Wir Sind Keine Dämonen

Logan woke early the next morning, an unusual occurrence for him. He was rested, and found his head curiously clear and calm. The Wolverine seemed to be drowsing in the back of his mind instead of its usual pacing. It took him a few long moments to realize it had been the fight yesterday that had done it. That had been a damn good fight. While he had enjoyed cage matches for their violence and how it satiated the Wolverine’s restlessness, Logan had always felt somehow wasted during them. There was almost never any art in the cage, only brawling. The stranger the other day had been a challenge in art and technique as well as brawling and bleeding. They’d torn each other apart, and could have continued to do so for days on end if they’d not had a time limit, but even cut short the battle had used up much of his usually restless energy and left him oddly refreshed.



Logan wondered briefly if he should be worried about so much bloodshed leading him to feel an ethereal calm, and seriously considered that it might be, at least until he realized that he had used the word “ethereal” in his mental dialogue. He found his own verbosity more worrying than what it had described. After a moment’s consideration he called himself a fool, and decided to check on Rogue.



He might be feeling as peaceful as an enlightened Buddhist monk, but Rogue’s mutation had never shown aftereffects even remotely similar after use. Pulling on a long-sleeved red flannel over his white t-shirt and a pair of thin leather gloves, he sought out his fellow bloodshed enthusiast to see if she was okay, but soon found evidence to the contrary as soon as he approached her hallway. In the almost eerie quiet the mansion takes on at such early hours, and with his advanced senses already listening intently for her familiar sounds, he easily heard the whimpers and thrashing of sheets. By the time her door was in sight, he caught her scent and found it tinged with distress. As he reached for her doorknob, she gave a deep growl that made his heartbeat speed a little. Her door was locked. She was still thrashing in her sheets and the growl changed pitch now and then with the occasional particularly vicious thrash.



He knocked loudly on her door a few times. “Rogue!” he barked gruffly, hoping to wake her. He succeeded. The thrashing grew in intensity and suddenly stopped as she sat up with a harsh gasp. He could hear her ragged breathing as she tried to calm herself down and figure out where she was. His voice softer this time, he called again, “Rogue?”



She swallowed heavily and he could hear her toss her bedding carelessly to the floor. He could smell her cold sweat. His fingertips lingered on the doorknob even as her footsteps approached the door. Her breathing was a little calmer. He felt and heard the click when she unlocked the door. She did not open it. He did, and pushed it inward.



Stepping through the doorway, he looked to his right where she stood with one shoulder against the doorframe, out of sight of hallway passerby. She was animal-like as he was: hiding her pain instinctively. Her arms were crossed so that her right arm gripped her left shoulder and her right hand wrapped loosely around her left upper arm. Her hair was tied back, but some of it had come loose and hung about her face in messy tendrils of chocolate and white, and her half-shut eyes moved very slowly upward to fix on his face, peering upward through those escaped tendrils of her bicolor locks. She wore only a white tank top and navy blue cotton shorts; that explained why she had the door locked: always so careful.



“Shut the door,” she said quietly. She was shivering very slightly, but her voice held no quaver. Logan obeyed. She eyed his clothing in a brief, sharp examination of his areas of exposed skin and then slowly leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest, just below the collar of his t-shirt. Logan was momentarily struck with shock. Rogue did not let people see her upset; she did not let people touch her, or even within arms reach of her when she was upset; and she definitely didn’t touch others. Some people in the mansion couldn’t even imagine what she looked like when upset. She was always so strong…



His body acted on instincts that surprised him when they arose, cupping the back of her head in one gloved hand, the other wrapping around her to rest on her mid back and pull her closer. She gave a single small hiccup of a suppressed sob and shivered, her arms tightening around herself. She took in a slow, deep breath through her nose, drowning for a moment in his scent, her olfactory sense still much sharper than usual. He smelled like cigars, leather, rich forest and the most enticing bit of musk, and his clothing smelled of faintly lemony laundry detergent. Every breath seemed to bring his scent and his presence all that deeper into her very bones, relaxing her more effectively than a sedative and without the unpleasant side effects like unconsciousness. Tensely, she swallowed past the lump that had appeared in her throat and started to speak.



“I really want to fucking kill Erik,” she whispered. Logan sighed both in empathy with her feelings and slight relief that he had not done this to her.



“So do I, Marie,” he said quietly. He felt her swallow again, trying to keep her voice.



“He was after Flux, and she thought he had sent you. The things she thought about him got mixed up with his memories in my head. God…it was so fuckin’ bad,” she choked. Logan squeezed her gently. One of her hands gripped his flannel tightly. She relaxed slowly, as if by a series of small notches being lowered, as she felt his hand stroke up and down her back. He was so warm. She couldn’t help but nuzzle into his chest slightly as her shivering decreased. Logan tried not to think about how nice that felt, and how smooth the lines of her back were even through his leather gloves and the sweat-dampened back of her t-shirt. When her breathing finally grew smooth, he rubbed the back of her neck to loosen the muscles a little.



