"Touch"
Chapter Five: "Chemicals"
She didn't quite recognize the room, but just had the distinct sensation of having slept there for most of her live. It felt warm, it felt absolutely safe – removed from the rest of the world and tucked away. Familiar. Each piece of furniture and trinket was a piece that she had invested in making it that way.
It carried the sensation of being enwombed.
Sweat on her brow. She wiped it away. She was drenched in it. Figured she'd need a shower, but looking at the bedside clock and seeing that the time was unreadable, she decided against it.
Laughed out loud: it was so late, the clock refused to show what time it was. It was an ungodly hour, clearly.
She looked outside her window and saw nothing but darkness. Absolute. Impenetrable.
Fear crept in, slowly. Her pulse started to race. She knew this darkness. Just looking at it made her feel the wrongness of it, the utter and complete deviance of its existence. Her aversion was primal, instinctive: if she was in the womb, then, that darkness was the world outside. Unknown, full of peril.
"You're safe. I'm safe. It's alright."
The familiar voice calmed her somewhat. Turning to her side, she saw Scott, lying next to her. He was wearing his uniform. His dexterous fingers extended as his bare palm touched her cheek. She froze up, her muscles tensing in anticipation of a physical impact. Nothing happened.
Scott's hand went away.
"You always tense up when I touch you." He said.
"Ah can't help it."
"You won't hurt me."
"It's not just the touch."
"What is it, then?"
"Ah peeked into your mind." Rogue said, "Ah'm sorry... if Ah could make mahself stop, if Ah could just stop absorbin' all that y'are, all that you've been, Ah'll do it... Ah won't take it... but Ah just can't help it!"
Tears. Steady, but too slow. The knot in her chest was too big and the small measure of tears she was shedding didn't help it.
Scott's arms, holding her close. His breath in her hair, his whisper in her ear. He scooted even closer.
The sensation of light-weight synthetic polymer sliding across her skin. He wasn't touching her directly.
She sobbed.
"It's alright." Scott said, "It's alright. You didn't hurt me."
"Ah can't fucking stop it! Whenever Ah borrow your powers, it's like Ah take a bit of your soul... Ah drain you of all y'are and Ah'm more you than me... fuck... fuck..."
"Shhh..." his breath, warm, "Shhh... it's alright. I'm safe. It's alright."
"Is it?"
"Yes, it is. Look at me. Look into my eyes, if you can."
Rogue looked up. The visor, expressionless, cyclopean, looked back at her. She saw her reflection on the ruby quartz surface. Desperate. Afraid. Little.
"We'll be alright, Rogue."
"It's like what you said... it is like rape." Rogue said, "Every time Ah touch you, every time Ah absorb more, Ah rape you again and again... everything that is you, becomes me."
"What are you so afraid of? That I'll run out of soul?"
"Ah'm afraid that when I take more, you won't have nothin left for yourself, because ya gave it all to me."
He smiled.
"I don't mind." He said.
The knot in her chest. Expanding.
Rogue jerked awake, the jumble of memories assaulting her conscious mind. Wave after wave of Others screamed at Rogue, some clawing their way to the upper echelons of her mind in attempt to take over. For a brief moment she overflowed with a need to keep her thoughts to herself, lest others would hear it and that Rogue definitely shouldn't not with the way she was chasing after Scott constantly and...
...nausea. Jean's thoughts. Not hers, Jean's. She pressed them down, pushed them into the overbearing clutter within her head and hoped they would fade sooner than others.
But her eyes were open! She had no visor, she should've kept them close – oh hell, who had she murdered this time because every time he opened his eyes every time he looked at something as he was supposed to look something like this happened and he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to and why was it so painful for him to sleep why did his eyes hurt in the mornings it was one of those things how much did the glasses cost anyway and...
...panic. Scott's thoughts. Rogue tried harder to push them away. She filed each and every one under his thoughts, blocked them out as best as she could. She concentrated on her own effort to distinguish herself – she was the one struggling, her thoughts were the ones hell-bent on keeping the Others quiet.
Rogue stood still, expecting Jamie's thoughts, or Amara's, or Bobby's.
Nothing there.
Rogue finally opened her eyes and looked around. The sterile, white surroundings of the medical wing, the sight of the grid cut into the ceiling above. Machines hanging all around her, along with an I.V. that went straight into her arm. Numbness there, along with fatigue. She had been like that for some time, she understood.
The rustle and bustle of cloth by her side, and the familiar huff of Scott Summers stirring from sleep. By reflex, he covered his eyes first but then, feeling the visor there, let his hands fall. He only had to look to see Rogue shift.
"You're awake. Thank God..."
Rogue's jaw dropped. Scott's face... both his cheeks were covered in band-aids and in one case, flat-out bandages. She didn't know what she had done to him, but in that moment, a thousand apologies came to the tip of her tongue. She was about to release at least some of them when Kitty's yawning put paid to that.
