Best Day, Worst Day
Best Day, Worst Day

Title:  Alter-Eighteen:  Best Day, Worst Day
Author:  Terri
E-mail:  xgrrl26@yahoo.com
Rating:  R
Disclaimer:  I don't own any of these mutants.  Rats.
Archive:  WRFA, Mutual Admiration, Peep Hut - anyone else, please ask first :)
Feedback:  Please!  Pretty please?  Good, bad, and ugly welcome.
Summary:  Alternative version of events in the movie and the eighteen series.  Rogue decides on the team but not school, and definitely wants a little Logan in her life.
Comments:  This plot bunny came largely from catching the movie City Slickers on TV a few weeks ago.  There's a stretch of dialogue where the cow-herding friends discuss their best and worst days that I've always liked.  That concept pops up here.  Wolverine Esteem came from a bit of feedback from Anette, who reflected that Logan sees himself as good at two things, and not much else.  I think sometimes we forget what he's been through and how that could affect even the strongest character and Anette reminded me of that.  Also, Susan K and Diane H. have both consistently provided a great deal of insight into the Logan/Marie relationship and that shows up here in a lot of subtle ways. 

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"Come on girl, I'll show you to self-defense class.  And hoo-boy, this guy's the
worst one yet.  He will make the hell that is your first day of school complete." 

Jubilee's OK.  She's been pretty nice to me so far.  When I came here, I wasn't sure what to expect.  I mean, the story of a little haven for mutants, told by a mutie hooker (retractable teeth - I can see how that would be a bonus in her profession) isn't exactly the most reliable basis upon which to pack up what little I had and head across the continent.  On the other hand, I kind of thought - why not?  Hitchhiking, panhandling, the occasional odd job - it's not really a great life anyway.  Why not just go take a look and see if there's anything to the story?  Imagine my surprise when I found an actual mansion full of mutants here, ones that offered me a place to stay too.  I guess it's been working out OK for the two days I've been here so far. But evil teachers - that's something I'm not sure I can put up with.  "He can't be that bad."

"He's *awful*!  He's soooo hard.  And mean.  And he hates kids.  And he's not even a normal mutant - he's got some kind of freaky-ass metal claws in his body.  That - much like his mental state - is *not* normal."

"If he's that bad, why does the Professor let him teach?"

"God only knows, chica.  He's like some kinda super-fighter - his normal mutation is healing - and I bet he kicks mucho ass on the team.  But still, he shouldn't have to be inflicted upon us in class.  Here we are.  Brace yourself."

Oh, he doesn't look that bad.  I mean, he looks scary, sure, but he's - he's not dangerous.  You get a good feel for that kind of thing, living on the road for so long.  You learn to navigate your way through the weirdos and avoid the truly deranged.  He's OK. 

"Who're you?"  Polite, no, but OK.  I think. 

"Rogue.  Nice to meet you, uh, Mr. Wolverine."  Why is he looking at me funny?  I think that's what Jubilee said his name was.  "Hi."  OK, that made the weirdness worse, not better. 

"New student?" 

"Yeah.  I got here over the weekend."  Is he - did he just sniff me? 

"You make it odd."

"What?"

"You make the class size odd.  So you'll practice with me for the pair exercises."  Uh, Jubilee didn't mention pair exercises.  And she looks fairly alarmed by this.  That can't be good.  "Let's start."




Ouch.  Just - ouch.  I am one big bruise.  The only spots that aren't bruised are pulled.  Or strained.  Or scratched.  Whoever had the idea to have self-defense class in a room with a hardwood floor?  Sure, there are mats, but still. Jubilee was right - he did make that class hell.  And where'd she go anyway?  She's supposed to show me where math class is.  Not that I really want to go, but -

"You OK?" Ah, the Wolverine.  Yes, my good man, you *are* the front runner for Worst Teacher.  The only thing that could make it even more horrific would be -

"There's no chance that you teach math, is there?"

"Uh.no"  Whew.  Worst subject plus worst teacher equals high school dropout Rogue.  But I think I can cope with it this way.  On the other hand, I haven't been to math class yet

"I'm fine.  Pretty ouchy, but I'll live."  

"I really didn't mean to throw ya to the ground so hard on that last go-round."

"Yes, well, I'm sure that the bruising to my shoulder will heal eventually.  Oh, you know, when I'm thirty-something."  Does the man not joke?  He looks like he'd have a sense of humor and at least a modest amount of coolness.  Unlike, oh, Mr. Summers.  Hottie - yes.  Coolness - no. 

"You did good."  Whoa - I think that's a genuine compliment.  He didn't say one nice thing to anybody all during class. 

