Chapter Text
"You’re sending me *where*?" Marie gripped the handset of the phone anxiously, her other hand twining nervously in the cord.
"It’s called the Massachusetts Academy. We’ve been talking to the headmistress — a Ms. Emma Frost — and she really thinks she can help you with your — your mutation." Her father never *would* think of her ability as a "gift."
"But, but Daddy, Professor Xavier really *can* help me. And, and I like it here, and I have friends..." [And I have Logan.]
"Honey, you’ve been there for more than a year now, and you still have to stay covered up all the time. It’s time to see if this Ms. Frost can help you where Mr. Xavier can’t." That was her mother, on the other extension.
Marie bit her lip. Because the truth was that she *could* control her gift — but had been keeping that a secret, ironically enough, to keep her parents from taking her out of this school. The impulse at this point was to announce that she *had* gotten control of her gift — or to more warily claim to have "made progress" in gaining control. But convincing her parents of her skill would result in them bringing her home to Mississippi.
Whether Mississippi was preferable to Massachusetts — and her parents preferable to Emma Frost — was a matter worth considering. And also worth talking over with Logan.
Marie suppressed her protests for the moment. If the end decision was to tell her secret to her parents, that could be done in a later phone call.
* * *
Logan’s advice — that she could choose to tell her parents after trying out the Massachusetts Academy, but couldn’t take back telling her parents to return to Xavier’s *or* Frost’s schools — matched her own inclinations. "But you’ll be here, and I’ll be in Massachusetts..."
Logan smiled at her. "Kid, I’m only here ‘cause *you’re* here. If you’re going, I might as well follow you to Massachusetts — or all the way to Mississippi..."
The question there was how much contact they’d be able to get away with. Marie of course had Logan’s cell phone number, and she dragged him down to the computer lab to set up a free e-mail account for him out of added paranoia. It might turn out to be the best method for *him* to get a private message to *her*.
* * *
Somehow Marie had been expecting her parents to personally transfer her to the new school. So when a minivan from the Massachusetts Academy appeared at Xavier’s front gate the very next weekend after that phone call, it came as a shock all around. [Yeah, I *know* New York is a long way up from Mississippi, but they could have waited for a long weekend or spring break or something, or taken a few days off work, or flown up and rented a car or something. If they care so much about *which* mutant private school I go to, why aren’t they inspecting this one personally before leaving me there?] She didn’t get to share this complaint with anyone, being too busy packing up her clothing and other things. Kitty and Jubes, already shocked by the news of her transfer but doubly so by the abruptness of the move, helped with the packing, and a number of others — Logan silently among them — helped carry bags and hastily-scrounged boxes from her room to the vehicle outside.
Yet another reason to resent the suddenly-imposed deadline was the inability to give Logan a *proper* farewell. Marie was mobbed by friends and teachers from the start of the packing until her final departure, all of them milling around helping or getting underfoot, swamping her with assorted well-wishes and tearful goodbyes. No time for a private one-on-one with Logan.
Her best opportunity came when the last of her things had been loaded. Professor Xavier by that point was out on the driveway, backed by Scott and Jean, expressing well-bred annoyance to none other than the headmistress herself. Emma Frost had personally made the trip to Westchester to fetch Rogue, who was feeling singularly unimpressed by the honor. A fair percentage of the mob had chosen to witness the debate, or perhaps just to inspect the Professor’s counterpart. Marie had no interest in the extremely polite argument — the *real* decision having been made by her parents, this was nothing more than an ineffectual protest on Xavier’s part — and would have the entire drive to Massachusetts to get acquainted with Frost. Logan was far more important, and right now seemed to be about the best time she’d have to avoid attracting the attention of most of the potential eavesdroppers.
Except that she couldn’t think of anything to say — between the two categories of "things she wanted to do" and "things she felt safe doing in front of witnesses," there was nothing in common. Logan saved her from her dilemma, removing his dogtag and placing it in her hand again. It meant the same thing as it always had — hers to keep until they saw each other again, a promise that they *would* see each other again. As he closed her gloved fingers around it yet another time, he said, "Things’ll work out."
She smiled, and saw the answering smile in his eyes that he hadn’t allowed to reach his face. In the emotional atmosphere of the mass farewell, she felt it safe enough to risk a hug. He inhaled deeply, getting one last dose of her scent to last him until the next time, however much of a wait that might be — she knew, because she was doing the same. With her face against his shoulder, she murmured for his ears alone, "I’ll check out our options and let you know..."
Pulling back, she saw that he had allowed the smile to leak out onto his face — which was just as well, since the underlying sadness had begun to well up in his eyes. Taking the dogtag in her hand, she hooked the chain around her neck, pulling her hair over it and dropping it into concealment behind her shirt. He watched the silent promise — to wear his name against her heart — and then ducked back out of the crowd.
