DARK SIDE OF THE MOON
thatcraftykid
track three // “BREATHE”
FOR LONG YOU LIVE AND HIGH YOU FLY / BUT ONLY IF YOU RIDE THE TIDE
“I told you I was dangerous, and I told you I was a liar.
But I wasn’t a monster until they made me one.”
– Rogue –
Face freshly scrubbed, Rogue carries Logan’s hiking pack and her cloak to the edge of the den, where he sits in front of his antique television. The first time she joined him on the couch for a hockey game, Guff let her know in so many words that the stand alone would fetch a pretty penny at auction. When she told Logan, he shrugged – price was nothing to the object itself, its familiarity. Its possible connection to the unknown before.
Rogue longs to give him something of hers, but all she owns belongs to him, except the clothes on her back and a dead woman’s dog tags. She sighs. The truth she could give him, but what would be the point? She couldn’t begin to untangle the knots she’s tied to impress him.
“Eleven minutes,” Logan says, flicking through the few channels he gets.
“Four minutes and forty-nine seconds,” she amends, choosing a random time. “Bathroom doesn’t count.”
He nods toward the coffee table she repaired with David’s help, at a plate of food and a box of hair dye. “Don’t know if you want that.”
Dropping her armload on the floor by the couch, she picks up the box. It’s uncanny, how right the shade is. Carol blonde. “I’ll keep it just in case,” she answers, sitting as she opens the pack to shove it in. “I’ll use it when I need to.”
She holds the plate over her lap, shifting around leftover fried dumplings with her fork.
“Not much of a farewell meal,” he says with a slight grimace. “But at least it’s your cooking, not mine.”
“Don’t give me credit, thank my momma. I never even bothered to learn,” she tells him inexplicably, talking a big bite. That could be an opening to the explanation he deserves. Still, she hesitates.
It hasn’t quite sunk in, the fact that she’s leaving. She waits for a last-second reprieve. Strong words aside, she can't bring herself to believe this is the end. She’s happy here, giving Logan a hard time but taking care of him all the same. And she’s almost there. So close to being comfortable enough in her own toxic skin to be a human being for once. Last night was just a setback…Or she’s kidding herself.
The man on her right doesn’t offer any answers. He’s not even looking at her, rather to the clock sitting on the mantle underneath a set of curved swords. Could be worrying about her, could just be wanting her gone. No way of telling.
If Logan’s still a mystery and Rogue’s still a fraud, then the past three weeks can’t have amounted to much more than a delusion.
Don’t say I didn’t warned you, Anna Marie. Trouble never tells you how Trouble thinks. Just because he never forced you doesn’t mean he never did you harm.
Some opinions never change, some voices never fade.
Rogue looks to the TV to get herself out of her head. Logan’s stopped on the news. A silver-haired man waves to a crowd of protesters hefting signs, one of which reads, “Send mutants to the moon for ever!” Bunch of geniuses.
“State of the world I’m about to return to,” she complains, and asks Logan to turn it up.
“…the missing New York senator was last seen at a press conference two days ago, where he continued to voice his support for the United States’ proposed Mutant Registration Act.”
The large-toothed anchorwoman is replaced by footage of the senator standing behind an outside podium. The bottom of the screen tells Rogue that his name is Senator Robert Kelly, a Republican. She leans forward, something about his face nagging her.
He speaks loudly and emphatically: “I was once guilty of thinking small, believing that a tough American stance on mutants would be enough. But if any good has come of last month’s narrowly avoided terrorist attack on Ellis Island, it is that the world’s eyes are open to the danger that mutants pose.”
With a jolt, Rogue remembers similar words from an identical voice. Senator Kelly has visited Southaven, she’s sure of it.
“That is why I have worked so diligently to get the UN Summit back on track and refocused purely on the mutant phenomenon. The Mutant Registration Act, where passed, will protect the lives of every citizen of the world by preventing dangerous mutant attacks. Now is not the time for fear. Now is the time for the leaders of the world to unite as one against this grave new threat.”
