Chapter Four
Rogue moistened her lips nervously, sparing a quick glance at the large clock gracing the mantle of the common room. It was official; she had been standing outside of the room for ten minutes, and still hadn't managed to gather enough courage to enter. From her position, safely ensconced in the shadows of the doorway, she was at the perfect angle to covertly observe Logan. He was lounging in a recliner in the far corner of the spacious room, eyes fixed moodily on the flames dancing in the nearby fireplace. Cigar in one hand, glass of what looked like scotch in the other, he was the very picture of Byronic misery.
No doubt about it, the loss of Jean Grey had hit him hard.
So secure was she in her lurking abilities, Rogue was caught by complete surprise when Logan's voice echoed throughout the room.
"So," he said, almost conversationally, "you gonna stand out there all day or what?"
Rogue attempted to calm her heart, which had accelerated rapidly at the shock his unexpected acknowledgement inspired. In retrospect, she thought ruefully, she really should have predicted that Logan would have sensed her presence from the moment she approached the room—and several moments before that, no doubt.
Hesitantly, she crossed the floor towards him. The room was empty with the exception of the two of them, and the echo of her footsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the surrounding quiet. It only served to irritate her already strained nerves, and she found herself longing for a time, not so long ago, when this room had been perpetually filled with laughing students.
Nowadays, though, it was officially Logan's territory. He had apparently taken a liking to the room, along with the mansion's state-of-the-art gym and the more wooded areas of the grounds. The students had relinquished the areas willingly; more than happy to lose a few hangouts in exchange for avoiding Logan's wrath.
Rogue honestly couldn't say that she blamed them. She may love the guy, but even she admitted that he wasn't much fun to be around lately.
She reached her destination, perching almost timidly on the loveseat across from him. She tried in vain to suppress her apprehension, realizing that anxiety was pouring off of her in pathetically obvious waves, but it was a losing battle. Logan's wolfish eyes had followed her the whole way, causing her to nearly stumble over the carpet at least twice. She wasn't ready for this confrontation, not by a long shot. Rogue folded her hands in her lap, picking nervously at the soft cotton of her gloves. Why hadn't he said anything yet? He hadn't even acknowledged her since she sat down, instead focusing all of his attention on the glass held loosely in his right hand.
The minutes passed, the ticking of the clock playing hell on her nerves. Maybe he didn't know? He was awfully distracted lately, to say the least; maybe he wouldn't even catch onto her deception. It wasn't as if there were any reason for him to know…
Damn it, she always did this. Whenever she attempted to hide something from Logan, she projected guilt and paranoid discomfort to such an extent that any chance at secrecy was gone before she even had a chance to tell her first lie.
Finally, after a silence that seemed to last for ages, Logan looked up from his drink. One mocking eyebrow
arched as he flared his nostrils meaningfully. "You think you're hiding something, Kid?"
Rogue blanched, her already pale skin going as white as the walls surrounding her, and then blossoming into a deep red flush that, she had no doubt, matched the bricks of the fireplace next to her—maybe even the flames themselves.
As a matter of fact, she had thought she was hiding something. Silly of her to believe an hour long shower would be enough to fool the Wolverine.
Though there was little point, she averted her eyes, affecting ignorance. God, she was a horrible liar, and she absolutely hated lying to Logan… and not just because he could see right through her. Still..."What are you talking about? What would I be hiding?"
'What?' indeed. She had awoken around 10:30 this morning, absolutely horrified to realize that she was still in John's bed. What made the situation even worse was that sometime during the night she had lost her robe, leaving her clothed only in one of her characteristic short silken nightgowns.
She had adopted the skimpy garments out of some silly sense of rebellion--getting a kick out of flaunting her skin at night in bed, the only time that she was free to shed the heavy layers and gloves that swamped her by day. Now, with her powers gone, she continued to wear them. After all this time, she just couldn't get comfortable sleeping in anything else.
God, she had never regretted seeking comfort so much in her life.
