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Chapter 6
Marcato: Bargaining By Empress Series: Sixth in the Falling Apart Together series, following Mezzo-Piano: Isolation. Summary: Jean's back. Scott's not. And it seems like almost everyone has forgotten about Rogue again. Especially Logan. Rating: R – for language. Categories: X3, AU Characters: No pairing for a while. Genres: Angst, Adult, Shipper
Warnings: This is an over all series warning -
Grief and loss issues. Character death - but that took place in chapter
5 so you don't need to worry about it from here on in.
Disclaimer: I own no one. Marvel owns it all. Alas, that means Logan belongs to Marvel too, so I can't keep him. But I'd be happy as all hell to Wolvie-sit should it ever be necessary. *eg*
There's no time for us
Yet slips away from us
Xavier's School for Gifted Children Closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, Charles let the somber tones of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata drift over him, filling him with a bittersweet melancholy. With a heavy heart, and a tremble to his fingers that most would find uncharacteristic of the normally perfectly composed man, he picked up his pen, laid it to the crisp sheet of linen, and began to write, allowing his meandering thoughts to take him wheresoever they willed. I am a telepath. I can hear and see the thoughts of nearly every human on the planet, mutants most particularly. Eric likes to say every living being, but I don't dare presume that far. And while my gifts are great, I don't have the gift of precognition. I cannot see the future. Semi-accurately predict it, perhaps, based on the thought processes of others, and by sheer educated guesses as to their behavior, yes. But I cannot tell you definitively what will happen fifty years from now or even five minutes from now. I can only tell you what is currently happening, and of that, only what I see in the minds of others, as well as what is occurring directly around me. Had I been able to predict the future, I would have done things so very differently. And since I didn't, my whole world is threatening to crumble around me. Now that they're all but lost to me. Jean. A mere thread of consciousness beneath the onslaught of Phoenix's all-consuming personality, and violent, psychotic tendencies. An ever weakening presence, holding on only because of the attachments she has to this place and the people inside. Logan. Bearing a past that serves as a testament to the animal he was and the man he is becoming. Looking for a future in a direction where he'll find nothing but more pain, while neglecting, dare I say rejecting, the one person who can help him be whole again. Rogue. One of the most powerful among us. Control unlikely, yet not impossible. A true force to be reckoned with should she find her lead, yet locked into her own private hell. A hell I helped build. And Scott. Dead. By Jean's own hand, for surely, even though I am certain it was the Phoenix who was his executioner, she is an integral part of Jean's psyche. The dominant one now, I'm afraid. And irreversible. One and the same; yet as opposed as day is to night. And equally as dangerous, if underestimated. I had no way of knowing she would kill him. The very thought of it is still inconceivable to me. Abhorrent. She loved him deeply. And he felt the same for her. Almost as if the two of them breathed solely for the other. Somewhat symbiotic, perhaps, but what real relationship isn't on some level? I knew the Phoenix was stronger than Jean. Ergo, why I built psychic blocks for her, containing Phoenix deep within the recesses of Jean's mind, hoping one day that Jean would be strong enough to overcome her. I still have hope for that, even now as she lies unconscious in the med-lab with Cerebro helping reconstruct the protective barriers that Phoenix tore down when the crushing waters of Alkali Lake took Jean. In a way, I suppose, I should be thankful to Phoenix for bringing her back to us. But it remains to be seen who will ultimately win in their struggle for dominance. As long as there is breath in my body, I will stand on Jean's side of the fight and aid her in any manner possible. And surely, she will need my help in the days to come. Once she is free of Phoenix long enough to know what she's done. To Scott. To all of us. Yet, how much of Jean is truly left beneath Phoenix's oppressive presence, I hesitate to guess. And as much as it pains me to say it, I fear it will be far less than any of us are prepared face. Especially Logan. I had thought, when Scott first left, that Logan would be the one to step in and help my little Rogue since the two of them have such a fierce devotion to each other. A devotion I had hoped at one point might grow in another direction than it has. But matters of the heart are fickle things. The heart wants what it wants, and usually there is no derailing it until it is ready to jump those emotional tracks on its own. I've seen instead, the two of them grow apart. Logan barely speaks to Rogue now. And she avoids him, actively, although I doubt he sees it. Ever since he and Ororo brought my Jean back to me, he's been down in the med-lab with her. Hoping for some sign, some evidence that Jean is still in there somewhere. I'm afraid he's going to be sorely disappointed. My dearest Jean. My little Rogue. I'm losing them. I would do whatever I could to keep them safe, alive, happy, and with me. My rock, my Scott is already lost to me. To us all. Snatched away from me in a moment of inattentiveness. He is now a sharp, lancing pain that steals my breath and tightens my chest. A voice in the darkness of night that wakes me with the bitter sting of regret and grief, leaving me weak and struggling with the knowledge that I could have prevented this had I just done something. Anything. I would give anything…do anything…to have my Scott back. And my sweet little Rogue… A soul in pain, a heart rendered in two, will take comfort when it's offered, and from whatever source, often mindless of the injury inflicted upon its benefactor. Ironic, is it not, that this type of pain is what drew them together initially? I knew what was happening between them. I saw its first spark, watched it grow, and should have stopped it. She was a former student. He a teacher and her team leader. Yet, even knowing the only possible outcome, still I stood back and allowed it to happen. Why? I'd already lost one of my children. The daughter of my heart. My Jean. I couldn't bear the thought of losing