Crossroads 1/?
This fic is also cross posted to wolverinerogue and A03, but was written for xmenreversebang.
Author: analise010
X-Men Verse: A blend of the movie and comic ‘verses
Characters/Pairings: Logan/Rogue, Rogue/Gambit, with background Charles/Erik, Bobby Drake/Kitty Pryde
Rating: R
Word Count: 10K (for this chapter)
Warnings: Descriptions of violence.
Summary: When William Stryker and his Purifiers threaten the safety of mutantkind, no one knows how much longer a war can be avoided. Or that the cost will be.
Author’s Notes: This fic would not have been possible, without the wonderful fleete and phandomoftheowl. They were with me for this every step of the way, from planning to word wars to beta to the final product. To quote John Watson, “I was so alone and I owe you so much.”
The moment that Logan walks into the school wing, he can feel that something’s off. The estate doesn’t look any different to him. The corridors engulf him with their Gothic and Romanesque influences, the pointed ribbed vaults raising the ceiling to impossible heights, but unlike the cathedrals that inspired the design, the building is light and airy. Logan doesn’t necessarily feel safe here; he’s too old to feel safe anywhere at this point, but he does feel like he can just be Logan, here. He feels like he can take off the armor that makes him Wolverine, pretend that the most important thing on his mind is where to get the best coffee and how to keep these teenagers from burning down the mansion.
But that doesn’t detract from the feeling that a problem lurks behind one of these doors, ready to pounce, testing if he has enough time to put the armor back on before getting ripped to pieces. He can smell the anger, sadness, and resentment that are coming from the direction of the Storm’s classroom, so he spares the room a glance, under the pretense of ‘surveillance’.
Even a cold-hearted bastard like him can see that Bobby Drake has moved himself and his new black eye to a seat on the other side of the room by Kitty Pryde from his usual seat by Rogue . He’s dressed far better than Logan has ever seen him, trading the T-shirt and hoodie for a pair of stone-washed jeans, pressed shirt, and tie. The boy tries to be discreet about it, but Logan notices the way that his left hand grips Kitty’s thigh under the table like an unspoken promise. The fact that she is wearing a fitted black dress, with a plunging neckline only adds to the fact that this day is something special for them.
What stands out most to him is Rogue sitting in the front of the classroom, eyes trained on the board, but not truly absorbing the words. Logan thinks that the lesson has something to do with cellular respiration, but he can tell by Rogue’s face that it’s all a jumble of words and symbols on a circle that’s supposed to represent photosynthesis. He sees her gloved hand gripping a pen so tightly that it cracks when John makes a joke that startles her.
“Logan, I’m glad you’re here,” a voice says softly behind him. Fuck, caught by the telepath. He turns away from the class reluctantly to see Professor X rolling up to him. Xavier looks a bit more formal than usual, but Logan isn’t one for designer clothes.
“Hello, Professor,” he grunts. He tries not to think of Rogue in that room, suffocating under the weight of peer pressure that even he can feel. It’s not easy.
“Would you come with me to my office?” the Professor asks, allowing Logan to make the decision on his own, when they both know that he’ll say yes. They walk at a leisurely pace towards the office, Xavier refusing to make eye contact and Logan debating on ways to make the telepath get to the point
“I’ve arranged for the students to go on a trip to the new Museum of Mutant Accomplishments in Manhattan, and I would appreciate it if you came as a chaperone,” he begins. Logan briefly wonders why Xavier is bothering to ask, but then again, he’s not officially a member of the school.
“Of course,” he says. Before he can think of a more subtle way to preface the question, he asks, “Is there something wrong?”
Xavier stiffens a bit before turning the corner into his office and wheeling himself behind the desk. “You think that I would only ask you to come if there were something wrong?”
“I think that when you ask me, specifically, to keep a bunch of teenagers from killing each other in New York City, then there’s probably a reason,” he replies, seating himself opposite the Professor. “For all you know, could let the students run wild and grab a beer to keep myself occupied.
“Have you talked to anyone, since you’ve come in this morning?” The question carries with it an air of speculation, apprehension, and even a little fear. He may not be a telepath, but he can still read the emotions behind a person’s words, which gives him something of an advantage.
“No,” he says simply. It’s not that he wants to make this situation any more awkward, but it’s more than a little gratifying to put an omega-level telepath on the defensive every once in a while. “Is there something I should know about?”
“There was...a commotion last night.”
“A commotion?” He shifts forward in the chair, which ruins his attempt to not look invested.
“Last night Rogue punched Bobby Drake across the jaw, bare-handed. When Kitty Pryde tried to pull them apart, Rogue threw her into a wall. Because of her mutation, Kitty went through the wall, unharmed, to wake Jean so that she could stop Rogue without touching her.”
“Her feelings didn’t wake you up?” Logan says, skeptically. He has no doubt of Xavier’s abilities, so there’s no way he shouldn’t have sensed the intensity of Rogue’s distress.
“I’m afraid I was occupied,” he states hesitantly, with a finality that deters any further questions. Though ‘occupied’ doesn’t sound like ‘asleep,’ it sounds like, ‘doing something that I know people would judge me for.’
Switching the subject back to the topic at hand, he asks, “Why would Rogue hurt Kitty like that?”
“I’m assuming it’s because Bobby Drake decided to end his relationship with her,” he says evenly.
Well, that cleared things up, didn’t it? The heated glances and the hand-shaped bruise around Kitty’s arm, and the way that Rogue looked like she had already packed her bag, with one foot out the door. Logan rose to defend her anyway.
“She got that angry over a boy?”
“No, not the boy, specifically.”
“Then, what?” he growls, brushing off Xavier’s Jedi mind tricks. It’s enough of a tell the he won’t meet Logan’s eyes.
“I didn’t go through her mind, but I think it’s symbolic to her of what happened when her mutation first manifested. She had feelings for a boy who spurned her affections when he realized that they could never touch. It may have even been worse this time because this boy said that he could deal with the lack of physical intimacy, only to regret his words.”
Logan shouldn’t be this upset over a stupid teenage romance, but something about people who pretend to love you and then screw you over hits a nerve.
“So what do you want me to do? She’s a teenager. They fall in and out of love fast. She’ll be okay,” Logan says, shrugging off the displeasure sticky feeling of saying words that he doesn’t feel.
“Do you truly believe that?” the Professor says, adding a stare that would wither lesser men.
Yes. No. Yes. No. His mind can’t decide where it wants to settle, so he ends up with, “She can take care of herself.”
“A girl at that age shouldn’t have to,” Xavier whispers, finally breaking eye contact. “Will you speak with her?”
“Yeah, whatever. But if she starts crying or talking about feelings, I’m handing her off to Storm.”
“I’m sure you will,” he says with a smile. “Now please go get dressed. We board the place in an hour.”
“I am dressed.”
Xavier gives his jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket a disapproving once over before saying, “Something appropriate for an outing, Logan.”
He scoffs, but heads back to his room anyway to change.
* * *
Rogue boards the Blackbird, ignoring the disdainful looks she gets from everyone when she passes by. It's enough that she can't touch anyone, but now she has to feel humiliated twice over, once because of Bobby's choice and then again because of her own. She could have taken the high road and walked away when Bobby ended it, but she had felt the betrayal long before she saw it and that cut her deep in ways that she never thought possible.
She remembered the times when Bobby had helped Kitty with her homework late at night and how Kitty had touched him, with fingers that lingered just a second too long. Rogue had known from the beginning when that bitch had started plotting to steal Bobby and she couldn't have stopped it because Kitty and every other girl on the planet could give him what he wanted: touch.
So when Logan finds her, sitting alone and wearing an old shirt, threadbare jeans and no make-up, she can’t even muster up the energy to tell him to let her pout in solitude.
"Buckle up, kid," are the first words out of his mouth. He sits without asking if the seat is taken.
“No,” she states, slouching further down into the seat. She should be above playing the sullen teenager card, but slipping into the role of the angry ex-girlfriend is easier than confronting her feelings. Logan looks at her pointedly, grabs the seatbelt, and clicks it into place in one smooth motion. The movement only takes a second, but it’s enough.
It’s enough to make her pupils dilate, enough for her body to produce excess warmth, enough to make her stop breathing and concentrate solely on the fact that Logan’s skin is an inch away from hers, and he’s not moving away. It’s also enough to make her feel guilty all over again. Logan was the first person who had treated her like she mattered, and though she knows he won't judge her actions, a part of her wants him to tell her what to do with this pain.
And that isn't fair to anyone.
“Listen, if you want to live life on the edge, do it on your own time. I have better things to do than have Xavier turn my brain into mush for letting you run wild,” Logan says, looking her directly in the eye. Another thing that no one else has done lately. Everyone is so determined to not look at her it’s almost as bad as the no touching.
"Go ahead," she says, finally. If her voice betrays any emotion, it’s exasperation.
He gives her the perfect look of feigned boredom before saying, “Excuse me?”
“Go ahead and ask,” she instructs him, her gaze fixed on the window, unable to meet his eyes.
"Ask what?"
"About last night?"
"What you do at night ain't no business of mine."
Oh, how she sometimes wishes that it were. Rogue doesn't blame Bobby as much as she wants to because he knows how she looks at Logan. It wasn't Bobby's fault that the object of her affections had his eye on a married telepath nor that there happened to be other willing and physically available girls around.
She sighs. "I know it was wrong to hit her, but I -."
"You don't have to tell me what it's like to get so angry that you want to hurt someone," he says and the best thing about it is that he means it.
Rogue smiles at him. "Are you saying I should become a cage-fighter like you?"
He smiles back at her for the second time in their entire friendship. It warms a place inside of her that had gone cold ever since Bobby had blown her off to hang with 'Kitty and the gang.'
"I'm suggesting that you do what you want and that you don't take shit from anybody. They don't know what it's like for people like us.” His face falls with the statement, hinting at a past hat he can’t remember, but overall emotions that still bleed through. He’s been hurt before, but how his pain relates to hers is still unclear.
"You mean mutants?" He obviously doesn’t mean mutants, though Rogue yearns for a proper distinction. Something to put the two of them in their own category together.
“No, not exactly," he says Rogue waits for further elaboration. None comes.
* * *
The Museum of Mutant Accomplishments is a wonderful place to take high school students of any age, sex, or genetic predisposition.
The museum is run by humans and mutants, but that’s only one reason why Charles wanted to bring the students here. Yes, it’s his perfect dream of human-mutant coexistence in action, but it’s so much more than that. Everything inside is interactive, from the pyramidal structure of building itself represents the union between heaven and Earth to the way that the exhibits allow patrons to relive the struggles of the people on display.
The establishment is co-owned by a pair of fraternal twins named Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, both with very strong mutations that should have killed them at a young age, especially growing up in foster care, but they survived and built a place dedicated to celebrating the genetic differences in everyone. The fact that they’re Erik’s biological children only adds to Charles’ need to be here.
Charles watches the students mingle with the humans and mutants alike, learning about their mutations and sharing what they can do in turn. The base of the building chronicles human evolution from homo habilis, working its way up to homo superior, including the people and artifacts that go with it. There’s one exhibit on Emily Dickinson and how she was so afraid of her mutation that she went into seclusion, another wall dedicated to Vincent van Gogh and the way that he literally saw the world the way that he painted it, and an entire room devoted to Isaac Newton and his apple.
It doesn’t escape Charles’ notice that the entire place is wheelchair accessible either. Or that he and Magneto end up on opposite sides of the same room, dedicated to the advocation of mutant rights. He sees Erik standing alone, no cape, no helmet, only a black trenchcoat, a fedora, and a grey suit.
“It’s far more accurate than I expected it to be, especially since we spent such a short time together,” Erik begins without preamble. “Professor Charles Xavier and Magneto - born Max Eisenhardt, though he changed his name to Erik Lehnsherr after World War II - travelled across the country, under CIA mandate, to recruit mutants to fight against Sebastian Shaw. Though they found many potential recruits, mutants Tempest, Havok, Banshee, and Darwin agreed to join the fight to keeping the country safe.”
“Is that all it says?” He tries for nonchalant, but ends up halfway between anxious and having something to prove.
