Instinct
by
Jenn


Author Notes: There's a point where you gotta realize you're not just a shipper. It's also a disease. And possibly a future tattoo. WR onlist discussion and movies, thanks to whoever threw those out. Also a W/R challenge. It tickled me.

---

"Marie, honey."

I shifted away from the moving body that was trying to drag me from my wonderful half-asleep existence. Gently, a hand slid down my face, over my shoulder, then rested briefly on my stomach.

"You gotta wake up. Come on, baby."

"Fuck yourself, sugar."

I felt the brush of his hair against my cheek, and he took a deep breath, then let it out slowly against my skin.

"I'll take care of it. Just relax."

I *was* relaxed. Everything was fine and floaty. Logan was being annoying. It all made sense. I heard the door open and--was Logan yelling something? Maybe. Couldn't be sure. Didn't care. I wrapped myself closer in the blanket and drifted, while Logan went about the room doing annoying man-things of some sort or another that for some reason couldn't be done in the morning. Opening one eye, I confirmed that it was still dark outside.

God, I was tired. But that was what life was all about these days--I was always tired. Tired and cranky and about ten thousand or so pounds above my normal weight.

Then I was scooped up and I blinked, trying to orient myself in here and now.

"What?" I whispered, and Logan smiled.

"It's time, baby."

I shifted a little and Logan let me adjust myself so I could press my head into his shoulder and coil an arm around his neck.

"How would you know?" I grumbled, falling back into the lovely haze that had been my only real sleep for longer than I liked to think about.

"Instinct."

* * * * *

Romanticism is what caught us. Period.

Logan had been comin' and goin' since we both arrived at the school, and a lot of people were just so sure I had a crush on him. That I slept with the dogtags. That Scott spent a lot of time convincin' me that it was a bad idea. That the X-Men disapproved.

Uh-huh. The whole crush-on-an-older/experienced/wise/rough/hot/pick-a-word-male who was the first to be kind to me since my manifestation--. Okay, so that's true, but I outgrew that. Seriously. But I can guarantee you I *never* slept with those damned dogtags. They were under my pillow for safety--so they wouldn't get lost. Only reason.

And the whole Scott/X-Men don't approve? I fucking wish. Logan might've stayed around longer at a time if the entirety of the team, the school, the fucking *state*, didn't feel the need to throw me at him every chance they got. Lookin' at Scott, you think to yourself--romantic? God help us, he is one, right down to those perfectly clean shoes. Oh yeah--he and Jeanie practically got teary-eyed when I relayed the story of how me and Logan met, and right at that minute, I shoulda guessed that something was up with them.

Of course, they didn't tell me that. They just started the maneuvering--pretty damned obvious maneuvering, because Logan wouldn't notice subtle if it hit him in the head and I coulda ignored it otherwise. Oh Rogue, you know women mature faster than men, but don't let that affect your feelings for fifteen-year-old, no-experience-at-all, still-plays-video-games-in-footie-pajamas Bobby. Rogue, honey, you need combat training, why don't you get Logan to run you through some Danger Room simulations, and yes, of *course* you should work out in minimal green spandex and why don't you try out those six inch stilettos with it! Logan, Rogue's bored and her friends are out tonight, why don't you take her to a nice dark theatre and see Lolita a few times? There's also The Professional and Interview With a Vampire playing--make it a triple feature!

God. As Logan put it once, fighting destiny was possible--fighting the concerted, unsubtle, and utterly overwhelming efforts of the X-Team was not. So that's how it was for three years--Lolita references notwithstanding--until Logan and I finally declared defeat. By this time, the team was getting better about throwing us together, and Logan found me alone in the Danger Room when he came in to play (call it work, hah, this was his idea of a relaxing afternoon), curled up in a corner, watching the animatronics with a glum expression. Hiding there, I'll admit it. Jean had been particularly enthusiastic at lunch.

He was surprised to see me there and I groaned when I saw him standing there.

"You okay?"

I'm not stupid--I saw the danger almost the second the words were out of his mouth.
Oh God, he was in here, I was in here, the door could lock (this had happened before), and I didn't have a deck of cards this time. I was on my feet and running--and damned if there wasn't the distinctive sound of a lock being thrown. I jerked the handle, Logan looked at my desperate efforts, and sat down and laughed.

I almost hit him, but hitting solid metal under skin hurts. Trust me, I know.

