Fic: More Than A Rogue - (14/?) - Nothing in my way
Overall summary: Sometimes we get the balance wrong. Life is not about knowing the answers, life is what happens while you're looking for them. And the bad decisions? The screw-ups? They're what keep it interesting.
Follows on from X3 - after the cure has failed - Rogue's POV
Genre: Action/Shipper/Angst/Humour fic... so basically everything.
Rating: Varies between chapters, but overall R - NC17
Disclaimer: If Marvel, Stan Lee, Fox, or anyone with a potential lawsuit opportunity asks? I own nothing. If Logan asks? Bub, I own your ass! C'mere, remove your shirt, and do my nefarious bidding *evilest of all evil grins*
A/N: Okay... um sorry? The break took longer than I anticipated. Mainly because I was lazy. I was captured by evil Hawk-people who fed me worms and forbade me from writing for a month. Damn them and their anti-literarian ways.
Here's the beginning of the second part, posted tonight for amorvoloexsisto who prodded me. I totally needed prodding. I'll get round to posting it in other places tomorrow... or maybe Sunday *g*. The chapter title (ahhh a nostalgic trip into the fic background...) is taken from the Keane song that inspired the fic in the first place.
If you want to catch up, all previous chapters can be found here
And thanks go out to dutchxfan and empressnan.
Let's see how many weeks I can go before I run out of chapters!
..."Are you gonna be here when I get back?"
Days take longer to stumble by when you’re constantly watching the long shadows of each hour pass. One of the universal truths. Unfortunately. Anyone who says that time is constant is a liar.
I feel the sigh sink its weight through me as I glance out the window, trying to look on the positive side like the Professor has been encouraging me in our weekly meetings. Yeah. I get psyche council now. Only it’s not called that. They’re just ‘chats’ to see how I’m settling back in.
...Yeah. I’m still here.
At least it’s a nice day outside. Fresh. See? That’s positive, isn’t it? Not too hot. Not too cold. The early morning sunshine slanting across the gardens, spinning the grass woven cobwebs into a glittering carpet that stretches out from the warm stone walls to the dark line of trees. It's a beautiful view, one that people would pay to capture in a photograph.
I wish I didn’t have to see it.
I don’t hate it, I just... I don’t know. I'm the wrong shape, now more than ever. The mansion's crowded and I don’t do crowds. It’s busy and I long for silence and anonymity. It’s full of bustle and life and lessons and children, and the only thing I’m thankful for is that it’s so ridiculously big. Because at least I can hide.
Wimp.
Maybe I just don't like seeing people.
Ugh. Okay, that's not really true. More like I don't like people seeing me when I’m vulnerable.
I should have never made that promise to Logan.
Anyone can see I don’t belong here anymore.
The first few days, they were the worst. The long hours it took for me to fight off the metallic ache and shivers that lingered from Logan’s quick healing. Then there was a week or so until I managed enough self-control to suppress the random thoughts of others in my mind, until they were no more than a shadowy echo and I no longer jumped at shadows.
Heh. A week or so. All things considered, that's pretty damn fast.
Maybe it’s too fast.
...I try not to think about that.
Yeah... I know what you’re doing, all you analysers; thinking it’s self-denial, a lie. Nobody gets over traumatic events that quickly. But - hell, lie or not, at least it gets me through the day. If I concentrate on all the insignificant things, washing my hair, getting dressed, finding my way from A to B... everything else just seems to fade into the background. Funny that. The human psyche is a wonderful thing, so easily manipulated. Or the mutant psyche. Whatever.
God, now I sound like Eric.
You know what the worst thing is? Apart from those initial few days, I sleep like a baby. Every night. At least Logan had the decency to have horrific nightmares about his morbid past. Me? Apparently I’m unaffected.
I can’t decided if that makes me detached, screwed up ...or a monster.
