Title: De Anima 2/?
Author: Voici
Email: voici@mail2nemesis.com
Rating: PG-13
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 attempts 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!
This was the last time. The last time she would just huddle back into her placid, colorless existence. Rogue had awoken to the throbbing in her leg, but with new clarity to her thoughts. She had the Holocaust in her head; it hadn't destroyed her. She had the remembered pain of hot metal slicing through her flesh every time she was startled. For over three years, when she bit her tongue, she was never sure of whose blood she was tasting-Erik's, Bobby's, Logan's, her blood? That was how it worked; they were never really present. No way to fight, no way to run, because they were only shadows haunting her senses. So she tried to stop responding, decided before she acted what she was going to feel, what she would taste, and whether it would make her happy or sad. And yet after all this time, she still couldn't stop the pain.
Jean and Logan just fucked each other. God knows he hadn't been celibate for the past couple of years, so she shouldn't have gone over the edge the way she did. But when she heard them, she was hit by the weight of every betrayal that Erik, Logan, and Bobby had ever felt, all of the rage and all of the desire to self-destruct. The shadows became lead, and she was nearly crushed. But this was the last time. Her anger, her pain had to be stronger; they needed to be hers.
------
"Will someone please explain to me what the fuck happened?" Logan was out of patience. Hell, he never had any.
"I think we all know what happened," came Scott's bitter retort.
"Listen, asshole.."
Professor X interrupted, "Rogue was upset, she went out to be by herself, and she fell into one of the ravines. She will be fine, Logan."
"She was missing for ten fucking hours, and it was storming. Don't tell me she was out there communing with nature, Chuck."
Scott could remain silent no longer, "Yes, well, every action has its consequences."
"Cut the crap, One-eye. A lot more is happening here than me and Jean getting it on. I know, Marie, she's too smart to break down over something like that."
"You bastard. You know she's in love with you," Scott's voice melted into a simpering whine, "Oh, the brave Wolverine, he growls! He must know how to treat a woman. God, its pathetic."
The claws shot out. To no one's surprise.
Jean stepped between them, "Scott, I've never known you to be so juvenile; this is serious."
"You are right, Doctor, thank you for the diagnosis. I just haven't been taking this mess seriously enough," he bit back.
"You don't own her, you don't own anyone in this room. So why don't you just keep the stick up your own ass." Even Logan had a sort of poetry about him, when he was really pissed off.
"Is it just me or did a girl almost die today?"
Everyone turned to Storm. Professor X was tempted to just let them have it out; Scott needed it especially. But Storm was right.
"I'm going down there." Logan let the claws slide back and left the room in silence. And with a nod of the Professor's head, they all made there way down. They feared it, but somehow in the young woman they hoped to find an explanation for their pain, a way to sort out the guilt before they tore each other apart.
------
"No use playing possum, kid. I know you're awake." The false cheerfulness in his voice hurt, especially since she could sense that an entire ring of people flanked her bed.
She cracked a yawn and fluttered her eyes open, determined to hide her reactions, but allow herself to feel them. It was hard to acknowledge the rage without clenching her fists. "What're y'all doin' here? Can't a girl get some sleep."
"How are you feeling?" Jean's words sounded kind, but she said them with a clipboard in hand.
"Like someone put me on spin cycle. My leg's throbbing, but I'll live."
"Not even a broken bone. You're tough," Logan reached to brush the hair out of her face, but winced as Rogue flinched away.
"I'm a mess is all," she said in explanation, "I'll have to cut it all off, unless Jean gives me some morphine while I comb it out."
For some reason, finding Rogue joking was more disturbing than finding her weeping. Jean tried a gentle probe, only to be blocked instantly. An awkward silence fell over the room as Rogue looked down into her lap and seemed of all things, almost to be amused.
"I appreciate, yah'all visiting, but you know.."
"Yes, you must be tired," the Professor signaled for everyone to begin filing out.
Storm paused at the door, "Charles, what if Rogue was set up in my suite? This lab would depress Mary Poppins." Jean was already shaking her head, but Storm continued "But I would be there is she needed any attention, and I can change a bandage as well as Jean."
"Charles, it isn't safe."
"What would you like, Rogue?"
Even if she felt condescended to, the pleasure of spiting Jean was too strong. "That would be great. Thank you, Ms. Munroe."
"You know you can call me Ororo. We'll get things set up, and then Scott, could you carry Rogue up to my room?"
"I'll do it," Logan immediately demanded.
Storm looked uncertainly at Rogue, who with a practiced teenage shrug replied, "Whatever."
