DARK SIDE OF THE MOON
thatcraftykid
track three // “BREATHE”
RUN, RABBIT, RUN / DIG THAT HOLE, FORGET THE SUN
“I killed a woman, and I use her whenever I need to. I can say I’m a victim
because that’s true, but I’m safer locked up and that’s true, too.”
– Rogue –
Rogue drops into a crouch, gripping the top of the wooden banister. Through the railings, she looks down on the main lounge where Cyclops nurses his third cup of Earl Grey.
What is it with these people and tea? Storm might as well have drank it straight from the pot, as hard as she hit it this morning. If Rogue had known how early Storm waters her rainforest, she would’ve thought twice about crashing in the greenhouse for the night. She’s been drenched awake by rain before, but looking out to clear skies while the water dripped down the wrong side of the glass was surreal. When Storm finally finished her kettle, it had been one soggy, ill-tempered walk back to her room.
Cyclops folds over the newspaper he’s reading to take a look at his watch. The sigh he lets out strikes Rogue first as dickish then as well-deserved. She’s over two hours late for their meeting, and he still hasn’t taken the hint that he’s been stood up. He either really cares about her education or he really wants to guilt-trip her. Point or not, the latter’s working.
All she has to do is walk down there. She’s been haunting the school, keeping out of sight for the most part and talking to no one since John at brunch. She’s wandered past this spot a half-dozen times, alternating between thinking Cyclops’s a prize idiot and thinking he’s a standup guy.
But if she goes downstairs she has to commit, and that’s not something she’s comfortable doing.
Frowning, Rogue hugs the railing. Making up a class schedule is not a binding contract and even if it is so the hell what? She’ll leave anyway, if she feels like it, and if she wants to come back she’ll do that, too. Logan’s absolutes are giving her a headache. And he, like his physical counterpart, still hasn’t spoken to her directly.
The top of Jean’s head emerges from under the slight balcony, and Cyclops’s tight expression melts away. She really does just float when she walks. Rogue’s eyes are locked on the sway of her hips.
Pervert.
That fails to get a rise of out the Logan in her head. It should be worrying, feeling his presence so strongly without the interaction that keeps her separate. Instead, as if a hand were stroking her hair, the agitation fades and, with it, her headache. He even does his best to ignore Jean and Cyclops kissing. Rogue glances away as thanks.
Cyclops pulls Jean into his lap, and her laugh, like every noise today, rings way too loud in Rogue’s ears. Like she’s sitting on Cyclops’s other knee, she can hear Jean murmur in approval, “Mm, you’re wearing the Burberry I bought you.”
Nuzzling along the underside of her jaw, he replies, “Chanel today. My favorite.”
Rogue straightens out her arms, titling as far back as possible so she can roll her eyes to the ceiling. Trade the brands for Abercrombie and Hollister and she could be listening in on a conversation in her old high school cafeteria. Besides that, nothing beats the smell of natural exertion on a woman, her sweat mixed with his, arousal at its peak. Heat rises to Rogue’s cheeks. A hint of her own scent makes her close her eyes, remembering a wrestling match from dual perspectives.
I could’ve won that money fair and square, she’d challenged. “No chance in hell, darlin’.” Furniture pushed aside, the den rug served as the perimeter of their hypothetical cage. He standing casually, one hand on his stomach. She bouncing on her toes, fists under brown satin balled up. Her chest rose and fell dramatically, having just escaped a takedown with a knee to the gut. It was easy to surprise him with her strength, so he hit the floor, face down. She straddled his waist and kept him pinned by digging an elbow between his shoulder blades. Leaned in, lips almost to his ear, You’re letting me win. Shifted her weight. Sugar, how come?
