I'm not entirely sure where this fic is headed, how long it is going to be or even if there is going to be a sprinkle of romance in there. What I do know is that I don't own the rights to X-men and Hugh Jackman is a very handsome man... That and I need to learn how to crack open a safe ;)

Vodka, Coke and Brussel Sprouts

I have a philosophy when it comes to alcohol, so please read carefully because I'm only going to tell you this once: The whole wide world is always three drinks behind.

That is why everyone is insane, nuts and incredibly kooky. Forget about eating your five fruit and vegetables a day. What about drinking five cocktails a day or five different beers from five different countries? If everyone participated in a 'Drink your five a day' campaign, I'm certain that the world would be a better place.

Liquor in the bloodstream soothes the soul and loosens the tongue... In my case that is a dangerous combination, I'm a liability when I'm sober. That's Scott's opinion of me, only yesterday he said "Rogue, you're becoming a liability." I told him that I didn't care, rudeness and sarcasm comes hand in hand nowadays. Like Vodka and coke, Lennon and McCartney or brussel sprouts and a trash can... Rogue, Rudeness and sarcasm, we're a force to be reckoned with.

Alcohol, booze, liquor, hootch, moonshine, the hard stuff or sauce. What do you call the drink that you pour down your neck for medicinal purposes?

I call it breakfast, lunch and dinner. I've already told you that I'm a liability, a hang-over, a javelin, an unconscious Cyclops and you're branded for life. I'm never going to hear the end of it, but it was all Scott's fault, I told him I was feeling unwell. He wants us to be well trained X-men, with an array of skills that an Olympic gold medallist would be proud of. Me? I'm allergic to sports, especially those that involve trips to the emergency room. Sure, Scott was the patient and I was the witness and the evident cause of the accident, but hospitals give me the creeps.

I didn't spot one doctor that resembled Gregory House and my life is a length of rope that could easily be contorted into a noose. I'm not good with my hands though, if today's catastrophe is to be believed. Who would have thought that a mutant with a javelin could be a potential hazard to those that grate on her nerves. Of course I didn't do it on purpose, and he only lost Jean seven months ago.

I would never kick a man when he's down. Knock him out with a javelin you say? Um, I plead the fifth.

"I'll have another please Joe." I call to the middle aged bartender, with his middle aged spread, walrus moustache and thinning hair. Oh, and he has an earring too, for those of you that like the finer details in life... It's tough, my vision is blurring and I'm seeing double.

"A double?" Joe asks, as polite as always. He might be a six foot five inches biker dude, who happened to win this ram-shackled old bar in a fight. But, he's a lovely man and his tattoos are awesome. "It's gone twelve you know."

That means... "Yes, happy hour!"

I really do need to get a life, I'm dawdling through a land of make believe, with super heroes, the bad guys and mutations. This is the only outlet I have, if I told a shrink about the inner workings of my mind, I would be in a straitjacket quicker then you can say 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.'

I only know one Peter and he doesn't like Peppers. I'll ask him to recite the poem later, maybe then he would at least embrace a pepper without turning green.

"Thanks Joe."

He places the two tall glasses, filled to the brim with vodka, coke and no ice in front of me. I've had enough of Bobby Drake this week, teenage boys are idiots and the less I see of him the better. I don't want to set eyes on any male I... Is that Logan?

No, it can't be. I haven't seen him since Jean died, he left shortly after. I turn back to my drinks and lick my lips in anticipation. Which one should I drink first?

Someone sits beside me in the empty stool, as I watch out of the corner of my eye and sip my watery victim... Jeez, that sounds so unjust and wrong... I'm sipping my delicious...

"Beer." A familiar voice grunts.

Oh. My. God

Oh. My. God!

Oh. My. God!

I slam the glass down, spilling the drink slightly and drenching my green silk glove. I count to ten, take a deep breath and twirl around. "You!?" I cry, pointing at a man I didn't think I would ever see again. "You, you're... I'm... Oh my God... It's... Just go away."

"I take it you didn't miss me then, Kid?" Logan snorts, dressed in a red shirt, casual denim jeans and his leather jacket. I haven't missed his lips twitching into a smirk or his arched eyebrow either.

I gaze around the bar looking for a pretty red head. "What you lookin' for?"

"The woman that you're trying so desperately to impress. I want to give her my sincerest apologies before she gets involved with you." I reply, ignoring his look of surprise and concentrating on my drink instead. Come to momma precious, that's a good girl.

"You piss drunk? Pissed off? Or both?" Logan questions, never one for beating around the bush.

I greedily slap my lips together and slurp the remainder of my drink. This is not how I envisioned my night of high-jinks ending, this is tragic and I won't stand for it.

"Go back to Canada."

"Kid." He sighs tiredly, sipping his beer and readying himself for an argument.

"I'm not a kid!" I snarl, woozily standing to my feet and searching my pockets for my I.D. "Where did I..."

"You lookin' for this?"

"Hey! That's mine!"

"Its fake." Logan scoffs, shaking his head while I watch my beautiful I.D disappear into his jacket pocket. "If you leave stuff lying around someone's gonna take it."

"And by someone, you mean you?" I slowly sit down and a million and one drunken plans to free my fake I.D from his evil clutches fill my scrambled brain.

"Yeah."

My sarcastic nature is aching to butt heads with this... Uh, butt head. "So, you came all the way here to take my I.D?"

"Nope, came all this way to see how you're doin'." Logan responds gruffly, watching me closely for any signs of his treasured Marie.

"Well I'm honoured but tonight's really not convenient." I whisper, the drink flowing heavily in my veins and finally doing its job thankfully. I don't know how much more of this trip down memory lane I can take. "Please leave me alone."

"Rogue, don't you think you've had enough?" Joe interrupts, eyeing me with concern."You're on your last legs, liquor wise."

I glare at both these meddling men and lean against Logan's shoulder as I hoist myself up. "Both of you need to... Dammit!" I stagger backwards and almost crash to the floor, yet again I'm saved from danger by my reluctant knight in shining adamantium. Ugh, I hate being in debt to feral, bad tempered mutants. "Just give us both a beer Joe and yes it'll be my last!

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." I respond testily, I'm fed up with hearing that question."And stop being nice to me."

"Why?" Logan inquires suspiciously, his hazel eyes narrowing.

I sit on my battered stool and scowl. "Because you're not nice to anyone." And I killed Jean, I add silently and everyone knows it. I attempted to fly the jet, I crashed and burned and I'm not hero material. I killed Jean, I killed Jean, I killed Jean, I killed Jean!

"There somethin' you're not tellin' me?"

My eyes meet the Wolverine's for a second and I hastily look away. "Yes, I don't like brussel sprouts."

I'm on my feet again and darting towards the door, before I've even given my plan a seconds thought. Even my aching limbs can leap over a passed out drunk and run through the only exit. I need to get away from Logan, away from New York and away from Jean Grey's ghost. She's haunting my dreams, my nightmares and my mind.

My name is Rogue, I'm a nineteen year old murderess, I like Vodka and coke, I hate brussel sprouts and this is my story.