The anchorwoman takes a moment to shuffle her papers, as if she, too, realizes the contradictions inherent in that gem of a hate speech. “Hours before the announcement of Senator Kelly’s disappearance, mutants’ rights activists released a statement that took issue with the Senator’s claim, arguing that the mutant responsible for the failed Ellis Island plot, Telford Porter, aka Vanisher, planned to plant ordinary explosive devices. FBI representatives have confirmed that Porter, currently awaiting trial, has been questioned regarding the whereabouts of Senator Kelly. Officials say that the UN Summit will take place on Saturday as rescheduled, though many world leaders, including our own Prime Minister Allaire, are reportedly reconsidering their invitations in – ”
Logan clicks the power button without warning. He stands, walking to the window, clearly listening intently to noise from outside. As quietly as she can, Rogue slips her cloak over her shoulders. Shoulda, woulda, coulda left sooner. Her heart is thumping so fast, she thinks she can hear it.
Wait. Was that…“A helicopter? Jesus – They have the army after me!” She snatches open the curtain, scanning the woods for Mounties, too.
“Get out of the window.” He tries to pull her back.
Rogue pushes his arms away. She wants to see the soldiers jump out before she makes her move. Through the roof, she thinks wildly. They’ll try to shoot her down and that’ll give her enough adrenaline to get far away. Of course, if they don’t miss, if they don’t kill her, they’ll have her. Back to Southaven, back to the tests, the skin samples, the animals, the people, the dead – Take Logan’s powers, her treacherous brain tells her. There’s no nobility in survival, and if she kills him she’ll live forever.
“Agh!” she groans, pressing her elbows to her head and falling into a crouch. The dark and the monster – she can’t fight them both at once. She knows she can’t.
Metal sings. Rogue opens her eyes to three of Logan’s claws. Hazel eyes meet hers and say, wordlessly, “No one’s taking you anywhere.” She nods, believing. The darkness recedes and the monster crawls back in it.
The helicopter is low enough to be seen now. It makes waves in the big pond as it prepares to land. Navy blue with an American flag painted on the side. But…that’s wrong.
“This can’t be what we think.” Rogue lets him help her to her feet slowly, counting the stars and stripes to be sure. “This would be a violation of international airspace, and, seriously, I am not that important.”
The door of the helicopter opens. They see a briefcase first, then a business suit with a woman inside. Short black hair windblown, she ducks her head slightly as she strides gracefully toward the cabin. She smiles when she sees them in the window, slides off her large black sunglasses to reveal blue-tinged skin.
A mutant. Rogue leans back against Logan in relief. He remains wary, lifting his claws against he window. The mutant businesses woman continues to smile. Holds up her briefcase like a white flag.
Rogue looks up at Logan. “I think she comes in peace.”
Reluctantly, he follows her to the porch, where he opens the door for the visitor, barking, “Who the hell are you?”
Over the roar of the helicopter, the woman yells, “My name is Sheryl Maxwell. I’m a representative from the International Mutant Rights Initiative in the States. I need a moment of your time.”
“Lady, do I look like I wanna subscribe to any newsletter?”
Ms. Maxwell’s smile gets toothier. “We don’t exactly deliver our materials door to door by helicopter, Mr.…”
“Logan.”
“Mr. Logan.” Her attention falls on Rogue, who he’s trying to block from the doorway. “I’m actually here to speak to Miss D’Ancanto about Southaven Mutant Treatment Clinic. We’d very much like hear her story.”
Rogue’s eyes widen.
“Yeah? And what if she ain’t interested?”
She dips under his arm to talk to Ms. Maxwell directly. “You’re pressing charges?”
“We’re setting a trial date as we speak. We need your testimony, regarding the death of Captain Danvers. We know it wasn’t your fault.”
Rogue’s hands clutch the dog tags hanging underneath her scarf. Yes, yes, finally – Somebody. The story tumbles out of her, most of it probably lost to the noise of helicopter blades, some of it unvoiced. “Carol chose to be there because they said they could cure her, but nothing was working – ” She wanted to serve her country more than she wanted to fly with the wind in her face – “She didn’t get a cure, she got me. She was in a coma, and her parents came every day – ” With model airplanes and daffodils and – Here she pauses. How to explain without sounding…“The doctors kept pushing. It wasn’t my fault.” End at the beginning, the only way.
Logan’s arms are wrapped around her elbows, she realizes, holding her up.
Ms. Maxwell is nodding, something hard in her eyes. “Good, Rogue. Good. Our lawyers will take your deposition – that is, if you and your…” Her sharp smile returns. “…guardian? Will consent to coming with us to New York. I understand you’re both wanted by Canadian authorities.”
Rogue flushes, blinking back tears. Can she still testify? Will anyone else believe her? Does this woman really? “I – Hold on, Ms. Maxwell.” She tries to push Logan inside. He’s a brick wall.