“You okay?” he asked. She nodded, her forehead making the fabric of his t-shirt rasp against itself very quietly.



“I always am,” she murmured, and not without a tone of conviction Logan found all too familiar, but he wondered if she had every actually taken from it or merely developed it on her own before they had even met. “We both are, most of the time. At least that’s what we’re obliged to say legally,” she joked lightly, and Logan chuckled very softly, the feel and sounds of the low rumble in his chest sending a tingle up Rogue’s spine that had nothing to do with fear or distress.



“Good to hear, Kid,” he said and loosened his hold on her. They slowly pulled apart. Rogue lifted an arm and scratched her head. Logan refused to acknowledge that she did not wear a bra and determinedly kept his eyes on her face.



“Thanks, Logan,” she said softly. He smiled lightly. Then she arched an eyebrow at him and her lips curled upward, just barely, at either corner of her mouth. “And not t’ sound ungrateful, but why on earth are ya awake at this hour, Sugah? It’s five-thirty. Ya usually don’t join us among the living until around at least ten.”



“Something about my brain finding excessive bloodshed and a real good fight refreshing,” he shrugged. Rogue considered this for a moment and then nodded in perfect understanding. Loving how he didn’t have to further explain himself, Logan put a hand on the top of her head and mussed her hair further in a gentle and affectionate manner that made her smile widen even as she narrowed her eyes at him in irritation. “See ya at breakfast?”



“D’they serve it this early,” she asked seriously.



“I’ll see that they do,” he assured with a slightly evil grin. Rogue returned it.



“Ah’ll meet ya there then,” she agreed. “Now go get to gettin’ it made while I get dressed and get beautiful,” she teased, pushing him toward the door.



“Ah, yer already beautiful,” he snapped.



“Flattery will get you everywhere, but it won’t keep ya in mah room just now,” she countered easily and did indeed shove him out into the hall. Logan smiled even when she shut the door.



~



Logan and Rogue had just finished breakfast and been sitting, talking, and observing Kurt where he lay asleep on top of a kitchen cabinet, when the distinct sounds that accompanied the landing of the Blackbird interrupted them. Rogue, who was in the middle of aiming a piece of French toast so that it would land in Kurt’s ear, shot Logan a look. Neither needed to voice the question, but it hung in the air: Scott had brought the Blackbird back last night, so they had though so why was it returning again now? Rogue arched an eyebrow in an expression of curiosity. Logan raised and lowered both of his eyebrows to suggest they satisfy that curiosity, and they abandoned their breakfast dishes and headed toward the lower levels.



Rogue yawned as they approached the nearest of the various hidden elevators around the mansion that transported the X-men beneath Xavier’s school for the gifted and into the superhero world.



“It’s still ungodly early,” she complained.



“Yeah, but we get first dibs on news from the mission,” Logan mused.



“Second dibs. Charles always gets it first,” Rogue corrected. Logan snorted.



“He’s a telepath. Like that counts.” He manfully ignored Rogue giggling at him.

Storm nearly ran into them when the elevator door opened. Logan and Rogue each raised an eyebrow at him with eerie synchronization. Storm appeared only very slightly perturbed. Her uniform was a bit torn and she had a makeshift bandage wrapped around her forearm. Rogue stepped closer to Logan to let Storm in the elevator. She pressed the button for the mansion’s first floor and cleared his throat as the elevator doors slid shut.



“What are you two doing here?”



“Why did Scooter have to give you a lift?” Logan countered.



“I ran into some problems,” Storm said coolly. Logan opened his mouth to retort rudely, but Rogue elbowed him lightly in the ribs to cut him off.



“Go on,” she urged the rainmaker politely. Storm smiled very slightly, but it faded as she began to recall.



“The mutant PR group down in New Orleans was a bust due to the leaders all receiving death threats, but they were never attacked so my defense mission regarding it was rather pointless. I did, however, run into a mutant boy who was in trouble. Scott is taking him up to the med bay directly, through the emergency elevator that I could not fit in to follow them,” she explained. Then her eyes moved back and forth between Logan and Rogue. “How was your mission?”



The pair exchanged glances uneasily. Storm’s delicate brow furrowed slightly, and then even more so when they looked at her again.



“You’ll see that in the med bay, too,” Logan said.



“We’re fine, though. Scott and Kitty’s mission was successful, as well,” Rogue added. Storm again looked from one to the other and back.



“Now I’m not sure I want to know,” she sighed.



