Title: Stroke of Luck
Author: Jengrrrl
Email: rogue22@x-men.com
Rating: PG-13, slight violence
Summary: Um. I don´t know how to summarize this.
Author's Note: The title comes from the Garbage song. As far as the ending: I have no idea what´s going on with me.
Thanks: To the Chat Chicks, for all their kind words.-----------------------------
She tried to remember the good times, times when there´d been more laughter than uncomfortable silences. She smiled painfully and slid up the zipper on one of her leather gloves. Sometimes, it was impossible to remember anything.
She watched as he adjusted the collar of his uniform, one he never seemed to think fit right, even though it had been made especially for him.
Every day she was surprised to see him back in that uniform, still among them. Every day, she expected him to be gone. He wasn´t made for teams, she thought.
But every day he proved her wrong. Every day, he showed up, grousing about the uniform or about Scott, smiling playfully at Jean. Being oh so quiet around her.
Every day, he fought until he bled, until screams tore through him and his opponents.
Every night, he was silent.
“Wolverine?” The name seemed safer, even as the man became more dangerous, more distant.
His response was to look up at her, glance away quickly - the only sign he was listening.
She would try one last time. It made no difference, but she would try. “Ororo said - ”
“I know what Storm said. And I know she´s team leader.” He looked at her pointedly and said, “I don´t care. It´s bullshit and I´m going.”
Nothing more was said. She slid on the second glove and fastened it. She didn´t have to say she was going. That much was understood. If he didn´t protest it was probably because he knew there wasn´t much use in it.
He did say: “I don´t want you hovering over me. Not like the last time.”
“All right.” She didn´t say she had saved his life. He had saved hers once before. As far as he knew, or cared, they were even.
She followed him to the garage, out toward where the motorcycles were kept. He didn't look behind him. Didn't bother to see if she was following as he got on his and sped away. She quickly donned her helmet and followed him into the night. This was not unusual. Logan had, over the years, developed more of a taste for confrontation than ever. She hadn't believed it possible, but it was.
Storm's orders had been clear. The Friends of Humanity warehouse had to be scoped. Logan had insisted he could go in alone, that he didn't need the team's back up. Rogue knew better. She knew Logan wasn't invincible.
She heard the transmitter crackle in her helmet, Logan's stern voice say, "Why don't you turn around and go back? Go back to the mansion."
She smiled grimly. She'd wondered when he would try to get her off his back. "I'm going, Logan. You knew I would."
His harsh breath echoed in her ears. "I don't need you interfering."
~*~
“I don´t need you interfering, Jean. I like Bobby, but not that way.”
Jean - ever benign, saintly, perfectly perfect in every way - responded, “I think it would be good for you, Rogue, and all your friends will be there…”
“They aren´t my friends. They´re nice kids I happen to live with, but they barely talk to me outside of the classroom.”
“If you participated more, went to the social functions…”
She hadn´t realized it, but it had probably begun then. The constant reminder that she wasn´t normal, that she was the mutant mutant. They´d all been so nice and kind and… She had thought she would scream if one of them reminded her again.
One day, though, someone arrived to make her forget about being the mutant mutant. ~*~
“You´re so beautiful, chere. It´s not right, you being alone…”
He´d been following her. He was *always * following her. And she liked it. She liked the attention. She liked being the object of his affection. She craved it.
He´d swept in like the thief he was, in the dead of night.
“One kiss?”
She´d twisted her face into mock horror. She liked playing this game.
“One teeny tiny kiss?”
And she laughed at him. He smiled at her. He was always smiling.
And he wasn´t afraid.
~*~
When Logan returned, she was busy laughing with Remy.
He strode up to them while they sat on the couch in the rec room. “How are you, kid?”
“Logan!” She had been surprised. Surprised to see him standing there, looking so familiar and so foreign. Surprised at herself for not knowing quite what to do. “I´m fine,” she said, answering his question. Pleasantries, she thought. Right. “How are you?”
“Good.” He snorted and shook his head. “Good enough.”
Remy´s gloved hand on the back of her neck reminded her. “This is Remy, Logan.”
Logan extended a hand. He was being more cordial than she remembered. Maybe she didn´t remember correctly.
