Fic: Guilt 4/12?
Title: Guilt 4/12?
Author: Valeria
Rating: NC-17/Dark
Summary: Scott ponders, Logan wonders and follows his instincts and Marie stays at Mom’s Kitchen.
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: Still don't own any of this mutants, wish I did though.
Archive: www.loganandmarie.com and http://community.livejournal.com/loganandmarie/
Continuity: Post X2
Authors Notes: This is the third installment of Guilt. Both
lord_gorthaur and
dutchxfan helped me with beta and editing. Thank you so much guys. 25-10-2007 And also
gammameta did her magic and gave me a hand with the editing on this old thing.
Feedback: Yes please. Let me know what you think. I especially like constructive criticism.
Another one of many missions was over, and after briefing the Professor on the results, both the junior and the senior team got to the locker rooms. Peeling another ruined uniform off of his body, Logan was ignoring Cyclops and his monotone talking.
Why did everyone around him suppose it was okay to chat his ever superhearing ears off? The boy was going on and on. Maybe picturing a bottle of cool beer in the place of the noisy leader could alleviate his exasperation. Oh, he sure loved his Molson.
Absently, he licked his lips at the thought.
Looking at Wolverine’s expression, Scott paused in his monologue.
Why was the hairy man looking at him that way?
Meeting each other’s eyes, an uncomfortable silence fell. Grunting, Logan said, “You were saying, One Eye?”
“Yeah, right uhm - Drake - I mean Iceman’s diversion method was just improper for a member of the X-Men. It doesn’t matter how stressful the situation is, we are representing the mutant community and…”
Not letting Scott finish his blubbering, Logan shot back, “Oh, c’mon. Give the kid a break. You preach before each mission how we must avoid violence unless it’s really necessary. What if Iceman got a little creative? You’d got your extra time, and no one got hurt.” With an amused grin, he added, “And the ‘shit for brains’ got their anatomy awareness refreshed.”
A snort came from the younger man. “Mostly when I *preach* about non-violence, I mean *you*. Besides, mooning at the FoH is just undignified. It’s just, just…” And now Scott was stammering while a rapid flush spread from his neck to his hair line.
“Look, the kid did his best, and we both know that. If you don’t cool down, your head is going to take off from your neck.”
That last line got Scott to shut up and gave Logan some peace. Distracted by the remaining pieces of the leather he was now trying to disentangle from his leg, Logan grunted in a very irritated manner. Sweat didn’t help the task. Deciding to make the procedure short, he used one of his claws on the offending chunk. Body gleaming with perspiration, muscles taut and well defined: he was a force to be reckoned with and for some time now a key member of the mutant vigilante team.
Glancing in Logan’s direction while taking off his boots, Scott observed, “How come all that remains of your uniform is just single slices? They are not cheap, you know.”
Raising an eyebrow Logan answered sarcastically, “Fighting off the scum is what I’m good at; taking care of my wardrobe is not.”
And right now he didn’t need that pointed out. He just longed for a hot steamy shower and a cool beer.
With that last thought, he got up and walked to the showers, and Scott bit his tongue, seeing the tense motion on his teammate’s body. He knew when to keep silent. Or so he thought.
Rogue had stayed at Mom’s Kitchen. Now she was pretty sure it had been a good choice - her gut had somehow settled, but her nerves were still tense like barbwire. Her emotions oscillated from one extreme to the other, leaving her exhausted by the end of the day, but still, when she lay down to rest, her brain would spin circling thoughts all around.
Wasn’t it partly her fault that Scott had violated her?
She had so much difficulty taking to that word - like it would tinge the events in new colors she was not ready to admit to. What was she supposed to do now, when she wasn’t able to go back to Xavier’s anymore? She couldn’t bring herself to go back; she had run as fast as it had been possible once she had assessed the situation.
What a mess.
Her heart was as usual pounding too hard in her chest. It reverberated in her limbs, from her neck to her arms, from her stomach down to her legs. It was like being a living tide of sorts.
