Rogue was not happy. Granted, she seldom was. At least, not happy in the
usual over-joyful the-world-is-green-and-wonderful way. Perhaps earlier,
when she had been younger and fully human, when the only emotional pain was
either quick and petty, such as whether this boy or that would pay
attention to her, or somewhat morose, but unchangeable and removed from her
personally-case in point, Kurt's eternal inability to interact with people.
No, her earlier years had not been idyllic, nothing worth singing about,
but they'd had ups and downs and the ups were usually better than the
downs, because what does a pre-adolescent of fair means and careful
upbringing have to angst about?
Yeah, things had been all right then, mainly. Maybe even Kurt would have been okay, if Rogue hadn't been just as flawed, only deeper, and that deeper flaw was the crueller one. Perhaps it was fate. No one can be a twin to a demon and not be a little tainted.
She didn't remember exactly how it had started. What exactly Joe was doing and why he was touching her hand so long--that was lost. It didn't matter. She hadn't killed him, but she'd felt him in her--dormant, dead thought, memories that affixed to her own and mannerisms she knew were his, but jumped out of her as easily as habit nonetheless. She'd been terribly confused, confused more than frightened. It had been easy for them to take her. When she'd . . . realized why they'd taken her, she didn't mind so much what she thought they were going to do. She was a monster. Anyone who's skin was poisonous had to die, for the greater good. Yeah, the greater good.
Whether those were her thoughts or someone else's she couldn't tell. She'd escaped anyway. You're not all that resigned when you're fourteen to give yourself up to the greater good, not instinctually, not really. Kurt had broken open her prison somehow and she'd left. She half remembered her rationale--she hadn't killed Joe, maybe she couldn't actually kill anyone, it was simple enough, just don't touch anyone, how hard could that be?
What a joke, it'd been hard, still was. And she'd killed. Intentionally, once. Scott wasn't the only soul trapped inside her. It would have been better if he was--not knowing was always better. Not knowing what was bound to happen . . . no one wants to be a prophet, not in that sense.
"Rogue," Kurt hissed from a small, but safe distance, pacing her above, from the branches. "I need to talk to you."
"Not now," Rogue growled, catching the edge of her foot on a root and hissing herself.
"Later. When we stop." He leapt ahead, then, thin tail whipping out after him. Rogue could hardly contain her disgust--that hurt as well and also came from knowing. She'd never minded his appearance before everything and now it was just a more glaring reminder among thousands of more muddied reminders that probably weren't for her anyway.
She wanted to stop now. Not that she really cared about whatever Kurt had to say, but she was very tired and she had no real interest in joining up with Magneto post-haste. She didn't like the idea of Magneto. She should have said more during Jean's conference, made some sort of moral protest, but had been . . . distracted, both by Kurt . . . and Scott, of course. Her moral protest would have been weak anyway. Whatever natural qualms she might have over the man/group who had probably burned her village and from all rumors happily slaughtered humans, there wasn't much choice, him or Kelly. Kelly apparently happily slaughtered mutants. As far as Rogue was concerned, that was fine, too, her at the forefront. Perhaps she didn't have Scott's easy attitude toward death--she recognized she needed a little more dramatics to be satisfied with the idea and for all the awfulness, she didn't quite want to go yet--but maybe it would rub off on her before long, which was what she was afraid of. Just get it over with now, that'd be better, before Scott did rub off, like Rahne before him.
The sun was down and the trees around her were a certain red. Not a bright, garish, emperor red or even the pooled brown-red of blood, but a certain grey-red, red hovering on the edge of twilight and non-color. Twilight is not much of a time for running in.
At least Kitty had the sense to know that.
"We're probably gonna have to stop for the night. I don't mind running in the dark, but you heroes look pretty beat, so this is as good a place as any, I think. Nice clearing, don't you think?"
It wasn't much of a clearing. More of a half-gap in the trees, barely wide enough to accomadate them all. It was lucky that it was a warm night and dry, because only over-cheerful Kitty had anything in the way of supplies and her single blanket couldn't cover them all, even excepting Kurt by default.
Rogue crouched on the edge of that "clearing" and would have remained there, chin leaned hard against folded arms and brooding eyes fixed on the grass that still remained untouched, if Kurt really hadn't been adamant about speaking with her.
He hung from an overhanging tree, forearms hanging lax from the rest of his body, serious even when up-side down. "We've stopped."