another. Especially not Scott. And losing him I most certainly was. I saw less and less of the man he had been, and more and more of the automaton he was becoming. Except when Rogue was around him. Only then did he seem to have a bit of his old spark. Not much, mind you. More like the fading echo of the man he had been once. Perhaps I should have intervened when it became evident that he was allowing his grief to cloud his judgment. I believe I saw it long before the fateful encounter that sent him running from the only home he'd known since age sixteen, and that same one that set Rogue onto the path of deterioration. Yet, overwhelmed by my own sufferings, I ignored it. Trusting in two anguished hearts, too damaged and torn to be mindful that the path upon which they trod was a dangerous one, wrought with hazards unforeseen and often disastrous consequences. And I cannot help but feel responsible, as if by my very inability to act upon my suspicions, that I some how pushed the two of them to this point. Had I been more aware of the goings on around me, and less afraid of losing him, perhaps I could have averted this tragedy. One that will have much further lingering ramifications than appear on the surface. No, I did more than turn a blind eye to them. To their playful banter that I witnessed at the piano last year. The tender look on his face when he watched her laughing at him, his fingers fumbling with hers on the piano keys, it was a precursor for what was to come. I encouraged it. They were friends, or had been, for years. At first student and teacher, and then later co-workers as she grew and matured, teammates, and finally making that final leap to lovers. Albeit unpremeditated, but lovers nonetheless. Neither of them told me they had crossed that imaginary line. There was no need. They were both adults, capable of making that kind of decision without fear of censor or judgment. No one would begrudge either of them for taking whatever happiness that they could find. And if anyone did, they would have to be prepared to answer to me. I was so desperate to see Scott turn that corner that awaits us all when we grieve, that corner where we decide we're going to live rather than just give up and follow after the loved one that we've lost, that I encouraged the spark I saw between them. I even commented on how good it was to see him smiling again, and asked if the two of them would be joining us for dinner that evening, hoping they'd say yes, as Scott hadn't eaten with us all in weeks. They declined. Yet, they kept the change in their relationship quiet as it grew. Secret. Preferring to protect what had developed between them, I suppose. Thus, when she approached him, bearing love, offering solace, I said nothing, secretly hoping she - or anyone for that matter - would be able to reach him. Help to heal some of the raw, gaping wound he'd become. Bring him back to us. She did. And I firmly ignored my instinctive misgivings on such a relationship between them. She alone succeeded where the rest of us had failed. Or so I thought until he came to me one morning two weeks ago and said he was leaving. He didn't offer an explanation of why, but then, he didn't need to. He and I have always had a deep level of kinship in the sense that I've always seemed to know what was driving him. The son of my dreams. My rock. My Scott. Two years, six months, five weeks and four days. That's how long they lasted before Scott left. I gave her away at their wedding. Stood by, pleased beyond all accounts that they appeared to be so happy. And when they began to speak of having children, I thought that we'd all won. That I'd been mistaken when I observed their first attraction to each other. That they were going to be just fine. That we all were. I was wrong. Since Scott's passing, Rogue has undergone dramatic changes. Ones I fear will have lingering consequences. The memorial service was two days ago. As she had with Jean, Ororo handled the arrangements, since Rogue and I were in no condition to do so. In fact, she insisted, reasoning that we needed to do this for Rogue. She would need the closure with Jean waking sometime in the near future. A sadder sight I've not seen in some time than watching the students in various stages of grief at their teacher's memorial service. Except perhaps for the vision Rogue presented. Pale to the point of death. Withdrawn. Empty. Broken. Alone. In honor of their fallen leader, the remaining X-Men in the area, both past and present, attended in full uniform, extending their support for his widow. The Widow Summers. What a horrible moniker for a young woman of only twenty-two. Even with her friends surrounding her, bolstering her with their own strength, Jubilee on one side and Angel on the other, Rogue still was tragically, maddeningly alone. Rogue attended Scott's funeral. Logan did not. -x-
Tell me how am I supposed to live
without you Elsewhere in the mansion… Friends were such a blessing that it amazed her they could also be such a pain in the ass at the same time, Rogue thought as she glanced around at the faces surrounding her at the small card table they'd claimed in the rec-room. It hadn't been her intention to socialize when she'd left her room. She'd gone downstairs, just wandering aimlessly. Maybe somewhere in the back of her mind she thought she might run into Logan. She really wanted to see him, desiring nothing more than to crawl up into his lap and let him hold her while she cried. But she was unwilling to seek him out since he made it so painfully clear he didn't want to see her. She'd seen him only once since the day Scott had left. During the week her husband had been gone, Logan had made himself extremely scarce, to the point she'd thought he'd run again. Only the faint scent of cigars lingering in the hallway outside of her room, and his bike still in the garage, told her he was still in residence. The day Scott had died, she stumbled mentally over that, Logan had gone with Storm at the Professor's request to Alkali Lake to investigate the psychic disruption that had swept through the mansion. After spending several unsuccessful hours in Cerebro trying to locate her husband, Rogue had waited with Hank, each of them standing stoically by the Professor's wheelchair, down in the lower levels hoping and praying that they were wrong. That they'd both misinterpreted the disconnecting feeling they'd gotten. But it was made clear that they'd not been wrong, when Logan and Storm emerged from the Black Bird, with an unconscious Jean cradled tenderly in Logan's arms. Immediately Hank had stepped forward and taken Jean from him, under very a very short-lived protest from the smaller man. All it had taken for Hank to get Logan to release Jean was a reminder that he was the doctor, and he'd take good care of her. Reluctantly, Logan passed the redhead off and turned almost surprised to see Rogue standing there. She looked up at him, hope dying in her eyes minute by minute, and managed to choke out, "Scott?" Without expression, Logan reached into his inside jacket pocket, fished out a painfully familiar pair of sunglasses and shook his head. "Sorry, kid." With a shaking hand she reached out and took the ruby-quartz glasses Logan held out to her. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and then walked away, following after the Professor and Hank as they took Jean's unconscious body into the med-lab. The shut the door after them. Feeling her whole body spasm into a knot of pain and nausea, she stared down into the red lenses, never feeling it when her knees cracked painfully on the floor when she fell. She vaguely could hear Storm crying out for someone, but her voice was too far away for her to understand what she was saying. Her vision was completely filled with the red lenses her husband had worn constantly. Lenses she knew he'd never gone anywhere without. Even if only to serve as a back up pair should his visor malfunction or become damaged. She never felt the room tilt. She didn't see the walls pivot and floor rush up to meet her head as she tipped sideways over on her knees, slamming her head on the cold tile. She remembered nothing after that until she woke in their bed many hours later, Scott's glasses still clenched in her hand. Fleeting images teased her from time to time, of being carried against a strong warm chest from the med-lab through the halls of the mansion and a growling voice telling anyone who got too close to back away, but she wasn't sure that if what she was remembering had been a dream after she'd passed out or not. Kurt's voice snapped her back to the present. "You would like some of this cheesecake, Rogue? I believe it is your favorite, yes?" "No thanks, Kurt." She shook her head. "I'm not hungry." Angel, Jubilee, Kurt and Bobby had found her, while she was wandering around trying not to look for Logan, knowing he was probably down below with Jean, but not really wanting to come face to face with it either. Her friends came prepared, bearing some of her favorite foods. It was obvious they had intended to coax her to eat. She couldn't remember the last time she was able to even face food without bile climbing up the back of her throat. But for their sake, she tried. Jubilee kept a watchful eye on her as she picked at the fries on her plate, rearranging them from time to time to make it look like she was eating. But her friend knew her too well. And she wasn't the only one who wasn't fooled either. "Rogue, you've got to eat." "Leave her alone, Bobby," Jubilee interjected before Rogue could answer. "She doesn't have to eat if she doesn't want to." The young man fixed her with an irritated glare. "Yes, she does. She'll make herself sick if she doesn't." Kurt saw the resigned look on Rogue's face as she laid her fork down on the table. "Stop this. It is upsetting her." Rogue pushed away her plate. It turned her stomach, how they were talking about her like she wasn't even in the room. She knew they didn't mean to be hurtful or insensitive, but that's what they were doing. She just wasn't sure that she was strong enough to hear them and not react badly. Without explanation or comment of any kind, Rogue stood, and walked out of the rec-room. "You okay?" Jubilee caught up with her at the base of the stairs. She was concerned, her eyes filled with recrimination that they'd forced her back to her room the one time she'd voluntarily come down since Scott had died. "My head hurts. I'm gonna go lay down. Maybe watch some TV." She climbed the stairs and went right to her bedroom. She toed off her sneakers and pitched her socks into the hamper in the closet. Stripping off her gloves, she tossed them on the night stand, and shimmied out of her jeans, draping them over the chair in the corner. Unbuttoning her blouse, she took it off and it, along with her bra, joined the jeans on the chair. Picking one of Scott's T-shirts from his drawer, she pulled it on over her head and crawled tiredly up onto the king-sized mattress, submerging herself in the sheets that still smelled faintly of his cologne. She looked around for the remote. "Is this what you're looking for?" Jubilee stood near the dresser, holding the remote. "Yeah, thanks," she replied tiredly, not really surprised to see that her friend had followed her. Her movements wary, she came hesitantly into the room, looking around like she expected Jean to pop out at any given moment. She walked over to her friend and sat on the edge of the bed tentatively. Rogue tracked her friend's movements with her eyes. "She won't jump out at you." Jubilee's eyes shot to hers, wide with surprise. Then she crinkled her nose and grinned. "That obvious, was I?" "Only a little." "I can't help it, chica. It's just so..." she shrugged a slim shoulder. "Weird, I guess." Rogue tucked her hand beneath her head. It dimly occurred to her that, while she and Jubes where tight, and she'd been the maid of honor at her wedding, the two of them had never really talked about her relationship with Scott. And Jubilee had never asked either, which made Rogue a little curious. As far as Jubes knew, one minute they were co-workers and the next, lovers joined at the hip, literally, with barely any transition. Rogue blinked slowly. "Why weird?" "I dunno," she shrugged again, staring down at the sage colored blanket beneath her, picking absently at the reddish fringe. Then she looked up, fixing her gaze earnestly on Rogue's face. "Because I always thought it'd be you and the Wolvester." Rogue sighed softly, a sad, lonely sound, the hurt of his avoidance stabbing deep again. "I got over my crush on Logan years ago, Jubes." "It wasn't a crush, and no you didn't," she gave her a sympathetic look. "But I always had hopes for you two." "Doesn't matter." Her friend gave a vague shake of her head but didn't actually deny it. "Logan doesn't love me, Jubes. He never did. I'll always have a soft spot for him though. But Scott did love me. Just not more than he loved Jean." Grinding her teeth, Jubilee gritted out, "I really hate that woman." "Get over it," Rogue