***
My eyes burst with softened light as I awakened in the brightly colored dormitory of my new home. Dimmed lanterns mixed with the reliable glow of the full moon, dancing over the bedding I’d carried diligently from the camper. Absently, my eyes traced the patterns of stucco on the ceiling, swirled into imaginative spirals imitating the choppy waves of a flooded creek.
It took several heartbeats to finally find the sound that had led to the interruption of my nightmares. The still room invited the voices of distant chambers, and the thin walls allowed me to distinguish pleasure from anguish. His voice haunted me above all others, tainted by fear and despair. I turned, leaning closer to the wall, and sought the will to slow the pace of my own blood, eagerly listening.
His moaning grew in volume as I approached the entrance to his lonely bedroom beside my own. The floor was ice beneath my bare feet, and a cool breeze from some forgotten window danced through the peculiar pattern of my nightclothes. I pressed my fingers against the brass knob, holding it for a breath as the call of terror ceased. The door clicked open with my feeble touch, and the trembling voice returned, louder and larger than before.
Shadows from the hall followed me within, and I stopped near the bedpost to glance at his figure. He tossed and turned rapidly beneath an olive coverlet, rustling the fabric, tangling it between his legs. Even from my distance, I could see a glimmer of sweat roll over the muscles of his bare chest, and catch in the curl of hair that sprinkled his pectorals. My heartbeat quickened beneath my sternum, and my diaphragm tightened without breath.
“Logan,” I murmured, sensing my small voice echoing in the large room. I walked slowly to his side, my fingers cautiously outstretched to rouse him. He continued to spin in the sheets, his head tossing rapidly from side to side, crushing the pillow that curled beneath his nape. “Logan,” I said again, aching to rouse him. He groaned, whipping away and then toward me again.
I took a cautious step forward, my fingers hovering uneasily over the shape of his sculpted shoulder. In his throat, I caught the sight of his jugular pulsing wickedly beneath a succulent layer of flesh. His brutish face tightened at the brow, curling his features into a fearful sneer. How I longed to press my fingers to his face, bring him from his terrors, and prove that he was safe. My tongue brushed against my lips, soothing chapped skin as warm breaths parched the delicate skin.
“Logan!” I said softly, but with more urgency, watching his face contort and his breathing quicken. The ounce of atmosphere between us was sturdy as a wooden board but as pliable as a strip of gauze. I sought out his face, the roughness of his beard, the unshaven stubble, aching to feel something that could not be felt. “Wake up.”
In an instant, the desire decayed to heart-stopping fear. His dreams descended into nightmares and his rage was born upon me like a hurricane overcoming the beach. A scream erupted from my throat, crashing into the room, and his growl of rage nearly consumed the disturbing sound of adamantium claws plunged through flesh. The air I had been holding spilled from six wounds in my chest, allowing helium to escape from a balloon.
Pain shoved me forward onto the razor sharp implement, and spots of pitch appeared before my eyes, blocking out the portions of his face I needed to see. Recognition took precious moments to kick in while I struggled to deal with the punctured holes in my body. Each breath escaped before I could use it. My belly tightened, and my legs turned to jelly. The warm thickness of blood spit from each wound and trailed down my back.
His dark eyes softened from immeasurable rage to stricken dismay. I coughed and tasted blood gurgling in my throat, bitter on the back of my tongue. Still, I struggled to speak to him, to make him understand why I had come. The claws retracted and vaguely I remembered his reminiscent mutterings about the pain that occurred each time he produced the disturbing appendages.
Vile liquids cut off the ability to form words. I swallowed and attempted again, parting my lips and producing only the choking sound that echoed in my pulsating brain. I watched him helplessly as he called out for assistance, his hands surrounding my arms, unsure of what to do. Absent from the pain that began to shake my limbs, I imagined him taking hold of me, sweeping me into his arms. The fantasies were fleeting, and the stabbing ache of reality returned.
I struggled on my feet, reaching out to reassure him. I begged him to forgive me with my drowning larynx, still capable of only an imagined word, a faint syllable. He yelled through the partially opened doorway, his immense voice trailing out into the hall. My fingers reached out again, more out of instinct than true understanding. I longed to reach for his face, to reassure him. Even as he mumbled his fears and I wobbled on my toes, I found the strength to feel him.
Memories and dreams flooded my senses, drowning any recollections of pain or pleasure. I ached to simply enjoy the feeling of his brittle chin beneath my fingertips, but only the terror in his eyes punctured my absorption of his essence. Pain remained a faint memory, picking at the back of my brain, tearing away chunks of grey matter.
At last I drew my fingers away, pulling them back in the same manner as Logan had withdrawn his claws. He fell to the floor as the room flooded with light and the awed sounds of my classmates infiltrated my ears. Faces, thousands of them, fell upon me, searing with judgment. Words I had not had the strength to express fell from my mouth in a jumble. Explanations and reassurances filled my throat but all that I could explain was a single sentence.
“It was an accident.”
***
End.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
This fic is specifically based on a portion of the X-1 film and describes the inner thoughts of Rogue as she goes about her role.