Suicide Is Painless by FageVonArc
Summary: Evo!Rogue's got issues at home, Logan's got issues on the road. A run-in occurs.
Categories: AU, X-Men Evolution Characters: None
Genres: Angst, Dark, Drama, Shipper
Tags: None
Warnings: None
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 2614 Read: 1899 Published: 11/07/2006 Updated: 11/07/2006

1. Suicide Is Painless by FageVonArc

Suicide Is Painless by FageVonArc
Author's Notes:
Inspired by Dark Ferret's Evo!Series "Basic Needs".
A little more eyeliner, a little more mascara, a little more shit to cover her face and hide from everyone; how cliché.

Rogue threw the makeup into her schoolbag where it landed next to a pack of cigarettes and some pills.

Her father was once again sprawled out on the living room couch; the half bottle of Vodka in his hand dangerously close to spilling.

This was Rogue’s life, “Another day right?” she said shrugging to herself as she left the house and headed to school.

It was Marilyn Manson that said “Suicide is painless… and I could take a livin’ if I please.”

And although Rogue often listened to his music she didn’t share the sentiment. Suicide was a waste… of time mostly; she’d been there, done that and woken up with a severe case of chemical poisoning.

So what was next? Wait until the day she felt the sweet release of natural or accidental death; maybe sooner than later… Rogue could only hope.
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Another bumfuck town, another nameless woman, another opportunity to try and get as far away from reality as he could; the reality that hit him every time he woke up… and wished he hadn’t.

The truck was cold as Logan drove away from the motel where he had just spent a good two hours with whoever she was - not that it mattered - doing whatever on almost every solid surface in the room.

He couldn’t get far enough, fast enough. Not being much for words Logan merely grunted, but in his head the words echoed “Another night right?”
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School was uneventful as usual and Rogue wondered for the hundredth time why she even bothered.

It wasn’t like her father was conscious long enough during the week to question where it was she went every morning.

Then Rogue remembered; it wasn’t because she enjoyed her classes, but because being at home only reminder her of just how alone she really was.

At least at school Rogue could pretend that the mindless fragments of conversation she heard throughout the halls were somehow part of her life; part of the bodily prison that was her world.

And although it was true, the thought was one Rogue did not broach often. Silent pity and self loathing was in her opinion “So last decade”; dying out with the pinnacle of Grunge.

The teenage market had long been flooded with dark, brooding types that all but screamed “I’m depressed and I want attention!”, it wasn’t so much a state of mind anymore as it was a fad; an “in” thing.
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Logan lit a cigar and looked around his new room. Well, new wasn’t really the word to describe a motel vacancy with shag carpeting and psychedelic flower wallpaper; but if it meant that Logan couldn’t remember being there before then yeah, it was new.

“This isn’t life…” Logan thought as he let his eyes settle on a bead shaded lamp resting atop the bedside table. “Far from it…” said Rogue to herself as she let the affects of a few pills take over.

During a month’s time Logan had traveled south from Canada and eventually ended up in Long Island.

If there was ever such a place more perfectly sickening than the worst fight bar he had ever encountered L.I. was it.

The weather was indicative of late spring and most residents were preparing for their summer vacations; it was all too ‘white picket fences and 2.5 children’ as far as Logan was concerned.

If he couldn’t be at peace with himself he’d be damned if anyone around him was.

Speeding down residential streets, passing garage sales every few blocks Logan tried to make his way through the island without stopping.

However, he was running dangerously low on gas and from what he figured the next station would be about a mile too late.

Logan grudgingly pulled into the most well kept gas station he had ever seen and hated it; pristine pumps with enough electronics attached to put Bill Gates to shame and a 7-11 the size of Wal-Mart.

It must’ve been in the wrong part of town though because the streets were eerily deserted.

There was a large self serve sign outside and thank God for that because if some guy wearing a Florida T-shirt and a goofy grin came up to Logan’s truck with the question of “Leaded or Unleaded?” said guy was going to lose a vital part of his anatomy.

