Author's Note:
Hugs and pocky to Karma, who typed this all up from scrawls on various bits of paper for me. This is all inspired by the movie X2, and that incredibly slashy little scene between Scott and Logan after Jean gets Deep Blued. And then it kind of ballooned. Right now, it's just preslash, but expect it to get a whole lot slashier. I would also like to clarify the fact that there is, never has been, nor ever will be sexual tension between Logan and Rogue. That is all.It began as simple comfort. Two wounded soldiers clinging together for a ray of hope on a devastated battlefield.
On the day of the Accident, that changed.
***
Sleep was generally considered to be optional for the staff and students of Xavier's School for the Gifted – and the by the iterant professor of art.
Logan almost tossed. He certainly turned, to glare witheringly at the bedside clock, the infuriating green numbers pulsing 2:37 at him without regard to the look that would have melted adamantium levelled at it. Logan rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He hasn't slept in days and the strain was beginning to show on even him. Every time he closed his eyes, a face would form behind his eyelids, a face that would jolt him awake within minutes. A woman's face. Two women, actually. One, the silent mutant who had fought with such ferocity – and who the Wolverine had stilled with a vat of adamantium. The other, short spunky hair and eyes that glittered with humour and intelligence. Jean Gray.
Three weeks had passed since the waters of Alkali Lake closed over her head. The day after, Scott had returned in vain hope her body may be found. Without a trace. But life went on. Went on well, actually. The president had delivered his national address – not the anti-mutant message he had written, but an impassioned plea from the heart that mutants be accepted. He spoke of hope and rebuilding of trust.
Logan wasn't sold. He knew it would be a long, hard battle, one he didn't know how to fight. And that scared him in a way he hadn't thought possible.
Tormented by his own treacherous brain, Logan snarled in frustration and rolled out of bed, landing lightly on his feet. He prowled down the hallway, ostensibly to check on the sleeping students, but really to occupy his own sleepless hours. He came to a stop outside Rogue's room without realizing where his feet were taking him.
Rogue.
That infuriating, wilful, stubborn little girl. The kid sister he might have had. Logan's mind dredged up a fleeting memory: Mystique briefly taking the girl's form to seduce him. He shuddered at the memory. He raised a hand to knock, but thought better of it. He opened the door slightly, just enough to see Rogue as she slept, moonlight lying in bars across her form. Long white gloves lay folded on her bedside table. The white streak in her hair glowed luminescent in the moonlight. Logan stood there silently for a long moment. He felt sorry for her sometimes – doomed to live without human contact. Logan snorted. Sometimes he thought that same doom was laid upon him. A quote grew into his mind: "As two spent swimmers that do cling together and choke their art." He didn't know its source or why it was in his brain, but he had long since accepted that his memories were far more extensive than he knew.
As Rogue lay there, she made a small sound and shifted in her sleep, and Logan felt a need to smooth her hair back and sooth her into sleep. But the moment passed, and Rogue settled. Logan sighed and stepped away, letting the door close softly behind him.
He padded through the sleeping school, heading in the vague direction of the kitchen. He stepped into the darkened room and went for the fridge. He opened it and stared into the illuminated depths for a long while before closing it.
"There is beer," a voice said from the doorway. Logan whirled, claws unsheathing as he did. They retracted as Logan processed the voice and the faint light reflecting off sunglasses. His throat worked, but all that came out was "Where?"
"Behind the oatmeal," Scott replied. Logan shot him a look and investigated. A false back gave way to a row of bottles. Logan grabbed two and replaced the board and incumbent oatmeal. When he turned around again, Scott had gone. Curious, Logan padded out into the hallway. Flickers of light caught his eye and he found the other mutant on a couch in the common room, curled around a tub of Cherry Garcia, as cartoons played on mute before him. Wordlessly, he curled tighter, indicating that Logan could sit down. He hesitated a moment and complied, stretching out with his feet up on the coffee table. He took a long drink of beer and watched the cartoon carnage.
