Disclaimer:Tired of claiming they're not mine when, deep down, they are! Mwahahaha! I shall cuddle Sabretooth to death. (:
Story Notes: This story originally ignored X2 and X3, but that's changed. Many of the events in X2 will be acknowledge and followed to some extent. Also, it should be noted that X-Men Origins will be acknowledged in some way, shape or form.
Chapter Notes: Yes, this chapter does jump ahead two months. Why? Because the transition is needed. It's not one that can be approached slowly, and hopefully it flows well enough that it's fine. To be honest, this chapter is the first time I'd touched the story since it was last updated. So, in a way, chapters eleven through (I believe) twenty-eight plus the epilogue sort of take on a life of their own.
Normalcy is Overrated: She never asked to be different. She was pretty complacent being normal. The day that changed her whole life changed. Being a mutant definitely isn't all it's cracked up to be. OC alert!
Normalcy is Overrated
Chapter Eleven
"Two months. Already."
Slowly, I nodded my head as I ran my fingertips over the bedspread, eyes trailing over my newly redecorated room. When I'd first moved in, it had been bland and very plain. I hadn't planned on actually staying at the Xavier Institute, and it had taken nearly a month before I'd finally accepted that I wasn't going anywhere soon.
"I think it fits me a bit better now," I admitted as I walked over to the oversized desk, glancing briefly at the array of memories displayed proudly in brightly colored picture frames. "I didn't think I'd make it this long, Rogue. This place will never be home."
"Ah don't think that's the point," she plopped down gracefully on an overstuffed neon green bean bag. Legs crossed lazily, she swept back her silky-looking black scarf and tugged at her ever-present gloves in what appeared to be apprehension. "You're kinda lucky though, Dani. Lot o' us are runaways, whose folks don't give a shit one way or another 'bout where they are. When mah folks realized there was somethin' wrong 'bout their little southern belle, they were all aflutter."
I'd had very few real best friends over the course of eighteen and a half years, but something told me that Rogue was opening up to me in a way that she'd opened up to so few others. Over the course of several weeks, we'd spent more time in one other's company than I'd thought possible. In the beginning, she had seemed so vacant, so distant and lost. I had assumed, due to her attachment to her snobby boyfriend, that she was just annoying. But, once I had started spending time with her, in and out of the Danger Room, I'd realized that we had a lot more in common than I would have ever thought possible.
"Rumor has it that you were a serial killer that barely escaped the police," I offered, half-smiling as I dropped down into a sitting position on a fluffy rug, back braced against the side of my bed.
A faint smile curled her unpainted lips as she tilted her head to the side slightly. "No, it ain't nothin' so dramatic as that. My boyfriend and Ah. We. Well, we were just hangin' out in mah room. Don't gimme that look, Dani." Her eyes narrowed into slits briefly as I wagged my brows at her comically. "It wasn't nothin' like that. Might've been a few months down the road. Was still new, ya know? We were still in that gettin' to know each other sort've awkward phase. Well, anyway." She clenched her gloved hands together tightly, her gaze drifting away from mine to stare unseeingly at a spot just over my shoulder. "We ended up kissin', and that's when it happened for the first time."
"I'm so sorry, Rogue," I murmured, gut clenching. I felt awkward and pitiful and sorry for her all at the same time. "That's not fair. That sucks, actually," I swallowed thickly, offering her what I hoped was a comforting smile.
Surprisingly, she lifted her gaze to mine yet again, her sad and aged eyes brightening slightly. "Ah couldn't do nothin', ya know? Ah was so nervous, so excited. Wasn't exactly mah first kiss, but Ah wanted it to be. Mah first had been the summer before, down by the river with this kid that was gropin' meh and damn near dry-humpin' mah leg. Ah wanted it to be mah first kiss. Ah think that's why Ah didn't realize what was happenin' at first." She sighed heavily as she curled her knees up toward her chest, her brightly colored socks wiggling as she curled her toes. "Ah couldn't stop it. He's still up here. In mah head."