On her back before she can blink, his knees pressed against either side of her thighs. Beads of sweat pooled in her collarbone, and if she tasted as good as she smelled…Sharp whiff of fear sours it, but it’s for the best in hindsight because he really was going to put his mouth to her skin, consequences be damned. She almost killed him anyway, a different sort of agony. Alone in his room while she’s out for firewood, new scarf she thought she’d lost covering his fist. Her sweat was on his collar, so he almost pulled a tendon trying to taste it as he raised his ass off the bed –
Rogue’s own ass lands solidly against the floorboards, making her eyes fly open. She lost her grip on the rails. Goddamn gloves.
No one’s around, so she lets her head drift to rest on the floor. The back of her hand comes up to her damp forehead, then to her mouth so she can taste the fabric. For someone who’s forgotten most of his life, Logan sure has some vivid memories.
She groans breathily. He’d wanted her so much, and she had just been hoping against hope. The certainty is an absolute rush. Try to beat that with your sexy librarian glasses, Red. I nearly tortured him, that’s how much he wanted skinny little me.
Oh.
The sudden clench hitches her breathing. Oh, no, sugar. That’s awful. How can you think…The shame recedes as quickly as it washed over her, leaving Rogue lightheaded and struggling to sit up. He’s not trying to overwhelm her, and that’s a comfort, but he just feels everything so damned intensely. The world from Logan’s perspective is too loud, too sharp, too present for Rogue not to have to shrink away. She wants his outward stoicism as much as he wants her internally whole.
That train left the station a long time ago, she thinks, though her momma approves. He’s a bad influence, chickadee, but at least he knows it.
“You’re wrong about him.” Rogue is surprised into turning her attention to Jean, who’s now leaning forward in the chair across from Cyclops. She has his hand in hers, stroking little circles as she continues, “You’re seeing the weapon, not the man.”
“The man hasn’t done much to impress me.”
“Scott.” Jean’s tone is disappointed. “He’s harmless – ” She has to raise his voice to be heard over his incredulous laugh. “He is. But if you keep goading him he’s going to keep taking it further.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault there’s nothing to him but testosterone.”
Rogue scowls.
Jean shakes her head. “You’re both acting like children. Keep it up, and you’ll be splitting detention with John and Bobby.”
Cyclops kisses Jean’s wrist. “I relent.” He picks up his tea cup and finishes the dregs. Making a face, he asks, “Do you think he cares about Rogue’s well-being enough to convince her to stay?”
“That’s not relenting.” Folding her arms in front of her on the table, Jean looks off to the side. “I think he’s the only person who’s cared for Rogue in a long time.”
Anna Marie, she’s wrong. Your daddy and I love you.
Cringing, she bows her head. Her momma still might, sometimes, in her own way, but even she has doubts about Rogue’s father she can’t hide.
“I care,” Cyclops says, making Rogue sit up straighter. “We care. She’s one of our students now. I’ll get through to her.”
“Logan says she’s not quick to trust.”
A sore spot for him, Rogue can feel it. It’s nothing personal, she repeats, but he’s stopped believing her.
Jean adds, “Considering she spent the better part of a year alternating between being out on the streets and living in a psychiatric ward, she’s remarkably well-adjusted. Even more so, factoring in the nature of her mutation.”
Rogue’s mouth twists. The good doctor is ever so generous.
“She’s like a lot of the students,” Cyclops urges. “Like Jubilee, especially. The ones coming from the hardest backgrounds are the ones with such a sense of humor about them. Not fifteen minutes after being attacked, Rogue was giving me a hard time about my piloting.”
Jean smiles. “You can hardly blame her for that.”
“See? That’s what I mean, a sense of humor.” He takes her hand again. “Charles sorted you out. He’ll do the same for Rogue, if she’ll give him a chance.”
“I wouldn’t tell her it’s that simple,” Jean cautions. “It didn’t go well yesterday, to say the least. And after…Whatever Charles decides, it’ll be the best thing for her.”
Getting to her feet swiftly, Rogue marches away. If that’s supposed to be comforting, Dr. Poor-Excuse-for-a-Psychic is missing the mark completely. Everyone in her life who’s ever done her wrong has hidden behind that line. Her father was the worst offender.
