Second Chances

By Victoria PJ

E-mail: shoe715@yahoo.com  <shoe715@yahoo.com>

Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and/or Fox. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on their copyright. 

 

 

 

Rating: R - warning: character death and um, sex. But not sex with dead characters. 'Cause that would be ishy.

Summary: Scott and Rogue learn to love again.

Notes: I didn't want to write S/R, but the plot bunny just wouldn't go away, and April kept after me, so here it is. This one's for you, April. Thanks to Dot, Jen, Meg & Pete for betaing, even if I couldn't make Dot cry.

Also, I took some liberties with both Scott's and Jean's family history. Not that it matters with Scott, 'cause even the actual Marvel people don't seem to know what the hell's going on with the Summers family. <g>

~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation

He couldn't believe she was dead. His mind refused to process the information.

Ororo had to pilot the Blackbird because he refused to leave Jean's side. Her head lolled at an odd angle and her green eyes stared blankly up at him. He cradled her against his chest, rocking back and forth, sobbing, "No, no, no," over and over again. His mind reached out for her, for the comfort of the mental bond they'd always shared, and found nothing. Silence. Emptiness. He refused to accept it.

The others, too, were stunned and tearful. Even Logan. He'd been the closest to her when she died. He'd absorbed part of the blast, but not enough to save her. He stared blindly at his hands. He hadn't been able to save her. ~None of you could have saved her.~ Xavier's voice said softly in his head. He growled in response, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to spill out and overwhelm him.

Their return was met with silence. Xavier didn't cry in front of them, but his eyes were red and his hands shaking as he reached out to Scott, who carried her off the jet. His children. His first child, his secret favorite, gone. And Scott -- his heir -- broken, possibly beyond recovery.

The students gathered fearfully around their teachers. The Professor's anguished mental cry at the moment of her death had been enough to wake them all and send them scurrying down to the kitchen to huddle and offer each other what little comfort they could.

Rogue stood, alone and untouchable as always, by the doorway. When the X-Men approached, she looked hesitantly at Logan. She wanted to throw herself at him, seek and give comfort in his arms, but he brushed past her as if she wasn't there.

"You should go to the infirmary," Xavier told him gravely. He ignored the older man and went to his room. Rogue looked at Xavier and Ororo, and then followed after him.

He threw his belongings into his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, not even acknowledging her presence.

Finally he turned. "I could have saved her," he said.

"Logan, you can't blame yourself."

"I can, and I do."

"So you're running again?" Her voice cracked. She wouldn't be able to hold it together much longer.

"Get out of my way, kid." It was the harshest he'd ever been with her.

She finally lost control. "Logan, I can't lose you tonight, too." That stopped him.

He looked at her, raised a hand and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, Marie. But I can't stay here. Not now. Not like this."

"What about your promise? Who's gonna protect me?" She'd never brought it up, never mentioned how he'd run off a week after he'd made that promise, and stayed away for a year. It was a measure of how desperate she was to keep him with her that she brought it up now.

His hand dropped away. "You can look after yourself, kid. Look where my protection got Jeannie." He walked out.

"Logan!" He turned and she could see the pain in his face. "Take care of yourself."

"Yeah," he said. "It's what I do best." His voice was bitter.

He thought the sun was mocking him. He begged Storm to whip up weather worthy of her name, but she refused. She thought she was all cried out and had made her peace with what happened. Death was a natural part of life, and the weather goddess, more than most, was able to understand that.

The autumn air was crisp and clear and the sky painfully blue the day they laid Jean in the ground. There was a soft shower at the end, as they each walked by the casket and put their flowers on it, and Ororo cried softly into a tissue. "Even the sky is crying," someone murmured. Former students and teachers came from all over the world for the funeral. Scott went through the motions, his mouth set in grim lines. He shook hands and accepted condolences but his mind still refused to accept that she was gone. He kept trying to wake up from this nightmare.

Life went on. It always does. Storm took over leadership of the team, while Scott tried to pull himself together. He took insane risks, uncaring of whether he lived or died.

Of course, he came through unscathed every time.

Xavier tried to reach him, to help him, but he wasn't ready. He shut himself off from everything and everyone, leaving his classes to Rogue or Storm or Hank.

He spent more time than they thought was healthy at her grave, talking to her.

"How can I go on without you, Jean? You were my life and my hope. You were supposed to be with me forever, in sickness and in health..." His voice broke. Another regret, that they'd never gotten married -- had put it off time and again, until time ran out.

He heard the small, choked sound of someone else crying, and turned. Rogue stood there, silent tears running down her face, gloved arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Rogue?" he said softly.

She looked up, startled. 'I'm, I'm sorry, Scott. I'm intruding. I'll go."

She turned to leave, but his hand on her arm stopped her. "No, no. I'm sorry. Sorry I couldn't save her. Sorry that I can't be stronger, be the leader you all need now that she's gone. Sorry for everything. I'm just a sorry excuse for a man."

That made her angry -- couldn't he see how many people cared about him as Scott, not as Cyclops or the leader of the X-Men? She wanted to hit him, snap him out of it. "We don't need a leader," she cried, "we need you, Scott. I need you," she whispered. "I didn't realize it, but Jean, she was the closest thing to a best friend I had. She never made me feel like a freak, like an outcast..." her voice trailed off into silence.

Life was hard for her, friends rare. She laughed and joked with the other girls, but only Jean had really understood, had made an effort to touch her occasionally, even if just her arm or hair. Only she and Logan had done that regularly, and both were gone now.

It had been months since anyone had touched her. Even through the grief she was slightly thrilled that he hadn't even thought, just touched.

And then he pulled her into a fierce hug that surprised her. "You are not a freak, Rogue," he said harshly. "Who's been bothering you?"

"No one," she said, her voice muffled as he pressed her head into his shoulder. "It's just, it's everything." She felt rather than heard his sigh. It was the closest she'd been to another human being since that night five years ago when Logan held her on top of the Statue of Liberty.

