Title: Run
Author: lachlanrose
Disclaimer: Still not mine, despite a valiant effort using my Jedi mind tricks. Dammit.
Feedback: Yes, please! The good. The bad. The ugly, welcome…
Summary: Logan's claws were in her chest. His life force filled her body. His thoughts echoed in her head, shouting one thing over and over. Run. She does... and it takes him a decade to catch her again.
Author's notes: This is my response to the 2013 Wolverine movie. It's very much a 'Logan comes back from Japan' story. It's about letting go and reconnecting. The pain of betrayal. The agony of hope. The fear of letting someone back in again. You could also consider this a realistic look at how the feisty, unsure Marie we saw in X1-X3 becomes the kickass Rogue we know from the comics... and how she and Logan learn to walk a good road.

I've always wondered exactly what happened to Marie between the time she ran out of Logan's room and the time she turned up on the bench talking to 'Bobby'. I let that percolate and a baby bunny was born. Then I wondered what Charles would have to say about it… and the bunny gained a sibling. By the time I started wondering if Marie had ever told Logan about those hours, I had a full-on bunny infestation, which has (yet again) gone somewhere damn unexpected. Japan? Tibet?! For those who want to know up front, this one's gonna be a long, bumpy ride. Cursing, sex, pathos, blood, drama, Feral!Logan, the works. Knock me down. Pick me up. Hit me again. It's one of those slow burn/flashover/everything goes up in flames kinda stories. Brace yourself.

A special thanks to the amazing doctorg for the awesome beta! She deserves an award for being exposed to my fic in its raw form. Much love and thanks to Terri for all the insightful feedback that really pushed this story the last mile and for letting me borrow her Hank muse! (He smells like Twinkies!). I also need to give a shout out to Boake for the lines and to Adele, McLachlan and Metallica for the lyrics and the songs that inspired this story. And lastly, Skinny Dick's is indeed an actual bar. This one is less a grab-your-popcorn-and-sit-back kinda story and more of a pour-yourself-an-adult-bevvie-'cause-you're-gonna- need-it kinda story. Cheers! This one is seriously mature. You have been warned.

Run

[The Rogue]

{Run.}

His voice thundered in my head, desperate and wild.

People were coming. Filling the room. Staring at us. Staring at my hand on Logan's face.

I stared back into their shocked, expectant faces.

"It was an accident." Not my words. His. Spilling from my mouth. He was so sorry he'd hurt me. But under that, a stronger urge.

{Run!}

And so I did.

The knot of kids in the hall parted before me. I don't blame them. I'm death. The words 'Like a hot knife through butter' flashed through my brain. A voice in my head added, 'Like claws through flesh'.

I ran faster.

It's weird what you remember. With all that going on, all I could think was that Logan was gonna be pissed that Scott had been in his bed, even if it was only to grab a pillow.

It was too much. Too much inside. Too much outside. If the body was a vessel, mine was filled to overflowing. I'd never been so full of another person. None of the others had ever rushed in with such force, such power. There was just so much of him. He was so wild, like a force of nature. Unstoppable. I couldn't hold him back any more than someone could dam up the ocean. All I knew was that it was more than I could handle. I couldn't be still. I had to move. To run. In that, we were in perfect agreement.

Every nerve ending was alive. My lungs burned as they healed and reinflated. Each breath was excruciating. The stench was horrific. The metallic scent of my blood. The acrid scent of his fear over the sour notes of his nightmare. The terror of the others and a crowd of hormonal teens who needed more showers and less perfume.

{I'll be fine. Run!}

It didn't even feel like I was really leaving Logan there, convulsing on the floor. He was still with me as I ran; a strong solid presence in my mind. Still, I hesitated.

But-

{Just go. Now. Get the fuck outta there, kid.}

I stopped in the hall, uncertain. He'd never leave me like that. Never. I knew he wouldn't. I wanted to go back but he was adamant. I didn't know if it was because he was trying to protect me, or because he didn't want me to see him like that, or both. I couldn't go back to my room, couldn't face Jubilee and Kitty. I didn't want to see the fear on their faces and subject myself to their inevitable barrage of questions. What was I supposed to do, lie down and pull that yellow sheet back up over me and go to sleep like I hadn't just nearly killed a man? I couldn't stand the horrible, claustrophobic feeling of being trapped. The walls. The people. The fear and mistrust.