"Yeah, so?" She grumbled almost incoherently.
"It's time to talk. Can we withdraw a bit . . . please?"
Rogue blinked and raised her head. Kurt's tone had taken on the odd softness that always stung her, every time he used it. Invoked memories-- it was always memories. He probably did it on purpose, just as manipulative as any Jean, but she did stand up and she did follow him that short distance into the woods. There was something painfully familiar about that, too.
"What is it?"
"You can't tell Jean," he said, still with the softness, his flat yellow eyes deflected.
"About what?"
"You know. About Scott. Don't tell her anything. She doesn't understand."
"Understands enough," Rogue said a little too firmly--she knew where this was bound to go.
"She thinks you're a bug jar," Kurt finally spat, and the softness was gone. "Everyone does, they don't understand. They think they can use you to preserve . . . they don't even know what you are."
"And you do?" Rogue snapped back, regardless of the fact he wasn't angry at her--it honestly didn't matter, it was the same.
"I sat with you through the Rahne year--I was with you the ientire time/i and if anyone except iyou/i knows, I know. I know very well that Scott is idead/i. I just had to know that you knew."
Was there a tinge of grief in his voice? Again, it didn't matter and it probably wasn't real.
"Don't insult me," she said tautly, "especially if you know so . . . much. I know. I killed him."
"It wasn't your fault."
"What? You're gonna give me a way out? 'No, it wasn't your fault, you're just too weak-minded to refuse Jean when she . . . '"
"I might have done the same thing, in your place." He settled onto all fours, plucking clumsily at a piece of grass. Rogue sneered at him.
"Really. Define 'my place.'"
"I'm not blind," Kurt growled, but didn't look up. "I know what you felt for him." "Ah, like what you feel for Kitty."
"That's . . . quick and neutered, and therefore harmless, lust," Kurt snorted. "You didn't feel that for Scott. He was something to you, an idea, if nothing else. You've never . . . watched over anyone like that, not even me, . . . in the early days."
"Scott wasn't like you."
"Nah, he wasn't. He didn't need the protection." He finally extracted his blade of grass and gnawed on it--he'd always liked gnawing on things. "That was your mistake, you and Jean."
She sighed, leaning back against a tree and feeling more tired than ever, "You pulled me out here to tell me that?"
"Not really. Have you . . . have you come to terms with what's bound to happen?"
"Why do you care?" That was reflexive.
"I remember Rahne."
"I can't come to terms with it. Not the diminishing and the quieting, until it's just a whisper and a bundle of traits. I don't want it to happen. I'd rather die."
"It's still soon. It'll be a while. He has some months. Maybe . . . maybe Magneto can help."
"Yeah. Let's put our hopes on Magneto."
"I didn't say that. Not really."
"What is this, then . . . 'really'?"
"I don't know. I just wanted to talk. It's been a while." He stood up, brushing the green of his darkness and extracting the grass out of his teeth. "You still hate me. I don't want you to."
Rogue caught herself sniffling and scowled to hide it, inhaling until she felt cold. Not the time. "I don't hate you."
"Yes, you do. You've hated me since Cody. You've got a right, I guess, but . . . "
"You scared me. And I could have handled it."
"He would have killed you. You couldn't have stopped him, because he was . . . Cody. He was your friend. You . . . didn't want him to hate you."
"I could have handled it," she pressed stubbornly, though now this was an old argument and they could have both recited it word for word, playing either part.
He paused for a moment, then sighed, "Fine. You could have handled it. I still did what . . . I thought I had to. I still dream about it--I didn't want to kill him."
"You ripped his throat out," she said coldly.
"Just did what came naturally--like you absorbed Rahne."
"I had no idea what she was."
"Does it matter? Why is my murder worse than yours, huh?"
This was old, too, both facing each other, drawing themselves up to full height, an odd, stilted kind of dance as they circled, meters apart.
"You don't have to feel Cody in your head . . . he was just so much meat to you."
"You think you know? You've never absorbed me, and you won't. Not to 'save my life,' and I wouldn't want it anyway. I know what you are."
"I'm not a monster!"
"Neither am I!"
Pause. Just like a thousand times before. Dialogue a little different, but nothing else ever changed. Kurt began to laugh.