Please, please stop blaming him. He was protecting us both.
He was protecting himself from the school board, Rogue returns savagely, loping noiselessly down the stairs. You can’t lie to me. I know what he told you behind my back. “If we let her leave the house, they’ll think we’re negligent parents. They’ll run me out of my job and us out of town.” And then what? You know.
Oh, no, baby. No. You know he didn’t mean it.
He said, “She’s not even ours.” It wasn’t the first time, either. He was planning to send me to Southaven even before you landed yourself in the emergency room. You gave him an excuse, and all because you didn’t believe me. I didn’t have to touch anyone after David to know that my skin controls me and not the other way around.
Stopping abruptly, Rogue drops her weight onto a chair in the little island of furniture in front of Professor Xavier’s classroom. She presses her knuckles to her face to keep in the impulse to snarl and tear up the seat cushions. Between her momma’s shame and Logan’s, it’s hard to tell where her own even begins.
Rogue gets up to pace. She should throw herself at the mercy of the Professor. That’s what her momma wants, and, as much as he hates to, Logan agrees. Only, there’s something underneath. Logan the Absolutist is conflicted because the part of him that’s making her bare her teeth is also telling her she needs to do for herself.
Later, she compromises. She takes off down the hall at a run. I’ll talk to the Professor later.
The smell of new food has her skidding to a halt outside the dinning hall. How is it that Logan can be so hungry so often? He doesn’t even eat all that much between meals. She clearly hadn’t absorbed the full benefits of his metabolism.
Technically, it isn’t dinnertime yet, but the woman putting out the food doesn’t say anything when Rogue picks up a tray. Chicken nuggets with fries and lots of ketchup. The woman places a cookie on her plate, winking vertically with a glittering golden eye. Unsettled in the face of manners, Rogue smiles weakly, grabs a water bottle, and ducks out the back.
Outside is a refuge again. Taking a seat on a bench, she sets the tray down next her and eats mechanically.
She always imagined that if she took in Logan – it’s sick, how often she thought about it even while swearing to prove she had the self-control to resist – it would be like drinking from a magic well of self-assurance. And why? Because he made her feel safe. Because he exercised restraint.
Another sore spot.
Restraint was something he could manage because he let her keep everything between them on her terms, thin as paper and focused solely on what she could do for him. An exchange of services and companionship for money.
With a grimace, she takes a long swig of water. The word “whore” can’t be suppressed, even though she never once felt like one and it’s the last thing he wanted her to be. Still, the shame he feels isn’t just because of her age, it’s because of her disadvantage. If he had offered to pay her, would she have been insulted enough to leave? She liked him from the beginning, but that isn’t the point. She wanted his money, she wanted his roof, and she wanted his company. She would’ve put up with a lot to secure those things for herself.
That’s his take on it. Not flattering and not fair. It wasn’t like that, and she could explain better if she had the space to draw her own conclusions.
“Rogue.”
She turns her head swiftly. “Bobby.” Shouldn’t he be in class?
“Rogue, what did you do?” He sits down on the bench beside her, his expression pinched. “They say you’re stealing other mutants’ powers.”
Earnestly, she leans forward. “No, no – I-I borrowed his power.”
Fiercely, he replies, “You never use your power against another mutant.”
Disappointment settles on her shoulders. Bobby is just like David. Just as quick to judge. “I had no choice.” Off his darkening face, she quickly continues, “No, you – you have to understand me.”
“If I were you, I’d get myself out of here.”
How could he understand her? The All-American boy who welcomed and defended her yesterday thought she was a decent person. She’d proved him wrong. It doesn’t matter that she had a good reason this time. There’s a code of conduct and she violated it. Personal sacrifice, as Logan knows, is the inevitable penalty.
Very precisely, knowing exactly, she replies, “What do you mean?”
“Listen, the students are freaked. Professor Xavier is furious. I don’t know what he’ll do with you.”
Rogue swallows. The best thing. He’s got so many other people to think about, a whole world of mutants. He’ll do the best thing for all of them, even if she doesn’t agree.
