Chapter 11
It is unnecessary for a prince to have all the good qualities I have enumerated, but it is very necessary to appear to have them – Niccolo Machiavelli
Of course Scott did not take Rogue to the hardware store. He spent a pleasant day meandering with her through Salem Center, a village founded by Dutch settlers in 1650, when New York was still New Netherland. While not as great a tourist magnet as Sleepy Hollow or Tarrytown, Salem Center still drew a respectable number of day-trippers from New York City, particularly in the summer. Rogue was as obviously charmed as any other visitor by the village's cobbled streets, stone buildings and pocket parks, quaint shops and boutique restaurants. The fact that she was charmed was testament to her more developed tastes. Every other student rushed straight through the village to the train station and onward to New York City. Scott and Rogue didn't encounter even one other Institute resident in Salem Center, and Scott wasn't surprised. No one wanted to spend time in boring Salem Center when Manhattan beckoned.
The villagers recognized him, of course, but merely as an employee of the Xavier Institute, not as the person responsible for the Scott Summers Memorial Sunroof in the train station. Fortunately for Scott, the great big gaping hole in the roof of the station had been attributed to a bomb set off by Lehnsherr's people. Erik Lehnsherr had degaussed every security camera system in tiny Salem Center when he kidnapped Rogue from the train station in May, and even eyewitnesses to the battle had been too confused to give useful descriptions of the combatants. However, the Salem Center police were on the lookout for a Caucasian woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes, which, as Ororo said, just went to show how amazingly unobservant people could be.
So while Salem Center's finest would have instantly arrested Dolly Parton, Scott and Rogue strolled unmolested. Scott wasn't surprised that Rogue hadn't spent any time in the village during her residence at the Institute; she only remembered it as the scene of her kidnapping. As she wandered through antique shops and art galleries and admired the picturesque streets, her normal reserve melted; she smiled, exclaimed and pointed like any tourist. Scott felt quietly satisfied to have overwritten at least some of her bad memories.
Scott would not have been male had he not been conscious of the attention his companion was drawing from other men. Months ago Rogue had put aside the Little Red Riding Hood cloak and developed a retro style that flattered but still covered her deadly skin. He was so absorbed in watching Rogue and the people watching her that he was taken by surprise when Rogue nudged him and said playfully, "I'm scared that gal's gonna push me into traffic. She's got her eyes on you."
Scott looked down at her and smiled. She looked carefree, relaxed. "Do you have any idea how many men are looking at you? I'm starting to think I should have brought a shotgun."
He was sorry to see the smile fade from her face. Rogue looked away. Scott didn't need to be a telepath to read her mind: You don't need a gun for protection when you have killer skin.
He said gently, "Let's get some lunch."
He had put thought into where he would take her for lunch. It was a rustic spot with an arbor in a backyard garden and picnic tables placed widely enough apart that Rogue would not have to fear anyone bumping into her. He picked the farthest table and seated her between the table and the wooden privacy fence, doubly ensuring that no one could brush against her. The day was hot and most customers had chosen to eat indoors in the air conditioning. But it was pleasant in the shade of the arbor, and with evident relief Rogue removed her cardigan, hat and gloves, sighing in satisfaction as the breeze wafted over her bare arms. Scott was pleased to see the smile return to her face as she looked around.
"This is nice," she said. "It's been a nice day. Thank you, Scott."
"I should be thanking you. It's hard to feel sorry for myself when I'm in the company of a beautiful woman."
Rogue looked awkwardly away. The waitress arrived, took their orders for salads and sandwiches, and after the woman had delivered their iced teas, Scott said, "If you don't mind, let's keep it formal when we're in the house. If you could please keep calling me Mr. Summers when other people are around. Technically I'm a teacher and you're a student, even if I'm not your teacher and you're not my student." He added, "I might as well tell you that Miss Munroe isn't happy with me. She didn't want me to take you to Salem Center today."
"Why not?"
"Well, someone complained to her and so she complained to me."
Rogue's mouth tightened in displeasure.
"Apparently someone thinks I'm a scoundrel and your reputation could be ruined forever by the scandal if you were seen in public with me."
"Oh, my God. I'm eighteen and this is the twenty-first century. And you don't look like Bill Clinton to me."
"Well, that's what I said, more or less. But I work with Miss Munroe and I don't want to look like I'm disrespecting her. So the next time we go out, I guess we shouldn't make plans in the dining room in front of other people."