“I heard a lot about you,” said Gambit, standing and gripping Logan´s hand in his.
Smirking, Logan responded, “Too bad I can´t say the same.”
~*~
“Why did you say you´d heard a lot about him?”
They were lying on a blanket on the lawn, staring into the man-made lake. Remy was smoking a cigarette. “What?”
“Why did you tell Logan you´d heard a lot about him? I haven´t said a word.”
He rolled over and smiled at her. He was full of them, those smiles. They were interminable. She envied him that. “Trying to be polite, petite. You two are friends, non? Usually, love, you talk about your friends.”
“It seems like so long ago.”
A ring of smoke disappeared into the moonlight. “It was.”
~*~
“I won´t interfere.” But he wasn´t responding anymore. Maybe he wasn´t even listening.
The Friends of Humanity headquarters was situated in one of the seedier corners of Trenton. It was one of those places even the sun couldn´t brighten. Night only seemed to accentuate the darkness inherent in the area. Nothing grew, except patches of weeds peeking out through the cracks in the pavement. No one would choose to live here, she thought. But hate lives here. Hate thrives here.
~*~
“It´s been a while, hasn´t it?” He was half-dozing in front of the television when she asked.
“What has?”
“Us. You and me together like this.”
“We never spent time together like this,” he said through a yawn.
She sat back into the cushions of the sofa, deflated. Of course they´d never been like this. Of course. Why had she thought otherwise?
“Logan?” He was almost asleep now, she could see, and still strangely alert. “About what you found in Canada…?”
“I don´t want to talk about it.”
So she didn´t ask again. It struck her, then, how very little she knew about him.
~*~
“I used to go to New Orleans with my family,” she told him as they strolled through the mansion. “Maybe we met when we were kids.”
He was smoking again, a dirty habit he didn´t seem to want to kick. She didn´t mind though. As long as he kept smiling, she didn´t mind anything. He winked at her and said smoothly, “If we´d met, chere, I would definitely remember. No way I´d forget that.”
“You were a thief?”
The Cajun expelled a long sigh. “Once a thief, always a thief.” He grinned and took her by the elbow. “Maybe I steal your heart?”
Rolling her eyes, Rogue slapped him playfully on the arm and extricated herself from his grasp.
~*~
The motorcycles were parked not far from the building. The warehouse looked abandoned, but they knew better. What they didn´t know was what to expect inside.
“This is stupid,” she told him, even as she removed one of her gloves in preparation.
“So leave.” His eyes were on the building, looming large in the dark street. A single light shone in the center of the avenue, a lone beacon for transients and ne´er-do-wells, buying and selling and using in the same place.
“What are you going to do?” she asked his back.
“Teach ‘em a lesson.”
She almost laughed. “How? By engaging in vandalism? Three claw marks your tag, Wolverine?”
“Shut up, Rogue.”
Another place, another time, another Logan – anyone else – and she would have responded. Not now.
~*~
“Anyone ever tell you that is the worst attempt at a poker face ever?” She liked teasing him. There was something about watching him feign gruffness that was endearing. Best of all was when he lost his cover, gave up and actually smiled.
Rearranging his cards he explained, “I´m not a gambler, darlin´. I´m a fighter.”
Rogue scoffed at that. “Gamblers can be fighters.”
He discarded two of his cards and waited as she passed him two new ones off the top of the deck. “What, like your Cajun?”
She tossed one of her cards and grabbed another. “He´s a thief.”
“Much, much better,” Logan muttered.
“And he´s not mine.”
Taking an unlit cigar, he placed it between his teeth. “Here,” he said, as he lay his cards out. “Two pair. Sixes and Jacks.” Logan bit off the end of his cigar and lit it while Rogue put down her own cards. “You could have fooled me.”
“Four of a kind. Queens. Looks like I win.” She picked up the cards and began shuffling again. “We should play for money.” She paused a moment and added, “What do you mean ‘you could have fooled me´?”
“You´re awfully chummy, is all.” If there was anything behind the statement, she couldn´t detect it.
“We´re friends, Logan. Friends are chummy.”
“You don´t seem to have any other friends,” he said casually.
The conversation had veered into mutant mutant territory and for a moment Rogue hated Logan for being like all the others. For reminding her. “I guess they don´t want me sucking them dry.”