Ms. Maxwell frowns. “We don’t have much time.”
“Just one minute, I need to get my stuff,” Rogue replies. To Logan: “Please.”
He steps back and lets the screen door shut, leading her into the den. She stands over his hiking pack, twisting the ends of her gloves. “You gotta tell me what to do. I’m too shaky to see stupid right now.”
Logan sizes her up for what feels like forever. “What does she mean ‘guardian?’ I don’t like the way she said that.”
“Who cares! She’s a way out for both of us. But – ” Rogue is trying to think like him, and it’s hard because he’s not in her head and the possibility of vindication is something she doesn’t want to ignore. “But is it too convenient? Logan! Stop looking at me like that and tell me what to do!”
“How the hell should I know?” he growls, shoving his index finger in her face. “You’ve fed me nothin’ but lies. You’re a goddamn minor! You were never in the army.” He grabs hold of Carol’s dog tags, bringing her shock close to his fury. “You held her until she died – interestin’ choice of words. You ever say anythin’ straight?”
She wants to slap him. Her arms hang loosely. She’s dead inside, but it’s not her own death she feels. “I told you I was dangerous, and I told you I was a liar. But I wasn’t a monster until they made me one.”
His blunt fury twists into a grimace. “Marie, you ain’t a monster. You’re just – ”
Rogue is on the ground, glass raining down on her, before she can find out just what she is.
Hand to her neck where the chain to Carol’s dog tags snapped, she scrambles to the gaping window – punched through and ripped out. Her heart leaps into her throat. Logan is sprawled out on the far grass and leaning over him is Fangs.
Bait! She was bait.
“Leave him alone!” she screams, hurling herself from the window frame despite adrenaline-offsetting nausea.
A strong yank on her ankle drops her flat on her stomach.
Rogue twists painfully to her side, a dark blue face with glittering golden eyes coming into focus. Same toothy smile.
Dark, angry storm clouds gather overhead, faster than Rogue has ever seen. A big, black jet fills the sky. Thunder cracks, and the blue woman straightens like she’s been whipped.
Moment taken, Rogue’s on her feet and fighting against the sudden wind, succeeding about as well as the helicopter. Half-sprinting, half-flying she’s trying to get to Logan before Fangs can load his unconscious body into the helicopter, which is off the ground but at the mercy of the jostling wind.
“Leave him, you idiot!” she hears the pilot scream, a sure sign they’re cutting their losses.
Lightening strikes, hitting the ground at Fangs’ feet, causing him to drop Logan off his back like a sack of flour. Rogue is there in an instant, dragging, carrying Logan through the cold, blinding wind and into the woods, where the brush is thick enough to hide him.
As abruptly as it started, the wind dies.
Jet engines and helicopter blades – former sounds like it’s landing, latter as if it’s unsteadily rising. Rogue is too far into the woods to see the helicopter until it’s cleared the cabin, escaping protracted beams of red light.
Lips near Logan’s left ear, she hisses, “Wake up.” With her gloved thumbs and forefingers, she opens his eyelids. His eyes are rolled far back. Rogue knows comatose when she sees it. Looks like she’s in charge.
Twigs snap as the owners of the black jet enter the forest.
A woman’s voice, lightly accented, calls out, “Hello? If you can hear us, we’re here to help you.”
“We’re from Charles Xavier’s school for mutants in New York,” a man’s voice explains. “We want to bring you back with us. We can protect you from them.”
Biting her bottom lip, Rogue weighs her options. New York is where the blue woman said she wanted to take them, so New York is probably the last place Logan should be. Then again, if he’s been found twice, he can certainly be found a third time. And these people gave up the advantage in the fight to make sure that she and Logan were safe.
Okay. Shooting Logan a look begging for forgiveness if this goes wrong, she stands. A black woman with snow white hair and a brown-haired white man with something covering his eyes are few feet away. Both are decked head to toe in leather.
The oddity of it all gives Rogue a strange confidence. “Excuse me,” she shouts out. The leather-clad would-be heroes turn. “You’ve tried to rescue us twice now. Mind if I ask why?”
“Stay right there,” the man says, putting out a steadying hand as the two jog over. “Are you hurt?”
“Me, I’m peachy,” she says. “He’s unconscious.”
