Rogue wearily dragged herself out of bed, rubbing at her gritty eyes as she yawned, and stumbled into her bathroom.
She had been at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters now for ten years; initially a student, and later a teacher. When she arrived she had been thankful for the roof over her head, and the warm food to fill her belly, after months on the road and eventually being rescued from the clutches of the Brotherhood by the X-Men. As she had settled, she had relaxed into her former youthful persona, throwing herself into growing through her teenage years as much as any girl with killer skin could. She studied, she went to parties, she had a few boyfriends - though their attentions never got past first base. Her aspirations of going to college with her peers were thwarted by her skin, though she did some online courses to get her teachers certification.
Mostly though, she, Rogue, just existed. Full time teacher, part time superhero, watching the world tick by wondering just what exactly she was meant to do in it. Was she here for a reason? What was her purpose? Was there a point to this half life she lived? Trapped in an untouchable body in a world that thrived on physical contact...
Wrenching the shower on she stepped under the scalding spray, hoping to distract her brain from its usual melancholy. Her brain promptly asked her why the hell she was bothering getting out of bed this morning, she didn't have classes to teach today.
"I have tests to grade," she told herself, her words echoing mockingly back at her in the empty room.
She took her time in the shower, and drying her hair, spending a little bit longer than usual on her hair just because why the heck not - today's look would be a curly faux hawk with Viking braids. Eventually exiting the bathroom, after giggling at her reflection, she set about finding a complimentary outfit. Thick grey tights, a fitted tunic dress, with a thick waist belt, knee high lace up boots - with a solid sensible heel of course because she was a teacher and had to set a good example to her students, even on her days off. Her look was completed, with a resigned sigh, by her ever present gloves, today's selection, black suede.
Finally ready to face the day she walked to the door, pausing with a hand on the handle when she heard the crunching of paper. On the floor, and partly under her boot, presumably having been slipped under the door, was a thick piece of paper. Stooping to pick it up, she turned it over as she stood, and was met with her own face on the page in front of her.
It was a drawing. Of her.
Her eyes were closed, a soft smile on her face as it was tilted up, as if turned toward the sky... It almost looked as she would imagine she had looked last night, when she had sat on the roof, and let the dying rays of sunshine kiss her face as the sun had set.
But she had been alone last night...
Maybe someone had been on the grounds below and she hadn't noticed, either way, it was a nice picture, though she was sure she wasn't that pretty - the artists eyes, or hand, must be fitted with an automatic photoshop. She set the picture on her dresser, smiling softly at the thought someone would give her that gift, before she turned and headed downstairs for breakfast.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
This is not my usual style, hope you like it anyway. It's a little 'slow' to get going.