“But Gumbo doesn´t mind if you suck him dry?”
She glared at him but he wasn´t looking at her. He was rolling his cigar around in his mouth, puffing away and watching the rings of smoke he created.
~*~
They were standing against the building and she could see he was listening for something. Whatever he heard – or didn´t – she didn´t know. He wasn´t talking to her.
Before she could bring herself to ask, he was climbing the fire escape. His steps were sure and quick, but ever mindful of causing excess noise.
Her own were more deliberate, more careful. Every thought was on where her feet would land, how hard. Before she knew it, she looked up to find him on the landing above her. He was already looking into the window. If she didn´t hurry, he would go in without her. She would have to hurry.
~*~
“Hurry up, chere, or we be late.”
She lay on her bed, book in hand, wondering what a very well dressed Cajun was doing in her bedroom, and what the heck he was talking about. “What?” she asked, confused.
“Oh, Rogue, don´t tell Remy you forgot.”
“I don´t - ”
He stepped into her room in a flurry, dark long coat sweeping behind him. She suppressed a grin; he always seemed to be doing that. “Petite, tonight we go out. Dinner. Movie.” He grinned. “Date? You didn´t forget?”
Rogue sat up, frowning. She most certainly would not forget making such a promise. And she hadn´t. “When did we agree to that?” she asked suspiciously.
His grinned widened and he leaned ever closer to her. “Right now,” he whispered.
Feeling him so near was disconcerting. No one had been that close to her since… “Remy, I - ”
“Please?”
“I haven´t been out in years,” she admitted.
He had moved even closer so that she had to fight the urge to back away. A strange feeling swam about in her stomach when he placed his long fingers on her jean-clad calf. “That be a shame, chere.” Then, “Why?”
That took her aback. His eyes shone with sincerity and she had to wonder if he really didn´t know why. Mentally shaking herself, she laughed. Of course he knew why. But he didn´t care. “Remy give you thirty minutes to gussy your pretty self up. Then, we go.”
She realized he hadn´t asked a question, but his eyes remained expectant. “All right.”
~*~
“Don´t you have anything better to do? This isn´t boring for you?” Logan´s voice echoed from beneath a car. She stared at his boots, wondering what kind of mechanism he was handling, what he was fixing.
“Not really. And, no, it´s not boring me.”
He rolled himself out, greasy and sweaty, handling a foreign object he´d apparently extricated from the vehicle. “Well, it´s certainly boring me,” he told her as he pushed himself to his feet and picked up a tool.
Rogue watched as he began dismantling the object, small pieces littering the table he was working on. “It looks like fun,” she replied.
Raising an eyebrow, he turned to her and grinned. “It does, does it?” He paused and motioned her over to where he stood. “Come ‘ere.”
She narrowed her eyes and gave him a cautious smile. “What?”
“Come on,” he said, feigning exasperation. “Make yourself useful.”
Sighing, she walked tentatively to the table, eyeing all the little pieces of metal. Something inside her twitched. “What do you want me to do?”
Logan handed her another tool, a long one with a strange tube-like protrusion on its end. “Take that bolt off right there.”
“How?”
An incredulous eye settled on hers. “You´ve never handled a socket wrench before, kid?”
Smiling sheepishly, she admitted, “No. First time.”
He nodded. “First time for everything I guess.” He showed her how the socket fit over the bolt. “Then you just turn it. Like this.”
She began doing as she was told. “It´s on tight.”
A wink and a nod: “You´re a strong girl.”
Setting to her task as Logan began dismantling another piece she asked, “Logan? Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“How do you know you´re in love?”
His hand stopped moving but he didn´t look up. “Why?”
“Remy – Gambit – he asked me to be his girlfriend.”
“You don´t have to be in love to be someone´s girlfriend, kid.”
She sighed, still pulling at the wrench. “I know. It´s just that…” She paused, still looking at the metal in her hands. “Have you ever…?” The words trailed off.
It was a few seconds before he spoke. “Not that I remember.” He offered her a weary smile.
She nodded and began working on the bolt again. After a few minutes, she pressed on. “What about Jean?”
Logan´s harsh laugh echoed through the garage. “You have to know the difference between things, Marie.”
