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FIC: Instinct: 1/2: PG-13: Rogue, Logan/Rogue

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  • Jenn
    Title: Instinct Subtitle: Sare Threw a Line at Me Via AIM and the Plotbunny Bred Author: jenn (jenn@igg-tx.net) Codes: Rogue, Logan/Rogue Rating: PG-13/R
    Message 1 of 1 , Feb 3, 2001
      Title: Instinct
      Subtitle: Sare Threw a Line at Me Via AIM and the Plotbunny Bred
      Author: jenn (jenn@...)
      Codes: Rogue, Logan/Rogue
      Rating: PG-13/R
      Summary: Rogue has moments of remembrance during a stressful moment in her
      life. Happy, I swear. Foofy, even.
      Author Notes: There's a point where you gotta realize you're not just a
      shipper. It's also a disease. And possibly a future tattoo. See subtitle
      for explanation. WR onlist discussion and movies, thanks to whoever threw
      those out. Also a W/R challenge. It tickled me.
      Archiving: List, otherwise ask.
      Dedication: Sare sent me a ficlet that rocked the world, and this story
      is, in fact, probably me channeling Sare. She rocks like that. Thank you,

      * * * * *

      "Marie, honey."

      I shifted away from the moving body that was trying to drag me from my
      wonderful half-asleep existence. Gently, a hand slid down my face, over my
      shoulder, then rested briefly on my stomach.

      "You gotta wake up. Come on, baby."

      "Fuck yourself, sugar."

      I felt the brush of his hair against my cheek, and he took a deep breath,
      then let it out slowly against my skin.

      "I'll take care of it. Just relax."

      I *was* relaxed. Everything was fine and floaty. Logan was being
      annoying. It all made sense. I heard the door open and--was Logan yelling
      something? Maybe. Couldn't be sure. Didn't care. I wrapped myself closer
      in the blanket and drifted, while Logan went about the room doing annoying
      man-things of some sort or another that for some reason couldn't be done in
      the morning. Opening one eye, I confirmed that it was still dark outside.

      God, I was tired. But that was what life was all about these days--I was
      always tired. Tired and cranky and about ten thousand or so pounds above
      my normal weight.

      Then I was scooped up and I blinked, trying to orient myself in here and

      "What?" I whispered, and Logan smiled.

      "It's time, baby."

      I shifted a little and Logan let me adjust myself so I could press my head
      into his shoulder and coil an arm around his neck.

      "How would you know?" I grumbled, falling back into the lovely haze that
      had been my only real sleep for longer than I liked to think about.


      * * * * *
      Romanticism is what caught us. Period.

      Logan had been comin' and goin' since we both arrived at the school, and a
      lot of people were just so sure I had a crush on him. That I slept with
      the dogtags. That Scott spent a lot of time convincin' me that it was a
      bad idea. That the X-Men disapproved.

      Uh-huh. The whole
      crush-on-an-older/experienced/wise/rough/hot/pick-a-word-male who was the
      first to be kind to me since my manifestation--. Okay, so that's true, but
      I outgrew that. Seriously. But I can guarantee you I *never* slept with
      those damned dogtags. They were under my pillow for safety--so they
      wouldn't get lost. Only reason.

      And the whole Scott/X-Men don't approve? I fucking wish. Logan might've
      stayed around longer at a time if the entirety of the team, the school, the
      fucking *state*, didn't feel the need to throw me at him every chance they
      got. Lookin' at Scott, you think to yourself--romantic? God help us, he
      is one, right down to those perfectly clean shoes. Oh yeah--he and Jeanie
      practically got teary-eyed when I relayed the story of how me and Logan
      met, and right at that minute, I shoulda guessed that something was up with

      Of course, they didn't tell me that. They just started the
      maneuvering--pretty damned obvious maneuvering, because Logan wouldn't
      notice subtle if it hit him in the head and I coulda ignored it otherwise.
      Oh Rogue, you know women mature faster than men, but don't let that affect
      your feelings for fifteen-year-old, no-experience-at-all,
      still-plays-video-games-in-footie-pajamas Bobby. Rogue, honey, you need
      combat training, why don't you get Logan to run you through some Danger
      Room simulations, and yes, of *course* you should work out in minimal green
      spandex and why don't you try out those six inch stilettos with it! Logan,
      Rogue's bored and her friends are out tonight, why don't you take her to a
      nice dark theatre and see Lolita a few times? There's also The
      Professional and Interview With a Vampire playing--make it a triple

      God. As Logan put it once, fighting destiny was possible--fighting the
      concerted, unsubtle, and utterly overwhelming efforts of the X-Team was
      not. So that's how it was for three years--Lolita references
      notwithstanding--until Logan and I finally declared defeat. By this time,
      the team was getting better about throwing us together, and Logan found me
      alone in the Danger Room when he came in to play (call it work, hah, this
      was his idea of a relaxing afternoon), curled up in a corner, watching the
      animatronics with a glum expression. Hiding there, I'll admit it. Jean
      had been particularly enthusiastic at lunch.

