The crowds were atrocious.
This was the first thing Rogue noticed as she exited her taxi, which was parked about a block away from the clinic administering the so-called "mutant cure".
The streets were teeming with the throng of humanity crushed within. On the left side, hastily constructed metal blockades were set up in order to form some semblance of a line, while on the opposite side, a mob of people milled about like restless lions, some holding signs, others with bull horns to magnify their jeering voices. These were the people who wanted to be the first to witness the end of the "mutant problem", and they weren't shy about voicing their excitement.
The line of mutants waiting to receive their shots was vast, stretching down the block and disappearing around the corner. Some were obviously mutants, their physical characteristics glaringly different from their human counterparts. Most though, just looked like average people.
Steeling herself, Rogue drew her cloak tighter around her body and began to make her way to the end of the line. Panic gnawed deep in her belly, the proximity of so many people making her skin crawl.
This is why ah'm doin' this, she thought. So ah can be free to walk down a crowded street without fear, without consequences. Not for some boy.
Unconsciously, her lip curled up in a grimace, remembering her last meeting with Logan in the foyer. He had told her he understood her motives, related to her wanting to be close to someone.
Of course he could relate, Rogue fumed, seeing as to how he had wanted to get close to Jean since the moment they had arrived at Xavier's. It wasn't the same though. He could touch her, had touched her. Rogue wasn't blind, or stupid. She had witnessed their passionate kiss in the woods after Stryker had attacked the school, and some sick compulsion had propelled her to watch the surveillance vidoes from the Med-Bay after Jean had escaped. Oh yes, Logan had gotten close to Jean alright. And he had the gall to look her in the eye and claim that he understood how she was feeling?
Quickening her pace, Rogue continued her way down the line, noticing with dismay that the end was still nowhere in sight. Sighing in frustration, she resolutely marched on.
"Eyes on the prize Rogue, eyes on the prize," she whispered to herslef, clenching her gloved hands into fists.
It hit her suddenly that she missed Charles, missed him so desparetely that she thought her heart would shatter, just blow away into the ether like his body had. To lose him now, now when she needed his council more than ever, was a horrible blow. How many times had he given her solace when her mind was in turmoil? How often had she gone to him to place her head on his knee, to have him rest his hand over her hear, and tell her without a word that it would all be alright? To know that she would never again see those wise blue eyes, or hear his calming voice... This was agony.
Would he have approved of her desicion to get the cure? She knew he'd have said there was nothing to cure, that this was what she was intended to be. He'd have told her not to give up, that control over her power would come in time. And she had tried, Lord, how she tried to gain that ever elusive control, and while she'd had marginal success, it wasn't enough. She wanted more.
Rogue glanced up at the overcast sky, wincing at the sight of smog and the angry black clouds. She wondered if he was up there, frowning down on her.
A hand suddenly clamped itself around her forearm, causing her to jerk back and utter a surprised gasp.
"Sorry!" The young man who had grabbed her arm winced apologetically. "I didn't mean to scare you, but you weren't watching where you were going. You almost walked right into that trash can!"
Looking to where he pointed, Rogue felt her face flush in embarrassment. One more step and she would’ve indeed walked into a trashcan, which would have resulted in her face planting on the sidewalk, or going headfirst into said trash receptacle.
Tugging her cloak against her again, Rogue smiled weakly at her saviour. “Thanks. Ah guess ah wasn’t paying attention to where ah was goin’,”
The young man brightened considerably upon hearing her accented voice, and seeing her pretty features. Grinning at her, he stepped back a few paces and motioned for Rogue to get in line in front of him.
“No, no, ah couldn’t! It wouldn’t be fair,” she began to protest, but he quickly waved it off.
“Please, you’d be doing me a favour. I’m not really all that anxious to get this done anyway.”
Smiling at him in thanks, Rogue stepped in front of him, wondering what his mutation was, since none was obviously apparent. In fact, he looked quite a bit like Scott, minus the ruby lenses.
Feeling a lump form in her throat, Rogue quickly turned her back to the man, focusing instead on the bright purple hair of the woman in front of her, trying not to think. But her mind, as traitorous as her poison skin, refused to be controlled, instead presenting her with a multitude of memories and images.
She and Scott had quickly become close friends after she arrived at the mansion, and grew even closer when she learned that he shared her passion for the guitar. It had been such a pleasant surprise to learn that he not only played, but sang as well. She remembered how his mouth had gaped open after she had plucked his guitar from his arms, and proceeded to play the entire ten minutes of the song “Free Bird”, only to have him counter it with a rousing rendition of Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode”. As the years went by, and after Jean’s “passing” at Alkali Lake, they became almost inseparable, just two good friends and almost something more. In recent years it was unspoken of but there, the fact that if she hadn’t loved Logan as much as she did, and if Scott’s heart hadn’t been washed away with Jean, the two of them could have been very happy together.
