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Fic: DAS: Someday (1/1) Rogue

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  • Ally
    Title: Dance Among the Stars: Someday Author: Ally Email: roguegirl01@yahoo.com Rating: Hmmmm...PG-13? For language and slight gore. Summary: A traumatic
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 2, 2001
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      Title: Dance Among the Stars: Someday
      Author: Ally
      Email: roguegirl01@...
      Rating: Hmmmm...PG-13? For language and slight gore.
      Summary: A traumatic experience brings everything to
      light
      Series: Dance Among the Stars #4
      Category: Rogue POV
      Disclaimer: If I owned all of these people, do you
      think this would be a mere fanfic? No, it'd be canon,
      blazoned on the walls, etc etc etc. So, let's just say
      that, since you haven't seen this on the big screen,
      in an authorized book, or on TV, the characters in it
      aren't mine. Of course, if you hadn't wanted me to
      write about them, why the hell'd you let 'em clamor
      about in my head for gods only know how long, making
      me have to write this? Hmmmm?
      Archive: WRFA, list. Otherwise, ask. You'll receive.
      Trust me. I have no dignity.
      Author's Notes: I wanted to get her in here somehow.
      Plus, I think she made a good person to rat on Rogue.
      *g*



      -------------------------------------------------------

      I can feel that the end of my journey through my
      life's record in my mind is near. The events of the
      year following my reckless but ultimately successful
      actions in Chicago blur in my mind's eye, blending
      together into a swirling vortex. It's hard to keep
      track of things like what I got for my nineteenth
      birthday or who taught me that really cool kick that I
      used against that firebreather in Massachusets when
      I'm trying to sort through things to get to the
      present.

      The most recent of my memories shine brightly in my
      mind's eye now. Damn it all, I don't want to see this!
      But they're pulling me, making me see, making me feel
      what I just wanted to shut away, no matter that there
      was some good mixed with the bad...

      -------------------------------------------------------

      They were called Sentinels, and they were some badass
      mothafuckers.

      Sorry, there he goes again, taking over my
      descriptions and adding his own flavor to 'em. Let's
      see, where was I?

      Oh, yeah, the Sentinels. They were frightening in a
      way which was unique, different from anything we had
      experience so far. Created by the evil Bolivar Trask,
      who immediately sold every mechanical monster he sold
      to the Humanity First groups around the nation.

      Did I mention how Trask was one of our favorite
      people? Yeah, right up there with Erik Lenscherr,
      founder of the Brotherhood. Lovely people you can meet
      in our line of work.

      We had grown, by the way. Yeah, now there was Cyclops,
      Jean, Storm, me, Iceman--you know, Bobby--and a woman
      named Carol Danvers who was a recent addition to the
      group. She was about Jean's age, a Brit who decided
      that her powers could be put to their best use here in
      America helping the X-Men.

      How'd she find out about us all the way over in
      England? Well, it seems the X-Men were getting more
      than their fair share of fame in the mutant community.
      Outside of it, too, for that matter. In fact, Xavier
      was already making noises about starting international
      groups in other countries to do work like the X-Men
      did in America. Let me tell you, that man may have
      hope that the world will be good and wonderful and all
      that shit, but unlike many of his kind, he's very
      ambitious and willing to do the dirty work
      himself--well, the coordinating of it, anyway.

      So, the Sentinels became our most difficult opponents.
      And their numbers seemed endless. Of course, they were
      machines which could be reproduced at their masters'
      will, so that made sense. They just never seemed to
      stop coming, though.

      We made mistakes at first, when it came to dealing
      with them. I don't know how the Professor got the
      money to pay the city of Pittsburgh for the way our
      getting rid of our newest enemies in that first fight
      demolished half a block of warehouses. Thankfully,
      most of them had been abandoned--and not yet occupied
      by the homeless. Most of them, anyway. Then there was
      the day that a group of Sentinels was reported trying
      to round up some of the Morlocks of New York City's
      underground. Nah, I don't think the mayor was too
      happy with us after that one. Wall Street will never
      be the same.

      I should add here that I didn't like fighting the
      Sentinels much, on a personal level. I didn't get to
      do much besides keep the Blackbird warm while the
      others went out and fought. When I did get a chance to
      join in the fun, it was mainly to guide mutants we
      were rescuing to the plane. I couldn't touch the
      victims of the Sentinels. And the Sentinels were made
      of metal and mechanical parts, which meant there were
      no memories for me to pick up with "accidental"
      brushes of skin against skin. Damn them.

      I hate an enemy I can't fight against. I hate an enemy
      I can't fight against and whom I can't touch even
      more. It's sad, thinking of how desperate I was for
      touch, for memories then.

      It was during our fifth battle with the Sentinels that
      things took a suprising and painful turn for the
      worst. Suprising for everyone else and incredibly
      painful for me, anyway. I, as was becoming standard
      procedure during our battles with the metal monsters,
      was manning the Blackbird. I was even pouting a little
      because everyone else got to go out and beat up the
      damn things and I had to stay behind. Yeah, I know,
      pretty childish, huh?