When the tank was full Logan got back in his truck and floored it; a serious mistake because the second he turned to exit onto the street Logan came face to face with fever bright eyes caught in the inevitable disaster.
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It was around 5 o’ clock in the afternoon when Rogue left school. The librarian had all but physically kicked her out, mumbling something about staring at books without learning anything.

As Rogue stepped out onto the grassy lawn of the school she thought about that for a moment.

It had never really occurred to her but Mrs. Ulorn was right; Rogue was merely killing time until it was absolutely necessary that she go home.

If her father was still out cold - and there was good chance that he was - Rogue would have to be the one to remind him that Sharon was gone when he groggily called out for her.

Sharon; Rogue’s mother had died two years earlier in a car accident on her way home from shopping.

The devastation had caused Rogue to spiral into a depression which forced her mutation to manifest all the more quickly.

Max, her father, decided that a move would be the best remedy for the both of them.

He felt that they couldn’t truly move on in a home that bore so much of Sharon. He was wrong, they couldn’t move on anywhere; not even in Long Island where the suburban life was abundant with cheerful faces or at least facades.

After stopping for dinner at the local fast food restaurant, Rogue finally set out for her long walk home.

She was passing a gas station when she paused to light a cigarette; completely oblivious to the oncoming vehicle.
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It had been five years since Logan remembered waking up on the side of a road.

No idea where he was, who he was or what he was; he wandered for a while until he robbed a passer by for his clothes and truck at claw point.

From then on his daily life consisted of frustration and self discovery or lack there of.

Five years later Logan was still no closer to the answers of questions that plagued his nightmares, no closer to anything really; he was on the proverbial treadmill which was anything but promising.
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Rogue had always thought that when death came she would welcome it; no matter how gruesome, but as she stood stuck to the concrete with imaginary super glue the thoughts that ran through her head were in direct contrast to her previous idealist misconceptions.

Rogue found it ironic in more ways than one; at first because she realized she didn’t really want to die - as much as she had prayed for it - and second being that her mother had died in a car accident Rogue thought it sickeningly fitting that her death be just as tragic.

The truck continued to barrel toward her in seemingly absurd slow motion like an old episode of Baywatch as Rogue’s emotions poured out of her in the form of haphazard strings of consciousness.

“Why is death taking so long?” she wondered as she had for two years now, but for a very different reason.

She should have been able to move if there was time; but alas as the American way itself, there was never enough time.

Within an instant the truck’s bumper came in contact with Rogue’s knee and the world seemed to turn on its axis, then there was only darkness.
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“Fuck!” Logan slammed on the breaks and with a screech the truck stopped; unfortunately way too late.

He ran to Rogue’s aid fearing the worst and blathering incoherent pleas for help. There was blood everywhere and no way to tell from what part of her body it was coming from.

Logan looked at the black clad teenage girl whose life he had just cut short and reached out to lift her head slightly.

The wound in her skull was the size of his fist and the blood all but poured out on to his guilty hands.

Her knees were bent at an awkward angle, her eyes half closed and her mouth slightly parted.

Logan yelled for help again; this time his voice hoarse and shaky, but still nobody came.

Logan was about to run into the 7-11 a few yards away - that had to be soundproof not to have given way to his guttural screams - when he felt a sudden pull. It was like, for lack of a better phrase; electric fire that licked at his every vain.

“What the hell is happening?” was the thought in Logan’s head right before he blacked out.
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Rouge awoke with a rush of complex emotions and visual images that just didn’t seem to belong.

After a minute or two of assimilating the fleeting thoughts and trying to make sense of it all, she noticed a man lying on the ground next to her.

With an unsettling and new found calm Rogue began to recall what had happened.

She remembered seeing the truck, seeing a figure behind the wheel, but something was still missing.

How was she still alive and how was he the one that looked like he’d been hit?

Almost reflexively Rogue inspected herself for broken bones or bleeding, but there was none; only red stains where wounds should’ve been and a gooey trail of blood from her head leading to a dark puddle behind her.

After a moment Rogue moved herself over to where the seemingly gruff man lay; hands strewn unceremoniously on the concrete.

He was breathing… barley, but it was a good sign none the less.

