Author's notes – characters aren't mine, obviously, they belong to Marvel.
Thanks go to Sue Penkivech for proofreading, to Taekwondodo for helping me out with the title, and to pretty much everyone I RP with for inspiring me, 'cause you guys all rock.
Sorry for completely slaughtering every character here – I'm not really a fan of Scott or Rogue, so I'm really not supposed to be writing a fic about them. Don't even know why I did – I wanna write an Amara fic. So… hopefully I will, soon. For now, enjoy this and I'd really appreciate some reviews as this is my first fanfic ever.
It was fairly late at night; this much was obvious from the complete darkness outside, the moon being hidden from sight by a few large clouds. It'd start raining later, there was no doubt about that – perhaps the rainstorm would even be accompanied by some lightning and thunder. Not that she cared much, of course; she was certain she'd have fallen asleep by the time the storm started.
Annoyed, and with her green eyes still spread open wide, Rogue turned to her side, now facing the once-completely blank wall. Maybe she wasn't that certain. She'd been awake for what – three, four hours now? And still no sign of sleep. Christ, she wasn't even the least bit tired and it was getting very frustrating. The thoughts just kept swarming around in her head and no matter what she did to distract herself, everything kept boiling down to one point.
And, of course, that was exactly what she didn't want to think about. Rogue raised a hand – ungloved – and her index finger carefully traced the pencil lines on the wall. She'd been bored plenty of nights before, eventually resorting to drawing silly little pictures on the wallpaper next to her pillow with the pencil she kept in her drawer. But now, she wasn't in the mood, so instead of adding to the mess on the wall that didn't even officially belong to her, she just stared at the doodles from long ago and kept quiet.
Wouldn't want to disturb her darling roommate, after all.
Oh, who the hell was she kidding? The thing Rogue wanted to do most right now was crawl out from underneath the blankets she'd pulled up high, walk across the expensive carpet barefooted and shake Kitty until she woke up. And then talk. Get her mind on something else, perhaps calm down enough to actually get to sleep. Had to get up early tomorrow – Logan had ordered another Danger Room session before school.
But disturbing Kitty wasn't an option, of course, and Rogue knew that as well as anyone. So, she had to settle. Tearing her eyes away from the various drawings and scribblings, she pushed away the overly thick blanket and pushed herself up until she was in a sitting position. All as quiet as possible. Absentmindedly, she pushed a lock of hair from her eyes, then put her feet down on the ground – brr, cold – and stood up straight. She blinked, once, twice; trying to fight the sudden overwhelming feeling of dizziness invading her mind.
Rogue moaned softly, pushing two fingers against each temple and closing her eyes briefly. God. She hated this. She was tempted to just crawl right back under her ridiculously warm blankets and hide from the upcoming storm, but fought that urge and simply opened her eyes again. Pushing all uncomfortable feelings to the background, as always, and finding she was left with little else.
Quite depressing, really.
The girl made her way across her room, sending a quick glance at the slender brunette that was curled up under her own blanket every now and then in order to make the she was still fast asleep. Dreaming about a certain Brotherhood guy, no doubt. The small pang of envy was ignored; so what if Kitty could actually find herself a boyfriend? It wasn't like Lance was all that great.
Then again, neither was Scott. And those feelings weren't even reciprocated. How lame was that?
Damn it! Rogue berated herself for once again letting her thoughts lead to that particular conclusion, and pushed open the door with the usual discontent frown plastered onto her face. She quietly closed it behind her again, then turned around and shivered. Should've pulled a robe or something over her flimsy PJ's. Hesitantly, she looked down at herself – there was an insane amount of skin showing and she felt highly uncomfortable knowing that.
And even though Rogue fully well realized that no one in their right mind would wander around the hallways at that insane hour of the night, the feeling wouldn't leave. But it was stupid, irrational and in a strange way childish; all things she didn't wish to be. So she ignored it.
Ignored herself. As usual.
