Her room was her sanctuary. Although she and Logan had lived together in this room for almost three years, his clothes hanging in the closet were the only evidence to the fact. Rogue sighed as she caressed the bed that she too often slept in alone. He was in Canada now, where he frequently went in search of his past. She told him he should come home more often, and longer, but his need to know drove him on. He was obsessed with finding out who he was, even though she'd told him that she loved him anyway; she didn't care who he'd been before.
But I care, darlin'.
Let the past be, Logan. You need to live in the present and the future. With me. What if...what if you find out that you have a wife and kids? What about them? Would you tell them you're married again?
Yes, I'd tell them that. I love you, Marie. I'll never leave you. Not for anyone or anything.
Promise?
Yeah. I promise.
Tears had fallen unbidden during her side trip down memory lane. She wiped them quickly away with her hand, and reached for a pen and paper. Scooping piles of ungraded papers onto the floor, Rogue sat at her desk. The pen held loosely in her bare left hand trembled slightly as she tried to compose a letter to Logan.
Logan,Miss you, sugar. Come home soon. And call me as soon as you get this, OK? I really need to talk to you.
Love,
Marie
She placed her lips just below her signature, leaving her own scent mixed with her strawberry lip gloss on the paper. After quickly scribbling the school's phone number near the bottom of the sheet--just in case he forgot--she slid it into an envelope and addressed it. The PO box she sent it to was in Alberta, and Logan checked it semi-frequently; it was the fastest way to get in touch with him besides asking Charles to contact him.
Rogue sighed and placed the letter on top of her 'out' pile, most of which, she realized, was now scattered on the carpet. She began to pick the papers up and reorganize them: graded papers, tests, and memos went in the 'out' pile; assignments to be graded went in the 'in' pile.
She considered finishing her work, but she was still too shook up over the incident with Scott in the Danger Room to focus on English Literature. She quickly pulled a new pair of gloves from a drawer and slipped out into the hallway.
The main corridors were sparsely populated at this time of night, but Rogue didn't want to encounter anyone. She walked softly down the back stairway--at one time for servant's use only--and out the door. The spring moon shone down on her, catching her platinum streaks in a ray of ethereal light. It was still chilly enough for a heavy jacket; for once she was grateful for the gloves she was forced to wear.
A well worn path led her to the garden she and Ororo had so carefully cultivated last fall. The flowers hadn't yet bloomed, but Rogue knew it was only a matter of time; when the March winds changed to April showers, the bulbs would send up shoots, the perennials would return, and she would plant the minute annual seeds.
Shivering slightly as a breeze ruffled her hair, she thought of the first time she had helped 'Ro with the garden. The fall after she had arrived the older woman had asked her if she'd ever gardened.
Mah momma used to have a big flower garden. Ah loved it.
Then you shall help me with the planting this year. The professor and I have decided our small flower plot needs to be expanded.
She knew they'd expanded it because of her. Something she could do, something she could touch, without gloves. She had agreed, not because she liked gardening, but because they cared. They loved her and wanted to help her, to make her feel more at home. And she did.
She remembered the day Logan had come home. She had been digging up daffodil bulbs and suddenly he was there. One year, no letters, no phone calls, nothing, and then he just showed up and hugged her. He told her he'd found a few leads, but nothing concrete.
So you're leavin' again.
I have to, Marie. I have to know who did this to me, and why.
Why don't you just stay? For a little while at least.
I will.
How long?
The whole summer, kid.
He did. And then he left, for just two months this time. Each time he came back, he brought her something: a postcard, a trinket, a pair of silk gloves. Then finally, after two years, he didn't hand her anything the day he returned.
She'd cried, thinking he'd finally found his family and was just waiting for a good time to tell her. To lead her on for two years, making her think she was the only woman her cared about--the only person he cared about--and then just drop her when a better offer came along was cruel, even for the Wolverine.
Jubilee had yanked her out of bed early the next morning. Half pushing, half dragging the semi-unconscious young woman to the dining hall, she seated her in Rogue's customary chair. All eyes were focused expectantly on the doorway, as if they knew something she did not.
Then Logan had entered, clean-shaven,--at least for him--scrubbed, and dressed in a new pair of jeans and a nice button-down shirt. He'd walked calmly to her, but his eyes had betrayed his anxiety.
Marie, I'm sorry I made you cry. I wanted to surprise you, but I didn't know you'd take it that way. Can you forgive me?
Yeah. Ah forgive you, Logan.
Then... He'd paused, swallowing nervously. I love you, Marie. I want to be with you, and only you, forever. Will you marry me?
Yes, Logan, yes I will!
The feel of fresh tears on her cheek brought her back to the present. Logan's frequent trips to Canada had driven a wedge between them; each time he returned they were farther and farther apart, while she and Scott had grown closer.
Rogue put her elbows on her knees and began massaging her temples. Why was she thinking of Scott now? True, the two were good friends, but... She shook her head, resolving not to think of it until
morning. Her head pounded after her crying jag, and trying to reason out her messed up mind wasn't
going to help. Silently she crept back into the mansion and to her room where she crawled into the
painfully empty double bed.