The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
I don’t know what I was so worried about. From the moment Mystique taps the key code into the door, my mind clicks smoothly on to mission mode. It’s like clockwork. Routine. A calm coolness seeps over me and I’m in control.
I can do this.
I scrape back my fake blonde hair, tuck my remaining glove into the back pocket of my jeans, and as I pull out my gun there ain’t no one out there in that whole wide world who can stop me. Bring it on.
The clerical smell of carpet and cash hits me as we simultaneously swing the doors inwards. Then it’s like the steps of a familiar dance. Fast, strong strides inside. Two guards to the left, noted. The mechanical click as I flick my safety off. Four clean shots; four cameras out of action. Easy.
Mystique goes to work on the motion detectors; I work on instinct. The two guards, they come at me; one looking nervous, the other smirking, as if how can a young girl like me be a threat?
But I’m just full of surprises, sugar.
The smug guard eyes my chest. I give him a come hither grin while my elbow rams back into the other’s solar plexus. Hard.
Suddenly the smirk seems a little less certain. It freezes on his face as he watches his colleague sink to the floor and I use the opportunity to introduce him to my fist, feeling a nasal crunch as it meets his face. Before he has time to think I drive my other into his stomach, knowing I’m on top of my game as he retches in shock. Then a muscle-bunched spin, a high aimed kick, and he’s down.
See? Easy.
I’m technical. Detached.
I stoop briefly down, and two swift touches drop both men into a bleak unconsciousness.
Mystique, who apparently watched the whole thing with some sort of amusement, gives me a slight smirk. "Nice."
I’m in total control. Really I am.
...Aren’t I?
I waiver and it throws me, my vision fuzzing for a moment. Freshly stolen thoughts slip from my controlled grip and seep like ink into my memory, scribbling over my own. Sudden tiredness. A craving for cigarettes. Dammit, and I inherit their sense of unease. Not fair. Stupid mutation.
I try and fight it back. Tell myself it's not real, and it’s not doubt I’m feeling. I won’t let it be doubt.
But whatever it is, it’s close.
Ugh.
I narrow my thoughts to focus on the image of the plans inside my head, rather than lingering on the room around me, but it’s suddenly much harder. The place looks different at night. The hollowness creeps into my consciousness; hard and sterile, almost sinister. During the day the giant stone pillars looked proud and elegant, now they just resemble some sort of mausoleum. Constant security lights wash it in a synthesised neon glow and it’s... I don’t know. It’s not what I expected.
Is that them too? Or is that me?
I don’t know the answer, and I try to ignore the sense of unease this gives me.
"Rogue!"
Oh. Yeah... standing around is not a good idea. I remind my feet how they work and hurry to catch up.
Another code pad gives us access to the stairwell. It’s a fairly short descent to the basement level, far more sensible than risking the elevators. No use walking into an enclosed space with lockable doors if you can avoid it... right?
Suddenly I'm not so sure.
A lone moth butts against the flair of the emergency light. It smells like stale concrete, cold and damp and I try to suppress a shiver, pretending to ignore the way our footsteps echo uncomfortably loud. I tell myself it’s fine, I’m fine, even the damn moth is fine. But for a brief moment I’m so intensely aware of all the earth and masonry that now rests above us, that the feeling almost crawls its way down my back.
What if...?
Hand gripping the metal railing, I glance nervously up at the ceiling, as if expecting to see it crack and splinter in a shower of dust and debris.
But it’s unchanging, of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?
I force my feet to move again.
The sick feeling in my stomach doesn’t quite go though.
"What’s with you?" Mystique hisses in my ear.
That’s a very good question. I shake my head, as if trying to wake myself from a trance. What is with me? That’s twice now I’ve gone all freaked out. Is it an emotion I absorbed? I hope it’s not one of the other mutations I’ve stolen over the years coming back to haunt me.
"It’s nothing."
Just my instinct. Screaming at me to get the hell out.
Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?
"Well snap out of it!"
The tone jolts me back to my senses. For a moment I’m resentful for it, but she’s right. I need to concentrate. I try and smother the emotions like I always do, and I let her lead as we carefully approach the steel doors to the lower level. They’re imposing but no match for Mystique. Her iris scan is approved in seconds. Voice recognition...approved. Fingerprint scan...approved.
Simple.
With a hiss of sound they slide smoothly open.
My entire body buzzes with nervous tension. I wish I could just-
"Wait," Mystique clamps a hand to my shoulder. For a moment her skin flickers blue, her scales shifting, unfurling as she adopts a new image. Suddenly the person standing before me is the bank manager, his hand going up to adjust his smart collar.
People only see what they want to see.
I have to admit I see the logic in her plan, even if I do feel uncomfortable changing mid-job. We agreed we’d never do that. Don’t want to give them any excuse to think we’re mutants.
I try not to feel uneasy about that as well.
Christ, what is wrong with me? I try a little mental shake up. Sort yourself out! And concentrate on the job at hand.
Not the fact that you really shouldn’t be here.