"Thanks."  I guess I shouldn't be too surprised.  I did learn a thing or two about self-defense living on the road.  And from absorbing that bouncer.  "And thanks for being so careful with my skin."  And for not freaking and running in terror when I explained my mutation.  I'm completely covered, of course, except for my face, but those exercises put us in pretty close quarters.  I don't need any more inhabitants in the brain, thanks.

"Yeah."  I'm beginning to see why he doesn't teach rhetoric.  Or etiquette. 

"Well, uh, OK, then.  I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Wolverine."

"It's just Wolverine." 

"Oh.  OK, then.  Bye."  There.  That's my best friendly smile.  What are the odds that that'll get me an easier work out tomorrow?  Or at least a little less intimate knowledge of the floor surface?

"Bye." 





Ah, math class - also sucking, but in an entirely different way.  You know, the GED is looking better and better.  I mean, I haven't been in school for over a year, and I'm just not - I just don't think I can do this any more.  I never really *liked* school in the first place. 

"And so the cosine of curve X would be."  Yech.  GED here I come.  All you have to know for that is algebra, right?  "Rogue?  Would you like to tell us the answer?"

"I don't know the answer."  And why that would surprise you, lady, I have no clue.  This is my first day of school in more than a year and remembering how to calculate a cosine wasn't exactly at the top of the list of survival skills.  I told them what my grades in school were like before.  How did three straight years of Ds in math translate to placement in the senior calc class?

"Well, then, all right, Rogue." 

'Well, all right then, Rogue.  You must be the stupidest mutant ever to walk the earth.'  You know, I really don't like her.  Of course, what with Dr. Grey being the math teacher, perhaps that was inevitable.  I'm sure she's a perfectly pleasant person in a non-math context. 

"How about you, Jubilee?"

"Uh, 2.46?"

"Ah, no.  That is incorrect."  Heh.  I think my new roommate also has some math issues.  "Anyone else?" 

Yep, GED, for sure. 





"Uh, Wolverine?  Hello?" The Professor said to let each of my teachers know I'd decided not to continue in school.  I started with the hardest - Dr. Grey - and am finishing with the easiest - Wolverine.  I don't really know why I thought he'd be easiest, but here I am, knocking on his door last.

"Yeah?"  Hello!  Naked chest.  Naked chest.  Very nice naked chest.  Whoa.  "Do you want somethin'?"

"Oh, uh, yeah.  I, uh, the Professor told me to let each of my teachers know that I wasn't going to be in school.  I'm just going to take the GED instead.  So, uh, you won't be seeing me in class anymore."  I could've sworn he sniffed at me again. 

"Hmph."  OK, he is *definitely* sniffing me.  What's up with that?  "You stayin' at the mansion, then, or movin' on?"

"I haven't decided that yet.  The Professor - he invited me to try out for the 'team.'  He, ah, didn't really go into a lot of detail, but I gather that a bunch of you go out and, um, fight bad guys and do good deeds or something?"

"Yeah.  But you don't wanna do that.  It's dangerous." 

"Yes, well, I try to avoid danger but sometimes it doesn't avoid me."  See?  There is a sense of humor hidden deep somewhere beneath all that chest hair.  He smiled at that a little.  "I told the Professor I'd think about it, but I think my life's been exciting enough, actually.  No need to go looking for action."

"Me, I like a good fight now and then."  Why, oh why am I not surprised? 

"I can tell - you like fake fights too, as the bruises on my butt can attest."  Another little smile.  And his chest shakes a little when he laughs and - hey, wait a second.  He's got an awful lot of exposed skin showing and I'm less than a foot away from him.  And he's not screaming in terror and running for his life. Hmmm. 

"So, whatcha doin' now?"

"Now, as in right now?"   Is he asking me to do something with him?  Like, socially?

"Yeah."

"Nothing.  Um, want to do something?" 

"Yeah.  I was watchin' Monday Night Football.  Vikings and Giants."  I gather he is not telling me this for informational purposes only.  I think that's an invitation to join him.  But - watching up here with him, alone in his room - that's a little, uh, private.  I don't know..

"Sounds good."  Did I say that?  Clearly, I am under the influence of the Chest of Perfection, because I don't normally let myself get into enclosed spaces with strange men.  And Wolverine, although not dangerous, I don't think, definitely qualifies as 'strange.'

"Make yourself comfortable."  I think he means for me to sit on the bed.  Well, OK.  I can do that.  Bed-sitting.  Completely doable. 

"Thanks.  What's the score?"

"Vikings up by six.  It's almost the half."  And I see he is joining me in the bed-sitting.  Good thing I am fully clothed.  Or else this little football soiree could be fatal. 

"Who are you rooting for?"

"Eh.  Don't really care.  Just like football."

"I like the Vikings.  Purple is my favorite color."  Why does he keep sniffing me like that?  I don't smell bad, I took a shower after classes.  My hair's even still a little wet. 

