Steve/Rogue
"Kid," Logan asks from the doorway, and if it was anyone else she would have pretended that she wasn't just crying into her pillow, but it is him, and that means he already knows it, he just gives her the privacy of pretending he doesn't know, and waits for her to turn her head up to him. "Heard what happened today. You wanna go get drinks?"
And again, because he's Logan, he doesn't mention Bobby or Kitty at all as she hugs her hands around his back and slides against the black motorcycle leather. He doesn't mention the screaming match that had drawn students out of three different classrooms and a lecture from Ororo. No, he just guns the engine and lets the bike drown out any conversation that they might have. It's not the first time they've done this, taken off from the school too late in the evening and come back slightly wasted. Logan understands. Logan gets why she'll yell and bitch and cry, and why she drinks so much, but only if he's there with her. Logan gets it, like no one else does.
Sometimes, if the alcohol hasn't hit her right just yet, she wonders what it would be like to have Logan's handwriting on her wrist, instead of the neat lettering that she does. If it would be better to have matching lines of, "look out," and, "get out," on their skin. She never brings it up to him though, no matter how bad the world swims in front of her. She heard him talking to Ororo once, knows that his words belong to a dainty schoolteacher out in British Columbia, that he found out her name after regaining all of his memories, that his words have faded but he knows that he wasn't always a blank.
She wonders what Logan will think, when she finally meets the man (she's thought about girls, not that she was interested in trying them before, but they don't do anything for her) who voice matches the letters on her skin, and if Logan will approve. If maybe Logan's there, because it sounds like the sort of thing that would be said in the bars that they go to.
They're basically regulars at the closest bar. Basically, because they come in nearly every week, and leave good tips, and don't hustle the pool table. Not quite, because they're from the school, and folks know what that means, and Logan's grouchy enough to put off anyone from getting friendly with him. Still, it's good enough that when they walk in, Wills behind the bar gives them both a nod, and starts pouring their usual. And two of the guys who Rogue never really got introduced to wave her over to their table and point at the two men sitting at the bar. Logan follows, because he's stiff, and annoyed, and never really trusts anyone even with the sort of friendship that she's struck up by virtue of showing up often.
"Settle something for us, would you, sweetheart?" She can't smell any liquor on his breath, but his hand waves as he points to the blond, and says, "that Captain America, or not?"
Rogue and Jubilee spent seven months pleasing over that man's shoulders, and the man next to him is definitely Sam Wilson, straight from the footage of DC going up in flames, and if that wasn't enough, both men go stiff at the words. So Rogue smirks, and shakes her head. "Nah. Steve Rogers is too good to hang out in Westchester like us." They all chuckle like she knew they would, and she lets Logan loop his arm over her shoulder as they pick up their drinks from Wills.
"Gonna go check the bike, darling. You be alright?"
"Sure thing."
And because she's been living at the mansion for so long, been running like she did for even longer before that, she doesn't need to check the way that he walks out to know that he's scouting the perimeter and not the bike, and what she has to do is figure out what the goddamn Avengers are doing in their territory. But when she turns to them, Wilson is staring at Rogers, who in turn is staring out the door that Logan just took with his mouth open and his eyes...Oh Jesus, was Steve Rogers about to cry?
She must have made some noise, because he turns to her, and he's still got that shock and awe expression on his face, and his jaw works open and closed several times before he finally gets words out. "Oh god, uh, ah, was that...Is that...Was that James Howlett?"
And because she's an idiot, and because she's now the one making bug eyes at him, all she can think to say is, "sugar, Ah don't have ah clue who you's talking about."
She sees the exact moment that it hits him, though that's after Wilson sputters and turns into a laughing bobblehead. Clearly, he knows his friend's soul mark, and a little bit quicker off the mark than Rogers himself. Rogers sputters, more so than he does in the neat little text on her wrist, and it's almost adorable how red he's turning. She holds out her hand to him, aware of the look that Wills gives her, and the speculation this will create in the media, but smiling despite it.
"Name's Rogue." He gives her hand a look, at the glove that covers her skin even in the heat of the summer, but shakes anyways. "Yah don't half ta introduce yourself. Ah know who yah are."
"You do."
"Yeah, but I can show you my mark too." He goes to touch her, when she takes off her glove and holds the marked wrist out to her, but she pulls her hand back quickly. "Don't. Ah... Ah got powers. Yah can't touch me without hurting."
She hates the way his face falls. Hates the way that he looks crushed. "No...No bonding then?"
"Now Ah didn't say that, sugar. Ah just gotta talk ta a friend."
And his smile curves up, and Rogue's starting to wish that the stupid cure had been permanent after all, so she wouldn't have to bribe Leech, but she knows, knows, knows, knows, that it will be worth it.