"Do you think I could have some time alone with my patient, now?" Jean requested just a little too sharply. Rogue grinned; maybe Logan wouldn't be the only one getting under Dr. Grey's skin. That pleasure was going to be all her own.
------
Instead of stiffening like she usually did when Logan got to close, Rogue decided to let herself enjoy the pleasure of being held. She wasn't letting any fantasies or denial play through her mind; she was just enjoying the heat, the fiction of her cheek on his shirt, and the smell of his skin. It wasn't about Logan; it was about her. Why did it take her so long to realize it? As she shifted to allow her breasts to rest more heavily on his chest, she heard his breath catch. She knew he was uncomfortable. She just didn't care.
"So." he said softly as he carried her through the corridors.
"So what?" She breathed into his neck.
"Jean says the gash on your leg is pretty bad, probably leave a scar." She couldn't help stiffening.
"So?"
"Well, I was thinking, that if you could handle it, one little touch and the scar is gone. I blackout for a few seconds, and you can climb the stairs yourself."
"I don't think so, Logan."
"I know I'm not too pretty to have in your head, but you've gained a lot of control.."
"It's not that."
"What, then?"
"Well, maybe I don't mind it. Scars are reminders, they give you history, something to constant to trace. Your body is smooth all over isn't it, Logan. Sure you've got that constant five o'clock shadow, but your face is perfect." The old Rogue would have blushed; instead Logan was the one that looked away. "Think about it. Has anyone ever been cut as many times as you have? Does anyone else have more reason to be etched all over? Your claws are the only story your body tells."
" Marie, some things you don't want to know. Besides, we were talking about you."
But she wouldn't be deflected, "I think we all need reminders, Logan. When we've been hurt, I don't think we should forget. Otherwise we'd just be animals repeating the same mistakes again and again."
He stopped in the middle of the hallway, tighten his grip, and spoke roughly. "I was never any good at philosophizing. You have your reasons and that's enough."
"Fine."
They continued down the hall in silence. Logan laid her on the bed that Storm had prepared, tucking the blankets in around her, wondering if her eyes were always so bright and her skin so pale.
At the door, he had to turn and ask his eyes at his feet, "Have I hurt you, Marie? Do you think I'm one of those animals?"
"Like you said, it's just philosophy, Logan. Nothing for a man like you to bother with."
He stared at her a minute longer, then nodded his head, closing the door behind him and leaving the chamber dark.
This was the last time. The last time she would just huddle back into her placid, colorless existence. Rogue had awoken to the throbbing in her leg, but with new clarity to her thoughts. She had the Holocaust in her head; it hadn't destroyed her. She had the remembered pain of hot metal slicing through her flesh every time she was startled. For over three years, when she bit her tongue, she was never sure of whose blood she was tasting-Erik's, Bobby's, Logan's, her blood? That was how it worked; they were never really present. No way to fight, no way to run, because they were only shadows haunting her senses. So she tried to stop responding, decided before she acted what she was going to feel, what she would taste, and whether it would make her happy or sad. And yet after all this time, she still couldn't stop the pain.
Jean and Logan just fucked each other. God knows he hadn't been celibate for the past couple of years, so she shouldn't have gone over the edge the way she did. But when she heard them, she was hit by the weight of every betrayal that Erik, Logan, and Bobby had ever felt, all of the rage and all of the desire to self-destruct. The shadows became lead, and she was nearly crushed. But this was the last time. Her anger, her pain had to be stronger; they needed to be hers.
------
"Will someone please explain to me what the fuck happened?" Logan was out of patience. Hell, he never had any.
"I think we all know what happened," came Scott's bitter retort.
"Listen, asshole.."
Professor X interrupted, "Rogue was upset, she went out to be by herself, and she fell into one of the ravines. She will be fine, Logan."
"She was missing for ten fucking hours, and it was storming. Don't tell me she was out there communing with nature, Chuck."
Scott could remain silent no longer, "Yes, well, every action has its consequences."
"Cut the crap, One-eye. A lot more is happening here than me and Jean getting it on. I know, Marie, she's too smart to break down over something like that."
"You bastard. You know she's in love with you," Scott's voice melted into a simpering whine, "Oh, the brave Wolverine, he growls! He must know how to treat a woman. God, its pathetic."
The claws shot out. To no one's surprise.
Jean stepped between them, "Scott, I've never known you to be so juvenile; this is serious."
"You are right, Doctor, thank you for the diagnosis. I just haven't been taking this mess seriously enough," he bit back.
"You don't own her, you don't own anyone in this room. So why don't you just keep the stick up your own ass." Even Logan had a sort of poetry about him, when he was really pissed off.
