Title: De Anima
Author: Voici
Email: voici@mail2nemesis.com
Rating: PG to begin with, oh wait, 1 f-word, does this catapult it to a R?
Summary: Rogue takes a dive physically and mentally. This series will
explore what it might be like to
enjoy the fall.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are from my creation. No doubt, I'm not
only riffing off a Marvel/Fox
property, but the work of the fan fiction community. Think of it as
homage, my favorite cheese.
Archive: Sure.
Author's Notes: First attempt at fan fiction, I'd appreciate comments.
This is the first of what is, in my
mind, a long series that will swing from PG to NC-17 and especially play
havok with the relationships of
Wolverine, Rogue, Scott, and Jean. Let the angst begin!
Her hair was a swamp of twigs, mud, and leaves. There was a ragged red scratch on her left cheek, and her eyes seemed to have dilated into obsidian pools. Storm was shocked; she had not realized how much of Logan had remained. No matter how traumatic the experience, she did not expect the fine-boned girl with a southern drawl to turn feral.
What Storm did not realize, perhaps she didn't want to see it in herself, was the animal that nested in all of us. Perhaps only revealed when wounded or exultant, almost always numbed by the cardboard sustenance of sitcoms, light beer, microwave dinners, and routine. Most people did not understand that the fingernail biting, insomnia, and compulsive grooming were just the motions of a tiger pacing in its cage. Back and forth for hours, quiet, but not really tame, just waiting to find an object for its frustration. Being a mutant made it all the more difficult to remain calm-- Rogue had finally given up trying. She had stopped being domesticated from the moment she nearly killed a boy with her kiss.
Rogue scurried backwards as the figure approached; she was too weak to feel anything but fear. She retreated from a friend only to feel the ground finally, literally, give way beneath her. This new pain was not red, but black and only lasted an instant before she entirely lost consciousness.
---------
"What happened? She looks like she's been run over by a truck." Jean Grey's words were rushed, but in every other way she was coolly competent-- knotting her hair out of her face and pulling on a pair of thick latex gloves.
"She's bleeding heavily from a deep gash on her leg. I tried a tourniquet, but she's lost a lot of blood. I...I startled her in the woods, and she slid down into a ravine. There are other cuts from the rocks, but god, she's bleeding so much. Should I get Logan, maybe.," Storm looked almost as frightening as the slight form on the medical table, her white hair and t-shirt streaked with dirt and blood. "If I hadn't scared her..."
"You know this wasn't your fault. Leave Logan out of this. I will not have two invalids on my hands. I know how it looks, but it is really a simple injury. No bones broken, she's not in shock." Loud pounding on the door interrupted Jean's assessment.
"Damn it, Jean, let me in. Now!" Both women felt the hair on their arms prickle, neither wanted to deal with an enraged Wolverine.
Even as she finished cleaning the jagged wound on Rogue's thigh, Jean replied evenly with only a hint of menace, "Logan, this is a medical environment, you will stay out. The situation is under control, and neither Rogue nor I need the additional stress."
Slightly embarrassed by the idea that he could be causing Marie more stress, Logan almost pleaded, "I only want to help, Jean. Just let me in." More forcefully, " You know I can help."
Storm had made her way to the door, motioning to Jean to continue her work. "Jean needs to focus on Rogue now, Logan, not fight with you. She has taken a nasty fall, but nothing out of the ordinary. The best thing you can do is stay calm.."
"I could be through this door in two seconds," Wolverine interrupted, unable to continue arguing any longer, knowing that Marie was bleeding on the other side of the door. Smelling her blood.
"Logan," a voice echoed in his head.
"Damn it, Charles."
"Come to my office, Logan. We can wait for news of Rogue's condition together."
Wolverine considered cutting through the door anyway, though he knew it would only force the Professor to stop him. He had 12-inch metal claws and an elderly man in a wheelchair could take him out with a thought. It wasn't fair. "Just let me see her," he was back to bargaining.
"I'll expect you in my office immediately," was the Professor's only response.
Wolverine pounded the door one last time, and growled "Don't fuck this up, Jean," before heading up to the office. He almost immediately regretted saying it; he knew Jean was way too much of a perfectionist to give anything but the best treatment. But he was angry, he felt wounded, and there was no one to fight.
He shouldn't have bothered with any remorse; the doctor had barely registered the threat.
"Storm, call for Scott, and go get changed. You've had a hard enough day as it is."
"Why is she still unconscious, Jean?"
"I'm keeping her that way until I have the wound closed."
"Do you really think you should do that.."
"Please, just get Scott."
Jean wasn't about to tell Storm, but the wound on Rogue's leg was the least of her worries. The turmoil in her mind, the rage and fear, almost overwhelmed her. No, she couldn't let Rogue wake up yet, even though she knew it was not her decision to make.
---------
Her only relief in seeing Scott was that she could behave as a doctor who needed help with a patient, not a woman who had betrayed her lover.
Though she didn't want to admit it to Storm, especially with Logan within hearing, Rogue had lost a lot of blood. She would be okay for a little while, but she needed a transfusion. Rogue's deadly skin was just another complication of the sort she dealt with everyday; the RN at the nearest hospital might not be as complacent. Scott sharing her blood type made the treatment much less difficult.
They both held their breath as she traced his vein. The touch still seemed intimate, even obstructed by heavy latex. "Scott." she started.
"This won't take long will it." It was a statement, not a question.