“Are you so old that I need to read you the rest, Professor,” Erik says, the word dripping accusations. His posture stiffens ever so slightly, as though he thinks it a mistake to come without the helmet, but it’s too late to regret that now.
“If I remember correctly, it wasn’t so much a recruitment as an excuse for us to drive across the country for a few weeks. Alone,” Charles adds, loading the word with accusations of his own.
“And if I remember correctly, it was a way to get to Shaw,” Erik replies, quick to revolt against the part of himself that wasn’t always misguided.
Of course, because even now, everything comes back to Sebastian fucking Shaw. The one who ruined what could have been an imperfect partnership that led to the unification of mutantkind.
If Erik isn’t going to make this easy, there’s no reason why he should either.
“So how did you get out of prison?”
“Can’t you read my mind?” he says, tapping his skill to punctuate the message.
“I thought we were past this.”
“We’ll never be past this as long as you’re with them. We fight on different sides.”
“But Erik, we don’t have to,” he whines for what has to be the thousandth time. Charles closes his eyes because as much as he wants Erik with him always, he still can’t find a way to make this work. There would always be something between them and neither men are the type to compromise.
When he opens his eyes, Erik is kneeling in front of him, hands on his thighs, which is wholly unfair because the images takes him back to a time where Erik was on his knees and he could still feel everything below his spine.
“If you must know, Magneto is still in his prison cell, though if his skin has a slightly blue tinge to it, then I’m sure it’s just the lighting," Erik says smirking. “Besides, I couldn’t miss the opening of my own children’s museum could I?”
As much as Charles wants to hate the fact that he got married and had children before they met, he can’t after seeing what the twins have accomplished.
He leans his forehead against Erik’s, struggling to balance his mind with his heart.
In hindsight, Charles knows that he should have sensed them making their way to this part of the exhibit. It never occurred to him that anyone would want to see the contemporary exhibits, since everyone at the school had lived through it, but he senses on Rogue’s surface thoughts that Logan made an offhand comment about mutant experimentation that led them here.
There was no reason why Charles should have been so enraptured with Erik that he didn’t notice the two them ascending into his exhibit. The worst part is - he can see it now in Erik’s mind, even without trying - is that Erik knew they were here and wanted to distract him, just so they could approach.
Charles made a vow to himself not to interfere in the actions of others unless to keep someone from coming to harm, but now his head tells him that he has a duty to his school and its students, while his heart screams ERIK! as loud as it can manage.
He hopes that none of the artifacts gets destroyed.
“There’s no way you could have met Lincoln. I refuse to believe you’re that old,” Rogue challenges, her mind brightening at Logan’s words. She knows that he’s trying to make her feel better, even going out of his way to distract her in whatever way he can. Even so, she can’t displace the notion that Logan may have met Lincoln at some point in time and it inspires a pang of hurt in her heart that he’s lived for so long with no one to be there for him.
“Of course I did,” Logan answers. “I built my log cabin right next to his.”
Rogue laughs at the comment, turning her face from him. She desperately hopes that she can’t see how deep her crush goes or that she can’t decide which scenario is worse: her getting over it and moving on to someone else or settling for someone, with these feelings still in her heart.
Her laughter cuts off abruptly when they round the corner to see himself and Erik standing in the middle of their own exhibit like any other patrons instead of the upstanding professor and notorious fugitive that they are.
Erik stands up from his position at Charles’ knees, his grip firm on the back of the wheelchair. Rogue’s mind is full of warning bells, sirens, alarms protesting at the fact that the man who tried to kill her is looking so chummy - as if that were any way to describe them - with the man who claims to fight for mutant-human coexistence.
Does he think he can change him? she thinks. Though it’s unclear as to who she believes will change whom, but Charles has to agree with her. He’s thought the same thing to himself before.
Logan parses the events together in a way that speaks to his survival skills. He weighs the options of killing an enemy in a public place and wondering if that enemy would do the same to him, with no regard for their location before coming to the appropriate conclusion.
They’re in love. That one thought puts all of their previous encounters into perspective for him. Charles’ reluctance to kill Magneto, but his willingness to allow his minions to do it. Magneto flaunting his victories - if what happened to Senator Kelly can be called a victory - in Charles’ face like a dog coming to his master’s for approval.
What Charles hadn’t counted on was Erik breaking the silence. Especially not with such a painfully back-handed comment.
“Nice seeing you again, Rogue. I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Erik says, all smug smiles god complexes.
Even as Charles watches Rogue’s mind struggle to catch up with the insult, her body is already reacting, removing one glove and then the other, her foot stepping forward before she consciously makes the decision to lunge at Erik.
He doesn’t interfere. Logan, however, grabs Rogue by the waist, hauling her back towards the ground before she can get a running start.
“Let me hurt him,” she says as though the two of them aren’t standing right there.
“Rogue, go downstairs with the rest of the group.”
“He hurt you too. You can’t just let him get away with it,” she pleads. She begs him with her eyes, her voice and even her body. Charles may not have seen it, if he wasn’t looking, but it’s all too clear the way Rogue’s hands rest on Logan’s arms, trapped in his long-sleeved shirt and how his fingers curl lightly around her waist. If she shifts down in arms, Logan’s fingers could graze her neck, but if she moves forward again, her chest could end up in his direct line of sight.
The thought may be unconscious, but the action is still there.
“Xavier will pin you to the ground with his mind and Magneto throw can you across the room by your zipper. You can’t win this and neither can I. Go downstairs," he says deliberately.
But Rogue is emotional. She's just had her heart broken by the first peer to accept her into the mutant community and she's not going to be humiliated again. She gives Erik a death glare before saying some of the harshest words he’s heard anyone speak outside of their own heads.
“You think you’re better than us because you can control metal? Because you survived the Holocaust? Fuck you, Magneto. We've all been hurt and trying to play ‘My pain is greater than yours’ with the goal of enslaving people doesn't make you better, it makes you like them."
She shoves Logan away from her, trampling her way downstairs, without waiting for a response. He can only feel anger from her, whereas Logan’s mind is a whirlwind of perfectly constructed thoughts, one after another, discarding the most outlandish ones until he rests on a conclusion.
“So you brought us here and you broke Magneto out of jail just so the two of you could go on a date?”
Tell him, Charles Erik concedes, reluctantly. Charles would be surprised by Erik letting Logan know anything about past, but he realizes that Erik is holding both his chair and Logan’s bone structure with his mutation to avoid further hostility.
“The mutants who opened the museum, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, are Magneto’s children. He’s here to celebrate their success. We both are,”
Charles tries as hard as he possibly can to project peace and serenity to everyone within a five-mile radius, consequences be damned.
Logan scoffs disdainfully, but only says, “When you’re done comparing pictures of the grandkids, Xavier, you have school to run. It’s time to go.”
Charles waits until Logan departs before releasing a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.
“I love you, Charles, but I won’t apologize. I never have before and I don’t intend to start now,”
“I know, love,” Charles whispers, wishing that he could do something - anything - to break this thing they have between them. Erik physically lets go of Charles’ chair in order to examine another part of the exhibit, but his mind opens for him, the way it did when they first met. It’s not an apology, but it’s the closest that he will ever get.
* * *
Rogue can feel the anger trailing in her wake as she blazes through the exhibits without even pretending to look at them. She walks onto a balcony in time to notice Jean Grey glance up at her from the first floor courtyard, remodeled to look like the Palace of Versailles, and holds her gaze for a fleeting second before looking away. She doesn’t need people checking on or babysitting her. She tries to stomp out of the balcony, in a way that would make any toddler jealous, when she barrels right into a man’s chest.
Strong arms pull her away firmly, but gently, with the words, “Whoa. Watch yourself there, darlin’. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt now.”
Rogue looks up at the stranger and sees a man a little older than she is with burning red eyes, shaggy brown hair, and a southern accent as thick as molasses. His alluring brown eyes make Rogue more than a little breathless, but she attributes that to the fact that this man knows nothing about her and has no idea that touching her is akin to having a death wish. She pulls away quickly.
“You keep touching me and you might be the one getting hurt, sir,”
“Oh, you one of these city girls you can’t handle human contact?”
“I’m a southern belle, if you must know, but human contact can’t handle me,” she says sullenly. She drops her eyes from Gambit’s face and transfers them to the landscape. It must have cost the Maximoff twins a fortune to buy this much land, in New York City, no less to rebuild historical monuments on it. She marvels at the complexity of such a daunting task, instead of the questions she knows Gambit will ask.
“What do you mean by that?” he ventures, as she knew he would.
“My mutation makes it so that when I touch people they get hurt. I temporarily take a person’s powers, if they happen to be a mutant, and then I take their lifeforce, human and mutant alike. So, no touching,” Rogue states, backing away from him, hands up in a non-threatening gesture.
“You wanna show me?” the stranger asks.
Rogue had to have heard him wrong because he can’t have just asked her to touch him voluntarily, could he?
“What? No, we - We’re in public and my teachers would kill me,” she huffs, moving farther from the doorway and the possibility of wandering eyes. It’s difficult for her to stay near this stranger with his invasive questions and even more disconcerting behavior.
“Your teachers?” he says quizzically.
“I’m kind of on a school trip that’s supposed to show us that being a mutant is something to be celebrated,” she says gesticulating with her hands in, turning away from him to lean against the white marble railing on the other side of the patio.
“And you don’t believe it?” he asks, coming to stand beside her anyway.
“Being a mutant put my first boyfriend in a coma and made my second one break up with me. Like, I said, if I touch you, you will get hurt, Mister - ” Rogue stops, at a loss for words. When did she get so desperate that she’s spilling her guts to someone she met twenty minutes ago?
“Name’s Remy LeBeau, sweetheart, but my friends call me Gambit. Don’t think I’ve had anyone call me Mister before. No reason to start now,” he said, nodding his head to her and tipping his hat. “And I’m not scared of a little pain.”
She slips off her glove slowly, giving him enough time to rethink his decision, but Gambit merely extend his hand, pointedly ignoring the her reluctance.
“Well, Gambit, I’m Rogue. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she says, taking his hand in hers. They both gasp at the contact as Rogue’s power takes over like the parasite that it is. She sees bits and pieces from his past: a member of a New Orleans street gang, someone calling him le diable blanc, a man initiating him into something called the Thieves Guild, killing another person in self-defense.
She releases Gambit’s hand like she’s the one having her life force stolen, instead of him. A trickle of blood seeps from his palm, so Rogue presses her free glove into his hand before his blood drips onto the floor.
“I’m so sorry. I told you this would happen,” she panics, turning Gambit’s hand over in hers in order to assess the damage. She makes sure that she uses the gloves as a barrier, upset that such a mundane human interaction caused so much strife when she attempted it.
“Do I look like I’m complaining?”
“You don’t need to,” she says morosely. She sighs. Gambit doesn’t deserve to get pulled into her drama. She changes the subject with, “So, The White Devil, huh?”
“Something like that,” he laughs.
“And the Thieves Guild?”
He tilts his head dismissively. “We all do what we have to to stay alive, sugar. It’s not always sunshine and roses.”
Suddenly, electricity sparks at Rogue’s fingertips, just as she pulled her hands away from his. The bleeding stops, but it looks like Gambit will have a nasty scar.
“What did you say your power was again?” she inquires, pulling her bloody glove back on. Despite how disgusting it looks, Rogue doesn’t trust herself to walk around bare handed yet.
Gambit’s eyes lit up with mischief and delight. “I didn’t. Would you like me to show you?”
Without waiting for her to answer, he takes a playing card from inside his leather jacket, and places it between her thumb and index finger. He turns her around to face the extensive gardens, points to a circular hedge, and whispers, “Now I want you to aim this card at that bush right there.”
She can feel his breath on her neck and his chest pressed against her back. Her mind knows that it’s too soon for her heart to start racing or for her palms to get sweaty, but her body disagrees. It craves all of the human contact that her DNA has denied her. Even worse, Gambit seems to sense her struggles and moves even closer.
“Now just tell it where you want it to go and fire.”
Rogue takes a deep breath to steady herself, aims the card at a slightly overgrown hedge. It slices through the air, crackling with intent and purpose, spiraling downward until it leaves an awkward plateau in the greenery.
