un_gloved | (no subject)

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There was a whole big list of things Rogue absolutely could not handle. She hadn't anticipated Being Home would have been one of them, but, it was. All the other little things that went under that umbrella heading were, to be sure, daunting on their own, so added up it felt like she was going out of her skin with restlessness.

The only good thing was, she could get away from the immediate crush of it all by flying. The school was already getting pieced back together from the Sentinel attack, by those who hadn't been wounded in the fights that followed. She'd been one of the first ones awake, and though she knew she had her part to do- probably had to fix that damn dome right back up where it was supposed to go- she hadn't had it in her. She'd had to fly.

Touching down, the grounds seemed quiet. Walking into the mansion didn't change the feeling and she didn't like the sensation.

Place this big shouldn't be so still. Specially when there's a whole host o'folks I'd like to avoid. Wish I could put a bell on' em.

She headed downstairs. Maybe a shower and a nap would make things better. Or maybe pummeling something in the danger room. Or a swim. The options suddenly didn't seem so much different than they had on the island. But then again, she could go shopping, or get some coffee or, Lord above, watch some tv.

Didn't sound so bad.

"Careless."

She'd barely started to turn toward the voice, low and feral, before the claws came down. They shredded her jacket sleeve and some of the bodysuit underneath and across her ribs, but the impact, the power in his arm, that was what actually hurt. She barely got a sound out as she made a dent in the metal floor.

"Cruh- Creed?!" She gasped, pushing herself up. bad news. Bad. Her skin was as tough as his, but it didn't fix as quick once it did get busted, and if there were only a couple around with stamina enough to make a dent, he was one of them.

How the hell had the manacles come off?

"Any more questions?" he asked, lifting her by the back of the head and slamming her face first into the wall.

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"You know, I think I like you better when you can't talk and are begging me to kill you," I say.

It's true. Key word is better. Can't stand him either way, but at least one way he shuts up.

"How would you know, runt?" he says. "You ain't never seen it."

I smirk. It gets him, that smirk, I can tell. It's a smirk that says yes I have. "I know a lot of things you don't, Creed," I say. "Like Romulus."

Funny thing is, he doesn't blink. Can't say when he found out about it, but he knew longer than I did, but here we are: nothing. Just comes at me again, backs me past Rogue.

Hope she doesn't just jump up and go for something easy like putting him through a wall. That's not what we're here for.

She rolled, pushing herself up, gloves already off. That wasn't what she was there for. Sure, on a good day, she hoped to be the X-Men personal taxi and rescue service- pluck 'em outta the air when they got tossed there, bring 'em where they needed to go, take some hard hits but not cause anyone t'worry because, heck, the hard hits were hers to take.

But that wasn't her specialty. That was just what she was good for.

"Don't have any catnip handy, so we'll have t'try this," she purred, and grabbed her jaw with one hand, the clawed hand that whipped back at her with the other.

It hit her like sledgehammer, like a wave too big to break through. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were open, but she wasn't making a sound and she couldn't see a thing.

I don't envy her having that stuck in her head for a while. I had a few unwanted memories of my own thrown back into my head a while back; not the same thing, not hardly, but I could sympathize a little.

Just not right now. Right now, I'm busy.

"Something you should know," I say, crossing my arms. "I'm from the future." I charge, ducking lightly under the flailing attempt he makes to stop me. He's divided, trying to deal with me and with Rogue sucking the life out of him. "And the thing about the future?"

There's this poem about an unkillable monster, can only be stopped with this certain blade. Makes a specific sound, snicker-snack.

This is a lot like that, only the sound my claws make is a lot shorter.

"You're not in it."

Rogue had been holding his head. She still was, but only for a moment longer before she dropped it, and fell back, knees hitting the floor first before she was curling over, arms crossed against her chest and head down, body shaking with the energy.

Physically, she felt amazing. Unfortunately, the physical was not her chiefest obstacle.

"Rogue," I say. Luckily I haven't been on that island long enough to get used to us not having powers. Otherwise, I'd be tempted to grab her face.

"Rogue, focus."

She growled at him. It was deep, seemed to emanate from her spine and outward, shaking her bones and humming in her teeth, several of which were sharper and protruding a bit further than they had been. She unfolded her arms, fingers splayed and curved, half with the tension it took not to jump at Wolverine and half from the extreme discomfort of having sprouted claws significantly larger than the nails they were used to.

"...Fancy claws...can't cut what they can't...hit...'n your hotsy totsy healin' factor won't-" She bit it back, curled in again, digging her elbows against her ribs. It was hard, it was too hard.