"Hmph.  That's no way to pick a football team."

"Well, how do you pick your football teams?"

"Hmm."  You know, now that I can tear my eyes away from the chest for a moment, I realize that he's got nice eyes.  Browny green and clear.  "Gotta go with a team that has good defense.  Look at the Ravens last year.  That saying's true - offense wins ya games, but defense wins ya championships."

"So you like the Ravens?"  Because that is also a purple team.  I could go for that. 

"Yeah.  And the Raiders.  Heh.  Gotta love a team that has a skull and crossbones logo." 

"Just win, baby?"

"Huh?"  And now he's sniffing some more and giving me a weird look.

"That's the owner's saying - Al Davis - 'just win, baby.'  You know, that, uh, saying."

"No."

"Oh."  Great.  Sparkling conversation, Rogue. "How long have you been living here?"  Say hello to a total change of subject. 

"A year.  Little more."

"Do you like it?"  No, there wasn't a stupider question I could've asked just then.  Shut up, brain.

"It's fine." 

"What was the best day of your life?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I couldn't think of any more of those polite kind of questions, and I'm curious."  It's a question I've actually asked a lot of people.  The answers you get are usually really interesting and they tell you a lot about the person.  Besides, it's almost half time. 

"Hmph.  Best day..I guess the best day woulda been this day I was out in Yellowstone, campin'.  It was cold as hell, crisp, and kinda windy.  Normally, that's the kinda day that would just piss me the hell off.  I like livin' in cold places, but bein' out in it, campin', no thanks, you know?  But this day I just woke up in a really good mood for some reason.  Just one of those days when you have a few minutes right when you wake up when you forget that everythin's fucked up in your life and you're just livin', just happy.  Mood lingered.  Had a good hunt - brought down an elk.  Just a good, peaceful day, you know?"

"That sounds nice."  Outdoorsy, rustic, but nice.  "What about your worst day?"  Oh-oh.  Crap.  I really should have known that asking that wouldn't keep the conversation rolling.  "Sorry."

"What 'bout you?  What's your best day?"

"Hmmm.  I'm going to have to go with seventh grade, Tommy Payton, first kiss.  That was a very good day."  He looks a little disappointed with that.  I guess he was maybe hoping for more detail, like his had.  He looks almost kind of mad, almost like I tricked him into sharing or something.  Well, I can fix that.  "And worst day - well, that one's easy to pick.  Not the day my mutation manifested, not the day my parents told me they no longer wished to house a 'mutie freak,' not even the day that I fainted from not having eaten for a week and woke up on a ladies' room floor covered in vomit that wasn't mine.  Oh, those are all strong contenders, but the winner is clear."  I don't like telling this story, but I don't want him to feel bad and, well, I get the feeling that he's not the kind of guy that's going to go blabbing it all over the school.

"I was hitchhiking west from Winnipeg.  It was cold, but then again, when isn't it in Canada?  I'm from Mississippi, you know, and anything below fifty might as well be arctic to me.  Anyway, I was hitchhiking and this guy pulls up in a SUV.  Now, I always hitched with truckers.  First of all, most of them are decent enough guys.  Second of all, they're going somewhere.  You know they're not just out roaming around or whatever.  So I wasn't going to hop in with this guy.  I told him no thanks, I was enjoying the walk, but he just wouldn't take no for an answer.  By the time I'd walked a mile and he was still driving along beside me, I knew something was seriously wrong.  I was just about to drop my duffel bag and make a run for the woods when he stopped the car and jumped out.  He came straight for me, and I froze for a couple seconds before I ran.  He caught me, though, quick enough, and pinned me to the ground.  He started telling me all kinds of vile and scary things - things he was going to do to me.  I was scared to death.  Just petrified, frozen.  I looked up into his eyes and said 'please, no' or something like that, and there was something in him looking back at me..I know it sounds melodramatic, but what I saw in him was evil.  Pure and simple.  It wasn't human.  It wasn't - it was powerful and raw and it hit into me like a freight train.  I was terrified then."

"But all that fear, all that panic - it made something kick in and I remembered my mutation.  I leaned my head up to touch my face to his - it was the only exposed skin between the both of us.  I felt him rush into me.  That's how it is with my skin - I get their memories, their feelings, their *life*.  And when I felt him come into me, God, it was awful.  It was chaos and madness and everything destructive and bloodthirsty and cruel.  I let go right away, and he was out, thank God.  And I mean out.  Usually, they stay in my head - well, permanently - but he went right back into his body as soon as I let go.  Almost like some evil spirit, whatever was bad that was in him, sucked itself back into his body.  I shook and I cried for days after that.  It's bad enough to be on the receiving end of that kind of behavior, but to feel and really *know* what that kind of evil is - that's something - well, something I'd never wish on anybody.  It still gives me nightmares.  And it gave me this."  Everybody asks about the white streaks in my hair, usually first off.  I always decline to give an explanation.  But now Wolverine knows the story.  "I'd rather not have known, you know?  That's what made it the worst day.  I'd rather not have known that that kind of badness is really real.  You hear about bad things all the time, but experiencing it makes you know it, learn it, on a whole different level, a deeper level.  I'd rather not have known."

