First, thanks to Ava D'Alain, Maedelin, and AJ for helping me with a particularly troublesome part. I am NOT good with wit, but they sure are!
Second, a good chunk of this chapter is (IMO) a pretty cool battle scene. Those are hard for me to write, so I'm kinda proud of it. If you see areas of improvement, LMK, as I always like to learn and enhance my writing.
Third, the end of the chapter is NOT my fault. Blame the characters. They took over and decided to do their own thing instead of following my 'script' and we ended up with this. It's GOOD (again, IMO), but be warned that you might need a box of tissues (and should definitely not read/listen to it in public, like I did during proofreading, lol).
~X~X~X~X~X~
Gone? A body couldn't just walk out on its own, unless…
A flutter of hope, thoughts of incredible possibilities and miraculous recoveries bloomed before the next icy wave drowned that shred of optimistic reverie once more.
"It's Sinister and the Nasty Boys!" Morph declared almost frantically. "Wolverine's already on their trail, but he said they have a huge head start!"
Jean and Scott shared a look of horror before everyone glanced at Rogue - Carol - who felt a spark of anger that was all her own. The Southern woman had already retreated even further back into her mind, and possibly didn't even know what was being said, or what had happened.
Good.
'Let the poor thing alone awhile,' Carol mused silently. 'She's been through enough.' It was another pang of empathy for a woman she was supposed to hate, and it left her feeling confused and raw.
Without a plan, with barely even a thought, the team moved as one to catch up with Wolverine and hopefully recover Gambit's body before Sinister could cause more harm. Carol, with her nearly supersonic speed and incredible strength, picked up both Scott and Jean while Morph changed into a man with large, white wings. They lifted off simultaneously, taking to the skies and leaving Beast behind to care for Kurt, Kitty, and the untold injured.
As they flew, circling the immediate area to find the X-Man who was pursuing both Gambit and Sinister like a bloodhound, Carol tried not to wince from the pain in her head. The telepathy she had 'borrowed' from Jean bounced back with stray, furious images from Cyclops - images of clones and capture; of Madelyn and Nathan. His own pain nearly matched that of Rogue's. The only difference was he hadn't witnessed Madelyn's death first hand. Didn't have a body to cling to. Didn't have the ash of a thousand pulverized victims still in his hair, down his throat. Didn't taste blood in his mouth every time he swallowed.
Carol shook her head, fighting back more images that took hold from Rogue's recent memories.
That first shocking moment of confusion and pain as she unburied herself and looked around for the source of the initial explosion…
Green light that incinerated Banshee and Marrow even while the former tried to warn her. Get to the gardens, he'd said, just milliseconds before he and the girl in his arms were destroyed...
Kurt, her brother, smoldering and bleeding as she ran to him, but couldn't touch him…
Remy, who had smiled at her, reassured her that Kurt was alive - and so was she...
Remy - who loved her. Who had saved her. Had died for her…
"Oh my God. Carol?" Scott's voice permeated her brain and she blinked, eyes hazel and tear-filled one moment, blue and confused the next. She still held Jean and Scott in either arm, pressing them against her sides as she carried them.
"I - I'm here. Just … keep getting flashes," Carol smiled apologetically.
Jean turned her face toward the former Avenger, her cheeks wet with tears of her own. "We - we saw," the redhead admitted quietly. You - Rogue - was projecting. You've still got my telepathy."
Carol nodded solemnly, quietly, and steeled herself against further intrusion. 'Just stay DOWN, Rogue,' she screamed in her head. 'Let me take care of things out here for a while. You're just making this harder.' Though her eyes were open, Ms. Marvel could see the ghost of Rogue's psyche standing before her, face still streaked with dirt, blood, and tears, wearing that torn up red dress with the strappy black heels. Then, in the next moment, she was gone again, retreating into the recesses of her own mind once more.
Gratefully, Cyclops provided another distraction, indicating to the rubble below as he pinpointed Wolverine, who was tearing and slashing through the decimated city. Still holding Jean and Scott along either side of her body, Carol swooped down, flying next to the enraged man as he leapt over burned out cars and concrete craters.
