III: GETTING TO KNOW JEAN

By the next weekend, she thought Logan was displeased with her but trying to hide it. And in a dark way, that pleased her.

She was sick, obviously.

He wanted her to eat in the cafeteria with him again—insisted, actually—even though she'd eaten in the cafeteria during the week, too, and it wasn't such a production as this. She limped down the hallway, pawing the wall, and put up with his hovering arms just behind her, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

Honestly, how did he think she got to the library in the morning? She now really regretted telling him about that time she'd slipped and fallen. It had been a funny story, damn it!

Her leg was better, healing, but she was aching as she arrived in the cafeteria, ready to sit down. Logan motioned her to a seat, and she was tired and out of sorts already as she saw that Scott and Jean were at their table, too, terrific.

Her leg gave her the excuse to pull herself together for a moment, and she saw Logan and Scott exchange significant looks, pissed her off. Whatever, she was going to be pleasant, so she plastered on a smile, waited a minute. This would have been so much easier with props, but she needed—wince—a little more time before she went up to fetch her food.

Logan was hovering, and she jerked when he bent over to peer into her face. And it was peering—she could see his eyelashes, pores, flecks in his eyes. 'Your leg is hurting,' he intoned, and she wanted to say, 'No shit, Sherlock,' because it always was. But Scott and Jean were observing them interestedly, and Logan was already whirling away, clapping Scott on the shoulder roughly and prying him off his seat, propping and padding her leg up there, over her embarrassed protestations.

Well…sweetly inappropriate, she guessed, and she tried to be grateful to him, apologetic to them, all at the same time. She was pretty sure that wasn't a success. There was another awkward pause, and Logan shifted, studying her red face again. 'I'll get you a plate, okay?' And she just nodded, 'Anything, thanks.' Anything to get him gone. And Logan left abruptly, and Scott murmured something and followed. And how times had changed when those two were confidantes.

Good Lord, this was too much. She was going to have to say something. She and Logan would end up killing each other, at least one of them would die; she would see to it. And she shook her head, watched in detachment as Scott and Logan got in line, cocked a little towards each other, shoulders a little slumped.

'Bet you as much as you like they're talking about us,' Jean commented in bemusement.

Rogue swallowed, because, yes, she was now seated with only Jean. And they were talking about Logan, who wasn't really talking to her. And she had nothing to say. 'Seems only fair,' she answered evenly. 'We're talking about them.'

Jean teased with a small grin, 'Yeah. Could Logan have been any more determined to get a chair for that leg?'

Rogue huffed out a laugh. 'He's been…hovering a little.'

Jean sighed, one of those long, musical, tired ones. 'Yeah, Scott's been that way, too. They're worried about us.'

Rogue rubbed her brow, twitched nervously. 'I guess.'

There was a pause, then Jean nudged her. 'Logan's worried about your skin not turning off, that you're not interested in your leg's recovery, from what I hear.'

Rogue darted an uncomfortable glance over at Jean, but she was eyeing the pair a little sadly as they paused, conferred over the sidedishes. 'He doesn't talk to me about you,' Rogue admitted, a little tightly. 'Sorry.'

Jean hummed a little in response, drew a little with some water on the table. 'Oh, I expect Scott's worry is the same as that of the entire school.' She smiled a little bitterly. 'When will Jean show it, when will she be crazy, break down?' She gazed round the cafeteria, brilliant, glittering smile, and a few students at other tables nodded shyly back; someone was always looking at Jean now. 'Or when will she be normal again?'

And Rogue saw the carefully controlled smile, the deliberate way her hands were folded, the cracks in the Jean-is-normal facade. And she could hear in Jean's words how Jean wondered, too, how this recovery would go, how it would be. She darted a quick glance at Scott's back, his reedy, anxious posture. No, he probably wasn't helping things.

Well, she hadn't been there, but she could relate. 'And hovering is such a cure for that, ya know,' Rogue observed dead-pan. 'Just knowing they're around to pounce, at the first sign. It's so encouraging.'