"This isn't funny!" Logan could break through it, but that'd take some time--it was a fucking thick door.

"Darlin', sorry--this is funny." A cocked head. "Considerin' I'm the one who told 'em to lock the door this time."

A pause, a moment of reflection on destiny, and then a check of lycra to assure skin safety.

"Okay," I answered, dropping down in his lap without ceremony. "Let's get it over with."

Well, it didn't get over with. The whole team showed up to help the day I moved rooms, and it was suspicious, how there was always a box of condoms and a fresh box of latex gloves in the dresser. And Logan still wandered, but for shorter periods of time, and the minute he came home I got the day off immediately. Someone would leave breakfast at our door the next morning. High carbohydrates. And an ice pack.

So that was my life for a year, and it wasn't bad at all.

* * * * *

"Rogue, take deep breaths."

I twisted back into Logan's chest, closing my hands over his, and wished I could glare at Jean.

"You--" I breathed shortly. "You tell me--" I breathed out sharply at the next contraction and Logan's hands tightened in mine. "Fuck breathing! GOD!"

Against my back, Logan began to growl softly. Primal reaction to my pain, and we couldn't afford Logan's instincts taking over abruptly without checking in at his head first. I shut my eyes, turning my head against his shoulder, but I couldn't help the moan. Somewhere behind me, I knew Hank already had a syringe with a sedative--Logan didn't take them well and they were about as useful as valium given to a delusional psychopath on a cocaine high, but it would calm him down, and that was all we could hope for.

"You said it'd stop hurting her. Fuck, Jeanie, give her another!"

"I can't, Logan." Cool voice, and somewhere out there, Scott and Ororo and Jubilee were waiting--the whole present for the birth thing. I didn't see the magic of it, but then I was the one doing the actual work, so maybe I was a little prejudiced. They'd been promised they'd be able to come in as soon as I moved to the last stage of labor. That'd been eighteen hours before. Jean ducked back down under the sheet that protected her from my skin and I tried to breathe again as the contraction eased. I could feel her fingers running across my spine, where the epidural needle had been inserted with no result "Her body's just not responding."

"Fucking healing factor," he growled. "Baby--" He shifted again behind me and moved me gently, sitting me more upright and I took a deep breath. "Can I--"

"No!" Jean's head came up at my sharp command and I dug my fingers into him. The tips of my gloves had given out and if Logan didn't heal instantly, he'd've been scarred for life from my nails. "Logan, sugar, I'm fine. This is perfectly natural. All women do this. There is nothing odd going on--fuck!--here. All normal. Jeanie, tell him!"

Jean met my eyes and I knew that nothing was normal at all, but she nodded encouragingly at Logan.

"Everything's fine, Logan."

He didn't believe a word we said.

* * * * *

"What the fuck do you mean, *failure rate*?"

There are some words that men and women 'round the world fear on principle. 'We need to talk.' 'Let's be friends.' Stuff like that. This was one of those times. Anytime you put 'failure rate' in a sentence in relation to a gynecological check-up, some sort of shit is goin' down.

Jean checked the chart again and then smiled. Lit up her face and I could tell she wanted to hug, but restrained herself, considering I was still in a hospital gown and suffering from the flu--oh fuck, apparently it *wasn't* the flu.

"Rogue--"

"Ninety-nine percent." I told her flatly. I mean, that's good odds, right? Really good. I don't have supereggs that resist the basic pill, and as far as I could tell, Logan's little troopers didn't have their own set of claws to cut through latex. "Fucking *ninety-nine percent* and we're usin' condoms--how the *hell* did this happen?"

I'm not sure, but I think I started to hyperventilate. The next thing I knew, Jean had my head between my knees and was gently patting my back. Didn't help my stomach none, though--which was the reason I came here in the first place--

Oh crap, this wasn't possible.

* * * * *

Hank came up beside us and handed Logan a fresh washcloth--the last time Hank tried to touch me, Logan came remarkably close to putting several inches of adamantium through him. They get alone well enough, but this wasn't one of those times Logan took the presence of other males very well--Hank had used lots of long words to describe it, but basically, my husband was getting territorial. It would fade when I'd delivered, and Logan had put himself under remarkable amounts of restraint for the last three months of this merry hell when everything in him saw every single man in my vicinity as a threat. He was more stressed than I was, and that could have been frightening if I hadn't still been throwing up every day and too exhausted to do anything but sit very still and hope for the best.

