A/N:

Ooh, boy, so, the author of this story (Me =]) FORGOT to mention in the first chapter that the whole Bobby VS. John part-o-da-story was a semi-sorta flashback. I apologize.

To make things easier, I've italicized the flashback parts.

And I don't own the X-Men, and I don't own Rogue&John.

Not Worth the Save

Chapter 2

Pyro put out the cigarette he had been smoking as he gazed outside the window of Rogue's apartment. He had smashed it against the window pane, and then flung it down all three floors. He exhaled faint smoke out of his mouth, and the cooling sensation of kissing fire made his relax. He was tense. He was always tense. Not because someone was after him, not because he wasn't suppose to be where he was, but because of her. He bent back and stared through the open door into her bedroom. She wasn't where she was, when ten minutes ago he'd seen her asleep on that fit-for-two bed of hers, with the covers lying carelessly around her. He couldn't deny it, she'd look so…tempting. Even asleep, he wanted to be close to her, wanted to claim her as his. Where was she?

He reached into his pocket for his lighter, but quickly stowed it away on a nearby desk when he felt two arms wrap around his waist, gentle, soft.

"You said you'd quit," she whispered, quietly drawling, setting his insides ablaze. He felt her forehead pinned against his back. "I love you, John."

"I know," he replied shortly, pulling her arms away. He checked his watch briefly. "I gotta go."

With that, he stole away from her, not even glancing at the surprised and apprehensive expression on her face, and left. She turned back just in time to hear him shut the door quietly. Outside, he stopped in place, and considered the last two minutes. He was mean, simply put. Everytime he'd ache for her to be with him, and when she was, he'd push her away and leave, separating them by miles, for hours. Was this a relationship? It seemed that their "relationship" was mostly composed of silent moments. Sure, he'd hold her hand, most of the time they made out, and the other times were just…uhm, pleasurable. He wanted Rogue. He really did. Pushing current thoughts out of his mind, he stalked down the staircase.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He'd watched her for an hour, while she stood by the window, grabbing things from everywhere and stuffing it into a suitcase. He'd waited past the entrance of many people – Wolverine, Iceman, Storm – until she was alone. Then he made his entrance. Getting into her room was easy, and when she had her back to him, deciding what to take out of her cabinet, he wrapped one warm arm around her waist and cupped her mouth to silence any possible scream. He could feel her jolt to caution, trying to get a corner-eye view of the person who'd jumped her.

"You saved my life," he whispered gently into her ear. The breath made her run on fire, but she felt the chill of cold behind it. He wasn't thanking her in any way.

"I saved you from an ass-kicking," she replied, removing his arm from around her and pushing his hand away. He caught her even stronger, even though it hurt his bandaged shoulder, he held her tight, and pushed against the hanging garments in her closet.

"You talk a lot for someone I can snap in two in, y'know', two seconds."

"Get – off – me, John!" she hissed quietly, pushing him away once again, and turning to face him.

It was the first time she'd really seen him up close. He wasn't smiling, not even smirking. He looked blankly at her, no emotion at first, but she knew she was showing a lot of emotion. Just like anger, and maybe some embarrassment about him and her being that close to each other. She'd never even hugged him before, or done anything besides a slap on the hand, a punch on the arm, and a tap on the shoulder. She had never even shaken his hand. He was staring at her intently, but there was no purpose beyond the dead stare. He moved forward, gritting his teeth slowly, so they were shaded by the dim lighting, and the depths of the darkened closet. His eyes stared down at the floor, but hers were pasted onto his.

"What if I don't?" he asked in dangerously low tones.

His lips traced on hers. There was no sloppy kiss, not even a deepened one. It was a brush against her lips, just tracing friction. She didn't move at all. He backed away. Still, it was a kiss.

"Tell me, Rogue. What do you want me to do?" He looked at her now, carefully staring into her, demanding answer. She didn't say anything. He breathed down to her, then took a step back, turned and headed back for the exit door – her window. He was about to arch up, get outta the place he'd run from and betrayed, when he heard her quiet reply.

It was enough for him.

"Stay."

Pause as he straightened up.

"Please."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He was in his apartment now, checking what he knew was an empty fridge and flicking on the lights in the darkened place. He shifted to his room, where he backed up against the wall and fell to a sitting position upon his single bed. Quiet. Peace. Damn, the day was mocking him. He had realized that he'd left his pack of cigarettes at Rogue's, and had nothing in the fridge to drink to ease his mind. He bent his right knee slightly and searched into his pocket for his lighter. It wasn't there. He sighed slight, sitting, knowing he'd left it at Rogue's as well. He definitely had to work on his exit strategies. He couldn't do anything about that now, and he needed to seriously sort things out in his mind.

It was a thought that had crossed his mind many times before – breaking up with Rogue. Maybe they just weren't suppose to be together. His life was what he called adventurous, but what others called hazardous to health, maybe even hazardous to sanity. He'd never be the good guy. He'd never be the one who'd talk and do the couple stuff. He was harsh as life carved him, and cold as Magneto had perfected him. He gave up on the hope he used to waste on things he knew inside would never happen to him. He'd lost meaning as to why people trusted people. He'd learned to stop caring. And that love was for stupid people.

But, on the other hand, Rogue was the one who did all the stuff he couldn't do, or wouldn't do on principle. She cared for him, when he was wounded or when he just "looked" like he needed it. She trusted him so much it was scary. She had hope in him and it was her who was able to penetrate the defenses he put up, defenses of harshness and coldness, and despite any insult he'd throw at her, anytime he'd just leave without saying anything, she'd still let him into her apartment, still accept his apologies, still let him take her hand and kiss her on the lips. She'd even kiss back, and there'd be no discussion about his actions at all.

