Categories > Movies > X-Men: The Movie > Bittersweet Memories
Bittersweet Memories
0 reviewsRogue is left to deal with the new memories she's acquired after Liberty Island
0Unrated
Title: Bittersweet Memories
Summary: Rogue is left to deal with the new memories she's acquired after Liberty Island
Rating: T
Warning: disturbing images from Holocaust
Pairing: none yet, but hinted Cherik in future chapters
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters mentioned I'm just borrowing them for now
A/N: I have been toying with the idea of writing an X-men fic for some time now and I finally just sat down and started writing. I've always thought how Rogue would have dealt with having another's memories in her head and the thought of seeing the relationship of Charles and Erik through an outsider's view point made me really want to sit down and write it for myself.
This is my first attempt at ever writing in this fandom so excuse me for any OOC-ness
Also I decided to make this a multi-chapter story, it was going to be a one shot but my mind went rampant with ideas and I decided to expand
Reviews = LOVE :D
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Bright blue eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, look up at me. A mixture of pleading and resignation swirl in those blue orbs as they seem to pierce through my very soul.
Feelings of disgust and guilt whirl around in my head, touching every part of my conscious as they filter through my mind. It's a cruel reminder that this is my fault.
There's a pain in my chest and I feel my lungs begin to constrict making my breath come out in protesting gasps as I try to swallow the lump of shame that's formed in the middle of my throat. The pain slowly spreads through the rest of my body numbing me from where I kneel on the sandy shores of Cuba.
My hands shake uselessly hanging by my side as realization sinks in. Those five words echo around in my head, each new reverberation stinging worse than the previous one.
'No Erik, you did this.'
Rogue wakes with a start gasping for air. A thin sheen of sweat covers her brow making her hair stick to her forehead in a pasty fashion. She feels like she's choking as she tries to suck in as much air as possible. Her lungs feel empty and she knows it has to do with what she was dreaming.
Realizing she is in fact sitting upright in her own bed back at the mansion Rogue relaxes; slightly, knowing your surroundings can only do so much to calm someone.
Once her breathing evens out from the sputtering gasps they once were she allows herself to slump over pulling her knees tightly to her chest. Burrowing her head down Rogue is unaware of the silent tears that fall making their way down her cheeks, falling gracefully to the mar her nightgown as she shakes softly trying to quiet her sobs.
It was only a dream she tries to tell herself, but the statement is empty and she doesn't believe a single word. She knows in her heart that what she saw—nay what she felt—was far too real; the scene on the beach was certainly a memory.
Not one of her own, no, but it was now as much a part of her as the white streaks in her hair; yet another parting gift from the memories true owner.
Rubbing wildly at her eyes Rogue rolled over on her side to face the window in her room. Biting her bottom lip she tried to quiet her cries to simple sniffles, she didn't want to wake Kitty. The last thing she needed was to have to talk with the younger girl who no doubt would be firing questions off left and right.
This wasn't the first dream—memory she mentally corrects herself—that she'd had play out during her sleep. Ever since that night a top Lady Liberty she'd been experiencing these dre-memories.
Pulling up her blankets to chin level she blinked away a few of the remaining unshed tears. Those first few days had been tough; she'd seen images, horrible images.
Men, women, children being beaten and mistreated in unimaginable ways of cruelty; families being separated from each other; large groups of people being herded like animals onto trains into camps, taken from their home and stripped of their very existence by men in uniforms. People covered in grime looking like walking skeletons, others dying as starvation took its toll, they lived a sordid existence crowding in bunkers where maybe if they were lucky they'd get a meal for the night. Sleep was out of the question, and rightfully so, how could one possibly sleep when fear gnawed away at them? Fear that they'd be next, that during the night they would be taken and disposed of, after all they were dispensable.
God there had been so much fear; it radiated off the images and often felt much like her own creation. Rogue would wake up sweating, tears running down her face as she sputtered incoherently trying to make sense of the horrid things she had seen.
She tried her best to make sense of the images, but it wasn't until Storm covered World War II in class that she finally understood the meaning of the images that had plagued her at night.
She gasped at the images of Auschwitz that were displayed to the class. Tears stung her eyes as the realization set in that she had in fact seen these images before, in her dreams in fact. The dreams she'd been having were real, they were memories, but not hers.
With each slide she felt her chest tighten and breathing suddenly became very difficult. Each new image conjured up a new emotion. Fear. Rage. Hatred. Disgust. Terror. Concern. Panic. Isolation. Abandonment.
Having long since tuned out Storm to listen instead to her internal thoughts as she remembered last night's dre-memory she corrected. She stood suddenly when a picture of a mass grave appeared, no longer able to sit idly as the images passed before her she quickly mumbled an excuse as she bolted from the room running to the nearest bathroom.
Tears flowing freely she barely reached the toilet before her stomach betrays her and begins emptying itself into the waiting porcelain bowl. She's not sure how long she stayed there, a crumpled mess holding onto the toilet as tears ran down her cheeks. But by the time her stomach has settled and she finds the fortitude to push herself from the cold tile floor and exit the stall class is long over.