Marie knew that he might have apparently disappeared right now, but would be finding a vantage point to watch until the minivan was out of sight. Sighing, she made her way around the van to the low-key argument between the various adults present. "All packed up," she said, interrupting Xavier’s exhortation to at least wait for the nearest break in grading periods.
"Ready to go?" Emma asked with a charming smile.
Rogue studied her and decided that Frost probably couldn’t help being beautiful, composed, and sophisticated — but it certainly didn’t make her much more likeable. "No — but the car’s loaded."
The headmistress gave her a look elegantly balanced between disapproval at her rudeness and indulgence at her youthful outspokenness. Marie suspected that once Frost was no longer trying to "win her over" — or performing for an audience, as the case might be — the indulgence would disappear and the disapproval would turn several degrees chillier. "In that case, let’s be off," was all she said.
"Goodbye, Rogue!" chorused Kitty and Jubes unhappily. She actually saw the pauses as they took a deep breath each before cautiously giving her the hugs that they so clearly felt were indicated under the circumstances. Marie refrained from sighing at the unnecessary caution. After all, neither one *knew* that it was unnecessary.
"Take care, Rogue," was Scott’s contribution, and Jean added, "We’ll miss you." Another hug each, Jean rather more cautiously than Fearless Leader Scott, whose stiffness seemed more attributable to an excess of Leaderly Dignity than to any nervousness at her mutation. [Pretty damn careless of you, Scooter — that’d be one hell of a "gift" for my girl to absorb accidentally,] Subliminal Logan grumbled.
"Remember, Rogue, you always have a home here if you want it," Xavier said. There was a firm promise lurking in the back of his eyes.
"Oh, I want it — it’s my parents that need convincing," she murmured.
"Perhaps," was his enigmatic response. Marie wondered if he were referring to the freedom from certain parental controls that came with one’s eighteenth birthday — more than a year and a half from now, in her case — or to her own previously demonstrated tendencies to up and leave when a situation seemed untenable.
Was he actually implying that he would help hide her here, against the wishes of her parents, were she to run away from the Massachusetts Academy?
Marie really *did* want to hug Charles at that point, but it seemed a bit tricky to bend that low — especially with the pretense to maintain of her dangerous skin. She felt a sudden urge to kiss him on the cheek instead.
Or better yet, the top of his head. The wheelchair left him at a convenient height for it, and the ensuing reaction might even be the one thing that could keep her from being shipped off with Frost.
"Might" being the operative word. The stated purpose of her transfer was to get better training in control of her gift, but with her parents’ permission given and her baggage all in the Academy’s van, Marie had a nagging suspicion that it might take more than a few seconds of unprotected skin-on-skin contact to keep Frost from taking her out of there. She had no real basis for this idea beyond her own unpleasant initial impression of Emma, but there it was.
Marie decided to settle for the hug after all, making it into a sort of sideways one-armed effort with her head turned away to keep a "protective" layer of her own hair between their faces. "Thanks for everything, Professor."
"I *am* sorry I couldn’t do more to help you with your gift," he said softly, for her ears alone.
Straightening, she replied, "Don’t worry about it." And smiled.
Without actually coming right out and *saying* that she had control now, she did the next best thing and let her total lack of concern in that particular area shine through in her expression. Xavier might not have been able to clearly read the oddly layered collection of minds between Rogue’s ears — even had he been generally inclined to snoop through other’s private thoughts without cause — but he was a perceptive observer of human behavior, and he was able to read enough in that smile to give him pause. He nodded thoughtfully, eyes never leaving hers, as the regret left his face to be replaced by something else.
Marie turned away before she had quite identified the "something else," to find Frost frowning at her.
The expression smoothed itself away so quickly one might almost have questioned its existence. "And if that’s it for the goodbyes, I think it’s time to go now." With a graceful, poised motion of one slender hand, Emma indicated the minivan. Marie accepted the silent instruction, moving around to the passenger side and climbing into the front seat.
"Goodbye, Rogue! Goodbye!" came the chorus, with Jubilee adding, "Don’t forget us, chica!" and Kitty reminding, "You’ve got our phone number!" Marie waved as the van backed, circled, and headed down the driveway and out the gate.
As they passed the school walls and her friends, teachers — and lover — were out of sight, Marie leaned back in her seat with a sigh. Kitty’s last comment had brought something to mind, and she turned to her new headmistress. "What’s the policy on phone calls in the dorms? Do we have our own phones, or is there a house phone at least, or a pay phone, or...?"
"There are a few phones on the first floors of the dorms and in a few of the common areas. Outgoing calls only, I’m afraid, and no calls at all after midnight, barring emergencies. And we ask that all students remember the phones *are* shared, and not monopolize the line for too long." Emma’s face had an almost prim expression.
[Ah, well, could be worse. Might be hard getting privacy — or even to a phone at all, if there’s a line waiting to use it — but at least they don’t seem to be cutting off all outside communication...] "I guess there’s always e-mail..." she commented, watching Frost in her peripheral vision to see her reaction.
