Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. If I did, my writing would not be in an FF section dedicated to it. There would also be a fourth movie to redeem the movies after what was the third movie.
Setting: X1: Laughlin City bar
Characters: Rogue (POV) and Wolverine. (Not necessarily Rogan)
Inspirational music: My Skin by Natalie Merchant and When You Were Young by The Killers.
-A New Dawn-
So, sugah, what's the plan now?
The truth was – I had not the darnest clue.
Without confirming with a watch, I could easily sense that it was approaching dawn, no matter how slow time seemed passed to get there. My ears were still painfully ringing from the brutal noises of drunken shouting and unforgiving contact of bodies within the bar's caged arena. In my entire life, I have never witnessed such filthy language and behavior. I'd like to claim I didn't lead a completely sheltered existence back in Mississippi, but last night proved otherwise. I'm pretty sure my Momma would faint if she knew where I spent my evening, while my Pa would most likely turn red in the face then send me to my room. Not that it would be entirely effective, and not to mention unnecessary, but it would be the only thing he could think of.
Well, I thought bitterly while adjusting my fingers in the worn gloves I wore. I don't really have to worry much about what they'd do now, do I?
Instead of comforting me, the realization hit me like a bullet. Not in a very long time, if ever, will my parents ever know where I am, what I'm up to, and how I'm getting along. I gingerly pulled my right sleeve down over my gloved wrists, covering the exposed skin of my arm. Along with my mother's aged winter gloves that had seen better days, I was bundled within an oversized, dark forest green coat, hood over my head, completed with a knit scarf secured around my neck. I had clothed myself from head to toe, not necessarily to protect myself from unwanted attention, but in attempts to protect people around me from…I'm not really sure what. I guess you could say, well…
Me.
I studied my concealed hands sitting in my lap. They didn't look all that dangerous now.
"What's happenin' to me…" I murmured softly, intertwining my fingers. How could I possibly be holding hands with my boyfriend one day, then the next, a kiss is sending him straight into a gosh darn hospital!
I closed my eyes at the memory, willing the lump in my throat to go back down. This – my own SKIN – just didn't make any sense. That afternoon had become a complete blur to me; a fast paced film strip of hysterics, shouts, tears, starch white hospital walls, and failed words of comfort. I had been beyond inconsolable, only being able to cry out phrases along the lines of
Ah dunno what happen'd!
Ah didn' mean to!
Ah jus' touched him!
It wasn' mah fault!
It was true that I didn't know what happened. It was true that I didn't intend to hurt him. Although bent a little and rather vague, it was also true that we had touched in some way or another. For the last one, I wasn't confident that I was entirely blame free - even though I was unable to understand how.
For weeks after I avoided skin contact with anyone as a precaution. Family and friends took this refusal of physical interaction, as well as my drastic change in wardrobe, as effects of posttraumatic stress and my devastation over Cody's condition. I was grateful for their respect of my space, but I know Momma desperately wanted to pull me into her arms and ease my suffering. There were days I would have given up almost anything to curl up against her, let her stroke my hair, listen to her assuring whispers that it wasn't my fault, that everything was going to be alright, and believe her.
I closed my eyes. If only it was that easy.
I remember the evening we received the phone call. It was shortly after dinner and I had been sitting in our family room, immersed in a book I was reading, when the phone in the kitchen rang.
---
"Hello?" My mother answered promptly. I pushed the long sleeves of my shirt up ever so slightly in order to turn the page, thankful that the seasons were changing and soon my attire would be more appropriate than noticeable.
"OH, Mrs. Robbins!" My ears instantly perked up. Cody's mom. "Oh, oh goodness! Y'all must be thrilled! Jus' wait till I tell Marie! How is he doin'?" I felt my heart rise in my chest and a grin cross my face. Cody, after three weeks of being in a coma, was okay! I didn't kill him! He was going to be okay! I could have cried with relief.
"Wait, what?" Just as fast as it had risen, my heart fell at the sound of Momma's distressed tone. "I don't understand…" My chest tightened and I could no longer breathe regularly. I strained to hear more of the conversation, but Momma's usual enthusiastic loud speech had dropped to an inaudible mumble. I sat frozen on the couch, not really sure what to do.
