Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine; they are all Marvel's property.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Prisoners of the Heart
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A/N: Thanks again to all those who reviewed. Here's the final chapter; I know, it's a short story, but here's the end. I hope that it's interesting enough. Feedback welcomed! Enjoy!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the Wake of a Memory
The catacombs, the silence, and the shriveled being in the sarcophagus had long since faded, faded as if they were dreams that never really happened, only possibilities explored in her mind's playground.
Yet…those "dreams", those "memories", felt more alive to her than what was before her eyes.
Hiding along the Mississippi backwater, the bar was tiny and square, composed of countless wooden planks with its back area patio extending into the dark water with its wooden stilts touching the bottom beneath the murky surface. The air was humid enough to slick skin with sweat without much effort or strain. Mosquitoes buzzed and hummed around her, sticking to her clammy flesh for a quick splurge before darting away, lest she swat them while they drained her blood, crushing their fragile bodies into a sticky mess against her pale skin.
A party was going on inside the bar, but all the laughter, music, and stomps of feet were lost to her ears; the only accessible sounds being that of the natural world surrounding her. The inside of the bar was enshrouded, its patrons unseen except for blurred silhouettes, their presence meaning no more to her in this world than it did in reality. They could be called oblivious, but in truth, they were simply façades, no more than animated mannequins resembling each other. At one point though, they had been people to her, with names and faces; she'd known some of them and recognized others.
The lights strung alongside the building's awning were dull and divested of color, not the way she remembered them. The alligator watching her from a bank across the river was also foreign to her memory, as she had been standing in this very spot, her elbows propped up on the wooden banister of the patio, gazing out in the reflecting pool of darkness. An overcast night sky hung overhead, showing little reflection in the river as all the shadows merged into a dark mass beneath the patio.
A mosquito suckered on the nape of her neck, starving for her blood.
Care t' dance, cherie?
Rogue glanced backwards over her shoulder, twisting her body around so that her elbows still lay atop the railing, but now she faced the bar, leaning back and relaxed.
"Ah wasn't plannin' on it," Rogue whispered, gazing up into the sky and wishing for the stars.
Really? Dat's a shame."
His lips did not move, but he had no expertise in the field of ventriloquism; the voice she heard did not ring in her ears as her own voice did, but bounced around in her head, where her thoughts would be hanging out. Why he did not speak, only thought, Rogue did not know or care to know. They could communicate and that was the important thing. She wanted answers, whether they popped into her head or entered through her ears. She could process the explanations either way.
After a silent moment, the wind giving her white banks a lofty movement, she moved her gaze back at the only man who mattered right now. "Are ya hauntin' me, Gambit? Or are ya like somethin' out of A Christmas Carol?"
I'm everyt'ing y' want an' not'ing' y' can have.
"Quit the cryptic crap," Rogue muttered. "As if mah life hasn' already become cryptic enough. Now Ah'm bein' haunted by a ghost."
She turned and looked back up into the Mississippian sky. Caldecott County was her home, so why did she feel so empty being home?
Of course, it wasn't real; it wasn't as if she'd actually taken a flight down south. This encounter was more along the lines of a frozen memory, tapped into her psyche and currently leaking into her unconscious mind. She had no other explanation, and Gambit wasn't the mutant who could bend her mind or her memories like this.
Y' ain't bein' haunted, cherie. We jus' sharin' da same place fo' a little while. Maybe we can learn somethin' from each other.
"Join the club, Gambit. Everyone's been sharin' mah head! Ya ain't different!"
'Cept, when was da last time dat y' found y'self trapped in a memory wit' someone else?
He was right and he knew it. The smug smile was testing her, feeling out the boundaries of her bitterness and tempting her to lash out at him. What could she do to change things? She felt loneliness creep into the hollow of her bones, and any nostalgia for home quickly became poison to her soul once she remembered what this night long ago had brought. A prelude to a nightmare, and nothing less.
Gambit stepped closer, the condition of his uniform coming into view. Rogue saw that he was wearing a trench coat, aged by the elements and overuse, but still somewhat of a trademark as it adorned his shoulders and flapped near his heels. The front of his Acolyte uniform was in tatters, exposing a great deal of his chest. A fleeting sense of warmth-----a phantom sense-----briefly touched her cheek in a wisp. She recalled the warmth from another time, though in reality it was not so long ago. She remembered her cheek touching that warmth and sucking it dry, leaving only iciness.
With him standing so close to her-----towering over her-----Rogue stared straight into the tanned chest, broad and muscled, scorched flesh and contusions blooming beneath the skin, and searched for the tell tale sign of a heart beat, or for an expansion that would indicate the drawing of a breath. The night obscured her view, comforting in the fact that she could not discern if his heart was beating or if it was not. She chose to respect the mystery rather than discover a daggered truth.