Or thinking about the strange heaviness Logan’s belt.
...Which is currently shoved under the bed in your motel room.
"Rogue!"
Oh yeah. Right.
I focus on her mutation for a moment; choose the image of the teller who tried to sell me an account. Someone who, when with his manager, doesn’t look completely out of place down here in jeans, which...ouch... are far too tight now. Not fair. But I can still move. I hope.
Mystique gives me a brief look of reassurance, more to assure herself I'm not falling apart than to comfort me, and steps through. What else can I do but follow?
It opens out into a barren hallway of grey repeating panels where the air tastes like cardboard, recycled and thin. The architect upstairs obviously didn't get the same free rein down here; utilitarian would be an understatement. I try and ignore it. The monotone hum of the strip light overhead tickles my ears and it’s faintly annoying. But it's not important, so I try to ignore that too. Along with the fact that there’s no place to hide down here.
I don’t like that thought.
Dammit. Concentrate.
We round a sharp corner, nodding formally at night guard as we pass. At the end is another scan, another keypad, another code. Another door...open. So easy.
...Maybe it’s too easy.
Okay, I don’t like that thought either.
But seriously, we’re just walking through. Surely there should be something? Shouldn’t there? It’s never been this straightforward before...
No. I’m being paranoid. We’re just good, that’s all. We planned well; prepared far too carefully.
The safe guard sits up in his seat as we approach. "Sir?" His brow furrows as he looks into the face of his manager, he fumbles around on his desk to glance over his time sheet with an air of confusion. "I wasn’t expecting you."
"Really?" Mystique feigns the manager’s disinterest as she approaches. Then without warning, she palms his face, using the edge of his desk as a vault to swing herself over and wrap her legs around his neck. "That’s ‘cause we’re screwing you over honey," she whispers into his ear as he slips into unconsciousness.
Again, so easy.
Wasn’t it?
God, the poor man looked so surprised I almost feel bad for him. And that’s not right. We’re not here to be nice to them for chrissake! Besides, he’ll wake up with what? A slight bruise? Dented pride? He’ll be fine!
"Last door, then we are outta here." Mystique flexes her shoulders under her tailored jacket. Her fingers hover over the key pad and... wait. She freezes. Just for a moment.
Coolness trickles down my spine. "What?"
"Shhh." A slim finger goes instantly to her mouth. Her pupils slide out of focus as she tilts her head, listens.
I frown as I try and call on the memory of Logan’s enhanced senses. Is it one of the-
Shit!
I can hear voices. Lots of voices.
"Get out," she hisses.
I... what? My heart instantly begins to pound.
She ignores my confusion and her eyes grow wide and yellow. "The only way out is the way we came in. Move!"
Oh fuck.
I turn quick, hands trembling as my feet take me fast as they can manage without breaking into a run. Oh fuck oh fuck. I try not catch the eye of the stairwell guard. Try to look casual. Just let me pass, I think, just let me-
"I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to stop right there."
Fuck.
I try and keep my voice steady. "Just going to see," I swallow awkwardly, "what the...uh...commotion is up there." My throat is so dry.
"No. Perhaps you didn’t hear me. You need to stop right-"
He never gets to finish. His head thunks backwards with the force of the bullet that rips through his skull, his glassy eyed stare of shock fixed upon me as he slides down the wall in a dribbling trail of blood.
For a moment I can’t calculate what happened. The silence rings so loudly in my ears that it’s almost deafening and it... it’s... I can’t breathe, oh God I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? What just... What did... God I can’t...
"I said run! Are you crazy?"
Are these my thoughts? Are they mine? My fear? I don’t know. But she killed him. She just killed him? Without even...? She just... Fuck. I think I’m going to pass out. This is not like Logan. This man isn’t going to heal and push the bullet out. That’s it. He’s gone. Dead. Ended.
"Run!"
She propels me into action, pushing me forward until my stumbling feet are forced to find their own way. My legs carry me up the stairs, pounding hard, thigh muscles burning, and I’m panting and sweating and breathing and living and what the FUCK just happened?
I can hear her following close behind. Fast. The soft tap of leather shoes turning into the slap of bare feet, and I know without looking that she’s shifted back into her natural form. She never does that, not anymore.
"Move it! You’ll get us both killed!"
Maybe we deserve it.
We reach the upper door and she hesitates. Takes stock of the situation. There are so many of them! How are there so many? The place is swarming, black uniforms, shiny boots. They got here so quick. How did they get here so quick without-
A few thoughts reach through the blind fog of panic and sink home. The coincidence of the large deposit. The easiness in which we entered.
It was a set up.
The whole thing. One big trap.
"Shit," I hear her curse. "You are gonna have to get your stuff sorted girl. I can’t do this on my own. Where’s your gun?"
My gun? My eyes widen as I look stupidly down at the smooth blackness of the handle protruding from the pocket in my jeans, wishing it had never been invented. Wishing I had never picked it up. Wishing I had never left the mansion. This is not what I... I... look down at my hands and realise belatedly that that blonde I’d chosen is long gone and I must look like me again. When did that happen? Why did... I don’t know. I can’t remember. Can’t think. Can’t concentrate. Can’t-
"Rogue?"
