Crackfic!
Title: Breathe
Rating: PG-13 - 820 words
Summary: AU -- X-Men (movieverse)/The OC (Trey and Rogue) When humans take excessive action against mutants, Rogue finds herself biding her time and praying for death.
Notes: OMG, I’m seriously insane! I don't expect anyone to read this. It's pretty bad and it was only written to relieve my geeky little heart.
So, yeah, there’s this other OC story that I’m working on, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I wrote something really quickly (as if that doesn’t show!) to stop myself from thinking about it. It's totally underdeveloped. In fact, it’s really just the concept for the story I would write if I had the time and energy.
_________
They cut her hair. They take her gloves. They hose her down in the alley with the rats and yesterday’s leftovers.
She’s registered the next day.
Number 041484.
Congratulations. She’s now property of the State of New York.
___
Logan had told her to fight and she had -- until her head was so full of people, she couldn’t fight anymore. There were too many voices already. And she was so tired. She just wanted it to end…whichever way was the quickest.
She hears them telling the story--again--of how she was caught. She’s only heard it one hundred times with nearly as many variations --all with one common thread. So brave they were… Such a fight she gave…
Bullshit.
All lies.
The truth is all she wanted was three squares and a place to sleep. She’d stood in the middle of the road with her eyes closed, waiting for some dumb fuck to come along -- someone she could tell her secret to.
___
They call her freak. They shove her against the cracked asphalt and tear at her clothes. One gets too close and touches her skin.
He’s lying next to her, convulsing.
She smiles.
They backhand her.
She can’t remember the rest.
___
She’s a hot little piece of mutie ass. If her skin wasn’t so deadly, she’d be doing more than just dancing…
The bodice is tight. Sometimes she thinks that she won’t ever take another clear breath again.
Such a slow death it is…but better than what they have in store for her later, when she’s no longer entertaining.
No one will care when it comes. They’ll throw her on top of a pile with all rest of the dead mutants, to rot. She’s scum as far as they’re all concerned.
They watch her dance as they shout and curse --occupying their hands with bottles of beer so they won’t be tempted to touch her poisonous skin
Soon her time will end. Sweet death awaits her. She courts it each night in her sleep.
Sometimes the others--Bobby, Kitty, Jubiliee and, sometimes even, John--appear to her in her dreams, weaving stories of how it is on the other side. There is no hate, they tell her. No discrimination. Everyone and everything is as free as the sky.
It all sounds so wonderful --too good to be true. She knows they are just dreams she has to comfort herself.
There is only one bright spot--barely a twinkle’s worth--to her dark days.
He calls himself Vanish. She learned that from one of the other girls before she was shipped off to the camps. The humans call him Trey.
Something about him feels familiar. Like those dark, hollow eyes have seen it all… everything she’s seen and more.
He stares, but does not speak. Never speaks. She shimmies and shakes and does all her favourite tricks, but he doesn’t react.
She knows he’s a mutant. Logan’s still in her head and he can smell it on him.
She wonders why he risks it. Every night that he comes here, he takes his life in his hands. Soon the new scanners from the government will arrive and he won’t be able to walk around undetected anymore.
And then what will he do?
She’ll tell him to run…but she somehow knows he’s not going without her. She wants to tell him she’s not worth it. That she kills everything she touches. That she’ll kill him, too, eventually. The poison isn’t just on her skin -it fills all the places inside her, too.
Someone is up on stage with her, hand poised to touch her face. She hadn’t been paying attention. She withdraws, but it’s too late. The large man collapses to his knees and the bar erupts in chaos.
Her time has come. She closes her eyes and waits for it. How will death greet her? A bullet to the brain? Will they slit her throat? Or just beat her until the life spills out of her like her blood?
Warm fingers graze her palm and then grip her hand tightly. Nothing happens. No pull. No absorption. Her eyes pop open.
She’s being dragged out of the bar by him.
Her skin does not--and will not--kill him. Instead, she slips away into the blackness and becomes as invisible as he is.
She looks down at their entwined hands in amazement. She hasn’t felt skin in so long. She wants to cry, but she knows she has to keep moving. They have to keep moving. They’ll always have to keep moving, keep running.
Later, she asks why. Why did he save her?
He shrugs and traces the blue ink on her forearm.
“041484,” he says, as if that tells her all she needs to know.
“So?”
“That’s my birthday,” he tells her, with a smirk. “It seemed like a good omen.”