The shame.

{Oh, fuck. Jesus. I stabbed you!}

Our shame.

Oh, God. I touched you. I hurt you.

{It's fine. I heal. S'nothin'.}

It's not nothing!

{You okay, kid?}

No.

{Shit. I'm so sorry.}

Don't be. I told you when I touch people, they get hurt.

{Back atcha.}

Laughter that was much too close to a sob bubbled from my lips. Nobody paid me even the slightest bit of attention as I slipped silently away. I'd never been so quiet. Never moved with such stealth. It had to be him. Everyone was too busy staring at Logan's body. Isn't that always the way of it? The attention is always on the victim while the guilty get away.

{It ain't like that.}

It is. It's exactly like that.

{You're the victim here, Marie.}

It's not me convulsing on the floor, sugar.

{Thank Christ.}

My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? It's never been like this...

The lights were too bright and the smell was overpowering. A deep repetitive thrumming sound from a lower level was making my eardrums vibrate unpleasantly. There was a real chance I was going to throw up in the hall. A wave of nausea welled up, and I wrapped my arms around my middle and leaned against the wall until it passed.

{S'me. I got feral senses on toppa strength 'n healin'.}

He did? I suppose some subconscious part of me had been aware of that since we touched. Enhanced senses. No wonder my head hurt. All I'd known about before I touched him was the healing.

Well, that and the claws.

I put my hand up, studying it. No sign of claws, but my forearms hurt and my knuckles itched.

{Don't think about that part now. And the rest — it takes a while to learn how to tune it out. Get outside if you can. It helps.}

The girl in me wanted to burst out the front doors and sprint for freedom. It was deeply disturbing when I almost wrenched the door handle off before slipping silently into the darkness. I didn't feel the cold. The grass was soft and lush under my bare feet. The night was as overwhelming as the inside world had been, but gentler. More familiar. The creak of the wind through the trees. The soft drone of insects. The hum of cars on a distant road. The sharp scents of the evening came to me, wild and strong. It was strangely soothing. I felt myself settle a little. I felt him settle, too.

For a long time we stood in the shadows, breathing the moonlight.

I saw it through new eyes, a silvery luminescence, shining on each leaf, each blade of grass, each stone and branch. It was beautiful.

{It is. I like the night. S'peaceful.}

His words were soft in my mind; somehow both part of — and at odds with — the chaos swirling between my ears.

{Let's just stay here a while, kid. You and me.}

I laughed, because really — where's he gonna go?

This rusty chuckle echoed in my head. It made me smile. When was the last time he laughed?

{Don't remember. Feels good, though.}

How are you doing that?

{Talkin' to ya? Fuck if I know. S'your head.} The touch of impatient exasperation in his voice amused me.

No that. You're holding it back somehow.

He was. I could feel the pressure, the sheer weight of what my skin had pulled along with his gifts; a library of feelings and memories behind some kind of massive seawall, but he was somehow keeping it from drowning me.

{I dunno. I just don't wanna hurt ya again. I'm concentratin' on that real hard.}

None of the others had ever done that. I'd built walls and boxes to contain them but none of them had built one for me from the inside. That was different. And unexpected.

Thank you.

{Don't. I can feel it slippin'. It's got lotsa cracks and more every minute. Little things bleedin' through. Won't be long now.}

I could feel it too. When it came, it would be like trying to drink from a fire hose. He seemed to find that analogy darkly amusing, though I could feel an undercurrent of sad resignation.

{Hope you're thirsty.}

Well, that wasn't too far from the mark. I could use a drink. I was suddenly aware that I really, really wanted one. Whiskey, smooth and smoky and right from the bottle. It was strange to crave a thing I'd never had, to know the taste and the familiar burn even though a drop had never passed my lips. I'd had beer, sure. Even a few sips of mama's mint julep on race day, but my go-to comfort drink was hot cocoa with whipped cream. The idea suddenly seemed ludicrous in the face of what was coming. However delicious chocolate might be, it wasn't exactly bracing.

