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"Something a Little Different" Rogue/Scott, R, x2

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  • Jane Doe
    Something A Little Different Summary- Exactly what the title says. Rogue wakes up one morning, hung over. Scott wakes up one morning, hung over. The twist is-
    Message 1 of 1 , May 9, 2003
      Something A Little Different

      Summary- Exactly what the title says. Rogue wakes up
      one morning, hung over. Scott wakes up one morning,
      hung over. The twist is- it�s the same morning, and
      the same bed.

      Authors Note- This takes place after X2. It will
      contain one spoiler, which happens to be the biggest
      one out there. Read at your own risk! This chapter is
      a little short, just to see how it works out.

      Disclaimer- Me? Own something this awesome? Never!

      Chapter One- Morning Surprise


      Sunlight. It felt like acid burning Rogue�s eyes as
      she slowly and painfully opened them, letting out a
      stiff groan. Her most recent memory was of the
      previous afternoon, in class. The night, was nothing
      more than a complete blur, not like she cared. She
      didn�t care what happened, or where she was, but she
      was somewhat comfortable and that�s all that mattered.
      Aside from her aching eyes, pounding headache, and
      horrible tasting mouth, she was fine. That was about
      it, the only thing that could be defined as � fine�
      with the past events in the recent month. Between
      Logan finding out who he really was, John having this
      sudden evil side, and her mentor�s death, everyone�s
      lives fell apart like a broken puzzle. Slowly, but
      surely, it was piecing itself back together. Logan was
      accepting who he was and dealing with what came with
      it, John was getting help from Professor Xavier before
      he � lost control of himself�, but then there was
      Scott. Rogue will never forget his reaction the second
      Jean died, right as the jet had lifted off the ground.
      He wasn�t crying, he couldn�t. It had been that way
      everyday since, like he was reliving the same
      nightmare day by day. That�s probably how it really
      felt, but she didn�t have the slightest clue. She
      couldn�t guess, that wouldn�t be fair, and she hardly
      knew Scott. Sure, they exchanged a few words at random
      times, rarely was it not about schoolwork. But
      starting a conversation with mentioning his dead
      girlfriend wasn�t all that bright. Lately, he�d been
      scaring her. Not in the horror movie kind of way, heck
      she wasn�t even sure if it was anything more than a
      figment of her imagination. Obvious enough he had
      seemed depressed, no, not seemed, he was depressed.
      There was just something else, but Rogue was having
      enough trouble figuring out who she was, let alone
      someone else.

      Scott�s nose twitched, the smallest movement waking
      him. For one blissful moment, he thought he was dead,
      until the pain caught up with him. By that point, he
      wished he was dead. What happened last night? Maybe he
      just went to bed right after dinner. Well, dinnertime,
      he hadn�t been eating lately. Morning after morning,
      it all started the same. Waking up, cold and in pain,
      though it wasn�t always physical pain like right now,
      it was always dwelling inside of him. He recognized
      this state from a long time ago, when he was no older
      than- well, Rogue was the first name that came to
      mind. A hang over, that�s what it was. He had never
      gone overboard on the drinking, he�d never even drink.
      Jean was the one who warned him of what it could do to
      him, since she was the doctor and all. What last night
      caused him to drink enough to forget what it was? His
      limp arm hanging over the edge of the bed allowed his
      fingertips to brush against the carpet, or at least,
      what was on the carpet. A shirt, he could feel the
      cloth on his fingers. But it was silk, and not one
      article clothing he owned was silk. Ever so slightly
      lifting his neck just enough to look over the edge.
      Even if he didn�t own a silk shirt, he certainly
      didn�t own a girls shirt. Quickly, he sat up, blood
      rushing faster through the vessels in his head. There
      was shuffling from behind him, in the bed. He turned
      his neck just in time to come face to face with-


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