Now he was gone. The almost-lover she had found in Scott, and the father she had found in Charles, both gone, all because of one woman’s insatiable hunger.
The first stirrings of anger began to flare within her at the thought of Jean.
Not Jean, Rogue amended, Phoenix. Jean was dead; the Phoenix had killed her as surely as she had killed Scott and Charles, and now Logan was running right to her.
That hurt, hurt so much to know that as she was leaving to get this cure, he was going after Jean. Rogue knew in her heart that if it hadn’t been for Jean, Logan wouldn’t have let her go through this alone. He should be here, damnit! She needed his strength, needed him to hold her hand and make her feel safe.
Rogue felt a hesitant tap on her shoulder, and turned to regard the young man who had let her cut in front of him. He had brown eyes, she saw, warm and friendly with hints of gold flecked within, almost feline. Scott’s eyes were blue, she thought randomly, almost purple. She had seen them, just once, when a mission to find some marauding mutants had led them deep into the sewers beneath New York, so far down that the solar energy that gave Scott his optic blasts could no longer reach him.
Shaking herself out of the painful memory, she smiled quizzically at the man, waiting for him to speak. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, chewing on his bottom lip before blurting out, “You don’t look like a mutie.”
The degrading word cut her like a knife. ‘Mutie’ was the word those scum from FoH used, the word the crowd of humans across the street spewed from their mouths like vomit. An ugly word, coming from this nice young man’s lips, and Rogue knew from the casual way he used it, that he believed it, believed that she was just another foul mutie. And so was he.
A raindrop fell on her cheek, and she glanced back up at the forlorn sky. Maybe Charles really was up there. Once, she had referred to herself as a ‘mutie’ in his presence, and the utter sadness she had seen in his eyes after came as an almost physical blow.
‘Would you think of me as a ‘mutie’?’ he’d asked, his voice melancholy. Wordlessly, she had shaken her head, unable to comprehend how anyone would refer to the brilliant Charles Xavier with something as undignified as the word ‘mutie’. With a dawning realization, she saw that if anyone did in fact call him that in her presence, she would beat them to within an inch of their life.
‘So why is it permissible for you to be called that?’ he’d continued, still piercing her with his direct stare.
‘It’s not,’ she had whispered, understanding at last. It was never acceptable, because by demeaning yourself, you demeaned your entire race.
Now Rogue felt her spine stiffen, and she tried to fix on this young man a stare as piercing as the Professor’s had been that day.
“Ah am not a mutie,” she declared hotly, trying to put the force of Charles’ convictions into her words.
The man flushed, staring fixedly at his scuffed sneakers. “Well, I’m Pete, if you’d prefer to call me that.”
“It’s a damn sight better than ‘mutie’,” Rogue growled. Immediately after saying it, shame welled within her at her harsh tone. Somehow, she lacked Charles’ finesse.
Then again, she thought with a wry smirk, growing up next to a swamp doesn’t instill much finesse in anybody.
Pete was now staring at her openly, apparently trying to discern her mutation. Huffing slightly, Rogue saved him the trouble.
“It’s mah skin. Ah hurt people with mah skin.”
Pete’s eyes widened, before staring at the exposed skin on her cheeks with great scrutiny, as though expecting the ivory complexion to start glowing a radioactive green. “Huh,” he muttered. “You got off easy.”
“Easy?” Rogue sputtered in disbelief. “Ya think it’s easy to hafta walk aroun’ trussed up like a mummy all the time? To never be able to touch another living creature without hurtin’ ‘em?”
Pete shrugged uneasily, startled by her outburst. “Sorry. But I’m just saying… at least you can pass for a norm.”
“Well, whatta ‘bout you?” Rogue shot back, the feel of her gloves against her skin weighing on her. “Ya look pretty normal too.”
Pete’s eyes darted around nervously, checking to make sure no one was paying attention to their exchange. Apparently satisfied, he quickly brushed a lock of brown hair away from his head, exposing a pointy, tufted ear.
Rogue raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with this display. After living at Mutant High for several years, a pointy ear was small potatoes when compared with some of the stuff seen there.
