Rogue absently wiped the condensation off her mirror and stared into her own eyes. Why? She couldn't help asking herself, why was she still so emotionally invested in the parents that abandoned her that she cared what happened to them? Where were they when she needed them? Did they cry when she was on the street fighting to survive? Did they worry about her when she had been running for her life from the Brotherhood? Did they even think congratulatory thoughts when she graduated high school and they refused to attend her ceremony? So why did she care about them now?
Because now she would never know the answers to her questions, her parents were dead now. Ironically, killed by the humans they had abandoned their mutant daughter in favour of.
She felt like she had spent a lifetime weeping for them on hearing the news, though it had only been a couple of days. She was done now, done with crying, done with mourning people who didn't care for her.
Once she had blow-dried her hair, she headed into her bedroom, forcing all thoughts from her head but those that focused on finding the right combination of clothes that wouldn't make Jubilee recoil from her in fashion horror. Eventually seating herself in front of her dressing table, she froze when she saw the image propped up against the mirror.
Her artist had snuck into her room again, was it while she was asleep, or while she had been in the shower...
This image showed herself, lost in her sorrow, tears running down her cheeks from red rimmed eyes. Her artist even drew her crying pretty, whoever this guy was he must have it bad for her, she knew she was an ugly crier, she didn't think it was actually possibly for anyone to really, genuinely cry prettily.
She wasn't alone though, in fact, she hadn't been drawn alone for about the last two weeks. Her mystery male was with her again, his identity still obscured - his head bowed, hidden behind her own from the orientation of this picture. He stood behind her, his thick muscled arms wrapped around her waist as he held her while she cried.
'Grief falls upon all as the rain, not selecting good or evil, visiting the innocent, condemning those who have done no wrong.' Was scrawled on the upper right corner of the page.
With a smile she picked up the image before walking across the room and placing it on her nightstand. Lying down on her bed, where she could keep the picture in her line of sight, she let herself relax, she let herself cry, and eventually she let herself sleep. A soft contented smile sat on her lips, as she dreamed she was being held in that strong, warm embrace as she let her grief run its course.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000