A/N: A thousand, thousand thank-yous to the ever-so-wonderful and awesome Lucia de'Medici for beta-ing this. She has more talent and dedication for writing than I could ever hope to have in my pinky toe and if you have not read her work, then I strongly suggest you arrange time out of your schedule to sit down and do so. Now. I'll wait, her stuff is so much more entertaining than this.
The Ripple Effect
Chapter 7
Anesthetize
Kitty sat on the end of her bed and stared at the other side of the room. She had cleaned it up a bit over the interim days between when Rogue left and now. She had put away the clothes that had been strewn about and made Rogue's bed because she had thought that the Goth girl would appreciate it, even if she didn't say anything. But now…it had been over a week…and nothing. Nothing at all. Not a phone call, not one trace of her in town. Rogue had gone off for a day once or twice before, but she always came back. The Prof kept saying that the police were doing the best that they could and that he was still looking for her, but it was getting harder and harder to pile into Scott's car and go driving around for a couple of hours in the hopes that they would spot white among auburn or purple lips set in a scowl on a pale face. She heard through the grapevine at school, when rumors weren't rampantly flying about Jean and Duncan, that Rogue's friend Risty had gone missing too. Usually attached to these juicy tidbits was something about a kinky lesbian getaway or a vulgar elaboration on what they were doing together.
Kitty looked down at Lockheed in her hands and scowled. This was all the Professor's fault. He had seen it just like she had; she told him what Rogue was up to after she'd gotten tired of pandering to Rogue's attitude. She knew that had it been Scott or Ray or even herself doing the kind of things that Rogue was doing, even without the drugs, they would have been under virtual house arrest and given KP, whatever that was. But no. He always said that Rogue was just acting out, that she was having a hard time of it; that she, Kitty, needed to be more understanding; that if she didn't have any real evidence of Rogue's narcotic activities other than what the southerner said, then they couldn't do anything. After all, Rogue just liked to be perceived as a badass. She was really a good person on the inside. Kitty lay back on the bed and held Lockheed above her with her arms outstretched.
"Yeah, because an old man that sits in his office all day really knows a girl better than her own roommate," Kitty said, rolling her eyes. She let her arms fall to either side of her and hang over the edges of the bed. "They're all so afraid of touching her that they let her walk all over them, and look what that got us… She's probably dead in a gutter somewhere."
At that moment, Kurt teleported into the room with the usual sound of ripping holes in dimensions and a sulfurous puff of brimstone.
"Who's dead in a gutter somewhere?" he asked, his easygoing smile showing his pointed fangs.
Kitty lifted her head up slightly and looked down the length of her body at Kurt standing at the foot of her bed. "Rogue," she said and dropped her head back down.
"Ach, zis again?" Kurt took a few steps and sat at the end of Kitty's bed and placed his hand on her knee, looking back at her. "She's not dead. You know how she is; she'll come back in a few days, bitching about how harsh her punishment is."
Kitty sat up. "'You know how she is,'" she repeated with a small amount of sarcasm. "Yeah, that's right. I know how she is, no one else does. You all just buy into that bullshit act she puts on."
"I don't zink it's an act, Kitty. She's—"
"Yes it is!" Kitty spoke over him. "You guys don't see her when she's got her guard down, you haven't stayed up until three am talking to her about everything and finding things out about her. You all just sit there and give her berth enough where you're all pressed up against the wall when she walks by! Did you know that she hates that? Did you know that it only made her feel more like a circus freak!"
Kurt brows drew together in consideration. "Rogue's not vun to keep quiet about zomezhing zhat's bozerving her. She vould had said somezhing."
"Well, she kept quiet about this. And the reason I never said anything was," Kitty continued, speaking over Kurt's opened mouth to protest, "Because it was usually followed by 'if you tell anyone, I'll drain you in your sleep'."
"C'mon Kitty, you should know better zhan to buy into zhat vun!" Kurt cajoled, giving the girl a playful shove. "Even I know not to believe zhat vun."
"Well, I never said I was totally immune to it," Kitty replied, her expression crossed between miffed and slightly hurt. "And part of the reason I never said anything was to respect her wishes; that's how good roommates get along."
They fell into silence for a few minutes; Kurt's tail gently swaying back and forth, a sign he was thinking and probably mulling over this new information Kitty had given him about his adopted sister. Kitty, meanwhile, sat and stewed in her own unhappiness, picking at a loose thread on her comforter with her face away from Kurt.
"This is the Professor's fault you know."
Kurt's sigh told her that he was now pass indulging her and assuaging her fears and was now getting annoyed. He put his elbows on his knees and his head the palms of his hands, fingers buried deep in his hair. This wasn't the first time that Kitty had pointed out the folly Charles Xavier had made when it came to Rogue, and he was getting more and more irritated by this whole matter.
"It is not his fault Kitty," he answered, sitting upright. "I zhink ze man knows vhat he's doing. He does have four PhD's."
"Yeah?" The brunette challenged, focusing her attention back on Kurt. "Well why didn't he, like, use some of that big brain power of his to keep a closer eye on Rogue, huh? How come I get a mental nudge if I go to, like, I dunno, the library instead of here after school and she comes home in, like, the middle of the night, stoned out of her mind and gets off scot-free?"
