Title: Jailers of Fate Part Four – Information

Author: CC62827

Summary: Set after X1, Logan returns to the mansion. My somewhat AU version of what happens next.

Word Count: 4,000ish

Notes: So you might notice from here on in that I'm taking random characters from the comic 'verse and making them my own. Their character history isn't necessarily going to match up with cannon, just so you know. I decided that was allowed.

"Heads up."

The air left my lungs in a whoosh as one of the bike's saddlebags smacked into my chest. I flailed and caught it before it hit the ground. "Hey! Are you trying to kill me?" I shot Logan a dirty look over the motorcycle seat. "This thing is heavy."

He shrugged. "I said 'heads up.'"

"Yeah, well, you should have said, 'Brace yourself, Marie, I'm about to throw a bag of bricks at you.'"

"Reflexes, Kid. Didn't you just get finished telling me how 'great' you're doing in self-defense?"

I rolled my eyes. "They don't throw rocks at your head in self-defense class, Logan."

"They should. Sounds like you have a shitty teacher."

"My teacher has a bionic arm and can channel heat and light into enhanced strength."

"Like I said, shitty. Are you going to help me carry my bags up, or did you want to hang around the garage all day?"

"You are such a jerk." I informed him, but I couldn't keep the hint of a smile off of my face. Man, it was good to have Logan back. "It's a good thing I like you. Do you even remember where your room is?"

He raised an eyebrow and shot me a grin that was just this side of wicked. "I think I can track down a bed, Kid."

Oh boy.

Was it possible to have a heart attack at age 17?

Before I could succumb to cardiac arrest at the idea of Logan bed hunting in the mansion, he was talking again.

"So besides self-dense—which I'm not too impressed with so far—what have they been teaching you around here?"

I shrugged. "Pretty much the usual, English, lot of science and math, French is a pain in my butt."

"French?"

"State of New York has a foreign language requirement. Once I get caught up on all my boring core stuff, I'm slated to start the Superhero track, though, so that should be fun."

"The Super—what the Hell is that?" He reached out and punched the elevator button.

"It's not really called that, but it's all the cool stuff you might need to know if you want to grow up and be an X-Man. Computer systems, martial arts, weapons training..." I trailed off into silence. Logan's face had gone blank, but by the intensity of his stare, I figured the elevator doors should thank their makers that he didn't have laser blast vision like Mr. Summers. "Logan?"

My voice was tentative but seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into.

"You thought about if that's really what you want, Kid?"

Ok, confusion. "Um—not to sound dense or anything, but you're going to have to give me a little more than that. Thought about what?"

"X-Man classes. That what you want? To be an X-Man?"

The doors swooshed open, buying to a few seconds of think time. Thank you, doors.

"Well," I started slowly once we started rising. "I'm not committing myself to anything yet, but after Magneto—I mean, I think I'd like to do something to—help people—and mutants." There was a heartbeat of silence. "Of course, it's not going to matter if I don't figure out how to pass French," I finished, reverting back to my old friend sarcasm.

Logan looked hard at me for a second, then without warning reached out and pushed my hair behind shoulders. "Make you a deal. I'll help you with French, if you do an hour a day of self-defense with me. And you hold off for awhile on deciding about the Superhero shit."

I was speechless, not something that happens often. "Wait a second, you speak French?" And you want to commit to spending an hour of your time with me a day without me having to beg? I didn't say that part out loud, but the choir of angels in my head broke into the "Hallelujah Chorus."

Logan grunted. "I'm a deep well, Kid."

I shook my head. "This has been the strangest day."

Logan didn't seem inclined to dignify that with a response. Right about then the elevator stopped on the main floor, anyway, and we stepped out of the car. We could have gone down the classroom hall to another elevator that would have taken us up to the residential floors, but since neither one of us was a huge fan of closed spaces, we took the scenic route by unspoken mutual agreement.

Since I was way too wired to deal with silence—even comfortable silence—I started babbling as we walked through the main foyer to the stairs. What can I say? It's my M.O.

"So your timing is good. The Rangers are playing their upstate pre-season exhibition next weekend.

Logan stopped so suddenly, I almost plowed into him.

"The Rangers," he said voice dripping with disgust. "Kid, didn't you learn anything from having me in your head?"

