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1512FIC: The Best-Laid Plans - 1/6 [L/R, Scott] - R

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  • vicpusateri@worldnet.att.net
    Dec 1, 2000
    • 0 Attachment
      Title: The Best-Laid Plans
      Author: Victoria P. [vicpusateri@...]
      Disclaimer: I don't own anything -- it all belongs to
      Marvel and/or Fox.
      Rating: R - language
      Summary: Scott and Rogue try to make Logan and Jean
      jealous; L/R, with hints of S/R
      Feedback: Me = feedback whore. Even if you hate it, let
      me know. Please...
      Notes: I know very little about Scott's backstory, so
      I've sort of pieced together something reasonable. Thanks
      to Pete, Meg, Jen and Dot, who put up with my Scott
      ramblings and made this a better story.

      The Best-Laid Plans

      1. If Things Were Different

      The first bar brawl I was ever personally involved in
      happened while I was with Scott. I know, I don't believe
      it either, but there it is. I suppose I should start
      before that, start at the moment that Scott became Scott
      instead of Mr. Summers. Or even before that, when he
      became Mr. Summers, instead of One-Eye or Scooter.

      So you know how Logan left and he gave me his dog tags,
      yada yada? Well, he was gone and I was upset -- it's not
      easy having fifteen years of someone's memories and
      thoughts dumped on you, and it's doubly difficult when
      you've already got sixty some-odd years of yet someone
      else rattling around in your head. And Logan and Erik
      aren't exactly choirboys, so I learned a lot of shit
      sixteen-year-old girls shouldn't. Hell, I know a lot of
      shit sixty-year-old grandmas probably shouldn't.

      Anyway, Logan up and left, and I was stuck with him in my
      head. I was young and impressionable and he was hot and
      he'd just saved my life -- twice. *Of course,* I had a
      thing for him. And he had to know it. But he ran, because
      that's what Logan does. Even though I asked him to stay.

      Those first few weeks were the worst, because I was
      always lusting after Jean, or, even more disturbingly,
      Professor Xavier. I was also a sore trial to poor Scott,
      growling at him, calling him "One-Eye" and generally
      being all Logan-y. But he's patient, and he's a good guy,
      so he didn't get too upset.

      And then one day, in class, we started reading _Madame
      Bovary_. Well, let me tell you, I just wanted to smack
      that Emma Bovary for her stupidity. But Scott went on and
      on about how amazing a book it is, and how Flaubert had
      chosen every word carefully and each sentence was crafted
      to be just so. If there's one thing I can appreciate --
      and this is all Marie, because Erik's more interested in
      political screeds, and Logan, well, let's just say
      Logan's not reading Playboy for the articles -- it's a
      well-crafted sentence. Don't laugh. I want to be a
      writer, and maybe after I retire from the X-Men, I'll
      actually have time to get some of my stuff published.

      So I paid more attention, and I realized he was right. I
      still didn't like Emma, but it really is an amazingly
      well-written book. When it came time to write our essays,
      I wrote about creative ways for her to kill Rodolphe
      instead of herself. Didn't get an A on that one. In fact,
      I got asked to stay after class.

      "Rogue, I'd like to discuss your paper," Scott said and I
      knew I was in for it.

      "Okay," I said warily, wondering what was coming next.
      English was the one class I really loved, even if it was
      taught by my -- I mean, Logan's -- nemesis.

      "Do you really think eviscerating Rodolphe would have
      helped Emma's situation?" He was trying hard to be stern,
      but I could hear the laughter in his voice. I was
      actually kind of impressed, since I'd always thought he
      was humorless.

      "More than eating arsenic did," I replied. "That was just
      stupid."

      He sighed. "I'm not going to count this paper in your
      grade, Rogue. You completed the assignment, and it's well
      and creatively written, but I'm afraid it just doesn't
      examine the issues most central to the novel. So I'm
      going to offer you a deal. In addition to the next book
      we're reading, I want you to read _Wuthering Heights_ and
      write a paper on it. On whatever topic you choose, except
      eviscerating or otherwise maiming or killing the main
      characters." And I'd swear he mumbled, "Even if Cathy
      deserved it."

