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apocalypsosWell, I threatened to do one, and I did it. Although, it's not Bobby and Jubilee, but hell, I got to do one fun thing. (And yes, it's kill off a character I dislike intensely. How did you know? ;))
Shock
Somewhere inside the smoldering, crumpled remains of the jet, Rogue awoke in a patch of snow with her cheek pressed firmly against Storm's.
Rogue immediately scrambled backwards with a startled gasp, years of fearful instinct kicking into gear in a heartbeat. She breathed the cold air in harsh, ragged jags, staring down at Storm in an accusatory glare. Why the hell hadn't the elder woman pushed her away, damn it?
But then Rogue noticed the strange angles that Storm's arms and legs were in, and the glassy tint of her hauntingly wide-open eyes.
Any thought she might have given to the others, or to the wreck of an aircraft scattered in a wide debris field around her, fell away as Rogue's eyes welled with tears. "St-storm?" she choked out, and just as quickly as she'd moved away, she rushed back to Ororo's side, grabbing onto her shoulders and shaking gently. "C'mon, Storm. Wake up."
"Leave her be, Rogue."
Rogue startled and spun on her heels, spotting Logan's familiar frame at the edge of the wreckage, his expression more annoyed than anything else. There had only been the four of them left on the jet when it had fallen from the sky. They'd lost Scott during the flooding in New York, his desperation to save as many as he could compromised the second he'd spotted a wall of water coming straight at him and lost himself in memories of Jean. As for the Institute, none of them was eager to go back to the school after a transmission from the Professor had been cut off, the only sounds to be heard being screams and water flooding through shattering windows. God only knew what they'd find if they went back, but Rogue would have bet hard cash it wouldn't have been pretty.
For whatever vigilante reputation they'd gotten over the years, the authorities were willing to forgive a lot in a crisis, and they'd suddenly found themselves pressed into service as a makeshift ferry service for victims in the northern areas who'd found their way to safety at the various military installations that had sprung up on the ice. It was on this last trip, flying back north after dropping off survivors at a base in Mexico, that Rogue's worries about Storm's health had taken on a frightening tone.
Storm had already been showing signs of a mental fatigue even before the plane had shifted ominously in the jet stream. What had been happening everywhere now for the past two weeks or so, storms and hail and tornadoes where there shouldn't have been any, had been cracking at Storm's usual tranquil veneer a peck at a time. The circles under her eyes contrasted so sharply against her paling skin that she'd resembled a far-gone heroin addict. Rogue hadn't been able to decide if Storm was hurting because her powers were failing her at a time they should have been at their most useful, or because Mother Nature, on some basic level, had betrayed her.
And when they'd fallen from the sky, the last souvenir of their time as X-Men dying underneath their feet from the strain of the wind and the cold, Storm had simply closed her eyes and smiled.
A gentle tug at the corners of her lips, was all. But the memory of it chilled Rogue far more than the below-zero temperatures currently enveloping her.
"She'll be all right," Rogue said, her voice strangely clear and confident. "All we need to do is get her some help. There's a military installation about four miles south of here, judging from what the on-board computers said before we crashed."
Logan's eyes narrowed, and he stared at her for what felt like an eternity, watching as she murmured to herself and stroked Storm's limp, cold hand. Then, approaching her slowly before kneeling beside the both of them, Logan gave Rogue a meaningful look before reaching out and shutting Storm's eyes.
Rogue slapped his hand away. "Don't give up on her, damn you. She can survive if we just use some of the wreckage to carry her --"
"Marie?"
Bobby's voice carried in the silence of this eerily deserted world, and Rogue barely managed to restrain her tears as he stumbled up to the other three X-Men, clutching his broken left arm awkwardly to his chest. He looked perfectly at ease in the freezing air, no shivering or flinching from the cold, and Rogue felt jealousy flare before it was smothered by a strange new calm.
Her boyfriend took one look at her and stopped walking. His gaze darted in silent question to Logan before he said, "Rogue, are you all right?"
"Of course I am," she said with a edge of exasperation, "but we've got to help Storm. Her legs must be broken, and her arms, and when I came to, I was lying on her and ... and we were touching ..."
"Marie," Logan said, and he pried her steely grip on Storm's unmoving fingers apart before looking her in the eyes and saying, "Storm's dead."
Rogue shook her head, shook it until she was sure she wouldn't remember waking up cheek to cheek with a Storm who couldn't have pushed her away even if she'd wanted to. Whimpered as Bobby's good arm slipped around her, ignoring Logan's matter-of-fact pronouncement that she was in shock. Cried as the two of them eased her to her feet, trying desperately not to notice the way the air seemed to crackle around her the more upset she got.
She let them lead her away, across the frozen wasteland towards what she assumed was the military installation she'd mentioned without even knowing where the knowledge had come from. And maybe she would have noticed the new memories flooding her mind, of growing up a thief and being worshipped as a goddess and running across the African plains, the same way she might have noticed the sharp cracks of lightning that struck not far away as the three of them made their way towards the only help they were going to find within a hundred miles.
But Rogue barely recognized anything at that point, because somewhere between the confusing despair that had suddenly wrapped itself around her like a wet quilt and the faint feeling that she supposed to feel very guilty, she realized something.
Her hair, every single damn strand of it, had gone stark white.
Somewhere inside the smoldering, crumpled remains of the jet, Rogue awoke in a patch of snow with her cheek pressed firmly against Storm's.
