This is what straightjackets are made for.
Well maybe they weren’t designed with mutants in mind, but this would be as good a time as any to have one. Or so Marie thought, as her body launched into another set of spasms. She had stopped screaming a while ago, seeing as how it wasn’t really getting her anywhere. Her muscles continued to seize, voices kept shouting in her mind, and she was still locked in the mansion’s isolation room. It wouldn’t do to have a sore throat on top of it all. Not that she would use her voice for anything though; her never-ending apologies fell on deaf ears.
With the sudden burst of copper flooding her mouth she realizes she must have bitten her tongue. Again. It’s almost enough to distract her from the warm wetness she can feel running from her clenched eyes. She’s sure she would have drowned in her own blood and tears by now. She can’t even feel ashamed anymore by wanting that if it means this ends. She’s not used to this much physical pain. Usually it’s all mental; the voices, the name-calling, the insults, foreign memories. That, while still hellish, she can deal with to some degree. She’s used to that, she has some tricks up her sleeve to help deal with the mental side effects of an absorption, ways of drowning out the voices and reminding herself of who she is. This time is different though. The physical pain is so intense, Marie can’t focus enough on those old reliable methods. For some reason Carol stays mostly silent, instead attacking Marie’s battered body from the inside out. Even her memories, which have always been the hardest thing for Marie to compartmentalize after an absorption, aren’t infiltrating her mind. Most of those are locked away, just barely out of reach, but still noticeable like a sore in the back of her mouth. Part of her wants to prod because it’s just there with a subdued ache, but Marie is crippled enough without the constant onslaught of another person’s memories.
When most of her body loosens and her muscles start the incessant twitching between total body spasms, Marie wonders, not for the first time, how much control Carol has. How much damage she can do. A vague memory stirs up of a humid Mississippi summer day spent in her grandmother’s nursing home, watching the machines she was attached to. Kidney failure, her momma had said, even though she was too young to understand what any of that meant. Now Marie wonders if she’ll know what that feels like without the machines. Or maybe Carol will go for her liver, let bile overtake her body instead. If she can even do that. Marie doesn’t know; she’s never killed anyone with her mutation before.
She chokes down the blood now that her throat is working again. With a tremulous hand she wipes away what trickled out of her mouth, but ends up soaking her gloves. They can’t see any worse. She’s been wearing them since she got here. Well, before that even. Since she absorbed Carol. Since her “family” forced her out of bed and into an unmarked car. Marie didn’t catch on until it was too late. Actually, she didn’t really get it at all, it was Carol who understood.
In the confusion of absorbing her, it was the dead X-Man’s thoughts that rolled through Marie, recognizing the set up and lack of the usual Brotherhood presence for what it was. An assassination. There were so much of Carol’s half-formed feelings rolling through Marie, but she could only latch onto a precious few, hoping to understand the situation. There was no Intel to be gained from the little Rogue, the Brotherhood’s least used, but highly advertised member. She was finally the weapon Magneto had threatened them with and Mystique pulled the trigger. Carol’s strength couldn’t even shake the shape shifter’s hold once the Rogue had drained enough of her. Then it never stopped. Not even when Carol was far too weakened to fight back against the both of them, not even when the Rogue’s tearful gaze met Mystique’s and she kept brokenly sobbing “why, please, why”?
It ended when there were two bodies on the floor, both very much broken shells, but for two very different reasons. Through one watery set of eyes, both saw an enemy and a foster mother turn and leave.
The digital tone of a keypad code brought Marie around to the present. Still twitching, still on the floor. She learned the value of keeping small and still long before she was hauled off to Xavier’s. It must be the reason she earned the privilege of face-to-face food deliveries now. For a while it was nothing but nourishment shoved through a slot in the door when her borrowed strength accidentally broke the chains during a particularly bad seizure. But now, after being so resigned, she’s finally treated to a person.
And sometimes they don’t even yell at her.
This time it was the one with the red sunglasses – Scott, according to Carol. She didn’t bother checking what was on the menu. Even if Carol was gracious enough to let her digest properly, Marie didn’t have the will to do so. It smelled like peanut butter and jelly from where she was and her stomach protested.
Shame, she used to love peanut butter and jelly.
“Here you go.” Very polite, very stiff. He sets the plate on the floor along with milk and a banana. The small part of her that’s still holding onto her old life with the Brotherhood wants to laugh at the wholesomeness. She doesn’t know why they still bother, when someone returns with a plate for dinner they’ll just end up leaving with one untouched from lunch. They know this, which is probably why the guy – Scott – pauses and frowns.