“I got a tail, too,” Pete said quickly, as thought that were compensation. “And I see real good in the dark.” A bitter look darkened his face. “The tail bothers me the most though. What kind of girl would want a guy with a freakin’ tail? And don’t even get me started on finding a pair of pants…”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Rogue’s mouth, remembering Kurt. Storm certainly hadn’t minded that he had a tail. Her words: I like a man with character. She must have really like his character a lot, because she had moped around the mansion for weeks after Kurt decided to leave to join a monastery last year.
“You laughing at me?” Pete demanded suspiciously, eyeing Rogue’s secretive smile with a dour look.
Before she could reply, her attention was caught by a commotion further up the line. A woman was making her way down the row of mutants, holding the hand of a child and practically dragging him along behind her. From the expression on the woman’s face, she was clearly displeased by something, and though her mouth moved, Rogue was too far away to catch her words.
As they drew closer, she saw that the child clutching the woman’s hand was a boy, surely no older that ten, and very obviously a mutant. His skin was pale, a lovely translucent blue that gave him an almost ethereal glow, while his eyes and hair stood out in stark contrast, both being ebony black. The look on his face was one of complete misery and shame, and as Rogue was able to pick up the words of the woman holding his hand, she knew why he looked so dejected.
“-believe that? Can you? Over 21, they told me! I’ve been standing here for hours to get this… this child of mine the medical help he needs, and they say minors can’t get it! As his mother, I have the right to make this choice for him!”
Mutants in the line turned their heads away awkwardly from her tirade, some feigning interest in the cracks in the sidewalk, others turning the volume on the MP3 players up a few notches.
Still marching to the end of the line, the woman was undaunted by the lack of support, and continued to rail to anyone who would listen.
“Now look! LOOK!” she shrieked, her eyes glittering manically as she pointed wildly to the child still attached to her hand. “He has to stay like this until he’s 21? He has to live out the rest of his childhood as a freak? A mutie?!? What the hell am I supposed to do with him now?”
Throughout this whole spectacle, Rogue stood motionless, her gloved hands clenched into tight fists as waves of incredulous anger burned within her.
“Poor little blighter.”
The voice behind her made her jump, breaking her from her paralysis. Turning to Pete, she saw his eyes fixed sadly on the little boy, who was now ineffectually hunching deeper into his coat, trying to disappear from view.
The pair now drew next to Rogue and Pete, and though the woman still bleated in her overbearing voice, Rogue no longer heard her, too incensed by her own rage to make out more than an annoying buzz. He hand moved on its own accord, and before she realized she had done it, her fingers were clenched around the woman’s flabby upper arm, stopping her from continuing down the line.
Shocked by the sudden contact, the woman stopped in her tracks abruptly, eyes widening comically at the platinum and brown haired girl who dared to grab her.
“Is there a problem?” she hissed at Rogue, vainly trying to reclaim her arm from the iron grasp that held it captive.
“Ah think there is. Ya mind tellin’ me jus’ what the hell ya think you’re doin’?”
“I think that’s obvious, don’t you? They won’t let this... boy of mine take the cure. As his mother I know what’s best for him, and I know he needs it. Who do these people think they –“
“Shut up,” Rogue snarled, glaring into the woman’s rheumy eyes as she tightened her hold on her arm. The little boy watched in fascination, staring up at Rogue in frank amazement.
“This is your child,” Rogue continued, enunciating each word so carefully her deep Southern accent was almost obliterated. “You gave him life. Now that he hasn’t turned out the way you expected, you’re ashamed of your creation?”
With a tremendous wrench of her arm, the woman broke free from Rogue’s grip and glared at her balefully. “I’m not ashamed of anything! I didn’t do this to him! He’s sick, so I’m doing what any good parent would do with a sick child: try to make him well.”
Bile rose in her throat, and Rogue felt a moment of consternation. She didn’t know why this should shock her so. Hadn’t her own parents said much of the same things to her when her mutation manifested? Hadn’t the entire damn town run her out on a rail when word got around?
“Besides,” the woman continued, a sly look appearing in her eyes. “If you’re so against the cure, what are you doing here? Or did you just think this was the line to get Metallica tickets?” she finished with a derisive laugh, eyeing the platinum locks of hair with contempt.
Before she could answer, Rogue was interrupted by a small voice, so sweet and childlike in its innocence that her throat clenched painfully.
“Please Mommy. I like what I can do. Can’t I keep it? Do I really need to be cured?” The little boy’s black eyes shone like an oil spill, and he stared beseechingly at his mother as she rounded on him in a fury.