I snorted. "Yup. I learned to be stupidly excited about the start of the hockey season."

"It's a good thing I came back when I did." He reached out and pulled the ends of my hair. "First, there's nothing stupid about hockey season. And second, Christ. The Rangers," he repeated.

"Hands off the merchandise." I half-heartedly slapped his hand away and laughed. "Anyway, if you think you can compromise your principles enough, the Professor said he had a couple of tickets I could—Oh, hey, Bobby!"

Yeah, no, my voice wasn't at all shrill. Holy crap, where had Bobby come from? Wherever he'd been hiding, he was here now, standing between Logan and I and the stairs. Without really thinking about it, I took a half step forward so I was between he and Logan. Just, you know, in case.

I took a heavy swallow because choking on my own spit would definitely be a bad thing and pasted a bright smile on my face. "I didn't see you there." I paused for breath and glanced reflexively at the clock. "Shouldn't you be at dinner?"

Bobby's expression was half pissed off, half confused, half hurt, and half worried. Of course, that made four halves, which because I was making a B-plus in advanced trigonometry, I knew wouldn't work, but still—

Bobby's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Yeah, I should. Except I was looking for you. We were supposed to go together, remember?"

I closed my eyes and thunked the heal of my hand against my forehead. He was right. We never had fried stuff at the mansion, but the cook was making an exception. It was fried chicken night, and I'd totally been looking forward to it. Bobby and I were going to take our food out on the lawn and make a Southern-style picnic out of it. He'd suggested it a couple of nights ago when I was talking about chicken night making me homesick. At the time, I'd thought it was a totally sweet and romantic idea.

Sometimes, I am such a heinous bitch.

"Bobby, I'm so sorry," I said. "I completely forgot."

"Yeah. Looks like." He shook his head and glanced at Logan. "So I'm guessing you're Wolverine? Heard a lot about you, but we didn't get to meet last time you were here."

Logan had been standing quiet behind me, but he moved to my side. I was a little surprised when he held out a hand. It almost would have been polite—if he'd have managed to wipe the half-smirk off his face. "Logan."

Bobby stepped forward, jaw clenched. "Bobby Drake—you can call me Iceman." He took Logan's hand.

Huh. Well that actually seemed pretty civil. Who would have thought—

"Neat trick, Iceman." Logan said, voice dry. I followed his gaze to their clasped hands and saw Bobby's fingers turning white.

"Hey! Bobby! Stop it!"

At the sound of my voice, they broke apart.

Bobby looked defiant. Logan mostly looked amused. Neither one of them seemed particularly apologetic.

"That was really rude," I said, shooting a frown at my boyfriend. "Just because you're mad at me, doesn't mean you have to—"

"Don't worry about it, Kid." Logan interrupted. He sent a half-feral grin Bobby's way. "Next time remind me to show you what I can do with my hands."

"Logan!" I turned to glare at him. "What's the matter with you two?"

"They're men, dear. They can't help but act like idiots." I whirled around in surprise at the sound of Ms. Munroe's voice. She glided into the foyer on silent footsteps and smiled at me. "You'll come to expect it, eventually."

"Storm. Good to know you've maintained your high opinion of me." Logan said with a dry nod.

Ms. Munroe just smiled back at him. It really wasn't fair that when God was giving out breasts and serenity, she got more than her fair share of both.

"Welcome back, Logan. It's good to see you." She turned back to me. "Jean asked me to check on you. I was headed for your room. I expected to find you resting."

"I—yeah—that was the plan. But I wanted to help Logan get his stuff in and show him to his room."

Ms. Munroe's face slid into a frown that managed to be serene and disapproving at the same time, a neat trick. "Rogue, if she'd known you weren't going to take care of yourself, Jean would have kept you in the infirmary this afternoon. Maybe we should head back there?"

Oh for the love of God. Not the infirmary again. I'd rather spend eternity standing between Logan and Bobby, Logan and Scott, even. Before I could assure her I didn't need to be strapped to a bed, Bobby's voice interrupted. This time worry obscured everything else in his voice, and I felt like an even bigger heel. Great.

"The infirmary? Rogue, are you ok?"