I wanted to offer her some words of wisdom, comfort her in a way that a friend should. We are friends, I decided, brow furrowed as I drummed my fingertips on the shaggy rug I sat upon. I should be able to help her, help her feel better. I strained to think of a possible scenario that would help her, that would show her exactly how much I appreciated her friendship, no matter how tentative it was on the inside and out.
My last best friend had been the best setter I'd ever met. Alysha Parkins. She had been smart, perky, and so damned focused that she looked like a robot whenever we were on the court. We were in a total of four camps together, and spent over three years from junior high to senior high on the same team. We'd stayed at one another's houses, did make overs, practiced our jump serves, and even talked about boys together. But, that had been before the beginning of an off-season game with a volleyball club we were both participating in. The match was about to begin, and she was missing.
Of course, I'd been the one to find her in the bathroom, passed out next to the toilet with blood and vomit all over her uniform.
The questions had begun, had been slung every which direction even as the ambulance came and carted her away. Hadn't I noticed her strange eating habits? Was Alysha a compulsive eater? Did she exercise too much? Had she tried influencing my own exercise or eating habits? Was she ever depressed? Did she talk about suicide? Was there a reason why she had hidden her eating disorder from her best friend?
"Sometimes the people you think you know best are the people that you know the least. Appearances can be deceiving, and the truth is often easier hidden than it is found. Honesty, baby. Honesty is the only thing that will get you through this rough world in one piece."
Deciding that my grandmother's advice was probably the only way to handle the situation, I slowly rolled forward onto my hands and knees and crawled across the distance between me and the beanbag. Abruptly, I dropped down onto the bean bag next to her, ignoring the way that she shifted to the side slightly, despite the fact that we both wore jeans, hooded sweaters, socks, and gloves (in her case). After a long moment of silence, I finally worked up the nerve to look over at her.
"Rogue, I don't know a lot about you. I know that you'll be nineteen a month after me, that you hate toothpaste that isn't actually mint-flavored, and that you love listening to some of the worst stations on the radio." She smiled faintly and rested her cheek on her knees as she stared at me. I was struck by how young and vulnerable she looked, like the younger sister I had always wanted but never received under the tree at Christmas. "You love some down home country cooking, and you're determined that someday the whole world will know the greatness that is grits. But, seriously. Ew. And ew. They're nasty. You hate the way that people unconsciously distance themselves from you in the halls, the way that someone will walk clear across the library instead of sharing a table with you. But, that's okay." Smiling, I folded my legs and struggled to get more comfortable, even as the stuffing and such inside of the bean bag made strange noises. Legs folded Indian-style, I hid my hands in the sleeves of my hooded sweatshirt and sucked in a deep breath. "All of the sitcoms and teen novels make these out to be the best years of our lives. They might be right, or they might be wrong. What I do know is that I haven't been the type of person to beat around the bush in a very long time. You're a nice person, Rogue. A great person. We're all thrown some crappy curveballs in our lives; yours is just aiming at you like a body-shot."
"Is that some sort've baseball crack?" she grunted, rolling her eyes.
Grinning, I nodded my head. "My mom died when I was ten- labor complications. It killed my dad inside. Sometimes I'm glad Wilson– that's what they named my brother– didn't make it. Because I know it would have killed him to look at that baby everyday for the rest of his life. I was an Army brat, still kinda feel like one now that I'm here. My dad died three years ago in a training exercise gone awry, but I've lived with my grandma since my eleventh birthday. I know what it's like to be handed a handful of crap and told to make something beautiful."
"And I want you to know that no matter how crazy I might seem, no matter how off I might be from day to day, I will be here for you." It felt cheesy, and sounded even cheesier, but if Alysha had taught me anything it was that there was no rooms for niceties, and that awkwardness wasn't something that could destroy a real friendship. "Rogue, I consider you to be one of my few friends here, and seeing as how my grandma thinks I need to stay here, I guess you're stuck with me until graduation."
Slowly, she lifted her head and brushed a platinum strip of hair behind her ear, her lips curling into a smile that revealed a small gap between her two front teeth. "Dan," she began, using the nickname that she'd started using somewhere along the way. "It's Marie."
