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halfamoonTitle: Monster
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Gambit/Rogue
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: A moment while Rogue was on the run after the events of Legion Quest.
Word Count: 1,787
Written For: Half A Moon Day 7 2024: Passion, X-Men 15: 8. Hate, and 50 Fandoms 2024: 1. Rogue
Warnings: Light Spoilers throughout
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Southern Belles were supposed to be all about passion. Rogue claimed she couldn't remember her past, but there had been bits and pieces coming now to her for years. Of course, they were mixed in with so many other memories that she could rarely tell which ones were authentically hers, which belonged to someone else, and which were merely her imagination. Still, she felt pretty confident that she'd been being told her entire life that Southern belles were supposed to be all about passion. She was equally confident that she had been encouraged, from a young age, to embrace that passion in all its forms, rather it came to one's body, one's desires, one's job -- and most especially, men.
Most girls dreamed of Princes or Knights on white horses coming to whisk them away into a world of adventure and romance where they would become Princesses. Girls from her neck of the woods were told to beware the boy who could not provide but embrace fully the man who would. It was not unlike the country song that was now crackling over the radio, where a legendary singer crooned the story of a mixed-up, messed-up child of the South not unlike Rogue herself whose own mother had, upon her death bed, dressed the girl to become the perfect woman to woo any man with big bucks.
The scum in this bar didn't have big bucks, but it wouldn't have mattered if they did. Her heart belonged to another. But she could no more go embracing him than she could, well, any other man. It wouldn't have mattered if he or she had been the richest person alive. She could not touch him, should never have kissed him, and now he lay in a coma because she had! They'd believed it was the end of the world. She had seen the crystal lights sweeping and covering everything in their path, and she had thought, in that one foolish moment, why not finally act on what she had been denying herself for years with her final breath? It was going to be Remy's last breath, too, or so they'd both believed.
She both regretted and did not regret the kiss. For herself, she did not regret it. Pulling him close by the collar of his trench, wrapping herself up in the aromas of his cigar smoke and those peppers and seasonings with which he loved to cook, most especially feeling his lips upon hers, his tongue in her mouth -- It had been the most wonderful moment of Rogue's life, far eclipsing all other kisses she'd ever shared, even if there had only been one other where she had actually wanted to kiss the boy because she'd had feelings for him. She could have died happy right then and there.
And as absurd as it sounded, if they had died then and there, maybe it would have been okay. Maybe none of the rest of the things that had happened since the world had come back around would have happened. Instead, she'd likely killed Remy, although he had not yet breathed his last breath. It had taken her childhood sweetheart's family taking him off of life support to end the life of the only other boy Rogue had ever actually wanted to kiss.
Others had survived her kisses. The Blob and Wolverine could survive almost anything, it seemed. Carol had been in a coma for what had seemed like forever, and she'd come out of it hating Rogue with a burning passion. There was still a part of Rogue that, every time she saw a muscular, blonde woman out of the corner of her green eyes, expected that stranger to be Carol, coming to repay her for all she had taken from her. And she had stolen so much from her and quite nearly killed her as well. She'd actually believed her to be dead for a long time, before she'd actually started talking to some of the X-Men and learning the truth behind many of her adopted mother's lies.
But Mystique had given her one thing that the Professor still seemed incapable of granting her. Though he'd promised her time and again that they would find a cure for her mutant curse, he had yet to deliver on that promise, or even teach her how to control her "lips of death", as she herself had been calling her own mouth for years. He'd taught her very little honestly in the way of controlling the one power with which she'd been born. Mystique had everything she did know about refraining her energy sucking abilities, but she'd not even bothered to use them during that kiss she'd shared with Remy, a moment that would be both treasured by and haunt her forever.