      One thing you have to realize about Scott is that he's a
      dyed-in-the-wool romantic. Oh, he covers it up with his
      Fearless Leader schtick, but when push comes to shove,
      he's right there with me on the great couples of all time
      and the One True Love of Buttercup and Westley. So though
      I didn't know it then, he was pulling me in with Bront´┐Ż's
      masterpiece about the moors and the wild lovers who
      inhabited them. Of course, I was going to fall madly in
      love with Heathcliff, and of course, I was going to
      identify with Cathy -- even if she was a bitch. How could
      I not? Heathcliff's story struck me right where I lived.
      If Logan ever wanted to be in movies, he'd just have to
      get the Professor to finance a new version of _Wuthering
      Heights_. It's not like he'd even have to act to play
      Heathcliff.

      But I'm getting ahead of myself. Logan doesn't really
      show up again for a while. This part is about me and
      Scott and how we became friends.

      I agreed to read the book and write the paper. And, like
      he knew I would, I fell in love with Heathcliff. Since we
      weren't reading it in class, I couldn't really discuss it
      with Kitty and Jubilee. I ended up staying after class
      again, talking to Scott, or, Mr. Summers as I had finally
      started calling him. After _Wuthering Heights_ it was
      _Pride and Prejudice_ and then _The Great Gatsby_ and
      pretty soon, Scott and I had our own version of Oprah's
      book club going on.

      Logan came back around Christmas time, and he seemed a
      little freaked at how friendly Scott and I were, but
      since it was still pretty much a teacher-student
      relationship, no one else ever commented on it. Looking
      back, I realize it probably would have looked a little
      hinky to people who didn't know Scott was head-over-heels
      for Jean and I was still nursing an infatuation for
      Logan. After all, Scott's only about eight years older
      than I am, and Jean's about five years older than he is.
      Logan, of course, is older than God, and I'm getting
      ahead of myself again.

      Anyway, Logan was all, "How's it going, kid?" and I was
      just trying not to show how much I wanted him. How much I
      wanted him to look at me the way he looked at Jean. How
      much I wanted him to love me. And hanging around with
      Scott and discussing the great novels of the Western
      canon was not exactly the way to Logan's heart.

      It *was* a way to get his attention, though. It wasn't
      jealousy. Or, it wasn't the type of jealousy I was hoping
      for, but Logan *was* upset that I didn't spend every
      waking moment trailing around after him like a puppy. He
      would never admit it, but he dug my crush on him. It fed
      his manly pride. So to see me huddled in a corner of the
      dining room with Scott, discussing Henry James, just
      burned him up. And I loved every minute of it.

      I think Scott knew how I felt, but he was cool, because
      anything that annoyed Logan was okay with him -- just
      desserts for the way Logan leered at and flirted with
      Jean.

      It wouldn't surprise me if, early on, Logan thought about
      pushing me and Scott together, so he could have a shot at
      Jean. But two things stopped him: one, he knew how much
      Jean and Scott loved each other (it would be impossible
      not to know); and two, he cared for me. He loved me, even
      if it wasn't the type of romantic love I craved.

      You don't do for someone what Logan did for me -- all of
      it, from skewering himself to letting me suck out his
      healing power -- without caring for them on more than an
      impersonal level. At least, Logan didn't. I knew, because
      he was in my head. And it would have killed him to use me
      like that. Logan could pretty much beat the crap out of
      someone and then go for a beer without a second thought,
      but he was always gentle with me.

      Time passed and after a few months, Logan left again, but
      he always kept in touch when he went away, and he always
      came back. Eventually, I got over my crush.

      Okay, to be honest, I never got over my crush, I just
      learned to hide it better, even from him. And my feelings
      continued to deepen into something I figured was love.
      Sometimes I would talk to Scott about it, always
      metaphorically, of course. I'd talk about the moment
      Elizabeth realized she loved Mr. Darcy, or how Pip
      worshiped Estella, but really, I was just trying to
      figure out how I felt about Logan. I'm sure Scott knew
      that, and he tried to help me get over it. I know Scott
      only wants what's best for me, and he truly thought that
      Logan was *not* it.

      When I was nineteen, the birthday card I sent my mother
      came back unopened. Every year, in time for December 1, I
      made sure I sent my mother a card for her birthday, even
      though she'd stood by and let my father run me out of the
      house, and then never showed up for the court date when
      Professor Xavier petitioned to have me made his ward. I
      figured, she was my mom, and she should know I still
      loved her and was safe.

      But that year, the card came back with "deceased" written
      in my father's handwriting, and underneath that, "You may
      as well be dead too, Marie."

      The bastard hadn't even had the decency to let me know
      she'd died. I called my grandmother in Meridian, who
      wasn't too thrilled to hear from the mutant outcast, but
      she told me Momma had died that June.