And laugh my ass off. I always had enough energy for that.

"You okay, baby?" he whispered against my ear and I nodded as best I could. Hank, showing all that wonderful good sense, had already moved out of range of Logan, and Logan had probably forgotten all about him. The total focus of every single sense on me was oddly comforting--if anything was really wrong, he'd know before Jean. So far, he'd only reacted to my pain, nothing else--even though this wasn't going as expected, even though it was taking longer than we thought, even if there was something a little off, it'd all be okay.

I trusted him to know and I shut my eyes when the contraction eased, and he freed my hands to cradle me gently.

"Logan--" His head came up and Jean was standing up now, and her latex covered hands were slick with fluid lightly traced with blood. Neither Logan nor Jean reacted to it, so I just closed my eyes again and took my rest as I could. "Hank needs to be helping me. Look at me. I know it's hard, but concentrate on Marie. Okay?"

His entire body stiffened, but he slowly nodded and I got both his hands, lacing my fingers over the knuckles, just in case. A brush of lips against my hair and I turned my head up to look at him.

"Talk to me," I whispered.

"It's snowing outside. Yesterday, your little buddy Jubes almost broke her neck at the lake." I smiled. Logan had left the room only once in the last twenty-five hours, under so much protest that Jean hadn't even tried to get him to leave again. "She's outside right now with a cast on her ankle." A gentle pressure on my hands and he reacted to the contraction the moment I did--I hissed and he growled again.

"Keep talking," I said, seeing Hank from the corner of my eyes walking up beside Jean, and kept Logan's gaze on me, focused on my face. I breathed out sharply. "She--she's okay?"

"She's fine. She can't walk too well, but Gumbo's carryin' her anywhere she wants to go."

Jean murmured something and I grabbed both of Logan's hands when something new began to penetrate the air of the room--the smells of fluid and antibiotic and other things I didn't even want to identify, but the trace of blood growing steadily stronger, and Logan reacted. It took everything in me to hold on.

"Get Jubilee," I whispered, and Jean nodded shortly. We couldn't afford another male, but Jubilee was remarkably strong. If anything--well, even with her cast, she could help when I couldn't.

But the smell of blood was beginning to worry me--that and Logan's sudden silence as he took in the air of the room.

"Marie--" Jean had come back, I felt Jubilee press a gloved hand to my cheek and tried to smile. "Marie, we may need to consider option two."

"No. I can do this."

Logan was still silent.

* * * * *

He was stretched on the bed reading some magazine or other when I walked in. Stalked in. Staggered in, maybe. I debated the ways I'd break it to him. There was the circular approach, the gentle approach. The injuring him approach. I wasn't sure which I'd choose.

I jumped onto the bed and dropped on his waist, planting a gloved fist on either side of his shoulders. He gave me a curious look.

"You have all those fucking animal instincts, and you didn't pick up anything was different about me, huh?"

A pause. He put down the magazine and stared me, then reached up and cupped my face, meeting my eyes.

"I always know when you're--" he stopped, cocking his head. "Huh. You're pregnant?"

He caught me when I collapsed and rolled me over beside him, lifting himself on one elbow to study me.

"Now you guess?" I groaned.

"Shoulda figured it'd happen." There was a certain air of fatalism in his voice, and Logan just wasn't a fatalist. I stared at him.

"Logan, I'm on birth control. We use condoms. God, the sperm die on impact around here. Snowballs have a better chance rolling through hell intact. How the fuck did one manage?"

His lips twitched a little and he considered my question much more seriously than I expected him to.

"Strong little fucker."

I rolled onto my stomach and buried my head in my arms.

"This isn't happening," I moaned, and he rubbed my back over my shirt.

"What'd Jeanie say?"

I lifted myself on an elbow. I was waiting for panic. Some sort of movement for the door. Anger. Something. But Logan'd surprised me since I met him, and of course, I shoulda guessed he'd take this in a way I didn't expect.

Instead, he just looked thoughtful.

"She said I was pregnant. I threw up on her and she let me leave. We didn't have a deep discussion about it or anything."

The hand on my back kept moving in slow circles and despite myself, I was relaxing under the feeling and finally, I curled into the pillows when he moved to my neck.

"You feel okay?" Another hand added to the first and I sank deeper into the blanket and shut my eyes.

