Requiem
Setting: Three years after PD Season 2. A few years back in the 'corrected' post-DOFP universe.
Summary: Ned discovered his mutation when he was nine. He was lucky enough to find a partner that thought his power was a gift, not an abomination - even more so when his powers brought back his childhood sweetheart. But nothing lasts forever. There's nothing left for him in Papen County. This is the end. Or is it?
Warnings: Angst like whoa. Character death. Suicide and overall dark themes at the beginning.
dolce
sweetly
Ned was troubled.
Troubled was worse than worried in that his anxiety was unfocused and lacked an outlet, but was better than panicked - from which, he was proud to say, he had worked himself down.
Anxious thoughts crowded his mind.
Worry for Digby - wherever he was.
Worry for Emerson and Olive - whether the observers would keep their distance or press closer to his friends.
Worry for Lily and Vivian - losing their niece for a second time.
Worry for himself - for the organization that had dubbed him Genesis and for whatever dark visions had caused a young girl to run, weeping, from her room.
The thought that drove him on past death and despair was the faint hope that where he was going wouldn't be as bad as where he'd been. One day he wouldn't hurt as much; one day he wouldn't have to remind himself to get out of bed, to keep breathing and putting one foot in front of another. If he couldn't cling to that hope- he'd go mad, he was sure of it.
As best he could, Ned packaged his concern in a mental box and set it aside, channeling the energy of his churning thoughts into productivity like a hydroelectric dam of anxiety. Outside of a panic attack he generally had steady hands. He'd sliced his way through four pounds of Fuji and Granny Smith apples before his racing pulse began to slow. He wasn't working in a commercial kitchen; there were only so many pies that he could leave around before someone confronted him about the amount of ingredients he was using up. If he couldn't produce a volume of pies, he'd have to compensate with refining his technique.
Tonight the plan was apple, coconut custard, peach, and shoofly. The first pie was already in the oven and the kitchen was thick with the smell of cinnamon apples. Predictably, he hadn't been able to find any Gouda lying around, but he'd grated a bit of old cheddar into the dough to compensate. The crust for the shoofly pie would have to be blind baked and he wasn't certain the molasses would stretch as far as he'd like. He bent closer to the counter, meticulously weaving three foot-long strips of dough into a tight braid to lay around the outside edge. An extra effort, to be sure, but Ned had always prided himself on his presentation. There was something satisfying about demonstrating his control, even if it was over pastry-
"So you're the Midnight Baker!" cried a voice from the dark.
His head jerked up and he drew a sharp breath. Ned's hands flew to his sides, ready for action. "Jeez!"
Standing in the doorway was Bobby's girlfriend, the girl from the library with the white bangs, wearing a black sleveless nightgown. Rogue cringed and raised an apologetic hand, then drew it back. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's okay, I- it's okay. I wasn't paying attention." Ned replied, wrapping his arms around his midsection. His sudden movement had torn through the strips of dough. Inconvenient, but nothing that a dab of water and some egg wash couldn't mend. He took a deep breath. "I'm the what now?"
"The Midnight Baker. You're the one making the pies been showin' up in the morning. Bobby said he'd met the Baker, but he was bein' all annoying an' secretive about it." Rogue said. Her voice had a funny tone to it, like when Emerson talked about his mom or when the twins brought up Herrmann. She peeked in through the oven window to the apple pie and inhaled slowly. Juices had begun to bubble up through the star-shaped vent scored in the center of the crust. "Funny, I thought you'd be a girl."
No stranger to casual sexism, Ned pursed his lips. "Sorry to disappoint."
Realizing her imprudence, Rogue cringed. "Oh, I didn't mean nothing by it! Shoot, that's twice I've gone and upset you. I smelled the pie and wanted to come see... Anyway, I'm Rogue."
"Ned. Pie maker and apparently Midnight Baker."
"I'd shake your hand, but.." Rogue glanced at her hands, which were bare. Self-conscious, she hooked one hand around her elbow and hugged it tight.