Time seemed to stretch for hours before I heard Momma finally end the conversation with a half hearted farewell and a click of the phone on the receiver. After a few minutes, I heard the sound of her heels on the wooden floor as she entered the family room. I forced myself to tear my empty gaze away from the book's pages to meet her eyes.
I inwardly flinched when I saw that they were swollen and bloodshot – it was clear she had been crying. Her hair was mussed from nervous fingers wracking through it, wild dark curly strands escaping her hair tie. It was her eyes that made me feel something awful. Where life had usually sparkled was now replaced with two distant holes on a blank expression that merely stared. It tore me up inside.
Cody had told his mother about our kiss.
My kiss that had put him in a coma for three weeks.
My lethal kiss.
"Momma…" I reached out for her, in a forgetful moment, until she snapped backwards as if struck by lightening. I stiffened with my arm outstretched before slowly bringing it back to my side.
She had to understand I would never intentionally harm someone, didn't she? That, in fact, I too have been suffering just as much pain as I had caused. Unexplainable nightmares with Cody's memories, dreams, wishes, and worst of all, his fearful last thoughts before falling into the coma. Did she realize these caused me many restless nights? That not only did she and Pa' wake up to the sound of me crying for Cody's state, but also because many times I was unable to fall asleep due to Cody's deafening voice within my head? How could she possibly condemn me for something I had no control over…something I had not even started to understand.
"Momma, please." I begged. I needed her now more than ever. Her guidance, wisdom, love, and support. She was unable to form an answer, but her body language spoke more to me than words ever could.
In that very moment I became unwanted, untouchable, and was left with only one option.
In the safety of that same night, I packed a few of my belongings in a duffle bag, enshrouded my newfound curse with whatever I could find in my closet, then ran off without looking back.
---
Now I was a girl of barely eighteen with all of her bridges burned and absolutely no plans of what to do next. Running away from home had been impulsive, but just as necessary. To be honest with myself, I never really considered what I'd do once I reached Laughlin City, well, if you could even call this a city.
The whiney soundtrack continued drone on through the raspy speakers along with the sounds of the clinking of glasses as the bar closed for the night, or should I say, early morning. I tried to ignore the musty aroma of cigar fumes, heavy alcohol, and body odor that lingered in the air from earlier, forcing its way up my nose. I felt it involuntary wrinkle with disgust. Never in a million years would I have ever seen myself in such an environment. It was definitely not a place for a girl my age, but since my circumstances had drastically changed as of recently, I wasn't all too afraid of someone harming me more than I could potentially harm them.
Not that I was starting to appreciate this new "ability" of mine, nor did I consider it some sort of "gift". After the terms "misfortune", "affliction", and "plague" came to mind, there was only one other word to accurately define it.
Mutation.
I was not a complete stranger to the concept and was mildly aware of the issue of mutants, in other words, those who had similar burdens like mine suddenly thrust upon them. But at the same time, I wasn't very familiar with the matter – mutation was something that just didn't happen in places like Meridian, Mississippi.
I kept my eyes downward in order to avoid eye contact, questions, and attract any additional attention from the evening's stragglers. My gaze finally rested on the large glass jar that sat on the bar in front of me. "Tipping," I read in the homemade label's scrawled handwriting, "is NOT a city in China"
I didn't get it.
"You wan' somethin' new, honey?" My eyes were drawn upwards the source of the voice, the bartender that stood in front of me drying glasses. "Or are you stickin' with water." Before I could respond, his hand grasped the neck of the tip jar, deliberately dragging it out of my reach.
The older man's swift action both surprised and stung me. The tone in his voice and face clearly read "suspicious". I got that at least. I guess I couldn't really blame him. He didn't know my name, my upbringing, and how my Momma and Pa' had raised me with strict moral values, one of them which was "never steal". To him, I was just a misfit, a lowlife, a possible thief:
A rogue.
"I'll have a beer." A deep voice interrupted my silent pondering as someone joined me at the bar. I curiously glanced sideways, only for my eyes to be instantly met by another pair.
