Sacrifice
By Childhood Aspirations
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men (the movie or comic). It belongs to people with significantly more imagination than me.
Part One
She was just sitting there, motionless, her head hanging backwards limply.
He flinched as he pulled her hands off the pedestals, gathering her in his arms. The wind tugged at her hair, and he fingered the long white lock that had appeared there.
"Come on," he whispered urgently. Please, please. Wake up.
But she didn't wake up. She didn't move. She didn't open her eyes, those large, dark brown eyes.
Impulsively, he yanked off his glove. His hand was shaking as it hovered over her forehead. He knew what she could do to him, what she would do to him.
But he didn't care.
His hand pressed against her skin, and he closed his eyes tightly, waiting for that sensation. The feeling of his life being sucked away.
It didn't come.
His eyes opened; he felt her forehead frantically. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't.
His head dropped forward onto his chest as soft, ragged sobs took him, tearing from his throat in emotion.
Rogue…Logan wrapped the girl in a tight embrace, tucking her head under his neck, and wished that this nightmare would end.
Come on, kid. You can't be dead. You have to wake up. Rogue, wake up!
And then he felt it.
A chill snaked around his spine; his breath caught, frozen in his throat. His eyes widened.
Life.
He could feel her, drawing from him, draining him. She was alive.
Gashes reopened on his forehead; his self-inflicted stab wounds oozed blood. He gasped.
Rogue jerked in his arms, giving a gasp of her own.
She was pulling away, and he was falling, and then…
…There was darkness.
She's alive.