasn't Marie's. It was
male. The hair on the back of his neck
bristled and he didn't even try to contain his automatic snarl at the
realization.
He followed the scent intently across the room and past her
bed, taking several moments to make sure the bed itself smelled like nothing
more than detergent, Marie, and a couple of female friends. He sniffed sharply -- Jean
Grey's scent on the edge of the bed, with a lingering edge of animosity and
fear. Interesting. There was
another scent -- one that disturbed him on a deep level he didn't care to
analyze: Rogue's tears.
Filing the information, he refocused on following the male
scent. Past the bed, over to the
dresser... he wrinkled his nose and snuffed in distaste. There were so many girly things cluttering
the surface of the dresser; bottles and tubes all giving off scents of
manufactured flora and citrus that were probably subtle to normal olfactory
systems but were giving him a headache.
He ignored it in favor of tracking the offending scent of
the rival male across the dresser top and sliding out his claws when he thought
the trail might be leading down into one of the drawers. He allowed his muscles to relax slightly as
it veered away from the drawer and instead lingered quite heavily around a
small cut-glass bottle that contained a light golden liquid and gave off the
most god-awful smell of musk and vanilla.
He picked it up like it was a grenade with the pin pulled
and noticed a little note card fluttering from the neck of the bottle, just
below the little gold nozzle. "Ma
petite chere," he read, snorting a little. Looked like French classes had gone to the would-be suitor's
head. "It was love at first
sight, was it not? You are the true
thief - you have stolen my heart."
It was signed "Remy," and Logan suddenly had a new
enemy.
Maybe Rogue hadn't even seen this yet. Surely she hadn't used it, or even accepted
it... no, he was certain that the bastard had broken into her room and sneaked
it in here... he sniffed at the bottle just to be sure, and growled, his fists
clenching unconsciously as he smelled her scent very strongly just underneath
the overwhelming perfume. The only real
problem with this reaction was the effect it had on the perfume – namely,
squirting it squarely into his face.
Snarling and snuffing, trying to get the burning,
overwhelming scent out of his sensitive nostrils, he neither heard nor smelled
her come into the room, and he didn’t see her in the mirror until it was too
late to stop the roundhouse kick to his head that sent him flying into the far
wall.
The last thought in his mind before he passed out was that
Marie packed a helluva punch.
xXx
PART TWO: A Shadow in the Family
"Take it up with the great deceiver
Who looks you in the eye
And says, 'Baby don't cry.'"
xXx
Rogue lengthened her strides as she walked down the hall,
her head down as she fought with her emotions about what had just
happened. The mission hadn't been a
failure, exactly, but she fully expected an official reprimand from Scott and
the Professor. The only comforting
thought was that Jean would be getting one too. From the Professor, at least; and depending on whether or not she
had talked in her sleep lately, maybe from Scott too.
Jean had been coldly polite to her during the briefing, and
-- considering what had taken place meerely hours before -- Rogue had to give
her credit for exhibiting that much control.
It wasn't until they had been unsuccessfully following a cold trail for
two days and frustrations were running high that Jean had actually refused to
work with her.
//"Jean, you and Rogue go--"
"No."//
The look of shock on Scott's face had been priceless,
really... or would have been had Rogue not felt a vague sense of pity for him
already.
//"Excuse me, Jean?"
"I said, 'no'.
I will not work with her. Send
someone else." //
It might have ended there, and only Jean would have been
guilty of 'behavior unbecoming to an X-Man' if only she herself hadn't felt the
need to jump in.
//"What, giving up so easily, Red? If only you'd be so accommodating in other areas."// She had grinned wickedly, with a malice that owed a great deal to Logan, before continuing. //"But then again, you've always been easy with all the wrong people, haven't you?"//
She winced a little now, knowing she should have known
better. Knowing that, under different
circumstances, she would never have said it.
But she was low on sleep, her emotions were raw, she was angry with
herself and with the futility of the mission they were on, and most of all, she
was missing the familiar press of flesh-warmed metal against her breastbone and
knowing it was her own fault it wasn't there anymore. She was wondering if she'd ever see him again, and still smarting
a little from her encounter with Jean over that very subject.
It was 5:45 am and she had just gotten back from her
"letting go of Logan" mission when Jean had knocked on her door.
Quickly wiping away her tears, Rogue had pulled her
composure together and invited her in.
It had been a mistake, something she'd known as soon as she saw the
condescending, "we need to talk" look Jean was wearing. But she had gestured for Jean to sit on the
edge of the bed anyway and given herself over to martyrdom.
Only she wasn't very good at acting the part of "lamb
to the slaughter" anymore. Not
that she ever had been, but especially not now that she had at least three very
cynical people living in her head who refused to remain quiet or let her keep
her mouth shut either. Not to mention
she was just fucking sick of Jean's game and was glad to finally have the opportunity
for an open fight. And nobody ever said
she had to fight fair.
//"I'm concerned about you, Marie--"
"Rogue." God, did she know
how much she still sounded like Logan when she snarled like that?
"Rogue," Jean corrected herself apologetically
before continuing. "I really don't
think this fixation of yours is healthy; it can't be good for you on an
emotional level. I think it's time you
let go."