"Does that help any?" he asked, after a long silence, indicating the half-empty tub.
"Not really," Scott replied. "Does that?"
The sky was lightening when they spoke again. Scott got up, threw out the empty ice cream container and threw a wave over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. "G'night."
Logan just shook his head and went to get changed before Storm saw him and gave him the evil eye. Wandering around a co-ed school shirtless was most definitely on her list of Things Not To Do. And Logan was hesitant to gain his own personal storm-cloud following him around.
***
Life continued, as life does: quietly, without flagging. Days melted into weeks, weeks to months, spring became summer became fall. Nothing much changed on the human-mutant relation front. A few among the students volunteered to appear at a national debate a few months after the president's first address. Kitty, Colossus, and Bobby were among them, along with a host of the smaller, cuter children. Rogue would have gone, but the intent was to give a demonstration of the beneficial aspects of mutant abilities. There had been oohs and ahhs as Kitty walked through the podium and frost appeared on the walls, but nothing changed. The debate still raged over mutant registration and controls.
Logan hated politics. It made his skin itch. His claws, too.
Something good did come of it, however. Bobby's parents had come to visit the school. Xavier and Bobby, with Rogue in tow, gave them the grand tour. They met all the teachers and the older residents. Unfortunately, Kurt made his appearance in his normal manner when summoned, with a bampf and a poof of blue smoke. Bobby's mother almost fainted. Kurt was profuse in his apologies and turned on all of his charm.
To their credit, they dealt with the reality of life at the school. People running through walls, zooming by at superspeed, and a little boy playing with lightning. Logan watched the visit with welled amusement. They left slightly shell-shocked but still standing.
And every night, there were Logan, Scott, a few bottles of beer, and a tub of cherry chocolate ice cream. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they sat in silence. Scott told Logan about when he was a kid and how he found his powers. Logan told him about wandering the Rockies to the Bay of Fundy. They talked about Jean.
It was a funny thing. Speaking, words of memory from dry throats, tears making glistening trails down cheeks, it felt good. A lifted weight. Fears, doubts, guilt melted under sorrow and comfort. They even slept: fitfully, yes, sporadically, yes, but sleep none the less.
Kurt found them one Sunday morning, looking for a snack after Matins. Logan was sprawled, half on the couch and feet up. Scott was slumped against him, both sound asleep. Two faint bampfs sounded in the common room and bottles and tubs were cleaned up. When Storm came down an hour later, she sleepily asked why he was grinning. The only reply she got was a wink and a broader grin.
Storm shook her head at his back as he skipped around the kitchen, humming "Lift High the Cross" and jumping occasionally. He was, as some would say, a queer duck. Most mutants, especially the more different one, had turned their back on God as having deserted them. Kurt's faith burned more brightly than anything Storm had seen. She didn't like the deeply religious. They annoyed her. But Kurt didn't. He lived his faith quietly, without intruding on anyone's sensibilities. Despite being blue with three fingers and a tail, he was amazingly discrete. He was a great favourite among the younger children, and even begun a Sunday school of sorts. Xavier had already approached him about teaching German to the older students. He was fitting in well.
Or so everyone thought. But Storm had found him perched on a weathervane, staring east with setting sun behind him. She alighted on the roof behind him. He didn't turn, but his tail flicked in acknowledgement of her presence. She sat delicately beside him, legs crossed, as he crouched with his arms resting lightly on his knees.
"I should miss Munich," he had said at last. "But I don't. I have never had a home before. Not even there." His tail flicked up, and trailed along her arm. "Now, I can finally rest."
Storm's heart had thrilled, but dampened again when he had added, "I hope."
She remembered that as she turned on the coffee maker. The furry blue guy seemed to have no need for the sparkplug of humanity. Same with the Professor. . . he drank it out of courtesy, but never seemed to need it to wake up.
"Seen Logan or Scott yet?" she asked a while later, when the java had kick-started her synaptic relays.
