XMMF Fic: "People you've been before," Magneto, Rogue, Gen (AU)
Title: People you’ve been before
Author: Sionnain
Verse: Movieverse, immediately follows X1
Characters: Rogue, Magneto. Gen, AU.
Rating: E
Word Count: 1950
Summary: The X-Men weren’t able to find Magneto in time, and Rogue successfully powered the machine to completion. There’s just one slight aberration from the original plan; she didn’t die.
AN: Many thanks to Penknife for the beta. This fic was written for the Demented_Allure AU Challenge. The title and the quote are from the Elliot Smith song, “Between the Bars,” a song that Ion_bond introduced to me and that I just love.
People you've been before
That you don't want around anymore-
That push and shove and won't bend to your will.
At first she thought she couldn’t be dead, because she hurt too badly. Surely in death your body didn’t feel like it was being stretched impossibly tight, didn’t thrum with the lingering effects of too much power that wasn’t your own, didn’t feel like your mind had ripped and torn…
Unless her mama was right and she was the Devil’s spawn after all. Maybe she was in Hell, and Hell wasn’t as much fire as it was just burning.
It hurt to open her eyes, but Rogue couldn’t stand the torment of not knowing where she was any longer, so she dragged them open slowly and tried to focus. She couldn’t see much, it was too dark, but she could feel movement; a slow rocking motion, soothing and repetitive.
The ocean. She was on a boat. She tried to sit up, but all that did was make the darkness swirl around her and the blood roar in her ears, breaking like waves on a beach. With a low moan, Rogue fell back against the seat, unconscious.
* * *
The next time she stirred she was on a bed, lying stretched out on her back beneath a sheet. She was very thirsty. There was a low murmur in the background, someone speaking, and she strained through the pain to hear what they were saying.
“…have to lie low for awhile, of course. Meet me back at the fortress in two weeks, once I see what will happen with the girl.”
His voice. Magneto.
“No. There’s been no change. She’s still unconscious. Remarkable, really, that she’s not dead.”
Rogue tried to move, to make her body listen to her mental commands. She managed to sit up just a little, leaning on weak elbows, but the effort of it exhausted her almost immediately. The dark, deep oblivion rose to meet her, where there was no light, no remembered pain.
* * *
Something cold slid down her throat; Rogue’s eyes flew open as she realized someone was holding her mouth ajar with a black-gloved hand on her chin, a glass pressed to her lips. She sputtered on the drink and stared wildly at him.
“Don’t try to move,” he murmured. His free hand reached up and stroked her hair away from her forehead. “Just sip the water, there you are.” His voice was soft, gentle. He didn’t seem as scary as she remembered, though maybe it was because she could hear him in her head, too, urging her to drink.
Obediently, she sipped the water, so thirsty she could have downed four glasses without stopping.
When she’d finished, he smiled at her. It made his eyes less cold. “Good girl.”
“Did-did-” she started trembling violently as tears started at the corners of her eyes. She felt trapped, like an animal, unable to form the words she so desperately needed to ask.
“Shh,” he murmured, catching her tears on his fingers. The leather was warm on her cheeks. “Don’t. Try to relax before you speak.”
Rogue took several deep breaths, hauling air into her starved lungs. To her chagrin, she realized he was holding her gently, like a doll, in his arms. She swallowed and tried again to speak. She had to know.
“Did it-did it work?”
His eyes widened a fraction in surprise. “Yes, of course it did.”
He reached out and lightly traced the white she could see in her peripheral vision. Her hair…she wondered idly if all of it was white. “I must admit I’m shocked you asked.”
Inside her head, she could still feel his certainty. Maybe that was why it was the first thing she’d wanted to know. “But I didn’t die, like you thought I would.” Her voice sounded rough, as if she’d consumed the glass along with the water.
“No,” he murmured, easing her back on the bed. He stood looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. “Also a surprise, but a welcome one, I must admit.” He took the glass and carried it into the bathroom. She was frightened when he left; she was so weak, it was hard to keep her eyes open.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, afraid. She needed water, but she couldn’t move.
He returned and reached for her again, pressing the glass to her lips. “I won’t.”
* * *
She stayed with him for three weeks as she recovered her strength.
At first she slept, waking up only for light meals and water, endless amounts of water, of which she couldn’t get enough. She wanted to ask him if they thought she was dead, the X-Men, but she didn’t. It was easier not to think about that.
He helped her shower, which was embarrassing but necessary. She stood in the tub and pressed her palms flat to the ceramic tiled wall, letting the warm water slide over her skin. She could feel the metal in the bathroom, just a little, like a tickle in the back of her mind. It was strangely soothing.