And a reaction there was — an almost distasteful set to the mouth for an instant, before speaking. "There *are* computer labs, for term papers or other assignments, and internet access *is* available, but we generally prefer that the computers be used for mainly school-related purposes." A pause, before the almost grudging admission, "Although usage of the computer lab for personal or entertainment reasons is allowed, so long as no one with an academic purpose is kept waiting."
Marie nodded, satisfied for the moment. [I wonder if they monitor what the students do online, or block certain sites or anything like that? Think I’ll save that question for later — don’t want it to sound too much like I’m looking for ways to send secret messages out of there...]
* * *
The rest of the trip passed with little conversation. Emma made a few attempts at small talk that her traveling companion let fall by the wayside. Rogue wasn’t inclined to chat with Frost. Little Marie Gordon from Mississippi might have babbled the trip away, out of nervousness or friendliness or a genuine desire to get to know her new headmistress, but Rogue had learned from Logan how to be comfortable in silence. Especially when there was nothing worth saying or no one particularly worth saying it to, and Marie’s first impression of Emma had left her inclined to be guarded around the older woman. Besides, she was still speculating on the conditions to be found at the Academy and debating methods of returning to her accustomed Logan-intensive lifestyle — two very absorbing topics.
It was late evening when they arrived. Having stopped for dinner on the road (since they would arrive too late for the dining hall’s hours), there was not much for Rogue to do for the evening but start unpacking and go to bed. She met a very few people — three young men who helped carry her luggage inside in a single trip, and whom she wasn’t quite sure yet were students or staff, as well as the "Head Resident" at the dorm. The latter — a maternal woman who might have been a former student or hired staff for all Marie could tell — promised to introduce her to some of her new housemates the next morning.
Marie was pleased to find she had been given a room to herself — albeit a small one. She wondered whether solitary rooms were the norm at this school or an exception had been made for her as a concession to her mutation. Whichever the case, the privacy pleased her. Sneaking around — for *whatever* reason — was much easier without roommates.
* * *
"I propose we spend today's telepathy period hacking into the minds of
some of our favorite screen idols. A gold star to the first girl who discovers
the awful truth about Tom and Nicole..."
— Emma Frost, NEW X-MEN #115, by Grant Morrison
* * *
The next morning, Rogue was given the promised introduction at breakfast, passing her new housemates in a blur of names and faces. One, who gigglingly responded to Marie’s introduction as "Rogue" with the name "Catseye," volunteered to show her around the campus.
The end of the tour was at Emma’s office, where Catseye’s knock earned a telepathic response. ::Thank you, Sharon. Marie, come in.::
Marie frowned. [She could have just said, "Come in." She didn’t have to use telepathy.] Then she shrugged, opening the door. [Different strokes. Just because the Professor likes to keep the mental stuff to a minimum doesn’t mean that’s the only way to do it. And it doesn’t *have* to mean Emma’s pushy or anything like that.]
[Doesn’t have to mean she isn’t, either,] Inner Logan warned.
"Ah, Marie. Please sit down," Frost said, barely glancing up from the papers on her desk. "Now, I understand that you’ve been having some trouble controlling your gift? Which does what, exactly?"
"Don’t you *know*?" [You had me yanked over here claiming you could help me control it better than Xavier could, and you don’t even know what it *is*?!]
"I’ve been told you can borrow other mutant’s powers, and may leave people in a coma with a touch. But I want you to describe it in your own words. What does it feel like to *you*?"
Slightly mollified, Rogue told her, "Like it’s their life pouring into me. Thoughts, memories... Powers, if they’re a mutant."
"And it’s at the slightest touch? No way to prevent it?"
Marie hesitated, caught between trusting this stranger with her secret and telling an outright lie. "Magneto was the third person I touched, and I managed to keep from taking enough to leave him in a coma." Which was true, without giving herself away just yet.
"And does anything you absorb persist over time, or are all effects only temporary?"
"Powers fade. So do thoughts, but memories can linger, and the more I touch a person the stronger their personality is in my head." [*Massive* understatement.] Subliminal Logan grumbled in agreement.
"Hmm. Interesting. Let me see..."
And just like that, Emma Frost was in Marie’s head.
Marie froze in shock. Inner Wolvie snarled angrily at the intrusion. Subliminal Erik, faded to a mere ghost over time, perked up at the familiar touch of mental fingers flipping through one’s thoughts. [Well, well, seems she’s a great deal less *principled* than Charles, isn’t she? Are you going to sit still for this, girl?] he inquired.
[NO!] was Marie’s angry response, echoed by Logan/Wolverine.
::Don’t struggle, child, I’m just looking at your memories of using your power...:: Emma told her, not ceasing her rummaging for an instant.
/David, quivering atop her bed in her old bedroom in Mississippi.../
Marie imagined her mind as a Rolodex, with Emma flipping through her memories. She imagined herself slapping Emma’s hand, slamming the desk drawer shut with the card file inside — only to have her "hand" grabbed by Frost.