Something sounding suspiciously like a snicker escaped Kurt. "I think they are still in bed," he said, humour lacing his voice. If it hadn't been the morning, she would have been deeply suspicious. As it was, she only shrugged it off.
Rogue staggered in, rubbing her eyes. She slumped into a chair and gave a huge yawn. Kurt disappeared abruptly from beside the stove and reappeared by the table. Rogue jumped, but Kurt just smiled and offered a plate of pancakes.
"Oh, Nightcrawler, I love you," she half-sighed, half-moaned as half a syrup-laden pancake disappeared into her mouth.
"Hey, what about me?" Storm mock-pouted as she set down glasses and orange juice and milk on the table. Kurt appeared, handed her a plate with a flourish, and went back to cooking.
Meals at the school went in shifts. When you were hungry, you came down, ate, and left, anytime until lessons began at 10, except weekends, when there was a more or less open schedule. It worked well. Another student walked in and forewent the pancakes for oatmeal. Kitty came in and gave Kurt a hug for pancakes. A short while later Kurt bampfed out with a tray for the Professor.
Rogue looked up and smiled as Bobby walked in, rubbing his eyes. A smile lit up his face immediately when he saw her. Storm hid a grin behind her coffee mug as they exchanged a quick kiss. She wasn't quite sure what mechanics allowed the skin contact, but she had her suspicions concerning a thin layer of ice and some creative tongue action may provide an explanation of sorts.
"Good morning," he murmured, slipping into the seat beside her, ignoring Kitty's squawk of protest as she sank through the table and relocated to another chair.
"Good morning to you," she replied, entwining her gloved fingers in his.
"Now what is this delicious mess that you've scarfed without me?" He asked lightly, gesturing at the syrup and crumbs now inhabiting her plate.
"Nightcrawler made pancakes," Rogue said. "I'd have saved some, but who knows when you'd roll out of bed on a Sunday morning, lazy," she teased.
"Oh, I'm lazy?" he said, mock-hurt. "How about you, you little - "
bampf! "Guten morgen, herr Iceman," Kurt said civilly. "Would you like some as well?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Can I have some more, please?" Rogue pulled the Oliver Twist eyes.
"Mmph," Kitty swallowed. "Me too!"
Bampf! Bampf! Bampf!
"You're like Emeril," Storm said, grinning. "Let's kick it up a notch! Bampf!"
"Ha bampf ha ha," Kurt said, disappearing and reappearing directly before her. He dropped more pancakes on her plate, gave her a wet smack on the nose, and relocated to the ceiling to eat his own.
Rogue laughed as Storm spluttered and shook her fist at the grinning Nightcrawler. "You're in a good mood this morning, Kurt."
"I saw something amusing this morning," he said. "I haven't laughed so hard in my life." He sat there, snickering quietly to himself while everyone shook their heads at him.
Later that morning, Rogue and Bobby were sitting as close as they could on top of the picnic bench (another item on Storm's list), watching a pickup game of basketball.
"Bobby. . ." Rogue said, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"Mmmhm?"
"I was. . . I mean, I thought. . ."
"Rogue, what is it?" It wasn't like her to stutter.
"It's just. . . I saw you, and your family, and I thought. . . Why would you stay with a girl you can't even touch?"
Bobby turned and grabbed both of her hands. She looked down, avoiding his eyes. He lifted one hand, hesitated, and firmly lifted her chin to look at him. He took his fingers away slowly before feeling the draw of her ability. He looked her directly in the eye and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "I don't want another girl that I can touch. I want you."
She looked down, but his voice drew her eyes back up at him. "Look at me," he said, trying to make the truth of what he was saying apparent in his eyes. "Rogue, I can cuddle you, I can hug you. I can see and hear and talk to you. I love you. I love all of you. I don't care about the other stuff. I care about you."
