Fic: The Long Hard Road Out of Hell - 1/? [Rogue, Logan, others]
- 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
<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,"
"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.
"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.
Thats one more kid wholl 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