jottings: idk. i should be writing for my main fandoms, but y'know, fuck it, x-men.
notes: set in the end of X1. title is from kimbra.
disclaimed.
cameo lover
;;
and we've all gotta break down
let me come breakdown there with you.
;;
She finds that he runs away more often than he stays put.
It's like he's some kind of shark, he can't stop moving, he has to keep going, never stop like his life depends on it.
(Which, it probably does, considering the world still isn't too fond of mutants).
"Hey, kid," he says, looming in the doorway.
"You're leaving?" She doesn't need to look at him to know she's correct.
He shrugs, nods, and smiles lopsidedly, speaking from the corner of his mouth. "I can't stay here forever."
She disagrees. She thinks, yes, he can stay here forever. He can stay forever in the mansion, stay with her, he doesn't have to keep chasing the past, please, please, Logan, please just—
"Stay."
Their eyes meet, hers too big, too scared, too lost. He shifts uncomfortably and tries to fill the gap between them.
And her—her mind wanders and she wishes she could touch him. A real touch, skin on skin, no gloves, nothing. But she's been there, she's tried that, it never ended well. There's a vague memory lodged somewhere in the back of her mind all distorted and hazy. Sometime, someplace when he'd held her against his body, her forehead pressed to his stubbled cheek. He holds her so tightly, she has half a mind to think he won't let go.
But it was probably just a dream.
"Rogue…" he half-groans. "Marie." And then he stops himself from saying to much (she's just a kid, she's just a kid, she's just a kid).
She wants to scream at him sometimes. He frustrates her to no end, the way he looks at her as nothing but some girl picked up from the street. Because he could stay, but instead, he runs. Because he could open his fucking eyes, but instead, he's blind. Because he's him. Stupid, brash, impulsive, Logan, clawing his way out of everything.
She thinks she'd hate him if she didn't already think she loves him.
He offers an apologetic smile. "I have to go."
"You could stay." You know that's not true.
"You know I can't." You know I won't.
"You could stay with me."
Please, please, please, just stay.
"I know."
"Then why don't you?"
There's no answer this time. Instead, he pulls her hood over her dark hair, his hand lingering, cupping the nape of her neck. Then his lips are there, fleetingly, pressed into the forest green fabric.
"I'll be back."
"I know."
Because, in the end, he can't stay, but he can't stay away.
(She pretends it's for her. She's pretty sure it's not.)
"I promise."
He yanks the dog tags from his neck and drops the silver chain into her open palm.
"Keep 'em til I get back?"
"Okay." Of course she will. She always does.
His hand brushes her gloved one for a split second and he's gone.
Gone, gone, gone, chasing after yesterday.
Marie waits.
Marie thinks they've never been good with goodbyes anyway.