It was the longest, hottest summer seen by Westchester in over 27 years. The longest, hottest natural summer, in any case, and in Rogue’s humbled and honest opinion, it sucked.
Unlike most normal people, Rogue much preferred the icy winds and gloomy rains of winter to the glowing heat of spring and summer.
Yeah, that’s right, a Southern belle from Mississippi, choosing winter as her preferred season. She was a freak even in her weather preferences, and had she been a positive sort of person, she might have gleaned some smidgen of comfort from the fact that, when it came to being different from every other living, breathing person, she was doing a damn fine job. Let no one ever say she was anything but thoroughly thorough.
Her quarrel with summer really, lay with the same thing that seemed to be the root of all the problems in her life – her soul-sucking (energy-absorbing, if one wanted to be politically correct) skin.
You see, summer, in her opinion, was a time for people who could lay about and soak up the heat in skimpy bikinis, have sun cream rubbed onto their backs by drooling boys, take refreshing dips in the mansion’s pool, and bitch with their friends about the state of their suntan - none of which were activities in which she could partake without rendering numerous people comatose, and adding yet more personas to the asylum in her head. Neither of which, in all honesty, were particularly appealing options.
But no, wait, she could take refreshing dips in the mansion’s pool, however any skimpy bikinis would be sadly lacking. Last summer, in his very kind, but seemingly never-ending, crusade to include Rogue in normal mansion life, the Professor had summoned her to his office and, radiating benevolence, had bestowed upon her a kindly smile, and a strange all-in-one black wetsuit, made of slick, black neoprene.
Rogue had attempted a return smile (she regretted that it may, in fact, have been of the ‘sickly and rapidly approaching death’ variety but at least she had tried), accepted the suit with words of gratitude and thanks, bounced out of his study, up to her room, and, without a second’s pause, stuffed the hideous excuse for a bathing suit into the back of her underwear drawer, and there it had remained ever since.
At first, she had experienced twinges of guilt and conscience whenever she glanced at the drawer, feeling slightly bad that the Professor had gone to so much trouble to have the suit specially designed and made, and she, essentially, had behaved like a horrendously, ungrateful cow, but over time that feeling had faded, and she had completely forgotten about the entire thing.
At least, until it had slithered back into her life, approximately one hour and seventeen minutes ago, accompanied by a loud girl, a wad of chewing gum, and an obnoxiously yellow shirt. And in the time that had passed since it return, her life, and anything that had even remotely resembled dignity had been completely and utterly destroyed.
In Rogue’s mind, this proved, firstly, that her instincts had indeed been corrected when they had informed her that no one and nobody should ever wear an all-in-one diving suit, especially when complete with black socks for both hands and feet and a neck brace, and secondly, that the Powers That Be really, really did not like her. Shit.
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One hour and seventeen minutes ago, Rogue had not hated summer. She had not been wildly enthusiastic about it, but then again, since her mutation manifested, she had not really been wildly enthusiastic about anything, perhaps with the exception of ice cream. One hour and seventeen minutes ago, she had been sitting in her room with a trashy romance novel of the highest standing, swelteringly hot despite the air conditioning, acting exactly like every other mutant teenager with soul-sucking skin. One hour and seventeen minutes ago, she had been fine.
But then Jubilee had arrived, bursting into Rogue’s room, accompanied by the unwelcome scent of strawberry chewing gum, and the much more welcome burst of air from the cooler hallway. Rogue’s small room on the third floor of the mansion had always been her haven, but now, with the weather absolutely sweltering, it was more oven than haven. But still.
Jubilee had been typically bouncy, bobbing on the soles of her feet, dressed in flip-flops, indecently short shorts, and a shirt the exact shade of yellow highlighter. She was assaulting all of Rogue’s senses just by being in the same room, and Rogue had had to strangle an indecent urge (brought on, naturally, by the presence of the Wolverine in her head, and aggravated by the heat) to get up and throttle her best friend. This urge intensified to the point of being as attractive as a shirtless Logan when Jubilee uttered the words,
‘Roguey, what are you do skulking inside on a day like this? Get your ass up and out girl, we’re having a wet t-shirt contest, and we need you to judge!’
‘I am not skulking. I am studying for that English exam we have next week, because I want a decent grade. I don’t have the time to judge a wet t-shirt contest if I want to graduate!’
Yeah, okay, maybe she had sounded a little prissy, and stuck-up, or maybe, very prissy and stuck-up if you wanted to get particular, but seriously, had she really deserved what would happen next?
Jubilee was well used to Rogue’s sharp tongue after two and a bit years of friendship, and she merely narrowed her eyes, and replied,
‘I don’t remember ‘A Summer of Love’ being on the study list for Scott’s Lit class.’
God. Damn. It.
‘I was just taking a break.’