Giving him a sidelong glance, she slowly asked, “How do you know though, if you haven´t?”
He frowned and moved to pick up another tool. “Kid, you´re asking the wrong guy.”
After a few moments, when it looked like she was about to open her mouth again, he added, “Stop asking.”
~*~
“Stop talking,” he hissed.
Her words were whispered, but she felt like she was screaming. “I need to know what you´re planning, Logan.”
They were exposed, she knew, sitting on the fire escape, peeking into the warehouse. The night was no cover for two leather-clad mutants who had no business there.
“Look, Rogue,” her name sounded like an insult on his lips, “you shouldn´t be here anyway. I don´t have to tell you anything.” She thought he sounded like a petulant child.
“Logan…”
“Shh.” He glared at her and dropped his voice. “I´m looking for weapons. They should have them stored here.”
“Then what?”
Unsheathed claws were her only response.
~*~
“Be careful.”
He was playing with her hair again, braiding tiny sections and undoing them as he went, an interminable game that went on as long as she allowed. Before she got too nervous. “I wear gloves, chere.”
She didn´t dare turn her head to look at him, didn´t dare the sudden movement. “The fingers are cut off. I don´t think that counts.”
The fingers moved through her hair as he said, “Nothing will happen. Relax.”
“Just be careful,” she repeated.
Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around so she was facing him. “Rogue, do you trust me?”
She looked into his deep ruby-colored eyes and responded, “Yes” with an ease that surprised her.
He grinned, flashing his teeth and winking rakishly. “Then, don´t worry so much.”
Her throat constricted a bit each time he smiled, and she thought that must have been significant.
They were sitting on the floor in her room, listening to a radio that was turned on too low. The indistinct jazz melodies floated about them and she closed her eyes and pretended she was someone else, someplace else; maybe in a smoky New Orleans club, so Remy would be there.
“You drifting off, petite?”
“No.” Then, chuckling, “Maybe a little. I get sleepy when people play with my hair.” She shook her head, remembering. “I did, anyway, when my mom… I guess I still do.”
“Rogue?”
“Hmm?” Her mind was settling on a tiny booth in a far corner. The wailing of a trumpet overshadowing the soft beat of a drum.
“Let me stay tonight.”
Her eyes opened wide at his words. “I don´t - ”
“Please.” The silent words hung in the air between them: “Trust me.”
The year he´d been with her almost replayed itself and she thought about how much he meant to her. How much she´d come to depend on him. As much or more than…
“Okay.”
Another smile, softer than any she´d seen on him, played on his lips. He ran the back of his gloved hand across her cheek, and leaned in. For a split second, she thought he would kiss her; she almost panicked and pushed him away. But, then, he simply continued moving his hand, until it brushed against her lips. The sensation lingered even after he sat back, and said, “Remy wants to kiss you, chere. So badly.”
Rogue looked down, a hollowness settling in her stomach.
“Would you let me, if I asked you?”
“No.”
He shifted closer. “What about if I kissed you,” he moved too quickly, pressing his lips to her blouse-clad shoulder before she could register his intent, “here?”
“Remy!” She tried sounding indignant, but the laughter in her voice betrayed her.
“Ah, Rogue, that wasn´t so bad, was it?”
She slapped at his shoulder. “That wasn´t funny,” she admonished.
He grabbed her hand and lowered it, so it rested over his heart. “Ah, but what if I´m serious, petite?”
Instantly sobering, she replied, “You can´t be.”
Playing with the fingers he held, he answered, “This leather is part of you. It´s not strange or scary, is it? Me touching you now?”
She pulled her hand away from him. “It´s as much as I´m willing to risk. Probably too much.”
“You can´t live your life forever sheltered from those around you, love. You don´t have to.”
“Of course I do. Remy, you don´t know.”
“And I don´t want to know. All I care about is you, Rogue. I´m always careful with you. Always. Now is no different.”
It would have been easy, to let him touch her. It would have been so easy, and felt so right. The problem, of course, was that nothing in her life was ever easy.
~*~
She knocked on his door and prayed he was there, awake and willing to see her. She prayed that he wouldn´t look at her strangely, that he wouldn´t laugh at her for being such a little girl.