“Like it? You like it? I’m trying to fix you, make you better, and you’re saying you like being a freak, a dirty mut-“
“He’s not a freak!” Rogue yelled, unable to listen to anymore of the woman’s nasal voice. “And there’s nothing wrong with him that needs to be fixed!”
“Just like you?” the woman sneered, disdain dripping from every word.
The words hit her like a fist to the gut, jarring reality for an instant. As though in a dream, Rogue met the anguished eyes of the little boy, so round and dark, filled with aching sadness and confusion. Tearing her eyes from his, she stared down at her hands, shrouded by gloves. She had wanted a normal life so badly. Wanted to love, and be loved. But at what cost? Was she really ready to alter the very essence of her being, all because she wanted to feel another’s flesh without pain? How would she even be able to enjoy a normal life, knowing she had turned her back on the only people that mattered to her? She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Now she drew herself up to her full height, no longer hunching within her coat, allowing the wind to blow her hood away from her head as her hair got caught in the breeze, reveling in the sensation.
Her green eyes snapped with fire as she fixed a haughty stare on the woman, who took a hesitant step back from the heat of Rogue’s gaze.
“Ah don’t need any cure,” she spat, holding her head high, “And neither does anyone else here.”
Still holding the woman’s eye, Rogue very deliberately stepped out of the line, barely noticing Pete’s gasp of amazement.
Reaching into a pocket, Rogue felt a few of the school’s business cards at the bottom, and drew out two.
“Here,” she shoved one under the woman’s long nose, restraining the urge to break it just on principal. “This is a school. If ya can’t deal with havin’ a mutant in your family, then bring him here. We can take care of him.”
Turning to Pete, she gave him a one too, smiling gently at him as he met her eyes. “We got plenty o’ girls there, too. And they won’t be scared of a lil ol’ tail, neither.”
Pete took the proffered card, his lips mouthing the words ‘Xavier’s Academy for Gifted Youngsters’.
“What kind of school is this anyway?” he asked before Rogue could turn away.
The woman and her son both look expectantly at Rogue, apparently curious to hear her answer also.
Laying a gloved hand over the little boy’s smooth hair, she grinned down at him. “It’s a special one. For people like us.”
Logan’s words coming from her mouth, hoping she could convey the warmth he gave her on the train that day, hoping they understood what she learned from those simple words: You’re not alone.
Smiling one last time and Pete and the boy, she turned on her heel and walked away, her head still held high.
Never had she felt so proud to be a mutant. They truly were the next stage in evolution, not just some diseased race that had to be quelled. What had Charles said to her once? ‘How can we ever expect the world to accept us, if we won’t even accept ourselves?’ Rogue hadn’t quite understood him then. If you were a mutant, what choice did you have but to accept it? She now realized that she had never truly accepted her mutation; she had resigned herself to it. But now…
Pausing on the bustling sidewalk, Rogue scarcely heard the crowd of people flowing around her, instead staring at her glove covered hands for what seemed like the hundredth time. Slowly, delicately, she removed the gloves, fingertip by fingertip, until both hands were exposed to the cool, damp air.
She stared intently at her pale flesh; the nails perfectly manicured and buffed, the skin baby smooth. Keeping her hands in gloves all the time certainly made her look like she’d never done a days work in her life. The only marring features were the calluses’ on her fingertips from playing guitar. Staring at those deceptively demure hands, a person would never guess at the power flowing beneath the surface, the limitless possibilities of what she could do, who she could be.
Ah am my powers, Rogue realized, and all the good they could do for people, if ah’d only stop denying them.
Still studying her hands in almost a trance, Rogue didn’t even notice the shadow looming over her until the harsh voice cut into her reverie.
“Well well, what’s that old saying about rats deserting a sinking ship? I knew that out of all the X-Geeks, you’d be the one to want the cure. What, your bed getting lonely at night?”
Rogue’s head jerked up, dropping her gloves in surprise at the sudden intrusion of her thoughts. A pair of grey eyes stared at her with dark hilarity, and it took her a moment to place where she’d seen this young man before. Dark unruly hair, early twenties, and with not nearly enough weight on him for his tall frame, he didn’t look as menacing as he appeared when she had seen him in battle. He was one of Magneto’s followers who went by the code-name Avalanche. His power allowed him to produce earthquakes, and though he often talked a big game, he was little more than a mere annoyance to the X-Men.
Lance, that’s his real name, Rogue remembered. Lance what? Searching her memory, she came up blank before brushing the thought away. At the moment, it didn’t matter anyway.
Smirking at her, Avalanche reached down to retrieve Rogue’s gloves off the pavement before wagging them teasingly before her face.