"A little tired."

"Yeah. That'll happen."

I turned my head and tried to glare.

"How would you know?"

"I 'member Jeanie." He worked back down my vertebrae in the same easy rhythm. "Relax. Deep breaths."

"I should be telling you that. Aren't you supposed to be throwing things or yelling or somethin'?"

"Nope." He got to my waist and slid my shirt up and leather on skin is always a good thing. I purred into the pillow. "You okay with it?"

Wow. I hadn't really thought beyond the 'how the fuck' to get to the 'well, it's there', so that was something I had to think about.

"How d'you feel 'bout it?" I wasn't ready to get to 'well, it's there' yet.

"Not sure." A low rumble. "Still thinkin'. Then he slid his hands under me and easily flipped me over, running a curious hand down my stomach. "How far along?"

"Jean can detect at six weeks. I'm guessing 'round that. Didn't really ask."

I wished at that moment I could read him better--but having some of the memories and personality traits didn't mean I knew it all. A long gaze at my body, then he unbuttoned the bottom of my shirt, studying my skin as if he'd never seen it before.

"Amazing."

I blinked, startled into looking up at him.

"Huh?"

"Just thinkin'. Miracle crap and all that." Both hands cupped my waist. "Never thought I would, ya know? Didn't even know if I could." A pause, and his thumbs traced my stomach carefully. I covered his hands with mine, staring at the slow movements of his fingers.

"Me either."

"We need t'talk to Jeanie, find out--" He stopped again, and I wondered what was wrong, until finally he looked at me. "You okay with it?"

I didn't know--but I was beginning to think so.


"What's your instinct, sugar?"

His eyes left mine and the slow trace of my skin again--then before I could pull away, he brushed his mouth across my bare stomach, startling us both, and I jerked even as he pulled away, a little lightheaded, a smile turning up the corners of my mouth at all the things he could never say but only feel.

"Yeah," I whispered, when he pulled down my shirt and his head rested on my covered stomach. "That's sort of what I was thinking too."

* * * * *

"Marie, let them do it!"

But I didn't want it that way--this was natural, and Hank was trying to explain why I couldn't, that my skin wasn't the problem that it was something else, something to do with how the baby was positioned, but I didn't want to believe--one normal thing, just one. That's all I wanted.

"I can give permission," Logan said softly, and I twisted around to stare up at him. "She's in pain, she can't think, it's an emergency--Jean, fucking do it! Now."

"Logan--"

And one of his hands came up to my chin, jerking my head around so I looked directly in his eyes, and it was more than fear, more than anger, more than anything I'd ever seen or felt or understood before.

"Instinct. Trust me, Marie, please. Let her."

Everything he didn't say, I could see in him, feel in myself, the ticking of the clock that suddenly seemed too loud, that I hadn't heard before this moment. Dizzy, I tried to focus.

"Hold on, Marie." A little shake, and I could hear Jean's soft curse, the smell of blood growing stronger. "Trust me."

"Okay," I whispered, and there was movement all around me--the other medical assistants were being called and Logan was moving away, pulled by Jubilee, but I grabbed at him. "Stay with me."

"Never leave you, Marie."

* * * * *

He twisted my hair back while I threw up again, then a washcloth was laid gently over my face as I lay back on the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

"I'm gonna rip your balls off for this," I muttered through the cloth. "It's all their fault in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It'll all be good. You any better?"

I shrugged, and waited for my stomach to stop cramping. Logan crouched beside me and took the cloth to warm it again, then slid it over my forehead. He was worried, I knew that much--I sort of pitied Jean sometimes after a really bad morning for me, because she had to face him when I was moaning in bed, calling down imprecations on all men.

"Okay, let's get you something to eat."

I opened one eye.

"You're reading those books again--the ones Jean gave you, aren't you?"

He'd never admit it, but he'd memorized the first one. What To Expect by Dr. Someone-Or-Other. He knew what to expect, and with the most annoying regularity, he could name off my symptoms and God help us all, he quoted statistics at me one morning with my head in the toilet. He'd upgraded to Jean's medical texts, much to her shock, but Hank, being the type to sit around and analyze, pointed out it was all of a piece--I was his mate, I was carrying his child, and his instinct said know as much about it as possible. Which he did--more than I did, to be perfectly honest. I just don't have his recall--what an odd thing to think about a man who had only twenty years worth of memories out of God knows how long a life.

