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Fic: The Nature of Everything - 1/1 - [Logan, Rogue, Ororo] - PG

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  • victoria p.
    Title: The Nature of Everything Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: Logan thinks about Rogue as he watches her sleep. Rating: PG - one use of the
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 28, 2001
      Title: The Nature of Everything
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: Logan thinks about Rogue as he watches her sleep.
      Rating: PG - one use of the F word
      Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
      fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
      Archive: List archives, http://musesfool.freehosting.net, anyone who's
      already got my stuff. If you don't and you want it, just ask.
      Feedback: All things tend toward feedback. I wish!
      Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete. I have a very, very
      rudimentary understanding of physics, despite my college physics
      professor wanting me to major in it. But I'm pretty sure I got the
      Second Law of Thermodynamics right.

      < > indicates thoughts

      The Nature of Everything

      Logan sat on the glider, enjoying the sensation of Marie curled up next
      to him as she slept. He wrapped an arm around her and pressed his lips
      against her hair, inhaling her scent. They didn't get many moments like

      Somewhere over by the grill, Hank was droning on about something.
      Physics. Logan listened with half an ear as the big blue doctor said,
      "The Second Law of Thermodynamics is simply this: all things tend toward
      chaos. Entropy is the natural end state of all things. For example, in a
      closed system, as potential energy is transformed into heat..."

      Logan tuned him out, preferring instead to turn his attention to the
      woman in his arms and revel in the moment. He was amazed at how
      beautiful Marie was. He supposed he must have noticed at some point over
      the course of the last five years, but recently, it had been impressed
      on him again. He'd watched proudly as she graduated from college and
      caught his breath at the sight of her cradling Jean and Scott's baby in
      her arms.

      He spent so much time away because he couldn't face her -- or her
      feelings for him. He knew how she felt -- he wasn't stupid, despite what
      Scooter claimed. And at first, it had just been weird. He wasn't used to
      being the object of adoration by a teenage girl, and he found it kind of
      embarrassing. Okay, it was kind of a turn-on, too, though he would admit
      that to no one but himself. But he knew he wasn't worthy of the looks
      she gave him; he wanted to run and hide from the warmth and promise that
      sparkled in her eyes.

      He gave a very good impression of being oblivious. He decided it was the
      best, if not the most honorable, way to go. So, they had settled into a
      routine -- he was her best friend, her sparring partner, and her
      drinking buddy. In some ways, he was grateful when she turned
      twenty-one, because it meant she could go out drinking with her friends,
      instead of sitting up in his room, getting polluted on beer and bourbon.
      He'd never taken advantage of her, but he knew he could have. She would
      have let him -- she practically begged him one night, crying that with
      her untouchable skin, no man would want her, so would he please make
      love to her so she didn't die a virgin -- but he had put her in his bed
      and rode off on his motorcycle. He couldn't have lived with himself if
      he gave in to that temptation, no matter how much he wanted to.

      He'd been with a lot of women, but he couldn't bear facing the
      disappointment he knew he'd see in her eyes after they slept together.
      It would be good -- first off, it would be sex. How could it not be
      good? And secondly, it would be Marie. Sex with Marie would be
      mind-blowing, at the least.

      But it wouldn't be right. He'd somehow manage to screw it up, and then
      he'd run at the first sign of trouble. He always had. He always would.
      It was nice to dream about his one true love, the woman who would keep
      his heart safe and happy for the rest of his unnaturally long life; it
      was another thing entirely to expect that from a twenty-two-year-old
      who'd never completely gotten over her adolescent crush on him.

      So, there would be no magic moment for them, no revelatory kiss as the
      music swelled and the credits rolled.

      He continued to flirt with and leer at Jean, who knew it meant nothing.
      He pretended to ignore the way Marie looked at him, as though he were
      the only thing that gave her life meaning. He found comfort in the arms
      of other women when he traveled, women who always had dark auburn hair
      and large, brown eyes. He avoided thinking about how he always made them
      wear gloves. And he tried to deny the pain in Marie's eyes on the rare
      occasions he came home smelling like one of those women. He told himself
      it was better to hurt her this way and keep their friendship, than to
      ruin the friendship by letting sex enter into the equation.

      Ororo wandered over and dropped to the grass in front of him, smiling.
      "The children wore her out," the weather goddess observed, nodding
      toward Marie. "She will make a wonderful mother someday." She pitched
      her voice low, in order not to wake the younger woman, but Logan had no
      problem hearing her.

      Children. He'd never even thought of the possibility. He was sure she
      had. His chest tightened. He was willing to bet she'd given up hope that
      it would ever happen, just as she had given up hope that she'd find a
      man who loved her and wasn't afraid of her skin. If she only knew his
      real feelings -- but he'd given up hope as well, hope that he could be
      what she needed.

      He couldn't bear the thought of her having another man's children, but
      he knew that it would happen for her someday. It had to. Women like
      Marie were too wonderful, too precious to be alone forever. He wondered
      what he'd do when the time came. He might have to leave the mansion for


      "Yeah," he said, when he realized he'd let the silence stretch too long.

      "She loves you, you know," Ororo said.

      He grunted. "I know."

      "And you love her as well. I do not see the problem."

      He sighed. <My track record with relationships is lousy. My friendship
      with Marie is the longest relationship I can ever remember having and
      it's worth too much to screw it up with sex.> "'All things tend toward
      chaos,'" he quoted. At her puzzled look, he explained, "I'll just fuck
      it up."

      "And that is a reason not to try?" she prodded.

      Logan snorted. Marie stirred and he controlled himself. "She trusts me."
      He looked down at the girl cradled against his chest. "I don't want to
      lose this when she realizes I'm not -- I can't be -- what she thinks. I
      don't want her to end up hating me." <Not even mind-blowing sex is worth

      Storm rose fluidly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I will tell you
      a little secret, Logan. Things are born, they mature, they hit a peak,
      and then the inevitable downhill slide begins. Yes, it is the nature of
      everything. You just have to learn to ride the wave while it lasts."


      "Disorder may win out in the end, but that does not mean you cannot have
      happiness along the way." With that parting shot, she walked away.

      As much as he wanted to believe it, believe her, he knew himself. He
      would only cause Marie more pain and he was resolved not to do that. He
      sighed again, and returned to contemplating the beautiful woman sleeping
      at his side. She would get over him and move on -- that was the nature
      of things. And he -- well, he would survive. Alone. That was the nature
      of the Wolverine.





      "Writing must be an act of love. Without that love, writing is merely
      paperwork." Jean Cocteau


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