"Because every time he does zhat, she bitches him out und only runs furzher avay! If he did vhat you vanted, she'd have been gone months ago!" Kurt exclaimed, spreading his arms wide as if the answer was totally obvious.
"He let one of his kids become a junkie!" Kitty countered, pronouncing each word as if that would help drive the point home. "I think that proves he doesn't have the best judgment in the world, so why are you defending him? She's your sister for, like, crying out loud, I'd think you'd be a bit more upset by this."
"Upzet? Upzet? Of course I'm upset! But zhe man saved my life, he's saved countless ozhers, he runs an entire school nearly by himself! I zhink he has some experience making judgment calls not to mention zhat he's human, Kitty. Ve all make mistakes."
Kitty huffed out a sigh and glared at Kurt. "Well, if you're gonna screw up, why not, like, go big, huh?"
"Ach. I'm not talking to you if you insist upon being zhis vay." Kurt got up and on the third or fourth step away form Kitty's bed his vanished in a puff of Brimstone and smoke.
"Fine, I don't wanna talk to you either," Kitty said. She grabbed Lockheed from where she left him, held him in her arms and threw herself back on her bed and pouted.
They had laid low for a couple of days, only going out to party at night and coming home at 5 a.m. to sleep off everything. Risty's host parents had asked in a very loud voice why they were never awake when they got up to leave for work. Risty came up with the brilliant lie of having a free first period. It only needed to last a little while, since school would soon become summer break. After that it would become nothing but wild nights full of debauchery for them. They would bus it in to New York City and hit the clubs and after parties, not even remembering half of the shit they got fucked up on. Eventually they began seeing the same people on the same circuits, getting to know some people enough to have a place to crash a few nights a week. A couple of weeks of this and they never took a bus ride back to Bayville. When they weren't able to crash at a party-buddy's place, they either hooked up with some guys to crash with or roughed it in the park. The park nights were seldom though since they were both attractive girls. When they did have to spend the night in the park, they treated themselves to a big bag of some nice weed and spent the night watching the stars move.
Rogue often wondered why she hadn't run away sooner.
There were no stupid rules, no annoying roommates, no Danger Room sessions at the ass-crack of dawn, no one trying to make her into something she would never be. Xavier had tried to make her into some socially-aware do-gooder when she wasn't. She wasn't a good person, period. Hell, her powers got her halfway fucking there; what kind of person could she be if when anyone laid a finger on her, they collapsed, their memories and powers stolen from them? The other half was made up by the facts that she liked cocaine and weed and cigarettes. She liked breaking the rules just because they were there to break. She was the Rogue for a reason. What they did expect from a girl raised by a mutant-supremacist terrorist anyway?
"Risty! Why didn't we do this sooner?" Rogue shouted to her best friend over the music pumping through the loft apartment that they were currently partying in at the moment. Someone they knew through a friend of a friend split rent with some people here and they all hated the landlord's guts. Hence the loud music and the rule, 'Break as much shit as possible.' So far there were at least three splatter marks from bottles being thrown against the blue walls that Rogue could see, one of the wooden arms from the ceiling fan was missing and the gray couch, where it wasn't covered by that making out couple, had stains or the odd gash in the fabric covering it.
"No idea!" the girl with the purple streak in her hair shouted back. She was dancing close with some hunky looking frat boy that had been Rogue's up until fifteen minutes ago.
"Hey! You like Slayer?"
Rogue turned around, lips wrapped around the neck of a brown beer bottle and saw a tall, lean, brown-haired, blue-eyed, adorably emo-looking boy with a sex-a-licious amount of eyeliner on. She swallowed, looked down at her shirt and then back up to nod. "Fuck yeah, ya bet yer ass Ah do."
Cutely-emo boy smiled, showing perfectly white and straight teeth. "Awesome. Hey, you wanna get out of here? I know a guy who can get us into Wicked."
Damn it, she knew she had been missing out on something during all those years of no-touching. Wicked was one of the few Goth/Alternative/Whatever clubs that dotted the nightlife scene in New York City. They were hard to get into since there were only a few places like this, and a good number of people who didn't like, or were tired of the typical nightclub scene took up all the spots inside these clubs unless one got there very early or had an in. A tight t-shirt and nice tits got you everything.
"Ya serious?" She asked and he nodded. "Ah'd love ta."
He took her hand and they started to weave their way through the mostly frat-boy crowd. Before they got too far, Rogue twisted around and grabbed Risty's hand, dragging her along with them.
"Hey, can Ah bring my friend?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever. Let's go," the cute-boy replied without even turning around.
A few more of Cute-Boy's friends were waiting outside at the entrance of the building for them. They all exchanged names (Cute-Boy turned out to be Mark) and headed over to the nearest subway stop that would take then to the club. It was all the way over in fucking Brooklyn – of all places – but the guys weren't complete douches, so the ride over wasn't all that lame. The place itself was pretty dark on the inside, black lights doing most of the illuminating. There was an octagonal shaped bar with chrome stools around it in the center of the room. On the far wall, past the bar, was the DJ. He picked the songs that beat themselves into her head like a jackhammer and above him were racks of stage lights that flashed out over the thrashing crowd. There were silver stairs along the side walls, going up to balconies where people could sit and drink and socialize. Girls danced in PVC corsets, thigh-high boots and hot pants, all of it seemed to glow, in cages that were hung from the ceiling, dangling down just above the crowd's heads. Darkcore music was pounding through her head, crawling through her brain and commanding her to join the crowd of darkly dressed people floor-punching, 2-stepping and wind milling feet from her. She loved dancing in crowds; she supposed it was some way of making up for all those years of touching only through some sort of barrier. When she was out on the floor, thrashing to the beat, it was like she could feel everyone all at once. She felt accepted, she felt normal, she felt no fear so long as she was on something.
