Series: Jenn's "Love & Lust at Mutant High"-outtakes
Summary: Rogue can't sleep. She's not the only one. Nothing really happens.
Disclaimer: I own none of the "X-men" characters; this story's just a little thing to amuse myself.
Rating: PG-13 for language, I guess.
Distribution: XMMFA, Jenn's Indulgence, otherwise just ask.
Note #1: A huge thank you (with chocolate) to Jenn, for letting me play in her world and for whipping this puppy into shape on beta. Gracias. :)
Note #2: If you haven't read the "Love & Lust" series, go there now and read it. http//:www.wolverineandrogue.com/llindex.html

Connecting the Dots

by Jamie

Insomnia's a bitch. Which seems fitting to Rogue, considering how she came by it. For months now, she'd been plagued by nightmares until sleep itself became something to fear. Now, she'd found something almost as bad.

Sleeplessness.

Rogue shifted restlessly in her bed and frowned at the clock, its glowing red numbers reminding her that normal people would be sleeping at this hour. Or, if not, they'd be out having fun, like everyone else in the mansion. Jubes, Kitty and the guys were out clubbing, celebrating the fact that everyone had survived their second mission without any major injuries or-in Rogue's case-new personalities.

She kicked the covers off and rolled onto her side, staring at the posternJubilee had tacked up a few weeks before. Soon after the Incident with Carol, Rogue had moved back into her own room so she could deal with her insanity in private. Mostly. Jubes and Kitty had taken to nagging her on a daily basis to do *something* to decorate her room, to make it look like somebody lived there. Rogue joked that she couldn't get the various people in her head to agree to a style, but the truth was, everything important was stashed in a duffle bag beneath the bed. Money, change of clothes, a few snacks, fake i.d. and passport, a faded photo of her as a small child with her parents. Ready to grab and go at a second's notice.

She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling, remembering her room back home in Mississippi. It was a fluffy, girlie room with stuffed animals and flowers and posters, and a giant map marked with hopes and wishes. But that was a long time and several personalities ago. Now she had a bare room decorated with a small framed photo of the junior X-men and a gigantic black and white poster of half-naked men in a sauna that Jubes had donated to the decorating cause.

As the quiet room pressed in on her, she wondered again if she should've gone out with everyone else. She'd been invited, of course, but the last place she wanted to be was crammed into a small room with a bunch of strangers.

She had enough strangers inside her head.

Though it would have been amusing, she thought as she stared into darkness, to inflict the torture on Logan that he so richly deserved. And it would have been torture for him to endure all the people ... the ear-splitting music ... the stench of 50 different brands of perfume melding together over the smell of sweat. But Logan was her shadow these days, and if she went clubbing, he would get a whole new view of the younger generation. Whether he wanted it or not.

She knew without looking that he was waiting in the hallway outside her room, just in case Carol took over again and forced Rogue to race from the mansion ... or whatever it was that he was afraid of. It had been two months, and she was getting better all the time. Not that Logan seemed to notice. She felt a little guilty, knowing that she should at least let him sleep on the floor inside her room, but she rationalized that it was all his own fault. He could've been sleeping in the bed with her if he hadn't been so damn stubborn. Hadn't rejected her.

All this time, she'd waited. She played it cool, aside from a few glaring exceptions, waiting for him to come to her. She knew he wanted her. She was almost sure of it. Of course, the *almost* was a killer. Against her better judgment, she'd practically offered herself to him on a platter. It was on a night just like this, she thought, throwing her pillow at the clock, knocking it to the floor. She'd had insomnia again, and she and Logan were downstairs channel surfing through the infomercials on TV. At some point Rogue became super-aware of Logan's hand resting on her leg just above the knee.

He was clicking through channels and grumbling. She could admit to herself now that he probably didn't even realize he was touching her, but the more she thought about it at the time, the more convinced she became that it was a *sign*. Now was the time to make her move.

"Logan," she said softly, and that was all. Their eyes met and held, the hand on her leg tightened. His eyes held a look she'd half-seen before but was afraid she'd imagined. They said he wanted, needed her. She straddled his lap, wordlessly rocking her hips into his.

