Unspoken: Blind Jump

Blind Jump
by jenn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Logan and Rogue talk about risk and swimming and sea monsters, though not necessarily in that order.

Timeline: Everything, with special attention to Andariel's "Between the Lines" and Min's "Just the Peacocks Screaming".

Date: September 27, 2001

These people had way too much money.

The fact that one of their members was the heir of Worthington Enterprises was a big tip off, true. So was the fact that the school, to quote Rogue, owned roughly two hundred acres of land right here. Logan, little though he might understand the intricacies of real estate, figured Westchester wasn't a cheap area.

Beside him, Rogue had fallen silent after taking him around the grounds, showing him the bits that Xavier hadn't--the large gardens Ororo kept up, the soccer field and tennis court, and the lake just beyond. From the familiarity of her stride over the uncertain terrain, he guessed she came here often.

"My spot," she said, looking at the dock, then at the small boathouse. Something crossed her face, almost too fast to read, but her scent was edged with pain. "When I first got here, I used to hide there." She pointed to a distant shape that had a vague resemblance to some sort of structure. "In the boathouse. Scott would bring me dinner and try to talk to me."

"How old were you?" He picked a path down to stand beside her, looking over the dark blue water sprinkled with the colors of the sunset.

"Nineteen. I'd been on my own for three years--I ran away when my mutation manifested." She turned a little away from him, blocking his view of her face.

She didn't seem interested in sharing further--frankly, considering her reticence, he was faintly surprised she'd said anything at all. Looking around, he saw the tree with the rope securely attached to a low-hanging branch, now out of commission, wrapped neatly around the tree, ready for future warm weather.

"You swim here?" he asked, gesturing toward the rope. Rogue turned and he saw a little smile curl up her lips.

"Scott and the kids do. During the summer, it's cooler than the pool. Sometimes, we went out on boats."

"I didn't ask if the kids did--I asked if you did."

She laughed softly.

"No. Skin, swimsuit, nasty situation all around." She shrugged lightly, stepping out a booted foot onto the dock, testing the stability, then stepping up. "Besides, there's a water monster, you know. I don't tempt fate like that."

No, she didn't. He thought about that.

"Water monster, huh?"

She grinned, skipping forward a little. He wondered what she'd been like at nineteen suddenly--just below the surface of her, there were amazing amounts of energy held in severe check. He had to wonder what she did with it.

"Big one. Eats fishermen all the time." She chuckled softly. "'Ro swears that's what finally made me move up to the Mansion--her stories about it. Late at night, I could almost swear that I could hear it going through the water." She turned a little and he watched how the dying sunlight silhouette her. It made him catch his breath.

Bad situation. Remember that, Logan. Bad. Complex. Sticky. He told his brain to take a flying leap and concentrated on how she walked to the edge of the dock, looking down. He wondered if she could swim.

"So how do you know Eliot?"

Ooh. Shoulda known she'd ask.

"Don't know."

"No, seriously." She watched him step one foot, then both onto the dock. It was moving. Logan and water didn't get along well at the best of times. Eyeing the rocking, he glanced up at Rogue, who laughed again.

"It won't topple."

"Yeah, I'll take your word for it." Slowly, he made his way along the plank, and dropped down beside her as she curled up on the edge. Her boot was only inches from the water.

"So, Eliot?"

"That." He mulled his answer, leaning against one of the nicely sturdy wooden posts. Did good things for his confidence on the dock. "It's complicated."

"Oh."

Nothing else. She wouldn't push. Watching her, he wondered if anyone had ever pushed her for anything.

"No memory." Her eyes came up, fixing on him in interest. "Xavier knows, Jean knows. Hard to hide from telepaths."

"What--from when you were in the lab?"

Yeah, she'd gotten some of his memories, all right. He sighed a little.

"No idea. Woke up with an improved bone structure, traded for memory. That was fifteen years ago, give or take." He thought about it. "Maybe a little longer. That first year was rough."

He watched her work it out.

"Could you do anything?" From anyone else, that question just wasn't something he'd ever have answered. Shit, they wouldn't have gotten this far in the first place. Maybe it was the remnants of the dusk slipping through her hair and filling her eyes, or the sober interest on her face.

Maybe he really couldn't get away from this.

"Not much. I could fight. I knew basic crap--could drive, read, even can quote some fucking random poetry at women for kicks." He paused, thinking it through. "But--some things I had to learn the hard way."

"Your way with people, for example."

He grinned.

"I have to say, I'm not that bad with people." He shrugged, reaching down with a foot and kicking at the water. The boots were good. He could get used to this.

"Creed could take lessons from you, but that's about it." Her smile was sudden and blinding. He didn't like how he reacted to it, not at all. Complex, Logan. Too complex, too much going on here. She's pretty and she's interesting, but no one and nothing is that interesting. She lifted a knee, bracing an arm across it, resting a delicate chin as she looked around.

The silence was oddly comfortable. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

"So you know how to read, drive, fight, and quote Eliot. What else can you do?"

"Draw."

She straightened. Again, that cute little shocked expression, and he grinned and kicked water at her leg. She jumped a little, glancing down to see her sprinkled jeans.

