DARKNESS WITHIN

Part Six

For the next few days, Rogue did very little, and other than having to use the bathroom and shower, she rarely left the guest room she and Kitty had been assigned to until their bedroom would be repaired. The nightmares continued for Rogue; each time she would wake up in a blinding panic, scrambling for an exit, sobbing and hyperventilating.

Kitty was becoming more and more frustrated. She had said nothing to suggest it of course, but it was obvious to Rogue. The petite brunette was in a permanently edgy mood now, and had grown less and less talkative as the days had progressed. Rogue had noticed as the girl sat in their room trying to study that she seemed to be struggling to focus – a task that was seemingly a permanent problem rather than the just occasional problem it had been in the past. The sighs, the distant silence, the awkward gazes all spoke volumes. The lack of sleep and frustration were getting to the girl.

Knowing these issues were all her own fault, Rogue couldn't help but be consumed by the guilt more and more. She felt ever more aware that Kitty was going to eventually hit a breaking point and that it would result in permanent resentment. Rogue wasn't sure how she could mend this – at least not as immediately as it needed to be. To fix the problem meant getting out of the state of depression, getting out of her room and back into the land of the living, but to Rogue, all of these things felt like goals that were impossible to accomplish. She had neither the energy nor the real motivation to do so. There seemed to be no real point to life any more and trying to find any meaning to any of it left her feeling empty.

When that Friday finally came along, Rogue found herself alone in the guest room. She had been going over and over in her head as to what she could do about Kitty, but there seemed to be no real temporary solution she could find unless she took a different room-mate. Unfortunately due to her past suicide attempts and the whispered gossip that spread like wild fire around the institute about how unstable she had become, no one was going to agree to switching room-mates. Anyone would be glad to have Kitty in their room, but no one was going to want Rogue.

Ah've screwed this up so much, thought Rogue miserably as she stood at the window of the attic room, staring out at the grounds as the day begun to fade into early evening. Ah ruined my whole life, Ah've fucked up everythin'...there's no way of getting out of this, there's no fix...

Sighing, she ran a finger along one of the window panes, drawing a sad face on the condensation her breath had left on the glass. As she stood there, it occurred to her that it seemed there was only one fix. It'd seemed that way for months. Death. Death would be a solution. Death would perhaps make everyone momentarily sad and mournful, but eventually alleviate the stress her presence imposed upon them on a daily basis.

But it seemed there was no way to do it. She'd tried everything she could think of other than poison and she couldn't get access to anything to poison herself with; unfortunately she was positive that shampoo, conditioner or shower gel wouldn't be sufficient enough to get the job done but she had considered it many times until Jean had caught her looking thoughtfully at a bottle of shower gel and now she was only ever given a bar of soap and travel-sized shampoo bottles, much to her chagrin. She'd tried stabbing herself with scissors before, and nothing had happened except the scissors had been bent and snapped completely as if they'd been made from cheap plastic. It seemed even titanium was no match for her impenetrable flesh. What other methods were there that would possibly work? None she could immediately think of, although exhaustion was preventing her from being able to think very clearly these days at all.

After rubbing the window's sad face away with the edge of her glove, she pushed herself away from the windowsill, grunting in disgust of her on inability to end this miserable existence, just as Jean Grey was stepping into the room uninvited.

Rogue stared across at the redhead, her heart sinking to see her there, "Don't you ever knock?" she demanded crossly.

"The door was open..." Jean turned and her eyes travelled up and down the door which was still off of it's hinges; it was now just merely propped against the wall and had remained there since Rogue had accidentally yanked it off – Rogue had suspected that it hadn't been fixed so that the room could remain perfectly open permanently so she could be better supervised.

"Its always open," Rogue uttered icily.

"Missing," Jean corrected herself with a wry smile.

"That's beside the point," Rogue mumbled, she took her eyes away from the girl. It was hard to look at so much perfection. The girl who had the relationship she wanted, the beauty she wanted, the life she wanted, the ability to live it happily just as she wanted to.

