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FIC: Timebomb (Logan/Rogue/others)

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  • Allykat
    Title: Timebomb (Logan/Rogue/others) Author: Allykat Rated: This first part is pretty tame, so I d give it a G, but later parts will definitely be R for
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 31, 2000
      Title: Timebomb (Logan/Rogue/others)
      Author: Allykat
      Rated: This first part is pretty tame, so I'd give it a G, but
      later parts will definitely be R for violence and language
      Category: Action/Drama
      Author's note: This is a continuation from the movie blended
      with information from "Weapon-X" by Barry Windsor-Smith
      Spoilers: Very very slight movie spoilers if any at all, but heavy
      references to Barry Windsor-Smith's "Weapon X". It's
      not necessary to have read "Weapon-X" to understand this
      story, but you're missing what I believe to be the definitive
      Wolverine story.
      Archive: Email me first. Usually it's not a problem, I just
      want to know who's got it.
      Feedback: Of course! Plus, this hasn't been beta read by anyone so
      there's bound to be mistakes even though I self-edit a half dozen

      Timebomb - Part 1
      By Allykat

      Rogue's mind just wasn't on the foosball game; her heart
      wasn't into it. *He can't just leave me here!* Angry, she
      smacked the ball with her paddle and inadvertently made a goal.
      Bobby whistled.

      "Great shot! Heh heh, we got you on the run now," he said to
      their opponents then smiled at Rogue.

      *He's not leaving me!* She glanced toward the door that Logan
      had walked out of thirty minutes ago. *Taking care of some business
      up north*, he'd told her. What kind of business? More roaming,
      more fighting? He didn't have to do that anymore, he had a home
      here with Professor Xavier, and he could be an X-man. Then again, it
      seemed to Rogue that Logan felt that he didn't fit in amongst the
      civilized trappings or attitudes of Professor Xavier's School for
      the Gifted. She knew some of the students were still afraid of him;
      at least those who heard that he'd rammed three 9-inch blades
      through her shoulder and seen the aftermath. That was an accident,
      and many believed it was an accident that could easily happen again.
      Better that Logan leaves, she hadheard a boy whisper when Logan had
      walked out that door. Nods and murmurs of agreement had followed.
      They asked how she could trust him, how she could like him, but they
      wouldn't ask those questions if they knew him like she did.
      Despite the gruff attitude, Logan was a brave man who'd risked
      his own life to save her from Magneto and for that she loved him.

      And now he'd left her.

      "Hey!" Bobby yelped. He nudged her with his elbow.
      "They got that ball right past you," he said.

      "Opps," she replied lamely. She didn't have an excuse,
      she couldn't tell Bobby she was day dreaming about Logan.
      "Jubilee, take my place," Rogue suddenly called in her soft

      Bobby caught the ball under the plastic foot of one of his men, then
      spun the paddle, deftly smacked it into the goal then looked up at
      his partner amid groans from the other team.

      "Hey, Rogue, we're tied, you can't leave me now."

      "I'll be back." Rogue gave him what hoped passed for a
      sunny smile, inside she felt like she was grimacing. "Jubilee is
      better than I am, anyway."

      Jubilee rose from the couch, set aside her homework and joined them,
      taking over Rogue's paddles. "Watch out guys," she said.
      "Bobby and I are out for blood."

      Aware of Bobby's longing look, she hurried out of the front room
      toward her own room. She didn't want to think too hard on what
      she was about to do. If she did, she wouldn't have the courage.
      Her brows pulled down into a mutinous frown and anger gave her
      strength. Logan wasn't just going to dump her here and leave, he
      promised he'd take care of her, he *promised*. Her hands balled
      into fists. A promise was a promise.

      "Son of a bitch! Logan took my motorcycle," Scott shouted
      from somewhere down the hallway and Jean murmured something soothing,
      Scott's irritated tone overlaid the red-haired doctor's
      softer voice. "Where'd the hell did he go?"

