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FIC: 39 Minutes of Calltime Remaining (1/) [Logan/Marie] PG-13

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  • kawcrow@worldnet.att.net
    Yeesh. This is very scary for me...posting my very first(maybe last) X-Men fanfic. I ve been writing this short little sucker in my head since *counts back in
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 28, 2000
      Yeesh. This is very scary for me...posting my very first(maybe last)
      X-Men fanfic. I've been writing this short little sucker in my head
      since *counts back in head* about 11:30 pm, 8/8/2000, during the closing
      credits of "X-Men" that I went to see on my birthday...(One of the best
      birthday presents I ever got, o'course. *g*) Anyway, it's been a long
      time comin', and I'm happy to say I've finally got the silly thing
      finished. So here goes. Enjoy. ^_^


      Book O' The Day: "Blueprint" by Charlotte Kerner
      "One of the main things that most good writers have in common is that
      deep down, we're all sadists." --Melissa Flores

      TITLE: "39 Minutes of Calltime Remaining"
      AUTHOR: Kawcrow
      USUAL SNARKY DISCLAIMER: Were these or any related characters mine, Remy
      woulda never gotten dumped in the Deep Freeze, Mary Jane would be safe
      and sound, and there would be shirtless Logan clones for all womankind.
      Obviously these characters are NOT mine--they are Marvel's and Fox's.
      Curses. Foiled again.
      RATING: PG-13 to R for language.
      SPOILERS: "X-Men" movie. Well...duh.
      CLASSIFICATION: Mostly-Drama-Dramedy, Vignette, Logan/Rogue, Angst
      (although that's a certified given in a LRfic, isn't it?)
      SUMMARY: Logan gives Marie a call.
      FEEDBACK IS SLAVERED AFTER (lawsuits are not!) AT:
      ARCHIVE: Official listfic page, sure; anywhere else, pleeeeeeease ask me
      first & send me your URL. So I can make a little note, show it to all my
      friends, and say "SEE! There IS somebody out there besides me who loves
      my fanfiction!" At which point they (being my friends) will all laugh
      NOTES: Dedicated to all the gang at the Bella Mafia, including Rebecca
      Littlehales, who shares my shameless Gambit-grokking; and fiery curses
      upon, and many thanks to, Melissa Flores and Nancy Lorenz, some of the
      world's most rabid LR fans. They *knew* I was a Remy/Rogue-shipper--they
      knew it, they knew it, they KNEW it--and yet went right ahead with the
      corrupting...of which this fic is the result. If y'all say "I told you
      so" I will feed your spleens to Venom.


      He almost drove right past the payphone; a pitiful faded metal creature
      bent at a strange angle above the ground and half buried in the snow.
      Logan growled deep in his throat and resisted slamming on the brakes,
      coming instead to a slow if sliding stop on the icy road. He looked in
      the frosted rearview mirror, filled with endless reflections of snow and
      road and precious little else. Logan snorted and killed the engine. Not
      like it was going to cause a traffic pileup.

      He eased out onto the snow. The cold hit him like a sledgehammer, and he
      hunched deeper into his faded leather jacket. The heating system on that
      vehicle was laughable, but at least it had kept the wind out. Logan
      snorted again and set out, almost enjoying the strength it took to fight
      his way through the thigh-high drifts. He reached the battered phone and
      kicked with cheerful viciousness a circular clearing in the snow around
      it. Wolverine, 50. Jack Frost, 0.

      Logan searched his pockets and pulled out a small white rectangle; he
      lifted the receiver from the phone and hunched it on his shoulder
      against his ear, wincing at the bite of the freezing plastic. But he was
      in luck. "Houston, we have dialtone," Wolverine muttered, squinting at
      the microscopic letters on the rectangle he held. Damn calling cards. He
      blew briefly on his hands to warm them and then dialed.