Last night's gown was actually one of her favorites: a soft mint green—short and flattering, with a lace-covered bust line and a tendency to ride up even farther as she slept. Which it had. She had decided upon waking that she had never been so humiliated in her life. Of course, that statement had been updated abruptly when she had realized that the warm pillow pressed firmly against her back was most definitely not a pillow, and the arm encircling her waist was just as definitely not a remnant of whatever dream she may have been having. Rogue probably would have lain there in shock for another ten minutes, if John's hand—apparently waking before the rest of him—had not begun to trace ever-widening circles upon her belly.
In the space of a heartbeat, she had been up off of the bed and heading for the door at full speed. Truly, it was a miracle that she hadn't woken him—particularly considering that, in her enthusiasm to get the hell out of there, she had tripped and fallen more times than she wanted to count; the first time in her haste to get off the bed, and several times afterwards as she stumbled over the bedclothes she had apparently kicked off during the night.
After fleeing the room, robe draped haphazardly over her shoulders and one bunny slipper in hand—she had no idea where the other was, and absolutely no intention of sticking around to find out—she had stumbled back to the girls' dormitories through a side passage, thankfully enabling her to avoid the hallway passing through the male dorms, and straight into an hour long shower.
The shower had started out as an attempt to calm her racing nerves, but, as her mind gradually began to function properly, had quickly transformed into a method of shielding the nights activities from her frequently over-protective quasi-guardian. She had gone through half a bottle of body wash in the process.
Some fat lot of good it had done. Now she was out six bucks in soap, and her sinuses were killing her from the forceful odor of lavender and 'sunshine.'
What the hell had motivated her to face Logan today, when the much wiser option would have been to give him a wide berth for at least a week? That damned curious streak of hers, that was what. She wanted to know the whole story of John's release, and she obviously wasn't going to get it from him. What was it about the irritating little firestarter? Whenever he was around, her normally active mental capabilities—to say nothing of her sense of self-preservation—went right out the window.
Rogue steeled herself for the confrontation to come, certain that her practiced pouty lips and doe eyes wouldn't be enough to bail her out this time. Still, they couldn't hurt. She arranged her face into optimal trouble-avoidance position, and then raised teary, pleading eyes to meet what she was sure would be a heart-stopping glare.
But, when she looked up… it wasn't there. No more so than usual, anyway. Oh, Logan looked pissed alright. But he didn't look as though he were planning to sling her over his shoulder, and then lock her in her room while he went to rip to pieces the boy who had dared to defile her. That in itself was shocking. Logan may have been alright with her association with Bobby when she was untouchable, but, now that she was all normal and corruptible, things had taken a decidedly different turn.
The first time that Logan had caught her kissing Bobby, he had sent him on a five-mile run in the rain. But now he wasn't going to even blink at her sleeping in the same bed as the enemy? What the hell was going on in this place all of a sudden? Had the whole mansion gone crazy, and forgotten to send her a memo?
Her utter bemusement must have shown on her face, because Logan let out a sharp bark of laughter, running a hand through his wild hair and then extinguishing his cigar on his palm—one of his favorite 'look how tough and macho I am' moves that never failed to make Rogue's stomach churn. She winced, and he laughed again.
"God, Kid, if you could see your face right now…" flicking the remains of his cigar into the fireplace, he turned to face her. "Come on, you think we'd let that little jackass roam the halls without keeping tabs on him? I was sure you had more sense than that."
Now that she thought about it, it did seem rather ludicrous to imagine otherwise. She shook her head, still confused, and absolutely positive that she was not going to like where he was going with this.
Logan continued despite her lack of response. "That's why we stuck him on that hall. Xavier had the place covered with surveillance cameras. From what 'Ro tells me, he never did trust them ritzy assholes who came to stay here, no matter how much cash they put out." He appeared to be fighting back snickers, and losing, as he turned to face her more fully. "Hate to tell you this, Kid, but you got caught on camera. Nice nightgown, by the way. Went real nice with those little rabbits on your feet."