::I told you not to struggle,:: Emma told her, annoyance leaking through in her mental voice as she held Marie’s "hand" still and continued to search.
/Logan, guilt and horror transmuted into frozen pain at the end of her fingertips.../
[HEY! Get the hell out of here!] Subliminal Logan entered the fray, because only Marie was being "held" helpless.
Not so helpless anymore, as Emma’s "grip" loosened with the distraction — but only until she had Inner Logan as well.
/High above the harbor, struggling ineffectually to keep Erik Lensherr’s life from flowing into herself.../
Realizing what memories would be turned up next, Marie struggled harder, Inner Logan fighting alongside.
/Standing in a deserted classroom, lips and tongues exploring, delighting in the taste and feel of bare skin and lips pressed together.../
Irate, defensive, and offended, Inner Wolvie dove into the brawl, shaking Emma’s control and pushing her away from those highly private memories. Even Subliminal Magneto and David helped, distracting Emma a bit more as Marie and her interior boyfriend shoved Frost away, combining efforts to "slam the door" behind her.
Leaving it up to her interior committee to guard the perimeter and keep Frost from sneaking back in, Marie glared coolly at the woman behind the desk. "Not so easy to control a mob as a single person, is it?"
Emma refused to be glared down. "That’s certainly one way of looking at it." A pause. "And so your ‘lack of control’ of your power?" A wry upward twist of one corner of her mouth.
Marie returned it. "No longer a problem."
"And you pretended otherwise because...?"
Cards on the table now — *some* of them, at least. "Because the only reason my parents let me stay at Xavier’s was to get control of my power. If they knew I had it down, they’d yank me right home to Mississippi." A moment’s thought, then the observation, "If I’d known they’d try sending me to a different school, I might have gone ahead and told them."
Frost laced her hands together, considering. "And was home so very bad?" A trace of sympathy creeping into her voice — whether genuine or merely an attempt to gain the girl’s confidence, Marie wasn’t sure.
Realizing that the *real* question being asked was, "Why did you want to stay at Xavier’s so badly?" Marie avoided the true inquiry with a literal answer. "My parents were okay, but the rest of the town was — bad, after my mutation kicked in." She didn’t elaborate.
"Ah." Apparently satisfied with the implication that Xavier’s had been a welcome refuge from anti-mutant bigotry — a truth, though not the entire one — Emma’s next question was, "And do you think this Academy will also be better than your home town?"
Marie gave her a half-smile and an honest answer. "I’m waiting to see how it turns out before I go deciding one way or another."
Emma nodded. "I see. Fair enough." Rising from her chair, "In that case, I think your schedule will be revised. If your control over your power proves satisfactory, we may change some of the allotted practice time for something more useful. Next week, I think — for *this* week, just follow this schedule and we’ll get an idea of where you would most benefit from the extra time." She handed Marie a sheet of paper, blocked out Monday through Friday with classes, "practice time," and study periods.
Accepting the implied dismissal, Rogue headed for the door. Struck by a thought, she paused and turned back to the headmistress. "If I’m not pretending to be untouchable, should I get rid of my gloves and scarf?"
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Are you safe to be around others without them?"
"Yes. I’ve been going around in public without them for the past few months and haven’t had any accidents."
"In that case, I think you may wear what you wish — within the dress code, that is." Again with an almost prim pursing of her lips, Frost resumed her seat.
Marie let herself out of the office. Closing the door behind her, she thoughtfully peeled off her gloves as she walked away. [Dress code, hell — walking around without *these*, I *still* feel damn near naked!]
[Good. I don’t want you shedding lots of clothes around all these kids without me here to fend the punks off.] Subliminal Logan’s opinion of an excess of bare-Marie-skin in his absence was on record.
She felt a smile curling her lips. [Not a problem in this weather — it’s damn near cold enough for me to want to keep the extra layers on anyway...]
[Good.]
[Still — nice to be able to eat lunch without gloves and not be considered a safety risk...]
* * *
The Massachusetts Academy turned to out be quite a change from Xavier’s school. For one thing, there were a *lot* more students. For another, only a few of them were actually mutants. Emma Frost was quite genuinely the headmistress of a very exclusive, very *expensive* private boarding school. The fact that a smallish percentage of the student body were actually mutants was one to which the "regular" students were very carefully kept oblivious.
[Wonder how the hell she manages to hide a whole group of mutants in plain sight that way? They’re learning, their control isn’t perfect yet, there have *got* to be accidents — and surrounded by all these other students and teachers, that means witnesses...] Marie pondered the matter as her classmate and fellow mutant Aurora led her to algebra (like all the "regular school" classes, shared with the non-mutant students). Nothing like trying to keep a secret to make one appreciate methods of concealment...
[Somehow I don’t think Frosty would have the least little problem with cleaning up after "accidents" by making all the witnesses forget what they saw,} Inner Logan muttered darkly.
