For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. –Newton's Third Law of Motion
Floating.
Floooating.
Float. Float. Float.
On leather and cigar scented clouds.
God's a smart guy to make clouds like that.
"Jesus, Logan, put her down. Are you trying to kill yourself?"
Talking. Clouds don't talk.
Then growling. Clouds don't growl.
Huh. Did God forget to tell the clouds they're supposed to be quiet?
"Where the Hell do you suggest I put her, One Eye?"
No. No. No. Don't put me anywhere. Here is nice. Really. I don't need to be put anywhere else. I'm good.
"Oh I don't know. We're in an infirmary, so maybe one of the gurneys. Just a thought."
"You ever been on one of those things? They're fucking cold."
That's right, cloud. You tell him. Gurneys are bad.
"Logan, I appreciate that this situation has come as a bit of a surprise, but please consider your language—"
More growling, and now the clouds are squeezing me and that kind of hurts, and—"Now isn't the time, Ch—"
"Logan, watch her arm!"
Sudden spin. Oh boy. That's not good. Maybe I'd better—
"Jeannie, just—"
Huh? Jeannie?
Oh, yeah. Crashing wave of reality.
Not clouds.
Great.
Stupid, stupid reality.
I forced my eyelids to open into slits. When the overhead fluorescent lighting didn't shoot lasers of fire into my brain, I decided to chance opening them a little more. It was totally worth the effort. Either my hallucination of Logan appearing in the doorway hadn't been a hallucination at all, or I was still having it. Whichever was ok with me because it meant that Logan—either real or imaginary—was cradling me against his chest like he never planned to put me down.
Before I could really start reveling in the sensation, now that I was awake and all, Dr. Grey's voice, husky and soothing, horned its way into my reveling. Since I'm not a teenage boy, I can safely say Dr. Grey's voice is pretty much the last thing I've ever wanted horning in on me.
"Logan, please. I know this seems—unusual—but you need to put Rogue down. She's had a traumatic afternoon, and I want to help her."
The arms holding me softened, tension easing, and I felt Logan take a step toward Dr. Grey. That was enough to convince me I wasn't in La La Land anymore—no way would one of my hallucinations respond to her like that. Since I wasn't interested in ending up back on a lab table, I squirmed to get Logan's attention before he fell too deep into a red-hair induced trance.
He looked down at me, and frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you think you're doing, Kid?"
The growly annoyance in his voice made me smile in spite of my headache. It's good to know some things never change.
"Hey, Sugar, long time no see. Want to let me down?"
Logan snorted. "Think you can stay out of trouble if I do?"
For half a second, I really thought about saying no. Now that I was awake, I was enjoying the feel of Logan's voice rumbling through his chest. Plus the cotton of his t-shirt was way soft against my cheek, and the arms of his jacket were cool where they touched my bare—
I stiffened like someone shoved a fireplace poker up my butt. "Holy crap! Put me down! Are you trying to kill yourself? I'm not wearing a shirt, and—"
A sardonic smirk and chuckle interrupted my—carefully, I didn't want to put him into a coma—squirming tirade. "Kind of hard not to notice that, Kid."
Heat raced up my cheeks and curled low in my stomach, and my lips sealed shut. I tried to come up with a witty response, but the blush apparently burned through all my clever comebacks. I was thinking about pretending to pass out again—can't be humiliated if you're unconscious—when sounds of disapproval saved me from having to decide what to do.
Oh yeah. I forgot about the Three Stooges—One-Eye, Red, and Wheels. Well great. Everyone was getting a look at my goodies today. And not to brag or anything, but over the past few months what with regular meals and all, God has been kind. Particularly when assisted by high quality pushup lingerie. Of course, the day everyone was staring at me almost bare-chested, I'd worn a freaking sports bra. Probably now wouldn't be a good time to try to convince them I really didn't have the chest of a 12-year-old girl, though.
Maybe I could work that into the conversation later. Something like, "Hey, Scott, interesting class today. And look, I have cleavage. Really, check it out." Yeah, I don't think so.
Logan didn't seem to care that he was on the ass-end of a three sets of dirty looks. He shouldered past Scott to the gurney. Had I still been hallucinating, he would have laid me gently on my back, brushed the hair from my face, and kissed me, damn the audience and the life sucking skin. Big surprise, reality didn't quite live up to the fantasy.
Instead, he sidled up to the table and dumped me unceremoniously on my ass on it. And he was right. It was fucking cold. Dr. Grey's latex covered hands on my shoulders and velvet-over-steel voice stopped me from jumping down to the floor again.
"Not so fast, young lady."
There is nothing in the world I hate quite so much as being called young lady. I would have told her that, too, loudly and accompanied by some very unladylike hand gestures if I hadn't been busy staring at Scott and Logan, who'd apparently decided now would be a good time to start a good, old fashioned, Georgia Pissing Contest.