“Good job, Ms Rogue,” Gambit praises. He takes a step back, allowing her some much needed breathing room. With a flourish of his hand, he calls the card back to him so fast that she almost misses it singeing Bobby’s hair.
“Why did you do that?” she questions. She hadn’t mentioned her Bobby’s name or even that he was perusing the gardens with Kitty.
“That was your ex-boyfriend, right?”
“How could you tell?”
“He kept looking at us when his new girl wasn’t looking.”
“Impressive detective skills,” she notes. A flicker of movement in the doorway catches her eye before she can make a comment about fighting other people’s battles.
“Rogue, are you - Oh,” Jean says, assessing the situation. She rearranges her facial features to what she looks like when she’s trying to get a read on someone. “It’s time for us to get back on the road.”
“I guess this is goodbye then, darlin,” Gambit says, throwing another smile her way.
“See you around,” she says with a small wave.
Jean nods to Gambit, her arm snaking protectively around Rogue to pull her towards the door. She waits until they hit the ramps to start lecturing her. “Rogue, I know that this is a difficult time for you, but touching strangers just to prove you can is unsafe,” she begins.
“He asked me to touch him. I didn’t do it to hurt him,” Rogue says flatly. She knows that Jean just wants to be a mentor, but she’s not in the mood for it now.
“And Magneto?” she asks knowingly.
“I thought that you stayed out of people’s heads,” she retorts..
“I think you’re upset and it’s affecting your judgement,” Jean adds sternly.
“People get broken up with all the time, Jean. I’ll be fine.” Rogue is used to be people shunning her for her powers, her judgement is anything but clouded.
“I know it’s hard, having power that's overwhelming, one that people run away from because it’s too much for them to handle, but you'll get used to it. And there will be someone out there who will appreciate you, for you and nothing else will matter."
Rogue’s first thought is that Jean knows nothing about having a power that she can’t control.Rogue readily accepts that being a telepath is a huge responsibility and that people pull away from her in fear when they find out, but Jean could keep her mutation a secret if she wants to, a luxury that Rogue will never have. She can’t even get past introductions before someone asks why she’s wearing elbow-length gloves in the middle of May.
Her second thought is over Logan, though he’s never far from her mind. It’s not secret that he lusts after Jean, even though she's married, and that occasionally she lusts after him, despite her best efforts. She doesn’t care that he's ageless or that he sees her as something of a sister that he adopted out of pity because she knows that it’s more than that between them. She just needs to make him see it too.
“It’s not even him that I’m upset about,” Rogue answers finally.
“Really?”
And until Rogue confesses it in her own head, she doesn’t fully comprehend the truth in the statement. She never loved Bobby, not in the way that she’s heard other people describe it. She had never had particularly strong feelings, one way or another. If Rogue is truly honest with herself, she would say that she lost a part of herself when her powers manifested. She didn’t have time to notice it last year, what with running away, finding Xavier’s school, and running away again, but throughout it all, had tried to reconcile Anna Marie, the southern belle, with Rogue the freak among freaks.
So when Bobby told her he liked her, she jumped at the prospect of taking back a few human pleasures. Rogue knows better than that now. She knows that getting close to people, both physically and emotionally, will only get her hurt. She won’t make that mistake again.
“Yes, really,” is all she says to Jean as they walk to the first floor, where the rest of the school is waiting for them. If Jean catches any of her thoughts, her face doesn’t show it.
* * *
Logan is not, nor has he ever been, a babysitter, no matter what Scott calls him behind his back. Therefore, he does not walk around that infernal place that makes him feel like he’s back in the cage. Logan couldn’t bear to be in there, looking at the days gone by of mutant history. Even though there are too many things that he can’t remember, if still feels like the exhibits are a part of his past.
Besides, the hunter in him is still on edge, so he stands across the street from the museum, waiting for all of the children to exit. On any other day, the street preacher, wouldn’t worry him, not until he listens.
“The Bible says, in Genesis 1:27 says ‘So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.’ The Lord tells us that he created man in his image, that we are holy and righteous and that we must stand together in the face of evil.....” he says.
The man has a very stern face, that looks as though it hasn’t seen a happy day in a very long time. His brown hair is turning towards gray, but it’s the sunken cheeks and harsh jaw line that makes him look old. The street preacher has seen too much pain and death, if his stripes and army uniform are anything to go by, but the pain goes deeper, as if the war were something that used to get away from an even more devastating situation.
If everything about him wasn’t immaculate, Logan doesn’t think that anyone walking by would take him seriously. His back is completely vertical, towering over the small group that stand, enraptured by his words. The man’s hands make cutting gestures through the air and if Logan tries hard enough, he can feel how much this street demon wishes that those motions could slice away mutants instead of air.
He looks around to see that about half of the students are outside now, which means that unfortunately some of the children will hear this garbage. By the time he tunes in again, the speech has gotten infinitely more specific.
“In the book of Ezekiel,” he continues. “It explains that God made his angels perfect, but that the angel Lucifer created his iniquity through his own means. Lucifer created all that was evil, including mutants. In the book of Revelation Saint John the Divine talks about the end of days. He tells us that, The dragon fought and his angels and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him....”
Logan feels Rogue walk up next to him and press against his side. He looks down to see that her face is completely blank because she, knows where this speech is going. She’s known cruelty in her lifetime; he saw that much in her eyes when he picked her up in Canada. She may have run away from home, but the bags under her eyes and the lines on her face make it clear that she knows suffering. She, like him, knows what it feels like to have people judge her based on her powers. Most of all, she knows that this street preacher is evil.
He’s holding the Bible in his left hand now, practically trembling with rage, pretending that God actually has something against mutations.
“These words are the Lord’s truth that mutants are people created in the Last Days, from the fall of Satan. His fallen angels were cast unto the Earth, the bred with humans to spread their seed and create an army against God’s followers. They may hide under the guise of evolution and genetics, but their true goal is to threaten your salvation....” he yells.
“Do you think anyone will believe him?” Rogue asks. Logan turns his eyes away from the pastor and Rogue looks up at him with trepidation.
“Rogue, he’s just a fanatic. Don’t pay attention to him. The bus is here to take him to the Blackbird anyway,” Storm says, coming up behind them both. He must be getting soft if he missed the school bus pull up at the end of the block. All of the students have come outside by now and most of them haven’t spared the street preacher a glance. It unnerves him a little that people can ignore this verbal poison.
“You say that now, Storm, but even Hitler started off as a bad artist,” he says. Logan glances back at the museum and thinks that he notices a flash of blue skin turn the corner, but it’s hard to be sure. He puts the thought out of his mind, rests his hand on the small of Rogue’s back, and motions her towards the vehicle.
* * *
Over the next two months, Jean watches as the street preacher from the museum gain an enormous congregation of believers to the point where the news channels are giving him interviews and broadcasting his message. It makes her nervous, nervous enough to start thinking more critically about Magneto’s vision. She’ll never join him - the man did try to kill her and her husband - but she can understand why he would naturally distrust humans. It’s men like this William Stryker who make it difficult for mutants not hate homo sapiens. Televangelist or not, there are some people who don’t deserve to live.
It’s a Saturday morning, so the staff has the day off, meaning that it’s Jean’s turn to make breakfast for the students. Scott will attempt something simple for lunch like pasta or sandwiches and Storm will make some kind of Egyptian street food that gets all of the students excited.
Scott doesn’t understand her need to wake up early every day, but Jean revels in this atmosphere. It’s why she asked the Professor to put the hospital wing in the basement of the school. She likes the quiet, when everyone is still asleep and Jean can have a moment of peace without the intrusion of anyone’s thoughts. William Styker and his “Purifiers” are never too far from anyone’s mind. Even the Professor is reluctant to take the students out anymore.
Jean reaches for a large mixing bowl out from the cabinets and triples the recipe to make enough food for anyone who wakes up. She loses herself in her work for a time, sifting all of the dry ingredients together, adding some nutmeg and cinnamon, just like her mother used to. She begins to add the eggs one at a time, when she tunes in to the fuzzy edges of someone’s thoughts.
Who could be awake? It’s barely 6am, she hears.
Everything after that dissolves into feelings: fatigue, apprehension, intrigue. She sees Rogue round the corner to the kitchen, surprise lighting up her features.
“Good morning, Rogue,” she greets.
“Hi, Jean,”
“I was just making waffles for breakfast. Would you like to help?”
“Yeah, sure, what do you need me to do?” Rogue responds.
“The batter is almost done, but would you like to slice some fruit to go with it? I think we have strawberries in the refrigerator. Could you cut the stems off and half them?”
Rogue doesn’t answer verbally, but acquires the strawberries and a bowl for the stems, placing herself on the opposite side of the island where Jean is making waffle batter. The kitchen in this wing is barely large enough to hold three people, with more space dedicated to the dining room.
The pair work together in silence, each content with their task. Jean doesn’t mean to look, but Rogue’s mind is so in tune with Logan’s mannerisms that her mental state shifts when she hears his footsteps down the hall. Jean delves into the girl’s surface thoughts, listening as each of Logan’s steps makes her simultaneously more relaxed and more self-conscious.
Am I covered? Don’t want to hurt him. How’s my hair? Can’t afford anymore mistakes. Get a grip. You just got out of a relationship - skims through Rogue’s mind just before a white T-shirt and jeans come into view.
Jean tries to look through Logan’s surface thoughts as well, though he must have learned to block telepaths lately because Jan doesn’t hear anything without looking. His shields are pretty standard, but Jean respects them, even if she could make them crumble with a thought.
Though Logan looks his regular stern self, there’s something softer about him when he interacts with Rogue. When she passes him salt and pepper to add to the eggs, Logan leans fractionally into hers, his eyes never leaving her body, even as she reaches in a low cabinet for a frying pan. At first, Jean thinks that it’s Logan’s promise to take care of her that makes him so protective, but now she suspects something more between them that neither party is ready to acknowledge yet.
“Hey kid, Jean. What’s for breakfast?” he says in his usual gruff voice.
“Waffles,” Rogue answers, not trusting herself to look up from her task. Her unsteady hands and flushed cheeks give away her nervousness.
“You need any help?” Logan says, rolling up his sleeves, seemingly oblivious to the
“You can cook, Logan?” Jean questions. He meets her gaze with a raised eyebrow and the thought, When necessary in her direction. Logan’s mind is even stronger than she thought, if he has the ability to send thoughts and keep up mental shields that the same time.
“In that case, you’re in charge of scrambled eggs,” Jean instructs, shrugging off the mental threat. Rogue looks between the two of them and Jean hears Of course he’s here for her. You’re a child to him and she’s... but the thought ends, unfinished.
She needs to see more of Logan and Rogue together to decide whether she approves or not. She can understand how lonely they are; Rogue, unable to get physically close to anyone and Logan, unable to form an emotional attachment close because of his inability to die. Both of them have seen war, pain, and death. They have known misery at the hands of those who claimed to love them.
Moreover, she can see the way that they cling to each other, instinctively. Neither of them does anything that could be considered overly romantic, but it’s the small things that link them: the soft clink of metal when Rogue moves too quickly, shifting the dog tags that she never takes off, Logan’s involuntary smile when he hears the sound.
The most difficult part is that these two haven’t even identified what they feel in their own minds, so Jean can’t begin to speculate about the nature of the relationship. Instead, she takes the scientific approach, throwing them into close quarters and cataloguing their reactions, like now.
Rogue is noticeably happier and more alert than she has been of late, though the edges of her mind are still colored with disappointment and pain. Jean can attribute a portion of that to only just getting over a breakup, but she’s pretty sure that it’s due to Rogue’s her teenage epiphany that the way to control her mutation is to hide. Jean knows that even though Professor Xavier made a home where mutants could feel safe, that true safety is an individual experience. So far, it looks like Rogue only feels safe when she’s with Logan.
Feeling Scott nudge at her mental shields brings Jean back to reality.
Are you going to stare into that batter all day? he asks, knowing her tendency to lose herself in the thoughts of others.
Only until you come down and work the waffle iron. Jean allows. She adds in the last of the milk and plugs the waffle iron in to preheat when Kitty and Bobby walk through the kitchen door.