Rogue hesitated. Before she could say anything, if indeed she had been planning to say something, the waitress arrived with their food. After the woman left, Scott said, "I want there to be a next time, Rogue."
She glanced irresolutely at him.
Scott leaned forward. "You know what? I woke up this morning and I decided I was tired of being miserable. Happiness is a decision, Rogue. But a decision doesn't mean anything unless you back it up with action. And that's why I went up to you this morning and talked to you even though I thought you'd slap me down."
Rogue said nothing. Slowly she began to eat her salad. Scott picked up his sandwich.
Suddenly she said, "You're movin' on pretty fast, don't you think?"
Scott chewed, swallowed, and sighed. "I decided back in April to break up with Dr. Grey. A month before you arrived here."
Rogue looked surprised and skeptical. "You two looked pretty tight in May."
"I kept going through the motions because I didn't know how to end it. Dr. Grey is thirty-six and I felt guilty about dumping a woman that old. I knew she'd never find another guy, except maybe some sixty-year-old fart."
Rogue nodded thoughtfully. As he expected, this line of reasoning made perfect sense to her eighteen-year-old mind. No doubt she thought a thirty-six-year-old woman must have one foot in a nursing home and the other foot in the grave.
"And then Logan came along. And I had my honorable out." Scott shrugged. "I hope she can hang onto him. At her age, she doesn't have a lot of options."
Rogue chewed a few more mouthfuls of salad. Suddenly she put down her fork. "Scott, you can't just give up like this," she said, agitated, even desperate. "You and Dr. Grey have been together forever! You were engaged! Why – why are you just giving up? Her and Logan don't belong together."
Oh, they do. Two peas in a pod. A couple of commitment-phobes. They don't want love. They don't want marriage. They don't want children. But if he spelled this out for Rogue, she'd never take the oaf off his hands.
He said instead, "I gave up before he showed up, Rogue. And I agree that Logan could do better." I can't believe I said that with a straight face. "I think he got interested in Dr. Grey just because she was involved with me. Some men are like that. A woman just doesn't seem desirable to them unless some other man is paying attention to her." He shrugged again. There, he'd planted the seed; now to see if it took root in her brain.
They finished their meal in silence.
The foot traffic on Main Street had thinned. Only the most determined tourists continued to loiter outdoors in the increasingly oppressive heat. Rogue glanced wistfully at girls walking past in skimpy shorts and tank tops.
Scott said, "I want to show you one more place before we go home."
Without speaking, they walked north on Main Street for several more blocks before Scott made a turn onto a quiet cobblestone street of colonial-era townhouses overhung by a tunnel of old-growth trees. They walked another block and Scott turned again and then again into an alley, if such a term could be used to describe the picturesque passageway. It was lined with small brick buildings covered with climbing ivy and hung with flower boxes.
"This is a mews," he said. "These buildings used to be the stables behind those townhouses. Carriages below and stablemen's quarters above. They've all been renovated and turned into condos. This whole alley is one condo association."
"Oh," Rogue said. She looked about curiously, then stared up at Scott in surprise. "Are you buyin' a condo? Are you movin' out?"
"No, I could never afford to buy one of these. But I can afford to rent one, for a few months." He dug a key out of his pocket, tagged with a house address. "When things started going to hell, I wanted a place where I could get away from... get away." He held out the key to her. "Maybe you feel like that too. This is the spare key. Feel free to use it whenever you need to."
Rogue did not reach for it. Scott took her gloved hand, put the key in her palm and closed her fingers over it.
"You're the only person who knows about this place." He pointed towards a door. "Miss Munroe thinks I'm hanging out at the hardware store, but I'm here, Wednesday and Saturday. I've got it until October first. The lady who owns it is in Europe right now."
Scott turned and began walking back the way he had come. After a moment he heard Rogue walking beside him. He glanced at her. She seemed deep in thought.
When he parked his Jag in the mansion's garage, after a completely silent ride from Salem Center, Rogue finally spoke, but only to utter a polite inanity "It was a nice day. Thank you."
"I want another nice day."
She opened the car door and glanced back at him over her shoulder. "What if I did slap you down at breakfast? What would you have done"
He smiled cockily. "Reconstitute and reengage. One skirmish does not decide the battle or the war."
A smile cracked her somber expression. "Scott, only you could make bein' happy sound like World War Two." And she got out of the car and walked inside the house.