It didn't matter where she went, rather she was with the X-Men or not. She might as well be right there beside his bed. Because no matter where she went, her heart was still back there in that medic wing, in that bed with Remy. She couldn't stand to be there in person; she'd surely go mad with her grief. Perhaps she was already mad. Bobby'd said they were all talking about her, the last time they'd spoken. He'd said they were concerned, of course, but Rogue knew better than that. Many of them had hated her for what she'd done to their friend, Carol. They'd had every right, and still had every right to hate her now not just for what she'd done to Carol but, far worse, for what she'd done to one of their own. What if Remy hated her, she thought fearfully, when he did awaken? He had every right --
She couldn't shoot, she realized, looking down at the pool stick in her hand. She was trembling too much, too hard, to be able to get a straight shot. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back, along the very hem of her blue jean shorts. She whirled, tossing the pool stick at the group of guys across from her. She'd been trying not to notice the way they'd all been staring at her, but her fear, her strongest emotion, to which no Rebel belle was ever supposed to admit, was wrapping its icy fingers of dread around her.
She shouldn't have come to this place. She shouldn't have dressed the way she is. She shouldn't be amongst people, period, especially not her own kind! She was a danger to them, a freak in their midst, an atomic bomb just waiting to explode if anyone touched her. And the guy behind her, the guy whose shirt collar she now gripped in her hand, had done just that! She threw him out the nearest window just as the phone began to ring.
She heard the waitress pick up, and for a moment, the younger woman's voice sounded louder than the country music blaring in the bar. "That's a strange name, honey," she was telling the guy on the phone. Rogue's heart skipped a beat, then leapt into her mouth. Her gut was already telling her it was Bobby, looking for her again, trying to get her to come "home". What he didn't understand was she no longer had a home. She'd thought the school could be her home, but she'd ruined all of that when she'd kissed Remy. She couldn't bear to see the people she'd thought of as her friends for the last several years look at her again in hatred. Far worse was the thought of Remy actually awakening, understanding what she'd done to him, and hating her for it.
Her emerald green eyes blazed the pupil-less, blood red of Remy LeBeau's. The men were rushing her now, grabbing pool sticks, busting bottles, and talking about teaching her a lesson. The little waitress called out, dismissing the building tension as just another Friday night brawl. "Is there a Rogue here?"
Rogue blasted straight up out of the midst of the people with whom she knew she could never belong, out the open doors, and into the night sky. She could hear their screams and cusses behind her, but their name calling didn't bother her. She was worse than anything their little minds could ever possibly think to call her. She was a monster given life, a Demon who preyed off of good men, a living succubus.... High in the star-filled, night sky, Rogue threw her head back and screamed.
She screamed her rage. She screamed her grief, tears flowing from her eyes. She screamed her anger over everything she'd ever wanted to be and would never be able to be. She'd never be able to settle down with a good man and have kids, and that, unlike many girls, was all that had ever been expected of her. She screamed her hatred at herself. She screamed at herself with the hatred of all those who had a right to hate her until the end of her days. She screamed and screamed and screamed, her passion heralding through the night sky and echoing back to her.
She screamed until her voice was hoarse, and then she floated. She had nowhere to go, no one to whom she could turn. Mystique hated her, too, now for abandoning her after all she'd done for her. And she had done a lot for her, despite what Xavier had tried to convince her. Bobby had tried and tried to get her to come home, but the kid just couldn't understand it. She had no more home anymore. She was alone again, alone as she had been after all but killing Cody, alone as she deserved to be for being born a monster.
The only way she could keep anyone safe from the pariah she was was by staying away from them, so Rogue drifted from cloud to cloud, barely able to see where she was flying. Her own screams continued echoing back to her, reverberating in her head, mixing with all those memories that both were and were not hers. She'd cry herself to sleep again tonight, probably in a tree somewhere, curled up like a wild animal. She'd been a wild one even as a young child, she remembered her momma saying. She'd always been wild, untamed... Worse. She'd always been, and would always be, a monster unfit for any companion, human, mutant, or animal. She was destined to be alone, to live alone, and to die alone. It was the only way she could keep anyone safe. She drifted. She cried, and when her voice returned, she screamed again her passion, her loneliness, her anger, her grief, and most of all, her own, bitter self-hatred.
