Title: Not Your Girl
Summary: Rogue makes a bid for independence after she finds love with someone unexpected, but Logan isn't willing to accept that she doesn't want him anymore.
Major Characters: St. John, Rogue, Logan,
Minor Characters: Jubilee, Kitty, Scott, Bobby
Pairings: Rogue/Pyro, one-sided!Logan/Rogue
Setting: AU Post-X3. Most of the fic carries on from X3 (Alcatraz attack, the existence of the cure) but with a few differences: Scott survived Jean's return as Phoenix, Rogue never took the cure, and Pyro never left the school.
A/N: Instead of emphasizing the crush on Rogue's part, this fic is mainly one-sided (Logan's POV) Logan/Rogue. I wanted to try something a little different, and hopefully pulled it off. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think and how it can be improved.
It's been a couple of days since I let Rogue go. Of course, I've never really left her -- I'm always a room away, close enough to hear her voice when she laughs at St. John's jokes, near enough to hear her breathing fall shallow as he reaches in, takes hold of the sheer scarf she's started wearing habitually, and pulls it across her lips before he kisses her. No matter how many times I bear silent witness to that act, it never stops hurting and yet somehow can I never get enough. I find myself leaning in the doorway as her gloved hands roam his skin and her eyes flutter closed. Watching him kiss her makes me want to go on a mindless rampage and attack everything in sight, especially him, but I keep still, trying to deny the jealousy and the voice in my head that never stops prompting me forward.
Now, they are in one of the recreation rooms where she and Bobby used to play table hockey and watch movies snuggled on the couch. Drake is old news and he knows it. I've seen him sniffing around Kitty lately and that suits me fine. It's made her stop hovering anyway, and she no longer concentrates on getting to partner with me when I'm trying to teach them how to fight and survive. I almost miss the distraction of her jarring perfume though. No matter how hard I try, I can't keep my eyes off Rogue during the danger room simulations. I automatically follow her path through the simulations, hunting her down, though I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on all of the kids. It would be easier if Kitty and Jubes had kept up their squawking battle about who gets me, but since Kitty's backed off I'm automatically stuck with Jubilee. She's a handful, cracking her gum and constantly slipping behind the others because she just doesn't care enough, but I know Rogue is glad for that, since it stops me from following her through the sims. Hell, maybe it was Rogue who put her up to it. Jubes used to exhibit some talent in the danger room.
Rogue is watching TV, some mindless program the students watch religiously which follows the lives of some arrogant, superficial kids who've never encountered a single problem in their entire sheltered lives. The students love it. It distracts them from their own situations, the mutations they possess, the families that don't want them anymore. St. John, predictably, is watching Rogue instead of the TV. Can't blame him for that, she's far more fascinating than the show they have on. It bothers me when he slides closer to her, casually resting his arm on the seat behind her. She smiles at him distractedly and I take a step into the room.
"Hey, baby," Pyro whispers right under my nose, one hand trailing up Rogue's thigh. Whoa, stop right there, bub, I think, but I can't say a word or I'll give myself away. I watch as Rogue absentmindedly scoots away, still intent on the crap on TV. She looks tense. Her expression hasn't changed but her posture has. She straightens up and crosses her legs demurely, sliding to the right to create a gap between herself and her boyfriend. His hand falls to her knee and I relax a little, but then he moves over again, pressing her between him and the armrest. She has no place to go.
"What's the matter?" he breathes into her ear, causing her hair to flutter. He kisses the side of her face for one daring moment, not bothering to use the scarf as a barrier. Part of me is cheered when I see the pull in action, stealing color from his face. I hope she'll drain him dry and let him crumple dead to the floor, but he moves off for a second and then dives right back in, kissing her neck. I frown. He's done this before, that much is plain from his ease around her. He doesn't pull away in horror as her mutation activates; he hardly seems to notice.
"John," Rogue says, finally tearing her eyes from the television. She takes his hand firmly in her own, preventing him from stroking her leg. Her smile is forced. "Please stop." His fingers curl around hers but she lets go then, twisting a little to the side to avoid him.
Good girl, I want to say. Her cold reaction does nothing to sate St. John's obvious lust, however. His skin looks hot and moist, perspiration shining on his forehead. His gaze is heavy with desire as his eyes travel over her body, drinking in the sight. She is wearing a green sweater today, so thin it is practically transparent. I can hear Pyro's breath quicken as his gaze drops her to breasts. His hand slips up to cup her left breast through her shirt and she shudders. "Stop it!"