      It's not exactly easy news to take, and I was sitting out
      in the greenhouse, crying, when Scott found me. Since I
      had handled mail call that day, no one else had seen the
      card, and he had gotten worried when I didn't show up for
      my session with him in the Danger Room.

      I wordlessly handed the envelope over and he put an arm
      around me and said, "Oh, Rogue, I'm so sorry." He's one
      of the few people here, aside from Logan, who isn't
      afraid to touch me, even though I wear more clothes than
      a Sherpa climbing Everest. Part of me wished it were
      Logan, but Logan wasn't back yet from wherever the hell
      he was, so Scott would have to do.

      He let me cry for a while and then he said, "My mom and
      dad died when I was eight. We were in a plane crash. Not
      a day goes by that I don't still miss them." He squeezed
      me a little closer and twined the fingers of his other
      hand around mine, his cheek resting on the top of my
      head, where my hair would protect him.

      He's a good hugger, and when he pulled back slightly to
      look at me, I found myself wondering, not for the first
      time, what he'd look like without the glasses or the
      visor he always wore.

      I still don't know what possessed me. It was totally
      inappropriate, but when we discussed it later, we decided
      that grief makes you do strange things.

      "Take your glasses off," I said.

      "Excuse me?"

      "I want to see what you look like without them."

      "It's not safe, Rogue." He sounded rattled, which was
      totally new. I'd never heard him sound anything but calm
      and assured, even under fire.

      "I trust you." He inhaled sharply at that. I raised my
      hands to his temples.
      "Please?"

      He took my hands, guided them to his glasses and removed
      the ruby lenses. His eyes were closed tightly and his
      lashes curled against the tops of his cheekbones; they
      were long and feminine and I was envious for a moment.

      "You're beautiful," I murmured, tracing his face with my
      gloved hands. As my fingers moved over his eyelids, I
      whispered, "Relax." His breathing was a little irregular
      and I wasn't sure if it was fear or desire. I'd always
      thought he was nice-looking, but so much of what I find
      attractive about a man is in his eyes, and that was the
      one thing no one ever got to see with Scott.

      Feeling bolder, and more than a little attracted myself,
      I brushed a thumb across his lips. His tongue came out of
      his mouth and flicked against my finger. Even through the
      cotton gloves, I felt its warmth and wetness. I gasped.
      Eyes still closed, his hand came up and, fractions of an
      inch from my face, mimicked the motion. "Scott," I
      whispered, calling him by his first name without mockery
      for the first time in our three years of acquaintance. My
      breath warmed his bare skin and he murmured, "Rogue," in
      that same hushed tone.

      We stayed that way for what seemed an eternity, but was
      probably only a few seconds, at most.

      "If things were different..." I asked, unable to finish
      the sentence, uncertain even where the thought had come
      from. Not Logan, I know that for sure.

      "If things were different," he said firmly, "I have no
      doubt you and I would be very happy together, Rogue. The
      man who finally wins your heart away from Logan is going
      to be very lucky."

      I pulled away, the spell broken by his mention of Logan.
      He never approved of my attachment, but I like to think
      he's finally come to understand it.

      You would think that such an intense moment would have
      made us uncomfortable around each other for a while, but
      it didn't. It just sealed what's become a rock-solid
      friendship that's survived some rough times. Because I
      trusted him and, more importantly to me, he trusted me.

      When you can kill with a single touch, having someone who
      trusts you not to hurt them means a lot. Though the guys
      at school flirt and tease and ask me out, I see how they
      flinch away from my touch. Except Bobby, and Bobby and I
      decided that us getting together would practically be
      incestuous. So the only men who aren't afraid to touch me
      are Logan and Scott. And Professor Xavier, of course, but
      I try not to think about him. That wakes up Erik, which
      makes none of us happy.

      I mooned over Scott for about a week, until Logan came
      home again. Even then, I managed to make sure Logan knew
      something had changed, that I would no longer snicker
      along as he baited and taunted Scott. He didn't like
      that, but he learned to deal with it.

      When I showed him the card and told him about my mother,
      I saw the pain flash in his eyes. He muttered curses
      about goddamn bigoted motherfuckers who better not ever
      cross his path. Which made me feel a little better.

      I know I said Scott and I weren't awkward after that
      little greenhouse moment, but I *was* uncomfortable
      around Jean for a few days, and both she and Logan picked
      up on that. No doubt they each attributed it to my
      feelings for him, never knowing I felt guilty for
      fantasizing about Scott.

      And from then on, that's what I called him.

      ***

      More to come...