Was she going to drown?
After all, she was shipwrecked and lost, and now she was about to reach the bottom of the sea.
Turning in bed, she wondered how her protégés were doing without her. The kids she taught in philosophy and history. They had just started talking about the great changes in history and the great minds behind it. Her favorite was Gandhi and his peaceful approach. She, Bobby, and Logan had had extensive conversations about it. Well, not together at the same time, but sometimes she and Logan would meet late at night. She would sustain those monologues, and he would be nursing one of his beers, giving it strange looks.
Once she had asked, jokingly, “Logan, are you and Molson going to elope and get married in Vegas?”
The grin on his lips had been the sort that made her remind herself that crushes were for teenagers.
“Not going through with it if a better offer pops up.” And with that announcement, the - supporter of most statements - ‘eyebrow’ was raised.
"You know what, sugar? I have the perfect proposition - you leave Molson for me," she paused a moment to let the idea sink in, "so it can keep me company during long nights in a confined van during stakeouts.
She had laughed at how he had hugged the can closer to his chest, she guessed he wasn’t ready to make a deal.
God, she missed him so.
And now new tears were traveling down her cheeks.
A worried Scott was pacing up and down the length of his office. One hand was massaging his forehead as if to force whatever thought he had to leave him alone, but somehow his frown suggested he wasn’t very successful.
Three months had passed since Rogue’s departure. She hadn’t talked to him about the details of her assignment. Actually, the only one to speak to her the days before she left had been the Professor, and Scott didn’t get the details of that conference. Not that he didn’t trust Xavier to advise her in the best possible way, but she was, after all, a member of his team and also his responsibility. This had been nagging at him. This and the absence of something like a thought, an idea, or maybe a memory.
But that wasn’t so unusual this past year. It was quite natural that some of his memories had been suppressed in order to work on other more important ones. This arrangement had been offered by the Professor in order to assist him with his sorrow and depression. Still, he should have been briefed on Rogue’s assignment. And then there was this out-of-the-blue request for a vacation. He wondered if their last mission together was the cause of her much desired break.
He still had a hard time facing Logan because the blame of that night still lingered. And so, lost in thoughts, Scott went on pacing the carpet, making a path of his own in the fabric.
Now, once again, lying on her back, Rogue considered how and what to do about the state she was in. Without her rest, she was one grumpy guest - it was against her southern manners to act so bitchy with Johnny and Sidney - who turned out to be a shapeshifter with one wicked sense of humor.
He and Pyro had ongoing banter, and they made her laugh this morning. Surprised, she had covered her mouth. Laughing had become an alien activity to her during her time on the road, and when she had realized her reaction, a flood of tears had broken. She was sure that on the day she wasn’t forced to deal with so many tissues, the company making them would go bankrupt.
It was clear she needed to cry out before being able to go search for new horizons, but damn, it was a bitch. She missed being the woman she used to be. The one who could laugh, play, tease, and banter. The responsible teammate, the questioning teacher, the friend that was there in times of need. Or, just being Marie would do just fine, too.
Obviously denial wasn’t good in large doses, and the dam was about to crumble and drown her if she didn’t let herself work out each and every feeling and thought. Everything has a price - take it or leave it.
Breathing deeply, she realized she had now a new goal. This was going to be a long journey. Probably a lot bumpier than maybe anticipated but definitely worth it. It would be like an inner pilgrimage, and she sure liked the idea.
An old memory surfaced in front of her - the day of her tenth birthday. Her best friend Lee had been there, together with her brother David. Her family had all gathered for the occasion as well. Both of her grandparents were present. Rogue remembered that she was hoping to get a puppy, even if it was one from the animal shelter. She just wanted a dog to call her own.
Time had passed, and presents had been opened, but not a dog’s hair in sight, and her mood had started clouding a bit. Finally, there had not been a single gift left, and there was still no prospective pet. She'd gone to the porch and sat down to sulk.