"Experience teaches ya, that's for sure.  There's knowin' somethin' by hearin' about it, but knowin' by doin' it or goin' through it, that's different.  Things ya learn by experience - that's what stays with ya."

"Yeah.  It's like - you can see a hundred commercials on TV saying 'wear your seat belt,' but if you live through an accident because you happened to put one on, well, your hand will reach for that seat belt the second your butt hits the seat every time."  Now, this is good, this is a conversation.  "But the problem with it is - what if you learn the wrong lesson from the experience?  It's the old saying that a cat that steps on a hot stove lid won't ever do that again, but neither will he ever step on a cold one.  You've got to be careful not to take away too much or too little."

"Hmph." 

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"I don't mean to be rude, but I'm curious."  Especially since he just did it again.  "Why do you keep sniffing me?"  Oh-oh.  Now he looks - well, I'd say embarrassed, but that somehow isn't something that suits Wolverine. 

"I got enhanced senses.  I can tell a lot by smell.  You smell.a little different."

"OK."  Would that be different good or different bad? 

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen.  I'll be nineteen next month.  Why?"

"Curious."  You know that guy, the one on the Discovery channel or PBS specials, the one that explains in detail everything that happened, or shows charts and graphs and has computer animations to illustrate whatever point they're talking about?  Wolverine will never, ever be that guy.

"How old are you?"

"Dunno.  Could be real old.  Don't really remember much past about fifteen years back.  Got captured by one of those mutant experimentation labs.  They fucked with my memories."  He's looking at me really oddly now - part nervous, part watchful, part, part - I don't know what.

"I thought those - I thought those were urban legends."

"Nah.  They're real.  That's somethin' I wish I didn't know."  I really, really want to hug him.  He's not exactly the huggable type, and it doesn't even have anything to do with getting closer to the Chest of Perfection, but I really, really want to hug him.  Maybe I could just lay my hand on his arm or something. 

"I have this theory that when you go through something awful, it's like making a deposit in the big karmic bank of life.  It means that something just as good as whatever happened that was so awful will come your way eventually."  The way he's looking at me now - it's so intense.  I kind of get the feeling that he doesn't talk to many people like this.  I kind of do, but it never feels like talking to him has tonight.  "Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but at least it's a little comforting to think that way."

"I ain't too optimistic to tell ya the truth."  Oh.  Oh.  He's holding my hand.  With both of his hands.  He's holding my hand.   "I'm more of a realist."

I like the hand holding.  I like it a lot.  The way he's rubbing my palm - that's especially nice.  "So, not so much the glass is half-empty or half-full, more like, 'are you going to drink that?'"  I thought that would get a little laugh.  "Can I ask you something?  What do I smell like?"

Whoa.  Hands holding mine tighter, eyes glowing, body tense - something is definitely up with him.  "Real good.  Different.  Clean.  Pure.  Real good." 

"I'm anything but clean.  I've been through a lot, Wolverine, I - "

"Logan.  My real name's Logan."

"Marie."

"Much better than Rogue."

"And yours is much better than Wolverine."  I like him.  I really, really like him. 






OK, so I'm dating the resident weirdo.  I still say he's among the most normal here, but everybody thinks he's weird.  Plus, they think the 'dating' itself has been weird, and I kind of have to agree there, given that we've never actually left the mansion grounds to go anywhere.  On the other hand, I understand how you wouldn't want to go to a loud club or something if you had super-senses and I'm not old enough to go to a bar.  Not that that has stopped me before, but still. 

I don't actually mind the lack of dinner-and-a-movie outings.  It's actually kind of nice to stay in, just me and him, usually watching football or hockey on TV and talking.  I'm learning all about hockey, and hey, food tastes just as good served on Wolverine's bed as it does in a high-falutin' restaurant. 

"You gonna finish that?"

"Nope.  All yours."  Tonight's cuisine is nachos, homemade by me.  Logan's not a picky eater by any stretch of the imagination, but it gives me a nice I-have-satisfied-my-man glow to see him wolfing them down.  "Can I steal a sip of your beer?"  Scott, who *really* is beginning to remind me of a hall monitor, won't let me bring two beers up to Logan's room because I'm underage.