Fascinated, Ned watched as she corrected her body language to take up less space, to keep her bare skin away from his. He was familiar with these motions, having taught himself new ways to stand, walk, breath so to be less noticable, less likely to bump into Chuck or Digby. It was surreal to see his body language manifesting in another. He looked at the teenager who had discovered a few short years ago that she would never be able to touch another person for the rest of her life. He thought of how imperative it was that Rogue never, ever touch him.
Ned wondered if the fear of her own skin controlled her as much as it had him.
In a moment, it became very important to Ned that Rogue not be afraid around him. He consciously relaxed his arms and gave her a nervous smile. "Don't worry about it. It's actually pretty difficult to get me mad."
"What happens then? I wouldn't like you when you're angry?" Rogue replied, her lips quirking.
Ned thought back to the last time he'd completely lost control, how he'd murdered three Purifiers in cold blood. His gaze fell and he shrugged uneasily. "Something like that." Returning to his pastry, Ned started a new braid with the broken pieces.
Rogue came around the side of the island and perched on a stool, folding her arms on the counter. "By the way, I wanted to say thank you."
He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. "Oh? What for?"
"For all this," The teen replied, spreading out a hand and gesturing to the ingredients and dishes he had arranged in organized clutter over the island and counters. "I know a lot of people appreciate it. Not just the little ones, either. Kurt still won't shut up about that crumb thing you did."
His fingers paused. He couldn't remember anyone thanking him for baking them a pie. Granted, he hadn't been doing a lot of that on the road, but mostly his baking had been for work or for himself. "You're welcome." Ned said in a soft voice, moistening the edges of the dough in its glass pan with a touch of water. Gingerly he lifted the braided strands and pressed them against the rest of the dough, fussing here and there to make sure it was glued in place. "I went to boarding school when I was a kid. Whenever I missed home, I'd sneak into the school kitchen and bake a pie."
Glancing across the room, Rogue looked up at the pie maker with a new understanding. "You must be missing home a lot then, huh?"
His eyes fluttered closed.
He pressed his glove against her cheek, tinged pink from the cold. "Wherever you are, I'm home."
Ned's mouth twisted and his nostrils flared slightly. He couldn't bring himself to answer that, so he just nodded. Parchment paper and uncooked rice went into the empty crust. He took a breath and changed the subject. "What about you? What's your home-away-from-home pie?"
She looked away thoughtfully, then replied, "Pecan. My Nana had this family recipe and she always brought it for Thanksgiving. When I was in middle school, she wanted to teach me how to make it, but I was always out - you know, running around, climbin' trees and stuff." Fiddling with the edge of her nightgown, Rogue added, "I guess I'll never know."
Ned pressed his lips together, then made his way to the cupboard above the stove. There wasn't enough molasses for shoofly anyways. He started pulling spices down: ginger, nutmeg, allspice, mace, cloves. From the pantry he found a container of pecans, which he set down in front of her. "Do you want to give it a shot?"
Rogue looked up, the kitchen light burning the deep brown of her eyes into amber. "Are you serious?"
He shrugged. "Why not? I've got an extra crust. It probably won't be quite like your Nana's, but you can tell me where I'm going wrong, and I'll make a note for next time. With a little help, it's shouldn't take long at all."
A goofy smile spread across her face and she stood up. "Sounds good to me." Then, Rogue froze in place. She hooked a hand around her elbow again, biting her lip. "Should I get my gloves? I don't want to, um- but is that sanitary?"
The timer went off and Ned set the apple pie on the counter to cool, switching it out for the plate containing the braided crust. He reset the timer. "No cloth gloves, but a hair tie would be appropriate. Pecan pie is sticky and there are some surprises that nobody likes."
"Aren't you afraid of me - you know, bumping you or runnin' into you or something?" The teen's face was troubled as she twirled her chestnut-and-frost hair into a low bun.
Ned set down a container of corn syrup and a stick of butter. He put his hands on the counter, staring at Rogue seriously. "No, I'm not. Do you want to know the secret to moving around in tight spaces without being afraid of touching someone?"
Her eyes went wide. She leaned her elbows on the counter and nodded.
"Communication, self-awareness, and patience. It's kitchen etiquette 101: always let people know where you are. I can show you how to work quickly around other people without worrying that you're going to hurt them." Ned paused, glancing away. He sounded pretty knowledgeable about a type of mutation he supposedly didn't have. He added hastily, "Usually the danger is, you know, a hot pan or a knife or something, but the same principle applies to skin."
