Previously on "Logan's Run For The Bathroom": Go and read the first chapter, lazy! .
Chapter 2: Where Logan is afraid of peaches.
The next day…
Rogue hummed softly to herself as she walked down the corridor to Logan's room. The time she had spent yesterday with Logan had definitely strengthened their bond, even if for most of it he had been buried under the duvet with half a box of man-sized (what else?) tissues clamped to his face.
Rogue rounded the corner and her smile slipped onto her shoes.
"Rogue!"
"Jean…"
"Rogue, do you happen to know where Logan is? I've looked all over."
"Ummm… he said something about needing some 'alone time', you know, to think… and stuff."
"Logan… think?" Jean sounded understandably confused. Logan appeared to live by instinct.
"Oh yeah, Logan's big on thinking, doesn't really make a big thing of it though…" Rogue trailed off. She never could lie convincingly. Jean seemed to buy it however.
"Okay then," she said, "if you see him, ask him to stop by the lab will you?"
"Ummm, sure," replied Rogue, "anything else?"
"No, that's all. I'd better get going, Scott's taking me out to lunch and I have to get ready."
Jean smiled at Rogue, turned and walked off in the direction Rogue had come from. Rogue peeked round the corner and watched till she was sure Jean wouldn't remember something and come back. She turned back to Logan's door.
Tap tap.
"Logan? It's me, Rogue. Can I come in?"
A half-hearted groan was the answer. Rogue presumed it meant yes. She knew for sure a moment later when she heard the thump of someone half crawling, half falling out of bed, then the door clicking unlocked. Tentatively she pushed open the door and was greeted with the sight of Logan's butt more out of sweatpants than in.
Rogue sighed, pushed the door shut, and placed her bag on the floor. Walking over to the bed, which Logan had managed to get his head, arms, shoulders and chest on to, she pulled up Logan's grey sweatpants, got hold just behind his knees and hoiked, sliding him and duvet onto the bed. A guy with an adamantium skeleton is pretty hefty, so it was lucky Rogue worked out. And let's face it, Logan's not exactly a scrawny guy anyway.
Placing a pillow under Logan's flushed face and tucking the duvet up around his bare chest, she checked Logan's temperature. Phew, he was burning up. Rogue turned towards the bathroom with the intent of fetching a cool, wet washcloth for Logan's forehead, but a weak moan stopped her in her tracks. She looked back at the bed. Logan was sleepily gazing back at her.
"You saw my butt," he croaked softly. Rogue hid a smile.
"Don't worry about it sugar,"
"But don't I get to see yours?"
Rogue stared at him in disbelief. Logan grinned.
"Gotcha," he said, his voice cracking on the word. Rogue quit staring and started glaring (even though she was secretly thrilled).
"Do you want me to play nursemaid or not?" she asked in her sternest voice. Logan cast his eyes down.
"Sorry darlin'."
Rogue couldn't resist his dejected face. Plus she couldn't ignore the fact that he had just called her "darlin' " again.
"Okay then. Now you just lie back and rest, and I'll be back in a minute."
"Where're you going?"
"The bathroom, to get a washcloth for your forehead."
" 'Kay," Logan all but lisped.
Rogue went into the en suite bathroom, found a clean washcloth and ran it under the cold tap. She also grabbed a bowl she found under the basin.
Just in case. She thought. I'd rather not be cleaning puke out of the bedclothes.
When she went back into the bedroom, Logan was staring in the direction of the bathroom, obviously waiting for her to return.
"Here, lie on your back," said Rogue. She placed the washcloth on his forehead. Logan sighed as his burning, aching head was soothed. The bowl was put on the floor by the bed. Logan leaned over the side of the bed and looked quizzically at it.
"It's in case you need to throw up," Rogue stage-whispered. She picked up the washcloth that had dropped to the floor when Logan had leaned over. She gently pushed him back onto the bed and put the washcloth back into place.
"You hungry sugar?"
"Little bit."
Rogue went and picked up her bag from by the door, and carried it over to the bed. She sat down in the space where Logan had shifted over to make room for her. She rummaged around in the bag until her hand closed on the item she was searching for.
"Here you go, it's good for you," said Rogue, holding out a fuzzy, pale orange ball. Logan's face froze into an almost comical mask of horror.
"What… is… that?" he choked out.
"A peach," replied Rogue, puzzled, "don't you like peaches?"
In response, Logan dived under the duvet.
"So that would be a 'no' then?"
No sound from Logan.
"Sugar," Rogue ventured, "you okay?"
"Peachy," came the gruff reply.