commented flatly. "She's back now. And you know she'll take over the team now that Scott…" her voice ended on a sob and she pressed a hand over her mouth. She reached out and ran her hand down Rogue's hair at the sudden flood of tears filling her friend's eyes. "Oh, chica...you really loved him, huh?" "Do, Jubes. Present tense. He's not past tense to me. Not yet," Rogue whispered brokenly. "And yeah, I really do. So much that I feel like I'm dying without him. A little more every day." "Don't give up, Rogue." Jubilee didn't elaborate. But then again, she didn't have to either. She knew her friend understood what she meant. Rogue hugged Scott's pillow closer. "Go on. I'll be fine." Jubilee looked at her for a long time. Then she stood and put the remote on the end table. "Here you go. Holla if you need me, m'kay?" She watched her back as she left the room. Giving up...it was too much to think about. And once again, swift and sharp, she longed to see Logan. But he didn't want to see her. He hadn't even come to Scott's memorial service. That hurt her more than anything she ever thought she'd have to deal with from him. He could have told her he hated her and that wouldn't have hurt as badly as his absence right now. Because she knew he wouldn't have meant it. That he'd have spoken in anger. Logan's words weren't necessarily indicative of his feelings. She knew that. But his actions were. Always. And he hadn't come. Not even for her. Sure, he and Scott hadn't gotten along, but that shouldn't have mattered. She needed him. His presence would have been for her, not for Scott. Logan knew that, didn't he? Evidently not. Still, it didn't diminish her desire to have him close by. Where is he? Why won't he come see me? She asked herself mentally. He's where he has been since his return from Alkali Lake. Downstairs. With Jean, a superior-sounding voice in her mind informed her. Shut up, Eric, she responded mentally. I'm too tired to deal with your mental mind-fucks now. You've lost people you love. Let me grieve in peace. My apologies. It wasn't my intention to cause you distress, merely to inform you of his whereabouts since you seem so desperate to connect with him again. She gave a mental sigh. Don't be nice to me, Eric. I don't think I can handle it right now. It's too weird, and more than just a little creepy. He gave a finely cultured chuckle. There was a stilted silence in her mind for a moment. I am sorry, my dear. Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a tear trickle out beneath the tightly closed lids. Me too. Squelching the need to cry, she picked up the remote and turned on the TV. She hadn't thought of television in days, if not weeks. It was so bright and loud. The people looked happy. Normal. How could the world go on when hers had turned upside down? She lay down, hugging Scott's pillow to her chest, while turning her cheek into her own. And she smelled...Logan. Sitting up, her brows pulled down into a frown. What the…? That just didn't make any sense. Why would Logan's scent be in here? Not having an answer, she pulled her pillow up closer to her nose, and it was a bit stronger, but not by much. Sliding her hands underneath it, her fingers stilled as they brushed something she didn't expect to find. Curling around the soft fabric, she pulled. Blinking, she stared at the garment in her hands. A flannel shirt. More specifically, Logan's flannel shirt. One she'd seen him wear often. Lifting it to her nose, she breathed in deeply. His scent was in the shirt. A mixture of his cologne, a hint of outdoors and cigars, and the man himself. Utterly unique, she'd know it anywhere. And he'd worn it recently, so the scent was strong. How it could be here under her pillow, she had no idea. But it was. Pulling his shirt closer, she tucked her face into it, and fell back on her pillow. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, oddly comforted. It wasn't long before the tears began to fall freely, the fragrance of her grief and pain mingling with Logan's scent, mixing the two together in her mind. -x-
There's no chance for us Four days later…
Xavier's School for Gifted Children We met with the lawyers this morning, Rogue and I. As Scott's wife, and having no heirs, the reading of his will was fairly simple and straight forward, with Rogue inheriting everything he owned, aside from very few special bequeaths he made for specific individuals. One of those being his brother. Alex wasn't able to attend the memorial service, but he did send his condolences to his sister-in-law. A woman he's never met. Condolences. His brother dies and he sends condolences. … As with Jean, we had no body to bury. But the lack of remains did not lend to our believing he was still alive somewhere. We knew better. I cannot sense him. Even with Cerebro. We tried. Rogue and I locked ourselves in for hours that first day, searching for any mental traces of Scott, while Ororo and Logan went to Alkali Lake to bring Jean home. Her I found easily and quickly, the moment Phoenix broke free completely. Rogue sat at my feet, leaning her head against my leg, holding my hand, silently weeping, and waited for me to confirm what we both already knew. Scott was gone. I felt the connection with him snap when Phoenix fully resurfaced. I know Rogue felt it as well. He touched her. Somewhere in the course of their relationship, perhaps more than once, he touched her intentionally. His presence was left with her as well as the others we are working to contain within her mind. The day Cody died, the boy she'd put into a coma from her first kiss, she felt it. She felt him die, felt his presence drain from her mind. It happened in session, and she described it to me as a cool slide from the back of her head down her spine into nothing, leaving an empty space where he'd been. She'd not seen, spoken, nor touched him in over five years, and she was visibly shaken by the loss of his presence in her mind. She hadn't loved him. Hadn't married him. Hadn't shared a life with him. I can only guess at the agony she's going through now. She hasn't talked with me about his death. From what I know, she's not talked with anyone about it. And she desperately needs to. She did not tell me he had touched her, and given the intimate nature of their relationship, it would be expected, had she had any other mutation than she did. That awful day we spent with Cerebro, I did not tell Rogue that I knew Jean was alive. I couldn't. As it turned out, I didn't have to. Her presence in Logan's arms when he and