Rogue had been pressing in intently as he'd elaborated. Her arms were sprawled on the counter, shoulders hunched.
"First thing's first." Ned stated, stepping away from the island. He raised his hands, then deliberately clasped them behind his back. "Hands to yourself. Know where you are; no one knows like you know, so when you know, you're free to go."
He introducing her to the words for potential hazards - when carrying a hot tray or pot, to announce 'Hot,' 'Sharp' when walking by with a knife, 'Behind' when moving behind someone to prevent collisions. Then, since they themselves were potential hazards, Ned introduced Rogue to the rules he and Chuck had lived by for so long. Soon the kitchen rang with a familiar chorus of 'Crossing,' 'Waiting,' 'Stopping,' 'Going.' Music to Ned's ears.
He found himself smiling faintly as he showed Rogue how to brown the butter. She measured and mixed her ingredients while he prepped a second crust for coconut custard. Ned had her sniff-test all the spices to try and narrow down what might have been Nana's secret ingredient. They settled on allspice and nutmeg. He maintained a hand-off approach - he'd prepared the crust ahead of time and gave her basic instructions, but the important parts were all hers. She poured the filling into the crust and arranged a layer of pecans on top, then slid the pie into the oven with a satisfied nod.
Pecan pie took about an hour to cook and four hours to set properly. He'd attempted to usher her to bed at that point, but Rogue protested that she wanted to at least try the fruits of her labours. Ned looked down at the brown-haired girl whom he could not touch and his resolve melted.
Rogue made herself useful cutting up the peaches. Her slices weren't exactly uniform, but no one would mind if it was hidden under a decorative crust. He couldn't find any cutouts in with the utensils, so he used a paring knife to freehand a couple of vine and leaf shapes from the leftover dough. Slowly but surely, the coconut custard and peach came together.
An hour later, the timer chimed just as the sky turned gray along the edges of the horizon. The sultry aroma of sugared pecans wafted from the oven. Ned was able to beg fifteen minutes of cooling time before Rogue could wait no longer.
He cut two slices onto saucers and set them on the island. The unset pie was almost laughably gooey, but neither of them minded too much.
Rogue took her first bite and closed her eyes, letting out a muffled sound of delight. "This is what I needed." She said, a muted grin settling on her face. Stray white locks fell loose around her jawline, having escaped her bun during the cooking process. Her fingers were sticky from the peaches and her nightie was smudged from leaning against the floured counter, but her shoulders had lost their previous tension.
An observation tickled the edge of his tongue. He was tempted to voice it, yet Ned could tell the girl needed a moment. So he said nothing. He thought about Chuck and the marvelous power of a particular taste to transport you back in time to first time you tasted it, washing away all the ugliness that had happened in between. Ned took a forkful of pie, pushed away the analytical part of his brain that suggested leaf lard might have made for a flakier crust, and let himself remember sweeter times.
He spoke up as Rogue scraped her saucer with the edge of her fork. "How do you feel about it?" Ned asked, referring to her pie.
"Great. For once I feel like a person, not a time bomb." Rogue replied, licking the fork.
Warmed by her comfort, the corners of Ned's eyes crinkled slightly. "I meant the pie."
"It's not Nana's, but it'll do. Could try the cloves instead of allspice." She set the saucer down, bowing her head slightly. "Maybe we could give it another shot some night?"
He nodded, hooking his hands in his pockets. "Of course. It might take us a couple tries, but I'm sure we'll get it." With the promise of future pies hanging in the air, Ned started collecting dishes and stray containers. Clean kitchens meant happy cooks, and he didn't want to offend the owner of the kitchen he was borrowing by leaving a mess.
Rising to her feet, Rogue joined him. She mused aloud, "Wish we had a class like this here. We got three kindsa combat classes, but not one cookin' class."
Ned frowned, placing his load of dishes next to the sink. "Really?"
She nodded, reaching back to take her hair down. "Some of the students plan on stayin' on as X-Men, but what about the rest of 'em? You get kicked out or run away from home, you don't know how to fend for yourself."