"Thank Gohaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawdd..."
Rogue turned the other way to see her roommate, slumped across another chair. She half-expected a snide comment from Kurt, who, somehow, wasn't there.
Rogue didn't have to judge their reactions to guess that she had been there for some time.
"How long?" she asked.
"Two days." Kitty said, rubbing her eyes, "That was some beating you gave to the others..."
Rogue stared at her for a few seconds, her muddled memory trying to recover what she herself had experienced from a sea of others' memories. When her mind finally managed to, her jaw dropped.
"Threw 'em all a good beat." Logan's voice came, lagging only a second behind the ever-present smoke of his cigar, "Gotta say, Stripe, that was some show you put on there. Almost made me feel damn near invulnerable for havin' taken you down that one time. The count's impressive: concussion and dislocated shoulder on Madrox, broken ribs on Drake, broken nose on Amara and shallow lacerations across Scott's face."
He smiled, one of his rare, warm smiles – unlike his feral, violent grin, this one reminded her of home, or the distinct impression of home she harbored in her head.
The other impression was Scott's brow creasing. Told her he worried. Made him human.
"As for you, Scott," Logan put both hands on Scott's shoulders and gave his sadistic grin, telling all present that he was going to enjoy his next sentence a little too much, "Chuck wants to see you."
Scott sighed and hung his head. Rogue knew the gesture. Meant that he didn't want to. Not because of some stupid stubborn streak, either; Rogue knew enough of Scott to see that he felt guilty of the whole ordeal.
"Gotta go, Rogue." Scott said, one hand gently squeezing hers. The feeling of his gloves, the warmth behind them. She shivered. He smiled. He lingered, almost as if he was holding onto her, and then, left with Logan.
Silence in the room. Kitty, seeing Rogue stare on after Scott, smiled. She had noticed, you know. Everyone knew. In fact, it was absurd they were even making an effort not to tell Jean about it, because, in all likelihood, even Jean knew: and she had to know, what with the way Rogue had treated her right from the off.
But Kitty disliked silences and didn't want to break it by calling Rogue out on her crush. Instead, she decided to share. Rogue listened, Kitty knew that for sure. She just didn't react most of the time, or react in any way that didn't shout that she didn't care.
"Been having the weirdest dream lately." Kitty said. No response. She didn't expect one. Knew that the Rogue took a little more prodding than that. So she continued, "Have you ever had the same dream over and over again?"
Rogue felt as if she was doused with ice cold water. She suppressed the reaction and adopted Jean's neutral face, noting the source of the muscle-memory extract with a little apprehension, and turned to Kitty.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Like, it's the same dream every night, or so similar it might as well be the same. Been happening to me lately."
"Whaddya dream about?
"That's the weird part!" Kitty said, blushing slightly, "It's... ummm... Kurt."
"Kurt?" Rogue rose an eyebrow.
"Nothing like that!" Kitty said, defensive, "Nothing weird going on, just... we talk. In some bizarro place, like this castle in the middle of a dark forest or my room back at my parent's house and we just sit around and talk. Lance is there, too. Every time."
"Maybe ya miss him. He's been gone what, a month now?"
"With his folks in Germany, I know. But this isn't like that. I've been having this dream for a while now."
Silence. Awkward.
"So..." Rogue broke it, "What does he do?"
"Who?"
"Lance."
"He just, like, hangs around. Talks to us. Makes comments."
"Like what?"
"Oh." Kitty hushed, biting into her lower lip. Rogue knew enough of her facial expressions to know what that meant. Then, Kitty surprised her by saying, "Says he loves me. That he always thought I was cute."
"Kurt?"
"He's the one that always talks about powers and abilities." Kitty said, "It's weird, all he wants to discuss is how my abilities affect me, like they create this massive difference... oh. Sorry."
Rogue marveled at how Kitty could read her reactions based on the most minute of facial tics – her slight curl of the lips, involuntary, had drawn the comment.
"'salright." Rogue said, "Ah'm used to it. Much as Ah can get used to it."
"Ugh, my back..." Kitty said, "So, you need anything? Anything I can do? Cause, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pack it in."
"What time is it?"
"It's... oh, man, it's 10 PM."
"'salright. Ah need to rest a little anyway. Mah head's splittin' still."
"The professor said that could happen." Kitty said, "I'll just leave you. Glad you're okay."
"Thanks, Kitty cat." Rogue said, smiling gently. Kitty giggled. Rogue rose an eyebrow.
"I don't see that very often." Kitty said.
She phased through the floor and then was gone, leaving Rogue to cradle a very real migraine caused by numerous voices shouting in her head.
She stirred from her sleep at night, eyes opening to the dimmed lights of the medical wing drawing pale shades across the chrome surfaces. Light reflecting off of the drawer handles. Awareness of her body, lying quite comfortably.
If only she didn't have the tail, she'd feel more comfortable on her back, but apparently a bone-like protrusion linked it to her spine and she really didn't wish...