'S no need t' be afraid. He stared down into her eyes, his ephemeral, haunting gaze searching her soul with cold inquisition. She feared that he would seek the bitterness and hatred that had settled in the caverns of her inner core; that he would learn of the betrayals and the lies that had torn her asunder, inside and out. Her mangled heart would be vulnerable to his inspection, susceptible to any attempts at mending. Pity and empathy were saved for others beside Rogue; she wanted her space respected more than she wanted someone trying to heal her emotional insides. In a dark sea of despair, she believed that sympathy would drown her as an anchor tethered to her ankle would. She wanted to be understood, but that was asking far too much of anybody, even herself.
Sympathy, empathy, and pity were all forms of understanding, but they fell short to true compassion of the heart, to the utmost awareness of her distress, as no one knew what she felt because no one else she knew shared her curse. Self-pity was a knife gorging her dignity, and she didn't indulge in it because she wanted to feel strong and secure, not supported by self-depreciation or misery. They would be crutches, weaknesses, but without them, Rogue would fall back down in the darkness again and again.
Somethin' on y' mind?
"Ya think?" Rogue snapped, disregarding her reverie and adjusting to what was in front of her. Lost in her thoughts, she would be vulnerable to inspection, and she didn't want someone like Gambit-----an enemy, a stranger-----to learn her darkest desires.
I'm no shrink, but I-----
"That's right! So just leave it at that! Ah want outta this prison!"
Sorry, cherie, but yo' the one keepin' us both locked up. Obviously somethin' is wrong an' y' heart wants t' make amends. Do us both a favor an' put whatever's messin' y' up behind y' so we can return t' the real world. Comprendre? (Understand?)"
"But Ah can't!" Exasperated, Rogue bumped the railing with her back and fell to the floor, glaring venomously at the faceless crowd beyond Gambit's legs.
Or y' won'.
"Ya don' know me!" Rogue snarled, quickly regretting her words. They sounded bitter and rejecting, but they were out and she couldn't take them back. She sounded so childish, self-righteous. Maybe he didn't know her, but at least he wasn't wronging her, unlike some people in her life. His face appeared free of any masks, and though his intentions were unknown, he didn't seem to have any interest in thriving on deception. She just couldn't take any more twists and turns…She wanted a relationship where all the cards were on the table and nobody was bluffing.
'Cause y' don' let anyone in, cherie. Y' make excuses, hide behind da past, an' no one knows y'. But can y' blame 'em?
He drew in close, pinning her against the wooden banister. She shrank away from his exposed skin, fearing that even in dreams she could still cause others harm. He put an arm around her but she slid beneath it and ducked past him. "Jus' leave me alone! It's bad enough Ah'm stuck in the past, but Ah don' need any lectures!"
Isolation never helped-----
"Open yer mouth! Ah can't keep lookin' at ya with all this crazy ventriloquist voice crap inside mah head!"
Gambit frowned but then complied. His lips parted and released a horrendous sound of pain and agony that tortured Rogue as it assaulted her ears, forcing her to the wooden floor and pushing her to the edge of weeping. It was the sound of a dying man; her victim; a man losing his life force. She was his parasite and their relationship was the stuff of symbiosis, only neither of them benefited nor ended up any better than they started.
When he closed his mouth, the cacophony of anguish, his anguish, ceased and allowed Rogue to choke out a sob.
'S better dis way. Dere's always a reason if I'm not talkin'.
"What?" Rogue whispered, shaking.
Y' ain't the only one who likes t' hide their pain, cherie. Gambit smiled and took her hand, lifting her up and steadying her. She drew away from the coldness emanating off his body, wretchedness withering her insides.
"Ya dead, aren't ya?" She eyed him, expecting the truth.
Gambit shrugged as if her question was irrelevant. I'm whatever y' want me t' be.
"Nope, don' think so. Ah never wanted ya dead."
Then I'm not dead.
"But yer cold as a corpse!" Rogue shrieked. His haunting gaze wrapped her up in a veil of guilt. "Ah want ya alive."
Then let's move on from 'ere.
"I don't know how," Rogue admitted, dropping her gaze and looking out onto the water. "Ah don' even know why Ah'm here."
Gambit took her by the shoulders and turned her towards the open bar and dancing shadows. Dis is where it all started. Y' mind is havin' trouble acceptin' the present, so it's revertin' back t' da past. Y' see, the past is gone, done, unchangeable. Y' can seek refuge in what cannot be changed, but it ain't healthy. Dere's a reason people say not t' live in yo' past.
"So what? Yeah, this is where mah powers manifested, when Cody touched me during the dance."
Dis is the prelude t' yo' nightmare, cherie. Only, it's not a nightmare, but a beginnin' t' whatever y' make of it. Y' mind's havin' trouble controllin' its powers, so it's keepin' y' in a place where y' ain't got y' powers.
"Memories fade," Rogue spat, downcast. "Why would Ah be stranded here? This hasn't ever happened before."
Y' never been absorbed by Apocalypse.
"Ah've never absorbed someone's life completely, either."
Y' didn' steal anyone's life, cherie. I'm only dead if y' admit t' that. He gave her a grin and touched her arm. Case yo' were wonderin', it's not somethin' I'd like t' try out.