He's so strong, oh God, I can't even see myself. I can't hear myself.

Hitting her - hell, touching her - would probably do more harm than good right now.

"Rogue, darlin', push past him," I say. "He's just rage and instinct, just think around him."

She slammed her hands against the floor, denting the metal in long welts where the pressure tugged at it for feet in either direction. She turned them over and dug the claws it.

Think it through. Think it through. You know where you are. Sorta.

"Rip yer... heart..."

Out.

She gasped a little, claws reverting, canines shrinking back to their normal size. She closed her eyes and sagged, pressing her forehead to the metal and letting her hands go soft, absently curled over the rents in the steel.

"Oh. Oh, God."

"That's it," I say, putting a cautious - for more reasons than one - arm around her. "Keep your head straight."

She nodded, hands immediately moving to cover her ears, then slide to her temples. The habit of useless gestures. Unthinkingly, she leaned into him- she couldn't have asked for a more grounding presence. It took a lot for someone to make her feel safe, especially when she had her powers. Figured one of those people would be him.

She jerked back, though, unsteadily.

"No-! Ah'm- 'm sorry, I shouldn't've-" She swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Suit's all tore up."

"I'd've lived," I say.

'course, last thing Rogue needs right now is more memories running into her head. She's probably right.

I glance over at Creed's body. "I need a beer," I say. "Coming?"

She looked at the mess and grimaced.

"Ain't stickin' around t'clean this up," she murmured, and started to stand, although every part of her felt as though it had been cast in lead.

"Madrox can make some dupes to do it," I say, staying close in case she looks like she's going to tip over.

In any senses of the phrase.

"......you killed him," she observed, quietly and pretty dispassionately, for Rogue, pulling the torn remnant of her jacket closer around her shoulders.

"Not the first time," I say, shortly.

It's what I do.

"Have to wait and see if this sticks, though. Last time was a little different."

"If you say so, sugar," she sighed, "reckon this timeline's all messed up anyway, that can't hurt anything."

"Can't say I was worrying about that at the time," I say, "but you're right. If it's already broken, trying not to step on the pieces isn't going to put it back together."

"Truer words," Rogue murmured. She stopped on the stairs, leaning against the wall, touching her fingertips to her forehead.

"Geez."

I stop a couple of steps up, which gives the illusion we're somewhere near the same height.

"You going to be all right?"

"Yeah," she said immediately, "yeah, o'course. Just... there's so much- it's just a lot to take in." She blinked a few times and cleared her throat, starting up the stairs again.

"....'n everythin' smells."

She might just be talking tough, but I'm not exactly innocent of that myself.

"Welcome to my world," I grunt, and start walking as well.

"You okay?" she asked, after a moment, shooting him a sideways glance. It seemed like sort of a big deal, what just happened, whether it was real or not.

"Like I said," I say, not looking at her, "I need a beer."

"I jus' wanna take a shower, crawl inna bed, and pass out," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Alone. Too bad that ain't gonna happen."

It takes me a moment to figure out what she means.

"Could always ask the Prof to take a poke around," I say.

I don't say it like I expect her to do it, though.

What would that do? It might not do anythin', but if it could help here, it might help when we get back, too. I should, I should ask him. God, I ain't even seen him since we've been here.

She was afraid to. She couldn't hardly say why.

"Tell ya what, my head aside, I feel like a million bucks," she said, extending one arm in front of her and looking at all the places her suit was torn, and all the perfectly unmarred skin beneath it.

"Heckuva way to feel, accountin' for the dead man in our basement."

"Funny," I say, "I feel like a million bucks because of the dead man in our basement."

It's not entirely true. We're well rid of him, sure, but there's something not right, here. It's like an itch I can't get to, because I don't even know where it is.

"Guess you got a right to it," she said quietly, "I don't." She shuddered.

"Never held on while someone died b'fore."

I don't say anything for a moment.

Then I say, "Sorry," because I can feel for her. Not that I've done anything quite like that, but I've done a lot of things I'd rather not remember how they felt.

"Don't blame you," she said, "don't worry about it. Thanks, though."

She stopped at the top of the stairs, running both hands through her hair and over face.

"I gotta- I'm gonna go clean up 'n lie down. You- enjoy that beer."

"I plan to," I say. I pause for a moment, then start heading for the kitchen.

A few steps later I pause, and add, "Thanks," without turning around.

Rogue mustered something of a smile, watching his back.

"Sho' thing, boss."

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