Lame. Lame. Lame. Jubilee apparently thought so too, because she pranced across the room like she was walking on sunshine (woohhooo! – CONCENTRATE Rogue…), yanked open her underwear drawer, sending articles flying across the floor, until eventually with a gum-snap of triumph, she produced a black, rubbery object, and threw it at Rogue’s face.
‘Come on, Roguey, suck it up, stop skulking, put on the damn suit, and get your sweet Southern ass outside’.
‘Jubes. We have been friends for two and half years, and in that time I have not once questioned your sanity. Thousands would. But if you think, for one second, I am actually going to wear that thing you have lost your friggin’ mind.’
To her credit, Jubilee had not even looked affronted. The girl had backbone. She had merely yanked the suit from the floor where it had fallen, stuffed it into Rogue’s hands and barrelled her towards the small en suite bathroom, and the slamming the door, the order of ‘Change. Now.’ somewhat muffled by several inches of wood.
Rogue had stared at the suit in her hands and weighed up her options. On the one hand, the thing was clearly a fashion crime and just because a girl could show no skin, it did not mean she did not want to look good, but on the other hand, she was hot, her room was stuffy, she was itching for some fresh air, and she was approximately twenty seven seconds away from death by boredom if such a thing existed. And you know…judging a wet t-shirt competition would give her the opportunity to stare, without seeming too pathetic (i.e. without the adults seeing her watching and thinking ‘Poor, old Rogue, the girl is just like any other teenager, watching the boys. It is just so sad that she can never ever live any of those fantasies that probably flow through her over-heated, hormonal teenage head’).
And so, disastrously, she had come to the conclusion that putting on the suit and heading down to the pool with Jubes, whilst not being the best thing since sliced bread, may not be a terrifically terrible idea. (With hindsight this was a Mistake)
But anyhow, she had shed the many layers of clothes that she was wearing, and wriggled into the neoprene suit. Not, she might add, without a certain degree of difficulty, not helped by the fact that she had attempted to preserve her dignity by keeping her eyes closed the entire time, which culminated in her stubbing her toe, banging her shin, and cracking her head against the wall. Graceful, it was not.
After wriggling into the swimsuit / torture device, she had groped her way along the wall, opened the door, and stepped out. Cracking one eye open a notch, she had located Jubilee’s face, and attempted to read her expression. Failed.
‘Was I correct to never ever even look at this thing, let alone wear it?’
Slowly Jubilee shook her head. She steered Rogue around to face the full length mirror, and commanded,
‘Look.’
Rogue obeyed. The girl in the mirror (was that really her?) still sported her chocolate brown eyes, and long, thick brown hair, complete with weird white streaks on either side, but apart from that, well, Rogue was not prepared to admit that the reflection was actually her. Jubilee however, seemed to disagree.
‘You look fine, Roguey! Like a Southern belle about to go for a swim. Or snorkelling. Or scuba diving. But it’s all fine!’
Was she blind??
‘I look like a Southern belle that’s been dipped in liquorice, Jubes! In fact, I don’t think I even count as Southern belle anymore, I think I just forfeited any right to claim to be Southern when I listened to my best friend and put on all-in-one black neoprene!’
Despite the obvious passion (read: desperation) in her voice, Jubilee remained an unemotional, if rather yellow, stone statue.
‘To be honest, Roguey, I think you forfeited that right when you spent the whole of the last two summers and this entire one to date lurking in your room like an anti social slug!’
Rogue glared. Seriously, why, why, why were they friends?
Why?
‘I am not leaving this room dressed like this and that is final. No argument. I am immovable. Watch me. I am the iron woman. Never going to move. Never.’
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Ten minutes, and a small bout of heavy bribery later, Rogue found herself shuffling awkwardly downstairs, doing her utmost to hide behind Jubilee.
‘Why am I doing this again?’
‘Because it’s time you started hanging around with your friends instead of hiding in your room?’
‘Why am I doing this again?’
‘Because your presence is required to judge a wet t-shirt contest?’
‘Why am I doing this again?’
‘Yeah, yeah, we’ve done this bit.’
Hang on. What…?
‘Actually Jubes…why do you need me to judge? Why can’t you or Kitty or someone do it?’
Jubilee looked up and winked, before skipping across the rec room to the open patio doors.
‘Oh, chica, whoever said the girls weren’t taking part?’
The comment had floated back through the open door, accompanied by a cacophony of screams, jeers, shouts and splashes. Rogue had had to throttle another urge; this time the urge to run screaming from the room and go back to slowly evaporating in her own personal oven, but instead took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight.
Again, with hindsight, this was also a Mistake.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Story Notes:
Fandom is huge, my fic reading time sadly is not, so if this is like your fic, please, no voodoo dolls, or flames, it isn't intentional and I apologise. Reviews make a girl very happy.