It had been in his eyes and in his body's response. He wanted her. She knew it. But he'd turned her down flat. His fingers dug into her hips for a moment, then he pushed her roughly to the side and stood up. "You're not yourself, Marie," he said evenly.

Well, no shit. She'd never be herself again, but that was beside the point. But the worst thing wasn't his rejection. No, the worst, most painful thing was the fact that he'd acted like it never happened. Let's just erase Rogue's little embarrassing moment and continue like nothing has changed.

And that's when the doubts had come back full force.

He didn't want her. He thought of her like a sister or-heaven forbid-a daughter. Rogue shoved herself off the bed and paced the room. She picked up her pillow from where she'd thrown it and twisted it in her hands. She would never compare to the beautiful, smart, perfect Jean Grey.

With a growl, Rogue threw the pillow at her door, in the approximate direction of Logan. Childish, she thought, falling back on the bed. Just another reason he wouldn't want her.

The Carol inside her head loved these thoughts, fed off them like a vampire and got stronger. Other people's pain had always given her a rush.

Groaning, Rogue jumped up and padded into the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she stared in the mirror, jolted as always by the unfamiliar green of the eyes reflected back at her. Her hands roamed the face that looked familiar and felt so wrong. There were days soon after she'd absorbed Carol, when the mirror seemed to reflect two women at once, a double-exposure that made her dizzy and caused her to avoid mirrors. Her skin didn't fit quite right anymore, and it was a constant itching below the surface, driving her slowly insane. On the rare occasions that she did sleep, she would dream that her skin was peeling off, revealing another person underneath. The Professor said the feelings would go away in time, but for now, she was going stir crazy.

She flipped the light off again and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. A cigarette would be good. It would help ease the itching.

Just one. One little cigarette. Half of one. A few puffs.

Carol had also apparently had a raging nicotine addiction, which Rogue wasn't eager to pick up. She had enough weaknesses of her own without adding someone else's. Her eyes fell on the bag of Tootsie Roll Pops on her desk, and she remembered with a grin Dr. McCoy's earnest face as he gave them to her, telling her they would help ease the "oral fixation" of smoking. Of course, the Logan in her head took that to a completely different place, and it had been so hard not to laugh.

But she'd rather have Logan's dirty thoughts than anything from Carol.

She threw herself on the bed and closed her eyes, but of course, sleep hovered at a distance, mocking her. Sleeping pills hurt more than they helped, and considering her history with narcotics, the doctor wouldn't be in a hurry to prescribe anything for her at this point.

But a cigarette would be heaven.

Rogue tugged on her gloves and a pair of jeans, leaving her feet bare. If anyone out there was going to be groping her bare feet, he deserved whatever he got, she thought, slipping out of the room. Logan sat against the wall beside her room, smoking a cigar. Again she felt a twinge of regret for making him so uncomfortable, but she pushed it away.

She knew he would follow her, but she didn't feel like talking, so she ignored him. She prowled the mansion restlessly. If only she knew where Remy kept his stash of contraband. She figured he had several hiding places, but going into his room at this point would only invite Logan to bring up some things that were better left in the past.

She stopped in the middle of the hall as she remembered St. John.

She hadn't really spoken much to him since her demon possession, as she liked to call it. Things were weird between them. She, unfortunately, had a pretty clear memory of what had happened in those minutes when Carol completely took over her body, and she knew Johnny had really been hurt by what happened.

She knew it was stupid, but she felt responsible.

St. John was sure to be out with everyone else, and it just so happened that she knew exactly where he kept a couple packs of cigarettes.

The room was dark, but Rogue knew her way well enough to skip the light. She found the desk after moment and slid the bottom drawer open.

"Looking for something?"

"Shit!" Rogue twisted as a bedside lamp flipped on. "Dammit, Johnny! You

scared me to death!"

St. John sat on the bed in sweat pants, shirtless. He had a serious case of bed head, blond hairs sticking up at random. "Well, think of how I feel," he said, running the heel of his hand over his eyes. "Someone's creeping into my room in the dead of night."

"You were sleeping?"