Ororo returned accomplished that quite efficiently. I also have not yet informed Rogue that Jean is responsible for Scott's death, and she has not asked. Just losing him has been nearly more than she can bear. Once the pain lessens a fraction, I'm sure she'll come to me, expecting me to tell her all of it. She knows I know what happened. And I am truly terrified of how she will react. That knowledge, combined with having Jean home again, may very well be Rogue's breaking point. I am at a loss as to how to stop it. Why have I not told Rogue who killed her husband? As unsympathetic as they may sound, I have my reasons. I know the essential feeling of Scott when I encounter it psychically. Strong. Steadfast. Rich and robust. Slightly bitter with an underlying warmth. Almost a taste rather than a feeling. So during a session a few months ago, when we met for further instruction on keeping those other presences in her mind at bay, I recognized his signature in Rogue's psyche. And if I could sense him within her mind, then I know Phoenix, given his and Jean's past relationship, could feel, smell and taste Rogue all over him. Yet another reason I have postponed my sessions with Rogue and am working so diligently to rebuild Jean's mental barriers. I'm sure Rogue feels slighted, perhaps even abandoned by me in her time of need. But what I'm doing is for her own good. Keeping her safe is utmost in priority for me. Were Phoenix to seek out Rogue for retribution, for encroaching on her territory as she is wont to do when she feels slighted, it horrifies me to think of what she would do to my young charge. Jean's power is formidable. Phoenix's immeasurable. The pain she could inflict upon my sweet Rogue is too terrible for me to contemplate. And should that occur, I have no doubt Rogue would defend herself in the only way she knows. Without a second thought. She's been too well trained by Logan and Scott not to. Her touch would kill them both. Jean and Phoenix, absorbing all that they both are, and most likely stripping any semblance of sanity from her mind that Rogue may have left. Then she would be equipped with both Jean's and Phoenix's powers, as well as her own, and no control over any of them, governed by a mind that would be shredded from the emotional pain she's currently undergoing. I cannot inflict that upon my little Rogue. Or on the world. She's been through enough for four lifetimes. I do not wish to give my Jean up again either. I am unwilling to sacrifice one for the other. Yet…yet if Phoenix could be eradicated…there has got to be a way. Yes, Rogue's mutation could destroy Phoenix if pushed far enough. And perhaps…perhaps she's one of the only two I know of that can - The sharp rap on his office door jarred him enough to send his pen scrawling down the page. Grimacing in annoyance, both for ruining the crisp sheet of linen as well as becoming so engrossed in his own thoughts that he'd not anticipated the pending interruption, he barked out a little harsher than he normally would have. "Come!" A face he knew well appeared as the door to his office opened tentatively. "I'm sorry, Professor. Am I interrupting?" Professor Xavier gave a little huff, accompanied by a warm smile. "Of course not, Ororo. Please. Come in." Smiling pleasantly at her mentor, she moved further into the room and took a seat across the desk. Her smile faded a bit. "Professor, I'm concerned. Rogue has stopped coming to the training sessions, and I even hear rumors that she's locked herself in their room. She's refusing to come out. Even to eat. I honestly don't know what to say to Jean when she awakens. She'll want to return to her room once she's better. That begs the question of how do we tell her that Rogue and Scott married, and that it's Rogue's room now? Or better yet, how do we tell her that Scott is dead?" "She knows," he answered so low that he doubted Ororo heard him. She took a deep sigh and ploughed ahead, confirming his words had indeed been too low for her to hear. "And Logan won't listen to me when I ask him to speak with Rogue. He simply mumbles about needing to be with Jean now and he'll get to Rogue when he can. I normally wouldn't ask for your intervention -" "Ororo," Charles interrupted her with a troubled glance. "There's something you should know about Scott's death -" The floor under their feet suddenly rolled and the walls shook, sending pictures and knickknacks crashing to the floor as an explosion from far below them rocked the mansion. The shockwaves followed close behind, leaving the two of them to wince and shake their heads. "What was that?!" Storm cried her eyes wide with shock and fear. "…something terrible has happened..." Xavier trailed off as his eyes took on that far away look letting the woman know he was picking up on something that she couldn’t. Something that had thunder clouds begin to gather outside the windows without her influence. The Professor blinked slowly then shot his wheelchair forward in a burst of speed as he headed out of his office and towards the elevator that would take him deep into the heart of the manse. "I'm coming with you," Storm declared determinedly. "Good. If I am correct, we're going to need all the help we can get." Steeling himself for what he would find in the med-lab where he'd left Jean, he added silently, and my sweet little Rogue will just have to wait until I get back. -x-
Broken windows and empty hallways, Two weeks later…
Phases of Mutant Life There are several types of strength: physical and emotional being only two of them. Webster's defines the latter as mental power, force, vigor, moral power, firmness, or courage. I'm not strong. Physically, emotionally, or any other way. At least, I don't see myself that way. But that last definition of strength? It should have a picture of Rogue beside it on the dictionary page. You guys remember me talking about Rogue, right? Cyclops's wife? My ex-friend? Yeah, her. She's the strongest person I know. Not physically, of course. Colossus has that hands down. And Wolverine. Yeah, they're the two physically strongest people I've ever met. But Rogue? She's like the Rock of Gibraltar strong. Or, she was. Before Cyclops died. Before the Professor died. Before Wolverine forgot she existed. Any one of those things would bring a normal person to their knees. All three of them? Within days of each other? They'd kill anyone else. And I'll be honest. I'm surprised she's still alive as it is. Although, she's not exactly who she was anymore either. But how can you be when you go