Unspoken: Unexpected

Rating: PG-13 - language

Summary: Rogue takes action, but things don't go quite as planned.

Timeline: Directly after "There Was No Design"

Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Dot, and Meg. More notes at the end.

Date: October 16, 2001

Rogue stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing herself with new eyes.

Yes, she was attractive. She knew that, knew the boys crushed on her almost as much as on Ororo. She dragged a brush through her hair, which was slightly damp from the thorough washing she'd just given her face.

After brushing her teeth, she grabbed a lipstick and fumbled with it. Would Logan like the pale pink or the red? She'd always worn the paler colors for Scott -- they looked more natural, even to his ruby-tinted gaze. Wrinkling her nose, she decided neither would do, and pulled out a third tube, a dark burgundy Storm had convinced her to buy one afternoon at Lord and Taylor. She hadn't liked it -- felt it made her already big lips too prominent, too -- lush.

She grinned wickedly and applied it, blotting carefully and then leaning in and kissing the mirror, giggling at the imprint of her lips on the glass.

Absently stroking the metal chain around her neck, she stepped into the bedroom and took a look at herself in the full-length mirror. Gone were the sweats she'd pulled on in her fit of self-pity. She'd changed into a long, black matte-jersey skirt and a black silk top, both of which hugged her curves lovingly. A sheer burgundy scarf and short black leather gloves completed the ensemble.

She took a couple of deep breaths, rearranged her bra (black lace, with matching bikinis -- no halfway measures tonight) one last time, and then strode purposefully down the hall to Logan's room.

He wasn't in.

Well, shit. That wasn't part of the plan.

Her nerve threatened to desert her at this setback, but she squared her shoulders and thought about what she'd said to Scott. She needed to seize the day. Gather her rosebuds. Take the bull -- or the Wolverine in this case -- by the horns.

Her thesis advisor would cringe at her mixed metaphors and her use of cliché, but that wasn't important right now.

She made her way to the dock, hoping that he'd be there, though of course, he wasn't. She sank down onto the grass, wondering when she'd started believing that life would actually follow the plot of a romance novel.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting in the damp grass when she heard the roar of Scott's motorcycle off in the distance.

She hurried back to the house, forcing herself to slow down a couple of times when she found herself running. Stop acting like a giddy schoolgirl.

She walked up the stairs and tried to regulate her breathing as she approached his doorway, which was wide open.

"Logan--" she began, and then she noticed what he was doing.

He was throwing clothes into a duffel bag. He was packing.

He was leaving.

With Jean, no doubt.

She'd wallowed for too long, and now she was going to lose out. Dammit. At least give me another chance, Logan. Please.

He turned, his eyes unfathomable in the dim light of the room. She saw his nostrils flare and she smoothed back her hair, suddenly aware of the picture she must present -- sweaty and tousled from her run back to the house, probably grass-stained as well. She bit her lip, tasting the distinctive waxy flavor of the lipstick and her own folly.

His gazed dropped from her face to her chest -- and she felt herself flush. He could see, in her décolletage, his tags.

She licked her lips and opened her mouth, but his words forestalled her.

"Marie." His voice was husky.

"You're leaving," she said, then cursed herself for stating the obvious.

"Looks that way," he agreed.

"I don't suppose," she hesitated, wondering how to phrase it without seeming desperate, "I don't suppose there's anything I -- we, I mean, we can do to convince you to stay?"

He raised an eyebrow and she felt her face burning. She couldn't remember blushing so much in one conversation since the first time she and Scott had had sex.

He moved toward her, forcing her back against the doorjamb. He put one hand on the wall above her head and looked down at her. "I'm not real interested in anything 'we' could offer."

She tilted her head back to look him in the eye, exposing the long column of her neck to his heated stare. "I see." Her voice was hoarse, breathy, and she swallowed hard, mesmerized by that lambent hazel gaze.