The End
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Gambit/Rogue
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: A moment while Rogue was on the run after the events of Legion Quest.
Word Count: 1,787
Written For: Half A Moon Day 7 2024: Passion, X-Men 15: 8. Hate, and 50 Fandoms 2024: 1. Rogue
Warnings: Light Spoilers throughout
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Southern Belles were supposed to be all about passion. Rogue claimed she couldn't remember her past, but there had been bits and pieces coming now to her for years. Of course, they were mixed in with so many other memories that she could rarely tell which ones were authentically hers, which belonged to someone else, and which were merely her imagination. Still, she felt pretty confident that she'd been being told her entire life that Southern belles were supposed to be all about passion. She was equally confident that she had been encouraged, from a young age, to embrace that passion in all its forms, rather it came to one's body, one's desires, one's job -- and most especially, men.
Most girls dreamed of Princes or Knights on white horses coming to whisk them away into a world of adventure and romance where they would become Princesses. Girls from her neck of the woods were told to beware the boy who could not provide but embrace fully the man who would. It was not unlike the country song that was now crackling over the radio, where a legendary singer crooned the story of a mixed-up, messed-up child of the South not unlike Rogue herself whose own mother had, upon her death bed, dressed the girl to become the perfect woman to woo any man with big bucks.
The scum in this bar didn't have big bucks, but it wouldn't have mattered if they did. Her heart belonged to another. But she could no more go embracing him than she could, well, any other man. It wouldn't have mattered if he or she had been the richest person alive. She could not touch him, should never have kissed him, and now he lay in a coma because she had! They'd believed it was the end of the world. She had seen the crystal lights sweeping and covering everything in their path, and she had thought, in that one foolish moment, why not finally act on what she had been denying herself for years with her final breath? It was going to be Remy's last breath, too, or so they'd both believed.
She both regretted and did not regret the kiss. For herself, she did not regret it. Pulling him close by the collar of his trench, wrapping herself up in the aromas of his cigar smoke and those peppers and seasonings with which he loved to cook, most especially feeling his lips upon hers, his tongue in her mouth -- It had been the most wonderful moment of Rogue's life, far eclipsing all other kisses she'd ever shared, even if there had only been one other where she had actually wanted to kiss the boy because she'd had feelings for him. She could have died happy right then and there.
And as absurd as it sounded, if they had died then and there, maybe it would have been okay. Maybe none of the rest of the things that had happened since the world had come back around would have happened. Instead, she'd likely killed Remy, although he had not yet breathed his last breath. It had taken her childhood sweetheart's family taking him off of life support to end the life of the only other boy Rogue had ever actually wanted to kiss.
Others had survived her kisses. The Blob and Wolverine could survive almost anything, it seemed. Carol had been in a coma for what had seemed like forever, and she'd come out of it hating Rogue with a burning passion. There was still a part of Rogue that, every time she saw a muscular, blonde woman out of the corner of her green eyes, expected that stranger to be Carol, coming to repay her for all she had taken from her. And she had stolen so much from her and quite nearly killed her as well. She'd actually believed her to be dead for a long time, before she'd actually started talking to some of the X-Men and learning the truth behind many of her adopted mother's lies.
But Mystique had given her one thing that the Professor still seemed incapable of granting her. Though he'd promised her time and again that they would find a cure for her mutant curse, he had yet to deliver on that promise, or even teach her how to control her "lips of death", as she herself had been calling her own mouth for years. He'd taught her very little honestly in the way of controlling the one power with which she'd been born. Mystique had everything she did know about refraining her energy sucking abilities, but she'd not even bothered to use them during that kiss she'd shared with Remy, a moment that would be both treasured by and haunt her forever.
