Fic: More Than A Rogue - (25/?) - A new dawn, a new day
Overall summary: Sometimes we get the balance wrong. Life is not about knowing the answers, life is what happens while you're looking for them. And the bad decisions? The screw-ups? They're what keep it interesting.
Follows on from X3 - after the cure has failed - Rogue's POV
Genre: Action/Shipper/Angst/Humour fic... so basically everything.
Rating: Varies between chapters, but overall R - NC17
Disclaimer: Marvel & co own everything but the order of words on the page.
A/N: Another foofier, lighter chapter because Rogue needs a break from all the angst every now and then (and so do I!) Also, I'm usually a bit more organised than this, but I still haven't technically written the next chapter yet *cringes slightly*. I've written the chapter after it... but well... *fails*. I'm half way through a draft of it & you never know - but it might mean that my next post will be a little later than usual. Just to give you fair warning! (No spiders, heartandcore! Else I'll cry!)
So much thanks to dutchxfan and empressnan for all their help with me messing up times of day & adding in random British terms (I'm sure Logan can faff really *g* He just won't know what he's doing *g*)
Previous chapters can be found sleeping under a tree here. And that's one of the stranger things I've written this evening, so I think it's time for me to go to bed!
It’s early, it’s eye-wateringly bright, and the whole world around me glistens with vibrant morning freshness. My window’s wide open. Rainy scents of leaves and damp earth chase their way in on the gentle breeze and I don’t care that it’s only just gone six a.m. I am Awake. With a capital A.
I got out of bed ages ago. Been peering out the window for the last hour, wrapped in my duvet, waiting for dawn to spread across the water, watching nature wake itself and stretch out to the scribbled out trees on the horizon. And generally grinning like an idiot. Yeah. Lots of that. Heh. And I’m never a morning person.
He kissed me.
Logan.
Like a proper, knock your socks off, down and dirty, aint-no-mistaking-it-for-platonic-I’ll-look-out-for-you-kid, spine tingling, full on, fuck-yeah kiss.
The massive smile spreads across my face anew, a heady jolt kicking hard through my stomach, warming every nerve, tingling behind my knees and curling right down to the very tips of my toes. I can still remember what he tastes like. For some reason I always thought it would be something feral and raw, but he tastes warm and male and so very real. God, did it really happen?
My chin still burns with the prickly scratch of his stubble, answering my own question. I rub it with a hand as I grin again, feeling utterly stupid and utterly wonderful all at once.
Eventually I make the decision to have a shower and wash my hair, which I then scrape back into a ponytail because it feels practical. And today I am going to achieve something.
...Okay, I’m not sure what... but still...
I start by tiding the lake house. See? Practical. Scrubbing it, dusting it, bottom to top. Even my piles of books go back on the shelves. I’m pleased about that. When that’s done, I cook. Worse than ever, because I can’t concentrate on a damn thing. But I don’t care. Ha! Not in the slightest. Then I spend the rest of the morning trying to fill my day with stuff; reading, sketching, anything. But I’m awful at it all because my mind is one big buzzing, jumbling, jittery nervous after-glow over last night.
Is he like this too? I wonder what he’s thinking of right now. Probably lessons. That would make sense. He’s probably teaching. Or maybe he’s in the Danger Room, training. Oh yeah. That’s an image I could stand to picture a little more often. Is he thinking of me? Is he glad? Did it mean anything? Does he regret it? Was it an accident? Will it happen again? Did I make the whole thing up in my head?
Man, I need to find a way to switch off my brain. My own thoughts are almost as haphazard as the random voices I’ve been slowly shutting off. And there’s a comment that makes me sound perfectly sane...
I manage to eat some lunch. Moira bought me doughnuts. I think I love her! Then I go out back and sweep the porch and steps, because isn’t that what people do when they’re cleaning? And I don’t care how mundane it is. Hell, I could be filing a truck load of paperwork right now and still be happy.
Is he still teaching? I lean inside, glance at the clock on the wall. Hmmm... probably. Damn it! How is it only early-afternoon? Who slowed down time again?
I should probably play it cool right now. I should do sensible things, like not nervously eating the entire contents of my fridge. I should be aloof and sexy. Yeah. So what if I got six foot of Logan pressed against me last night... I’m cool with that...
Ha! Yeah right.
Ohmygodwoohoo!
I sit down, but can’t stay still. So I get up and...push stuff aimlessly around. Straighten up the chairs around the table. Move the toaster to the other side of the kitchen, it looks so much better there. Move the contents of one drawer into- oh fuck it, I really need to get out of the house.
