The Powder Room

I was supposed to finish this for Lu’s graduation gift, and then I tweaked it so it would work for the 30 Days of the WRFA. And, well, it’s still not done. I’d been hoping to finish it , but it’s not happening. So I’m posting it here, unfinished.

Summary: Size doesn’t matter.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the X-Men characters and I’m pretty sure that this fic proves I’m not mature enough to be responsible for them.
Author’s Notes: Umm…this is a humorous piece, eventually, I swear. But the beginning of it has mature, or rather, horribly depressing subject matter. Thanks to everyone at the WRFA for putting together such a great archive.

For Lu, who wanted this as a graduation present. Sorry it’s a bit late.

*****

It took both Scott and Bobby to pull Rogue back as a giant ball of fire engulfed the building. The heat of the flames from the explosion was almost unbearable, but she struggled to break free, vaguely aware that she was screaming Logan’s name.

It wasn’t until Storm had summoned a gentle rainfall to put out the flames that they let Rogue go. She picked her way through the smoldering debris, searching for something–anything–that would make it seem real. That would make her believe he was gone.

She was struggling with a metal beam, trying to push it aside to sift through the rubble underneath, when the weight of the beam suddenly seemed lighter. She turned to see Scott lifting the other end. He didn’t say a word, just shoved the beam out of her way.

Rogue sank to her knees, picking up and discarding piece after piece of charred wreckage. Her gloves were black with soot, but she kept at it, looking for the glint of adamantium.

“Rogue,” Scott said gently. “He’s gone.”

“No. He’s not,” she insisted, ignoring the way her voice broke. “He heals from anything, Scott. Anything.”

“Not this time. He’s not coming back.”

“He will. I know he will.”

She knew he didn’t believe it, but he didn’t argue with her. She felt the pressure of his hand on her shoulder and then he was gone, leaving her to examine the remains of the building.

She spent the next several hours in the smoldering heat with smoke burning her lungs and ashes stinging her eyes. It wasn’t until the first rays of sunlight broke that she finally found something: a small piece of charred flesh, barely recognizable, but definitely human. Or mutant. A sob caught in her throat. Scott was right–Logan wasn’t ever coming back. But she couldn’t think about that, couldn’t deal with it, so instead she went on autopilot, focusing on giving Logan a proper burial. She ripped the scarf off her neck and wrapped it around the tiny piece of Logan. Rogue swiped at the tears on her face and got up, heading back towards the Blackbird with the scarf clutched tightly to her chest.

When she arrived at the gangplank, Scott was there waiting for her. He looked up as she approached, noticing the bundle in her hands. He opened his mouth to ask, but she couldn’t bear to hear him say it, so she nodded emphatically, biting her lip to keep the tears from coming.

It wasn’t for another week that the chaos and the battles had calmed down and they were able to plan Logan’s memorial service. They were all bruised and battered, and, most of all exhausted. The service was to be simple and brief, with as little fuss as possible–like Logan would have wanted.

Rogue woke early that morning, sneaking down to the lab, where they were keeping his remains. Part of her thought it was sick, but most of her wanted to say one last goodbye before they put him in the ground.

She let herself into the lab, padding quietly over to the fridge. She steeled herself and opened the door.

And nearly fell over.

“Geez, kid, it’s about time! I’ve been freezing my ass off in here!”

Rogue tried to answer, but the words just didn’t come.

She should be elated, Rogue told herself. It turned out she’d been right after all; Logan *could* heal from anything. The small part of him that hadn’t been blasted into microscopic pieces in the blast had regenerated into a whole new person.

Unfortunately, with so little material to start with, the new Logan was about ten inches tall.

Rogue decided that maybe she’d be better off hallucinating a ghost Logan. The tiny Logan was sitting, perched on the shelf in the fridge. He looked particularly uncomfortable, and she couldn’t decide if that was because he was naked and had wrapped himself in a gauze pad, or if it was because he was ten inches tall.

“Logan?”

“Do I look like somebody else?”

“Well, no. But you don’t exactly look like yourself.” Logan merely glared at her. Apparently it was bad manners to mention the fact that a six foot tall man had shrunk to the size of Skipper. Oddly enough, her Mama’d never taught her that piece of etiquette when she was growing up.

“Do you–” Rogue paused, not really sure *what* she should do in this situation. “Do you want to–Well, what am I supposed to do?”

There was more glaring in her general direction, as if it were her fault that he was in the situation in the first place. Rogue considered pointing out that she’d told him not to go into the building alone, but decided that might be rubbing it in.

“Well. Why don’t we go see the Professor?” she asked, trying to find something constructive to do.

Logan growled at this, but he stood up, clutching the gauze around himself. “Okay, but can you find me some clothes?”