And simply walked, refusing to rub her arms in order to get rid of the goosebumps or to head back into her bedroom. Instead, Rogue just kept on walking, staying as close to the wall as possible and keeping one hand in contact with it.
Again, she was settling.
Rogue growled softly. When the hell had she ever allowed herself to become this angst machine? The depressing thoughts and feelings just kept popping up without her consent and even though she knew she had plenty of reasons to be depressed, she refused to let herself travel along that road.
By now, the teen had reached the stairs, and for some reason she paused shortly at them, the hand she'd been holding against the wall now travelling down again, ending up at her own waist where she let it rest. Rogue peered down into the darkness, trying to figure out what in the world she was doing there and why she hadn't already turned around to head back to bed. The answer didn't come, so she made up her own.
She'd try to find some peace. Try to calm herself down a little, so that she could dive back into her wonderfully cosy bed as soon as possible. So, Rogue was going to try the famous old recipe – a cup of milk and a microwave. Combined, they were supposed to be able to get people to sleep. At least, that's what Irene had told her.
Rogue let out a bitter chuckle and started to make her way down the stairs – not in the least bit worried about bumping into anything. She knew this place like the palm of her hand (then again, how often had she actually seen the palm of her hand? Most of the time it was covered up by those damned gloves).
Irene had told her a hell of a lot of things. Still, Rogue felt like she needed to try this out, if only so she could later tell Logan she'd tried everything to get to sleep. Not that he'd be very willing to cut her some slack, she knew that already, but she felt it would somehow calm her own nerves if she didn't do very well at training. Uncurable sleep deprivation was a good excuse, right?
Whatever.
Downstairs. Rogue blinked a few times, peering into the darkness for a few seconds before giving up on trying to see anything and simply heading in the general direction of the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, she found it without any major accidents along the way and, vaguely proud of herself, she opened the door and stumbled inside.
First; light. Rogue's hand automatically found its way to the light switch and instantly, the entire room was illuminated by the insanely bright lamps hanging over the table. "Fuck!" She shouted almost immediately, then clasped her mouth with her free hand. It's 4AM, ya nitwit! Ya wanna wake up the entire goddamn Institute?!
The lights went out again. Christ. Rogue blinked another few times, her eyes now tearing a little from the sudden assault, then made her way inside. Right. Milk. Screw the light, she could do this without any the help of any offensive lamps.
Rogue took a few large steps to the refrigerator and pulled it open, then cursed herself slightly for allowing herself to be startled by the dim light shining on her face. Idiotic lamp. It was mocking her, no doubt. She grumbled in response to the completely innocent fridge light and reached out for the milk.
Okay. Part one of the Mission completed. Rogue curled her lip up slightly in vague amusement (since when did people spell mission with a capital, anyway? God, she was beginning to look like Jamie), closing the door again and placing the carton of milk on the counter before grabbing a mug from the open cupboards.
Various yellow men were dancing around on the curved white of the mug. Have a great day!, the deformed letters gracing said mug told her, and Rogue snorted and instantly replaced the mug. Just plain white was good enough for her, thank-you-very-much.
Rogue quietly praised herself for being able to distract herself for what – 5 minutes, now? Way t'go. Or something. She let out another sigh and started pouring the milk, her gaze transfixed on the strangely soothing white liquids seeping into the mug. Stopping herself just before spilling anything, she quickly put the carton back into the fridge, then leaned forward and placed two hands of the counter, her face hovering in front of the frighteningly full mug.
She had to start paying more attention to what she was doing. Carefully, she sipped at the mug until it was safe to pick it up without worrying about spilling anything.
Well, this whole expedition was proving to be more difficult than she'd expected. Rogue grasped the ear of the mug and carried it to the microwave, which she opened with her free hand before placing the mug into the wonderful piece of equipment. Electronics were great. How Amara could've survived so long without them, she had no clue.
Rogue quickly set the timer to two minutes and pressed the Start button.