Jean stood awkwardly hovering, "I'm sorry...I'll knock on the wall next time," she responded, then she cleared her throat a little. "I'm going to the store...is there anything you need?"

"Someone else's life," Rogue responded scathingly as she sat down on the edge of the air mattress, it shifting slightly across the floor, nearly causing her to slip off of it. Your life, maybe, she thought bitterly.

"Pardon?" asked Jean; Rogue was unsure if Jean had just not heard her as she'd mumbled it, or if the telepath may have picked up on the thoughts she hadn't voiced.

"Nothing," Rogue shook her head quickly, "Ah don't need anythin'," she answered. Especially not from you.

Jean hovered for a moment, her expression slightly indecisive, "Are you sure? Maybe tampons? Kitty said you're on your period so-"

"What is this? You discuss everythin' that's goin' on with me?" Rogue frowned up at Jean. "Is it not bad enough that my entire personal life is discussed between you all like the details of some fucking lame soap opera re-cap? Now you gotta know the ins and outs of my body too?"

"I'm sorry, I—" Jean began, seeming quite flustered.

"Ah have no fuckin' privacy in this place. None!" Rogue gestured angrily to the doorless frame. "Ah can't have a moment to myself without one of you lurkin' about, checkin' up on me! Ah can't even take a shit without worryin' who's gonna walk into the bathroom. Can't shower without someone hangin' outside the curtain to make sure I ain't tryin' to kill myself!" she stood up again, the air mattress shifted even further along the floor and Rogue turned and kicked it in frustration, causing it to flip over. "And now!" she screamed, "Now Ah can't even be on the fucking rag without it bein' broadcast like the news!"

Jean waited until the tantrum seemed to be over, then responded coolly, "I'm sorry that you feel your privacy is being violated, Rogue," she folded her arms with perfect calmness, her body poised, expression serene. Rogue felt it was typical for Jean to always be the bigger person, never to rise to being provoked, never to get nasty back. "But...all these things you are so bothered about are precautions which you brought upon yourself," she explained.

"But-" Rogue began, but Jean interrupted before she could continue.

"You've had your say, now let me have mine," Jean warned. "Do you honestly think that all these precautions only inconvenience you?"

Rogue glared, but could say nothing. How could she argue with this?

"Someone has to be inconvenienced every time you have a meal, or want a shower, or need things brought in from the store. Every time you have to be checked on because of the past behaviours you've exhibited, someone has to be inconvenienced to come up and down to see if you're all right."

Rogue turned away, furious.

"And you know what," Jean sighed, "Not a single one of us has ever complained about the inconveniences. No matter how busy, how stressed, how tired, no one utters a word, because you are part of this family, and we understand that these precautions have to be put in place to keep you safe."

Refraining from uttering bullshit under her breath, Rogue remained still.

"How thankful have you really been to anyone who has brought you food, books, took the time out of their busy day just to spend a few moments to check on you, or sit and talk with you...to do anything for you?" Jean asked, her voice still calm, although Rogue could sense the girl was trying to restrain herself from sounding angry about the issue.

Saying nothing still, Rogue moved around the bed uneasily, she kept her eyes averted from it, just as she'd been doing for days. As she got to the other side of the room, Jean tilted her head at her, her expression strange.

"Rogue?" Jean asked.

Rogue wasn't sure if Jean had really been expecting an answer or if her question about thankfulness had been rhetorical. "Hmm?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Huh?" Rogue blinked.

"You...moved away from the bed with this...weird...expression..." Jean frowned a little, "you couldn't even look at it..."

Rogue's cheeks slightly grew hot, and yet she somehow felt the blood drain from the cheeks at the same time. A peculiar feeling. "Ah...don't know..." she responded, and she hugged herself insecurely.

"It's just a bed, Rogue," Jean said softly.