"Oh, you mean like you have?" Rogue snapped back
coolly, one eyebrow arching sharply -- another Logan mannerism that hadn't
faded as much as maybe it should have.
"I fail to understand what you mean--"
"Well, listen carefully, ‘cause it ain’t that hard,
Red. I think you should take a
good look at your own emotional health, Dr. Summers. Or better yet, at your husband's. Or the state of your marriage on the whole,
for that matter."
"Rogue, I don't appreciate your insinuations--"
"I ain’t insinuatin' anything, Jeannie. I'm sayin' it quite plainly. And I would appreciate you stayin' out of my
business. Y’got it?"
Jean snapped her mouth shut and stood up sharply. Rogue watched with openly derisive amusement
as Jean smoothed over her facial expression and body language, clearing her
throat for good measure.
"Rogue, I'm afraid I'm going to have to talk to the
Professor about your behavior --"
"Go right ahead," she interrupted smoothly, her
voice a low, wicked tone that fairly rippled with malicious pleasure. "And while you're tattlin' to Daddy,
maybe you'd like to mention to him why a married woman such as yourself is so damned
concerned with makin' sure she's got no competition with the Wolverine."
Jean opened her mouth to respond, but Rogue cut her off
again, the lazy disdain in her voice laced with sharp rebuke.
"There ain't no competition, Jean. He'd fuck you in a heartbeat, sure. That's Logan. But he'd leave before mornin' and never think twice. He wouldn't come back either; not for you,
anyway."//
She cringed at the memory, although she was fairly certain
she wasn't remorseful of her words to Jean.
No, it was something else that bothered her. Something in her behavior she felt she ought to be reprimanded
for.
**You didn't kill her,** Carol spoke up, voting for
what she felt was the punishable offense.
Rogue rolled her eyes and commanded her to be silent. She could feel Carol shake her head in
refusal. **You shoulda killed her.**
**The only reason I agreed to your plan was because you
promised to be quiet,** Rogue reminded her.
**So shut up before I figure out some way to reverse it.**
**You can't,** Carol gloated. **It's done; it's permanent. Besides, I'm just trying to help you out.**
**Your taste for violence is disturbing,** Rogue
frowned.
**Oh, and his isn't?** She
tossed back jeeringly.
**Shut up, Carol,** Rogue snapped. **Maybe I should rephrase that: Your
taste for needless death is disturbing.**
**I wouldn't call Jean's death needless...**
**If you don't shut the fuck up right now, I'm going to get the Professor to tie you up in a tiny little mental box with no windows and throw you as far into the Siberian wilderness of my mind as I possibly can, is that clear?**
When she received no answer from the voice in her head, she
figured that meant she was understood and would have no further problems out of
her permanent companion. She knew the
X-Men wondered exactly what had happened with Carol; periodically, she felt an
overwhelming sense of grief about her choices.
But Carol was right – what was done was done, and there was no reversing
it.
Sometimes she just wished she didn't know first hand what it
felt like to kill someone on purpose.
She especially wished she didn't remember the unmitigated pleasure in
that someone's eyes as she sucked their life force out of them. It was downright eerie.
Aiming a mental kick at Carol, she shoved open the door to
her bedroom, feeling the checked adrenaline rising to the forefront with her
renewed frustration. All in all, the
whole debacle wasn't exactly how she'd pictured starting this new, mature,
post-Logan phase of her life… and damn, but what she wouldn't give to have
somebody to beat up just now.
Yanking at the zipper on her black leather X-Men uniform,
she finally looked up at the mirror, wondering if she looked as bad as she
felt. Instead of her own reflection,
however, she caught sight of a hulking man snooping through her dresser, and
before conscious thought kicked in, she swung her leg up with all the
super-human strength she possessed.
As her foot connected soundly just below the man's ear, she
finally recognized his scent, his form, his face in the mirror – and Carol
laughed.
xXx
PART THREE: Conversation In a Crowded Room
"The open palm of desire wants everything;
It wants everything... wants everything."
xXx
He awoke to the sound of high-pitched maniacal laughter that
he knew he had heard before. The memory
flashed through his mind of blonde waist-length hair, brilliant blue eyes,
ruby-red lips and a death wish darker than an Alaskan winter. His mind quickly put together the rest of
the details: Mutant, Kelowna, taste for blood sports, fed off and further
fueled his violent adrenaline, and most of all, bloody insane -- and her laugh
was coming from Rogue's mouth.
His claws came out automatically, but he neither stood nor
said anything. He was a man given to
action, but at this particular moment, he wasn't sure which action would bring
him closer to death than he wanted to be right now. If Rogue had Carol's laugh, there was a good possibility she had
other traits of hers as well. The
homicidal, mentally unbalanced traits were the ones he most wanted to avoid at
the moment.
"Oh, Wolverine," Carol gloated through Rogue's
lips. "At last, we meet
again."
"What have you done to her?" he growled.
"What have I done to her?" Carol
asked, sounding shocked. "Nothing
at all, gorgeous. She gave me what you
couldn't – she fulfilled my last great fantasy." Leaning forward until her nose was even with his and he could
clearly see the shadow of blue in Rogue's eyes, she whispered triumphantly,
"I'm dead."
