Untouchable Face

Untouchable Face

Rating: R - language

Summary: After four years away, Rogue returns to the mansion for Kitty and Bobby's wedding. Things have changed.

Notes: Thanks to my beloved betas, who put up with my crap amazingly well. This is what happens when you can't get a song out of your head, and Rogue starts talking at 4 am.

{ } indicates POV

{Rogue}

I always thought Logan and I would end up together. You know, the whole fairy-tale nine yards -- happily ever after and all.

I learned real life doesn't exactly work like that. Yes, there are occasionally knights in shining armor -- or in this case, skin-tight leather -- who swoop out of nowhere and lift you out of desperation and into a better life, but relationships are a whole lot more work. That's the part the Brothers Grimm always seem to leave out.

I was going home -- back to Westchester -- after being away for four years. Four years is a long time and a hell of a lot of things can change. I know I had. Though not, I guess, as much as I liked to think, because even though I was heading home, I was really running away. Away from Remy and a failed marriage. Away from the reminders that I was never going to have a life of domestic bliss with a white picket fence and two point two kids in the nursery.

Stop it. Don't think about kids. Don't think about Remy. Think about how glad Jubilee is going to be to see you. Think about how great Kitty's going to look in her wedding dress, and Bobby in his tux. Really, really don't think about seeing Logan and Jean together as a couple.

Strangely enough, it hadn't been Logan who broke up Mutant High's Prom King and Queen. From what Kitty and Jubes tell me, Jean and Scott grew apart slowly, maybe finally waking up to the fact that just because you'd always been with someone didn't mean that you should always be with that same someone. Or maybe Scott just realized that Ororo had been in love with him forever and he wanted a woman who could be as devoted to him as he was to her. I don't know.

What I know do is, Scott and Ororo got together a few months after Jean gave him back the engagement ring and called the wedding off. And a couple of months after that, Logan finally got what he came back to Westchester for in the first place -- full-time access to Jean Grey's person.

What, you bought into that whole romantic notion that he came back for me? That we were destined to be together and he was just waiting for me to become legal? Grow up already. I had -- have, really, though it's faded some -- the man in my head. I knew how he felt about me, about Jean, about the Pittsburgh Penguins' chances for a dynasty, and let me tell you, Jean came in second to hockey. I was a distant third. I just didn't want to believe it at the time.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Logan cared about me. I was his responsibility. And when he came back after being away for a year without so much as a word, we fell into an easy sort of camaraderie -- the kind that allows you to play pool in a dive bar at two am and drink beer while watching ESPN.

But I wanted more and I was determined to get it. My infatuation, as Jean liked to put it (condescending bitch -- but I digress), hadn't gone away. I mean, you'd think that a year without any word at all might have given me a hint that I wasn't on his mind quite as much as he was on mine. My only excuse is youth and youth's willful ignorance. I knew all this stuff, but I had to experience it first-hand before I actually got it.

So, on my nineteenth birthday, I set about seducing Logan. It was remarkably easy. I'm an attractive woman, and I've got a creative imagination, which someone with deadly skin needs if she ever wants to get laid. And Logan isn't one to let morality get in the way of good sex. And believe me, it was good sex. Far better than anything Remy and I...

I kicked myself. Don't think about Remy. Don't think about Logan. Which was kind of hard, since I was going to be seeing him in approximately fifteen minutes, for the first time since I'd left four years ago, in the front seat of Remy's Corvette.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, Logan and I began a relationship, if you want to call it that. It consisted of a lot of sex, broken up by his occasional trips north. Oddly enough, he was faithful to me on those trips. But then I started wanting more. I wanted a love for all time, like Scarlett and Rhett. Of course, when I think about it now, I realize they didn't have a happy ending, either.

After a year together, I started pressing Logan. "Do you love me? Why don't you ever say it? Why don't you ever look at me when we're having sex? Why won't you take me with you when you leave?" His response would be to walk away. Let's face it, the man has issues with commitment. Or he did, before he and Jean got all lovey-dovey.

Finally, I got sick being treated like his little lapdog, and started looking around to see what else was out there. And what I saw was Remy. Good-looking, sweet-talking Remy, with his French endearments and his romantic flourishes.

I didn't plan to do anything but flirt with him, get a little back for the nauseating displays Jean and Logan sometimes put on. Until the night Logan touched me. Accidentally, of course. Even a self-destructive adrenaline-junkie like Logan didn't go around touching me on purpose during sex. And that's when I felt it. He liked me. He did. He cared about me, even. But he still thought of Jean, wanted her with a desperation that made me sick. But I understood it, because it was the same sort of desperation with which I'd wanted him.

I don't even think he realized that I knew. He blacked out for a few seconds, and in that short period of time, I decided I could no longer be her substitute. I deserved more.