Jean turned to her in real amusement, a surprised smile blossoming. 'Absolutely,' she chuckled heartily, and hope blossomed, too, that lunch wouldn't be too bad. But then, Jean was ducking her head a bit, mumbling, 'Look now, they're coming back.' And strangely, Jean grew sober, silent, almost dulcet as the two approached.

So lunch was stilted, stultifying, other st-words. And for people caught in a love triangle-square whatever, Rogue brooded blackly about how UST-free it all was. Say that for being injured, almost crazy.

That wasn't to say there wasn't tension. Logan cut up her steak for her, because…an injured leg meant your arms no longer worked? And Scott kept checking, every few minutes, to see if Jean was settled, a hand against her seat back, her thigh…maybe he was reassuring himself. Sighs and darted glances and harrumphs, too. Jean was good at ignoring it all, but Rogue could feel herself growing tense, picking with her food, biting her cheek raw and sticking doggedly to her plate to keep from responding.

The highlight of the dinner came at the end, as Rogue realized that Logan expected her to finish every bite, and she'd rolled her eyes and shoveled in the last few with less grace than she'd started. Jean reached forward, snagged her dessert.

'Sorry, it just looks so good, I'm going to steal it,' she confessed, digging in, ignoring Scott's low demur. Jean looked around at their faces—Rogue didn't mind, but the other two looked a little uncomfortable—cocked her head, and her tone was a bit hard, 'I think prison entitles me to pie, don't you?'

There was complete and utter silence, broken only by the clatter of Jean's fork on crockery, and Rogue exchanged glances with the other two to guess how to take this: they didn't know either. But when Jean held a bite aloft, there was that tiny smile at the corners, that sparkle in her eyes, and…she was fucking with them.

'After all,' Jean pointed to Rogue with her fork, eyes narrowed a bit, 'You were evidently too slow to dodge someone's claw.' She took the bite, licked her lips like the cat that got the cream. 'I'm doing you a favor.'

And Rogue couldn't help laughing in the baffled silence, at Scott's acute embarrassment, at Logan's slightly offended expression. At Jean's self-congratulatory preening, now, as she munched and eyed the two pole-axed men.

'Hey, can I have a napkin, please?' Jean asked, leaning in to make a grab for it, grinning sidelong at Rogue.

'Woah, there!' Rogue held up a gloved hand. 'Careful. Don't need your memories, thank you very much.' And they grinned cheekily, and Jean smacked her lips and licked off her fork. And they both enjoyed how ill-at-ease and unprepared the men looked.

'No sense of humor,' Rogue explained apologetically, and Logan, strange to say, had pushed back, was gazing at her with the nearest thing to a smile on his face, not like he enjoyed the joke or even understood it, but like he was willing to accept that she had.

Scott just looked anxious, bewildered. 'God, Scott, you're worse than Logan,' Rogue chuckled weakly, because—who could be worse than Logan?—and threw a napkin across the table at him. She and Jean sniggered idiotically as Scott brushed it away a little stiffly, enjoyed the aggrieved look he cast them, Logan's commiserating glance in response.

But... 'Better move,' Rogue announced, rubbing her leg a little, and Logan was all attention and rising now, and Rogue was able to shoot off a last real wave at Jean, a 'pleasant lunch' for a goodbye.

And as she hobbled away, she hoped she'd run into Jean again. Because she could use a bit more black humor, a bit more of a break, an opportunity to feel like she wouldn't kill Logan.

Because he was hovering again. Only this time, she told him that she would prefer to fall on her ass than have him right behind her. 'And if I do fall,' she twisted round sharply, hopping a bit uncomfortably to look at him. 'You have my permission to laugh.'

He was arrested in space, hands still outstretched, but they dropped after a moment, he backed up, studying her. 'Ok.'

She sighed. 'Laugh, Logan. It was a joke.' She poked him.

Small smile, agreeable nod. 'Ok.'

She eyed him suspiciously, 'til she was sure it took. 'Ok.' And he tread patiently beside her, threw her cute little glances and smiles on the way back. Maybe she wouldn't have to kill him, after all.

She didn't have to kill him; which was just as well, because Logan grew so busy, preoccupied that he might not have noticed. He dropped the solicitude like it was a relief, left Rogue to her own devices. And it was a relief. She just wished, hoped…well, she hoped he was ok.