The mall. I can go to the mall. See? Again, practical. I really need some new clothes anyway, Mystique would be appalled if she could see the scruffy hand-me-downs I’ve been wearing for the past few weeks. She’d fold her arms and give me that I-can’t-believe-I’m-being-seen-with-you-in-that look.
The thought makes me smile, even though it brings with it an unexpected pang of sadness. I miss that, I realise. Even though it was mixed up and fucked up.
...Kinda like me I suppose.
That probably explains a lot.
I give myself a rueful smile in the hall mirror as I pass, just to remind me that I understand, even if no one else does. I also don’t let myself think too hard about how ridiculous that sounds. Instead, I head for action, digging out the house phone from wherever I tidied it to...in the dresser with my clothes...don’t ask... thumbing in the number for a cab. The sooner I get on with things the better.
Then I head outside, hesitating for a moment as I shut the door behind me, a blush crawling up through my skin, followed by an embarrassed, tingly, lip biting grin. The memory of what it feels like to be pressed right up against that door is way too fresh in my memory right now. It’s causing all my sensible thoughts to melt together in a flood of desire that completely ruins my concentration. I must stand there like a mannequin for ages. Staring at the flaky paint.
...What was I doing out here again...?
Oh, yeah. Shopping. Damn, I’m gonna miss my cab.
The mall is fairly quiet, thank God. I manage to get round without the uncontrollable urge to kill people or run away screaming, which is always a plus. Even my usual headache is barely there; it's just a shadow in the back of my mind that can't compete with every other emotion rushing through me. I shop until I'm bored, and I head back leaden with heavy bags and a self-satisfied glow because I finally have some nice underwear again. And some tops that actually fit.
Then back at the school, I get half way home to the lake house before I hesitate, spin on the spot without really thinking about what I'm doing, and head up to the Mansion instead.
...I need to thank Scott for last night.
Yep. That would be my sole purpose for walking towards the Mansion right now. Just Scott. After all, it would be rude not to go see him. Especially after I woke him up yesterday.
... And if I should happen to accidentally walk past Logan’s classroom...well...these things, they can’t be helped.
Nervous tension knots itself around my stomach and makes my brain even fizzier than usual. Mystique would be giving me a knowing smirk right now. The kind that says she knew she was right all along.
Damn, she’d be smug. Heh.
...Will Logan want to see me so soon? ...Not that I’m going to see him of course, I’m visiting Scott. But still... Is he thinking these things too? Thinking of me? Does he go all gloopy when he looks at a door?
Heh. Probably not. That would be very unmanly. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Logan do anything unmanly.
... Maybe he’s just so gruff and male he makes things look manly. Maybe that’s why.
I try to picture him crocheting. Ha! ...Nah - in the image in my head, he’s in his bomber jacket, with a beer at his side and a cigar hanging from his lips as he fiddles with the needle...hook...things. Still manages to make it look manly. Kinda.
Um.
I really hope there aren’t any ‘paths listening to this right now.
Just in case, I try to clear my thoughts, blinking as I step out of the shade of the trees and back into the driveway sunlight, the Mansion sprawlingly steadfast, rising out of the ground in front of me.
Once I’m inside, accidentally walking past Logan’s classroom is a lot harder in practice that it first seemed. Mainly because it takes me ages to find it. What? He’s not often been around when I have. I’m supposed to know these things? In the end I have to ask a child with green pointy ears for direction. So much for subtlety.
Then I feel faintly stupid for doing so, because what am I going to do while he teaches? Sit and watch? Peer through the door and breathe heavily like a stalker? The latter reveals him pacing up and down in front of the board, yelling out some detail to a roomful of probably terrified kids.
I forgot how scary he could be when he wanted to.
That instantly brings back a whole heap of memories and suddenly I’m fifteen again, stepping between the desks. Bobby carving an ice rose. Kitty and Jubilee whispering when they thought Miss Munro wasn’t looking. John’s stupid practical jokes. Peter’s sketches. I remember them all. Along with how wonderful and awkward I felt when Logan took over the occasional lesson. He was rougher back then. Not so sure of himself with a bunch of kids. Scott used to tell him off for swearing and for taking his shirt off in combat.
Yeah, I never learnt much when that happened. None of us did.
Through the glass I see him slam down a text book on the desk of the nearest child, who jolts awake with a startled yelp. I huff out quiet laughter as I remember the exact same thing happening to me, and Logan must hear me or something, because he glances upward and catches my eye, his lips twisting in an expression that grows into a half-smile when he sees the colour that floods my face.
