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Fic: The Long Hard Road Out of Hell - 1/? [Rogue, Logan, others]

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  • victoria p.
    Title: The Long Hard Road Out of Hell Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: Rogue is attacked. She tries to get better. It s hard. Rating: R -
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 3, 2001
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      Title: The Long Hard Road Out of Hell
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: Rogue is attacked. She tries to get better. It's hard.
      Rating: R - violence, language, sexual situations, "mature themes"
      Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
      fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
      Archive: If you've already got my stuff, yes. If not, please just let me
      know you're taking it.
      Feedback: Me = Feedback whore...
      Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete. And virtual chocolate to anyone
      who recognizes the last name I chose for Marie.
      Dedication: To Jen, who wanted angst... did I do right for you?

      < > indicates thoughts
      ~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
      // // indicates memories


      The Long Hard Road Out of Hell

      Marie Compson, currently known as Rogue to most of her friends, gathered her
      books and belongings into her backpack. Looking around, she was amazed to
      see the library empty, except for a cleaning woman and the librarian, who
      was checking her watch impatiently.

      "I'm sorry," she said softly to the woman behind the desk as she walked out.
      "I lost track of time."

      The woman smiled tiredly. "No problem, dear. It happens."

      Rogue shouldered her backpack and headed out to the parking lot. It was
      dark, but she wasn't nervous. She was too busy thinking about her paper on
      Milton's _Samson Agonistes_. A junior at Sarah Lawrence, she still lived at
      Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and drove to the college every day.
      It seemed safer than dorming with people who might not accept a roommate who
      could kill with a touch.

      Muttering to herself about reorganizing her opening paragraph as she reached
      the car, she didn't notice anything wrong until it was too late.

      An arm wrapped around her throat and she felt the cold metal of a knife
      press into her flesh. "Scream and I'll kill you," he whispered in her ear,
      his breath smelling of cigarettes and orange juice. With his other hand, he
      managed to get a pair of handcuffs on her.

      Her mind raced through possible escape plans. She didn't have much leverage
      and when she opened her mouth to speak, he said, "Don't beg. Be a good girl
      and you might even enjoy it." The tone of his voice sent shivers down her
      spine. He pushed her up against the car and fumbled with something in his
      pockets. He forced her face down onto the hood and kept her pinned with his
      weight. She squirmed as his hand scrabbled over her skirt and coat.

      She raised her head. "Don't do this," she whispered, trying to sound tough.

      He shoved her back down, hard. She cried out when her forehead hit the
      metal. "I told you to shut up, bitch."

      She heard the rasp of his zipper and started talking again. "I'm a mutant.
      You're going to get killed if you touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me!"
      This last came out as a shriek, earning her another smack and the knife once
      again pressed to her throat.

      "Don't push me, missy," he snarled. "I got no problems offin' a mutie."
      Then, "On second thought, thanks for warnin' me." And there was the sound of
      tearing foil.

      <Oh, God,> she thought. <He's got a condom?>

      His hand once again raised her skirt up -- he pushed the hem into her cuffed
      hands. "Keep that outta my way, won'tcha?" he taunted. He pressed his
      forearm against her neck, the blade of the knife nicking her slightly. The
      more she struggled, the deeper it would press, she knew. She could smell the
      metal tinged with blood, and her stomach rose into her throat.

      With one swift, brutal motion he pulled down her tights and panties and
      forced himself into her. She struggled again, not caring about the knife
      anymore, and screamed as he thrust into her.

      His hand came around and clapped over her mouth. Immediately, the connection
      opened up and she could feel his mind -- and all the sick hatred it
      contained -- rushing into her. She felt him weaken and was able to push him
      over. She fell over backwards with him, and scrambled to get free.

      Her breathing was heavy and she vomited repeatedly, until she was sure she'd
      thrown up the lining of her stomach. She couldn't scream at first, and then
      she couldn't stop.


      She had no memory of running to the security guard at the parking lot
      entrance, no recollection of mentally crying out for Professor Xavier, and
      no remembrance of being taken to the hospital by the nice lady cop who
      didn't seem to care that she was a mutant.

      Then Jean and Scott were there.

      "I hope I didn't wake you," was the first thing she said.

      They looked shocked and exchanged glances. Jean said, "No, Rogue. It's only
      midnight. Scott, why don't you wait outside? Detective Ramirez," that was
      the nice lady cop, "I'm going to examine her now." Jean patted the stirrups.
      "Rogue, I'm sorry, but we have to do this."

      Rogue curled herself into a ball on the examination table. "Don't touch me,"
      she whimpered.

      "Rogue, please?"

      "The more you give us," Ramirez said, "the easier it will be to put that
      bastard away, Rogue."
      That thought made her unclench her fists and put her feet up in the

      "She fucking tried to kill me," she whispered hoarsely. "I was just looking
      for a little fun."

      Ramirez looked at Jean, face full of questions. Jean straightened up and put
      a gloved hand on the side of Rogue's head. "Marie, you have to fight him.
      You're stronger than he is."

      Ramirez watched, fascinated. "What's going on?"

      "Rogue's mutation," Jean explained, "is to absorb other people's minds and
      energy through her skin. When she touched --"

      "Calhoun. Newton Calhoun," the detective supplied.

      "When she touched him, she absorbed his memories and some of his
      personality. We'll have to work with her to make sure she can control him.
      Right, Rogue?"

      "She thought she was too good for me, but I showed her," Rogue spat.

      ~Marie, you can do this. Come on, Marie.~

      ~Jean. Jean, he's so strong. He hates so much. I, I--~

      "Come on, Marie."

      The girl on the table closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then growled,
      "Go ahead, Jeannie."

      Jean was startled. They'd all thought Logan was long gone from Rogue's mind,
      the way he was long gone from their lives. Obviously, there was enough of
      him there to help Rogue push Calhoun back.

      Jean was able to finish the examination without interruption. Rogue's knees
      buckled as she climbed down off the table, and the other women reached out
      to help her. "Don't touch me!" she cried again, crossing her arms over her
      chest and shrinking back against the table.

      "Okay, Rogue," Jean said softly. "We'll be right outside if you need us."
      She and the detective left the room so the girl could get dressed.

      Rogue pulled on the clothes that Jean had brought her -- the clothes she'd
      been wearing were now evidence, not that she'd ever wear them again
      anyway -- and stood looking at herself in the mirror. Wide, dark eyes. A
      mottled bruise covering most of her forehead. An inch-long cut on her neck,
      stitched closed. Long brown and white hair and pale, deadly skin... She
      hated what she saw. *He* hated what she saw.

      She looked over the table of instruments that had been laid out for the
      exam. There didn't seem to be -- <ah, that'll work,> she thought, picking up
      a sharp, flat tool. It would do nicely. She slashed at her wrists, sawing
      back and forth when the blade didn't cut deep enough the first time.

      She was working on her right wrist when the door opened. "Rogue, are you
      almost ready --" Jean looked up and saw the girl she'd come to love as a
      sister bleeding heavily from both wrists. "Scott! Get a nurse! We need
      sutures and bandages," she shouted, both vocally and mentally. "Rogue,
      honey, please don't do this," she continued, quickly pulling on gloves and
      applying pressure to the younger woman's wrists.

      Jean sewed her up and bandaged her and bundled her into the car, never
      letting Rogue out of her sight.




      “That’s one more kid who’ll never get to go to school / Never get to fall in
      love / Never get to be cool” – “Rockin’ in the Free World” – Neil Young


      The Muse's Fool - http://victoria_jp.tripod.com/home.htm
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