Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Whilst I feel that this totally bites, I think Wolverine, Rouge, Pyro, Jean, Cyclops, etc., are in great hands with Marvel and whoever else owns them.
Notes: Yes, you guys, this is a story that contains the Rogue/Pyro pairing. Don't worry, though. I have no intensions of making it cliché. Hopefully, even the non RyRo fans will enjoy it. And, yes, Rogue does play a big part in this story, about, if not equal to, the amount of John and Logan. So, if you're not a Rogue person, you probably really won't like this story.
Also, please read the summary. There's going to be Logan/Storm, too.
Notes 2: This chapter was difficult to write, especially with John and Logan. They just don't mesh naturally, as I discovered the hard way. I hope you like it.
Warnings: Extreme AU, language, violence, sex, and pretty much everything else an 'M' rating entails. Heh. Enjoy.
Chapter Two
A small, uncharacteristic smirk fluttered onto the face of Senator Robert Kelly II as he ambled briskly down the southern corridor of the senate building. His thinning blonde hair did not move in the slightest at his pace, covered with far more gel than could ever be necessary. His blue eyes held a malicious sparkle of mirth, always present, that had many of his friends and family members slowly increasing their distances from him. In fact, last week, his mother had even gone so far as to outright scold him for his new, disturbing behavior and attitude. "Are you doing drugs, Robert?" She had screeched into the phone, so loud his entire staff had overheard. "You're not a little boy anymore, you know!".
Little did Anna Kelly know her "little boy" had been dead for nearly a year, and a Metamorph now walked in his place.
Raven Darkholme. Mystique. The blue-skinned, yellow-eyed mutant held no fondness for being forced to take the form of a man. Let alone one who had once wished to restrict and eventually rob the freedom of every mutant on the planet. If Mystique could be doing as she please, she would be back in her mutant form, standing comfortably by the side of Eric Lehnsherr, and plotting how to annoy the hell out of the Wolverine the next time they crossed paths. Unfortunately, her desire was unreachable at this time.
Eric was hidden away from her, locked up securely in a plastic prison Mystique had yet to locate. Charles Xavier and his beloved X-Men had seen to that, somehow without getting themselves caught in the process. She would go after Xavier, but Eric would not appreciate such an action. As much as the metal-loving mutant despised the telepath, he did not like to see his old friends suffer or hurt in any way.
So Mystique settled for serving Magneto in a different way. She had worked, and succeeded, at demolishing he Mutant Registration Act. She had obtained and destroyed ever paper that listed identified mutants in the United States, Canada, and Mexico. More than a few idiotic politicians had met untimely 'accidents' when they meddled too much in mutant affairs. Thus the reasoning behind her current location.
The highly unused office of General William S. Stryker.
It was rumored that William Stryker conducted unlawful experiments on mutants, and had been doing so since before Mystique had joined Eric's brotherhood. In her eyes, these were actions that warranted a slow, painful death. It was human-to-mutant hostility in its highest form, and Lord knew how many had died by his hands.
With practiced ease, Mystique picked the lock to the office, smirk growing into a satisfied smile as it clicked, and the door popped open. The second she was through the doorframe, the skin of Senator Kelly shifted into her own scaly blue. It was night, no one should be around to see. She quickly shut the door behind her, and was in the computer chair in the blink of an eye. With one precise movement, she had the computer booted.
"F5, Ctrl 4359, AX alt," Mystique muttered under her breath, tapping the keys as she said them. White teeth flashed victoriously as she skipped over the required password, and she made a mental note to thank Mortimer for the code. With subdued anxiety, she watched the screen unfold, only to reveal two folders and a trash can.
"Failed" "Successful" the folders read.
"And that is not obvious in the slightest?" The woman scoffed, moving the mouse to "successful". Again, only two files followed.
The sight of 'The Wolverine' , did not surprise her, though she felt a moment of rage on her fellow mutant's behalf. No doubt when Logan found out that Stryker would be meeting a quite painful death, though unfortunately quick. Mystique forced her golden eyes to move away from the name of her obsession, and instead focused on the other one. The term 'Pyro' instantly caught her attention, and she clicked on it without hesitation.