Holy God. She had thought her face was red before. "You… but you… Jesus Christ… You…" God, she couldn't even form a complete sentence. The humiliation was slowly engulfing her. She could feel the tips of her ears burning just as hotly as the fire off to her side, and it was all she could do not to run from the room and hide under her bed for a week. And, damn him, Logan kept on laughing at her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and latched onto the first coherent thought she could muster. "Why'd you let me stay?"
He managed to control his guffaws at her expense—good thing, too, as she was becoming increasingly tempted to test out that healing factor of his against one of the brass fire-pokers on her far right. He schooled his face into a more serious expression, though laughter still lingered in the back of his eyes. Horrified as she was, she couldn't help but be a tiny bit glad of that. She had been able to make him smile precious few times in the four months since Alcatraz. If he had to do so at her expense, she supposed that she could live with it. Though she sure as hell didn't have to like it.
"Listen, Kid," he said, all traces of humor thankfully gone from his voice. "I told you once that I ain't your father. When the guard manning those cameras called me, you can bet your ass I came close to storming the place and dragging you out by that striped hair of yours. I stood outside the door all night, just waiting and listening for that little dickhead to try something."
She couldn't help but smile a bit, some of the tightness fading from her chest. What he was saying was sweet, in a twisted sort of way, and he just looked so adorably disappointed that he hadn't gotten to slice into John's entrails.
"Point is, you ain't a kid no more. Doesn't mean I'm not going to watch that little bastard like a hawk, but it does meant that I can't force you to stay away from him. Hell, I've known this was coming since the day we brought him back. God knows you ain't stopped badgering me with questions about him since."
Rogue went to protest, and he held up a hand dismissively—only further stirring her resentment.
"Don't bother denying it, Marie. If I'd have let you, you would have been sneaking around security to see him the very first week. Hell, I'm amazed I managed to keep you away this long."
To tell the truth, she couldn't really deny it. Only her respect for Logan, to say nothing of her fear of disappointing him further, had kept her from trying to get a peak at John long before now. Given half a chance it would have been her seeking John out, as opposed to the reverse. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Too much had been thrown at her at once, and she had no idea what to say.
She was angry, and confused, and more than a little hurt. Her time with John had been personal, and, though she could understand the reasoning behind monitoring their interaction, it was a little difficult to maintain objectivity in the face of such blatant invasion of her privacy. The fact that it had been Logan only added insult to injury, and she was hard-pressed to combat the feelings of betrayal rising inside of her. He was the closest thing that she had to any sort of family, and now he was snickering at her humiliation—something that stung more deeply than she cared to admit. He was supposed to take care of her, damn it, and back her up when she was in a situation she couldn't handle. Not laugh at her.
She felt vaguely like she had been tossed out into the cold—not a child anymore, he had said, so none of his concern. There was no logical basis for her hurt, and on some level she realized it. But the conflicting feelings bubbling inside of her were too difficult to deal with right now, and anger, justified or not, was a much easier option.
"Logan, this just doesn't make sense. Any of it. How is it that last month when you caught me kissing Bobby in the garden you hosed us down with a water hose, and now I'm suddenly old enough to spend the night with Pyro?"
He winced, and she went on, distantly aware that the volume of her voice was steadily increasing. A floodgate of emotion had been released; all of the anger and frustration that she had been suppressing for the last four months was pouring out of her uncontrollably, and with no sign of restraint. "And, more importantly, what are you doing even letting him loose? With nothing but an ankle sensor, of all things? Are you stupid, or just so full of your own capabilities that you don't think he could be a threat while you're around?" Jesus, she didn't mean that… Why the hell couldn't she make her mouth stop moving? "Logan, I get that you're having a tough time right now, but are you out of your fucking mind?"
That stopped her, all right. It was all she could do not to clasp her hands to her mouth. She wanted to take back the words, but her pride kept her sitting upright, shoulders drawn back as tears of remorse lodged in her throat.
"Watch your fuckin' mouth," Logan grated, brows drawing together as he stared her down. Finally her ire faded completely, and she looked away. She had never talked to him like that before. He was the only one that had never betrayed her on any level—the only one that she could truly say she trusted implicitly—and she had never, never talked to him that way before. Rogue felt tears of shame gather in the corners of her eyes, and focused all of her attention on not blinking. If she just didn't blink, the tears wouldn't fall. They would dry on her lids, and he'd never see them. God, it was hard not to blink. Logan wasn't talking, and she wasn't talking, and it was so oppressively, horribly quiet, and it was so hard not to blink.