"Mmph."  I'll take that as a yes.  Scott pulled me into his office about a week after I'd started spending most of my time with Wolverine to have a little 'chat.'  The chat consisted of a loooong lecture on why it was a horribly, terribly bad idea for me to be involved with Wolverine.  I sat still, I listened politely, and when he was done, I left.  I never argued, never said a word back.  I jut left and went on with my life as it had been going. 

Of course, that did not go unnoticed, so my next 'chat' was with Jean.  I don't know why they thought I might listen to her any more than Scott - math teacher, hello? - but I pretty much did the same thing - listened, no arguing, buh-bye and back to my regularly scheduled life. 

The Professor tried next, and I have to hand it to him, he took a sneakier approach.  He started off with all this stuff about how I was an adult and could make my own choices.  But then he began asking questions about what, exactly, made me think a relationship with Wolverine was a good idea.  I didn't say much after that, and I think the Professor got the message.  They're probably happy with that - they can feel like they tried to spare me from the heartbreak and woe that they think is certain to ensue. 

Here's what I think - people don't respond well to the unusual.  Even here, at the epicenter of the unusual, any deviance brings about social pressure to conform to the norms.  Me, I've never put a lot of stock in social norms.  I mean, come on, I was raised in Mississippi, where in some circles shooting raccoons for fun is considered normal while romantic or social involvement with someone of another race is not.  I learned early on that 'normal' was nothing to run your life by.

I asked Logan if they talked to him at all and all he would say was that they had, and that he was still pissed.  He wouldn't share the details, but judging by my encounters with them, they probably poo-pooed me because of my age and my skin.  I can't do anything about either one of those things, so Logan's pretty much got to decide for himself whether he can deal with it.  The fact that our daily evening sports-fests/dates have gone on uninterrupted kind of tells me that he thinks it's a go.

He's been a little weird about something lately, though, and I don't know what it is.  When I ask, he just looks away and says 'never mind.'  I don't try to push him because I know him at least well enough to know that would only make him more intractable.  He's been giving me the weird looks tonight a lot, and I bet he's going to say something soon. 

My money's on sex.  It's kind of hard for him (no pun intended) to know how far to go with me.  He's been really respectful, really careful with my skin, and really - well, really very sweet about it.  I bet he's getting ready to ask for sex, though.  I can tell he gets pretty excited when we do stuff and he's even excused himself to the bathroom for a few minutes every now and then.  I actually think it's kind of nice that he doesn't seem embarrassed when he does that.  He's pretty comfortable with me.

"What's our game tonight?"

"Uh, no game.  I wanted to say somethin'."

"OK."  I have an answer ready for the sex question.  And, clearly, it's yes.  I'm a virgin, and with how sweet and gentle he's been with me - I just can't imagine my first time with anyone else.  I know he'll be good to me. 

"I was thinkin'.  You spend a lotta time here.  You might as well just move in."

"Uh.."  I don't think that's a complaint, even though he said it all gruff and everything.  I think that was an invitation.   He's asking me to move in.  I think.  "Would you like me to move in here, with you?"

"Yeah."  Oh, God, he just looks so relieved right now.  That was a big thing for him. 

"OK.  But, um, will we be sleeping together?"

"Yeah, there's only one bed."   

"I mean sex.  Will we be having sex?"  Yes, I am blushing.  I'm blushing very much.  Very red.  Bright red.  Radish red.  Fire engine red.  As red as -

"Uh, I think so.  I mean, yeah.  I think we should."  He looks cute when he's like this.  "But we don't hafta start doin' it right off.  You sleep here sometimes now.  I can - I won't expect that right off.  Nothin' like that."  He's completely cute.  And he probably knows deep down that being so generous is going to make me want to have sex with him pretty damn soon.  Like now.

"Well, we can wait if you want, but I was actually thinking I was pretty ready.   The last time you, uh, excused yourself to the bathroom, I had to restrain myself from going in there with you."  Beet red.  Tomato red.  "I'd really like for my first time to be with you."

"First time?"  Oh Lord, don't tell me he's going to have a problem with that.  I mean, I'm sure the kind of women he's been with have been much, much more experienced, but aren't guys supposed to like getting a virgin?  "Uh, I didn't know that."

"Well, um, now you do."

"That's a big deal."

"Uh, kind of.  I suppose.  I mean it is for me, but it doesn't necessarily have to be a huge thing with you.  It's, um, probably not going to be much different than, you know, usual."

"Yeah, it is gonna be different.  Really different."  Hello.  Very intense look there and he's reaching over to hold me - not that I am complaining, mind you, but it's a little - "Well, don't worry.  I'm gonna be sure to, you know, make it nice for you.  It's just a big thing to give someone, you know?  You only get to do that once, and I'm - it's a big thing to give to me."

