FIC: Timebomb (Logan/Rogue/others)
- Title: Timebomb (Logan/Rogue/others)
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
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
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
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.
"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
bad habit. "But what if he gets into trouble?" she thought
aloud. "He might need me." She pinched herself. "He
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
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