My mind flips a few dozen cartwheels. Oh, I made out with a teacher last night. That so completely gets me hot.
"Stay quiet," he says to the row of kids in front of him. "Read. I don’t want to hear a sound." Then he’s coming towards me, closing the door between us and them, and the look he gives me increases all my nervousness tenfold. It’s the same look he gave me last night. The same look he gave me on the back porch after he told me it was normal for things to suck. In that motel room of his when my hand was on his belt. The intense one. The predator one. The one that makes this whole thing real.
I could eat that look. Especially now I know what can come after it.
"So," he says.
"Yep." It comes out as more of a squeak than a word.
"You’re over here."
"I am."
"And you're not runnin' away."
"Nope."
Okay, so not the most intellectual conversation in the history of next-day meet ups, but this is a steep learning curve for me! Besides, now I’m this close to him again, I really don’t know what to say. The ability to hold a conversation appears to have eloped with the rest of my brain. I keep waiting for him to dismiss it. To tell me the whole thing was a mistake. A lapse of judgement. To see him back away again. But he doesn’t, and the realisation sends my ears ringing, something warm unfurling in the pit of my stomach.
It really happened. And it’s okay.
"I’ve...uh...come to see Scott," I tell him.
"Scott?"
I nod. "Yep." I’m getting the hang of this.
He raises an eyebrow. "Any reason you’re lurkin’ outside my class then?"
Ah.
Ummmm... "Would you believe me if I said I got lost?"
He huffs a quiet laugh to himself, and the sound turns all my thoughts to blackstrap molasses. He looks so good when he laughs. I mean, he looks good when he’s brooding and mean, but he’s... heh...okay he also looks good when he’s sweaty and fighting... and when he’s angry... when he’s relaxed, oh whatever, you get the point, right?
"What?" he asks, and I realise I’m probably still grinning like an idiot.
"Nothing." Yeah. Still grinning.
"You gonna be ... hang on a moment." A frown crosses his face and distracts him. He opens the door, leans inside. "I SAID QUIET!"
Fuck. That even made me jump! Dammit, and now he’s regarding me with that amused, slightly smug look. Like he enjoyed scaring me. The kind of look that on anyone else would just look cruel, but he still manages to make it look sexy. And feral. Oh yum.
"Listen," he says, when I still don’t manage to form words. "I need to get back in there. But...stay around? I’ll come find you in a couple of hours."
Really? My heart thuds. I’m suddenly nervous again. "To...uh...do what?"
Um. What a stupid, stupid question. See? These are the things that aren’t covered in sex-ed at school. The things that really should be. Not that I’m thinking about sex. Well, I wasn’t, but now I am! My momma would be so ashamed. She’d tell me to pray like a good girl and ask for forgiveness from the images of hot, sweaty, growly...oh wow.
If it’s possible, I’m sure his eyebrow just arched further. He backs through the door back into the classroom. "I’m sure we’ll think of somethin’."
Oh, yeah. I am going straight to Hell.
Five minutes later and I’m still staring at the door that closed behind him. I think I must have a thing for doors today... Scott. I was here to see Scott!
I head off quickly down the corridor, only to realise that I’m walking in the complete wrong direction. Oops. I then turn around so fast that I nearly walk smack into Kurt, who bamfs away from me with an embarrassed ‘entschuldigen’ and hurries off with a slightly worried look in his eye. By the time I reach Scott’s room, I realise I’ve left my bags in the hallway somewhere, I totally forgot the bottle of his alcohol stash I was planning on bringing him, and I officially give up at keeping myself together. But try as I might, today I just don’t care. Nothing can destroy by happy buzz.
... Besides, bottle or no bottle, the thought’s still there. Right?
Kinda.
Ahhh, I’ll bring it tomorrow.
Scott doesn’t bother looking up as I let myself in, but I know he knows it’s me. He has this bored look he’s perfected purely for my visits. He’s getting rather good at it as well. There’s also some colour in his cheeks this afternoon, which makes my day even better. He’s starting to look almost healthy again.
"You come to feel sorry for me again? Or have you just found someone else to hide from?"
"I came to say thanks, for last night."
He makes a small sound in his throat. It’s hard to tell if he’s mocking me or laughing. Probably both. "It went well then?"
I don’t answer. I just grin.
"What are you doing? Are you grinning?"
Yeah. Big time. Heh. I deftly change the subject. "That’s beside the point. I’ve come here today to do to you what Mystique did for me."