"Yeah, that seems like a bit of an oversight." He commented quietly. Returning the ingredients they'd finished using back to their shelves, an idea stuck itself in his mind. This kitchen was a little small for a class to be taught in, but there was a commercial kitchen by the cafeteria that would work perfectly. The timing would be tricky - a class would have to take place sometime after lunch cleanup and before dinner preparation began. Perhaps after dinner, or with a very small group?
Rogue's southern lilt interrupted his musings. "Anyways, I appreciate the lesson."
He scoffed. "All I did was the crust. You did the hard work."
"Sure I did. But I think I should also be thankin' you for the other thing." Rogue bit her lip and smiled. "You were the one who told Bobby about the saran wrap, right?"
He looked down, smiling softly. "Maybe. Call me a romantic, but just because you can't touch doesn't mean you can't touch."
She flushed. "Well, whatever you said to him, thanks. It's nice to feel like a normal couple for once." With a longing glance at the rest of the pecan pie, Rogue wandered the kitchen, ferrying stray dishes on over.
Ned ran a sink to start in on the dishes. He rolled his sleeves back over his elbows to keep them from getting soggy. The ugliest bit of the lacerations had dried up or flaked off, leaving his wrists marred with a triple set of raw, pink lines outlined in sickly yellow. Still, he thought as he started in on the washing, it was an improvement.
Judging by her unsettled stare, Rogue might not have agreed. However, when she spoke up she asked a different question than the one he'd prepared for. "Seems like you have a lot of experience with this. The no-touching thing. Am I 's'pposed to believe that's a coincidence?"
His throat went dry. For a moment Ned considered dodging the question entirely, but that would draw more unwanted attention. Then he thought of how few people knew that Chuck had existed after her death. His chest swelled with compressed emotion. He wanted someone to know who she was - what she had meant to him, how she had brought him to life as surely as he had done for her. Well, perhaps not that far, but he wanted someone beyond his friends from the Pie Hole to know what a treasure she was.
"My girlfriend. She was- I knew- our mutations didn't mix well. Neither of us trusted other mutants, so we never studied our powers too closely. We just- if I ever- if she touched me, she'd die. I touched her once and something happened, and I knew it could never happen again." Ned explained. He kept his face pointed steadily down at the sink to mask his surely-twitching eye.
Beside him, Rogue drew a sympathetic breath. She picked up a tea towel and twisted it absently in her hands. "But you made it work, right? Even though it was dangerous?"
His shoulders fell. An odd sound, half-chuckle, half-sigh, escaped Ned's mouth. "Sort of. We made it five years."
"And then?"
Oh man. This would be a great sign for the teenager apprehensive about her relationship with a boy she couldn't touch. His mouth moved soundlessly, hands moving beneath the surface of the water with intentional gentleness. He found the words and spoke in a low, even voice. "Then, she touched me. And I killed her."
He felt her penetrating gaze on the side of his face, but he wasn't ready to look up. "Well? Was it an accident, or-?"
Ned shrugged. "Not really. There was a situation - somebody forced her and I couldn't- I couldn't stop it."
Footsteps beside him. Rogue appeared in his peripheral vision, her jaw tensing as she set about drying the dishes he'd finished. Her motions were sharp, quick. She set plates and bowls down with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, but she attempted respectful silence. Finally she could keep her thoughts to herself for no longer and she blurted out, "How are you to blame, then?"
He straightened up, reigning in his movements as the girl pressed closer. Though it had barely been a month since Chuck died, the night's events had drained his hysteria. All that was left was dry acceptance. "Look, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but there are some facts that I can't get around. My skin, my fault. If it weren't for me, she'd still be here."
"So what does that mean for Bobby and me? Should I break it off with him to keep him safe? My skin, my fault, right?" Her chin was lifted high in defiance, but her hands were folded tight across her chest.
"It's not that- it's more complicated- you can't just-" Tilting his head back, Ned curbed his babbling with a frustrated sound. "Is there anyone out there actively trying to murder you both?"
Rogue frowned, her gaze sweeping from side to side as she searched her memory. "No- well, not that I know of."