The idea seemed to fit. [Might as well give everyone practice in passing for "normal" where there’s someone around to keep a lid on things when they mess up,] Rogue figured. [Too bad we gotta sneak around like this, though. Guess Frosty isn’t real big on mutants and humans co-existing peacefully the way the Professor is.]
[Hmmph. If Chuckie’s so big on humans and mutants getting along, why does he hide all the mutie students on the school grounds to look like he’s got a normal school from the outside?] came the voice of subliminal suspicion, Logan being cynical as ever.
Erik’s fainter voice — lingering after having been inadvertently brought to the fore by Emma’s meddling the previous day — provided the response. [Because Charles, even with his foolish idealism, has *just* enough practicality to prefer that his students learn to defend themselves before he sends them out to play nice with the humans...]
[Can’t argue with *that,*] Inner Wolvie grumbled, the idea appealing to his paranoia.
[So I guess the mutants here are just learning to control their powers and blend in. Probably no superhero stuff.] Responding to Logan’s firm approval of the idea of "no superhero stuff," she added, [Just as well. I’m not entirely sure I’d want to be on the same side as Emma Frost when it came down to mutant vigilante action...]
* * *
It was a sentiment she would remember ruefully later that same day, as she found herself in one of her scheduled "practice" sessions — which turned out to be not what she was expecting at all.
Marie had been expecting that "practice" referred to learning to use and control mutant abilities. Well, it did — but she was used to Xavier or one of the other teachers (especially Jean or Scott) working with individuals or small groups in a classroom or gym (or outside, in the cases of the more incendiary mutants like St. John or Jubilee) on exercises and even creatively-designed games to hone their skills. (Or, on a more personal level, her own "practice" sessions with Logan, which had been not only creative but intensely pleasant — and ultimately much more successful than anything Xavier had been able to come up with in terms of controlling her frequently-inconvenient mutation.)
And she was also used to the training sessions that Logan habitually ran. First you learn to *fight*, and *then* you learn to fight with your powers. And if you try pulling any of that mutation crap on me before I say you’re ready — <Snikt!> — then I go using *mine* on *you*, and you’ll have a few scars to remind you next time! Not that he’d ever given the speech to Marie — he never had to. Between a few scares in her time on the road and that whole unpleasant getting-carried-off-by-evil-mutants thing, topped off by the Wolverine in her head, she already knew how very seriously to take the combat lessons he had started giving her the previous summer and autumn.
All of which went to say, that Marie was used to various forms of working with one’s powers, and also used to walking into a practice ring or the equivalent and attempting to pound an opponent silly with fists and feet. But what she *wasn’t* used to, was the command that she had just been given.
"You want me to *what*?"
"I want you to attack me using your gift," the burly mutant facing her repeated, with a touch of impatience.
Marie eyed him warily. It was what she had thought he said the first time, but she had wanted to be sure. "Do you know what my gift *is*?" she asked incredulously.
He shrugged. "I’ll find out when you try to use it on me, won’t I?" Impatience was transmuting into annoyance.
"And do you have some sort of gift that’ll protect you from whatever I’ve got?" She suspected not, judging by the name he had given in response to her self-introduction as Rogue — "Beef." [Looks big but not too bright. He may be used to getting by on his size — but he’s probably a mutant, so watch out for tricks,] Inner Wolverine warned, happily sizing up the opponent.
He sneered — actually *sneered*. "I doubt I’ll need protection."
[Dumbass,] Subliminal Logan growled. Marie agreed. [He knows you’re a mutant, he *knows* you’ve got a surprise up your sleeve and it might be a *real* good one.]
[Sugar, I don’t think he’s expecting that a little gal like me will be able to take out a big strong guy like him.] She tilted her head to one side, consideringly. [Won’t *he* be surprised...]
Without giving him the slightest warning, she lunged. And with inhuman speed, he stepped aside. But Marie was thoroughly used to a sparring partner with enhanced reflexes, and cautious enough — especially after Wolvie’s warning — to have been prepared to find her target replaced by thin air. Reflex took over, and she leapt aside a fraction of a second before the contemptuous swat cut through the empty space she should have been occupying. Which left *him* unbalanced with the unexpected miss, and she followed up on her brief advantage with a stiff hand to the solar plexus. As he bent in the middle she made sure that his sinking face met her rising knee. A foot sweep floored her dazed opponent.
Standing over Beef, she shook her head with mock disappointment. "Why would I need to use my gift when I can do this well without it?"
Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the gym. Although she deemed it wisest to leave the scene quickly (before the young man recovered enough from the physical hurts to become angered by the more lasting injury to his ego), an overly hasty exit might have appeared to have been motivated by fear of retaliation. Undignified. Attitude was everything — *especially* when alone in the camp of the enemy.
Besides, she had just thought of someplace she’d rather be, with something she needed to be doing.
