A/N - After X3 AU with everyone still alive. Don't ask questions. And let's assume the Cure is permanent.
Summary - They found him, reduced to more beast than man. Rogue thinks she knows how to bring him back. Rated M.
"Let me in… he won't hurt me."
"Rogue, he's different now. Like this. He doesn't know what he's doing."
"He's acting on instinct. He's trapped and scared. But he'll recognize my scent."
"Only if I come in with you," Scott folds his arms in that way he did that emitted finality in waves.
She huffs, clenching and unclenching her jaw unconsciously. Scott's authoritarian stance told her it was no good. But she knew it wouldn't work this way.
The two enter.
He sits in the corner, huddled. Naked chest billowing up and down, taking in the new scents. The specially made monitoring device around his head beeps lowly. His eyes, wild yet still, rest unrelentingly on the intrusion.
The fluorescents flicker on low for the benefit of the newcomers, because he doesn't need light to see.
A female, familiar, but from where, he does not know.
A male, not a threat.
The female studies him from a distance. He does not like it. Hackles on the back of his neck raise.
She puts her hands out, crouches low, steps toward him. He growls.
"Rogue. Back off," Scott warns from the door, one hand touching the side of his visor in preparation.
A louder snarl.
"Logan?"
He sees her mouth a word he doesn't understand, but the way she says it, with tenderness in her voice makes him feel warm inside.
A step too close and he lurches forward to snap at her outstretched hand. A bolt of red slams into his shoulder, knocking him back in a howl of pain.
"Scott!" she reprimands. but it's too late. He pulls her backward out of the room just as the feral regains enough strength to pounce.
"Why did you do that?"
"He was about to attack"
"He's not an animal."
"Face it, Rogue. We don't know what he is anymore. He's not the man we used to know."
He walks off shaking his head, muttering to himself.
Rogue observes the man on the screen outside what was as good as his cell. He was trying, again, to rip the monitoring device from where it was bolted to his skull. Barbaric, but necessary, they'd said. For his own good.
The beeping must be driving his enhanced senses crazy. She would know. Once she'd taken in enough of him to understand how overwhelming the school environment was. The cacophony of sounds was enough by itself, but the smells of the younger kids, and the adolescents. Thank god there were none young enough still to be in diapers.
The device kept track of his heart rate, core temperature (running always five degrees higher than a 'normal person') and helped maintain his circadian rhythm in the sterile environment of the basement-level med-lab. She'd begged them to allow him out, at least for an hour a day so he could smell the wind and feel the earth beneath his feet, but this had been unanimously outvoted.
She'll try again tomorrow.
In the cool grey light of morning, she collects a handful of leaves from the woods just outside the parameter of the mansion. On the side away from the road so they'd have no residue of pollutants on them. A strange gift, but one she is sure he'd at least recognize. She also brought him a steak, cooked rare, just like how he liked it before.
They'd never really had a stand on their "relationship." He'd promised to look out for her when she needed him most. Now she was repaying the favor.
Back then, she'd been just a girl. One who'd looked up to and idolized the gruff Wolverine because she had experienced his tender side. A lift out of the snowy terrain. A much-needed arm to lean into.
How love could transcend through time was something she still did fully understand. She still felt the same tingly sensation she did when she looked at him now as she did when she met him, ten years ago. A lot had changed since then, but the way she felt about him hadn't. She was older now.
She'd been with Bobby only long enough to realize that she was interested in him solely because he liked her, and once that had passed, after the cure, there wasn't anything remaining.
Then there was Remy. They'd at least shared true affection for one another, better but ultimately they weren't well suited. That and she still held a candle for the man she wanted in her life, but one who didn't return the sentiment. So much so, he couldn't stay.
Tuned out he didn't stay away out of choice. The team had found him detained in a mountaintop facility that worked on genetic modification. They'd been harvesting cells from him, without anaesthesia because such drugs didn't work on him. Had him chained to the wall like an animal. Almost reduced him to one.
Amongst her musings, she arrives at his door. Suppressing the urge to knock, she enters, closing the door quickly behind her.
