Fic: Perfect Ring of Scars 12: Submission
- Title/Part: PRS 12: Submission
Series: Perfect Ring of Scars
Author: Shana Nolan
Genre: angst!! (J,L,S,R)
Rating: strong R (implied sexual sitches, language, violence, drug usage)
Archive: the usual suspects, and others will ask first
Summary: to quote a line from a later part: "the year from hell"
Disclaimers: Fox and Marvel Entertainment Group have the X-Men and their
movie. Stan Lee, I worship at your feet. I don't own anyone and I don't
intend to sell this. no money, no sue, no powers. but my CB handle was
Phoenix (great, date yourself, why don't you).
Comments: are welcome. Flames, however, are only accepted from a mutant
named Pyro and even he knows better.
"slave screams he hears but doesn't want to listen, slave screams he's being
beat into submission"
In a perfect world, the melancholy that set over a person could be brought
on by silence. Loneliness. The stillness of an empty room. The heavy air
of a coffin and a six foot hole. The wordless pain of tears. The heart
and mind, in that state, lingered in the fields of shadows when they
realised that whatever had happened, whatever was lost, was worth ruminating
She often wondered if the perfect world actually existed.
What she did know, however, is that one day the melancholy would find her.
Something had to happen. Somewhere, especially in the past year, something
had to give. Break. Snap.
Shatter to pieces at her feet.
She should have known He would be involved somehow. When she washed His
blood off her hands and arms, staring at her own crimson marred reflection,
the shadows played with her and the strange melancholy desire sang.
As far as she knew, He would survive. Doctor Marc Angelo, chief of staff
and a level headed man brave enough to kick her out of her own territory,
had driven her from the trauma room when she tried to help, relegating her
to the abyss of anxious, unknowing contemplation.
The abyss however, could not include the sea of anxious faces that stared at
her. Her former comrades, her new friends and hospital coworkers, all in
It was too much.
She was a doctor-- a professional trained to deal with these kind of
things-- but watching Scott Summers bleed out on the floor of Saint
Michael's was her breaking point. The point that stripped away her precious
control. Marc Angelo saw that and exiled her. Remy LeBeau, though still
very much a stranger, saw that and frowned a little.
As if she still had feelings for Scott, and she was the only one who
couldn't see it.
Truth was, she always did and always would. Despite Logan, despite Nigel,
she had only loved Him, her sentimental side otherwise cold and abused. He
made her truly smile. He made her truly miserable. He ruled her heart, even
And she felt His pain as if it were her own. She couldn't help it.
Try not to die a little when you hear the telltale warning klaxon of a heart
monitor hooked up to the person that owns a part of you.
She shook her head. This was not the time... or was it? She had nothing
else to do, all but ordered to stay put until further notice. The
melancholy was practically sitting next to her, egging on her thoughts,
abusing her telepathy to make her doubt everything that had happened.
It was just a year. A year within a lifetime. A lifetime that she actually
missed in that space of time.
For a moment, she wondered how to get it all back. How to, while ignoring
the blood stained clothes on the bench next to her, repair the damage done
by the year from hell.
How to forget the pain. How to make the others forget, or at least forgive.
Certain faults were hers, she knew and admitted that. Yes, she had kicked
them out of her apartment a few weeks ago. Yes, she had left Westchester.
Yes, she hadn't told anyone where she was going and why she was doing it.
Worst of all, she had fucked Logan. She had opened the door and let herself
be used by his need to be closer to an untouchable girl. She had used him
to exorcise her pain.
That was when she learned to hate herself, if only for a moment. To hate
Scott for blaming the dreams on her, to hate Logan for not leaving before it
was too late.
And to hate herself all over again for everything she could have prevented.
No good memories came from those actions... but she would not apologise for
them. She would not concede her mistakes to someone equally faulted.
He was human, even if he was a mutant. Flawed and finite. Neither of them
were perfect, and they-- she was a fool to ever think otherwise.
What made her want to go back? What made her think, for even a moment, that
she could? When she had told him she wouldn't come crawling back, she had
meant it. She had moved on and found a new life.
A life that was quickly shattering apart of its own volition.
Absently, she wondered if she could return without crawling.
Scott's actions haunted her. He called off the marriage for a set of erotic
dreams. He took Rogue's virginity in a moment of intoxication and taught
her the agony of losing a child in one breath.
Well, maybe it wasn't that simple.
Where was the line in the sand? If the dreams didn't damn her, would the
dreams-come-to-life do the job? Scott had broken off the relationship--
which was forgettable with time-- but one night of failed judgment on his
behalf had gotten him run through on adamantium blades.
Logan. His was the most clear and least damning role in the whole sick
scenario. He was willing to release his grip when the guard fired the gun,
but instinct and the pain of a bullet burying itself in his leg had driven
his claws deeply into Scott's chest and lungs.
The year from hell was living up to its title.
Like the coward she considered herself at the moment, she was hiding in the
employee locker room of the hospital trying to quell the mental demons.
Rogue was in a private room, recovering and confused, her memory of how she
arrived spotty. Logan was in a cell at the 52nd Precinct, soon to be bailed
out by Ororo and Remy.
And Scott was in the ICU, lucky to still be breathing.
The year from hell officially ended with a day worse than any inquisitor's
finally, the end: Perfect Ring of Scars
...with a serious Logan fetish
"Why be afraid of the snakes in the garden when there are spiders under your
bed?" Disturbing Behavior