"And that's that. Both monsters, then. Masochistic, eternally celibate, and trapped in the same old screams," he got to all fours, turned away from her, "the ghouls and dwarves even of our freakish community. Think we could at least stick together, I'm a devil, you're a hell, but whatever. Good night, Rogue."
He vanished up a length of a tree and Rogue didn't bother following him. She sank down where she was and burst into tears.
For whatever reason. It didn't matter.
Yeah, things had been all right then, mainly. Maybe even Kurt would have been okay, if Rogue hadn't been just as flawed, only deeper, and that deeper flaw was the crueller one. Perhaps it was fate. No one can be a twin to a demon and not be a little tainted.
She didn't remember exactly how it had started. What exactly Joe was doing and why he was touching her hand so long--that was lost. It didn't matter. She hadn't killed him, but she'd felt him in her--dormant, dead thought, memories that affixed to her own and mannerisms she knew were his, but jumped out of her as easily as habit nonetheless. She'd been terribly confused, confused more than frightened. It had been easy for them to take her. When she'd . . . realized why they'd taken her, she didn't mind so much what she thought they were going to do. She was a monster. Anyone who's skin was poisonous had to die, for the greater good. Yeah, the greater good.
Whether those were her thoughts or someone else's she couldn't tell. She'd escaped anyway. You're not all that resigned when you're fourteen to give yourself up to the greater good, not instinctually, not really. Kurt had broken open her prison somehow and she'd left. She half remembered her rationale--she hadn't killed Joe, maybe she couldn't actually kill anyone, it was simple enough, just don't touch anyone, how hard could that be?
What a joke, it'd been hard, still was. And she'd killed. Intentionally, once. Scott wasn't the only soul trapped inside her. It would have been better if he was--not knowing was always better. Not knowing what was bound to happen . . . no one wants to be a prophet, not in that sense.
"Rogue," Kurt hissed from a small, but safe distance, pacing her above, from the branches. "I need to talk to you."
"Not now," Rogue growled, catching the edge of her foot on a root and hissing herself.
"Later. When we stop." He leapt ahead, then, thin tail whipping out after him. Rogue could hardly contain her disgust--that hurt as well and also came from knowing. She'd never minded his appearance before everything and now it was just a more glaring reminder among thousands of more muddied reminders that probably weren't for her anyway.
She wanted to stop now. Not that she really cared about whatever Kurt had to say, but she was very tired and she had no real interest in joining up with Magneto post-haste. She didn't like the idea of Magneto. She should have said more during Jean's conference, made some sort of moral protest, but had been . . . distracted, both by Kurt . . . and Scott, of course. Her moral protest would have been weak anyway. Whatever natural qualms she might have over the man/group who had probably burned her village and from all rumors happily slaughtered humans, there wasn't much choice, him or Kelly. Kelly apparently happily slaughtered mutants. As far as Rogue was concerned, that was fine, too, her at the forefront. Perhaps she didn't have Scott's easy attitude toward death--she recognized she needed a little more dramatics to be satisfied with the idea and for all the awfulness, she didn't quite want to go yet--but maybe it would rub off on her before long, which was what she was afraid of. Just get it over with now, that'd be better, before Scott did rub off, like Rahne before him.
The sun was down and the trees around her were a certain red. Not a bright, garish, emperor red or even the pooled brown-red of blood, but a certain grey-red, red hovering on the edge of twilight and non-color. Twilight is not much of a time for running in.
At least Kitty had the sense to know that.
"We're probably gonna have to stop for the night. I don't mind running in the dark, but you heroes look pretty beat, so this is as good a place as any, I think. Nice clearing, don't you think?"
It wasn't much of a clearing. More of a half-gap in the trees, barely wide enough to accomadate them all. It was lucky that it was a warm night and dry, because only over-cheerful Kitty had anything in the way of supplies and her single blanket couldn't cover them all, even excepting Kurt by default.
Rogue crouched on the edge of that "clearing" and would have remained there, chin leaned hard against folded arms and brooding eyes fixed on the grass that still remained untouched, if Kurt really hadn't been adamant about speaking with her.
He hung from an overhanging tree, forearms hanging lax from the rest of his body, serious even when up-side down. "We've stopped."
"Yeah, so?" She grumbled almost incoherently.
"It's time to talk. Can we withdraw a bit . . . please?"
Rogue blinked and raised her head. Kurt's tone had taken on the odd softness that always stung her, every time he used it. Invoked memories-- it was always memories. He probably did it on purpose, just as manipulative as any Jean, but she did stand up and she did follow him that short distance into the woods. There was something painfully familiar about that, too.