There’s a breath of tense silence as the three students make eye contact. Logan’s hands still on the egg that he’s cracking, Jean lets the whisk she’s using fall back in the bowl, and Rogue lays the knife down on the cutting board. In these past months, the staff have gone out of their way to separate the parties, to avoid the possibility of conflict. Jean slips into Rogue’s mind, ready to intervene, no matter how unnecessary the action may be.
Rogue surprises all of them.
“Hey, y’all. If you’re hungry, we’re making waffles and eggs for breakfast,” she says with a smile on her face.
“That’d be great. We’d love some,” Bobby replies, skeptical of Rogue’s demeanor. He steals a glance at Kitty, who returns his look with a pleasantly surprised smile. Bobby nods and squeezes Kitty’s hand gently.
The couple sits down in the entertainment room attached to the kitchen, all anxiety forgotten.
You see? Nothing to worry about. Scott thinks, becoming a physical presence in the kitchen. He greets the room before walking up and kissing Jean.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against her lips.
“I was only gone for a few hours,” she says, to downplay the situation. It sounds better than saying that the atmosphere of the house was so stifling that it woke her up.
“Can we make up for them later?” he says, projecting feelings of lust, love, and happiness. Lately, whenever Logan is around, Scott still feels threatened and seeks to mark his territory.
“Eww, Scott, there are kids around. We don’t need to know what you and Jean do at night,” Kitty Pryde says, coming up to the counter, across from Rogue.
“Or ever,” Logan adds, stirring the scrambled eggs, without turning around. Jean feels Scott move beside her, opening and spraying the waffle iron so that the batter doesn’t stick and pointedly ignores Logan’s words. His movements calm an agitation in her that Jean hadn’t realized she’d felt.
He doesn’t need to love you to be your friend, Rogue thinks with a mental sigh. She grips the paring knife so tightly that it cuts through her glove, just shy of breaking the skin. Without making a conscious decision, Logan pretends to to reach around her for a spatula, in a motion that is dangerously close to a hug.
“Bobby, turn on the TV so that we can have some kind of distraction over here,” Kitty yells across the room, breaking whatever moment Logan had tried to create. The TV blinks to life, unbearably loud, blasting the unmistakable voice of William Stryker into the room.
“Mr. Stryker, why are you working so hard to prove that mutants are the children of Satan?” some Fox News host shrills from the television. She’s another blonde wannabe in a pantsuit, with too much makeup, but the way she leans away from Stryker suggests a mild fear growing stronger with every word.
“I’m not trying to prove anything I’m simply stating facts and using concrete examples to back them up,” Stryker says. He wipes the sweat from his brow, his upper lip curling in disgust that the host doesn’t readily share his sentiment against mutants.
“What are you saying, sir?” she challenges, knowing that if Stryker doesn’t give her a concrete response about his beliefs, the interview will be pointless. Luckily for her, he obliges.
“I’m saying that I’ve seen these monsters in action. The Lord even put one in my own home to test my faith,” Stryker pauses for dramatic effect. The host leans in, moving to the edge of her seat, intent on the sergeant’s story.
“My wife gave birth to a son, who we found out was a mutant. We wanted to be sympathetic because we loved him, but Satan had already taken his soul before we had a chance to introduce him to the word of God. Even so we tried to help him see he error of his ways, to guide him along the path of righteousness, but instead Satan used him to cast horrible images directly into my wife’s brain. He believed that she had made him a telepath and that she deserved to die,” Stryker declares with conviction. His curled lip has become a full on snarl, his hands wave in time with his words, the same way they do in all of his sermons.
“So you’re saying, that your son killed your wife, sir?” the idiotic host says, not seeing that her words aggravate the preacher. The elegance is lost, replaced with a red face and spittle falling from his lips when he speaks.
“No, the enemy is more subtle than that. He caused her to take a drill to her skull in an attempt to bore the images out. He corrupted her soul, sending her to Hell with him. We need to stop pretending that these mutants are people and start seeing them for who they really are: demons,” Stryker says with a finality that ends the interview whether the host intended it or not.
Belatedly, Bobby fumbles for the remote, hands unsteady, eyes downcast. Jean can sense his rush of anger, frustration, confusion, and pain while he struggles to change the channel. A second hush falls over the room as the sounds of The Weather Channel flow from the TV screen. Once again, Stryker and his Purifiers have penetrated the minds of mutants worse than any telepath could.
The room holds its breath until the moment is broken by an even more unexpected arrival.
“Good morning, y’all. Do I smell eggs in here?” Gambit says, before arriving entering the kitchen with Professor Xavier.
It can’t be him, Rogue thinks, even as her eyes contradict the thought. She takes in his flowing hair, leather jacket, and the fedora in his hand, with a disbelieving expression. At last she says, “Hello, Gambit.”
* * *
Every other teacher may think that this Gambit will be a good influence on Rogue, but Logan can see that’s not the case. What are the chances that the same time she’s emotionally vulnerable, a handsome stranger would appear and vy for her affections? The coincidence is just too glaring for him to ignore.
He patrols the halls warily, his senses on high alert for any of the students out of bed, or worse, anyone sneaking into someone else’s room. The silence in the mansion creeps into Logan’s skin, reminding him of another time, somewhere colder, that he can't fully remember. He’s stopped trying to piece together the images anymore, though they taunt him almost every night. Only one thought can keep the nightmares away and Logan shouldn't be thinking about her either.
“Logan, it doesn’t matter how that you don’t like Gambit. He asked to stay here and the Professor said yes,” Storm says, when they cross paths on first patrol.
“And when Gambit shows, Xavier goes to visit someone, but refuses to tell anyone who it is?” Logan says, eyes flicking from one door to another, ensuring that nothing can get past his gaze.
“Do you think that someone brainwashed him?” Storm deadpans, not looking for an answer.
“There are ways to block a telepath to hide your thoughts and we both know that Xavier is too polite to invade someone’s privacy,” Logan retorts.
“What is there to be worried about? If anything were to happen, we have another telepath in the building, along with someone who can control the weather. Just because the Professor is away doesn’t mean that we can’t handle ourselves,” Storm says, with conviction.
Logan can understand Scott and Jean’s blind faith in Xavier, but Storm has always been a mystery to him. Her mood is fickle, like the weather, however, when she makes a decision, her logic is fierce and unwavering.
“Admit that you’re angry because Rogue got tired of waiting for you,” she states. The exasperation in her voice lets him know that she’s sick of this ‘will they, won’t they’ go around between Logan and Rogue.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Logan says, unwilling to rise to the taunt.
“Oh? The girl who’s wearing your dog tags is reunited with the bad boy who made her feel comfortable with who she is you’re not jealous?”
“I said that I would take care of her and I will,” Logan avoids. Even if Ororo thinks that the age difference isn’t a real reason for him to stay away from Rogue, the innocence that surrounds her is. He can’t take away what little of her childhood that she has left, even if that means breaking her heart.
“Is that why you’re about to check my floors even after I told you that they’re all clear?”
It isn't until Storm points it out that Logan realizes his feet had carried him to the girl’s floor landing. He hadn’t paid any attention to direction or even the fact that he had walked anywhere at all. The fact that Rogue resides not only in his conscious, but unconscious thoughts should unnerve him. Alternatively, it makes his Wolverine proud that they can find her without trying.
"Did you at least check the boy's rooms before coming over here and causing trouble?" Storm asks, breaking his train of thought. She leans casually against a wall, knowing smile across her face.
"Some of the older guys are playing video games, but everyone else was out cold. How about your side?”
"Well, almost all of the girls were sleeping, but badly," Storm says, frowning. Her posture stiffens fractionally as her gaze travels up to the girls dormitories.
"What happened to ‘Just because the Professor is away doesn’t mean that we can’t handle ourselves,’" Logan postulates.
"I'm not sure. I thought about waking up Jean, but I’m not sure if she’s really...sleeping.”
This time last year, the comment would have made Logan angry, but now he can admit that Jean was a means to agitate Scott. He says, "From an offensive standpoint, this would be the perfect time to attack. AWOL telepaths, a new addition to the school who is a known member of a gang, " Logan says, trusting the predator within. “Both of the telepaths are gone and Storm can’t camouflage us since she’s with her powers. The children are all asleep,”
“And what am I, chopped liver?” Storm replies warily. She wants to play this off as a joke, but after seeing Stryker on TV this morning, the violence surrounding mutants feels too real to ignore.
Logan is a second away from making a snappy retort, when his body goes rigid. His ears strain to hear the noises outside that sound like they are approaching with a violent purpose. He picks up sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air, carrying the scent of sweat and hatred to his nostrils.
Sensing his distress, Storm pulls the fire alarm for him.
“Get everyone to the tunnels and we’ll go from there,” he calls, before running to collect the girls.
The Wolverine in Logan knows that all of the students won’t all make it out of here, but he refuses to run away anymore, simply because it benefits him and no one else. He isn’t alone anymore. He needs to find someone.
* * *
Rogue wakes up to the high pitched scream of the fire alarm, rendering sleep impossible. The scream is accompanied by sounds of a struggle and something heavy falling to the floor. Though Rogue can barely see in the darkness, at least it gives her an edge of the intruders who she is sure can’t see at all.
She quickly rolls from her bed, sliding her feet into a pair of flats and feeling between the mattress and the bed frame for the cool metal that she placed here when she arrived at the mansion. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Rogue spins quickly, point the .38 revolver at Kitty’s skull.
“Whoa, I thought we were over the boyfriend thing, Rogue,” a pajama clad Kitty says.
“Of course we are. I thought you were one of the people trying to burn the place down,” Rogue says, exhaling. Her eyes dart across the room, wondering how it emptied so quickly. Did they leave her here to fend for herself?
“Shit, what are you doing with a gun anyway?” Kitty asks, outraged. She looks at the gun with fearful surprise. “Let alone a pink one.”
“I hitchhiked here from Mississippi. Did you really think that I wouldn’t have protection?” Rogue
“I always thought your protection was Wolverine.”
“Kitty,” Rogue says, whipping her head around to feel for the loose floorboard under the bed. “Stop making jokes and help me look find the bullets to this thing,” Rogue commands. Even after months of not talking, they don’t have time for subtle digs right now.
“Got ‘em,” Kitty says, pulling out a box of bullets from under the floor. Rogue has to pride the girl on her night vision later.
“We should head straight for the tunnels, like we usually do,” Kitty suggests, referencing the drills that they have on occasion, should an attack like this occur. Rogue had never been more thankful of those drills until now that she could literally find her way through the mansion in the dark.
“You go ahead,” Rogue instructs. “I need to find someone. I have to make sure he’s safe.”
Kitty doesn’t question who Rogue needs to find or why, she merely says, “If you aren’t downstairs in fifteen minutes, I’m assuming they got you.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rogue replies, understanding the precaution. It’s was to see that this is the beginning of a war. Not everyone will make it, so better to start saying goodbye to friends sooner than later.
Rogue holds the gun at the ready, while she and Kitty exit the room, hoping that one of these idiots is stupid enough to get in her way. Rogue listens at the door, hearing the sound of fading footsteps, most likely from the students who already tried to escape. She stands behind the door as Kitty crouches down to turn the knob. They look opposite ways down the hall, to find two men standing close enough to be in gun range, but far enough away that they could make it downstairs.
“On three,” Kitty whispers.
“One,” she counts. “Two.”
They run. Rogue loses her balance almost instantly as her slippers skid on the smooth, hardwood floors. She throws down one hand to catch herself, her eyes looking imploringly up to Kitty’s, hoping that by some miracle, they won’t be spotted. Kitty reaches forward instinctively to grasp Rogue’s outstretched hand before recoiling in fear. Her heart thumps in time with her body hitting the floor as Rogue come to realization that she left her gloves in the room.
Both of the men see Rogue as soon as she bounces off the hardwood, guns drawn, heads searching for the source of the noise, making it evident that they haven’t seen her. Kitty grabs the leg of Rogue’s pajama pants, pulling her toward the stairs, where Rogue can see a clear path down the hallway to false panel.
Neither girl reacts when the gunmen shoot some kind of micro-dart that barely misses them, but the creaking of footsteps on the stairs gives away their location. Kitty claps a hand on Rogue’s clothed hip, catching her attention, just as the two were about to split up. Even though the hand merely squeezes, the look on Kitty’s face means something more friendly encouragement. It is something that will have to parse out later. For now, she runs. She has to find someone.
