In the space of a day, everything changed.
It was funny, Rogue mused, how one minute you were so sure, so absolutely certain of your priorities, your place in life, the next the world had tilted on its axis and everything tumbled around like loose crates on a seasick boat.
She sat on the cold floor in the foyer, staring at the debris with eyes that didn't see it, not really. Then her vacant gaze shifted to the splintered wood of what had been the telephone table, and she remembered.
Turn back: 19 hours
Nylon-clad feet chasing him down the hall... black leather jacket swung over his shoulder as he headed for the door...
"What right do you have, Logan? Coming in to my room..."
"And what?" Whirling around to face her, throwing the jacket down on the floor. "Finding you in there with *him*. What could you have been thinking of, Rogue?"
Feeling the need to hurt him, hurt him as badly now as he'd hurt her previously. Lashing out. "Maybe I wasn't thinking. Lust does that to a woman, you know." Pause. Leaning a hip on the telephone table. "I'm a woman, and he's a man. We were doing what comes naturally. You have absolutely no say in the matter. None at all. Besides which, when have you ever objected to fucking?"
"When it's you in that bed, with some guy leaning over you. Getting ready to... God, I can't even think about it without wanting to rip him apart. Should've killed the prick when I had the chance."
"Well," Coolly, without inflection. "You lost your chance. And every right you ever had with me when you left."
A hand lifts to her hair to grip tightly. "What if I want those rights back?"
Breath clogged in a throat suddenly dry. Pretended nonchalance. "Too bad, sugar. I've watched you with enough women to burn away the caring... you do the same. And if you can't," Shrug. "Live with it."
Turning, heading back to the room, back to the man whose name she couldn't even remember. Hearing him pick up his jacket, slam the front door as he left. Leaning against the wall, numb to everything but the feel of tears on her cheeks.
Nothing remains the same. She remembered someone telling her that once. Who had said it she didn't know, and it was all irrelevant anyway... now.
She didn't have anything left to lose.
Turn Back: 18 Hours
Laying back against the pillows, sweat drying on skin that itched with uncleanness. Watching him pull on his jeans, zip them up. Fighting the need to cover herself or vomit. Instead pulling a cigarette out from the carton on the bedside table, lighting up.
"Those things'll kill you." Flicking him a caustic glance at those words, saying nothing, pulling on the cigarette, releasing a smoke-clouded breath.
Watching him shrug into his shirt, look back at her, step into the hallway and close the door behind him. Blowing him a sarcastic kiss, knowing he couldn't see it.
Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, running for the bathroom, flipping the lid up, just in time.
Leaning her head against the coolness of the mirror, brushing her teeth, gargling to eliminate the taste of acid and vomit that lingered in the back of her throat.
Peeling the flesh-coloured body-suit off, stepping into the shower, scrubbing every inch of skin that he hadn't touched, *couldn't* have touched.
Standing in the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her waist, holding the body-suit, contemplating throwing it in the bin. Stuffing it back into her closet, knowing she'd need it again.
She closed her eyes, wondered with the faintest trace of laughter dancing in her mind, if she could sleep. She hadn't been able to in months, why should tonight be any different? Insomnia... just one of the many addendum's that came with her 'gift'.
She pressed a hand to her eyes, felt her thumb brush against her eyebrow and come away wet. Surprised, she opened her eyes, rested her hand against her thigh, stared down at the moisture coating her thumb. Red, she thought dully, dark red. Closer to crimson, really. The colour of blood.
Turn Back: 17 Hours
Twisting on the fresh sheets, visions flashing behind her eyelids like a lurid home video.
Dark hair spreading across a snow-white pillow, arms wrapping around a bronzed neck, smooth skin, milky and pale, covered by tights and a shirt, brushing against his, briefly. Connecting in a way she hadn't wanted to, not with him, pulling away quickly, noticing that his eyes glazed over but he wasn't stopping, still thrusting away inside her. Broken sounds, moaning, coming from her, grunts from him.
Finally, repletion, sinking back into pillows that were soft as down. Gazing up into eyes that gazed down into hers with... love?
She recoils. Sex is understandable, emotions as powerful as love, she doesn't want that. Not yet.
Going on a picnic with him, surrounded by wildflowers, spinning in a joyful circle, turning to find him watching her with those insightful dark eyes, still filled with caring, devotion, love.
Feeling the back of her neck prickle as the thought that she is being pushed into a relationship she doesn't want teases her. Shoving that from her mind to enjoy the day.