"What have you got?" Carol called, close enough to hear each other without smashing her passengers into the dirt.
"Scent's headin' to the docks!" You three fly on ahead and scout it out, Morph and I'll follow the trail, see if we pick up anything else. The Marauders are around here somewhere, too, so keep a lookout!"
Carol nodded once, then took off, leaving a trail of dust in her wake as they headed toward the bay.
~X~
Once they reached the docks, where most of the boats had been obliterated, Carol dropped off her two passengers so they could all split up. She took to the skies, trying not to enjoy the freedom of flying too much, considering the circumstances. She was a few miles down the beach when she caught sight of it - a sleek, ominous, shiny submersible glinting in the low, waning light of the day.
Carol pressed a button on her belt - a communicator in the form of an 'X' that the team had given her. "I think I found something," she warned the others. "There's a big sub on the far side of the beach, camouflaged behind some of the burnt out ships." She narrowed her eyes as she dropped lower and spied several people carrying sacks over their arms as they boarded. "There's a half dozen ugly sons of guns carrying…" Carol trailed off as she narrowed her eyes, trying to determine what they had stolen. "They've got bodies!" The six figures below were indeed carrying the dead down the pier, their cargo wrapped in white, or red-splotched, sheets.
Without another word to the team, without even a second thought, Carol swooped down onto the dock, alighting on the far end to stand between the villains and the submarine. Her partly melted boots made a dull thunk on the wood, instantly catching the attention of the goons.
One man was tall, gangly, and nearly two-dimensional, with purple robes. Another had flowing white hair and clothes that looked like he came out of a 1800's pirate-themed romance novel. There was an ape-like man, as well as a large, bald guy with hardly any neck. And finally, the least intimidating of the bunch, was a short, haggard looking man with greasy black hair and a walking stick, and a woman who wore an atrocious green and white swirling patterned dress. The latter two each carried a single sheet-wrapped corpse, with the other four villains holding two or three a piece, making 12 in total.
"I know you're the bad guys," Ms. Marvel growled, fists tight with repressed rage. "But grave robbing before they've even been buried? It takes a special kind of evil for something that despicable." She tilted her head, a dastardly smile playing at her lips. "The X-Men have a few words for you lot, but they're not here just yet, and I'm … less verbal."
Carol cracked her knuckles, preparing for a fight with those she assumed to be The Nasty Boys. She didn't have access to Rogue's memories of these goons, not that she needed them. She'd taken down hundreds of Sentinels over the last 24 hours. She could easily handle half a dozen mutant lackeys.
"Now put down the bodies, nice and slow, and put your hands in the air!" Carol commanded, fists raised and ready, with eyes blazing. She straightened with surprise when they actually began to comply with her request - that is, until all hell broke loose.
As the woman in white and green raised her hands, the world suddenly pitched and swirled under Carol's feet. Simultaneously, the haggard looking man with greasy black hair raised his stick, and the whole pier morphed, becoming thick and hard as the planks twisted to encapsulate her. But the barrier provided relief from the woman's powers and Carol was able to recenter herself in that moment of reprieve. Ripping away one of the planks that had surrounded her, she tossed it at the pair, knocking them off their feet and into the water.
Suddenly a shriek split the sky and made her ears ring, blinded her with the intensity of the sound, and Carol dropped to her knees as she put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the cacophony in her brain. After a second, she forced her hands together and slammed her fists into the dock, splintering the reconfigured wooden dock and severing the far end of it from the base. It served to knock the screaming 1800's looking man off his feet, but the bodies also began rolling and falling into the water, and Carol whipped around when she heard a light moan emerge from under a blood-splattered sheet.
Some of the bodies weren't dead after all.