He emerged, clad in his usual sleepwear. He looked vaguely surprised to see her standing there, but he didn´t say a word. Instead, he stepped aside and let her in.
“What´s going on? Isn´t it a little late for a social visit?” he asked, as he pulled on a t-shirt. It was three in the morning.
“I´m sorry.”
He shook his head and sat on his bed, motioning her to do the same. “Don´t be sorry, just say it.”
She lay back on the bed, suddenly feeling very tired, wondering why she had gone to him. “I´m just feeling a little depressed,” she replied, feeling a well of tears, brushing them aside because they were stupid, so very stupid.
“Why?” No babying or unnecessary comfort, just genuine concern and wonderment.
“Same old same old,” she answered, feeling her throat tighten. “I´m sorry,” she repeated, standing up, “I should go.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm, impeding her progress.
“Hold on,” he said. “Sit down.” He pulled her back toward the bed until she was sitting next to him. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened.” She bit down on her lip, glad to feel a different kind of pain than the one threatening to overwhelm her, choke her. “Do you think it´s too late to get myself to a nunnery, Logan?” she asked, laughing bitterly.
“Isn´t that what this is?” he responded wryly.
“I wish.”
“What did the Cajun do to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Marie - ”
She pressed her fingers against her eyes, feeling the warm liquid, hoping to stem its tide. “Nothing, Logan. Exactly nothing.”
A beat, and then: “Oh.”
She violently ran her forearm across her eyes. “Don´t ‘oh´ me, Logan. He wanted to.” She smiled mirthlessly. “He really, really did.” Shaking her head, she stood up. “Don´t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Rogue began pacing the room. “Like I´m the world´s biggest pity case.”
Sighing, Logan responded, “I´m not. So, maybe, you should stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
She frowned. “Is that what you think this is? Me feeling sorry for myself?”
“I don´t know. Maybe.”
If not for the bone weariness she felt, she might have argued. Instead, she sank down on the floor and buried her head in her hands. “What´s wrong with me?” she asked, a question more directed at herself than Logan. “I´m just so scared to let him touch me.” She felt his arm surround her and leaned into the shoulder he offered, a gesture so familiar and so foreign, like the man himself.
“That makes sense,” Logan said, impossibly soft for a man like him.
“He´s been so good and I…” she stopped herself from saying the words.
“Listen to me, Marie.” She looked up into those deep, unflinching eyes. Why didn´t those eyes reflect all that was missing, all that he lacked? Why weren´t they lost, the way her own so often were, when she gazed into a mirror. “Remember what I said about not confusing things?”
She nodded, only vaguely doing so.
“Don´t you go doing that, don´t confuse gratitude for something else.”
“I don´t - ”
“Just remember it´s easy to mistake your feelings. That´s all.”
~*~
“Wolverine! Behind you!”
They´d had weapons all right.
They´d entered through the window, a seemingly empty warehouse. Inside, boxes upon boxes, Friends of Humanity paraphernalia hung from the walls. It was everything: a meeting room, a disbursement center, it was their base of operations. It had been empty, but not for long.
The ever-careful Wolverine, the prudent Rogue, both too careless, too caught up in other things to notice. Of course they´d had security cameras installed. Of course, they had scores of guards. And of course they´d carried weapons. Potent weapons.
“Fuck!” The bullet hit Logan in the shoulder and it was enough, at least, to momentarily incapacitate him. There were 15 guards all together, and more were on the way, Rogue was sure.
The first few, probably seven in total, had been easily dispatched. They hadn´t known what they were dealing with. Wolverine knocked a few unconscious with a single blow before the others got wise and began going for their guns. Some of them were surprised the girl was so fast, so strong. They were more surprised when she delivered a brutal kick to one guard´s head, causing it to burst open, bleed profusely.
The Wolverine was a fierce opponent, but even he couldn´t hold off so many men, shake off bullets as if they were made of paper. Even he wasn´t invincible. Rogue knew how to move, but her instincts weren´t perfect and a large man in a Friends of Humanity cap grinned before bringing his fleshy arm around her neck. Another man, smaller, thinner, more full of rage, took the opportunity to deliver a blow to her abdomen, one to her jaw. It would have felled a strong man. Rogue was used to pain, knew how to take and receive. A well placed elbow and a swift kick to the knees brought down one opponent. The other had to content himself with having his nose broken.
