Get her feeling better—and in the process find out just what the hell had happened in Seattle. He felt sick, thinking about it Anything that would turn Kurt into a liar—
Remy found him staring. "What is it?"
Kurt blinked, breaking eye contact His blue tail curled tight around his leg. "Nothing," he said, and Remy realized for the first time that his accent seemed less pronounced.
Movement caught his eye; Scott shaking his head. Jean stood beside him. She looked different, somehow. Harder. The Jean he knew, the one who baked cookies on Saturday nights or warmed milk for the students, was not the same woman he saw now. This Jean, with her mouth set in a flat line and her eyes narrow and dull, did not look as though she would care for children at all.
"Please, Scott?" Ororo asked.
"No," Remy heard Scott say. "Jean and I would like to rest awhile before we give you our report."
Ororo did not look pleased. "I have some concerns," she said, but Jean had already begun walking to the door, and Scott followed close behind.
"Later," he said. "I promise."
"No," Remy called out. "What happened to Rogue? Who did she touch to make her this way?"
No one answered him. Rogue pulled away from his embrace. Giving him a shy smile, she left him standing by the jet. He did not chase her, but instead watched as she and Kurt—tail uncurling long enough to lash the air- followed Scott and Jean from the hangar. Wolverine, after patting Jubilee on the head, followed them with an odd slow swagger in his hips. It seemed to him that Wolverine—though always taciturn—was especially silent.
"Did Wolvie just... pet me like a dog?" Jubilee asked, when the five X-Men were gone and the door had shut behind them.
"Something's wrong," Remy said, unable to shake the feel of Rogue in his arms, that look on her face: so shy, so fragile, not the woman he knew at all. Kurt, too, with his shifting eyes.
Ororo said nothing. She stared at the door, mouth pressed into a hard line. Remy felt the gentle brush of some impossible breeze, scented rain within the confines of concrete and steel. Jubilee shivered, and stepped closer to him.
"Do not worry," Ororo said quietly. "We will have the truth. One way, or another."
11
They took one of the free downtown buses to Elliot Bay, north past the Spaghetti Factory, fast-food joints, and gas stations. Rogue watched the city pass, paying closer attention to the world than she ever had before. People, especially. People, on their way to jobs, out shopping, running for a bite to eat. She wondered if any of them were mutants, and for the first time in her life, could not remember why it would matter if they were. She was human now, through and through; powerless, perhaps, but not weak. She knew that about herself now. Being divorced of her physical identity for just one night had given her a clearer sense of who she was, the crutches she leaned upon in her life.
Kurt sat beside her on the bus. Their hands brushed, and she forced herself not to pull away.
"You are improving," he said, looking down at their flesh: dark and light, smooth and rough.
"Comfort is a state of mind," Rogue said. "I think I'm finally getting that."
"Don't get too comfortable, darlin'." Logan leaned over the back of their seat. "We still got problems."
"Money," she said.
Kurt smiled. "In the circus we had a saying: The lack of one penny can destroy the mightiest man. A stern reminder of what we were working for, other than our love of the big top."
Rogue frowned, staring at her hands. "I'm sorry, but I won't beg. I lived dirt poor for years, and never had any need to ask strangers for money. I'm not going to start now."
"No one said anything 'bout begging," Logan replied. "There are some homeless shelters around the area we're headed to. Might be able to scrounge up some tilings we'll need from those places."
"Just as long as we don't stay there long," Scott said. "We got lucky this morning—in more ways than one. I don't want to press it."
At Pier 90 they got off the bus and walked left across the wide tracks, which led directly to the southern entrance of Seattle's Balmer Yard. The trains were lined up like giant playing blocks, rust red or dirty blue, logos covering the ridged sides: pacific rail, cargo express, evergreen steel. The air smelled like exhaust, ocean salt; she felt a rumble in her chest and heard the high squeal of monstrous brakes. She felt very small.
"The key is to find the right car," Logan said. His fine blond hair wisped across his face and he shoved it away, scowling. "We're lucky it's summer. We shouldn't freeze to death."
"Great," Rogue said, and then pointed farther down the rail. "I see an Amtrak sign."
"Too crowded, too controlled. Security would find out fast we don't have tickets. We need something big and empty, the kind used for cargo."
A train lumbered by; the sound of the engine forming a steel-on-steel symphony of groans and squeals and dull trembling thunder.
Logan, in the interests of subtlety, led them down a bike path that continued north alongside Balmer Yard. Through the chain-link fence they spied on the trains.
"Time for some fieldwork," Logan said. "Rogue, you're with me."
"I thought I wasn't innocent enough, sugah."
"This is the train yard. Tough and dangerous is more sexy than cute and girly."
Jean smiled. "Sorry to break it to you, Logan, but I don't care what body you wear. You might be cute, but you're never going to be girly."
"Don't kill a man's dreams, Jeannie."
An older woman sitting on a nearby bench turned around to look at them. Logan smiled and she shook her head in disgust.
"No accounting for taste," Jean murmured, which was enough to make Rogue laugh.
