Title: The Little Voice
Summary: Logan argues with his conscience after he finds Rogue stowing away in his trailer.
Disclaimer: X-Men and its characters don't belong to me, and I'm not making any profit from this fanfic.
Author's Note: Dedicated to everyone who has ever had a conversation with his or herself. ;)
- - -
It never seemed to take long for that irritating little voice in his head to pipe up and give its opinion. It sensed his intent as soon as he threw back the tarp to reveal the girl who had been staring at him in the bar.
You can't just leave her here, you know, it whispered, before he even had a chance to react to the situation.
He ignored it. "What the hell are you doing?" he said aloud.
She sat up slowly, her movements a little stiff. She looked like she was bracing herself against the cold, or possibly against the brusqueness in his tone. Or maybe she was just sore from having remained in one position for so long.
"I'm sorry. I needed a ride," she explained, a Southern accent lacing her words. "Thought you might help me."
He gave a jerk of his head and motioned with his thumb, effectively communicating what he thought of that idea. "Get out."
You can't just leave her.
He narrowed his eyes involuntarily, glaring at nothing as if that would make the little voice shut up. Sure I can. Kid had no business stowing away in my trailer.
To emphasize his point, he grabbed the girl's duffel bag and tossed it unceremoniously on the snow-covered ground. For her part, the kid was glaring at him as she began to climb out of the trailer.
"Where'm I supposed to go?" she asked, a hint of a whine entering her voice.
It's freezing cold out, the little voice pointed out. We're in the middle of nowhere, already miles from Laughlin City.
Shut up, he ordered it. "I don't know," he said in response to the girl's question.
"You don't know, or you don't care?" she pressed, sounding resentful. Little thing had a lot of nerve, sassing at him after having the audacity to hide in his trailer. What did she take him for, anyway? Child Protection Services?
"Pick one," he said tersely, letting his irritation show.
The little voice really didn't like that. She's just a kid. She has nowhere to go. If you leave her out here, she'll freeze or starve or be attacked by a wild animal. Can you live with that on your conscience?
He snorted inwardly. Quit with the melodrama, would ya? he retorted. Turning away from the girl, he started back toward the driver's side of his truck. To his mild surprise—and relief—the little voice didn't protest. The girl did, however.
"I saved your life," she called after him.
He didn't bother to turn around. "No, you didn't."
The little voice remained quiet as he climbed back into the truck and slammed the door. It wasn't until he put the truck in gear and started down the road that it spoke up again.
You're not leaving her there.
He huffed out a short, annoyed breath. So, you go from "you can't leave her" to "you're not leaving her"? Getting a little pushy, aren't we?
The miserable little voice didn't respond, but apparently it was in control of his eyes too, because at that moment he involuntarily glanced at the side mirror. The girl hadn't moved from the spot where he'd left her. She was standing there, staring after him, so still she might have been carved from ice. The duffel bag lay on the ground where he'd thrown it.
He felt a sudden, sharp pang of something like guilt, but didn't push it away fast enough. As if sensing the moment of weakness, the little voice pounced.
Do you know why you're going to stop this truck and let her in? the treacherous little voice asked. Because it's the right thing to do. And because you're not an animal that cares only for itself and its own instincts.
He didn't look down at the dog tag hanging around his neck, but he could feel its weight like a millstone. You sure about that? he asked.
Stop the truck.
He realized his foot was already hovering over the brake pedal.
Stop the truck, the little voice repeated.
He didn't normally back down from fights; it wasn't in his nature. But he wasn't stupid. The little voice was a more inexorable opponent than any he'd faced in the cages.
He let out a barely audible sigh of resignation and hit the brake pedal.
Behind him, the kid wasted no time, grabbing her duffel and racing toward the truck.
And the little voice was finally silent.
fin