"Ah know that," Rogue said, trying to sound cold and unfeeling, trying to hide how torn up she felt inside.

"It's because this was his bed, isn't it?" Jean gave a slight sigh, her voice delicate. She turned to look at her curiously, but a gentle sad expression lingered there in her warm green eyes.

The heavy silence that followed broke Rogue and finally she whispered shakily, "The Remy Ah knew slept there for the last time before Ah stole him away..." she still kept her eyes away from the bed. "The covers still smell like him...doesn't matter how many times they've been washed...he's still on them, he's still in here..."

Jean shook her head, "no...he's not in here, Rogue..." she reached out and gently tapped her index finger against the centre of Rogue's chest, "he's in there."

Rogue stepped back quickly, "Don't touch me," she said quickly with a lump in her throat, "Ah don't want to absorb you."

"Who are you really trying to protect, Rogue?" Jean asked with a tender sigh as she moved towards the open door frame, "me? Or yourself?"

As Jean left the room without her answer, Rogue was left alone to ponder the question.

Remy LeBeau's limbs were still weak. Three days of physical therapy and very short supported walks from one end of the room to another had done very little to help him gain back any strength. He was told it may take weeks, perhaps even a month or two before he would see proper improvement. When he'd asked how it could be a coma could do this kind of damage, the Beast had gone on using large fancy words he'd never heard of, and explanations that made little to no sense at all.

And the explanations really avoided the reasoning to all of this in the first place.

He'd hardly seen anyone in days other than Hank and the Professor, and even when they did visit periodically, it was usually just to examine him, help him with the physical therapy, or to help him with bathroom visits. Hank had begun bringing his meals, as Remy's irritability and occasional inappropriate comments seemed to have caused a reluctance with the others to even offer assistance.

At night, Hank insisted on reinserting the catheter, which Remy wasn't too comfortable with. Two nights before Remy had been given a urinal bottle so that he could relieve himself during the night if needs be, but the convenience of it had backfired when his exhaustion had set in rather quickly when he'd tried to move it after use and ended up spilling the contents out on the floor, part of the bed and soaking his arm and side with it. He'd felt quite ashamed and disgraced having to wait for nearly three and a half hours before Hank arrived to find him in this condition. Having to be taken to the shower and practically hosed down had only made the whole situation even more horrific. Now, Remy just fought complaining about the catheter as much as he could.

It was starting to get lonely in the hospital room. Staring out of a window all day was about as entertaining as watching paint dry. Very little happened out there to look at, other than heavy rain or the occasional little bit of sunlight that broke through the clouds. Hank had brought him a book to read but Remy had found it near impossible to even get through the first few chapters of it. Dickens was definitely not his cup of tea.

I need to get out of this fucking room, thought Remy frustratedly. Visiting the adjoining bathroom wasn't enough to take away the sense of cabin fever that was definitely getting worse as time progressed. He listened carefully for any nearby sounds, anything that would determine whether or not anyone was actually in the vicinity.

No one even bothers to come visit any more, he added to himself. Scared them all off 'cause I couldn't keep my mouth shut. They take things too seriously 'round here. Why the hell would I ever sign a waver to stay in this place when I clearly don't get along with these people? Did I really even sign a waver at all? Just 'cause they said I did doesn't mean that it's true.

Deciding that no one was nearby and going to chase him back into his bed, he slowly and unsteadily hauled himself out, supporting himself on the rail. It took some effort, and despite the exercise and physical therapy he'd already put in, he felt extremely unsteady and weak. He sat there at the edge of the bed for a while, trying to gather his strength. It was odd how the effort even made him feel slightly breathless. He didn't like this feeling of being helpless and limited. It'd been...what? Five days? Six? He'd lost count, the days were running into each other, it was hard to know what day was what when he had no calender, no phone, no television, nothing to indicate what the time was, not even a nearby clock.