      "The professor and Logan were in the map room earlier," Jean
      replied. "I think the professor found a link to his past."

      "Yeah, a thieving past." Their footsteps faded away.

      "So that's it," Rogue said softly to herself. The
      professor did find something about Logan's past and now he's
      gone to look for himself. *He didn't leave you.* That thought
      made her feel a little better, that he hadn't just dropped her
      like a
      bad habit. "But what if he gets into trouble?" she thought
      aloud. "He might need me." She pinched herself. "He
      doesn't need
      you. You know where'd your money would be if anyone messed with
      but at least I can make certain he comes back."

      If Logan was on a motorcycle, that meant she had to get moving. She
      opened the door to her shared dorm room and found no one else
      inside. Good. Quickly she pulled her duffle bag out of the closet
      and shoved in the few clothing items that she owned. All the while
      she kept her mind quiet, if she panicked the professor would surely
      pick it up and try to stop her.

      With her meager belongings packed, she scribbled a quick note to let
      them know that she'd be back and not to worry, she'd be with
      Logan. To her, it was the safest place on earth. And the feeling of
      being safe was a sensation she'd almost forgotten until that
      fateful meeting at the bar as, wide-eyed, she watched this huge bare-
      chested man beat the daylight out of all opponents. Once upon a
      time, the word safe would have applied to her room and her mom and
      dad in their comfortable Victorian era farmhouse, now safe meant an
      ageless man with a quick, lethal temper and 9" adamantium claws.

      Note written, she placed it on her dresser. She hoped it
      wouldn't be discovered until she was well on her way on down the
      road. The next step was to find out exactly where Logan was going.
      She couldn't ask the professor, but she could ask the map room
      and hoped it had a recall button.

      * * * *

      Snow swirled down in funnel-shaped mini blizzards from a matte gray
      sky; the sun was a diffused glow sinking over the mountains to the
      east. The only sound was the soft splats of snowflakes covering the
      broken-asphalt road and skeletal, leafless trees. Two miles back,
      Logan had to leave the scooter parked in an abandoned one-room cabin
      and finish the walk on foot; the hike would have killed a lesser man,
      Logan simply found it invigorating. He fished a half-smoked cigar
      from inside his flannel shirt pocket and lit the tip, cupping a hand
      over the tiny flame from the lighter and took several big satisfying
      drags. Dropping the lighter in a jean jacket pocket, he leaned back
      against a leaf-bare tree to contemplate dim silhouettes of a half
      dozen buildings behind a 12-foot fence topped with thick coils of
      razor wire.

      The snowstorm obscured most of the compound; still the building
      arrangement nudged a dim memory. He drew away from the tree and
      sniffed the frigid air, feeling the cold burn of the freezing air
      deep in his lungs. The scent most evident was the pungent cigar
      smoke, but underneath it, diesel fuel and the scent of something old
      and burned… and something faintly familiar… so faint.

      Snow coating his thick hair, he stood on the road while his gaze
      traveled along the rugged peaks of the surrounding white-capped
      mountains. He had to hand it to the professor; it appeared the bald-
      headed geek was on to something. If it hadn't been for Baldy's
      tip off he would have never found this place. The road to it
      couldn't be found on any maps and the entrance off the highway
      looked like nothing more than another road for summer four wheeling.
      He sauntered up to the razor wire fence, clenched his cigar between
      his teeth and half-grinned.

      "Who is this suppose to keep out… or in?"


      Three adamantium claws shot from between his right knuckles and he
      stepped forward with a casual uppercut and neatly sliced through the
      metal chinks in the fence. He gave it two more slashes, kicked it
      and a doorway-like piece of fence fell away, thudding into the snow.
      He stepped through and took another deep breath.


      He turned toward a long, narrow one-story building to his left.
      There was something in that building he remembered: a chemical smell,
      and a lingering old scent of death.

      End of Part I
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