Fic for Kaz814's Holiday Challenge (XMMF)
Title: Silent Night
Fandom: Xmen Movieverse
Pairing, etc: Rogue/Magneto. Implied Bobby/Rogue.
Prompt: #61 Winter The sound of a train whistle is the only memory she misses.
Word Count: 1389
Rating: PG
AN: Thanks to Kethlenda for the beta! This is for Kaz814's Holiday Challenge. My favorite Christmas song is "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and is mentioned in the fic. Incidentally, my cousins and I used to sleep on cots in my Granny's house and there was always a train that went by on Christmas Eve. Talking with my mom about this over Christmas, I had the bunny to write this fic. If Magneto/Rogue squicks you (though note the rating, yeah?) then I have two words for you. Blame Srichard.
This is also for the prompt "winter" for Fanfic100. /long rambling note.
Christmas when she was young was always a bit of a production, and most of her recollections were of a mound of paper on the floor, the chatter of family and the incessant parade of food from the kitchen to the table. They'd always had too much food.
Her most prevalent memories, however, were of sleeping on a cot in her grandmother's room with her cousins. They would stay awake, waiting for Santa, talking about things of great importance like toys and the physics of reindeer-drawn sleighs. Sometimes they would tussle-stuffed animals thrown across the room, loudly shouted admonitions to stop, things that inevitably led to a scolding from one of the adults. Eventually they'd fall asleep to the sounds of muted laughter and the soft scent of cigarette smoke drifting beneath the door.
Marie would wake up every year at midnight, as the train clattered by with a low, mournful whistle. She'd think about going out into the living room to see if Santa was there, but she never did. Instead, she stared out the window and thought about being on the train, all wrapped up in a blanket, hurtling into the darkness all alone.
* * *
When she was at the Institute, she spent her Christmas there, even though the Professor would have paid for a ticket home if she'd wanted to go.
It had been nice, Christmas Eve, to have dinner and drink hot chocolate in front of the tree. She'd thought of Bobby at home with his parents, smiling a little as she remembered how he'd kissed her-quickly, of course-and promised he'd call. She thought of Logan, and reached up to gently touch the dog tags that hung around her neck, beneath her soft red sweater that had been a gift from Kitty before she'd gone home.
Rogue had sat next to Pyro on the couch that night. St. John had scowled and flicked his lighter obnoxiously during the festivities, but he'd stayed until they'd all gone to bed, the wayward ones who had no home to go to.
She'd fallen asleep easily that night having barely thought of Mississippi, or Midnight Mass, or the way her aunt would come in and shush them to stop being so loud.
She had woken up at midnight, however, and been unable to get to sleep. It had taken her a long time to figure out that she missed the whistle of the train, the rumble of the cars on the tracks. She'd stood by the window and stared outside, but all she'd seen was the dark grounds of the Institute, quiet and calm.
Somehow, it wasn't at all the same, and for the first time, she was homesick.
* * *
They don't celebrate Christmas in the Brotherhood.
It's not because Magneto's Jewish, not really. It's because it's a human holiday, a human construct, and Magneto thinks such things are beneath them. They are not humans. They are homo superior. They will have superior holidays, as well, once things are arranged as they should be.
Rogue didn't miss much about Christmas-there was a curious freedom to ignoring the holiday, in resisting the lure of over consumerism that came with it, in switching the channel from banal Christmas movies (and if she watched “A Charlie Brown Christmas” while by herself in a hotel room in Prague, no one need know) and ignoring the incessant ringing of the bells in front of every retail store.
She had enough of him in her head to know what he was doing, when he took away things like Christmas and Halloween and Thanksgiving. Oh, he meant it, about the substandard nature of holidays created by mere humans, but he also wanted them to cut loyalties that existed before--to forget about families and traditions that preceded the Brotherhood.
This is your family, now. These are your traditions.
It made sense to her, but maybe that was because of him, in her head.
* * *
On Christmas Eve, she was in a hotel in London. She went for a drink at the bar, sipping her rum and coke and not really liking it. She didn't drink all that much to know what she might like better.
The man sitting next to her was smoking, one after the other, the ashtray in front of him full of cigarettes. Rogue wondered who he was, why he was alone. She felt bad for thinking it, somehow, as if she were betraying them. You shouldn't care.
He caught her eye and waved the smoke away almost apologetically. “You visiting family here, young lady?” He was an American, a Southerner. Reminded her of Meridian, of her mama's family.
“My family's here,” Rogue said, and she meant it, but somewhere in her mind she thought about her grandma's house and cots, tables laden with too much food.
“Good to be with family on Christmas,” he said, and there was a sadness in his eyes, and she wondered what had happened to him.
“Yeah,” she said, and pushed her half-finished drink away, standing up. “Good to be with family.”