They weren't talking. Looking back, they'd never been big talkers, which surprised her. Because the conversations she remembered, the words in her memory that echoed back, were always his. And she knew that she could chat for hours. Just, evidently, not with him.

He seemed able to talk to others, too. He was confiding in Hank about her skin, so she was buttonholed with the Beast for about two hours, explaining that her skin was fine, and no, she didn't think there was anything weird about the dragon this time. No, she didn't know of anything Hank could do.

He confided in Scott, of course, resulting in transparent, leading, one-sided discussions with her at lunchtime. So her skin wouldn't turn off, huh? How was getting around on that leg? The sad thing was that at one time she'd actually enjoyed talking to Scott.

Rogue even heard from Kitty (shortly before she left to go back to college) about how excited (?) Logan was about this opportunity to expose the labs. 'Giddy like a schoolboy, sometimes,' Kitty ragged. 'The bad ass Wolverine. Hilarious, don't you think?'

Rogue nodded, but she didn't think, couldn't imagine it. And it hurt, especially since it was her fault she didn't know, and she tried not to think that her leg, some type of misplaced guilt, was the only reason he was still there. Because it wasn't fair to start questioning him yet, and he had always been fair to her.

But she was tired of finding out everything second hand, third hand. She wanted to talk to him; she just didn't know what to say. So she stuck with generics, at first: tried, 'How was your day?', ashamed it was the first time in nearly two weeks she'd asked.

And he answered back with the same clichés, 'Fine', 'Good', 'Busy'.

So she got more specific. 'So I heard that the newspapers have picked up the lab story.'

'Yeah,' he breathed, changing into long sleeves, gloves, socks. She'd tried to cover up completely so he wouldn't have to, but…he was covering up anyway.

'You helping out on that?' she asked, propped up on an elbow in bed, watching.

He yanked up the bedclothes, heaved in, settled. 'Uh-huh.'

There was an almost leaden pause, as Logan blinked up at the ceiling and she played with the pillowcase. Had she always been this bad at this, or was this recent? 'So how's it going?'

He closed his eyes, sighed. 'It's fine,' he assured her in his most-patient tone, then rolled, as though it were an effort, over to embrace her awkwardly, smudge a kiss in her hair. He flopped back over to his side.

'Ok, then,' Rogue eased down. He could just be tired. 'Let me know if there's anything I can do.'

A gloved hand flapped over, patted her without looking. He draped an arm over his eyes, then, almost absently, 'How's your leg?'

Just as absently, 'Better.'

He grunted, shifted. Fell asleep. And that was that.

So she was BORED. Bored and not in the loop and, with her leg, without a job anymore, evidently. Because she wasn't getting a lot of support. No one seemed to care: that her skin was still on, her leg not healed, that she wasn't back to work. It made her wonder…shouldn't somebody, care that is, whether from jealousy, concern, expedience? Was this bizarre-o land, or just…What was going on?

She asked Xavier for a new project. He told her to rest up, heal, rehabilitate. She made the rounds of the recruits—what was going on, anyway?—but everyone had their own projects, waved her away.

Well, the X-men had a long history of not giving her enough work to do. Those who stayed made themselves indispensable. So, casting a thought back to the last mission, she guessed there were plenty of files and pages and leads about the Ohio facility that could be followed up on.

Where were they, anyway? Few sly questions, bit of sleuthing, she found the basement, and Jubilee with the documents.

'Hey, chica,' she was greeted, slight surprise, more fatigue. 'Welcome to the dungeon. Oh, wait, sorry—forgot about the dragon with you. How about, welcome to the graveyard? Too death-y?'

Rogue laughed, limped over, Jubilee gestured tiredly to a stack of papers several inches thick. 'Files from the facility; could use some help.'

Rogue picked up a stack, glanced over the contents, slight queasiness revealing her apprehension; she wasn't sure she was authorized, that she should presume, government facility, privacy, victims and whatnot. But on the other hand...