Jean got the hint, and returned completely to the diligent doctor act that seemed to be taking over her life. She finished the job, dismissed Scott, ministered to Rogue, rechecked the bandages, and cleaned the instruments. It may have taken ten minutes or two hours for all that she could feel of time in the stainless-steel lab. No longer caring if the girl was mad, almost hoping to have a chance to play doctor indefinitely, she let go of Rogue's mind. Jean, with everyone else, waited for the girl to wake up. Because when she did, they knew that their future was going to be held accountable for their past.
Her hair was a swamp of twigs, mud, and leaves. There was a ragged red scratch on her left cheek, and her eyes seemed to have dilated into obsidian pools. Storm was shocked; she had not realized how much of Logan had remained. No matter how traumatic the experience, she did not expect the fine-boned girl with a southern drawl to turn feral.
What Storm did not realize, perhaps she didn't want to see it in herself, was the animal that nested in all of us. Perhaps only revealed when wounded or exultant, almost always numbed by the cardboard sustenance of sitcoms, light beer, microwave dinners, and routine. Most people did not understand that the fingernail biting, insomnia, and compulsive grooming were just the motions of a tiger pacing in its cage. Back and forth for hours, quiet, but not really tame, just waiting to find an object for its frustration. Being a mutant made it all the more difficult to remain calm-- Rogue had finally given up trying. She had stopped being domesticated from the moment she nearly killed a boy with her kiss.
Rogue scurried backwards as the figure approached; she was too weak to feel anything but fear. She retreated from a friend only to feel the ground finally, literally, give way beneath her. This new pain was not red, but black and only lasted an instant before she entirely lost consciousness.
---------
"What happened? She looks like she's been run over by a truck." Jean Grey's words were rushed, but in every other way she was coolly competent-- knotting her hair out of her face and pulling on a pair of thick latex gloves.
"She's bleeding heavily from a deep gash on her leg. I tried a tourniquet, but she's lost a lot of blood. I...I startled her in the woods, and she slid down into a ravine. There are other cuts from the rocks, but god, she's bleeding so much. Should I get Logan, maybe.," Storm looked almost as frightening as the slight form on the medical table, her white hair and t-shirt streaked with dirt and blood. "If I hadn't scared her..."
"You know this wasn't your fault. Leave Logan out of this. I will not have two invalids on my hands. I know how it looks, but it is really a simple injury. No bones broken, she's not in shock." Loud pounding on the door interrupted Jean's assessment.
"Damn it, Jean, let me in. Now!" Both women felt the hair on their arms prickle, neither wanted to deal with an enraged Wolverine.
Even as she finished cleaning the jagged wound on Rogue's thigh, Jean replied evenly with only a hint of menace, "Logan, this is a medical environment, you will stay out. The situation is under control, and neither Rogue nor I need the additional stress."
Slightly embarrassed by the idea that he could be causing Marie more stress, Logan almost pleaded, "I only want to help, Jean. Just let me in." More forcefully, " You know I can help."
Storm had made her way to the door, motioning to Jean to continue her work. "Jean needs to focus on Rogue now, Logan, not fight with you. She has taken a nasty fall, but nothing out of the ordinary. The best thing you can do is stay calm.."
"I could be through this door in two seconds," Wolverine interrupted, unable to continue arguing any longer, knowing that Marie was bleeding on the other side of the door. Smelling her blood.
"Logan," a voice echoed in his head.
"Damn it, Charles."
"Come to my office, Logan. We can wait for news of Rogue's condition together."
Wolverine considered cutting through the door anyway, though he knew it would only force the Professor to stop him. He had 12-inch metal claws and an elderly man in a wheelchair could take him out with a thought. It wasn't fair. "Just let me see her," he was back to bargaining.
"I'll expect you in my office immediately," was the Professor's only response.
Wolverine pounded the door one last time, and growled "Don't fuck this up, Jean," before heading up to the office. He almost immediately regretted saying it; he knew Jean was way too much of a perfectionist to give anything but the best treatment. But he was angry, he felt wounded, and there was no one to fight.
He shouldn't have bothered with any remorse; the doctor had barely registered the threat.
"Storm, call for Scott, and go get changed. You've had a hard enough day as it is."
"Why is she still unconscious, Jean?"
"I'm keeping her that way until I have the wound closed."
"Do you really think you should do that.."
"Please, just get Scott."
Jean wasn't about to tell Storm, but the wound on Rogue's leg was the least of her worries. The turmoil in her mind, the rage and fear, almost overwhelmed her. No, she couldn't let Rogue wake up yet, even though she knew it was not her decision to make.
---------
Her only relief in seeing Scott was that she could behave as a doctor who needed help with a patient, not a woman who had betrayed her lover.
Though she didn't want to admit it to Storm, especially with Logan within hearing, Rogue had lost a lot of blood. She would be okay for a little while, but she needed a transfusion. Rogue's deadly skin was just another complication of the sort she dealt with everyday; the RN at the nearest hospital might not be as complacent. Scott sharing her blood type made the treatment much less difficult.
They both held their breath as she traced his vein. The touch still seemed intimate, even obstructed by heavy latex. "Scott." she started.
"This won't take long will it." It was a statement, not a question.
Jean got the hint, and returned completely to the diligent doctor act that seemed to be taking over her life. She finished the job, dismissed Scott, ministered to Rogue, rechecked the bandages, and cleaned the instruments. It may have taken ten minutes or two hours for all that she could feel of time in the stainless-steel lab. No longer caring if the girl was mad, almost hoping to have a chance to play doctor indefinitely, she let go of Rogue's mind. Jean, with everyone else, waited for the girl to wake up. Because when she did, they knew that their future was going to be held accountable for their past.
