Ignoring all of the jeans and dresses hanging neatly in her closet, Rogue shimmied into one of the long-sleeved unitards that had been folded in the bottom of her suitcase. The dark green lycra encased her like a second skin. She settled the tags, feeling a flutter in her stomach when the metal chain rubbed her. She slipped on a pair of split-sole shoes and sheer gloves, covering herself from the neck down.
There. Logan should be happy. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, either. Her feet felt almost bare. She flexed her arms and legs experimentally, feeling only a slight resistance from the fabric. This seemed familiar. She wore these suits often. But why? When?
A memory surfaced of a sunny room with blue mats covering the floor. She stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a group of little ones. She was teaching them how to move . . . to dance? No, to fight. They whispered to each other, muffled words like “boring” and “pointless.”
She sighed, motioning for them to stand back. They formed a circle around her. “Master the basic forms, and I’ll teach you things like this,” she promised, showing them a tornado kick. The muscles in her legs twitched with the memory. Her body knew intimately the balanced stance, the careful shift of her weight before she sprung off her toes, the pivot of her hips leading perfectly into the snap of her foot against the reinforced heavy bag.
That snap rang out in the room, the force of the kick cracking the vinyl bag and breaking one of the heavy chains it was suspended from. The little ones gasped. The bag wobbled erratically, until a powerful axe kick broke the other two chains and sent it to the floor. They cheered.
Another memory flickered to the surface. A dark alley, a different sort of snap. She had once shattered a man’s jaw with a kick like that. A bad man; she couldn’t remember who. She shook the memory away.
She was more concerned with the little ones. Who were they? They couldn’t all be hers . . . but were any of them hers? Rogue brought a hand to her mouth. No. Surely she would remember. She could never forget her own young—could she?
A voice slipped through her thoughts, familiar and comforting: S’okay, Rogue. We never had a child. Even if you can’t remember, I can.
Marie. Uh oh; did she get out again? Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on her inner world. It seemed Marie was still safe in her room, but something—something was off.
The door was open.
Rogue was seized with panic. She tried to push the door shut, but Marie held it. Rogue scolded her, No! Stay in your room.
I am, Marie said, but I want us to be able to talk to each other. I can help.
Rogue shook her head. There’s bad things out here. Shut the door. Don’t come out.
Now the voice had a sharp edge. I’ll come out if I want. It’s my mind too, ya know.
I have to protect you, Rogue insisted, giving the door another shove. It seemed silly to state something so obvious. It was right to protect Marie. It was wrong to let her out of the room.
Marie pushed back against the door. Rogue, stop it. I don’t need protectin’ anymore. Besides, ya couldn’t even protect yourself! Rogue felt a new emotion—regret—slip through the door as soon as those words were out, along with a dozen other emotions she couldn’t begin to understand. Jealousy? Anger? Sadness? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.
But it was true. Rogue couldn’t protect herself. Not from the blood or the dead things—they began to howl. Phantom pain lit up all over her body. It was awful. She curled into a ball on the floor. “Shhh, shhhh, hush, shhhh . . .”
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Logan smelled Rogue’s distress only a moment before he heard her consoling herself: “Shhh, shhh . . .” He bounded down the hall and flung open her door. She was curled in a ball on the floor, rocking.
“What happened?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. He started to cross the room, but her head jerked up suddenly, and she fixed him with a piercing stare.
Her eyes flashed brown. “Wait. She’s upset. Stay away.”
“Marie?”
The eyes swirled back to green. “Shhh, hush . . .” They flashed brown again, “We have Carol’s powers now—don’t get too close—ow! Ow, it hurts!”
Logan took a step forward, unable to heed Marie’s warning. He reached for her. “What happened? Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere!” she yelped, eyes swirling brown and green, shifting too rapidly for Logan to keep up. She batted his hand away with a force that nearly ripped his arm from its socket. She had Carol’s powers alright.
Logan tried to sound calm and in control. “Rogue, I—tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.” He reached for her again, but she flung her arm out, knocking him back a few feet.
She jerked her arm back, hugging herself. “I’m sorry! She won’t calm down. Rogue, stop it, now! You’re hurtin’ Logan!”
“You didn’t hurt me,” Logan growled before he could stop himself. Yeah, perfect time for fucking male pride. Thanks, Wolverine.
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Marie could feel the strain on Rogue’s mind as the monsters began to howl, louder than ever before. There was an echo of pain, coursing up and down her body. It felt absurdly real to Rogue, even though Marie knew she was perfectly fine, sitting on the floor in the cabin. But Rogue couldn’t take it. She was being ripped apart all over again.
You were right, Marie muttered, pacing the floor of her room. You weren’t ready to face them yet. I’m so stupid. God, what am I s’posed to do now?
Rogue yelped in pain, the sound echoing through the entire mansion. Marie’s mind was made up. She had to get out there and help. She shoved her bedroom door open all the way and stepped into the hall.
