Title: He Said|
Rating: PG-13 for laaaaanguage
Summary: He Said-She Said, Logan/Rogue style. You know the drill.
Series: "The Thing About Misconceptions"
Disclaimer: I own not. Please sue not.
Archive: To the Usual Suspects, but please archive with Donna's 'She Said'
People I Love: Everyone. I love you all. Extra big huggles to Donna, who picked up the series and ran with it. She's writing the next one. :) So keep your eyes open for 'She Said' *g*
I think the thing that annoys me the most about pursuing Marie is all the people trying to second guess everything I've ever done. It's like the minute I made it clear that I intended that girl to be mine, every word I'd ever uttered became the topic of intense speculation.
You'd think in the business of saving the world, people would have more important things to do with their time.
Like the ones who say my 'crush' on Jean was some big front to hide my attraction to Marie. It pisses me off. First of all, I'm not a fucking pedophile. Marie was a kid, Jean was a woman, and I was a man. Men like women, not helpless little sixteen year olds with eyes too big for them who hang on their every word.
Real men do, at least. I'm not one of those fucked up assholes who lures little girls off to their beds. And the fact that everyone is assuming I am makes me really angry.
Second of all, if I had been one of those sickos, who the fuck would I be hiding it from? When did I become the kind of coward who needs to hide behind excuses? If I want something, I get it, and if it didn't make me so damn angry I'd laugh at them. Do any of them really think it would have been so hard for me to get Marie? She was in love with me, and I've seduced women who had a lot less attachment to me than that.
Fact is, Marie was a cute little kid and Jean was a damn sexy woman, and I wanted her because she was hot and she was the forbidden fruit that I wasn't supposed to have. It's not like I was ever planning on taking her, but it's nice to look, and it's fun to flirt. And Jean was pretty when she blushed.
So there's one thing that pisses me off. There's a lot more. Like the faction that claims I never knew Marie had a crush on me, and I've come back home and been shocked by how much she grew up and astounded by her love for me.
Okay, I was a little surprised when I saw her the first time. Never knew just how fine she was going to clean up, and how well she was going to fill out. But despite the rumors about how all I care about is sex, there's a lot more to my feelings for Marie than just that. I mean, I'd have to be a damn fool to pick Marie for the object of my casual sex relationship. Or have they all forgotten why she wraps herself in all that damn fabric and wears gloves.
They say I never knew she had a crush on me. Of course I fucking knew. It's hard to miss it when you can hear someone's heart rate, and have to listen to it jackhammer every time you enter a room. Not to mention the way she looked at me. Yeah, it was flattering, but when I left, I can honestly say it wasn't entertaining thoughts of having her warming my bed. Because I know damn well that if I had . . . I could have had her with me without a thought. She would have followed me to the ends of the earth.
That's not arrogance--that's just the simple truth. I saved the kid's life--and to this day I'll never really understand exactly what possessed me to do that on the top of that statue . . . but I don't care. I saved her, and I knew that if I woke up from it, she'd be half in love with me.
And she was, and when I told Jean my heart belonged to someone else, what I was really saying was, "I'll stick to lusting after you, thanks." Maybe I was just a little pissed that she seemed to think I was a pedophile too.
I lusted after Jean after I left. I dreamt about her in all sorts of compromising positions, because that's what horny guys who aren't getting laid like to do. Never once did it even cross my mind that I'd ever do anything about it--Jean loves Scott, Scott loves Jean, and I'm afraid that I'm not going to ever play second best.
Especially not to Scott.
Besides, despite what everyone seems to think about me, I know how to respect other people's love. Love is a rare thing--and I'm not just saying that because I'm a cynical old bastard, I'm saying it because I know it. Love is rare, and I'll be damned if I go breaking something like they've got up just because Jean looks damn fine in tight leather. There are enough other women out there who look just as fine.
And damn it, Marie is one of them.
I knew the turning point. I'd been gone for a few years, and I'd called the mansion one day to talk to Charles and she answered the phone. It was awkward, because I hadn't really thought about her much and from how surprised she sounded, I hadn't exactly been the number one thought on her mind either. Her voice had deepened in that delightful way that always happens to women when they become women, so she had that husky low drawl that sounded like honey, and I tried to imagine what she'd look like now.
That lasted about five minutes after she got off the phone, and I forgot about it and went to bed.
I dreamt of Jean. And when she was panting beneath me, I called out her name, only it wasn't her name.
I called out Marie.
I spent three days trying to shake the dirty perverted feeling, which only got worse when suddenly it was her face in my dreams. And it wasn't her adult face, because I didn't know what her adult face even looked like. She was a seventeen year old girl with large brown eyes that were full of child-like adoration and wonder.
I have never, ever, hated any dreams as much as those. Because I felt sick. More sick because in my dreams, I enjoyed it so much.
And that's why I went home. I've heard a list a mile long of all the reasons I returned, lots of romantic reasons that make me want to roll my eyes. People are having the time of their lives, trying to decide why I turned around and rolled myself back through those gates.