Though she refused to look at him, she was aware of Logan moving as he came over to sit next to her on the couch. He raised a bare hand to her cheek, gently turning her unwilling face to his. He let out a curse at the sight of her tears, one calloused hand staying on her cheek as his free arm went to draw her against his chest. "It's okay, Marie. Just take it easy, alright?"
Rogue nodded, sobs catching in her throat as she pressed her face hard into the soft leather of his jacket. Relief suffused her at the evidence of his forgiveness, even as his understanding made her want to cry harder. He smelled so good; like smoke and liquor and clean air, and it was so familiar and comforting that she felt the pressure that had been steadily rising inside of her for so, so long finally begin to ease. Logan might not be her father, but he was the closest thing she had to it, and, illogical as it was, being held by him made her feel like everything was finally going to be all right.
She finally managed to get a grip on herself, stopping the tears before that had a chance to advance into full-blown bawling, and pulled away reluctantly. "I'm sorry—" she started, and he interrupted her with a firm, but gentle, hand on her shoulder.
"Don't. You ain't got no reason to be sorry." His hand once again found its way to her face, a roughened, calloused thumb briefly tracing the tear tracks on her cheek, before he wrapped an awkward arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his side, and they just sat like that for a while in companionable silence. It was a comfort that she hadn't had in a very long while, and she hadn't even realized until now just how much she had missed it. It was almost disappointing when he began to speak again.
"I'm the one who ought to be apologizing, Kid."
She started to protest, and he shook his head. "No, it's true. I promised you once that I'd take care of you, and I've been too busy thinking about myself to even notice how much you've been hurting."
She didn't really know what to say to that, but she was willing to try if he was.
"No, Logan. You deserve to be selfish. You've been through a hell of a lot more than I have. Any problems that I have, I've made them myself. And the ones that I didn't make myself, I just added to." She rested her head against his arm, breathing in the smell of faded leather. "God, Logan. It's just… everything's so fucked up, isn't it?"
He didn't scold her this time, instead laughing softly. Except that it wasn't really a laugh—or what a laugh was meant to be, anyway. "Yeah, Kid. You nailed it, all right."
Several moments passed, and then she lifted her head to look at him. "Logan, believe me when I say that I am honestly not questioning your judgment, but… I just don't understand why you let John go." Rethinking her words almost immediately, she rushed to add, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad you did. It's just… I don't get it. Besides the fact that it's not like you at all, it just doesn't make sense to let him run loose around the mansion after everything that's happened."
Logan closed his eyes, and she was suddenly terrified that she had ruined their reconciliation by broaching the subject too soon. He must have felt her tense up, because he tightened his arm around her shoulders comfortingly. Taking his time, obviously picking each word with great care, he answered her. "Listen, Marie. I know what its like to be where that kid's been. It ain't fun."
Rogue nodded. She might not have first hand knowledge, but she definitely knew what he was getting at.
"So," he continued after a pause. "We let him out, we let him run around a bit... If he plays nice, it really doesn't make a difference one way or another. If he doesn't…" Logan glanced at her mischievously before extending the arm furthest from her and popping his claws. "I get to have a little fun."
Rogue couldn't bring herself to laugh at his joke; there was too much truth behind it. Instead, she turned to face him with a disapproving look. "I really don't find that the least bit amusing, Logan."
He just grinned unrepentantly.
About an hour later, Rogue and Logan were still lounging together on the sofa in companionable silence, enjoying the sounds of wood periodically crackling in the fireplace. It was the most relaxed and at peace that Rogue had felt in a very long time.
As a matter of fact, the only thing that had come remotely close had been last night, with John. She still couldn't quite believe that she had gotten a full night of sleep, nightmare free—something so rare as to broach upon miracle status. Despite the utter humiliation of the position she had awoken in, the refreshing effect the night had had upon her almost made it all worthwhile. She had all but forgotten the strange buzz that followed a decent rest; she honestly couldn't believe just how fantastic she was feeling at the moment.