“I think it’ll be easier on your own,” Bobby says emphatically.
That hurts. She squeezes her eyes shut against it. Especially coming from someone who’d been so nice. Now he somehow even smells mean. The rumors she could laugh off, but not the confrontation. It’s too unexpected. John lulled her off her guard.
“You should go.”
Her eyes snap open. Bobby has stirred the confusion again. She knows he’s wrong, because Cyclops wants to help her and Logan’s here. She can’t do it alone, she’s tried. And for once it’s actually easier to stay than it is to go.
But he’s right, too, because it’s the inevitable penalty.
Chin jutting doggedly forward, she pushes herself off the bench. She makes it just a few steps before she turns back. Who is he speaking for? The other students? Is this really want they want? Bobby’s expression may as well be chiseled. His eyes are ice, which shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. Even freaks have standards. She takes off at a jog.
Not a sacrifice, she asserts. A stand. She has no right to feel as empowered as she does – what is this but another instance of someone forcing her hand – but it’s the last time. She’s done being jerked around. The door’s open.
An approving growl echoes, at odds with the calming effect he’s trying to have. She pushes him back and keeps her momma from speaking. They both care, but neither believes that’s enough to save her from herself. So why listen?
Rogue stops short at the closed door to her room. She eases it open, relieved to see that Kitty is curled up asleep. In and out, all she really needs is her cloak. John’s lighter, too. At least he tried.
Pocketing it and folding her cloak over her arm, she goes to stand above Kitty. The other girl looks so relaxed. She must be done with all her finals. She’ll probably call her parents later on to tell them how she thinks she did and to ask about their day. If Rogue were a person like Kitty, she wouldn’t even want to leave. She’d trust people. Rogue envies her abilities. She wants the power to walk through walls. Annoyingly symbolic.
She used to be able to justify taking what she wanted from people. Just a brush, maybe a little more. Kitty would sleep peacefully through the morning, and Rogue could make believe she’s invincible again. No point hesitating. Her experiment in morality didn’t work.
Except now Logan’s in her head, and he won’t let her raise her hand. Hot tears sting. Fine. Take Bobby’s side.
The soothing motion. She hurts herself every time she takes in more.
“So what?” she barks.
Groggily, Kitty starts to lift her head, but Rogue’s already out the door. She’s walking to Logan’s room again, only this time he’s not there. She goes directly for the closet, shaking open his hiking bag and pulling out the money she earned fair and square. She stuffs the cash into her pockets, tucking the bigger bills into her well-worn shoes.
John’s room is just around the corner. Sprawled out on the floor, he glances up from his book when she edges into the doorframe. Two younger boys playing video games at a computer don’t take their eyes off the screen.
“How do you get to the roof?” she asks John.
The question intrigues him enough to hop up and toss aside Guerilla Warfare by Che Guevara. How pretentious.
John struts down the hall, expecting her to follow. “You came to the right man, Roguey. That’s my make-out spot.”
“I bet you’ve scorched tons of initials with little hearts around them up there.”
“I’m not one to kiss and tell, but let’s just call it all your roommates.”
“Tawny, too?”
“The one’s who’ve developed breasts.”
“So not Kitty, either.”
“You really are a bitch.” He pushes open a thick door under an exit sign. He must’ve disabled the alarm awhile back.
“That’s a fire hazard,” she points out, going through.
He jogs up the stairs. “What do I care?”
“And I’m the bitch.”
A slight wind pushes hair into her face as she emerges onto the flat portion of the roof. They’re on top of one of the castle-like towers. She peers over the side, which is a view over the gate and down the winding lane to the main road. The sun is just starting to go orange. She’ll be able to get a ride well before dark.
“When did you hook up with Kitty?” she asks idly, trailing her gloved hand over the stonework as she walks around the edge.
“Right after she broke up with her ex.”
Rogue turns her head to cock an eyebrow at him. “But she ended up with Bobby.”
