Everything Unsaid

Everything had gone wrong.

 

Everything; after that fateful day when the Professor and Jean Grey had disappeared, nothing ever felt right again,

 

Scott became withdrawn, angry and violent. Storm, at a loss had returned to her native Africa, devoid of her friend and mentor. And Wolverine as usual, had heard the road calling him away.

 

Rogue had kept her word, the next time Wolverine returned to the mansion, mainly out of habit, she was gone. Of those who were left, no one knew where she had gone or when exactly she had left; one day she was there and the next she wasn’t.

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Planes roared overhead, patrolling the blazing skies. Rogue couldn’t remember the last time sky hadn’t been on fire. It must have been before the flood.

 

Rogue ran her hands through her messy hair, pausing slightly when her ungloved hand caught a tangle. She worked her fingers free from the tangle and sighed— when had things gotten so fucked up? Almost 10 years ago, before the blast—things had already begun to fray, the unexplained blast had merely expedited the inevitable.

 

After the explosion, the X Men unofficially disbanded. Rogue herself took off, in search of understanding. She was older now, and had gained valuable insight during her years alone; she was almost 30 now and had since returned to the ruins of the Xavier Institute, to join the fight against the sentinels. Now she was ready.

 

The explosions were getting louder and increasing in frequency, as was the sound of the mechanized giants, lumbering closer. The Mansion, although in ruins, was one of the few remaining Mutant strong holds and the sentinels were determined to see it otherwise.

 

“Rogue?” Rogue looked up into the eyes of Shadowcat who was leaning over her, a concerned expression crossing her face “Bobby says the sentinels will be here within two hours.”

“Is everyone accounted for?” Rogue asked, morbidly aware of their thinly spread defenses

Kitty nodded.

“Good.” Rogue nodded her head once back in return. “Then prepare yourself, this is going to be it. This is our only chance.” Rogue replied seriously, her gaze meeting Kitty’s eyes. 

Kitty nodded “I know” she replied equally as serious, before scampering off to join Bobby.

 

Rogue stood up from her crouched position in the make shift trench that the remaining mutants had dug around the perimeter of the ruins and winced at the pain radiating from her right leg, attempting to shift her bodyweight to her uninjured leg. She looked down at the torn uniform, earlier in the day she had been blasted back down a dirt hill for almost a hundred feet. Rogue was lucky to have escaped alive and mostly unharmed, now was not a time to complain. With a small grunt she leaned down to pull away the bloodied fabric from her calf and washed it with a small amount of water she had in a bottle by her side—for now this would have to do. She crinkled her nose, the smell of gunpowder lingered over everything.

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“Talk to me” Logan answered his cell phone as the MRD truck rattled along the deserted road, his motorcycle had long been destroyed and now he resorted to salvaging ‘abandoned’ MRD vehicles.

“Logan, it’s me” a voice answered from the other side, followed by a short stint of static.

“Rogue?” Logan almost couldn’t believe his ears; he hadn’t spoken or heard from the other mutant since the explosion. He’d seen her once though, or thought he had seen her, he had never been sure.

“Logan. I need you to come to the institute.” Answered a deadpan voice.

“What?”

“The Sentinels. They’re coming and we can’t hold them off. I need you to come back and take the Professor.”

“What?”Logan repeated again, he was having trouble absorbing this new information.

“The Professor, Logan.” Rogue repeated. “Save him.”

“Wait- Rogue-” the other line clicked off. “Shit!” He cursed and spun the car around, although Logan was a wanderer for some reason he was never that far away from ‘home’.

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Rogue looked at the phone in her hand, unsure of what she had expected from the call, but the sound of his gruff voice sent a surge of emotions running through her body that she hadn’t felt, or better yet—ignored, in years.

Staring at the phone in her hand she couldn’t help but smile slightly at the memory of his voice, it was just a voice, no it was his voice. She put the phone down on the rickety table beside her; there would be no need for it in the next few hours. She proceeded to pull her gloves off. It was horrible and morbid, but she couldn’t afford the seconds it would take to pull off her gloves in battle. At least in this way she could provide dying or injured mutants a few moments of peace and darkness amongst all the chaos.

The pounding sounded closer. It would be any minute now.

 

Night had fallen, come, and left and the battle still raged on. It was almost noon now and the sweltering heat combined with the Atlantic humidity was not welcomed. Weakened both in physical strength and numbers the X Men were faltering. Rogue tried to force her shallow breathing with little success. Although they had taken down around half a dozen sentinels, the mechanized giants kept appearing on the horizon with one mission in mind—Kill the mutants.

