Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. It's him. "Logan?"
"Mmph...?"
Oh god. Keep it together, Rogue. "Logan, sugar, it's me. It's Rogue. Stay with me, darlin'. D'you know where you are?"
"R...Rogue?"
"Yeah, sugar." Ohgodohgodohgod. Mustn't cry. Gotta keep it together. "It's me. Are you..." Christ, stupid question on the tip of my tongue - of course he's not okay. "Can you get up? Are you healing?"
"Rogue?"
Shit, I'm so nearly cryin'. Just can't help it - not when I see him like... "Yeah, Logan." I've just - I just have to hold onto him so tight just now. I don't care that we've gotta get out of here. I just have to hold onto him for a moment. God, it's so good to be able to do that. "I've gotcha, sugar."
"You're... you're not a dream?"
Gonna break into hysterical sobs in a moment. But I've got to hold on to myself - for his sake. "I'm not a d-dream, Logan. It's really me. And it's really you. God, I can't believe... I can't believe I've really f-found you."
"Rogue." He's hugging me back so tight now, I can hardly breathe - not that I'm objecting. I never want to let him go. Guess he's about as close to the edge as I am, right now. "Rogue."
Right. Get it together, Rogue. Get him outta here. "C'mon, Logan. I'm takin' you home. Can you stand up?"
"Y-yeah." God, he sounds so pathetic - and it's horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. There just aren't words to describe how much I hate that break in his voice. I've never heard that from him before, and I never, ever want to hear it again. I know he's not invulnerable - nearly proved it myself on more than one occasion - but I've never heard him sound so... so weak. Fuck. If I had one of those bastards before me right now, I'd... I can really understand how he gets into that berserker rage, now. Really. Fuckin'. Understand. I've passed beyond tears and into this incandescent anger. "Ow, crap."
"Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to - I'm sorry." Careless. Shit, get a grip, Rogue. Or you'll be no use - no help. And the important thing - the only thing that matters - is getting him out of here. "Hang on - stay there a second, sugar." He's swayin', but he's upright. Just gonna grab one of the blankets to wrap around him. God, I'm shaking - part anger, part fear, part tearing sobs that I'm just about holding down. "Okay. C'mon. Let's go. Got to get to the elevator, the jet's parked on the surface."
"No."
"No? Logan...?"
"Not the elevator. Take the stairs."
"Logan..."
"The stairs, Rogue." God, I don't - I've never seen that expression on him before. Utter fear.
"Okay, sugar. The stairs." All twenty-eight flights of them. But when he looks at me like that, I'll promise him anything he asks, without question, without hesitation. Even twenty-eight flights of stairs when he can barely walk across his cell. I'll get him out of here, if I have to carry his metal bones up every single goddamn step. "Come on. We're leaving." And when we get out, I'm blowing this place right to hell.
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In many ways I'm glad for his healing factor. It saved his life - kept him alive down there, whilst we searched for him - for nearly a year. God. But I hate it, too. If it hadn't been for the healing thing, he wouldn't be so valuable to them. If it hadn't been for the healing, he'd not have had to endure all that... that torture.
If it wasn't for the healing, he'd be unimaginably messed up right now, physically. And whilst I'm glad that he isn't, it doesn't mean he's okay. And I almost wish he did have some physical marks to show for it - at least a few scars. That way, it wouldn't seem so... so unreal. He wouldn't be walking around, just a couple of days after we get back, with not a scratch on his body. It'd give him - and me - something to deal with. Something to focus on fixing.
But this is... it's wrong, somehow. He's scarred, but it's only in his head. I don't know if I can help him with that - I don't know that I can ever make that better.
I can't believe it was nearly a year ago that he just disappeared like that - just vanished. He walked out of the mansion, went into town... and vanished. I never did find out what he'd gone out for - probably some new cigars, or a bottle of whiskey, knowing him. I've bought him a lot of both, now he's back. I don't want him taking any trips out of the mansion for a while. Just for a while. Like maybe forever.
I know this obsessive stalking of his every move isn't particularly healthy, but I can't relax unless I know exactly where he is. I'll calm down eventually... probably... but for now I'm indulging my compulsive need to make sure he's safe and well and here.
"Hey, sugar." There, that doesn't sound too obsessive-stalkery. Just kinda, hey, sugar, fancy running into you again - for the tenth time today - and it's barely noon - and the rest of the time I've been watching you from various vantage points - and no doubt you knew that... Oh hell, who am I fooling? Certainly not Logan. He gives me this look that I can't quite read.
"Hey."
I don't think he's too annoyed with my weird behaviour. Hopefully he understands. "You goin' to lunch?"
Silence. He's considering the question. Or he's thinking about how to get me to stop following him. Or he's thinking about what ice-hockey games he missed, I don't know - I just can't read him anymore. "Nah."