It was the thing that made him constantly ponder: Why is she with me? Is she tied to me somehow?

Unable to bear the silence and the lack of lighter, he jumped up and walked out of his apartment, slapping the lightswitch off and shutting the door behind him. He took the steps down two at a time – elevators weren't his thing – and pre-thought what he'd say to Rogue when he went back to her apartment.

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Rogue sat quietly at the counter infront of her kitchen. She was leaning on the table, reading a newspaper idly and taking small sips of coffee from a cup. But as she was midway past turning the page of her newspaper, she dropped the whole thing and slammed the cup she was drinking from onto the table. Weakly, and dropped her head into her now folded arms and cried. She didn't know why, but she did. Pyro drove her crazy sometimes, and not in what was considered a "good" way. She'd tried everything to get past his stubbornness, to get him to open to her, to let him realize how much she loved him, but he wouldn't give. He wouldn't even say it back. Five months into a relationship and he still hadn't told her that. There was, "I care about you" and "I want to be with you" and "I want you to be mine" but no "I love you". This guy had issues with commitment.

Finally calming herself and screaming mental curses in Pyro's way, she reached out with one hand, and accidently knocked her coffee cup off the counter. She jumped a little as she came in contact with it, and cringed as she heard it break into pieces against the floor. Pulling herself, she moved to inspect the damage. Just a few shards, some big and sharp, others tiny. Also, a small puddle of coffee. Easy enough to clean up. Bending down, she picked up the big shards first, placing them into her left hand. She walked over to the trashcan, stepped on the pedal that pulled the lid up, and took one of the pieces that were almost falling. Big mistake, the pressure caused one of the pieces beneath to slice her skin.

"Shit!" she bit off, dropping the whole thing into the trash. She examine her cut up hand, which was seeping off blood into a wet base of coffee.

Reaching to her left, she grabbed at a kitchen towel and wiped off the blood and coffee. She cast off the towel onto the counter after she was done, and stalked over to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her and searching for what she needed. She stopped, bent over, and listened as she heard someone turned the door knob and walk in, shutting it quietly. Then, her name called out –

"Rogue?" asked the voice, slightly pitched in search of her.

She popped her head out of the bathroom, carrying a first aid kit in her uninjured hand, and staring at Pyro, who was behind the counter, just before what she knew was the broken cup and spilt coffee. He was holding the kitchen towel, which had some blood smeared across a part of it in a blot-like line. He moved swiftly to her and took her hand, staring at the cut, which was now seeping some more blood.

"I'm fine," she said in a low voice, tugging away. He wouldn't let her go. Touching her face, causing her knees to tremble, he traced a dried tear.

"No, you're not," he said forcefully. Let go of her hand, he added, "I'm not either."

"Why?" she asked coldly, walking to the couch and seating herself.

He followed her and sat across, watching her fiddle with a cottonball and a disinfectant bottle. He finally took both items from her grasp and applied to liquid to the cottonball, offering his hand to her. She placed her bleeding one in it and he cleaned it carefully, glancing at her cringe as the wound stung badly.

"We're not happy," he stated sadly.

"Well, I think I know that I'm happy," she said, searching the first aid kit for bandages while he cleaned her wound thoroughly.

She slammed the thing shut, unable to find them. Pyro pulled out a roll from infront of him, which was behind the kit, and unseen by Rogue. He wrapped the bandages around her hand with a touch that was so soft, she could melt.

"I don't make you happy," he said.

"No," she agreed slowly. "Not always," she added sincerely. "But you do," she said even more sincerely. Then, with as much sincerity as she could conjure up, she said, "And I love you." Now her tone was soft, when she added, not accusingly, "You're the one who had problems with saying those words."

"I've told you before why I just don't throw those words around –"

"Do you think I throw those words around?" she asked, offended.

He smiled slightly. "Rogue?" She wouldn't look at him. "Marie?" She still wouldn't look at him. "Baby," he said soothingly, and she finally looked. "I know you care about me. You care so much, I'm dumbfounded as to what I did to deserve it. And I care a lot about you too. It goes without saying, y'know, what I feel towards you. I care about you dearly."

"It's not the same as loving me."

"I just – I just don't want to say something and get your hopes up, then end up hurting you."

She smiled now, a seducing tone in her voice, "Are you planning on hurting me?"

"I'd never lay a finger on you," he replied. Then he stopped, finally done with the bandaging, and immediately realizing what she'd been implying. "Damn, I never get these things," he said, laughing slightly. She joined him.

"Don't worry, John," Rogue said, leaning closer. He shifted the first aid kit to the coffee table infront of them so she could fall into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she bent her head back to lean on his strong shoulders. "I know you'd never hurt me." She took one of his hands in hers. "But are you planning on breaking my heart?"

"It's not like I'm planning to, or that I even want to," he said, fumbling with the words. He gave up. Then, he added, his mouth close to her ear, in a soft voice, "I'd die to protect you."

His warm breath against her ear made her shiver slightly. He felt her do so, and smiled. She turned to face him, and he pulled her forward into a kiss. He wanted her badly now. And, by the way she let him push her down onto the couch, she wanted him badly too. He wouldn't let her lips go, kissing her passionately, expressing how much he did love her. He moved down to her neck, and she panting now, gasping with pleasure as one of his hands traced around the insides of her thighs.

"Johnny?" she asked, panting.

"Hmm?"

"Bedroom. Now."

A/N:

alexmonalisa: yes, yes, ofcourse I understand =p

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