with others.
Thus far, Rogue hadn’t been impressed.
Bobby moved in front of her, apparently not ready to let the conversation drop. “That’s not fair,” he protested. “Have I put any pressure on you?”
No,
she conceded, swearing that if she heard the slightest snicker from those fashionista wannabees, there’d be blood.
You’ve been the perfect gentleman. It’s
me
who’s goin’ crazy.
But sadly, that wasn’t what she chose to say aloud.
“You think I can’t tell? You’re a guy, Bobby. There’s only one thing on your mind.”
This time, Bobby chose not to follow as Rogue moved around him and headed off. Better, he decided, to let her cool down and hope for a more rational conversation later.
He offered a wave and a hello to Scott as the bigger man strode past him, down the grand staircase to the foyer. Bobby was completely ignored, which wasn’t like Scott at all.
Bobby heard familiar voices—Logan calling “Hey, Scott!”—and snuck a peek over the gallery railing to see if anything was playing out downstairs.
As usual, Logan and Scott were about to have a testosterone throw-down. They couldn’t be in a room together for any amount of time without going mega-macho in each other’s face. The student body had a pool going, to see who’d eventually walk away in the end. Bobby always figured that was a waste of money, was sure the two men would one day work things out.
Listening now, though, he wasn’t quite so sure.
“They were looking for you downstairs,” Logan commented companionably, with just a hint of an edge in his voice to let Scott know this was serious. “You didn’t show.”
“What do you care?”
“I had to cover your ass, for starters!”
“I didn’t ask!”
“No,” Logan interrupted, calm in the face of Scott’s anger, “you didn’t. The
professor
did.” Fractional beat, to let the fact that he used Xavier’s title sink in. With Logan, it was invariably “Charley,” with the occasional “Chuck” when he wanted to get Xavier’s attention, not necessarily in a good way. Then: “I was just passing through.”
Scott didn’t bat an eye. “So? Pass through, Logan. It’s what you do best.”
Another beat, only a moment in real time, but it seemed to stretch like taffy to an almost unendurable length.
“Look, Scott, I know how you feel—”
This time Scott cut him off: “Don’t.”
“When Jean died—”
“I said,
don’t
!”
Watching from above, conscious now that he had company—the gallery was crowded with kids drawn by the commotion—Bobby wondered if he had been foolish to skip that pool.
Logan stepped in close, but when he reached out to Scott it was with an open hand.
“Maybe it’s time for us to move on.”
Scott didn’t give an inch.
“Not everybody heals as fast as you—
bub!
”
Logan watched as the great front doors of the Mansion closed behind Scott, listened to the sound of a bike engine being pushed to its limits and fading quickly into the distance, taking as much time as he needed to compose himself.
He knew he had an audience. With his eyes closed, by scent alone he could name them all. He jerked his head to indicate the show was over, and then found himself looking at Rogue, who’d rushed to the base of the stairs, probably to back him up in case he needed it.
She was only a kid the night she had crawled into his truck, in the ass-end of upper Canada, in Laughlin City, a dot of a prairie truck stop with dreams of grandeur. That journey together had ended with their introduction to the X-Men. Now she was a full-grown woman—and Logan knew that he’d found something that hurt her far worse than his claws ever could.
As Rogue stepped forward to offer a little comfort, perhaps only company over a beer, she didn’t need words to tell her that Logan still grieved for Jean.
He shook his head.
As Logan went his own way, impulse drew Rogue’s gaze up to the gallery, to the only person left
Thus far, Rogue hadn’t been impressed.
Bobby moved in front of her, apparently not ready to let the conversation drop. “That’s not fair,” he protested. “Have I put any pressure on you?”
No,
she conceded, swearing that if she heard the slightest snicker from those fashionista wannabees, there’d be blood.
You’ve been the perfect gentleman. It’s
me
who’s goin’ crazy.
But sadly, that wasn’t what she chose to say aloud.
“You think I can’t tell? You’re a guy, Bobby. There’s only one thing on your mind.”
This time, Bobby chose not to follow as Rogue moved around him and headed off. Better, he decided, to let her cool down and hope for a more rational conversation later.
He offered a wave and a hello to Scott as the bigger man strode past him, down the grand staircase to the foyer. Bobby was completely ignored, which wasn’t like Scott at all.
Bobby heard familiar voices—Logan calling “Hey, Scott!”—and snuck a peek over the gallery railing to see if anything was playing out downstairs.
As usual, Logan and Scott were about to have a testosterone throw-down. They couldn’t be in a room together for any amount of time without going mega-macho in each other’s face. The student body had a pool going, to see who’d eventually walk away in the end. Bobby always figured that was a waste of money, was sure the two men would one day work things out.
Listening now, though, he wasn’t quite so sure.
“They were looking for you downstairs,” Logan commented companionably, with just a hint of an edge in his voice to let Scott know this was serious. “You didn’t show.”
“What do you care?”
“I had to cover your ass, for starters!”
“I didn’t ask!”
“No,” Logan interrupted, calm in the face of Scott’s anger, “you didn’t. The
professor
did.” Fractional beat, to let the fact that he used Xavier’s title sink in. With Logan, it was invariably “Charley,” with the occasional “Chuck” when he wanted to get Xavier’s attention, not necessarily in a good way. Then: “I was just passing through.”
Scott didn’t bat an eye. “So? Pass through, Logan. It’s what you do best.”
Another beat, only a moment in real time, but it seemed to stretch like taffy to an almost unendurable length.
“Look, Scott, I know how you feel—”
This time Scott cut him off: “Don’t.”
“When Jean died—”
“I said,
don’t
!”
Watching from above, conscious now that he had company—the gallery was crowded with kids drawn by the commotion—Bobby wondered if he had been foolish to skip that pool.
Logan stepped in close, but when he reached out to Scott it was with an open hand.
“Maybe it’s time for us to move on.”
Scott didn’t give an inch.
“Not everybody heals as fast as you—
bub!
”
Logan watched as the great front doors of the Mansion closed behind Scott, listened to the sound of a bike engine being pushed to its limits and fading quickly into the distance, taking as much time as he needed to compose himself.
He knew he had an audience. With his eyes closed, by scent alone he could name them all. He jerked his head to indicate the show was over, and then found himself looking at Rogue, who’d rushed to the base of the stairs, probably to back him up in case he needed it.
She was only a kid the night she had crawled into his truck, in the ass-end of upper Canada, in Laughlin City, a dot of a prairie truck stop with dreams of grandeur. That journey together had ended with their introduction to the X-Men. Now she was a full-grown woman—and Logan knew that he’d found something that hurt her far worse than his claws ever could.
As Rogue stepped forward to offer a little comfort, perhaps only company over a beer, she didn’t need words to tell her that Logan still grieved for Jean.
He shook his head.
As Logan went his own way, impulse drew Rogue’s gaze up to the gallery, to the only person left
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