With a gasp of shock, Carol raced forward, grabbing up several bodies at once to dump them on the sand before flying back to recover more of them. She felt Rogue's rage rearing up, and with a mighty punch to the chest, she sent the bald guy - Slab - soaring through the air to land hundreds of feet away in the bay. Path momentarily cleared, Ms. Marvel dove down into the water to retrieve three more bodies - who might still be alive after all - and deposited them on the beach with the others. In mere moments she had rescued nine of them in total, and dispatched most of the Nasty Boys in the process. The pirate guy and the ape-man had managed to get three of the bodies onto the submarine, though, and she immediately went after them.
Before she could recover the bodies, however, Tar Pit emerged from under the dock and entangled her in his sticky limbs, trying to squeeze and suffocate her. Her strength meant nothing as he engulfed her with his glue-like body, cutting off her air supply. Flying didn't work, either, as he just stayed with her, and she further depleted what was left of her oxygen. Then, in a moment of panic, she felt a tingle, a tug like that of a thousand fingernails tearing against her skin - her bare midriff, legs, and arms - deadly flesh that Tar Pit had encapsulated like a second skin, yet had somehow forgotten that he was vulnerable to Rogue's absorption powers.
Gasping, Carol closed her eyes as the purple robed mutant's mind flooded into hers. His unconscious form released her and fell away, dropping more than 100 feet out of the sky into the water. Her brain flooded with images of Sinister, of laboratories, and evil, violet eyes that commanded both the Nasty Boys, and the Marauders.
Images of gathering the dead, snatching the severely injured.
Images of Morlocks, unearthed from the rubble, barely breathing.
Images of Sinister, standing over Remy's charred-black and lifeless-gray body with a sickening grin.
They were collecting mutants - both dead and alive - but for what purpose Tar Pit, and Carol, did not know.
Ms. Marvel shouted, a battle cry of anger and disbelief over unimaginable evil, and she rocketed toward the submarine, intent on sinking it. But she was knocked out of the sky by a flying harpoon, which did not pierce her nigh-invulnerable skin, but sent her sprawling across the beach nonetheless. There, standing on the deck of the submarine were more of Sinister's lackeys. She knew from Tar Pit's memories that these were his Marauders.
They consisted of a stocky man with nearly no neck and a quiver of harpoons on his shoulder; a woman with short lavender hair and a sparkling silver bodysuit; a runty young man in a hideous green suit and tie; a silver haired mutant standing inside a swirling hurricane; and another humongous mountain of a man, who could have easily been Slab's older - and bigger - twin.
And, alongside them, Sinister himself.
Carol took to the skies and barely dodged another of Harpoon's projectiles, followed in quick succession by a burst of light and a shockwave created by the purple haired woman, Arclight. Dodging and weaving through the sky, she attempted to outrun Riptide, the man with white hair, as his savage winds expanded.
Below, about a mile or more down the beach, she could see four tiny dots - Cyclops, Jean, Morph, and Wolverine - running toward the battle. But Carol wasn't going to be able to hold out that long, not with the hurricane tossing her around, stealing her breath, making her see stars.
A moment later Carol landed hard on the metallic deck of the sub, coughing and gagging as she immediately dragged herself upright. But then there were hands on her head, fingers reaching through her skull to pull and tear at her mind, ripping away her consciousness, paralyzing her mind.
With a groan, Ms. Marvel slumped onto the shiny black surface of the vessel, rendered unconscious by the man in the green suit. On the beach, the Nasty Boys had pulled themselves from the water and were quickly collecting the misused bodies of both the dead and dying.
"Excellent work, Scrambler," Sinister sneered. "Make sure she will remain incapacitated until we reach our destination, then put her below with the rest. She and Gambit can share accommodations. It's only fitting that they take the journey together." A wicked cackle escaped his lips. "I'm sure Apocalypse will enjoy turning the most lauded heroes of the day into his servants, and Rogue will have the privilege of witnessing their… rebirth… first hand. After I take my turn with them, of course." He paused, eyes raking over the tattered black outfit and the creamy expanse of pale skin. "I've always been curious to see if those powers of hers are only SKIN deep… " The grin on his face would have sickened even the most stalwart hero, and it was fortunate that none of the X-Men were there to see it.