I catch sight of my face in the mirror before I leave, and for a moment I wonder how it’s possible to look the same when I feel so different. Same dark hair with its blunt streaks of white. Same soft brown eyes that hide so many secrets. Same gap in my teeth... I’ve always been self-conscious about that. Same expression cast when I frown, the same eyebrow arch. Same wide mouth that used to smile a hell of a lot more. It’s the same face that’s stared back at me all my life, from my childhood home, to the numerous hotel mirrors over the last few months. But somehow it doesn’t feel right anymore.
Not that I let myself think too hard about that either. Or at least, I try not to. I go for distraction instead. I have a job here now. Not on the team, that’s an unspoken condition of my stay... for the time being at least. Instead I help the Professor. Deal with paperwork, press releases, phone calls.
Yeah, it’s about as exciting as it sounds.
For a while I thought that if I could just get used to it, if I could accept it for the gift it was, I’d be able to stay here and be happy. I was being given a new chance; an opportunity to prove that I was worth something and deserved my place on this lump of earth. I thought if I tried hard enough I could be what they wanted me to be.
But it still itches. Always there in the back of my mind. This desire to get away. The urge to break one of the perfectly expensive antique vases, just because I can. The impulse to tread on someone's toes. Hard.
I'm such a bad person.
I doesn’t help that everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by people. Those that are concerned for my health; Ororo, the Professor, Dr McCoy when he’s around, the list goes on. Then there are those who don’t trust me; Kitty and Bobby, even Jubilee. There are even those who are simply curious. The hushed whispers of, ‘she was the one that took the cure.’ The echoes of, ‘when it failed she went crazy.’
Is that what they think? That I went crazy?
The messed up runaway girl with white scars in her hair. A freak amongst the freaks.
Maybe I did go nuts. Maybe the whole stupid thing was an act of belated teenage rebellious madness... but it didn’t feel like it at the time. When I was out there I was... oh God, I don’t want to say ‘free’ again, because that’s not what I mean. I was without burden, I was living without that horrible constant worry of what other people thought.
Here I’m surrounded by it.
They all watch me. Waiting. Who knows what for...? Even when I’m on my own I’m never alone. Not truly. There’s always that feeling of being enclosed. Crowded in and observed.
I know they think they’re doing it for my own good. They're probably right as well; it’s not like anything useful has ever come of me running away. Stranded in Alaska, captured by Magneto, the wreck of the cure. All things in my life I would rather not think about.
And now this.
This, I can’t stop thinking about.
Do I regret what I did? Yes... mostly.
...Maybe...
I don’t know.
Now the shock’s worn off... I hate what happened, but I long for it in the same breath. How is that possible? To be one person torn in so many different directions all at once?
Others are kind in their over-protective advice; ‘It’s the other personalities conflicting, those you've absorbed,’... ‘It’s just a phase.’ The inner Logan in me likes to tell me it’s because I touched Mystique too many times. This is what happens when you take in a part of someone who shifts skins and personality with the tide. But honestly? I think that it’s just me. I’ve shut myself down and changed who I am so many times that I no longer remember what it’s like to be just...well me.
Or maybe they’re right. Maybe it is the voices. Heh. If in doubt, blame the voices. That should become my crazy psycho mantra.
Woo-freakin-hoo.
But waking up here everyday? In the same room? Surrounded by the same things? Warm, safe, protected... I value it, I can appreciate it, but I miss the freedom. I miss the adventure. I miss getting out of bed and not knowing what the day will bring. I miss my own choices. My space.
I miss...
No. I don’t miss Mystique. She left me. She would have let me die there. I don’t miss her.
...It was just nice to have a friend who didn’t expect any more of me than I wanted to give. One who wanted to live life the way I did. Yeah. That was nice.
Which only makes the whole crappy thing even more bitter. I hope I never see her again.
Ugh. Why do I feel like a stray bird caught in a pretty cage? What possessed me to promise Logan I’d stay? Seriously? It wasn’t like either of us was overcome with emotion at the time. He looked like he’d rather be a hundred miles away, and I was a trembling mess. Surely that’s grounds for dismissal if ever I heard it?
Yeah. Sometimes I even believe myself when I say that.