      Cyclops and Carol were doing the most damage to the
      Sentinels. I was pretty proud of 'em, even while I was
      busy being envious. The whole team worked in sync with
      each other, Jean, Storm and Iceman providing the
      support and adding the final touches to finish off the
      baddies. Gotta love teamwork, even if you're just
      observing it.

      However, probably because of her abilities, which
      included invulnerability, Carol wasn't be as careful
      as she should have been. She hacked off one Sentinel's
      head with the severed arm plate of another, and it was
      her own damn bad luck that the head fell on her. Of
      course, that alone wouldn't have been enough to hurt
      her much. That invulnerability I mentioned. But under
      the head and over her was the arm plate, and its sharp
      edge shoved its way into her chest.

      Even as I watched and went numb with shock, I knew
      that she wouldn't have a chance in hell.
      Invulnerability doesn't cover internal organs being
      spilled onto the ground.

      Thankfully, the other X-Men noticed what had happened
      right away. Jean and Storm gathered her up using the
      technique they had perfected since the Statue of
      Liberty incident which I tried to forget as much as I
      could while retaining Logan's strong presense in my
      head. They carried her with them as they ran to the
      Blackbird, Cyclops and Iceman following and providing
      cover.

      I could tell from the blank hopelessnes I saw in
      Jean's eyes as she tried to staunch the flow of
      Carol's blood--so red, so damn red--that there was
      nothing that would save her. I gave up the pilot's
      seat to Scott so that I could go kneel beside where
      Carol lay bleeding her life out onto the Blackbird's
      previously pristine metal floors.

      "Damn," I whispered sadly, looking into the fading
      blue of her eyes. She and I hadn't been especially
      close, but she'd been so kind to me, never flinching
      away from an accidental brush of my cloth-covered skin
      against her, sometimes even touching me voluntarily, a
      squeeze of her hand on my shoulder, a slight hug when
      I did something well on a mission. In a way, she was
      as close to an older sister as I think I'm ever going
      to get.

      Even then, I was thinking of her in the past tense,
      and I was hating myself for it, too. I stared down at
      her, tears gathering in my eyes, uncertain of what to
      say to her in those last moments.

      When she saw me, though, Carol's eyes lit up. "Let
      me...live through...you," she whispered weakly, blood
      bubbling up out of her mouth with every word, with
      every breath.

      I knew what she was asking. I wanted to shrink away
      from her. There was something different here,
      something that wasn't me brushing a bare hand against
      an enemy's bare skin during battle to gain memories.
      What she asked spoke of love, of kinship that I hadn't
      dared hope for. It terrified me.

      So I did the only thing I could do. Tears streaming
      down my face, I leaned down and hugged her, letting my
      bare, tearstained cheek press against her
      blood-spattered face.

      There was something different to the pull this time.
      It came more quickly, with a snap that made me want to
      pull away. Almost. And the feeling of Carol rushing
      into me wasn't anything like what I had experienced
      before. It was like she was running for her life,
      seeking a hiding place from the darkness which was
      ready to swallow her up. Her energy filled my body,
      and my veins felt like they were close to bursting.

      Finally, the pull stopped. I sat up and stared into
      her glassy eyes, knowing that she was truly dead now.
      My tears had stopped, though, because she was with me.
      Her mind bolstered mine, reassured me, and she offered
      me all that she had had.

      It was more than I'd ever absorbed before. So it makes
      sense that I passed out. It also makes sense that I
      started babbling in my unconscious state. You don't
      believe me, you see what it's like to have a buncha
      people in your head and then get a big rush of person
      that is almost as strong as the "you" inside your
      head. Then you try telling me that a gal talking while
      unconcious is unusual. Just try.

      They played me a recording of what I said when I woke
      up. I should have known that they taped every mission.
      Some sort of idea for using the records for training.
      Damn them.

      I s'pose you want to hear it. Fine. Be my guest. I
      just want to warn you, though, that it wasn't pretty.
      Not at all.

      "Rogue!" That was Jean, screaming my name as she
      caught me.

      "My god, why--"

      "Carol asked her to." The soft voice of Storm
      interupting Scott's shocked outburst.

      "I couldn't die." That's when I started babbling. The
      only thing you could call it. "None of us have
      deserved to be here before. Only me, and Logan, you
      know. We're the ones who cared for her. She's our
      family. The others...dammit, I should have realized.
      You should have realized. Why didn't you, Jean? She's
      all torn up inside and there's nothing I can do. I'll
      have to become part of her or I'll be as bad as the
      ones who haven't yet. Even Erik's managed to integrate
      himself here. But not the ones who..." The Carol in
      me, fading out as she came to understand that I
      probably wouldn't have wanted her to say anything.

