Disclaimer: I do not own any of the X-MEN EVOLUTION characters. Or the series. Or anything to do with Marvel.
Authors Note: I'm back in the fandom and it's been years! No more Mary-Sues from me, I'm not that cruel. It's a little rushed but I have a French exam tomorrow so...
Twinkies at Midnight
A silent figure slipped from doorway to doorway, padding across the lushly carpeted hallways and down the main staircase, holding its breath in anticipation of a passing person.
It crept across the wooden floors and down a silent passageway; the only sounds the buzzing of the security system and the hum of the central heating.
It walked into the kitchen and brushed its red hair out of its eyes.
"I could sure use a Twinkie right about now," said Jean.
She walked into the larder and ferreted around, giving up when she espied a new treasure: coffee. As she measured out the granules and mixed in sugar, leaving the kettle to boil, she heard the soft sound of feet and threw herself behind the kitchen counter.
"What the fu-" She slapped her hand over her mouth. I must stop battling with my multiple personalities.
"Quiet you fool!" She said. "Whoever it is might hear you!" Like that.
She sent out a searching tendril of thought, curious as to whom it was. The person's mind was agitated, roiling with emotion and seeped in depression. She couldn't remember searching anyone with a mind like that.
A flash of-
PainFearAnticipationFEARWILLBEALLIEVED!HankseeHankFriend…TouchNopainNopainHank!
Shut up Sabretooth you don't own the place, making me more worried than I really am! And you Erik! A little help Charles! Go away Pietro, you're making me think too fast! Dizzy!
-and then the thoughts cooled to a soft blue, becoming calmer.
She dived in once again-
HankFriendTouchWhatislifeaboutanyway?Pietro!Goaway!Twinkies…yum.TrainingtomorrowLoganissooomeanOGodIjustsoundedsomuchlikeavalleygirl-
-what's that? A scratching at my thoughts?
WHO IS IN MY HEAD? GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!
-and flew against the wall with the force of the mental blow as the defences flew up.
Was that Rogue? Oh God, if that is what she has to deal with all of the time then maybe I should be nicer to her…But she wouldn't like that, would she? She must be going insane with all of those people running around in her head, and Pietro making her think at light speed. We all think VERY fast but at that kind of pace! It must be terrible!
And what is she doing up so late anyway? Going to see Hank? I hope she isn't doing something she shouldn't! And-
-"Hank has Twinkies?" Perhaps visiting him would be a good idea. It would give me an excuse as he IS up at all hours. I need to find out what Rogue is doing.
t.w.i.n.k.i.e.s..a.t..m.i.d.n.i.g.h.t
Not many people know this but most people don't think coherently. Most of what comes through is emotion, usually personified as the colour that the person identifies with it-red for anger, blue for calm etc.
If a person is in the right state of mind then their thoughts follow a pattern, logical and clear, but the stronger the emotions they feel the more jumbled and emotive they become.
-Diary of Jean Grey, age 17
t.w.i.n.k.i.e.s..a.t..m.i.d.n.i.g.h.t
Jean sidled along the cold metal corridors, her back pressed against the wall.
All of that stealth training and it comes down to this?
The cold air stung her legs; all she wore was a blue night dress and a rose coloured dressing gown, her tanned feet slapping loudly on the bare floors. She reached Hank's quarters; when he had first moved into the institute he had not wanted to live in the same area as the others, he claimed that he needed to have a room joining on to his laboratory so that he could watch over his experiments.
Everyone knew that it was because he felt that he didn't fit in. Years of normalcy and contentment and then an average, kindly man suddenly became a terrifying, blue-furred beast.
Jean hovered outside the door, debating.
I could get the gist of what's going on with telepathy but I want to see what is happening…
Biting her lip she slowly used her telekinesis to push the door ajar and peeked through the gap.
t.w.i.n.k.i.e.s..a.t..m.i.d.n.i.g.h.t
Rogue grinned at Hank, sprawled on his bed.