Rogue bit her lip and stared down at her shoes. So much had been going on lately, and she only wanted to rest. Apocalypse granted her that, but not without giving her a taste of her own medicine. She looked up into Gambit's eyes knowing what it really felt like to have your life force stolen, your personality spliced, your memories and abilities robbed. Countless times she'd wondered how it felt to be absorbed; being on the receiving end ranged from nausea to dizziness to overwhelming montages that so badly confused her. She suffered most of the mental and emotional ramifications, but when Apocalypse somehow placed her on the other end of her leeching powers; she truly experienced the physical pain it caused. The shock sent her mind haywire, caused her muscles to burn, convulse, tighten, and go numb, until her vision blurred and her consciousness fluttered away.
Though she realized now that she had collided with Gambit and absorbed him, causing their unconscious minds to merge into one dream-like realm. She had been semi-conscious upon impacting him, unable to register the touch. The brief rush of energy had moved through her as she sapped it from Gambit; the transference had been cut short by her faint. The voices, the psyches, and the personalities were truly gone. Apocalypse had done what Charles Xavier could not, had given her a reprieve from the insanity that was dueling personalities within her head. She could never be thankful for being absorbed herself, but the perspective was changed and she had come out with an advantage…if she could only escape from her current dilemma, and only with Gambit alive and well.
She didn't want to be at fault for someone else's death, even if he was an Acolyte. Enemy or not, she didn't want to fully absorb anybody, leaving their body lifeless as a carcass.
"How…can Ah get mah mind ta accept things and move on?" Rogue asked. "Ah know in mah heart that Ah want everythin' ta be back ta normal, but Ah know that's never gonna happen. Ah want ya alive and Ah want ta stop Apocalypse."
Words are words, Rogue. Yo' gotta want all dis wit' yo' heart t' make it happen.
"Ah do already!"
Y' need t' trust, Rogue. I know it's hard, but we ain't movin' anywhere until y' learn how t' trust.
"Trust is foolish, Gambit. Trust is vulnerable, trust is weakness, trust is a set-up. Ah've learned the hard way. A little trust goes a long way for a lotta pain."
Now, I know y' not that cynical, Rogue. Y' jus' trusted the wrong people, dat's all. But look at all da people y' have trusted dat have come through fo' y'.
"The X-men…" Rogue mumbled. He was right; they had been her strongest support, and they still would be, even though she was the one who released Apocalypse. They always had and always wound trust her, no matter how shaky she returned it. She couldn't let it be a one-way street forever.
Trust me, cherie. Y' can't do everyt'ing alone.
"Trust a ghost?" Rogue asked skeptically.
If dat's what y' want t' call me.
"Ah want ya ta be alive! Don' ya understand that? Ah can't keep mahself together if Ah'm responsible fo' someone's death."
Then trust, Rogue, trust dat I'm alive, trust dat yo' a good person, an' trust dat y've got people lookin' out for y'.
Rogue eyed him warily, stepping backwards as he stuck his hand out. Trust me, an' take m' hand.
"Yo' crazy, Cajun. Ah don' care if this is a dream or not, but Ah ain't touchin' yo' hand."
Den we stay 'ere forever, cherie. Jus' trust.
His hand came a little closer.
"Trust."
"Trust."
Rogue gasped at the simple word coming from his mouth, tender and meaningful and flowing through her ears, not her head.
"Trust," Rogue said a second time and reached out tentatively. "Trust."
She didn't know what to expect, but when Rogue placed her hand in Gambit's, a sudden, familiar shock coursed through her body, but only for a moment. The ground disappeared from under them, and Rogue felt as if they were being sucked into the sky. They were floating, hand in hand, free falling into oblivion, weightless and senseless. Warmth returned to the hand grasping hers, and Rouge glanced over at Gambit. A boyish grin played onto his face before his eyes closed and his body grew limp. Rogue gazed at him, longing for his smile, treasuring his warmth, but as a solid surface began to materialize beneath them, and a deepening ache resurfaced in Rogue's head, she released Gambit's hand for fear of reality tampering with their touch, as her eyes closed and serene darkness overtook her.
The transition had felt short, but through closed eyes Rogue knew they were back in the catacombs. Her whole body ached and prevented her from moving much, but she was able to tilt her head and open her eyes, finding Gambit's face not far from hers. They weren't touching each other, either.
He winked and whispered something in her ears with a dry, throaty voice. "You and me, Rogue, we're two o' a kind. Never forget dat."
With his piece spoken, Gambit's eyes fluttered close and his head tilted away from hers. Rogue smiled at him, tears stinging her eyes. "Sugah," she whispered, her drawl thick as honey.
"Hmmm?"
Trust, Rogue repeated in her head, determined to do whatever it takes to right the wrongs and free the demons; she was ready to live, and ready to be free.
"Thank ya."
FIN
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A/N: Well, there it is! Thanks for sticking around; hope you enjoyed it! Please send any comments or thoughts in a review and let me know what you thought of the story. I appreciate your time taken to read the story and send any reviews! Happy writing and see ya next time!
-fathoms-