"Turn me into a clone and encourage me to break the law?"
Fair point. "Okay, what she should have done for me. I’m gonna kick your skinny ass back into shape." I wrench back the curtains as I say that, blinking in the sudden dusty streams of light. Ouch. Bright.
"Oh, God," he groans. "Please don’t tell me you’ve turned over a new leaf. I liked the messed up moody Rogue."
"She’s going nowhere. I’ve decided I’m going to live with her. And you? Are going to get on with life."
"And how exactly to you plan on that?"
"Haven’t quite got that part figured out yet. But I’m pretty sure that daylight and fresh air are always a good place to start." I slide up the window. It smells like pine trees and rain, and it’s totally delicious. Man, I really am in a good mood!
"Is this what you did after you were injured?"
"Nope. I wallowed in self pity, then got very drunk and shouted lots."
"I like the sound of that much better."
"Well, tough. I’m being responsible now. And you’re on too many meds to drink," I add, hoping that disguises my guilt at forgetting to bring the wine. "Where the hell’s your chair gone."
"Ah. Yeah, that..."
"That...what?"
"I threw it at Logan this morning."
"You... why?"
He turns his face to the window. "Because he tried to do what you just did."
He did? For some reason that makes me go all warm and glowy. But I’m not ready to let on that I’m such a sap, so I try and hide it behind a smart comment. "Well in that case I’m glad you’ve got nothing to throw back at me. Told you I’m messed up. Never know what’ll push me back over the edge. Now where am I supposed to sit." I fold my arms to make my point, knowing full well he can’t see it, but what the hell. Principles and all that.
He sighs, then shuffles himself over to one side of the bed. "Pull up a pillow," he offers.
I... okay, so that’s a little... weird. Him being Scott and all. It’s still hard to reconcile the new grouchy leave-me-alone-I’m-trying-to-heal-here Scott with the stuck up but dependable Scott I used to know.
"Don’t worry," he says dryly, scratching at the several days worth of stubble on his chin and yawning. "If you’re worried you won’t be able to resist my rugged charm, I should probably tell you now that I really don’t have the stamina."
He chuckles to himself as I snort in shock.
"Y’know," I sit down, shuffling around a bit, trying to disguise the awkwardness, "I don’t remember you ever being so...well...laid back," I gesture, just in case it helps. Stupid. "...before."
"You only knew me as a teacher. Not a friend. I had an image of responsibility to project."
"Ha!" Okay, so that makes me snort with laughter.
"You think that's funny?" He tries to sound serious, but his voice gives him away.
"So, am I your friend?"
"No, you’re just the person who comes in here to annoy me and tell me I’m making a crap effort at recovering."
"That counts."
"...Yeah. I know." He gives me what almost passes as a rueful smile. "So, you thinking of staying around here for a while this time then?"
For the first time, a stifling mask of panic doesn’t suffocate me at that question. It’s not entirely comfortable, but it’s do-able. And I kinda like that. Which, all in all, is a nice feeling, I decide. I stretch my legs out on the bed beside him. "Yeah. I am."
"You sound happy."
"Scary isn’t it. I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself."
"All this from one night out with Logan?"
"That’s the scary part. I reckon it means I’m not entirely stable in my emotions right now."
"Please don’t tell me you put a lot of thought into working that out."
"Okay, yeah. That’s an understatement. But I’m working on it. And you should too."
"What? You think I should sleep with Logan too?"
Ohhh, there’s an image I wasn’t expecting.
...Um. Okay. Is it wrong that that’s kinda hot? I’m blaming that one on Magneto.
"Why have you gone quiet. Are you picturing that?"
"...Uh...nope?"
"Please don’t!"
"Well, you’re the one that put the image in my head!"
"I was joking."
"Uh-huh?"
"Oh, you have some problems."
I can’t help it. I begin to laugh. A real belly laugh that has tears leaking from my eyes and my cheek bones aching.
I don’t even realise the evening’s settled in until a knock at the door distracts me from my retelling of the Wolverine/belt incident, which yeah, Scott found far too funny... "tell me the bit when you vomited all over his shirt again..." ... you get what I mean. Only when Dr MacTaggart pokes her head around the door to do her daily check-up, do I blink and realise how dark it’s become.
"I’d better go," I say, standing up and wriggling the life back into my toes. "Leave you to it." I stretch, feeling my shoulders pop in to place. "I have places to be."
"...X-men to grope."
Oh, God.