Author: analise010
X-Men Verse: A blend of the movie and comic ‘verses
Characters/Pairings: Logan/Rogue, Rogue/Gambit, with background Charles/Erik, Bobby Drake/Kitty Pryde
Rating: R
Word Count: 10K (for this chapter)
Warnings: Descriptions of violence.
Summary: When William Stryker and his Purifiers threaten the safety of mutantkind, no one knows how much longer a war can be avoided. Or that the cost will be.
Author’s Notes: This fic would not have been possible, without the wonderful fleete and phandomoftheowl. They were with me for this every step of the way, from planning to word wars to beta to the final product. To quote John Watson, “I was so alone and I owe you so much.”
The moment that Logan walks into the school wing, he can feel that something’s off. The estate doesn’t look any different to him. The corridors engulf him with their Gothic and Romanesque influences, the pointed ribbed vaults raising the ceiling to impossible heights, but unlike the cathedrals that inspired the design, the building is light and airy. Logan doesn’t necessarily feel safe here; he’s too old to feel safe anywhere at this point, but he does feel like he can just be Logan, here. He feels like he can take off the armor that makes him Wolverine, pretend that the most important thing on his mind is where to get the best coffee and how to keep these teenagers from burning down the mansion.
But that doesn’t detract from the feeling that a problem lurks behind one of these doors, ready to pounce, testing if he has enough time to put the armor back on before getting ripped to pieces. He can smell the anger, sadness, and resentment that are coming from the direction of the Storm’s classroom, so he spares the room a glance, under the pretense of ‘surveillance’.
Even a cold-hearted bastard like him can see that Bobby Drake has moved himself and his new black eye to a seat on the other side of the room by Kitty Pryde from his usual seat by Rogue . He’s dressed far better than Logan has ever seen him, trading the T-shirt and hoodie for a pair of stone-washed jeans, pressed shirt, and tie. The boy tries to be discreet about it, but Logan notices the way that his left hand grips Kitty’s thigh under the table like an unspoken promise. The fact that she is wearing a fitted black dress, with a plunging neckline only adds to the fact that this day is something special for them.
What stands out most to him is Rogue sitting in the front of the classroom, eyes trained on the board, but not truly absorbing the words. Logan thinks that the lesson has something to do with cellular respiration, but he can tell by Rogue’s face that it’s all a jumble of words and symbols on a circle that’s supposed to represent photosynthesis. He sees her gloved hand gripping a pen so tightly that it cracks when John makes a joke that startles her.
“Logan, I’m glad you’re here,” a voice says softly behind him. Fuck, caught by the telepath. He turns away from the class reluctantly to see Professor X rolling up to him. Xavier looks a bit more formal than usual, but Logan isn’t one for designer clothes.
“Hello, Professor,” he grunts. He tries not to think of Rogue in that room, suffocating under the weight of peer pressure that even he can feel. It’s not easy.
“Would you come with me to my office?” the Professor asks, allowing Logan to make the decision on his own, when they both know that he’ll say yes. They walk at a leisurely pace towards the office, Xavier refusing to make eye contact and Logan debating on ways to make the telepath get to the point
“I’ve arranged for the students to go on a trip to the new Museum of Mutant Accomplishments in Manhattan, and I would appreciate it if you came as a chaperone,” he begins. Logan briefly wonders why Xavier is bothering to ask, but then again, he’s not officially a member of the school.
“Of course,” he says. Before he can think of a more subtle way to preface the question, he asks, “Is there something wrong?”
Xavier stiffens a bit before turning the corner into his office and wheeling himself behind the desk. “You think that I would only ask you to come if there were something wrong?”
“I think that when you ask me, specifically, to keep a bunch of teenagers from killing each other in New York City, then there’s probably a reason,” he replies, seating himself opposite the Professor. “For all you know, could let the students run wild and grab a beer to keep myself occupied.
“Have you talked to anyone, since you’ve come in this morning?” The question carries with it an air of speculation, apprehension, and even a little fear. He may not be a telepath, but he can still read the emotions behind a person’s words, which gives him something of an advantage.
“No,” he says simply. It’s not that he wants to make this situation any more awkward, but it’s more than a little gratifying to put an omega-level telepath on the defensive every once in a while. “Is there something I should know about?”
“There was...a commotion last night.”
“A commotion?” He shifts forward in the chair, which ruins his attempt to not look invested.
“Last night Rogue punched Bobby Drake across the jaw, bare-handed. When Kitty Pryde tried to pull them apart, Rogue threw her into a wall. Because of her mutation, Kitty went through the wall, unharmed, to wake Jean so that she could stop Rogue without touching her.”
“Her feelings didn’t wake you up?” Logan says, skeptically. He has no doubt of Xavier’s abilities, so there’s no way he shouldn’t have sensed the intensity of Rogue’s distress.
“I’m afraid I was occupied,” he states hesitantly, with a finality that deters any further questions. Though ‘occupied’ doesn’t sound like ‘asleep,’ it sounds like, ‘doing something that I know people would judge me for.’
Switching the subject back to the topic at hand, he asks, “Why would Rogue hurt Kitty like that?”
“I’m assuming it’s because Bobby Drake decided to end his relationship with her,” he says evenly.
Well, that cleared things up, didn’t it? The heated glances and the hand-shaped bruise around Kitty’s arm, and the way that Rogue looked like she had already packed her bag, with one foot out the door. Logan rose to defend her anyway.
“She got that angry over a boy?”
“No, not the boy, specifically.”
“Then, what?” he growls, brushing off Xavier’s Jedi mind tricks. It’s enough of a tell the he won’t meet Logan’s eyes.
“I didn’t go through her mind, but I think it’s symbolic to her of what happened when her mutation first manifested. She had feelings for a boy who spurned her affections when he realized that they could never touch. It may have even been worse this time because this boy said that he could deal with the lack of physical intimacy, only to regret his words.”
Logan shouldn’t be this upset over a stupid teenage romance, but something about people who pretend to love you and then screw you over hits a nerve.
“So what do you want me to do? She’s a teenager. They fall in and out of love fast. She’ll be okay,” Logan says, shrugging off the displeasure sticky feeling of saying words that he doesn’t feel.
“Do you truly believe that?” the Professor says, adding a stare that would wither lesser men.
Yes. No. Yes. No. His mind can’t decide where it wants to settle, so he ends up with, “She can take care of herself.”
“A girl at that age shouldn’t have to,” Xavier whispers, finally breaking eye contact. “Will you speak with her?”
“Yeah, whatever. But if she starts crying or talking about feelings, I’m handing her off to Storm.”
“I’m sure you will,” he says with a smile. “Now please go get dressed. We board the place in an hour.”
“I am dressed.”
Xavier gives his jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket a disapproving once over before saying, “Something appropriate for an outing, Logan.”
He scoffs, but heads back to his room anyway to change.
* * *
Rogue boards the Blackbird, ignoring the disdainful looks she gets from everyone when she passes by. It's enough that she can't touch anyone, but now she has to feel humiliated twice over, once because of Bobby's choice and then again because of her own. She could have taken the high road and walked away when Bobby ended it, but she had felt the betrayal long before she saw it and that cut her deep in ways that she never thought possible.
She remembered the times when Bobby had helped Kitty with her homework late at night and how Kitty had touched him, with fingers that lingered just a second too long. Rogue had known from the beginning when that bitch had started plotting to steal Bobby and she couldn't have stopped it because Kitty and every other girl on the planet could give him what he wanted: touch.
So when Logan finds her, sitting alone and wearing an old shirt, threadbare jeans and no make-up, she can’t even muster up the energy to tell him to let her pout in solitude.
"Buckle up, kid," are the first words out of his mouth. He sits without asking if the seat is taken.
“No,” she states, slouching further down into the seat. She should be above playing the sullen teenager card, but slipping into the role of the angry ex-girlfriend is easier than confronting her feelings. Logan looks at her pointedly, grabs the seatbelt, and clicks it into place in one smooth motion. The movement only takes a second, but it’s enough.
It’s enough to make her pupils dilate, enough for her body to produce excess warmth, enough to make her stop breathing and concentrate solely on the fact that Logan’s skin is an inch away from hers, and he’s not moving away. It’s also enough to make her feel guilty all over again. Logan was the first person who had treated her like she mattered, and though she knows he won't judge her actions, a part of her wants him to tell her what to do with this pain.
And that isn't fair to anyone.
“Listen, if you want to live life on the edge, do it on your own time. I have better things to do than have Xavier turn my brain into mush for letting you run wild,” Logan says, looking her directly in the eye. Another thing that no one else has done lately. Everyone is so determined to not look at her it’s almost as bad as the no touching.
"Go ahead," she says, finally. If her voice betrays any emotion, it’s exasperation.
He gives her the perfect look of feigned boredom before saying, “Excuse me?”
“Go ahead and ask,” she instructs him, her gaze fixed on the window, unable to meet his eyes.
"Ask what?"
"About last night?"
"What you do at night ain't no business of mine."
Oh, how she sometimes wishes that it were. Rogue doesn't blame Bobby as much as she wants to because he knows how she looks at Logan. It wasn't Bobby's fault that the object of her affections had his eye on a married telepath nor that there happened to be other willing and physically available girls around.
She sighs. "I know it was wrong to hit her, but I -."
"You don't have to tell me what it's like to get so angry that you want to hurt someone," he says and the best thing about it is that he means it.
Rogue smiles at him. "Are you saying I should become a cage-fighter like you?"
He smiles back at her for the second time in their entire friendship. It warms a place inside of her that had gone cold ever since Bobby had blown her off to hang with 'Kitty and the gang.'
"I'm suggesting that you do what you want and that you don't take shit from anybody. They don't know what it's like for people like us.” His face falls with the statement, hinting at a past hat he can’t remember, but overall emotions that still bleed through. He’s been hurt before, but how his pain relates to hers is still unclear.
"You mean mutants?" He obviously doesn’t mean mutants, though Rogue yearns for a proper distinction. Something to put the two of them in their own category together.
“No, not exactly," he says Rogue waits for further elaboration. None comes.
* * *
The Museum of Mutant Accomplishments is a wonderful place to take high school students of any age, sex, or genetic predisposition.
The museum is run by humans and mutants, but that’s only one reason why Charles wanted to bring the students here. Yes, it’s his perfect dream of human-mutant coexistence in action, but it’s so much more than that. Everything inside is interactive, from the pyramidal structure of building itself represents the union between heaven and Earth to the way that the exhibits allow patrons to relive the struggles of the people on display.
The establishment is co-owned by a pair of fraternal twins named Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, both with very strong mutations that should have killed them at a young age, especially growing up in foster care, but they survived and built a place dedicated to celebrating the genetic differences in everyone. The fact that they’re Erik’s biological children only adds to Charles’ need to be here.
Charles watches the students mingle with the humans and mutants alike, learning about their mutations and sharing what they can do in turn. The base of the building chronicles human evolution from homo habilis, working its way up to homo superior, including the people and artifacts that go with it. There’s one exhibit on Emily Dickinson and how she was so afraid of her mutation that she went into seclusion, another wall dedicated to Vincent van Gogh and the way that he literally saw the world the way that he painted it, and an entire room devoted to Isaac Newton and his apple.
It doesn’t escape Charles’ notice that the entire place is wheelchair accessible either. Or that he and Magneto end up on opposite sides of the same room, dedicated to the advocation of mutant rights. He sees Erik standing alone, no cape, no helmet, only a black trenchcoat, a fedora, and a grey suit.
“It’s far more accurate than I expected it to be, especially since we spent such a short time together,” Erik begins without preamble. “Professor Charles Xavier and Magneto - born Max Eisenhardt, though he changed his name to Erik Lehnsherr after World War II - travelled across the country, under CIA mandate, to recruit mutants to fight against Sebastian Shaw. Though they found many potential recruits, mutants Tempest, Havok, Banshee, and Darwin agreed to join the fight to keeping the country safe.”
“Is that all it says?” He tries for nonchalant, but ends up halfway between anxious and having something to prove.
“Are you so old that I need to read you the rest, Professor,” Erik says, the word dripping accusations. His posture stiffens ever so slightly, as though he thinks it a mistake to come without the helmet, but it’s too late to regret that now.