      A soft chime sounded. *A T and T*, a woman's voice said pleasantly. *For
      instructions in English, press 1*-- Click. *Please enter your card
      number*. He glared in annoyance at the smudged numerals placed
      prominently on the little plastic card, but dutifully punched away at
      the buttons. *Welcome to AT&T Pre-Paid Card Service*, the woman
      continued in the same monotonously pleasant voice. Didn't she have to
      *breathe* or something? *To call within the U.S., Canada, or the
      Caribbean, press 1.*

      He pressed.

      * Please enter the area code and number.*

      Logan pulled a worn scrap of paper from his jeans; smoothed it out
      carefully inside the phone booth and punched a series of digits.

      *You have...thirty-nine minutes of calltime remaining.*

      Wolverine drummed his fingers impatiently on the cold metal booth as the
      phone rang. And rang. And *rang*. Damn. Must be out saving the world
      like good little X-Men. You'd think they'd have friggin' voice mail or
      something in case friggin' Spider-Man calls about a friggin' LUNCH

      Click. "Hello?" panted a female voice, young, excited and out of breath.
      "Uh--Xavier's School of the Gifted?"

      "Mr. Gifted's on his lunch break," Wolverine said sarcastically. "But if
      you leave a message he'll be sure to get back to you."

      There was a blank pause on the other line. "Huh?"

      He rolled his eyes skyward. Gifted. REALLY gifted. "Forget it," he
      growled. "Just put Marie on, okay? Or Rogue, or Porcupine, or whatever
      else psycho name she's gotten saddled with lately."

      "Just a second, please," the other line said in a very small voice.

      There was another, longer pause. Logan closed his eyes, trying to
      concentrate on his breathing. He could almost smell her, like a faint
      scent trail on the icy breeze. Deodorant and Colgate breath and a
      feminine hint of sweat and the sweet spicy smell of her strawberry
      shampoo, and always underneath it everything the barest trace of musky
      fear. Fear of WHAT? And why should it matter what she smelled like,
      anyway? And why the hell was it TAKING so long? Wolverine leaned back
      against the booth, trying desperately to appear casual...to the
      absolutely nonexistent watching people that were nowhere around on the
      abandoned snowy road. Snap out of it. He punched himself impatiently in
      the leg. Snap OUT of it.

      Click. Click. "Rogue here. And Ah was *sleepin*'," a familiar voice
      said. Soft, Southern, and borderline accusatory. He felt a grin creep
      across his face. Rogue.

      "Well, excuse me for breathing," he snarled mockingly. "Didn't know the
      mighty X-Men's bedtime was in the middle of the afternoon."

      "Oh mah god." Her breath caught harshly over the line. "*Logan*. Oh mah

      "Hey kid," he said. "Guess you haven't forgotten me yet."

      "Ah'd recognize that growl a'yours anywhere, Wolverine," she said. "God.
      It's been awhile."

      "Sorry. A few months now, I've been...a lot of places they don't have

      "Well..." Marie's voice quavered slightly. "You okay? You're not hurt,
      are you? You need us out there?"

      "You know me, Marie. I don't get hurt."

      There was a pause. "Yeah," she said slowly. "I guess I shoulda thought.
      I...When you didn't call for so long, I thought you were hurt, or you'd
      gotten lost or somethin'."

      "I've got a better nose than that. I mean--" Logan stopped. "Well...I

      "Thanks for lettin' me in on that," she said drily.

      " I didn't mean t'make you worry, okay?" He shifted the freezing phone
      to his other ear, hunching himself out of the wind. "Look, is everything
      all right? They treating you right?"

      "Yeah, 'course." She sounded indignant. "It's awesome. They've been
      teachin' me a lot. 'Fessor X and Jean say I might even get on the main
      team soon."

      "Chuck and Jean said that?" Logan said, surprised. "Are they sure you're

      "Well, now," she drawled. "You'd think they'd know for sure or not,
      wouldn't ya? Ah mean, with 'em *watchin' me train* four hours a day an'
      all, wouldn't they have *some* concept of mah abilities an' whatnot?"

