Title: She Said (1/1)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Series: "The Thing About Misconceptions"
Archive: If you have Diebin's "He Said", then by all means - take this
one, too. ;)
Summary: He Said/She Said, as per Logan and Rogue. You know the drill.
Disclaimer: Um, she did it! <points at Die and snerks>
Thank You: To everyone who inspires me as a writer and as a person. You
all know who you are, but let me list a few - Melissa, Shana, Nancy,
Elizabeth, Jengrrl, Nace, Kara, and Katjen (from over yonder in Roswell
territory). You all rock. And extra huge thanks to Die, who was kind
enough to show me a little piece of fic
right when I needed it. <huggles
I'm not a little girl anymore.
Not like anyone thinks that I am, or anything; everyone I know has pretty
much accepted that I am a fully-grown woman. But that's not really my
point. The point is that, even though they all see me as so goddamned
grown up, all my friends are still developing these little girl reasons why
I don't want Logan pursuing me.
Oh, he broke her heart! Oh, she's interested in Remy now! Oh, she's
pulling a Scarlett O'Hara, letting Logan chase her until *she* catches *him*!
Well, let me tell you something.
Logan didn't break my heart. Hell on *fire*, people
Before he came back,
I had known him for a week. Seven days. And I don't care *what* the poets
and the artists and the greeting card people say - you cannot fall
desperately, hopelessly in love with someone in a week. Especially not if
you spend a good portion of that week just trying not to *die*. So yeah, I
had a huge ass crush on him... But crushes fade, usually leaving only the
most embarrassing feeling ever - the "oh my great GOD, what was I
thinking?" slow burn of mortification.
And I'm not interested in Remy. Jesus, do I look stupid to you? That
Cajun charmer taking me for a spin is just about the last thing I need.
Might be fun while it lasted, but men that adorable always have a way of
getting under your hide, you know? Of making you wish that you could be
The One to keep them happy. To keep them around. And I don't need that
kind of emotional pain, all right? So I'll flirt with him and enjoy his
attentions a little, but he's not getting anywhere with me. Ever.
And the Scarlett O'Hara theory? Fuck. Look, I may be a Southern belle and
all, but those mind games just piss me off. They're manipulative and
irritating and I don't play them. Period. End of sentence. Not a chance
So, the question still remains: why in the world am I rebuffing every one
of Logan's oh, so swoonworthy advances?
I'll tell you why.
I want to fuck his brains out.
Period. End of sente-- Aw hell, you know the drill.
I mean, come *on*. You're not blind, right? And you *have* seen Logan?
Excuse me while I whimper for a minute.
The thing about Logan is that he is all man. ALL man. It's something that
scared the living hell out of me when I was sixteen. I was always
attracted to him, but back then the lust was majorly overshadowed by all
the hero-worship I had for him. He saved my life twice (three times, if
you count grudgingly giving me that first ride), and it felt
felt *right* to adore him. I kinda felt like I should.
Now all that hero-worship is gone. He's not some dashing figure on a black
steed, racing in to save the day. He's just Logan - one hell of a hot man.
Oh yeah, he's been strutting his shit all over campus since he came back;
don't think I haven't noticed. The smoldering looks, the amazingly high
number of times he "forgets" to put on a shirt
God, do I ever notice.
That chest, those arms
Oh, that back. That baaaaack. I'm a healthy,
red-blooded woman, and I want nothing more than to wrap my hands around
every single part of Logan's healthy, red-blooded anatomy.
But I'm not about to.
You knew that was coming, didn't you?
Let me explain myself here. While just the thought of getting my hands
anywhere near Logan makes me tremble and sweat in an almost pathetic
manner, I refuse to risk it.
Risk what, you ask? My heart, that's what.
Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get over him the last time
he left? Yeah, I know. Earlier I was yapping on about how crushes fade,
and all that shit. Well, they do. But the thing is, the half-lives on the
damn things tend to vary tremendously.
My crush on Logan was the uranium of crushes, okay? I thought I'd *never*
get over him, and I guess that lends a lot of credence to the theory that
I'm avoiding entanglements with him now out of lingering, unforgotten hurt
and rejection. But I can't blame him for how I felt; I never have. He
didn't do anything to make me all softhearted and faint over him. All he
did was run around, acting all Wolveriney, and I practically fell on my
face just wanting him to glance in my direction.
Not that he did much glancing. Logan is not a glancer; he stares, and
three years ago, he directed most of those patented stares at Jean Grey's
ass. God, that tore me up inside. Made me feel like maybe he didn't want
me because I wasn't tall and willowy. Because I wasn't smart like Jean, or
sophisticated like Jean
In short, my self-esteem took a hell of a blow, and it took me a long time
to build that back up again. Of course, I can't say that I'm not kind of
enjoying all of his attention now; it sort of validates all that time I
spent trying to convince myself that nothing was wrong with me, you know?
So, Logan hurt me, and he didn't even mean to. It was the last thing he
meant to do, I think. No, I'm sure. And I have no hard feelings about
that. Like I said, I can't blame him for what I felt.
But I can blame him for how he is.
Logan does one thing well. Well, okay, I'm pretty sure that's not true, so
let me rephrase: Logan runs. That's what he does, who he is. When things
get to be too tough or confusing, he picks up and he runs like the hounds
of hell are nipping at his heels. And he's good at it. Hell, he *should*
be by now - he's been practicing that move for eighteen years. The
situation gets sticky, and Logan hauls ass.
Of course, his famous retreats offer up a spectacular view of that fine ass
of his, but believe me when I say it's hard to enjoy a fine ass when it's
on the body of a man who has your bleeding heart clutched in his hairy
God, maybe I was a little bit in love with him three years ago.
Less than a year ago, I finally took Logan's dogtags off my neck. Less
than a year. And if I let him anywhere near me, if I let him touch me
All that time I spent scrabbling around, trying to feel good about myself
again, will be wasted. Because if I let him in, if I let him touch my
heart, I'm not getting it back. And, when he decides to pick up and leave
this time, he'll take it with him. I mean, he only had a little piece of
me three years ago, and his departure almost broke me.
I don't want to know what being shattered feels like.
Every time he looks in my direction, his eyes tell me what he wants - *me*.
And damn me to hell, I want him, too. If I were just a little bit
stronger, maybe I could go to him, and we could both have what we wanted,
at least for a little while. But I know that once I hear him whisper my
name in that soft, gravelly voice
I'll be lost.
And, eventually, he'll go, and I'll be lost without him.
I can't let that happen. For the sake of my sanity, I just can't.
It's not lost on me, you know, the irony of it all. When I was sixteen, I
wanted him with a passion that I thought could never be equaled, much less
surpassed. But I couldn't have him. And now I remember that long-ago
passion, and I can see how it pales beside what lingers somewhere inside me.
And I still can't have him.
Life's a real bitch.
Tonight, I'll go to bed alone. I'll wake up the same way. And tomorrow
I'll carry on with my life, and I'll face whatever overtures Logan deems
necessary in his pursuit of me. What he doesn't know, and I won't tell
him, is that nothing he tries will succeed. Because first he'd have to
tell me that he doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon. Then I'd have to
believe him, which isn't going to happen, because to do that I would have
to trust him.
And I don't. I've seen inside his head; how can you trust a man who
doesn't trust himself?
"It's easy to moon over a lost love - to fantasize over what might have
been, secure in the knowledge that it'll never happen. It makes a great
excuse for not facin' the risks and demands of reality."
--Logan, "The Uncanny X-Men" (#183)