"Hey Risty, ya still got that 8 ball in your bag?" Rogue asked her friend, the mesh shirt under her ripped sleeveless Slayer shirt felt suddenly two sizes too small and itching incredibly.
"Yeah, why? Ya wanna split it now, luv?"
"Yeah."
The two girls excused themselves from the guys, who said that they were going to try and find a table. They found their way into the bathroom, which was all black; black walls, black floors, black toilets, black sinks. Black, black, black. There were no black lights in there, however, since all the various bodily fluids left in here would show up and would probably make the facilities quite disgusting looking. After some fishing around in her bag, Risty took out a little baggie that had white powder in it. Anticipation filled Rogue and she examined their two reflections in the mirror for something to do while Risty cut the lines.
Rogue looked about the same as ever, maybe thinner. Definitely nothing like what all those after school specials and anti-drug commercials said she would look like. She looked at the fishnet shirt under her Slayer shirt and felt her fingers itch to take it off, to be free of her curse. It matched the stockings that peeked out from under her skirt. She hated covering up on a night out, but alcohol seemed to not have the same effects on her brain as something like cocaine did. Not that that was a bad thing, it was just that it didn't let her get close to people. And if things were going to go well tonight, she would need to be able to get close to people. Risty looked fine too. They looked like a pair of regular Goth kids out for a night. So far, Rogue found that everything everyone had ever said to her about drugs was a lie.
"Hello? Earth to Rogue," Risty sing-songed, breaking Rogue's train of thought. "Lines are ready."
Rogue looked down at the counter and saw two sets of neat lines of cocaine waiting for them.
"What were you spacin' out about?" Risty asked as Rogue bent over with a rolled up bill in her nose, pinched the nostril she wasn't making use of, and inhaled deeply. That tell-tale sensation behind the bridge of her nose was already starting as she straightened up. She sniffed a few times, dabbed at her nose and pushed some sweat matted hair out of her sunken eyes. When the back of her throat went kind of numb, she bent down and did another. Already she could feel a sort of liquid confidence spreading through her and she smirked at her reflection. "Everybody is just so damn wrong about everythin'. No idea what they're talkin' about. Those dorks back at the mansion probably think Ah've OD'ed already. This is so easy."
"Don't have to tell me, love. You're preachin' to the choir."
"Yeah, no offense, Rist," Rogue said as they walked out of the bathroom, "but Ah'm so glad we left your host parents behind. They were really startin' ta piss me off."
"Oh, I know, me too!"
People were staring, but Rogue didn't care… Really didn't care, unlike all those times she said she didn't care and then when and stewed in her room about it. She welcomed their stares this time because she knew they weren't staring at her because of her dark makeup or white streaked hair or pale skin. They were staring because they saw a hot girl dancing with her best friend. Of course, the fact that she just took off both of her shirts and flung the fishnet one away before putting her t-shirt back on might have had something to do with it, but she was hot - temperature wise that was; dancing was hard work and tended to make her sweat just like anyone else. There was also no doubt that she was hot in sense of attractiveness since every guy around her was too busy picturing her fine self without clothes on to pay attention to anything else. Yeah, y'all wish ya could get at this, she thought, smirking at a pack of guys who were admiring her and Risty a few feet away. Time was insignificant, Rogue caring only about the communal feeling of the dance floor and the songs drifting in and out of each other. In all too short of a time later though, she started feeling herself go down. The feeling was seeping back into the tips of her fingers and she could feel the sweat in between her toes in her boots again. She wandered her way off the dance floor and around the sitting areas, finally finding the boys and gratefully taking the drink they had ordered for her.
"You guys haven't seen Risty around here, have ya?"
"I think she's still down in that throbbing mass of people down there."
The boy who answered her had dyed black hair and green eyes. She had learned his name was Brian and he looked over the railing and down at the people below them, as if he would be able to find her friend. Rogue didn't like him all that much; she thought he tried too hard with the caked on eyeliner and obviously salon-cut hair.
Rogue cursed her luck. Risty should be coming down soon and also making the pilgrimage to the table, but Rogue wanted something now.
"Y'all got anythin' on ya that could pick a girl back up?" she asked Mark after finishing her drink which had been some kind of slushy concoction of daiquiri goodness.
"What do you need?" Mark answered her question with a question.
"Anythin'."
Mark nudged his other friend, who then started to dig around in his pockets. He also had black hair, but it looked more natural than Brian's. His eyes were brown and somewhat bloodshot; he was probably just as high as she was. He found whatever it was he was looking for and flung it toward her. The little plastic baggie landed in front of her and had a few pills in it, stamped with familiar symbols like the Volkswagen and Superman signs or just a plain old happy face or a heart. She hadn't gotten around to trying E yet, but she had heard only good things from it. She picked a pill that a cute little Snoopy picture on it and chased it with Brian's drink, stealing it from him with a wink.
