FIC: Why Watching and Watching Over Aren't the Same (X-Men, Rogue, PG)
Title: Why Watching and Watching Over Aren’t the Same
Author: aphrodite_mine
Category: X-Men, X1, Rogue
Notes: Thanks to Spanish class, White Shadow, Boo and Lo. [This is a really old piece which has been in my "to edit" folder for an epically long time. It was time to post.]
There was a hockey game on the big screen TV in the common room. He was there, enjoying a beer and a cigar which he was forbidden to smoke in front of the children. She was there too, but curled on a love seat far removed from the stale smoke and the sounds of bodies slamming into each other.
She was wondering, if the professor were to come by (which he wouldn’t), would he ask Logan to put his cigar out. She was also wondering if he would even bother to look at her and notice that the can held in her gloved hand was identical to the one now sitting clothed in cigar smoke across the hazy room.
He hadn’t even glanced back at her as he registered her hand outstretched toward the refrigerator and put a can in it.
The game was less exciting than he had hoped for; the school was drowning anything that looked like excitement with the drowsy air of academia. And the kid wasn’t helping things any. She moped and sulked with the rest of them. He tried to keep her occupied because she looked desperate enough to pursue even that ice guy; which was pretty desperate considering how widely known it was that Ice definitely only melted when Fire was around. He was tired of playing games, the kid needed to grow up and fend for herself. So that was why she took calm, melancholy sips of beer and quietly slipped from the room at the first bear-eating-gravel sound of his snores.
A frown haunted her guarded face until she had bounded up half of the staircase. By then, though, what little alcohol she had consumed had begun to take effect.
A laugh escaped her lips as unbidden tears dripped slowly down her cheeks. In a blur of hair and scarves and all these things she swung open the door to her room. Most of the school was skating at the Westchester Ice Rink and since everyone was too afraid to touch her to teach her to skate, she preferred to stay home.
As she flipped the lights on, a nude and distinctly blue woman became visible. She only managed half of a scream before the woman tied a burlap strip tightly about her mouth. As the woman artfully caressed her covered stomach, she fervently prayed that this was only another dream.
He wasn’t having a nightmare. He dreamt of the red-haired woman dressed in white. He dreamt of many things, but he didn’t dream of Rogue.
Author: aphrodite_mine
Category: X-Men, X1, Rogue
Notes: Thanks to Spanish class, White Shadow, Boo and Lo. [This is a really old piece which has been in my "to edit" folder for an epically long time. It was time to post.]
There was a hockey game on the big screen TV in the common room. He was there, enjoying a beer and a cigar which he was forbidden to smoke in front of the children. She was there too, but curled on a love seat far removed from the stale smoke and the sounds of bodies slamming into each other.
She was wondering, if the professor were to come by (which he wouldn’t), would he ask Logan to put his cigar out. She was also wondering if he would even bother to look at her and notice that the can held in her gloved hand was identical to the one now sitting clothed in cigar smoke across the hazy room.
He hadn’t even glanced back at her as he registered her hand outstretched toward the refrigerator and put a can in it.
The game was less exciting than he had hoped for; the school was drowning anything that looked like excitement with the drowsy air of academia. And the kid wasn’t helping things any. She moped and sulked with the rest of them. He tried to keep her occupied because she looked desperate enough to pursue even that ice guy; which was pretty desperate considering how widely known it was that Ice definitely only melted when Fire was around. He was tired of playing games, the kid needed to grow up and fend for herself. So that was why she took calm, melancholy sips of beer and quietly slipped from the room at the first bear-eating-gravel sound of his snores.
A frown haunted her guarded face until she had bounded up half of the staircase. By then, though, what little alcohol she had consumed had begun to take effect.
A laugh escaped her lips as unbidden tears dripped slowly down her cheeks. In a blur of hair and scarves and all these things she swung open the door to her room. Most of the school was skating at the Westchester Ice Rink and since everyone was too afraid to touch her to teach her to skate, she preferred to stay home.
As she flipped the lights on, a nude and distinctly blue woman became visible. She only managed half of a scream before the woman tied a burlap strip tightly about her mouth. As the woman artfully caressed her covered stomach, she fervently prayed that this was only another dream.
He wasn’t having a nightmare. He dreamt of the red-haired woman dressed in white. He dreamt of many things, but he didn’t dream of Rogue.