They were a warm hazel color, but the facial expression of the owner hardly did them justice. Thick brown eyebrows were drawn together in a scowl as the pair of hazel eyes scrutinized me from underneath, a cigar hanging from frowning lips. It only took me a moment to recognize him as the undefeated cage fighter, who I had witnessed battering the bodies and pride of countless men in the bar's arena. It only took another moment for me to discover his unblinking stare was just as piercing as his right hook and I uncomfortably diverted my eyes away. I felt him study me for a few brief seconds more before finally bringing his attention back to his cigar and beer.
A news channel's introductory tune broke the silence: "Ellis Island," the anchorman's voice began "once the arrival point of hundreds of thousands of immigrants is opening its doors again. Preparations are nearly completed…"
Now with new interest, I turned my head ever so slightly to regard the stranger's untamed hair and coarse beard that overflowed from his sideburns, emphasizing his sharp jaw line. His overall rugged demeanor also included three layers of flannel, jean, and aged leather that stretched across hunched muscular shoulders. I found myself mesmerized by the thin streams of smoke exiting his flared nostrils as he exhaled, circling around his head in an almost ambiguous manner. His appearance gave the impression of being wild, fierce, even animalistic - surely not someone to be reckoned with.
I silently concluded that a beastly title of "Wolverine" was more than fitting for a man such as this. His combat reflexes and technique had been so ruthless that it almost seemed unfair for those who were either brave or foolish enough to challenge him. I felt my cheeks flush slightly at the memory of his chiseled bare chest, leaning nonchalantly against the caged walls…
Get a hold of yourself, Marie! I sheepishly pulled my face away and back towards the TV screen, hoping he was too engrossed in his current vices to sense my sudden embarrassment. The image of him, although pleasing, did not sit right with me. How a man could participate in countless fights and not even have a single scratch or bruise? It was impossible.
"The leaders of over 200 nations will discuss issues ranging from the world's economic climate, treaties, and the mutant-
Then it dawned on me.
-phenomena and its impact on our world's stage."
I snapped my attention back to the man, except this time being deliberate and a bit more obvious. His eyes flickered from the TV screen and found mine.
My heart skipped a beat.
He held onto my gaze for only a second before he proceeded to concentrate on inhaling the cigar's fumes. Although on the surface he acted indifferent to the words just spoken, I knew his look to me was anything but empty. Suddenly, I was filled with hope that I wasn't so alone after all.
I could barely contain my anticipation. It took all the constraint I could muster up within me to not leap up from my stool asking "Are you like me?"
Before I could finish formulating the most ideal way to go about questioning Wolverine, I spotted two men walking up from behind where he was seated – the leading one not looking at all too friendly while his friend followed reluctantly. From the noticeable black and blue swelling around the first man's right eye, there was no doubt he had been one of Wolverine's many unsuccessful opponents.
He demanded Wolverine's attention with two rough jabs on the shoulder. "You owe me some money." Wolverine remained seated, but turned his head around to face them.
"Come on, Stu," His friend started, attempting to avoid a possible heated confrontation. "Let's not do this…"
Stu held his hand up to silence his friend. "No man goes through a beating like that without a mark to show for it."
So I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Without offering an answer, Wolverine calmly turned his back to them, but not without a hint of annoyance in his eyes.
"Come on buddy, this isn't going to be worth it…" The friend pleaded, but already Stu had leaned over, his mouth hovering close to Wolverine's ear.
"I know what you are." He hissed. I inhaled sharply.
"You lost your money, if you keep this up, you'll lose something else." Wolverine threatened in a gruff whisper.
As soon as I thought the dispute had been settled by Wolverine's final warning, I heard the exiting of a blade from its sheath.
"LOOK OUT!" I shrieked, surprising even myself with the sudden use of my voice. Within a blink of my eyes, Wolverine had sprung onto his feet, and with one hand, pinned Stu to a wooden support while his other hand…
Oh my…
I sat there with wide saucer eyes, startled by the scene before me. Wolverine's hand was clenched into a tight fist aiming for Stu's neck, but that wasn't what had me unnerved. Sprouting from the knuckles were long sharp blades that appeared to have made their way out by cutting his own skin. They were currently in position to cut Stu's as the final blade gradually extended outwards, pausing only a fraction of an inch from the front of his neck. I held my breath at the visible fire smoldering in Wolverine's eyes. They were merciless and it was uncertain as to how far he was willing to go.
