Authors Note: I am not in any way affiliated with the X-Men. I own nothing. This story is NOT meant to be taken as a Rogue/Leech story. I just had this idea, and had to write it down. Besides, I can see him developing a crush on her, and it's a very bittersweet sort of idea.
I am all of thirteen and I've never been in love before now. Yes, she's five years older than me, has a boyfriend and has only spoken to me seven times in the four months I've been at Xavier's, but I'm hopeful. When we met, Bobby Drake introduced her as "My girlfriend, Marie,", and I held out a hand. I expected her to take it, but instead she bent and kissed me once on my left cheek, whispering a "thank you" in my ear in her thick, sweet southern drawl. I turned red and fell, hard and instantaneously.
Marie sometimes tags along with Bobby when he tutors me in Algebra and I love it when she does. She always gives me a hug at least once, and she smells so good. Like amber, sexy and dark and exotic. I wonder sometimes how Logan, with his wolverine-heightened senses, can stand her being so affectionate when she smells so amazing.
She's a bit of a distraction, though, because I like to watch her as she sits across from Bobby. I usually ignore the fact that she holds hands with him across the table; that she always holds hands with him, as though he is her only lifeline. Instead, I watch the way the sun plays across her dark hair. The white only makes her look more striking, and her eyes are ancient and mysterious. But her smile is impish and alluring, offering a crooked challenge to anyone and everyone.
My favorite thing about her is that she always calls me Jimmy. Never Leech, my "mutant name", which makes me feel like a parasite. Marie understands how a name like that can ostracize a person, she says. Her own name had been Rogue, which has a lonely feel to it. Sometimes Bobby slips and calls her that, and although she smiles and laughs it off, it is obviously something that bothers her. Those are the only times she stops holding Bobby's hand.
The day Raven Darkholme—that's what she's being called, although it's only a matter of time before she's Mystique again, or so Marie told at her—comes to warn her that the cure was not permanent, Marie looks down to where her bare hand is touching Bobby's and pulls it away quick as lightening. Then she turns, chin high and back stiff, and leaves the foyer. I want her to look at me, catch my eye, but she doesn't. Bobby and Logan both tear in to Raven, demanding to know why she is there, both angry and protective.
I'm not angry at Raven for shattering Marie's dreams, because she's not the one who shattered them. I am. It was my DNA, my blood, my own mutation, that made the faulty cure, and so it is my fault it will wear off. I feel so guilty it's like I'm choking. The need to apologize is overwhelming, so I follow her.
She stops in the library, slumps down between to shelves and cries. It's like watching something you've cherished for a very long time slip off its shelf and break, and it seems to cut my heart. I don't know what to say to her, so I just say her name.
Marie looks up, hastily wiping away her tears. Too late, I saw them, the damage is done.
"Jimmy?" she asks softly, her surprise obvious in the widening of her dark eyes.
"Marie, I—I'm sorry." I don't know what else to say and I crouch down next to her.
"For what?"
"The reason the cure doesn't work—it's my fault. And I'm sorry."
To my shock, Marie laughs. It's a wicked, bitter sound that seems to be ripped from her throat A single tear rolls down her cheek.
"It isn't your fault, Jimmy."
"Yes, it is. I'm the reason they thought they had a cure in the first place."
"Ah, Jimmy…Please, don't blame yourself. You're also the reason I got to be with Bobby at all, if you look at it like that."
I don't, or rather I don't want to, but I just nod.
"Marie, Raven said that your mutation returns slowly. If that's true, maybe you can work on controlling it as it develops."
She looks at me like I'm a genius, and then presses a kiss to my right cheek. I'm blushing again, I just know it. My stomach feels like its being attacked by rabid butterflies, but I ignore it.
Carefully, tentatively, I reach out my hand and take hers. She looks at me, startled.
"Um…well, I just wanted to say, Marie…to remember that you can always touch me." She's not crying anymore.
I squeeze her hand once before pulling away and standing, and just as I turn to go I catch her smile.
I am all of thirteen and I've never been in love before now. Yes, she's five years older than me, has a boyfriend and has only spoken to me eight times in the four months I've been at Xavier's, but I'm hopeful.