Rogue groaned slightly as she shifted her position behind a pile of debris, comprised mainly of defeated sentinels and concrete remains. In the early hours of the morning another explosion had sent shrapnel flying in all directions. Rogue had been unlucky enough to get hit while protecting a younger mutant, but lucky enough to still be alive which unfortunately had not been the case for the girl. She prodded her tender ribcage with her fingers, and inhaled sharply as she felt the piece of metal embedded between her ribs, sending waves of pain coursing through her body— she was starting to lose count on the number of injuries she had sustained in the last 24 hours.

Rogue tilted her head back against the wall she was leaning on and bit her lip, her breathing was once again hard and shallow as she released the air through her teeth until the pain subsided to a dull throb; darkness ebbed at her peripherals. She hadn’t realized how hard she was biting her lip until she could taste familiar coppery taste of blood when she tried to lick her dry cracked lips. The blood only seemed to intensify her thirst. Closing her eyes she wondered if the other mutants had seen this as a suicide mission, like she knew it was.

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The roads were desolate, save for the occasional scrap of metal or the dilapidated remains of a building and Logan drove like it was the end of the world, because for all intents and purposes—it was. He knew he was close, although the low grumble of explosions and sentinel operated planes always filled the sky, he knew this was different—the planes flew lower than usual and he could smell the fresh gunpowder and the equally as fresh acidic smell of blood.

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“Rogue..?... Rogue...” The girl in question turned her head slightly and slowly attempted to open her dry and tired eyes. “Oh thank god.” A relieved voice let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. Shadowcat kneeled over Rogue and held onto her friend’s shoulder.

“..Kitty?” Rogue was still orienting herself, what had happened? It all felt like a dream, then the stench of melted rubber and singed fur reached her and she realized the nightmare continued. “How long—” Rogue rephrased her question “W-what time is it?”

“A little over half past noon.” Kitty answered quietly. “You’ve lost blood.” She observed.

Rogue wasn’t sure if she had fallen asleep from pure exhaustion or from the loss of blood; perhaps it was a combination of the two but there was no longer any time to ponder minute questions such as that. She took in as deep of a breath as she could with the shrapnel digging into her. Suddenly Rogue realized exactly how deathly quiet it was. “Kitty. Do you hear that?”

“Hear what Rogue? There’s nothing.”

“Exactly. It’s too quiet.”

 

The lull before the storm.

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Everything was going wrong, again.

 

The sentinels had come, baring more firepower than they had thought possible. The building was on the verge of collapse and still no sign of Logan. Some of the more experienced X men had already fallen prey and Rogue could only hope that the Professor was safe in the underground chamber she had moved him to. The deathly pallor of his skin did nothing to calm her fears, but his vital statistics informed her that he was in fact still alive.

 

“Rogue, you must listen to me… this coma I am in will last for 10 more years, while I do not know the outcome of this battle, you must protect the institute.”

 

Xavier had appeared to her once, right after she had returned to the institute; when she was once again doubting herself and her abilities—or her curse as she often thought of her mutation. His voice had warmed her core and solidified her confidence. While the institute might burn to the ground in the fury of hell itself, she would protect her mentor.

 

“BOBBY! NO!” The sounds of Kitty screaming jolted Rogue back to their bleak reality. Iceman lay a few hundred feet away in a pool of his blood.  Kitty screamed as she tried to run towards her fallen teammate.

“Kitty! Stop!” Rogue yelled as she tried to stop Kitty from running out into the firefight. Rogue stretched her hand out and grabbed her teammate but her fist closed on nothingness as Kitty phased through Rogue’s hand and ran out towards Iceman’s body. “Kitty! Stop listen to me! Come back here!”

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Rogue had lost sight of Kitty, another explosion had gone off and had filled the air with tar colored smoke that made Rogue gag when she tried to inhale. Rogue took a moment to reorient herself after she had been tossed to the ground like a paper doll; she took in as deep as a breath as was allowed by the piercing metal lodged in her ribcage. Slowly pushing herself off the ground, she winced as she brushed off her cheek with the back of her hand, loosening bits of ground and debris from her face, leaving a smattering of pin sized indentations that soon began to well with dollops of crimson blood.

 

In a matter of seconds, everything changed and chaos reigned in full ferocity.

 

Rogue looked up in time to see Kitty on her knees kneeling over Iceman, her face smeared with his blood and buried in his chest as she cried his name over and over. A sentinel appeared unseen from among the wreckage, and pointed its gigantic gun arm to the back of Kitty’s head—the girl too absorbed in her grief to pay attention to her surroundings.

