A Touch of Frost
by
Victoria P
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool, if you want it, just ask me.
Feedback: Feed the monkey!
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete for being spanking good betas. More notes at the end, so I don't spoil the story.
It began, as these things always do, once upon a time. A time in the not-so-distant future, in a place not so far away. A place called Salem Center, in Westchester, New York.
There was a girl. There always is. And this one was beautiful. She had large, chocolate eyes, full, coral lips, and skin the color of finest cream. Her hair was dark and marked with two white stripes that framed her heart-shaped face.
But the girl, as is often the case, was under a curse. She could never be touched. Her skin was lethal as the blade of a knife, killing with much less kindness. And her enemies were not the only ones who'd felt its sting. She herself was changed, forced to absorb new personalities and memories into her own, to live with others inside what should have been the sanctuary of her own head.
And so she lived, beautiful and alone, an outcast among outcasts, at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
Luckily for her, she had a prince.
He wasn't much of a prince, being rough and ill-mannered -- more inclined to brawl and growl than socialize with her friends -- but he loved her, and she him. And while he was poor of pocket and had not much in the way of earthly possessions -- hadn't even the memories of most of his long life -- he was rich at heart with honor, loyalty and affection for his friends, though he'd never admit it aloud.
He rescued her from her enemies and saved her life not once, but twice (three times, she whispered softly, lying awake late at night, clutching the metal dog tags he'd left her as a talisman, praying for his safety), and then gone questing for his past.
Upon his return, several months later, they fell into a friendship that both believed would survive all tests; the bond between them was stronger than the adamantium lining his bones.
A year passed, and then two. The girl grew into a woman. The love she felt for him still burned brightly in her breast. The feelings he had for her transmuted, like lead into gold, from friendly affection to passionate love.
He continued to travel in search of his lost past, but he always returned to her. Another year, and they moved beyond mere flirtatious friendship to the exchange of kisses -- chaste at first, hesitant on her part, her fear of harming him almost overwhelming her desire. He marveled at his own patience. He -- who had never waited a moment for anything, but took what he wanted when he wanted it -- allowed her to set the pace. He knew she was too precious to rush, and he worked at overcoming her fears.
Kisses and caresses between them grew heated, until he thought he would die from wanting her. Words of love were exchanged, and promises of a life spent together were sworn.
But the past has a way of seizing hold and not releasing its iron grip until one faces all its demons.
He left again, reluctantly this time, secretly longing to take her with him as he searched yet another ruined building for a past that was beginning to lose its meaning for him.
He left again, and she prayed he'd take her with him, prayed he'd take her and make her his own while they were out on the road. She wanted to share in this quest as she shared in every other aspect of his life. She knew that he would find it hard to move into the future while constantly searching for his past.
He left again, and this time, his return coincided with the chill days of autumn. It was a less than joyous homecoming.
He was different. He'd always been moody, gruff -- some said callous -- in his treatment of others. Only with her did his softer side surface. But this time, even she could not temper his tongue or tame his rage.
His first night back, a reunion she'd imagined would be filled with joy and love, brought not soft words and sweet caresses, but demands and rough hands on her body.
Only at the moment of his climax did he suddenly open his eyes and look at her, his eyes filled with anguish and his voice hoarse with something more than passion. "Marie, save me."
She didn't understand, but she loved him, so she said, "Yes, Logan. I will."
He used her roughly, and she let him, her love surviving even the rapidly darkening bruises on her alabaster skin.
He, who prided himself on his skills as a lover, left her unfulfilled, shaken and crying, her fantasy shattered by his brutal reality. He didn't hold her afterward and whisper words of comfort. He stood, pulled his clothes on in the dark, and returned to his own room.
It went on like that for almost a week. Six days of shadowed eyes and harsh words; six nights of his hands bruising her hips, marking her as his own, even as he begged her to save him. His behavior tore at her heart, and she was confused by the changes in him.
The seventh night, after coming to the conclusion that she could no longer live like this, she followed him. She took care to stay downwind, and used all the tricks he'd taught her over the years of their friendship, as well as his faded memories, to remain unnoticed in the cold October night.
He went to a bar. Not his usual dive, but an upscale, trendy bar in Manhattan. Dressed in black, with her haunted eyes and unusual hair, Marie had no problem getting past the bouncer.