"You need to eat something," he answered. God, he was stubborn. I extended a hand and he gently pulled me to my feet--he would have carried me but I put my foot down--hehehe, both my feet--and told him no. When I got into our room, he placed me on the bed--which was fine, I didn't feel like doing much moving--and went hunting for something I could keep down.

So far, crackers and peanut butter. And bread. And more vitamin supplements than any human really should need. Yay for me being a mutant.


When he got back, he glanced down at me before sitting the tray on the floor and ran a hand curiously over my stomach. Three months and he had picked up the heartbeat before the ultrasound did. It utterly fascinated him--I'd woken up before to find him on an elbow, staring down at my stomach in total concentration.

"I'm getting fat."

"You're beautiful."

"You just want to fuck me later."

A small smile, and he stretched out next to me. Brought a gloved hand across my face and traced the line of my nose.

"Jean sent somethin' for ya," he said. I nodded and he levered himself up enough to grab whatever it was off the floor. I took a look at the magazine and groaned, rolling onto my side.

Suffice to say, the whole pregnancy thing had utterly delighted everyone involved. When we went to the lab to discuss the possibilities--skin issues, possible mutations, vitamin supplements and apparently nursery colors--Jean and Hank both propped me up on the bed like an invalid--and *everyone* knows better than that. Logan took the seat beside me and when Hank began to take my blood pressure, he growled suddenly, and he looked surprised himself when he did it, too.

I laughed while Hank looked immensely interested in Logan's instinctive reaction.

"What is it?" Logan asked, and I threw it at him. He flipped through the magazine absently "Why would she send you color samples?"

"Wedding colors," I muttered. "Fucking wedding colors. Yesterday it was the film of her wedding. And how easily she can alter her wedding dress to fit someone else. And how good white looks on me. Fuck."

"You don't wanna get married."

I turned over and pointed to the closet.

"Look at the closet." Logan looked. "My father isn't in there with a shotgun and this isn't the nineteenth century. We don't have to get married."

"Why not?"

That was all I could take--I sat up, staring at him.

"You don't wanna get married."

"Didn't know that." He sounded thoughtful and sat up, eyes narrowing in interest at the closet again. "You figure that out on your own?"

My mouth opened and shut abruptly, because I couldn't think of a damned thing to say to that.

"Logan--"

"Well, if you're gonna refuse before I even ask--"

"LOGAN!"

He turned to look at me, amused, pleased, a little wicked, like the kid he couldn't remember being, and it stopped my heart. I took a breath, then another, then stared down at the floor.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Surprise me like that."

"Happens." He shrugged slightly, sliding an arm around my shoulders and drawing me close.

"I love you."

"Good to know."

I paused, thinking about it for a second.

"Let's go to Vegas."

"I'll pack."

* * * * *

They put me under general anesthesia, so Jubilee told me what happened in as much detail as she could remember. She also administered the sedative to Logan, so he could stay without killing someone, and he held my hands the entire time.

It went fast and easy--textbook, Hank told me later, and gloved and protected, the c-section released my son into the world twenty-nine hours after Logan woke me up to tell me it was time. I woke up feeling so high I thought I'd float away and Logan was sitting beside me, watching my face. My hand was still in his.

I remembered, for no particular reason, the day the baby kicked me for the first time--lying in bed, startling Logan completely and utterly awake, feeling the slide of his fingers across my abdomen, utter amazement in the dark eyes. He slid down the bed and pressed a hand against me and didn't move the rest of the night.

"How--how--" I couldn't focus enough to find the right words, to ask the important questions--to even think of the important questions.

"Fine. Boy. Eight pounds and six ounces, twenty inches. They're running tests." A trace of a gloved hand over my face, utter wonder and sheer exultation coming off of him, and I tried to smile, tried to find more words, more questions. He knew.

"He didn't react to your skin, baby."

I breathed out and smiled and Logan moved me over, sliding over me gently and then covered my lips with his, fingers buried in my hair, tongue sliding into my mouth opening up every sense. The connection snapped open so suddenly I could barely breathe through it and somewhere I heard voices and I know he was pulled away, still holding my hand, and I curled around him when Jean let him lay down beside me.

"I knew all that," I told him, tapping my head as he drew me close. "Always have, sugar."

"Thought you'd like to know, anyway."



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