Bits and pieces were starting to filter through. Logan did his best to hold back the flow but it was terrifying. There was just so much. The wall came tumbling down and he held me while the waves of him broke around me. He kept my head above water, but only just.

I threw up in the grass, hating my weakness. Hating that he saw it. Hating the guilt I could feel rolling in him as I wiped my mouth and moved deeper into the trees, wrapping my arms around a big trunk. The bark was gritty and rough against my cheek, scratching me as I held tighter still to keep the world from spinning away.

/icy water closing over him while his tattooed body shook with terror/liquid metal streaming under his skin/the thrill of the hunt in the cold autumn air/the soft skin of a woman under him, sweaty and flushed/the sharp, concussive blows slamming him against the wire mesh of some cage/masturbating in his camper, his breath making silvery puffs in the freezing air as he twisted and writhed under his own hand/blood dripping from his claws after a kill/quiet joy in the flickering glow of the northern lights on his face/bricks rough under his palm while he pumped into a faceless woman from behind and the scorching rush of orgasmic pleasure searing through him hot and strong/

I gasped, but it only gained momentum.

/the familiar sharp pain of six blades singing into being/a crude fantasy about her, his thoughts uncensored, her full lips on him right there in the cab of his truck, swallowing his pleasure, her hands soft on him afterwards, holding him close/the deep calm of a rich lungful of tobacco/Jean's red hair fanned out over his pillow and wrapped in his fist/frigid seawater around his legs that day in Normandy when they stormed the beach/sunrise over the mountains and a small cabin that felt like home/

The flow came faster and faster until I sagged into the cool earth. That is the worst part about my mutation. Worse than the physical pain I cause is the intrusive nature of what my skin takes from them. Their most private self. Glimmers of their most intimate moments. Their pain and insecurity and the slivers of time so profound the world stops. Things you would never share with another person, not even with a lover. Some things are too raw to be conveyed in that way. Too intensely personal to cause anything but pain. Memories seeping from his veins, pouring into me. Filling me up with all the things I'd never have any other way. There was another ugly little truth.

Logan?

I wouldn't blame him for sinking into silence. The others had, angry at me for knowing them in that way. Once they realized... it was only a matter of time. Some simply fell silent. Some became abusive, angry and violent. David wasn't the only one. You think nobody had tried to touch me those eight months I was on the road? Hardly.

{Shh... S'alright, darlin'. I gotcha. Just breathe.}

You- you didn't leave me?

{Nah.}

What about...?

{Ain't your fault. You can't help it and neither can I. Sure, it's shitty. Sucks for us both, but that's how it is in the real world, kid. Life's full of surprise lefts, cheap shots and fuckin' hard kicks to the balls. You just gotta get back up. Never let 'em see you on your knees.}

I didn't want to. I wanted to cry until I couldn't breathe anymore.

{Get up.}

I still didn't move. The soft loam felt good under my fingers and I suddenly found myself wishing I could sink my whole body into it, cover myself up and just let the world go on without me for a while.

That definitely freaked him out.

{Get that ass up. Now. Lick your wounds if you gotta, but you ain't the kind to let it best ya. Stand up, look it in the eye and tell it to fuck off.}

I got to my feet and felt him moving within me, supporting me.

"Fuck off," it was hardly a whisper.

{Hmph. Like you mean it.}

Something hot unspooled in me, wild and raw.

"FUCK OFF!"

It echoed in the clear night air, startling birds from a nearby stand of trees. My throat felt raw. A moment later it tingled and healed.

Fuck the world. I hated this shitty mutation with every fiber of my being. I hated myself just as much. Hated whatever I'd done to deserve this hell. Hated what it meant for the future. So much black rage and self-loathing. I think he was surprised by the intensity. He shouldn't be. It's there for him to see. Sure, I get them in my head, but they get me too. All of me. Every insecurity and fear and ugly piece of myself that I never wanted another person to ever see.

