She is the only one capable of doing this to him.
This. Logan does not even know precisely what this is, but even he, who pretends not to notice such mundane and complicated things as feelings, cannot ignore the way she stills the angry pounding of his heart and reduces it to a savage purr, nor the fact that whenever she enters a room lately, his breath catches in his lungs and his voice emerges hoarse, as if his throat were sore. He can lie to himself all he likes about the dreams -- dreams so scandalous and scorching he is certain she can read them just by looking at his face and will call him on it any day now -- but no story can erase the wash of sheer -- something -- which flows over him when he spies her standing by the window, or sitting patiently in a class.
It is early on a blissful May morning when she comes downstairs alone for once, without Bobby tagging along at her heels. Logan is, of course, awake. He can never stay asleep for long now, not with such dreams haunting him, and by five o'clock is usually in the kitchen or the danger room, getting a jump on the day and expending the seemingly never-ending supply of energy his body provides. On this morning, he is at the table in the kitchen, sipping coffee reflectively, and when she passes by on her way to find some milk, he feels something stir within him. Maybe it is exhaustion. He has not slept well lately, and his thoughts tend to wander. Maybe it is the absence of her boyfriend. Logan used to like the boy, as well as he liked any of her friends, but something is different between them, now that Bobby's relationship with Rogue has moved beyond puppy love. Bobby is growing up, proving himself, and is not so much a boy now as a man. Competition.
"Mornin'," calls Rogue as she takes out a bowl and rummages around for cereal.
"Rogue," Logan answers with a nod, as if she were no one in particular, though the quickening of his pulse cannot be denied. He takes a long drink of the scalding hot coffee and indicates the pot on the stove. "Want some?"
Instead of answering, she pours herself some cereal and sits down at the table, across from him, her eyes on the previous day's newspaper. Scanning the headlines with disinterest, she busies herself with her napkin, pointedly ignoring the sugar bowl on the table. She is not a child anymore, and she wants him to know it. Maybe she wants to convince herself as well. "You're up early."
Pushing away the leftover fragments of last night's dreams, in which she played the starring role, Logan tightens his grip on the coffee mug. "Couldn't sleep."
"Me neither," she says conversationally, her voice casual. She thinks about Bobby, still upstairs and peacefully asleep; a thought which should bring her happiness, but only makes her feel like crying. Whenever she thinks of Bobby lately, she also thinks of Kitty, and of the glances that float between the two of them, barely detectable unless someone is paying attention. She had brought up the topic once, but Bobby had shrugged off her concerns, and when she had persisted, had pointed out her former closeness with the man before her, and that had in turn delivered a whole host of new problems. She raises her eyes and is startled to find Logan studying her.
There has not been anything between them in over a year, not that their relationship had ever bordered on anything beyond friendship. Though, Marie considers as she spoons cereal into her mouth, I could have, maybe, for a moment...loved him? She sighs. Only from the first moment I saw him cage fighting. Pathetic, Marie. She nearly utters a bitter laugh, but is too conscious of Logan to slip. She is still embarrassed by that girlish crush, particularly because nothing on his part has ever indicated that he felt the same. He had saved her life, but that was part of being a team, wasn't it? He would probably have saved any of them, had someone else been in her place. Anyway, she decides, it's a moot point. She has Bobby to deal with, and Logan probably has a truckload of women waiting for him. Shoving aside the bright twinge of hope is a familiar act, and she does it now with such skill that she can almost convince herself she feels nothing for him.
"Everything ok?" he asks, sensing something. The anise and salt scent of guilt and wanting hovers in the air around her, and Logan smells it. "Between you and what's his name?"
"Bobby," Marie reminds him, though they both know he has not forgotten. She sighs, drops the spoon back into the dish, tired of breakfast, of life. "Yeah, everything's great."
There is a sarcasm hidden in her voice that only someone with Logan's hearing ability could pick up on, and he calls her on it. "You sure? If you need to talk, kid..." his voice drops off as they lapse into uncomfortable silence. Damn, he thinks. She has asked him not to call her kid anymore, and he sometimes longs to show her just how unlike a child he considers her, but old habits die hard. "Marie," he corrects himself.
"No," she answers automatically, and rises to put her bowl in the sink. It is Saturday, and the hours stretch out luxuriously before her, but she feels no joy. She supposes she will spend the day with Bobby, both of them awkward in each other's company, holding hands through her ever-present gloves, and feels despair at the thought of dedicating another day to the farce of their relationship. What a relief it would be, she thinks, to just go. Longing for the road, a feeling she had nearly forgotten, tugs at her. It is not her own desire, of course, but Logan's, transferred from his mind to hers by those long-ago, life-saving touches, but it as much a part of her now as anything.
Ororo comes in then, more pert then should be legal for the early hour, and talks animatedly about the next mission, and the letter she received from Kurt, who is in Germany, and the fact that Scott actually smiled at a joke someone told the other day, despite his lingering, incurable grief. Logan stares into his coffee as if hypnotized and merely grunts during the pauses in Ororo's monologue. Rogue busies herself by looking out the window as the other woman makes toast, and when Ororo leaves, they both glance at each other as if it is something planned.
"Everyone will be waking up soon," Marie announces, a little sadly. She has forgotten what it was like, the electric calm of being alone with Logan. There is a strange peace surrounding them, fragile as glass, and she fears it will shatter as the weekend routines start and the other students awaken for breakfast.
"Let's get out of here," Logan says. He does not need to absorb her memories to read her thoughts, and he is quite sure she can tell exactly what he is thinking through the anticipation shining in his eyes, and the bulge in his jeans which he ought to regret, since just because she isn't a kid doesn't mean she isn't still too young for him. Scenting the air that hovers between them, he reaches out and catches her hand, squeezing a little too tightly so that she can feel the heat of his skin through those elbow-length opera gloves she has taken to wearing. "Come on."
Marie has homework to do, and a slumbering boyfriend upstairs who will not take kindly to her disappearing on him, but the offer is irresistible, as is the press of Logan's palm against her own. She can read the way he winds his fingers around hers, and shakes a little with a pleasant sort of nervousness.
"All right," she agrees hesitantly. She is not supposed to leave without permission. Although she is not technically underage any more, she is still a student, but it is Logan she is with, and while he is not technically a teacher, he is definitely an adult, the one she trusts most. Anyway, if they wait much longer, Bobby, usually an early riser, will come down and find them, and Logan will vanish as he tends to when Bobby appears, and any hope of a good day will fade with him.
She gives Logan the complete sort of smile she rarely uses anymore, and nods. "Let's go."