She allowed herself to look for the first time since . . . since Rogue changed. The hallway was dark and decrepit, mirrors and pictures shattered, flowers wilted in their vases. A musky, wet animal smell had settled over everything. Claw marks gouged the floor. Muddy prints were smeared everywhere, and Marie was fairly certain some of the smears on the walls were dried blood.
It wasn’t at all how Marie remembered. No wonder Rogue wouldn’t come into the mansion anymore, if this was how she saw it.
Marie felt something furry brush the backs of her legs. She shrieked and jumped. Stop, she thought to herself. Just calm down. This is my own mind. Nothing can hurt me here unless I let it. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought hard, remembering every detail she could about the hallway, how it used to be. The polished floors, the pristine molding and freshly washed windows. The warm paneled walls, the antique doorknobs, the still life paintings and the actual suit of armor that seemed to stand guard over the stairwell—Rogue had asked Charles about its origin once, and he had given her an enigmatic smile.
Marie opened her eyes. The hallway was back to normal, clean and welcoming. She took a deep breath. Okay. I can do this. Now, focus. Where is Rogue?
Marie walked down the stairs and into the foyer, the decayed, forlorn look of everything vanishing almost instantly as she envisioned how it was supposed to be. The closer she got to the front doors, the more strongly she felt Rogue’s presence. Memories began to surface, pain and fear and sadness that Rogue had tried to keep hidden from her. Marie couldn’t deal with the memories right now. She knew it would only make things worse in the long run, but for now she shoved them away, deep into her subconscious. Right now, she had to get to Rogue.
She inched open one of the heavy oak double doors and slipped outside, closing it tightly behind her. It wouldn’t do to have any of the mansion’s inhabitants escaping to run free through her mind. Marie looked out over the grounds. It was dark outside, as if a perpetual twilight had descended over everything. A flock of blackbirds made its way silently across the endless gray sky. The grounds extended as far as she could see, woods rising up on all sides, stretching out all the way until conscious blended into murky subconscious. Marie gulped. Her mind was a seriously spooky place.
Logan’s voice came from some indeterminate location, louder now that it wasn’t muffled by the mansion’s thick walls. He was trying to touch her again. Please, baby, tell me what’s wrong.
Marie fought for control of her muscles and managed to hold herself still, ignoring the new wave of anger and fear she felt from Rogue. She let Logan put his arms around her, since he seemed intent to do so regardless of the fact that she could throw him across the room with a flick of her hand. She forced her jaw to move, manipulating her vocal cords as best she could. It was difficult without Rogue’s help. It’s me, Marie. I’m tryin’ to help Rogue. She’s scared, she heard herself say.
How can I help? came Logan’s slightly garbled reply.
You can shut up and let me concentrate, Marie thought. She felt her cheeks turn red. Oh gosh. Did I say that out loud?
He let out a bark of laughter, and she felt his arms tighten around her. I’ll shut up, but I’m not goin’ anywhere.
Fair enough. Marie let herself be comforted by his warmth and strength. She wished he was still inside her mind. He always seemed to know what Rogue needed, whereas Marie didn’t have a clue. She tried to draw on his knowledge, but it was no use. She didn’t absorb much of him. His presence had faded after a few days. Rogue may have saved some of his memories, but Marie had zilch.
She kept moving towards Rogue’s presence, shoving away the memories that rose up without really looking at them. After all, she figured, there was a reason Rogue kept these things hidden from her. She had a feeling none of them were experiences she wanted to relive.
Marie stepped past the treeline and immediately felt engulfed by the woods. Exposed roots twisted and tangled all over the forest floor, tripping her up with every step. The darkness was thick and oppressive, and the howling sounds seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was disorienting.
It was damn frightening.
Marie tried to calm herself, but her heart was pounding, her palms felt clammy, and every breath she drew in was shakier than the last. Her legs felt weak, but she kept taking one step after another, despite the roiling in her stomach as she got closer to Rogue. Marie had never been so afraid in her life. Whatever was out there, she didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know.
This is my mind, she told herself again. Nothing can hurt me here unless I let it.
Finally, she peered around a thick tree trunk, and in the darkness she could just make out Rogue’s form. She was huddled on the ground, the monsters growling and closing in around her. Marie couldn’t really make out their shapes in the darkness, and she didn’t want to. They were enormous, though. The smell of them nearly made her gag. Putrid and musky, like dead animals. A memory surfaced—Sabertooth panting over her, the smell of his breath—she shoved it down.
Rogue was falling apart. Her thoughts were slipping freely into Marie’s mind now, the barriers crumbling. Marie couldn’t do anything in the onslaught except push the thoughts into her subconscious. Charles had warned her against repressing things like that, said it was dangerous, but if she tried to integrate that many thoughts at once, she would probably dissociate into another personality. And judging by how awful and unpleasant most of the thoughts were, Marie didn’t think she would like that new personality very much. She had gotten lucky with Rogue. She didn’t want to share her head with anyone else.
She dared to peer around the tree trunk one more time. Rogue! Can you hear me?