"Yeah, that has to be why you're talkin' to me right
now," he agreed sarcastically, standing up and forcing her to take a step
back. "I wanna talk to
Rogue."
"Rogue's not here right now," Carol answered
cheerfully. "I made her go
away."
"Dammit," he roared. "I said--"
"I know what you said, darlin'," she mocked
him. "I'm tellin' you she ain't
here right now." She smirked. "I traded my super powers to Rogue for
death on the condition that I would stay quiet and unobtrusive and not make my
presence felt inside her head, and I was fully prepared to keep that promise...
until you showed up."
"Why should that make a difference?" he snarled.
"I got some unfinished business with you,
Wolverine," she spat at him.
"You lied to me."
He kept himself in check, flexing his hands, knowing the
adamantium of his claws wouldn't make a bit of difference against Carol. He'd tried before.
"You said you could do the job. You said you could kill me. You didn't, and you took the money
anyway."
He shrugged nonchalantly.
"So? It's nothin' you ain't
done before, takin' money for a job you didn't finish."
"Not didn't, Wolverine. Couldn't. You
couldn't kill me. Weren't
capable." She narrowed her eyes,
seething with resentment. "But I
could kill you in a heartbeat."
"But you won't," he threw back at her. "If you were going to kill me, you'd've
done it in Kelowna. Now I'd really
appreciate it if you'd keep your promise to Rogue and shut the hell up."
Ignoring him, she turned, unzipping the X-Men uniform the
rest of the way and dropping it down her back until the curve of her hips was
exposed. "Remember this?" she
asked in an intimate murmur. "Was
this best you could do?"
His reaction to the six distinct scars on her lower back was
to want to retrace them in present tense... except it wasn't Carol's back
anymore. It was Rogue's.
"Bitch," he snarled. "Leave Marie alone."
"Marie!" Carol exclaimed. "So you DO know her name. And all this time she's been wondering if it
got lost in the vast collection of women's names you have stored in that head
of yours. I’ve always wondered,
personally, how you could ever keep them straight. If you do.” She
smirked. “But since you remembered, I
guess you can talk to her."
He growled dangerously, knowing she'd hit below the belt on
that one, so to speak, and trying to figure out the best way to hit her back
without hurting Rogue.
"Oh, before I go..." she purred, "I'm going
to need to borrow a little something..."
She reached out with her hand and touched his face. He felt Rogue's familiar pull start and
tried to back away, but it was like being electrocuted: he couldn't move out of
the current. Carol smiled. "The great thing about Rogue's
mutation," she informed him as he felt her moving through his head and
pulling out memories, "is that it works even when she isn't in
control."
Within seconds, she was finished, and he stumbled back from
her, dizzy but not nearly as drained as the other times Rogue's gift had taken
something from him. "See ya,"
Carol said with a wave and a wink.
As he was recovering, a sob tore from her throat and the
figure in front of him hunched over, away from him, arms wrapping around her
body. "Go away," she said in
a broken voice, and every fiber of his body responded.
Unsure of what to say to her, his mouth worked silently for
a moment before he remembered Carol's mocking words and managed to say roughly,
"Hey, Marie..." Her name felt
strange and foreign on his tongue and he realized he'd never said it aloud
before. For all the times he'd repeated
it to himself inside his head, he'd only ever called her "Kid," and
on occasion, "Rogue."
But as she turned, dropping her arms in an angry gesture,
forgetting that Carol had undone her uniform, he was reminded quite piercingly
that "Kid" just didn't seem appropriate for her anymore. The white streak in her hair had come loose
from her ponytail and swung down to tickle the inner swell of her breast, and
he swallowed heavily before forcing his eyes back up to her face. She was struggling with emotion, holding an
inner argument, he was sure.
"Marie," he tried again.
"Go away, Logan," she snarled, sounding for all
the world like she was possessed of a demon.
"Just go."
He saw the blue flash in her eyes for a moment before her
mouth opened wide in shock and he saw the internal fight start up again. Then he knew -- she was arguing with
Carol. **This room just got fuckin'
crowded,** he thought to himself.
Again-brown eyes snapped to his and she spat her command at
him with venom. "Go. Away.
Logan."
He knew the voice, the eyes -- they were Rogue's, not
Carol's, and he obeyed. Everything in
him wanted to stay and do something... but he walked past her to the
door, the hair on the back of his neck bristling as he fought every instinct to
keep from turning around. His instincts
were right. He was just past her when
she grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, and slammed him into the wall. For a moment he thought Carol might have
taken over again, but her eyes were a deep, angry brown with no shade of
blue.
"Was it always like this?" she asked, pressing her
naked torso against his fully clothed one.
"Or did she just bring it out in you?"
"Like what?" he managed to choke out.
"Like this," she answered, biting into the
side of his neck, careful not to let her tongue or lips touch his skin. She twisted and pulled, and he howled in
pain as the enamel tore the flesh there.
She stepped away from him and he shivered as she grinned,
his blood red on her teeth, her eyes focused on the now-healing wound.