"I hit her good and hard, Mr. Sinister," Scrambler cackled as he lifted the barely dressed girl into his arms, his 5'6" stature dwarfed by his boss. "She'll be out for hours. Plenty of time t' get to the island and get… comfortable."
"Guess again, ya slimy snake!" Hazel-green eyes flew open, bare hands already reaching for the face of the young man who had picked her up. Rogue's powers forced him into oblivion in seconds, almost faster than he had done to Carol, and she hurled his unconscious body into Harpoon and ArcLight with perfect accuracy.
"Impossible!" Sinister recoiled, leaping away from the girl whose eyes shone with such rage they could have easily rivaled Gambit's. "I felt your mind slip away!"
This time Rogue sneered, fiercely, murderously; her wild gaze narrowed on Sinister like a cat on a mouse. "Helps t' have a spare," she quipped. "Always keep an ace up y'r sleeve, right?" Her feet barely hovered above the ground as she circled, trying to keep Sinister between her and the other Marauders, who were all poised and ready to attack. On the beach, the Nasty Boys had mostly recovered from their fight with Carol and were heading back to the submarine with the bodies they had reclaimed.
"Where's Remy?" Rogue's teeth were gritted so hard she could feel her molars crack, but she waited, biding her time and praying that her team was close enough to back her up. She didn't have a plan here, barely knew what had transpired aside from the flashes of injured - and dead - friends, a frantic search, and a hasty offensive. But Carol's abrupt loss of consciousness, and Gambit's name on Sinister's lips, had drawn the Southerner from the sea of sorrow she was drowning in from within her own mind.
And sorrow was a familiar bedfellow for fury and vengeance.
"For now, his body is … in safe hands." Sinister's glance whisked to the Nasty Boys, who were fast approaching with their cargo of sheet-wrapped bodies.
If possible, Rogue's expression turned even more vicious. "Ah'm gonna kill you, you no good, son of a…" Her rage was so great, it nearly spurred her to thoughtless action, but her instincts - and memories of Gambit's tutelage, made her pause and drag a deep breath through her nose.
Hadn't Remy always told her not to let a foe anger her into haste? Wasn't he always trying to goad a reaction out of her during simulations just to teach her to keep her cool during battle? Holding tight to his lessons, she somehow managed to stay calm - well, relatively so. Her rage was bubbling just below the surface, a kettle ready to blow its top from the steam that had been boiling and building until it reached a crescendo. Regardless, she kept her senses poised and ready for the attack she knew was about to rain down on her from all sides, letting that rage simmer until just the right moment for release.
The Marauders had fanned out, prepared to take her, and the air stilled in her lungs as she felt her body and mind tingle with borrowed powers. Telepathy - the touch from Jean - gave her the edge on who was attacking and when. She had Shadowcat's phasing ability, if only just. Tar Pit, with his elasticity, and now Scrambler, who could disrupt or paralyze with a touch. Then, of course, there were her own powers.
Her strength and invulnerability.
Her flight.
Her soul-sucking skin.
And lord did she ever have plenty of THAT on hand.
Riptide moved first, his hurricane hurtling toward her with the speed and force of a freight train, and Rogue reacted a millisecond before he charged, already phasing through his tearing winds and letting him take Hairbag and Gorgeous George instead. She grabbed sky and came down with supersonic speed, catching Blockbuster in the jaw, and sending the giant crashing into Harpoon before they both sailed far out into the ocean.
Rogue let her sorrow, her rage, her anguish and self-loathing take root. Let them, as well as all those borrowed powers, mill around in her mind and body until they filled every inch of her. She fought with such ferocity that even Sinister backed away, his features no longer snide and confident, but displeased… and worried.
Her grief had found a new scale, and god help all those who found themselves measured against it.
Arclight sent a shockwave toward her, but she let her body go limp with Tar Pit's rubbery powers, let the energy give her more speed as she rocketed into the air and collected herself back into solid material, circling high enough to see that her teammates were less than half a mile from the fight. They would be here in mere minutes: her backup, her family. But the submarine was preparing to dive, and some of the bodies had already been loaded.
"NO!" her scream was soul-rending, borne of rage and desperation, and she tore back down toward the vessel so fast she broke the sound barrier. Ramrod, that sniveling little greasy haired man, saw her coming and manipulated what was left of the dock to try and slow her momentum. It was futile, however, as she could have easily torn through steel with twice the thickness of his wooden structure.
Such was her fury that she punched straight through the wood, sending shards and timbers flying back at the little man and in all directions. A large shaft of wood - a hunk of the very material he was supposed to have mastery over - caught Ramrod in the throat, impaling him and leaving a smear of red across the deck of the diving submarine.
At the same time, Harpoon hurled another of his weapons at Rogue, but with her mind full of Remy and her senses adamantium sharp, she caught the spear and threw it back at its owner, skewering Harpoon with such violence that it drove him back under the water.
With the last of Jean's telepathy, Rogue sent shockwaves of agony through a few of the Nasty Boys who were trying to load the last 8 or 9 bundles onto the vessel, and they dropped the sheet-wrapped bodies. In retaliation, Vertigo tried again to knock the X-Man out of the sky, and Riptide simultaneously hurled the splinters of wood from Ramrod's attack back at the X-Man with his hurricane winds, flinging them away with such force that the four X-Men, now a quarter mile down the beach, were forced to take cover behind Jean's telekinetic shields.
A few of the slivers actually punctured Rogue's skin, stuck into her arms, shoulders, legs, and stomach like a porcupine's quills as she covered her face and dropped slightly from the sky to land on the deck. Kitty's phasing powers had run dry, as had Jean's telepathy and telekinesis. But she still had Tar Pit and Scrambler's abilities, and she was on her feet again almost before her body hit the metal of the submarine.
She reached out with her bare hands, elongating her fingers to twist around the rest of the shrouded bodies, and she deposited the victims on the beach once more, finally - hopefully - safe from the misuse of Sinister and Apocalypse. Within the space of a breath, she turned on the Marauders and Nasty Boys, grasping whichever faces she could, pushing with Scrambler's powers to disrupt and incapacitate them all, while using her own to steal their abilities and memories.
Her brain flooded with images she couldn't even make sense of, and her powers continued to pull as her mind swirled and expanded with new atrocities. The rage that had burned so hot and furious turned to ice, numbing her already splintered soul, and she released Sinister's lackeys as the sub's deck took on water.
Screaming, Rogue suddenly pitched forward, holding her head between her hands. Violet eyes swirled in her mind, flooding her senses with vivid memories, and visions.
~X~
The X-Men were fast approaching the battle, only a few hundred feet away, when they saw Carol/Rogue drop to her knees, shrieking, as her fingers tore at her hair. A blink, maybe two, and the submarine disappeared completely into the icy blackness of the sea, taking the X-Man with it.
"Morph!" Cyclops yelled at the shapeshifter, who was flying low alongside the others. "Get me there, now!" Morph latched onto Scott's hands and pushed himself to fly as fast as possible to the spot where their teammate had disappeared below the surface. Thankfully they were close enough that the vessel was still somewhat visible below the water, and they could see a flash of pale skin and wild chestnut hair as the woman's body was tossed around in the wake of the retreating submarine.
"Get Carol, but mind her skin!" Cyclops commanded when they were just above the water, not knowing which woman was currently in control. Morph dove below the surface with the team's leader, who immediately targeted the ship and began firing at it with his optic blasts. The resistance from the water somewhat diminished the power of his beams, and he hit the edge of the metal machine with his first attempt. It was a glancing blow, but a blow nonetheless, and he prepared to strike again as he held his breath.
Before he could unleash a second burst, however, the sub fired back. Cyclops had only a split second to intercept the missile, and the two forces connected just as Morph's gloved hands reached Rogue's limp body. A shockwave of water blasted the trio backwards, and it was only Morph's quick thinking that saved them all from drowning. The shapeshifter had twisted his body into that of a massive, cartoonish shark, complete with long, arm-like fins, and gills to help him breathe underwater.
Snatching Cyclops in a toothless mouth and tucking Rogue under a fin-arm, Morph swam for the beach, using the tail fin to reach such incredible speeds that by the time the trio came close to the shore, they were practically flying out of the water.
Mid-air, Morph changed shape again, dropping Cyclops from a shark's jaws, and the two men landed on their own human legs on the sand, with Morph now carrying the unconscious woman in his arms.
Wolverine was with them in seconds, bare fingers searching for a pulse.
~X~
The smell of blood and burnt flesh was in her nose, gagging her. There was blood in her mouth, filling her lungs even as tears and smoke blinded her. Her limbs were heavy as she cradled Remy in the charred crater. Once hot enough that it would have burned anyone without invulnerability, it now felt so, so cold. Rogue blinked away the blur from her retinas as the Cajun somehow shifted in her arms. His hair, which had previously been scorched off, slowly turned white as it grew new tendrils and the new length rivaled her own. Death-white skin, with patches of charcoal black burns, smoothed out and turned a mottled gray.
Then Remy's eyes opened and he leveled his gaze at Rogue, who screamed, horrified and relieved all at once. His red eyes were ablaze with such a brilliant, murderous glow that she could have sworn he had stolen Cyclops's powers. She wanted to simultaneously hide from him, hug him, speak to him, and yell at him, but she couldn't breathe, and her body felt so cold, her limbs so heavy. Darkness swirled at the edge of her vision as those haunting red eyes stared into her very soul, piercing her heart with unspoken accusations and remembered words.
"You think I can't light you up, Rogue?" His voice, deeper and more dangerous, more seductive than she'd ever heard, whispered in her mind. "Just you wait…" His hands were on her cheeks, fingers locked behind her jaw in what would have been a gesture of affection, had his eyes not reflected such murderous ill-intent.
Then her skin tingled and burned as it glowed magenta, and she screamed in agony as her flesh began to float away in charred flakes, flaying her down to the very bone.
Then Rogue's eyes flew open and she sat up, coughing and choking, unable to catch her breath. She was hot and cold all at once, and her skin still felt like it was being peeled away.
"It's alright, darlin', we gotcha. Just breathe." Wolverine's familiar voice was like a balm and a salt rub all in one. Morph was hovering just behind him, and Scott and Jean were also nearby. They had backed off once she was breathing again, and were looking around for other ways to help.
She should be happy - grateful - that they'd come to her rescue. That they had saved her life. Yet all Rogue could muster was why they hadn't just let her die.
Sputtering, she managed to suck in one desperate lungful of air before she pitched onto her hands and knees and threw up. First it was just water, her body expelling what seemed like buckets of it. Then came the little food she - or Carol, rather - had actually managed to consume within the last few days. Paltry snacks, scraps of whatever was available in the war zone; forced down her gullet as a substitute for real sustenance. Just enough to keep her body strong and mind sharp.
From between her arms, hazel-green eyes raked down the shoreline, watching as Jean and Cyclops dragged the bodies of Harpoon and Ramrod onto the beach.
Realizing that she had murdered the men in her fit of rage, Rogue retched again, more from emotional sickness than the physical. Full body shudders making every muscle contract and spasm painfully. A warm, comforting hand rubbed carefully between her shoulder blades, protected by the little that was left of her black tank top.
An errant thought of needing to discuss their wardrobe choices flitted through Rogue's mind as she heaved a few more times and tried to block out the image of blood-smeared sand.
Rogue's arms were starting to shake with the effort of holding herself upright as the physical, mental, and emotional toll of the last few days - or was it still only hours? - seeped into her supposedly invulnerable body.
Morph, thoughtful as ever, removed and wrung out the jacket he wore, draping it over her shivering form while Scott and Jean moved to check on the other bodies Rogue had recovered. Wolverine coaxed the woman up from her hands and knees into a sitting position, wrapping her in the soggy brown leather and cradling her close.
Logan was on his knees, one arm behind her shoulders and one bracing her elbow as she shifted her legs away from his skin. He swept her wild white and brown mane forward to let the wet, curly waves plaster his still bare chest. Pressing Rogue's cheek against the hard, warm muscle protected by her thin layer of hair, he squeezed her tighter as her shoulders shook, suppressed sobs nearly collapsing her ribs.
"Let it out, darlin'. Just let it out."
"Logan…" The strangled plea was reminiscent of the one she'd uttered when she'd held Remy in her arms in a nearly mirror image of how Wolverine was supporting her now.
"I know, Rogue. It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get him back. I promise you we'll get him back… That or die tryin'." She couldn't see the small smile that flitted across his lips, but she bark/sobbed all the same.
"And people say *I* have bad jokes. Yeesh," Morph exclaimed, shaking his head with a tiny grin of his own. But, when Rogue's small laugh turned once again to tears, he sobered.
Rogue's skin had healed from the thousand slivers of wood that had been embedded in her supposedly invulnerable flesh, fettered out by Logan's healing powers. As a result, his memories bounced around in her skull, along with the half dozen villains she had just absorbed. She used Wolverine as a barrier against the invasion of the other psyches in her mind, focusing on his memories to blot out the more horrendous ones from Sinister's lackeys.
While he rocked and soothed her, Rogue saw flashes from Logan's psyche as she closed her eyes against her own tears and mournful sobs.
She knew the hard fear that had gripped his heart for the second time when they'd laid her cold, wet, unbreathing body on the sand.
Felt the flood of relief when her powers kicked in as he gave her mouth to mouth.
Shared the disappointment with Rogue's inability to cope; with the way she had retreated into her own mind.
Experienced the gratitude and awe over Carol's considerable skills and the way she had rallied the survivors.
Witnessed the horror of seeing Rogue on the television, sitting in the rubble.
Knew the stabbing grief in mourning Gambit's death.
And finally, she recognized the pushed-down sorrow, the mental weight of that tiny, yet oh so heavy band of metal Kurt had found in Remy's pocket. A fresh round of agonizing sobs tore from her lips as bare hands clutched at her own heart, wanting nothing more than to rip out the organ that was causing her so much pain.
Reminded her of the pain she had forced upon Remy, the man who LOVED her.
He had bought a ring. A damn RING! And then she'd told him he never lit her up like everything else he touched.
But she'd been wrong.
So, so wrong.
He lit her up with his eyes, with the way he smiled so deviously. He lit her up with his words, those sweet and sultry quips and flirtations. The ones slung her way with a saucy look that made her cheeks flame and her heart skip a beat.
Remy lit up her temper, making her burn so hot she sometimes thought she would spontaneously combust. Foolhardy, cocky, and confident, that was her Cajun. His way of tempting fate, and tempting her ire, knew no bounds. And even when she wanted to throttle him, or drop him in a lake, she still felt her heart beat for him.
God, what she wouldn't give for him to tease her one more time. For him to kiss the back of her hand in that characteristic way, with that grin that left her knees weak. That left her to imagine all manner of OTHER scenarios.
She would even take his hatred, his anger and disappointment. The look he gave her, with tears in his eyes as he told her some things were deeper than skin, would haunt her for the rest of her life. But she would take even that - that expression of betrayal and heartbreak - if it meant he were HERE.
"Oh gawd, Remy…" Muted sobs echoed across the beach as Logan held her tighter and looked helplessly to Jean and Scott, who were trying to reposition the last of the bodies. But the pair had discovered someone who was miraculously still breathing, and they were preoccupied with calling in an emergency medical unit and an extraction.
Wolverine swallowed hard. He should be helping the others. He wasn't good with this emotional stuff. He didn't do tears and sorrow. He could handle a few minutes, a few moments of weakness, sure, but he was better suited for anger and rage. Empathy and compassion was Jeannie's thing, Rogue's thing even, but not his.
A hand squeezed his shoulder as Morph looked down at the Canadian with mournful understanding. "Let me take her, tough guy," he offered quietly. "They could use your help sniffing out which ones might still be alive."
Wolverine nodded, grateful for the excuse to extract himself from an uncomfortable situation, and carefully maneuvered the still sobbing woman into Morph's fully clothed arms.
Choked sobs echoed through Morph's chest as Rogue let the cold, wet coat drop a little. For a moment he thought she would push him away, but then she looked up at him, eyes a brilliant green as they sparkled with sorrow, and the words she whispered next nearly broke the shapeshifter's heart.
"Could - Would you... p-please? I just ... I need... Oh Gawd..." Rogue's shaking fingers covered her face, too ashamed of what she had tried to ask of her friend, too ashamed of her weakness.
But a gentle hand swept the locks of wet hair from her eyes, and a sweet, familiar voice, that rich and husky Cajun patois, whispered in her ear.
"It's alright. Don't cry ma chère . I'm here. I'm here."
A guttural eruption of agony and relief exploded from Rogue's lips as she clung to 'Gambit', wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her head in his chest, and holding onto him like her life - or his - depended on it.
"I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry. I'm so, so sorry!"
Grief spilled over to consume every inch of her mind and body as she sobbed apologies over and over, and neither of them knew exactly if she was pleading to the shapeshifter, or the ghost.
Morph, as the Cajun, continued to rock and soothe the shattered soul, whispering sweet nothings in French, just as Remy LeBeau would have done. It was both a mercy and a cruelty, but Morph consoled himself with the thought that maybe Gambit would have appreciated it, just a little, knowing he could - in some small way - hold and comfort Rogue one last time.
~X~X~X~X~X~
Oh my god. Are you bawling? 'Cause *I'm* bawling! I had no intention of bringing Morph into this last scene. It wasn't supposed to end like this AT. ALL.! But the big softy just HAD to go and intervene, and then the request was spilling out of Rogue's mouth before I could stop her, and… Whew. Who knew I could cry harder over a fanfic than the actual show?
Let me know if you loved it, or hated it, or if you're never reading another chapter because of this ridiculously heartbreaking moment. Damn renegade characters. Never doing what they're supposed to. :(
Also, another huge thank you to Ava, Maedelin, and AJ. It took me 12 freaking edits just to come up with the most cringy line of "The X-Men won't stand for that," (between Carol and Nasty Boys) and they gave truly amazing suggestions to help me improve it. Ava had so many great lines and ideas that I had a hard time not using ALL of them. Ava_DAlain and Maedelin both have amazing stories on Ao3, so you should definitely check them out!
This is probably going to be a lot shorter of a fic than I initially thought, so I MIGHT actually finish it. Especially if I keep posting a chapter every day. Chapter length isn't really a concern right now so much as the content of the different scenes, so some of them might be super short (like Chapter 3) and some might be much longer (like this one).
I hope you liked the fight scene and having both Carol AND Rogue on the battlefield! In the comics, it's established that whenever Carol loses consciousness in a battle, Rogue immediately takes over (and vice versa). But they also can't 'see' what's happening whenever they don't have control. Thankfully this is fanfiction, so I can pick and choose what I want to use. ;)
Tell me what you think of Rogue and Morph's 'moment.' Did you love it, hate it? Make you cry or make you cringe? Is the emotional trauma overdone, or just right?
As much as I want to say "Rogue will be terrifyingly angry in the next episode," I also think there's room for some character 'failings' so to speak. Rogue is one of the strongest, toughest, most bada$$ characters in the series, but she also has one of the most tender hearts. Magneto told her that she was empathetic, and he wasn't wrong.
It makes me wonder if the Rogue we see is going to be strong and stalwart, or scary and vengeful, or if she'll become the embodiment of the concept that even the strongest souls can break when the weight is heavy enough.