Prompt: MCU(X-Men) Logan+/Rogue, He likes the snow, she prefers the heat by evil_little_dog for Comment-Fic Livejournal Community
The North and the South
He likes the snow. She prefers the heat. North and south will do that, don't you know.
"Now, Wolverine, sugar,"—and Rogue only drawls like she was still in Mississippi when she really means business; for that matter, the name she chose is a fairly sure giveaway she means business—"you can wander about in as much of Canada's snow as you please," she informs him, arms deep in dishwater. "But don't you go tracking in that snow on my floor."
"It's my floor," Logan reminds her, exasperated, but removes his boots and comes in the cabin where she's got a fire going and supper on. "How's pint-size?" he asks abruptly.
"Jubilee's asleep," Rogue answers and he can't quite read her. she's focused on the dishes.
Rogue took off from the Institute with Logan the last time he left. She had taken the Cure and discovered the nasty side effect that while her ability to absorb and control the psyches of other people was gone, the psyches she had already absorbed stuck around. Some days, Logan looks at her and he sees Allerdyce's fire in her eyes. Some days, he catches her talking just like Bobby, David, the Professor, Magneto—himself. It bothers him, but as long as he keeps treating like he always has, it doesn't seem to bother her.
Jubilee had called his cell phone and asked to come for a visit, so they got off the road to his cabin and had her.
"You miss them all?" Logan asks suddenly.
Rogue sniffs. "I miss the heat." She glances pointedly out the window into blinding snow, then back to his boots dripping in the entry.
"I mean, Jubilee and the gang." He had cleared out an hour ago so they could talk without worrying about his enhanced hearing. "You miss your friends any?"
Rogue frowns but shakes her head, then hums thoughtfully to herself. "Like Bobby?" A mischievous glint is in her eye as she peeks up at him.
He almost growls at the name. "No." He hasn't asked if Rogue still has a crush on him and he genuinely hope she doesn't. She's the closest thing to a cub he's ever had. "I mean friends."
Rogue lets the water out of the sink and dries her hand on a dishtowel, then comes to sit beside him on the couch. "Do you?"
It's a slam in the gut. "They're mostly dead," he reminds her, rough rasp. He reaches out and fingers a strand of her white hair.
"Kind of leaves you cold, doesn't it?" she prods.
He stares at her.
Rogue sighs and gets up. "I'm going to bed."
He's not sure if he really hears her murmur or it's just his imagination. "And you wonder why I like the heat."