"Let me help you," he whispered, glad suddenly to have someone other than himself to focus on.

She turned the words over in her head, and thought that maybe helping her would help him. She closed her eyes and they cried together, her face hidden against him, his face pressed into the scarf around her neck.

Finally the sobs wracking them stopped and he held her as she sniffled. A shiver ran through her and he said, "It's too cold out here, Rogue. Let's head home." He took her hand, and they went back to the mansion.

After that, Scott made an effort to return to some semblance of normalcy. He moved out of the room he and Jean had shared, and into a room that contained no memories for him, nothing of her but what he brought -- a picture of them laughing at some long-forgotten joke, a few other pictures of her, and a painting of him that she'd done a long time ago, before medicine took precedence over art in her life.

He began teaching classes again, English and calculus. He spent hours planning lessons, grading papers, and generally avoiding spending time alone in his new room.

If anyone wanted him during the day, he could most often be found in his office with the door closed, reading. Almost everyone respected his unspoken wishes and left him alone.

He developed insomnia, a condition that had plagued him as a teenager, but hadn't bothered him in all the years he'd had Jean sleeping at his side.

At night, he sat in the kitchen, book in hand, just trying to make it through until morning. After getting the rough edge of his tongue when they tried to join him, the others left him alone then, too.

As Scott began the journey back to living, instead of just existing, Rogue withdrew deeper and deeper into herself. She put away Logan's dogtags. She let him go. She had to. He wasn't coming back, she admitted to herself on the one-year anniversary of Jean's death. He had loved Jean too much, and felt he'd failed her too greatly. She began the cycle of grief again, her eyes growing darker and more shadowed.

Even the faded version of Logan in her head had started to disappear, and she found herself trying to remember things about him that she'd once known like the back of her hand.

She needed contact with someone. She and Storm had grown closer, but she felt drawn to the now-gaunt man with the red glasses. He was marked, surely as she was -- unable to "pass" in the real world for any length of time. And she needed someone to understand, someone who touched her without fear. Someone who had experienced loss, as she had.

So one night, when she heard him pass her door on his way to the kitchen, she followed him. She wasn't as quiet as she'd thought, though, because without turning around he said, "Just leave me be, all right? I don't feel like talking."

"Oh," she replied. "I'm sorry." She seemed to be saying that a lot lately, about everything.

He turned, chagrinned. "No, Rogue, I'm sorry."

"Haven't we had this conversation before?"

That remark won her a brief smile. "I guess we have," he hesitated, and then added, "Marie."

She blinked. That had been Logan's pet name for her; no one else used it. "I, I." She couldn't get her voice to work properly. "I don't think you should call me that."

"It's your name, isn't it?" he asked reasonably.

"It was, before this," she pulled at the glove covering her left arm, even in her pajamas, "happened."

"Logan called you 'Marie."

"And he called you a dick. Do you want me to call you that?"

He laughed. A real, true laugh for the first time in months. Maybe even since Jean died. It was infectious, and she began laughing as well, not noticing how they'd both spoken of Logan in the past tense. Perhaps she was ready to move on, too.

"No, I guess not," Scott said after their laughter had subsided.

"Marie's gone, Scott. I don't think I can be her anymore."

He shook his head. "No, Rogue, you can. You can be Marie and you can be Rogue, just like I can be Scott and also be Cyclops. Do you understand? You have to stop being afraid of what you can do. You have to stop being afraid of life."

She arched an eyebrow. "Like you are?"

His lips thinned, angry at her turning his words back on him, but he realized she was right. "No. Like I was, before. And someday will be again, I hope." He sighed. "Losing someone is hard, Marie." He emphasized the name. "You can't, you don't understand." He looked down at his hands, the dim light in the kitchen playing dully across his glasses.

She could feel him slipping into self-pity, and she was angry that once again, her feelings -- her loss -- were being ignored. "At least you know Jean loved you. I never had that. Logan never loved me the way I loved him." She didn't even try to keep the bitterness from her voice. She knew Logan cared for her, loved her even, in his way, but it had never been the kind of love she'd craved from him.

His head snapped up at that. Everyone had played it off like she had a schoolgirl crush, never realizing -- even the telepaths -- that she had loved him deeply, to the bone. But he could hear it in her voice now. And that her bitterness at the lack of reciprocation was something that she fought against day after day. The fact that she was able to love Jean, love her rival, was proof to Scott that Rogue was strong, stronger than he was.

"I didn't, I never knew," he said softly. "We all thought it was a crush."

"That's what you wanted to think, Logan included," she said. "Makes it easier to ignore someone's pain when you can wave it away as a childish infatuation. I am so sick of people telling me to just get over it." She paused. "You probably are, too."

He laughed, not the true laughter they'd shared earlier, but a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, they've given up on me, Marie." He disregarded her slight flinch at his use of the name. "But I think I want to show them they were wrong." He stood, holding a hand out to her. "Will you help me? Together, we can prove that we're not broken, or outcasts, or freaks."

She smiled inwardly. She had been able to help him already, she knew. This sounded like the Scott she remembered, in control and on top of things. She took his hand. "I think I can do that, Scott."

They began spending their free time together, much to the amusement of the students, who couldn't imagine feisty Rogue putting up with tightass Mr. Summers for long. Scott, for his part, loosened up a little. He let Ororo keep the burdens of leading the team.

"You don't always have to be perfect, Scott," Rogue would tell him when he'd get obsessive about some little thing, like polishing the Land Rover or organizing the library.

He found that she was right. He'd always felt unworthy of Jean, felt he had to prove himself to her over and over, in everything he did, but with Marie he could just be Scott.

He tried to convince her to go out with him, not romantically, but just shopping or to the movies. Since Logan had left, Marie didn't leave the mansion except on missions with the team. Xavier didn't think it was healthy, and Scott agreed.

One afternoon he surprised her in the kitchen. She was making cookies, shaping the dough with her bare hands. She had become an excellent cook, to everyone's surprise, herself included. It was one activity where she could take her gloves off and touch, and she treasured that.