Risty made it back to the table after that, having gone to snatch a drink from the bar. The guys persuaded Risty to try one of the pills in the little bag, along with some help from Rogue. The chatted for a while and at first Rogue didn't find anything these guys were saying particularly interesting. In fact, they kind of seemed like guys who were only into hardcore metal for the "creepy" Goth chicks because they thought it was kinky. But then things got really interesting. She thought she might be sick, but it turned out to just be some burps that provided those present at the table some low-brow humor. Things went streaky around the time the burping contest was proposed. She conceded to Mark though, since she became distracted by the heavenly feelings of her gloves against her skin. Soon she took them off and placed her hands on the table.
"Whoa," she giggled, "do you guys fuckin' feel this table? How did they get this so smooth? Holy shit." She grabbed Risty's hand and placed it on the table. "Feel that!" she laughed.
"Oh my god, that is amazin'. How did they do that?"
"Lord Rist, what do ya put on your hands? They're so soft!" She took Risty's hand again, this time grabbing the other one as well and threading her fingers through the other girl's. They sat there, touching each other's clothes, hair, hands, the table, the chairs and the boys for a while. Eventually everything felt like heaven, even the air against her skin; she swore she could feel it lovingly caressing her skin. It was almost like if she thought about it hard enough, she could levitate out of her chair. She was so occupied with the wonderful feelings her touch-deprived skin was giving her that she would have sat there all night touching everything and anything she could get her hands on if it hadn't been for the boys seeming to pull their heads out of their asses and start saying the most insightful and wonderful things. They were so nice and charming; they really got what everything was like for her. They really understood. And with the lights blurred and the rays lagging through the air like they were, their smiles were like pure love, their gazes like unconditional understanding. Rogue looked over at Risty during the conversation and felt more love for her than anyone in her entire life.
"Risty, you're the best person Ah have ever met. Ah know Ah can be a pain in the ass sometimes and Ah wanna thank ya for stickin' with me. Ah love ya so much and Ah don't know what Ah'd do with out ya."
Risty smiled like she had just been proposed to. "Oh my gosh, Rogue, that is so sweet of you! We should get one of those best friend charm bracelets or somethin'."
"Ah always lost them when Ah was little, we should get somethin' that'll stick with us for ever; just like us." Rogue stared off, her face blanker than a freshly erased chalkboard, for a long moment before her face lit up, "Matchin' tattoos!"
The purple-haired girl gasped, "Yes! Tattoos don't get lost!"
Rogue looked over at the three boys on the other side of the table and felt that they needed to be included in this as well. They were good people as well and she never wanted to forget them. It would be cruel and unkind not to include these beautiful and wonderful young men in this celebration of friendly love.
"You guys need to come with us," Rogue said, with as much earnestness as she could muster. She flexed her jaw almost incessantly, snuggling into her chair and rubbing her palms in circles on the table. "Y'all should be a part of this."
"After this song, though," Risty said, getting up and grabbing Rogue's and Mark's other friend's arm and leading them back down stairs.
This was like…religious or something. This was what God felt like. This is what she should have felt all those years ago when Irene took her to church and everyone was standing on their seats and shouting the praises of Jesus. God had reached inside of her brain and shown her what love was. He had reached down from the sky, opened up her skull and poured the vast completeness of heaven into her brain. Everything had been lifted from her and she felt light and airy. She knew. She knew everything and everyone and she loved them all despite their flaws. She loved society as a whole and loved them even more for all of their flaws. Her eyes rolled down from the nirvana of the lights into Brian's green eyes. She kissed him, trying to pour herself into him. He was so beautiful, so perfect. Just like Remy. He would understand; he would want her to kiss this guy. He would love her in spite of this; in spite of what had happened to him. Everything would be fine.
"Your skin is really pink right now. It's like your glowing." Mark smiled at her, keeping their foreheads close together while the music moved through them. They breathed it in as it swirled in the air around them.
"Ah need water!" Rogue yelped, suddenly aware of this desert in her mouth. Mark left her to get lost in the currents of the music and returned with two bottles of water. He opened up one and dumped some on top of her head. Rogue laughed and shook her head, feeling the water slide down each strand of hair and fly off into oblivion. She laughed and grabbed the other bottle of water.
"Water me like a flower!" she said, uncapping it and popping the cap into her mouth to chew on it. Mark obliged, shaking the bottle over her head. Rogue laughed more and twirled around and around, and then grabbed the water and guzzled it down until it dribbled out of the side of her mouth and down the front of her shirt. The trail of cool fire it blazed down her skin was amazing.
Mark said something to her and she couldn't quite understand him, everything having slowed down. Rogue nodded her head to it, giggling at how things wavered and smeared. She trusted him completely; he was a beautiful man, a good person.
A light hit her full blast in the face and everything dissolved into sparkling tingles. Tingling, tingling, tingling…
Scott Summers was sitting on the couch in one of the various rec rooms of the Xavier Institute. He sat forward on the couch, elbows on the knees of his tan khakis, hands folded together and his chin resenting on his hands. One might think he was seriously considering the artistic meaning behind John McClane's sweaty and blood-stained wife beater, or that this was the first time he had even seen a Die Hard movie.