"Yeah. It was nothing, really. I was working with the Professor, and there was an accident. No big deal."

Bobby stepped toward me. He took a second to check out my outfit and make sure I was totally covered, then put his arm around my waist and pulled me toward him.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were hurt. I thought you—" He broke off. "Well, anyway. It doesn't matter. Do you need help getting upstairs? Lets take the elevator—"

Oh Lord. I resisted the urge to step away from him.

"No. Look, Bobby. I'm fine. Really." I threw a glance at Logan that I hoped was beseeching, but his face was a closed book. "I got all checked out, and I'm good to go."

"If Dr. Grey thinks you need to rest—" Bobby's voice was firm to the point of being parental, and that I didn't like one bit. Concerned boyfriend is fine. Telling me what to do is not. I stepped decisively away from him.

"I'll rest this evening. Right now I'm hungry, and I still need to help Logan."

"I think I can take it from here, Kid." Logan interrupted me. He reached out an plucked the saddle bag—I'd forgotten it was draped over my arm—out of my hands.

"Good," Ms. Munroe said with a nod. "Rogue, by all means get something to eat, but then I expect you to go to your room."

"But Logan doesn't know where his—"

"Where is it in relation to your room?" He asked.

I shook my head a little, confused. "It's in the same wing at the opposite end of the corridor. Last door in the hallway. But you don't know where my room is, either. So I don't see how that's—"

Logan leaned forward, he face coming close to my hair, and he breathed deeply. "No worries, Kid." His nostrils flared. "I'll find it from here. Find me when you're feeling up to it and we'll figure out the French thing. Storm, fun as always, and Iceman, I'll be seeing you around, I'm sure."

And just like that, he hit the stairs and was gone. I turned to Bobby and Storm, who were looking at me with identical expressions of patronizing concern. It would have been funny if they hadn't been directed at me.

"Are you sure you don't need help walking to the cafeteria?" Bobby asked.

"No," I said trying to be emphatic but not angry. I'm not sure I pulled it off, though.

Ms. Munroe clucked her tongue at me. "You know, I think instead of that heavy fried chicken, some nice soup would be just the thing for you."

"I really think I can handle—"

"I think that's a great idea," Bobby interrupted. Then he turned to me with big concerned eyes. "We just want to make sure you're ok, Rogue."

"Bobby's right, dear." Ms. Munroe pulled me into a careful hug. "You gave the Professor and Jean quite a scare today. Let us take care of you, all right?"

Damn. Damn. Damn.

How the heck was I supposed to argue with that?

Huh?

How?

I couldn't. That was how.

I was going to miss out on the first fried chicken I'd had in almost a year.

One thing was for sure. I was going to remind Logan that in the Army, they shoot deserters.

* * *

The weapon was carefully concealed behind my back.

I wasn't holding it—that would be too obvious. Instead, I'd tucked it into the waistband of my pajama pants. The pistol grip rested, comfortable, in the small of my back, but the barrel was cold against my ass.

It was time.

I checked once more to make sure the hallway was still empty, then raised my hand and tapped light and quick on the door. The thin strip of light shining at the floor and the muffled rustle of movement told me he wasn't sleeping. I thought about opening the door, bursting in and firing, but checked the impulse.

That was too risky. He could be anywhere in the room, and with reflexes like his, if I lost the element of surprised, the mission would without a doubt fail. I could wait. Seconds passed, and finally I heard the unmistakable sound of bare feet padding toward me.

A lock clacked backwards. He was cautious, even here where it was safe. Interesting. I could respect that. Finally, the knob turned, and he pulled open the door.

"Well, this is a surprise. I didn't expect to see you here. Not tonight, at least."

I just raised a challenging eyebrow.

He stepped back and opened the door further, the unspoken invitation to enter serving as his answer.

I sidled past him, careful to keep my stride natural but my back turned. I could almost taste success. He closed the door, and I started to turn back toward him, my hand twitched. It was now or—

He grabbed my arm and had it twisted behind my back before I could blink. And just like that, I was pinned against the wall, my face pressed against the polished paneling. It felt like my shoulder was about three inches from popping right off of my body.

He leaned forward, growling, pressing his length against me and crushing me into the wall. "I told you your self-defense teacher was shitty."