Scott smiled. He did that more and more in her presence. "Sugar cookies?"

"Mm hm."

"You know, they're my favorites," he said, carefully brushing her hair out of her eyes.

She smiled back smugly. "Yeah." The timer buzzed and she pulled on a pair of oven mitts to remove a tray from the oven.

She missed his stunned look. At her words he felt his throat constrict and his chest tighten. The fact that she was doing it for him floored him. It also, much to his dismay, turned him on.

She didn't appear to notice. She pulled the tray out of the oven, the tip of her tongue touching her upper lip as she concentrated on slipping a new tray in. He found himself mesmerized by that tongue.

She's just a girl, he told himself sternly. She's twenty-two and she hasn't been a girl in years, another, less scrupulous part of his mind answered.

"Scott? Scott, are you okay?"

She was saying his name, a concerned look on her face. He shook himself mentally. "I'm fine, Marie. I was just thinking that, as much as this suits you -- and believe me, it does. You look radiant --" where the hell did that come from? "you need to get out of the house. You can't stay in here forever."

She seemed a little flustered and he couldn't tell if it was because of the compliment -- Clumsy, he chided himself -- or his bringing up what was becoming a sore topic for her.

"I was out on Sunday," she said.

"That was a training exercise," he cut her off. "It doesn't count."

"I'm busy."

"You can't bake cookies forever, Marie," he responded. "Come with me to the movies tonight. They're having an Audrey Hepburn retrospective at the community college." He wished he could take her hand, try to convince her that way. She looked torn. She was a big Hepburn fan. "Come on," he continued, "it's a double feature: _Roman Holiday_ and _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. My treat."

"I don't know, Scott. I, it's weird, even just going into town." She had gone into town all the time with Logan. With him she'd known no one would approach her; she'd felt safe. Now she was constantly afraid there'd be an accident, that someone would brush up against her, regardless of how many clothes she wore, how much she kept covered up.

"You can't stay in the kitchen for the rest of your life."

"Why not?"

"You need to remember how to be Marie. Here you're always Rogue." Inspiration striking, he picked up the Saran wrap she'd used to cover the dough and took her hand.

Her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth opened in a small "Oh," but no sound came out. Even through the plastic he could feel a slight charge when they touched. He knew she felt it too.

"Maybe I'm happier if I forget Marie altogether," she replied. "As long as I have to do this," she put her other hand on the plastic that protected him from her lethal skin, "to touch people, I have no place out there."

"Dammit, Marie," he exploded, "I'm sick of your excuses." She blinked, amazed at how much he sounded like Logan at that moment. "You're coming to the movies with me tonight if I have to carry you down to the garage myself." Again, she was speechless. He dropped her hands and walked out. At the door he turned back. "Seven pm sharp, Marie. We'll take the bike." Then he was gone.

She finished her baking, trying to figure out what had just happened. Scott was in a strange mood, first complimenting her -- she blushed, thinking about it -- and then yelling at her. And when he'd taken her hand... Geez, girl, don't do this to yourself, she thought. Don't fall for another man who's under Jean's spell. You couldn't compete with her when she was alive, and you certainly can't compete with her ghost.

But she took an extra long time putting together an outfit, finally settling on a pair of satiny black pants that fit like a second skin, and a low-cut black baby tee that was short enough to expose a narrow band of skin at her waist. Dabbing on some rarely worn makeup, she was sizing herself up in the mirror when Jubilee burst into the room.

"Ever heard of knocking, Jubes?" she asked acidly, not wanting to see the other girl just now.

"I met the cutest guy today," Jubilee began, ignoring Rogue's sarcasm. "He gave me his number and -" she suddenly noticed her friend's appearance. "Rogue, do you have a hot date or something? What's up with the outfit? And, omigod, you're wearing makeup. I've never seen you wear makeup."

"I look stupid, don't I," she moaned, slumping onto the bed.

"You look -- you look hot," Jubilee replied, admiring her friend. "I always knew you had it in you, girlie. Show off what you got, babe. Who's the lucky guy who can look but can't touch?" she asked, flopping onto the bed as Rogue added a gauzy burgundy scarf to her ensemble and pulled on her boots.

"There is no lucky guy," she replied. "It's not a date."

"Then what?"

"Scott and I are going to the movies," she mumbled, hoping Jubilee couldn't make the name out. She hoped in vain.

"Omigod!" Jubilee jumped off the bed. "You're going out on a date with Mr. Stick-up-his-butt Summers! Rogue!"

"He's not like that, Jubes," she defended him. "He's a great guy. He just takes his responsibilities seriously."

"Uh huh."

"And it's not a date," she continued, "he's just being all big brother-y again, making sure I'm not depressed or whatever." But Jubilee wasn't buying it.

"He doesn't ask me or Kitty out to the movies when we're depressed, Rogue. He never made a big deal over us when we brought home great marks every semester." Rogue snorted and Jubilee corrected herself, "When Kitty brought home great marks. And the way he calls you 'Marie'," she went on. "It's so not brotherly. And you, you're just as bad, baking his favorite cookies and putting on lipstick." She smirked evilly. "Oh, man, this is a hoot."

"Logan called me 'Marie'," Marie said softly. "And he was in love with Jean."

"Logan is an asshole," Jubilee shot back, never having forgiven the man for running out on Rogue when she needed him.

Rogue sighed. The days when she would defend him were long gone. So were the days when she'd turn pale and weep at the thought of him. Now she just felt regret that he couldn't be what she had thought he was. It was as much her fault as his. She was over it, finally. Maybe that was why she was starting to look at Scott in a different light. She was ready to let a new man into her heart. Stop it, Rogue, she told herself. Remember, his heart was buried with Jean. You're not going to go there. You'll only get hurt.

"Just leave it, Jubes," she said. "Leave it alone." She grabbed her black leather jacket and said, "Scott and I are friends. We understand each other. That's all."