He saw the tears glistening on her cheeks and longed to wipe them away. But if he touched her now and was sucked dry, it would only drive her argument home. She decided for him, burying her face in his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his waist as her shoulders shook from silent sobs. He smoothed her hair down and rested his cheek on her head as he rocked her back and forth until the storm of weeping had passed. Rogue pulled back, wiping inefficiently at the damp patch on his shirt. Bobby gently removed her hand and held it.
"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I thought. . . once you remembered there was a normal world out there, you'd want a normal girl." She half-smiled. "Guess I was wrong."
Bobby smiled and gave her a quick one-armed hug. "C'mon, I gotta change shirts. Then we can go work on that history paper for Storm."
She gave a wet snicker. "You mean I'll write your paper for you."
"But of course," he said, hopping off the picnic table and offering her a hand down. When she stood on the grass, he used that hand to pull her close. He said seriously, "I mean it. No worries."
She nodded mutely and followed him into the main school building. Logan watched them go from the window of Xavier's study. He felt an irrational jealousy over the bond between the two young mutants, and a strange mistrust of Bobby. A tiny voice in his brain was screaming at him to take over the comforting, to make sure that Rogue was feeling okay. This new mixture of emotion was irritating.
"Logan," Xavier's voice called his mind back to the room, and he turned to the rest. Storm was standing by the desk, and Scott was leaning against the doorframe. Kurt was perched on the large ornamental fireplace, and the Professor was seated behind his desk.
"Something must be done," the Professor growled in his normal tone. "Over the past several months, efforts have been made to better relations However, I am still worried about Stryker's crew." He steepled his fingers. "Even without him and the Alkali Lake base, I am certain that his group, and many others, are still on the warpath for us." He sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, the school has been compromised. I am unwilling to abandon it, but the students are not safe here."
Logan started forward, mouth open in protest, but Professor X raised a hand to stop him. "Yes, I know Logan. You managed to protect the students while they made their escape, but 8 were captured." He sighed again. "I don't want to be caught unaware like that." He lifted his head. "Scott. Can you adapt the proximity sensors from the compound to erect a security perimeter around the grounds and the school as well?" Scott nodded silently. "Logan, Storm, I want you to work on adapting the Danger Room weaponry to set up a perimeter security." Two nods of assent. The Professor sighed. "I don't like doing this, not only for the image that we would be sending to the humans, but the safety of the students must be taken first."
"Some of the students won't see it that way," Logan put in. "They might think that they're being caged in."
"We could get them to help," Storm said.
"Continue," Professor X gestured.
"Well, some of the students have electric or metallic powers," she said. "And others would be willing to help. It would be a huge task."
"Good idea," the Professor mused. "Any ideas as to who?"
As they discussed logistics, Logan zoned out. He glanced over at Scott and caught him in an unguarded moment. The optically enhanced mutant had pushed his sunglasses up over the bridge of his nose and was rubbing the corners of his closed eyes. Huge dark shadows stretched under his eyes, normally hidden by the glasses, marring the smooth lines of his face. Abruptly, he removed his hand and the glasses thumped back into place. Logan looked away hurriedly and found himself, for the first time, wondering what colour his eyes were.
The conversation shifted again, drawing his attention back in. ". . .I will alert the older students," the Professor was saying. "Also, I've been meaning to ask you all. . . I hope Magneto is wrong, but if a war is brewing, we must be prepared." His eyes gained a far-away look. "John was promising. . . but we've lost him to Magneto. I wish to begin training some of the older students." He paused. "Most specifically Iceman and Rogue."
Logan surged forward. "Rogue, no, she's - "
"Logan," the Professor said warningly, and he settled somewhat. "I know you want to protect her, but she would help us. You saw her pilot the jet. She has courage, and a rare gift."
Logan glared at him, and he looked back levelly. Logan looked away first, folding his arms and turning away to face the window. There was a silence, then the Professor continued, "Storm, see if you can. . ."
As they discussed details, Cyclops watched Logan from behind the sunglasses. He felt the waves of emotion pouring off the rigid figure by the window, and the inner whirrings and clanks as things readjusted and moved in his mind. To be continued . . .