Waking when she can't move, worried for a moment that she is paralyzed, discovering that his leg is thrown across hers, pinning her to the bed.
Shaking his shoulder to get him to move, those eyes flashing open, awareness flaring when she reaches up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.
Twining a strand of platinum hair around her forefinger as he paces in front of her. Their first real argument. Him telling her he loves her, she, panicking, knowing that for months he's been coercing her into a relationship, her going along with it, albeit reluctantly.
Him throwing an engagement ring on the bed, along with an ultimatum. Marriage or nothing. Her, crying, begging him not to do this. Finally agreeing to marry him, at her wits end. Him grinning and forcing the ring onto her finger, she smiling half-heartedly at his enthusiasm. Feeling the noose tighten around her neck as the ring slides onto her third digit.
Discovering that she loves him, actually *wants* to marry him. Laughing upon that discovery, rushing to tell him. He, whirling her around in a circle, kissing her unabashedly through the silk of her scarf, making love all night.
Him walking out the door, telling her he made a mistake, he can't be with her, can't handle that kind of commitment.
Her, crying, begging him to stay, to love her. Him, saying without facing her, that he does love her, had *wanted* to marry her... but things are different now.
Her, shouting at him, that if he walks out he can't ever come back. Not to her, at any rate.
Him, hesitating, then pulling the door open and striding out.
Her, crumpled in the hallway, wishing for death. It would be kinder than this unrelenting anguish.
The first night she brought a man home with her, faking her moans, feeling sick and empty inside, but at least its a way to pass the time.
After he left, vomiting on the floor, spending the night in front of the toilet, retching 'til she's shaking from it. 'Til her stomach burns like acid and she feels faint and has to go down to the medlab before she collapses. Can't let the team down, after all.
Him, coming back after two months. Looking haggard and drawn. Her, ignoring him completely, until a month later she hears the moans coming from his room.
Him, unable to look her in the eye the next day, her smile, cold and knowing and self-satisfied. He's proven that everything she's thought of him, every vile name she's called him in the past three months, has been accurate.
Moving to a different room because she can't stand listening to him fucking his whores, a new one every night.
Starting her own habit again, bringing her men back with her, casual one-night stands, facing his bitter glares the next day, staring through him as though he doesn't exist.
Waking up, gasping for breath, feeling sick to her stomach at the memories that bombard her mercilessly at night.
Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, meeting the gaze of the hollow-eyed girl in the mirror, staring at her until she has to look away from the accusations in those eyes.
She looked up and, if she craned her neck, found that she could see past the broken walls to the dining room, and through there to...
Nothing left of the kitchen. Should've finished the ice-cream, she thought vaguely, tapping her thigh and transferring the blood from her thumb to her leather pants.
Turn Back: 16 Hours
Popping open the ice-cream, setting the lid face-down on the kitchen counter. Spooning ice-cream into her mouth, wincing at the flavour. Vanilla. Nothing duller than vanilla ice-cream in the middle of the night. Ignoring her proclivities and swallowing more of the stuff 'til her throat feels raw and chilled.
Pouring a beer-glass of Bailey's Irish Cream and gulping it down. Throwing the glass into the sink and drinking straight from the bottle. Hoping that liquor will deaden the memories, allow her to sleep, without being haunted by dreams that are nightmares.
She stood, somewhat unsteadily, and made her way to the window. Why, she didn't know. The glass was gone, so were most of the walls, making the windows - what there was left of them - redundant. Habit, she supposed, fixing her eyes on the snow bank directly before her, lest she look anywhere else and catch sight of the carnage that bloodied the white world.
Her hair had been cold and wet from the snow, she remembered, touching it absently, surprised when she encountered smooth silken hair. Completely dry.
Somehow she'd expected the after-effects to linger.
Turn back: 10 hours
Opening her eyes to utter darkness. Pushing away from the counter, thanking whatever God is out there that she's had a few hours of dreamless sleep.
Flipping the light switch, electricity's out.
Opening the door, stepping out into the snow. Moving away from the darkened mansion, further and further until she hears footsteps behind her.
Spinning around, seeing *him* standing behind her with eyes that are, for the first time to her, unreadable.
"Saw you heading out here." An offering of sorts. Anger, filling her to overflowing, suddenly she's running towards him, tackling, shoving him back into the snow as he's caught off balance. Hitting and kicking and clawing and screaming. Coming from her, from inside her.