His mind flashed back to Kelowna B.C., to Carol's death wish
and thirst for blood -- his or hers, it didn't matter. But he bled more easily than she did.
He remembered how she'd scratched and bitten him, her tongue
following each fast-closing wound to lick up the blood. He remembered, too, how during one
overwhelming surge of sensation, his claws had come out. He'd been about to pull them back in when
she grabbed them in her hands, the metal having no effect on her skin, and
purred, "Leave 'em out." He
hadn't argued; he knew she wanted to die.
Why not let her try?
"Well?" Rogue drawled, snapping him back to the
present as she ran her tongue over her teeth, sucking the blood into her mouth
and swallowing with relish.
She'd asked a question.
Right. "Was it always like
that?" he threw back at her angrily.
"You should know, Marie; you have me in your head."
"Don't call me that!" she shouted. "I'm not Marie!"
He had to admit she had a point -- this feral, snarling
tigress standing before him bore very little resemblance to the girl he'd
picked up in a bar in Laughlin City.
But he’d seen the spark of this in her even then, and he couldn't forget
Carol's words. ><I>She's been
wondering if her name got lost in the vast collection you have in that head of
yours.</I><
"Marie," he insisted, his voice still brimming
with fury. "Think about it."
"I can't," she ground out. "I can't think. All I can hear in my head is her tellin' me
what you did, what you said... what you looked like and smelled like..." She paused, running her tongue over her
teeth again, as if to pick up any remaining traces of his blood. "What you tasted like..."
He closed his eyes briefly.
What could he tell her? What was
there to say? When he opened them
again, she was gone.
xXx
PART FOUR: A Recent Loss of Memory
"A broken laugh, a broken fever
And the strength to push like Spring."
xXx
She'd known before now.
She'd known that he'd been with other women; their shadows had always
been there, in the back of her mind, but after the first time, she'd never gone
too close to them. She hadn't wanted to
know the heat they poured into his blood... while she was just a little kid to
look after.
She'd found one of them, once, who looked a little like
her. Dark brown hair, but without the
white streaks... a little less curvy... green eyes instead of brown... but
overall, not a total disresemblance.
She'd taken that woman, forgotten that her name was Samantha, and
relived the encounter through Logan's memory -- and it had almost worked. Almost.
But when he came, he didn't say "Marie" or even
"Rogue." In fact, he didn't
say anything at all. And when Samantha
opened her green-not-brown eyes and pressed her bare hand against his face, the
fantasy died.
Rogue had jumped out of bed and into the shower and scrubbed
until she bled. That was the first time
in a long time that the Logan in her head had awakened on his own. Apparently, the smell of her blood brought
him running -- and she'd cursed him in tones sharper than his claws.
Now, running through the woods behind the mansion, she
fought to forget the double-memory she had of Logan and Carol behind a little
dive in Kelowna, British Columbia -- all the way across the fucking continent
from Westchester, New York.
**Rogue,** Carol ventured timidly. It was the only time Rogue had ever heard
her sound timid, and she figured the threat of the box-with-no-windows was
being taken seriously.
**You never told me you knew him! You never told me you'd fucked him!**
**Rogue, wait--**
**Fucking Christ, Carol!
You could've at least given me some kind of warning before you brought
all that ripping to the surface. That's
NOT the kind of shit to spring on a girl!**
**Rogue, would you shut up and listen for a second! I admit, it was a shitty thing to do, but
you don’t know the whole story yet and I think you should. And not just my side of it.**
For the first time, Rogue hesitated, stumbling to a panting
halt, her lungs burning as she leaned against a tree. **I -- I don't know if I could do that --**
**You have to.**
**I don't know if I want to know,** she
admitted quietly, closing her eyes and sliding down to the ground, her back
against the smooth bark of the willow.
**Listen anyway,** Carol demanded, and suddenly
Rogue was plunged into memory.
***
He'd been fighting at the same bar for three days -- long
enough for word to get around. It was
time to take off. He didn't like
staying in one place for very long -- too easy to get found that way -- but he
was having to earn a little extra money since he'd gotten robbed back in
Vancouver. He made a mental note to
stay away from dark alleys in big cities, especially when the woman luring him
was a dangerous mutant with no scruples and a whole band of thugs.
He knew he didn't really have enough -- just enough to make
it to the next town, which... he paused for a moment, calculating. Probably Westbank, though he hated to admit
it. He would have rather gone north to
Coldstream, but he didn't think he had enough cash to make it.
Damn his sex drive anyway.
If he hadn't been in such a hurry to get laid, that redheaded mutant
would have never gotten the jump on him.
He grumbled, pulling out a cigar and lighting it as he counted his stash
in the darkest corner of the bar. If he
cut out a few things -- like food and shelter -- he might be able to make it as
far as Vernon, or maybe even Salmon Arm.
"Hey there."
If he hadn't smelled her coming a mile off, he might have
jumped. As it was, he looked up at her
with something like boredom and something else that an onlooker might term
"homicidal intentions." She
just smiled widely at him.
"Yeah?" he finally grunted.
"You need a job?" she asked, her voice a low,
sultry purr gliding over an edge of malice.