through the past month that she has? The three most important men in her life - gone. Two dead and one may as well be, for all the consideration he's shown her. I'll admit it. All of the girls had something of a thing for Wolverine - my PE teacher, remember him?...yeah, that one - when we first saw him. I mean, how can you not, right? Dark and feral, with eyes that look at you like they're stripping you bare down to your soul. A rough, growly voice that makes you shiver from head to toe in the most delicious of ways. And with a body that make the Greek gods look all pasty, weak, and white -- sorta like Iceman. Oooh…bad mental place. Not going there. Back to Wolverine - synonymous with protective. God, the man just hovered over Rogue whenever he was home. When he wasn't trying to get in Redd's pants, of course. We - all the girls that is - either loved or hated Rogue for the attention he showered on her. And she was just kind of oblivious to it, or so we thought. The entire school knew how close they were. How she just lit up when he was around, more at ease with herself than any other time. How he'd actually be smiling and chuckling as opposed to snarling and trying to kill us with calisthenics, self-defense, and hand to hand combat training. He was gentle around her. Affectionate. Tender. Never afraid of her skin like everyone else was, including her boyfriend at the time. They'd sit together at meals, and hang out in the rec-room. Or just walk around the grounds sometimes, with Wolverine's arm draped over Rogue's shoulders, her fingers - always safely gloved - entwined with his. And more than once there were quiet but envious sighs when she'd absently trace the skin between his knuckles where his claws come out and he'd not even act like it was happening. They're not like that any more. That stopped when Redd died. Wolverine left and Rouge carried on like she always did whenever he was gone. A strong front, but anyone who bothered looking could see how much it hurt her. How much she missed him. I really believed for the longest time, she had no idea how damn lucky she was. Iceman and Wolverine both panting after her. Of course, that was before any of us knew about her and Cyclops - ah, that's my Calculus teacher for those of you who didn't know. But I've already talked about how much it freaked us all, finding out they were an item. And moving in together. And then later getting married. Yeah. Still makes my brain spin. But that was a while ago and I'm not gonna rehash it all now. So yeah. I resented her. Practically perfect in every way - yeah, yeah, it's a quote about Mary Poppins, but I'll be damned if it didn't fit Rogue too. Beautiful. Sweet. Funny. Smart. Tragically untouchable, guaranteeing to garner all tender and protective feelings from just about everyone at school. She had it all and more than one of us hated her for it. Even Redd hated her and she liked everyone. Hey, I'm not proud of it, but that's the way it was. Jealousy's a bitch, trust me on this. And that's what the hatred and resentment stemmed from. At least on my part. She had the best looking guy in school as her boyfriend, the hottest teacher any of us had ever seen as her own personal bodyguard and was also one of the Professor's favorites. Oh and let us not forget that she then up and runs off with our Fearless Leader - those girls (and some of the guys too) who didn't have the hots for Wolverine were definitely hung up on Cyclops. So that was like the final nail in her coffin. Uck. Bad metaphor. Of course, I may have had something to do with that…her running off with Cyclops, I mean. But I was an idiot. And it's only recently I've realized how much of an idiot I was. Iceman was no prize. Believe me. I should know. I'm the one that betrayed my friendship with Rogue by sleeping with her boyfriend. She may be like four or five years older than me, but we were friends at one point. Before Iceman. I've done a lot of stupid things in my life, but that one…that's the one that I'll regret forever, I think. And what did it get me? Nothing. Oh sure, I had Iceman for a few days, but that ended before it began. He ended up resenting me because in his frozen brain it was somehow my fault that he'd cheated on his girlfriend with me. I'm not saying I'm blameless, but the idea that he thinks he is just makes me nauseated. Jubilee and Angel don't really speak to me unless they have to. And Colossus won't even look at me anymore. He just walks away. All I got out of that debacle was the loss of one of best friends, Wolverine's disappointment in me (oh, that one hurt the worst I think), loss of my self-respect, and the wonderful stigma of being easy among the teenage horn-dogs around here. Yay. *sigh* Where was I? Oh yeah…strength…and Rogue. The Professor wasn't the one to tell us about Cyclops' death. Beast had that pleasure. He gathered us all together and let us know what had happened. Or what they thought had happened. See, we didn't know too much then. Come to think of it we don't know too much now either. Only that Redd had told Wolverine that she'd killed him. Right before she threw Wolverine across the room, blew a hole in the med-lab big enough to drive a transfer truck through, and walked out. After Redd left, things went downhill fast. The Professor and Wolverine had some sort of big argument that Storm had to step in and shut down. The next day all three of them tracked Redd down at her old house. I don't know what went down in there - Storm and Wolverine won't talk about it - but what I do know is it was bad. Bad enough that it ended with Redd killing the Professor. I thought at the time that all of this would be Rogue's breaking point. That she'd snap like a dead tree in a strong wind. First, her husband leaves her. Then he's killed. Then the man who's been like a father to her since she came here six years ago is murdered. And her self-appointed protector just forgets she even exists. Won't see or talk to her at all, preferring instead, to spend time with the woman that was responsible for the deaths of both Cyclops and the Professor. Yeah. That should have done in Rogue right there. But she didn't snap. She didn't break. She ran. Well, not ran exactly. She walked. Up and walked out. Just like that. No goodbyes. No tearful pleadings to stay. She just left. And Wolverine let her go. You wouldn't think he'd do that. But he did. I know because I saw them. x-x "Need a lift, kid?" Logan asked as he stepped out of the doorway to stop her near the front door. She turned on him with