“Everyone should be home for Christmas,” the man said, and Rogue had a feeling he was talking to himself now and didn't even see her anymore.
Rogue didn't answer him, but went to the elevators and pressed the button for her floor, fingers encased in black leather. As she watched the numbers light up, she blinked her eyes and ignored how the lights on the panel seemed for a moment to swim.
* * *
She woke up later, blinking, and rolled over to look at the clock. Twelve a.m., and there were noises from the street below-cars, horns, the occasional shout. Nothing resembling a train, and the harder she pretended she wasn't listening for it, the more obvious it became that she was.
“Is there a problem, Rogue?”
She looked over at Erik, who was watching her from the darkness. In the moonlight, his eyes looked silver, almost like the ashes on the man's cigarette from the bar.
“There's no train,” she said, surprised she'd spoken. “At home. There was always a train at midnight on Christmas Eve. I woke up every year when it passed by. I keep doing it, every year, no matter where I am.”
He was silent for a moment. “It's December the twenty-fifth,” he said calmly, “And there aren't any trains except beneath us, in this part of London.”
“I know,” she said, and lay back down beside him. “I just missed it, is all. Not Christmas, you know. Just the train.” She looked over at him, wondering if he understood.
“Ah.” He was silent after that, and Rogue tried to fall back asleep, tried to ignore that burning restlessness inside of her. She wasn't successful.
Eventually she got out of bed and padded silently over to the window, staring out at the London night. The streetlights were bright, too bright, and there was no darkness or empty space. She sighed, and caught the curtain between her fingers, twisting it slowly.
“Would making the subway car crash help you, perhaps? There would be screaming, I imagine. Would that be the same?”
Rogue turned around at his rather macabre suggestion. “I don't think so,” she said, torn between horror and amusement at the utter seriousness of his tone. “I'm just restless. I can go downstairs, if I'm bothering you.”
“You bother me often,” he said dryly. “However, I do believe I can find a way to make you less...restless.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head and smiled, a little. Outside she thought she heard someone singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, rather drunk and off-key. She wondered if it was the man from the bar.
“Mmm. Although if you continue to annoy me, you may sleep in the bathtub.”
She heard the smirk in his voice and her smile grew as she returned to the bed, crawling up it rather like a cat. “I thought I annoyed you all the time,” she teased him, though she believed his threat.
“Only when you're speaking,” he answered, and she laughed as she lay on her back, hands up over her head just as he liked.
Outside, the night fell silent.
Fandom: Xmen Movieverse
Pairing, etc: Rogue/Magneto. Implied Bobby/Rogue.
Prompt: #61 Winter The sound of a train whistle is the only memory she misses.
Word Count: 1389
Rating: PG
AN: Thanks to Kethlenda for the beta! This is for Kaz814's Holiday Challenge. My favorite Christmas song is "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and is mentioned in the fic. Incidentally, my cousins and I used to sleep on cots in my Granny's house and there was always a train that went by on Christmas Eve. Talking with my mom about this over Christmas, I had the bunny to write this fic. If Magneto/Rogue squicks you (though note the rating, yeah?) then I have two words for you. Blame Srichard.
This is also for the prompt "winter" for Fanfic100. /long rambling note.
Christmas when she was young was always a bit of a production, and most of her recollections were of a mound of paper on the floor, the chatter of family and the incessant parade of food from the kitchen to the table. They'd always had too much food.
Her most prevalent memories, however, were of sleeping on a cot in her grandmother's room with her cousins. They would stay awake, waiting for Santa, talking about things of great importance like toys and the physics of reindeer-drawn sleighs. Sometimes they would tussle-stuffed animals thrown across the room, loudly shouted admonitions to stop, things that inevitably led to a scolding from one of the adults. Eventually they'd fall asleep to the sounds of muted laughter and the soft scent of cigarette smoke drifting beneath the door.
Marie would wake up every year at midnight, as the train clattered by with a low, mournful whistle. She'd think about going out into the living room to see if Santa was there, but she never did. Instead, she stared out the window and thought about being on the train, all wrapped up in a blanket, hurtling into the darkness all alone.
* * *
When she was at the Institute, she spent her Christmas there, even though the Professor would have paid for a ticket home if she'd wanted to go.
It had been nice, Christmas Eve, to have dinner and drink hot chocolate in front of the tree. She'd thought of Bobby at home with his parents, smiling a little as she remembered how he'd kissed her-quickly, of course-and promised he'd call. She thought of Logan, and reached up to gently touch the dog tags that hung around her neck, beneath her soft red sweater that had been a gift from Kitty before she'd gone home.
Rogue had sat next to Pyro on the couch that night. St. John had scowled and flicked his lighter obnoxiously during the festivities, but he'd stayed until they'd all gone to bed, the wayward ones who had no home to go to.