He's calmer today, still crouched defensively against the wall, but deadly still. Only the twitching of his nostrils give him away.
She immediately bows her head and sinks to her knees. Submitting. Trusting. It was better like this, she thought. If he was acting purely on instinct then she should at least give him the opportunity to control the situation.
He emerges from the corner, unabashed in his nakedness. They had provided him with clothes, but he'd shredded them to use as bedding. His body on full display, still formidable in its unused state, heavy ropes of muscle easily discernable in the half-light.
She sits motionless, quivering only slightly when he reaches her, scenting at the glands behind her ear. She was very aware of the raw and savage power he possessed, that lay so closely under the surface now. God, what had they done to him?
She thought back to the forceful protector he used to be. So sure of himself. The brash intelligence that lay behind his wild hazel-coloured eyes. The quick wit and sarcastic twist of his lip when he quipped at her. She'd inherited that part of him unintentionally.
She daren't lift her eyes to his now, in case he thought it a challenge. The gifts she bought him lay, until then, forgotten in her lap, and she slides them towards him. An offering.
He snarls. Snatches the bloody meat from the plate. Rips a fat strip off with his teeth.
"ROGUE! Get out of there!" Scott's voice came crashing over the speaker.
The Wolverine was back in his corner, hackles raised.
She sighs, backs out of the room.
Later, in the warm afternoon light of the professor's office, she sits with the senior members of the team. Storm, Scott and Jean, heavily pregnant with their second child (the first scuttling over the rug attempting to pull the corded phone from Xavier's desk at every opportunity.)
Bobby and Kitty, forever holding hands in that lovesick way newlyweds do. Jubliee sitting on the window ledge and chomping on a big wad of gum she'd added to every few minutes since the meeting began. Piotr, in the opposite corner, his eyes decisively avoid Jubliee; the hangover of a few months of dating gone sour. She was always too much of a bright spark to be tamed.
"I still don't understand why I can't at least try," Rogue spoke up, breaking the silent rumination of the last few minutes.
"Because you don't seem to grasp the danger you're in, Rogue!" Scott snaps, pulling his toddler from the phone cord yet again. The boy let out a wail and clenched his cubby fists in indignation, kicking his father as he went.
"There must be something that can be done?" Rogue deplores the professor. "Can't you set up some mental barriers that would stop him attacking?"
Xavier sighs, "Unfortunately, no. Since he returned, his mind has been fully resistant to tampering."
Rogue secretly thinks this is probably a good thing, and Xavier shot her a small smile.
"We can leave him locked up in there like an animal? How is that any better from where we've taken him from, aside from the … procedures," She didn't like to go into the details, they'd all read the reports.
"Rogue, Honey. We're just trying to protect you," Storm places a placating hand on her shoulder, which Rogue shrugs off.
"We should be protecting him! Aren't any of you going to come up with an idea?"
She stood, turning to look at the team, her family for the past ten years. How could they abandon him, like her old family did all that time ago? They were supposed to look after their own. They all stare back at her reproachfully, like she's the crazy one.
The next time Rogue tries to access the room, she runs into Jean. Not like an eight-month pregnant lady would be any match if she wanted to bypass her, but to Rogue's surprise, the redhead smiles weakly.
"I'm sorry for not speaking up in the meeting," She gets to her feet warily, as if it was costing her a great deal of energy, both mental and physical, "I think you're on the right track."
"You do?" Rogue questions skeptically.
"Yes. As a matter of fact, that's why I'm here."
"You… you can't come in with me."
"That wasn't what I had in mind…"
A minute later, both women stand in front of the detainment room.
"Are you sure you don't want any… protection?" Jean's manicured hand tightens around the box containing the taser.
Rogue shakes her head sadly, trying to appreciate the offer was coming from a good place.
"Just… try to keep the others away."
Jean nods, offers a reassuring pat. She understood what Rogue was trying to do for him, what the others had done for her when she needed them. Granted, the situation was different, but still, she could have killed them all.
"If things get too… heated. I'll pull you out. Teleconetically, of course." She adds, when Rogue offers a slight smile.