“Hi, pouting angel. Why is the birthday girl sulking and not having chocolate cake and laughs with her friends?” Grandpa Bertie, her favorite grandparent, sat down beside her, his presence comforting at once.
After a few minutes of silence and Bertie nudging her, she finally spoke. “You know how I have been talking about wanting a puppy for days?”
Grandpa smiled. “Days, angel? You mean the days of May, June, and July?”
He was teasing her now, and it made her grin back at him. “Okay, for months then.” She sighed. “I wanted a best friend. One to keep my secrets and follow me around and look cute.”
Grandpa had nodded and hugged her to his side. “A best, exclusive friend, you say? That will follow you around and never leave your side?”
It was her turn to nod.
“In that case, if those are the requirements, I have what you need right here.” He said it in a triumphant tone, handing her a square and kind of flat package.
Her face must have shown the sudden hope and the quick dead of it when she reached for the offered gift. “Er - this is the flattest dog I’ve ever seen, so uh - thank you?”
Shaking his head while giving her an amused smirk, he’d said, “This is going to be your best friend. You just need to tell it your stories.” And then he got up and left her alone.
The present had been her very first personal journal, and she had to agree with grandpa Bertie. It had become her best friend in the whole world.
Maybe it was time to get a new journal to confide her story to.
A couple of beers later, Logan was sprawled on his bed in his usual sleeping attire - almost nothing - and tangled sheets. Under closed eyes a dream scenario appeared - a cautious Marie entering his bedroom. Bare feet and the same black nightgown from that long past night. Silently she walked to the end of the bed. The moonlight fell behind her, enclosing her silhouette in a sensual pale halo. She was never aware of how beautiful she truly was.
Extending a hand, she rested it on his right foot, caressing it carefully. ”Logan, I need you now.”
A certain urgency in her tone got him instantly awake and sitting on the bed. To his surprise, she was still there, but before he could say anything, she silently moved to the door, and, with a gesture of her hand, she told him to follow. Without a doubt, he stood up and did.
She was just turning around a corner and going down the stairs when he almost caught up with her, but for some reason she managed to stay a few steps ahead. Almost like she deliberately kept a distance. A few times, she looked behind her shoulder, making sure he was there, and she smiled encouragingly. “C’mon, sugar. Keep up.”
Sugar. He liked that one. Not sure why, but she had started using it some time ago.
Soon they were at the garage door. The sound of her feet on the concrete made him look down, but when she went around a motorcycle, stroking along the seat and the handlebars with her fingers, his eyes were glued to her movements.
“Marie?”
“There’s something I want to show you.” She walked up to one of the mansion's blue Toyotas. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
With that question, he saw her open the door, her hands lifting the hem of her gown and showing a good portion of skin. She turned on the engine and gave him another of those encouraging smiles before closing the door of the vehicle.
.
“C’mon, sugar. Keep up.”
With that, she stepped on the gas and drove away.
All of a sudden, he was wide awake, rubbing his face with one hand as he turned to his side. Watching the soft light that came through the window, he let the images of his dream reappear, trying to make sense of it.
Sighing, he whispered, “Marie, where are you?”
Logan was standing in the garage, not sure what he was supposed to look for, but the dream had left him worried. That and the fact that he hadn’t find any clues of her current location in her room. All was clean and fresh. Almost too neat. The scant traces of Marie were missing in some spots. And that just didn’t make much sense.
The cars were squeaky clean and almost shining. They were well maintained - they had to be in top shape in case of an emergency.
The word emergency immediately took him down memory lane and how they had escaped the soldiers through the tunnels, then driven to Boston in Scott’s car. Scratching his chin, he went around the cars and the motorcycle, thinking of that escape and how dream-Marie had climbed in and sped away after telling him to keep up with her.