"No," he growled automatically, moving to get up,
but she blocked his way, pushing him back down with a hand to his
shoulder. He fell back against the seat
in shock at her strength and took a moment to look at her. Mutant.
Had to be. His mind flashed back
to Vancouver and thought it might be best to humor her. Besides, he needed the money. "What kind of job?"
She looked him up and down once before glancing over her
shoulder at the deserted bar. Even the
bartender had retreated to the far corner, his attention completely focused on
the television positioned above him that was squawking out the latest hockey
scores. Satisfied that no one would
overhear her, she leaned in and said quietly, "A mercy killing."
She couldn't have known the kind of internal war her
proposition set in motion at that moment.
The animal side practically salivated; the human side shrank back in
horror; and the cold, hungry, sick-as-fuck-of-this-town side of him sat
carefully mulling over the full implications.
"How much?" he asked, and her eyes gleamed with
triumph. He held up his hand. "I didn't say I'd do it; I just wanna
know how much you're payin'."
"Enough," she answered. "How much do you need?"
"As much as you've got," he shot back. "Give me some numbers."
She did, and one of his eyebrows arched sharply at the
figure, almost twice the normal rate for hit jobs. He grimaced internally as the thought hit him that it was really
depressing to know what the going rate was for hired murderers.
"Who the fuck is it?" he asked. "A president?"
"Nope," she answered casually, smiling at him with
cold, empty eyes. "Just somebody
who desperately needs to die."
He thought about it a minute longer and decided he could
have it over and done with and forgotten about soon enough to make it worth not
getting beaten up one more time by Canadian rednecks. "When, where, and any special instructions?"
The grin that spread across her face sent shivers down
Logan's spine and she handed him a small white business card. "Here, in three hours, any way you
can." He tucked the business card
into his jacket pocket and rested his elbow on the table, looking up at her.
"Half in advance," he decided, and she smiled with
knowing approval.
"Out back in two minutes," she nodded. "The other half upon
completion." With that, she turned
on her heel and walked out, lighting a cigarette as she went.
Swallowing the feeling that he was doing something very
wrong, Logan stuffed his fight money into his pocket and cut off conscious
thought. The Wolverine came snarling to
the forefront of his mind, and his face settled into lines of cold
enjoyment. What he did might not be
pretty, but he knew he was the best at it.
***
He checked his watch again, glancing up at the star-filled
sky above him. The Logan part of him
wanted to come out and study the constellations a little more, to try to access
the echo of memory that the small sparks of light triggered in him. The Wolverine side growled at him to get
back to business and forget about the fucking stars already.
Inwardly sighing, he gave one last glance to a particularly
bright constellation before checking his watch again. His prey should be coming along any minute now. He remembered her description: Smallish
figure in a black hooded cape. Walks
with a limp.
Logan swore that if it was a woman or child, he'd just take
the half he already had and get the hell out.
It was enough money without having that kind of blood on his hands. Wolverine reluctantly agreed to the
compromise, but hoped it was someone he could run his claws through.
He smelled someone coming and crouched low to the ground,
silent and still, every muscle tensed and ready. It was exactly as she'd said -- small, wrapped in a black cloak,
dragging the left leg. With the limp
and the voluminous billow of the cloak, he couldn't tell if it was male or
female, but it was definitely too large to be a child. At least, too large for a very young child.
For a half-moment as he leapt, he saw himself running his
claws through the cloaked figure... and the hood falling back to reveal Marie's
wide, horrified eyes. He checked
himself in time to wrench the hood back as he tackled his prey. It had never made any difference before
whether or not he knew whom he was killing: the blood ran over his claws the
same way whether he saw their faces or not.
But this time he had to be sure it wasn't someone like her.
White-blonde hair was scattered across the intended victim’s
face, falling into her bright blue eyes, and he jumped back, snarling and
growling in half-terror. "What the
fuck!?" he demanded, pushing her away from him as forcefully as he could.
Caught off-guard, his temporary employer slammed into the
alley wall. "What's the matter,
Wolverine?" she mocked him, shaking her head a little to clear it from the
impact. "Don't you have a
backbone, or didn't they let you keep that in the lab?"
"How do you know about that?" he snarled, red rage
beginning to cloud his vision as he dimly felt his claws slide out of his
knuckles.
"I know lots of stuff," she answered,
straightening up and throwing back her hood.
"Especially about you. What
I don't know is why you've been acting so pussy-whipped ever since you got
tangled up with that nasty business in New York. What sweet little whore did Xavier have that has you running with
your tail between your legs?" She
pouted with dramatized disapproval.
"Please tell me it's not all over that Dr. Jean Grey."
Logan laughed shortly, the rage retreating somewhat. "I got nothin' for Jean Grey," he
told her and was surprised to find it was true.
"No?" she purred.
"Then maybe it's that pitiful little drowned rat that Magneto
kidnapped." She laughed
maliciously. "Oh don't look so
surprised! The whole mutant community,
underground or not, knows about that little incident." She considered for a moment, tilting her
head. "Come to think of it, I
think it must be her! If the stories
are true, that is, that you nearly sacrificed yourself for the trashy little
bitch." She smirked with false sweetness.