John, who has his arms folded across his chest, shrugs. “I don’t do the dating thing.”
“I see.” She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and presents his lighter.
“Delinquent,” he grins, holding out his hand. Catching it, he flips it open and lights a flame. “Nice one.”
“I figured I owed it to you, since I’m depriving you of the chance to add my name to your list of conquests.”
“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” he replies, concentration on rolling a ball of fire from the center of palm to the back of his hand. “I left, too. Stole a bunch of stuff, joined a mutant supremacist gang.” He pops the flame, intact, up into the air where it puffs into smoke. “Came back, obviously.”
“Mutant supremacist gang? Che isn’t exactly reformed reading, now is it?”
“Here or prison.” He flips the top of his lighter closed. “I actually met Jubilee while I was in LA. She was paying her way doing tricks at the mall. Kind of funny, since her parents were so loaded before they lost everything. Bad business, ended up murdered.”
“Okay. I get it. My life isn’t so bad. Blah, blah.” Rogue leans against the side. “Only Jubilee never sparkled anyone to death, and you didn’t kill your foster parents.”
“That’s the thing, maybe I did. Maybe the fire triggered my mutation, maybe I started it in my sleep. I have no idea.”
God. Rogue’s chin droops. “Do you ever think they’re right about us?”
“That we’re dangerous? Hell yes we are. And if they try anything, we’ll prove it to them.”
“Not what I meant. I’m different than you and pretty much everyone here. I don’t mean to be dangerous. I just am.” Watching her shadow flicker, Rogue says evenly, “I killed a woman, and I use her whenever I need to. I can say I’m a victim because that’s true, but I’m safer locked up and that’s true, too. Only I don’t care about safer. I just care about myself.”
“Who doesn’t? We’re all selfish fucks. That’s about the only thing mutants and humans have in common.”
Rogue smiles grimly, putting her arms through the sleeves of her cloak. “You’re an asshole, John. And I can’t say I’m not glad.”
He shrugs again. Scratches his forehead. “Any farewell messages?”
“Just one. Tell Logan thanks for everything, but I couldn’t wait for a lift.” She swallows thickly. “Tell him he needs to take care of himself and not to come looking for me.”
“Like he’ll listen.”
He won’t, and Rogue doesn’t really want him to. But some things are out of even Logan’s control, and maybe that’s what’s so empowering. “I don’t think he’ll have much of a choice.” The last button of her coat secured, she backs up toward John and loosens her shoulders. “Don’t let anyone know until they figure it out, okay?”
“On one condition.” The smirk on John’s face tells her exactly what he’s after.
“Pft. A goodbye kiss is out of the question, unless you have a thing for comas.”
“You’re confusing me for a romantic.” His grin makes him look like a little boy. “I was actually looking to cop a goodbye feel.”
Rogue, hand on her hip, wonders how someone so smug can be so charming.
It all comes back to Logan, doesn’t it?
Shaking her head, she presses John in a hug. “Like I said, no sounding the alarm on me, okay?” She playfully pushes him away when he squeezes her ass.
He puts up his hands, backing up further. “Roguey, it’s your life. Do what you like.”
“I always get around to that. See you if I see you, Sparky.”
“Sounds about right.”
Filling up her lungs, she takes off at a sprint. This is how she left Southaven, with a leg up over the side and nosedive that turned into a last-second arc.
John’s whoops follow her down and up. “Fucking beautiful!” he exults.
Rogue smiles against the wind, her entire body humming with Carol’s strength. One of the few promises she’s ever kept. Sitting cross-legged in the dark at the end of a hero’s bed, listening to the beat of a heart monitor.
She lets go with an abandon she hasn’t dared in a long time.
I love it when you let me fly. There’s gratitude in the bell-voice, along with an apology. The doctors are to blame, but Carol was the one who provoked the monster, brought on the dark. Only when she flies is it worth it.
Warmth propels her as she makes loops and tight spirals. Rogue can’t look back, not yet.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000