And she walked out, missing Jubilee's muttered, "Girl, you've got it bad, and you don't even know it."

Scott was polishing the bike when Xavier found him. "I think you missed a spot," he said mischievously, enjoying the panicked look on his protégé's face.

"What? Where?" Xavier laughed and Scott shot him a dark look, which lost much of its power when he couldn't keep his lips from twitching. "Okay, maybe I'm a little compulsive," he admitted, finally letting the grin break out. "But I want this to go well. If it does, maybe Rogue will see that she doesn't have to hide from the world."

"She agreed to go out?" Xavier sounded surprised, to Scott's annoyance.

"I had to do some convincing, but yeah, she agreed. Even she doesn't get to ride on the bike that often." He patted the seat of the motorcycle with a self-satisfied smile, then pulled on a pair of soft leather gloves. "That should do it," he said, flexing his fingers. The gloves were the finest, softest leather he'd been able to find, thinner than most because they were for driving. They offered protection but still allowed him feel what he was touching. And he definitely wanted to be able to feel Marie ... and he realized he'd gone off into a fantasy featuring Rogue, the bike and the gloves when Xavier coughed.

"Ahem, yes, Scott, this outing will do her good. Do you both some good." He paused, gauging the other man's mood, then, "You don't have to spend the rest of your life grieving, Scott. Jean would never have wanted you to be alone. Above all things, she'd want you to be happy."

Scott raised an eyebrow over his glasses. "I'm ten years older than Rogue, Charles. I --"

He was stopped by the older man's laugh. "Age is not always an issue, Scott. Rogue is a grown woman and she matured faster than most. She's had the experiences of several older men in her head. I don't think you're going to frighten her." He resisted the urge to pry into Scott's mind and see what he was really thinking. He added, his tone gentle, "It would not be inappropriate. In fact, I think it would be rather fitting, if you and she found happiness together."

He could feel Scott's fearful reaction without trying, so he said no more.

Which was just as well, since Rogue walked into the garage then with a purposeful strut, her jacket slung over her shoulder.

She looks like temptation personified, Scott thought, getting an eyeful of her long legs and generous cleavage. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

~Breathe,~ came Xavier's thought, not bothering to hide the fact that he found the whole situation amusing. Scott started slightly. She certainly did take his breath away.

Rogue, meanwhile, was very much aware of her sweaty palms -- <One advantage to wearing gloves, she thought ruefully. He'll never know. -- and exposed skin. She couldn't tell if he thought she looked as ridiculous as she felt until he exhaled explosively. "Wow," he said. And again, "Wow."

Xavier looked from one to the other and rolled away, a satisfied smile on his face. He rarely played matchmaker for anyone, but it broke his heart to see two people so full of love, who'd be perfect together, so lonely and unhappy. Whistling a waltz under his breath, he went off to challenge Hank to a game of Scrabble.

Back in the garage, Scott's brain started to function again, allowing him to form full sentences, though only with very small words. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be, sugar," she replied. He looked too cute in his black jeans and white button down shirt. He took the jacket from her and helped her into it. "That's real gentlemanly, Scott," she teased, seeking refuge in their customary banter in order to ease the tension between them.

His hand touched the nape of her neck and she flinched slightly, before her mind registered the feel of the leather that protected him.

"Your collar was tucked under," he explained with a boyish grin that was infectious. She smiled back and they stood for a moment, just enjoying the sight of each other. Then, "Well, we better get going if we want to make it. The show starts in half an hour."

He got on the bike and she sat behind him, her legs cradling his hips, her arms around his waist. Once again he sucked in a breath and lost the ability to make a coherent sentence, assaulted by the light jasmine scent of her perfume. He closed his eyes, willing himself to focus on driving instead of turning around and giving her a more personal kind of ride.

She shifted, feeling him stiffen, and said, "Are we gonna sit here all night, Cyke?"

The nickname snapped him out of his reverie. "Hold on," he said, gunning the engine to life.

The ride to the theatre was sheer, sweet torture for both of them, but they each managed to hide their feelings. That was something else they had in common -- the ability to fool others into thinking there was nothing going on beneath the calm façade, while underneath, each was a seething mass of emotion.

They arrived at the theatre at the community college in Salem Center, and Rogue immediately felt self-conscious. "Everyone's staring at us," she whispered, pressing close to him.

He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Of course they are, Marie. We're a very attractive couple on a very cool motorcycle."

She was skeptical. "If you say so." But she held onto his hand, which gave him a little thrill that he immediately tamped down. This is not a date, he told himself firmly. I'm just helping her out of her shell. It's for her own good. Then, Who am I kidding? I always did suck at lying.

He had bought the tickets earlier, so they stood in line for popcorn and drinks and then made their way into the dimly lit theatre. Choosing two seats near the back, on the end, they settled in.

Rogue's mind raced furiously. Suddenly, she couldn't think of anything to say, which was absolutely ridiculous. It's Scott, for Christ's sake, she thought. You talk to him everyday. You were just holding him closer than is probably decent for two people who aren't involved in a relationship. Now you can't think of anything intelligent to say? Dammit, Rogue, say something.

"I've never been to Tiffany's," she blurted. "When I was about thirteen, I swore I was gonna go there, and maybe buy myself a silver toothpick, and have it engraved." She flushed. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it."

He turned, and leaned in, his lips close to her ear. "Not at all. Maybe next week we can take a trip into the city. If you want to. I mean, I don't want to interfere with your cookie baking or anything." She stared straight ahead but could feel him grinning.

Damn. "I walked into that, didn't I?" she said ruefully, turning to face him, not realizing how close he was. Her hair brushed his lips and their noses were almost touching.

He said nothing, but took her hand again, even though it meant he'd have to reach across her to get to the bucket of popcorn.

The lights dimmed and they wandered in Rome for the next two hours, as Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn fell in love and parted. At some point, they lost interest in the drinks and the popcorn and sat happily holding hands, her head on his shoulder.