~



Logan stood next to Rogue as she explained to Storm the story behind Flux’s unconscious form being in the medical bay. Scott was stitching up a wound on Storm’s forearm and Hank was examining the mutant she had brought. Rogue had examined him lightly when they came in, and had to admit curiosity. The boy was long and lanky, his scruffy brown hair full of natural red highlights, and all of his possessions in the world were in his duffle bag and the battered brown leather trench coat, both so delicately placed on a tray beside his cot at Storm’s insistence. He had apparently been knocked unconscious by a militant anti-mutant gang, which Storm had then dispersed quickly. With sharp bits of ice, according to the weather witch, and the thought made Rogue smirk. Storm had met Remy a few times before that, when he was doing card tricks on a street corner, and talked to him about Xavier’s.



When Scott and Logan started arguing, Rogue met Storm’s gaze, silently asking if she would mind being abandoned to deal with the two boys alone. The weather goddess rolled her eyes and shrugged. Rogue smiled a little and moved away from all three of the senior X-men to look at the Cajun newcomer more closely. She touched a loose thread that hung off of his fingerless gloves with the tip of her gloved finger. She noted scars on his arms, recognizing them–with input from Logan’s memories in the back of her head–as being from the shrapnel of some kind of small explosion. Storm said the boy was a something-kinetic. Rogue tried to remember. It was “biokinetic charging abilities” or something fancy along those lines. He made things that he was touching glow, and then they would eventually explode if he wanted them to.



She had to wonder…



Touch…



She tilted her head curiously and sniffed the air above him experimentally. Clove cigarettes were the first scent to register, followed by the scent of an unwashed body. She waded through the olfactory excess and sniffed again, finally catching his scent: something as sweet and burning as good bourbon should be, a touch of smoky nightlife in the Big Easy, and a touch of soft musk in his sweat, which smelled oddly of black pepper. Rogue looked at his face. He was a pretty boy, but rougher than the poster child of that title: Mr. Scott Summers. No, this boy knew the streets and had the air of deviant even when unconscious. Pale skin gritty with dirt, full mouth, the bridge of his nose thin but the tip almost thrice as wide and squared-off, high cheekbones reminiscent of Johnny Depp, and a strong but elegant jaw line scruffy with stubble.



Rogue noticed a ring on his right ring finger and reached out to it curiously. It was ornate gold with a single ruby in the middle, but it was very masculine, like something to be worn by a Duke. It was slightly scuffed and did not shine as brightly as it could. Just as her glove-clad finger touched it, the mutant sprung awake and abruptly sat up. He gripped her wrist instinctively and stared at her. She met his gaze and blinked a few times in surprise as she looked into his eyes: red on black and beautiful. But otherwise, she did not so much as jump at his sudden movements. He was seemed confused by her stillness and lack of reactivity, and hesitated to move again. He just stared at her, panting, his grip on her wrist almost painfully tight.



“Let her go, bub,” Logan growled. The Cajun looked up, flinching instinctively at the rough voice. Rogue felt her glove heat up in his hand and felt a brief hint of nervousness.



“It’s okay, Remy,” Storm said quietly. His strange eyes darted to her and he relaxed a little.



“Ya can let me go now,” Rogue said lightly, almost amused. Remy looked at her again. His eyes widened a little in surprise now that his observations weren’t seeking threat. Logan found himself growling a little at the look he gave Rogue: slowly running his eyes up and down. Rogue was dressed in a tight-fitting long-sleeved black shirt of a silky material with flattering dark grey jeans that matched the color of her thin silk opera-length gloves. Remy let go of his captive’s wrist and his eyes locked on her face with obvious enjoyment.



“Remy ‘pologizes,” he said, his Cajun accent thick. Rogue adjusted her glove and shrugged it off.



“Ah’ve had worse from newcomers,” she replied easily, her smile so subtle that it make Remy wonder if he really saw it once she had casually turned away from him. His eyes lingered on her as she moved away toward the large hairy man who was still glaring at him distrustfully. Rogue touched Logan’s arm very gently, and when he met her gaze he seemed to relax. Remy was reminded of a wild dog he’d run across, her foot stuck in some discarded chain link. She had been part of a pack and even as Remy had been helping her, one of the other dogs had circled and growled at him, and only stopped before attacking him because of the look the stuck dog gave it.



“I seem to remember you did worse to the first person you met here,” Rogue whispered to Logan. He gave a reluctant and slightly bitter laugh, but his eyes turned less dark and suspicious. Remy, not having heard or been able to decipher their interactions, grew a little confused. Storm, her stitches finally complete, stepped over to Remy.



“You’re in New York at a school for people like us, Remy,” she said calmly, her blue eyes calm and welcoming. “I can take you back South if that’s what you really want, but I think you should take a tour around the school first, at least.”



She saw him shoot another curious glance at Rogue.