Her eyes widened, and a hungry, pleased expression crossed her face as she read.
Eric would like this one.
0o0
They had forgotten him.
No one had been in during the last few days. He was starving – his stomach twisted in painful knots every few seconds, and his throat was beyond dry with thirst. He was freezing in his tank, the water that was usually kept at room temperature now just below lukewarm. The oxygen that continuously flowed though his mask was beginning to slow and thin, making it extremely difficult and exhausting for him to breathe. His small, thin limbs were heavy with fatigue.
They had abandoned him – left him to die. What he had prayed for had finally come true, and slowly, it was killing him.
He was only nine. Or ten. He couldn't really remember. It was probably ten. It had to be. He felt as though he had been here long enough to be ten.
His little water prison.
Suddenly, a violent shudder, the likes of which he could not recall ever having, ripped through his body, causing him to spasm against the wires and held him in place. He could feel the life leaving him – feel himself slipping away. The pain slowly began to die, along with his very soul . . .
And then, suddenly, there were voices. Frantic, concerned; emotions that he could tell were not for him. Food was being pumped back into his body; his oxygen was normal; the water temperature increased. A voice – Stryker's voice – was coming over the intercom. Apologizing to him, claiming another experiment had escaped, and nearly killed them all.
And then everything changed. Stryker was standing in front of him, smirking maliciously. He nodded toward one of the attendants, and without warning, something shot into his tank.
A wall of toxic fire was suddenly surrounding him. Burning him. It wasn't normal fire. It was killing him. The pain, it was intense. He was going to die . . .
With a desperate gasp, John's stunning blue eyes snapped open, only to slam shut again at the harshness of the bright sun. Almost immediately, he knew that something was different. He was no longer at the mercy of the cold. Instead, he was covered by something thick and warm, and lying on something soft and comfortable.
What the hell was going on?
"Awake now, kid?" Growled a voice from off to his right.
John froze, his breathing barely audible. The voice . . . the man from yesterday? But, he had killed him! Hadn't he? A groan erupted from his lips. The sound of shuffling feet caught his attention, and then a gentle whistling sound that was immediately followed by a dimming light. Cautiously, John cracked his eyes open again, only to find his surroundings nearly completely dark, and the tall man that he had attacked standing over him.
"You need to get up," stated the stranger gruffly, stepping back and turning the other way. "We lose the room in an hour, and I'm not particularly fond of the idea of having a pissed off manager yelling at me. I bought you some clothes. You need to shower, and we'll get something to eat on the way."
"What's going on?" John demanded, sitting up. The man turned back around, and the fire mutant flexed his hand pointedly. "Where am I, who are you, and what do you want?"
"Want?" The other scoffed, plopping down on a stiff, uncomfortable-looking chair. "Kid, all I wanted was some answers. I almost get them, too, and then I found you, nearly naked, in the snow in the middle of the woods. I don't want anything but to get you medical help that you obviously need, and go home." For a moment, all was silent, and then the man thoughtfully added, "and you're at Dundee's Over-Night Inn."
It was not lost to John that the man had not given his name, something that kept him on his guard. He remembered sending a ball of fire at this man, the same size as the one that had destroyed all of the computers in the lab. A blast like that should have killed him, just like it had the other scientists. But, here he was, sitting across from him, not so much as a mark on his face.
John was utterly confused, and it must have showed on his face, for the man sighed.
"Look, kid --."
"John," the other interrupted, not holding much fondness for titles.
"John," the man conceded tightly. "I'm not a scientist. I don't want to lock you up and do experiments on you because you're a mutant. If I wanted to do that, I could just test myself."
"You're a mutant?" Inquired John, looking slightly surprised, hostility forgotten. He had never been introduced to another mutant before. Stryker had claimed it to be imperative that he didn't. The man smirked, a mixture of amusement and pride on his face. Without warning, he lifted his fist, and three long, sleek metal claws popped out with a snikt. John jumped back in surprise, whilst the other mutant simply stared at them in fond fascination, before turning and smirking.