"What?" He doesn't get it, that she doesn't want to be touched.
She meets his eyes and gives him a look that passes between them for a few seconds. Slowly, Pyro turns his head. When he sees me, he sneers. I realize, with a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach, it isn't that she doesn't want him, it's just that she doesn't want me to see. Laughing, St. John turns his back on me. He reaches his hand under Rogue's shirt, possessively touching her through her bra, flaunting his ability to put his hands on her when all I can do is watch, on fire from jealousy and desire of my own. As I watch, she bites her lip and turns red. Before she can say anything, he kisses her completely without finesse, claiming her lips for himself, experience evident in his motions. My hands curl into fists but Rogue rebuffs his advances before I can do anything.
"Don't, John," Rogue instructs him. Her voice is high and reedy with arousal, but her face is flushed pink. I can't avert my eyes and she appears to notice, because she shoves him off of her and makes a disappointed face.
Pyro looks at her with hurt eyes, but his grin is mocking. "What, is it because of Wolverine?" he sneers. "You don't want him to watch us, do you? Too bad. I've got news for you, baby, he's quite the voyeur. This isn't the first time." He reaches over to her shirt, unbuttoning the top button to expose a glimpse of creamy flesh. My breath stops. "He's watched you since you two first arrived here. Everywhere we turn, it's Wolverine waiting outside of the classroom, Wolverine listening at your door. He knows what we do. I think he likes watching you." Pyro snickers cruelly. I decide to kill him the next time he doesn't have Rogue with him. "Let's give him a show, if that's what he wants." Another button falls upon under his deft touch, and I step in.
"The lady said no, bub." My claws extend of their own accord, the points only a few centimeters from St. John's face. I fight to get my breathing under control and avoid the thoughts that tempt me to simply slit his throat and take my girl back. I settle for glaring. "You got that?"
"Anything you say, Wolverine," Pyro drawls sarcastically, his mouth twisted. He gets to his feet, one hand held out to Rogue. "C'mon, baby, let's find ourselves someplace where we can be alone." His glare is mean as he looks me over, but I can tell he's scared too. St. John puts up a good front, presenting himself differently from most of the other kids, but I can smell fear, and it isn't coming from Rogue. "Don't know why you stopped us," he spits towards me venomously. "It's not like you'll ever get to do the things I do to her. All you can do is watch. Spoiled a good opportunity to do just that, the way I see it."
My hands shake with fury but my aim is perfect as my claws seek out his throat. His chest heaves as I touch the sharp tips of my claws against his throat. Applying no pressure, I don't break the skin, but I know he'll have tiny telltale bruises tomorrow where the metal presses against his skin. I itch to drive my claws straight through his neck, but Rogue is looking at me intently, her eyes pleading. I retract my claws. "Get the hell out of here," I demand, sneering down at St. John.
"Come on, Rogue," he utters when he finds his voice. His words emerge shaky, still tainted with fear, but I have to give the kid credit for his courage. He holds his ground a moment more, reaching out for Rogue. "Let's go."
Rogue doesn't move. She shakes her head imperceptibly, her eyes traveling from my face to Pyro's as if weighing the options. "Go on ahead," I advise Pyro, knowing that if he hangs around another minute, throwing it in my face that Rogue loves him best, I'll kill him, and not even Rogue's screams will be able to hold me back.
Jamming his hands into his pockets, he glares at me. He spares Rogue a questioning glance but her eyes are on me, so he turns and shuffles out of the room, radiating hatred.
"Sorry," I say to the girl before me. I've gone and done it again, interfered with her life. She will always be a kid to me, as she was the first time I set eyes on her, but to the rest of the world she doesn't have much longer before she gains adult status. I can scent her lingering arousal in the air; she wanted St. John, would have had him if I hadn't kept such close tabs on her and invaded her privacy.
She shakes her head and I watch her relax, leaning back against the couch. Her breathing resumes a regular rhythm, though the red spots on her cheeks don't fade. "S' okay."
"Can I sit with you?" There is no one else in the recreation room, no one to infringe on a moment in her presence. She hasn't ignored me exactly, but lately she has been distant. Preoccupied, maybe, always with St. John from morning until night. I've followed her everywhere, but she hasn't paid me any mind, only occasionally acknowledging me when we pass in the halls and not stopping for conversation. I've missed her.
"Yeah." She pats the space beside her on the couch, her eyes on the TV again. A commercial is playing and someone is singing an annoying jingle that will probably get stuck in my head if I listen too long. As if she notices, she lowers the volume until it is inaudible.