"What is it?"
"You can't tell Jean," he said, still with the softness, his flat yellow eyes deflected.
"About what?"
"You know. About Scott. Don't tell her anything. She doesn't understand."
"Understands enough," Rogue said a little too firmly--she knew where this was bound to go.
"She thinks you're a bug jar," Kurt finally spat, and the softness was gone. "Everyone does, they don't understand. They think they can use you to preserve . . . they don't even know what you are."
"And you do?" Rogue snapped back, regardless of the fact he wasn't angry at her--it honestly didn't matter, it was the same.
"I sat with you through the Rahne year--I was with you the ientire time/i and if anyone except iyou/i knows, I know. I know very well that Scott is idead/i. I just had to know that you knew."
Was there a tinge of grief in his voice? Again, it didn't matter and it probably wasn't real.
"Don't insult me," she said tautly, "especially if you know so . . . much. I know. I killed him."
"It wasn't your fault."
"What? You're gonna give me a way out? 'No, it wasn't your fault, you're just too weak-minded to refuse Jean when she . . . '"
"I might have done the same thing, in your place." He settled onto all fours, plucking clumsily at a piece of grass. Rogue sneered at him.
"Really. Define 'my place.'"
"I'm not blind," Kurt growled, but didn't look up. "I know what you felt for him." "Ah, like what you feel for Kitty."
"That's . . . quick and neutered, and therefore harmless, lust," Kurt snorted. "You didn't feel that for Scott. He was something to you, an idea, if nothing else. You've never . . . watched over anyone like that, not even me, . . . in the early days."
"Scott wasn't like you."
"Nah, he wasn't. He didn't need the protection." He finally extracted his blade of grass and gnawed on it--he'd always liked gnawing on things. "That was your mistake, you and Jean."
She sighed, leaning back against a tree and feeling more tired than ever, "You pulled me out here to tell me that?"
"Not really. Have you . . . have you come to terms with what's bound to happen?"
"Why do you care?" That was reflexive.
"I remember Rahne."
"I can't come to terms with it. Not the diminishing and the quieting, until it's just a whisper and a bundle of traits. I don't want it to happen. I'd rather die."
"It's still soon. It'll be a while. He has some months. Maybe . . . maybe Magneto can help."
"Yeah. Let's put our hopes on Magneto."
"I didn't say that. Not really."
"What is this, then . . . 'really'?"
"I don't know. I just wanted to talk. It's been a while." He stood up, brushing the green of his darkness and extracting the grass out of his teeth. "You still hate me. I don't want you to."
Rogue caught herself sniffling and scowled to hide it, inhaling until she felt cold. Not the time. "I don't hate you."
"Yes, you do. You've hated me since Cody. You've got a right, I guess, but . . . "
"You scared me. And I could have handled it."
"He would have killed you. You couldn't have stopped him, because he was . . . Cody. He was your friend. You . . . didn't want him to hate you."
"I could have handled it," she pressed stubbornly, though now this was an old argument and they could have both recited it word for word, playing either part.
He paused for a moment, then sighed, "Fine. You could have handled it. I still did what . . . I thought I had to. I still dream about it--I didn't want to kill him."
"You ripped his throat out," she said coldly.
"Just did what came naturally--like you absorbed Rahne."
"I had no idea what she was."
"Does it matter? Why is my murder worse than yours, huh?"
This was old, too, both facing each other, drawing themselves up to full height, an odd, stilted kind of dance as they circled, meters apart.
"You don't have to feel Cody in your head . . . he was just so much meat to you."
"You think you know? You've never absorbed me, and you won't. Not to 'save my life,' and I wouldn't want it anyway. I know what you are."
"I'm not a monster!"
"Neither am I!"
Pause. Just like a thousand times before. Dialogue a little different, but nothing else ever changed. Kurt began to laugh.
"And that's that. Both monsters, then. Masochistic, eternally celibate, and trapped in the same old screams," he got to all fours, turned away from her, "the ghouls and dwarves even of our freakish community. Think we could at least stick together, I'm a devil, you're a hell, but whatever. Good night, Rogue."
He vanished up a length of a tree and Rogue didn't bother following him. She sank down where she was and burst into tears.
For whatever reason. It didn't matter.