“Remy t’ink that be soundin’ pretty fine,” Remy Lebeau said with a wicked grin. It faded a little as Storm led him out of the room and further from the enigmatic woman he’d woken up to, but he could wait a while. In the meantime, Rogue turned to the remaining occupied bed in the med bay, looking over their still unconscious newcomer. She lifted one of Flux’s hands curiously. Flux had no fingernails, but old scar tissue had formed on every one of her fingers from where the nail should be up over every fingertip and halfway down the other side of every digit.



“Ah think her claws hurt worse than yours when they come out,” she remarked to Logan, who remained at her side. He stood just a little closer than usual without realizing it. Just as he unconsciously followed the sounds of increasingly faint conversation as Storm lead the Cajun kid out.



“Yeah, but how did she get ‘em? They don’t look like Stryker’s work.”



“And she’s got all her memories,” Rogue murmured.



“You sure?” Logan inquired. Rogue nodded.



“It’s more feeling than anything, but her thoughts all had this feeling of being connected to old, old memories. Yours don’t feel that old. A couple of them felt older than any I got from Magneto.”



“You can feel that?” Logan murmured.



“The more I get used to the people in my head, the easier it gets to read all sorts of things like that,” she replied, setting down Flux’s hand and looking up at Logan. Her expression turned thoughtful. Logan recognized the change in her line of thinking and let his face express questioning. “So a good fight makes you feel ‘serene?’” she asked. Logan shrugged.



“Ah owe ya a spar,” Rogue mused evilly.



~

Remy cleared his throat before he spoke. Storm pressed a few buttons in the elevator and looked at him expectantly. His eyes were focused just beyond the closing elevator doors.



“De girl back dere…” Remy trailed off questioningly. Storm smiled lightly.



“Her name is Rogue. She came to us a few years ago. It’s hard to imagine, but she was just a scrawny runaway kid back then,” She explained. Remy’s eyebrows raised a little.



“She definitely not one now,” he commented.



“No, she’s one of the X-men team members, like me,” Storm explained. She had already told him about the school when they were in New Orleans, and had explained the X-men on the way to the elevator. Now she shot him a knowing look, complete with a small evil smile. “She can kick your ass from here to Morocco.”



“Dis-mon la vérité,” the Cajun teased. Storm’s smile only widened.



“I’m not joking, Remy. She’s one of our best fighters.”



“What is her mutation?” Remy inquired, his left hand flexing its fingers fluidly as if to reduce stiffness, but it was more like an involuntary show of anticipation.



“You noticed her gloves?”



“Oui.”



“She cannot touch another’s skin. She absorbs their life force, their memories, and sometimes their personality, literally killing them with a touch.”



“What a way to die,” Remy muttered under his breath.



“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Storm said, moving a bit closer to hear him better. Remy moved away just the same distance, but smiled congenially.



“Remy just sayin’ what a tragedy dat be, non?”



“Yes, but she doesn’t seem to let it get to her and she’s very careful of the safety of other students,” Storm added. Remy remembered the dipping collar of Rogue’s shirt when he’d seen her. How safe be dat, he wanted to ask, but refrained.



“She don’ scare easy,” he remarked instead. Storm shook her head.



“No, she doesn’t. She’s been through a lot and seen a lot more in her head. I suppose your jumpiness didn’t really surprise her after some of the others we’ve brought in,” she mused.



“Non, she not surprised: she barely blink. When a pretty girl act like dat, it confuse dis Cajun’s brain. Normally girls dat pretty get scared of ‘im,” Remy said, a bitter smile of self-mockery spreading across his full mouth. Storm took an imperceptible swallow looking into his red-on-black eyes and calmly reminded herself that he was the age of some of her students. Even if he could pull off an almost skin-tight fuchsia and black shirt of shiny and strangely soft polyester blend under a ratty brown leather trench coat, whilst still smelling unwashed, and still make her pulse skip a little. What havoc he would surely wreak on the girls at this school, she could already guess, but still shot him a look that at once teased him and made her look like a teacher instead of a peer.



“You get washed up, and the girls at this school will do everything but.”



~



Various corners in the mansion were buzzing softly. The buzzing came from those girls of Xavier’s School for the gifted who had been crushed to find out that smutty romance novels were not allowed, and that psychics were very good at finding them. To fill the void, they had taken to quietly observing the mansion and its most attractive occupants. Needless to say, they had known that Rogue and the Wolverine would be partnered before Rogue had even made it out of the junior team.



Well, “known” may not be the best phrase.



There had been bets.



Jubilee was able to purchase a replica of Uma Thurman’s yellow and black leather outfit from the Kill Bill movies with her winnings. Her happiness could not be expressed in words.



There was so much to whisper about today.



Bobby and John had emerged rumpled but glowing from the same room that morning, and people at breakfast even claimed to have seen John actually smile. This was tantamount to seeing the Loch Ness monster, Bigfoot and the Easter bunny playing poker in Time Square. Some brave whisperers even breathed that the two boys had been actively flirting. A couple of yaoi fans fainted blissfully at the thought.