All he had were the days and the nights, the light and the dark, and the differign noise levels of life in the mansion to go by. The absolute silence in the place this morning told him this was a school day, it was the only time there wasn't the banging of running footsteps, the yelling of fighting teens and the booming of loud music coming from far away halls and rooms that he'd never set foot upon.

It wasn't too altogether surprising he supposed that none of the other X-Men had even stopped into visit, or say hello, or to bring him his food. He was used to being an outcast. What did really surprise him was that Rogue had stopped coming down altogether. He'd thought they were some vague semblance of friends and that he could at least somewhat count on her to visit occasionally to help kill a few moments of loneliness.

But she hadn't been back. Not since she'd left the room looking quite upset days ago, acting oddly nervous, a distinct quivering in her voice. The more Remy thought about it, the more and more he was convinced that something was very wrong with Rogue. Something that clearly had happened between almost a year ago when he'd taken her to New Orleans, and the day he'd woken up here utterly bewildered with memory loss.

That mystery was perhaps the only thing that was keeping his mind going, as there was very little else to focus on when you were practically bed-ridden and useless.

With a grunt, he stood, his legs shook, his muscles ached with the strain and he toppled, his hand landing on the nearby cabinet which collapsed over with him. He let out a cry of pain and lay there helpless on the floor, feeling so utterly defeated and sore.

It took some moments before someone came running; he was surprised it was Jean Grey as he'd thought – like the others – she'd have been at school or college, or wherever it was she went to do her learning during the daylight hours.

Jean dropped to her knees, "what happened?" she asked with a gasp.

"What the hell does it look like?" he demanded bitterly, he tried to push himself up but his body was far too weak.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Jean asked quickly, ignoring his remark. "Does anything feel broken...?"

Remy snorted, "just my pride," he tried to soften his tone. Bein' bitchy is why these people don't want nothin' to do with me. Gotta stop it if I ever expect to be liked enough so that they'll tell me how I ended up in a coma, he reminded himself.

Jean moved the cabinet first using her telekinetic abilities. However, to help up Remy, she didn't use her powers, and instead, helped guide his arm around her shoulders so she could slowly pull him up. The effort took some time, and it was several minutes of work before she had managed to guide him back to the bed and get him into a sitting position. The effort left Remy practically exhausted, sweating and shaking.

"I wish I'd just get over this already," Remy sighed miserably, "can't seem to get full control of my own body."

"It'll come with time," Jean tidied up the mess of items that had fallen to the floor from the toppled cabinet.

Remy watched her, "you sure you guys aren't just keepin' me here with some kind of medication that's keepin' me weak?" It was a joke, but he immediately realised Jean wasn't going to play along.

"Believe me, we aren't keeping you here," she responded irritably.

"What's up your ass?" Remy raised an eyebrow, "boy problems."

"Nothing is up my ass," responded Jean coolly, she stood up, dusted off her knees, and went to use some hand sanitizer from the bottle nearby.

"You don't like me, do you?" he asked, quite straightforwardly. He had never been the kind of man to mince words so why not just come out with it and save time?

Jean threw her green eyes at him, it took a moment for her to respond and she was calm when she answered, "I don't know you well enough to properly form an opinion about you."

Nice sidestep, thought Remy, almost amused. "Look, the stuff about your tits a few days ago..." Remy decided to explain himself to try and ease this tension. "That was just...me bein' a guy. Some girls would take that as a compliment. As a flirt. It wasn't meant to be taken so...seriously."

Jean said nothing, she stood there, rubbing the sanitizer into her hands, twisting and wringing her fingers absently.

"If I offended you, I didn't mean to," Remy said, his attempt at apologizing without actually apologizing. Jean Grey wasn't the only one in the room who could side step an issue.

She was still standing, rubbing her hands together. Wasn't that sanitizer dry already?

"Hmmm...You're doin' an awful lot of hand-wringing there for someone who ain't havin' guy problems. You sure you're not having issues?"

"I'm sure," Jean responded curtly, looking displeased.