Of course, she of all people knew that nothing good could last forever.
Rogue felt her wonderful mood begin to dissipate when, as if summoned by her thoughts, John suddenly rounded the hallway. He was looking about in apparent irritation, one hand in the pocket of his sweatpants—no doubt clenching his lighter.
Then he caught sight of her through the doorway of the common room.
Color rose sharply in her cheeks, and she found herself hoping desperately that he had slept just as well as she had, and that he hadn't been awake to witness her wardrobe malfunction. Considering the irritating smirk currently etched upon his face, she very much doubted it.
Her position facing the entrance allowed Rogue a perfect vantage point to observe John drawing nearer, dressed in either the same clothing as he had worn the night before or something very similar. His eyes remained locked upon hers as he approached, and she steeled herself for the embarrassing comment that he was so obviously about to throw at her.
Then, something strange happened. As John finally reached the doorway, his line of vision expanding to include the entirety of the room, all traces of smug self-satisfaction abruptly vanished. The reflection of something very hard and unsettling flashed through his eyes. It was so intense, Rogue actually felt herself shiver slightly.
She rose uncertainly from her position, still leaning comfortably against Logan's side with his arm wrapped snugly around her shoulders. What on earth had she done wrong? Behind her, she could hear Logan snickering under his breath, and wondered just what the hell was so funny.
Then John took a breath, and it was just as if nothing had happened.
Rogue glanced at Logan, and he waved her away dismissively. "Go on. I've got stuff to do, anyway." He gestured towards the half empty bottle resting beneath a nearby coffee table, and she rolled her eyes, wondering how she had missed it. On the plus side, she had been right; it was scotch.
She hesitantly approached John, who, sparing a quick glare at the back of Logan's head, grabbed her by a gloved hand and led her into the farthest corner of the room. She could have told him it wouldn't do any good—twenty feet was hardly enough distance to isolate oneself from Wolverine's advanced hearing skills—but she somehow doubted that he would care. He pushed her down onto one of the many small couches littering the room—it was, after all, designated for social interaction—and then sat beside her, not really on top of her, but definitely too close for her comfort.
"Why'd you run out this morning?" His eyes were snapping blue fire at her, and Rogue felt her hackles rise. Typical John. If there was one thing that she didn't want to talk about, he would latch onto it right away, and with all the tenacity of a rampant bulldog.
"I didn't run out," she muttered through gritted teeth, glancing meaningfully behind her to where Logan sat, not even pretending not to listen. "I woke up, and I left."
John, being the rude bastard that he was, sneered mockingly at her response. "Maybe I'm missing something, but isn't that the exact definition of 'running out'?"
She just huffed her irritation, attempting to scoot back. She needed to put some distance between them. John was overpowering enough from a distance. At this proximity, he was so unsettling that he actually affected her ability to formulate any sort of coherent response. Predictably, he followed her inch for inch—actually ending up a bit closer than they had started out. And that was way, way too close.
His eyes were focused unflinchingly upon her, and the attention was making her extremely nervous. The fact that he was playing with that damned lighter again did not help matters in the slightest. "So, you and the wolf-man looked pretty damn chummy when I came in. I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"
The way he said it, she just knew he was intimating he had interrupted something a lot less innocent than mere conversation. She shoved him back a bit, both angry and desperately in need of a little breathing room. He really was sitting entirely too close to her.
"Please don't be anymore of an idiot that you can help, John."
He flicked the lighter on, then gazed steadily at the tiny flare it created. Gesturing towards her face, he stared all too intently at the flames reflected in her eyes. She wished that he would stop; when he looked at her like that, she got the distinct impression that he saw altogether too much for her comfort. John snapped the lighter shut abruptly, the soft click loud in the practically empty room. "He make you cry?"
Damn him, she couldn't help but smile at his level of perception even as she wanted to smack him for it. "Why?" she asked, brow rising inquiringly as she attempted to hide her slight amusement. "You gonna beat him up for me?"