"I think that answers your question." Slowly, the man retracted his claws, and then looked John steadily in the eyes. No words were exchanged. Instead, John saw. Saw in the man's eyes what was often reflected in himself. Loss, pain, hope, fear, rage, hunger, pride. John lowered his eyes, and the man snorted in approval.
"Hurry up. I had to hot-wire a car since you won't fit on the bike with me. I want to get out of here before anyone realizes it's missing, and that I have it."
John had no friendly thoughts of his new so-called companion. The man meant well, or so he claimed. If his intentions were truly to take him to get help, then John would tag along. If only because going with him would get him further away from here. Besides, he was slightly curious to see what this car-thing was.
0o0
Once again, she had gone a night without seeing her bed. She had gone twenty-four hours without her head resting on her soft, feather-stuffed pillow. Gone without being wrapped tightly in the warmth of her warm, fuzzy comforter. She hadn't closed her eyes for longer than a minute since the night before last. In short, she had not slept in over twenty-four hours.
And, strangely enough, she did not feel tired in the slightest.
Rogue had spent the night in the Game Room with Adam Jones, a younger student that had become somewhat like a little brother in her eyes. She had shared in the boredom that forever plagued him, watching snippets of programs before he would blink and turn the channel. They shared popcorn, as they always did during their nights together, and would occasionally share random thoughts, mostly about teachers and students. Rogue admitted that she viewed Miss Monroe, or Storm, as a relative-like figure, and Jones had outright stated his dislike of Bobby Drake when it came to her. Rogue had laughed at that one, realizing then that the sibling feeling was mutual. Those nights were precious. They made Rogue feel normal. Jones would never flinch away from her, even when she went to pull thrown popcorn from out of his hair.
But it was morning now, and the moment had been shattered. Rogue was now in her dorm room, struggling to get dressed before Kitty and Jubilee decided to wake. She was far from being in the mood to face their interrogating questions, especially when they were teasing ones about her spending the night with Bobby. Those really ate away at her. Didn't they understand how inconsiderate and hurtful those words were to her? Didn't they understand that she would give anything to spend the night with Bobby? To just hold his hand? To kiss him?
But her anger didn't last. She couldn't blame either of them. They were just acting like normal teenage girls, and were not used to having to screen their thoughts for someone like her.
A slight knock on her door jarred Rogue from her thoughts, and she scrambled to pull on her left glove as Storm's shocking-white head poked through the door.
"Rogue?" She called softly, smiling gently when she spotted her. Rogue struggled to smile back. "The professor would like to see you when you're ready."
The teen's eyebrow furrowed. "Did he say why?" Storm shook her head, her expression sympathetic as she gazed at the wayward girl that had blown in here only a year ago. Rogue's face instantly went crestfallen.
"I'm sorry, honey. You'll just have to wait and see. You're out of classes for the day, too," the weather goddess added quickly, hoping to lighten her student's sudden dark mood. "I'll make sure that Bobby gets all of your assignments for you."
"Th – thanks," Rogue sputtered out, glancing at the clock. 7:30. "Can you tell him I'll be there in an hour?" She watched as Storm's eyebrows crinkled, knowing that she was stalling. Relief flooded over her body as the older woman nodded.
"Of course, Rogue. Don't take too long now, alright?" Offering one more sympathetic smile, the white-haired weather mutant closed the door, and Rogue flopped back onto her bed. She knew exactly what the professor wanted, and wasn't too sure she was up for any "power-therapy/power-testing" today.
One thing was for sure, though. She was going to take one long-ass shower, and waste as much time as possible.
0o0
Though Logan had checked out of the hotel on time, they had not actually left until fifty-five minutes later. As it turned out, the kid – John – had absolutely no idea as to what a shower was, with the ideas of soap and shampoo being equally lost on him. It had taken Logan fifteen minutes to cover the basics of personal hygiene with him, and then five more minutes to explain how to work the shower. Even after that, John had been hesitant to get into the water, which was perfectly understandable, no matter how annoying, so that had been another fifteen minutes before Logan had actually heard him get in.
He had to hand it to the kid, though. He took really quick showers for a teenager.