He wasn't though. He had seen the movie at least seventeen times and it was just about the farthest thing from Scott's mind. Instead his head was stuck on a girl with red hair and a seemingly permanent morose look to her eyes. School was out for the summer, their last reprieve before they were thrown into the big and bad world of college. They should be having the time of their lives, celebrating the end of high school and letting off steam from the looming monolith of higher education that awaited them in late August.
That's what they should be doing, but all Jean had done since they had graduated, since Duncan's funeral really, was shut herself up in her room. Scott was worried about her; he didn't think it was healthy for her to be this sad for this long. She barely came down for meals anymore, left the house at weird hours and managed to come back without anyone noticing. Had her odd behavior not been preceded by Rogue's dramatic reaction to the prospect of rehab, Scott thought that they wouldn't be sure of where she was. However, as Rogue had decided to lose it first, the Prof secretly kept tabs on who left the mansion and when they came back along with upping the security system about ten-fold. It had been hell that first week it had starting working with all the squirrels running around on the grounds.
Scott hated to admit it, but he felt a little bad for what had happened to Duncan and his family. He hated that Jean had to go through the death of a very close friend yet again. Hell, he hated the fact that Jean even knew what it was like to deal with personal loss before this. What he hated the most though was that there was this secret little part of him that was glad Duncan was out of the picture. It was the same part that had felt threatened by Duncan because he had been moving in on "his girl"…even though they hadn't been going out, ever. Right now this part of him wanted to march up to Jean's room and shake her, yell at her that Duncan wasn't worth this kind of mourning and that she should just get over it already!
The young man with the red sunglasses on blinked and sat slowly back on the couch. That actually might not be a bad idea, he thought to himself. Of course, he would leave out the yelling, the demeaning of Duncan and the shaking, but maybe it was time to drag Jean out of that hole of misery she had made for herself. He had given her space, they all had, and they had all let her mourn in her own way. Scott may not understand why she was taking this so hard (he had thought their relationship hadn't been all that serious), but a month seemed like more than enough time for one to put their life on hold and grieve. Maybe it was time to give her a nudge towards putting her life back together?
Scott chewed the inside of his lip. But what if things had been really serious between her and Duncan? What if they had secretly been planning to get married or something after high school? He'd rather not go up there and act like a jerk and then get Jean pissed off and depressed. If that was the case, then he loved her enough to accept that and let her continue on with whatever it was she was doing up there.
Still, probably not a bad idea to check up on her. Scott got up from the couch and left John McClane to yell his signature tagline to himself.
After a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a couple of the fudgy brownies that Jubilee had decided to make earlier in the afternoon, he headed upstairs to Jean's room. It was only a Wednesday night, but the mansion was relatively quiet anyway; most of the kids were either still outside enjoying the warmth and extra daylight of summer, or already out for the evening at the movies or the mall. As he drew even with Jean's door, he could hear music faintly coming from inside. He knocked and waited a few minutes for Jean to answer.
"Who is it?" came from the other side of the door.
"It's me," Scott replied.
"I'm in the middle of something." There was a thread of annoyance in her voice and she didn't elaborate on what she was doing at all.
"Well, uh, I just thought you might like some brownies. Jubilee made them so, uh, they'll definitely rot your teeth, uh…" Scott trailed off and sighed, having the strange feeling that he was quickly losing the opportunity for Jean to possibly open the door. "They've got M&M's on them," he offered, adding a bit of pathetic-ness to his voice to try and tempt Jean to at least open the door.
He waited tensely for a few moments and just as he was about to walk away and have the brownies all to himself, Jean opened the door and peeked out.
"There she is." Scott smiled at her, which Jean retuned with a dangerously flat stare. "Alright, alright, I won't say anything," he quickly apologized, putting the hand that wasn't balancing the plate of brownies up in defense. "Just let me in so I can tell Storm you're still eating."
Jean rolled her eyes and walked away from the door, leaving Scott to push it the rest of the way open and close it behind him.
Her room was a mess, and the M&M's on the brownies were probably the most cheerful thing in the vicinity. Clothes were all over the place, the bed looked like the whole mansion had tried to sleep in it last night, and the curtains were drawn over the windows which added to the depressing mood. It also didn't help that Radiohead's 'Karma Police' was playing on her stereo, probably on repeat. Jean fit right in with the mood of the room; she stared at him with emotionless eyes, hunched over a bit and her arms, which looked thinner than usual, were folded in front of her belly. Her red hair was limp and greasy from being unwashed, and her usually flawless skin was dotted with a few pimples. Even her eyebrows looked a bit unkempt. She completed the look with a baggy gray shirt that hung off her body that sported a few mysterious splotches on it, along with a pair of burgundy sweat pants that Scott had never seen her wear – ever… Not even during that time she had strep throat for a week and a half, last year.
Hoo boy, Scott thought; thinking that maybe the goal of getting Jean out of her room was a bit too lofty and perhaps he should just settle for persuading her to take a shower or something.
"So, uh…" I see you've redecorated, was how he wanted to finish his sentence, but he had promised her he would not say anything about the current condition she was in. And knew that if he even broke that promise just a little bit, she would throw him out of the room. Literally.
"Go on, Scott. Just say whatever spiel it is you've thought up and leave already," Jean snapped, going over to her bed and threw herself down on the edge of it. She irritatedly exhaled and re-crossed her arms, stubbornly staring ahead, waiting for Scott to leave.