There was the strange new mutant downstairs who had apparently brawled fiercely with the Wolverine, though the fact there had been a misunderstanding was reluctantly acknowledged. Rogue taking down the stranger had earned her dominatrix points.



Wolverine’s healing factor was once more verified by Kitty, who had been going through the ceiling over the teachers’ rooms with the intent to fall directly into the kitchen below, and thus she had glimpsed the shirtless Wolverine on his way to his the gym, a long-sleeved t-shirt over his shoulder and gloves in his pocket.



This latter subject was discussed at great length, with illustrative gestures and much wistful sighing.



A small group of whisperers sitting around the kitchen table looked up from their breakfast at the sound of Storm’s voice. Their teacher had a new charge, apparently, and when he walked in, even the whispering paused–along with the heartbeats of one or two whisperers. Storm had changed into civilian clothing after dropping Remy off in one of the guest rooms, mostly in order to let him shower. He wore a clean shirt of dark grey, again it was almost skin-tight, and it was made of the same shiny fabric as his other one. He also wore a very ragged pair of faded blue jeans, his black fingerless gloves, and his trench coat. His lean cheeks and sharp chin were still shadowed with stubble.



Remy turned his red-on-black eyes toward the table and its occupants, and a few stray strands of his wet hair fell over them. One of the girls whimpered a little. Jubilee kicked her under the table.



“Ah, girls, this is Remy Lebeau. He may be staying with us for a while if we can persuade him to do so,” Storm said. She then began to introduce the girls by name, “Remy, this is Kitty, Jubilee, Danielle, and Laurie.” Remy bowed lightly and with a grace that defied mockery.



“Good to meet such pretty ladies. Four more reasons for Remy t’stay, non?” he said as he straightened back up from his bow. The girls giggled, but Storm only rolled her eyes.



“Where are you from?” Kitty had to ask.



“Can’t place the accent, Kitty-cat? We’ve got a citizen of the New Orleans streets here,” Jubilee answered before Remy could speak. He met her dark eyes with his strange ones, and they exchanged challenging smiles.



“Oui, dis Cajun be from de Big Easy,” he conceded. “He bet you be from under d’ Gold Gate Bridge in San Francisco,” he guessed. Jubilee’s eyebrows raised a little; she was impressed.



“Bon. Oui, Très bon,” she agreed.



“Showoffs,” Laurie murmured teasingly. Jubilee stuck out her tongue, letting a few red sparks off its tip. Remy’s eyebrows lifted a bit as he watched. Laurie touched Jubilee’s finger with a snap of static electricity. She jumped at the small shock.



“Hey,” she pouted.



“So, Remy, what’s your mutation?” Danielle asked. When he looked at her, she blushed again. Remy smiled gently at her shyness and reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a deck of playing cards with a flourish.



“Card tricks?” Laurie mused.



“Somet’in’ like dat,” Remy replied, his fingers dexterously sending the deck flying skillfully from one hand to the other. His emptied hand pulled the queen of diamonds from seemingly nowhere.



“Does that mean David Blaine is a mutant?” Jubilee pondered.



“Wouldn’t shock me,” Kitty shrugged. Jubilee snorted. Kitty looked up, confused for a moment. Then her expression cleared. “Oh hey, a pun. I didn’t even notice…” Then speech halted. The queen of diamonds had taken on a red-violet glow and hovered over Remy’s hand. It quivered in the air and floated up toward the ceiling, but did not reach it. Once the card was clear of anything damageable it exploded in a burst of colorful light.



“Wow. Cool card trick,” Laurie commented.



“Most anyt’ing Remy touch, he can do dat to,” the Cajun corrected, “so it not jus’ cards.” He put his deck away. Jubilee nodded thoughtfully. Bobby came running in from the other room. He did not at first see the stranger, but his eyes locked on Jubilee.



“Jubes, you didn’t set off a firework, did you?” he scolded.



“Nah. New guy showin’ off,” she said easily, smirking and nodding her head in Remy’s direction. Bobby startled and looked at the newcomer. Remy waved a hand. Bobby raised an eyebrow: a habit he picked up from Rogue.



“Bobby, this is Remy Lebeau. Remy this is Bobby Drake,” Storm introduced. Remy extended a hand, his smile slightly less open as Bobby stepped forward to accept the handshake.



“Good to meet you,” Bobby said.



“He’s a member of the X-men, as are Jubilee and Kitty,” Storm added. Bobby shot her a look and she returned it with a reassuring one: this newcomer could be trusted.



“You giving him the tour then?” he asked. Storm nodded. “Well, be careful of the gym. Logan and Rogue are sparring. You know how they get about walk-ins.”



