It was an accident, that much I know.
“Rogue, look out!”
A scarlet sun set ablaze the twilight; fiery, glowing embers illuminating a darkened sky. The heat of the morning was oppressive, sweltering; but I couldn’t cease the shivers that wracked my body. A guilty conscience needs no accuser.
Hazy images of reds and earthy browns coloured my vision and I couldn’t expel the terrified screams, the sounds of mayhem magnified ten-fold. The pungent, heady aroma of freshly-spilled blood filled my nostrils, suffocated me. I coughed, choking; covering my ears in the silence, desperate for reprieve, desperate for anything.
It was still dark out when I awoke. The digital clock on my nightstand announced rudely in electronic, flaming red numbers that it was 1 a.m.
Thinking to turn over and return to a land of lollipops and sugar plums, a sudden noise startled me. I lay still, unmoving, my breath hitched and eyes wide, staring intently at the shadowed figure displayed on the wall before me.
I didn’t recognize the scent, but then, I didn’t know too many people with whom I could compare it. Heavy, laboured breaths filled the tiny room, breaths that weren’t my own.
Why was someone in my room? Did no one have any respect for—or at least fear—the girl with the deadly, life-sucking skin? Angry now, I huffed, turning impatiently in my bed. A large—huge, I amended solemnly—shadowed figure stood in front of me, bathed in the golden glow of the streetlights. Oh fuck. I screamed.
A thump, then, at my door and I jumped a mile high. Anxiously, blood pulsing like a thick, icy sludge through my veins, I clutched the blanket draped across my shoulders tighter about me and moved towards the door, the clamminess of my skin making my gloves stick to me.
“Marie! Open the fuckin’ door!” Relief flooded through me, the husky timbre of his voice familiar, calming.
Gathering the worn, threadbare blanket more closely about me, one hand clutched the scraggly woollen folds, the other reached for the rattling doorknob.
Rusted, yellow hinges screeched piercingly in protest as the heavy wooden door snapped back against the wall with a sickening thwawck and suddenly he was there, his black presence looming high above me, fists clenched tightly at his sides, muscles flexed, chest heaving with every breath, and I felt my knees turn to jelly as those dark, feral eyes met mine.
I staggered, in my mind, surprised at the forceful anger present in those eyes, but I’d seen it before…
“What the hell did you think you were doing, huh? Running off like that in the middle of the fuckin’ night! I’ve been worried sick, Marie.”
My legs wobbled dangerously beneath me and I stumbled backwards, my gaze not breaking from his. I fell back against the wall, sliding down onto the heap of blankets piled high on the cold floor.
I turned my back, only for a moment and watched with stark horror as Sabretooth’s massive, hulking form stalked towards me. The sight of him alone was enough to unnerve me…looking beyond him, Wolverine lay still, unmoving, on the floor. Shit.
Wielding a long, gleaming metal staff, Mystique moved quickly towards me from behind. I turned again to Sabretooth. Both were coming quickly at me now. I looked around; the others were all fighting battles of their own.
Suddenly, my feet flew out from under me and I found myself dazed and gazing up into strangely flickering yellow eyes. From the left, huge meaty paws reaching for me had me screaming in fright. I was gonna die, I knew.
A crack of thunder sounded loudly overhead and above me, Mystique was suddenly gone, but Sabretooth had grabbed me, sharp claws digging deep into the tender flesh of my upper-arms, slicing through the thin, flimsy cotton of my nightgown. My eyes snapped shut and I struggled against him to no avail. He was too strong. Red light seeped through my closed eyelids and the world became a jumbled mass of scents and sounds the more he shook me.
Then, I was sitting on the hard ground, rubbing my arms feverishly, trying to ward off an imaginary chill.
“It was an accident,” I murmured low beneath my breath, my eyes focusing and unfocusing as the nightmare played without cease before my tired eyes. “She—I…”
Kneeling now, hands cradling my gloved hands, “Marie, look at me.” His tenderness belied the gruff rawness of his tone.
I didn’t want to look at him, to see the grim, icy reproach in those beautiful hazel eyes I had only ever known to be soft, sympathetic when directed my way.
“You’re off the team.”
“No, please…It was an accident.”
Hurt, confusion, anger cloaked me. Accusing eyes surrounded me, glaring witheringly from familiar faces.
“Please…”
“Rogue,” I stated, moving away from him, knowing innately that I was no longer the same person—my hands were stained.
I heard him sigh, a sound, my heart reminded me, I wished didn’t mean he had given up on me.
“Come back with me.”
I met those hazel orbs for the first time and I shuddered, shaking my head. “No. I’ll never go back there, Logan.” Too many memories, too much pain. “He kicked me off the team. No one wants me there, not after what happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” His hands gripped my upper-arms too tightly and I winced. He let go of me, sitting back on his heels, still facing me. “I ain’t goin’, darlin’. If you ain’t goin’ back to the mansion, I ain’t either.”
I caught my bottom lip tightly between my teeth and met that darkly stubborn gaze, determined and unrelenting. “Scott was right. I wasn’t ready to be on the team. I couldn’t take care of myself and now Storm’s dead because of me!”
Logan’s eyes softened, “No. We’re a team, Marie. We work together, we help each other. Don’t you dare take that fuckin’ guilt trip. You think I don’t feel guilty? You were in trouble and where was I, huh? Knocked the fuck out.” He became silent, his eyes closing in pain. “If I’d fought harder…killed that son of a bitch, then ‘Ro would probably be alive now. That fuckin’ kills me, Marie.”
Tears rolled slowly down my cheek and I moved across the room to envelope him in my arms. “I’m sorry, Logan.”
His lashes fluttered against his cheeks and he opened his eyes to stare hard into mine. “I know, kid. I am, too…No one wanted you to leave, darlin’, no one blames you for what happened and Cyke didn’t mean what he said, y’know? After we found you gone, he was kicking himself all over the fuckin’ mansion.” He chuckled lightly, his arms tightening about me, “It was actually kinda funny.”
I felt the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile, then watched as his eyes darkened again. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t go back. I know that Scott was upset, that they’re all upset, but if I hadn't insisted on coming along...maybe 'Ro would still be alive. I feel so damn guilty and that’s something that’s always gonna trail after me." A storm cloud hovering over me. No less than I deserve.
The sun, a golden ball of fire, scarlet flames licking the noonday sky, had already risen higher over the trees and that run-down parking garage in the distance, the irony not escaping me, and we sat together in silence for a while.
“You’re not gonna come back with me, are ya?” His voice was hoarse and I knew that my answer would hurt him, so I simply shook my head.
To my surprise, he just nodded, as though he'd known all along that I had no intention of returning to the mansion.
Trailing one finger along the length of his sideburn, I tried not to seem too disappointed when he released me from his embrace and took both of my hands in his own. A lump already forming in my throat, I watched as his eyes rose to mine, a soft smile curling the corners of his lips. "I'll get my stuff."
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, never have, never will--I just like to play with 'em; especially Logan ;p
My first complete fic period. This is a short little piece that kinda came out of nowhere. I had a dream that Rogue had gone off alone and I wrote this story as a sort of explanation. Italics indicate flashback moments.