Unrequited love. Such a poetic concept and yet so painfully realistic and impossible not to think about as she was waiting for the microwave to finish. Rogue sat in the chair closest to the counter, hiding her face in her hands and staring down at the white kitchen table. Shiny. Not in the least bit distracting enough.
Was it even love? Maybe infatuation. Or just a childish schoolgirl crush on an older guy that was way out of her league and not in the least bit interested in her – not in that way, anyway. Jesus, she was such a stereotype.
Depressing. Very depressing, even. And she couldn't help but continue to think about that – hell, if she didn't her mind would just find another depressing subject to think about. God knew there were plenty of those. Nah, it was best to just stick with this one – at least there was something positive about it. Namely a certain broody team leader.
If that counted as positive.
God damned hormones.
The sudden clear beeps that emanated from the microwave disturbed the painful silence in the kitchen, and despite herself Rogue was startled yet again. She half turned around, sending the microwave a heated glare. It didn't stop beeping – not that she'd really expected it to. Her glares didn't work on machines quite the way they worked on other human beings.
So, with a sigh, Rogue quickly pushed her chair away from the table and got up, quickly reaching out toward the microwave and opening the door, hoping to silence the awfully loud noise before it would wake someone up. This time it cooperated and it stayed quiet as she carefully picked up the mug inside and walked back to the table, not even bothering to close the small door again.
And there she sat. Alone, in the dark, with nothing but a bright white mug to keep her company. Well, at least she was alone by choice this time.
Rogue closed her eyes and leaned back, plopping her hands into her lap and taking a few deep breaths. Life with the X-Men was not always easy, that much she knew – heck, that much everyone in the mansion knew. Somehow they always ended up in trouble, saving the world (or Bayville, at least) from some disaster, despite the Professor's constant reminders that they were just there to control their powers, to learn how to fit in with normal humans.
Right.
But no matter how hectic that life was, private matters bothered her a lot more. The typical superheroine, she was not. Not in the least. Then again, was anyone around here? A small smirk played around her lips as her mind instantly gave her the answer – why yes, of course. There was a typical superheroine roaming around the mansion, though she was undoubtedly asleep by now and dreaming about the same guy Rogue herself had been daydreaming about only a little bit earlier.
Her dislike for Jean was petty and childish, Rogue knew that all too well. But it wasn't something she could fix, and honestly, she didn't really see why it'd need fixing. Redhead couldn't expect everyone to bow down and worship her. Not that anyone actually did that, but it was the principle.
Or something.
And the truth of the matter was that Rogue was jealous. Kinda hard not to be. But jealousy had never gotten anyone anywhere, and the only place it would lead her was into the realm of depression which she'd already explored way too many times earlier. She refused to let herself tread down that path yet again – not tonight. Not ever, if she really had a choice in the matter, but that wasn't entirely realistic. Unfortunately.
No, tonight, her goal was merely to get to sleep, without these thoughts continually haunting her and keeping her awake. Writing on the wall wouldn't help. Simply waiting, she'd tried that much – and that much was evident by the soft splattering of the rain against the window of the kitchen.
So much for going to bed before the storm started. Wouldn't be long now.
The kitchen door softly opened. Enter: Unwanted Company.
Rogue sighed, opened her eyes and glanced at the figure that had stepped inside. Tall. Male. And that really told her all she needed to know.
Scott was no doubt quirking an eyebrow now that he'd caught sight of her; and Rogue quietly wished she was able to see it. The almost complete lack of light in the kitchen prevented that.
"Hi." He said, calmly, and she saw the dark shape take a seat across from her.
Well, wasn't this just wonderful? "Hey." Rogue forced herself to respond, leaning forward again a little and keeping her eyes on the white puddle of milk in her mug – so bright that she could easily distinguish it from the rest of the kitchen, no matter the darkness. It wasn't like she'd be able to see Scott anyway, so it didn't count as rude. She hoped.