No surprise there. They'd been in the same room for a good five minutes already.
"Don't get your panties in a yank, One-Eye; it was a joke."
"A tasteless joke. Rogue is a child, a minor, and from where I'm standing it looked like you were ogling—"
The hairs on the back of my neck went up. Time out. A minor I was, but a child? I don't think so. Before I could protest the semantics of the conversation, Logan's growl interrupted me.
"Careful, Scooter. You're going to hurt my feelings. I don't make it a habit of ogling little girls."
Little girl? Ok, that was enough of—
"Scott, Logan!" The Professor's voice was sharp, and miracle of miracles, both men shut up. "If you can't refrain from causing a disturbance, please see yourselves out."
Tense silence filled the room for a long heartbeat before both men nodded. Neither one looked particularly gracious about it, but the action and ensuing quiet satisfied the Professor, who shot them a last warning look before he turned to me.
When his penetrating blue eyes landed on mine, I felt an intense urge to ask Logan to pick me back up. Since he was still looking a little cranky, and since I was still mad at him for calling me a little girl, I kept my mouth shut. Instead I tried to channel what was left of my inner Wolverine and employed a battle strategy I was pretty sure he'd left in my brain: When you're outnumbered, surrounded, and out of options, attack.
I met the Professor's eyes head on, straightened my shoulders and made my voice flat and cold. "You touched my skin. I trusted you, and you touched me. You know how I felt about my mutation, what it does to me. And you still touched me."
He didn't flinch, didn't blink, but his eyes softened, and all at once I could see—sympathy—in his face and sadness. That didn't make sense, at least, it wasn't quite the reaction I'd been expecting.
"Rogue—"
"No, Professor. I could have killed you. Easily. And then I'd have had to live with that. How you could willfully disregard my wishes and—"
"Rogue, I didn't touch you."
My mouth closed with a snap.
Oh that was just great. I'd made a fool—
"Wait a second. You said I was here because you had to blast your way out of my mind. Because my mutation—"
"That's true."
"Then you touched me!"
"No, my dear. I didn't come into contact with your skin at all." He watched me like he was waiting for me to understand, but it wasn't happening. I've never been good at jigsaw puzzles.
Silence stretched, and when it didn't seem like the Professor was going to shed any light on the problem, my confusion started to morph into frustration. Whatever game he was playing with the whole not just saying what he meant thing, I was tired of it. Something had happened, was happening. Something bad. I got that—no grass growing here. But I couldn't wrap my mind around what exactly it was. I felt more than saw Logan shift closer to me, but I wasn't in the mood to be comforted. I shoved him away with a shoulder to his middle—ok, that's I lie—I tried to shove him. Logan isn't exactly a lightweight, and when he doesn't want to move, he's pretty much a statue. Since I couldn't push him away from me, I did the next best thing and leaned my head against his hip.
When he ran a hand down the back of my hair, I felt tears prickling my eyes. Damnit. I'd known that was going to happen. Stupid Logan and his stupid silent support. Had he never seen "Grease?" Did he not get that letting the other side see you cry was a defeat? The idea of tears in front of Dr. Grey made me mad—thank you, Lord—and I fisted them away. Patience used up, I narrowed my eyes at the Professor, defiant.
"What are you talking about? You can't have it both ways. Pick a story and stick with it, Charles." Huh. Little British in my accent there. Thank you, Magneto.
The Professor's voice was modulated, soothing. "I'm not sure what happened, but while I was in your mind, your mutation—activated—and tried to trap me. I've never experienced actual physical contact with you, but from what you've said in describing the connection that forms when you use your gift tactilely, the sensations were identical."
"Wait, so you're saying I psychically, not physically—touched—you?"
The Professor nodded.
I bit my lip and thought for a minute. When I spoke I started slow, but I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice. "So that's a good thing, right. It means my gift is in my head, not only my skin. It means I should be able to learn how to control—"
The Professor was looking dour again and shaking his head.
"Rogue, now that this form of your gift has manifested itself you have to consider the possibilities—"
I couldn't help it. I tuned the Professor out and looked up at Logan. A goofy smile the size of Rhode Island was stretching across my face, but I didn't care. It wasn't only my skin. It was going to work. I was going to learn to control it. Yeah, it was going to hurt. But I could do it. I could really—
"Rogue, listen to me."
The Professor's terse order penetrated the happy fog in my mind and pulled me back to reality. Stupid reality.
"As I was saying, now that your gift has manifested psychically, you have to consider the possibility that it will do so again."
I—huh? "Huh?"
"Think about this very carefully, Rogue. Did you intentionally use your gift on my mind?"
I lurched back, shocked. "I—no! I would never do that, Professor."
His nod was solemn. "I know you wouldn't. And if it happened unintentionally once, we have to consider that it might happen unintentionally again."