I sink down beside her slowly. The seat is still warm from St John's body heat and I feel bad, not for running the little prick off but for being in Rogue's life when she doesn't want me. She has been good to me, putting up with my temper and eccentricity. Hell, I stabbed her through the chest not long after we met and she has never even tried to make me feel guilty about it, although of course I have. "Anything good on TV?" I inquire, trying to make conversation so she won't lapse into silence and ignore me.
"Nah." She clicks the remote, silencing the TV in the middle of a car rental commercial. "I can't concentrate on this crap." She stretches her arms and I feel the couch shift slightly as she gets to her feet. "Guess I'll have a walk before dinner. I've been inside all day, I could use the fresh air." I stay where I am, not asking to accompany here, because I'm pretty sure it's an excuse to go find Pyro and carry on what they started, and I don't want her to have to lie to me about that. She gives me a funny look though and smiles. "You can come with if you want."
"Better idea," I counter, thinking longingly of Scott's bike, which I've come to think of as my own. "Let me buy you an ice cream cone. You're up for a ride, aren't you?" She looks at me in shock and I can't help but laugh. "On the bike," I amend. "Are you up for taking out the bike?"
"Yeah!"
Excitement shines in her eyes as she nods vigorously. It is the first emotion she has displayed towards me in days aside from anger and sadness. Her reaction draws a smile from my lips and I feel a little notion of superiority, thinking of Pyro sulking in his bedroom upstairs. Taking her hand, I lead her towards the garage. Cyke is there, working on one of his cars, but he barely raises an eyebrow as Rogue swings one leg over the bike and settles in. Maybe he has just gotten used to my possessiveness towards his toys; more likely he doesn't want to spoil Rogue's time by arguing. They've always been friends. Either way, I'm thankful, enough that I might even fill the thing up with gas before we head back.
The bike roars to life and I rev it up for good measure, sending a deafening sound ricocheting through the garage. Scott spares us a perturbed glance, shaking his head ruefully before reaching into his tool-kit. I don't make a habit of spending time with him -- we got off on the wrong foot and the situation has never really righted itself despite all we've been through -- but I'm relieved to see him outside, his face not the mask of grief it's been over the past weeks. Losing Jean all but killed him, but he's getting better.
"Are we going?" Rogue shouts over the roar of the engine.
In response, I flip the kickstand up and rev the bike again. We take off with a sudden jolt. Rogue releases a little scream that dissolves into laughter and her arms tighten around my waist. We meander down the driveway, but when we reach the road I can't help but open it up, urging the bike faster because for every extra increment of speed, Rogue's hold on me is stronger. Her hair whips behind us like a flag, her hands securely nestled near my stomach.
We arrive in town too quickly. I savor the feel of her arms hooked around my waist, hanging on desperately, and the sensation of her leaning against my back, her chin tucked over my shoulder so she can see. I ease the bike around a curve and pull in to little ice cream store where the kids from Xavier's like to gather during their rare outings behind the confines of the school.
"Think this place has beer?" I ask.
Rogue shakes her head in amusement. "Don't suppose so," she replies. "We can go somewhere else if you like. I don't expect you to ruin your big, bad Wolverine image by hanging out in an ice cream parlour with the kiddies."
"That could do serious damage to my reputation," I agree in mock seriousness. "I promised you ice cream though, so it's your call. Don't want you to think I lured you away from the school to get you drunk."
"Over there," Rogue decides, pointing to one of the town's taverns. A neon sign flashes from one dusty window, advertising Molsons's -- my kind of place. "You can get me drunk anytime," she remarks easily. She laughs at the expression on my face as her comment catches me off guard. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she beams up at me, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Would it sound better if I said I could use a burger?"
"What ever way you want it, kid," I answer back as we slip into the usual banter. She doesn't seem angry with me. I catch hold of her hand and she permits it, even letting me intertwine my fingers with hers possessively. "Didn't mean to piss you off back there," I tell her as we walk across the street. "St. John," I continue as she gives me a questioning look. "It wasn't any of my business. Guess I need some lessons in keeping my distance."
"Nah, it's fine," she retorts easily.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
I hold the door open for her, the one gentlemanly gesture in my repertoire. She glides in easily, not shrinking away as she brushes against me. Her smile is irrepressible and I don't get it, don't understand why. I've forced my way into her life since picking her up on the side of the road, but she doesn't seem angry. "I'm tryin', kid."