a defensive yet firm, "No." Hands shoved into his jeans pockets he ambled closer to her, stopping within arms reach. His voice was gentle. "Where you goin'?" Rogue hesitated for a moment, like she wanted to talk to tell someone what was going on. But then she remembered how he'd acted towards her recently, and she tensed. She couldn't tell him what was really going on. That'd only lead to an argument she didn't want to have. It would only slow her down. And she couldn’t afford any delays. If she didn't get away she was going to go insane. So instead, she replied, "You don't know what it's like to be afraid of your powers. To be afraid to get close to anybody." "Yeah, I do," he answered quietly with an odd light in his eyes that Rogue couldn't read nor did she particularly care. She just wanted out. "I…I can't stay here anymore, Logan. I don't want to be a mutant anymore. It's too much." "So you're goin' for the Cure." She shrugged, an emotion Logan couldn't identify filling her eyes, making her look angry and dangerous, yet strangely detached at the same time. "I'm leaving, Logan. Something you should be intimately familiar with." Logan's brow furrowed. "Talk to me, Marie. Tell me what's goin' on with you." Her face hardened. "Why now?" His eyes were puzzled, but narrowed at her tone. "Why now what?" She stared at him for a long moment, scrutinizing his face. He really didn't have a clue as to why she was so pissed at him, that he'd hurt her so badly. That he'd betrayed her when he was the last person she ever thought would have. "You honestly don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" He shook his head slowly. "Know what?" Her face paled and her jaw went slack, but she quickly got it under control. Anger rushed to the surface, and she welcomed it. "You're unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. My husband's dead, Logan." "You don't know that. Not for sure." He shook his head in denial, still trying to tell himself that Jean hadn't killed him, even though he'd seen her, with his own two eyes, disintegrate the Professor. "Don't patronize me, Logan." Her eyes narrowed in her blossoming wrath and she hissed at him, "You have no idea what I know and don't know about Scott. His life. His death. So don't you dare try and tell me that there might be hope. There isn't any hope." He could smell her anger. She wasn't exactly trying to hide it from him. But what he didn't get was why it was aimed at him. So he searched deeper, and there he found…something. Underneath all of that rage - and there was enough of it to almost make him trigger his own - he caught the scent of desperation to get away and the crippling grief and sadness she felt. She needed this. She needed to run. He didn't like it, but she was a grown woman now. She could make her own decisions. She'd very effectively proven that to him by marrying Scooter in the first place. "Look, kid. If you wanna go, then go. I'm not gonna tell you what to do." Her gaze flew back to his in perplexed surprise, and that seemed to make her even angrier at him. She snorted. "Since when? You've been tellin' me what to do for almost six years, Logan. Why stop now? SOP would be orderin' me to stay. To go upstairs and unpack." Or to tell me you were going with me, she thought silently. She didn't say it. But it hung there in the air between them, unspoken, yet just as tangible as if she had. "I'm not your father. I'm your friend," he answered with a soft smile that once would have earned him one in return, but didn't today. "Are you, Logan? Are you really?" His frown was back. "Of course I am. You know how much you mean to me." He tapped the side of his own head. "You know me better than any of the yahoos around here." But she was shaking her head, her eyes angry again and now worse, hurt. "I thought I did. But that was before Jean killed the Professor and my husband and you're perfectly okay with it. Before you started treating me like I had leprosy or somethin'." Wounded that she'd think that about him, he stepped closer to her. "Marie, listen -" He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away from him with a hissed, "Don't touch me." Surprise widening his eyes, he held his hand out, palm up, then curled it into a fist and shoved it back into his pocket. "Okay fine. I won't touch you." More confused than ever, and now racing full force to pissed off, Logan growled, "How can you even say that I'd be okay with that?" Marie lifted her brow at him, a perfect imitation of his well-known gesture. "She's still alive, isn't she? And they're not. The Wolverine I know," she tapped her own temple, sarcastically mimicking his earlier motion, "wouldn't have allowed that. No matter how badly he wanted into a woman's pants." His brows snapped together as a sharp bite of anger took hold. "Look, I'm sorry you're hurtin' right now," he growled. "But I don't have to listen to this shit…" "No, you don't," she cut him off before he could continue. "But you should. See, you stopped me. You asked me to talk to you, remember? Not the other way around. So that means you get to hear whatever it is I wanna say. And what I want to say is, you can't have it both ways. You can lie to me all you want, Logan. But stop lying to yourself." "Just what is that supposed to mean?" "It'll be all right, Jean. We can make it like it was. Stay with me!" she parroted his words back to him. The words he'd spoken to Jean before she'd left that day, shortly before she'd killed the Professor. "That was when?" She cocked her head at him, a cold tilt curling her mouth in a grotesque parody of one of her smiles. "Before or after she told you she'd killed my husband?" He felt a cold fist clench around his chest. If she'd overheard that, he could easily see how she'd not understand. Not at all. In her eyes, she was begging Scott's murderer to stay with him. And…fuck…if she'd heard that…what else did she know about what had happened down in the med-lab that day? Better yet, how did she know? "How do you know about that," he whispered in a low rumble. She didn't answer him. Instead she asked another question of her own. "Tell me, Logan, did you ever give a damn about me? Or was I just the excuse you used to keep coming back to hit on Jean?" He clenched his jaw hard to keep from saying something he knew he'd regret, but couldn't deny her accusation. In some small way, she was right. Her face twisted into an ugly, hateful sneer, a combination of hurt and betrayal at his silence. "That's what I thought," she snarled. "Do us both a