When the lights came up, she was crying silently, slow tears rolling down her face. She sniffed and Scott raised his hand and softly brushed the tears away. "You okay?"

She smiled. "Yeah. It's stupid, but this movie always gets me. Why don't they make movies like this anymore?"

He laughed. "You know as well as I do that if they made this movie today, Anya and Joe would have had sex and gotten married and where's the fun in that?"

"You're right. It's so sad and so romantic the way it is." She realized how close they were, and felt self-conscious again. She lifted her head on the pretense of stretching. "Like Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison. Did you ever see that one? With Robert Mitchum and the nun?" Not giving him a chance to answer, she got up quickly. "I have to use the ladies' room. I'll be right back."

He nodded, wondering about her sudden skittishness. He was scaring her off, being too lover-like. Little sister. Think of her like a little sister. Watching her hips sway as she walked away, he realized that was pretty much impossible now.

Rogue stood staring at herself in the mirror in the ladies' room for a few minutes before she entered a stall. She was having a much better time than she'd expected and having way too many thoughts about the ride home. The idea of putting her arms around Scott was doing odd things to her stomach, and she thought about how maybe he'd try to kiss her goodnight when they got home. Be realistic, she told herself, even if he could kiss you, which he can't, because you'd suck the life right out of him, he won't. You're not the kind of girl men kiss. You're the kind of girl they take to see Audrey Hepburn movies because they feel sorry for you. She sighed.

She was buttoning her pants when she heard them. "Did you see that guy? The one with the glasses? What's a hottie like him doing with that gothy girl with the Pépé lePeu hair? He was so checking me out when she wasn't looking."

She froze, leaning her head against the door.

"How could you tell? You couldn't see his eyes."

"I know when a man wants me."

She heard the doors on two stalls close and latch. Rushing out, she washed her hands and pulled her gloves on before they were fully dry, even though she hated the way the damp material felt against her skin. She was having a hard time controlling her breathing and she thought she might cry. She did not want Scott to see her like this. He'd no doubt feel even more sorry for her, and offer to take her for ice cream or something.

She sniffed determinedly as she strode back to their seats, and pasted a bright smile on her face as she sat down.

He knew something was wrong, but decided not to press her. He wondered what he'd done to offend, and methodically ran through the evening. Had he somehow let slip how much he was attracted to her? Was she completely disgusted? But she had put her head on his shoulder and chatted easily before she went to the rest room. Something must have happened in the ladies' room, he thought.

The lights went down again and the movie came up and she lost herself in Holly Golightly's story. She sniffed when Holly sang "Moon River" and she wept when Cat got tossed out into the rain. She knew exactly how the cat felt, alone and unwanted. She couldn't stop crying even after Holly and Paul kissed and rescued the cat and the movie ended.

Scott put his arm around her and pressed her face to his chest. "What's wrong, Marie? What happened?"

She sniffed. "You'll think it's stupid," she said.

"No, I won't."

"It is stupid."

"Nothing that upsets you this much can be stupid, Marie."

"There were these girls in the bathroom and they -- oh, it's too embarrassing." She was blushing as well as crying now. What could she say? Oh, they saw you checking them out and I'm upset because you'll never look at me that way?

"Did they give you a hard time because of your gloves?" he asked sharply.

"No, they didn't even see me. It's not a mutant thing, Scott. It's a girl thing." She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "And now I must look like a raccoon, with all this damn mascara smeared all over."

He put a hand -- still gloved -- on her forehead and leaned his own forehead against it. She could feel his breath on her lips as he said, "You look beautiful, Marie."

There was a cough behind them. They turned to look and it was the usher, rolling his eyes. "Geez, folks, get a room. Show's over."

They scrambled out of their seats, embarrassed, and hurried out to the parking lot.

The ride home was more uncomfortable, since they were more and more aware -- and afraid -- of the attraction between them. Rogue allowed her hands to roam a little bit as she held on, at one point almost causing Scott to drive off the road when she inadvertently brushed against the fly of his jeans. She was glad he couldn't see her blush as she buried her face against his back and prayed they'd get home soon so she could lock herself in her room and never come out.

His thoughts were running along similar lines, though he hoped to be locked in there with her.

They arrived home and she slid off the bike. Mumbling a quick, "Thank you," Rogue attempted to rush away, but Scott was quicker than she expected. He grabbed her hand as they reached the foyer and held on for dear life.

"Hey, what's wrong? Was it something I said?"

He sounded genuinely bewildered and she felt her face grow hot again. "I, I -- I'm sorry for what I, I mean, I didn't mean to, on the bike..."

He grinned and his whole face lit up. She wished she could see his eyes. "I'm the one who almost got us killed, Marie. I should be apologizing to you."

"But --"

He pulled her close. "Don't apologize. I know it was an accident. Though I wouldn't mind if it hadn't been," he whispered, once again his lips tantalizingly close to hers and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him, maybe through the scarf. She didn't know he was wondering the same thing. Her eyes fluttered closed as he said, "Marie, I --"

"Scott, Rogue! I'm so glad to see you. I have quite a surprise for you." They jumped apart guiltily to see Professor Xavier smiling broadly, Ororo and Hank behind him.

"What--"Scott said, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn't like surprises. He had a premonition that Logan was back, and looking for Marie. He got an even bigger shock when a red-headed woman walked out of Xavier's office.

"I'm Anne Grey-Waltham," she said softly, holding out her hand. "Jean's younger sister."

Scott stared down into his cup of coffee. Too much had happened tonight and he needed to think. Jean's sister. She'd spoken about Anne a little, but they'd never really discussed their families. He knew she was originally from Chicago, and that her father had been a doctor and her mother had died when she was very young. He knew that Anne was three years younger than Jean and did some sort of super-secret work for the Navy. The father had taken ill while Jean was doing her residency, before she was officially Scott's girlfriend, and then he'd died. There had been a falling out over the father's death. Jean had blamed herself -- irrationally, in Scott's opinion -- feeling guilty that she couldn't save him, even though his cancer had been detected so late, no one could have done anything about it. So he'd never met Anne, either. Jean had stopped talking to her in an effort to assuage her guilt.