An eerie silence fell upon the entire bar as everyone gawked at the unexplainable they were witnessing. Even the hefty disheveled man, who was lying on the booth seat on the far wall, had awoken from his drunken slumber to watch.
Click, click.
I had been too absorbed in ogling at Wolverine's fist that I did not notice the bartender retrieving his loaded gun from underneath the counter. I watched helplessly as he shakily positioned the muzzle behind Wolverine's ear, resulting in the murderous glare to drift in his direction.
"Get out of my bar, freak." The bartender stammered out, clearly frightened. Wolverine, appearing to ignore the weapon pointed at his head, returned his glare towards Stu.
SLASH
Without warning, the bartender's shotgun was split into two pieces, sending gunpowder and bullets plummeting to the floor.
I swallowed, silencing myself from crying out.
Wolverine now stood with both arms extended, one out in front while the other behind. From the knuckles of each fist, three menacing blades glinted dangerously under the dim lighting of the bar. With his lips curled, he growled ferociously through his bared teeth, causing the bartender to take a couple of steps back with a useless half of a gun in each hand.
Wolverine's eyes wildly jumped from one rival to another, as though he was considering how to proceed. He was breathing heavily, snarling even, with his chest rising and falling significantly despite his many layers. I was transfixed by his terrifying likeness to that of an ambushed savage animal. But unlike a trapped animal, it was obvious that he had the upper hand in this conflict.
Or, claw.
Between his darting glances to Stu and the rattled bartender, Wolverine's eyes fell on me. An expression flashed over his face before I could completely register it. Remorse? He must have sensed my alarm, believing that I was petrified due to him and his violent outburst. It was true that I sat rigid with fear on my bar stool, but not of him.
For him.
He locked his fierce narrowed eyes on the bartender for a final time before withdrawing the blades with a resounding skttt into his fists. Without breaking eye contact, he gave an assertive jerk of his shoulder, which was then satisfied by a flinch from the bartender. Wolverine's gaze briefly scanned over the terrified onlookers and I could not help but be bewildered at his apparent indifference to their wide-eyes. Still breathing quite heavily, he began swiftly walking towards the exit, leaving the bar in an absolute hush.
I initially shifted my gaping stare away as he passed by, but I found myself turning to watch his retreating figure with a possible new plan in mind. The wheels in my head began frantically circling.
I'd have to be crazy. Completely reckless, in fact. Entirely impulsive. But, he was the only chance I had and may be the only chance I'll ever have. I didn't travel this far only to wait in a bar until rationality persuaded me to return home -
No, it wasn't home. Not anymore.
There was nothing for me in this city either. The bitter truth was I had more in common with the feral Wolverine than I did with anyone here. I was a mutant outcast like him - detested by many, accepted by few. My better judgment advised that I should keep my distance after seeing what he was capable of, yet I was undeniably drawn to him. Despite his wild rage, I was convinced he would not harm me. Something told me there would have been bloodshed a few moments earlier if it had not been for my presence. If he were unwilling to hurt me either emotionally or mentally, what reason for him would there be to hurt me physically? Plus, I had a little something up my sleeve if needed. Literally.
My eyes hastily swept across the dingy bar, taking in all of its grime and despair. What I needed most now was to be rescued. Wolverine ain't no prince charming on a gallant white steed, but for now, a knight with shining claws driving a decrepit motor home would do.
So sugah, what are ya goin' do?
Before I could second guess myself, I snatched up my single bag and followed him outside as morning finally arrived to Laughlin City. The sun had set on the familiar and simple life of Marie D'Ancanto. Dawn marked the beginning of Rogue, whose future remains uncertain.
-Fin-
A/N: This was originally supposed to be a very short drabble piece, but as you can see, it's rather lengthy for such a small scene! Feedback would be SO appreciated because I have a couple of other plot bunnies bouncing around for future works and would like to know if they would be enjoyed rather than polluting the X-men FF section :)
Thank you for reading!