-End-
Rating: PG-13 - 820 words
Summary: AU -- X-Men (movieverse)/The OC (Trey and Rogue) When humans take excessive action against mutants, Rogue finds herself biding her time and praying for death.
Notes: OMG, I’m seriously insane! I don't expect anyone to read this. It's pretty bad and it was only written to relieve my geeky little heart.
So, yeah, there’s this other OC story that I’m working on, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I wrote something really quickly (as if that doesn’t show!) to stop myself from thinking about it. It's totally underdeveloped. In fact, it’s really just the concept for the story I would write if I had the time and energy.
_________
They cut her hair. They take her gloves. They hose her down in the alley with the rats and yesterday’s leftovers.
She’s registered the next day.
Number 041484.
Congratulations. She’s now property of the State of New York.
___
Logan had told her to fight and she had -- until her head was so full of people, she couldn’t fight anymore. There were too many voices already. And she was so tired. She just wanted it to end…whichever way was the quickest.
She hears them telling the story--again--of how she was caught. She’s only heard it one hundred times with nearly as many variations --all with one common thread. So brave they were… Such a fight she gave…
Bullshit.
All lies.
The truth is all she wanted was three squares and a place to sleep. She’d stood in the middle of the road with her eyes closed, waiting for some dumb fuck to come along -- someone she could tell her secret to.
___
They call her freak. They shove her against the cracked asphalt and tear at her clothes. One gets too close and touches her skin.
He’s lying next to her, convulsing.
She smiles.
They backhand her.
She can’t remember the rest.
___
She’s a hot little piece of mutie ass. If her skin wasn’t so deadly, she’d be doing more than just dancing…
The bodice is tight. Sometimes she thinks that she won’t ever take another clear breath again.
Such a slow death it is…but better than what they have in store for her later, when she’s no longer entertaining.
No one will care when it comes. They’ll throw her on top of a pile with all rest of the dead mutants, to rot. She’s scum as far as they’re all concerned.
They watch her dance as they shout and curse --occupying their hands with bottles of beer so they won’t be tempted to touch her poisonous skin
Soon her time will end. Sweet death awaits her. She courts it each night in her sleep.
Sometimes the others--Bobby, Kitty, Jubiliee and, sometimes even, John--appear to her in her dreams, weaving stories of how it is on the other side. There is no hate, they tell her. No discrimination. Everyone and everything is as free as the sky.
It all sounds so wonderful --too good to be true. She knows they are just dreams she has to comfort herself.
There is only one bright spot--barely a twinkle’s worth--to her dark days.
He calls himself Vanish. She learned that from one of the other girls before she was shipped off to the camps. The humans call him Trey.
Something about him feels familiar. Like those dark, hollow eyes have seen it all… everything she’s seen and more.
He stares, but does not speak. Never speaks. She shimmies and shakes and does all her favourite tricks, but he doesn’t react.
She knows he’s a mutant. Logan’s still in her head and he can smell it on him.
She wonders why he risks it. Every night that he comes here, he takes his life in his hands. Soon the new scanners from the government will arrive and he won’t be able to walk around undetected anymore.
And then what will he do?
She’ll tell him to run…but she somehow knows he’s not going without her. She wants to tell him she’s not worth it. That she kills everything she touches. That she’ll kill him, too, eventually. The poison isn’t just on her skin -it fills all the places inside her, too.
Someone is up on stage with her, hand poised to touch her face. She hadn’t been paying attention. She withdraws, but it’s too late. The large man collapses to his knees and the bar erupts in chaos.
Her time has come. She closes her eyes and waits for it. How will death greet her? A bullet to the brain? Will they slit her throat? Or just beat her until the life spills out of her like her blood?
Warm fingers graze her palm and then grip her hand tightly. Nothing happens. No pull. No absorption. Her eyes pop open.
She’s being dragged out of the bar by him.
Her skin does not--and will not--kill him. Instead, she slips away into the blackness and becomes as invisible as he is.
She looks down at their entwined hands in amazement. She hasn’t felt skin in so long. She wants to cry, but she knows she has to keep moving. They have to keep moving. They’ll always have to keep moving, keep running.
Later, she asks why. Why did he save her?
He shrugs and traces the blue ink on her forearm.
“041484,” he says, as if that tells her all she needs to know.
“So?”
“That’s my birthday,” he tells her, with a smirk. “It seemed like a good omen.”
-End-