A little smaller and curvier than Jean had been, with darker skin and brown eyes, Anne still resembled her sister enough to make you look twice. Rogue had looked once and fled to her room after a quick hello. He couldn't follow. He had to shake hands and slip back into the role of grieving fiancé.

"Do you want to talk?" It was Ororo.

His mouth quirked in a half-grin. "I don't know. What about?"

She shrugged, took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, and sat down. "Jean. Anne. Rogue. You tell me."

"I thought," he began haltingly, trying to figure out what he wanted to say, "I thought that I could finally move on, that my life was beginning again. Since Jean died, I've felt like I'm stuck in the same old awful place. And then, I started noticing Marie," Ororo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and he realized that no one else knew he called her that, "Rogue. I mean, I always knew, objectively, that she was a beautiful girl. Even thin, scared and hungry she was gorgeous. But I never looked at her as a woman. Even if I'd wanted to, even if I hadn't had Jean, I knew she was Logan's in some way, and that I'd never get close.

"But these past few months, I've been thinking about her more and more, and then tonight..." his voice trailed off. "And now this." He sighed and went back to looking at his coffee. "I guess some things are better left unknown. I've got baggage that I can't saddle Rogue with. I realize now that she's better off without me."

"I think you are jumping to conclusions, Scott. Jean is gone, but she would have wanted you to move on. She would have hated you to think of her memory as a barrier to future happiness. And I think you know that. Do not use her as an excuse to be alone." With that, she left him sitting in the darkened kitchen.

He laughed bitterly to himself at the turn fate had taken.

Rogue sat in her room, hyperventilating into a paper bag. Even from the grave, Jean was interfering in her love life. Jubilee burst into the room. "Tell me all about -- Breathe, girl, breathe!"

Rogue got herself under control and turned to Jubilee. "Did you meet Jean's sister?" she asked baldly.

Jubilee's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline in surprise. "Is that who that was? The Professor was being all mysterious, and I couldn't get a word out of Hank, and you know how he loves to gossip. But who cares about that? How was your date with Captain Boy Scout?"

"Don't call him that," Rogue replied automatically. "What does it matter? Even if he was interested in me, which he's not because he was checking out these cheerleader-looking girls at the theatre," she suppressed the memory of his breath against her lips, his whispered words that he wanted her to touch him, "now he's got Jean's gorgeous sister to remind him of what he used to have."

"So you admit you've got a thing for him?"

Rogue flopped backwards on the bed, covering her face with a pillow. "A full-fledged, 'I think I want to have his babies' thing," she moaned.

"After one date? Man, I didn't think he had it in him."

They avoided each other after that, each going out of their way to not be in their usual places at their usual times. It became a game, and the whole school watched, wondering what had happened.

Meanwhile, Scott got to know Anne. She was a nice woman. She wanted him to come and visit her and her husband sometime. They were having coffee one afternoon out on the deck, enjoying the fresh spring air.

"We have a lovely summer house on Cape Cod," she said, "It's been in Bill's family forever. I'm so sorry we never got to meet while Jean was alive, but I know she'd want us to make you part of the family. That is," she cocked her head and looked thoughtful, "if you want to be. I understand if you want to move on. Your young lady seems very nice. A little skittish, but nice."

"She's not, she's not my young lady. And she is very nice," he replied, startled. "A few days on the Cape sounds lovely, Anne, but I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that."

"Well, think about it. You don't have to be family. You can just be my friend. I'm sure Jean would have wanted that, too." She rose and walked to the door. "She would never have stood in the way of your happiness, Scott. Don't feel you have to grieve forever."

Damn, he thought. Does everyone feel the need to tell me what I already know? I also know it's not fair to Marie to have to put up with me. Every time one of us turns around, there's something reminding us of Jean. He thought a little more, and caught sight of Sam Guthrie running across the lawn, engaged in a game of touch football with some of the younger students. Sam was the kind of guy Rogue should be with. Gentle, a little shy, and not burdened with a raft of regrets.

He could still make sure Rogue was happy, even if he couldn't be the one she'd be coming home to each night.

Hank and Charles sat in Charles's office, playing chess. Or, they had been playing chess until they noticed Scott wandering around on the lawn, looking rather lost and forlorn.

"Far be it from me to criticize you, Charles, but you have terrible timing," the furry blue doctor said earnestly, though his eyes twinkled. "Scott and Rogue were this close," he held two large fingers millimeters apart, "to making with the smoochies when you interrupted them. It's not like you, old friend, to be so oblivious to the atmosphere and the feelings of others."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "'Making with the smoochies,' Hank? Have you been watching _Buffy_ again?"

Hank didn't even bother to deny it. "It's a great show, Charles. And it makes the kids feel like they're not the only ones facing terrible trials in their teenage years." He paused, then, "And you're avoiding the issue."

Charles sighed. "You're right, Hank. I miscalculated rather badly. I thought Scott would be happy to meet Anne -- " "I think he is," Hank interjected. Xavier ignored him. "But I didn't realize meeting her would push him away from Rogue. And I certainly never thought that Rogue would withdraw the way she has." He sighed again. "She's always felt inferior to Jean, and now she's competing with her memory and a living reminder." He shook his head. "Are you up to being a yenta, Hank? It's going to be up to us to straighten those two out."

Hank grinned. "You know I adore playing matchmaker, Charles. Tell me what you want me to do."

The two men put their heads together and tried to figure out the best way to help their lovelorn colleagues.

Jubilee, meanwhile, was applying herself to that same mission. With phone calls to various friends away at school, she tried to get people to give her ideas on how to get Scott and Rogue together, but no one would believe her when she told them that the two were interested in each other, much to her frustration.

It was an uncomfortable spring for everyone living at the mansion.

Finally, taking the bull by the horns, Jubilee confronted Scott one afternoon in the gym. "Get down off the cross, Scott," she said without preamble, "somebody needs the wood."