He's lying there, just taking it, expressionless, not saying a word, not doing a thing to stop her.
Exhausted, she tries to get up, only to have him turn the tables and flip her over onto her back. Her hair is in the snow, its wet and cold and dripping down the back of her neck. But all she can focus on is him.
"Talk to me." A command.
Sneering, "Why, so you can use whatever I say against me? To hurt me? No dice, hotshot."
Pushing at his chest, trying to get him to move, move *off* her, because its getting hard to breathe. Not because of his weight, but his nearness. Pulling up old emotions that are supposed to be dead and buried.
He's still, large, an immovable force.
"Rogue," a whisper. "I've made mistakes. A lot of really, really *bad* mistakes, but-"
And it all comes spewing out, "No Logan, I don't want to hear it. You forced, *forced* me into a relationship I didn't want, wasn't ready for. You knew that and you methodically took away every option I had 'til there was only you. And then, when I loved you, at last came to depend upon you, wholly upon *you*, you backed away. Basically told me I wasn't enough for you. Then, knowing that if you walked out that door, we would be over for good, forever, you left anyway. So excuse me if I don't want to hear *anything* you have to say."
He's running a hand through her hair, tenderly. "I know. I fucked up. I admit that. It's just... you know who I am. You know everything about my past, everything that I know anyway. In the beginning, I knew you weren't ready. Knew it. But I needed you. Enough to convince myself that you could handle it, that you *were* ready, just didn't know it yet. I couldn't be without you, not for a second, so I pressured you into a relationship, an engagement you were terrified of. Then I started wondering why you were so afraid. Would you have been that scared with any man, or just with me? And what traits, what tainted blood would I pass on to any children we might have?" He pauses, briefly. "It isn't an excuse, just an explanation. I couldn't take it anymore. I left, knowing how much It would hurt you, I still left. With the intention of never coming back, never hurting you again, seeing you, touching you. But after the first month... it was impossible to breathe without you, to eat, to sleep. I couldn't even look at another woman without seeing you. From the moment I opened that door I was chaste as a monk. Then I got back and you wouldn't talk to me. Wouldn't even look at me. I wanted... to make you jealous, the first time. And every time after that. I had to imagine they were you, *every time*. Which is why whenever I .... it was with a different woman. It seems most women don't like you to pretend they're someone else."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Softly.
Equally quiet, "I need you to forgive me. I need you back in my life. I need *you*."
Coming to a decision, quickly. Smiling. "I do forgive you Logan."
Touching his face, gently, watching as his eyes light up, the corners of his lips turn up in the beginning of a smile. "So does that mean-"
Placing a gloved finger over his lips. "Logan. Forgiving... is easy. Forgetting, *forgetting* is the impossibility."
Emotions churning: love and sorrow, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing that what she's said is true; love is forever, but forever isn't long enough to forget.
She watched the snow fall, covering the bodies she didn't want look at, now didn't have to.
Especially as it seemed she was going blind. Darkness slid over her right eye and she blinked and could see again. Strange, she thought, rubbing her eye, once again her hand came away with blood. She traced its path with her soaked fingers, up to the gash that slashed her forehead apart, and it made sense. The blood was pouring into her eye, temporarily blinding her. She supposed she'd better bandage the wound.
Still, she stood with her hand covering her eye and watched the snow fall.
Turn Back: 8 Hours
Alarm bells ringing in her head, clanging through the mansion, alerting everyone that something is wrong. Very, very wrong. The Professor isn't the type for dramatics, unless... unless they are under siege, and its serious.
Waking up, instantly alert, dressing at near the speed of light, rushing out into the packed hallway to help. Seeing that the children are being evacuated, serious indeed.
Knowing that they're in good hands with Hank and Jubilee, running back inside the room to open the panel to the secret passage only the X-Men are aware of, for just these emergencies.
Meeting Betsy along the way to the underground briefing room, relief flooding through her because Betsy has a torch and because perhaps she'll have some answers.
But she doesn't know anything, merely shines the light and leads the way in silence.
She felt something wet on her head, looked up to see that the snowflakes were falling inside now. The roof was gone, she noted, wondering bemusedly when that had happened. Then touched a hand to the ice melting in her hair. They should have known better, she thought. But they hadn't, and now cold was all that remained.