“You should really eat.” She’s not sure if that’s an order or a general observation. She’s more accustomed to the former and doesn’t know how to respond to the latter. So she doesn’t.
“Rogue, you –“ He’s about to launch into some type of leader speech. That’s something she does recognize from living around Erik for so long. Scott’s lecture is cut off when a shadow, a person, a wall of muscle appears behind him. She stiffens, her body preparing for the threat of Victor before her brain gets any say in the matter. When he steps forward into the light of the room she sees that it’s actually not Victor at all, but the expression on this new man’s face and the tension in his massive body keep her on alert. For good reason. His sharp glare fixes on her and she can see the promise of violence lurking just under the surface. A small window offering a selection of Carol’s memories don’t negate that and Marie knows this is the Wolverine.
“Logan, is there something you need?” She didn’t think it was possible, but Scott’s even stiffer than before.
Those focused hazel eyes don’t leave her. “Yeah. Garage. Your brats can’t change oil for shit. It’s everywhere.” His gaze narrows. Is he?...Yes, he is. He’s sniffing for something. She’s seen Victor do it enough.
“Then why didn’t you take care of it?”
Finally the Wol – Logan – looks at his teammate. “Not my class, not my problem, One-Eye.”
Scott sighs and looks like he’s desperately trying to find some sense of inner calm. In a tightly controlled voice he asks, “Can’t you do something about it? I’m a little busy here.” Marie imagines he would sound that way if he was talking about laundry instead of her.
This would be very different in her home, or what she thought of as her home. There wouldn’t even be a pretext of calm. Any member of the Brotherhood would take to the other’s throat and launch into a display of power.
Logan steps up to Scott and snarls, “I’m not your fucking maid or a goddamn lap dog, Cyke.”
So maybe some things don’t change.
“She needs to eat.”
Logan’s response is immediate and not lacking in venom. “What the fuck for?”
All calm is lost. “Just make yourself useful dammit!” And with that Scott hands off the untouched breakfast plate and storms out.
Leaving Marie with Logan.
He looks at the plate he’s holding, then looks at her. He gives her a snort of disgust and leaves too, closing the door harder than is probably necessary.
She’d rather be alone with her sandwich anyway.
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Scott came back a few hours later with dinner and a lecture. He’d probably been planning it the whole time. Figuring out how to balance giving a command with the practiced concern he no doubt got from his professor. She really should eat something, then they can discuss things like adults, what point is she trying to make, and isn’t this getting just a bit ridiculous, Rogue? She still didn’t eat. If she kept missing meals then one day she could save Scott the time of preparing his speeches.
Maybe they had an X-meeting or whatever they called them because while she was just coming down from another spasm her breakfast delivery service arrived. In the form of one pissed off feral. They must have discussed her mutation because he was completely covered, gloves and all. She could see three evenly spaced rips in the knuckles of the gloves though. Not that she’d take advantage of the skin contact. Not after the last absorption. Not with this guy.
“Eat this.” He slid the plate none too gently towards her curled up body, a good portion of the food spilling when it hit her elbow. He cursed, but she didn’t dare look up at him. Just stay small, just stay still. That’s all she had to do. If it worked, at least some of the time around Victor, then it can work around this guy too. Except she couldn’t stop the twitches in random parts of her body and her shot nerves were working towards another full body episode.
She hears some colorful cursing from the man in plaid. “The fuck are you waiting for, kid? I gotta make sure you eat so I’m not leavin’ ‘til you stuff somethin’ in your damn mouth.”
He’s not Victor. He’s not Victor. He’s not Victor. The shakes won’t stop. She’s too far gone to figure out if her reaction is more from fear of this guy or if it’s just Carol’s standard punishment. She feels the familiar tightening crawling up her spine and spreading throughout her bones, each disc fusing, each joint locking. The pain licking through her limbs like white-hot fire. One by one, her muscles constricting and locking, some releasing only to clamp up again. Pressure like a vice on all sides of her head and behind her clenched eyelids Marie could practically see Carol using her superhuman strength to do it. Marie clenched her teeth against it, hoping this time she wouldn’t get a mouthful of blood.