She scanned the room and found him almost immediately. She felt her heart break within her chest. He was with another woman. And *such* a woman.
She was tall, with long, blonde hair. She wore a white leather halter dress that clung to every curve and left little to the imagination. Her eyes were blue and cold; they missed nothing. Worst of all, though, was that she could be touched. And Logan was touching her, his hands caressing her body with the same controlled violence that had marked Marie's nights this past week.
She turned away. Fighting her way to the bar, she was startled when the bartender put a glass of bourbon down in front of her.
"From the lady in white," he said, jerking his chin.
Marie looked up, startled, and the woman grinned at her and raised a glass in a silent toast. Then she turned and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Logan's lips that he returned enthusiastically.
Rogue knocked back the shot of bourbon, slammed the glass on the bar, and walked out. She felt something tickling in the back of her mind, as though fingers were trying to get hold of her, but couldn't quite manage to do so.
She shook her head and sped back to Westchester. She needed to talk to someone about what she had seen.
***
Jean was in the kitchen when Rogue arrived home. She had long since gotten over whatever jealousy she'd felt toward the redheaded woman, and now she needed a friend, someone to confide in.
"Logan's seeing another woman," she said without preamble, before bursting into tears. Jean wordlessly held her arms open, and Marie poured out her tale of woe amidst her sobs.
Jean didn't need her telepathy to know who the woman was.
"Logan's in trouble," Jean said softly. "He's in the power of the White Queen. He's not himself."
Rogue shook her head. "I don't, I don't understand," she said, sniffling. Her eyes were red and swollen, but the tears had finally stopped.
Jean gently took the Marie's face in her hands, using the younger woman's hair to shield herself from the Rogue's deadly touch.
"The White Queen, Emma Frost, is a very powerful telepath. Only Charles is stronger. She's controlling Logan for some reason, making him hurt you."
"But now that we know," the Professor himself said, entering the kitchen, "we can combat her powers."
***
Logan didn't come home that night, nor the next, and Marie began to worry. How could they put their plan into effect if Logan wasn't around?
The Professor reassured her -- he had no doubt that the White Queen would appear at the annual Halloween Ball at the mansion, which was three nights hence.
As usual, the Professor was right.
The Ball was the beginning of the social season in Westchester society and everyone who was anyone would be in attendance.
The ballroom was decorated in all the colors of autumn, and the guests wore brightly colored costumes. There were superheroes and sailors, knights in shining armor and their ladies fair, clowns and cats and creatures so fantastical that they had to be seen to be believed.
Rogue stood in a corner of the ballroom, the green of her costume allowing her to blend into the green of the potted palm behind which she was hidden.
Xavier assured her that there was no need to dress for action -- now that they knew the Hellfire Club was planning an assault during the festivities, they could feed the correct misinformation to Logan, who would pass it onto the White Queen. The X-Men would be ready to take their enemies into custody.
But still Rogue worried. She had thrown together what everyone called her Robin Hood costume, though in reality it made her look like a woodland nymph come to life. Her legs were encased in green tights tucked into little black boots and she wore a green silk sheath that fell to mid-thigh, leaving her the ability to move quickly and fight if she needed to. Her arms were covered in matching silk opera gloves, and on her head she wore a funny little hat. A bow and quiver were slung over one shoulder.
She had sworn to stay alert, but her nerves jangled. She was on her third gin and tonic when she noticed them. She hadn't seen them arrive, and cursed her inattentiveness. Though how anyone could have missed the entrance of that strange and beautiful couple was a mystery.
The White Queen was dressed as Diana, Huntress and goddess of the moon. She wore a short white leather skirt and a bustier of the same material, as well as thigh-high white leather boots with stiletto heels. A white and silver mask glittering with diamante beads covered her eyes and nose.
Logan stood at her side, silent and solemn as death, in black. Only the gleam of his teeth when he leaned down to whisper in the woman's ear relieved the stark splendor of his dress. Even his hands were gloved in black leather.
They laughed and danced together, and Marie watched, her heart aching to see him with another woman after all the pain he had caused. Finally, when Emma wrapped her arms around her escort and kissed him deeply, Rogue had seen enough.
She went to the bar and ordered another drink. Walking across the dance floor, she made her way to the couple.
"Hello, Logan," she said, loud enough to be heard over the music, to break into their seemingly romantic moment.