Plan A had arrived fully-formed in Rogue’s overpopulated head, spawned by Beef’s carelessness with an unknown quantity and the implied disdain for skills in combat on a strictly physical level.
* * *
Wonder of wonders, Frost was in her office, and alone. Rogue let herself in after only a perfunctory knock, Wolverine still too prominent in her mind to allow much patience for time-consuming courtesies. Emma looked up from some paperwork and frowned. "Marie, shouldn’t you be in practice?" Her tone managed to carry the additional message, [And you had best have a damned good explanation for being here instead.]
"Practice ended early. I managed to drop Beef inside of a minute without breaking a sweat — *or* having to use my gift. Is he the best you can come up with for combat sessions?"
Emma raised a carefully shaped eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"He walked in and told me to attack him — using my gift, he said — but admitted that he had no idea what kind of power I had. And going into a fight against an opponent of unknown abilities — a *known* mutant, I might add — he was so careless I was able to render him horizontal in less than a minute." [Thank you for the report, Sergeant Logan!] Marie thought with amusement.
[Right idea, wrong rank,] was his cryptic response.
Frost blinked in astonishment.
Marie sensed an advantage and plunged ahead. "You need an experienced combat instructor for the initial assessment at least, even if you let someone else take over for helping with the basics or sparring matches. Please don’t tell me that *Beef* was the best fighter you’ve got."
Self-possession regained, Frost gave Rogue an appropriately chilly gaze. "Sparring matches between the students increase *both* your skills. He needs more practice in facing unusual powers, and you seem to need practice in using *yours* in a combat situation."
Marie sighed. "In case you’ve forgotten your little stroll through my head, every time I use my powers I get another person jostling for room up *here*," tapping her temple meaningfully. "And in case you missed the point of my having floored Beef, I already *have* practice in a ‘combat situation’ — just without treating my power as the first option to go for." A pause to let that sink in, and then the strike. "*Don’t* you have a genuine combat instructor? Or someone to teach self defense that doesn’t resort to using our mutations?"
Emma frowned. Answer enough.
[Okay, she may be going for the bait. Let’s try to set the hook...] Rogue smiled, giving Emma an appropriately vixenish gaze. "How would you like the chance to hire someone with experience, not just in giving self-defense lessons, but in giving them to mutants? Working both with and without using their powers?"
There was a flicker of interest in Frost’s eyes, before her expression turned coolly impassive again. "And you just *happen* to know of just such a person, who just *happens* to be seeking employment."
Marie didn’t lose her smile. "Yes I do. And he *has* a job, but he was getting ready to leave it."
Again the delicately arched eyebrow. "And he would just happen to be delighted to come here and work for me."
‘Oh yes." She didn’t even need to ask him — her Subliminal Logan had been in favor of the plan ever since it occurred to her.
"And your motivation in setting this up would be?"
Rogue hesitated, before, "I’ll answer that, if you’ll honestly answer one question for me... What are you expecting your students to get into that you teach them how to fight with their mutations almost from the first, rather than simply how to use and control their powers?"
Frost raised an eyebrow. "Probably the same situations Xavier was clearly training his students for, if he’s got a self-defense instructor on his staff."
Marie frowned. The fact that Xavier’s school also doubled as the training ground for would-be mutant superheroes was something she was unwilling to discuss with Emma Frost. But arguing that Emma seemed to have neatly sidestepped her question could well have brought the X-Men up, so she let the point drop. "My motivation would be that the self-defense instructor happens to be someone I want to stay close to — someone who’s already said he’s willing to move to follow me, here or to Mississippi."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "This someone wouldn’t happen to be the same someone you were practicing using your control on, would it?"
[She’d know that as soon as she saw him — she’s seen enough of my memories.] Which didn’t stop Subliminal Wolvie from growling in annoyance. "Yes, it would."
Emma raised the other eyebrow. "So you’re asking me to hire someone as an instructor with the full knowledge that he would intend to carry on an affair with one of my students?"
Marie sensed that telling Frost she’d leave the school if Logan weren’t allowed to come there would come across as a petty threat, a touch of adolescent drama. (Besides, if she *had* to leave it was better not to forewarn the enemy that she might be doing so.) So instead she said, "He’s worth having here, and in any case he and I have *been* having an affair already."
Frost leaned back in her chair. "At your age, a relationship with a grown man isn’t particularly healthy. And if you *are* so important to one another, then surely the two of you can wait a few years until you’re grown."
Marie set her jaw. Protesting her own maturity was not the path of wisdom — nor was leaping across the desk to grab that slender white throat. [Hell of an idea, though,] Inner Wolvie muttered. "He’s been the only one I could practice my control on safely, and he’s been taking care of me besides." Sensing a genuinely useful line of attack, she added, "And given the fighting skills Beef showed earlier — or rather, his lack thereof — if you want your students to have the best training possible, you owe it to them to get a better combat instructor."
