Binding Ties
Thou knowest I am weak, My doubts and fears dost see; But canst thou build in lasting strength, My loyalty to Thee? –King Richard's Hymn, Reverend Tom Hunter-Clare
Time is a strange thing.
There've been days she loves that go by in a blur of happy memories, hours sliding away like minutes, so that her memory of the occasion seems as if it is contained in mere seconds.
Then there are times she doesn't like to think about; old memories, like being strapped in Magneto's death machine, which couldn't have been more than one hour but felt like twelve. The day she'd gone to the Professor and stammered out why she had to leave; Logan snarling at her and calling her a traitor after he'd told her he'd always thought of her like a daughter.
The early days in the Brotherhood, when they'd all mistrusted her, when Magneto had been at his worst; a twisted genius at physical and mental torture the likes of which she hadn't even known existed.
This is one of those times.
She's failed him, failed the Brotherhood, allowed a crucial mistake in the plan they'd concocted, ending in Gambit being injured. Her punishment has been carefully concocted for someone who is as horrifyingly claustrophobic as she is—he's put her in a cell, replicating being buried alive, her very worst fear.
In her metal tomb the minutes drag like hours, and she thinks she'll die before he ever returns to release her. She is bathed in sweat but trembling, and her tears leak off her face and fill her mouth, replacing the breath she thinks is being trapped forever amidst the metal and gloom of her cell.
Of course he returns, often, but not to let her out. The first time she hears his footsteps, she starts shivering in relief, but then he starts talking, and it's quite obvious she isn't to be let out anytime soon, that he's only there to make it worse.
"Been an hour, Rogue. Feels like ten, at least, doesn't it?" His voice floats into the darkness, and she usually loves his voice, even when it's tinted with darkness because when isn't it? Right now it makes her beg.
"Pretty, my dear, but it won't get you out," he says with a chuckle. "Maybe two days, for your punishment? Three? I am rather annoyed that we shall have to redo this mission thanks to your carelessness."
He's so gifted at that, the mental aspect of torture, and she'd find it fascinating if it weren't for the fact he was using it on her. She doesn't like him calling her my dear, because it is important to her that he remain Magneto during this punishment, and not Erik.
"Three days is a long time, Rogue. I expect you'll pass out long before it's over, since I know how much you fear this." The ceiling lowers a fraction of an inch, and she starts screaming again as he walks away chuckling.
I used to think detention was bad.
It's worse, now, because she'd thought she'd be free. Now that she knows how long she'll be in here, the fear is pressing around her, thick and heavy, and it takes her a few moments to realize the sound hurting her ears is the racket created by her own terrified screams.
ooooOOOOooooo
She occupies herself trying to sleep, which doesn't work. She thinks instead of family things, like Raven teaching her martial arts, St. John attempting to roast marshmallows in the air that Remy tosses him from across the room, that sort of thing. When they're not Pyro and Gambit and Mystique, but simply her family, and she can love them, flawed as they may be. When they can watch movies together and argue over the volume level, and she can laugh as Remy tries to make them watch movies in French.
That works, a bit, until he comes back and whispers more things she doesn't want to hear, and she's sobbing for him and promising she'll never, ever make another mistake, even though he can't possibly believe that, and she can't possibly mean it.
He knows how to play on her doubts—tells her she's a failure, and asks what has she brought him but trouble, and that the others will not speak to her when she's released because she almost killed them. If she loves them she will have to try harder, and is he not merciful, to give her the chance to prove her loyalty and show them that she will suffer, suffer her worst fear, just to make up for her mistakes?
Yes, she cries out, as he lowers the ceiling further, and even though it is dark, she knows he's doing it because of that noise, and her voice bounces off the metal in her hysteria, and she thinks the floor must be wet with all the tears that have dripped off her face to splash on the metal below.
Yes. He is merciful, and she is grateful.
It's as he says it is. There is no democracy in the Brotherhood; Magneto's word is law, and she will follow it, yes, exactly as he says…
She sees colors behind her eyelids, mostly red and bright flashes of blinding white as she struggles in her chains. If that's him laughing, it makes her heart feel like it is breaking, because she has sworn she will not love him. It is when she's suspended in the darkness between slabs of metal warmed by her breath that she realizes she does, and maybe that's worse than all of this.
When this is over, I will sleep in his bed, and he will touch me even though my skin is poison, and I'll want him to, and what does this say about me?
Somewhere dark inside her mind, all of this creates some sick anticipation within, and she is ashamed that it should be so, but it is, despite the horror of it, and maybe his punishment has driven her mad after all.
oooooOOOOoooooo
By the time it's finished, she has screamed and sobbed herself hoarse, and the ceiling is so close her eyelids brush against steel when she blinks. At the end, he presses it down until the floor is cold against her back and the ceiling is flush against her face, and she's breathing in cold metal.