"Well, that is generally an acceptable activity at-" he squinted at the clock "-- 1:43 a.m."

"Oh." Rogue shifted uncomfortably. "I couldn't. You know. Sleep. I thought ... I needed a cigarette." She nearly winced at her own stuttering. She was the rogue, for heaven's sake. Always in control, never uncertain, bad-ass bitch. At least, that's who she wanted to be. Bad-ass bitches were tough as nails, and they never got hurt.

"Help yourself," he said easily, running his hand through his hair and standing up. Despite the casualness of his voice, she noticed he wouldn't quite meet her eyes. "So ... where's your shadow?"

So he'd heard. Rogue wondered how much of the details he knew. St. John had a way of being at the fringes of everything, of hearing anything that went on. And what he didn't know, Jubes would certainly tell him.

She shrugged. "Probably outside."

St. John looked briefly at the door and then grabbed a T-shirt, yanking it on.

Rogue bit back a laugh. Johnny had this only slightly irrational fear of Logan. If things weren't so strained between the two of them right now, she would start yelling out his name in passion and count the seconds until Logan broke the door down. Instead, she sent Johnny a slight smile and grabbed a couple of cigarettes out of an open pack sitting on the desk. "I'm just gonna go for a walk," she said, nodding toward the door.

"Sorry I woke you."

"Hey, Rogue." St. John stepped toward her but still avoided her eyes. "I ... ah, would you mind some company?"

"Yeah. I mean, no." Shit. She was talking to one of her best friends at Xavier's and she could barely speak a complete sentence. "I'd like some company," she said finally.

St. John smiled, a real smile, and grabbed his sneakers from under the bed.

They wandered out to the garden, and Rogue headed for her favorite bench. Some stargazing might distract her from the pathetic mess of her life.

"Oh, yesss!"

Rogue started at the groaning voice, tripped and bit back a curse as she slammed into St. John, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Before Logan could make an appearance, she jumped up and easily pulled St. John to his feet, sighing at the unmistakable sounds of moaning and skin sliding against skin. Well. At least somebody was having fun not sleeping.

She and St. John exchanged a look. Obviously, the garden wasn't the most peaceful spot they could find.

"Roof?" she asked softly.

"Sure." There was a pause as they started back to the mansion. "Was that ...?"

"I think." It seemed like Jubes and Remy had finally figured out their feelings for one another.

"Well," St. John said, and Rogue could hear the smirk in his voice. "About damn time."

St. John met her on the back stairs with a blanket someone had left in the rec room. They spread it on a flat spot on the roof and sprawled out under the stars.

"Know anything about constellations?" St. John asked after a long, and surprisingly comfortable, silence.

"No." Rogue twirled a cigarette in her hand, not lighting it. She really didn't want to pick up this habit. An occasional cigar to placate the Logan in her head was one thing, but this was entirely different. "I never could see how connecting the dots up there made anything."

"Me, neither," he said. "But I like to look, anyway."

Rogue smiled, even though he probably couldn't see. She wished things between her and St. John could go back to normal, whatever that was for them. She knew things about his past now that he'd probably prefer she didn't know. When she thought of how Carol had abused him-and not only hadn't cared, she'd been amused by it-Rogue wanted to cry. Or kill Carol, until she remembered she'd already done that. St. John had a rough time before he came to Xavier's, and Carol was the biggest reason for that. Carol

might not feel guilty, but Rogue felt it for her.

"She was a bitch," Rogue said finally, turning her head slightly toward him.

He kept looking at the sky and didn't ask who she was talking about. "Yeah."

"Nothing that happened was your fault."

A pause, then softly, "I know."

"Good." Rogue sighed, then handed him the cigarette. "I don't want that. But I could use a beer."

St. John laughed and rolled onto his side, facing her. "Well, we could break into Remy's room and search for his stash. He's obviously occupied at the moment."

"Well, at least *somebody* around here is getting laid," she said. She knew Logan was listening and would understand that she was directing that little remark at him. St. John threw her a startled glance, and though there was only a faint light from the moon, she could've sworn that he'd blushed. Interesting. "So, how're things with Bobby?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

It finally occurred to Rogue to wonder what St. John was doing home and why Bobby had gone out without him. She wanted to ask, but she didn't feel she had the right. She cared about both of them, but how were they to know that when she was so wrapped up in herself? What else had she missed while living out her own personal soap opera?