"Is it just me or did a girl almost die today?"
Everyone turned to Storm. Professor X was tempted to just let them have it out; Scott needed it especially. But Storm was right.
"I'm going down there." Logan let the claws slide back and left the room in silence. And with a nod of the Professor's head, they all made there way down. They feared it, but somehow in the young woman they hoped to find an explanation for their pain, a way to sort out the guilt before they tore each other apart.
------
"No use playing possum, kid. I know you're awake." The false cheerfulness in his voice hurt, especially since she could sense that an entire ring of people flanked her bed.
She cracked a yawn and fluttered her eyes open, determined to hide her reactions, but allow herself to feel them. It was hard to acknowledge the rage without clenching her fists. "What're y'all doin' here? Can't a girl get some sleep."
"How are you feeling?" Jean's words sounded kind, but she said them with a clipboard in hand.
"Like someone put me on spin cycle. My leg's throbbing, but I'll live."
"Not even a broken bone. You're tough," Logan reached to brush the hair out of her face, but winced as Rogue flinched away.
"I'm a mess is all," she said in explanation, "I'll have to cut it all off, unless Jean gives me some morphine while I comb it out."
For some reason, finding Rogue joking was more disturbing than finding her weeping. Jean tried a gentle probe, only to be blocked instantly. An awkward silence fell over the room as Rogue looked down into her lap and seemed of all things, almost to be amused.
"I appreciate, yah'all visiting, but you know.."
"Yes, you must be tired," the Professor signaled for everyone to begin filing out.
Storm paused at the door, "Charles, what if Rogue was set up in my suite? This lab would depress Mary Poppins." Jean was already shaking her head, but Storm continued "But I would be there is she needed any attention, and I can change a bandage as well as Jean."
"Charles, it isn't safe."
"What would you like, Rogue?"
Even if she felt condescended to, the pleasure of spiting Jean was too strong. "That would be great. Thank you, Ms. Munroe."
"You know you can call me Ororo. We'll get things set up, and then Scott, could you carry Rogue up to my room?"
"I'll do it," Logan immediately demanded.
Storm looked uncertainly at Rogue, who with a practiced teenage shrug replied, "Whatever."
"Do you think I could have some time alone with my patient, now?" Jean requested just a little too sharply. Rogue grinned; maybe Logan wouldn't be the only one getting under Dr. Grey's skin. That pleasure was going to be all her own.
------
Instead of stiffening like she usually did when Logan got to close, Rogue decided to let herself enjoy the pleasure of being held. She wasn't letting any fantasies or denial play through her mind; she was just enjoying the heat, the fiction of her cheek on his shirt, and the smell of his skin. It wasn't about Logan; it was about her. Why did it take her so long to realize it? As she shifted to allow her breasts to rest more heavily on his chest, she heard his breath catch. She knew he was uncomfortable. She just didn't care.
"So." he said softly as he carried her through the corridors.
"So what?" She breathed into his neck.
"Jean says the gash on your leg is pretty bad, probably leave a scar." She couldn't help stiffening.
"So?"
"Well, I was thinking, that if you could handle it, one little touch and the scar is gone. I blackout for a few seconds, and you can climb the stairs yourself."
"I don't think so, Logan."
"I know I'm not too pretty to have in your head, but you've gained a lot of control.."
"It's not that."
"What, then?"
"Well, maybe I don't mind it. Scars are reminders, they give you history, something to constant to trace. Your body is smooth all over isn't it, Logan. Sure you've got that constant five o'clock shadow, but your face is perfect." The old Rogue would have blushed; instead Logan was the one that looked away. "Think about it. Has anyone ever been cut as many times as you have? Does anyone else have more reason to be etched all over? Your claws are the only story your body tells."
" Marie, some things you don't want to know. Besides, we were talking about you."
But she wouldn't be deflected, "I think we all need reminders, Logan. When we've been hurt, I don't think we should forget. Otherwise we'd just be animals repeating the same mistakes again and again."
He stopped in the middle of the hallway, tighten his grip, and spoke roughly. "I was never any good at philosophizing. You have your reasons and that's enough."
"Fine."
They continued down the hall in silence. Logan laid her on the bed that Storm had prepared, tucking the blankets in around her, wondering if her eyes were always so bright and her skin so pale.
At the door, he had to turn and ask his eyes at his feet, "Have I hurt you, Marie? Do you think I'm one of those animals?"
"Like you said, it's just philosophy, Logan. Nothing for a man like you to bother with."
He stared at her a minute longer, then nodded his head, closing the door behind him and leaving the chamber dark.