Scott placed the plate with the two brownies on it down on the nightstand next to her bed. "I'm not here to say anything. Can't we just, you know, hang out or something? We haven't done that in forever." I miss you.
Jean looked up at him, a bit of a smirk tugging up at the corner of her mouth. "You sound pathetic, you know that?"
Scott shrugged. "Yeah, well, you know, anything for the team." He grabbed the plate of brownies and held it in front of Jean's face. "Here, eat one of these before you get thinner than Taryn."
Jean scoffed at him, "That, is low, Mr. Summers." She took one of the brownies and Scott took the other. "These aren't that bad," she said after the first bite, making any conversation to delay the inevitable uncomfortable talking. Plus, the chocolate would cover up the smell of Teacher's Whiskey on her breath. "Since Jubes made them I would have thought that they'd be packed with enough sugar to send me into diabetic shock."
"She probably had to make them so she didn't fail Home Ec or something."
A few moments passed while they snacked quietly, until, "Bit dry. Want me to go down a grab a couple of glasses of milk?"
"That's okay, I've got something to drink up here already," Jean replied, and then reached down to the floor between her bed and the closest leg of the nightstand. When straightened, a big bottle of Teacher's whiskey was in her hands.
Scott blinked and almost choked on his brownie. "Are you serious? Really? You've been sitting up here, drinking the Prof's whiskey the whole time?"
"You don't understand!" Jean defended herself. "It won't go away, Scott! Every time I close my eyes, he's there. I have dreams where he comes back from the dead and he just stands there and asks me 'why?'. There are other ones where he's trapped in that coffin, alive, trying to claw his way out and I'm watching him die all over again. I wake up in the middle of the night, too tired to realize what's happened and then something in my brain clicks and I remember that he's gone and he's not coming back because I fucking froze!" She screamed the last two words; the tears that had started trickling down her face becoming full blown sobs. "It's my fault, and I have to live with that every day. If I had used my powers to save him, I wouldn't give a damn if people thought I was some kind of freak! At least I wouldn't have this guilt!"
God, he hated seeing her like this. It broke his heart to see her in such pain. He wished that he could take it all away, make everything alright again. Even if it meant bringing back Duncan. He sat down next to her on the edge of the bed and put his arm around her. She leaned into him heavily, wearily, and took a swig from the bottle.
"It'll be okay, Jean. I promise it'll go away some day," he said into her red hair.
"Make it go away now," she muttered near his chest and gestured with the bottle. "This doesn't help all that much. It helps me go to sleep, sure, but I just wake up with a screaming headache and it's all still there."
Scott put his other arm around her in a sideways hug and held her. "I wish I could Jean, I really wish I could," he whispered into her hair.
Just then she leaned up and kissed him. Her lips were chapped and her mouth tasted like alcohol; nothing at all like the last time she had kissed him. But this one lasted longer than that last one. Long enough to where she placed her hand on his face and pushed him back on the bed. This was wrong and he needed to push her away before something bad happened. But instead of pushing her off of him, Scott's hands slid down to her hips as she laid herself on top of him. Her whiskey-soured lips moved off of his and down to his neck. Scott tried to speak, but found that this was too much like some of his dreams for his mind to work properly. He swallowed awkwardly and tried again.
"Jean," he panted, feeling his restraint crumble away with each passing second that she remained on top of him, "Jean, no. I can't do this, this isn't right."
She pulled back enough to where she would look down at him, her long red hair falling around their faces like a curtain. "Scott, please. I need this, I need to forget. Just for a little while. I promise I won't hurt you."
He could tell she was drunk by the slightly unfocused look in her eyes and the amount of alcohol he could taste on her. "That's not what I'm worried about." But in actuality, that was what he was worried about. If she woke up tomorrow morning and knew this to be a mistake, it would crush him. He loved her and to have this night together only to have it be ripped away in the morning…not to mention the fact that it would never really sit right with him. She was drunk and hurting; this was not the time for her to be making decisions.
"I know you've wanted this for a long time, Scott. I've seen it in your eyes. And you know what?" she asked him as her mind reached out to caress it's way down from his chest to lower regions, "I've wanted it too."
He closed his eyes firmly behind his ruby lenses. Not matter how much relief and elation he felt at hearing her say those words, he could not take advantage of her. "You're drunk," he stated out loud, more for himself than for her.
"I waited so long for you Scott." Was it his imagination or had her voice taken on this tone that was like erotic silk to his ears? "So long…But you never noticed—"
"Oh God, Jean, I did. I did notice." She was so warm and soft, the heat radiating through her clothes from her skin was doing nothing to persuade him from going down this path with her. "I just thought that you—"
"Shhh…." She placed her lips on his and silenced him with a soft kiss. The redhead currently atop him opened her mind to his, showing him what they could have. She wasn't manipulating him or even putting the barest hints of persuasion behind the images. She was just showing him what they could have.
His body betrayed him. His pants were tight and his hands were now holding her down to him instead of just resting on her hips. He clinched his jaw and swallowed hard. "Jean, what are you doing to me?" he managed to grind out between gritted teeth.
"Nothing." It was innocent in the same way a sexy girl sucking on a lollipop was innocent. "I'm just showing you what we could have, Scott, what you could give me. Please."
She showed him pictures of them tangled in the very sheets that they were on top of now, naked. Pictures of them wrapped up in each other, of fingernails digging into flesh, of her sleeping serenely in his arms.
