It was intended to be simple,
But things never are, I suppose.
We were going to go into a warehouse,
There had been rumors of Trask's agents meeting there.
The rumors were right.
All of us went, even the Professor and Logan. I wasn't afraid, we are a team, we trust each other. We are one unit, so if one falls, all fall. But you know, it's not true. I'm still here, but she isn't. Now I'm getting ahead of myself, let me back up.
The warehouse was near the pier; we all got into the plane at ten o'clock this night. Everyone was relatively silent, but it's normal. Scattered conversations flared, but died off quickly. I was sitting in the back, next to Kurt. The clouds were dark, even Storm couldn't disperse them. You know, I didn't notice it then, but it was so strange, Storm's a weather-witch, and yet these clouds defied her. They were warning us, I know it now. Pay attention to warnings, it will save your life.
The warehouse was dark steel, black as the night with the oppressive clouds propped above. The plane sank onto the roof, quite and stealthy as a cat. There was no sound at all, but the beating of my heart, pounding like a drum in my ears. The ramp sank down; we trooped out resolutely into the warm night. I remember it as if it was happening now; we walked as if the air was congealed, warm and wet, prickling on our skin, dulling our senses. If it had been cooler, could I have saved her?
The door to the warehouse opened with a screech, yet another unheeded warning. It was dark, still and silent, except for the water dripping onto the concrete floor. The floor was hard, the walls were steel, it was a box, a metal crate, and it became her coffin.
Jean stepped in front, and put up a shield, just in case, Scott put a hand to his visor, cautious as always. The professor and Storm radioed, they were stationed in a vantage point on the roof. Logan growled low in his throat. His voice rumbled as he said, "there are agent's here."
Kurt walked slowly towards the light,
One fuzzy blue finger reached up,
A click,
The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling cast a weak glow,
And hell broke loose.
Agents flooded from the shadows, weapons pulled. How many were there? I can't recall now. Logan's claws unsheathed, one of the noises I recognized. Jean thrust out a hand, while still trying to hold the shield. Three of the agents were slammed into a wall; their heads drooped to their chests. Kurt ported a group of four into the air, dropping them to the concrete floor. Scott's lasers threw seven onto the ceiling, and then they plummeted earthward. Logan threw off countless agents, their muffled cries lost in the tumult of fighting. I phased through one, another slammed into him.
Jean's shield wouldn't hold much longer, that much I knew. The last of the agents fell, we relaxed. No one was seriously injured, and we had confirmed our suspicions. Jean breathed a sigh of relief, and let down the shield. I heard a scream, "No!"
It happened in slow motion, one last agent emerged from behind a crate, a single rifle pointed at Jean.
She tried to bring back the shield,
The rifle cracked like a whip,
Holy lightning flashed as the bullet fired,
It spiraled straight,
Jean watched it frozen,
Somehow, in those few seconds, I saw everyone's faces.
Scott was turning, just now seeing the bullet,
Logan's face contorted, snarling,
Kurt was watching, fascinated by the bullet's path.
And I? I couldn't do a thing,
But she could.
It happened so fast, I missed the motion. One second Jean was watching the bullet like a frightened rabbit; next, a figure hurled itself in front. There was a wet squelching noise, a spray of red. There was blood on Jean's face, her smooth complexion marred by crimson stains. The figure let out a breath, and everyone stopped moving. My eyes were riveted to the spot where she fell…
Rogue. She took the bullet, and hit the floor. Her body met it with a sickening crack; I think some of the cement shattered. Logan moved first, lunging forward in the throes of rage. And for the second time in three seconds, I saw someone die…
The agent was decapitated, his head dropped to the floor, in time with the body. You know, I didn't care. Rogue was still on the floor, her eyes pulled wide. Crimson was flooding the floor beneath her; the savage wound letting loose torrents. Rogue's lips kept moving, but no sound came, her eyes became dull, and she relaxed. Jean stayed frozen, one hand propping her body. A trembling hand tried to wipe the blood off, but only succeeded in smearing it.
The professor radioed again, buzzing in my ear. "Everyone fall back, more agents are coming."
Logan was on his knees beside Rogue, holding her gently; I dropped to the floor with a thud. Logan's voice was tight, tears I never knew he could cry falling in gentle tracks down his unshaven cheeks. Logan let Rogue descend to the floor, wiping his tears away he said, "Chuck, no way in hell I'm leaving Stripes here, maybe we can still save her…"
The door burst open, agents, maybe a hundred, rushing towards us like a wave. Jean broke from her paralysis; she enclosed Scott and herself in a bubble, using telekinesis to escape. Logan picked up Rogue again, careful to avoid the exposed skin on her. Kurt pulled at Logan, "We have to go!"
I phased through the agents, moving steadily towards the door. He smell of sulfur reached my nose, and suddenly I was back at the jet. We had to leave her body behind, lying on the floor as agents poured in. The clouds burst then, the rain cleansing everything. Maybe this was another flood, sent to bring humanity back to the light. Was Rogue the messiah? No, she was only a sacrifice. My body trembled; I couldn't grasp it, what was going on?
No one cried on the plane ride, Jean held Scott's hand; Kurt pulled himself into the chair, like he was trying to disappear. The professor and Storm couldn't have understood everything that had happened. Logan…oh god, Logan, he was staring straight ahead, no anger, no vengeance, only eyes cleared of anything but pain. Me? I kept seeing Rogue, she took a bullet for Jean, she died for Jean, she died for the team.
It's been an hour; I don't know what's going on downstairs. I'm in our room, the room I used to share with Rogue. It's so cold here, I don't understand anything anymore. Every noise makes me want to scream. My bones are aching, I'm so tired… you know, she used to always be around, writing in a journal, laying sprawled out on the bed, strumming her guitar, listening to the dark music she loved so much. Or just there…
Just there.
- Kitty