Turn Back: 6 Hours
Fucking clueless, that's what they are. No one knows what's going on, but they have a plan. The children aren't there to hinder them, they're in another part of the city by now, maybe even out of New York, if they're making good time.
Heading out, determined to beat this, knowing that whatever is out there is defeatable.
Except that it wasn't.
Turn Back: 5 Hours
Everything moving in slow-motion, punching, kicking, using every weapon at her disposal, watching in helpless horror and disbelief as a metal-skinned enemy reaches for Kitty, the other woman trying to phase through it, failing, dying a quick death when it (he?) reaches into her chest and rips her heart out. Lifts it to what should be a mouth and eats a chunk of the still-pulsing organ. Kitty falling back, her expression one of shock as her life flickers out. Her mangled chest spurting blood to the red earth.
She rubbed a hand over her chest, noted the rapid beat beneath her palm. Tried to push the image from her memories, but more poured in to replace it.
Turn Back: 4 Hours
Held immobile by a warrior whose eyes gleamed obsidian, tears pooling in her eyes as she tried to shout a warning to Jean, who is too busy watching Scott's back to worry about her own.
Long red hair falling in hanks to the ground as her foe calmly tears it from her scalp, marring the rich colour with a red darker and far more ominous. Neck snapping with the force of his renting.
Scott, turning in time to see his wife's near-bald head dangle to her chest and her body drop with a thunk on top of her hair.
His mouth open in a scream of grief, turning to pick her up, to try to revive her, halting when his head is sawed from his body, and it hangs for a moment by a flap of skin, then falls to the ground, sounding remarkably like a cantaloupe breaking, and rolling, rolling to join Jean in her locale and in death.
She slumped back down to the glass-covered floor, not even feeling the cuts as the shards dug into her tender flesh. How much can one person take, she wondered, trying not to vomit at the remembrances. Survival, she thought, is the most important thing. We counted on triumphing, on surviving. How were we to know that they were far better at it than we were?
Turn Back: 3 Hours
A punch in its face and she is free, scrambling away, running to the Professor, but he's so concerned with trying to protect the remainder of his children with a telepathic shield that he doesn't see his adversary stalk confidently behind him and neatly split his skull. Then reaches in and extracts his brain.
Storm flies in, lands in front of the Professor as he slumps in his wheelchair. Without breaking stride, the (creature? Man?) threw the brains to one side, they land on the Professor's neatly pressed slacks, so that his sightless eyes stare down at what was once his mind.
It reaches Storm and her eyes turn milky, but before she can use her powers on her foe, in a lightning-fast move, it presses its thumbs to her eyes, pushing them back into her head with a squish. It smashes its palm against her nose, forcing it up and into her brain.
Too far away to do anything, sprinting as swiftly as possible towards the two, and then it sees her and starts towards her, and she reverses course, running as far and fast as she can.
She ran a trembling hand through her hair and held a hand to her violently churning stomach. She'd escaped slaughter, but couldn't escape her memories.
Turn Back: 2 Hours
Running, heart pumping blood faster than ever before. Stopping only when she trips on a body, and this time, this time she's unable to hold it in. Vomits all over the ground stained with his blood. Because the body that is lifeless and limbless before her, is Logan's.
Shaking, unable to move, her peripheral vision catches sight of a gleaming grey arm, and before she can pray for a quick death, the once-calm sky rumbles and suddenly there is lightning, lashing down everywhere. Watching, stunned, as the grey creatures are completely decimated, in an act of a God that she'd forgotten to believe in. Walking, shakily, then crawling to the mansion, collapsing on the floor, where she remained until the memories overtook her.
She had contemplated suicide, but when everyone else had died and she had not, when she couldn't save herself but a power greater could and *had*, it seemed wrong, so very wrong to think about taking her life. Besides which, there were the children to consider. And if they were safe, at least Jubilee and Hank would have survived.
"Three out of a couple dozen isn't so bad," she murmured hoarsely, then nearly swallowed her tongue when she heard,
"Make that four and I'll agree with you."
She glanced up and when she saw Logan she couldn't restrain the tears. He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, kissed the top of her head, every inch of her face, apparently either not remembering or not caring that her skin was deadly, and she didn't want to lose him. Not after today. Not after reliving the past 19 hours in her mind.
But she didn't want to chastise him, not so soon after finding him again, and she thought to herself that maybe forgetting wouldn't be so hard after all.
"What do we do now?" she whispered, hugging him tighter.