Wait. Rewind. She had no tail.
Kurt's thoughts. Rogue applied the stop-gap and averted the rest, focusing on the here and the now.
Rogue knew instantly that to move an inch spelled disaster; she would never get comfortable again, and sleep would become a chore.
Of course, thinking about it, the first symptom of insomnia showed itself in the form of her body telling her to move her arm a little. Unable to stop herself, she did. The end result was predictable, really; her arm now wouldn't settle for any position, and it was dragging the rest of her body along. She knew where this lead – discomfort with every possible alignment of her limbs and finally, the throwing off of the covers to get up. Another night roaming the mansion.
Maybe she'd go down, to the Danger Room and do a workout. She liked doin' those, nothin' like fresh action to get his
Wait. His? She wasn't a guy.
Logan's thoughts. She pushed them away, along with the bedsheets and stood up. A chill went through her as her bare feet hit the stone-cold floor, but she welcomed the sensation. Some part of her even enjoyed the unpleasant feeling.
The idea remained with her as she started her walk right down the corridor of the medical wing. It was rather chilly there, with nothing on her but the hospital gown. She let her steps take their course, wandering alone in that halfway consciousness of insomnia; never quite asleep, but never awake enough to judge anything. It wasn't until she was standing in front of it that she realized she was headed towards the elevator.
The feeling from the other night returned, full-force. Slammed into her, overwhelming her, and before she could even ponder on it, she had pressed the arrow pointing downwards.
Downstairs? The tactical floor? What for?
A little voice in her head, indistinguishable from the other voices, whispered, Danger Room.
She rose an eyebrow, a semblance of consciousness actually returning to her. It wasn't much, but enough that she could judge the urge. It still felt like Logan's need for physical exercise; she always felt exhausted after draining more than one person. It energized her while she could utilize their gifts, but once that period ended, the depowering period sapped her strength.
Maybe it was the two-day rest. Maybe it was that she wasn't completely awake and was still part-Logan.
The elevator doors.
The reflection in the mirror. Sunken eyes, tousled hair with the white strands still distinguishable, slouched posture. Nothing like the still-somewhat-legendary the Rogue.
The urge. Go down. Go down. Go down. Broken record need. Go down. Go down. Go down.
She stepped in and went down.
Once down, she let the thing run its course – she felt that push-pull circadian irrhythmia fill her with both an expandable energy and a need to lie down because she was too sore. Her mind was clouded by the overbearing shadow of physical self-awareness, and she decided that she wasn't going to bother with it. She'd just let her Logan part drive her to whatever it would.
She exercised regularly, because enough physical sensation, enough exertion of her body cleared her mind and leveled her mental playing field. She could then get a much more stable hold on base reality.
Rogue went to the lockers and slipped into her X-Men uniform. Comfortable, synthetic polymer. Silicon based superalloy, soft. It had taken the exact shape of her body after a while, and easily settled like a second skin.
Like the second skin she wished would let her feel more.
It was then that the presence hit her. The distinct feeling that she wasn't alone in the room. There was no sound, no sight and no smell, but Rogue had the distinct impression that she wasn't alone: that undeniable, bare reality of the other, of the non-self in the room.
"Hello?" she called out.
Nobody.
But no, there was somebody there. She tried to guess which of her mental after-images was prompting this: it was often that she thought she saw someone, heard someone, smelled a particular brand of perfume that caused a flood of memories. Sensory deception, sure, but that wasn't anything like it.
If anything, the presence felt... warm. Awakened feelings she had only stolen from others, of safety, of very human types of contact she was incapable of. Broke her heart and piqued her interest: who the fuck was that?
"Hello?" Rogue tried again.
Nobody.
The presence moved. Rogue followed, not wanting to lose the emotion she was leeching off of it. This homely comfort, this sense of familiarity and... regret?
What did she regret? She didn't regret anythin', why the fuck would he regret... No. Logan's thoughts. Rogue pushed them away, struggling to find out which part of what she was feeling came from herself.
She followed the presence down the hallway. Every step stirred new feelings inside her, feelings she didn't know she had. Mixing in with the warm familiarity and regret was now a tint of professionalism. Barely-registered details giving her a sense of knowing every single inch of the hall she was walking down; schematics, blue-prints, calculations, materials, metallurgy, purpose...
Her head was starting to hurt. Through the pain she thought to shape-shift, it always helped a little to assume the physiology of someone else... no. Mystique's thoughts, devious even in that moment of pure pain.
Rogue stumbled, one hand reaching for the wall. A sudden flash of various things, things she couldn't quite catch sent her fumbling towards it. One hand rose to meet the wall. Stood there, barely able to keep standing. It was coming in too fast. Like hearing thousands of songs right out earshot and buried deep within memory at the same time, she couldn't keep up with the pace.
The ground striking her knees. One last thought before feeling the ground slip, change incline and meet her halfway through the fall: that Scott was waiting.