Dismal Angel Revelations - Episode 1

Rejected By The Light

Chapter 3: Out of Love

It had been 1.48am exactly when Rogue had begun to feel strange. She and Bobby Drake had been at a nightclub in downtown Bayville that didn't close until 3am.

The feeling was almost like coming out of a drunken stupor, and she couldn't really explain it exactly, because she hadn't had much to drink all night – in fact, she'd barely had four beers in the last three hours, and that certainly wasn't enough to make her drunk enough to notice the sobriety begin to set in.

She rubbed her head, it felt almost like a strange pressure had lifted from her head, and she couldn't remember ever having felt like that before.

Bobby Drake had been standing at the bar in a large queue getting more beers, and he returned and placed them on the table, he noticed Rogue's strange expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked rather loudly, trying to drown out the loud thudding music that surrounded them.

"Nothing," she said even more loudly than he did. Her throat was beginning to ache from having had to speak loudly all night and her voice was a little more hoarse than usual. She accepted the beer he'd brought her gratefully, and she took a quick sip, "what time is it?" she asked.

"1.49am," he answered, he took a large swig from his bottle. "Do you wanna dance some more?"

"I'd rather not," Rogue said, "I've been dancing all night, my feet are already killing me," she confessed, she reached down under the table to stroke her burning feet. She felt she should have known better than to wear a pair of stiletto heels that Carol Danvers had bought whilst she'd been living in Rogue's body.

"I guess you're right," Bobby shrugged, but smiled, "what say we finish these and head out?"

"Okay," Rogue said quietly.

She had to admit, the last few months had been the happiest she'd had in her life for a very long time. Six months, she told herself. Has it REALLY been that long? She wondered as she took another sip from the beer. It seemed strange. The last six months had gone by so fast she'd barely had time to register it. It seemed like merely six weeks rather than six long months.

Every night she'd wondered to herself why she'd spent so much time pining for Remy when Bobby had been everything she'd needed all along. He was funny, he was good looking, and he was always there when she needed him – just like he always had been.

Bobby is like a Volvo, Rogue thought sullenly. Reliable.

It struck Rogue right then that this was such a horrible thought to have about the man she'd been dating for the past six months.

Dating innocently, she thought at herself. Come on, who are you foolin'? She wondered. You've been dating this guy you can't kiss, haven't even had the vague desire to touch, and everything is just fine?

Then she discovered this might be the problem. Things were fine. A little too fine. Too good to be true. They hadn't fought once. They hadn't even had a simple little disagreement. There seemed to be no real spark, and yet, they continued to see each other romantically and hold hands and hold each other like they'd been lovers for years. But there was no love. None that she could see, anyway.

What is it everyone used to tell me? When things are fine, that's when you should worry?

Something the Professor had said to her several months ago that a professor at the university he had attended had told him when he'd been having a fight with a lady he'd been dating at the time. Those words began to replay itself in her head with a vague echo.

'Brawls between lovers are somewhat expected and only natural. If you do not argue occasionally, you will never realise your passion for each other. If you never fight, how will you know her emotions? If you cannot yell, how will you ever see the fire in her eyes? Fights can only mean you care…it's when you aren't fighting with the girl you love that you should start to worry'.

He's right, Rogue decided. Me and Bobby don't argue about anything, because we don't have any passion, she sighed to herself, "lets go," she said as she got up.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked as she got up also. It was the first time he'd looked in her face since her return from Las Vegas and seen that something was wrong.

"Nothing," she assured, and although she wasn't sure she should, she took his hand anyway – glad of the satiny material of her purple glove that prevented their skin from contacting. They walked together to the main exit.

Outside, there was a chill in the air, and an icy rain had begun to fall heavily from the sky. Rogue shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was from the cold, or from the strange feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake six months earlier.

How did I let this happen? She asked herself in thought. I must have been out of my mind.

"It's deadly silent," Jean Grey whispered to Hank McCoy as she followed him down a dark hallway in the basement of the chemical plant she and Hank had traced Psylocke's signal back to. The whole place seemed terribly empty, save two security guards who were unconscious in the hall above. They'd been unconscious long before Jean and Hank had arrived. Hank's quick diagnosis had ensured they'd be fine. Right now, they had Psylocke to deal with.

