The Dance
by
Elektra
DISCLAIMER: They all belong to Marvel. Oh yeah, and Fox or something.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to LT, Alb and Chase for their support with this story.
Marie lay in bed watching gentle teardrops of rain drip slowly down the windowpane. She could not remember how long she had been there. Within her head, the harsh taskmaster of time had ground to a halt like a broken windup toy. She felt each moment, each second as it elapsed. Somewhere, beyond the hazy shell of her mind, there were people. Voices cried out in pain and grief. They didn't matter. None of them mattered. All there was was foggy confusion.
Pressure against her scalp told her that someone else was there. The slow, rhythmic patting of a hand being dragged through her snarly locks. Hair. She dimly recalled brushing it days ago. Hair that she had tried to pull out by the roots in hopes of forgetting. She shifted on the bed, longing to avoid the pain that hand caused against the tortured skin of her scalp.
No pain. Pain required consciousness; and, that was not something she wished to experience.
"Rogue. Marie." The quiet, modulated pitch of Jean's internal voice crept into her head. Jean meant well, but she couldn't understand what she was doing. The sound of each vowel, every consonant tore at something deep inside Marie's chest. Was that her heart? Did she even have one anymore? The black yawning chasm behind her eyes told her no, but the pain made her wonder.
Slowly turning her head, two lips, one nose, two eyes, somewhere in the depths of her mind, Marie recognized Jean's face. The older woman seemed to age before her; or, maybe time was playing tricks again. With a sudden pulse, her heart filled with hope. Time. Had it really moved so quickly?
Hope was no good. No, push it down. Hold it down, tight in a shell in your stomach, she told herself. And slowly, she pressed it down and felt her heart shrink. The slow and steady push. Numbness and the relief that followed was a blessing.
Marie stared at Jean blankly. Of all people, why did it have to be her? She had tried to hate Jean, really tried. But it took too much, the emptiness was easier. Over Jean's shoulder, she saw Logan standing in the doorway. His eyes seemed to be sparkling at her, reaching right down inside her soul--what was left of it.
She stretched out her hand and beckoned for him to sit on the bed. But, he just stood there, eyes silently watching.
"Rogue, please. Please look at me."
Jean was pleading with her, but she couldn't seem to care. Logan was there, really there. He wasn't looking at Jean. He wasn't looking at Storm or Kitty or Jubilee. He was looking at her. Right at her. Marie's lips spread in a Cheshire-cat grin that mirrored Logan's own. Jean didn't even know he was there. That grin was just for her.
She tried to will herself to speak. The soft, moist skin on the inner surface of her lips scraped against her teeth, but she could hear nothing. That strange howling moan couldn't be coming from her. It wasn't right. No, he was moving to stand at the foot of her bed, it wasn't her. He had heard her, even though she could not hear herself.
He was there, protecting her, as he said he always would. She was safe. None of the rest mattered. Jean, the strange howling, none of it was significant.
"Marie!"
Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arms and she felt her body being shaken. Her head flopped back and forth until she could no longer see him. Why? Why did they always have to take him away from her? She tried to fight back. She imagined her arms swinging around and slapping Jean in the face. Several pearly teeth would fly from her lips. But she couldn't will the leaden weight of her hands to move.
Her head hit the pillow with a dull thud. Marie felt Jean rise from the bed, heard the heavy pounding of feet moving across the floor and she knew was alone again. A familiar, pungent odor assaulted the tender passages of her nose. No, not alone. He was there. Somewhere.
She slowly willed her eyes to open and there he was. Perched on the windowsill, he was blowing smoke rings out the window.
"Hey Kid"
She smiled at the casual endearment. Though time had changed their lives irrevocably, some things never would. No matter where he went, or how long he was gone, their bond remained indestructible.
"Hey, done running?"
He responded with an enigmatic smile. They both knew the answer to her question.
His eyes flicked over to a small package on her bedside table.
"Did you open it? I left instructions with the Professor. You were supposed to have that if--" His voice broke off.
A slow iciness filled Marie. The smile on her lips dimmed and vanished into nothingness. The damn package. The one she would have thrown out of the window if it had been from anyone else but him.
"Yeah," she said, barely recognizing the hushed husky tones of her voice.
"Did you play it?"
She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. Marie hadn't been able to find the courage to play the CD he'd left in the package. That lack of internal strength embarrassed her now. Of all the people to show weakness to. What would he think of her?
The sound of booted feet on wooden floorboards filled the room and still she could not bring herself to lift her head and face him. Marie heard the gentle rustling of paper and the clattering of plastic on plastic. She looked up to see Logan inserting a CD, his CD, into her stereo. After fiddling with the treble and bass, he walked across the room and crouched at the side of her bed.
His warm callused palm slid over the back of her hand.
"May I have this dance?"
She looked at him, unable to escape the burn of tears in her eyes. The Logan in her head told her how difficult it was for him to take a risk like this, for him to put his heart out there for her to tread on.
She nodded, incapable of speech.
Logan helped her stand when her leaden limbs seemed to make the task impossible.
Marie slid her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. He was there, really there. As his arms clasped her to him, she reveled in their strength. She had missed their embrace. Somehow, locked to him, things felt clearer, her mind less foggy. She had so many questions, but they were all unimportant. He was there, that was all that mattered.
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
GOD forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
He swung her around in tight circles, moving slowly in time with the song that was so important that he'd entrusted only the Professor to give it to her. It was like him, unable to convey this to her himself, so he'd found the words in the lyrics of a song.
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
Marie's laughter turned into a broken sob that she was helpless to contain. Dance. God, if only she could. Without his arms to hold her up, she doubted that she would have found the strength of leave her bed. He seemed to understand, and she felt him press her more firmly against his chest. His lips brushed her hair.
In the quiet hush, she heard his voice along with that of the singer.
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance,
Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth takin',
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth makin',
Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
Logan lifted her above his head and spun quickly in a circle. Her hair, despite the snarls, flew around them in a curtain, the ends caressing his cheek where she could not. Her tears dried in the face of the joy in his eyes.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
She was dancing. Dancing.
* * *
Jean bent to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen to the floor in the midst of hasty package opening. It was a sheet of the Professor's stationary. She looked at the heavy masculine scrawl that was sketched across the surface and found herself smiling for the first time in weeks. How like Logan. One more thing to irritate the Professor before he was gone.
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
She debated reading the letter. But, looking at the recipient, it hardly seemed that the girl would notice whether she was standing there reading it or not.
Marie,
If you're reading this letter-- Well, I guess I don't need to tell you why you're reading this letter.
I'm not usually a letter writing kind of guy, but I have a strange feeling about this mission. Something has been gnawing at me all day. There's something that I'm forgetting. And, since I usually just go by my instincts, I figure I'm probably right.
I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. I guess I finally hit the end of that road I was running down. Anyway, stick with the Professor and Jean, hell, even Cyke. They'll be there for you since I can't anymore.
I figure this is going to be hard on you for awhile. First you lost your parents and now this. But, it will get better. And you'll be happy again someday soon. Don't be too sad for me. I lived a long time and saw a lot.
Don't forget to dance.
I love you.
Logan
Jean looked up at the girl silently dancing around the room, arms filled with her phantom hero. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He had already given her the gift of the dance.
Dance....I hope you dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance..
* I Hope You Dance by Lee Ann Womack
All references to characters belonging to the X-Men Universe are (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, duplication or distribution of these materials in any form is expressly prohibited. No money is being made from this archive. All images are also (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities; they are not mine. This website, its operators and any content used on this site relating to the X-Men are not authorized by Marvel, Fox, etc. I am not, nor do I claim to be affiliated with any of these entities in any way.