Scott didn't say anything else, and that fact made Rogue more than just a little nervous. He wasn't much of a talker, she knew that, but usually he said a little more than this. Usually he at least tried to make conversation, no matter how much she tried to make it clear to people that she didn't want to talk.
Of course, she'd never really done that to him. A weakness she hated about herself – one of the many things.
Rogue felt awfully exposed all of a sudden, despite the darkness – she wasn't covered. Not like usual, anyway. And the uncomfortable silence was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, as Scott still hadn't made any attempts to drag a conversation out of her.
And there really was only one way to fix that. And this, she did want to fix.
"So," Rogue said softly, glancing up at him again and noticing the reddish shine that no doubt indicated where his eyes were, "what are you doin' here so late?" Lame. Christ, she was lame.
At first, his only response was a shrug she could barely even see, and she instantly closed her eyes again for a second or two, mentally cursing at herself. But then he did respond, and Rogue couldn't help but smile a little at the sound of his voice.
God, she was being silly. Over a guy, no less. So not like her.
"Heard some noise," Scott said casually, and Rogue nodded wordlessly, "thought I'd check it out." Another shrug. "I'm a light sleeper, and well…" An' slightly paranoid, no doubt. But no matter how true that was, she wasn't about to rub that in his face. It wasn't like he wasn't already very much aware of that.
"Yeah," Rogue admitted sheepishly, "sorry 'bout that." She stretched a little, if only to do something – though she was careful not to accidentally brush past him. Knocking out the guy she liked in the middle of the night wouldn't be a very smart move. Besides, she didn't feel like being reminded of the painful fact that he wasn't in the least bit interested her in the way she was interested in him. No, those feelings were reserved for another superheroine.
Her mind was really eager to make her feel crappy tonight.
"Should I ask you the same question?" Scott suddenly asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Ah dunno." Rogue was shrugging now, as well. "Suppose y'could." She glanced up at him and half-smiled, belatedly realizing he wouldn't see that. So, she just gave in and answered the question he hadn't asked. "Ah just… couldn't get to sleep. Thought Ah'd head down here an' drink some hot milk." She nodded toward the white mug that was still in front of her.
"Ah." Scott simply said. And there was the uncomfortable silence again, and Rogue cursed it with all her heart. It didn't take as long this time, though, as, surprisingly, he spoke up again.
"I don't see you drinking it, though." He said, leaning forward slightly, and no doubt quirking that same eyebrow again.
This time, Rogue wasn't so eager to see that movement. Her lip automatically curled up again and she leaned back once more, crossing her arms defensively. "Ah'm waitin' for it to cool down a li'l." She pointed out – it was the first thing that had come to mind.
And neither of them voiced what they both knew; that waiting for it to cool down completely defeated the purpose of heating it up in the first place. They both knew the other knew, anyway, so there wasn't any reason to actually say it out loud.
Rogue hated that fact. She'd absorbed the guy multiple times, for crying out loud, and yet he still seemed to know her better than she knew him. It made no sense and that was getting on her nerves.
"Why do you care, anyway?" She asked, then frowned suddenly and ran a hand through her hair, an agitated movement. "Ah, never mind. Ah'm going to bed."
"'Night." Rogue said brusquely, then got up and practically ran outside, up the stairs, across the hallway, into her room and under the covers. The noise the door had made when she'd slammed it shut behind her had woken up her roommate, who tried to comfort her as usual, not minding the few tears she couldn't help but spill. And so they sat, Kitty on the edge of the bed and Rogue hidden from her view, having a muffled conversation through the thick blankets under which the girl was shivering despite the warmth the covers granted her. They ignored the storm that was raging outside.
Staying in the kitchen would have been too painful.
Hearing the answer to that question would have been too painful.
Hearing Scott's belated response, which he'd softly uttered when she'd already been running up the stairs, would have been too painful.
"Good night, Rogue."