Aha.  It's not that he doesn't like it.  It's the recurrence of what I've dubbed Wolverine Esteem.   He's got issues.  Big, bad, self-esteem issues.  Not that anyone would know.  He's very confident on the team and around the mansion - heck, he's even over-confident sometimes.  But deep down, he thinks he's only good for two things - fighting and fucking, which is not quite the same as nice virgin-sex, mind you.  I'm beginning to get why he was a little freaked out by this. 

"Well, I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else.  I'm ready, Logan.  And I know you'll make it really special."  The people who experimented on him and stole his memories - sometimes I think they planted all kinds of bad thoughts in his head.  He actually said to me once that he didn't mind taking chances on the team because his life wasn't worth anything.  I just about flipped when he said that.  It's worth a lot to me, and I told him so. 

"So, do you wanna, uh, move stuff now?  There's not a game on tonight."  That's one of the many things I love about him.  When he gets his hands on something he wants, he doesn't pull any punches. 

"Sure.  Let's go."  I love it when I can make him smile.  Wolverine smiles - the rarest of all things.





"Let's talk."  This will be the eight post-coital talk we've had and I'm getting to like them almost as much as the sex itself.  And, believe me, that's saying something.   

"Yeah.  I had somethin' on my mind."

"Oh yeah?"  I think he likes talking to me.  I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's ever attempted deep conversation with him.   People think he's not a talker, but you just have to make him feel comfortable, be open with him. 

"Yeah.  Love.  What is it, do ya think?"

"Hmm.  There are lots of different kinds of love.  Family love - you know, for your parents or your children or your siblings.  I don't really know what that is because I didn't really - well, my parents weren't great, you know?  I know it sounds horrible to say, but I'm pretty sure they didn't really love me or even know what that was and I didn't love them back, probably because of that."

"Was there anybody in your family that ya loved?"

"Yeah.  There was one relative - my grandmother on my mother's side.  I really did love her, but I was so young when I knew her - she died when I was eight - that I'm not sure that that's enough experience to judge by, to really know what that kind of love is.  Oh, I really did love her a lot, though.  She was just --she paid every little bit of her attention to me, you know?  She treated me like I was precious and important and something to be cherished, not abused."  Shit.  I didn't mean to go into all that.  I hate it when people go on and on about their sob-story childhood.  I hate it when I do it more than anything. 

"Your parents hurt ya?"  He's squeezing me very tight now.  He's so protective of me.  If there's even a hint of trouble on the team, he's all over me.  Even though I'm only going on pick-ups and routine things, he's insisted on coming with me every time.  

"Not physically.  Not a lot.  More mental, more emotional kind of stuff."  When they weren't ignoring me, they were usually screaming at me.  There were a lot of nights I prayed to be just left alone - please, God, just have everyone leave me alone for the rest of my life, it would be better than the screaming.  I'm glad He decided not to go along with that plan.  "It's not important now."

"Hmph."  Just a grunt can convey so much from him. 

"We were talking about love."

"Yeah.  There's friendship love, I guess.  I don't remember havin' that for anybody, but you see all those movies on TV, war movies, about men who go through a lotta shit together and come out lovin' each other like the closest brothers.  I think that's friendship love."

"You don't feel any of that for the people on the team?"  That's a little surprising.  I know that in the year he's been here, he's gone to extraordinary lengths to save Jean's life, and Storm's.  You'd think there was at least a little love there.

"Nah.  Loyalty, yeah.  The Professor, he found me and took me in when I was lost and all alone in the world, you know?  I owe him for that.  But I don't love him for that.  It hasta be more than just owin' a debt, I think, for that kinda love to happen.  And the team - that's just lookin' out, watchin' your partner's back.  That ain't love, I don't think."

"I don't know.  I guess I haven't had friendship love for anybody either."  This conversation is beginning to bum me out.

"I do have love for you."  Whoa.  Whoa.  Whoa.  "Kinda always did, really from the minute I met ya."  I just have to look up at him.  I have to see his face.  I bet he's - no, no, he's not nervous at all saying that.  Not at all.  "Didn't think you'd have any love for me back, though.  Surprised as hell when you started talkin' to me."

"I do have love for you back, a lot." 

"Yeah?  What kinda love is it, do ya think?"  He loves stroking the white part of my hair.  I think it's because he's the only one who knows how I got that way, and he knows that.  It's a reminder of us bonding, a reminder that he holds a special place in my life. 

"I don't know.  I know it's not the kind of love you see in movies.   It's really deep, deeper than I've ever felt anything, and I couldn't possibly imagine Meg Ryan playing me or Tom Hanks playing you in a story about it.  It's really fierce and all-consuming inside me.  I feel it all the time, and the first time we made love, I felt like everything inside me was transformed, like my entire emotional landscape just - just exploded into this beautiful big space.  It was like everything that I had the capacity for feeling expanded exponentially.  I think I was in love with you before then, but when you made love to me, it was like my body and my heart really learned the totality of what love was."  Oh, God, I'm babbling.  I hate it when I do that.  Here I am prattling on like an idiot and he just told me he loved me.  Why couldn't I just go with 'I love you too, big guy' and leave it at that? 

