An Awakening by Shadowlady
Summary: It's time someone really understood what they've missed for so long.
Categories: Comicverse Characters: None
Genres: Angst
Tags: None
Warnings: Not Beta Read
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 1021 Read: 3397 Published: 04/15/2008 Updated: 04/15/2008
Story Notes:
I want to thank RouDeVil for her generous permission to write this. Her story, Your love licks my wounds inspired me.

1. They aren't machines by Shadowlady

They aren't machines by Shadowlady
Machines they are not


The Blackbird landed hours ago. Like everyone else I wordlessly followed my husband from the plane. We walked silently, single file as we disembarked. None of us spared a glance at the two people huddled on the floor of the jet. Rogue sits with Wolverine’s head in her lap, her hand pressing down upon the open wound that he growls in pain. Blood had dried on the floor and we step over it, ignore it. Ignore them. Why would we? They’ve made a deal with death, cheated her of her glory. They’ll live, they’ll heal.

With no thought to them I head for our room. A shower, clean clothes, and our soft, king sized bed call me. Slowly, hands linked we walk up the stairs, unaware in that blissfully ignorant. We shower together, taking as much time to reaffirm our sexual ties as to cleanse ourselves before we crawl into bed and fall asleep.

Hours later I am awakened by something. I listen, my heart in my throat, the night sounds are loud in the silence. Still, it comes again. A shuffling, a bump that echoes in near silence through me. Carelessly I toss aside the blankets and pad to the door.

I open it slowly, fearfully and peer out. The lights are dim, shadows stretch across the floor but I don’t see anything. Then I hear it again, the slight shuffle and open the door even further. I stick my head out and glance up and down the hallway.

Shock rips through me as I stare. Logan is up, he’s walking slowly. Half-carrying, half dragging himself and Rogue toward his room. I can see the dried blood that covers their uniforms, it’s his – she doesn’t bleed anymore. She gives a muted groan as he struggles with the doorknob. The moment the door swings inward they’re struggling inside.

Something pulls at me, tugs at my mind as I slip soundlessly from my room and pad along the carpet to his room. How long I stood there I don’t know, how long I waited for something I’m not sure. I listened to the sounds of the shower running, to the softly whispered words in a southern lilt. I heard the creak of bedsprings, of fabric against flesh.

I never heard anything that would tell me exactly what they were doing. Oh no, there was none of the auditory signs of sex. I’ve walked past Ororo’s room after a mission and heard her, walked past Bobby and Kitty’s room and heard them. The muted groans, the creaking of bed springs, the whimpers and soft cries of sexual release.

There was none of that coming from this room. I stood there in my satin gown and listened, stared at the door as though willing it to reveal its secrets. It was only when Scott came to get me that I went back to my room. Long after he’d succumbed to slumber again, I lay there staring at the ceiling.

What could they be doing? What reason could there be for them to interact? Why was Rogue in Logan’s room? The questions raced in my mind, speculation and doubts surface. I gave up sleep as the sky turned pink and gold.

Dressed for the day in red, I sat in the kitchen and waited. Watched the ebb and flow of lives around me until I spotted them. Wolverine and Rogue. Loners. Killers. Immortals. A man and a woman blessed with life, cursed with life. Indestructible, emotionless, withdrawn from life. They walked stiffly, no outward signs of the trauma they’ve endured the night before. Yet as I watch them I pick up on the little things. The things we have been too blind to see, to understand.

He touches her. Not a slap on the back like we give her. Not a cuff on the arm, but slow, tender touches. He trails his fingers across her arm, across her shoulders, through the dark ponytail she wears. He smiles at her.

The untouchable woman smiles back, reaches for his hand. Hold’s it to her face. Touches his chest with calm, patient caresses. She treats him as though he were delicate, as though he deserves more than the abuse he faces on the missions.

I tilt my head and watch. Realization hits me like a lead weight. We’ve treated them like machines, like objects for so long that we’ve forgotten they’re human. They’re flesh and blood. They heal; they live through anything we throw at them. The thing is, we’ve forgotten that they feel the pain we like to pretend they don’t. They’re tough, hard-nosed, and dangerous but they’re part of our family.

A small sound from behind me draws my attention to my husband and I look at him for a moment before shaking my head and sitting my coffee cup down. I rise from the stool I’m perched on and slip past him. My steps take me outside, to the couple standing in the early morning light talking softly.

They watch me as I invade their space. Doubt and distrust trail across their faces like sand in the wind as I walk up to them. I swallow, this is hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever had to do. I take a breath for courage and reach up to pull her into a hug. I squeeze her hard, and step back to take his hand and squeeze it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper tightly. “Dear God, forgive me for my blindness.”

I leave them standing staring at me, shock in their eyes as I hurry back inside, past the stunned faces of my teammates, of my family. I can not explain to them what I’ve seen, what I’ve realized. How can I? I’m not entirely sure I know and it scares me. My only prayer is that they’ll forgive us, that they’ll come to understand – even if I do not.
End Notes:
I'm on hiatus from my manuscript - and my muses were only to happy to give me something to do for a few minutes.
This story archived at http://wolverineandrogue.com/wrfa/viewstory.php?sid=2760