"Was she that good of a fuck, Wolverine? Must've had tight
little pussy to keep you around as long as she did."
He lost it then, any shred of sanity completely shattered as
the Wolverine roared to Rogue's defense and Logan drove him on. The claws glanced off her skin from a
thousand different angles but he was furious, and she stood still, letting him
batter her about, her eyes closed in what he could have sworn was bliss. Finally, as the rage exhausted itself, he
stood back, huffing and rolling the tension in his shoulders.
"Is that the best you can do?" she mocked softly. He cracked his neck and growled angrily at
the sight before him. His prey was not
in ribbons as he'd expected, but mostly unharmed though dressed in nothing but
what few threads were left of her clothes.
He circled her warily, unused to being thus thwarted in his violence,
and saw a thin spider web of blood across her lower back.
He drove his claws into the vulnerable spot, aiming for her
kidneys, but her mutation had already repaired itself against his whirlwind
attack and her skin drove the adamantium back, jamming it painfully into his
forearms.
He howled in wrath and agony, picking her up and throwing
her against the brick wall of the alley.
His arms still aching and a frenzy of red blood thirst still hazing his
vision, he left her in a crumpled heap and walked away. He heard her coming and spun around to face
her, but her speed and strength as she flew towards him propelled him into the
wall, banging his head bruisingly against the mortar.
"You're not walking away yet," she snarled at
him. "I'm still alive." She took his mouth in a bruising kiss,
biting everywhere she could, grinding into him, seeking only pain for herself
and her quarry. This was turf the Wolverine
was familiar with and at home on -- bloodlust and fury and a quick, hard fuck
that was a close substitute for murder -- and he responded with every ounce of
pent-up adrenaline rushing through his veins.
Only once, after he was done and she was slumped against the
alley wall in exhaustion, did he feel anything resembling regret; only then did
his mind flutter back to Rogue's eyes and he wondered what she'd think of him
if she ever knew.
He didn't stop to wonder why he cared.
***
Her energy spent from the memory, Rogue sat trembling
against the tree, her body and soul wracked with Logan's compounding guilt and
shame at having her see what had happened.
Carol had retreated to her former silence, and Rogue was too tired to
call her up again for an explanation.
What was left to explain, anyway?
With a strangled sigh, she curled up on her side against the willow tree
and tucked her arms around herself, seeking escape in sleep.
xXx
PART FIVE: Rose of Jericho
"Maybe you will find a love
That you discover accidentally."
xXx
He had counted on finding her; he more than halfway expected
to find her in a homicidal rage. He
hoped Carol's influence hadn't managed to make her suicidal, but he wasn't
taking any chances. What he wasn't
expecting was to find her sound asleep, curled up on the forest floor with her
hair splayed out around her face.
"Rogue?" he called softly as he approached her, tugging on his
leather gloves. True, her powers hadn't
affected him so badly the last time, but Carol had been in control then, and
who knew what effect that factor had on the pull.
"Hey, Kid," he tried again, reaching out to touch
her face softly. She made a soft
murmuring noise in the back of her throat and shifted in her sleep. With a soft growl that was really more of a
sigh, he shook her gently.
Her eyes fluttered open and gradually focused on his face,
and she groaned and sat up, rubbing her face with her palms. "Ugh," she moaned, leaning back
against the willow tree.
"Logan."
She sounded much calmer than she had been, but he wasn't
sure he wanted to take any chances.
"Hey, Kid," he repeated, clearing his throat.
She smiled just a little and closed her eyes. "So you noticed too, huh?" she
whispered.
He tilted his head in confusion at her cryptic
question. Until he knew what, exactly,
she thought he'd noticed, he wasn't about to agree or disagree. She did, after all, still have Carol's
mutation.
"Uh..." he responded.
She chuckled sadly, looking away from him out into the
forest. "All I wanted was to grow
up," she said softly, and he wasn't sure at first to whom she was
speaking. "It was going to be so
simple. I was going to give you back
your tags and your promise, walk away, and not be a kid anymore. I was going to stop being Marie, the sweet
little Southern girl, and start being Rogue -- independent and grown-up."
She looked back at him then and he was amazed at the depth
of wisdom and sadness in her dark eyes.
Her lips quirked upward a little and she said apologetically, "I
guess it just doesn't work that way, huh?"
He shook his head a little, as much to clear it as in answer
to her question.
"Sorry about--earlier," she murmured, reaching up
and hovering her fingertips a fraction of an inch away from his neck, where
she'd bitten him. Her hand was bare,
but he trusted her and didn't flinch.
"'S okay, K--Rogue," he told her, and she flashed
him a grateful smile at his conscious use of her adopted name. They were silent for a long moment in which
she dropped her hand back to her lap and stared off into nothing.
"Why?" he asked suddenly as he shifted his weight
to settle in beside her, bumping her shoulder with his own.
"Why did I have to get rid of you to grow up?" she
clarified, and he nodded. She leaned
against him companionably and he put his arm around her shoulders, echoing
their position three years earlier on a train leaving Westchester for anywhere
else... and suddenly he understood.