 

Rogue was screaming as she hurled herself towards Kitty. “MOVE!!” Her shoulder collided with the smaller girl’s body, pushing Kitty out of the way. Rogue cried out in agony as the piece of shrapnel embedded itself deeper into her and a blinding whiteness, brighter than fresh fallen snow, cascaded over her line of vision overloading her senses until the only thing she could feel and visualize in her mind’s eye was the tearing and ripping of her flesh

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The area smelled, no reeked of her presence—her sweat, blood and fear all intermingled with the various other smells of the grounds—the sentinel exhaust, burning gasoline, blood from other wounded mutants, a decay from those already gone; but Logan had focused and locked in on hers, and only hers.

 

He slammed the door of the MRD jeep with such intense ferocity that the entire vehicle rattled, as if a small earthquake had passed through it. For the first time in over 10 years Logan saw the mansion, and ironically the view in front of him was not as different as the one he had seen 10 years before—the towers had fallen in on themselves, the windows were blasted in and the entire area was covered in the fine shimmer of black soot—both new and old: remnants and evidence to all the destruction the mansion had been witness to.

 

An explosion to his far left sent his overactive senses into a frenzy.

 

“MOVE!!”

 

Logan stood frozen to the ground. It was her, he could tell it was her in an instant; he could also tell she was different now, aged and matured beyond her years from the slight intonations in her voice in that one word. Move…

 

The circuits connected and Logan jumped into action, running towards the charcoal colored smoke, the roaring flames and her voice. His arms pumped at his sides as he willed himself to move faster.

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The sounds around her seemed muffled, as if she was floating under water. The world was still rotating around her, although in her mind Rogue knew she was not moving with it. Her limbs refused to obey as she attempted to open her eyes to the amber and crimsoned sky above her, murky clouds dotted the scene beyond her, making Rogue briefly think of a fairytale setting gone bad—when the princess awakens not to her prince rescuing her from the malevolent dragon, but to a world where her prince lies dead in the courtyard below and the tower aflame, ready to burn and crush her alive.

 

The ground pulled away from her supine body; for an instant Rogue thought the ground was falling from under her, until the slight tickle of warm air through her bloodied tresses made her realize she was floating, or more accurately being lifted up from the ground.

 

Rogue was too exhausted to fight against the metal fingers wrapping around her, lifting her higher. Rogue let her head loll back, and her arms fall to her sides—too tired and at a loss for what to do. She now knew she was going to die.

 

A strange calmness overtook her as the sentinel lifter her higher to eye level view, and she wondered if the others had had the blessing of these peaceful moments of bliss and clarity. Her only regrets were that she had failed in saving the professor, and that she had not had the chance to see Logan once more.

 

“ROGUE!!!”

 

That voice.

 

“ROGUE! DAMN IT!”

 

The ferocity behind the voice was enough to pull Rogue back from the cloud of her thoughts. She turned her head to the left, letting it fall back again, her injuries preventing her from supporting herself. Their eyes met and just like in the movies, time stood still and everything around them ceased to exist.

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Logan propelled himself through the debris and mud, willing himself again to go faster than before. He reached the top of the dirt mound that was separating him from his objective—Rogue.

 

He could smell her—the smoke on her clothes, her pheromones, her sweat: as it beaded on her forehead, and most importantly her blood—some flowing fresh from numerous wounds while others had begun to clot.

 

It took him a minute to absorb the scene in front of him: Kitty and Bobby lay on the floor in a tangle of bloodied arms and legs. Finally he saw her; Rogue was sprawled on the ground momentarily stunned. Then suddenly he saw the greater picture—the ground rumbled as a giant rust covered sentinel approached in two swift steps and towered over Rogue.

 

“…No. No. No.” Logan cursed as he jumped into action and bolted down the hill, yelling her name in the process.

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Their eyes met and just like in the movies, time stood still and everything around them ceased to exist.

 

Rogue was astonished; she knew Logan’s healing and regenerative powers allowed him age at a slower rate than most humans and mutants, but by just looking at him one would think that only a few months had passed since the last time she had seen him—ten years ago.

 

Through all the pain, she smiled softly at the sight of him. The memories of him flooded back, but without the bitterness they had once held—she didn’t resent him for leaving the mansion, only felt the small pang of regret that they had lost all those years, both leaving so many things unsaid and unfinished.

 

“Logan…” She whispered, the smile lingering on her lips as she said his name in a small whisper. A hot gust of wind blew up her loose auburn hair, streaks of platinum framing her face in an ethereal moment of utter beauty.

 

The robotic hands tightened around her midsection, Rogue cried in pain, breaking the spell.

