Rogue skimmed her hand along the surface of the water, the gentle flow of breeze sending rippling shapes pooling into the centre, disappearing under the red gold cover of the fallen leaves.
It was quiet. So quiet. No constant city hum, no engines, no rustling, scuffling, chatter. Just stillness.
Peace.
She stepped lightly. Her forest green cloak billowing out in waves behind her. Dark eyes searching. Always searching. But never sure what for.
It was on the edge of her mind. The tip of a thought. Always distant. Always present. One step. Two. A dozen. Weaving a pathway through the mist that curled up around her ankles; the tendrils reaching out into the starless night behind her.
A flicker of a memory, a glimpse of an emotion, and she chased it. Followed its warmth, its light. Reaching out with hands paler than the frosty glow of the cold moon, un-gloved fingers uncurling to grasp at... at what?
Snatches of images came to her. Yes, this place reflected them. The barren trees had thrived with life, had dappled the sun into shade below their heavy branches. Yes, she had been here, before winter had bequeathed its frosty breath and smothered the ground in a slickness of ice.
Flashes of colour; a haze of reds and vibrant blues. There had been people. Many people. A fair. Echoes of music turned her ear, the shades of dissonance blurring into one another. Happiness. Laughter. The bright flicker of carousel lights, catching the corner of her eye... yet always out of reach.
There had been people she loved. Friends she... Him.
Yes, him.
The thought sparked another within her; a slow burn of fire that thawed the memories locked in her mind. That was why she came here. To this place.
A slow smile spread across her face. Him. She threw her head back and spun around, the cloak swirling out around her, arms outstretched as she laughed. Him. The carousel spun its dizzying turn with her, and she whooped at the moment it came into focus. He had kissed her here. On a summer’s day. He had pulled her close, caught her mouth when she had least expected it. She could remember the flood of desire, the shock, the sudden realisation. The muscled feel of his shoulders through his shirt. The scratch of stubble, his smoky scent. She could remember. And for a moment she was nothing but the memory.
Then the lights and sights and sounds faded once again into the unfolding darkness, leaving nothing but a lingering glow. Yet she could still taste him on her lips, could reach out her hands and almost touch him. Remember the feel of him, his warmth around her, the solidness of his body against hers. Yes him.
He would remember.
That was why she came here.
That was why she waited.
Soon.
--
Logan pushed his way through the thick of the trees, growling at the branches that snagged at his skin and tore his clothes. Place was a mess. No one came here anymore. No one but him. And this was his journey alone.
Cuts healing unnoticed, he pushed on. The wrench in his chest drawing him closer. Memories rooted to his soul; warm and fuzzy, sharp like the tip of a blade. Of a girl in a dress; a streak of white against the dark; the soft scent of flowers. Of summer.
Before him the gnarled pathway was overgrown and twisted with thorns. Claws sang as they were released, the brief hit of pain so bitter it was almost sweet. It caught unexpectedly in his chest, in a sudden intake of breath that threatened to set the tide of emotions rising to the surface, ready to engulf him. But he fought them. Buried them. As he always did. Just for a little while longer.
There was something to be said for rigid denial.
Teeth grinding, he fought on. Slashed his way through. Stabbed and tore and ripped at his path until... A clearing. An opening out. The fresh sting of icy air against his face. The moon glancing off the ripples on the inky blackness of the lake. He flexed his fingers and let the warm metal slide back into his wrists, eyes closing at the familiar scrape against bone. They throbbed, the blood pumping within his veins a constant reminder of the life that flowed through him.
He stepped forwards. Jaw clenched as it always did when his eyes sunk to the moss covered stone in front of him.
Soon.
******************************
Cranberries: Will you remember
Will you remember the dress I wore?
Will you remember my face?
Will you remember the lipstick I wore?
This world is a wonderful place
Will you remember the black limousine?
Will you remember champagne?
Will you remember the things that we see?
I will return here again
Will you remember the flowers in my hand?
Will you remember my hair?
Will you remember the future we planned?
The world is not waiting out there
I won't remember the dress I wore
I won't remember champagne
I won't remember the things that we swore
I will just love you in vain
Will you remember?
Will you recall?
Will you remember?
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is what happens when you mix the Cranberries with misty cold nights on the moors. There was fog everywhere when I wrote this, it was like a white blanket for three days, and I was driving back home one night when the Cranberries 'Will you remember' came on my radio – which if anyone hasn't heard it, it's quite different from their other stuff. It’s got these echoes of a fairground through out the whole thing – and the bunny was born...