We're equals in that. Bound together in this terrible dance of humiliation and pain.

{Jesus. Are all teenage girls this dramatic?}

You wanna talk about you, then? Fine. How about that night in that crappy hotel in Yellowknife when you opened up your arms and bled the ground red, full of so much hurt that the pain was an improvement?

{Shut up!}

Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm being shitty. It's not your fault. I shouldn't even know those things, much less acknowledge them. They're yours to tell.

I was instantly contrite. Absorbing someone makes me too unstable and apparently the more I took, the more unstable I became. I'd never taken in so much of someone before. I wanted to lash out because it's easier than introspection. Easier than seeing what they think of me.

{When I get like this, I run.}

I understood he meant the physical act of running, of giving over to the wildness inside of him, not running away.

That's not all you do.

There were memories, strong swirling memories of fighting and drinking and women.

That rough chuckle was back in my head.

What?

{Thinkin' of you in the cage. Downin' a few belts. Kickin' a little ass. Pickin' some cage bunny outta the crowd for after.}

Laughter burst out of me, sharp and bright at the ridiculous image he'd painted.

You forgot the cigar.

{So I did.}

I wanted one of those, too, along with the drink.

The laugher had crystallized something in my mind, spurring my body into action before I realized I was moving. I ran. Across the grounds, through the trees, leaping fallen logs and craggy ruts in the uneven ground. Weaving among the trunks, moving in a wide arc along the edge of the Professor's land and back around toward the school. I never even got tired. Never had to stop and catch my breath. My bare feet cut and healed. I barely noticed. The earth under them felt good. I welcomed the wildness. Embracing it seemed to help. There wasn't so much resistance when I stopped trying to force it into what I wanted it to do.

I stopped at the edge of the main quad. I was beginning to lose him. His mutation. My feet were healing more slowly now and I was beginning to feel tired; fatigue and a deep thirst. The stillness felt so good after the violent catharsis of motion.

I don't know how long we stood there.

It was Storm who finally found us. Her feet were as silent as mine had been on the grass. She smelled like rain and compassion. I was glad it was her and not Scott or Jean.

"Rogue?" I flinched as the sound vibrated against my skin and broke the perfect beauty of the night. "Are you okay, child?"

"Is Logan okay?" I said in answer.

"He's still unconscious, but Jean thinks he'll be fine. The Professor is with him."

I stared at the ground, ashamed and guilty.

{None of that now.}

"Are you okay?" she asked again, looking at me with compassion I didn't deserve.

"Yeah. I just needed some time to uh... let it settle. It was a lot." She looked at me with softness but not comprehension. Good.

"The Professor thinks it might be a good idea to let Dr. Grey have a look at you. He's worried. We all are."

I hadn't been a big fan of doctors before tonight and now with Logan in my head, I liked the idea of being examined even less.

{Hey, it's not so bad. Jeannie's… different.}

You're only saying that because you want in her pants.

I felt him snort into my mind.

"Rogue?"

Oh. Right. Less talking to inside people. More talking to outside people. "Yeah, I guess that'd be okay."

I followed her, feeling more uncomfortable as the school loomed larger in front of us. I hesitated at the door, remembering the choking claustrophobia.

{S'fine. Breathe, kid. Thinka somethin' real good. Hold that in your head.}

The image of him standing on that snowy road with a cigar clamped between his teeth appeared in my mind.

I could feel his astonishment.

{Really?}

I shrugged.

You make me feel safe.

Silence from him. I suppose I'd shocked him.

What do you think of, Logan?

My traitorous mind supplied the images before he could respond.

/northern lights over a fresh snowfall/his cheek resting on a woman's breast and her hands soft on his back/a small cabin where he felt safe and warm/her own expressive face asking him if it hurt when the claws came out/

Me? That my image had been tacked onto the end of that sequence rocked me back. I had the sense he was just as bewildered.

"Honey, it's okay..."