Remy shrugged, "just thought I'd ask. You still with four-eyes?"

"I'd rather not discuss my love life," Jean responded; Remy read her expression as a definitive yes.

"So..." Remy hummed thoughtfully, "I can't talk about your tits, or your love life. What can we talk about?" Remy queried.

"Something else," Jean remarked, she seemed to be restraining herself from sounding cold towards him; Remy was too keen at reading people to miss the signs; Jean Grey was very close to snapping at him.

Remy decided on a sudden subject change. It was usually a good way to distract a person from conflict, even if it was just a temporary solution. "Who broke Rogue's heart?" he dared to ask.

Jean stopped in her tracks; she'd been on her way towards the door but this question made her suddenly stop. Slowly, she turned, her expression was mixed with strange hues of confusion, of secrecy, of frustration. She quickly composed herself, sniffed almost defiantly then responded with "pardon?"

Remy leaned back against the pillows and slowly – with effort – got his legs back up onto the mattress. "She's in some kind of funk, far as I can tell...few times I've seen her it's been obvious. Never out of her pyjamas...hair a mess, no makeup, puffy eyes like she's been cryin'. And she's so...distant. Can't even get near her...not that I'd be capable of getting up and tryin' to be near her but-"

Jean interrupted, "Remy...no one broke Rogue's heart," she stated emphatically.

"You're sure?"

Hovering, her eyes shifting towards the door as she considered leaving, she almost went to leave, and stopped herself. "What makes you think someone broke her heart?" Jean asked curiously.

"Just a feeling I got," Remy shrugged, even the effort to do that took great strain.

"No one broke her heart."

"Oh," said Remy, he studied Jean's face, trying to read it, trying to search through it for the truth. "So what's with her?"

"Nothing is 'with her'," Jean shrugged, "You've probably just caught her on an off day."

"She doesn't come down to see me."

"She's busy," Jean responded.

"Doing...?" Remy asked. What was the girl doing that would allow her to lounge in her pyjamas all day? Other than work for bed factory testing mattresses, and he doubted that was what she was doing.

"She-"

A loud cough caught their attention at the door, and both Remy and Jean glanced towards the open doorway to see Logan leaning there. His expression dark.

"Red, you're wanted in the Danger Room," said Logan, his arms folded, his well built frame practically filled the doorway's width, although not quite the height.

Jean seemed almost thankful for the excuse to leave, and she said nothing more. Logan let her pass, and stepped into the hospital room as she left it. Remy sensed the reprimand coming before Logan had even opened his mouth.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't ask questions and poke your nose where it don't belong," Logan warned. "Point your nose somewhere else."

Remy raised an eyebrow, "Who says it don't belong where I'm pointin' it?"

"I do."

"Rogue is my friend," Remy admitted, "if somethin' is wrong-"

"If somethin' is wrong with Rogue, then it's her decision whether she wants you or anyone else to know what it is. You got no business tryin' to pry information out of Jean – or anyone. Got it?"

"Got it," Remy responded. Regardless of his hating being reprimanded, he was satisfied with this conversation, because it proved quite a few things. One, that there was something wrong with Rogue. Something that was enough to make people around the mansion nervous or anxious enough to lie about it, and two, that whatever it was certainly seemed enough to cause Logan to become extremely protective over her.

Whatever this problem with Rogue was...it was bigger than he had initially thought. It had struck him that he'd lazily come to the conclusion that it may be a relationship simply gone bad. But it was more than that, it had to be.

It was just going to take a matter of time to discover exactly what that was.

End of Part 6

Well it's been quite a while since I updated clearly - some stressful stuff been going on in real life and of all things we decided to decorate the house and trying to get it all done before Christmas for family coming has been a pain in the padded arse. Finding time to actually SIT let alone write or even post fanfic has been a challenge, lol. I finally got to it though.

Hope people are still reading and enjoying the story. Hoping to have Part seven up shortly :)