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Fic: Parallax: 1/7: Rogue POV

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  • victoria p.
    Title: Parallax Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: Everyone sees things from a different angle... Rating: PG-13 - language Disclaimer: All X-Men
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 10, 2001
      Title: Parallax
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: Everyone sees things from a different angle...
      Rating: PG-13 - language
      Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
      fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
      Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool [http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool%5d,
      anyone who's already got my stuff. If not, ask, and you shall receive.
      Feedback: Is delightful, de-lovely, and delicious
      Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete.
      Dedication: To jenn, for the plot bunny. Hope it satisfies.

      { } indicates POV


      Main Entry: par·al·lax
      Pronunciation: 'par-&-"laks
      Function: noun
      Etymology: Middle French parallaxe, from Greek parallaxis, from
      parallassein to change, from para- + allassein to change, from allos
      Date: 1580
      : the apparent displacement or the difference in apparent direction of
      an object as seen from two different points not on a straight line with
      the object; especially : the angular difference in direction of a
      celestial body as measured from two points on the earth's orbit




      I lay there, thinking how wonderful it was to be warm. It had been so
      long since I'd been warm, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

      I knew I'd made the right choice when I climbed into Wolverine's -- no,
      Logan's -- trailer. I figured things had to get better, right? And, sure
      enough, they did.

      Okay, we were attacked by that huge furry guy, and then I was almost
      incinerated, but I think everything worked out all right. Logan was
      fine; I was fine. We were all good. I remember thinking, I can go to
      school here, and I can make friends.

      That boy Bobby is a cutie, and the fireball kid, John, isn't bad either.
      Kitty and the other girl -- Jubilee -- had been pretty nice to me, too.
      I hope that doesn't change.

      But still, it was weird, sleeping in a nice, clean bed -- I could smell
      the detergent on the sheets, and it reminded me of home. I felt like I
      was going to cry, and I really didn't want to do that. Even after eight
      months on the road, stupid things like the smell of laundry detergent
      could make me want to run home, even though I knew I wasn't welcome
      there anymore.

      And I couldn't sleep, either. Part of me didn't want to. Every time I
      closed my eyes, I was afraid I'd wake up and it would all be a dream,
      and I'd still be stuck with those truckers who'd tried to --

      Then I heard it.

      Logan. He was grunting. He didn't sound so good.

      I got up and followed the noise down the hall to the room they'd put him
      in. I made sure I knew which one it was. I didn't know him much better
      than I knew anyone else here, but I felt safer with him nearby. I knew
      what he could do, and I was pretty sure he'd protect me if I was

      I didn't even think to put gloves on. I just snuck into his room, and
      there he was. God, he's gorgeous. But he wasn't sleeping well -- he was
      thrashing and mumbling, and I could tell he was having a nightmare.

      <You're not supposed to wake someone who's having a nightmare,> I
      thought, but then I remembered that was sleepwalkers. My momma had
      always woken me from my bad dreams; I figured it was the least I could
      do for Logan. His chest was bare, though, and so were my hands.

      As much as I wanted to touch him -- and oh, God, did I ever (and how sad
      am I that I could think those things when he was obviously in pain?) --
      I couldn't.

      I called his name softly, hoping he'd recognize my voice.

      He woke up suddenly, and his fist came flying towards me. He let out a
      roar, and those claws extended -- I felt something cold slide through me
      and I gasped.

      I didn't even feel the pain at first -- like when you cut yourself
      shaving, and you only feel the sting when the soap gets into the cut?
      That's what it felt like at first. Then I couldn't breathe -- I tried,
      but I just couldn't get enough air.

      He was aghast at what he'd done. I saw the look in his eyes -- fear,
      shame, horror.

      So many things whirled through my brain at that moment: That I hadn't
      gotten to see Alaska, though I'd gotten pretty damn close for a girl
      from Mississippi with untouchable skin, who'd left home with nothing
      more than a duffel full of clothing and three hundred and twenty four
      dollars and eleven cents.

      That maybe, just maybe, I could touch him and my skin wouldn't kick
      in -- that just before I died, I would be able to feel someone else's
      skin against my own one last time.

      And then I thought of his healing thing -- the way his wounds closed up
      mere seconds after they appeared.

      So, I touched him. It was amazing -- this rush of power -- I could
      *feel* my wounds closing, feel the blood pumping in my veins. I could
      smell the fear -- mine and his, our scents mingling. I could hear every
      gasp and indrawn breath, all their hearts racing as they stared at us in
      shock. It was like nails on a chalkboard to my suddenly sensitive ears.

      I never felt more alive -- or more scared -- in my life. Everything was
      so vivid, so real. If that's what Logan's life is like all the time, I
      think I can understand him better than most people.

      I let go as soon as I could breathe easily again. By that point, they
      were all in the hallway, and Jean and Scott were taking care of Logan.

      "It was an accident," I pleaded, when I turned to face all those
      accusing eyes.

      Their silence was more condemning than any words could ever be. The
      other kids parted like the Red Sea to let me through. I raced back to my
      room to think about what I'd done. I'd almost killed the man who saved
      my life. Of course, he'd almost killed me first.

      I didn't plan it, but the urge to survive is way more powerful than you
      can ever imagine. You don't know what it's like until you're
      face-to-face with death and you actually have a choice.

      It wasn't even conscious on my part. I hope he knows that. I swear, I
      really hope he knows I would never hurt him. I think he does. I can feel
      him in my head pretty good, and he's just appalled at what happened, and
      happy he was able to save me.

      So, yeah, everything isn't exactly hunky-dory, but I think it's going to
      be okay. I'm going to see him in the morning -- I know he'll wake up. He
      just has to. He can't -- I can't even think about it if he doesn't.




      Xander: "You have no shame."
      Cordelia: "Oh, please. Like shame is something to be proud of."
      _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_


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