"Oh," he said.
She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder, and he spent a moment
trying to arrange his words. It
occurred to him that she was displaying a quiet maturity that some people twice
her age had never attained, but he wasn't sure how to convey that to her.
Never a man of many words, he tucked her in a little more
closely to himself and rested his chin on her hair. With the arm that wasn't holding her, he reached into his shirt
pocket and pulled out his tag and chain.
He dropped it into her lap and she sat up, pulling away from him enough
to look at his face.
"It's a, um..." he gestured as he floundered for
words.
Her lips quirked and she came to his rescue again. "A token of friendship and good
will?" she quipped in a tone of amusement.
"Somethin' like that."
She nodded, folding the chain up in her hands. "Thanks, Logan." She turned her eyes up to him, shining with
a mixture of gratitude, affection, and teasing. "You're probably the best friend I've got." She paused.
"'Course, that ain't sayin' a lot for me, considerin' I haven't
even seen ya in three years and I only knew ya for a week before that..."
He snorted. "I
think it says more about those X-geeks than it does about you. How they been treatin' ya?"
It was her turn to snort, her mind involuntarily revisiting
her tiff with Jean. She wasn't sure she
wanted to broach the subject of Jean Grey with him just yet, though, so she
just shook her head.
"That bad, huh?" he rumbled.
"I think it's time I had me a talk with--"
"Logan," she said firmly.
"You're my best friend, remember, not my big brother. I can do enough damage without your
help."
He snuffed, settling back down a little. "Can't I at least intimidate 'em a
little bit? You know, to back you
up?"
She burst into peals of laughter and pushed him, hard, so
that he went sprawling over the ground.
Dusting her hands off casually, she smirked, "I think I'm plenty
intimidating all by my pretty little self." She giggled. "But
thanks for the thought. It was --
sweet."
"Sweet!" he growled, righting himself again and
leaning into her. "I'll show you
sweet--"
He didn't give either of them time to think; he just closed
the distance between them, his lips hot on hers. Shocked, she didn't react for a moment, but when the pull started
she shoved him away forcefully.
"What the bloody *fucking* hell was that?" she demanded.
He sat up with effort, rubbing the back of his head
moodily. "I don't know," he
grumbled. "It seemed like a good
idea at the time."
She shook her head, standing up and brushing her uniform
off. "Yeah, well, next time keep
your good ideas to yourself," she told him, reaching down to help him
up. He ignored her outstretched hand
sullenly, pushing himself up.
"I've never been thrown on my ass so many times by one
woman in one day," he complained sourly.
"You're not plannin' on makin' a habit of it, are you?"
She grinned, slapping him on the back so hard he stumbled
forward a little. "What're you
gonna do about it if I am?" she teased.
"I'll just have to keep tryin' out my good ideas on
ya," he threatened. At her groan,
he grinned wickedly, wrapping his arm around her waist as they began to walk
back towards the mansion. "Don't
mention it," he smirked.
"After all, what're friends for?"
"Friends are for kicking each other's asses," she
responded. "And don't make me
prove it."
His eyes sparkled as he growled, "I plan on it."
xXx
EPILOGUE: Backward Into Velvet Night
"Effortless music from the Cameroons;
Spinning darkness of her hair...
There may come a time when I will lose you;
Lose you as I lose my light…"
xXx
Sometimes, Xavier thought as he watched Rogue exit his
office, even powerful psychics can be surprised. The reprimands he'd planned to give that morning had turned out
to be completely unnecessary as a result of Logan's return.
Jean's behavior at seeing the Wolverine again -- especially
at seeing him with his arms wrapped around Rogue -- had precipitated an
argument with Scott that Charles felt would do more than any official rebuke
from himself.
Rogue's response to Jean's reaction had been so full of
genuine pity that Charles really didn't feel it necessary to censure her for
her tiny bit of gloating and the behavior on the mission. Wolverine, on the other hand, had taken
Jean's scathing remarks to Rogue personally and was currently trying to get
this youngest -- and seemingly most mature -- of the X-Men to leave Westchester
with him. Permanently.
That was what Xavier's conference with Rogue had been about
-- would she leave, or would she stay??
He had told her sincerely that there would be no hard feelings either
way, and he could understand if she would rather not stay in the mansion. The words "with Jean" went
unspoken but clearly understood.
He hadn't known exactly what response to expect of her, but
he hadn't anticipated a long, quiet moment of reflection before she calmly
asked for a couple of days to think it over.
She was afraid, she said, that Logan might be jumping to a few
conclusions, and so might Jean.
"I've found a home here with you and the others,"
she'd admitted. "I don't want to
make any rash decisions one way or the other.
On one hand, I don't want to let a little something like this run me
off. But on the other, I don't want to
stay here if it's going to cause a lot of trouble for you and everyone
involved." She'd nodded as if to
herself before repeating, "I'd like to think about it."
"I think that's a very wise and mature thing to do,
Rogue," he'd responded, not bothering to hide his deep approval of her
actions. She’d smiled her thanks at him
and left the room, her carriage purposeful.
Xavier sat at his desk for several minutes afterward, contemplating Rogue and
the matters surrounding her, wondering what her choice would be.
