Disclaimer: Put it this way. I don't even own the apostrophe and the "s" in
the word "Rogue's."
X-Men et al belong to Marvel Studios.
Feedback: Please do.
Rating: This one's PG, not because of anything in particular, but because it's really not intended for children. Oh, yeah, forgot about the whole implied femslash. That means homosexuality. If this bothers you, then just go away. We'll all be a lot happier, yourself included.
Pairing: Implied Rogue/Jean Grey
Notes: OK, so this pairing has undoubtedly been used and reused countless hundreds of times, but it makes such perfect sense. Jean Grey is the only person who could even pretend to touch Rogue without getting all pale and veiny.
Jean's looking at me funny. I can't blame her. The curled-up-in-fetal- position-sobbing-to-myself position does that.
"Marie?" she asks.
"Ye..." I stammer. I am not Marie. "Yes?"
"Are you all right?" There's concern in her voice. She's a wonderful person, Jean is. Wonderful.
"I'm dandy, sugar," I say, and we both know it's a lie. She reaches out a hand, then pauses. They always pause. She's wearing gloves, but she's careful not to touch my skin anyway.
It burns. Not where she rests her hand on my shoulder, where she isn't touching me. My face. My hands. The last person who touched either of them was in a coma for weeks. The smallest part of me is a weapon.
She squeezes my shoulder, and I blink back tears. The loneliness is bad. Real bad. But being lonely by yourself is ok.
Being lonely even when you're surrounded with people... well, that's Hell.
"Jean..." I say. She's the only one who could ever understand my pain. Well, her and Xavier. Telepathy has its advantages. I'm not one of them.
She must sense something in my voice, or maybe in my mind, because she bites her lip and I see tears forming behind her eyes. She sits next to me, and wraps me in her arms. Comforting arms. Arms that feel like the spandex that covers them. I can't remember what real human flesh feels like anymore.
Jean has other skills, too. We both know it. From experience. Telepathy is the greatest gift I've ever known. And if you want to hear more about that, suck it up. Not gonna happen. Some things are better left private.
Especially that thing.
I'm there, on that bench, being embraced by a beautiful woman. It doesn't matter that I'm not particularly attracted to women. Jean's the only person who's dared to hug me since I got my power. That telepathy thing? She says it doesn't take much control for her to do it, but she's lying. No matter what anyone says, holding skin apart by a fraction of a fraction of an inch isn't easy. It shows in her face.
I said I'm not particularly attracted to women, and it's true. But I am attracted to particular women. Jean is one of them. Oh, God, is Jean one of them.
But she's too good for me. She's got her bookworthy romance with Scott, perfect Scott, dependable Scott, bland Scott. She loves me, I know. Not the way I need her to.
"Marie..." she whispers into my ear, running phantasmal fingers through my hair.
"I know," I say. Or start to say. The sobs interrupt me.
Jean's telepathic, too, though. I don't need to be coherent to be understood.
You see why I love her so much? She's the only person capable of touching me, physically or emotionally. I made sure to keep myself in a little box in my mind, but that doesn't stop a telepath. I can't ever lie to her, and she's too good a person to lie to me.
Too damn good.
"Marie, we can't. I love Scott." I know. I know. I know. Stop. "No, this needs to be said. Marie... Marie, I love you, you know I do, but not like that. Not the way you want me to." Please. "Marie, listen to me. We had something, I can't deny that. But it wasn't real. I can't live with myself knowing that you believe we have a chance."
We don't. I know.
"I know you know. Marie, Marie... don't you see? You know it's true, but you still feel it. As long as you feel it, I'm holding you down. I'm hurting you."
I'm still sobbing, but I'm out of tears. All out of tears. Hurting Jean is the one thing I never want to do, the one thing I can never stop doing. I am hurt. It follows me wherever I go, to whoever I get close to, and it never stops. Never.
"Marie..." she says, but I've stopped crying. I've stopped feeling.
"Marie..."
But I am not Marie.
Feedback: Please do.
Rating: This one's PG, not because of anything in particular, but because it's really not intended for children. Oh, yeah, forgot about the whole implied femslash. That means homosexuality. If this bothers you, then just go away. We'll all be a lot happier, yourself included.
Pairing: Implied Rogue/Jean Grey
Notes: OK, so this pairing has undoubtedly been used and reused countless hundreds of times, but it makes such perfect sense. Jean Grey is the only person who could even pretend to touch Rogue without getting all pale and veiny.
Jean's looking at me funny. I can't blame her. The curled-up-in-fetal- position-sobbing-to-myself position does that.
"Marie?" she asks.
"Ye..." I stammer. I am not Marie. "Yes?"
"Are you all right?" There's concern in her voice. She's a wonderful person, Jean is. Wonderful.
"I'm dandy, sugar," I say, and we both know it's a lie. She reaches out a hand, then pauses. They always pause. She's wearing gloves, but she's careful not to touch my skin anyway.
It burns. Not where she rests her hand on my shoulder, where she isn't touching me. My face. My hands. The last person who touched either of them was in a coma for weeks. The smallest part of me is a weapon.
She squeezes my shoulder, and I blink back tears. The loneliness is bad. Real bad. But being lonely by yourself is ok.
Being lonely even when you're surrounded with people... well, that's Hell.
"Jean..." I say. She's the only one who could ever understand my pain. Well, her and Xavier. Telepathy has its advantages. I'm not one of them.
She must sense something in my voice, or maybe in my mind, because she bites her lip and I see tears forming behind her eyes. She sits next to me, and wraps me in her arms. Comforting arms. Arms that feel like the spandex that covers them. I can't remember what real human flesh feels like anymore.
Jean has other skills, too. We both know it. From experience. Telepathy is the greatest gift I've ever known. And if you want to hear more about that, suck it up. Not gonna happen. Some things are better left private.
Especially that thing.
I'm there, on that bench, being embraced by a beautiful woman. It doesn't matter that I'm not particularly attracted to women. Jean's the only person who's dared to hug me since I got my power. That telepathy thing? She says it doesn't take much control for her to do it, but she's lying. No matter what anyone says, holding skin apart by a fraction of a fraction of an inch isn't easy. It shows in her face.
I said I'm not particularly attracted to women, and it's true. But I am attracted to particular women. Jean is one of them. Oh, God, is Jean one of them.
But she's too good for me. She's got her bookworthy romance with Scott, perfect Scott, dependable Scott, bland Scott. She loves me, I know. Not the way I need her to.
"Marie..." she whispers into my ear, running phantasmal fingers through my hair.
"I know," I say. Or start to say. The sobs interrupt me.
Jean's telepathic, too, though. I don't need to be coherent to be understood.
You see why I love her so much? She's the only person capable of touching me, physically or emotionally. I made sure to keep myself in a little box in my mind, but that doesn't stop a telepath. I can't ever lie to her, and she's too good a person to lie to me.
Too damn good.
"Marie, we can't. I love Scott." I know. I know. I know. Stop. "No, this needs to be said. Marie... Marie, I love you, you know I do, but not like that. Not the way you want me to." Please. "Marie, listen to me. We had something, I can't deny that. But it wasn't real. I can't live with myself knowing that you believe we have a chance."
We don't. I know.
"I know you know. Marie, Marie... don't you see? You know it's true, but you still feel it. As long as you feel it, I'm holding you down. I'm hurting you."
I'm still sobbing, but I'm out of tears. All out of tears. Hurting Jean is the one thing I never want to do, the one thing I can never stop doing. I am hurt. It follows me wherever I go, to whoever I get close to, and it never stops. Never.
"Marie..." she says, but I've stopped crying. I've stopped feeling.
"Marie..."
But I am not Marie.