      He was surprised to see me there and I groaned when I saw him standing

      "You okay?"

      I'm not stupid--I saw the danger almost the second the words were out of
      his mouth.
      Oh God, he was in here, I was in here, the door could lock (this had
      happened before), and I didn't have a deck of cards this time. I was on my
      feet and running--and damned if there wasn't the distinctive sound of a
      lock being thrown. I jerked the handle, Logan looked my desperate efforts,
      and sat down and laughed.

      I almost hit him, but hitting solid metal under skin hurts. Trust me, I

      "This isn't funny!" Logan could break through it, but that'd take some
      time--it was a fucking thick door.

      "Darlin', sorry--this is funny." A cocked head. "Considerin' I'm the one
      who told 'em to lock the door this time."

      A pause, a moment of reflection on destiny, and then a check of lycra to
      assure skin safety.

      "Okay," I answered, dropping down in his lap without ceremony. "Let's get
      it over with."

      Well, it didn't get over with. The whole team showed up to help the day I
      moved rooms, and it was suspicious, how there was always a box of condoms
      and a fresh box of latex gloves in the dresser. And Logan still wandered,
      but for shorter periods of time, and the minute he came home I got the day
      off immediately. Someone would leave breakfast at our door the next
      morning. High carbohydrates. And an ice pack.

      So that was my life for a year, and it wasn't bad at all.

      * * * * *

      "Rogue, take deep breaths."

      I twisted back into Logan's chest, closing my hands over his, and wished I
      could glare at Jean.

      "You--" I breathed shortly. "You tell me--" I breathed out sharply at the
      next contraction and Logan's hands tightened in mine. "Fuck breathing!

      Against my back, Logan began to growl softly. Primal reaction to my pain,
      and we couldn't afford Logan's instincts taking over abruptly without
      checking in at his head first. I shut my eyes, turning my head against his
      shoulder, but I couldn't help the moan. Somewhere behind me, I knew Hank
      already had a syringe with a sedative--Logan didn't take them well and they
      were about as useful as valium given to a delusional psychopath on cocaine
      high, but it would calm him down, and that was all we could hope for.

      "You said it'd stop hurting her. Fuck, Jeanie, give her another!"

      "I can't, Logan." Cool voice, and somewhere out there, Scott and Ororo and
      Jubilee were waiting--the whole present for the birth thing. I didn't see
      the magic of it, but then I was the one doing the actual work, so maybe I
      was a little prejudiced. They'd been promised they'd be able to come in as
      soon as I moved to the last stage of labor. That'd been eighteen hours
      before. Jean ducked back down under the sheet that protected her from my
      skin and I tried to breathe again as the contraction eased. I could feel
      her fingers running across my spine, where the epidural needle had been
      inserted with no result "Her body's just not responding."

      "Fucking healing factor," he growled. "Baby--" He shifted again behind me
      and moved me gently, sitting me more upright and I took a deep breath.
      "Can I--"

      "No!" Jean's head came up at my sharp command and I dug my fingers into
      him. The tips of my gloves had given out and if Logan didn't heal
      instantly, he'd've been scarred for life from my nails. "Logan, sugar, I'm
      fine. This is perfectly natural. All women do this. There is nothing odd
      going on--fuck!--here. All normal. Jeanie, tell him!"

      Jean met my eyes and I knew that nothing was normal at all, but she nodded
      encouragingly at Logan.

      "Everything's fine, Logan."

      He didn't believe a word we said.

      * * * * *

      "What the fuck do you mean, *failure rate*?"

      There are some words that men and women 'round the world fear on principle.
      'We need to talk.' 'Let's be friends.' Stuff like that. This was one of
      those times. Anytime you put 'failure rate' in a sentence in relation to a
      gynecological check-up, some sort of shit is goin' down.

