Well, here's my attempt at a "good guy" story. I usually deal with the Brotherhood, but a few months ago I thought I'd try my hand at Rogue and Logan. In the movieverse, she's simply too young for him and he knows it; I just don't believe he'd allow himself to become involved with her whether or not he wanted to. Anyway, here's my interpretation of what happened in X1. Sort of.
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He thought, at first, that she was lying.
"You aren't sixteen."
She turned red with rage and that made him laugh. "Ah am so sixteen! Why doesn't anybody evah believe me when Ah say that?!"
"All right," he said. "Settle down."
They drove in silence for several minutes, Logan the Wolverine and Rogue the…er…ah…Rogue. She'd told him her real name, Marie, but now she regretted it. Not that he could use it against her or anything, she just preferred to let Marie stay in that cozy little middle class bungalow her parents owned, where she'd grown up, and where she'd put that first boyfriend into a—
"Coma?"
Rogue jumped. "Wh—what?"
"I asked if you were cold. Are ya cold, kid?"
"Oh. Oh, I guess so." She shrank into the seat of the Wolverine's truck and then turned to gaze out the window while he adjusted the heat. What seemed like a thousand miles of empty, barren Saskatchewan country stretched out in every direction. Even if a body weren't cold, reflected Rogue, this view could certainly convince him otherwise.
More silence. She felt strangely safe in the presence of what was essentially a stranger, and a potentially dangerous one at that. She'd seen him in the bar and she'd seen those claws, but somehow she wasn't all that frightened. Really, one might almost say she was intrigued.
Rogue didn't know about "the mutant problem". She hadn't heard anything about it from her family or friends. But she was a smart and perceptive girl, and recognized some kind of kinship with the Wolverine almost immediately. One couldn't say the same for him. Upon first noticing her, huddled in the trailer of his rickety RV, he'd kicked her out and sent her on her way.
"Yuh can't jus' leave me heah!"
"Yes I can."
He'd gone back to his truck and climbed in, noting how his limbs felt heavy and reluctant even if he didn't. Starting the engine, he forced himself to drive away. He made it barely twenty feet before backing up.
He may have been ostracized and alone, and he was more than happy to dispose of those individuals who threatened his own safety, but
But I'm no kid killer
He couldn't leave her out in the wilderness of northern Canada, he knew that. She'd come clumsily through the snow, then, that great, heavy cape swirling around her, to scramble eagerly into the front seat. Immediate, evocative images, gathered by her scent, followed her inside.
Mixed fruits and soap. He saw her washing her hair, first, and then he saw fruit salad. An elderly woman, much taller than he, was placing it down before him. "Good boy, now eat, now—"
He didn't recognize her before the image was scattered by the winds of another, stronger scent. Fear, misery. A quick glance into the passenger seat revealed sad, dark eyes set in a stoic face with a squared jaw and clenched teeth. How she was trying to appear brave, and how she was failing.
Back in the immediate present, Logan finally gave into his hunger. "Listen, kid, I'm gonna stop and get a bite to eat. You game?"
"Ah haven't got any money."
He shrugged. Money was nothing to him. "I do. You can mooch off me, okay?"
She smiled and he realized that it was the first time she'd done so. What a sweet, young face. But her lashes glittered with old tears, long invisible to the naked eye but more than evident to Logan. He smelled faint salt and decided she must have been crying a lot at some point or another, clearly before he'd come onto the scene.
"Then it's settled," he said, and they pulled into a gritty looking truckstop. A once-neon sign, garnished with the results of a recent, heavy snowfall, greeted them.
"What's that say?" Rogue was craning her neck, trying hard to make out individual letters.
Her companion shrugged. "Dunno. C'mon, let's go."
Together they walked into the diner, Rogue shrinking back slightly. A heavily made-up woman saw them enter and came out from behind the counter. Her nametag said "Flo". How typical.
"C'mon in, kids." With flourish she grabbed a couple of menus and began leading them towards a table. Rogue noticed Logan wince just slightly, but didn't know why. He was smelling her, Flo, and though he was relieved to notice no signs of malice or rat poison or even real dirt—unpleasant things to smell on a waitress, but he had before—the scent of her make-up reached his nose like he'd been punched, and her hairspray was overwhelmingly heady. He sneezed.
"Bless yuh." Flo set down the menus. "Doan ask fer the grillt cheese, we're all out. 'n fact, doan ask fer any cheese." She smiled at them, revealing poorly capped teeth, and then walked away without a second glance.
Rogue and Logan sat for several moments, concentrating on their menus with all the strength they could muster. Finally, Rogue spoke.
"What're yuh gonna get, yuh think?"
Logan shrugged. "Burger, I guess. Some fries. I'm not picky."
She laughed and it was jagged and nervous. "Really? 'Cause Ah am. Boy am Ah picky."
He smiled if only to be polite. "Yeah? What're you gonna get, huh?"
"Don't know. Fries, maybe. If that's okay."
Faint exasperation registered on his face. "Yeah, it's okay. Get whatever you want. Nothing here that's gonna break my budget."
She smiled gratefully. Maybe if Logan had been looking more carefully, he'd have recognized the expression on her face, that soft, dreamy, moony look that teenage girls unconciously adopt when really infatuated. They've done it for decades—centuries—probably longer. It was the gaze of an ardent fan upon the photo of Johnny Depp, Elvis Presley, Rudolph Valentino. And now, Rogue was gazing at the Wolverine. He was so handsome, so rugged, and such a gentleman in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on—
"I'm gonna go piss." He stood up from the table and wandered off.
Rogue sighed blissfully.