“If I remember correctly, it wasn’t so much a recruitment as an excuse for us to drive across the country for a few weeks. Alone,” Charles adds, loading the word with accusations of his own.
“And if I remember correctly, it was a way to get to Shaw,” Erik replies, quick to revolt against the part of himself that wasn’t always misguided.
Of course, because even now, everything comes back to Sebastian fucking Shaw. The one who ruined what could have been an imperfect partnership that led to the unification of mutantkind.
If Erik isn’t going to make this easy, there’s no reason why he should either.
“So how did you get out of prison?”
“Can’t you read my mind?” he says, tapping his skill to punctuate the message.
“I thought we were past this.”
“We’ll never be past this as long as you’re with them. We fight on different sides.”
“But Erik, we don’t have to,” he whines for what has to be the thousandth time. Charles closes his eyes because as much as he wants Erik with him always, he still can’t find a way to make this work. There would always be something between them and neither men are the type to compromise.
When he opens his eyes, Erik is kneeling in front of him, hands on his thighs, which is wholly unfair because the images takes him back to a time where Erik was on his knees and he could still feel everything below his spine.
“If you must know, Magneto is still in his prison cell, though if his skin has a slightly blue tinge to it, then I’m sure it’s just the lighting," Erik says smirking. “Besides, I couldn’t miss the opening of my own children’s museum could I?”
As much as Charles wants to hate the fact that he got married and had children before they met, he can’t after seeing what the twins have accomplished.
He leans his forehead against Erik’s, struggling to balance his mind with his heart.
In hindsight, Charles knows that he should have sensed them making their way to this part of the exhibit. It never occurred to him that anyone would want to see the contemporary exhibits, since everyone at the school had lived through it, but he senses on Rogue’s surface thoughts that Logan made an offhand comment about mutant experimentation that led them here.
There was no reason why Charles should have been so enraptured with Erik that he didn’t notice the two them ascending into his exhibit. The worst part is - he can see it now in Erik’s mind, even without trying - is that Erik knew they were here and wanted to distract him, just so they could approach.
Charles made a vow to himself not to interfere in the actions of others unless to keep someone from coming to harm, but now his head tells him that he has a duty to his school and its students, while his heart screams ERIK! as loud as it can manage.
He hopes that none of the artifacts gets destroyed.
“There’s no way you could have met Lincoln. I refuse to believe you’re that old,” Rogue challenges, her mind brightening at Logan’s words. She knows that he’s trying to make her feel better, even going out of his way to distract her in whatever way he can. Even so, she can’t displace the notion that Logan may have met Lincoln at some point in time and it inspires a pang of hurt in her heart that he’s lived for so long with no one to be there for him.
“Of course I did,” Logan answers. “I built my log cabin right next to his.”
Rogue laughs at the comment, turning her face from him. She desperately hopes that she can’t see how deep her crush goes or that she can’t decide which scenario is worse: her getting over it and moving on to someone else or settling for someone, with these feelings still in her heart.
Her laughter cuts off abruptly when they round the corner to see himself and Erik standing in the middle of their own exhibit like any other patrons instead of the upstanding professor and notorious fugitive that they are.
Erik stands up from his position at Charles’ knees, his grip firm on the back of the wheelchair. Rogue’s mind is full of warning bells, sirens, alarms protesting at the fact that the man who tried to kill her is looking so chummy - as if that were any way to describe them - with the man who claims to fight for mutant-human coexistence.
Does he think he can change him? she thinks. Though it’s unclear as to who she believes will change whom, but Charles has to agree with her. He’s thought the same thing to himself before.
Logan parses the events together in a way that speaks to his survival skills. He weighs the options of killing an enemy in a public place and wondering if that enemy would do the same to him, with no regard for their location before coming to the appropriate conclusion.
They’re in love. That one thought puts all of their previous encounters into perspective for him. Charles’ reluctance to kill Magneto, but his willingness to allow his minions to do it. Magneto flaunting his victories - if what happened to Senator Kelly can be called a victory - in Charles’ face like a dog coming to his master’s for approval.
What Charles hadn’t counted on was Erik breaking the silence. Especially not with such a painfully back-handed comment.
“Nice seeing you again, Rogue. I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Erik says, all smug smiles god complexes.
Even as Charles watches Rogue’s mind struggle to catch up with the insult, her body is already reacting, removing one glove and then the other, her foot stepping forward before she consciously makes the decision to lunge at Erik.
He doesn’t interfere. Logan, however, grabs Rogue by the waist, hauling her back towards the ground before she can get a running start.
“Let me hurt him,” she says as though the two of them aren’t standing right there.
“Rogue, go downstairs with the rest of the group.”
“He hurt you too. You can’t just let him get away with it,” she pleads. She begs him with her eyes, her voice and even her body. Charles may not have seen it, if he wasn’t looking, but it’s all too clear the way Rogue’s hands rest on Logan’s arms, trapped in his long-sleeved shirt and how his fingers curl lightly around her waist. If she shifts down in arms, Logan’s fingers could graze her neck, but if she moves forward again, her chest could end up in his direct line of sight.
The thought may be unconscious, but the action is still there.
“Xavier will pin you to the ground with his mind and Magneto throw can you across the room by your zipper. You can’t win this and neither can I. Go downstairs," he says deliberately.
But Rogue is emotional. She's just had her heart broken by the first peer to accept her into the mutant community and she's not going to be humiliated again. She gives Erik a death glare before saying some of the harshest words he’s heard anyone speak outside of their own heads.
“You think you’re better than us because you can control metal? Because you survived the Holocaust? Fuck you, Magneto. We've all been hurt and trying to play ‘My pain is greater than yours’ with the goal of enslaving people doesn't make you better, it makes you like them."
She shoves Logan away from her, trampling her way downstairs, without waiting for a response. He can only feel anger from her, whereas Logan’s mind is a whirlwind of perfectly constructed thoughts, one after another, discarding the most outlandish ones until he rests on a conclusion.
“So you brought us here and you broke Magneto out of jail just so the two of you could go on a date?”
Tell him, Charles Erik concedes, reluctantly. Charles would be surprised by Erik letting Logan know anything about past, but he realizes that Erik is holding both his chair and Logan’s bone structure with his mutation to avoid further hostility.
“The mutants who opened the museum, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, are Magneto’s children. He’s here to celebrate their success. We both are,”
Charles tries as hard as he possibly can to project peace and serenity to everyone within a five-mile radius, consequences be damned.
Logan scoffs disdainfully, but only says, “When you’re done comparing pictures of the grandkids, Xavier, you have school to run. It’s time to go.”
Charles waits until Logan departs before releasing a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.
“I love you, Charles, but I won’t apologize. I never have before and I don’t intend to start now,”
“I know, love,” Charles whispers, wishing that he could do something - anything - to break this thing they have between them. Erik physically lets go of Charles’ chair in order to examine another part of the exhibit, but his mind opens for him, the way it did when they first met. It’s not an apology, but it’s the closest that he will ever get.
* * *
Rogue can feel the anger trailing in her wake as she blazes through the exhibits without even pretending to look at them. She walks onto a balcony in time to notice Jean Grey glance up at her from the first floor courtyard, remodeled to look like the Palace of Versailles, and holds her gaze for a fleeting second before looking away. She doesn’t need people checking on or babysitting her. She tries to stomp out of the balcony, in a way that would make any toddler jealous, when she barrels right into a man’s chest.
Strong arms pull her away firmly, but gently, with the words, “Whoa. Watch yourself there, darlin’. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt now.”
Rogue looks up at the stranger and sees a man a little older than she is with burning red eyes, shaggy brown hair, and a southern accent as thick as molasses. His alluring brown eyes make Rogue more than a little breathless, but she attributes that to the fact that this man knows nothing about her and has no idea that touching her is akin to having a death wish. She pulls away quickly.
“You keep touching me and you might be the one getting hurt, sir,”
“Oh, you one of these city girls you can’t handle human contact?”
“I’m a southern belle, if you must know, but human contact can’t handle me,” she says sullenly. She drops her eyes from Gambit’s face and transfers them to the landscape. It must have cost the Maximoff twins a fortune to buy this much land, in New York City, no less to rebuild historical monuments on it. She marvels at the complexity of such a daunting task, instead of the questions she knows Gambit will ask.
“What do you mean by that?” he ventures, as she knew he would.
“My mutation makes it so that when I touch people they get hurt. I temporarily take a person’s powers, if they happen to be a mutant, and then I take their lifeforce, human and mutant alike. So, no touching,” Rogue states, backing away from him, hands up in a non-threatening gesture.
“You wanna show me?” the stranger asks.
Rogue had to have heard him wrong because he can’t have just asked her to touch him voluntarily, could he?
“What? No, we - We’re in public and my teachers would kill me,” she huffs, moving farther from the doorway and the possibility of wandering eyes. It’s difficult for her to stay near this stranger with his invasive questions and even more disconcerting behavior.
“Your teachers?” he says quizzically.
“I’m kind of on a school trip that’s supposed to show us that being a mutant is something to be celebrated,” she says gesticulating with her hands in, turning away from him to lean against the white marble railing on the other side of the patio.
“And you don’t believe it?” he asks, coming to stand beside her anyway.
“Being a mutant put my first boyfriend in a coma and made my second one break up with me. Like, I said, if I touch you, you will get hurt, Mister - ” Rogue stops, at a loss for words. When did she get so desperate that she’s spilling her guts to someone she met twenty minutes ago?
“Name’s Remy LeBeau, sweetheart, but my friends call me Gambit. Don’t think I’ve had anyone call me Mister before. No reason to start now,” he said, nodding his head to her and tipping his hat. “And I’m not scared of a little pain.”
She slips off her glove slowly, giving him enough time to rethink his decision, but Gambit merely extend his hand, pointedly ignoring the her reluctance.
“Well, Gambit, I’m Rogue. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she says, taking his hand in hers. They both gasp at the contact as Rogue’s power takes over like the parasite that it is. She sees bits and pieces from his past: a member of a New Orleans street gang, someone calling him le diable blanc, a man initiating him into something called the Thieves Guild, killing another person in self-defense.
She releases Gambit’s hand like she’s the one having her life force stolen, instead of him. A trickle of blood seeps from his palm, so Rogue presses her free glove into his hand before his blood drips onto the floor.
“I’m so sorry. I told you this would happen,” she panics, turning Gambit’s hand over in hers in order to assess the damage. She makes sure that she uses the gloves as a barrier, upset that such a mundane human interaction caused so much strife when she attempted it.
“Do I look like I’m complaining?”
“You don’t need to,” she says morosely. She sighs. Gambit doesn’t deserve to get pulled into her drama. She changes the subject with, “So, The White Devil, huh?”
“Something like that,” he laughs.
“And the Thieves Guild?”
He tilts his head dismissively. “We all do what we have to to stay alive, sugar. It’s not always sunshine and roses.”
Suddenly, electricity sparks at Rogue’s fingertips, just as she pulled her hands away from his. The bleeding stops, but it looks like Gambit will have a nasty scar.
“What did you say your power was again?” she inquires, pulling her bloody glove back on. Despite how disgusting it looks, Rogue doesn’t trust herself to walk around bare handed yet.
Gambit’s eyes lit up with mischief and delight. “I didn’t. Would you like me to show you?”
Without waiting for her to answer, he takes a playing card from inside his leather jacket, and places it between her thumb and index finger. He turns her around to face the extensive gardens, points to a circular hedge, and whispers, “Now I want you to aim this card at that bush right there.”
She can feel his breath on her neck and his chest pressed against her back. Her mind knows that it’s too soon for her heart to start racing or for her palms to get sweaty, but her body disagrees. It craves all of the human contact that her DNA has denied her. Even worse, Gambit seems to sense her struggles and moves even closer.
“Now just tell it where you want it to go and fire.”
Rogue takes a deep breath to steady herself, aims the card at a slightly overgrown hedge. It slices through the air, crackling with intent and purpose, spiraling downward until it leaves an awkward plateau in the greenery.
“Good job, Ms Rogue,” Gambit praises. He takes a step back, allowing her some much needed breathing room. With a flourish of his hand, he calls the card back to him so fast that she almost misses it singeing Bobby’s hair.