It was simple. If I was going to be dreaming about Marie, I damn well wanted to be dreaming about an adult one.
I guess I didn't discourage the romantics any when I saw her the first time.
I have a habit of staring. Maybe it comes from how important senses are to me. I can see and smell and hear things that other people would never notice--so I have a habit of dwelling on them.
I stared at her. For a long time. At first I was just trying to ingrain the sight of her into my mind--but then it was because it was fun to stare, and it felt good to let my eyes slide over her body, because she looked damn good.
And after I'd been staring for a good long while and managed to attract at least one or two curious people wondering why I was staring at Marie and not talking to her . . . only then did she turn around.
She smiled. And I could hear her heartbeat, and it was perfectly normal, and I could hear mine, and it wasn't--and that was when I decided that I was going to get her. Must have been my pride or something.
She walked over, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at me.
"Aren't you going to say something?" I finally asked.
"Took ya long enough," she drawled, reaching up to pat me on the cheek. "Welcome home, sugah."
And she winked at me and turned around and went inside.
And the fact that she wasn't wearing my dogtags around her neck sealed her fate--because it proved to me that she had grown up and she had moved on and she wasn't just some adolescent with a crush on the man who had saved her life.
It meant she was a woman, and I could go after her as one.
I don't think anyone around here gets that little fact. If she'd thrown herself into my arms and sobbed and had my tags wrapped around that slender throat--I would have loved her just as much, but it would have been a whole different game.
There are some women I could consider taking advantage of, but she's just not one of them. So she could have showed up naked in my bed, and though I'm sure I would have been tempted--deadly skin aside--I wouldn't have done anything.
Now I was half tempted to show up naked in hers.
So I settled back into life at the mansion, and the first day I walked into Charles office and shut the door and gave him my most serious I-Need-to-Talk look.
"Yes, Logan?" he asked in that calm way he has.
"Is Marie seeing anyone?" I'd already decided that there wasn't much use in trying to keep my intentions away from a mind reader. And I wasn't planning on wasting time dancing around.
Charles quirked an eyebrow at me. "Am I to take this to mean you're interested?"
"Even if I wasn't already kinda attached, Charles, I got eyes."
The Professor just smiled. "You're not the only one with eyes, Logan. She has several people actively pursuing her . . . but Rogue likes her privacy. Keep that in mind, Logan, if the only reason you're staying is because of her."
I shrugged and stuck one of my cigars in my mouth, even though he gave me that look that said 'smoke in the house over my dead body'. "I don't have anywhere else to be."
"It's good to have you back, Logan," Charles replied, and I took that as permission to chase Marie to my hearts content.
I wasn't exactly subtle about it. Subtlety isn't my thing. Ask Scott sometime, he knows all about that. Thing is, Scott and I got along just fine those first few days after I got back. And the reason we got along was because all of my smoldering looks were being directed at Marie. I still poked fun at him, but he smiled at me, which I'd never really seen him do before, and if I ever tried to rile him up by cracking some joke about chasing Jean down, he'd respond by saying something equally racy about Marie, and it was like we were two old buddies making fun of the old ball and chains.
Never mind the fact that Marie was ignoring my advances.
There's something else the entire school has something to say about. I wish they'd all keep their damn mouths shut--or at least try not to talk about it in front of me. Like I said before, some of their stupid assumptions really piss me off.
A lot of them were in the 'Desertion Under Fire' camp. Marie was heartbroken over the fact that I'd left her alone, and would never mend from the emotional trauma. Looking at me made her want to cry. She was spending her nights in her room, sobbing into her pillow.
Of course, I liked them a lot better than the 'Thief of Hearts' camp who supported that jackass Remy in his never-ending pursuit of my girl. I had him pegged right off after I met him, and I don't care if I'm not exactly well traveled--that accent is the fakest thing I've ever heard. And if he doesn't stop directing it at her and whispering those sweet nothings into her ears when she obviously is less than interested . . . I'm gonna wrap his vocal cords around his ankles.
I never said I was civilized.
My favorite, of course, are the 'Prey Turned Predator' group. They hold that Marie is desperately in love with me and playing some intricate game with my head that only she understands. I don't exactly buy their story--but I have to say it's better than the other two.
Sometimes I really have to wonder if Magento and his crew even needs to fight us. Maybe Marie and I are his secret weapons and we don't even know it--because I swear to god the two of us have caused enough distraction to overthrow this entire school.
The world could end, and they'd still be taking bets on whether or not I get Marie. I really would like to know what is so damn interesting about this whole thing.
I heard someone nicknamed her Belle and started calling me the Beast. Maybe if this mutant thing falls through I can get a sponsorship through Disney or something.
So the whole school is involved, and there is only one opinion on this non-existent relationship that I have yet to hear.
Marie's. And what I wouldn't give to know what's going on inside that girl's head.