After a week, she was able to shower without his help and eat something more than clear broth and toast. One night he returned with a pizza, and she devoured it eagerly, the taste alive and sharp. The cheese was too hot and burned the roof of her mouth, but she didn’t care. It was the best thing she’d ever eaten.
He sat across from her and ate his piece with a knife and a fork, drinking a bottle of water. She had a Coke. He turned the television on to watch the news, and that was when they saw it, how the world leaders had all died from “radiation poisoning” following the strange occurrence at the summit.
He’d jumped to his feet and stared at the television, his hands clenched in a fist. He’d slammed out of the room, his pizza forgotten on the table. He didn’t come back for several hours.
Rogue had stared at the phone, but the only number she remembered was her parents in Mississippi. She tried another number, one hazy in her memory, but it was in Washington, not Westchester.
It was Senator Kelly’s office. Rogue set the receiver gently in the cradle and switched the television on to a documentary about haunted castles in Ireland. She wondered how long she’d be dialing numbers she’d never known.
When he came back, she watched him carefully before speaking. “It didn’t work.”
“Not as I’d planned, no.” He looked scary again. She’d begun to think of him as benign, really; he’d been nothing but perfectly solicitous and vaguely apologetic to her the entire time they’d been together. She was starting to be afraid of him again.
“I’m better now, Magneto. I’m still kind of weak but I need to go back. They’ll be looking for me. The Professor will find me.” She wasn’t sure if she was saying this because she wanted to go back, or if she was warning him that they’d be looking for her. Maybe they wouldn’t, though. Maybe they thought she was dead.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” he said brusquely, and left again. He didn’t come back until long after she was asleep.
* * *
They left the next day, in a small blue Ford Escort, the last car she ever would have expected Magneto to drive. The little car was cramped, but he looked perfectly at home piloting the car smoothly in and out of traffic. She wondered where they were. Rogue kept her eyes focused outside the window and watched for a sign, some indication of what state they were in and how long it would be before they reached the Institute.
New Jersey.
Not so very far away, then.
She could barely feel the car in her mind anymore. His powers had nearly faded, though she still could still feel his presence in there, like a ghost or maybe an echo, and it was very strange to share your mind with someone who had tried to kill you. They drove through the countryside in silence, some classical symphony playing on the radio, broken occasionally by news of the slain world leaders and their hunt for the man responsible.
“Mutant,” Rogue said sharply, unaware she’d spoken out loud until she saw the curve of his mouth turn upwards, his eyes still on the road.
Rogue stared at her reflection in the window, at the white locks of hair framing her face. She touched them curiously. It was weird to think that her hair would stay like that, forever, that it would grow in white instead of brown.
“I suspect you should be able to dye it,” Magneto said, surprising her. “If you want.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a shrug, settling in her seat. “I kinda like it.”
He hadn’t responded, but she had the strangest thought that maybe he was pleased about that.
He stopped the car about a mile from the mansion and looked over at her. “You’ll understand if I don’t take you to the gate.”
She nodded. “I understand.” He would need a new car, of course, since she knew the make and model of this one, including the license plate. He had to know that she would tell them what it was, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“Rogue,” he began, his voice gruff. “I hope you know that it-none of this was personal. I regretted the necessity of your death very much.” His eyes looked faraway, sad. “I had a daughter, once.”
Rogue saw her; a wisp of a memory flitting behind her eyelids. “Anya,” she said, and he nodded. “But your plan…it failed. Aren’t you angry?” Her fingers caressed the door handle lightly. She wondered if they’d be glad to see her up at the mansion, if she had a headstone. The thought made her shudder.
“No. Those in charge now know of what we are capable. They shall learn to treat us with the respect we are due.” The sadness in his expression was gone, replaced with a steely resolve she well recognized. “You have a place in my Brotherhood, if you should ever choose to take it. I am not sure it is much of a consolation, but it is all I am capable of offering at the moment.”
Part of her was tempted, but she wondered if it was the part of her that was him. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she said instead, trained by years of Southern manners to politeness.
“The least I could do,” he murmured, and she felt her door open of its own volition. Part of her was angry that he should be able to use his powers for such mundane things.
All mine will ever be is a weapon. “Take care of yourself. I imagine I’ll see you again, one day.”
“Yeah.” Rogue stepped out of the car and watched as he drove away. The air whipped the white streaks of her hair around her face, and she tucked them back determinedly as she began to walk. She hadn’t lied to him; she didn’t think she’d dye the strands, as strange as it probably made her look. They were a part of her; unwanted, maybe, but a part nonetheless. Like he was.