“Why did you do that?” she questions. She hadn’t mentioned her Bobby’s name or even that he was perusing the gardens with Kitty.
“That was your ex-boyfriend, right?”
“How could you tell?”
“He kept looking at us when his new girl wasn’t looking.”
“Impressive detective skills,” she notes. A flicker of movement in the doorway catches her eye before she can make a comment about fighting other people’s battles.
“Rogue, are you - Oh,” Jean says, assessing the situation. She rearranges her facial features to what she looks like when she’s trying to get a read on someone. “It’s time for us to get back on the road.”
“I guess this is goodbye then, darlin,” Gambit says, throwing another smile her way.
“See you around,” she says with a small wave.
Jean nods to Gambit, her arm snaking protectively around Rogue to pull her towards the door. She waits until they hit the ramps to start lecturing her. “Rogue, I know that this is a difficult time for you, but touching strangers just to prove you can is unsafe,” she begins.
“He asked me to touch him. I didn’t do it to hurt him,” Rogue says flatly. She knows that Jean just wants to be a mentor, but she’s not in the mood for it now.
“And Magneto?” she asks knowingly.
“I thought that you stayed out of people’s heads,” she retorts..
“I think you’re upset and it’s affecting your judgement,” Jean adds sternly.
“People get broken up with all the time, Jean. I’ll be fine.” Rogue is used to be people shunning her for her powers, her judgement is anything but clouded.
“I know it’s hard, having power that's overwhelming, one that people run away from because it’s too much for them to handle, but you'll get used to it. And there will be someone out there who will appreciate you, for you and nothing else will matter."
Rogue’s first thought is that Jean knows nothing about having a power that she can’t control.Rogue readily accepts that being a telepath is a huge responsibility and that people pull away from her in fear when they find out, but Jean could keep her mutation a secret if she wants to, a luxury that Rogue will never have. She can’t even get past introductions before someone asks why she’s wearing elbow-length gloves in the middle of May.
Her second thought is over Logan, though he’s never far from her mind. It’s not secret that he lusts after Jean, even though she's married, and that occasionally she lusts after him, despite her best efforts. She doesn’t care that he's ageless or that he sees her as something of a sister that he adopted out of pity because she knows that it’s more than that between them. She just needs to make him see it too.
“It’s not even him that I’m upset about,” Rogue answers finally.
“Really?”
And until Rogue confesses it in her own head, she doesn’t fully comprehend the truth in the statement. She never loved Bobby, not in the way that she’s heard other people describe it. She had never had particularly strong feelings, one way or another. If Rogue is truly honest with herself, she would say that she lost a part of herself when her powers manifested. She didn’t have time to notice it last year, what with running away, finding Xavier’s school, and running away again, but throughout it all, had tried to reconcile Anna Marie, the southern belle, with Rogue the freak among freaks.
So when Bobby told her he liked her, she jumped at the prospect of taking back a few human pleasures. Rogue knows better than that now. She knows that getting close to people, both physically and emotionally, will only get her hurt. She won’t make that mistake again.
“Yes, really,” is all she says to Jean as they walk to the first floor, where the rest of the school is waiting for them. If Jean catches any of her thoughts, her face doesn’t show it.
* * *
Logan is not, nor has he ever been, a babysitter, no matter what Scott calls him behind his back. Therefore, he does not walk around that infernal place that makes him feel like he’s back in the cage. Logan couldn’t bear to be in there, looking at the days gone by of mutant history. Even though there are too many things that he can’t remember, if still feels like the exhibits are a part of his past.
Besides, the hunter in him is still on edge, so he stands across the street from the museum, waiting for all of the children to exit. On any other day, the street preacher, wouldn’t worry him, not until he listens.
“The Bible says, in Genesis 1:27 says ‘So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.’ The Lord tells us that he created man in his image, that we are holy and righteous and that we must stand together in the face of evil.....” he says.
The man has a very stern face, that looks as though it hasn’t seen a happy day in a very long time. His brown hair is turning towards gray, but it’s the sunken cheeks and harsh jaw line that makes him look old. The street preacher has seen too much pain and death, if his stripes and army uniform are anything to go by, but the pain goes deeper, as if the war were something that used to get away from an even more devastating situation.
If everything about him wasn’t immaculate, Logan doesn’t think that anyone walking by would take him seriously. His back is completely vertical, towering over the small group that stand, enraptured by his words. The man’s hands make cutting gestures through the air and if Logan tries hard enough, he can feel how much this street demon wishes that those motions could slice away mutants instead of air.
He looks around to see that about half of the students are outside now, which means that unfortunately some of the children will hear this garbage. By the time he tunes in again, the speech has gotten infinitely more specific.
“In the book of Ezekiel,” he continues. “It explains that God made his angels perfect, but that the angel Lucifer created his iniquity through his own means. Lucifer created all that was evil, including mutants. In the book of Revelation Saint John the Divine talks about the end of days. He tells us that, The dragon fought and his angels and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him....”
Logan feels Rogue walk up next to him and press against his side. He looks down to see that her face is completely blank because she, knows where this speech is going. She’s known cruelty in her lifetime; he saw that much in her eyes when he picked her up in Canada. She may have run away from home, but the bags under her eyes and the lines on her face make it clear that she knows suffering. She, like him, knows what it feels like to have people judge her based on her powers. Most of all, she knows that this street preacher is evil.
He’s holding the Bible in his left hand now, practically trembling with rage, pretending that God actually has something against mutations.
“These words are the Lord’s truth that mutants are people created in the Last Days, from the fall of Satan. His fallen angels were cast unto the Earth, the bred with humans to spread their seed and create an army against God’s followers. They may hide under the guise of evolution and genetics, but their true goal is to threaten your salvation....” he yells.
“Do you think anyone will believe him?” Rogue asks. Logan turns his eyes away from the pastor and Rogue looks up at him with trepidation.
“Rogue, he’s just a fanatic. Don’t pay attention to him. The bus is here to take him to the Blackbird anyway,” Storm says, coming up behind them both. He must be getting soft if he missed the school bus pull up at the end of the block. All of the students have come outside by now and most of them haven’t spared the street preacher a glance. It unnerves him a little that people can ignore this verbal poison.
“You say that now, Storm, but even Hitler started off as a bad artist,” he says. Logan glances back at the museum and thinks that he notices a flash of blue skin turn the corner, but it’s hard to be sure. He puts the thought out of his mind, rests his hand on the small of Rogue’s back, and motions her towards the vehicle.
* * *
Over the next two months, Jean watches as the street preacher from the museum gain an enormous congregation of believers to the point where the news channels are giving him interviews and broadcasting his message. It makes her nervous, nervous enough to start thinking more critically about Magneto’s vision. She’ll never join him - the man did try to kill her and her husband - but she can understand why he would naturally distrust humans. It’s men like this William Stryker who make it difficult for mutants not hate homo sapiens. Televangelist or not, there are some people who don’t deserve to live.
It’s a Saturday morning, so the staff has the day off, meaning that it’s Jean’s turn to make breakfast for the students. Scott will attempt something simple for lunch like pasta or sandwiches and Storm will make some kind of Egyptian street food that gets all of the students excited.
Scott doesn’t understand her need to wake up early every day, but Jean revels in this atmosphere. It’s why she asked the Professor to put the hospital wing in the basement of the school. She likes the quiet, when everyone is still asleep and Jean can have a moment of peace without the intrusion of anyone’s thoughts. William Styker and his “Purifiers” are never too far from anyone’s mind. Even the Professor is reluctant to take the students out anymore.
Jean reaches for a large mixing bowl out from the cabinets and triples the recipe to make enough food for anyone who wakes up. She loses herself in her work for a time, sifting all of the dry ingredients together, adding some nutmeg and cinnamon, just like her mother used to. She begins to add the eggs one at a time, when she tunes in to the fuzzy edges of someone’s thoughts.
Who could be awake? It’s barely 6am, she hears.
Everything after that dissolves into feelings: fatigue, apprehension, intrigue. She sees Rogue round the corner to the kitchen, surprise lighting up her features.
“Good morning, Rogue,” she greets.
“Hi, Jean,”
“I was just making waffles for breakfast. Would you like to help?”
“Yeah, sure, what do you need me to do?” Rogue responds.
“The batter is almost done, but would you like to slice some fruit to go with it? I think we have strawberries in the refrigerator. Could you cut the stems off and half them?”
Rogue doesn’t answer verbally, but acquires the strawberries and a bowl for the stems, placing herself on the opposite side of the island where Jean is making waffle batter. The kitchen in this wing is barely large enough to hold three people, with more space dedicated to the dining room.
The pair work together in silence, each content with their task. Jean doesn’t mean to look, but Rogue’s mind is so in tune with Logan’s mannerisms that her mental state shifts when she hears his footsteps down the hall. Jean delves into the girl’s surface thoughts, listening as each of Logan’s steps makes her simultaneously more relaxed and more self-conscious.
Am I covered? Don’t want to hurt him. How’s my hair? Can’t afford anymore mistakes. Get a grip. You just got out of a relationship - skims through Rogue’s mind just before a white T-shirt and jeans come into view.
Jean tries to look through Logan’s surface thoughts as well, though he must have learned to block telepaths lately because Jan doesn’t hear anything without looking. His shields are pretty standard, but Jean respects them, even if she could make them crumble with a thought.
Though Logan looks his regular stern self, there’s something softer about him when he interacts with Rogue. When she passes him salt and pepper to add to the eggs, Logan leans fractionally into hers, his eyes never leaving her body, even as she reaches in a low cabinet for a frying pan. At first, Jean thinks that it’s Logan’s promise to take care of her that makes him so protective, but now she suspects something more between them that neither party is ready to acknowledge yet.
“Hey kid, Jean. What’s for breakfast?” he says in his usual gruff voice.
“Waffles,” Rogue answers, not trusting herself to look up from her task. Her unsteady hands and flushed cheeks give away her nervousness.
“You need any help?” Logan says, rolling up his sleeves, seemingly oblivious to the
“You can cook, Logan?” Jean questions. He meets her gaze with a raised eyebrow and the thought, When necessary in her direction. Logan’s mind is even stronger than she thought, if he has the ability to send thoughts and keep up mental shields that the same time.
“In that case, you’re in charge of scrambled eggs,” Jean instructs, shrugging off the mental threat. Rogue looks between the two of them and Jean hears Of course he’s here for her. You’re a child to him and she’s... but the thought ends, unfinished.
She needs to see more of Logan and Rogue together to decide whether she approves or not. She can understand how lonely they are; Rogue, unable to get physically close to anyone and Logan, unable to form an emotional attachment close because of his inability to die. Both of them have seen war, pain, and death. They have known misery at the hands of those who claimed to love them.
Moreover, she can see the way that they cling to each other, instinctively. Neither of them does anything that could be considered overly romantic, but it’s the small things that link them: the soft clink of metal when Rogue moves too quickly, shifting the dog tags that she never takes off, Logan’s involuntary smile when he hears the sound.
The most difficult part is that these two haven’t even identified what they feel in their own minds, so Jean can’t begin to speculate about the nature of the relationship. Instead, she takes the scientific approach, throwing them into close quarters and cataloguing their reactions, like now.
Rogue is noticeably happier and more alert than she has been of late, though the edges of her mind are still colored with disappointment and pain. Jean can attribute a portion of that to only just getting over a breakup, but she’s pretty sure that it’s due to Rogue’s her teenage epiphany that the way to control her mutation is to hide. Jean knows that even though Professor Xavier made a home where mutants could feel safe, that true safety is an individual experience. So far, it looks like Rogue only feels safe when she’s with Logan.
Feeling Scott nudge at her mental shields brings Jean back to reality.
Are you going to stare into that batter all day? he asks, knowing her tendency to lose herself in the thoughts of others.
Only until you come down and work the waffle iron. Jean allows. She adds in the last of the milk and plugs the waffle iron in to preheat when Kitty and Bobby walk through the kitchen door.
There’s a breath of tense silence as the three students make eye contact. Logan’s hands still on the egg that he’s cracking, Jean lets the whisk she’s using fall back in the bowl, and Rogue lays the knife down on the cutting board. In these past months, the staff have gone out of their way to separate the parties, to avoid the possibility of conflict. Jean slips into Rogue’s mind, ready to intervene, no matter how unnecessary the action may be.