He pulled away from the White Queen's embrace.
"Hey, kid. Now that I've found a real woman, why don't you go play with boys your own age? Come back in a few years, after you know what you're doin', and maybe I'll give you a ride for old times' sake."
She gasped at his callousness and, without thinking, tossed her drink in his face before rushing out of the ballroom.
The feeling of everyone staring at him, as well as the sting of alcohol in his eyes, seemed to jolt Logan into a new awareness of his situation. He growled and bared his teeth, and everyone went back to their own conversations.
He looked down at the woman glittering in his arms and shook his head.
"I'm gonna go get cleaned up," he told her, pulling off a glove and running a hand through his hair. "I'll be back."
"I'll be waiting," she purred, sure as ever of her power over him.
He moved quickly through the throng of people, tracking Marie by scent. He knew he had to work fast -- his window of opportunity was small, smaller than even he realized.
By the time he found her out in the garden, the White Queen was in control again, and he heard vague whisperings in his mind that he had to end it with Marie once and for all.
Emma followed him, and, at a discreet distance, Xavier and Jean followed her.
Marie started at his sudden appearance. Her arms were wrapped around her chest against the chill night air.
"Logan," she said, her voice very near to tears, "please try to remember what we shared."
He laughed, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "What we shared, kid? What kinda bullshit is that? We didn't share anything but sex."
"No," she whispered, "we loved each other."
But he continued, inexorably. "What makes you think I ever loved you? What makes you think you were ever more than a quick fuck, and not a very good one, at that?"
He laughed again as the tears she'd held back for so long spilled over. <<This is not happening,>> she told herself. <<This is not Logan saying these things. That woman is making him do this.>>
Marie looked at him, heart in her eyes, as he paced before her, suddenly angry.
"Goddammit, Rogue," and he'd never called her that when they were alone, which gave her some hope and some strength, even as it pained her to hear it, "what the hell do you want from me? It's over. Just leave me alone. I found a real woman, one I can touch, so I don't need you anymore."
"So, I -- I never meant anything to you?" she managed finally. She put her hands behind her back, slowly easing one glove off. If Jean and the Professor weren't going to put a stop to this, she was.
He strode closer, and snaked an arm around her waist, cupping her cheek in his one gloved hand. "No, baby," he said venomously, "but if you're that eager, I suppose I could give you one last throw for old times' sake."
Rogue's chin snapped up and out his grasp at that, and her bare hand came into contact with his behind her back.
They gasped as the connection opened, and she felt him pouring into her, but it wasn't him alone -- there was a foreign mind caught up with his.
She pulled away, weeping, and he fell to the ground.
Jean ran forward to examine him while Xavier wheeled over to where Emma lay, panicked and drained by the distant touch.
"I think you're finished," he said, his voice full of iron, as the woman pulled herself together. Scott and Hank appeared behind her, and they took her down to the lower levels, where they would hold her for questioning before turning her over to the police.
Jean and Rogue knelt at Logan's side.
"I think he's going to be fine," Jean said softly, trying to reassure the younger woman, who was now draped across her lover's body, sobbing against his chest.
His eyes opened, and he stroked her hair gingerly. "Marie? Darlin'? Is that you?" he asked hoarsely.
She looked up, her eyes shining with tears and love and Halloween moonlight.
"Yeah, sugar."
"I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't want to say those things--"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "It's all right. I got you up here again," she tapped the side of her head, "so I know it was all that evil bitch."
The White Queen learned that while she controlled Logan's mind, she didn't own his soul, and that love is sometimes the most powerful force on earth.
Logan recovered quickly, and they went to their room. He whispered words of love to her as he begged her forgiveness with his body, loving her the way she'd always dreamed.
One day, a little over a year later, they stood in front of all their friends and declared their vows. While they didn't quite live happily ever after, their love was strong and sure.
~~*~~
A/N: Some of you may recognize the basic framework of this fic - it's a version of the old fairy tale Tamlane, or Tam-Lin. You can find various versions of the Tamlane story at: http://www.tam-lin.org/index.html http://www.belinus.co.uk/fairytales/JJMFTamlane.htm is the one I used for this fic.
To read the Angel/Cordelia version I wrote, visit: http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool/service.htm
Also, I don't know what would actually happen if Rogue absorbed someone who was mind-controlled, so just go with it, okay?
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