Chapter 2: Unsettled
I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Same old song,
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do,
Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see…
The chilly nighttime air lingered around the mansion, encasing it, shrouding it, putting it in its pocket in preparation for the coming winter hibernation. But hibernation is an illusion in the world of the X-Men, always at the beck and call of those in need, regardless of time, age, space, or the will of those who long ago decided they were willing and able to answer the call.
No, the chill may have been in the air, but the personal chill this evening belonged to the inner demons of the lone figure strolling the mansion grounds. Inner demons that suddenly grew stronger with every breath she took.
The autumn breeze made it difficult to light the cigarette she stole from the pack left carelessly on her dresser. She knew he'd be back for them, or, rather, maybe they were left there on purpose. She didn't care; she only knew that she longed for the sweet release of a nicotine fix that she hadn't indulged in since she was young.
Before she knew it, the lone figure found herself at the small plot set aside for fallen heroes. She'd never ventured here, but after several years as an X-Men, now that she found herself here, there was only one thing she could do.
She knew the demons that had brought her to this site. She didn't consciously know the way, but she wasn't surprised when she ended up there. Taking a long drag from the cigarette, she glanced at the headstone.
Carol Danvers.
Squatting by the headstone, she stubbed the butt of the cigarette out and took a deep breath before covering her face with her gloved hands, as if the one deliberate movement would wipe away all her tension.
She spun suddenly, sensing a form behind her. She squinted her eyes in slight annoyance, realizing it was Jean Grey, the X-Men's resident telekinetic, telepath, and psychotherapist.
Cautiously, Jean approached the crouched Rogue, surprised to find her at the site. "Oh, I'm sorry…"
Slowly, Rogue turned back around to face the small plot and rose from her squatting position. "It's alright, Jean," she said quietly, her back to Jean.
Slowly, Jean stepped forward, and although she knew by heart which grave Rogue stood by, she took a quick glance at the headstone just to make sure.
"Ah've nevah been here before," Rogue offered, hoping to break the awkward silence that descended between the two. Never one to mince words, she knew Jean was surprised to find her here. And yet, though the two had never been what most would call friends, the neutral grounds of the cemetery provided a delicate balance between personal and professional life that Rogue knew she'd break if she excused herself. Here, they were bound by the oath of teammates and the loyalty and trust of such a relationship.
Jean nodded and gave a tentative smile. "I come every once in a while," she responded, glancing back at the headstone. Quietly, she moved to sit at a small bench that rested just to the side of the cemetery, so that she'd be once again facing Rogue. She pulled her coat a little tighter around her and took on a wistful expression. "Reminds me why I continue to fight the good fight."
Rogue nodded a little uncomfortably.
"I didn't know you smoked," Jean said, noticing the stubbed out butt on the ground.
Rogue shrugged and gave a small smile. "Ah don't. Or haven't in a long while. Stole a few from Remy."
Jean watched, amused at the light she saw flicker in Rogue's eyes at the mention of their Cajun teammate. She wondered if the same light appeared in her eyes when she mentioned Scott.
"I don't mind," Jean said after a moment, giving Rogue the green light if she wanted to light up again. "And I won't tell," she added with a twinkle, drawing up her knees to sit sideways on the bench.
A flash of slight relief came over Rogue as she pulled another smoke from her jacket. Sure to cover the flame of the lighter with her gloved hand, she lit the tip, and again, inhaled deeply.
"Do you ever think about her?" Jean asked, indicating Carol without so much as a glance back to the headstone. Jean rested her head against her arms, folded above her knees in a slight fetal position.
Rogue eyed Jean suspiciously, but since Jean found her at the cemetery, she knew she should be truthful. "All the tahme," she said after a moment. "She's locked up here, ya' know," Rogue added, pointing to her head.
"What would you say to her if she was here?" Rather than the usual clinical method that Jean normally asked personal questions, this was simply clouded in curiosity.
Still, Rogue stiffened at the personal nature of the question and took another drag of her cigarette. Glancing back at Jean, she paused before answering. "That Ah'm sorry." She paused again, diverting her eyes, yet still taking in Jean's quiet presence. "And thank you." It was almost a whisper, but Jean had heard it.
If she was surprised by the answer, Jean didn't show it. But Rogue knew the psychologist in Jean understood what Rogue meant, so she didn't elaborate.
"You know, Rogue," Jean said hesitantly, raising her head from her knees, daring to break that delicate balance between professional and personal. "If you ever want to talk, I'll listen."
The hand that held the cigarette dropped to Rogue's side as she scoffed, turning her gaze skyward.
Jean glanced away, slightly offended. She hadn't meant it as an invitation for a psychological appointment, but mused Rogue would have taken it as such. Silently she chastised herself for not expecting her teammate's reaction.
Rogue tensed as she watched Jean flinch. "Oh, you were serious," she said, a hint of disbelief in not only her voice, but also her posture.
Jean turned her gaze back to Rogue and nodded.
Rogue took another drag of her cigarette and glanced away, slowly contemplating this new feeling of someone other than Remy and Logan offering to be her friend. She turned back to Jean. "Thanks, sugah," she said with a small, albeit genuine, smile on her face.
Jean smiled softly at Rogue, and watched as her teammate stubbed out her second cigarette.
As Rogue turned to leave, she stopped just before hitting the thicket of pine trees that shrouded the cemetery.
Jean glanced expectantly at her.
"You too, Jeannie," Rogue said softly.
Jean smiled at Rogue's words. She knew that the use of her name instead of the oft-used "sugah" meant Rogue understood the invitation as coming from a friend rather than a doctor. Jean nodded briefly, and again Rogue gave her a small smile and a wave before disappearing beyond the trees.
Jean placed her head back on her knees, a renewed sense of peace within her.
A/N:
Most of my characterization of the X-Men comes from the 90s cartoon, though as you can tell, I've taken some liberties. I'm of sound mind that people shouldn't attempt dialect if they can't get it right all the time, but I've found that it's simply not right if I don't give it the ol' college try. With Rogue and Gambit, I have got to try, because it's such a part of who they are. So, sorry if I don't fit the bill, but it just doesn't seem right not even trying. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.
Also, I would apologize for taking so long to update, but I did warn you-it would take some time. And so it has. Part of it is just, well, life. Part of it is figuring a way around a bit of the story that's so Rogue and X-Men heavy that it doesn't seem to fit, except in the way it comes back together. I still haven't decided on that one.
Finally, I own nothing. Not GI Joe, not the X-Men, and not the characters within each. Opening lines come from "Dust in the Wind," by Kansas. I don't own that either, but it did seem to fit the occasion. Consider that my disclaimer for this chapter.