Even though the Bird was in stealth mode, she could hear the sound of the engine clearly above the silence.
Knowing the urgency of the situation firsthand, the children were unnaturally quiet, still in shock over the events of the previous night or in awe of traveling in the Blackbird – possibly both. Physical and emotional needs were forgotten - they’d have to get over it themselves because everyone else was dealing with their own problems at the moment.
And the fact that there was no longer a doctor on board loomed thick in the air.
Scott’s shaky breaths had stilled only minutes earlier and he’d excused himself to the dressing bay where he could be alone. She tried not to look at him as he stepped past her, but her eyes flickered up to see the worn, blotchy and bruised face that had aged ten years in the past two days.
Her seatbelt was about to choke the life out of her courtesy of Bobby securing it, but she wasn’t about to loosen it – not after what happened the last time. She shuddered thinking of the way up and down seemed to meld into one and how strangely quiet the air around her had been. How, in the span of two seconds, she’d resigned herself to the fact that she was going to die and knew intimately the feeling of wanting to piss in your pants out of fright.
She could see his – the Nightcrawler’s – head above the seat two rows in front of her and fought back the urge to get up and hug him. He’d been praying in his native tongue earlier, she knew, despite the fact that German was a completely foreign language to her. She recognized the cadence to the words he was saying and took a small comfort in the fact that at least one of them had managed to hold onto their faith, be it in God, humanity, whomever – it was a wonderful gift to someone in their position.
When his head turned to the left, she followed, what she assumed, was the direction of his gaze. Logan was in the seat next to the window, but not because he was enjoying the view. His eyes weren’t even open. With his head tilted back and arms folded across his chest, one would assume he was sleeping, but everyone knew that he wasn’t. He’d shut the world out and gone to whatever place it was that kept the insanity at bay, at least for the moment.
She could see one of his hands through the gap between the two seats and looked away. The memory of the way the blood dripped from his claws was too fresh in her mind and she wondered if she’d ever be able to stop hearing the screams of those men that he’d killed.
Probably just as soon as she could look at Scott and not hear his scream when he realized what Jean had done.
It hadn’t even begun to sink in yet and she hoped that it wouldn’t. Floating in a haze of oblivion had to be better than sinking into the enormous reality of it all.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Haven't ever written a Rogue POV to my recollection, so this is a first. Not very long - done in about ten minutes to satisfy a little itch in my mind about an "I wonder what...." type of thing.