Title: Down to Destiny
Author: Diebin
Rating: PG-13
Series: "Compass Points"
Series to date: 'East and a Little South' , 'Northwest Winds' , 'Wrong
Direction', 'Up to Memory'
Archive: Anyone who has the rest of them
Disclaimer: I own not.
Series Note: This was intended to be a PG-13 series, but due to twists of
plot, a few chapters will have adult content. Those chapters will be posted
on my webpage with the URL's posted onlist, and the stories themselves will
be posted on X-Grrls, but to avoid any trouble with strong ratings, that's
it. :) Otherwise . . . yeah. Leave it to say--I've found a way for Logan to
touch Rogue.
~*~
You know, as many times as I'd played it out in my head while I was making
my way back, I never quite thought it would go this way.
I wasn't supposed to lose the ability to speak the moment I saw her.
"Hi, Logan."
How can she make my name feel like that? She's lost a lot of the twang I
remember, but it still echoes inside me. Just those two words, and that tiny
little shy smile . . . it's all I can do to talk.
"Hey, Kid."
And when did my voice become so rough? Gruff. So harsh in my ears that I
wince, for the first time in my life wishing I could be more refined.
"You're back."
Her eyes weren't like that before, were they? Oh, not the beauty--that was
always there. It's haunted me no matter how far I ran. But the pain--the
age. The exhaustion. Even run down and tired and half starved, her eyes
never looked that weary before.
"Said I would be."
She smiles at me. "Yeah, you did."
That smile could rip a man's heart in two. It's already done a number on
mine.
She's still wearing those gloves, silky black cloth that climbs up her arms
and clings to the smooth skin just above her elbows. Only the tiniest flash
of skin shows before the sleeve of her shirt starts, the tight material
molding to curves of her body--a body that certainly doesn't belong to a
little girl.
"Did these geeks take good care of you, kid?" I have to keep calling her
kid. If I let myself, even for one second, believe she's anything but
forever out of my reach--
Death be damned. I could get a few good touches in before she sucked me into
her head for good.
She's smiling at me again. "Yeah," she drawls, her voice warm and silky.
"But not as good as you."
And if it ain't the cutest thing--I swear she just blushed.
And I don't know what to say. Spent the last six months talking to the girl
in my head--last thing I was prepared to come home and find was a woman.
And that's what this creature in front of me is.
She takes an awkward step forward, looking at me with wide, uncertain eyes.
I can tell from the way she's standing, her arms at her side, her body
leaning towards me--she wants to hug me, but she's afraid to. And not afraid
of me . . . but for me.
And suddenly, all I can feel is anger. Hasn't anybody hugged her while I've
been gone? Hasn't anybody touched her and held her and made her feel like
she's not all that different?
Damn them all to the darkest hell they can find. Uncaring, unseeing
bastards. Don't they know she needs touch more than anyone else? Are they
all so afraid that they can't squeeze a gloved hand or wrap an arm around
her and hug her through her cloak?
Don't they see her dying from the inside?
She is still staring at me, shifting back and forth. The bits of me that are
her are screaming at me what to do--but I don't need their prompting.
Taking a step forward, I wrap my arms around her tightly, squeezing her into
my chest. She tucks her chin down, nuzzling her face into my coat, and lets
small arms slide around my waist.
It's heaven and hell. Having her here, so tight against me. I'm glad I
learned control in the last seventeen years, or I'd be sliding my hands all
over her. Exploring, discovering . . .
. . . looking for skin to touch. Even knowing how dangerous it is . . . I
want to feel her.
As if she senses my thoughts, she takes a step back and raises one gloved
hand to run down my check and neck, driving a shiver out of me. I can still
feel the emptiness at my neck where my dogtags used to lay--but I don't miss
them. They were a reminder of the past--and it wasn't exactly a happy one.
I can't tell if she's wearing them under her scarf--I supposed it would be
silly and romantic to wish she were. But just by having them, she's freed me
from the past.
"I missed ya, kid." Doesn't seem like enough, but she smiles and sinks back
into my arms again.
"I missed ya too, Logan."
And it is enough.
For now.
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