The documents were dry, impersonal, explicit:

'Subject 2317 appears telesympathetic, responding equally to electric shocks applied directly and indirectly (to another subject). Physical manifestations can be simulated to the point of cardiac arrest.'

'Warning: Telekinetic abilities may limit long-term viability of S2317 research. S2317 could disable electric shock devices by six months. S2317 can manipulate any familiar or visible device. (Restraints need to be outside the visual range at all times.)'

'Telekinetic acts could not be consistently induced by threat of torture, physical torture, or by holding food and water in sight but out of reach; S2317 will use abilities to prevent starvation of cellmates.'

'Telekinetic abilities in S2317 are impaired by physical torture, sleeplessness, and starvation. Telekinetic and telesympathetic abilities may be enhanced through social and physical isolation.'

And those were just the parts that caught her attention in the first flip through. She—Lord, Jean, poor Jean—how sick was she, and suddenly feeling very guilty for reading this, knowing this.

Jubilee was monitoring her, a dead expression on her face. 'Heh. Try redacting this lot.' She cocked her head. 'D'jya get to the part where they got her to use her powers by starving the others?' Rogue nodded, licked her lips. 'One of them ended up dying. Yeah, they put Jean in isolation for too long, nearly drove her nuts, and when they put her back, she blocked out everything, completely unresponsive. One of the other cell mates died of starvation, dehydration after seven days, and the scientists had to stop that experiment. After all, the others were mutant subjects, too. But they never got Jean to use her powers again.'

'Oh my God,' Rogue breathed, which felt so inadequate…but Christ.

'Yeah, that was about a year ago,' Jubilee returned, closing a file, sticking a pen in to mark the place. 'Light reading.' She gestured with a weary shrug to the stack-upon-stacks of boxes behind her. 'So, you say you want to help?'

So Rogue had lunch with Jubilee, a bit of a grim lunch. 'So that's why your conversation was so…' Rogue searched for a word.

Jubilee grinned a little, 'Yeah, sorry, chica. I didn't know what to say.'

'Understandable,' Rogue chuckled morbidly. She eyed the cafeteria. 'Who else has access? That needs to be limited. Really sensitive, personal information in there.'

Jubilee sighed. 'I know. I told Xavier, but he's making comments to the press about the facility from Ohio, got a manhunt for some wacko teen mutant in Arkansas. And breaking in his new recruit—she can't type, evidently.' Jubilee rolled her eyes. 'He's just busy. Tossed this in my lap; just wants the files for release, so they can be leaked while the story's still hot.'

Rogue leaned forward. 'Does Jean even know? That the files exist, that they plan to release that information?'

Jubilee hummed, motioned silence, eyeing someone walking past—Jean. They both hunched, silent and watchful, as Jean clipped by, seating herself with some freshmen at a table across the cafeteria. There was a chirrup of surprised greetings, and it looked like Jean was settling in for an impromptu little chat. Rogue might have dismissed it, except for the trace of brittleness there, the forced conversation. And the scowling, hunched Scott observing from the doorway. What the—?

'She does now,' Jubilee confirmed, sipping. 'Scott,' and she nodded significantly. 'He found me yesterday, insisted on reading her casefiles, so he would know what happened.'

'Oh, dear. Wrong move on so many different levels,' Rogue shook her head, wincing. Poor Jean. Poor Scott.

'Yeah, couldn't get Chuck to forbid it,' Jubilee shrugged sheepishly. 'She tore into him pretty good, too. He's agitated, she's upset.' Jubilee smacked the crumbs off her hands. 'Drama!'

'Good God, you've got all the gossip, haven't you?' Rogue marveled distantly.

'Gotta work down in the graveyard, chica,' Jubilee grinned with that perverse sense of humor. 'All the best gossip involves death, torture, or human suffering.'

Speaking of: 'Do you have any idea what happened to the others?'

Jubilee stuck her tongue in her cheek, sly grin. 'Course I do. I'm in the know. Dropped 'em off in Canada, with a group of Xavier's colleagues. They have new identities now.'

Rogue heard Jean's warm laugh, looked around to watch her playing mother to the students at her table. As she had so many years ago. Strange. 'So it's just Jean who might be exposed by the files.'