      "They what, Carol? Who are you talking about? Rogue
      wouldn't touch anyone unless there was extreme danger
      to us, and she's only done that once. So what the hell
      are you talking about?" Bobby, trying to act all big
      and manly. Okay, maybe he was by then, but not so I
      ever noticed in a female sort of way.

      "Hush, Bobby. Neither Rogue or Carol in her mind need
      the third degree right now." Scott, calm again.

      "But you want to know, don't you? You rat-bastards
      wanna know what this little bitch did to us. Well,
      I'll tell ya. She raped us. Or good enough. She's been
      running around touchin' mutants in battle for the last
      year, getting away with their memories. Bet ya sorry
      fuckers don't know why she's doing it, either. Maybe
      I'll tell ya." Don't ask me. One of the mutants I've
      absorbed lately. I can't even tell you now which one.

      "Oh?" Jean wouldn't ask anymore than that.

      "Yeah. Bitch deserves ta be ratted on. See, the girl
      got it inta her head that she could experience touch
      through the memories of the peeps she took power from.
      None of us have faded much, what with her riflin'
      through our memories looking for the good stuff at
      least twice, sometimes as much as ten times a day. The
      girl just goes off into a trance and lets loose on the
      little images in her mind. She's gotten pretty good at
      it. A while back she got the bright idea that some of
      the enemy would have some memories that might take
      lookin' into. Guess she got tired of the same old,
      same old, even Logan's very fascinating sex life. But
      ya don't wanna know about that. So she's got us
      rattlin' around in here, and she tries to pretend that
      we don't exist except to drag memories out of. But
      this new bitch she let in is gonna change that. I can
      tell." The voice, mine and not mine, was smug.

      "Pardon me, my friends. I let one of her victims take
      control for a moment to let you see what she has
      become. I suspected, but I had no proof. Who was I to
      object to her almost constant meditation? She kept her
      distance from me, though, as if she knew I was close
      to the truth. So it wasn't until now that I was sure.
      You must help her, Jean. You, and the Professor, you
      are the only ones who can help her. Except--" Carol's
      voice coming from my mouth stopped, as if she didn't
      want to complete that thought.

      "Except who, Carol? Rogue? Oh, god, is this
      confusing." Jean only mutters to herself when she's
      really frustrated.

      "I shouldn't say. He's been gone for so long. His
      presense in her mind has lessened with each person she
      has violated. Truly, though, Jean, she never hurt any
      of them." Carol's plea for Jean's, for the team's
      understanding was a ruse. I could tell from her tone.
      She was trying to protect me, I believe. Protect my
      feelings, even after all she had found out about me.
      "They only remain in her mind because she holds so
      tight to their memories. If she'd let go...if there
      were just some way for her to touch...I don't know
      what to do!" I believe that was me, but I still can't
      be sure.

      "We'll help her," Jean promised.

      "Thank you." Carol or me. At that point it was like
      our voices were merging.

      There was silence in the plane after that, a silence
      that reigned over practically everyone until I woke
      up.

      That's when all hell broke loose. If I thought that
      everyone had been angry with me over the incident with
      Suicide and a few others after that, it was nothing
      compared to what they felt now that they knew, really
      knew what I'd been doing to myself for the past few
      years.

      I started crying at some point in the various tirades
      lashed out at me. I remember screaming above their
      voices, "I'm sorry! I just didn't want to be alone! I
      wanted to touch."

      They were all quiet again, and then Storm did
      something that I will always be grateful to her for.
      She came over and wrapped her arms around me. Okay,
      yeah, she still looked pretty damn mad, but she was
      offering me her comfort and support anyway.

      "We're going to have to work with you to get over your
      addiction, Rogue. It's going to be painful, but we
      have to," the Professor said as his chair rolled over
      so that he looked up directly into my eyes.

      I nodded, my head throbbing and my eyes sore from
      crying. I wanted it all to end, finally. The memories
      weren't worth it any more. I began to see what they
      were. A way of hiding from a the world, of keeping
      myself apart even when I thought I wanted to get
      closer to people. They were my excuses to stay out of
      the big game called life.

      And I was sick of them.

      Jean ordered me to lay back down and try to get some
      real rest. I obeyed because I was too sick at heart
      not to. As I slipped off into sleep I heard something
      that, had I been less exhausted, would have had me
      bounding out of the bed and running outa that mansion
      quick as you please.

      "I'm going to use Cerebro to call Logan here."

      Well, damn.

      -------------------------------------------------------

      My dance through the stars is done. Now, all I have to
      do is try to find some happiness and peace in my own
      life. Which, you know, is pretty hard considering the
      fact that the Professor just informed me that Logan's
      on his way and I really don't know what the hell to
      think about that.

      But I do know that I'm gonna be okay. Someday.


      =====
      You know what they say. Big claws, big....
      ~Sarah says from the Wolverine X-Fiction Site

      It's the people who claim they're perfectly sane who really scare me.

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