God, she could use a beer. She suddenly had an idea, one that would probably piss Logan off. Coincidentally, that was one of her main goals at the moment. "Hey, Logan," she said, rolling over slightly and looking at the corner of the roof where she was pretty sure he was hanging out at the moment. "Could you make yourself useful and get us a couple of beers?"

The shadow that was Logan moved a little bit, but he didn't reply.

"Look," she said. "Johnny's here to guard me for two minutes while you run down and get them. I promise not to fly off into the night while you're gone."

Logan growled a little, but he vanished downstairs without a word.

"Rogue," Johnny breathed, "You are one crazy bitch."

Rogue laughed. "Yeah, I guess. But he's on my shit list right now."

"What'd he do?"

She plopped back down on her back and glared at the sky. She really didn't want to talk about it, but she couldn't expect things with St. John to improve if she didn't open up a little. "Just my usual," she drawled, hoping she didn't sound as hurt as she felt. "Threw myself at him, and he turned me down."

"What?" St. John sat straight up. "That's crazy."

Rogue laughed again. "This coming from the first one to reject me."

"No. Well ... but I love Bobby," he said. "And I didn't *reject* you, I was just ..."

"I'm getting used to it," she interrupted. "But don't be surprised if you and Bobby get a call from 'The Jerry Springer Show.'"

"Love and Lust and Mutant High," Johnny said in his best announcer's voice. "Next time, on 'Jerry.'"

Rogue sat up and inched closer to him. Once upon a time, she would've leaned on him instead, but things were different now. Or maybe not. St. John threw an arm around her shoulder. "You know," he said seriously. "Logan ... he just doesn't want to hurt you. You ... matter to him."

"I want to hurt *him*," she grumbled, knowing St. John was right. And once again, she was acting childish.

"I knew it!" Johnny said triumphantly. "You were a born dominatrix, Rogue. Black leather, whips, chains ... oh, yeah. It's you."

They were laughing when Logan came back. He wordlessly handed them their beers. Before he could head back to the shadows, St. John got to his feet.

"Um, Logan, I'm heading to bed. I guess you'll have to drink mine."

He handed Logan the bottle, and the two exchanged a look. Rogue could almost hear the manly bonding going on in the glance.

"Sure, Johnny," Logan said finally, sitting beside Rogue.

"Later, Rogue," St. John said. "I've got a few ideas on ... what we were discussing. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Sure," she smiled as he headed for the stairs. Ideas on the Logan situation? That could be interesting.

Logan stretched out on his side, propped up on his elbow. "What were you discussing?" he asked.

She considered ignoring him, but that would just prove how immature she was. She decided on sarcasm instead, which wasn't much more mature, but certainly was more fun. "How I should make my escape from this prison with you watching over me 24/7."

He grunted. "I just worry."

"You don't have to." Rogue leaned back on her elbows, legs out in front of her.

"Can't help it."

She lifted her bottle. "Relax. Drink your beer. Play connect-the-dots."

"Huh?"

She pointed to the sky. "Look for pictures in the stars."

His mouth quirked a little, and he rolled onto his back.

Rogue traced the stars with her eyes, trying to find patterns in the shimmering spots. If she wanted to get all metaphorical, it was kind of like finding a pattern, a purpose in life. Even after all that she'd been through, she knew there was a pattern. A fate. A destiny. She turned her head and looked at Logan, who was staring at her rather than the stars. When she'd been on the run, she'd broken every hitchhiking rule she'd made for herself and hopped in the trailer of some crazy guy with metal claws. All because she felt, somewhere deep inside, that they were the same. They were connected. If she hadn't listened to that little voice inside, she'd probably be dead by now.

Right now, the voice was telling her to be patient, let Logan realize on his own that connecting the dots led him right to her.

She grinned at him and turned back to the sky.

Logan was a goner. He just didn't know it yet.

~END~