Still, they were outnumbered. So, they ran. They ran as fast as two injured mutants could. They ran to were they expected their motorcycles to be, where they found heaps of metal being beaten by men holding glimmering aluminum bats.
They ran farther still. They ran until the darkness was a sufficient cover. Until men in black uniforms thought they´d had enough, until the muties were no longer a threat, more of an imposition.
~*~
They lay on a heap of blankets next to her bed. Her eyes were closed but she could feel him near.
He was smoking again.
“Should I be asking for one of those?” It was a joke, a way to break the silence without saying anything meaningful, anything that made any difference. She had no words to convey what she felt.
His arms were wrapped around her, around the blanket, and he kissed the top of her head.
There was more silence, and she thought about falling asleep but, somehow, the idea felt criminal. She could no more sleep than let him leave her presence. “It was a mistake,” she whispered.
He stiffened beside her, his arm around her loosening its grip. “What was?”
“Waiting this long. I´m sorry I was so stupid.”
He hugged her so fiercely she could hardly breath. It didn´t matter.
~*~
Leather wasn´t very practical, she thought. It clung to her skin, made her feel trapped. Her stomach hurt, but she couldn´t remove her uniform to examine the contusion. Her jaw wasn´t broken, at least. She played her tongue along her teeth, feeling for looseness, finding nothing, relieved that only her lip had been cut. The metallic taste of the blood still lingered in her mouth.
Logan sat next to her, perfectly healthy, the only evidence of the encounter two perfectly round bullet holes in the shoulder of his uniform.
The hole they´d crawled into was no more than a shack, smelled of urine and foul beer.
“What happens to the bullets?” she asked, examining her knuckles.
“Dunno.”
“You just leave them in there?” she replied, incredulous.
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn´t. I was just asking.” She paused and glanced at him. He was sitting, stoop shouldered against the wall of the shed, head down and a morose expression on his face. “Some people aren´t as lucky as you are,” she added softly.
“If you say so.” He stood up. “I have to get out of here.”
“The others will be here soon.”
“I don´t like this,” he said, as if to himself. “I don´t like hiding.”
“We´re not.”
When he looked at her, it finally occurred to her that he hadn´t really seen her for a long time. He hadn´t taken the time since…
“You shouldn´t have come.”
She almost laughed at that, shook her head in disbelief. “You might be dead. I know you. You wouldn´t have run. You would have stayed until you killed twenty of their men and they killed you. How fast can you heal from a bullet in the head, Wolverine?”
“Might not be such a bad thing.”
“It would have killed me.” It was true. As much as she knew anything, she knew that to be true. Without Logan… even this Logan, she was lost.
He punched a hole straight through the wall. Then, slowly, he sank back onto the floor. He placed his hands on his head. After a long while, he spoke. “He told me to tell you he loved you.”
“What?”
“Gambit. Remy. He wanted you to know.”
Her head was pounding. “How… Why didn´t you tell me when it happened?”
His forearms were on the back of his neck and his head was drooping between his knees. “I couldn´t tell you.” He shook his head. “I couldn´t. Marie…”
“Logan?”
It was the first time in a month either one had dared speak the names. It almost felt like a curse was lifted.
Except, of course, nothing was ever that easy. Rogue knew that.
“I killed him, Marie.”
The stillness in the air was palpable. Neither moved and nothing was said. They heard the quiet whirr of Xavier´s car.
“I saw it. I saw the gun. I saw him behind the Cajun. I read his intention. It was so clear. And it was like time stopped, Marie.” The words were flowing from him now, and she barely heard them. “I could have yelled something. Fuck, I probably could have reached him. But I just stood there. Like I wanted it to happen.” His voice was quiet and raw and it tore something deep inside of her.
Tears fell unbidden from her as she remained unmoving. She felt Logan´s eyes searching her face for a response. She didn´t turn to look at him.
A voice, Scott´s, called out for them. Rogue and Logan.
“He made me happy.”
“I know.”
“I loved him.”
“Yes.”
She stood and ran her hand across her eyes. Leather wasn´t very practical. It didn´t wipe away the tears; it merely smeared them, leaving traces across her dirty face.