      Logan shook his head, willing the nagging doubt in the back of his mind
      to vanish: Marie on the main team, Marie on the field of battle, Marie
      on the front lines, Marie fighting Magneto, Mystique, a million enemy
      soldiers… "I'm just a little concerned, that's all," he said shortly.
      "You're young and inexperienced, and I'm thinking it could be dangerous
      if they put you out there before you're ready just because they don't
      want to hurt your feelings."

      He winced and almost pulled back the phone at her furious response. "How
      the hell would you know if I'm ready or not?" Rogue half-shouted over
      the line. "*You're not even here!* I've been on RAIDS, Logan! I've saved
      my teammates' lives! A guy came after me with a stun-gun and I CREAMED
      that motherfucker!"

      "Don't swear at me, Marie," Logan said automatically.

      "Damn you, Wolverine. You're not my father."

      "Yeah, and you're not white trash, bub," Logan growled. "Find another
      friggin' mode of expression."

      Her laugh was short and bitter. "That's rich. That's the richest thang I
      evah heard in mah life."

      Wolverine pounded the freezing metal once with his fist. "Marie, I
      didn't call to fight with you!" he said in exasperation.

      "Then why did y'call?" Suddenly her voice was cool, remote. "Why aftah
      so long y'just call me up outta the blue and expect me to let it slide?"

      "I need you…I need you to dig something up for me," Wolverine said,
      trying to ignore the dangerous chill creeping over him that had nothing
      to do with the weather. "It's important, I think. It's *familiar*, at
      least, and anything familiar t'me is important 'cause I can't remember
      half the important stuff, anyway." He dug another scrap of paper of his
      jacket and read again the faded inked script. "Find out anything you can
      about something called 'Weapon X'. I don't know what it is or where it's
      from, but I need you to find out for me." He pulled the phone closer to
      his mouth. "Marie? This could be big. Check with Chuck, Cerebro,
      anything. Anything at all you find, I'll call back for in a few weeks.

      He heard Marie sigh. "Wolverine…"

      The line was silent for a moment.

      "I'm sorry," he told her quietly. "I don't know what else to say to you
      except I'm sorry I'm not around, and there's nothing I can do about any
      of it. I can't be there and I need to you to understand that."

      "It's hard t'understand," Rogue said, her voice shaking. "It's hard
      understandin' how you could run off an leave the people who care about
      you chasin' somethin' or someone you don't even know exists."

      "Don't you get it, girl?" Logan said roughly. "I can't have any kind of
      future until I found out about my past. That something's all I've got."

      "You've got us," Marie said softly, "and you've got me."

      For a while Logan couldn't trust himself to speak.

      "Thanks, kid," he finally managed. "I--"

      *You have one minute of calltime remaining.*

      "What was that?" asked Rogue.

      "The calling card's about to go off."

      "Dang it, Logan," she said with wry affection. "Next time, call

      "Yeah. Say hi to Jean and Chuck and the rest for me."

      "I'll tell Scott you send your love."

      He snorted. "You do that."

      "A couple of weeks, Wolverine. Promise me you'll call in a couple of

      "I promise I will call in a couple of weeks," Wolverine growled, "at
      three o'clock in the morning this time."

      Rogue snickered. "Yeah, you do that. And…" She paused. "When can you
      come home?"

      "Marie, I don't…I" Logan paused. "Soon. I…I'll be home soon."

      "Okay then," she said, sounding relieved.


      Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Miss you, Logan. Miss you bad."


      *If you would like to continue this call using another calling card,
      please enter the card number now.*

      Logan hung up the phone, stepped back from the booth and stared at it
      blindly for several seconds. The wind howled and tore at him, pulling
      him back into the snowy landscape. Slowly he trudged back the way he had
      come, his footprints now half-filled with blown snow. He reached the
      truck, yanked the handle, pulled himself up behind the wheel and stared
      out down the road.

      "Yeah, kid," Logan said, not very loudly. He twisted the key in the
      ignition and jerked the car into gear, not even bothering to look for
      traffic as he stepped on the gas. Blinded by melted snow and
      strawberries, he wouldn't have noticed it anyway.

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