A series by November

Chapter 41: A Midsummer Night’s Dream

In July the Niagara-Mohawk power grid, which supplied electricity to the northeastern U.S. and part of Canada, failed. New York City and several other metropolitan areas were without power, including Westchester.

Jubilee decided that this was an adequate excuse for a party, more specifically a pajama party on the back porch.

The mansion’s back porch was a surprising feature that did not fit with the elegance of the mansion, but which was beloved by almost everyone. In the winter, it was a refuge. In the summer, it was a social hub. She lit candles around the perimeter of the porch and hung white streamers. When dark came, the full moon made the grounds look silver.

Students and faculty alike were tired of trying to sleep in the heat. The mansion of course had backup generators, but not enough to cool the whole house. Those who could get a bed in the cool lower levels near the medlab did. They called it the bedlab.

Everyone else was glad to hear of Jubilee’s party and mattresses, blankets, and sleeping bags were dragged down to the porch in a flood.

Rogue came in late from a trip to the zoo with Maggie, sunburned and happy. She was on board with Jubilee’s plan immediately and she quickly set up camp on one end of the porch. Her nightgown was a loose pale pink wisp of fabric with a white eyelet bodice.

The party was in full swing but Maggie was instantly asleep. John was playing his harmonica. He gave a reprisal of Seven Mutants In a Van, which turned into Twenty-Eight Mutants On a Big-Ass Back Porch. Needless to say, the song had some really fucked-up meter. It was even funnier than the original.

Rogue was surprised, although she couldn’t articulate why, when Logan came down with his guitar and played for a while. "Mr. Logan, we didn’t know you could play," one of the students said. He just shrugged coolly. He didn’t like being typecast but he knew it was his own fault.

He had tossed a sleeping bag next to her and Maggie’s mattress, and he sat on the porch railing playing guitar with Bobby. They played "Norwegian Wood" by the Beatles, John sang, and his voice could do a pleasant baritone as well as silly blues songs. They played "Scarborough Fair" and Jubilee and Rogue sang the harmonies, forgetting words and making them up and laughing. They played "Wipeout" and "Dueling Banjos" and "Seven Nation Army" and "Wild Horses" and old blues.

Rogue kept glancing at Logan’s feet. Logan was wearing linen pajama bottoms and a tee shirt. She had never seen his bare feet before. She wasn’t a foot fetishist but the telling architecture of a man’s hands and feet appealed to her. They were perfect, with soft looking skin, perfect toes, and a light dusting of hair. The elegance of his ankles gave away to the powerfully muscled calves.

They played until they couldn’t think of much else to play.

"Let me see the guitar," Rogue said. Bobby was closest, so he handed his over. Rogue slipped the strap over her head and ran her hands over the frets. She had no idea what she could play. She just picked it up and started noodling.

The noodling meandered and slowly turned in one direction, becoming "When Love Comes to Town." Rogue started banging out the chords of the rhythm part and then Logan gingerly picked up the melody.

"I was a sailor, I was lost at sea, was under the waves before love rescued me..." John sang. The three started playing. Rogue had no clue how she knew the song but she zoned out, eyes unfocused, and just played it. And in a few seconds, they clicked. Rogue and Logan meshed perfectly. John’s voice deepened and opened up and he remembered the words. He pulled out his harmonica in places. Rogue wailed along with the soulful backup parts. It was one of those rare moments when everything clicked, and they sounded great. Everyone clapped. Xavier rolled out on to the porch, attracted by the noise, and nodded along to the song.

They tried to keep the momentum going through Dancing Days by Led Zeppelin, and a few others, but it died.

Jubilee came down with a half dozen bottles of wine and Bobby created ice cubes for the urns flanking the patio. The whites chilled and they drank wine amid moonlight and candlelight.

Moths started revolving around the light bulb so they turned the porch light out. Candlelight took over. It was midnight. Scott and Jean wandered in the rose gardens and Hank took his usual "nocturnal constitutional" in the woods. Rogue relinquished Bobby’s guitar and Logan taught him how to play "When Love Comes to Town." Bobby soon fell asleep, snoring softly, and Logan continued to sit on the porch railing, playing aimless foreign melodies. Rogue watched his silhouette against the moon for the longest time, sleep eluding her.

She sipped her third glass of wine and when she decided to walk around the grounds and into the gardens, she did so with a drunken heady sense of gravity.

Just as she found his bare feet fascinating, the simple innocent image of Rogue in her nightgown fascinated him. Modest as it was, seeing something so private worn publicly intrigued him. He liked when she wore pink, especially this pale blush shade. It heightened her strength and femininity.