Emma frowned. "Assuming that we really *needed* to hire a ‘better combat instructor,’ surely I could find one elsewhere who would be able to keep his hands off the female students?"
"How many could you find that were not only willing to train mutants, but had actual experience in working with armed and unarmed combat *and* mutant powers? And he does fine at keeping his hands off the other students — aside from me."
Emma regarded the girl steadily. "Just how do you expect me to respond to this... offer of yours?"
"By agreeing to at least give him a chance. Talk to him, see his moves and how well he can teach them to others, satisfy yourself that he’s what I’m promising."
Allowing a hint of her exasperation to show, "And if I do so? Do you expect me to sit back and allow the two of you to carry out your liaison on the grounds of my respectable school?"
"As if a school training mutants was all that ‘respectable’," Marie groused, before belatedly realizing that the Rogue wasn’t the most diplomatic of personalities to use for this discussion. "We’re used to being discreet. We wouldn’t let it become a scandal, or expect you to let us to move in together or anything like that..." A pause, before adding shrewdly, "You’re a telepath. You’ll be able to keep an eye on him, to *know* that he’s not doing anything with any of the other students that he shouldn’t be."
Setting her mouth in a distasteful line, "Very well. I will ‘interview’ this man and see if he is anything like you’ve claimed. But I make no promises to hire him..."
Marie smiled. "That’s good enough." She fully expected Logan to dazzle Frosty — and if he didn’t, well, at least he’d be *here* — making it easier to formulate Plans B or C if necessary...
* * *
It was nearly two AM, and Logan was going down to the school’s computer lab to — he could barely believe it — check his e-mail.
Thankfully, the lab was empty. (As he had hoped the late hour would ensure.) Also thankfully, the computers were still on, albeit with the screen savers running. He frowned at the branching pipework assembling itself across the nearest darkened screen, gingerly seating himself before the largely unfamiliar equipment. Fortunately his elbow joggled the mouse while he was still wondering how to make the computer work properly, disabling the screen saver and returning the monitor to the desktop he remembered Marie having shown him the previous week.
/"See, you click on the little wheel — like a ship’s wheel..."/
It took some fumbling and false starts, but he got the pointer to the Navigator icon. After repeated annoyed clicking of the mouse buttons, he finally managed to double-click and open the program. It took a few tries before he remembered to include the ":" after the "http," but eventually he managed to pull up the Hotmail screen.
/"One hundred seventy-five? How the hell can there be that many people already using the name ‘Wolverine’?"
With a little giggle, "Maybe there are a lot of Michigan football fans..."/
The password was easy enough to remember — Marie had chosen it... The screen it sent him to was confusingly cluttered, but he remembered to click on the little "Inbox" to the left, and when it pulled up his messages there it was... "Hey, sugar!" from _Marie Gordon_. By now having the idea to click on the little underlined words, he managed to pull up the message text by clicking on Marie’s name, and read:
"Logan,
I don’t have a lot of time before I get booted off the computer to let someone else on for school stuff, but I just wanted to drop you a line. It’s been interesting so far, and I have a lot less secrets here than I did at Xavier’s — and a job opening for you. I’ll try to call when I can...
Love,
Marie"
He couldn’t keep from grinning at that, just a little bit — so they hadn’t gone to all the trouble of setting this account up for nothing. And if that "job opening" meant what it looked like — could he be moving to Frost’s Academy? If it got him back to Marie, he was willing enough...
That bit about having a lot less secrets, though — that might be worrisome. Examining his options in all the little pale blue buttons, he tried "Reply" and was rewarded with a blank message to <[email protected]>:
"baby,
i managed to figure out how to work the damn computer and i read your
message. i want to hear more about that job you got lined up for me" —
frowning as a thought occurred to him — "and what did you mean by having
less secrets there? if that means you can’t really talk to me on the computer,
that’s fine — you got my number.
love,
logan"
He eyed the message thoughtfully, wondering if there was anything to add or remove, before hitting "Send."
Really, that signature said the most important thing.
Satisfied that his first unguided foray onto the internet had gone so well, he found the "Passport log out" button and left the computer without bothering to close the Navigator window. This called for a beer.
* * *
The cell phone was a pain in the ass, but if it kept Xavier from using Cerebro to snoop him out when he was wanted back in Westchester then it was worth carrying around. He still hadn’t quite solved the problem of the ringing tone, though — he suspected Marie and her roommates of making a game out of resetting it every chance they got to "borrow" it from him, and he never could remember how to find his way through the menus to the one that set the ringing tone without Marie to show him. Which meant that he ran the risk of having an embarrassingly fruity song suddenly playing from his pocket in a dingy bar or strip joint.
He hadn’t actually gone out tonight, but the phone was on anyway — so he was the only person present to be annoyed by the wispy scale trilling from the phone at an annoyingly piercing volume. The stupid ring wasn’t enough to upset him tonight, though — with him being right there in his room at Chuckie’s, the only person with reason to call him at *this* number was...