Rogue surprises all of them.
“Hey, y’all. If you’re hungry, we’re making waffles and eggs for breakfast,” she says with a smile on her face.
“That’d be great. We’d love some,” Bobby replies, skeptical of Rogue’s demeanor. He steals a glance at Kitty, who returns his look with a pleasantly surprised smile. Bobby nods and squeezes Kitty’s hand gently.
The couple sits down in the entertainment room attached to the kitchen, all anxiety forgotten.
You see? Nothing to worry about. Scott thinks, becoming a physical presence in the kitchen. He greets the room before walking up and kissing Jean.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against her lips.
“I was only gone for a few hours,” she says, to downplay the situation. It sounds better than saying that the atmosphere of the house was so stifling that it woke her up.
“Can we make up for them later?” he says, projecting feelings of lust, love, and happiness. Lately, whenever Logan is around, Scott still feels threatened and seeks to mark his territory.
“Eww, Scott, there are kids around. We don’t need to know what you and Jean do at night,” Kitty Pryde says, coming up to the counter, across from Rogue.
“Or ever,” Logan adds, stirring the scrambled eggs, without turning around. Jean feels Scott move beside her, opening and spraying the waffle iron so that the batter doesn’t stick and pointedly ignores Logan’s words. His movements calm an agitation in her that Jean hadn’t realized she’d felt.
He doesn’t need to love you to be your friend, Rogue thinks with a mental sigh. She grips the paring knife so tightly that it cuts through her glove, just shy of breaking the skin. Without making a conscious decision, Logan pretends to to reach around her for a spatula, in a motion that is dangerously close to a hug.
“Bobby, turn on the TV so that we can have some kind of distraction over here,” Kitty yells across the room, breaking whatever moment Logan had tried to create. The TV blinks to life, unbearably loud, blasting the unmistakable voice of William Stryker into the room.
“Mr. Stryker, why are you working so hard to prove that mutants are the children of Satan?” some Fox News host shrills from the television. She’s another blonde wannabe in a pantsuit, with too much makeup, but the way she leans away from Stryker suggests a mild fear growing stronger with every word.
“I’m not trying to prove anything I’m simply stating facts and using concrete examples to back them up,” Stryker says. He wipes the sweat from his brow, his upper lip curling in disgust that the host doesn’t readily share his sentiment against mutants.
“What are you saying, sir?” she challenges, knowing that if Stryker doesn’t give her a concrete response about his beliefs, the interview will be pointless. Luckily for her, he obliges.
“I’m saying that I’ve seen these monsters in action. The Lord even put one in my own home to test my faith,” Stryker pauses for dramatic effect. The host leans in, moving to the edge of her seat, intent on the sergeant’s story.
“My wife gave birth to a son, who we found out was a mutant. We wanted to be sympathetic because we loved him, but Satan had already taken his soul before we had a chance to introduce him to the word of God. Even so we tried to help him see he error of his ways, to guide him along the path of righteousness, but instead Satan used him to cast horrible images directly into my wife’s brain. He believed that she had made him a telepath and that she deserved to die,” Stryker declares with conviction. His curled lip has become a full on snarl, his hands wave in time with his words, the same way they do in all of his sermons.
“So you’re saying, that your son killed your wife, sir?” the idiotic host says, not seeing that her words aggravate the preacher. The elegance is lost, replaced with a red face and spittle falling from his lips when he speaks.
“No, the enemy is more subtle than that. He caused her to take a drill to her skull in an attempt to bore the images out. He corrupted her soul, sending her to Hell with him. We need to stop pretending that these mutants are people and start seeing them for who they really are: demons,” Stryker says with a finality that ends the interview whether the host intended it or not.
Belatedly, Bobby fumbles for the remote, hands unsteady, eyes downcast. Jean can sense his rush of anger, frustration, confusion, and pain while he struggles to change the channel. A second hush falls over the room as the sounds of The Weather Channel flow from the TV screen. Once again, Stryker and his Purifiers have penetrated the minds of mutants worse than any telepath could.
The room holds its breath until the moment is broken by an even more unexpected arrival.
“Good morning, y’all. Do I smell eggs in here?” Gambit says, before arriving entering the kitchen with Professor Xavier.
It can’t be him, Rogue thinks, even as her eyes contradict the thought. She takes in his flowing hair, leather jacket, and the fedora in his hand, with a disbelieving expression. At last she says, “Hello, Gambit.”
* * *
Every other teacher may think that this Gambit will be a good influence on Rogue, but Logan can see that’s not the case. What are the chances that the same time she’s emotionally vulnerable, a handsome stranger would appear and vy for her affections? The coincidence is just too glaring for him to ignore.
He patrols the halls warily, his senses on high alert for any of the students out of bed, or worse, anyone sneaking into someone else’s room. The silence in the mansion creeps into Logan’s skin, reminding him of another time, somewhere colder, that he can't fully remember. He’s stopped trying to piece together the images anymore, though they taunt him almost every night. Only one thought can keep the nightmares away and Logan shouldn't be thinking about her either.
“Logan, it doesn’t matter how that you don’t like Gambit. He asked to stay here and the Professor said yes,” Storm says, when they cross paths on first patrol.
“And when Gambit shows, Xavier goes to visit someone, but refuses to tell anyone who it is?” Logan says, eyes flicking from one door to another, ensuring that nothing can get past his gaze.
“Do you think that someone brainwashed him?” Storm deadpans, not looking for an answer.
“There are ways to block a telepath to hide your thoughts and we both know that Xavier is too polite to invade someone’s privacy,” Logan retorts.
“What is there to be worried about? If anything were to happen, we have another telepath in the building, along with someone who can control the weather. Just because the Professor is away doesn’t mean that we can’t handle ourselves,” Storm says, with conviction.
Logan can understand Scott and Jean’s blind faith in Xavier, but Storm has always been a mystery to him. Her mood is fickle, like the weather, however, when she makes a decision, her logic is fierce and unwavering.
“Admit that you’re angry because Rogue got tired of waiting for you,” she states. The exasperation in her voice lets him know that she’s sick of this ‘will they, won’t they’ go around between Logan and Rogue.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Logan says, unwilling to rise to the taunt.
“Oh? The girl who’s wearing your dog tags is reunited with the bad boy who made her feel comfortable with who she is you’re not jealous?”
“I said that I would take care of her and I will,” Logan avoids. Even if Ororo thinks that the age difference isn’t a real reason for him to stay away from Rogue, the innocence that surrounds her is. He can’t take away what little of her childhood that she has left, even if that means breaking her heart.
“Is that why you’re about to check my floors even after I told you that they’re all clear?”
It isn't until Storm points it out that Logan realizes his feet had carried him to the girl’s floor landing. He hadn’t paid any attention to direction or even the fact that he had walked anywhere at all. The fact that Rogue resides not only in his conscious, but unconscious thoughts should unnerve him. Alternatively, it makes his Wolverine proud that they can find her without trying.
"Did you at least check the boy's rooms before coming over here and causing trouble?" Storm asks, breaking his train of thought. She leans casually against a wall, knowing smile across her face.
"Some of the older guys are playing video games, but everyone else was out cold. How about your side?”
"Well, almost all of the girls were sleeping, but badly," Storm says, frowning. Her posture stiffens fractionally as her gaze travels up to the girls dormitories.
"What happened to ‘Just because the Professor is away doesn’t mean that we can’t handle ourselves,’" Logan postulates.
"I'm not sure. I thought about waking up Jean, but I’m not sure if she’s really...sleeping.”
This time last year, the comment would have made Logan angry, but now he can admit that Jean was a means to agitate Scott. He says, "From an offensive standpoint, this would be the perfect time to attack. AWOL telepaths, a new addition to the school who is a known member of a gang, " Logan says, trusting the predator within. “Both of the telepaths are gone and Storm can’t camouflage us since she’s with her powers. The children are all asleep,”
“And what am I, chopped liver?” Storm replies warily. She wants to play this off as a joke, but after seeing Stryker on TV this morning, the violence surrounding mutants feels too real to ignore.
Logan is a second away from making a snappy retort, when his body goes rigid. His ears strain to hear the noises outside that sound like they are approaching with a violent purpose. He picks up sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air, carrying the scent of sweat and hatred to his nostrils.
Sensing his distress, Storm pulls the fire alarm for him.
“Get everyone to the tunnels and we’ll go from there,” he calls, before running to collect the girls.
The Wolverine in Logan knows that all of the students won’t all make it out of here, but he refuses to run away anymore, simply because it benefits him and no one else. He isn’t alone anymore. He needs to find someone.
* * *
Rogue wakes up to the high pitched scream of the fire alarm, rendering sleep impossible. The scream is accompanied by sounds of a struggle and something heavy falling to the floor. Though Rogue can barely see in the darkness, at least it gives her an edge of the intruders who she is sure can’t see at all.
She quickly rolls from her bed, sliding her feet into a pair of flats and feeling between the mattress and the bed frame for the cool metal that she placed here when she arrived at the mansion. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Rogue spins quickly, point the .38 revolver at Kitty’s skull.
“Whoa, I thought we were over the boyfriend thing, Rogue,” a pajama clad Kitty says.
“Of course we are. I thought you were one of the people trying to burn the place down,” Rogue says, exhaling. Her eyes dart across the room, wondering how it emptied so quickly. Did they leave her here to fend for herself?
“Shit, what are you doing with a gun anyway?” Kitty asks, outraged. She looks at the gun with fearful surprise. “Let alone a pink one.”
“I hitchhiked here from Mississippi. Did you really think that I wouldn’t have protection?” Rogue
“I always thought your protection was Wolverine.”
“Kitty,” Rogue says, whipping her head around to feel for the loose floorboard under the bed. “Stop making jokes and help me look find the bullets to this thing,” Rogue commands. Even after months of not talking, they don’t have time for subtle digs right now.
“Got ‘em,” Kitty says, pulling out a box of bullets from under the floor. Rogue has to pride the girl on her night vision later.
“We should head straight for the tunnels, like we usually do,” Kitty suggests, referencing the drills that they have on occasion, should an attack like this occur. Rogue had never been more thankful of those drills until now that she could literally find her way through the mansion in the dark.
“You go ahead,” Rogue instructs. “I need to find someone. I have to make sure he’s safe.”
Kitty doesn’t question who Rogue needs to find or why, she merely says, “If you aren’t downstairs in fifteen minutes, I’m assuming they got you.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rogue replies, understanding the precaution. It’s was to see that this is the beginning of a war. Not everyone will make it, so better to start saying goodbye to friends sooner than later.
Rogue holds the gun at the ready, while she and Kitty exit the room, hoping that one of these idiots is stupid enough to get in her way. Rogue listens at the door, hearing the sound of fading footsteps, most likely from the students who already tried to escape. She stands behind the door as Kitty crouches down to turn the knob. They look opposite ways down the hall, to find two men standing close enough to be in gun range, but far enough away that they could make it downstairs.
“On three,” Kitty whispers.
“One,” she counts. “Two.”
They run. Rogue loses her balance almost instantly as her slippers skid on the smooth, hardwood floors. She throws down one hand to catch herself, her eyes looking imploringly up to Kitty’s, hoping that by some miracle, they won’t be spotted. Kitty reaches forward instinctively to grasp Rogue’s outstretched hand before recoiling in fear. Her heart thumps in time with her body hitting the floor as Rogue come to realization that she left her gloves in the room.
Both of the men see Rogue as soon as she bounces off the hardwood, guns drawn, heads searching for the source of the noise, making it evident that they haven’t seen her. Kitty grabs the leg of Rogue’s pajama pants, pulling her toward the stairs, where Rogue can see a clear path down the hallway to false panel.
Neither girl reacts when the gunmen shoot some kind of micro-dart that barely misses them, but the creaking of footsteps on the stairs gives away their location. Kitty claps a hand on Rogue’s clothed hip, catching her attention, just as the two were about to split up. Even though the hand merely squeezes, the look on Kitty’s face means something more friendly encouragement. It is something that will have to parse out later. For now, she runs. She has to find someone.