Distantly she can hear noises, a voice, but whether it was her own, Carol’s, or Logan’s she couldn’t tell. She feels the shards of the plate digging into her, lodging into side and back and realizes that she must have broken the plate at some point. Hopefully Xavier didn’t use the fine china with his prisoners. Just like her original mutation she can’t get control of Carol’s. Her strength and invulnerability not easily attainable or consistent. She would bleed now, but the minute she was alone with a leftover shard of the plate, the delicate skin of her wrists wouldn’t cleave no matter how hard she tried. Through the fog and shouting in her mind she could tell that somebody was touching her though. Not skin, but she could feel a weight on her. Considerable weight holding her down, trying to unlock her arms and pin her legs down. She wanted to warn them, tell them how dangerous it was to be so close to her, that she was a killer, that she had killed, that she should be killed. What came out was more of a guttural cry. A defeated, broken sound. And for her efforts she ended up biting her tongue again. Still locked, she couldn’t get her throat to work, her jaw to open. There was nowhere for the blood to go and she was sure she would choke this time. Just as sure of it as she was of the tears pouring down her face. She thought there were more voices, but her own crippled moans bubbling up around the blood in her mouth began to drown everything else out.
“Dammit, kid.” was the last thing she thought she heard before Carol finally broke her.
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“Does she look like she’s gonna attack anyone?”
“You know what she’s capable of, Logan. It’s a precaution.”
“Yeah, and so were those fucking chains. Lotta good those did. She could’ve done a shit ton more damage than that and she didn’t –“
“And Carol? You saw what she did to her. I think she has done enough damage.”
“It’s all right Jean.”
Marie wasn’t in the isolation room. That was clear even if the details weren’t. It was colder here, the air wasn’t as stale even though it had a cloying disinfectant smell…
“Rogue?” And this new room could fit far more people than her little cell. Or were those voices coming from inside of her? She swallowed and tasted copper. Gingerly, she opened her eyes, blinking against lighting that was even harsher than what she had been getting used to in isolation. Of course it was, she was in some kind of medical wing. She took in the room and the amount of metal they’d used to build it almost made her shudder with the memory of Erik. She felt a light pressure in her head at that, far different from Carol’s.
“I trust you’re feeling better.” She finally found the owner of that voice. He must be their professor. She figured a man who would…er…roll around his own mansion in a three-piece suit would be addressed as nothing but. He wasn’t what she had in mind though. She couldn’t remember how often she had heard members of the Brotherhood, her “family”, talk about Xavier. She expected a feeble old man, withering under his flailing hope and the pressures of an anti-mutant world. She wasn’t prepared for the serene smile or the knowing eyes.
Telepath, she remembered.
He rolled closer to her. “You are feeling better aren’t you?” Actually…she did. The muscle twitches weren’t as bad as they usually were. In fact, there was just an odd pinging every now and again that reminded her of a car engine cooling down. She had a headache, but compared to what she was used to it was manageable. She still tasted copper and her poor tongue was too sensitive to really check. Her shirt was damp though, probably soaked with sweat and blood. She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for an answer, or if he had really asked a question at all. Wouldn’t he know that she wasn’t exactly talkative these days? He was a telepath after all.
“I’m fairly certain you know where you are?” She could give him a nod while her body was still cooperating.
“Good. I’d like to offer you my apologies, Rogue. I was away and came as soon as I heard what had happened.” What, that she had killed one of his X-Men? No, he couldn’t know everything if he was telling her he was sorry. Didn’t his people tell him? Don’t they have a body somewhere?
“Rogue.” She was caught up again in those perceptive eyes. Took in his carefully measured tone, “I know that all is not as it seems.” The weary smile he gave her was enough to make her crack. When would she finally run out of tears? When would she not have a use for them? She wanted to tell him everything, to throw herself at his feet and ask him, no beg him, to please, please understand. It was the first smile she had received in days, probably longer if she remembers her time with the Brotherhood correctly. She was desperate for kindness, but expected none.
A gloved hand appeared with a box of standard hospital tissues and that’s when she noticed that she wasn’t alone with the professor. A stately redhead in a lab coat offered her the box with thinly disguised mistrust – Jean. Carol was kind of handy when she cooperated. With slow, practiced movements that only someone whose skin kills others could have, Marie took the box from the doctor and began sopping up the mess on her face. Scott was just behind her, his expression, what Marie could make of it behind his glasses, wasn’t as hostile as the good doctor’s. Logan was there too. Just at the foot of her bed with his brow furrowed, probably pissed that she’s still alive and kicking, even though she can’t help the latter thanks to Carol. Having spent a couple of days in a small isolation cell, she suddenly felt too exposed and found herself checking her gloves. Ruined. Disgusting. Like the rest of her.
“I’m sure you would like to get cleaned up and shown to a room?” A room? Like, not a padded cell?
“Professor…” Apparently that idea confused other people too.