"Honestly," she said, gesturing expansively with a twinkie, "I don't see what the big deal is. I mean, 'Oh God, the humans will persecute us so lets try and annihilate them all!' Sure, that's gonna work. I mean, it's pretty stupid if you think about it. People are learning not to be racist, homophobic, biased in any way, all the time. Sure, it took them a few years, or at least a long while to come to terms with these things, but the new generations are becoming more open minded all the time. If Magneto and the rest just waited for a while, and tried to be as unthreatening as possible, making an effort to improve human-mutant relations, everyone would accept us even more responsively!"
"True, Rogue, but it is more difficult than you think. While the latest generation of people is more receptive, as well as the growing number of them being mutants, many of them have still grown up in bigoted families. The older generation still rules and they find it difficult to understand this new era that we live in. New things scare people, and their instinctive urge is to lash out. Now please, can we stop being so morbid?"
Hank reached for the tub of Ben and Jerry's, sitting cross-legged in front of her. Both of them were dressed casually, he in t-shirt and standard issue tracksuit bottoms, her in cut off denim shorts and a plain black tank top.
Outside the door, Jean frowned. What was Rogue doing? She should be covered up, at least wearing her gloves! She could hurt Hank! And what was she doing sprawled out on his bed anyway?
Rogue's hair was in long, low pigtails, reaching to the middle of her arms with her white bangs framing her face. After the apocalypse disaster the new absorption of power she had taken from Leech had pushed her into a relapse, reliving all the abilities she had stolen. Sabretooth had been a dominant personality and when she had returned to normal and been released from the hospital she had decided to keep her much longer hair, unlike the last time. It turned out that Rogue had used to wear her hair like that, before the time when her powers had manifested. At the moment it had begun to wave and curl at the ends, her hair-straightening ritual wearing off gradually.
When people asked her about her hair she said that when she had visited Irene, shortly after her hospital stay, they had had a long talk and she decided to try and loosen up a little and enjoy herself, like the times before she manifested her powers.
She was still as withdrawn and grave as ever, though, although she did sometimes, when pleaded with, participate in group activities. It seemed that she was making an effort but her constant struggle with her powers was wearing her down.
Rogue took a bite of her twinkie, rolling her eyes.
"Anyway, enough of being morbid. It's too late for that and I have a Danger Room session first think with Wolvie. I might as well go to bed."
Hank looked concerned.
"Why didn't you say so in the first place? Goodness child, it's past midnight and here we are, sugar high and discussing the strangeness of human/mutant conflict!"
He clucked disapprovingly and levered her to her feet.
"Off to bed!" Rogue grinned and embraced him, inhaling the clean scent of his silky blue fur. She sighed happily, snuggling closer, as he tried to pry her off.
"Warm…Freddy says you'd make a nice rug."
"Freddy? A rug!"
"You know, the one in my head. He likes furry things." She burrowed deeper.
"Ah yes… anyway…now, Rogue, off me and off to bed otherwise Logan will have my hide!"
She mewled unhappily as he pushed her out of the door and shut it behind her with a quick goodnight. She smiled and raced off down the corridor with a parting cry of:
"'Night mom!"
From behind the door there came a snort and a mutter of "impertinent child…"
Jean stood huddled against the wall, wide eyed. What in the name of God was going on? And she still didn't have a twinkie. What a stupid thing to say at a time like this.
"Argh! Goddamn multiple personalities!"
t.w.i.n.k.i.e.s..a.t..m.i.d.n.i.g.h.t
And the next day Rogue wore black fishnet and a permanent frown, her face caked in a mask of white makeup, pensive and angst ridden.
And Jean saw beyond that mask to the lonely girl within.
Perhaps not so lonely anymore…
-End-
Okay, this is just my quick one-shot attempt at an introspective fic wondering about Rogue's relationship with Hank. Two outcasts banding together in the face of adversity and a strange friendship. I think its more father/daughter than anything else.
And Rogue can't be angst-ridden all the time. She might have been different before she got her powers; it's only her fear of hurting others that makes her so reclusive.
Oh, and the reason I think Rogue can touch Hank without fear is because of his fur. I mean, she can touch animals so it must be the same.