Confusion flitted across my features as I narrowed my eyes at her, brows furrowed together. "Excuse me?"
Shaking her head, she playfully shoved my shoulder, nearly causing me to topple over sideways in my confusion. "Mah name. It's Marie."
"Friends aren't like some fancy television set that you can sit in the living room and ignore whenever you have better things to occupy your time. They're like plants; they need sunlight, attention, and love. You give 'em just one of those three, and they just might survive. But they sure as hell do flourish properly with all three."
Smiling as the topic switched to training, I realized that Grandma Janie had been right again.
XoXoXoXoX
"And how are they treating you?"
"Just fine, Grandma, I promise."
"You sure? I could've sworn last week when that Mr. Summers called that I heard you yelling about something in the background."
Grimacing, I slouched in the uncomfortable desk chair and stared up at the ceiling. I hadn't realized until after I'd stormed into Summers' office that he'd been on the phone, and with my grandma of all people. "I just wanted to talk to you and he didn't understand my rush," I struggled to explain, curling my toes against the warm wooden floor. "How have you been?"
"Oh, fine. You know how the weather gets over here this time of year. I can't believe Thanksgiving is coming up so fast. I reckon this'll probably be the first year since you were still in diapers that you're not gonna be stuffing yourself with my food."
In response, my stomach growled so loudly that I almost thought she had to hear it. I shifted in the chair slightly, struggling to find a more comfortable position as I glanced at my partially open door. "A lot of the students are going home this year to visit with their families, Grandma. But, well, Mr. Xavier was telling me about this thing that happens over the Holidays." Spinning around in the desk chair, I stared at my neatly organized desk for a moment, eyes trailing over my math homework to where my laptop sat, open and internet browser winking at me. "Apparently quite a few of the younger kids don't really have anywhere to go, and he takes a group to volunteer at a local soup kitchen. I was thinking that maybe-"
"Of course, baby. Lord knows how many hours you spent volunteering with me at the Red Cross and at the local church with my bridge club ladies. They all loved to see you tut around helping us count cans and organize fundraisers. You've always been so conscious about your community."
Grimacing, I picked up a pen and twirled it between my fingers idly. "You're sure that you can handle dinner without me? I know how rowdy everyone can get sometimes, and Uncle Lewis did just get off of probation..." I trailed off.
"Please, Danielle. Your Uncle Lewis was on probation cause he had a hooker in the backseat and a bottle of booze in the front. Thank the Lord Almighty that the car accident didn't hurt no one. I've been telling him for years to get help. So it took an act from Above to get it done? It's about damned time. Even as a boy I was always yelling at him to keep his thingy in his pants."
"Grandma!" I squealed breathlessly. Groaning, I covered my forehead with my palm, as if hoping that a sudden and violent fever would wrack through my body and give me a decent excuse to get off of the phone. Since enrolling officially at the Xavier Institute, my main means of communication with my grandma had been through letters, and occasional e-mails. Until the standard weekly care package had arrived the day before with an unfamiliar debit card and banking statements, along with a new iPod and cell phone, I hadn't even considered how strange it was that I hadn't kept in better contact. "Other than Uncle Lewis, are you really okay? Really really? Cause, I can come home. I will."
"I thought you liked it there?"
I did. Didn't I? Hunching my shoulders, I heaved a soft sigh. "I do like it here in a way. Everyone's like me; they're all mutants. It's nice knowing that, at the very least, I have one thing in common with everyone. The campus is gorgeous, Grandma. Did you get those pictures I e-mailed?" I quickly searched for the picture folder on my laptop, bringing up the pictures I'd taken weeks before.
"They all seem real nice, honey. That one with the hair, that's Marie?"
"Yep, that's her," I grinned, scrolling through the pictures. Under Xavier's advisement, I'd only sent pictures that could be viewed as innocuous. As far as the world outside of the Xavier Institute gates was concerned, it was a prep school for gifted youths; meaning a school for kids with rich parents, or kids who were special enough to deserve the kindness of a rich man like Xavier. "I managed to snag a picture of the teachers on their off day."