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They ordered what they'd said they would, a pair of fries and a flat, greasy burger that came drowning in ketchup and swimming in oils. But despite the relative lack of appeal of their respective meals, the two ate with fervor.
"Sixteen, really?"
"Yep." Rogue would have reacted with her customary annoyance had she not been so engrossed in eating. "June 16th. Ah'm a Gemini. What're you?"
He stared at her blankly. "What?"
"Nevermind." She jammed another french fry into her mouth and endeavored to speak around it. "Thanks for pickin' me up."
"No problem. Ya mind telling me why you're out on the road and on your own, anyway?"
Rogue dipped a french fry into some ketchup and examined it before speaking. "No, Ah guess not. Ah—Ah'm runnin' away from home."
He nodded. "Why?"
"Somethin' weird happened." Then, realizing this would not suffice, she added, "Ah kissed a boy, and…he sorta…he passed out. He went into a coma, 'cause…'cause Ah touched him."
Logan had stopped with his burger in midair. "'Cause you touched him?"
"Somethin' happens when Ah touch people."
Impulsively, he reached for her and she recoiled. "Okay."
"Ah don't wanna hurt yuh, Logan."
He sat back in his seat and finished his hamburger, gazing out the window as he did so. She watched him. Then, he reached into his pocket and took out a crumpled wad of bills. He began laying them on the table.
"One…two…three…four…five. That should cover it."
"Don't forget the tip!" she blurted, then blushed. "Ah had a friend who was a waitress."
He shrugged and dropped a handful of change on the table. "Good enough?"
"Good enough."
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They walked out to the truck, and night had begun to fall. Pine trees were becoming naught but two-dimensional black silhouettes against a sky of timidly emerging stars. The air smelled icy and sharp, the way it often does before snow. Rogue noticed it now.
"Gonna snow."
"Never does anything else out here." Logan climbed into his truck and gunned the motor. It sputtered, then stalled.
"Dammit." He tried again. Rogue looked at him nervously. She knew nothing about cars, but felt absurdly useless sitting there without making any kind of suggestion.
"Maybe you're outta gas?"
Logan glanced over at her. "Nah. I just filled up. And look, the gas gauge agrees with me." He tapped on it. "Damned motor gives me trouble sometimes, after I've left it out in the cold a while."
"Oh."
He raised an eyebrow. "You okay, kid?"
"Jus' cold is all."
He thought a moment. What harm could it do? Reaching out for her cloaked shoulders, he pulled her close and then continued fumbling with the key. "Can't get any warmth in this heap if it doesn't feel like starting."
Rogue almost saw stars, she was so excited. "Ah know a way to get warm." Beside her, Logan went almost imperceptibly rigid, and eased himself away. The faintest scent of young lust had reached his nostrils very suddenly.
"How old ah yuh, Logan?"
"Too old," he snapped immediately.
Silence fell as Logan continued to try starting the motor. Rogue was crestfallen, but she did not move from his side. "O—okay."
Had Logan previous experience in dealing with lovesick teenagers, he might have comforted her, apologized for the brusque tone of his response and for leading her on as he had. He was trying to keep her warm, that's all. (Well, wasn't it?) But as it were, he hadn't encountered anything like Rogue before, and he felt uncharacteristically nervous and awkward. As was his way, he went completely quiet. Beside him, Rogue sniffled.
"Ah, c'mon, kid," he finally said. He turned towards her and cradled her small, shivering form in his arms. "I didn't mean to—I mean…look, I'm sorry, all right?"
"Yuh didn't do anything wrong," she sniffed, an impending bout of sobs forcing her voice to crack.
"Yeah, well, look, we're gonna be on the road again soon, okay? C'mon, kid, don't cry."
That was it. Rogue burst into tears. She was exhausted and completely drained from her journey thus far, and the impact and humiliation of rejection was simply too much to take. She sobbed openly, and Logan pulled her closer yet, resting his chin on the top of her head. Then he lifted her face to his own and stared into her wide, teary eyes.
"C'mon, get a hold of yourself, eh?"
Rogue recognized something in his expression, and it was enough to cause her to leap impulsively forward. Suddenly she was kissing him, and oh, he was responding, if only for a moment.
God, she tastes good.
He jerked away and pushed her hard, causing her to slam against the door of the truck. They stared at each other for several long seconds, chests heaving, eyes wide with panic.
"Ah—Ah'm sorry." She wasn't sure what had happened. She'd felt that sudden jolt of energy, that same sensation that had ended in the coma, but it hadn't been strong enough. Not yet. But damn, what had she been thinking?
Logan turned the key in the motor and it started with a sudden, startling rumble. "I felt it too, Rogue."
It was the first time he'd used her name.
"Felt what?"
"The…uh…the thing ya mentioned. I felt it too."
Thank goodness for it, thank goodness for its dangerous presence! Without it, he would have had to tell her that she was too young, too pure and delicate and fresh for the likes of him, and he wasn't sure he could say these things convincingly. He believed them, sure, but there are forces in nature far more powerful than logic and reason.
"Ah said Ah was sorry." Humiliation had been replaced by the comforts of indignation and anger. She turned away, staring out the window and seeing nothing.
He bit his lip, looked ahead at the road. "Don't need to be. Go to sleep, why dontcha? I'll drive."
"No thank you," Rogue responded irritably. She was tired, of course, but damned if she were going to do anything the Wolverine said.
Beside her, Logan thought while he drove. The sound of heavy, steady breathing reached his ears within a short while, and he relaxed with the realization that conversation, excuses, and misplaced lusts could be laid aside at least temporarily.