"That's good love."

"Yeah.  You know, I'm not really as scatter-brained as my rambling would lead you to believe."

"I like your ramblin', darlin'."  Those hands are drifting down to my hip.  I bet he wants to have sex again.  "It kinda makes me think you're lettin' me look right into your brain when you do those."

"My brain's not very well organized."

"Mine's hardly there."

"Hey."  I hate it when he says things like that about himself.  Stupid Wolverine Esteem.  "Your brain's just fine and the rest of you is pretty good too.  You're a man of many good qualities."

"Hmph.  I fight good.  I kill good.  I - "

"You take care of me good.  You make love to me very, very good.   You teach me things good.  Without you, I wouldn't know a single thing about hockey or how to throw a knife.  You're just plain good, and I think it's time that, you know, you started getting used to that."

I can tell he doesn't believe me, not really, but he's not going to argue.   "Let me take care of you a little bit now, darlin'."  Number nine.  Sex for the ninth time, headed my way.  God, if we keep going at this pace - sex twice a day, three times on Sunday, that's going to be - that's going to be sex 780 times a year.  Well, what do you know?  Math does have a purpose, after all. 





Shit.  Shit.  I'm in trouble.  This was supposed to be a routine mission, dammit.  Sabretooth was *not* invited.  Fuck, I never saw him coming at me, either.  There's a lot of blood, too much of my blood coming out.  I'm not - I'm not going to make it.  I'm going to bleed to death, right here.  Dammit.

"Marie!"

I don't have the strength to answer.  I want to yell across that I love him but I - I'm just - I'm dying.  I don't want to die.  I don't.  I don't want Logan to have to watch football all alone and I don't want him to wake up by himself when the nightmares come.  Who's going to tell him that he's good?  Who'll talk to him about - about stuff?

"Marie!"

He's closer.  Maybe - maybe if he gets here soon, I'll have just enough energy left to whisper out an 'I love you.'  I know he knows.  But I want to get to feel what it's like to say it and mean it one last time.  Come on, Logan, hurry up.

"God, baby.God.."  He's worried, I know.  I know he'll be sad.  God, that's what I should say - I should tell him it's not his fault, because I bet he'll just go around blaming himself for not protecting me or something.  That's what I should say.

"N-not your f-fault."  There.  Whew. 

"Marie" 

I might have energy for just one more.  "L-love"







Oh, God, everything hurts.  Everything.  There is not one cell in my body that isn't screaming in pain and I - hey, wait a minute.  I'm supposed to be dead.  That's not supposed to hurt.  Or at least I don't think so. 

"Rogue?  Rogue, can you hear me?"

Aaah!  What's Jean doing in my afterlife?  No math in the afterlife, dammit!

"Nnnn.."

"Rogue, can you hear me?"

"Yeah."  And you're annoying the shit out of me, so please shut up.

"Can you see me?  Can you open your eyes?"

"Ooof."  Yikes, all that stuff about bright lights was dead on.  So bright they hurt.  But it's not like a bright light you can walk into.  They're more, uh, on the ceiling.

"Rogue, how do you feel?  Are you in pain?"

"Ouchy."  But I think I can sit up a little.  Actually, I'm feeling better and I - "What happened?"

"Logan - Logan touched you.  You absorbed him, got his healing power.  Are you all right?  Are you in any pain?"  Shit.  Shit!  I'm not dead, I'm on the plane and Logan - he - he touched me?  God, I - please God, don't let him be dead. 

"Logan!" 

"Calm down, Rogue.  He's - he's stabilizing.  We, uh, lost him there for a moment or two, but I think the shock to his heart worked.  I think he's healing." 

"Where is he?"

"Behind you, behind you in the cot.  Rogue - "

"Logan!"  Oh, God, he looks like hell.  Like absolute hell.  But he's breathing.  He's not dead.  Please, please God just let him live.  Just let him live.





Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds.  That's how long Logan was dead.  For four minutes and twenty-eight seconds there was no Logan.  Somehow, he came back.  Jean said it was the electric shock to his heart form the paddles, but I read the records.  I poured over every detail of the records, waiting for Logan to wake up.  They shocked him after he'd been dead for ninety seconds, then again when he'd been dead two minutes and forty-five seconds.  He waited another minute and forty-three seconds before coming back.  Mission time was 1:38:52.  I began displaying signs of consciousness exactly ten seconds later, at mission time 1:39:02.  It wasn't the second shock.  He saw me coming back and he decided to come along too.