The woman kneels beside Logan, gingerly feeling around his thick skull. “He seems unharmed. Perhaps he fainted.”
Rogue tilts back her head and laughs. “Please ask him that when he wakes up and please, oh, please, let me be there when you do.”
The man looks like he wants to check Rogue for head injuries. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“I know that about three weeks ago a giant fanged mutant attacked Logan and you were there, but I got us away. Now Fangs is back, with a blue woman who tried to trick me and Logan into coming with her to New York.”
“He’s Logan. You’re…”
Her eyebrows come together. “I’m Rogue. The blue woman knew exactly who I am. Didn’t you find us from the police report?”
“What police report?” the woman asks. When Rogue doesn’t reply, she turns to the man. “Scott – This is Mr. Summers. I’m Ms. Munroe.”
“That’s what we ask the students to call us to our faces, anyway.” Guy’s got an awfully nice smile. It almost makes up for the absurdly bulky eyewear he’s sporting. “Behind our backs, it’s Cyclops and Storm.”
That explains the weather patterns. What an excellent mutation.
“We need to return to New York quickly. This man needs medical treatment and she…” Storm turns to Rogue. “How old are you, Rogue?”
The lie is on the tip of her tongue, but a glance at Logan stops it. “Seventeen.”
Cyclops looks sharply at the man at her feet. “And he’s…” There’s something in his tone that’s akin to the blue woman’s “guardian.” An accusation that, catching Logan unaware, infuriated him.
Rogue considers it an act of loyalty to answer firmly and finally, “Looking out for me.”
Gently smiling, Storm stands and puts a comforting hand on Rogue’s arm. “Now let us look out for both of you. Are there things inside that you would like to get?”
She never actually agreed to come to New York, and Storm must realize this. Rogue lets the duo wait a minute before she acquiesces with a shrug. “Lucky for me, my bag’s already packed.”
“Hurry up and get it. Storm will go with you.” Cyclops is leaning down to get Logan up.
“Uh, careful. He’s kinda heavy.”
With a long grunt of exertion, Cyclops staggers back to his feet with Logan’s arms around his shoulders.
“Told ya.”
Through gritted teeth, Cyclops says, “I’ll be fine. You two go ahead.” With small, deliberate steps, he starts to walk Logan to the jet.
Storm puts a hand on Rogue’s back. “We’ll take our time,” she tells him, going for a shared smile.
Showing himself to be good-humored, if judgmental, Cyclops puffs out a laugh.
Rogue could offer to help, but she’s had enough poker nights with Logan to know not to play all her cards at once.
“Did you finish high school, Rogue?” Storm inquires as they walk to the cabin.
“No,” she answers simply, but it’s enough for Storm to launch into a recruitment speech about all the classes she can take and credits she can earn at their school for mutants. She nods appropriately, but her mind is on the police report.
The moment Storm called its existence into question, Rogue made the leap to denial. It’s been three weeks, and now all of a sudden Southaven put two and two together and came up with High Level? Too random. Evidently, the mutants after Logan know enough about Southaven to use her as bait, but they ultimately want Logan. So that means…Well, she doesn’t know what that means. But she does know that the blue woman can change her appearance and the only police car she’d seen chasing after them was driven by a large blonde. So.
So the weight’s off her chest. Southaven never got word of where she is because the police officer Logan saw was a fake, and there were probably never even any charges pressed against her because half the money she stole belonged to the man she stole it from and the rest was dirty. Plus, the cops never made it to the bar…
Could it be that convoluted and that simple all at once?
“This school,” Rogue says suddenly, cutting Storm off mid-sentence. “Sorry. But, you’re saying I can go to this school for free. And I’ll be safe, because no one will know I’m there.” She slings Logan’s hiking bag over her shoulders.
“That’s right. Our enrollment records are kept private. Many of our students have families who don’t know that they are mutants, or families who do know and have ostracized them because of it.”
“Put me in the latter camp.” Rogue inhales deeply. “And sign me up.”
She blows out her breath. There it is, what could turn out to be the second good decision she’s made since breaking out of Southaven. Or the next terrible one. But no way she’s leaving good decision number one alone with the circus. And this place – other mutants, a roof, three squares, free…might be all right. If not, she can always ask Logan for a ride back to Canada when things die down for him.
Storm is smiling sagely, as if she’s proud. A premature evaluation, all things considered. I’m not making wise choices over here, Rogue could tell her. I’m just rolling with the punches.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000