“And what better time to break them of the habit?” Storm mused somewhat mischievously. She turned to Remy, whose interest had visibly perked at the mention of Rogue. “Feel like irritating a couple of antisocial X-men? I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”



“Oui, Stormy, lead on,” he agreed. As they left, Bobby noted something draped over the cabinet they had been standing in front of. It twitched. Bobby recognized it as Kurt’s tail and poked it. There was a snort from the top of the cabinet.



“Vhat?” he grumbled irritably.



“We have a guest,” Bobby told him.



“She voke up?”



“Not yet. Newer guest.”



“Oh. Did I scare him?”



“Nah, he didn’t notice ya up there. Storm is about to go irritate Logan and Rogue while they’re sparring as a part of the new guy’s tour.”



“…On purpose?”



“Yep. I figured you might wanna be aware.”



“You just vant me to port you zhere to vatch,” Kurt accused. Bobby took on a thoughtful expression, and then nodded.



“Yeah.”



Kurt groaned.



“Hey, I got about as much sleep as you last night, I promise. I just think it would be quite possibly entertaining.”



“If Logan dos not shred us for interrupting first.”



“Ah, but we will have come to warn him about Storm and Remy.”



“New guy is Remy?”



“Mm-hmm.”



“You are sure zhat Logan vill not keel me?”



“Nah. He likes drinking with you, from what I hear.”



“…”



~



Rogue finished stretching just as Logan came in, punching in a code on the keypad next to the doors. The snap of doors locking made Rogue look up.



“Now why do you get that code, but Ah don’t?” she pouted. Logan pulled his gloves on, his shirt already in place–to Rogue’s disappointment.



“’Cuz I’m a badass motherfucker,” he said with a wicked grin full of teeth. Rogue pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. She wore perfectly fitted thin cotton gloves that reached her upper arm, a dark tank top, and black cotton shorts over black tights. She took on a mocking boxer’s stance and bounced on her toes, her high ponytail bouncing behind her head as she tauntingly ‘put up her dukes.’ Logan shook his head.



“You get to warm up, but I don’t?” he mocked. She stuck out her tongue.



“If you pull a muscle it’ll be healed in a few seconds. If I pull a muscle it takes weeks of recovery,” she countered, still bouncing. Logan’s eyes followed her with a mock-exasperated expression. She finally stopped bouncing and put her hands on her hips.



“Ya gonna attack me or what, Sugah?” she asked. Logan smirked and lunged. Rogue danced off to one side along the mat, finally taking a more serious stance despite wearing a wicked grin. She knew not to underestimate his speed, despite knowing about all the metal weighing him down, but she also knew she could still be faster. He had the advantages of strength and mass, and he wouldn’t go easy on her. They moved so fast!



He threw a punch for her jaw and she ducked, only to leap away to dodge a kick as well. She felt his other fist graze her arm in mid-leap. As her first foot landed on the mat she lifted the other in an arc that knocked his arm out of the air where it had been extended in his second attempt to punch her, her heel striking his elbow and sending the nerves in his arm a-tingle: his “funny” bone. He grunted and pulled his painfully tingly arm to his side, flexing his fingers.



“Not bad,” he commented. “Nobody warned me about your aim.” He faked aiming a punch for her left and then tried to trip her as she dodged right. She leapt over his kick with the grace of a gazelle.



“Why ruin the surprise?” she countered upon landing, changed her stance to aim a kick, only to have to dodge another set of blows. She grit her teeth, cursing the length of his arms. This time her dodge turned into a just-faster-than-him move that brought her up behind him. She launched a punch as he turned to follow her and caught him in the throat, stunning him enough for her to again slip behind him, kicking the back of one of his knees, but before she could destabilize his other leg he twisted and one of his gloved hands reached around and snagged her waist, pulling her around. She lifted one of her legs to her chest as he tried to grab her with his other hand, and kicked her heel into his stomach whilst propelling herself almost all the way out of his grasp. His hand slipped from her waist to grip her shoulder, but she lifted her other leg and managed to somehow walk up his body and get both feet on the side of his neck from whence she kicked off, forcing his hold on her to twist until she sprang loose and somehow landed in a crouch a few feet away on the map. Logan spun on her with a growl.



“You picked that up from the fight yesterday, didn’t ya?” he accused. Rogue smirked a little, panting.



“Maybe.” She somersaulted toward him, and as her feet flew forward she arched her back, hands splaying behind her on the mat as she pushed upward with them, altogether creating a two-footed kick that landed on Logan’s sternum, sending him reeling even as he grabbed her legs at the knees to dragged her with him, her arms fumbling so her shoulders and back of her head smacked on the mat. She tried to plant her hands again and tug her arms from him but he regained his coordination and spun around, tossing her across the mat so she scarcely managed to catch herself before flying off into a pile of sports equipment. Almost too slow to dodge his next attack, she stumbled to her feet and leapt to her right, not quite making it behind Logan before he started to turn to face her, but she swung her knee to catch one of his legs on the side of the knee whilst he was in mid-turn. With one foot not touching the mat, and the leg his weight was resting upon becoming unstable, Rogue managed to pin one of his arms to his chest with her shoulder as she pushed him with what little leverage she could get against his bulk and make him land on his other arm as they both.