I’m still staring, my hands are trembling as I reach for the handle, but I can’t get a good grip. It fumbles and slides around in my fingers.
Her eyes flare at me. "Useless!" She snatches it out of my hands, cocks it, and shoves it back at me. Then with hers in hand she rams the keycode home and storms into the room beyond.
Oh God.
Three shots ring out. Hers. A cry of alarm follows. Theirs. Another shot.
Someone’s.
Shit. Shit! I’ve got to do something.
Get a fucking grip.
I try and remember what it feels like to be Rogue. Tell myself it’s okay to be fucking scared, and that if I want to live? Then I can’t stay here.
I glance round the corner, trying to prepare myself. There’s blood, but she’s not dead. It’s not hers. She is a whirl of movement among them. She’s shimmer of blue sinew and grace; twisting and turning, writhing and shooting and snarling seductively at anything to get in her way. But it’s not enough, not nearly enough. There are too many of them.
God, I feel sick.
I take two deep breaths, hold the third like I’m about to dive underwater, then sink down against the wall, crouching low to the floor as my gun finally finds its use. One shot, two. I try not to think about what I’m hitting. Then I’m up and somehow in the middle of it all, into a furious blur of fists and weapons. Eyes desperately trying to catch every movement. Narrowing on a target. Seeing it go down. All the while thinking I’m still alive. Still alive.
The first blow that gets me has me spitting up blood, the second cracks a rib, but I give back all I can get. Pain refocuses me and I use every skill, every dirty trick I’ve learned or stolen. Knuckles cracking, skin feeding on whatever it can reach, thighs burning, teeth clenching. Sweat’s dripping off me, hair sticking to my face as I twist and struggle, but I fight on.
Two of them come at me and I hiss, take the first at a run, reaching for any spot of bare skin on the other. A moment to shake off the memories, and I’m onto the next. And the next. And the next. And the-
DAMN. Fuck but that hurt!
The next man to come at me gets a mouthful of bloody spit before my knee meets his groin. Then I screech round to take on the next, and-
Hesitate.
...Oh shit. They really have got guns.
"Look out!" I yell so hard I nearly choke, but Mystique’s already out of the way, the bullet pounding hard into one of the pillars only inches behind her, showering out a spatter of dust and shards of stone. Christ we’ve got to get out of here.
My head snaps round and I take in our position. Fighting back to back, we’re not far from the door. We can make it. We’re so close that I can see the reflection from the street lights glancing off the glass. We’ll laugh about this tomorrow. Sure we will.
I grapple with another. He reaches for me, catches me sharply with his fist and for a moment I can’t move. But then he brushes the skin on my arm, and I’ve got my mutation on so strong he goes down with a sound.
Still alive.
Just a few more steps, that’s all. I can make this. Mystique’s already outside, she crashed through the door, and I’m almost there. I shake off the hand that closes around my ankle. Kick at it. One more step. So close. I’m almost...
Wait.
I come to a shuddering standstill, almost oblivious to the noise and fury behind me.
Again, there’s that feeling. That something’s not right. Something’s not as...
I frown and tilt my head to look at the gentle pattern of red that’s flecked across the shattered door in front of me. So pretty. Like stained glass. Like the opening petals of a flower, which slide out of focus as the ground rises up to meet me.
I blink. Confused. Pulse thickening through my ears. I can see Mystique across the street. She’s looking at me. "Come on," she mouths, "Come on!" And I want to, but...
Oh God. Pain begins to seer through me, so hot that it burns. The hand that’s clutched at my side no longer has the strength to hold on and my eyes slide over the slippery redness that’s sinking into the cracks between my knuckles and dribbling off the ends of my fingers.
Not happening.
"Rogue!"
This is not happening!
I stagger to my feet, try and take a step, but my legs are heavy. Hard to control.
"Come on!"
I can hear the sharpness of her voice. It rings through my head. Echoes of sounds behind me. I blink again, but I can’t focus. Everything’s swimming, a smearing sea of colours and dark shapes. They’re all the same.
"Come on!"
My side screams. A hand grabs my shoulder. Fingers dig in. Pull me backwards, downwards. Try to fight them, but hands are feeble and they won’t work. Why won’t they work? Legs slide about uselessly. Head cracks down and pain is swallowed by fear. Oh God I don’t want this. I don’t want it. Face against the cool hardness of the floor, eyes blinking, and it’s all I can do to keep breathing.
A street lamp flickers through the broken glass. Throat’s so tight. So heavy. Not like this, I think. I don’t want this. Clenching my teeth. This can’t be right. I just need to keep breathing. That’s all. Keep breathing. I want to be at home. I want to be twelve and in the sunshine of my back yard. Not here. Not in the darkness. I want warmth. This is not supposed to happen... and I won’t...I won’t give up. Not without a fight.
Just breathe.
Just keep...breathing... just... keep...