He's been pretty much monosyllabic since he got back. Which I can totally understand. Me, personally, I've alternated between running off at the mouth, and going completely dumb. My emotions are totally all over the place, I know, but I can't quite seem to get a grip, yet. "Oh." See? At the moment, now he's near, the words in my head can't seem to get past my lips. Possibly a good thing, because if I started to talk to him about all the things I'm feeling right now, I'd probably totally freak him out - more so than he's already freaked.
"Rogue?"
Wow - that's an uncomfortable lurching sensation in my heart, brought on by the fact that that's the first time he's initiated any kind of talking since we got him home. "Yeah?"
"You, uh..." He won't hold my gaze at the moment - just flicks his eyes up to mine for the briefest moment, and then skitters away, surveying the area, the people nearby, the potential hazards - standard Wolverine operating procedure, when he's on edge. "You okay?"
Am I okay? Geez. That's - that's sorta funny that he's asking me that. But not that funny. Because, well, no - no, I'm not okay. And yet I am. He was hurt, badly - tortured, gone for a year with no trace... That's all bad. Very, very bad. I have lots of - lots of negative feelings towards those particular circumstances. But he's back, and he's alive, and physically okay, and... and I can't help it - I edge a bit nearer to him on the bench. Just so my thigh is touching his. So I can feel the warmth of his body. "Yeah." Not exactly true, but I'm better now I'm touching him, anyhow. Now I can feel that he's really alive, and here. He's pretty warm, too. Or I'm cold. "You?"
Did he...? Yeah, he moved a bit closer, too. Definitely. "Mmph." Kind of an affirmative, but not exactly. His hand is resting on his knee, and I swear he's - god, I think he's shaking. I've got to... if I put my hand over his, will he freak? Possibly. But I have to try.
God, that feels good. And he didn't leap out of his skin and run in the opposite direction. In fact, he turned his hand up, so we're palm to palm, and laced his fingers with mine. All that work on my control - all that time spent - it was totally worth it. Just for this moment. Just to be able to hold his hand like this, right now. We're both gripping so tightly that our knuckles are white. We both just need to hold on to each other.
If I move just a little closer, I could lean my head on his shoulder. And wrap my other arm around his back. Would that be too much? Perhaps not - whilst I'm internally debating it, his arm has snaked around me, grabbing my waist and pulling me tight up against him. And my arm seems to have taken the initiative, anyhow, and gone around his waist. I can tuck my cold fingers into the waistband of his jeans now - and he's got a tight grasp around my waist with his other hand - the one that's not still tightly entwined with mine. I think a bit of shoulder-leaning isn't totally out of the question, here. Yeah. He let go of a big sigh when I did that. It was definitely a good sigh - a lot of tension just bled out of him. And out of me, too, I have to admit.
Having him close is really, really good. I think I could stay like this for, oh, a few years. You know, maybe forever. "Rogue?"
I can feel his voice rumble through him when he speaks. That's - that's really comforting. Trying not to tear up now, unexpectedly. I think it's the release of tension. "Yeah?"
"We never did get to celebrate your control, did we?"
Oh god. No, sugar, we didn't. Because you vanished the day before we'd arranged to meet up. I'm pretty certain I can't think about that without bursting into wracking sobs, and that would just be - well, I don't really want to do that. "No." And that's about all the syllables I can force past this lump in my throat right now.
"Oh. Sorry." The sob gets out before I can stop it. I grip him tighter, trying not to cry - trying not to embarrass myself and him. "Hey, hey... It's okay." He lets go of my hand, so he can touch my chin, and turn my eyes up to his - he looks so gentle, so concerned, and that's my undoing. Before I know it - before I can stop myself, I'm wrapping my arms around his neck and bursting into tears against his shoulder. His arms go around me, and it feels so good to have him close. I thought I'd never get the chance... I haven't cried all this time - all the time he's been gone. But now I can't hold it together any more... I can't stop feeling like this... I can't...
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In the end, all the crying was pretty cathartic. And I think it was for him, too - I think he ended up crying into my shoulder, too, silently - not that I'd ever call him on it. I think he was glad that I let go first. I'm glad, too, even though it was pretty embarrassing afterwards, when I was all pink and snotty and puffy-eyed, and of course neither of us had any tissues. He didn't seem to mind. And after all that, it didn't seem to matter if I laid my head on his shoulder, heaved a big, shuddering sigh, and just held him close to me for a while. And it was easier to talk. The lump in my throat just cried itself out. I told him how much I'd missed him, and how much we'd looked and looked for him, and how we eventually found him. He told me a little of what happened - just enough for the rage to come back and burn away the last of my tears. And after we'd gone and committed some destruction in the Danger Room, we both felt a little better.
We're not completely better, not by a long shot, but at least now I know we can work at it. And I know it works better if we help each other. That's good to know. We're going to stick close together for a while, I think - neither of us really feels like being alone right now. We'll help each other out. We'll work this out together - and that's good enough for me.
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