Right. Storm. She was staring at me as I stood rooted in the doorway. Great. Just wonderful.

"Don't worry. It's just a little mud. We'll get you cleaned up. Dr. Grey can check you over and then I bet you could go for a hot shower and something chocolate."

I looked down at myself, suddenly aware of my appearance. My hair was a wild tangle, full of leaves and twigs. My nightgown was torn and dirty. My feet were bare and caked with blood and dirt. I looked like a wild thing. From somewhere inside me, I felt male approval, warm and strong. The intensity surprised us both.

"Sorry," I said lamely. "The shower and the chocolate sound good." Not the lab though. Jean's nice and all, but I really didn't want to do that. I'd already had my intake exam, so they sort of knew what they were dealing with... but I just didn't want to go there tonight in any sense of the word. Unfortunately, I kind of knew they weren't going to just let it go. I had been stabbed in the chest. It should have scared me more. I don't know why it didn't, except it was twined thickly with fear for Logan.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. You're not the first student I've coaxed back in following an eventful evening. We're all still learning control. Things like this happen from time to time."

I could tell she was genuine.

"When I was your age, I got excited during a football game at Thanksgiving and called the sky. Lightning fried the east wing and knocked out the power during the third quarter. I was a pariah for weeks! Nobody cared I'd slipped with my powers, but there had been a pool on the game..."

A giggle bubbled up in me despite my reserve. I couldn't help but be charmed by her story.

"Jean sneezed once in the library and her TK yanked every single book off the shelves."

That impressed me. I'd seen the library. It was huge. Logan's interest in a young, untried Jean tempered my amusement, however. And to be fair, it wasn't really like she'd hurt anything or anyone. It was just a cute anecdote, which I found more annoying than helpful.

"Scott cut a bronze statue in half when he was nineteen. We were all drunk as lords right here on this very quad. I still have the scar from where the molten metal splattered on my leg." Her smile changed. "I probably shouldn't have told you that."

I mimed zipping my mouth and throwing away the key.

Scott drunk and defacing school property? I'd have paid good money to see that. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it? A growl echoed in my head. Apparently my inner Logan didn't care too much for that assessment. I didn't much care. I wasn't feeling too charitable now that'd I'd realized every mention of Jean was followed by a pang of something hot from Logan that I didn't want to examine too closely.

"Thanks." I followed her through the rabbit warren of passages. The sterile, medicinal smell was getting stronger. "You're pretty good at this."

"I've had a lot of practice."

What was she, the Mutant Whisperer?

"So what do you usually do?"

"The idea of a hot shower and food usually does the trick. Chocolate for the girls. The boys usually want something greasy. It's hard to go wrong with big plate of bacon and eggs."

I was suddenly aware of how wildly hungry I was. My stomach growled.

{S'the healin'. Burns up energy real fast. You gotta eat or you're gonna get sick.}

"That sounds good." I blushed. "Could I maybe have the bacon and eggs too? I'm starving."

"Sure you can, honey. I like a girl who knows her mind." I barely managed to keep from rolling my eyes. She had no idea. My mind wasn't mine at all. "You remember the way to the kitchen?"

I didn't but Logan's sense of direction was infallible. "Yeah."

"Meet me there when you're finished." She stopped at the door to the lab. "It shouldn't take long at all. I'll go get started. I could use a cup of hot chocolate myself."

Jean appeared in the doorway, a white lab coat thrown on over her pajamas; a light periwinkle robe belted over something lavender that was silky and edged in lace.

And that was Logan's attention grabbed.

I felt a stirring in my own blood. She smelled so good. So much better than the lab, warm and soft.

I wanted to sink into the floor.

This was a very bad idea.

And despite myself, I let her lead us inside...

Author's Note: Next up: The Doctor... and after that, The Beast. For all you folks with Jean issues... lol this bit is just the backstory, told in Marie's POV. (She's got some Jean issue too.) Heh. The proper story starts just after Jean's funeral. This one is Rogan all the way, it's just going to take us a while to get there. Wolverine's a stubborn bastard. Onward!