"That tall one's a fine piece of man. If I was fifty years younger and didn't still love your granddaddy with all of my heart..." She trailed off, causing me to roll my eyes as my gaze focused on the impromptu picture I'd managed to snag of a tussled-looking Colossus. "I got some sort of a flyer about a Parent's Day the beginning of next month. Are you wanting me to fly on out?"
"Yes!" I shut the laptop abruptly and leaned back in the squeaky chair, running my hand through my damp hair. "I've already talked to Mr. Xavier about it, and he said that he can make arrangements for family that decide to visit. Apparently he has standing reservations at nearby hotels. So, if you decide that you want to, just give me a few week's notice and I'll sucker him into a nice room and maybe some spa time." I smiled at her warm and bubbly laughter.
"You know, baby, when he first sat down with me and explained that you was a mutant, I was a little scared. I'd suspected that something was different, that you were a little different. Hell, I'm pretty sure your momma was different too. That woman just had this way of always knowing where stuff was. Found a pair of earrings that had been lost for some five years like it was nothing. Just happened to come across them. Until that Mr. Xavier got to talking to me, I never really gave this mutant thing a second thought."
I swallowed thickly as I considered the implication of her words. While she'd never seemed angry or disgusted with me, I knew that it wasn't too unlikely that I might someday become yet another statistic. "I'm sorry, Grandma," I began softly, leaning forward to rest my elbow on the edge of the desk. "I didn't know or-"
"What on earth are you apologizing for, girl? How many times I gotta tell you that you're a damned Evans? We don't go around apologizing unless we done killed some folks or we owe money. And I'm pretty damned certain that being a mutant don't make it so that you owe someone money. Besides, those bigwigs on that television set are so damned ignorant they couldn't say shit if'n they had a mouthful."
Snorting, I found myself wishing that the others had met my grandmother. For a moment, I wondered exactly how the Jr. X-Men would take the vivacious woman that was seventy-three, didn't look a day over sixty, and had taken down two potential muggers with a purse filled with peppermints, medication, and her ever-present taser. Of course, at the time she hadn't thought to pull out the item and use it as a weapon, she'd been more concerned at swinging her heavy purse around like a mace.
Noise from the hallway drew my attention to my partially open door. Several figures ambled by and I released a short sigh as I pushed back from my desk and rose to my feet. "I know, Grandma. I just don't want you to get... I don't know. I know how some people around there can be. The whole world just isn't dealing with any of this properly. I don't want you to get swept up in it just because of me. It isn't fair."
"When I first met your granddaddy, his parents hated me. Even then people were still struggling to deal with color, with differences. Back then, even being half black was a sin. Sure, I'm lighter than my momma ever was, but I still got my daddy's black roots in me. That first meeting, they looked me right in the eyes and told me they didn't want their son dating no bi-racial gold digger like me. Please, baby. His family wasn't rich, just comfortable. But you know what? That day, I folded my hands in my lap, looked his momma in the eye, and told her I didn't give a damn. I loved him, and if the world didn't like it that was their problem."
Twiddling my thumbs, I thought of the great-grandparents that I could hardly even remember. They'd both passed away when before I was eight, and even trying to picture their faces was difficult. I'd never known that my grandma was biracial until my mid-teens when a neighborhood drunk had started harassing her. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm starting to understand that," I offered, only half-believing it.
Through classes, as well as private meetings with Professor Xavier, I had finally come to understand and accept that I was a mutant. Yet, it had taken my grandma telling me that there was nothing wrong with me for it to really sink in.
"Grandma?" I murmured, running a hand through my still-damp hair.
"Yes, honey?"
Smiling, I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer upwards. "Thank you."
"I love you, Danielle. I'll send along some cookies in the next care package. I got a letter about some sort of training regime to help with your mutating or some nonsense. You be sure to listen to that Mr. Summers, you hear?"
And groaning, I said goodbye. Even my grandma wanted me to suffer through Mr. Summers' torturous training.
A/N: If you or a loved one may be suffering from an eating disorder, there is no shame in seeking help. .org/ could help you or a friend. (: