"The Dividing Line"
Chapter 3: "Cornered"
The red-brick walls of the orphanage had fallen to decay – dark strips of moss appeared to be oozing out of the bricks, and the color of the walls had turned a dismal purple. The courtyard behind it was an enclosed space, walled in on all sides, and the ground was covered with a thin layer of snow – and it was still snowing, gently, as if not to disturb those below. The ground was bare, without any features, but the walls around them had pieces of a plane jutting out of them – as if the plane itself had been embedded into the bricks.
Rogue saw Jean right next to her, huddled in the corner, shivering while trying to read a book. She looked to the other side of the courtyard and saw Scott, sitting there, next to Rogue...
Wait... what? What am I doing over there?
Rogue approached them, cautiously. As she got closer, she saw that Scott wasn't wearing his glasses. His eyes, gorgeous hazel, were looking at the other Rogue. The ruby quartz glasses were held between the other Rogue's thin fingers.
"I remember a few colors." Scott was saying, "White, like snow. These walls... hell, I couldn't forget them if I tried."
"Ya know..." with one finger on his chin, she turned his head, "You've got the sun in your eyes."
He turned away.
"What's wrong?"
"You make it sound like it's beautiful."
"Isn't it?"
"No. No it isn't."
She didn't say anything.
"You know what the worst thing is? It's not being alone. It's not having everything one second, and then having to leap into the darkness with nothing but a small hand, too weak to hold yours. It's not feeling that hand slip away, screaming inside that if you were just strong enough, you wouldn't be swept away by the wind."
The other Rogue scooted closer to him. He sensed her presence as a growing thing, like a shadow moving away from light and stretching out, leaping higher and crawling lower. An expanding, pulsating existence slowly being draped over him. He swallowed, hard.
Rogue, watching them, thought - no. This isn't supposed to be like this. It isn't.
"What're you so afraid of?" the other Rogue asked.
"Loneliness." He said, "That's the worst."
"You're not alone." the other Rogue said, moving a few more inches, closing the last vestiges of the distance, slowly, "Ah'm here."
"Lonely goes a few shades deeper than alone." Scott said, "You know that."
"Ah do. But not no more. Ah don't have to. You're here."
"That's not the point."
"Ah know."
The final inch conquered, she brushed up against his arm. He felt her presence wrap him in a sense of ease, a sense of familiarity. There was no need for the lies, for the bullshit. For the front called Cyclops, for the subterfuge... no need for any of it.
"It's easier to pretend." He said, "Pretend that I know what the fuck I'm doing. That I have a way, a solution. That I'm in control, that I'm made of steel, that I can take anything, that I can handle this, all of it. That I could. I can't."
Her arm, slowly traveling around his to tangle up with it. Closer now, the rest of her slowly moving towards him. Closeness reminding him just how deep despair went at times like these.
"I'm always cursing my glasses and telling people left and right how bad it is to see the world in the shades of a singular color. But thing is, it's all a lie, a front. It's easier to pretend that it's my real issue."
No words. He found her an eager listener, her beautiful, green eyes wide and full of curiosity, her ears perked.
Her fingers, encased in gloves, caressing the back of his hand.
"I need my glasses, I need the visor. I need them to prevent them from seeing where I'm really looking. They all assume I'm looking at them. They are right."
Still listening.
"I envy them. All of them. But they all see what they want to see and I... see everything. I see you."
He turned to her and found her barely away. She had turned towards him, her other arm coming in closer, drawing an arc and finally embracing him.
Rogue found a knot in his chest, mobile. Almost up to her throat now. She watched, breathless.
"I see you." He repeated, "Pretending nobody sees you. Pretending not to see anybody, but seeing everybody, seeing everything and envying them all. Envying them for their simplicity, their carefree existence... hating them for it. Loathing each and every one of them. Loathing them as I do."
"It's not mah fault." Rogue said, "But Ah am sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
Her hand embracing him followed a trail down his neck and back. It slowly slid off of him, like silk, light and smooth. He stiffened up when he saw her hand holding the glasses slowly rise.
"No." he said.
She leaned closer. He couldn't help but take a sharp breath. She was close –too close, too close for comfort, too close for anything- and gently, her body brushed against his. She moved up, her breath trailing along his neck.
"There's more to loneliness than just bein without no company. There's so much more – ya know as well as Ah do that even if they wanna, they can't know that. Ah do. Ah know what it's like. Ah know what it's like ta be in the crowd and not belong to no group."
Her hair, tickling his skin, her lips, just a hair's breadth away from him. Silently, she...
She held the ruby quartz glasses with both hands. She stared into his eyes, a small smile on the corner of hers.
"Ya know why Ah have to do this."
"No." he tried to withdraw, but she reached out with one hand and held him firmly in place. He couldn't move, he couldn't move away. He couldn't escape. He knew what she intended to do and it was the worst thing, the worst possible thing anyone could do, the worst kind of evil that could be be visited upon him.
Rogue, watching the other herself, shivered.
"Don't-don't put the glasses on... please..." Scott begged.
"Ah have to. It's a part of you. It's you."
"No... please don't..."
"Shhhh..."
One hand on the back of his neck, gentle, yet firm. She whispered sweet nothings to him, her voice barely audible, and he could feel it coming, he could feel the glasses rising in her hand, rising to meet the place they had been attached to ever since that day, ever since...
"Don't put the glasses on, I'm begging you, just..."
She leaned in, one hand at her temple, holding the frame. He tried to move away, but she pulled him in. The glasses slid into place, their familiar, light frame against his temples as she leaned in. Their lips met. He embraced her, pulled her closer, pulled her in and held her in place, desperate in his need to hold onto her, to anything at all.
Rogue turned away.
On her corner, Jean was crying.
Rogue woke up to a monochrome, red world and the alien feeling of the visor on her face. She was used to it by now, seeing the world like this. She was used to stitching in color tags into all of her clothes so that she could coordinate them. But that wasn't important right now, what was important was finding out what had happened. She looked around the room and found Kurt, in full uniform and with his image inducer turned off, crouched on a chair by the window. Upon seeing her move, his eyes practically lit up.
"Finally, you're avake."
"What happened?"
"Zhat's a little complicated."
"How long was I out?"
"Two days."
"Why was I out? Why am I here?"
Kurt sighed.
"You drained Scott. He's hier too, two rooms over." Seeing her lack of a reaction, Kurt asked, "Vhat?"
"Is that some kinda joke?"
"Vha-at? Vhat do you mean?"
"Don't you recognize me, Kurt? How could I drain myself, and why would I do that in the first place? Ah can't do nothin like... wait. Why do Ah have this Southern drawl suddenly? Ah don't talk like this, Rogue talks like... this..."
Kurt was bearing a mixed expression made of trace amounts of sadness, confusion, dejection and concern.
"Wait..." Rogue said, "Ah'm not Scott... am Ah?"
Slowly, as if cautiously, Kurt shook his head.
"Ah'm Rogue. Yeah, Ah'm Rogue."
Kurt's expression sank.
"I didn't knov." He said, "I didn't knov it was zhis bad."
"It's not. It's just-just that Ah took a little too much from him is all, ya know? He's here, right? He's awake?"
"I don't knov, Jean is with him."
"...who else is here?"
"Nice job covering it up, sis. Really believed it."
"Shut up."
Kurt smiled widely, displaying his pure white teeth and sharp canines.
"Jean's hier, of course. Kitty also, but she vent down to get us some coffee. And, uhh... there's zhe Professor."
Of course.
I don't see what your trouble is with Charles, child. He has done questionable things, yes, but haven't we all? He was bolder during our tenure together, you know – adventurous and inquisitive. But he never crossed the line into casual apathy, he never did anything if he thought it would do someone harm in some way.
A bastard with the best intentions or the most evil plans is still a bastard, Mr. Lensherr.
Now I can get behind that!
Shut up, Juggernaut.
This is juvenile. Really juvenile. Is this what you think of the man who gave you everything?
Nobody asked you, Jean.
Well, I for one think he's shifty, that bald freak! He didn't even gimme a chance, man!
Toad, this isn't about you...
Well, you're gonna face up to him, right? Resort to fisticuffs, girl, you can fuckin' own his wrinkly ass!
Tabitha, please just...
What're you afraid of, a telepath? I eat telepaths for breakfast, and you know it – it's Pietro who's scared shitless of 'em.
Wanda I...
You know what you should do?
You know what you should do?
You know what you should do?
You know what you should
You oughta give 'im something
Step aside and then
Wham! Right to the jaw
Shake it up a bit and
"Shutupshuthup-shut up!"
Rogue felt that her hands were cupped over her ears, pressing down hard, one finger dangerously close to the firing stud on her visor. She was trembling.
Kurt's hand, protected by a glove, was on her back.
"Rogue..."
"Ah'mokay... Ah'mokay..." she panted, "Is there... you got'ny clothes for me?"
"Uhh, yeah, zhe ones you vere vearing vhen zhey brought you in."
"Well, where are they?"
"I don't think you should be up..."
"Ah gotta see him, Kurt. Gotta make sure he's okay."
"I think you gotta make sure you're okay first, sis... should I call doctor?"
"What's a doctor gonna do? Apply 20 ccs of brain bleach?"
"Maybe... do zhey do zhat hier?"
A moment of silence, and Rogue couldn't help but burst out laughing. She laughed heartily, feeling her body shake, and felt something pleasant pour out of her. Kurt, standing on the side, was looking extremely unsure of himself – as if he didn't know whether he should laugh along, or if she was laughing at his expense.
"Ah missed you." She said.
Kurt grinned.
"I'm unforgettable, vhat can I say?"
"Yeah, right!"
Putting on her clothes helped her none. Her uniform, despite its unfortunate connotations, was a unique piece of clothing, it could define her, it could set the boundaries for the Rogue. But the rest of it, the clothes she was putting on now, despite having some identity, had nothing too specific, nothing to help her define herself.
"You look better already." Kurt assured her. She doubted it. "Vant me to come with?"
"No." Rogue said, "It's not that Ah don't... 'preciate it or nothin. It's just..."
Kurt smiled warmly, made Rogue feel that he understood.
"I knov. He's in Room 9."
Rogue nodded in appreciation and stepped out into the hall. She glanced at the room number and saw that she had been in Room 6. Scott should have been to her left, so she followed the sequence of rooms until she heard the familiar voice of Jean Grey and stopped just short of reaching the door of Room 9.
"...so angry."
"There's nothing wrong with feeling that, Jean." The Professor's voice, still sounding like all the comfort a cup of hot chocolate could offer, "It wasn't exactly a clean break, so to speak."
"And I look at him, and he's like this... and I know who's responsible... and it's taking everything I have just to keep standing here and not going a few rooms over to-"
"I won't have that sort of talk, Jean." Charles said.
"Professor, I just... look at him. I tried so hard to convince myself that I hated him... It'd be easier to hate him for leaving like that, for just throwing everything away, even with his own reasons... but I couldn't. I can't."
"You have nothing but love for him."
"Yes. Which is why I'm so angry with her... I always sensed it. Always knew. It was this feeling that radiated off of her... which is impossible to hide," her voice rose, ", so why don't you stop eavesdropping? It's not a polite thing to do."
Rogue flinched, but it was too late. Of course, they'd sense her. How could they not. Her head was a hornet's nest, buzzing with stray thoughts and screaming ideas. Her temples were throbbing, and there was the ever-present itching sensation in her eyes.
That's how it feels, every second, every moment. Every day.
I'm sorry, Scott.
For me? Don't be. For them? Maybe. For yourself? I'll see you dead first.
Rogue, holding her hands behind her back, entered the room with cautious steps. The hospital room was occupied by three distinctive concepts for her: in the middle, lying on the bed with his visor strapped to his face, was Scott, warmth and adoration. By his side, standing, wearing a leather jacket on top of her uniform, was Jean, envy and jealousy, twofold. Sitting in his wheelchair in a navy blue suit was Charles Xavier, inconsiderate and deceptive.
And Rogue, standing there with Scott's spare visor on her face, hands held behind her back, like a child too afraid to receive the scolding she knew was coming.
"Hello, Rogue." Jean said, her voice failing to disguise a potent (and rightfully placed, Rogue thought) animosity.