It had also become instantly apparent that John hadn't a clue as to the aspects of current life. He had been confused at the term "car", Logan had seen that the second he had said the word. And when they had finally managed to get outside, John had studied the snow with such intensity that Logan realized he didn't know what it was. He wasn't even going to think about the whole seatbelt thing.
And, thus, here they were, two mutants who had been the victims of experimentations, yet were completely different. Logan couldn't remember one bit of his previous life before fifteen years ago, and John couldn't escape from it.
They rode in silence for the first hour, Logan smoking one of his much beloved cigars, and John pressed as close to the door as he could get. Occasionally, the self-healing mutant would look at his companion, only to see his wide blue eyes taking everything in with a rapid pace that made even him dizzy. Of course, Logan would have had the misfortune of picking out and stealing a car that didn't have a fucking working radio.
"Do you do this kind of thing often?" John had asked after a while, his voice so low that Logan could barely hear it.
"What kind of thing?" He growled in response, not noticing the scowl John sent to him in return.
"Picking up strangers. You know, "kids"" The teen clarified. He watched as Logan sighed, fascinated by the smoke that slowly escaped his mouth.
"Once," the older man replied, with a tone that made it clear he didn't want to be having a conversation. "A year back. I came across a girl, who's about your age now. She was running away, and I gave her a lift." John arched a suggestive eyebrow, turning his gaze back to the scenery outside his window. None of this was lost to the Wolverine, who snorted in mild amusement.
"How is it," he began, catching the boy's attention, "that you have spent nearly your whole life locked away, and have the same normal, perverted mind of any teenage boy?" John simply stared at him, having no answer to give, and Logan sighed. "There were some really powerful, bad mutants after her. I got caught in the middle of it, and eventually, we grew closer. She's like a little sister to me. Nothing more, nothing less. Got that?" John had enough sense to nod.
"Where are you taking me?" He asked, effectively changing the subject. Once again, Logan snorted.
"I already told you, you need medical attention. I don't care if those freaks made you superhuman, being half-naked in temperatures below freezing isn't healthy. I happen to know a very good doctor --."
"Doctor," spat John distastefully, cutting Logan off. He sat up in his seat, rage flashing in blue eyes that were slowly turning red. "You mean a scientist. Someone who's going to poke and prod me and try to figure out what makes me tick . . ."
"No!" Logan snapped, a little louder than he had intended. John flinched away at the harshness, the red in his eyes disappearing, but Logan was too riled up to even think of offering an apology. "The place I'm taking you to is a safe haven for mutants – a school. For children. Experimentation on mutants has no allies there." John fell silent, practically feeling the anger radiating off of his companion. "Just, shut up for a while, ok?" The boy nodded, and with a sigh, Logan glanced at the clock.
It was only 8:30 in the morning.
0o0
Rogue took her time reaching Professor Xavier's office. She walked as slow as she could without it being too obvious, stopping to examine something she promised herself she had never noticed before. She knew that the professor knew she was stalling, and appreciated that he didn't try to encourage her to hurry. She was pretty sure that her power would not appreciate that, and she really didn't fancy the idea of having a headache at the moment.
As predicted, Kitty and Jubilee had slammed her with perverse questions the moment she had gotten out of the shower. She really, truly, honestly despised Friday class hours. What other school started first period at ten o'clock in the morning? Thankfully, the excuse of having to go see the professor had gotten her out of yelling at her two friends. Of course, then she had run into Bobby, who had early detention with Scott for some stupid prank. Her boyfriend had, ignoring her protests, walked her as far as he could to the professor's office before he had to turn.
So now, here she was, ready to face hell alone. Slowly – painstakingly – she reached out her gloved hand, and moved to knock on the door.
"Come in, Rogue," called the professor's voice through the thick wood. Despite her anxiety, the cursed mutant had to roll her eyes. Her hand had not even touched the door. Apparently, being discreet was not in Xavier's agenda for today.
She walked in.
The first thing Rogue noticed was Jean sitting on the leather chair that was usually her seat, a leather briefcase at her feet. The Wolverine inside of her was practically growling with suspicion, which was quite odd, considering his feelings for the red-haired doctor. Xavier then rolled up to her, smiling softly, and gently grasped her small, gloved hand. Rogue flinched at the contact.