The memory of that kiss rushes through me again.
I swear, I’ve blushed so many times in the last few days, it’s a wonder I haven’t turned permanently pink.
Follows on from X3 - after the cure has failed - Rogue's POV
Genre: Action/Shipper/Angst/Humour fic... so basically everything.
Rating: Varies between chapters, but overall R - NC17
Disclaimer: Marvel & co own everything but the order of words on the page.
A/N: Another foofier, lighter chapter because Rogue needs a break from all the angst every now and then (and so do I!) Also, I'm usually a bit more organised than this, but I still haven't technically written the next chapter yet *cringes slightly*. I've written the chapter after it... but well... *fails*. I'm half way through a draft of it & you never know - but it might mean that my next post will be a little later than usual. Just to give you fair warning! (No spiders, heartandcore! Else I'll cry!)
So much thanks to dutchxfan and empressnan for all their help with me messing up times of day & adding in random British terms (I'm sure Logan can faff really *g* He just won't know what he's doing *g*)
Previous chapters can be found sleeping under a tree here. And that's one of the stranger things I've written this evening, so I think it's time for me to go to bed!
It’s early, it’s eye-wateringly bright, and the whole world around me glistens with vibrant morning freshness. My window’s wide open. Rainy scents of leaves and damp earth chase their way in on the gentle breeze and I don’t care that it’s only just gone six a.m. I am Awake. With a capital A.
I got out of bed ages ago. Been peering out the window for the last hour, wrapped in my duvet, waiting for dawn to spread across the water, watching nature wake itself and stretch out to the scribbled out trees on the horizon. And generally grinning like an idiot. Yeah. Lots of that. Heh. And I’m never a morning person.
He kissed me.
Logan.
Like a proper, knock your socks off, down and dirty, aint-no-mistaking-it-for-platonic-I’ll-look-out-for-you-kid, spine tingling, full on, fuck-yeah kiss.
The massive smile spreads across my face anew, a heady jolt kicking hard through my stomach, warming every nerve, tingling behind my knees and curling right down to the very tips of my toes. I can still remember what he tastes like. For some reason I always thought it would be something feral and raw, but he tastes warm and male and so very real. God, did it really happen?
My chin still burns with the prickly scratch of his stubble, answering my own question. I rub it with a hand as I grin again, feeling utterly stupid and utterly wonderful all at once.
Eventually I make the decision to have a shower and wash my hair, which I then scrape back into a ponytail because it feels practical. And today I am going to achieve something.
...Okay, I’m not sure what... but still...
I start by tiding the lake house. See? Practical. Scrubbing it, dusting it, bottom to top. Even my piles of books go back on the shelves. I’m pleased about that. When that’s done, I cook. Worse than ever, because I can’t concentrate on a damn thing. But I don’t care. Ha! Not in the slightest. Then I spend the rest of the morning trying to fill my day with stuff; reading, sketching, anything. But I’m awful at it all because my mind is one big buzzing, jumbling, jittery nervous after-glow over last night.
Is he like this too? I wonder what he’s thinking of right now. Probably lessons. That would make sense. He’s probably teaching. Or maybe he’s in the Danger Room, training. Oh yeah. That’s an image I could stand to picture a little more often. Is he thinking of me? Is he glad? Did it mean anything? Does he regret it? Was it an accident? Will it happen again? Did I make the whole thing up in my head?
Man, I need to find a way to switch off my brain. My own thoughts are almost as haphazard as the random voices I’ve been slowly shutting off. And there’s a comment that makes me sound perfectly sane...
I manage to eat some lunch. Moira bought me doughnuts. I think I love her! Then I go out back and sweep the porch and steps, because isn’t that what people do when they’re cleaning? And I don’t care how mundane it is. Hell, I could be filing a truck load of paperwork right now and still be happy.
Is he still teaching? I lean inside, glance at the clock on the wall. Hmmm... probably. Damn it! How is it only early-afternoon? Who slowed down time again?
I should probably play it cool right now. I should do sensible things, like not nervously eating the entire contents of my fridge. I should be aloof and sexy. Yeah. So what if I got six foot of Logan pressed against me last night... I’m cool with that...
Ha! Yeah right.
Ohmygodwoohoo!
I sit down, but can’t stay still. So I get up and...push stuff aimlessly around. Straighten up the chairs around the table. Move the toaster to the other side of the kitchen, it looks so much better there. Move the contents of one drawer into- oh fuck it, I really need to get out of the house.