favor, Logan. Don't come looking for me this time." Rogue turned on her heel and walked out of the mansion, leaving him standing in the foyer staring at a closed door. x-x She didn't slam the door. Quietly, and with a soft closing of the front door that should have echoed throughout the whole house. But it didn't. I've never felt something so wrong in my life. What's happening to us? "Some Senior year this is turning out to be." Kitty looked away from her laptop to the rain pouring down her windowpane with a vacant expression on her face. "How do I fix this," she whispered to the empty room. "You can't." Her eyes flew up at the unexpected voice to see Logan leaning against her doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest. "This whole mess isn't yours to fix, Half-Pint." She quickly hit post to send her blog out into cyberspace, and then closed the laptop with a snap. She gave him a tremulous smile, slid the laptop over to the other side of her bed, and unfolded her legs from their pretzel-like positioning, stretching them out in front of her. "Part of it is." Logan snorted at that and moved stealthily into her room, absently kicking the door shut with a booted heel. Pulling out her desk chair, and spinning it around, he kicked one long leg over the seat and straddled it, folding his arms over the back. "How you figure?" She shrugged, hunching her shoulders up a little, and tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear nervously. "I'm just as guilty as anyone else. I was a contributor. I mean, you know," she shrugged again, "about Bobby, and all." He growled lowly under his breath. "Half-Pint, you're makin' a career out of beatin' yourself up. Stop it. That's my job." He winked at her. She gave a half-snort, half-strangled chuckle kind of sound. "What'd you come by for anyway?" He shrugged, frowning a little. "To check on you. See how you're holdin' up. You've been kinda scarce here lately." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not exactly everyone's favorite person right now, Logan. Haven't been for a while," she muttered under her breath. "And whose fault is that, huh?" Hurt flashed briefly across her face before she looked down and began picking at a frayed spot on the knee of her jeans. "Mine," she murmured quietly. "Uh-huh," he nodded. "But only you can make that not be a permanent thing." Confused, she glanced up. "What?" He arched an eyebrow at her. "Walkin' around here like you've got a red 'A' on your chest isn't helpin' people forget what happened between you and Rogue, Half-Pint." "And Bobby," she pointed out. Logan made a half-growling, half-disgusted sound. "Leave the Ice Prick outta this. What happened between you and him was really about you and Rogue and you know it." Nodding sadly, she raised big eyes to him. "So what do I do? How do I make this right?" "That's where the not-so-easy part comes in." He sighed. "Tell you the truth, Half-Pint, I don't know. The best I can tell you is to stop wallowing in your mistake. You can't expect others to move past it if you won't. When she comes back -" "If she comes back," Kitty added quietly. He fixed her with a stern glare. ”When she comes back, apologize. Sincerely. And then be the decent young woman you really are rather than the insecure, jealous kid you were. She'll either get over it or not. You'll have done what you needed to do. If she wants to hate you after that, it's her call." "But what about everybody else?" "Fuck 'em," He said unabashedly, making her blink in surprise at his unexpected candor and vehemence. "You're sorry. You've apologized. And you've moved on. Not to repeat the same mistake. Those people who really matter will understand that, and respect you for it. Those that don't ain't worth the gun powder it'd take to blow 'em to Hell. Get me?" "Yeah, I think so," she nodded. That's why she liked talking to Logan. He just made sense without prettying things up. She appreciated that forthrightness. "You're gonna be okay. You'll see," Logan said as he got to his feet. "You sure about that?" Kitty asked. "Don't ever question the wisdom of the Wolverine," he replied as he made his way to her door. "Hey Logan?" He turned back to look at her, one eyebrow raised, and a knowing smirk curling one side of his mouth upwards. "Yeah?" She eyed him speculatively. "How'd you know I was thinking about what happened, between me and Rogue?" "I didn't. But the odds were pretty good." He shrugged. "You've written basically about nothing else for the past week or so." Kitty blinked at him, his words not sinking in for a moment. Then her stomach dropped. "No way! You are not reading my blog!" With a sly grin, he cleared his throat and began to recite, "We had a contest the other day and he won hands down. No one else was even in the running. Wolverine definitely has the best ass in all of Mutandom." Immediately her face flamed, recognizing an entry she'd made a long time ago, after a particularly raucous girl's night…back when she was still invited to them. He was reading her online journal. Oh Jesus. "Logan, I -" He chuckled, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. "It's okay, Half-Pint. You just might wanna be more careful who you let be a member of your Friends List. You never know just who is reading your blogs." "Oh, crap," she murmured, her eyes wide as she remembered one of her earlier, more detailed entries. One thankfully that wasn't about Logan. "Pitor." "For starters." "I am so dead," she groaned, dropping her face into her hands. At her moan, he smiled when she peaked at him through slightly spread fingers. He took on a serious look, causing her to lower her hands. "Everything will work out, Half-Pint. But it ain't gonna be easy. Nothing really worth it ever is." Logan twisted the knob, swung the door open and stepped across the threshold. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you to square things. You're gonna have to earn back the trust you've lost. Especially with Rogue." Kitty blinked, feeling her breath catch in her throat as another wave of guilt washed over her. She gave him a small nod and watched he closed the door behind him with a soft click. She waited until she heard his footsteps fade before she let the quiet words fall from her lips. "So are you." She sat quietly, mulling over what he'd said, then a startled cry escaped her and she scrambled for her laptop, wondering if she could delete her most recent post before Logan could get to a computer. ~fin~ |
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