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FIC: Enough for Now (1/1) (Logan/Rogue)

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  • Victoria P.
    Title: Enough for Now Author: Victoria P. Email: vicpusateri@worldnet.att.net Disclaimer: The characters are owned by Marvel and/or Fox. I do not own them, nor
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 4, 2000
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      Title: Enough for Now
      Author: Victoria P.
      Email: vicpusateri@...
      Disclaimer: The characters are owned by Marvel and/or Fox. I do not
      own them, nor do I make any profit from using them.
      Rating: PG I guess – a couple of mildly objectionable words
      Summary: Logan returns; he and Rogue talk briefly. Rogue POV
      Archive: List archive; Kielle's site if she wants it. Anyone
      else, just ask first - I'm sure I'd say yes.
      Feedback: Please. This is my first fic of any kind, so let me know if
      I did all right. Be honest, but be civil.
      Notes: Thanks to Dot, Jen and Pete for being the best editors/beta
      readers a novice writer could ask for, and thanks to Leslie for
      putting up with my constant Logan chatter while I'm supposed to
      be working. This is for you guys, since it's the least I could do.
      Also, hi, KateMonkey!


      She knew he'd come back. The others had all given up, and they
      looked at her with something akin to pity when they thought she
      wouldn't notice. But she knew, deep in the fiber of her bones -
      after
      all, she knew him. He was in her head, had lingered long after David,
      and even Magneto, had faded. So she continued to believe and to hope,
      even after a year, and then two, passed.

      She enjoyed life at Mutant High, as much as anyone who had lethal,
      untouchable skin could enjoy life. She took classes and played
      foosball and hung out with the other kids. But still, she waited,
      even though she didn't talk about him anymore.

      She went on dates with Bobby, just the little outings Mr. Summers
      allowed, trips to the movies or to get ice cream on Sunday
      afternoons, usually in the company of one of the adults or a group of
      kids. For someone who was frequently caught in embarrassing displays
      of public affection with his fiancée, he was shockingly
      (hypocritically, whispered Logan's voice in her head) uptight
      about what he'd allow the kids in his charge to do.

      Sometimes the sameness of it all got to her, and rebelliousness
      bubbled up and she felt like she had to get out or she would go mad,
      even though there wasn't anywhere she could go to get away from
      the real problem. She wasn't sure anymore if it was Logan's
      hatred of feeling caged asserting itself, or simply her own feeling
      of being trapped inside her deadly skin. A little of both, probably.
      There were times when she could no longer tell where she ended and he
      began, and she found she really didn't care.

      That defiance led her to try to feel for Bobby what he obviously felt
      for her (much to Kitty's not-so-well-hidden dismay). She let him
      touch her - over her clothes, of course - more than she should have,
      and she enjoyed it, not just the touching, but the danger, as well.
      But she knew she didn't – couldn't – reciprocate the
      deeper feelings
      he had. Her heart had been lost the instant Logan allowed her to
      climb into the front seat of his trailer, and she thought it unlikely
      that she'd ever get it back.

      Anyway, she was trying not to live inside her own head so much. It
      couldn't be good for a 17-year-old girl to spend so much time
      thinking about a man old enough to be her father (grandfather even,
      maybe), even if she did have his memories inside her head.

      A couple of months ago, she'd overheard Scott and Jean discussing
      him, discussing her.

      "Bastard," Scott had said, "he hasn't even sent her a
      postcard, and
      she's still nursing a crush on him. She thinks he's coming
      back."

      Jean had shrugged slightly. "A girl never quite gets over her
      first love, Scott, even if he does turn out to be a jerk who never
      calls."

      "Poor Bobby."

      "Poor Rogue."

      At that point, they'd seen her, and she'd run from them,
      clutching
      the dogtags he'd given her like a talisman. He would be back. She
      was
      sure.

      So she waited.

      One morning, she came down to breakfast and he was there. He looked
      exactly the same, she thought, resisting the urge to fling herself at
      him. His hazel eyes grabbed and held hers, and she walked quickly to
      where he sat, ignoring everyone else around her.

      She stood before him, fiddling with her gloves, unable to break away
      from his gaze. She couldn't put her finger on his expression; he
      seemed almost startled to see her.

      Since it didn't seem like he was going to do anything but sit and
      stare at her - eggs and bacon forgotten and congealing on his plate -
      she finally licked her lips and forced something out of her suddenly
      dry mouth.

      "Hey," she said. Brilliant, Rogue, she mentally kicked
      herself. Way
      to make the witty conversation.

      "Hey, yourself," he responded. He never had been one for
      chitchat,
      she thought, feeling a little better about her greeting.

      "How ya been?" she asked, settling into the seat next to him,
      oblivious to the couple dozen staring eyes around them.