Hank glanced at his hand held tracker, it was finely tuned into the frequency the watches were set at, and he was able to visually trace the watch with a digital compass which would point him in the right direction. "Just a little further," he said, "I fear Betsy may have taken her watch off," he said concernedly as he shivered. The hall was so cold he could see his breath in the pale blue lights that hung above.

"Why do you say that?" Jean asked, her voice slight.

"I lost a pulse a while ago…" Hank said grimly. He didn't want to admit one of the X-Men's own might have died. He decided he'd rather pretend – even if he wasn't even fooling himself – that Betsy had probably just removed the watch herself rather than been killed.

Jean felt an inexplicable shudder course through her, and it made her stop instantly, "Hank, I have a very strange feeling," she admitted.

"What kind of feeling? Telepathic?" Hank stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at her.

"I don't know…I don't think so…" Jean confessed, "do you ever get that strange…feeling…like icy fingers running up your spine…and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up?"
"All the time," Hank gave a solemn smile, "Perhaps someone walked over your grave."

Jean shivered, "lets get this done and get out of here as quickly as possible…"

"This way…" Hank turned around a corner, "we're real close now…"

Remy heard the voices approaching, and he stood up in his strange ghost like form to look around the large hall where his own body and Psylocke's lay. He tried to listen closer, the voices were merely mumbles in the distance.

Probably the security guards me and Betsy found on the first floor, he said, he heard his voice strangely echoing again, he was almost convinced it wasn't even his voice at all – and if he hadn't been alone, he would have believed it.

The voices came again, and this time, he was sure he heard the softer tones of a woman. He stood by his own body, afraid that if he should leave it, the remnants of whatever life had been left in it might snuff out like a candle.

"Hank!"

Remy spun around to the entrance of the large shipping room where the fight had taken place. He saw Jean Grey rush in, her red hair flowing behind her as she fell by Betsy Braddock's body immediately to examine it. Hank McCoy followed.

"She's dead…" Jean looked at Hank worriedly.

Thank god you have arrived, Remy said loudly and he rushed over to greet them, and was somewhat surprised by their complete indifference to his presence.

"I was afraid she might have been," Hank sighed, he double checked for a pulse, "she's been dead since we left the Mansion," he sighed again and glanced over to where Remy's body lay. "Remy is here too…"

Jean got up and rushed over, "he's still breathing…" she put two fingers to his throat to feel for a pulse, "pulse is there, but it's weak…"

Hello, I'm right HERE! Remy cried at Jean and Hank, he ran a hand in front of Jean's face and she seemed to fail to notice altogether.

Hank examined Remy quickly, "Laser wound…" he mumbled, "He's weak, but steady enough to survive the journey back to the Mansion…" he admitted.

Hey! I'm here! Remy tried to kick Hank's leg, but passed right through him as if perhaps Hank were intangible.

"I'll contact Kitty and let her know we're arriving with a casualty," Jean answered.

"Don't advise her of who the casualty is," Hank said quickly, "it isn't advisable to upset a pregnant woman – especially with the news that one of her close friends has been mortally wounded."

Jean! You're telepathic! If anyone were to know I was still here YOU should! Remy cried at her, but failed to gain her attention. He waved his hands wildly at her but received no notice.

Hank unzipped the front of Remy's leather uniform and pulled it to the side to check for the stab wound on the left side of his chest.

"What are you doing?" Jean asked, once she'd finished contacting Kitty via her communicator.

"Checking for the stab wound," Hank said firmly, "We made a mistake once taking a clone in…I want to be sure this time we're treating Remy LeBeau and not an evil clone," Hank responded quietly.

Mon Ami! Remy cried at Hank, It is me, not a clone!

Hank found the scar he had been searching for, and he sighed in relief. "He has the stab wound. This is most definitely Remy LeBeau..."

"Let's get him back to the mansion…" Jean stood up. "We should have this laser wound seen to before it becomes infected."