Feeling Rogue’s elbow against his throat and her weight on top of him, Logan’s eyes snapped open in time to see the smile leave her face as he twisted sideways, the arm she thought she had pinned under her shoving her aside and flipping her so her back hit the mat as he rolled over to pin her, but her elbow pushed his Adam’s apple an inch to one side with a faint crunch, and again pulled one of her legs up, her knee pushing against his sternum. With the disorientation of sudden oxygen deprivation caused by her defensive, Logan found his vision suddenly too dark and his limbs a little too slow; thus, Rogue managed to squirm away before he could pin her. She jerked away as he got to his feet, one hand at his throat as his windpipe recovered. He shot her a glare and rubbed it. She shot him a look of genuine guilt, but remained in her defensive stance.



“Sorry,” she said, but then tried to dance around behind him again.



BAMF!



“Not the time, Kurt,” they shouted in unison. Logan’s voice was a bit scratchy. He almost managed to trip her.



“And don’t be sorry, it was a good move,” Logan said to Rogue as he went to punch her. She blocked it with a move from Aikido that diverted most of the strength of his blow without hurting her arm as she caught it, then she whipped around and caught the back of his elbow with her shoulder, bending it backwards and crushing tender cartilage as his unbreakable bones resisted. Logan grunted in pain, but shoved one of his feet on the other side of hers and shoved her with his shoulder, sending her stumbling.



“Bobby wanted to warn you zhat Storm vill be coming by wit’ some new guy named Remy,” Kurt said from above them where he hung upside-down from one of the metal rafters.



Rogue spun her legs around so she lifted herself to a crouch just out of Logan’s reach before she did the unexpected and took a flying leap that Logan leaned back from, expecting her to try and land a blow against his front, only to feel her hands land on his shoulders to briefly use him like a bit of gymnastics equipment and unbalance him as she flipped over him and landed behind him, using a tumble to slow herself down before she lifted gracefully to her feet. She found Logan looking at her, unimpressed with her flashiness. She addressed Kurt without taking her eyes off Logan.



“He wanted you to take him with you to watch, didn’t he?” she called. Kurt enjoyed his bat’s-eye-view as Logan and Rogue scarcely paused in their dance. Rogue dodging and countering, Logan attacking and recovering, with only the occasional deviation.



“Ja, he did,” the blue mutant replied. He watched Rogue duck and dodge.



“Good think ya left him behind,” Logan called. Rogue snorted and managed to cuff him sharply across the ear as she dodged his next attack. He scarcely acknowledged it and faced her again. He had to get her to stop dancing around so fast. Speed wasn’t even her mutation, damn it.



“You’re gonna wake up with an icicle in your ear the next time you fall asleep, Kurt,” Rogue warned teasingly.



“If he tries zhat, he vill wake to find himself hanging by his ankle ovah zhe mansion courtyard praying my grip does not slip,” Kurt said flatly.



“I think we are having a bad influence on him,” Logan said, just before the breath was knocked out of him. He grabbed the hem of Rogue’s shorts as she tried to pull back, and flung her off to one side with them. She scarcely managed to catch herself.



“I need my sleep,” Kurt countered defensively. “Ant Rogue? You have the best balance I’ve seen in anyone vithout a tail.”



“Thanks, Kurt.”



No one was startled when the loud snap of the doors automatically unlocking rang through the gym. Storm walked in first.



“Ah, here we are,” she said. Remy appeared beside her, watching the sparring with interest. Logan couldn’t help but glance in the stranger’s direction suspiciously, but it was still a mistake. Rogue landed a kick to his cheek that cut the inside of his mouth against his cheek. He caught her calf in his hand and pulled, this time also catching her other leg when she went to plant her foot on his chest. With surprising speed she pulled herself up and caught his face in her hands, her thumbs hooking under his jaw on either side and pushing up painfully, forcing his head back She managed to press one knee against his chest so she could lever herself up and force his head back further until he was simply too top-heavy and fell backward, still holding her. One of her ankles got caught under him and made an unpleasant sound when they landed. She lifted her opposite leg and pressed a knee to Logan’s throat. He took hold of her hips and shoved her forward so that she almost hit her face, but she instead, taking advantage of the fact his back had arched enough for her to free her ankle, somersaulted and got somewhat uneasily to her feet and faced Logan again.