      Jean checked the chart again and then smiled. Lit up her face and I could
      tell she wanted to hug, but restrained herself, considering I was still in
      a hospital gown and suffering from the flu--oh fuck, apparently it *wasn't*
      the flu.


      "Ninety-nine percent." I told her flatly. I mean, that's good odds,
      right? Really good. I don't have supereggs that resist the basic pill, and
      as far as I could tell, Logan's little troopers didn't have their own set
      of claws to cut through latex. "Fucking *ninety-nine percent* and we're
      usin' condoms--how the *hell* did this happen?"

      I'm not sure, but I think I started to hyperventilate. The next thing I
      knew, Jean had my head between my knees and was gently patting my back.
      Didn't help my stomach none, though--which was the reason I came here in
      the first place--

      Oh crap, this wasn't possible.

      * * * * *

      Hank came up beside us and handed Logan a fresh washcloth--the last time
      Hank tried to touch me, Logan came remarkably close to putting several
      inches of adamantium through him. They get alone well enough, but this
      wasn't one of those times Logan took the presence of other males very
      well--Hank had used lots of long words to describe it, but basically, my
      husband was getting territorial. It would fade when I'd delivered, and
      Logan had put himself under remarkable amounts of restraint for the last
      three months of this merry hell when everything in him saw every single man
      in my vicinity as a threat. He was more stressed than I was, and that
      could have been frightening if I hadn't still been throwing up every day
      and too exhausted to do anything but sit very still and hope for the best.

      And laugh my ass off. I always had enough energy for that.

      "You okay, baby?" he whispered against my ear and I nodded as best I could.
      Hank, showing all that wonderful good sense, had already moved out of range
      of Logan, and Logan had probably forgotten all about him. The total focus
      of every single sense on me was oddly comforting--if anything was really
      wrong, he'd know before Jean. So far, he'd only reacted to my pain,
      nothing else--even though this wasn't going as expected, even though it was
      taking longer than we thought, even if there was something a little off,
      it'd all be okay.

      I trusted him to know and I shut my eyes when the contraction eased, and he
      freed my hands to cradle me gently.

      "Logan--" His head came up and Jean was standing up now, and her latex
      covered hands were slick with fluid lightly traced with blood. Neither
      Logan nor Jean reacted to it, so I just closed my eyes again and took my
      rest as I could. "Hank needs to be helping me. Look at me. I know it's
      hard, but concentrate on Marie. Okay?"

      His entire body stiffened, but he slowly nodded and I got both his hands,
      lacing my fingers over the knuckles, just in case. A brush of lips against
      my hair and I turned my head up to look at him.

      "Talk to me," I whispered.

      "It's snowing outside. Yesterday, your little buddy Jubes almost broke her
      neck at the lake." I smiled. Logan had left the room only once in the
      last twenty-five hours, under so much protest that Jean hadn't even tried
      to get him to leave again. "She's outside right now with a cast on her
      ankle." A gentle pressure on my hands and he reacted to the contraction
      the moment I did--I hissed and he growled again.

      "Keep talking," I said, seeing Hank from the corner of my eyes walking up
      beside Jean, and kept Logan's gaze on me, focused on my face. I breathed
      out sharply. "She--she's okay?"

      "She's fine. She can't walk too well, but Gumbo's carryin' her anywhere
      she wants to go."

      Jean murmured something and I grabbed both of Logan's hands when something
      new began to penetrate the air of the room--the smells of fluid and
      antibiotic and other things I didn't even want to identify, but the trace
      of blood growing steadily stronger, and Logan reacted. It took everything
      in me to hold on.

      "Get Jubilee," I whispered, and Jean nodded shortly. We couldn't afford
      another male, but Jubilee was remarkably strong. If anything--well, even
      with her cast, she could help when I couldn't.

      But the smell of blood was beginning to worry me--that and Logan's sudden
      silence as he took in the air of the room.

      "Marie--" Jean had come back, I felt Jubilee press a gloved hand to my
      cheek and tried to smile. "Marie, we may need to consider option two."

      "No. I can do this."

      Logan was still silent.

      * * * * *


      --Hi, My Name Is Jenn, and I have Serious Issues with Marie wearing gloves
      to bed. On Principle.--Sare on "Evil Plot Bunny #1: The Evil Sare
      Tortures Jenn Via AIM One Night"

      --Yeah, it's like being in love with hospital gravy.--Nacey on Jean's
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