What a life in which they had to consider such things. He waited until her arm moved out of the way and set a clean pan in front of Rogue. "Then I say, go for it. There's precautions you can take and rules you can follow to balance out the danger. But if there are outsiders trying to use you against each other, that's when the scales tip toward the dangerous end and you might think of getting out." Slowing, Ned bit his lip and slid his eyes shut. "Then again, this is coming from a guy who dragged his girlfriend across the continent three times instead of following his own advice, so what do I know?"
Strong footsteps in the hallway which halted near the door. A gruff voice. "Doesn't anybody sleep around here?"
Ned glanced over his shoulder. Logan stood in the kitchen doorway, a black duffle slung on his shoulder, his hair mussed from the wind.
"Logan!" Rogue said. With a lingering glance at Ned, she straightened up and tossed her drying towel on the counter before crossing the kitchen. She slid her arms gently around Logan's neck, careful to rest them against his leather jacket.
He pressed a hand gently to her back, then released. "Miss me?"
"Mmm, nah." She stepped back and wrinkled her nose.
Logan scoffed, then tucked his head down to look at her. "How're you?"
"Good. Ned was teachin' me how to make a pecan pie. Y'ever had a proper pecan pie before?" Rogue slid around the island, her fingers trailing along the counter as she approached the gooey mess that was her pie.
Dropping his duffle on the ground, Logan shrugged. "Can't say that I have." He took a quick breath through his nose and nodded favourably, then fetched a saucer and fork of his own. Pausing near the pie maker, Logan glanced down at his wrists, which were buried in a sink full of suds. "Ned. How's the, uh-"
"Better." Ned replied swiftly, pressing his lips together.
Rogue looked from Ned, to his wrists, to Logan, then back to Ned's wrists. He could practically see her put three and three together. Her eyebrows began to climb and her mouth opened.
Logan cut her off in a brusque tone. "This lesson hadda take place at six in the morning?"
Ned ducked his head, conscious again of how small he felt in Logan's presence.
"Saturday. No class to worry about." Rogue replied, tilting her head to the side and smirking.
Rolling his eyes, Logan dug into the pie and gouged himself a large piece. "Ya better be rested if you're taking flying lessons with Ororo."
Her eyes went wide and she looked at the stove clock. It was quarter to seven. "That's today?" At Logan's amused nod, Rogue looked up at Ned, conflicted.
He shrugged and gestured with his head toward the door, the corners of his lips tugging back.
"Alright – um, thanks for the lessons, Ned. And for, well, everything." Flustered, Rogue fretted with her hands and offered him a grateful smile.
"My pleasure." Ned replied, his shoulders easing.
"See you later!" She disappeared down the corridor.
For a minute, the kitchen was quiet except for the sounds of dishes clanking in the sink and Logan shoveling down his slice of pie. The sun peeked over the horizon, painting a sliver of the kitchen gold.
Clearing his throat, Logan glanced in Ned's direction. "What's 'everything'?"
Ned looked out the window to the patch of sky distant beyond the trees. The sky was filled with a patchwork of clouds that fell in even rows, resembling silvery fish scales against pale blue. "Listening, I think. Understanding. And I showed her some kitchen etiquette – you know, how to move around people without worrying about bumping into them. Thought it might be helpful so she doesn't have to be so afraid of her skin."
A pause. "Good plan." Logan grunted, impressed. He set his saucer down. Drummed his fingers against the counter. "I get why the kid would be up if you're cooking in the middle of the night, but what's eating you?"
Drawing a slow breath, Ned considered his words. Of all the myriad things that had driven him from his bed, all the things he had seen and heard and done this evening – "I just have this tied-to-the-train-track feeling. Like the ground is beginning to shake and something is coming around the bend, but I can't see what it is - and there's nothing I can do to get out of the way."
notes.
I tried. I tried to make this one chapter, but Rogue and Ned got out of hand, and then I threw Logan into the mix and everything spiraled. I'm cutting this off at a little more than 4200 words. The next chapter will be about half as long, but it should be up by Sunday evening EST.
Then, at last we'll have the promised interlude – which will contain an unprecedented flashback all the way back to Ned and Chuck's time on the run. More than little snippets and remembrances, the whole chapter will be a self-contained story. I'm really excited about it.
Let me know how you're feeling!
Don't write the story. Live the story.