"Trying what?"
To figure out some way to live without you, I think. "To get used to you and the match stick."
"Don't worry about it, Logan," she tells me.
We step into the smoky gloom of the bar. It is basically deserted at this early hour, but a few die-hard customers linger at the bar and the shabby pool table. There is a menu board with the specials written in neon pink pen, a couple of pinball machines in the back. Like always, I take note of the way out and an alternate escape route. I might not have many memories, but I have instinct, and it rarely fails me.
"You okay?" Rogue asks me after a moment.
"Yeah, why?"
She shrugs. "You're awfully quiet."
I reach into my jacket pocket and take out a cigar. Staring reflectively into the flame that burns on the tip of the match, I light it. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
I'm thinking about Laughlin City, actually, and the first time I saw her, but I don't want to tell her that so I merely shake my head and inhale the strong smoke of my cigar. I can still remember exactly what she looked like the first time I laid eyes on her. She looked haunted. Her face was lean with the look of someone who hadn't had a decent meal for a long time and her eyes were fearful, drinking in the unfamiliar sights of the cage-fight and the bar. She looked utterly out of place, swimming in the oversized green parka that obscured her shape. Her hair was completely brown then, no pale streaks, but her face hasn't really changed since the day I reluctantly pulled over and let her into the cab of the truck.
A waitress comes up, disturbing my thoughts, and takes our orders for burgers and fries. I get a beer and Rogue orders a coke, but before the woman can turn away I add two shots of the house whiskey. Rogue isn't technically old enough to drink, but the Xavier's staff tend to turn a blind eye to that sort of thing among the older crowd. They've proven themselves by now, followed the demanding schedule of training and classes for years, accompanied the team on various high-profile missions, and no one but Scott makes much of an issue about one of the students having alcohol on their breath. I'm pretty sure he'll look the other way where Rogue's concerned, and anyway it's worth the lecture he'll give me to see her face light up.
"Here." I slide one of the shots across the table to her and she picks it up without hesitation. My aim isn't to get her drunk, though I'm not adverse to it if she's willing, but I know she loves that acknowledgement that she isn't just a kid in my eyes.
"Yeah?" she asks questioningly, raising the shot to her lips. I peer over the edge of my shot glass, watching the amber liquid pour down her throat. She doesn't cough or wimp out, and I feel a surge of pride. My girl.
The food arrives and there is a lull in the conversation. It doesn't last long. "You're sure you aren't mad at me for buttin' in again?" I ask. Normally I'm not this insecure, but she is my stability and I'm still unsure what she thinks of me.
"No, I'm not mad at you at all. Really, Logan, I'm not." She smiles at me and it is a sincere smile, reflected in her eyes. "I didn't stop John just because you were there, you know."
"No?"
"No. Look, I really like him, I mean, I can talk to him about just about anything and he understands. John was the person I went to when I first suspected Bobby was interested in Kitty. Everyone else told me I was crazy, but he actually listened. I can't help but appreciate that. This afternoon, though, he was actually getting on my nerves before you even came in. I'm not used to all this -- physical stuff," she adds with a blush. "Obviously, I mean, my skin is dangerous, so I haven't had a lot of experience with that. John has. I know it's been on his mind and I thought maybe it would work out for the good. Touching is exactly what I've wanted for so long. Only, it's turned out that I'm just not as ready as I thought I was. The fact that you were there was just a convenient excuse because I really didn't want to disappoint him."
"Kid. Rogue." I reach across the small table, taking hold of both of her hands and looking her straight in the eye. "You could never be a disappointment to anybody."
"Easy for you to say," she remarks disdainfully, but she doesn't pull out of my grasp. "It's impossible, you know. I really hoped it would work out between me and John, but I already know how it will end up. Sooner or later, he's going to break up with me the way Bobby did. I know he loves me, but I can't touch him or get close to him, and pretty soon he'll find a girl who can. There's nothing I can do about that, and I guess I have to face it. I'm never going to be enough for anybody, not with all the limitations."
I shake my head and grip her hands harder. "Don't say that. You're -- how can anyone think you're not all they ever wanted and more?"
As if she doesn't hear me, she continues. "Sometimes I think I should have taken the cure." She gives me a look that silences me when I try and protest. "I know, they've discovered that it doesn't last. I've heard about the negative side effects, the reactions, the allergies. Still, sometimes I think it would have been worth it for the temporary happiness. You have no idea what it's like, to balance being utterly alone with the privilege of touching someone, knowing if I give in, they'll have to pay." She sighs, her eyes faraway. "Sometimes I still think about being in that line, you know. I waited forever to get near the entrance, but when it was my turn to go in, I chickened out. Nobody new about the harmful effects; I don't know what kept me from just taking it. I guess it was your voice in my head." She smiles wearily. "I never thanked you for that."
