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FIC: Seasons of Growth Chapter 21

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  • novemberotica
    Title: Seasons of Growth Chapter 21: Uninvited Author: November Tuesday Email: novemberotica@yahoo.com Rating: NC-17 for naughty words Summary: Rogue has a
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 12, 2003
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      Title: Seasons of Growth
      Chapter 21: Uninvited

      Author: November Tuesday

      Email: novemberotica@...

      Rating: NC-17 for naughty words

      Summary: Rogue has a party and Logan isn't invited.

      Continuity: Series begins 3 years after X1.

      Disclaimer: Marvel, Fox, Brian Singer yadda yadda yaddaÂ…

      Archive: Sure, and if it's someplace other than list archives, please
      let me know.

      Feedback: is not quite as good as sex but is better than chocolate.



      On Christmas morning, after the presents were opened, Jubilee
      materialized at Rogue and Maggie's door, straight from her parents'
      place, with more presents and questions.

      "Girl, I heard there was a whole lotta interesting stuff going on
      last night."

      Rogue groaned and poured Jubilee a cup of coffee. "What did you
      hear?"

      "I heard that you looked gorgeous, that Wolverine couldn't keep his
      eyes off of you, and that you danced with everyone but him."

      "Your informant is grossly mistaken, Jubilee. I did dance with him."

      "And?"

      "And... he told me I was beautiful. And... nothing. I told him I had
      to go."

      "Did you?"

      "Yes, the U2 Christmas song came on."

      "Oh god." Jubilee knew the significance of that song.

      "I had to get out of there. Jubie, how many Christmases have I pined
      for him to that stupid song?"

      "Um, like five?"

      "So that came on and I was like- I have to go. And I bolted."

      "Very Wolverinish of you."

      The spoon in Marie`s hand stopped stirring. "Oh, now fuck you
      Jubilee, that's just harsh."

      "It's true."

      "Fuck you. It was either stay there and become a puddle of tears on
      the dance floor, or bolt. Me trying to not make an ass out of myself
      is not the same as being incommunicado for five years."

      "True. My bad. My point, though, is that you're refusing to deal with
      the situation."

      "No I'm not. I'm just dealing with it in my own time. He comes
      waltzing back in here right after Kitty died and I'm sorry but I just
      don't have the energy for his shit right now. I told him we'd pick it
      up later, but not now!"

      "Is it that you can't deal with it now, or that you wanna make him
      suffer a little?"

      "Jesus Christ, Jubilee. Whose side are you on?"

      Marie told herself that it wasn't true, but during the long days and
      nights of winter break she turned this thought over in her head. Yes,
      she did want him to suffer a little. But that wasn't all of it. She
      didn't know how to trust him.

      On New Year's Eve she threw a party. Rakim and Leah and Art and
      Sherry were there, Jubilee was there, John and Bobby and Carter and
      Scott and Jean were all there. There was barely room to walk in
      Rogue's apartment. Techno music pumped everywhere.

      Logan had heard that Rogue was having a party. As much as parties
      made him anxious he'd hoped she would invite him. He'd nearly managed
      to forget what day it was and when he went to his studio he
      succeeded. Unfortunately the winter light was short so after painting
      in the waning light for a few hours he ventured back to the mansion.

      The college streets were nearly deserted but he passed two college
      students carrying a keg of beer home.

      He remembered a wrench that Scott needed and went in through the
      garage, up to the fifth floor. It was a lame excuse for walking down
      her hallway. He heard party noises from within. His mouth tightened
      into a frown. There was, of course, no answer at Scott and Jean's
      door. He pushed the wrench under the door and walked the stairs to
      his floor two at a time.

      Inside, he stripped naked and closed the curtains. He turned on his
      TV, but the 18 channels of Times Square footage made him feel even
      more lonely so he turned it off. He put in a blues CD and went into
      the shower.

      After, he lay on his bed naked and stared at the ceiling. It was only
      nine forty-eight. He felt like the biggest loser on the planet.

      It was on days like this the lab memories came back quickest, what
      little there were. They had increased in the last few years, growing
      from flashes to snatches of dialogue above him, twenty kinds of pain
      distinct in his memory, faces of certain ones that made him want to
      kill.

      He wondered if it was always going to be that way for him. Some
      things had gotten better in the years he had gone, some were worse.
      In winter the depression settled most heavily. His thoughts again
      turned to suicide and how to achieve it. How he was cursed, how it
      would be so much easier for any other man.

      He knew he wouldn't do it though. He'd made it through some hellish
      times. Made a few friends, Johnny and Hank and in his own way
      Charles. And the painting. That was a world that was opening up to
      him.

      And Marie. Always, since he'd come back, his thoughts returned to
      her. What did he feel for her? It was nothing like what he could
      remember feeling for anyone. Jean, perhaps, had come closest.

      He decided that he felt a million things for her. Pride at how the
      girl had grown into a woman. Guilt, so damn much guilt and self-
      loathing, so intense that it didn't seem it would ever end, that it
      would suck him down in its vortex. The desire to protect her, and
      damn, what a joke that was. He wanted it nonetheless.

      He wanted her. He wanted to hold her close and feel her heart beating
      against his own. He wanted to thread his fingers through that silky
      hair, the brown and the white. He wanted to make love to her. He
      remembered fucking but he didn't remember making love to anyone
      before and the thought excited him in a way that had little to do
      with sex.

      He knew that she wanted him once. Sometimes from the look in her eye
      he thought she wanted him now. Was it even possible for her to
      respect him, let alone want him?

      He had seen her once with the kid, after she'd fallen and hurt her
      leg. She had picked Maggie up and held her, hands threading through
      her hair, whispering soothing things to her, comforting her.

      He wanted that most of all.

      Upstairs, they raised their glasses to a new year.



      The next chapter is up at novemberotica.com
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