His head snapped around. "What?"

She cracked her gum and put her hands on her hips. "All this moping around. We know what you want, you know what you want, and, most importantly, Rogue -- or should I say, Marie? -- knows what you want. So why are you pushing Sam at her? The poor boy can barely say two words to her with you hovering around. Either fish or cut bait, man. If you want her for yourself, then do something about it. If you don't want her, go away and let Sam take a shot. But make a decision soon. You're driving everyone crazy."

With that, she flounced out, leaving him with a stunned look on his face.

Rogue couldn't decide what hurt more -- the fact that Scott didn't really want her, or that he was going out of his way to let everyone know it. He constantly tried to push her and Sam together. She liked Sam, really she did. He was sweet and kind and funny in a gentle way, and she ran roughshod all over him. He never stood up to her, and she found herself doing and saying outrageous things, just to see if he would finally get fed up and tell her to stop. But he didn't.

She pounded the dough she was kneading in frustration. She'd known that allowing her feelings for Scott to grow would only lead to heartache, but she hadn't expected it to hurt so much. She'd thought that, having endured the pain of unrequited love, and then Logan's leaving, she was tough. She was wrong. Just knowing he was around, and that he was avoiding her, hurt like hell.

But she knew when she wasn't wanted, and she wasn't one to push herself on others, so she let him walk away. She'd always known she couldn't compete with Jean, and better it happened early on, before they'd actually gotten involved. That's what she told herself, anyway.

So when the Professor announced they were having a big Fourth of July barbecue, she threw herself whole-heartedly into the preparations. Everyone was home and they knew that this was probably the last time they'd all be together, since a number of them -- Rogue included -- had graduated college and would no longer be living at the mansion come fall.

She and Jubilee were stringing lights around the pool when she felt Scott's eyes on her. She turned, but didn't come down off the ladder. "Was there something?" she asked coldly, hating herself for the way her heart beat faster in his presence. He turned and walked away.

It was a little creepy how he watched her. She could understand it if they were friends -- Logan had sometimes stared at her like that -- but even their friendship had disappeared. Maybe that was what hurt the most. That the friendship had never been real. She'd just been another project for Cyclops, leader of the X-Men -- one more pity case who had to be fixed so his precious team wouldn't suffer.

She sighed and Jubilee smiled at her sadly. "It's okay, Rogue. He's a dick." Which only reminded her of the first time he'd called her Marie.

Sniffing, she said, "I know, Jubes. I don't care." Maybe if she kept telling herself that, one day it would be true.

Scott walked away, wondering how he'd screwed up and how he could make it right. He was the golden boy -- everything he touched worked out right. And then Jean died. Okay, so that was a massive mistake and one that still haunted him. But he was getting over it, and Marie had helped him in more ways than he could count. And now she wouldn't even look at him. He was doing what he thought was best for her, but it certainly didn't feel like it. It felt all wrong, and from the looks and talking-tos he'd gotten from various inhabitants of the house, he wasn't the only one who thought so. He watched over her from a distance, and pushed Sam at her, and all the while wondered what she'd feel like in his arms. He wasn't worried about her skin -- there were plenty of ways around that. Now he just had to convince her that he'd made a mistake and he still cared.

He found the Professor in his office. "How do I fix this?" he asked, collapsing into one of the chairs.

Xavier smiled. He didn't need to ask what the younger man was talking about. "Tell her how you feel. Kiss her."

"Kiss her? She won't even look at me." He sounded pathetic, but he couldn't help it.

"I'll arrange for you two to have some time alone, Scott. Don't worry. Just follow your instincts," Scott snorted. "Ah, yes, I see. Your instincts are what got you into this mess. You can't treat Rogue like a member of the team and expect her to fall into your arms, Scott. You should know that. Right now, you need to lavish your attention on her, tell her how you really feel. And if your instincts tell you one thing, you might consider doing the opposite."

"Thanks, Charles. Just what every man needs to hear." He got up and walked away, unhappy with his mentor's advice.

~Follow your heart, son. It will lead you home,~ Xavier's thought floated after him.

The barbecue was a raging success. Hank stood at the grill wearing a starchy white chef's hat, his "Kiss the Cook" apron spattered with grease and sauce, tongs in one hand, beer in the other.

The kids -- and most of the adults -- were in and out of the pool constantly, games of chicken and then volleyball sprung up spontaneously. Rogue participated fully, thanks to the Olympic-style bathing suit Scott had bought her - it covered her from neck to ankles in slick black material, so she only had to wear water shoes and sheer gloves to protect everyone else.

She hung out with her friends, many of whom she hadn't seen for ages, and drank a few more beers than was probably wise, especially since she was supposed to be helping Hank with the cooking.

He sent her into the kitchen looking for the pepper mill, which she could have sworn was already outside. But maybe she was remembering wrong. She wasn't sure. She giggled as she rummaged through the cabinets, trying to recall where she'd last seen it.

The door banged shut and Scott stood, drinking in the sight of her in that form-hugging suit. He sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving to whoever told him about it so he could buy it for her. She rose and turned. "What can I do for ya, sugar?" she asked, her accent more pronounced, thanks to the beer. She leaned provocatively against the counter, hip cocked, back arched.

Scott swallowed and tried to breathe normally. "Hank sent me in to look for the salad dressing. He said we've run out of salad dressing," he said, his voice sounding strange and hoarse to his own ears.

"Salad dressing, hmm." She turned and raised herself up onto the counter in one fluid motion and twisted to look in the cabinet. He swallowed again. "Nope, no salad dressing in here," she announced, giggling. She remained seated on the counter top.

"There's something I need to tell you, Marie," he said as he walked toward her slowly.

"I need to tell you something too, Cyke," she responded. "You're a dick." More giggling.

He grinned as he reached her, and placed a hand on the counter on either side of her hips. "I've been a jerk, yeah," he said. "But if you let me, I'll be your jerk."
"Hmm," she said, placing a finger on her chin. "I don't know. What else ya got?" She let her other hand skate lightly down his bare chest. He shivered.