"Marie?"
"Yep, that’s me!" Giggly and happy and — well, not there in his room, but still he was hearing her voice for the first time in more than a week, so it was much better than having nothing of her there at all.
"How’s it going?" Which was inane, absolutely inane, but he wasn’t so good with talk when he didn’t have anything that really needed saying, except that, "I’ve missed you."
"I missed you too — but I’ve been doing something about that."
"And?"
"And the Massachusetts Academy is in *desperate* need of a *competent* self-defense instructor." A pause, and then a shift to a quieter tone. "One who’s used to teaching mutants — but can pass for normal for the ‘regular’ students."
"‘Regular’ students? They’re mixing you with kids who aren’t mutants?"
"That’s right."
"And they’ve got the mutants passing for normal?"
"That’s right."
"Even you?"
A little pause, then, "Yeah."
"Without your gloves and all that? And they ain’t worried?"
A slightly longer pause, then, "Ms. Frost checked me out on my second day there. She knows I have control."
"Ah."
"Yeah... And she knows how I got it."
"*Ah*."
"And I got her to agree that she needs a self-defense instructor, so she’s willing to talk to you and see what you can do..."
"But?"
"But, you’re probably gonna have to really wow her to get her to decide to hire you."
"I think I can manage."
"Yeah, if anyone can wow Frosty, it’s *you*..."
A chuckle.
* * *
Logan’s own grasp of the rules of common courtesy was hazy at best. However, he was vaguely aware that he should say something to Xavier — and maybe to Scooter and Jeannie and Ro, as well — before just hopping onto his bike and leaving the X-Mansion for good.
So after he’d taken the things he wanted and thrown them into a bag — not a whole hell of a lot, really, but then he’d learned to pack light after years on the road — he headed down to Xavier’s classroom. His timing was just right, catching the Professor as the students were filing out of the room at the end of class.
Waiting until Chuck was the only person left in the room, he walked in, pack slung over one shoulder. "I’m heading out now. Don’t know when I’ll be back — *if* I’ll be back. Don’t let Scooter fuck up the combat classes too bad."
Xavier looked taken aback. "Is there anything wrong?"
Logan wasn’t sure why Wheels was so startled — had they really thought they had him tied down for good? Or was it just that he and Marie had done *that* good a job of hiding the true extent of their relationship? "Nah, just no reason to stay. So I’m going."
"No reason to — Logan, you’re a valuable member of our team and a skilled instructor. We had hoped you had found a place here — as a friend. Family, even."
All of which made Logan distinctly uncomfortable. There was a definite guilt factor involved, both in the thought of the do-gooders running off to battle without him to bail their asses out of trouble, and in the thought of the kids graduating to join the leather crew without him there to pound some sense into their heads before they got themselves killed. And yes, he *did* like a fair number of the people here — quite a bit, in some cases...
...But the person he liked the best had moved to another state. And he wasn’t going to let Chuckie talk him out of following her. "I don’t do real well with being tied down."
The Professor gave him an intense gaze. "Are you entirely certain there isn’t some reason why you’ve chosen *now* for an attack of wanderlust?"
Caution kept him from the truth — because he wasn’t entirely sure he and Marie wouldn’t be able to swing a return to Xavier’s one way or another, and because Marie wouldn’t reach the age of consent in this state for some time. "It seemed like the right time to go."
"I won’t be able to talk you into staying, will I?"
"I’m not planning on it."
"Are you going to say good bye to them?"
He hesitated, thinking of Kitty and Jubilee, Kurt and Jeannie — even Scooter. "I don’t do real well with goodbyes."
But somehow his path out of the X-Mansion took him through the lunchroom, where most of the students and teachers alike were gathered. And on his way to the door, he took the time to pass by a few tables. Most of them, in fact.
He didn’t say a lot, nor did he stop anywhere long enough to get into a genuine conversation. But by the time he’d exited the building, the point had gotten across. The Wolverine had left the building — and it was anyone’s guess as to when — or if — he’d be back.
* * *
Marie hadn’t spent much time bonding with her new classmates. There was a certain degree of curiosity about the pretty new girl — with her mutant classmates being especially interested in the girl who had attended an alternate school for the "gifted" that none of them had even heard of before. She was wary about giving too many details — for one thing, she didn’t want to blow the X-Men’s cover. For another, she was hoping that Logan would soon be added to the faculty at the Massachusetts Academy — and she was afraid of saying something that might jeopardize that. Letting alone the fact that he was her lover, he was a violent man unimpressed with little things like petty legalities or keeping impressionable youth away from liquor, sex or bad language. With his potential acceptance at Frost’s school at risk, she considered him to be a sort of conversational minefield. Unfortunately, for her most talk of Xavier’s led to Logan — so she spoke as little on her former school as she could.
Which meant that her fellow students had no idea either that she had a boyfriend back at Xavier’s, or that they might soon be getting a new instructor.
* * *