She and Logan left the team, following the bike path until they reached a public-access road. From there they walked past the locomotive-servicing facility to the Balmer Yard office building.
"Trying to hitch a ride in broad daylight is going to be difficult," he said, as they approached the front door.
"Do we have a choice?"
"I'd say to hitchhike, but we got too many people."
"What a mess," Rogue whispered, finally confronting the enormity of crossing the country on nothing but the kindness of strangers. It made her afraid.
Logan surprised her by draping his arm around her shoulders and planting a hard quick kiss on her temple. She flinched and he let her go, though she continued to feel the weight of his arm, his lips.
"It'll be okay, darlin'. We've handled worse."
"This time feels different."
"It should. You're not in your own skin."
"What do you think our bodies are doing right now?"
Logan's jaw tightened. Rogue let it go. It was a bad question; the possibilities made her feel sick.
They entered the office building; warm air washed over her face, along with the heavy smell of oil and steel. Dark boot tracks covered the lobby floor and the walls were cracked and yellow with old paint. Logan led her into the first office off the lobby. At the counter stood a tall woman with sharp cheekbones and an unhappy mouth.
But Logan, despite his new face and figure, was still a rough charmer. It was not sexual at all; simply, a charisma that had the woman in front of them smiling after mere moments in his presence. The secretary's reaction surprised Rogue; she knew that women found Logan attractive, but she had always thought that the source of his allure lay in his undeniable masculinity. After all, even though she knew quite well he was capable of turning on his charm, he was not, by habit, the most refined of men.
"We're from the university," he told her, and Rogue listened, stunned, as the hint of a valley girl entered his voice. "We're researching the rail system and how it affects economic growth in the Northwest. It's a killer course."
"But fascinating, I'm sure," said the woman. Her desk plate named her shelly.
"Totally," said Logan, and within minutes he had a printout of the schedules and destinations of every train in Balmer Yard. Rogue felt l
ike getting down and bowing; it was an Oscar-worthy performance.
Just as they were leaving the office, he stopped and said, "By the way, we brought some food to keep us going today. You mind if we store some of it in your office lounge or use your microwave? Do you guys even have a space like that?" He rattled the plastic bag he still carried.
"We just got one," said Shelly, and hesitated. "Well, I don't see why you couldn't, but don't touch those other meals, right? People get territorial."
"Of course," Rogue reassured her, wondering what Logan was up to.
She found out when they actually reached the lounge—a little alcove crammed tight with a minirefrigerator, microwave, and a shelf lined with personal belongings. The other side of the space was a closet, filled with hanging coats, scarves, and umbrellas. The employee cubicles were in a completely different part of the office, out of sight of the alcove.
No one was around when they entered. Logan did not hesitate. He opened the refrigerator and threw all its contents into his plastic bag. Rogue watched the hall, sparing a glance for him as he went next to the coats, checking
pockets. He found two wallets and stole cash from both.
"Logan," she hissed.
"I'm not taking it all," he said.
Maybe not, but it still made her sick—sick because she wanted that money, knew they all needed that money, but to be so desperate as to fall into thievery—
'This isn't better than begging," she said.
"And didn't I say you wouldn't have to do that?"
"What about the homeless shelter?"
"You don't pass up opportunities," he replied. The coats were too big to stick unnoticed in his bulging bag, or else Rogue thought he would have snatched those, too.
"Don't look at me like that," he said, and pulled her from the tiny lounge. Rogue kept her body between Logan and Shelly as they left; the secretary waved goodbye, never paying attention to the bag clutched tight against Logan's side.
They quickly left the office building, and only when they were clear of the doors and back into the cool fresh air, did Rogue say, "That was wrong."
"Think I don't know that, darlin'?" Logan gave her a hard look. His cheeks were flushed. "You think it's not going to take things like that for us to get home? What matters more to you, Rogue? Morality or survival?"
"It would be nice if we didn't have to sacrifice either
one."
"Right," he said. "I think you're smarter than that."
She bit her tongue. He was right, of course, but it rankled her to no end that she could not think of an alternative. Get a job? Sure, if they had time, if the urgent press of some unknown danger wasn't bearing down on their shoulders. Strangers had their bodies, and even now at this moment, some man or woman inside her physical self might be using her powers to hurt others. She could not bear the thought of that.
And besides, you trust Logan. You know he would have taken the high road first if he could have.
Because Logan was an honorable man. A very dangerous, oftentimes unpredictable man, but decent all the same. If he thought the situation warranted sacrificing some of his hard-fought pride in order to do right by her and the others, she could not fault him.
Logan pored over the schedules as they walked back to the bike path. Rogue carried the plastic bag for him. She peered inside and saw sandwiches, soda; her stomach growled loud enough to drown out a passing train.
"Didn't need mutant powers to hear that one," Logan murmured, still reading the paperwork.
"Shut up," she muttered, embarrassed. The comer of his mouth twitched.