"This is goin' to hurt, isn't it?" She asked softly, her southern accent beginning to surface from her nervousness. The professor gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
"No, my dear," he said kindly. "Jean is simply going to hook a small machine to you the will measure your power outbursts. Our sessions will go as normal." Seeing her confused look, her enlightened her. "I am sure that you have felt your powers growing." Rogue nodded. "Well, this will simply tell us how much, so that we may alter your sessions to help you to learn to control it. Alright?" The teen nodded again, and with warm eyes, the professor led her toward another, more comfortable leather chair.
As he rolled away, Jean stepped forward, a small, electrical box in her hand. She smiled soothingly at Rogue as she attached it to her arm, and then went back to her seat.
"Alright, now, Rogue. Pay attention to my voice. Relax. This is no different than yesterday," stated the professor firmly. Rogue gave an affirmative, shaking slightly as she closed her eyes, trying to focus. Her power, which had been going frantic at the attachment of the box, steadied slightly under her command. She could feel the professor coming closer, carefully, so he would not startle her. Her mutation sparked at his approach, annoyed, and she attempted to settle it. But as the professor drew nearer, it was having no part in it. It began to push back.
"Rogue," the professor warned. "You need to control it. It feels threatened."
'Then back off!' she thought desperately. She knew this had been a bad idea.
Apparently, she had not projected the thought. The professor was still coming closer, and her power was still going berserk. She could feel Xavier reach for her hand.
"Professor." She heard Jean call. And then it happened.
It was almost like watching a slow motion movie, with you as the star and as a viewer. Her power moved her aside with gentle tenderness, holding true to its loyalty to its mutant. And then it surged forward, splitting in half as it reached her arms. Her cocoa brown eyes snapped open in time to see her mutation devour the box on her arm, and then she felt the rest of it surge toward her fingers. Before she could stop it, it burst out, enveloping the professor. She could feel his life force and telepathy flow into her body. She could feel the drain he was experiencing. Part of her did not wish to release him. Part of her wanted it, all of it. That magnificent power that he possessed . . .
"No!" Rogue jerked her hand away, watching with horrified eyes as the professor, too, jerked back, gasping for breath. Jean was staring at her with a mixture of fascination and fear, and Xavier, when he managed to open his eyes, a horrified realization. The box fell off of her arm.
"Ah, ah told you!" She cried, slipping on the glove she didn't remember taking off. Without another word, she whirled around, the door in front of her flying open to allow her through, and then slamming shut in the two telepaths; faces.
"I honestly don't know if we'll be able to help her, professor," whispered Jean, examining something on the floor. Xavier sighed, and slowly shook his head. His power was already returning.
"We just need to leave her be. Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way." He, too, was examining the box on the floor.
Or, at least, what was left of it.
0o0
He was back in the tank.
It was warm again. They were feeding him once more, and a healthy amount, too. He didn't feel hungry at all. The oxygen in his mask was plentiful – he hadn't coughed once. There had been no poking, no prodding. They scientists had basically left him alone, except for seeing to his comfort. And, best of all, William had stayed away.
He liked it when William stayed away.
It was like paradise now. Something just short of Heaven, yet very, very close. He had never felt so content, so safe, his entire time in the tank. It was nearly comparably to his life before, at least what he could remember of it.
And then, without warning, Stryker was standing in front of him. That same malicious smirk on his face, the ever-present malevolent twinkle in his eyes. The jets in his tank suddenly stopped spewing water, and were instead releasing something very, very hot.
"Happy birthday, Pyro."
And then he was surrounded by green, acidic fire. It nipped at his ankles, covered and burned his arms and hands. The pain was unimaginable, unbearable. Fire had never hurt him before, but this, this wasn't fire.
The pain . . .
"Stop!" John's eyes snapped open once more, and he shot up from his slouching position in his car seat, only to slam his head against the roof. The pain of the impact didn't even register as he felt up and down his arms, ran his fingers over his face, tapped his knees together, anything that would alert him to a burn.