"You can draw?"

"Yeah. Keep that a secret, okay? I can get away with poetry, but what cage fighter do you know who can sketch, darlin'?"

"Not enough to do a representative sample, sugar." She kicked water back at him and he jumped--she kicked harder. The front leg of his jeans were soaked. "But I'll keep it in mind as I run into cage fighters."

"Good enough."

The silence was comfortable again, and Logan realized dark was coming on. Dark. Could be moonlight. Alone on a dock with Rogue. Was this a bad idea?

Oh fucking yes. Put that in and spin it, he could not, would not, did not need this sort of complication in his life. The panic was almost enough to bring him to his feet, but one glance at her showed her gaze at the boathouse, head leaned back against the wooden post behind her.

"What else?" he asked softly. Her gaze slipped to him but her head didn't move.

"We were going to remodel it, so we could live there. For privacy." Brown eyes fixed back on it. "Scott and I argued over tile samples for days. I don't even remember what the big deal was, why I thought that green would be better than white." She shook her head. "In retrospect, it seems such a stupid thing to argue over."

"Like curtain colors?"

She flipped her full attention back to him.

"Curtains are cream. Always."

"Who won?"

She flushed, and her gaze was at anything but him.

"You ever lost an argument?"

The brown eyes kindled and she straightened.

"I lost Scott."

Ah. That.

"How badly did you want that green tile, Rogue?"

Gloved hands were on her knees now--she was going to get up and leave. Oh hell no--this was getting too damn interesting.

"Scared to share? Come on, I gave you poetry and drawing. Tell me how important that tile was."

Her flush was bright, draining away almost instantly.

"Not that important."

"Important enough to fight over for days." God, she had no idea. "And it took you three hours to give up Summers."

"That's completely different."

"Jean's gone," he told her, and she blinked, staring at him. "Gone away for awhile, get her head together. Scott's in his room. Crawl in bed with him and tell him he's more important than that tile."

She was on her feet in the neatest little bit of levitation he'd ever seen. Booted feet stomping down the planks, and he got up, going after her. She still didn't see it--of course she didn't.

"You runnin' again, Rogue?"

She came to a dead stop, turning slowly. Oh, she was angry. Shit, this was fun. Finding his balance again on the ground, he watched her hands fist at her sides.

"What the hell do you know about it?"

He wondered if she fought with Scott like this, if she ever just let the fuck go.

"What I see." He came to a stop at the first tree beyond the water, leaning against it as she tried to find something to say. She couldn't--she probably never thought about it. "Fighting for that tile wasn't a risk, was it, Rogue? Fighting for Cyke would be. Living in the boathouse for months after you got here wasn't a risk, but getting in the water was. When's the last time you just jumped?"

There it was. He felt it coming, smelled it coming, before she even knew she was going to break.

"You fucking bastard," she breathed, almost in wonder. "I got in bed with him--I let him touch me when he could take me out with a blink and I could kill him with a touch. What isn't risk about that?"

"What did you have to lose? Don't tell me you two didn't take every precaution under the fucking sun--I've seen Summers' work, he's the ultimate boy scout." He took a step closer, watching her face. It was almost full dark, but his night vision was as good as his day vision. "When's the last time you took a risk?"

She didn't answer, didn't even move. He wasn't sure she was even breathing, but he did know she was thinking. Every line of her body yelled it.

"You said it yourself--the risk it would be to marry him now."

"Yeah, I did. That's not what I asked, though. What I asked was, what was the difference between Scott and that fucking green tile? What made the tile less risky than trying to keep Scooter?"

She shut her eyes tight for a long moment and looked like she might not answer. Then it happened--just like before, he could feel it, when she let the shift happen. She'd been doing things halfway for too long.

"It wasn't the risk," she whispered finally. The night was so still, it didn't matter. "I couldn't have him. Not completely. Not the ways that counted. Not everything." Something went out of her, then, and she slumped a little. He took another step closer, enough to see the brown eyes were clear. "I want everything. I want it to be--I want more. And he wouldn't give me that. He couldn't." Her voice was almost a whisper. "It wasn't enough."

Silence.

"Why does it matter? Why the hell do you care?"

Logan shrugged, taking the last step between them, and she didn't draw away. Mouth set in a straight line, she looked up at him.

"Let's go swimming." Taking her hand, he pulled her behind him.

"What--?" She didn't even try to dig in her heels--that was one battle she had to know she wouldn't win. "Logan, the water--it's fall, for God's sake."

The boards were rickety, but he didn't care, getting to the edge, he looked down into the dark blue-black, and gave in to the inevitable. She pulled up sharply beside him, toes hanging lightly over the edge.

Then he looked at her, watching the moonlight reflected in the pure line of white in her hair.

"Rogue," he said softly, shifting his grip on her hand, giving her the option of pulling away. She looked up, eyes wide and dark and utterly transparent. "I've never swum either."

It was fall, the water was cold, and she let out a breath in shock when they hit the dark water.

And Logan, looking at her inches away, discovered they both could swim.

~*~

Rogue Laughter by Victoria P.

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Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.