The mall. I can go to the mall. See? Again, practical. I really need some new clothes anyway, Mystique would be appalled if she could see the scruffy hand-me-downs I’ve been wearing for the past few weeks. She’d fold her arms and give me that I-can’t-believe-I’m-being-seen-with-you-in-that look.
The thought makes me smile, even though it brings with it an unexpected pang of sadness. I miss that, I realise. Even though it was mixed up and fucked up.
...Kinda like me I suppose.
That probably explains a lot.
I give myself a rueful smile in the hall mirror as I pass, just to remind me that I understand, even if no one else does. I also don’t let myself think too hard about how ridiculous that sounds. Instead, I head for action, digging out the house phone from wherever I tidied it to...in the dresser with my clothes...don’t ask... thumbing in the number for a cab. The sooner I get on with things the better.
Then I head outside, hesitating for a moment as I shut the door behind me, a blush crawling up through my skin, followed by an embarrassed, tingly, lip biting grin. The memory of what it feels like to be pressed right up against that door is way too fresh in my memory right now. It’s causing all my sensible thoughts to melt together in a flood of desire that completely ruins my concentration. I must stand there like a mannequin for ages. Staring at the flaky paint.
...What was I doing out here again...?
Oh, yeah. Shopping. Damn, I’m gonna miss my cab.
The mall is fairly quiet, thank God. I manage to get round without the uncontrollable urge to kill people or run away screaming, which is always a plus. Even my usual headache is barely there; it's just a shadow in the back of my mind that can't compete with every other emotion rushing through me. I shop until I'm bored, and I head back leaden with heavy bags and a self-satisfied glow because I finally have some nice underwear again. And some tops that actually fit.
Then back at the school, I get half way home to the lake house before I hesitate, spin on the spot without really thinking about what I'm doing, and head up to the Mansion instead.
...I need to thank Scott for last night.
Yep. That would be my sole purpose for walking towards the Mansion right now. Just Scott. After all, it would be rude not to go see him. Especially after I woke him up yesterday.
... And if I should happen to accidentally walk past Logan’s classroom...well...these things, they can’t be helped.
Nervous tension knots itself around my stomach and makes my brain even fizzier than usual. Mystique would be giving me a knowing smirk right now. The kind that says she knew she was right all along.
Damn, she’d be smug. Heh.
...Will Logan want to see me so soon? ...Not that I’m going to see him of course, I’m visiting Scott. But still... Is he thinking these things too? Thinking of me? Does he go all gloopy when he looks at a door?
Heh. Probably not. That would be very unmanly. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Logan do anything unmanly.
... Maybe he’s just so gruff and male he makes things look manly. Maybe that’s why.
I try to picture him crocheting. Ha! ...Nah - in the image in my head, he’s in his bomber jacket, with a beer at his side and a cigar hanging from his lips as he fiddles with the needle...hook...things. Still manages to make it look manly. Kinda.
Um.
I really hope there aren’t any ‘paths listening to this right now.
Just in case, I try to clear my thoughts, blinking as I step out of the shade of the trees and back into the driveway sunlight, the Mansion sprawlingly steadfast, rising out of the ground in front of me.
Once I’m inside, accidentally walking past Logan’s classroom is a lot harder in practice that it first seemed. Mainly because it takes me ages to find it. What? He’s not often been around when I have. I’m supposed to know these things? In the end I have to ask a child with green pointy ears for direction. So much for subtlety.
Then I feel faintly stupid for doing so, because what am I going to do while he teaches? Sit and watch? Peer through the door and breathe heavily like a stalker? The latter reveals him pacing up and down in front of the board, yelling out some detail to a roomful of probably terrified kids.
I forgot how scary he could be when he wanted to.
That instantly brings back a whole heap of memories and suddenly I’m fifteen again, stepping between the desks. Bobby carving an ice rose. Kitty and Jubilee whispering when they thought Miss Munro wasn’t looking. John’s stupid practical jokes. Peter’s sketches. I remember them all. Along with how wonderful and awkward I felt when Logan took over the occasional lesson. He was rougher back then. Not so sure of himself with a bunch of kids. Scott used to tell him off for swearing and for taking his shirt off in combat.
Yeah, I never learnt much when that happened. None of us did.
Through the glass I see him slam down a text book on the desk of the nearest child, who jolts awake with a startled yelp. I huff out quiet laughter as I remember the exact same thing happening to me, and Logan must hear me or something, because he glances upward and catches my eye, his lips twisting in an expression that grows into a half-smile when he sees the colour that floods my face.