“Guess you don’t need these anymore, huh? How’s it feel to be a traitor to your own kind?”
“Give ‘em back,” Rogue replied angrily, reaching for her gloves only to have them jerked back again.
“Or you’ll do what?” he jeered, a twisted smirk on his face. “Without your powers, you’re less than nothing. Not mutant, not human. Now you really are a freak.”
Without a second thought, Rogue’s arm snaked out, her bare hand cupping Avalanche’s jaw almost tenderly before her mutation took hold and she tightened her grip.
“Who ya callin’ a freak?” she purred, pulling him closer so their faces almost touched.
Avalanche’s eyes bugged out of their sockets as his skin began to crawl with blue veins. As his mind poured into Rogue’s, she realized that something was different this time. Instead of overwhelming her mind with his psyche, it seemed like she was able to keep it separate from her own, thus keeping her own individuality and sense of self still intact.
This snake was here to bring the clinic down! Rogue thought, seeing the information in Lance’s mind. Pyro had already been to the other facility, but Bobby had been there also, probably looking for her. And there was more…
Avalanche was almost unconscious from her hand still wrapped around his face, so Rogue lowered the intensity of her touch, needing him to stay awake for a bit longer.
Ah didn’t even know ah could do that. Rogue tried not to think of the implications this new talent could have in controlling her powers, and instead dug deeper in Avalanche’s mind, searching for what she needed to know. This also was new. Before when she touched a person, she got everything. Now though, she felt like she was reading a catalogue, flipping through the information until she zeroed in on what she was searching for.
There.
Alcatraz. Magneto’s army, complete with his newest side-kick Phoenix, were after the source of the cure. They were on the move now, and time was growing short. Huh. How ‘bout that; Mystique has taken a step down on the food chain…
Satisfied, Rogue released her hold on Avalanche’s face, and watched impassively as he slumped to the ground, twitching slightly. Thankfully the crowd of humans around them was too busy watching the mutants in line on the opposite side of the street to be bothered with noticing the pair right in their midst.
Rogue stooped to retrieve her gloves from Avalanche’s lax hand, before slipping them on easily. For the first time, the feeling of the gloves fitting snugly against her hands did not feel like the shackles of oppression weighing on her.
Without sparing him a second glance, Rogue stepped lithely over Avalanche’s still twitching form, a wicked smile quirking her full lips.
“Thanks for the pick-me-up, sugah. Ah needed it.” Hurrying to the street, Rogue searched for a taxi. She needed to warn the others about Magneto, and she needed to warn them fast. If his army was as big as what she had gleaned from Avalanche, then the team was going to need all the help they could get. Rogue was no slouch when it came to fisticuffs, and she was gunning for a good brawl.
Using her borrowed power, Rogue felt the ground beneath her feet tremble slightly. Avalanche didn’t realize it, but he had the ability to crack the very core of the earth in two; he just didn’t have a big enough vision.
Ah’ll put his gift to good use, Rogue mused, relishing the feel of the cement shivering below her. Ah’ll give Erik a real nice surprise when ah see him.
Spying a taxi idling on the street, she hurried towards it and flung herself into the backseat. The driver eyed her in the review mirror, a bored look on his face. “Where ya headed, honey?” he asked, flipping the meter on before gliding smoothly out into traffic.
“Westchester,” Rogue replied breathlessly. “An’ don’t spare the horses.”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
OK, I have been a huge Wolverine/Rogue shipper since I was 13, and since Im turning 22 in a month, I said, screw it, I'm taking the plunge and writing a damn fan fic, something I swore i would never do. So, here goes. I should mention a few things, such as: Rogue and Bobby broke up ages ago, but are still buddy-buddy, Rogue is more like comic version Rogue (Anna Paquin was awesome, but I still prefer the really thick southern accent with green eyes version)and I've only seen X3 twice, because I became so enraged after listening to the commentary on the DVD and the entire movie in general that i just couldn't subjuect myself to it again. In short, if I've screwed up some sequences of events from the movie, my apologies. uh, I guess that's it. Feedback is really appreciated. Like, really, really appreciated. So, without further ado... oh yeah, and i owe nothing of the x-men. i just find their lives so much more fascinating than mine. and if this story seems like someone else's, myapologies for that too. any similarities are entirely accidental.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my third time trying this, necause it keeps getting deleted somehow. i'm too tired to perfect it now, so please forgive me if its difficult to read. how do you indent here anyway? uh, no Logan in this chapter, but i've started the second, and he will be present. i haven't written a thing since high school, so let me know if it sucks... but break it to me gently. i'm delicate.