"You will never fail me again, Rogue, do you understand? Or else I will leave you in here to die." His voice is as hard as the steel surrounding her, the restraints that have cut bloody welts into her wrists and her ankles from her struggles.
She tries to answer; all she can mange is a terrified whimper, though in her mind it is yes, whatever you say, sir, no, sir, I will never fail you again…
He wouldn't kill her—he doesn't kill Mutants unless he has to—but her terrified mind does not remember that, and she believes him completely. Though her skin is still deadly, she sleeps in his bed, covered up as best she can and still in thrall to his touch even though he always wears gloves.
"Good." He sounds pleased.
The metal makes that peculiar hollow noise that follows his manipulation of it, and the floor and the ceiling recede away from her. He releases her from the chains that bind her, and the noise they make as they clatter to the ground frightens her and makes her whimper. She clings to him, grateful he is protected from her skin and she does not need to worry about it, as he parades her through the room where the rest of them are gathered. He says in a gentle, patient voice, "Do you have something to say to the others, Rogue?"
She nods against his chest and mumbles out "I'm sorry," which they don't understand because her words are muffled and tearful, but he forces her to look at them with his hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back so they can see how miserable she looks.
She doesn't register anything on their faces; she is far too terrified of all the light and sound to pay attention to them other than a cursory glance. They will come to her later, and she will apologize to them. She does not want to let them down. They are her family, her allies.
Her brothers.
ooooOOOOooooo
"Why did you do it?"
She's had a very long shower—though she refused to close the door as she bathed, because it scared her--and is wearing her pajamas, pants and long sleeves and soft cotton gloves covering her skin, her damp hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She is sipping water out of a plastic cup, gripped between her slightly shaking hands.
She's afraid of him, still, even here, even though she's not supposed to be. He's Erik again, and you're Marie.
"Do what?" It's still so very hard to talk, her voice is hoarse from all the screaming and her throat feels raw.
He's standing by the window in their bedroom, which looks out over the sea. There is nothing below the window but a sheer drop—she once asked him why he did that, and he said there's a strip of metal running down the cliff, where there's a boat waiting, and it's an escape route. She doesn't think that makes her situation any better, if he decides to leave her there, but what can she do?
"Why did you hesitate? You'd been over the plan enough times to know what to do. I was surprised at you, Marie." There is the vaguest hint of rebuke in his tone and she starts shivering helplessly, remembering her ordeal in the steel coffin.
He makes no move to comfort her, and she doesn't expect him to because that has never been what their admittedly strange relationship has been about. With effort, she gets herself under control before she answers him in a slow halting voice, as if she's remembering how to speak.
"I had to touch Bobby—Iceman—to get him out of the way. The last thing he'd been thinkin' about was me." She drops her eyes and stares into the plastic cup, at the water trembling in the glass. "They weren't very nice thoughts. I got a little mad. I kicked him," she says with a wince. "He thought I was in love with Pyro, and that's why I left the Institute."
Erik makes a derisive sound at that, but says nothing, though she thought maybe he was smiling as she watched his reflection in the night-darkened glass. It is not a smile she would find reassuring, so she doesn't try and see if she is right.
"Just got too emotional for a second, s'all. Cost me time." She sips at the water, slowly, feeling it rush down her throat and settle in her stomach, which is still twisted with nerves.
"Why did it bother you, that he would have thought that about you?" he asks, still staring out at the sea, which is calm and quiet under a clear sky.
"It makes what I've done seem cheap. Meaningless." She finishes the water and puts the glass on the floor next to the bed. "I hate that's what they think, that I left because of something so trivial."
"What he thinks cannot possibly do anything, Marie." He looks at her finally, displeasure evident on his face, and she wants to look away but she can't. "It does not matter what he thinks, what the Wolverine thinks, what Charles thinks. Do you understand?"
"I had teenage boy thoughts in my head, too much adrenaline, and—" She stops immediately, because he does not like excuses, and she has no desire to be punished further. "I know. You're right. I'll do better next time."
He inclines his head at her and turns away, his voice implacable. "You will."
Rogue pulls the ponytail elastic from her hair and lies down with the covers clenched tight in her hands, unwilling to pull them up around her, fearful of even that slight constriction. She listens to the wind rushing over the water and tries to let it lull her into dreams, or at the very least, into unconsciousness. She'll settle for either.
At some point, she wakes up with her arms are crossed over her chest in a gruesome approximation of her punishment, and she is gasping for breath and thrashing like a mad thing in tangled sheets.
She feels his hand on her upper arm through the fabric of her shirt, and he fixes the covers, settling her on her side and saying in a very commanding voice, "Settle down or you'll sleep on the floor, Marie." He runs his fingers over the cloth, and his touch through the shirt soothes her.
Her last thought is that he should not be allowed to be so terrifying and so comforting at the same time, but she can't find the energy to worry about it. Eventually, she is lulled to sleep by his touch and the roar of the sea outside.
Finis