Inside the cell
Mr. Crick, the new guy, watched his trainer carefully, taking notes on a small pad of paper with a pencil. Very low tech, very retro. His mentor, Mr. Watson, was very cautiously fitting a bowl of nutrient-rich “soup” into the rubberized grip of a plastic robot manipulator arm.
“We have to use a lot of non-metals, wherever we can. In her career, she absorbed a lot of power from Magneto, and later of course there’s what she did to poor Lodestone. It’s just safer to assume she can call up a bit of mischief any time.”
Watson, having secured the bowl, moved back to the edge of the shield, and carefully began to steer the robot arm towards the center of the cell. He didn’t take his eyes off his task as he spoke.
“I guess she’d been here about a year and a half when I started. She was in bad shape, of course, and I figured this was hospice work. I prayed for her soul, if you can believe it, back then. His too, of course.”
“Does she…” Crick, tried to frame his question. “Does she understand what’s happened to herself?”
“God, I hope not,” Watson said. There was a small whine from a motor as one of the robot arm’s servos overheated. It jerked, and the bowl clattered to the floor.
“Well, Christ,” muttered Watson. “Well, I might as well show you close-approach protocols after all. Grab a bungee.”
As the younger man watched, Watson secured an elastic cable to a fitting on his coverall. Crick took the ‘dead man’ switch from Watson, and pushed the trigger down, freeing the line. If anything happened to either of them, all Crick had to do was release the switch and the line would retract, hopefully retrieving Watson from the center of the cell. It would activate other, more aggressive precautions as well.
“Watch close, Francis,” Watson said as he edged around the corner of the shield. He got the robot arm swung out of the way and was reaching for the fallen bowl when it all happened.
**
Inside the cell
“Here he comes,” she thought, trying so hard not to appear interested. For the last two years, she’d been focusing all of her pyrokinetic energy, all of her plasma blasts, her probability manipulation, her photonic blasts, even her cold breath on one joint of the robot feeder arm. She had almost no powers left, but she had passion, and hatred, and a desire to free herself and her lover.
After almost seven hundred days, the tiniest bit of power that still was in her, through the fields and the drugs and the passage of time, that tiniest bit of power had made the guards’ machine fail, and now it was time for them both to act.
As the guard bent carefully, thinking she was asleep, thinking he was safely outside her reach, thinking he was going to live one more day, she made her move.
With a sudden springing twist, she brought one manacled wrist to her mouth and stood as straight as her bonds allowed. Then, with a harsh cry, she bit hard into her skin, just below her elbow.
She felt the blood in her mouth, smelled the copper and tasted the metal tang. She felt the flesh tearing in her teeth, and more than the pain, she recognized the feral joy of it. It was his, something of Logan that she had felt in his touch once, the feeling of the teeth stripping flesh from the bone. It was that memory that had sung to her secret heart and formed her plan.
With two brutally sharp tugs, her teeth peeled a six-inch strip of flesh off the bone of her arm, revealing red flesh and dark blood underneath. The strip was still attached at her wrist, so when she jumped, stopped by her chains after only a few inches to fall flat out, she was able to jackknife her arm forward.
The strip of skin, still vitally attached and flowing with what power she still possessed, whipped forward, extending a critical few inches past her outstretched fingertips. With a wet smack and a tingle of pain that was rapidly fighting through the shock, her flesh connected with a bare patch on the guard’s arm, where his sleeve gaped as he bent to pick up the bowl.
When her flesh touched his, she felt it. Felt the strength, the fear, the life. She felt his memory and most of all his terror as she began to drink his life away, the veins pulsing darkly under his skin as all he was flowed into her through the bridge of bloody flesh that connected them. It was dark, and savage, and good.
Where her skin touched him, his own skin was beginning to ripple and writhe. With panic and pain gaping his eyes, the guard gurgled and tried to scream. No sound came.
**
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Well, coming to the end now that exams are over. Only a few more chapters to go... Also, I imagine this will be my last story here. I have received a number of negative comments, IMs and emails from folks here who think my view of the Logan/Marie relationship is not pure enough or whatever for this board.
I figured that the fact that i don't see them as a viable romantic couple doesn't mean I can't explore the relationship in fiction, but apparently this isn't the place for that. For those that did enjoy my work, thank you.
Sorry. - Killjoy
I figured that the fact that i don't see them as a viable romantic couple doesn't mean I can't explore the relationship in fiction, but apparently this isn't the place for that. For those that did enjoy my work, thank you.
Sorry. - Killjoy