She’d just have to learn to live with it.
Author: Sionnain
Verse: Movieverse, immediately follows X1
Characters: Rogue, Magneto. Gen, AU.
Rating: E
Word Count: 1950
Summary: The X-Men weren’t able to find Magneto in time, and Rogue successfully powered the machine to completion. There’s just one slight aberration from the original plan; she didn’t die.
AN: Many thanks to Penknife for the beta. This fic was written for the Demented_Allure AU Challenge. The title and the quote are from the Elliot Smith song, “Between the Bars,” a song that Ion_bond introduced to me and that I just love.
People you've been before
That you don't want around anymore-
That push and shove and won't bend to your will.
At first she thought she couldn’t be dead, because she hurt too badly. Surely in death your body didn’t feel like it was being stretched impossibly tight, didn’t thrum with the lingering effects of too much power that wasn’t your own, didn’t feel like your mind had ripped and torn…
Unless her mama was right and she was the Devil’s spawn after all. Maybe she was in Hell, and Hell wasn’t as much fire as it was just burning.
It hurt to open her eyes, but Rogue couldn’t stand the torment of not knowing where she was any longer, so she dragged them open slowly and tried to focus. She couldn’t see much, it was too dark, but she could feel movement; a slow rocking motion, soothing and repetitive.
The ocean. She was on a boat. She tried to sit up, but all that did was make the darkness swirl around her and the blood roar in her ears, breaking like waves on a beach. With a low moan, Rogue fell back against the seat, unconscious.
* * *
The next time she stirred she was on a bed, lying stretched out on her back beneath a sheet. She was very thirsty. There was a low murmur in the background, someone speaking, and she strained through the pain to hear what they were saying.
“…have to lie low for awhile, of course. Meet me back at the fortress in two weeks, once I see what will happen with the girl.”
His voice. Magneto.
“No. There’s been no change. She’s still unconscious. Remarkable, really, that she’s not dead.”
Rogue tried to move, to make her body listen to her mental commands. She managed to sit up just a little, leaning on weak elbows, but the effort of it exhausted her almost immediately. The dark, deep oblivion rose to meet her, where there was no light, no remembered pain.
* * *
Something cold slid down her throat; Rogue’s eyes flew open as she realized someone was holding her mouth ajar with a black-gloved hand on her chin, a glass pressed to her lips. She sputtered on the drink and stared wildly at him.
“Don’t try to move,” he murmured. His free hand reached up and stroked her hair away from her forehead. “Just sip the water, there you are.” His voice was soft, gentle. He didn’t seem as scary as she remembered, though maybe it was because she could hear him in her head, too, urging her to drink.
Obediently, she sipped the water, so thirsty she could have downed four glasses without stopping.
When she’d finished, he smiled at her. It made his eyes less cold. “Good girl.”
“Did-did-” she started trembling violently as tears started at the corners of her eyes. She felt trapped, like an animal, unable to form the words she so desperately needed to ask.
“Shh,” he murmured, catching her tears on his fingers. The leather was warm on her cheeks. “Don’t. Try to relax before you speak.”
Rogue took several deep breaths, hauling air into her starved lungs. To her chagrin, she realized he was holding her gently, like a doll, in his arms. She swallowed and tried again to speak. She had to know.
“Did it-did it work?”
His eyes widened a fraction in surprise. “Yes, of course it did.”
He reached out and lightly traced the white she could see in her peripheral vision. Her hair…she wondered idly if all of it was white. “I must admit I’m shocked you asked.”
Inside her head, she could still feel his certainty. Maybe that was why it was the first thing she’d wanted to know. “But I didn’t die, like you thought I would.” Her voice sounded rough, as if she’d consumed the glass along with the water.
“No,” he murmured, easing her back on the bed. He stood looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. “Also a surprise, but a welcome one, I must admit.” He took the glass and carried it into the bathroom. She was frightened when he left; she was so weak, it was hard to keep her eyes open.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, afraid. She needed water, but she couldn’t move.
He returned and reached for her again, pressing the glass to her lips. “I won’t.”
* * *
She stayed with him for three weeks as she recovered her strength.
At first she slept, waking up only for light meals and water, endless amounts of water, of which she couldn’t get enough. She wanted to ask him if they thought she was dead, the X-Men, but she didn’t. It was easier not to think about that.
He helped her shower, which was embarrassing but necessary. She stood in the tub and pressed her palms flat to the ceramic tiled wall, letting the warm water slide over her skin. She could feel the metal in the bathroom, just a little, like a tickle in the back of her mind. It was strangely soothing.