And just like that, he let me go and stepped away. Taking my water gun with him.

I pulled away from the wall, shaking out my shoulder and frowning.

"How did you know?" I demanded. "I was so careful."

He tossed the pink plastic gun on the bed. It sat there mocking me, and I shot it a disgusted look.

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, amused. Jerk. Then he held up a hand and started ticking off fingers. "One, you used tap water, which smells mossy. The scent tipped me. Two, you knocked and waited for me to answer. If something hadn't been up, you would have knocked then tried to barge in the room."

"Wait. So you're saying I was too patient?"

"Yup. Anything out of the norm gives you away. And then there's number three."

"Number three."

"I'm just too damn good for you to get the drop on."

"Yeesh. Modest, too."

"Modesty's overrated. So why the sneak attack, anyway?"

I pulled out the desk chair and sat down, taking a minute to shoot a dirty look Logan's way. "I was shooting you for desertion."

His eyebrows went up high enough that they almost needed to call themselves bangs. "Desertion? Kid, I just came back."

"Not that," I said with a wave of my hand. "You needed to go. I'm talking about this afternoon."

He looked clueless.

"You left me alone with Storm and Bobby."

Understanding dawned. "It seemed like three was a crowd, Kid."

"Oh, whatever. You deserted me."

"Desertion happens in enemy territory. Looked like I was leaving you in good hands. 'Iceman' seemed pretty eager to take care of you. Something I should know about?"

I shrugged and looked at the floor. I could feel a blush rising hot in my cheeks. "Turns out I have a boyfriend," I muttered to the floor. Who knew hardwood could be so interesting.

"Want to run that by me again?"

I looked up and frowned. "You heard me. Bobby's my boyfriend."

There was a heartbeat of silence during which I had time to fantasize about Logan throwing himself at my feet telling me it was a mistake, that he was the only man for me.

"Happy for you, Kid."

Stupid fantasies.

I shrugged. "It's not all that serious—I mean, with my skin it's not like it can be that serious—but it's kind of nice. Sometimes."

Logan sounded completely unaffected. "Good for you. You deserve that."

I managed not to fall at his feet and tell him that he could make me happy. Probably a good thing. The mansion might never get over the image of Logan running screaming through the halls and out the front door, never to be seen again. He had kind of a reputation as a badass, and would definitely dent it.

"So, how was your trip," I said by way of an exceedingly subtle subject change. "Did you find anything?"

Silence.

I looked up. Reluctantly.

Logan was staring down at me, looking pensive but not saying anything. After about 30 seconds of that, I started to feel uncomfortable. "Well? You going to answer?"

"No."

"No? Why not?"

"You want to quit the bantering bullshit and start talking about something serious, that's fine with me. But we're going to start with what was going on in the lab today."

High pitched whistle then BLAM! I had a sudden affinity for the way Hiroshima felt, getting a bomb like that dropped on me. I raised an involuntary hand to my temple and rubbed absently. "I thought we were going to—"

"I can wait, Marie." Logan interrupted. "But you're going to have to play fair."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I finally settled for meeting his gaze and nodding once. He nodded back and lowered himself to the edge of the bed. His knees were almost touching mine, and I started a little when he reached out a gloved hand—hadn't noticed those before—and lifted my chin.

"So, what's it going to be? We can talk hockey some more, or we can cut the bullshit and you can tell me what's happening."

I took a deep breath. Procrastination is one of my very best friends, and if given a choice I would have waited, oh, forever, but that wasn't an option, so I decided to switch slogans and say now was as good a time as ever.

I took a deep breath. "The Professor was trying to help me learn to control my gift. We've been working on it for a couple of months now."

Before I knew what was happening, Logan had reached out and pulled me out of the chair and on to the bed. We stretched out next to one another, him on his back, hands folded behind his head, me on my side, hands tucked under my chin. "Why—" I started to ask once we were settled.

"Sounds like there's a story here. Wanted to be comfortable to hear it, Kid."

I bit my lip. "It's not that much of a story."

"Tell me anyway," he ordered. "Start from the beginning, and don't leave anything out."

I closed my eyes, all at once glad for the comfort of the bed. "Well, it started a few days after you left. I was trying to control Magneto's memories, and I found some interesting information."