Wicked Game

disclaimer: I don't own the x-men (unfortunately...)


this hasn't been beta'd at all so all mistakes are mine...

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Darkness.

This was the void, the place where all things came to an end. A darkened end. No thoughts, no choices, no directions – there were no roads within the blackness. There were no need for roads. This was the void. The void had sensed his presence once before.

I am here now.

Something came towards him in the dark, it knew where he was, and it had come for him, slowly making its way through the nothingness. He tried to turn but somehow he couldn’t move, he wriggled but nothing happened. There were no ropes or cuffs or anything that he could feel, still he was stuck, limbs too heavy, strained. Weariness, he could feel it draining him of focus and will, trying to fight the weariness seemed … too hard. He was so tired.

The thing that had come for him had no smell, yet he could still feel it, sort of crawling its way to him. It wanted him. He tried to breathe, but felt the air being sucked out of him, leaving nothing, and suddenly he felt scared. Panic rushed through his body, an almost uncommon feeling, though every bit as fearful as he’d thought it would be. Where was he? Trying to think became more difficult the closer that other presence came, the darkness too thick, the air too thin. The next moment it slid over him, grabbing, scratching, and clawing at every part of his body. It tried to squeeze him to death, it wanted him broken and crushed into nothing. He heard, and felt, the first bone snap, like a twig. The pain was sharp and instant, and his beast rose to the sound. The Wolverine was awake.

Making his way through that other part of him, Wolverine didn’t wait for permission as he forced himself out of the numb shell he’d been trapped in. He pulled free, they freed each other, lashing out in every direction, at anything that might be near him, trying to hurt him, kill him. He roared and screamed till his lungs hurt, and battled and fought and howled, riding on a wave of anger …

… and the blackness was gone.

It was gone.

He gasped for air, shivered out of exhaustion. Something was horribly wrong. And it hit him like a blow to the face.

“Nooo …”, he moaned, not wanting to open his eyes. No. No. No.

Slumped against him – he didn’t have to raise her face to his to know who it was. The lights were out, it was dark enough for him not to actually pick out who she was, but Wolverine could. He’d known within a second, he knew her scent and the feel of that soft hair, those long brown curls. In the dark he caught glimpses of the two white streaks framing her face. A sound, something close to a mourning sound, rose from his throat.

No.

He knew from before what it felt like to let the claws sink into her flesh.

“No.” He carefully held her away from him with one hand. Her face was blank, pale and ghostlike. Three deep wounds covered her chin. They were fresh. Blood trickled down her neck, and it seemed black in the dim light of the room. He had no idea what the time was. Still night though.

As he lowered his eyes, a dark, crimson blossom unfolded itself across her chest and stomach, through the white satin robe she was wearing. Wolverine slowly withdrew his claws, pulled them from her body, and moaned. He howled, Logan howled, and they were one, releasing the pain.

She tried to say something and he held her against him, cupping her face with one hand, not giving a damn about risking his own life touching her.

“Rogue, don’t leave me, sweetheart”, he whispered, determined not to let her give up, while staring into those widened eyes.

“Ah’m … sorry.” The words were so quietly spoken that only the Wolverine could hear them, her lips barely moving. He could feel her slipping away, and it was like letting go of a piece of sheer fabric a windy day.

“Please, oh god no, don’t do this, don’t … No, Rouge, no damnit don’t you go out like this! You’re not dyin’ on me, ye hear me, girl?!” He hovered just above her lips, searching her eyes for some kind of reaction, any reaction. There was the faintest hint of frown in her face, and then everything went still.

Without thinking Logan let Wolverine out, immediately thrusting his power into Rogue, forced it inside her body and mind. Dropping all defences, he felt the lethal connection snap open and the power flowed from him through her and back again, searching and finding its way down until it struck the torn tissue of her flesh. Repairing the damage, he tried not to feel the cold numbness that resided in her, but it was hard and almost unbearable. Gasping for air he fought the tranquillity that wanted to devour him, he fought it because it had nearly destroyed her already. Over and over and over, he let her body suck the power out of him fill her veins, inner organs, everything that made her Rogue.

Marie …

Eyes closed, Logan let his lips brush against hers. It was like a faint breeze, cold and yet it held the tiniest trickle of life in it. Suddenly he felt her draw breath, almost like she was drowning. The eyelids fluttered as she began to struggle for air. It didn’t seem like she knew he was present. Logan still had one hand supporting her back, and the other around her shoulders. He tried to get her to look at him, soothing her, telling her things that were meant only for her, he tried to keep her from struggling. Tired. He was so tired, and weak. Worn out, sort of. And from somewhere he thought he heard voices. Rogue stared at him, eyes wide and blank, and Logan knew what she saw. He could feel it. Saving her drained him of the healing powers, slashes and cuts appeared and all the while he felt them, one by one. Rogues lips were moving, she was trying to say something, but everything was a buzz, colours whirled in the dark before turning the world to nothing but silent, white noise.