She places her offering down in front of her, the same as before, and waits for him to approach, which he does a lot faster this time.
When close enough to touch, she flicks her gaze to his, stopping him in his tracks. Keeping her head bowed so he knows she's not a threat.
He eats the American breakfast with his fingers, tossing the pancakes to the wall after the first sweet bite. The rest, he devours in a minute flat. She nudges the small cup of black coffee toward him, which he tips upside down with a cocked head, watching the bitter liquid trickle into the tray.
With him satiated, she brings her hand to his cheek, moving her thumb back and forth over his grizzled, dense crop of facial hair when he allows her to.
She raises the scissors she told herself she'd bought in only as a tool for trimming, and not as a weapon, if it came to that. Ever so slowly, she brought the blades to his cheek, letting him feel the steel warmed by her flesh against his skin, before cutting a chunk of matted beard away.
His hand shot up to catch the falling hair, let it fetter through his fingers. The nails on which were bitten down short, a good sign, she decides. Almost like a grooming habit, even if he was unaware.
Hesitantly, she snips again, and he surprises her by allowing her to do so, even lets his eyes flicker closed for an infinitesimal moment. Did he enjoy this before, the intimate but not crude touch of a woman. So many hidden things she did not know about him, but wished to. Wondered if he'd ever remember himself. The thought saddens her.
He nudged her cheek with his, making her look up into his wildly shifting eyes.
She holds her breath while he analyzes her, trying to make out something he can recognize in the complex swirl of emotion. He didn't feel at the capacity she could, he knows that. He only had the basics, hungry, tired. Although the feelings aren't completely foreign to him, he struggles to comprehend all the flickers that pass through her.
She lowers her head again, submitting to him. He likes that. Like another human he used to know, a lifetime ago. One who threw him into a chasm of confusion. Contradictory in every sense of the word. Innocent yet seductive. Sweet but sexy, in her late-teen kind of way. The remembrance of guilt came flooding back, part of him knowing it was wrong to want her, the other daming that first part to hell. It was a stupid human convention that told him feelings so pure could be wrong. Some misplaced sense of chivalry in fighting it.
This human reminds him of her in more than her submittance. The sweet flush over pale skin. Thick hair, dark and luscious. Delightfully curved in a way that made his mouth water. His lips draw back to display his canines, a primal reaction.
Slowly, he pushes her back, laying her down beneath him. Detecting no hint of fear tainting her scent. Only blind concession, maybe even a trace of excitement. Of course, she respects him as the alpha, would submit to him. Despite the fact there are no others around, he knows she would pick him over the rest.
Although, she wore a barrier, restricting her sex, and it frustrates him. Nothing that can't be rectified. With a swift pop of his claws, he removed the obstruction.
"Rogue, did you need intervention?" Jean's anxious voice fills her head.
"No," She thinks back without hesitation, wishing for privacy. If he was going to hurt her, the time had passed.
Exposed to the cool basement-level air, she shudders, then immediately is grateful for the heat radiating from the powerful, heavy body over her.
His head dips to taste her neck, the furious beating of her pulse under his tongue. She feels him grow rigid against her, unable to keep still in anticipation. It was something she wanted for a long time. Craved. Maybe even since the first time she saw him. In the cage, glistening in sweat, so close to the edge of true violence. The feral in him prowling just under the surface, what she hopes is the opposite now.
A low, masculine rumble of approval reverberates from deep within his chest. The sound stirring, one she's never heard through her own ears.
Without conscious thought, her mind flicks back to the memories she always tries so hard to repress. Past encounters. Trying not to compare what he gave in comparison to what she received.
He gave them only a fraction of what they wanted. She considered if he was even capable of affection, or if they were ever anything but prey to him. Chasing the pure rush of release faster than he could connect with the woman in his grasp. Very much superficial. Allowing them to touch his physical self, but never his soul.
A noise from outside, a tinny echo, just about reaches her ears. A small commotion, could have been miles away for all the attention she paid. But the Wolverine growls, pulls her closer toward him, then away into his pile of bedding. To safety.