His hands moved from the counter to her hips, pulling her closer to the edge. "How about, I think I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life trying to find out?" She blinked, a little surprised at the serious turn he'd taken. He put her hand over his heart. "It's yours, if you want it, Marie. I know I've done some stupid things, but only because I was trying to do what's best for you."

Her other hand came up to stroke the back of his head, so he knew she wasn't completely angry when she said, "Who the hell are you to decide what's best for me, Scott? If you love me, you'll let me make my own choices, my own mistakes. You can't be in control all the time."

He leaned in, his lips fractions of an inch from hers, his breath tickling her, "Okay."

"That's it? I was expecting a fight," she pouted.

He reached into the back pocket of his bathing suit and pulled out a pair of damp cotton gloves. He pulled them on and dragged a finger across her full lower lip. "Why fight when we can do-- other interesting things?" he murmured, brushing his lips against hers so quickly that her skin didn't have time to react.

Her breathing was irregular as she said, "Scott, there's cheesecloth in the drawer on the left." He reached over, his gaze never leaving hers, even though she couldn't see his eyes, and pulled out the gauze. "Close your eyes," she whispered, raising her hands to his glasses.

"Marie." He sounded nervous.

"Trust me, Scott. Please." She removed his glasses and ran her gloved hands over his face. Then she kissed him through the gauzy cloth, eyes first, then those glorious cheekbones, and finally she nibbled at his lips.

He slid a hand into her hair and deepened the kiss, tasting beer and Marie and just a hint of flour. His other hand moved gently down her body, feeling her through the thin fabric of the bathing suit. His fingers pressed against the sensitive flesh at the joining of her legs and her hips began moving of their own volition, caught up in the rhythm his hand created. First slowly, then more frantically as the pressure built and demanded release. He kissed her and she felt the world fly apart and she slumped against him, content. "Oh, Scott. I do love you."

"I love you too, Marie. Let's see if we can't make this work."

They kissed a little more and she slid her hand into his shorts, enjoying the feel of his hard shaft in her hand, when they heard Hank say, "Now wherever could those two be? I found both the pepper mill and the salad dressing out here, so what's taking them so long?"

"Shit," he murmured, dropping his head against her chest.

She laughed softly. "Poor Scott. I'll make it up to you later," she said, handing him his glasses, just as Hank entered the kitchen.

Both blushed rosy as he said, "So it's all right then, is it? Good, good. I told Charles you two would work it out."

And they did. They snuck up to Scott's room to finish what they'd started after Hank left. Tumbling her onto the bed, he attacked her neck and lips relentlessly as she slid his shorts off, freeing him. Her hand returned to stroking him, at first hesitantly, but then with more force, the friction of her lycra gloves driving him higher and higher.

"Marie," he panted, "Marie, wait -- we're gonna make a mess if you keep going."

"Don't be so anal, Scott," she breathed, lightly flicking a finger over the tip of his cock.

He shuddered and said, "Condom. I need a condom." She let him go and watched with a gleam in her eye as he walked quickly to the bathroom. "Here we go," he muttered, dropping a box of twenty on the night table and pulling out one little foil package. She helped him slide it on, blushing a little.

"I'm not, I mean, I never," she stumbled, suddenly feeling shy. "I don't even have Logan's memories anymore," she whispered, hair falling around her face, hiding her eyes from him.

He tipped her head up, and looked at her, and even though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt love radiating from him. "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that," he whispered. "I really have no desire to sleep with Logan."

She giggled, her fear fading as he showed her, with words and kisses and gentle touches, just what he wanted her to do. He found himself adoring the full-body suit he'd bought her, and incredibly frustrated by it as well. "This thing needs some vents," he whispered. "We'll have to look into that." She giggled again, amazed at -- and appreciative of -- his sense of humor during even their most passionate moments. It made her feel more comfortable than she'd ever have thought possible.

Later, when they were finished to their mutual satisfaction, they lay awake and talked. "Is there anything you want to do this summer, before you classes start in September?" he asked.

She smiled dreamily. "I always wanted to see Alaska. That's where I was headin' when I hitched the ride with Logan. Then you brought me here." He raised himself up on one elbow and grinned, and she just had to kiss him, pulling the sheet over the lower part of his face and nibbling on his full lower lip. "Why you smilin' like the cat that ate the canary?" she asked, suspicious.

"My grandparents own a bed and breakfast in Juneau," he replied.

"No way!" She sat up and gave him shove worthy of Elaine Benes.

"Way," he replied laughingly, falling back against the pillows. "I haven't seen them in years. Would you like to go?"

"Yeah!" she said excitedly, then, "I didn't even know you had grandparents, Scott."

"Everyone's got grandparents, Marie. Otherwise, how would we be here?"

"Oh, don't be Mr. Logical, honey. You know what I meant. You never talk about your family."

He sighed. "My parents died when I was very young -- we were in a plane crash. I had some brain damage, which is why I need these," he tapped the glasses he'd worn through all their exertions. He insisted he'd wanted to be able to see her during their lovemaking. "I didn't find out until much later that my grandparents were still alive and well. Professor Xavier was in touch with them about something totally unrelated, and then we uncovered the connection." He paused and hugged her tight. "I think we should go see them, maybe take a month and do the whole cruise up the Inside Passage thing. What do you think?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Scott, that would be wonderful. Do you think they'll like me?"

"They'll love you Marie. You'll be the granddaughter they never had." He wiped the tears from her eyes and she kissed him again. "So what do you want to do now?" he asked when he could speak again.

"I don't know," she replied musingly, sliding one hand down his naked body to circle his growing erection. "I'm thinking a little more sex couldn't hurt."

"Woman, you're insatiable," he murmured, giving in without a fight.

He took her to Alaska to meet his grandparents later that summer, thus fulfilling two of her lifelong dreams -- to see Alaska and to have a family again.