So, I slept with Remy. Flagrantly. Before I broke up with Logan. I needed to get his attention, and I surely did.

Let's gloss over the fights and the recriminations. The lack of anything resembling real pain on Logan's part. Nothing good to remember there. Remy and I left a week later, and I hadn't been back since.

Amazingly, Remy and I didn't end up hating each other; I did learn to love him, as much I was capable of loving anyone. We got married in Vegas and traveled around for a while before settling in his native New Orleans. It was day-to-day life with him that drove me nuts. He was a talker, I was a talker, which meant neither of us was ever quiet enough to listen to the other. At first, it was endearing. But what works while you're dating and having adventures is a whole different story from what works in a marriage. Neither of us was ready for that level of commitment, and it showed.

After two years, we barely had sex anymore. After three, I knew he was getting it somewhere else. And the sad part was, I understood, then, Logan's indifference to my cheating.

I mean, I was hurt, and Remy and I fought, but it wasn't the same as when I found out about Logan's feelings for Jean. That bone-numbing, heart-shattering intensity was missing. That's when I knew the difference between loving somebody and being in love with them. Neither Remy nor I was prepared to build a life together, to actually go through with that whole "two-become-one" crap that no one believes until it happens to them.

That third year, we got a divorce in the same half-assed way we got married. I moved out, no hard feelings. And it's true, there aren't. We still hang out and I'm in on his weekly poker game. I think he's gone back to thieving, which I wouldn't allow while we were together (if I ever caught him at it, which was rare).

And now here I am, Rogue, twenty-four years old, pulling up to 1407 Greymalkin Lane, alone again, naturally.

The gates opened smoothly and I could already hear the sounds of kids yelling and playing. School was almost over for the year, it was a beautiful May afternoon in New York, and I had just spent two days driving, carrying my own little cloud of gloom with me.

I eased into the garage, my beat-up old pickup looking way out of place among all of Scott's high-tech, high-gloss babies, and took a deep breath. I will not be depressed, I told myself. I will not bring down everyone around me. I'm here for my best friends' wedding, and I will be happy. I will.

That was my mantra, and it lasted a whole thirty seconds. Because Logan stood at the entrance to the garage. He was shirtless, as usual, and covered in dust and sweat. He must have been working on the big pavilion Kitty told me they were building for the reception.

There are a lot of things you can forget in four years. The way a person's hair sticks up at funny angles, or the play of their fingers against yours as you hold hands. I had forgotten Logan's intent way of staring at anything that crossed his path and held his interest.

I was obviously in that category now.

I exited the truck, lugging my suitcase with me.

"Lemme get that," he said, walking forward to grab it. His hand brushed mine, and even through my glove I felt the electric shock his touch always gave me.

I jerked away. "No, I got it," I said, smiling tightly. I will be friendly, I will. You left him, remember? He's the one who's supposed to be pissed.

He let go. "Fair enough. Nice truck."

I knew he actually meant that, so I laughed a little, involuntarily, and smiled genuinely. "Thanks." We stood awkwardly for a few seconds, staring at each other in the cool dimness of the garage before I said, "So, what's up?"

He started walking toward the yard. "Well, there's this wedding, see --"

I struggled to catch up with his longer strides, dragging the suitcase behind me. Thank God for wheeled luggage. I should have sucked it up and let him take it, because it was damn heavy. "I know that, silly. I mean, you know, how are you?" And I meant it sincerely. I loved this man in ways that even I cannot begin to fathom. Even if we hadn't worked out as a couple, I was sorry I'd hurt him (if I had -- I still wasn't sure), and I wanted to at least be friends again. Especially since I was planning to move back into the mansion.

He shrugged. "Fine."

"The wedding keepin' you busy?"

Another shrug. "Guess so. Kitty changes her mind every five minutes and the snowflake just goes along with it."

I will not ask about Jean. I will not ask about Jean. "How's Jean?" Dammit. I really didn't want to know.

"She's good."

And that was his "don't ask, 'cause I'm not talking" tone. I knew that tone well. Trouble in paradise? I had to get a grip. Stop it, Rogue. Just because you don't like Jean doesn't mean you wish trouble on her.

"Good."

He led me up the drive and to the front door. I don't know why we just didn't go through the garage, but whatever. He finally took the suitcase from me as we reached the front steps.

The door opened and suddenly I was surrounded by Kitty and Jubilee, squealing for all they were worth. And believe me, that's a lot of squealing. We hugged, carefully, as always, and there was a lot of, "Oh, my God, look at you!" And "Chica, what is up with that outfit?" -- that was Jubilee, of course, questioning my Levi's and flannel. Yeah, I can't seem to shake Logan's fashion sense either, though I draw the line at those big, redneck belt-buckles he likes so much.