He came out from using the bathroom and found her gone. Maggie still slept peacefully. He could smell Rogue on the air. He looked at the few people who were still awake. They were playing poker for gummi bears and they didn’t notice when he also slipped away.

He leisurely followed her scent. His feet were cool and wet with dew. He found her walking the perimeter of a fountain like it was a tightrope. She occasionally dipped her foot into the warm water, kicking up a silver splash.

She wasn’t startled and wasn’t surprised that he’d followed, and when he circled the fountain in the opposite direction, then held up his hand, she took it and hopped down wordlessly. The hush of trees and water on water was the only sound. His large hand swallowed hers, warm and strong, and held tight. They walked companionably around the perimeter of the property without speaking a word.

At night and in nature, his eyes took on another dimension and she knew he heard and saw a million things she could not. She wondered what he saw, and to the extent she could, she saw the night through his eyes. It was beautiful.

They passed the front gate, hand and hand, and walked out by the greenhouse. Storm was there in the flicker of candlelight, singing softly in a foreign language beyond the translucence of the greenhouse walls. They looked in but kept walking. As they rounded the north edge of the grounds they could hear the splashing of the older kids in the duck pond. Skinnydipping, no doubt.

They went east to avoid the pond, down a lawn promenade marked with tall delphiniums and sweetpeas, to the rose arbor that framed the entrance to the maze. Rogue would never enter it at night, as she has become lost in it in broad daylight, but with Logan it would be easy to get out. They entered the maze without a word, randomly meandered left.

The fountain in the center of the maze was running, water rushing. They followed its noise and Rogue sat on its high wall. He sat next to her, ankles crossed. The stone was still warm from the sun. He put his arm around her without hesitation and she leaned into his embrace. He didn’t pressure her or say a word, but he threaded his fingers dreamily through her hair, moving aimlessly.

After a while she turned to him and spoke.

"What is this to you, Logan?"

He pushed off of the wall and stood facing her. Eye to eye. She could see his eyes perfectly in the moonlight, wide-set, fair, and solemn. She stared of him and thought of all the time since they had met. He wasn’t the tired weary man in a filthy bar. Not the man who’d cast her out to freeze by a snowy road. Not, even, the man who had returned to Westchester. And not the man of her fantasies. She saw his love, his regret, his gentle regard. She saw the thoughts forming in his head, that he was thinking of how to say what he wanted to say. He pushed a piece of her hair back, and thought carefully.

Then, he said "everything."

She couldn’t hide the harsh intake of her breath.

"And what will it be tomorrow?"

His eyes were serious, intent. "Everything, still."

"And what will it be if it scares the hell out of you?"

"Same thing. I told you I wouldn’t run." He traced the line of her eyebrow with his thumb and she leaned into his touch. "What about Carter?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she was momentarily confused. In her mind, Carter had never entered into this.

"He’s my friend. Was a friend with benefits. Now he’s just a friend."

"I’m glad," he said, showing her the vulnerability of his jealousy and relief. She smiled softly, taking his fragile admission and holding it close and safe.

He smiled back, and his eyes were like rippling water, many strong forces underneath.

"I’ll give you everything," she said, "if you really want it. If you don’t abuse it." Her eyes were just a bit afraid but otherwise wide and strong and open.

He knew exactly what she meant, and he smiled and blinked back tears. He held her close then, so tight she could barely breathe, face burrowed in the crook of her neck and her hair.

"I really want it," he whispered in a voice thick with tears. "I want it so much."

He wanted to kiss her, but he couldn’t stop holding her so close. Her hands were moving slowly on his back and the moment seemed to chip away at the memories of torture. Her breathing was strangely calm and deep. He had the woozy thought that she was breathing for the both of them, because he wasn’t sure he had remembered to do it.

He sniffed and pulled back to look at her. He took her hands in his and when he bent to kiss them grateful tears spilled from his eyes. She held him close, placed a kiss on his forehead.

And then they hovered, nose to nose, breathing each other’s breath. She nuzzled his wet cheek with her own, then his mouth, and then they kissed. Gentle and sweet. She could feel him trembling. Or maybe it was her.

He tore his lips from hers and embraced her violently, trying to control his shaking. She held him fast and close. "My Logan," she whispered into the hollow of his neck.

The night was full to the top and there was no room for anything more. They lay in the grass next to the fountain, exhausted by the force of their emotions, listening to each other breathe. They lay that way for what seemed like hours as white clouds covered and uncovered the full moon. And then she stood up, and took his hand, and they walked hand and hand back to the porch. In the light of the candles they slept on adjacent mattresses, watching each other until first she fell off into sleep, then him.