I've prayed to God a lot, and swore at him more, in the eighteen years I've been alive, but I wasn't sure I ever really believed in Him before this.  He gave Logan back to me, and me back to Logan.  That's a sacred thing, and something I won't ever forget. 

"Mmmm.."

He's been calling out for me a little.  Jean thinks they're just grunts, but I know it's my name.  He calls for me in his sleep, in the nightmares, like that sometimes.  Jean says he's healing normally, and he'll be fine.  I'll feel a lot better when he wakes up and can tell me that himself.

"Mrreee?"

"Right here."  I've been holding his hand the whole time, and, as soon as Jean was sure he was healing, I made sure he was moved up to our room.  He doesn't need to wake up in the medlab.  "I'm right here, Logan."

God, finally.  Finally, he opens his eyes.  Such beautiful eyes, too.  "Marie?"

"Yeah.  I'm here.  I'm fine.  You saved my life, Logan."

"Whew."  He wasn't sure - he wasn't sure until I said that if it was real or not.  "Worst day."

"What?"

"That's my new worst day.  I thought I lost ya, Marie."

"I thought I lost you too.  You - you could've been killed.  You - "  I shouldn't tell him he *was* dead, not now.  "I almost lost you too."  I'm going to cry now.  I kind of can't hold it back any more, and besides, Logan's here, he's back, he's OK.  "Oh, Logan"

"C'mere, darlin', just lay your head down on me.  Stay close."  I'm never letting him go again.  Never.  That - that's definitely my new worst day too.  And the best one.  After four minutes and twenty-eight seconds, he came back to me.  Definitely the new best one.  Screw Tommy Payton.





"I think you should leave the team."  Post-coital talk number twenty-six.  There's been a lot of activity in the past few days since Logan woke up, and I think I may have to revise that estimate of 780. 

"I think we both should.  I would want to stay if you're still doing it.  I would want to be there to look out for you."

"I'm supposedta be lookin' out for you."

"Goes both ways."

"Hmph."  I haven't been able to stop touching him, not even for a minute, since he woke up.  I even stayed in the bathroom while he showered, holding the hand he stuck out from behind the shower curtain for dear life.  "Whaddya wanna do?"

"I want us to leave the team, to leave here and go make our own lives.  I want us to hole up somewhere where nothing bad can get us.  I want us to spend every second of every day together and I want a lot of that time to be spent making love and talking.  I want us to start having babies, and I want to have lots of them.  Or at least two."  I'm rambling again, but I don't care.  This - telling him these things - is so much less scary than knowing he was dead, that I could've lost him so easily.

"OK."

"OK?"

"OK.  Let's do that, then." 

"OK."

"Wanna pack up some stuff now?"  I forgot - he doesn't wait, he doesn't pull punches.  I love that about him, you know?

"Let's make love a few more times first."






I like it up here, I really do.  It's very rustic, very rural, but it's also kind of this little slice of unspoiled back country, this little slice of heaven.  And we've worked hard for it.  Logan's fought and bled in a hundred bar fights, and I've worked day labor for more than seven hundred days to get it.  It's ours, and it feels good.

"You done with the washin'?"

"Yeah.  That old washing machine you got is really helping.  Much better than the washboard."  It's hard work, living here, but if the price of no Sabretooth and no evil mutant attacks is a little elbow grease and an outhouse, well, I'm willing to pay it. 

"I got the roof finished.  We'll be in good shape for the winter."  Which I can only imagine will be very, very cold.  It's August, and at this elevation, we still get a frost every fourth night or so.  I wonder how cold it will be in late February.  Or possibly early March. 

"Logan, can we talk a little?"

"What, no sex first?"  He's a flirt, he really is.

"No sex first this time.  It's kind of serious."  Great, Rogue, now you've got him worried.  What you're about to tell him *is* a big thing, but it's a good big thing.  We weren't sure it would happen at all, or how his healing factor might affect things, but I'm late, more than two months late.  And I feel queasy every morning.  We've been trying, and I'm pretty sure it finally worked.  "Logan, I think I'm pregnant."

"You are."  Hey - huh?  "I could smell it for a while now.  Can hear the kid's heartbeat too.  Sounds good.  Strong.  Bet it's a son."

"You - you knew and didn't tell me?"

"Thought you'd wanna be the one to tell me."

"You're sneaky, yet considerate."  I love him so much.  So much. 

"That's me, darlin'."

"I wanted to talk to you some more about all that, about the baby and everything that's going to change when we have him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Go 'head, honey."

"Oh no, I want my sex first."  We can both be a little sneaky yet considerate.  We haven't been together yet today - so much to do to get ready and finish off the cabin - and I know he's missed it.  I missed it too, I love him so much and I just feel like I'm going to burst if I don't show him.  Every day with him - every day now is a new best day.  "Come on, Logan, let's go inside."

 

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