Surveying herself in the mirror she splashes some water on her face trying to add some color to her cheeks. It does very little good, she still looks green around the edges and worry is evident in her red rimmed eyes. Exhaling shakily she drags her hands across the edges of her blouse trying to smooth the rumpled fabric. Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear Rogue takes one last look in the mirror trying to reassure herself that everything will be fine, and the memories locked in her head will soon fade away to and afterthought.
It's a pathetic attempt at comfort; she knows that the memories won't fade.
She remembers the feel of soft lips against her own. How long had it been? Almost a year now, perhaps longer?
She remembers the tentative motion of lips descending against hers. How she had slowly responded in kind. How the kiss had deepened with a need to intensify.
And then the moment was broken.
She can tell something is wrong long before the tremors start. Cody stills against her and a gasp leaves his mouth.
Eyes snapping open she pushes herself back in a panic as she watches Cody begin to seize on the bed, his eyes rolling back in his skull as his body shakes.
She screams in terror, backing away from Cody she withdraws into herself moving to the furthest corner of the room. She doesn't realize she is still screaming until Aunt Carrie is in the doorway asking what's wrong.
She's mumbling over and over "all I did was touch him."
Carrie bless her soul reaches out to place a hand on Rogue, no she was Marie then, Marie's shoulder to try and calm down her niece. She's rewarded with a shriek of "Don't touch me!" as Marie pulls away sinking to the ground in a blubbering mess.
Rogue swallows and she clenches her eyes shut replaying the memory, this one very much her own. It'd just been a kiss, her first kiss in fact. Weren't first kisses supposed to be nice? Something a girl would always remember for all her life?
Wiping away a single tear Rogue smiled grimly in the mirror. She would remember her first kiss alright. How could you forget sending your boyfriend into a three week coma with just a brush of your lips?
She still felt him in her mind sometimes, not as often as she had just after the kiss, but he was still there, ever present in her mind.
Blowing out a stream of air she turns away from the mirror. She plays back the words Magneto had to offer on Lady Liberty "I first saw her in 1949. America was going to be the land of tolerance. Peace." She exhales again, softly this time as she slowly pieces together the images she's been seeing along with the memory of Magneto.
She gasps inhaling sharply, it suddenly makes sense.
Vaguely she hears Magneto's voice in her head "sorry my dear…"
The kiss had been a fleeting touch, not nearly as long of contact as Magneto had created atop the Torch on Liberty Island. Those memories of Auschwitz are going to be with her forever.
Summary: Rogue is left to deal with the new memories she's acquired after Liberty Island
Rating: T
Warning: disturbing images from Holocaust
Pairing: none yet, but hinted Cherik in future chapters
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters mentioned I'm just borrowing them for now
A/N: I have been toying with the idea of writing an X-men fic for some time now and I finally just sat down and started writing. I've always thought how Rogue would have dealt with having another's memories in her head and the thought of seeing the relationship of Charles and Erik through an outsider's view point made me really want to sit down and write it for myself.
This is my first attempt at ever writing in this fandom so excuse me for any OOC-ness
Also I decided to make this a multi-chapter story, it was going to be a one shot but my mind went rampant with ideas and I decided to expand
Reviews = LOVE :D
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bright blue eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, look up at me. A mixture of pleading and resignation swirl in those blue orbs as they seem to pierce through my very soul.
Feelings of disgust and guilt whirl around in my head, touching every part of my conscious as they filter through my mind. It's a cruel reminder that this is my fault.
There's a pain in my chest and I feel my lungs begin to constrict making my breath come out in protesting gasps as I try to swallow the lump of shame that's formed in the middle of my throat. The pain slowly spreads through the rest of my body numbing me from where I kneel on the sandy shores of Cuba.
My hands shake uselessly hanging by my side as realization sinks in. Those five words echo around in my head, each new reverberation stinging worse than the previous one.
'No Erik, you did this.'
Rogue wakes with a start gasping for air. A thin sheen of sweat covers her brow making her hair stick to her forehead in a pasty fashion. She feels like she's choking as she tries to suck in as much air as possible. Her lungs feel empty and she knows it has to do with what she was dreaming.
Realizing she is in fact sitting upright in her own bed back at the mansion Rogue relaxes; slightly, knowing your surroundings can only do so much to calm someone.
Once her breathing evens out from the sputtering gasps they once were she allows herself to slump over pulling her knees tightly to her chest. Burrowing her head down Rogue is unaware of the silent tears that fall making their way down her cheeks, falling gracefully to the mar her nightgown as she shakes softly trying to quiet her sobs.
It was only a dream she tries to tell herself, but the statement is empty and she doesn't believe a single word. She knows in her heart that what she saw—nay what she felt—was far too real; the scene on the beach was certainly a memory.
Not one of her own, no, but it was now as much a part of her as the white streaks in her hair; yet another parting gift from the memories true owner.