"We rebuild," he answered. "In the memory of those who gave their lives in the fight. And we discover what those things were, we train, we prepare. Then, if there are any more of them, we find them and finish it. For the X-Men."
She had to tell him about the others, their deaths. "Everyone..." she started.
He nodded. "I know. But the children are safe. Hank and Jubilee got them out of town, and- thank God you're okay. If anything had happened to you, I'd have-"
"I saw you. You didn't have legs, arms. No-one could have survived that," she interrupted, searching his face, his torso for injuries.
"No human," he reminded her, and she was suddenly thankful, so very thankful, that they were mutants. Because he healed and she... well, she still had untouchable skin, but she also had the man she loved in her arms, her health, and...
She had survived the last 19 hours.
END
and the theme song for this fun little jaunt into psychosis:
The Things I've Seen - Spook
You won't believe the things I've seen
Far beyond your wildest dreams
I've seen chaos and order reign supreme
I've seen the beauty of the universe
so peaceful and serene
in seconds turn to violence and screams
I've seen true genius, too often to lose the meaningless
appreciation of this mediocre nation
I've heard the mind is repetition,
of empty words without tradition
Turned original verbs into submission
I smelled this malignerance addiction,
but I guess I wouldn't be right
if I said the blunt was like a baby pipe
There ain't gon' be no revolution tonight
Half of my warriors as high as a kite
Lost and they lost all they fight
And I've tasted, the bitter tragedy of lives wasted
And men who glimpsed the darkness inside, but never faced it
And it's a shame that most of y'all are followin sheep
Wallowin deeper than the darkness, you're fallin asleep
[Chorus:]
You won't believe the things I've seen
Far beyond your wildest dreams
I've seen chaos and order reign supreme
I've seen the beauty of the universe
so peaceful and serene
in seconds turn to violence and screams
I've seen and experienced things
that'll push the average to the edge and swan dive to death
I'm two guys, multiplied by ninety-three guys
Evenly balanced seein evil equally in each eye now
Maybe I'm the most thorough worker on the job to you
or maybe I'm the one, who was plottin to rob you
The fear of this beatdown, the women on no cash to floss
makes most of y'all hustle ya ass off
From nothin to two mill', in five years I'll live to see it
vanish in six months, with no tears believe it
I'll rock, twenty-eight years before the Feds can lay a trace
See they plan is to erase me, just to replace me
Life! Your heart is one with your brain
Emotional or reason, now which one do you obey?
Life! Somebody callin you insane
When overwhelmed and blessed, burst in tears of happiness
Yo, yo, I've seen relationships that's so sick
Life long friendships so cha-o-tic
Thug cat bangin this chick but won't kiss
Drinkin her spit, when coppin a fix for dope bliss
I got a knife and a bat, to bust your brain, put a knife in your back
"Once in the Life" I was trifle like that
like my man Troy, who lost his days
shootin dice on worldly ways
and ended up in a early grave
Because once in a lifetime is rough
Twice in a lifetime you combat the ghost of mistrust
Mentally cuffed, thrust by a cop thinkin he tough
You bust, Amadou Diallo is us, and what
now I'm on my knees, beggin' "God, please!
Save me from the fires of hell!
Let water water soul prevail" - cos I can't take no more
Who's that knockin, at, my door?
Is that you, Pete from Cobb's Creek, who died in my sleep?
We was playin for fun, now it's keeps
Like my man Mark I beat to death wrapped in a carpet
and left in the garbage, now that's cold-hearted
Ask Book he saw it, "Yo black I ain't seen (shit)
Kids in the 6, they flip for nonsense"
Poke an icepick, smokin that (shit) since preschool fool
and packin a tool, (fuck you) Mom Dukes it's cool
[Chorus:]
You won't believe the things I've seen
Far beyond your wildest dreams
I've seen chaos and order reign supreme
I've seen the beauty of the universe
so peaceful and serene
in seconds turn to violence and screams
Life! Your heart is one with your brain
Emotional or reason, now which one do you obey?
Life! Somebody callin you insane
When overwhelmed and blessed, burst in tears of happiness
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Personally I don't think the violence is graphic enough to deserve an NC-17, but to be on the safe side that's the rating I've given it. And no, I've no idea who the bad guys are in this, think the Sentinels with souls of pure evil (or something similar *g*). Warning: Multiple-Character deaths, and extreme violence ahead. If you're squeamish, DO NOT read any further. You have been warned.