She'd fallen asleep easily that night having barely thought of Mississippi, or Midnight Mass, or the way her aunt would come in and shush them to stop being so loud.
She had woken up at midnight, however, and been unable to get to sleep. It had taken her a long time to figure out that she missed the whistle of the train, the rumble of the cars on the tracks. She'd stood by the window and stared outside, but all she'd seen was the dark grounds of the Institute, quiet and calm.
Somehow, it wasn't at all the same, and for the first time, she was homesick.
* * *
They don't celebrate Christmas in the Brotherhood.
It's not because Magneto's Jewish, not really. It's because it's a human holiday, a human construct, and Magneto thinks such things are beneath them. They are not humans. They are homo superior. They will have superior holidays, as well, once things are arranged as they should be.
Rogue didn't miss much about Christmas-there was a curious freedom to ignoring the holiday, in resisting the lure of over consumerism that came with it, in switching the channel from banal Christmas movies (and if she watched “A Charlie Brown Christmas” while by herself in a hotel room in Prague, no one need know) and ignoring the incessant ringing of the bells in front of every retail store.
She had enough of him in her head to know what he was doing, when he took away things like Christmas and Halloween and Thanksgiving. Oh, he meant it, about the substandard nature of holidays created by mere humans, but he also wanted them to cut loyalties that existed before--to forget about families and traditions that preceded the Brotherhood.
This is your family, now. These are your traditions.
It made sense to her, but maybe that was because of him, in her head.
* * *
On Christmas Eve, she was in a hotel in London. She went for a drink at the bar, sipping her rum and coke and not really liking it. She didn't drink all that much to know what she might like better.
The man sitting next to her was smoking, one after the other, the ashtray in front of him full of cigarettes. Rogue wondered who he was, why he was alone. She felt bad for thinking it, somehow, as if she were betraying them. You shouldn't care.
He caught her eye and waved the smoke away almost apologetically. “You visiting family here, young lady?” He was an American, a Southerner. Reminded her of Meridian, of her mama's family.
“My family's here,” Rogue said, and she meant it, but somewhere in her mind she thought about her grandma's house and cots, tables laden with too much food.
“Good to be with family on Christmas,” he said, and there was a sadness in his eyes, and she wondered what had happened to him.
“Yeah,” she said, and pushed her half-finished drink away, standing up. “Good to be with family.”
“Everyone should be home for Christmas,” the man said, and Rogue had a feeling he was talking to himself now and didn't even see her anymore.
Rogue didn't answer him, but went to the elevators and pressed the button for her floor, fingers encased in black leather. As she watched the numbers light up, she blinked her eyes and ignored how the lights on the panel seemed for a moment to swim.
* * *
She woke up later, blinking, and rolled over to look at the clock. Twelve a.m., and there were noises from the street below-cars, horns, the occasional shout. Nothing resembling a train, and the harder she pretended she wasn't listening for it, the more obvious it became that she was.
“Is there a problem, Rogue?”
She looked over at Erik, who was watching her from the darkness. In the moonlight, his eyes looked silver, almost like the ashes on the man's cigarette from the bar.
“There's no train,” she said, surprised she'd spoken. “At home. There was always a train at midnight on Christmas Eve. I woke up every year when it passed by. I keep doing it, every year, no matter where I am.”
He was silent for a moment. “It's December the twenty-fifth,” he said calmly, “And there aren't any trains except beneath us, in this part of London.”
“I know,” she said, and lay back down beside him. “I just missed it, is all. Not Christmas, you know. Just the train.” She looked over at him, wondering if he understood.
“Ah.” He was silent after that, and Rogue tried to fall back asleep, tried to ignore that burning restlessness inside of her. She wasn't successful.
Eventually she got out of bed and padded silently over to the window, staring out at the London night. The streetlights were bright, too bright, and there was no darkness or empty space. She sighed, and caught the curtain between her fingers, twisting it slowly.
“Would making the subway car crash help you, perhaps? There would be screaming, I imagine. Would that be the same?”
Rogue turned around at his rather macabre suggestion. “I don't think so,” she said, torn between horror and amusement at the utter seriousness of his tone. “I'm just restless. I can go downstairs, if I'm bothering you.”
“You bother me often,” he said dryly. “However, I do believe I can find a way to make you less...restless.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head and smiled, a little. Outside she thought she heard someone singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, rather drunk and off-key. She wondered if it was the man from the bar.
“Mmm. Although if you continue to annoy me, you may sleep in the bathtub.”
She heard the smirk in his voice and her smile grew as she returned to the bed, crawling up it rather like a cat. “I thought I annoyed you all the time,” she teased him, though she believed his threat.
“Only when you're speaking,” he answered, and she laughed as she lay on her back, hands up over her head just as he liked.
Outside, the night fell silent.