'Looks that way,' Jubilee grimaced into her soda. 'I can tell you, I'm not letting anyone else in, no matter what Xavier won't say.' Rogue sent her a significant look, arched brow. 'Obviously not you. We're friends.'

Rogue scoffed, with some affection, 'Jubes, you let me because I'm on the Strategy committee. You're friends with half the school. Maybe three-quarters.'

Jubes grabbed a fry off of Rogue's plate, grinned unapologetically. 'Yeah. I know how to network.' She scraped up the last of her potatoes. 'So you gonna help me out with the redacting or not?'

Rogue hesitated. 'I don't really think I should. I wasn't assigned, and I'm—I shouldn't really have looked in the first place, not without Jean's permission, and—Logan, Jean…I'd just as soon no one knew I knew.'

It was a good thing Jubilee was such a good friend. She sucked the dregs out of her soda through the straw, flipped her a look that oozed irony and disappointment. 'I know, would've been nobler if I'd taken that position from the beginning,' Rogue admitted. 'Don't hate me?'

Jubilee sighed. 'Just have my back in an argument, alright? I'm going to Xavier with the first drafts soon, sending him the copies that won't reveal powers at all. There's enough there without it, but I think Xavier's gonna want more.'

Rogue nodded. She thought they could probably manage that, if they both made enough fuss. But that was always assuming they were let in on the decision-making process. 'Absolutely. Tell Jean, too. Between the three of us, we can take him.'

Jubilee grimaced. 'Reinforcements. He can be such an old white guy about this kind of thing. And he's only gotten worse.'

'Old white guy?' Rogue chuckled. 'Only you could get away with saying that, Jubes.'

And Jubes grinned wickedly; Xavier and Jubes had a somewhat notorious working relationship, fueled not inconsiderably by Jubes' knack for storytelling. She'd even hijacked Xavier's wheelchair battery once, threatened to blow it up altogether if he didn't shut up and listen to her for a second. 'That will release noxious fumes, Jubilation,' Xavier had warned sonorously. 'Exactly!' Jubes had replied. And though Xavier liked to grumble, he'd never found anyone else to match him so well.

'So, what you gonna be doin' now, then?' Jubilee asked, stealing another fry.

'God, I don't know. You got anything? Else, I mean. I feel I really should stay away from anything involving Jean.'

Jubilee chewed. 'Maybe can pull something together for ya, if ya want. 'Course you've got fewer options with that leg.' She cocked a sidelong, pursed her lips. 'You don't want it healed?'

'I—' Rogue'd never been asked before, straight out, felt a mixture of resentment and relief that someone finally had. 'I do. It's getting better. If-if I was anyone else, I'd have to just let it heal, I mean…' she'd received a very skeptical look from Jubes there. 'Ok. I just don't want Logan to heal it right now.'

Jubilee hummed noncommittally. 'Everyone's fine with you taking time off, Rogue. If that's what it is.'

'I don't want time off. I don't.'

Jubes held her gaze for a beat. 'Okay. I'll see what I can do,' reminding Rogue what an invaluable friend she was.

She was lucky and she knew it. She was just doing a crappy job of remembering it.

Because she was alive, which was always something. And she was young and in fairly good health, which was another. And sure the untouchable skin thing was an issue right now, but…there were worse things in life.

Like being held prisoner and being tortured for three years. Being responsible for the deaths of your cellmates because your captors had fucked you up so badly. Being brought back from the dead and to this fishbowl of a school, having telepaths and do-gooders and former lovers wanting to pry into your business. Former students reading the barebones transcripts of the hell your life had been. Finding that the school, your life, that nothing was left of the bits you remembered.

Rogue didn't have that to get over, that for people to pry into. She'd grown up. Safely, here, at the Mansion. Here with Jubes and Kitty (and sometimes Bobby). She'd made friends with Remy, become friends with Scott, lovers with Logan, and…

She was grateful, she was humble. She'd got a lot of things, still had. And even if she didn't always have this, even if many times it was less than everything, she'd have to make it enough.

It was so much more. And she was going to try and remember it.

Ok, easier said than done.