"Nightmare?" John's head jerked around, only to see that the man wasn't even looking at him, but instead focusing on the road on which he was driving.
"Yeah," he replied after a moment, leaning back against the cool glass of the window. "Yeah, just a nightmare." The man grunted in response, and John turned to examine him again. A sense of rage filled him as he saw an emotion on his face that he utterly detested. Pity. He had seen it on the faces of one or two scientists, but they had never helped him. Only felt sorry for him. Sorry for what they were doing to him.
"Don't look at me like that," he warned. The man arched an eyebrow, eyes still on the road.
"I'm not even looking at you," he stated simply, taking another drag off of his cigar. John's lip curled.
Funny.
The brunette teen saw flash at the end of the man's cigar. Something that made his blood churn; something that made him feel completely, utterly whole.
Fire.
So little that he had barely noticed it. The anger he felt toward the man began to travel up his spine, and without knowing exactly what he was doing, John smirked slightly at the cigar.
It exploded. The man let out a string of highly inappropriate curses as the orange flame jumped from his destroyed cigar to his arm. Even John was surprised by the action, never having thought it would be so bad. The car swerved, and he pressed himself as far back in his seat as he could get as the man attempted to steady the vehicle and put out the fire at the same time. This wasn't exactly what he had wanted to happen.
"Shit." John heard the stranger growl. "Fucking hell!"
Again, without knowing what he was doing, John threw out his left arm, his hand clasping the fire. The man tried to jerk away, but the pyrotic mutant held fast, and slowly, the flames began to flow into him. They mixed with the fire that was already running through his veins, and John drew back to adjust to the sensation.
They pulled over on the side of the road, both men breathing heavily. The man gave him a look.
"That's quite a power you got there," he stated between breaths. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't burn me again."
"You pissed me off," John managed to growl, his blood beginning to cool. "That look you had on your face, they . . . they used to look at me like that, and it pissed me off." The man's eyes showed his confusion. "Pity. You pitied me for my nightmares."
"Kid," said the man after a moment, shaking his head. "I don't pity anyone. It's just not my style. In case, I wouldn't pity you." He held his fist forward, and once again extended his claws, smirking slightly as John jumped a bit. "My mutation is self-healing – rapid, too – it's what keeps me alive. These." He gave the claws a little swish. "These were given to me, in a genetic experiment."
"What?" John sputtered, eyes widening. Slowly, the three metal claws were retracted.
"That's why I was at Alkali Lake. The professor of the school sent me there, saying that I might find some answers and what not." With a sigh, the man grabbed the stick standing out of the steering wheel, and the car began to move forward. "I understand about the nightmares, kid."
Though rode in silence for a minute, John's mind racing the entire time. This man, who had rescued him from the remains of his lab, was just like him. The product of genetic experiments, only ones that were far worse than anything John had ever gone through. Self-healing or not, the introduction of metal claws had to be painful. And the man suffered through the same tormenting nightmares that he did. His first impression had been entirely wrong.
"Thank you," John finally said, the words completely foreign on his tongue. "Sir," he added as an afterthought. To his surprise and slight annoyance, the man snorted.
"Logan."
"What?" John blinked, frustration forgotten. The man shot him a sideways glance.
"My name's Logan." John gave a slight smile, though it disappeared at Logan's next words. "Get ready. We'll be at the school in ten minutes."
Great.
0o0
Ororo Monroe was beautiful. It was a wonder that she had not been worshipped as a goddess before the discovery of her powers. With deep mocha skin, large, dazzling brown eyes, and soft, long snow-white hair, she was the epitome of stunning.
Not that she ever realized it, of course. Modest to the core.
The weather witch ambled slowly about her room, rolling her shoulders and sighing with relief as they popped. She had taken the day off from teaching, assigning study hall for her students instead, leaving Peter Rasputin in charge of making sure none of them skipped class. Though, at times, Peter could be just as restless and stupid as any other teenage boy, when given a responsibility, he would see it through. None of those kids would be getting out of class early today.
Secretly, Storm would have liked to see them try.