It took me a minute to process his words, but when I did horror rose in my stomach as the implications sank into my brain.
I felt myself shaking my head. "No. No. That's not possible. I don't have any of your gifts. I don't even have any of your memories or feel you in my head at all. You're wrong. You're—"
"I used the full force of my power to disengage with you. Apparently that burned through any of my memories and abilities you may have absorbed, but if it had been anyone else, Rogue."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to finish the sentence. I knew. If it had been anyone else, they would have been dead.
Dead.
Hysterical giggles bubbled up in my throat, and I started rocking back and forth.
This was, apparently, somewhat disturbing to my audience, because concerned voices came at me in a barrage. I ignored them. The giggles turned into chuckles, which transitioned quickly into full on guffaws.
Funny word, guffaw.
That just made me laugh harder.
There was commotion around me, and someone with a glove on tried to hold my hand. I jerked away, and the wild motion caused my fingertips to brush skin. A cheek. Scott. And boy did he like the way Jean looked in that lab coat. Of course, he didn't like that Logan was—
"Scott! Are you ok?"
Oh can it, Jeanie. He's fine. It was just a second. Of course, he appreciates you rushing to his side.
Sharp look from the Professor.
Oops? Did I say that out loud?
Oh wait, no. He's psychic.
"Give me all the dirty looks you want. We both know it's true."
Uh oh. That I did say out loud. And isn't that funny, too. What comes after a guffaw?
Hands like iron on my upper arms, hot through the sheet. One hard shake.
"Get a hold of yourself, Kid."
"I guess I am the only one who can do it, right Sugar?" Ha, ha, more laughter. God, who knew I was such a comedian.
"Logan, she's hysterical. I need to sedate her—"
"Wouldn't get to close, Dr. Grey. I know it makes you nervous to be around me when I'm showing skin and you aren't all suited up."
I was gratified to see her blush. "Rogue, there's no need to be cruel. I'm only trying to—"
Then Charles, sounding like every disappointed parent I'd ever heard. "We know you're under a great deal of stress, but that doesn't excuse behavior—"
And just like that, I'd had enough. Of everything. I forced my serene face—the one my Aunt Betty wore the time her new, second generation Vietnamese neighbor asked if anyone could join the Daughters of the American Revolution or if there were rules—into place. "You're right, and I'm sorry." I looked at Dr. Grey again. "Just do what you have to do and get me out of here. I want to go to my room." I slumped on to the table, and sealed my lips shut.
"Rogue—"
"No. I'm fine. I'm sorry I touched you, Mr. Summers. But could you just," I motioned with a vague wave of my hand toward the door.
"I, well, yeah. No harm, no foul, ok? And Professor, you can head on up, too."
"My dear, you've had a difficult afternoon. Perhaps I should stay and see you to your—"
"I'll get her upstairs—" Logan growled from a couple steps away. Bizarrely, I'd actually sort of forgotten he was in the room. Maybe it was a good thing I was in the infirmary. Brain damage was looking more and more likely.
"No," I interrupted him. The look he shot me said he wasn't in the mood for arguing, but since I was even less in the mood for answering questions, I straightened my shoulders. "Just—go get settled in or something. I'll catch up with you later. I'm not in the mood for company right now, Logan."
A flash of something—hurt, maybe, no way—tightened his features for half a second, but he sent me a terse nod.
Moving in a herd, they left with a pneumatic swish of the doors. The room, Praise Jesus, was all at once silent and cool around me. I let my eyes drift closed and tried not to think.
"Ok, Marie, why don't you lie back and let me re-attach these electrodes? You look fine, and the readings I got before you woke up seemed normal, but I want to go a little deeper. Have you ever had a CT scan?"
Well crap. I forgot about Dr. Grey. Clearly, I praised too soon.
I bit back a sigh.
"Nope. What do you need me to do? I'm all yours."
Dr. Grey patted my hand—briefly—and smiled. "Excellent. I'm glad you're feeling more cooperative now. I can imagine you were a little upset earlier, so why don't we just agree to forget the whole last half hour?"
Right. She can imagine. Perfect Jean Grey. Not that I'm bitter or anything.
She was smiling and looking so sincere, though, that I couldn't bring myself to stick my tongue out at her. Ok, that's a lie. I so could have. But I didn't. I didn't even roll my eyes. But I did flip her off under the sheet at the same time I smiled back and nodded, the picture of grateful agreeability. It seemed like the cooperative thing to do.
I spent two and a half hours in the infirmary before Dr. Grey pronounced me healthy.
"I don't understand it," she finally announced with a shake of her head. "I've seen the results of the Professor using his power against someone's mind. And the blast he sent out at you was strong enough that it knocked me on my ass—er—rear all the way down here."
I shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I feel fine." I paused and added, trying to be helpful. "I still have a headache."
She waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. "A headache. You should be a vegetable, Rogue."
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still me."
This earned me a scolding look, which I chose to ignore.
Looking at the pictures of my brain on the view screen in front of her, Dr. Grey frowned. "The only thing abnormal at all is this area. It looks like there was some sort of blunt force trauma, but—"
Ok, we'd had this same conversation three times now. I couldn't do it again. "Dr. Grey, I know you're just trying to help, but if you think I'm ok, would it be alright if I went to my room now. I'm really, really tired."
A frown marred the perfection of her features for half a second, but she nodded. "Alright—I've done all the testing I can here, anyway. But if I need you—"
"I'm just a psychic yell away."
Cue uncomfortable pause.
"I—why don't you make sure to keep your cell phone with you? Just until we get the mental aspect of your gift a little more under control."
Oh good. That's a reminder I needed.
"Yeah. Of course. Don't know what I was thinking." I hopped off the table. "So, my clothes?"
By the time I was dressed and walking out of the lab, I was feeling more than a little claustrophobic. The tunnels under the mansion are cool, but I'll never understand how Dr. Grey spends so much time in them. I require regular doses of natural light to avoid losing my mind.
My eyes were affixed firmly to my feet—avoid eye contact with Dr. Grey so she doesn't see my pupils and think of another weird and/or painful test to run—when I pushed the button to open the door. They stayed there as I stepped into the hall, and I was thinking that a rousing game of "Step on a Crack, Break Your Mother's Back," was just what the doctor ordered to keep any pesky deep thoughts from swimming to the surface on the way to my room, when a voice beside my ear scared 10 years off of my life.
"How you feeling, Kid?"
"Gah!" I screamed like a girl and whirled around.
Logan was leaning against the wall, arms folded, looking like he owned the place.
"Jeeze, make a noise, would you?"
"I did. You screamed. Like a girl."
"A little girl?" I muttered, cranky, under my breath.
"Nah. More like a teenager with a bad attitude."
Well, crap. Stupid senses. I rolled my eyes and shot Logan a dirty look. "What are you doing skulking around down here, anyway? I thought you were going to get settled in."
He shrugged. "Decided to settle in here."
"Have you been waiting here the entire time?" I asked, voice incredulous.
"It was that or spend a couple hours torturing Summers."
I shot him a look, and his smirk widened into an almost-smile. Be still my heart.
"Yeah. That would have been fun, too, but Chuck didn't seem like he was in the mood, so I figured I'd just hang around and wait for you."
I was touched. I knew he wasn't a huge fan of tight spaces. I was pretty sure the tunnels creeped him out even more than they did me. Actually, I kind of thought they creeped me out because of him. I wanted to tell him how much the fact that he'd stayed meant to me, but I settled for offering a heinously lame, "Thanks. That's really—nice," and trying to keep all traces of adoration out of my voice.
He straightened away from the wall and fell into step beside me. Our shoulders brushed as he hit the elevator call button. Be still my heart.
"Yeah, well. You've got some explaining to do."
My heart, which only moments ago had been dangerously close to exploding out of my chest, sank. I raised and involuntary hand to my temple and rubbed my head while I searched for words that wouldn't make me sound like an ungrateful little witch.
"It's great that you waited for me, but do you think we could just—table it for now? I really don't want to talk about it, Logan."
Heartbeat of silence, during which I felt the same weird hurt-pissed vibe from the lab. Man. I was screwing this up. I decided to try again. "I—look—I will explain. I need to explain. I mean, I want to explain." I chanced a glance up, but Logan wasn't looking particularly moved by my speech. "To you, I mean," I added in a rush, "but just not right now. Not today."
"Marie—"
"It's been—a long summer," I interrupted him. "And you're back now, and I could really, really use a couple of hours of feeling like a normal person. I—can't do that—with anyone else."
This time the silence was longer. Just as I was thinking I was going to have to do something about it—probably give in and pour my heart out to Mr. Sex-on-Legs-but-Nosey-As-Hell—I felt an arm snake its way around my shoulders.
A deep sigh of relief burst out of my chest as Logan pulled me into the same kind of half hug he'd given me that day on the train. I thought I felt his lips touch the top of my head, but if they did they were gone so fast I couldn't be sure.
Then he was stepping away from me, pulling a cigar out of an inner jacket pocket.
"So, you gonna help me unload my bike?"
A smile stretched across my face. "Your bike? From the bitching going on for the last few months, it's not your bike?"
Logan let out a slow chuckle. "Bitching, huh? Tell me more about that."
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside the car.
I clicked my tongue. "Not back a whole day and already you're poking the bear."
"You complaining?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Not a bit." I replied, my voice shaking just a little with emotion.
Logan didn't comment on the shake. "Good." He reached out a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Now about the bitching?"
And for just a second, everything was right in my world again.