My mind flips a few dozen cartwheels. Oh, I made out with a teacher last night. That so completely gets me hot.
"Stay quiet," he says to the row of kids in front of him. "Read. I don’t want to hear a sound." Then he’s coming towards me, closing the door between us and them, and the look he gives me increases all my nervousness tenfold. It’s the same look he gave me last night. The same look he gave me on the back porch after he told me it was normal for things to suck. In that motel room of his when my hand was on his belt. The intense one. The predator one. The one that makes this whole thing real.
I could eat that look. Especially now I know what can come after it.
"So," he says.
"Yep." It comes out as more of a squeak than a word.
"You’re over here."
"I am."
"And you're not runnin' away."
"Nope."
Okay, so not the most intellectual conversation in the history of next-day meet ups, but this is a steep learning curve for me! Besides, now I’m this close to him again, I really don’t know what to say. The ability to hold a conversation appears to have eloped with the rest of my brain. I keep waiting for him to dismiss it. To tell me the whole thing was a mistake. A lapse of judgement. To see him back away again. But he doesn’t, and the realisation sends my ears ringing, something warm unfurling in the pit of my stomach.
It really happened. And it’s okay.
"I’ve...uh...come to see Scott," I tell him.
"Scott?"
I nod. "Yep." I’m getting the hang of this.
He raises an eyebrow. "Any reason you’re lurkin’ outside my class then?"
Ah.
Ummmm... "Would you believe me if I said I got lost?"
He huffs a quiet laugh to himself, and the sound turns all my thoughts to blackstrap molasses. He looks so good when he laughs. I mean, he looks good when he’s brooding and mean, but he’s... heh...okay he also looks good when he’s sweaty and fighting... and when he’s angry... when he’s relaxed, oh whatever, you get the point, right?
"What?" he asks, and I realise I’m probably still grinning like an idiot.
"Nothing." Yeah. Still grinning.
"You gonna be ... hang on a moment." A frown crosses his face and distracts him. He opens the door, leans inside. "I SAID QUIET!"
Fuck. That even made me jump! Dammit, and now he’s regarding me with that amused, slightly smug look. Like he enjoyed scaring me. The kind of look that on anyone else would just look cruel, but he still manages to make it look sexy. And feral. Oh yum.
"Listen," he says, when I still don’t manage to form words. "I need to get back in there. But...stay around? I’ll come find you in a couple of hours."
Really? My heart thuds. I’m suddenly nervous again. "To...uh...do what?"
Um. What a stupid, stupid question. See? These are the things that aren’t covered in sex-ed at school. The things that really should be. Not that I’m thinking about sex. Well, I wasn’t, but now I am! My momma would be so ashamed. She’d tell me to pray like a good girl and ask for forgiveness from the images of hot, sweaty, growly...oh wow.
If it’s possible, I’m sure his eyebrow just arched further. He backs through the door back into the classroom. "I’m sure we’ll think of somethin’."
Oh, yeah. I am going straight to Hell.
Five minutes later and I’m still staring at the door that closed behind him. I think I must have a thing for doors today... Scott. I was here to see Scott!
I head off quickly down the corridor, only to realise that I’m walking in the complete wrong direction. Oops. I then turn around so fast that I nearly walk smack into Kurt, who bamfs away from me with an embarrassed ‘entschuldigen’ and hurries off with a slightly worried look in his eye. By the time I reach Scott’s room, I realise I’ve left my bags in the hallway somewhere, I totally forgot the bottle of his alcohol stash I was planning on bringing him, and I officially give up at keeping myself together. But try as I might, today I just don’t care. Nothing can destroy by happy buzz.
... Besides, bottle or no bottle, the thought’s still there. Right?
Kinda.
Ahhh, I’ll bring it tomorrow.
Scott doesn’t bother looking up as I let myself in, but I know he knows it’s me. He has this bored look he’s perfected purely for my visits. He’s getting rather good at it as well. There’s also some colour in his cheeks this afternoon, which makes my day even better. He’s starting to look almost healthy again.
"You come to feel sorry for me again? Or have you just found someone else to hide from?"
"I came to say thanks, for last night."
He makes a small sound in his throat. It’s hard to tell if he’s mocking me or laughing. Probably both. "It went well then?"
I don’t answer. I just grin.
"What are you doing? Are you grinning?"
Yeah. Big time. Heh. I deftly change the subject. "That’s beside the point. I’ve come here today to do to you what Mystique did for me."
"Turn me into a clone and encourage me to break the law?"