***
Two nights later, Logan awoke to the sound of a rhythmic banging just down the
hall in Rogue’s room. Immediately on
alert, he leapt from his bed and glided soundlessly down the corridor, pausing
for a half-second in front of the door to assess the situation. After deciding there was no immediate
danger, he opened the door carefully, peering inside.
What greeted him was an empty room, the billowing curtains revealing the source
of the mysterious noise – the window was open, and the shudders were knocking
against the side of the house in time with the soft gusts of wind. Cautiously, he perused his surroundings,
looking for any hint of where she had gone, why, and for how long. An envelope on the bed, wrapped in a sheer
blue scarf, caught his attention and he picked it up gingerly.
His name was written on the outside, and he turned it over, wrapping the scarf
around his hand and bringing it to his nose before he opened the envelope. Tugging the piece of paper out, he kept her
scarf wrapped around his fist, unconsciously rubbing the fabric with his
fingers as he read the note she’d left him.
Logan,
I don’t exactly know how to tell you this, but I have to try. This is my third attempt of the night,
actually, and I can only hope it turns out because I need to get going.
I know I should have told you goodbye, given you a little more warning, but
that would make it seem final, and I don’t want it to be that way. I don’t want you to think I left for good,
because I haven’t; I want you to think of it as – “Rogue’s on vacation.” Which I sort of am.
What I told you about needing to grow up – I still need that. Don’t feel bad about chasing me back here to
the mansion; I’m glad you did. It gave
me a goal to focus on – a solid reason why I have to grow up. I need you, Logan, and I don’t think I’m
being presumptuous when I say you need me too.
But what you need isn’t some little girl who tags along after you with
puppy-dog eyes and lets you protect her from things just because she gets a
little tired of the growing pains – and it would be so easy to let you do that
for me, especially since I know you would let me.
When I get back, you and me are going to have some things to talk about. And I promise I will come home – and
soon. After all, I still owe you. I just have a lot to think about and a
little ways to go yet.
Yours,
Marie
Automatically turning his gaze toward her open window, he frowned slightly
and looked down again at the letter in his hand. She’d be back soon. She’d
promised. And until then he would wait
for her.
It was the least he could do.
xXxXxXx
THE END
More Author’s Notes: Yes, I know
I set myself up for a sequel. No, I
don’t know if the sequel will actually get written or not, even though one is
already sort of rumbling around in my head.
The problem is, the sequel is sounding like an epic… like this whole
25-page story was just its prologue.
Damn bunnies.
And now, a word from our sponsors…the songs that inspired
and supported the fic.
"She Stumbles Through the Door" - Sarah Masen
She looks over her shoulder
In a half-specific glare
As if it were the past
An interception of intentions
From a once-familiar path
A promise broken in half
So she let go.
On the pages of the memo
Are picturesque clichés
She once called Providence
And the fragments of Picassos
With running lines undone
That wrecked her confidence
Is there any sense
Why she let go?
It was what she thought was right
Through all the gloom and might
Of living in-between
It was like she said
A chance to learn instead
Of staying in the lines
And never knowing why
She stumbles through the door
Were the angels fighting demons
In the corner of her room,
Or was it happenstance?
She will catch a glimpse
Of loving safety more than life
A faithless circumstance
So she let go.
It was what she thought was right
Through all the gloom and might
Of living in-between
It was like she said
A chance to learn instead
Of staying in the lines
And never knowing why
She stumbles through the door
She stumbles through the door
She stumbles through the door...
Now her reasoning is theory
Living out a grand crusade
Of greater magnitude
Now the consequence of failure
Is a possibility
But will it break the truth?
Oh, she won't know
Until she lets go
It was what she thought was right
Through all the gloom and might
Of living in-between
It was like she said
A chance to learn instead
Of staying in the lines
And never knowing why
She stumbles through the door
FURTHER TO FLY -
Paul Simon
There may come a time when you'll be tired
As tired as a dream that wants to die
Further to fly, further to fly
Further to fly, further to fly
Maybe you will find a love
That you discover accidentally
That falls against you gently
As a pickpocket brushes your thigh
Further to fly
Effortless music from the Cameroons
Spinning darkness of her hair
Conversation in a crowded room
Going nowhere
The open palm of desire
Wants everything, it wants everything
It wants everything
Sometime I'll be walking down the street
And I'll think, "Am I crazy
Or is this some morbid little lie?"
Further to fly, Further to fly
Further to fly, Further to fly
A recent loss of memory,
A shadow in the family
A baby waves bye-bye
And I'm trying; I'm flying
There may come a time when I will lose you
Lose you as I lose my light
Days falling backward into velvet night
Oh, the open palm of desire
It wants everything, it wants everything
It wants soil that's soft as Summer
And the strength to push like Spring
A broken laugh, a broken fever
Take it up with the great deceiver
Who looks you in the eye
And says "Baby, don't cry."
Further to fly
There may come a time when I will lose you
Lose you as I lose my sight
Days falling backward into velvet night
Oh, the open palm of desire
The rose of Jericho
Soil that's soft as summer
The strength to let you go.