Rubbing wildly at her eyes Rogue rolled over on her side to face the window in her room. Biting her bottom lip she tried to quiet her cries to simple sniffles, she didn't want to wake Kitty. The last thing she needed was to have to talk with the younger girl who no doubt would be firing questions off left and right.
This wasn't the first dream—memory she mentally corrects herself—that she'd had play out during her sleep. Ever since that night a top Lady Liberty she'd been experiencing these dre-memories.
Pulling up her blankets to chin level she blinked away a few of the remaining unshed tears. Those first few days had been tough; she'd seen images, horrible images.
Men, women, children being beaten and mistreated in unimaginable ways of cruelty; families being separated from each other; large groups of people being herded like animals onto trains into camps, taken from their home and stripped of their very existence by men in uniforms. People covered in grime looking like walking skeletons, others dying as starvation took its toll, they lived a sordid existence crowding in bunkers where maybe if they were lucky they'd get a meal for the night. Sleep was out of the question, and rightfully so, how could one possibly sleep when fear gnawed away at them? Fear that they'd be next, that during the night they would be taken and disposed of, after all they were dispensable.
God there had been so much fear; it radiated off the images and often felt much like her own creation. Rogue would wake up sweating, tears running down her face as she sputtered incoherently trying to make sense of the horrid things she had seen.
She tried her best to make sense of the images, but it wasn't until Storm covered World War II in class that she finally understood the meaning of the images that had plagued her at night.
She gasped at the images of Auschwitz that were displayed to the class. Tears stung her eyes as the realization set in that she had in fact seen these images before, in her dreams in fact. The dreams she'd been having were real, they were memories, but not hers.
With each slide she felt her chest tighten and breathing suddenly became very difficult. Each new image conjured up a new emotion. Fear. Rage. Hatred. Disgust. Terror. Concern. Panic. Isolation. Abandonment.
Having long since tuned out Storm to listen instead to her internal thoughts as she remembered last night's dre-memory she corrected. She stood suddenly when a picture of a mass grave appeared, no longer able to sit idly as the images passed before her she quickly mumbled an excuse as she bolted from the room running to the nearest bathroom.
Tears flowing freely she barely reached the toilet before her stomach betrays her and begins emptying itself into the waiting porcelain bowl. She's not sure how long she stayed there, a crumpled mess holding onto the toilet as tears ran down her cheeks. But by the time her stomach has settled and she finds the fortitude to push herself from the cold tile floor and exit the stall class is long over.
Surveying herself in the mirror she splashes some water on her face trying to add some color to her cheeks. It does very little good, she still looks green around the edges and worry is evident in her red rimmed eyes. Exhaling shakily she drags her hands across the edges of her blouse trying to smooth the rumpled fabric. Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear Rogue takes one last look in the mirror trying to reassure herself that everything will be fine, and the memories locked in her head will soon fade away to and afterthought.
It's a pathetic attempt at comfort; she knows that the memories won't fade.
She remembers the feel of soft lips against her own. How long had it been? Almost a year now, perhaps longer?
She remembers the tentative motion of lips descending against hers. How she had slowly responded in kind. How the kiss had deepened with a need to intensify.
And then the moment was broken.
She can tell something is wrong long before the tremors start. Cody stills against her and a gasp leaves his mouth.
Eyes snapping open she pushes herself back in a panic as she watches Cody begin to seize on the bed, his eyes rolling back in his skull as his body shakes.
She screams in terror, backing away from Cody she withdraws into herself moving to the furthest corner of the room. She doesn't realize she is still screaming until Aunt Carrie is in the doorway asking what's wrong.
She's mumbling over and over "all I did was touch him."
Carrie bless her soul reaches out to place a hand on Rogue, no she was Marie then, Marie's shoulder to try and calm down her niece. She's rewarded with a shriek of "Don't touch me!" as Marie pulls away sinking to the ground in a blubbering mess.
Rogue swallows and she clenches her eyes shut replaying the memory, this one very much her own. It'd just been a kiss, her first kiss in fact. Weren't first kisses supposed to be nice? Something a girl would always remember for all her life?
Wiping away a single tear Rogue smiled grimly in the mirror. She would remember her first kiss alright. How could you forget sending your boyfriend into a three week coma with just a brush of your lips?
She still felt him in her mind sometimes, not as often as she had just after the kiss, but he was still there, ever present in her mind.
Blowing out a stream of air she turns away from the mirror. She plays back the words Magneto had to offer on Lady Liberty "I first saw her in 1949. America was going to be the land of tolerance. Peace." She exhales again, softly this time as she slowly pieces together the images she's been seeing along with the memory of Magneto.
She gasps inhaling sharply, it suddenly makes sense.
Vaguely she hears Magneto's voice in her head "sorry my dear…"
The kiss had been a fleeting touch, not nearly as long of contact as Magneto had created atop the Torch on Liberty Island. Those memories of Auschwitz are going to be with her forever.
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