"Do you?" His voice, also, was rough and low. His hand came up and traced the chain lying cool against her warm skin. She forced herself not to flinch when she saw he was ungloved. He knew better than anyone what her skin was capable of -- he wasn't touching her, after all.

"I suppose you want these back," she said, touching the tags themselves, refocusing his eyes on the valley between her breasts. As if he'd needed a reminder to take in the view.

"I--"

A shrill voice broke into their conversation. "You can't go up there! Hey!"

Logan turned, and Rogue could see Jubilee and Kitty chasing after a tall Asian woman with hair so black it seemed almost purple.

"Logan!" the woman exclaimed, her posh British accent at odds with her appearance. "Where the hell have you been? I was stuck in bumfuck Ohio, of all the godforsaken places, waiting for you. I thought we agreed --" Catching sight of Rogue, she stopped her tirade. "Well, I guess that explains everything. I'm Betsy. Who're you?"

By this point, Jubilee and Kitty had caught up with the intruder. "We're so sorry," Kitty began breathlessly. "She just pushed right past us--"

"We tried to stop her," Jubilee added, "but Kitty didn't think I should paf her, so--"

Rogue took in the woman's smug expression and Logan's resigned one, and said, "It's okay, girls. Go back downstairs and let everyone know it's all right. I've got everything under control." Her voice sounded suspiciously hollow to her own ears, but she prayed no one else would notice.

"Are you sure--" Jubilee began uncertainly, but Logan cut her off.

"She's sure," he said grimly. Both girls took a good look at his face and scurried off, wondering what this latest development would mean for Miss Rogue, and the bet.

Once they were out of sight, Logan turned to Betsy, who was still sizing Rogue up. "What are you doing here, Betts?" he said, and Rogue shivered at his tone, though he hadn't raised his voice.

"I told you! You were supposed to meet me in Cincinnati and you never showed! I know you were on 'holiday,'" sarcasm dripped from the word, "but we had a client--"

"I know."

Rogue pushed herself up from where she was leaning against the doorjamb. "I'll leave you two to discuss your business, then," she said, trying for dignified. How many women does he have in his life? she wondered, And how the hell did I think I would be able to fit in? She knew she didn't want to play second fiddle to Jean or this woman or anyone else, and the way it looked right now, she was way down on the line.

Logan still blocked her way, though, and she found herself in very close proximity to his chest. She couldn't help but think of how she'd been imagining it, earlier in her room, glistening with lake water and --

"She's not your usual type," Betsy mused, snapping Rogue out of her memories, and speaking as if she were no longer standing right there, "but she's definitely got a look going on."

Rogue bit back her remark on Betsy's "look." In addition to the long hair, the woman wore a short black leather skirt and a purple handkerchief top, showing off pale, toned skin -- skin that could be touched. Skin that Logan had no doubt touched many times. She also wore patent leather boots with stiletto heels. The words "dominatrix bimbo" crossed Rogue's mind and she chastised herself for being unkind. Lord knew what she herself looked like, strapped into her leather X-Men uniform. She suddenly wished Logan had seen her like that, but she pushed the thought away.

She smiled tightly at them and attempted to maneuver around Logan, who matched her steps in some sort of odd dance.

"Oh, let her go, Logan! Don't be such a wanker!" Betsy said. "You can get your rocks off later. We have business to discuss now."

Logan turned and growled at her, allowing Rogue to escape.

She forced herself to walk slowly, shoulders straight and head held high, though inside she wasn't sure if she was shaking with heartbreak, anger or laughter.

It wasn't until she flopped down on her bed, stripped of her fancy clothes, that she realized she hadn't given him back the tags.

Running a bare finger over the name engraved in the metal, her lips curving in a slow smile, she realized she'd have one more chance, because she was sure he wouldn't leave without them.

~*~

A/N: Remember, vic=movieverse, so if Betsy's a little off, I apologize. I went with the Asian incarnation because I was picturing Lucy Liu as I wrote.

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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.