Disclaimer: I am borrowing the characters and making up the emotions. Nothing about this is real. There is no spoon!

AN: Continuing with my attempt to not shrivel up and die under fluorescent lighting, here are some of a grown-up Rogue's thoughts on Wolverine. Also, this was written with the mindset that Rogue had a run-in of a negative kind with Carol Danvers. Mmm, invincibility...

What He Was

He wasn't like her father. Sure, he was older than her, but then, he was older than a lot of people. He watched out for her, he taught her things. But fathers didn't take their daughters out into an all out brawl to relieve some stress. Fathers didn't take pride in every new and more inventive curse word that came out of their daughters' mouths. Fathers wouldn't get into a dirty joke contest or play chicken with their daughters on their motorcycles.

He wasn't like her brother. Brothers, in her experience, didn't take you to a bar to get smashed when you were pissed over the man that they warned you against in the first place. Brothers didn't watch you flirt with five or ten different losers at that same bar with amusement in their eyes. Brothers wouldn't wolf-whistle when she came downstairs in a skirt that was too short.

He wasn't like a lover. He never looked at her with heat in his eyes unless he was mad. He never followed her around with his eyes. He didn't try to own her or keep her. He wasn't jealous of her time and he didn't make excuses to try to touch her.

She didn't want him to.

He was Wolverine. Wolverine who understood what it felt like to be strong and untouchable, to live more lives than anyone around him. Wolverine who would growl over-protectively at only at the people he thought she actually needed protection from. Wolverine who had killed, Wolverine who had been used, Wolverine who knew what it was like to feel like a monster just because he was alive.

She knew he would always fight for her and fight with her if he thought she needed it. She knew he was willing to tie up anyone who threatened her with their own entrails, half-way for the heck of it. She knew that no matter how bad things got, he would never be afraid of her.

He was fierce, he was glorious, he was feral, he was loyal, he was violent, he was tender.

She didn't know what he was. But she knew who he was. He was there. And that was enough.


And that's that, really. I'm working on updates for "Dance" and "Letters." No worries, they're not abandoned and I'm still alive. My apologies if you saw this already. I'm just trying to pump myself up for some serious writing this weekend. Let me know what you think!