Even now, when mating is imminent, he is aware. Much more than she, even without the enhanced senses. She wondered if there was ever a time he let his guard down. Age differences aside, he'd always been older, more weathered. It took him being in this state for her to fully understand why.
Being constantly on edge, ready for inevitable conflict, could wear a person down. Mutant. Feral. Whatever. That constant state of awareness must be tiring. In every sense of that one little word, that didn't hold the full gravity of its meaning. Draining. Relentless. Agonizing.
He's growling again, but not malevolently. Not like he'd ever had to threaten to get his point across. Even when he was capable of words, they were never sharp, nor spoken loudly, and never without intention. And didn't that make what wasn't said more compelling? The weighty silences, tension crackling in the air between them. Awaiting the small inclination into his thoughts.
She'd noticed the downright shocking bulge in his jeans before it was probably appropriate to do so. Even now, these indecent thoughts make her blush, prevent her from looking, even now she's grown.
Blunt pressure between her legs, not an unknown sensation, but different. More extreme, taking in their size difference. He gives her no time to become accustomed, starting a primal rhythm inside her. Torturous, languid strokes, not hard but with power behind them.
She runs her hands over taught flesh, over the small lacerations in too precise of locations, barely healed. Bone marrow. God knows what type of tool they'd used to penetrate his unpenetrable skeleton. She could almost cry at what they did to him, probably would again later, but now wasn't the time.
His strokes begin to falter, pulling back the last few strands of restraint, not for her benefit, but for his own pleasure. Enjoying the tightening, the winding desire. His personal kind of blissful purgatory. It would make it all the better when he finally gave himself over to it.
His restraint is what sends her over the edge first, and she thought again about this not being about her own pleasure. Disconnected from human emotion as he was, he still cared enough to want this to be good for her too. Makes her sure the man is still in there.
Arching, he stiffens into her and grunts out his pleasure. The sound is so raw, so private, she is unsure whether to be in awe that he could be so open with her, or ashamed she had witnessed something so personal.
After the first wet rush, the tension leaves his body in waves. Her own body throbs helplessly in response. Each clench and release wrangles a slightly softer moan, pulsing his seed deep into her.
The Wolverine was his shell, the harsh exterior he showed to the world. Inside lay a sensitive man. A kind man. One who'd pick up an outcast teenage runaway with no ulterior motive. Ask her to stay not only to keep himself company, but because it was the best place for her. Two lost and hurting individuals, as separate as they can be, waiting to be alighted.
She knew that deep in his heart, he was not without hope. He may once have been still, immobile through life, but that time was no more. Whatever they had taken from him, it had taken that part of his soul too. The inhuman part. Now what was left was the shattered remains of beast and man, the former closer to the surface, but both very much still a presence in that one, hardened body. Hidden, but not lost to the indifference and pain and malice they had inflicted on him.
Maybe it was better if he didn't remember after all. Maybe, after what he'd been through, he felt like he deserved it. Or maybe he was just too fucked up to care. She had a sneaking suspicion that maybe he'd suppressed his feelings towards her this whole time because when you start to have something to look forward to, it's all too easy to slip back into hopelessness when it's taken away.
"M're," he mutters, with reverence. So low anyone with ears more than an inch away from the lips that spoke would have missed it.
"Yes," she nods in the affirmative. Then places a soft hand over where his heart is beating wildly, "Logan."
"Lo-gan," he repeats disjointedly.
She smiles at him, careful not to show her teeth. And mouth his twitched up in imitation of the smirk she so desperately wanted to see grace his features again.
It wasn't much, but it was progress. Incremental. The Logan she loved was still in there, hidden beneath the rage and carnal dominance. Maybe she'd be able to help him unlock those memories again. Maybe not. Either way, she'd be there every step on the road to recovery.
Look at me coming at you with another three-and-a-half thousand-word one-shot. I'm getting good at this, ha! On a serious note, I enjoyed writing this one a lot more than the last. (Westerns are still my favorite TV genre but hell, I'm not writing one of those again in a hurry!) I think I'm just a smut and angst lover, through and through!
JPGR, ball's back in your end of the court! My Christmas wish is for something SPICY ;)