It was the last image she showed him that did it for him.
"Give me the bottle." It floated over to them and Scott grabbed it out of the air, Jean sitting back on her heels so he could take a swig. He held it back out and it floated back over the nightstand. As his fingers buried themselves in red locks and their lips met in a searing kiss, Scott swore to himself that they would figure this out—somehow—tomorrow.
Rogue laid flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She blinked a few times, wondering for a brief second when the last time she had blinked was. She didn't know; she was feeling too wiped out to tell. She didn't even really know how long she had been back here lying on the bed and just staring off into the ceiling. Staring up at the ceiling was all her brain was able to handle. She hadn't even been able to get enough of her shit together to sleep with Mark. So he left her in here while everyone else was doing….something…in the living room. Risty was out there with the boys. She had heard a few odd noises while she had been in here, staring at the ceiling, that made her want to get up and see what was going on. She didn't though, since all her brain could handle at the moment was staring at the ceiling. The cracked ceiling with that puffy-looking stuff …popcorn paint or something.
There was a familiar sensation in her lower abdomen that was telling her she needed to pee. Could she do it? Her heart might explode if she moved, considering the way it was fluttering in her chest like it was a jackhammer and she was just lying there. And if that didn't kill her, she'd probably hit her head on something falling over because she was too dead to move.
Probably wouldn't be the first time this bed had pee on it. Rogue thought, thinking about letting things go like they would have if she was in the wild. She made a face, but then Ah'd have ta sit here in it like some kind of crack head. With a groan, Rogue pushed herself up into a sitting position and took stock of where she was.
It looked like she was in a hotel bedroom if the bland decorations and lack of any kind of personal effects told her anything. It was dark and she shivered at the draft from the air conditioner for the room humming to life and looked down at herself. No shirt, just a bra keeping top half from being totally exposed. Judging from that "free" feeling underneath her skirt, Rogue guessed her other unmentionables had been taken off somewhere between the club and here.
"Oh Lawd, what happened?" she muttered to herself, looking around the room for her shirt. She found it on the floor next to the bed, along with her panties. She put them back on as fast as the brewing hangover would let her before padding quietly over to the door and seeing if she could listen in on anything going on outside. While waiting for some sounds of speech to reach her ears, Rogue tried to remember where she was and who she was with. There was that stupid frat party, then meeting those guys, then that club. As scenes from the club went through her mind, she remembered the feelings that went with it; the euphoria, the lightness, the feeling of music entering her fingertips and filling her body until if felt like she was floating. Things went blurry after the club and while she had no reason to believe that something was wrong, there was that nagging in the pit of her stomach that told her otherwise.
It's too quiet in here, she thought, figuring out what was bothering her. It could be that everyone else was cracked out like she was, but usually someone left a TV on, or someone was snoring, or something. Rogue opened the door, wincing at the bright light that filled the small hallway between her and what she could see of the living room. There was the acrid smell of old vomit emanating from the bathroom door; it was open a crack as she passed by it on her right, while walking down the too-bright hall with its sea-foam green colored walls. She paused just before entering the living room, putting her back against the wall and listening.
"Is she breathing?" One of them whispered.
"Shit, I don't know." An agitated pause and then, "Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?!"
"What the fuck is the matter with you, Mark?"
"Fuck off!" was the reply followed by some sounds of scuffle and then someone getting hit.
"I swear to God, you like 'em when they're half dead, don't you? You're some kind of sick dead-people fucker, aren't you?"
"Shut the fuck up, asshole. Bitch probably just had more to drink than we thought."
There were some sounds of amusement followed by, "Yeah, they were pretty wasted."
"Mark, go see if the other one is up yet."
"God, I hope so. Can't wait to see my load all over that mutie bitch's face."
"Really? 'Cause them being awake never stopped you before."
"Shut the fuck up Brian."
Fuck. What in the hell kind of mess had they gotten themselves into now? Something was obviously wrong with Risty and now these douches were going to try and gang-rape her or something. They had to get out of here; Risty might need some kind of help.
At that moment, Mark appeared in front of her. With only a second's hesitation, Rogue's fist shot out into his face, a loud crack filling the air and the boy reeled back, out cold. A girl didn't survive on the streets and party circuit without knowing how to throw a good punch. Usually they were aimed at some catty bitch who was too drunk for her own good, but occasionally there was a guy who was too drunk or too stupid to know what 'no' meant. Like now.
She had barely felled Mark when Brian appeared in her face, shoving her hard and yelling about something. She shoved him back just as hard and yelling just as many invectives back at him. He tried to hit her and she shoved his arm away from her, back handing him with a bare hand across his face. No rush of alien feelings or thoughts. Good. Or maybe not so good since she'd rather just drain this asswipe and get this over with since fighting was making her headache worse and she just wanted to go back to not moving. Brian rushed her and they both fell to the ground but the struggle there was not long as Rogue simply brought her knee up into Brian's crotch with as much force as possible. He made a noise akin to a dog getting its tail stepped on, and she roughly pushed him off of her. Rogue got to her feet and looked around for the last one of them. She found him when arms wrapped around her upper body, pinning her own down to her sides. She thrashed in his arms, trying to break free, but for being such a stoner, he sure had a lot of strength. He pushed her at full tilt into a wall, his body colliding into her from behind pushing all the air painfully out of her lungs and making stars dance in her eyes. Given the crappy state Rogue was currently in, the additional pain only served to make her angry.