After a week, she was able to shower without his help and eat something more than clear broth and toast. One night he returned with a pizza, and she devoured it eagerly, the taste alive and sharp. The cheese was too hot and burned the roof of her mouth, but she didn’t care. It was the best thing she’d ever eaten.
He sat across from her and ate his piece with a knife and a fork, drinking a bottle of water. She had a Coke. He turned the television on to watch the news, and that was when they saw it, how the world leaders had all died from “radiation poisoning” following the strange occurrence at the summit.
He’d jumped to his feet and stared at the television, his hands clenched in a fist. He’d slammed out of the room, his pizza forgotten on the table. He didn’t come back for several hours.
Rogue had stared at the phone, but the only number she remembered was her parents in Mississippi. She tried another number, one hazy in her memory, but it was in Washington, not Westchester.
It was Senator Kelly’s office. Rogue set the receiver gently in the cradle and switched the television on to a documentary about haunted castles in Ireland. She wondered how long she’d be dialing numbers she’d never known.
When he came back, she watched him carefully before speaking. “It didn’t work.”
“Not as I’d planned, no.” He looked scary again. She’d begun to think of him as benign, really; he’d been nothing but perfectly solicitous and vaguely apologetic to her the entire time they’d been together. She was starting to be afraid of him again.
“I’m better now, Magneto. I’m still kind of weak but I need to go back. They’ll be looking for me. The Professor will find me.” She wasn’t sure if she was saying this because she wanted to go back, or if she was warning him that they’d be looking for her. Maybe they wouldn’t, though. Maybe they thought she was dead.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” he said brusquely, and left again. He didn’t come back until long after she was asleep.
* * *
They left the next day, in a small blue Ford Escort, the last car she ever would have expected Magneto to drive. The little car was cramped, but he looked perfectly at home piloting the car smoothly in and out of traffic. She wondered where they were. Rogue kept her eyes focused outside the window and watched for a sign, some indication of what state they were in and how long it would be before they reached the Institute.
New Jersey.
Not so very far away, then.
She could barely feel the car in her mind anymore. His powers had nearly faded, though she still could still feel his presence in there, like a ghost or maybe an echo, and it was very strange to share your mind with someone who had tried to kill you. They drove through the countryside in silence, some classical symphony playing on the radio, broken occasionally by news of the slain world leaders and their hunt for the man responsible.
“Mutant,” Rogue said sharply, unaware she’d spoken out loud until she saw the curve of his mouth turn upwards, his eyes still on the road.
Rogue stared at her reflection in the window, at the white locks of hair framing her face. She touched them curiously. It was weird to think that her hair would stay like that, forever, that it would grow in white instead of brown.
“I suspect you should be able to dye it,” Magneto said, surprising her. “If you want.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a shrug, settling in her seat. “I kinda like it.”
He hadn’t responded, but she had the strangest thought that maybe he was pleased about that.
He stopped the car about a mile from the mansion and looked over at her. “You’ll understand if I don’t take you to the gate.”
She nodded. “I understand.” He would need a new car, of course, since she knew the make and model of this one, including the license plate. He had to know that she would tell them what it was, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“Rogue,” he began, his voice gruff. “I hope you know that it-none of this was personal. I regretted the necessity of your death very much.” His eyes looked faraway, sad. “I had a daughter, once.”
Rogue saw her; a wisp of a memory flitting behind her eyelids. “Anya,” she said, and he nodded. “But your plan…it failed. Aren’t you angry?” Her fingers caressed the door handle lightly. She wondered if they’d be glad to see her up at the mansion, if she had a headstone. The thought made her shudder.
“No. Those in charge now know of what we are capable. They shall learn to treat us with the respect we are due.” The sadness in his expression was gone, replaced with a steely resolve she well recognized. “You have a place in my Brotherhood, if you should ever choose to take it. I am not sure it is much of a consolation, but it is all I am capable of offering at the moment.”
Part of her was tempted, but she wondered if it was the part of her that was him. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she said instead, trained by years of Southern manners to politeness.
“The least I could do,” he murmured, and she felt her door open of its own volition. Part of her was angry that he should be able to use his powers for such mundane things.
All mine will ever be is a weapon. “Take care of yourself. I imagine I’ll see you again, one day.”
“Yeah.” Rogue stepped out of the car and watched as he drove away. The air whipped the white streaks of her hair around her face, and she tucked them back determinedly as she began to walk. She hadn’t lied to him; she didn’t think she’d dye the strands, as strange as it probably made her look. They were a part of her; unwanted, maybe, but a part nonetheless. Like he was.
She’d just have to learn to live with it.