There had to be a connection. He could almost taste it. The scents didn’t tell him much, nor did the scenario. Turning back into the mansion, his face was one of pure concentration. He had a crazy idea, but it was worth checking just to have some peace of mind. Well, the little that was possible for a man with a damaged memory.
Rogue finished her new journal entry, feeling relief. She had written about five pages in a furious tempo, making her wrist hurt with her hearty movements and the firm grip on the pencil. She closed her eyes and lay on her back, taking deep breaths. Her heart felt like a wild dove flapping its wings inside her chest.
She had gone back down to the diner to look for one of the empty bookkeeping books to use. It had been so familiar and reassuring, scribbling down her darkest thoughts and moods on the paper. She had filled each side with anger, rage, guilt, longing, and restlessness. This was only the beginning, but it was a good one. She knew that.
Turning to her side, she reached for the glass of water and the two sleeping pills waiting for her. Another step to heal her wounds was getting some rest so she could behave more like Marie and less like the empty shell she had been lately. She swallowed the pills, put the journal under her pillow, gathered her bedspread under her chin, and waited for the artificial sleep to take over.
Logan was back in the garage, both feeling smug and a lot more alarmed than before. He’d found out that, just like the dream, the real Marie had left the mansion in a lot of haste. The kind of haste that one would have if life or death was depending on it.
She was one of his best students, and she had followed his advice to be prepared for another attack on their school and home. With his guidance, she’d blindly learned how to reach the two emergency exits, and they’d left a bag prepared with documents, cash, clothes, and some other necessary items randomly on their escape route. The one east of the building was still there. Now he just had to look for the second one in a blue Toyota Runner with a number thirteen at the end of the registration plate. She'd left it there because she said thirteen was her lucky number.
Aside from a little superstition, the car was perfect. It had both space for more passengers and a strong engine. The color wasn’t anything flashy since they wouldn’t want any undesired attention drawn to it. He'd taught her well.
Walking up and down the parked cars, the tension in his shoulders increased with each one he passed by. He made the round twice, just to be sure, but no Toyota. And its' absence hadn't been noticed by others either. It didn't appear as taken out in duty in the garage list. Finally, he circled the row and went to his room for his, always ready, own bag.
Taking the stairs in purposeful stride, he made his way down once again, this time more or less colliding with Scott.
“No running on the stairs,” he said sternly but then saw who he was talking to. “Oh, Logan. Be more careful, please. We don’t need you bruising pupils outside of class.”
"Whatever, One Eye," was the only answer he got.
Shrugging it off, the very tired team leader went up the stairs without giving the rude man a second thought. Scott was used to his moods by now.
In the garage, Logan opened the door of his new Jeep and climbed behind the steering wheel. Starting the engine, he didn’t know where Marie might be, but he was sure he would find out. After all, she was his best student, and she used *his* way of thinking, and with that certainty, he took off.
The worried lines in Xavier’s face accentuated his concern after witnessing Logan’s departure. He knew the man’s intent, and he was certain that Logan would be successful in finding Rogue.
Leaning his forehead on the palm of his hand, Xavier considered the ramifications of all this. He had already lost Rogue, and now he would probably lose one of his best fighters as well.
It was too late to ask for forgiveness - he still believed that preventing a confrontation between Rogue and Scott was the best solution, and so hadn’t stopped Rogue from leaving. It might have been cruel to her when he had asked her to be discreet and consider taking some time off to see to herself after that unhappy turn of events. After all, he was only protecting one of his favorite children. Scott was still fragile and in no condition to assimilate the cruel facts. It would destroy him.
Charles had meant it for the best. He owed that to the memory of his other favorite pupil: Jean.
Letting Rogue take off was a price he had been willing to pay if it meant he could keep Scott sane, but watching Logan - his winner - leave, he realized he had maybe made a mistake. A mistake he knew he could not afford.
Rolling along the corridor, he quietly mumbled a prayer for both Rogue and Logan, for he was sure they would never come back.
***
More in next chapter.