Fair point. "Okay, what she should have done for me. I’m gonna kick your skinny ass back into shape." I wrench back the curtains as I say that, blinking in the sudden dusty streams of light. Ouch. Bright.
"Oh, God," he groans. "Please don’t tell me you’ve turned over a new leaf. I liked the messed up moody Rogue."
"She’s going nowhere. I’ve decided I’m going to live with her. And you? Are going to get on with life."
"And how exactly to you plan on that?"
"Haven’t quite got that part figured out yet. But I’m pretty sure that daylight and fresh air are always a good place to start." I slide up the window. It smells like pine trees and rain, and it’s totally delicious. Man, I really am in a good mood!
"Is this what you did after you were injured?"
"Nope. I wallowed in self pity, then got very drunk and shouted lots."
"I like the sound of that much better."
"Well, tough. I’m being responsible now. And you’re on too many meds to drink," I add, hoping that disguises my guilt at forgetting to bring the wine. "Where the hell’s your chair gone."
"Ah. Yeah, that..."
"That...what?"
"I threw it at Logan this morning."
"You... why?"
He turns his face to the window. "Because he tried to do what you just did."
He did? For some reason that makes me go all warm and glowy. But I’m not ready to let on that I’m such a sap, so I try and hide it behind a smart comment. "Well in that case I’m glad you’ve got nothing to throw back at me. Told you I’m messed up. Never know what’ll push me back over the edge. Now where am I supposed to sit." I fold my arms to make my point, knowing full well he can’t see it, but what the hell. Principles and all that.
He sighs, then shuffles himself over to one side of the bed. "Pull up a pillow," he offers.
I... okay, so that’s a little... weird. Him being Scott and all. It’s still hard to reconcile the new grouchy leave-me-alone-I’m-trying-to-heal-here Scott with the stuck up but dependable Scott I used to know.
"Don’t worry," he says dryly, scratching at the several days worth of stubble on his chin and yawning. "If you’re worried you won’t be able to resist my rugged charm, I should probably tell you now that I really don’t have the stamina."
He chuckles to himself as I snort in shock.
"Y’know," I sit down, shuffling around a bit, trying to disguise the awkwardness, "I don’t remember you ever being so...well...laid back," I gesture, just in case it helps. Stupid. "...before."
"You only knew me as a teacher. Not a friend. I had an image of responsibility to project."
"Ha!" Okay, so that makes me snort with laughter.
"You think that's funny?" He tries to sound serious, but his voice gives him away.
"So, am I your friend?"
"No, you’re just the person who comes in here to annoy me and tell me I’m making a crap effort at recovering."
"That counts."
"...Yeah. I know." He gives me what almost passes as a rueful smile. "So, you thinking of staying around here for a while this time then?"
For the first time, a stifling mask of panic doesn’t suffocate me at that question. It’s not entirely comfortable, but it’s do-able. And I kinda like that. Which, all in all, is a nice feeling, I decide. I stretch my legs out on the bed beside him. "Yeah. I am."
"You sound happy."
"Scary isn’t it. I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself."
"All this from one night out with Logan?"
"That’s the scary part. I reckon it means I’m not entirely stable in my emotions right now."
"Please don’t tell me you put a lot of thought into working that out."
"Okay, yeah. That’s an understatement. But I’m working on it. And you should too."
"What? You think I should sleep with Logan too?"
Ohhh, there’s an image I wasn’t expecting.
...Um. Okay. Is it wrong that that’s kinda hot? I’m blaming that one on Magneto.
"Why have you gone quiet. Are you picturing that?"
"...Uh...nope?"
"Please don’t!"
"Well, you’re the one that put the image in my head!"
"I was joking."
"Uh-huh?"
"Oh, you have some problems."
I can’t help it. I begin to laugh. A real belly laugh that has tears leaking from my eyes and my cheek bones aching.
I don’t even realise the evening’s settled in until a knock at the door distracts me from my retelling of the Wolverine/belt incident, which yeah, Scott found far too funny... "tell me the bit when you vomited all over his shirt again..." ... you get what I mean. Only when Dr MacTaggart pokes her head around the door to do her daily check-up, do I blink and realise how dark it’s become.
"I’d better go," I say, standing up and wriggling the life back into my toes. "Leave you to it." I stretch, feeling my shoulders pop in to place. "I have places to be."
"...X-men to grope."
Oh, God.
The memory of that kiss rushes through me again.
I swear, I’ve blushed so many times in the last few days, it’s a wonder I haven’t turned permanently pink.