      He shrugged a shoulder, lifted the fork to his mouth, and got a look
      at the cold, gelatinous mess his breakfast was becoming. He put the
      fork down.

      "Same as always. How are you, Marie? These geeks treatin' you
      all right?"

      Marie. He was the only one who called her that. She had left Marie
      behind in Mississippi, with her mother's endless tears and her
      father's condemnations. But somehow, he made it okay that she
      was Marie again, and that she couldn't be touched.

      She smiled brilliantly at him, face lighting up. He cocked his head
      and, again, there was flash of what looked like surprise across his
      face. She mentally hugged that brief look to herself; she loved being
      able to surprise him.

      "I've made friends here, Logan," she drawled softly.
      "They're
      treatin' me just fine."

      He shifted; for the first time his attention was drawn away from her.
      She knew without looking that Jean was entering the dining room. His
      feelings for the beautiful redhead did not run much deeper than a
      heady mixture of lust and friendly affection. Hadn't she felt
      that way herself toward Jean, those first few weeks after she'd
      absorbed him – his feelings and memories, as well as the healing
      power
      that had saved her life? The lingering remains of those feelings
      were sometimes all that kept her from lashing out at the woman who
      was, after all, only trying to help when she suggested that Logan
      probably wasn't coming back, and shouldn't she focus her
      attention on
      the people who were actually in her life?

      Yes, there she was, dressed in red as usual, and followed closely by
      her adoring fiancé, Scott Summers. Logan growled softly and Rogue
      put a hand on his arm.

      Where did I get the nerve to do that? she thought in surprise. He
      looked down at the small, gloved hand on his arm, and deliberately
      covered it with his own, much larger one. Then he looked at her and
      grinned, which was all the more heart-stopping because it was a sight
      so rarely seen. They both turned and looked at the couple coming
      toward them.

      Jean was smiling. "Glad to see you made it to breakfast," she
      said. "You got in late last night."

      Scott's mouth was tight, his gaze behind the ruby lenses seemed
      to be locked on their joined hands. "Logan," he said, curtly.
      "Welcome back." And he stuck out a hand in greeting, which
      didn't
      surprise Rogue at all. She had learned to like Scott, even if he was
      a tightass, in spite of the intense - not dislike exactly, maybe
      rivalry? - that Logan felt for him, feelings which, of course, also
      now resided in her.

      Logan, however, did surprise her. He lifted his hand off hers and
      took Scott's in an amicable (for Logan) handshake. "Good to
      be back," he said gruffly, as Scott's mouth tightened a
      little more
      at the overly hearty grip.

      The situation apparently defused, Rogue sought to regain his
      attention. "So where ya been?" she asked playfully,
      increasing her
      grip on his forearm. Scott and Jean, perhaps realizing they'd
      been
      dismissed, moved away to get food. Logan turned back to the young
      woman sitting next to him.

      He avoided the question. Instead of replacing his hand over hers, he
      reached out for one of the white locks of hair that framed her
      face. "It's gotten long," he said, sliding his fingers
      through her
      hair. She inhaled sharply and forced herself not to flinch. He
      wasn't touching her skin, after all.

      "It's been two years," she said tartly, then cursed
      herself. She
      wasn't going to bring that up.

      "So it has," he said, "so it has." And his hand left
      her hair.

      Then, surprising her again, he rose swiftly, bringing her to her
      feet, her hand still on his arm. He looked down at her and quirked an
      eyebrow. "My arm, Marie," he reminded her gently. "Are ya
      done with
      it?"

      "Oh," she said, moving her hand away, desperately thinking of
      how to keep him there, or for an excuse to tag along with him. She
      swayed toward him almost imperceptibly and inspiration struck in the
      form of his dogtags, which she'd worn religiously, as if wearing
      them
      would keep him safe and bring him home. She fumbled with them,
      pulling the chain over her head. "I suppose you'll be
      wantin' these
      back now," she said, offering them to him reluctantly.

      He tensed suddenly, and then reached out and closed her fingers over
      the metal tags in her gloved hand, much as he had done the day
      he'd given them to her, the day he'd left. "I'll be
      back for
      these," he'd said, and she knew what he'd really meant
      was, "I'll be
      back for you."

      He didn't release her hand this time. "No, kid," he said,
      "you
      keep `em for now. That way I'll always know where to find
      `em."

      They stood for an endless second, the man and the girl, frozen,
      oblivious, eyes and hands locked. The moment passed. Time started
      again.

      "Are you stayin' a while?" she asked, extremely conscious
      of the warmth and strength of his hand, even through the satin of her
      glove. Damn, she thought, another thing she'd told herself not to
      ask.

      He sighed softly. "I don't know," he said. "But
      don't worry, kid, I
      always keep my promises." He let go of her hand and walked away.

      She looked down at the dogtags and knew he'd always come back for
      them, for her. And for now, it was enough.
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