Rogue immediately scrambled backwards with a startled gasp, years of fearful instinct kicking into gear in a heartbeat. She breathed the cold air in harsh, ragged jags, staring down at Storm in an accusatory glare. Why the hell hadn't the elder woman pushed her away, damn it?
But then Rogue noticed the strange angles that Storm's arms and legs were in, and the glassy tint of her hauntingly wide-open eyes.
Any thought she might have given to the others, or to the wreck of an aircraft scattered in a wide debris field around her, fell away as Rogue's eyes welled with tears. "St-storm?" she choked out, and just as quickly as she'd moved away, she rushed back to Ororo's side, grabbing onto her shoulders and shaking gently. "C'mon, Storm. Wake up."
"Leave her be, Rogue."
Rogue startled and spun on her heels, spotting Logan's familiar frame at the edge of the wreckage, his expression more annoyed than anything else. There had only been the four of them left on the jet when it had fallen from the sky. They'd lost Scott during the flooding in New York, his desperation to save as many as he could compromised the second he'd spotted a wall of water coming straight at him and lost himself in memories of Jean. As for the Institute, none of them was eager to go back to the school after a transmission from the Professor had been cut off, the only sounds to be heard being screams and water flooding through shattering windows. God only knew what they'd find if they went back, but Rogue would have bet hard cash it wouldn't have been pretty.
For whatever vigilante reputation they'd gotten over the years, the authorities were willing to forgive a lot in a crisis, and they'd suddenly found themselves pressed into service as a makeshift ferry service for victims in the northern areas who'd found their way to safety at the various military installations that had sprung up on the ice. It was on this last trip, flying back north after dropping off survivors at a base in Mexico, that Rogue's worries about Storm's health had taken on a frightening tone.
Storm had already been showing signs of a mental fatigue even before the plane had shifted ominously in the jet stream. What had been happening everywhere now for the past two weeks or so, storms and hail and tornadoes where there shouldn't have been any, had been cracking at Storm's usual tranquil veneer a peck at a time. The circles under her eyes contrasted so sharply against her paling skin that she'd resembled a far-gone heroin addict. Rogue hadn't been able to decide if Storm was hurting because her powers were failing her at a time they should have been at their most useful, or because Mother Nature, on some basic level, had betrayed her.
And when they'd fallen from the sky, the last souvenir of their time as X-Men dying underneath their feet from the strain of the wind and the cold, Storm had simply closed her eyes and smiled.
A gentle tug at the corners of her lips, was all. But the memory of it chilled Rogue far more than the below-zero temperatures currently enveloping her.
"She'll be all right," Rogue said, her voice strangely clear and confident. "All we need to do is get her some help. There's a military installation about four miles south of here, judging from what the on-board computers said before we crashed."
Logan's eyes narrowed, and he stared at her for what felt like an eternity, watching as she murmured to herself and stroked Storm's limp, cold hand. Then, approaching her slowly before kneeling beside the both of them, Logan gave Rogue a meaningful look before reaching out and shutting Storm's eyes.
Rogue slapped his hand away. "Don't give up on her, damn you. She can survive if we just use some of the wreckage to carry her --"
"Marie?"
Bobby's voice carried in the silence of this eerily deserted world, and Rogue barely managed to restrain her tears as he stumbled up to the other three X-Men, clutching his broken left arm awkwardly to his chest. He looked perfectly at ease in the freezing air, no shivering or flinching from the cold, and Rogue felt jealousy flare before it was smothered by a strange new calm.
Her boyfriend took one look at her and stopped walking. His gaze darted in silent question to Logan before he said, "Rogue, are you all right?"
"Of course I am," she said with a edge of exasperation, "but we've got to help Storm. Her legs must be broken, and her arms, and when I came to, I was lying on her and ... and we were touching ..."
"Marie," Logan said, and he pried her steely grip on Storm's unmoving fingers apart before looking her in the eyes and saying, "Storm's dead."
Rogue shook her head, shook it until she was sure she wouldn't remember waking up cheek to cheek with a Storm who couldn't have pushed her away even if she'd wanted to. Whimpered as Bobby's good arm slipped around her, ignoring Logan's matter-of-fact pronouncement that she was in shock. Cried as the two of them eased her to her feet, trying desperately not to notice the way the air seemed to crackle around her the more upset she got.
She let them lead her away, across the frozen wasteland towards what she assumed was the military installation she'd mentioned without even knowing where the knowledge had come from. And maybe she would have noticed the new memories flooding her mind, of growing up a thief and being worshipped as a goddess and running across the African plains, the same way she might have noticed the sharp cracks of lightning that struck not far away as the three of them made their way towards the only help they were going to find within a hundred miles.
But Rogue barely recognized anything at that point, because somewhere between the confusing despair that had suddenly wrapped itself around her like a wet quilt and the faint feeling that she supposed to feel very guilty, she realized something.
Her hair, every single damn strand of it, had gone stark white.
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no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 09:39 pm (UTC)I love this.so.much.
What a great bedtime story! *grin*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 10:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 10:45 pm (UTC)I like it.
(did I mention I saw two different trailers for The Day After Tomorrow when I went to see Troy? I don't know what the film is going to be like, but it officially has the best trailers I've ever seen)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 11:16 pm (UTC)Ah well. I'll find a way.
It's an excellently canonical approach to the challenge and your style realized it very well. Good work :)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-20 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 03:57 am (UTC)I know you are looking for fics the day the movie comes out, but I think I'm going to wait until afterward. (See the movie and then write).
But you're doing a fantastic job with these end of the world scenarios.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 05:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 05:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 09:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-27 09:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-28 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-29 05:32 pm (UTC)