It didn't matter where she went, rather she was with the X-Men or not. She might as well be right there beside his bed. Because no matter where she went, her heart was still back there in that medic wing, in that bed with Remy. She couldn't stand to be there in person; she'd surely go mad with her grief. Perhaps she was already mad. Bobby'd said they were all talking about her, the last time they'd spoken. He'd said they were concerned, of course, but Rogue knew better than that. Many of them had hated her for what she'd done to their friend, Carol. They'd had every right, and still had every right to hate her now not just for what she'd done to Carol but, far worse, for what she'd done to one of their own. What if Remy hated her, she thought fearfully, when he did awaken? He had every right --
She couldn't shoot, she realized, looking down at the pool stick in her hand. She was trembling too much, too hard, to be able to get a straight shot. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back, along the very hem of her blue jean shorts. She whirled, tossing the pool stick at the group of guys across from her. She'd been trying not to notice the way they'd all been staring at her, but her fear, her strongest emotion, to which no Rebel belle was ever supposed to admit, was wrapping its icy fingers of dread around her.
She shouldn't have come to this place. She shouldn't have dressed the way she is. She shouldn't be amongst people, period, especially not her own kind! She was a danger to them, a freak in their midst, an atomic bomb just waiting to explode if anyone touched her. And the guy behind her, the guy whose shirt collar she now gripped in her hand, had done just that! She threw him out the nearest window just as the phone began to ring.
She heard the waitress pick up, and for a moment, the younger woman's voice sounded louder than the country music blaring in the bar. "That's a strange name, honey," she was telling the guy on the phone. Rogue's heart skipped a beat, then leapt into her mouth. Her gut was already telling her it was Bobby, looking for her again, trying to get her to come "home". What he didn't understand was she no longer had a home. She'd thought the school could be her home, but she'd ruined all of that when she'd kissed Remy. She couldn't bear to see the people she'd thought of as her friends for the last several years look at her again in hatred. Far worse was the thought of Remy actually awakening, understanding what she'd done to him, and hating her for it.
Her emerald green eyes blazed the pupil-less, blood red of Remy LeBeau's. The men were rushing her now, grabbing pool sticks, busting bottles, and talking about teaching her a lesson. The little waitress called out, dismissing the building tension as just another Friday night brawl. "Is there a Rogue here?"
Rogue blasted straight up out of the midst of the people with whom she knew she could never belong, out the open doors, and into the night sky. She could hear their screams and cusses behind her, but their name calling didn't bother her. She was worse than anything their little minds could ever possibly think to call her. She was a monster given life, a Demon who preyed off of good men, a living succubus.... High in the star-filled, night sky, Rogue threw her head back and screamed.
She screamed her rage. She screamed her grief, tears flowing from her eyes. She screamed her anger over everything she'd ever wanted to be and would never be able to be. She'd never be able to settle down with a good man and have kids, and that, unlike many girls, was all that had ever been expected of her. She screamed her hatred at herself. She screamed at herself with the hatred of all those who had a right to hate her until the end of her days. She screamed and screamed and screamed, her passion heralding through the night sky and echoing back to her.
She screamed until her voice was hoarse, and then she floated. She had nowhere to go, no one to whom she could turn. Mystique hated her, too, now for abandoning her after all she'd done for her. And she had done a lot for her, despite what Xavier had tried to convince her. Bobby had tried and tried to get her to come home, but the kid just couldn't understand it. She had no more home anymore. She was alone again, alone as she had been after all but killing Cody, alone as she deserved to be for being born a monster.
The only way she could keep anyone safe from the pariah she was was by staying away from them, so Rogue drifted from cloud to cloud, barely able to see where she was flying. Her own screams continued echoing back to her, reverberating in her head, mixing with all those memories that both were and were not hers. She'd cry herself to sleep again tonight, probably in a tree somewhere, curled up like a wild animal. She'd been a wild one even as a young child, she remembered her momma saying. She'd always been wild, untamed... Worse. She'd always been, and would always be, a monster unfit for any companion, human, mutant, or animal. She was destined to be alone, to live alone, and to die alone. It was the only way she could keep anyone safe. She drifted. She cried, and when her voice returned, she screamed again her passion, her loneliness, her anger, her grief, and most of all, her own, bitter self-hatred.
The End