It was raining outside – a peaceful rain that she hadn't caused. It left her feeling calm, collected. Which was what she needed right now. Because lately, she had been feeling different. She had an unexplainable feeling that something was going to go terribly, horrifically wrong. And it unsettled her deeply.
She of all people knew how fast the weather could change.
A sound suddenly caught her attention. Tires pulling up on wet cobblestone, brakes being slammed on none to gently. Curiously, she moved toward the window, only to spot a unfamiliar car that made her eyebrow crinkle. The professor had not said anything about new students arriving today. However, further study caused a smile to blossom across her pretty face, and the weight that had been on her shoulders to lessen even more. Rogue would be happy. Logan was back.
And it looked like he had brought another person home with him.
0o0
Logan put the car in park with a vicious hit to the stick, grinning widely as the vehicle didn't move. There was no doubt in his mind that Chuck would lecture him about stealing another person's property when he saw the stolen car, and oddly enough, it made him feel even more satisfied.
A glance at John instantly squashed the somewhat happy feeling.
His new charge had himself pressed up against the door again. His blue eyes were wide, and slightly scared as they stared up at the large mansion. Briefly, Logan wondered if Marie had been the same when Storm and Wonder Boy had brought them here the first time.
"Scared, kid?" He asked. John jumped slightly, startled, and quickly shook his head.
"No." Logan snorted disbelievingly.
"Yeah, right. Listen, these people are the good guys. They'll help you, and keep you safe from whoever the hell you seem to think is still after you." John sent him the same side-ways glance Logan had shot him all day.
"And if they can't?" The older man shrugged.
"Then I'll get you outta here. I already promised Marie I'd take care of her, and now I'll promise you the same. Any trouble, and we'll go find some stupid little log cabin in the woods to live in, ok? And don't make me repeat that, because I'm not exactly the most emotional guy on the planet." John smirked, and Logan joined in. A silent pact made, that neither knew would come in affect very, very soon. "Now, come on. I'm hungry."
0o0
Rogue knew he was home.
She didn't know how. There had been no sound of an approaching motorcycle, no loud cussing, no obnoxious demands for beer. Nothing that could give him away. But she knew he was there.
She had been hiding in her closet all day, ever since she had run out of the professor's office. She had cried for hours, Xavier's thoughts, memories, and powers overwhelming her. They had all begun to leave the second she had exited the office, but remnants still remained. Enough that when Kitty had rushed in to get her history text, Rogue had drowned in her not-so-innocent thoughts on the male population.
Perhaps that was why she knew Logan had finally come home.
She raced out of the closet and dorm in record time, rushing past Tracy Cassidy with a shouted greeting, clutching Logan's dog tags tightly in her left hand. She flew down the stairs, vaguely aware of Storm a few feet behind her, taking her time, and calling for her to do the same.
Rogue didn't want to take her time.
She caught sight of a tall figure outside the blurred window, causing the exhilaration in her veins to grow. With a large grin on her face, she threw open the door. Her surrogate older-brother's name died on her lips.
The person before her wasn't Logan.
To Be Continued . . .
Wow. Six thousand words, fourteen pages, and three days trying to get the characters to do what I wanted them to do. Not bad. Not great. But not bad.
To answer the same question asked several times, yes. Fox has confirmed X-4, as well as Wolverine and Magneto. As in I haven't messed up and assumed one of the named spin-offs was X-4. Don't ask me when it's coming out, 'cause I don't know (if you do, tell me), but it is confirmed.
Next chapter contains lots of drama, angst, and action. We all know John doesn't play well with others. Let's just say that he and the other characters don't exactly get off on the right foot. X-Men missions, and a little Kurt angst. Sorry, can't really give you much more. I'll blow it.
Might be a longer chapter, though. I have a bad habit of making longer chapters as the story gets going.
I don't know when the next update will be. I'm going to Indiana to visit my dad for two weeks, and my step-mom doesn't like me using the internet. –grumbles- I have ways around, but work with me, ok? Please?
Gonna go now. I have a sudden strong desire to clean my room (and it needs it). So, I'll see y'all later.
Bye,
Me