***

Forty-five minutes later, Rogue leaned back in one of the chairs in the Professor’s office. She sipped her tea as she waited for the assembled X-Men to recover from their open-mouthed astonishment. She never thought she’d see Xavier dumbfounded, but this seemed to have done it. At least he’d retained more dignity than Scott, who had almost tripped over Storm in shock.

Logan was ignoring their gawking, pacing back and forth on the coffee table. At least now he was clothed, which gave him *some* dignity, although he kept complaining about the lack of a belt buckle on his Ken-doll jeans. Rogue suspected that he was still muttering about it, but his voice didn’t carry as well as it had before.

She’d seen him pace like this a million times when he was frustrated, and it was eerily normal. If she squinted her eyes a little, it was almost like he was six feet tall again.

Except for the fact that the books on Xavier’s coffee table came up to his knee.

“Err, yes,” started the Professor haltingly, clearing his throat. “Logan, I can’t begin to tell you how relieved we are that you survived the bombing. We didn’t think–”

“How do we fix it?” Logan demanded.

“Fix it? Logan, I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Oh, I think it is, Chuck. If anyone can find a way to do it, it’s you. So let’s go.”

“Logan, your mutation–”

“I’m not spending the rest of my life standing a foot tall. Get a move on.”

“Uh, Logan?” asked Scott. She could see the smile tugging at his lips and Rogue knew this wasn’t going to be good. “I think you’re more like nine or ten inches tall.”

“Can it, One-Eye. You’re no Shaquille O’Neal yourself. It’s more like a foot. Twelve inches. Thirty centimeters.”

Rogue never imagined that *this* would be the context in which she’d offer Scott and Logan a ruler. Luckily the Professor intervened before Scott could mock Logan anymore. Or step on him.

“Logan, I understand that this is a difficult time for you. I think that since there was so little, err, material to start with, your mutation appears to have reached its regenerative limit. But don’t worry,” he raised a hand, forestalling Logan’s protests. “I’ll have Hank do some research. Perhaps he can come up with something, or perhaps you’ll return to full size in time.”

Logan sighed and nodded in acquiescence. “Whatever.”

“In the meantime, I suggest Rogue help get you settled.”

“Yes, sir. C’mon, Logan,” Rogue told him, putting her hand down so he could climb on it. “Let’s go.” Logan didn’t look especially pleased by this mode of transportation–but it wasn’t like he could steal Scott’s bike to go to Target.

“Hey, Logan,” teased Scott. “Want me to buy you a Barbie to keep you company?”

Logan growled, curled his hands into fists, and started running across the table toward Scott. He probably would have seemed menacing if he hadn’t looked so cute with that tiny scowl on his face.

There was one big advantage to his new size, though. Rogue reached over, grabbed him around the waist, and shoved him (growling and kicking) into her pocket.

She glared at Scott, who was doing a pretty pathetic job of trying not to laugh. “We’ll be back from the toy store later,” she told them. “Maybe by then you’ll have grown up.”

***

When Rogue first came to Xavier’s, she had quite a crush on Logan. He’d rescued her, he was one of the people willing to touch her, and, quite frankly, he was hot–even with the crazy hair. A couple years had passed and she’d mostly gotten over the crush, but admittedly he’d been featured in a number of her fantasies.

Strangely enough, though, when he was touching her breasts in her dreams, it was never in the toy aisle of a Target. And it was usually with his hands and not because he was sitting in the front pocket of her shirt. But that’s where he was–perched high enough that he could see out and point to the doll clothes he wanted.

Logan was being particularly sullen, probably because they’d just finished picking out a house for him, complete with furnishings. Rogue promised that she’d help sew him some sheets and curtains in a manly color like black or brown, but there was no escaping the fact that his house (which she’d been forbidden from referring to as a “Dream Home”) was pink. He was trying to make up for this by choosing the manliest doll fashions he could find. Unfortunately for him, Ken wasn’t a particularly *masculine* doll.

He was in the midst of ordering Rogue to grab a plaid flannel shirt and jeans when another shopper rounded the corner, kids in tow.

“Quick, Logan!” she hissed. “Hide!”

He stopped pointing and ducked, pulling himself down into her pocket. Rogue smiled innocently at the woman as she pushed her cart past, trying to ignore how Logan was squirming around, pressed up against her breast.

Finally, the woman turned the corner and Rogue let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s okay. She’s gone now.”

Logan grabbed a fistful of shirt to pull himself up. Unfortunately, he grabbed her nipple as well, sending a shiver through her. Part of Rogue couldn’t help but be aroused because it was *Logan.*

But a larger part of her was creeped out because, well, he was ten inches tall and that was just gross. Unfortunately, being Logan, he couldn’t just ignore it. He gave her his cockiest smile and raised an eyebrow.

“Not one word,” she hissed, grabbing him from her pocket and shoving him in her purse. “Not one word, or I’ll squash you like a bug.”

–UNIFINISHED–