5488"The Player on the Other Side" (WIP, CH.7) Scott [PG-13] X1 and X2
- Dec 6, 2003Post 1 of 3
Title: The Player on the Other Side
Characters Ch. 7: Scott, Rogue, Logan, Erik. L/R and L/J suggested.
Summary Ch. 7: Logan leaves. Jean stays. How Scott and Rogue spent
the rest of the day.
Summary WIP: A popular officer is framed for the destruction of
Alkali Base. His friends band together to ruin the mutant they
Rating Ch. 7: PG-13
Author: Rachel Martin
Archive: Archive anywhere.
Disclaimers: The X-Men belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. No
copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Feedback: Feedback is welcome. Critical comments will not be
misinterpreted as a flame.
Author Note: Some folks have asked if I've written anything else.
One story, in the Sentinel fandom, at
"Son of a bitch," she heard Mr. Summers say in a wondering kind of
Erik was surprised enough to glance up from the fast and furious game
of foosball in which he -- she -- was engaged -- she and Bobby and
John and a kid she didn't know, just hanging out, killing a few
minutes until the dining hall opened for supper. Rogue had vaguely
noticed Ms. Munroe curled up in a armchair in front of the wide-
screen TV on the other side of the room, but Ms. Munroe wasn't
watching anything good, just the five o'clock news. Erik yearned to
watch the news too, but Rogue had overruled him.
She saw now that the Professor, Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey had gathered
as well around the TV. Dr. Grey had taken a seat next to Mr. Summers
on the couch, sitting right next to him, her shoulder bumping his,
but he was acting like he didn't even know she was there. All too
many catty comments occurred to Rogue, but she sternly suppressed
And only because Mr. Summers cursed, only because Erik was startled
enough to look up, did she catch sight of Logan moving quietly
through the TV room, which really wasn't a room at all, but the
enormous entrance hall of the mansion. He tugged opened the heavy
mahogany door leading to the foyer and walked through. And it might
have been the furtive way he carried himself, but really it was the
backpack slung over his shoulder that told Rogue the day she was
dreading had come.
With a muttered excuse to Bobby, she ran and caught hold of the door
before it could fall shut. "Hey!"
Logan was reaching for the front door of the mansion. He hesitated,
turned. She'd never thought to see Logan look like a deer in the
She threw his own words in his face. "You running again?"
"N-not really," he stuttered, looking down at his boots.
She stared at him.
He lifted his head and looked at her shoulder and mumbled, "Just some
things I need to take care of up north."
She did not stop staring at him. Awkwardly he reached out and batted
away a strand of platinum blond hair from her face.
"I kind of like it," she said softly.
He looked down again and shuffled his feet.
He had to know she loved him. He had to know. He had to love her too.
He'd given his life for her. He panted like a dog after Dr. Grey but
he'd died for Marie.
She said, and she didn't care how pathetic she sounded, "I don't want
you to go."
What she had absorbed of him told her that Logan could not remember
anyone ever saying that to him before. He raised his head. An
irresolute expression crossed his face. He took a deep breath. For a
moment -- for a moment --
But he reached inside his shirt and tugged off his dog tag. He took
her gloved hand and placed it in the palm of her hand and closed her
fingers over it.
"I'll be back for this," he said gruffly.
And he turned and opened the front door.
And he was gone.
Rogue stood in the foyer, staring down at the dogtag in her hand.
She stood and stood.
And after a while it occurred to her to go stand somewhere else.
Mechanically she turned and walked back into the TV room. It was
empty -- oh. Supper. No, Mr. Summers was standing in front of the TV,
holding the VCR remote, and he was fast-forwarding and pausing
through a recording of the five o'clock news. Senator Kelly, blah
blah, Mutant Registration Act, blah blah, Mothers Against
Mutants. . . .
Rogue felt a flash of white-hot rage and not at the Mothers Against
Mutants. She walked purposefully past the foosball table and across
the room and planted her fists on the back of the couch.
Mr. Summers glanced over his shoulder, and glanced again. He hit the
pause button, tossed the remote onto the armchair, and turned around.
"Bet you're happy now, huh?" she said in a low, venomous voice. "You
made him leave, didn't you?"
"Bobby? He went to supper."
"Logan. You made him leave. You kicked him out. Didn't you."
Mr. Summers looked sharply at her. In that instant her last,
desperate hope, her Romeo and Juliet fantasy, collapsed. Mr. Summers
was not trying to keep them apart. Mr. Summers had not sent Logan
away. Logic dictated that if Mr. Summers were as all-powerful as she
imagined, he'd have kicked Logan out weeks ago.
The anger drained out of her, leaving her feeling hollow and cold.
"I always figured he was going to leave sometime, Rogue," Mr. Summers
said slowly. "Just -- not when."
She tried to think of a polite way to tell Mr. Summers that his ho
girlfriend hadn't eloped with Logan. She said, dully, "While you and
Dr. Grey were watching TV," and trusted he would draw the appropriate
Logan hadn't taken Dr. Grey with him. Rogue was catty enough to
But he hadn't taken Marie with him either.
Mr. Summers said, "Well." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his
chinos. He said, "Well," again.
Behind him the VCR whirred and the paused tape automatically resumed
play. Mothers Against Mutants, blah blah, the Safe Schools Act, blah
blah, La Jolla Senior High. . . .
Rogue blinked at the TV and swore softly. "Verdammen Sie sie alle zur
"Es macht nicht, Vati," Mr. Summers said tiredly.
And he said, "I think we missed supper."
The Institute was only about thirty miles from Manhattan but what
with traffic the trip took more than an hour. Rogue didn't mind at
all. The rebuilt 1964 1/2 Mustang coupe (with the pony interior) was
very cool. Maybe not as cool as the Jag SJX with the V-12 engine, but
Mr. Summers said the Professor wouldn't let him drive it anymore
unless he went back to traffic school. And of course, the Jag wasn't
one-tenth as cool as the Blackbird, but Mr. Summers said, "No."
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