Rogue surveyed her surroundings suspiciously, “Why hadn’t anyone come to help us?” she thought, anger boiling up in her blood.

Eventually she realized that she was going to have to take matters into her own hands.

She grabbed hold of the driver and dragged him into the passenger seat of his truck.

He was heavier than he looked and Rogue wondered how the hell she even managed to get him off the ground.

As she was pushing the passenger door closed a young man with a dumb look on his face came hurrying out of the 7-11.

“Hi there.” he said seemingly oblivious to the puddles of blood behind him.

He flashed a toothy smile, “I heard some noise out here a little while back… woulda ran out sooner but I was in the middle of an important ‘call’ if ya’ know what I mean… there a problem I can help with?”

Rogue suppressed the sudden urge to impale the clerk with something sharp and instead settled for a slightly sarcastic smile all the while trying to hide in the truck’s shadow so as not to give away her blood stained garb and hair.

“No it’s okay, my brothers just drunk… I turned my back to fill the tank and he stumbled out into the street.”

The clerk seemed to laugh a little at that, but became inexplicably puzzled for a moment.

“Hmmm… I thought I heard screaming of some sort.”

Rogue panicked at the statement, but quickly recovered, “Oh yeah, he was riled up about a football game… made some bets and they paid off.”

A look of understanding came over the clerk’s features, “Oh okay… congratulations!”

Rogue got into the driver’s seat and found the keys still in the ignition.

“Thanks… well, goodnight.” she said as she drove out onto the deserted street.
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Chain smoking and biting her nails Rogue sat on the back curb of a Burger King waiting for the mystery man to wake up.

She’d parked the truck a few feet away with him still lying across the passenger seat.

Rouge looked at her cell phone nervously; 8:50 pm and she was far from home.

A call to her father might’ve bought her a few more hours, but then again what exactly would she say?

Rogue had a feeling that the words “hit by a truck” and “mutant” weren’t going to sit well.

She resolved to let matters stand as they were until she had time to think of a decent excuse, otherwise she would deal with the consequences as they came.
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Logan awoke with a start; claws sheathing, breath erratic and the familiar olfactory implications that something was amiss.

The scent held all the tell tale signs of a female; pheromones, estrogen and all of the like, but added into the mix was fear - which would be expected - and excitement; something that made Logan doubt his abilities, if only for a moment.

Yes excitement; Rogue’s sorry excuse for a life - in reality simply existence - had been inadvertently interrupted and in fact rescued by her accidental run in (or run over) with a stranger.

She wasn’t sure how, but after an hour of sitting out in the cool night air Rogue had come to the fairly assumptuous conclusion that said stranger was going to be just fine.

She wanted to thank him; oddly enough, because their brief interaction (if it could have been called that) had left Rogue with a new sense of clarity.

She felt alive, curious and hopeful of a future that encompassed more than the mere passing of days.

Logan had also been affected; his theory that death was a sheer impossibility for him had been tested to it’s near fatal limitations and it had become abundantly clear that he wouldn’t rather have it any other way.

In the wake of his discovery Logan realized just how unnecessary his previous attempts at suicide were.

He stepped out of his truck to see the girl that he’d hit and supposedly killed sitting on the curb.
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Nearly a year later

“Yeah dad, I’m okay… graduating with honors… so how’s the shop? That’s fantastic! Logan? He’s great… well I mean, we’re great.

Sure… I’ll come visit next weekend. I’ll have to ask, but I think Logan will come along. Okay, I’ll see you then… I love you… bye.”

Rogue hung up the phone and smiled to herself; things were looking up and she couldn’t have been happier.

Logan sat in the driver’s seat of his new truck admiring the interior with appreciative eyes before he set off the ignition.

It was strange to him, but for the first time since Logan could remember he didn’t feel the need to drive recklessly; he wanted to stick around. It was an improvement to say the least.

As Logan drove out of the garage and onto the path, passing a sign that read: “Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters” he smiled to himself, “Things are lookin’ up.” He said, unsure of where he was headed just then, but positive that he’d be back by morning at least… for her.
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