Marie barely heard the whimpered response. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. She had an idea. Of all the terrible, scummy things she had done to Rogue, all the times she had used her, this had to be the worst. But it was the only thing Marie could think of that might hold her protector together. Please, Rogue. Don’t fall apart. I need you. Ya can’t just abandon me now.
Marie felt Rogue’s shame, even stronger than her own. I’m sorry, Rogue whimpered. She yelped again as another monster leapt forward and sank its teeth into her. She flung it away weakly, her breaths becoming ragged with exhaustion. I’m sorry, Marie. I’m dying. Go back to your room. Go hide.
Stand up and fight, ya coward! Marie yelled, feeling disgusted with herself. Rogue struggled to her feet, swaying, but she managed to stay upright. One of the dark forms leapt at her again, knocking her to one knee, but she drove her elbow into its ribs with an audible crack. It limped away. She got to her feet once more, but immediately doubled over and began coughing blood.
Marie felt more of Rogue’s thoughts slipping into her, memories and feelings, and not all of them bad anymore.
She felt Rogue’s confidence, her boldness, her fierce protective streak, the way she fed on adrenaline, her taste for whiskey and even the secret smile she felt on her lips when she wore pretty lingerie, though she knew no one but her could enjoy it. There were swear words Marie had never heard before, martial arts forms and the not-unpleasant sting of a punching bag meeting her bare knuckles. Secrets and hopes and feelings, her own yet not her own.
Marie pushed against the onslaught of thoughts, pushed so hard that she felt her own thoughts slipping into Rogue’s mind. Memories of her childhood, fishing for crawdads and helping Gran sell plum jelly on the roadside, Daddy whipping her with a switch cane when she called him stupid because he couldn’t read, the sweet taste of honeysuckle and the sound of cicadas humming all around, lulling her to sleep on humid Mississippi nights.
Marie’s vision began to blur. One second, she was looking through her own eyes at Rogue, the next she was looking through Rogue’s eyes at the dark forms of the monsters. She felt dizzy. Or Rogue felt dizzy. She couldn’t tell which.
But she didn’t really care, as the woods began to lighten around her, a hint of sunshine filtering through the ceiling of leaves, chasing the monsters away. She felt exhausted but somehow knew she was safe now. This felt right, this integration. She became aware of the outside world. Someone was shaking her shoulder.
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Logan scooped up Rogue’s light form and laid her out on her bed. He sat by quietly, counting each second that passed, wishing she would open her eyes or say something. He didn’t think anything was seriously wrong. She seemed okay now, but still, should he call Chuck? He pulled the phone from his back pocket, debating.
He flicked the phone open but couldn’t make himself press the call button. Why wasn’t his hand cooperating? He tried again.
A growl rose in his throat. No. Wolverine didn’t want anyone else in the cabin, not while Rogue was . . . just the thought of another male seeing her in heat made his hackles raise.
Stupid animal. Logan tossed the phone onto the nightstand, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. If he couldn’t make himself call Chuck, maybe he could at least hold himself back while Marie did it. He shook her shoulder, hoping it wouldn’t send her into another fit.
Her eyes lolled as she blinked them open, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her irises were still swirling eerily between colors. She groaned, and Logan saw her muscles twitch, little spasms darting through her arms and legs, clenching her torso.
He could see every inch of her way too clearly in those skin-tight clothes. It reminded him of the first time he saw her, wearing an outfit just like this, in the sparring room at the mansion. Chuck had been giving him the royal tour when Logan spied her through the half-open door, movements mesmerizing as she tossed out a series of punches and shadow kicks, half-fight, half-dance. He had abandoned Chuck in the hallway and sauntered over to her, introduced himself with the cocky grin that made most women’s hearts skip a beat. He remembered his disappointment when she cringed away from his handshake.
Of course, she didn’t shrink from his touch anymore. She was his for the taking whenever he put his hands on her, if her scent was any indication. He couldn’t help running one of those hands down her stomach, feeling every little jump and twitch of her muscles against his palm. She sighed. He flattened his hand on her lower belly, feeling the heat spread under his touch. He couldn’t wait to feel that heat, feel those muscles twitching from the inside.
Logan forced his wandering eyes back up to her face. Now was really not the time to be having dirty thoughts about the traumatized woman he rescued from the woods. So he needed to stop looking at her body. Fuckin’ pervert. But his eyes betrayed him, sneaking one more peek at the fabric stretched over her breasts, his tags looking nice and comfortable nestled there. He shook his head, dragging his gaze back up by raw force of will.
She managed to focus on him, still breathing a little heavily. He was drawn into the churning depths of her eyes—it was unsettling, the way they shifted like that. He felt like his own insides were shifting in response. Finally, the browns and greens resolved themselves, and her eyes settled on a deep mossy color. Interesting. Logan tilted his head at her. He managed to find his voice: “Huh . . . that you, Rogue? Or Marie?”
She looked as dazed as he felt. She thought about it for a minute, propping herself up further. “I guess . . . we’re . . . I’m . . . both?”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Whew. So glad to be back home from vacay and ready to churn out the rest of this story! Sorry for the long wait between updates. Next chapter tomorrow, if that's any consolation :).