“Jean I believe we’ve discussed at length.” Marie was relieved when the professor turned his attention towards the doctor. She dared to glance up and saw that his gaze was even more penetrating, but at least it wasn’t focused on her. Telepath.
“These past few days have been quite long indeed and I think everyone could benefit from some rest.” Marie was struck by how…not very commanding, Xavier’s command was. She didn’t know what to do with the patient, but expectant expression on the man’s face, the warm tone of his voice. As if they were allowed to question him. The X-Men must have their own consequences for challenging their leader though because none of them spoke up.
“Logan, could you please show Rogue to her room?” Uh…what were the consequences if she challenged him? Maybe the Brotherhood was right, the professor had lost it. No one in their right mind would leave the growling feral in charge of her, even for a brief period of time. He’d rip her to shreds, but maybe that’s a part of their plan. Promise of a shower and a room after days of nothing only to kill her in what she knew would be the most violent of ways. At this point all Marie hoped for was for it to be done quickly, but given what she had done to one of their own, she doubted she’d be granted that.
The not-so stable man in question grunted, clearly not impressed with the situation. Well, she wasn’t such a challenge. He could kill her easily and some flicker of Carol’s memories clued her in on the fact that the Wolverine wasn’t a fan of an easy kill. Instead of looking at her he seemed to be considering the unlit cigar that was rolling back and forth between his fingers. She knew, just knew he had to be thinking about the most satisfying way of doing her in. Logan barely looked at her when he shoved the cigar into his mouth and cocked his head towards the door. He didn’t wait to see if she’d follow.
With all the grace of a colt Marie unsteadily removed the blankets and began to get to her feet, muscles pinging away.
“Oh Rogue, I’d like you to stop by my office tomorrow afternoon. Please feel free to come after you’ve eaten lunch.” Another patient smile, more warm tones. The words I’d like you to and please feel free foreign to her. This was a tactic she was unfamiliar with. Is this what kill them with kindness meant? For lack of anything better to do she just nodded and cautiously followed her new reluctant tour guide.
The Wolverine was impatiently waiting by an open door down the hall. She couldn’t think of him any differently. She couldn’t reconcile Logan, the man she had fleeting glimpses of in the limited access of Carol’s memories to the glowering mutant that stood before her, arms crossed, still chewing on his unlit cigar. Another inclination of his head and she saw that it wasn’t exactly an open door, it was - the elevator – yes, Carol had used it everyday. With no alternatives Marie stepped into the little box with the big angry man. He jabbed a button and part of her thought she should remember the floor number on the off chance that he wouldn’t kill her, but she had to concentrate on her body. The last time she was in close proximity to him she absolutely lost it, still had no idea how she came through that one. The pinging was getting more insistent, turning into a random jerk of a limb. No, no, no. She couldn’t do this in the elevator, not so close to him, not with her skin.
“Quit it.” Now that she recognized as a command, even if it was bit out around the cigar. A fall of hair hid her downturned face from him, but she still risked a glance out of the corner of her eye. The way he was worrying it she almost wondered if he’d put the unlit stub in his mouth to distract himself. Then she thought about how absurd it was to assume the Wolverine would practice any kind of self-restraint.
Something passed right over her, a flash of a chill followed by a tingling heat that signaled the blood sugar crash feeling of someone else’s awareness. She caught foreign images of a familiar hairy, grumpy mutant, teasing thoughts of words like cigar and pacifier from her most recent mind-tenant.
To which Marie burst out laughing.
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Story Notes:
Where to start....So this is going to be my first attempt at a multi-chapter thingymajig. I already have about seven written, waiting for more read throughs & tweekings. It's also a movie/comicverse mashup and I plan on taking several liberties because it's my sandbox dammit and I'll play with these guys however I want! I've never liked Carol, so she's not the exactly portrayed as the good guy the comics make her out to be. In this, Marie has to figure out what the Brotherhood is up to, who she can trust, how to let others trust her, blah blah blah blah, lots of shirtless growling Logan (maybe even more, wink, wink). Don't be alarmed if he does some bad growling towards Marie at first - this is going to be a slow build.
Author's Chapter Notes:
As always, sorry for any mistakes.
Chapter End Notes:
Oh hi again! So I would love (i.e. need) to hear what you guys think. I know things are a bit muddy, but I've got plans & writings & the like, but I would still love your thoughts. Also, I'm in the market for a beta-reader if anyone's interested. The job involves the usual spelling, grammar, punctuation duties, but bouncing ideas off of someone & help keeping story facts straight - continuity of this monster - is greatly appreciated.