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Waking Up to a New World [For Logan]
Jan. 15th, 2016 06:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
theycalledmeacurse[Loosely inspired by this meme. Set post-DoFP.]
It had been years since she'd seen him look at her the way he was supposed to. Before, there had always been a sort of amused softness to his eyes when they'd been together, an expression that said she could get away with just about anything with him. Hell, half the time he'd been right there beside her as she got into one scrape or another, especially when it came to mischief-making in bars. He'd protested her being in that sort of place back in the beginning, but it was his influence that had gotten her there in the first place, his psyche in her mind that cautioned her even as she let go of certain inhibitions and learned how to really live.
This Logan didn't look at her like she was something exquisitely unique, had never wanted to kiss her and hid it even after she had another dose of him in her head. This Logan was her friend and nothing more - a man she respected and fought beside, a teacher who cared about his students just as much as she did, a companion for the long nights when neither of them could sleep. The two versions did have one thing in common, though: they'd both nearly died to save her life a time or two.
So she got up every morning and met him for breakfast with the others, nursing a large cup of coffee and complaining about whatever the students had blown up this time. And she waited, each day feeling like a lifetime. Because they had no idea when her Logan would wake up and remember the same awful war that haunted her dreams, but she was determined to be there for him every step of the way. The world he knew was gone, and she would help him find his way in this new one. She and Charles, and he would survive the adjustment. He had to - she couldn't lose him again.
But back to that particular morning. They'd had another late night, wandering the mansion together to make sure the students were safe (and in bed) before camping out in the teachers' lounge where they'd stashed a variety of alcohol for just such occasions - under lock and key, of course, just in case the students decided to go snooping. When Rogue had clearly had too much and this Logan that wasn't her Logan had tired of trying and failing to even get a decent buzz, he'd helped her stumble upstairs and into bed. Not her bed, of course, her stubborn drunk self hadn't been about to stand for that for some reason that she'd never actually remember.
So there she was, sprawled out beside him on his bed, a blanket tossed over her clothed form so she didn't get cold. He'd even taken off her shoes, because he took care of her just like her Logan had. Sometimes it was hard to remember they weren't the same person, like when she was breathing in the scent of clean sheets and lingering traces of his cigars, all of it mixing with the scotch on their breath. That mistaken identity was enough to lull her into sleep, trusting that his alarm would wake them up in time to get to their respective classes.
It had been years since she'd seen him look at her the way he was supposed to. Before, there had always been a sort of amused softness to his eyes when they'd been together, an expression that said she could get away with just about anything with him. Hell, half the time he'd been right there beside her as she got into one scrape or another, especially when it came to mischief-making in bars. He'd protested her being in that sort of place back in the beginning, but it was his influence that had gotten her there in the first place, his psyche in her mind that cautioned her even as she let go of certain inhibitions and learned how to really live.
This Logan didn't look at her like she was something exquisitely unique, had never wanted to kiss her and hid it even after she had another dose of him in her head. This Logan was her friend and nothing more - a man she respected and fought beside, a teacher who cared about his students just as much as she did, a companion for the long nights when neither of them could sleep. The two versions did have one thing in common, though: they'd both nearly died to save her life a time or two.
So she got up every morning and met him for breakfast with the others, nursing a large cup of coffee and complaining about whatever the students had blown up this time. And she waited, each day feeling like a lifetime. Because they had no idea when her Logan would wake up and remember the same awful war that haunted her dreams, but she was determined to be there for him every step of the way. The world he knew was gone, and she would help him find his way in this new one. She and Charles, and he would survive the adjustment. He had to - she couldn't lose him again.
But back to that particular morning. They'd had another late night, wandering the mansion together to make sure the students were safe (and in bed) before camping out in the teachers' lounge where they'd stashed a variety of alcohol for just such occasions - under lock and key, of course, just in case the students decided to go snooping. When Rogue had clearly had too much and this Logan that wasn't her Logan had tired of trying and failing to even get a decent buzz, he'd helped her stumble upstairs and into bed. Not her bed, of course, her stubborn drunk self hadn't been about to stand for that for some reason that she'd never actually remember.
So there she was, sprawled out beside him on his bed, a blanket tossed over her clothed form so she didn't get cold. He'd even taken off her shoes, because he took care of her just like her Logan had. Sometimes it was hard to remember they weren't the same person, like when she was breathing in the scent of clean sheets and lingering traces of his cigars, all of it mixing with the scotch on their breath. That mistaken identity was enough to lull her into sleep, trusting that his alarm would wake them up in time to get to their respective classes.