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Logan drank in the sight of her, the beauty of her smile amidst all the chaos. Her hair draped her face in a curtain of platinum and auburn, framing those emerald green eyes that had captivated him from the moment he had first laid eyes on her when she had been brought to the mansion 15 years ago—scared, alone and angry.

 

She had always been right, they were the same; both of them had been dealt a shitty hand of cards and were both trying to make do to the best of their abilities. Logan had always known she was right, but too stuck on his pride and his Alpha male persona to include her in his searches for understanding.

 

How different things might have been if he had been willing to see her own need for understanding, instead of treating her like the others. He should have known that she, of all people, would have understood.

 

She knew him, better than even he knew himself sometimes and she never once asked where he was going, when he would be back or if he would take her with him. Until that one day, things had progressed— they crossed boundaries that could not be uncrossed; Logan like a coward had run. He had gone to say goodbye as usual and instead of being accepting, she was cold and hurt.

 

He had tried to make up an explanation, an excuse for his departure, but they both knew. In the seconds the followed, nothing ever fell into place again. Things were left unsaid in the horror of the explosion and in the pain of losing the Professor and Jean Grey. The next day, Logan took to the road in a furry of anger and rage. When he returned, hoping to fall back into his same routine with Rogue he was met with an empty room.

 

“Logan…”

 

The dry wind carried her voice to his acute ears. Again, he could hear the change in her voice, only this time her voice carried a softness that he had never heard before. Even in their most intimate moments, they both still carried barriers that could not be removed; but no longer, her voice carried forgiveness and understanding to undeserving ears

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The oxygen was pushed out of Rogue’s lungs in a sickening gurgle as the embedded shrapnel finally forced its way through her right lung, piercing the delicate membrane. Her body convulsed sharply in the hands of the sentinel as it crushed her torso, breaking her bones and puncturing her internal organs.

 

Crimson blood pooled at her corners of her mouth and flowed down her chin as she gave one final gasp before the Sentinel released her. Rogue was dead before her body hit the ground.

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“Rogue…” Her name was barely above an audible whisper. “..No.. Rogue.. NOOOO!!!” Logan screamed as he charged the last remaining hundred yards separating them.

 

The rust covered sentinel absorbed the scene before it, taking in sensory information through its automatic sensors. A warning blip raised awareness as it scanned over the remaining mutant.

 

Codename: Wolverine

Status: Active, DO NOT ENGAGE

 

The iron hinges creaked under the weight of the hulking giant as it rotated and turned its back to the demolished mansion. The mechanized legs slowly moved into action, leading the sentinel away from the ruins and dead mutant warriors with each passing step—leaving the mutant latecomer and sole survivor the only witness to the scene.

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The rough gravel tore at his jeans, ripping the faded denim and tearing his flesh, but he didn’t care. “Rogue! Rogue!” He cried in vain, hoping and praying that by somehow calling her name repeatedly she would open her eyes and hold him captive with her emerald greens.

 

An idea flashed through his frantic mind as he picked up her limp body and pressed her to chest, leaning his head in so that their cheeks would touch. This had to work; it would be the only way. Her cheek was still warm against his own, which was radiating with his own body heat and balmy tears.

 

He choked back a body shaking sob as he felt the empty shell of her body, her crushed bones grinding underneath her skin, no longer serving their function.

 

She was gone.

 

He had never allowed himself to cry, in actuality he had never felt the need to cry, even in his most desperate moments there had been no reason to, nothing had ever held that driving force that toppled him over the edge, but this, this was too much.

 

He cried her name into her hair, breathing in her fading scent with each agonizing lungful of air. He could see the physical evidence of the pain she had endured— the obvious marks of the recent battles: the gaping wound on her calf, the various tears in her yellow and lime green x-suit, the bruises and shallow scrapes on her face which tore at his soul and most notably, the crimson red stain that radiated from the right side of her torso up to her chest and wrapped around behind her back.

 

Cradling her neck with his left arm he proceeded to methodically wipe the blood off her delicate face, brushing his knuckles against her chapped lips. His hand traced the contours of her chin and neck wrapping themselves behind her ears and in her hair; he could tell she had suffered greatly at the hands of the sentinels over the course of the battle and another heaving sob tore itself from his chest as he cursed everything—the sentinels, the humans who created them, the universe, but mostly he cursed himself for not arriving in time, for leaving in the first place—for abandoning her.

 

He had wanted to roam freely, without the company or burden of anyone.

 

It was over and he was alone, as always. The desperate last rays of the dying sun cast long shadows over the wreckage, crashing over the broken man holding the shattered body of the woman he loved, and the unrealized dream that had died between them

 

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