No matter how I try convincing myself though, breaking that promise would be giving in somehow. And while I’ve broken my fair share of promises recently, this one feels... well... I don’t know. I don’t want him to be disappointed in me. Again. I want to make up for some of the shit that I put him through. Even if he doesn’t ever see me as anything more than a stray he has to look out for. I want to show him that I can do something if I put my mind to it. That I’m not such a screw up. That there’s still a part of me worth saving.
If I think about it that way, it’s not so hard. It becomes a challenge, and each day I get through brings me closer to my target. And while I’m not entirely sure what my goal is, I know his return is rooted at the heart of it.
Running shoes on, I head outside. The Danger Room’s pretty much restricted to training these days and since I’m no longer part of the team, well, that rules me out. Instead I go jogging, my feet taking me around the grounds, trying to relieve some of the tension that inevitably builds up through each long, drawn out day. I use it to drown out the things that get to me the most; the clattering noise of the cafeteria, the elbowing bustle of the hallways after classes, the loud jostling over the TV. Jogging has become my escape. It’s the only time I feel like I’m really on my own.
I head deep into the woods using Logan’s memories to guide me, and in the dappled darkness there is only the repetitive pounding of my feet, the burn in my thighs, and the whispering rustle of leaves. Out here I can push myself, I can choose how far and how fast. There’s no one around me to treat me as if I might break like shattered glass and cut them. Out here I can remember what it feels like to be outside of this prison that is anything but...
...Oh...Christ...Okay, I nearly snorted with laughter at that one. That’s an all time self depreciating low, even for me. Anyone got a melodic violin? I think I need some sorrowful backing music.
I also think I may not be getting over all this quite as well as I’m trying my damned hardest to prove.
Which terrifies me.
Do they notice? Maybe they do. Maybe that’s why the only person who doesn’t treat me with that carefully constructed shell of politeness, is Remy. Or maybe that’s because he doesn’t know me well enough. Heh, although that’s not exactly from lack of trying. Jubilee told me in a moment of almost friendship that he’s like that with everyone. Outgoing and flirty. She said he’d go home with a mop if it showed interest.
If I’m honest, I don’t really know how to handle his attention. I’m flattered, really I am, but I... I can’t. It feels awkward. Uncomfortable. Like I’m betraying something. Which is stupid because I’m betraying no one. There is nothing to betray. It’s not as if Logan’s out there practising celibacy and arguing with himself over whether he wants to admit he misses me at all. Nope. That pleasure is saved for me alone.
Yeah. On top of everything else, I’ve tried not to think about Logan most of all.
Consequently, he’s all I can think of.
Which sucks.
Because somewhere, twisted up in all my tangles of thoughts and emotions is a tiny thread of hope, and no matter how hard I try to deny it, it’s always attached to him.
And it’s stupid. I know it’s stupid.
Stupid to think that way. Stupid to get my hopes up again, with nothing to fall back on. Stupid to stay when then only thing that awaits me here is a lifetime of jogging through the trees trying to forget who I am. Or what I am. Or... whatever.
Besides, I’ve noticed something over the last few weeks. He does call to touch base, quite frequently actually. And he talks to Storm. Always her.
That flicker of a look she gave me in the kitchen when I asked where he was. When I think of him it haunts me, and it makes me wonder...
The two of them. Are they...?
They must have spent a lot of time together whilst I was away. After the war, when we thought the Professor was dead, they were both thrown in to the responsibilities of the school. ‘Ro especially, but Logan? When he could’ve stayed away he kept coming back. Reining himself in, taming the Wolverine, doing what he could to help her out, even if he never stayed for long. They fought together, they worked together... is it so unrealistic to imagine?
It’s another thing I think about as I run. Trying to tell myself that it’s not the cause of the doubt that gnaws at me, or the heavy feeling that shadows. Instead I push myself to the brink in the hope that I’ll be too exhausted to want to do anything but get through the day when I get back.
Maybe I can outrun my desire to be anyone but me.
Maybe.