Remy swallowed thickly as he watched Rogue, noticing her lean but firm musculature and the graceful sureness that moved her long limbs. She and Logan were circling each other now, Rogue slowed down just enough by her bruised ankle that she could no longer keep two steps faster than Logan. They were both breathing hard and bruised, but Rogue wore a smirk and Logan’s eyes glittered more with humor than malice. Even Storm had to pause and half-admire them.



Logan knew Rogue would be going down soon now that she had been slowed down. She finally turned one shoulder toward him, crouching defensively in her best stance yet. Logan took one long step toward her and she took a shorter half-step back before pushing off her uninjured leg. Shifting his weight back, he swept a hand up to block her uppercut, which might have broken the delicate bones in his nose Stryker had not seen fit to improve with adamantium, but Rogue only moved closer. He understood why when he felt her leg curl behind his–the one he rested most of his weight on–and yanked the back of his knee forward.



Even as he watched the hairy man falling, Remy silently cursed Logan’s luck at having Rogue’s leg around him. Rogue tried and failed to gain leverage so she landed on top of him, instead finding herself on the ground with his fist pressed gently to her throat even before his other hand hit the mat to catch him before he crushed her. She swallowed. Logan felt it. Remy again cursed Logan mentally.



“Finito, Kid,” Logan panted. Rogue pouted, but did not disagree. Remy and Storm jumped at the sound of clapping from the rafters. Upon catching sight of the sound’s origin, Storm relaxed. Remy, on the other hand, appeared confused, rubbed his eyes, looked again, and grew more confused.



“Hello, Kurt,” Storm called. Kurt waved, then vanished in a puff of dark sulfurous smoke a moment before he appeared, with another cloud of smoke, before Storm and Remy, who stumbled back a step out of surprise. Kurt lifted Storm’s hand and kissed the back of it.



“Good morning, Miss Munroe,” he purred, his yellow eyes playful. Storm narrowed her eyes at him to scold, but couldn’t help the amused grin that she gave.



“Kurt, this is Remy Lebeau, he may be staying with us for a while. Remy, this is Kurt Wagner, formerly famous in the Munich circus under the name ‘Nightcrawler,’” she introduced. Remy regained his composure and actually gave a friendly smile.



“Folks in de big easy call me Gambit,” Remy said as he shook Kurt’s hand, managing to ignore the oddness of the hand. Kurt smiled back, his fanged teeth very bright against his dark skin.



“It is güt to meet you,” he greeted.



“Likewise,” Remy replied. Rogue walked up behind Kurt, a white towel across her shoulders. She was pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and Logan, now shirtless, loomed no more than a step away from her, his eyes lingering suspiciously on Remy. When the Cajun met it, Rogue’s gaze was more friendly, even if it seemed to be amused by his unease even with how well he hid it.



“Ya seem to be doin’ bettah, here in the world of the fully conscious,” she told him. Remy smiled at her. It was a smile that had won him a place to sleep in the homes of a couple dozen ladies around New Orleans.



“Remy be doin’ fine, but he has been wonderin’ where you had gone to, cher,” he told her. She arched an eyebrow, but it seemed more to ask him what he was playing at rather than when they could go off somewhere private. Remy’s curiosity grew: was it so strange that he would flirt with her.



“You met him already?” Kurt inquired.



“‘Met’ may be the wrong word,” Logan said idly.



“We weren’t even really introduced,” Rogue added. Remy noted the way she looked at Kurt. Her air of friendliness and normalcy toward the blue demon-like mutant was without the slight stiffness of his, and he felt slightly embarrassed at his initial reaction to Kurt’s appearance. Rogue caught his gaze again, her dark brown eyes still seeming amused. She gestured to the nearby hairy Canadian. “This is Logan, but if he’s being too stiff tell Jubilee and she’ll go around calling him ‘Wolvie.’” Storm and Kurt exchanged amused looks while Logan shot them a glare.



“Co faire?” Remy asked, confused.



“People who don’t like me have been known to call me the Wolverine,” Logan answered. Remy could feel the distrust and intimidation in Logan’s gaze like a great deal of needles pricking his skin. He tried to relax and look harmless, but Rogue distracted him.



“Ah’m Rogue,” she offered. Remy took one of her gloved hands, brushing his thumb across her knuckles as he lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. Every muscle in her body tensed at his touch, but the fresh gloves she had put on barely covered her wrist and she feared moving too quickly might bring his bare fingers to her skin. She felt his lips through the thin leather of her gloves and felt her breath catch. Logan slowly flexed his hands to ease the itching of the skin between his knuckles and barely kept himself from growling.



“Enchanté,” Remy said as he stood up straight again and gently released her hand. The sparkle of amusement had left her eyes, which was good, but it had been replaced with unease, which was not so good. Also, it looked like Logan might just kill him in his sleep, and with the faint scent of Rogue’s skin lotion–soft lotus and honey–lingering in his mind Remy could think of much better ways to die.