Using her legs, Rogue pushed off against the wall and kept pushing back wards until they crashed into another wall, sealing the deal by thrashing her own head back and into the kid's face after making contact with the wall. His grip around her arms went slack and she walked away from him, touching the back of her head. It didn't feel like it was bleeding but it was going to require at least four Tylenol, later. She looked around at the three disabled would-be rapists and saw that Mark was beginning to stir. She went over and kicked him in the pants for good measure before going over to where Risty was laid out on the couch. There were a couple of empty beer bottles on the coffee tables and Rogue grabbed one by the neck and smashed it against the corner (away from Risty), making it into an effective weapon and turned to the three prone forms scattered across the floor.
"Ah swear ta fuckin' God, if any of ya'll try anythin', Ah'll stab ya in the fuckin' balls, ya hear me?"
She turned back to Risty and crouched down next to her friend. "Risty, c'mon girl, time ta get up," she said, shaking her shoulder. When there was no response, Rogue tried again. It took a third round of shoulder shaking and name calling until Risty groaned and mumbled something resembling, "Leave me alone".
"C'mon Risty, we gotta go," Rogue replied, taking her attention briefly off of Risty to eye the now rather pissed-off looking Brian, who was staggering to his feet while holding his crotch. Rogue awkwardly put her arm under Risty's upper back and sat her up. With a lot of coaching from Rogue and threatening looks thrown in the direction of the boys, they managed to make their way out of the room. The Southerner kept glancing over her shoulder as they stumbled their way through the ratty hotel, making sure they weren't being followed out.
Risty mumbled something incoherent as they found the pavement of the sidewalk, the orange tint of the sky telling Rogue that it was nearing dawn, if the sun wasn't up somewhere behind the buildings already. They were downtown now, somewhere near NYU if all the NYU symbols in the store fronts were any indication.
"Can't….th-thr-throw…hup…"
"It's gonna be alright, don't worry," Rogue said, more for her own reassurance than any kind of response to what Risty had attempted to say. The British girl kept fading in and out of consciousness and Rogue was more or less dragging her up the street at this point. Had Rogue been more sober and not so panicked, she would have thought it strange that no one was paying them much mind, chalking up their stumbling to a pair of sorority sisters that had partied too hard.
Eventually, somehow, Rogue wasn't quite sure, they found their way to a hospital. Rogue walked into the Emergency Room's entrance with Risty's arm around her shoulder, the other girl's head lolled down on her chest, out cold again. Two rather ragged looking girls stumbling into an ER at about 6 a.m. were bound to get anyone's attention and so Rogue was shortly relieved of her burden after walking in. One of the nurses that had helped get Risty onto a gurney had said something about a stomach pump after Rogue had relayed all she thought Risty had been on. With a shakily released breath, the girl with the white streaks in her hair lowered herself into a plastic chair next to a guy who was holding red and white bandages over one hand. She willed the bile in her throat back down and put her head in her hands.
This was bad. This was so fucked up. What the fuck had happened tonight? She didn't even remember half of it and Risty so wasted she couldn't even puke. Christ, they were in such deep shit. She let her head drop further from her hands, so that they were now in her hair and she was looking straight down at the linoleum floor between her knees. After staring at the dirty floor for a few minutes, she noticed that her knees were trembling. That realization brought on the realization that her whole body was trembling in her seat. She looked up, fingers like pillars blocking her vision, and saw one nurse gabbing with another who was distractedly grabbing papers from behind a desk and attaching them to a clipboard.
She had to get out of here; they couldn't know. Even if she used a fake name, they would know and they would find her and take it all away.
But Risty…
She'll understand… Rogue tried to convince herself as two doctors whizzed by with a crash cart. She didn't look to see where they were going; she was too afraid that they were headed for Risty's room made of curtains. She fisted her hands in her hair and squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could before rising up out of her chair and hurriedly walking out of the hospital. She broke into a run in the parking lot and didn't stop until she was on the subway. She fell into an orange plastic seat that smelled more like human filth than disinfectant and curled up into a ball with her arms covering her head. There were a few other people in the car, but they either paid her no mind or pointedly ignored her. They had their own problems to deal with rather than the sobbing girl in the corner. To them she was just another addict on the subway at six in the morning.
A/N: I know I'm not supposed to be Author's Notes at the beginning and end of stories, but hell, it's been so long! And the first one was used to give Lucia de'Medici the many thanks she deserves for beta-ing this for me. For those of you who are curious, you just read 18 pages (in Microsoft Word) of fanfiction. Probably the longest chapter I have ever written and I hope it makes up for the lack of Rogue that there has been at times in this story. Now you all know what she's been up to. And I guess I can't mention Rogue with out mention of Remy so, since I know I'm going to get asked this: trust me, he will show up. It's all in due time my special snowflakes. Hopefully during my lapse, none of your review-clicking fingers have become dusty and if they have, I would be eternally grateful if you brought them out of retirement. Parts of Chapter 8 have been written down manually and reviews might just prompt this writer to forgo her end-of-the-semester school work to transfer those parts into a Word document and expand upon them.
Hope this chapter finds you all well!
Mercedes