Title: Stay With Me
Author: IndigoNight
Summary: She hadn't gone to the roof intentionally, but who she met there changed her life forever, just as much as she'd saved his.
Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!
Pairing: WarrenxRogue
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.
Spoilers: Nope
Rating: PG-13 for substance abuse and attempted suicide.
Warnings: Substance abuse and suicidal themes
Author's Note: So, a while ago, I went on a RoguexWarren binge, 'cause they're awesome, this is just the first one that I got around to actually writing. So keep on the look out for more RoguexWarren coming… eventually. OK, so this is the first chapter of a two shot. Read, Review, Enjoy!
Enjoy!
Rogue was wondering aimlessly. It was Saturday afternoon, she'd finished all of her homework for the weekend, she had no friends who she was interested in hanging out with, and she didn't really feel like reading. That left her alone with nothing but her thoughts and a lot of restless energy.
And so she walked. She wasn't really paying attention to where she was going. She'd walked across the school grounds and back, more than once; she wandered the hallways and corridors, stopping every so often, in the kitchen for a snack, in one of the living rooms to watch TV for a few minutes, but always she moved on, her attention span too short that day to allow her to stay in one place for too long.
And that was how, miraculously, she ended up on the roof that evening, just as the sun was beginning to set.
She wasn't really paying attention, and didn't even realize that that was where she was headed, until she'd reached the top of the stairs and stepped out into the cool evening air. She took a deep breath, then jumped in surprise as she heard a muffled grunting sound.
She whirled around, and found, that on the other side of the flat expanse of the roof, knelt an angel.
His pale, bare back was illuminated in the light of the setting sun, one huge, pearly wings stretched out behind him, glowing in the oranges and reds and pinks that framed him, but so too, was the blood streaming down his back highlighted.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice slightly shrill in shock and horror.
He paused, the knife he held in his hand, hovering over his other wing frozen. Then he turned, slowly, as though afraid of what he would see, standing as he did in one motion which would have been smooth and graceful, if not for the way he stumbled drunkenly halfway through it.
When she could see his face, she found it too be angular, and quite handsome, but marred by tear tracks, and swollen red pouches under his unfocused eyes.
"No," he muttered crazily, backing away a step, staring at her as though she was a ghost, or something worse. "No, not this time."
She frowned, utterly surprised by this reaction. "Not this time what?" she asked, taking a cautious step toward him.
"No! Stop!" he cried, taking another step, getting dangerously close to the edge now, and brandishing the knife wildly at her, "You can't stop me, not this time."
"OK, why don't we just calm down for a second," she cautioned, taking another step, her hands up in what she hoped was a soothingly defensive gesture, "Why don't you put the knife down, and step away from the edge, and lets talk about this."
"N-no," he said, but he was faltering. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder and the ground several stories below, but didn't take another step back, "You can't stop me, not again."
"Again?" she asked, frowning. She was beginning to get very frustrated by this seemingly insane, drunk, suicidal guy, and his nonsensical ramblings. "I've never talked to you before in my life."
Something changed in him then. In his eyes, in his face, his posture, his voice, it all changed. "Just get away from me!" he snapped, his blue eyes suddenly flashing stormy dark. The lines around his mouth harden into a grimace, a grimace of what, she wasn't exactly sure. He stood a little straighter, but at the same time seemed to lean away from her, as though afraid she would hit him or something.
"Warren, calm down, think about this," she tried to sooth, not giving up, inching forward cautiously, afraid to send him over the edge. It was true, she had never spoken to him before, but everyone knew Warren Worthington III, especially those who had come as close to being in contact with the cure as she had.
At her use of his name, once again something changed in him, but this time it wasn't as obvious, this time it was only in his eyes. "You don't know me," his voice was slightly softer now, a strange, deep longing in his eyes.
"No, but if you do this, I'll never get the chance to," Rogue didn't know what she was saying, or why she was saying it. All she knew was that Warren intended to jump, and she wasn't about to let him. She had never stopped advancing towards him, and was now only a few feet away. Still, she continued closer, until she could touch him. He had by now allowed his hand holding the knife to drop limply to his side. He didn't move as she laid a hand on his shoulder, but he did stiffen, his eyes widening slightly as they remained locked onto her.
"You really don't want to do this," the words came automatically without her thinking them out. She knew them; she knew them already because she remembered when they'd been spoken to her, not all that long ago.
Suddenly, once more, he changed. "You. Don't. Know. Me." He snarled, suddenly. His face had gone completely hard now, all fear, all sorrow, everything, gone as his hand flew up on reflex, shoving her gloved hand roughly from his shoulder so hard that she stumbled several steps, in the wrong direction.
She teetered for no more than a second, staring in wide-eyed shock into his just as surprised blurred blue eyes. Then she didn't even had time to scream as Rogue suddenly realized that she was falling.
8
Warren stared as she fell. Everything was slowly, slowly filtering through he foggy mind. He was so drunk that the world swayed and whirled around him and he had trouble focusing his eyes. But he could focus on her, he saw her in perfect clarity as she fell.
He didn't think about the action, didn't remember that he now only had one wing, he simply acted. He leapt, diving off of the roof after her. The only thought in his mind was the hazy, can't die; she can't die that whirled over and over through it.
It was more like he was falling, his one wing being of little help. But he flapped it nonetheless, ignoring the shooting pain from where he had begun to remove it too. He sped after her. The ground was coming up, fast, fast, way too fast. He couldn't reach her in time. No! Can't die, she can't die!
Then, just before the impact, his hand reached out toward her, with one last stroke of his mighty wing, he felt he fabric of her shirt. He threw himself beneath her, cradling her to his chest as he angled his back to the ground. Even if he'd had both of his wings, it was too late, to late to fly away, too late avoid the ground.
Then the impact came.
8
Rogue was in shock. She was so shocked, that she hardly registered him following her. Only his face, his oddly angular, beautiful, angelic face floating before her. Then she felt his arms around her, she felt him clutching her to his chest. Distantly the instinct to pull away ran through her mind, the fear of hurting him, of stealing his life force, but she didn't. Then they hit.
She felt the jarring impact, but not as badly as she'd imagined it would be, and she realized what he'd done. In putting himself beneath her, he'd taken the brunt of the impact.
Quickly she rolled off of him, calling his name in a panic and feeling for a pulse. But to her surprise, he suddenly stirred, and leapt to his feet. He swayed as soon as he was up, swayed dangerously, he had an odd, confused look on his face, he favored his left leg, his face was oddly twisted in a detached pain.
But then his blurry eyes focused on her, kneeling on the ground next to where he had been.
"You!" he exclaimed, waving a wildly accusing finger at her. Then he stumbled and fell, his head landing directly in her lap. "You're here," he murmured, his voice growing soft and misty as he began to slip away into darkness.
"Y-yes," she said, for lack of a better reply. Drowsily he clutched at the hem of her shirt, snuggling his head into her lap sleepily. "Don't leave," he whispered, "Please don't leave this time, please be here when I wake up." And with that he drifted away, fading into darkness.
Gently Rogue ran a hand through his hair, murmuring soothingly to him, an odd warm feeling rising in her chest.