The corners of his lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "Maybe. Did he?"
There really wasn't any point in hiding it. The jerk seemed to know everything anyway. Rogue just sighed, relaxing against the back of the couch. "Only because of you."
She promptly sat back up, glaring at John as it occurred to her that her fight with Logan really could be blamed on him, in a very loose, unfair sort of way. She narrowed her eyes, pinning him with a resentful look as she clarified her earlier statement. " We got in a fight, which we've never done before, and which we never would have done if it weren't for you."
"Why?" John grinned suddenly, clearly pleased with himself. He leaned forward, once again invading her personal space. "You didn't tell him that we slept together, did you?"
Rogue gasped. It felt as though every drop of blood in her body was rising to her cheeks. She planted both hands flat against his chest, and shoved him with all her might. The result was somewhat less than satisfying; he moved back an inch, if that. Her teeth came together in a deep grind. "Shut up, you know that he can hear us!" she whisper-shouted, although she doubted that he could actually hear her over the volume of his own self-satisfied sniggering. Not that whispering helped in the slightest. She could hear Logan chortling in the background, and silently vowed to throw an extremely large object at his head sometime in the very near future. "And we did not sleep together."
"The hell we didn't." John eventually managed to retort, still slightly out of breath from his obnoxious laughter at her expense. "You know, you really do have your definitions mixed up today."
Rogue just glared at him. God, why had she ever missed this arrogant, irritating, despicable excuse for a human being? "Hey John? Shut the hell up."
He shrugged in an extremely exaggerated manner, raising his hands in a position of mock-surrender. God, did she ever wish he would wipe that stupid smirk off his face. Or better yet, she could do it for him.
For a few blissful moments he actually kept his mouth shut, as she had asked. It was incredible, she reflected, but she never appreciated the value a good silence so much as after she'd been forced to listen to John shoot off his mouth for an extended period of time. She told herself to enjoy it while it lasted--which, with John, was never very long.
Of course, she was right.
John leaned in as if to tell her a secret, his lips inches from her ear. "You know," he said conversationally, voice pitched very low--for her hearing alone. "I really dig your choice in nightgowns."
Rogue felt the air escaping her lungs in a hiss as her face was, once again, suffused with red. Of course, it was too much to ask that he could have slept through the removal of her robe. "You. slimy. little. pervert!" she gritted out, indignation coating her words. She really, really wished she had one of those fire pokers near her right about now. John was laughing at her again, and she stood up, prepared to storm away in a fit of outrage. He caught her hand, tugging her back, and she felt her backside hit the couch hard. His arm wasn't technically around her, but it was resting on the couch behind her. Too close. Way, way too close.
"Hey," he finally managed, exhausting himself of laughter. "You can't blame me. There I am, sleeping all innocent-like" she snorted hard at that, "and all of a sudden you start thrashing around, moaning and groaning about how hot you're getting. Next thing I know you're tearing your clothes off."
Rogue gasped at the indignity of it all. "I did not 'tear my clothes off'! It was a robe, damn it! It's not like I tried to take my nightgown off."
John just grinned, eyebrow arching salaciously. "And just how do you know that? You were asleep, after all." She stammered indignantly, and he leaned back against the arm of the couch, crossing both arms in front of him. "Frankly, I was appalled."
Rogue just shook her head, her hands coming up to cover her cheeks. Even through the thin cotton, they were hot to the touch. God, this was definitely one of those times that she really wished someone would come along and murder him.
And, just because fate had an absurdly malicious sense of humor, Bobby Drake chose that exact moment to walk through the door.
Many, many thanks to those who reviewed last chapter:
RedMagic, zshp1411, Chica De Los Ojos Café, Cara, Robin Steele, chattypandagurl, Cestari, The Truth About Roses, MJLS, hollyparker, and SupportSeverusSnape.
You are all fantastic, and I really appreciate you taking the time to tell me what you think. Several of you requested lots of Logan in this chapter, so I hope I didn't disappoint too badly on that count.
Special thanks to PsychoTherapy for betaing, as always!