"Just wait until you see the gown Kitty's picked out for us. Of course, it's not yellow, but damn, we're gonna look fine," Jubes continued. I watched Logan make his way up the stairs with my suitcase, and I realized that the reunion I'd been dreading was over. And the world hadn't ended.

By the time my girls let me get upstairs to my room -- yeah, they managed to get me my old room back, somehow -- Logan was long gone, just a faint hint of his scent lingering in the air. I'm not crazy. I got two very large doses of his powers, and while the healing factor didn't stay very long, my senses are far more acute than most people's, though nowhere near his level. The ability to sniff out trouble, combined with his memories of what trouble smells like, had saved Remy and me a few times, so I can't complain. Plus, it was a little bit of him I'd always get to hold onto, like the dog tags I never did give back. I wonder if I should pass them on to Jean, now, or would that be really tacky? I don't know. She's the one with the high-class background; my family's only one generation removed from trailer-trash.

So, I was unpacking and getting my head around being back at the only real home I'd known since I was sixteen when Scott knocked at the door.

I turned and had to catch my breath again. I never appreciated how good-looking he is while I was a schoolgirl, daydreaming about Logan all the time, but damn, Ororo is one lucky woman. I actually said that out loud, and he laughed.

"Come here, you," he said, pulling me into a tight hug. "I missed you, Rogue. Weekly emails are not good enough." He grabbed my hand and held it up. "Obviously, no fingers are broken, so why the hell didn't you call?"

"I called Kitty and Bobby," I said defensively. The real reason was that the last three times I had called, Jean had answered, and well -- let's just say that the first conversation went so badly that I just hung up the next two times and stopped calling.

The phone system at the mansion is strange. During the day, all calls are routed through the main switchboard, except calls directly to the offices. So, I suppose I could have called Scott directly, or I could have called at night, when the system is switched over to direct-inward-dial, but I was so spooked that I didn't. I tried once or twice, misdialed Logan's number by mistake, and since interrupting Jean and Logan during sex was the last thing I ever wanted to do, that was the end of that. (And how the hell could I remember the phone number of the room we lived in together four years ago, but still couldn't remember Remy's number in New Orleans, where I had lived during those four years? The mind is a funny thing. But again, I digress.)

He looked at me, and in some ways I was glad I couldn't see the pity in his eyes as he figured out everything I didn't say.

"Rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night, so if you want to hang out this evening with Ororo and me, let us know. We were planning on hitting a movie, but we can do dinner or drinks instead," he said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"I think Kitty and Jubes have some 'girl-time' scheduled," I replied, with genuine regret. "Maybe Monday?" The wedding was Sunday. "Though," and I paused, nervous now that the moment of truth had arrived, "you'll probably be able to see me any old time. I'm moving back in." It all came out in a rush.

But Scott's cool. He just pulled me into another tight hug and said, "Finally, you're coming home. Thank God. I still wish you'd let me kick Remy's ass for you," he whispered in my ear.

I sniffed. He always did have a way of saying the right thing and making me teary in a good way. "Nah. What goes around comes around, Scott. I did it to Logan, and Remy did it to me." There, I mentioned the big taboo subject, and the world didn't end. Of course, Scott wasn't a main participant at that point, so it wasn't too painful for him.

"About Logan," he said, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, though I'll bet it was pretty damned interesting. However, my timing has always been bad, so it was at that moment that my other best friend, otherwise known as Bobby Drake, the Iceman, launched himself into the room.

"Rogue, baby! You know I'm getting married in two days, right?" And another hug. Damn, but was everyone in the mansion gorgeous? I felt like a little black crow among the peacocks.

"Good lord," I responded after he let me go, "don't tell me they let you have caffeine, Bobby. I swear, it should be a federal offense for you to get within sniffing distance of coffee." He laughed, and Scott gave me the "We'll talk later" look as Bobby flopped onto the bed and made himself comfortable.

Jubilee, Kitty and St. John followed, and we had a grand old time catching up.

So far, things had gone great. There was only one major obstacle left -- well, two actually. Seeing Jean again, and then seeing Jean with Logan. But I could handle that, I told myself. Not a problem. I'd seen Logan, and aside from a flicker of attraction any straight woman who wasn't dead would have felt, it had been fine. I was over him. I didn't want him like that anymore.

And maybe if I kept telling myself that, eventually, I'd believe it.

I managed to avoid seeing Jean that night, and for a good portion of the next day, thanks to Kitty and Jubilee and the fittings they'd arranged for me at the bridal shop in town.

Jubilee was right, the gowns were gorgeous. Of royal blue satin, they had a square neckline, long columnar skirt, and no sleeves -- no straps either -- and a big, but not unflattering, bow just above the butt. I was taken aback by the sle