Disclaimer: I do not own, and it is better that way. Because I don't want responsibility for it.
Warnings: AU to the nth degree. Mashing X1, comics, and Origins into something weird.
Notes: I see Rogue as changing with every absorption, keeping a little or a lot depending on the amount of time spent touching.
Marking
by Fairady
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Rogue didn't know she was going to do it until the needle first pierced her skin.
It was an impulse that made her search the streets for an open tattoo parlor. One that looked just seedy enough to do anything she asked for hard cash. And she asked for a lot.
The gloves, she required them from the beginning to the end. The ink had to be just right, and it took them the longest time to find one she was satisfied with. She demanded the youngest artist work on her. Inexperienced and a little hesitant as he looked at what she wanted.
It was small and simple. It took twenty minutes to ink onto her skin because she stopped every few minutes to critically examine it before pointing out where the next part should go.
The ink was bright and shiny, surrounded by pink flesh. It would fade in a week or two. More if she didn't take care of it like the young artist was telling her to. She didn't care. The fading was part of it.
The numbers were ugly, crooked, and not even the same size. She traced them with the tip of one finger and felt a sick comfort that wasn't hers rise up in her. It let her know that she'd gotten it right and that eased something tight in her mind.
She didn't think about it as she left the parlor, covering her new tattoo with the elbow length gloves she was so rarely without. She didn't want to think about how important the marks of a genocide could be, or how it could effect her so strongly even though Erik's memories had faded.
They just hadn't faded enough.
She spent the rest of the day pressing her aching skin through the fabric and remembering.
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