A white truck, spitting gravel alongside the rails, pulled up beside them. Its window was rolled down; a young man peered out. Rogue did not miss the way he checked out Logan. He barely spared a glance for her, and she wanted to laugh. Tough and dangerous was sexy, huh? Maybe in Logan's book, but not for this kid.
"You ladies lost?" he asked. She saw a security patch on his shoulder.
"We're doing research," Rogue said, "for school. The University of Washington."
He gave her a look that said quite clearly he thought she was far too ancient to be in school, and said, "You a professor?"
Logan made a small movement with his hand and Rogue—utterly bewildered that the young man could mistake her for someone of learning—said, "Yes."
"Huh." He looked at Logan again and smiled. Logan smiled back, but she knew her friend well enough to notice the hard line of his gaze, the "I just might beat the crap out of you" tilt of his head. "You need any help?"
"You know the best eastbound trains for hitching rides on?" Logan asked. The kid laughed, clearly taking the question as a joke.
"I catch a lot of the old hobos on the Cascade ride. That one goes straight through the mountains and stops in Spokane. Bastards think its fun or something. I tell you, I'm just waiting for one of those idiots to fall on the tracks underneath a train. It would serve 'em right"
"I sense a lot of love there," Rogue said.
"Yeah, I'm really feeling the love when I look into a cargo box and the holds have to be hosed down because someone decided to take a dump in the comer. Guess who has to do the clean up? Me."
"Tough life," Logan said, with only moderate sympathy. "We should be going now. Thanks."
"Sure thing," he said, his gaze drifting down Logans body. "I know we just met, but do you ever—"
"No," Logan said. "Really."
"Ooookay," said the kid, and without another word, pulled away.
"That has to be the worst security guard ever," Rogue said, watching him drive out of sight around a parked train.
"Nope," Logan said. "But he's close."
They found the bike path, but Scott, Jean, and Kurt were nowhere to be seen. A thread of worry needled Rogue's gut, growing worse as they walked, but then she heard her name called and Kurt appeared from behind a clump of bushes.
"We found a shady spot and decided to rest." He led them off the sidewalk to a small patch of ground beneath some trees. The grass was yellow, littered with bits of trash, but Rogue found that once she stepped into that soft dry spot, the rest of the world seemed to fall away.
Scott and Jean sat cross-legged on the ground. Rogue joined them, dropping the sack of food. She saw the tip of a sandwich, the plastic rim of an applesauce container. Her stomach felt like it was going to crawl right out of her throat.
"You think we can eat this now?" she asked the others.
"Knock yourselves out," Logan said, still looking at the train schedules. "Just be sure to save some of it for later."
Scott sorted through the bag, pulling out chips, soda, cookies—that lonely sandwich and applesauce—and several objects wrapped in aluminum foil, which turned out to be cold pizza.
"Lordy," Rogue said. "Nothing ever looked so good."
They had nothing to cut the pizza with, and resorted to passing each slice around so that every person could take several bites. It was, in retrospect, a gross way of divvying up the food, but they were all too hungry to care. It was the best pizza Rogue ever had.
They washed the pizza down with a shared can of Coke, and by the time Rogue took her last swallow of sugary carbonated perfection, she felt ready to run a mile. Her gut still felt hollow, but that little bit of food was going to her head like a drug.
"That pizza was still cold," Scott said to Logan. He stood up, brushing off his pants. "You didn't get it from Maguire's home."
"That's right" Logan pulled the stolen money from his pocket and handed it to him. Scott gave Logan a careful look and counted out the cash. Forty dollars. Rogue thought that might be all they had to get themselves home.
"You stole this," he said.
"I sure as hell didn't borrow it."
Scott's mouth hardened into a white line. The expression was so familiar, so... Scott... that Rogue forgot, for a moment, that he was a woman. Jean stood up.
"Don't," she said. "We need that money."
"Jean," he began, but she
shook her head.
"You're a good man, Scott Summers, but now is not the time for a morality play. We need to get home."
Scott stared at her. "Morality play?"
She smiled. "Doesn't mean I don't love you."
They left the shelter of the bushes and made their way down to the heart of Balmer Yard. Logan led them on a circuitous path around the trains, keeping close to the tracks so they could duck beneath the locomotives if any security vehicles came too near. Considering what Rogue had seen of the security in this place, she did not think it would be difficult to avoid them.
"There are almost a dozen trains scheduled to leave at noon," Logan said, pausing in front of an open boxcar and pointing down the line at the nearby rear device, "but only two are heading east across the Cascades. This is one of 'em "
"Should we jump in?" Kurt peered inside the open door. "It looks clean enough."
"What are the risks?" Scott asked. "Are these cars routinely checked before leaving?"
"It's a gamble," Logan admitted, giving Kurt a boost up into the boxcar. He gestured for Rogue to follow him and she did, grabbing Kurt's hand and clambering onto the hard dusty surface. She stood in the door, blinking under the bright sun as she gazed out at the train yard, searching for anyone who might be watching. In the distance, at the edge of Balmer Yard, she saw a police cruiser parked beside a white truck. She was not entirely certain, but the security guard leaning out his window and talking to the cop looked rather familiar.
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