"You don't have to," I assure her. "I'm just glad you didn't go through with it." In the ashtray, the last of cigar disappears in ashes. "Whatever you believe, you have to know it wouldn't have been worth it. Just think if you had taken it and I'd walked in and seen some guy pawing you. I'd have to kill him, and that would just about ruin everything," I inform her, trying to lighten her mood. She smiles a little, finally. "You don't have to give up your powers to find someone who loves you," I go on, my voice more serious.
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "You?"
"Yeah," I confirm, nodding. "I love you, Marie. I wasn't lying when I told you that before."
"But," she stares up at me quizzically. "I've seen your memories in my head." She doesn't go further, but I know what she's talking about: the one night stands, the nameless fucks in the alley after the bar closes, cheap motels.
"None of that mattered," I assure her. "There's a reason none of it was very memorable. Look, I won't deny it. Every time I look at your lips I want to kiss you, even when you're shouting at me to leave you alone, but I'm not just after sex. The Professor has said when you're ready he'll work with you on control, so you don't have to settle for me if I'm not what you want, but you do need to know I love you, and I will always love you even if there is no way around your mutation. You know I've never been afraid to touch you."
"Yeah, and I've watched you suffer the consequences," she adds. Her expression is grim, filled with self-loathing even though she can't help the effects of touching her.
"That's what healing abilities are for," I joke, shrugging. "It's worth every bit of pain, believe me."
She takes a deep breath and after a moment excuses herself to go outside for a breath of fresh air. I'm half-convinced she's going to find a pay-phone and call someone at the mansion to pick her up, but after I pay the bill I find her standing on the sidewalk under the awning of the bar, simply waiting.
"Sorry," she says to me as we step out into the sunlight. "Just needed to breathe."
"I understand." Glancing over to make the bike is where I left it, I gingerly take her hand. I don't want to return to the mansion just yet; I'm enjoying her company and the absence of noisy kids and her pesky boyfriends interrupting constantly, but I know I can't keep her with me against her will. "Ready to head back?"
"No."
Her answer surprises me, as I figured she would welcome the opportunity to put some distance between us and not have to deal with everything I said. I've surprised myself, with all the sappy words I told her over our meal that sounded more like Scott's typical conversation than mine, but they were all true. I'm even more surprised when she lets me wrap an arm around her shoulders and momentarily rest my cheek against her soft hair.
"I've got plenty of cash," I announce before I can stop myself. "We could take off, go somewhere new for a while. If you want to, of course." I'm certain she will refuse me, but I can't help but try. It's what I've wanted for the longest time, her alone. We haven't been alone together since Sabretooth tossed a broken tree in front of my truck. Since then, it's been the X-men, the constant intrusion of the team's needs and Rogue's friends, and only a few stolen minutes to have her to myself.
She nods. "Okay," she agrees easily.
"You're serious?" I stammer.
"Yeah, if you are." She laughs at me. "John'll probably burn the mansion down when I don't come back right away, and I can look forward to a long lecture by both Ororo and Scott, but it sounds nice, and I could definitely use a vacation from the school right now."
We head back over to the bike and I wonder how Cyke will react when it doesn't come back to him. I decide I don't care; it's more mine than his if usage is any gauge of ownership. Neither of us have packed anything, but I don't dare go back to the mansion, guessing that if we do, St. John will take her out of leaving in a matter of seconds. There is plenty of money in my various accounts, the ones Chuck has set up for me under various fake names, and there is a nice sized wad of cash in my jacket pocket. I settle Rogue in front of me, so she can see where we are going.
"Need to call your boyfriend?" I ask as I settle myself onto the seat behind her.
She teases me, momentarily looking as if she is seriously considering phoning John, but she laughs when she feels me tense behind her. "Nah. He'll live."
I nuzzle against her hair for a moment, drinking in her scent. It is clear of Pyro's smell, the wind having whipped her hair clean of him. She leans back into my arms, letting me kiss the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. For the first time, she doesn't tense up or pull away, and I smile, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other balancing the handlebars. As I rev the bike and steer it down the street, heading due north instead of back to the mansion, I sigh in contentment, holding my girl.
