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Rating: G
Post Date: August 10, 2000
Disclaimer: Rogue, Gambit, Hank, Kurt, Mystique, etc,
all belong to the Marvel Universe and their creators. I only
borrowed them for some fun. Author's Note: I have been out
of the X-Universe for quite a while now, so you'll have to
forgive me if this is redundant, or can be contradicted by
what has already happened. I'm STILL trying to catch up. Which
bites, cause these mutants used to be like family to me..
knew them better than most real people. Anyway, I stupidly
wrote the story before catching up on the last eight months,
and then once I did catch up, tried to fix it. Anyway, like
I said, forgive me if it's not perfectly within the X continuum.
Summary: Death and disease take over once more.
She was dying and she knew it. Hank McCoy hovered over her,
testing everything possible, trying everything known and unknown,
but there was little he could do. It started off slowly, slight
weakness where before there was none. It advanced rapidly,
always tired, circles under her eyes, black outs. She had
no control and that scared her more than the concept of death.
No one knew what was wrong with her, it was unprecedented,
but then, so was she. The powers she was losing were not hers
to begin with, but they had become a part of her, and their
death meant her own. Her invulnerability was the first to
fade, mid battle, knocking her to the ground, splitting her
skull. Hank had patched her up, although it had taken weeks
for her to fully heal. Remy LeBeau had been her constant companion
since then. Even though she'd not been kind to him of late,
the moment he heard of her trials, he'd been there.
Her super strength was the next to die. She'd spent many
years learning how to control her mutant strength. How to
pick things up without crushing them; shake a hand without
breaking it; open a door without tearing it from its hinges.
What was happening now was nothing like when the High Evolutionary
deprived her of her powers. This was not the effect of some
outside source. Now she was as weak as a baby. Even a full
glass was too much for her sodden muscles, she was left with
nothing. Loss of super strength meant loss of strength entirely.
Again, Hank had been there, trying to help her tone her newly
weakened body, but she was too gone to truly help. Although
she learned once more to feed herself, relearned how to walk
and work, she felt her uselessness to the team overwhelm her.
Finally, her flight evaded her. Even when her legs refused
to hold her body weight, she'd been able to levitate herself
into the air and get to where she wanted to go, but now, no
longer. She was confined to where she lay, her body's essence
slowly fading into the world around her, and she could no
longer fight.
The end was close, everyone around her knew it, but they
all remained upbeat for her sake. She was so young, once so
full of life no matter what ruination she'd seen, but now
she lay staring at the roof of med lab waiting the final battle.
Another needle into her arm. Another wince of pain crossed
her face. Another look of regret flashing in Hank's eyes.
"Any luck, Beastie?" she asked in a soft whisper, never meeting
his gaze.
"Not yet, my dear, but there is always hope."
"Thanks, Sugah, but Ah was there when we lost Illyana. Ah
know the routine."
Remy approached, taking her hand gently in his bruising the
now over sensitive flesh beneath her glove.
"Don' t'ink like that, Roguie. We find a cure, Remy promise."
Rogue turned her head away from the look of determination
in the red black eyes of her would-be lover. She'd become
yet another woman in Remy's life to cause him such grief.
Without warning, her body stiffened, jerking up and sideways
on the bed, her face contorted in a spasm of pain.
"REMY!" the only word to come to her lips, forcing past in
a scream, the strongest sound she'd made in forever.
"Remy here, Chere. Hold on, please!"
The word was foreign upon his lips, but there was no plea
strong enough for him to force her to live.
The world around her began to fade as her body continued
to convulse. Spittle appeared on her once flawless chin, fingers
forced into stiffened claws and skin changed colors from white
to black. Her last essence of power drained away from her.
"Dear Christ, Hank, what happ'nin' to her?!"
"The last of her powers are fading, Remy. She's losing her
original mutant ability. Her cells cannot cope with turning
human; she is destabilizing. Her body is, for lack of a better
term, falling apart."
"HELP HER!"
"I cannot." The Beast hung his head in sorrow as he finally
put down his medical equipment. "There is nothing more I can
do for her now. This disease is centered at her genetic base.
I just did not have enough time to help."
With tears clouding his eyes, Remy moved to Rogue's side
once more. He peeled the ever present gloves from her clawing
fingers. Placing himself upon her medical bed, he took her
straining hands in his one of his own, resting the other upon
her tortured cheek.
"Remy here, Chere. You jus' close your eyes now, and try
relax. Remy stay wit' you long's it take."
He never knew if she'd heard him or not, as her body convulsed
once more.. then again ... and fell still. Her eyes remained
open, unfocussed but upon his face, and all he could hope
for was that his presence had given her some comfort. Still,
he refused to move, sitting there beside her for long hours
while the others left the room. His finger tips gently closed
her dead eyes; his face buried in her matted hair.
He had loved Belladonna and had lost her. He had loved Rogue
and had swiftly ruined what they could have had. Now there
was no chance left to fix the mistakes. Humans and mutants
alike were guilty of the same thing: the belief that there
would always be enough time for the actions of today to bear
no effect on tomorrow.
Now there was no tomorrow. Not for Rogue, and not for Gambit.
He died with her. One could not exist without the other. Now
there was only Remy LeBeau, leader of the Guild, but no longer
an X-Man.
He stayed for her funeral, no tears falling from his cold,
dead eyes. He left immediately after, denying his SUV for
the motorcycle he had once loved to ride. Never again would
he return to that mansion where death had taken away the only
thing for which he had cared.
Far away, unseen by anyone, a woman with blue skin screamed
in agony. Though she'd carried no telepathic ability, she
felt her daughter's life slip out of her agonized body and
ever so slowly drift off into the fog of nothingness.
Mystique had always tried to look out for Rogue, never wanting
her to suffer, but now that was over. She was free to be whomever
she wanted. With her daughter dead, who would care?
Bonded by people, if not blood, Kurt Wagner mourned his sister's
death in the privacy of a chapel far from the others. He had
long since taught himself to believe in the power of the great
beyond, the belief in a God that would watch and care for
them all, but now his faith wavered. His sister had been so
alive and full of love for those around her. Her life had
already been so tortured; how could a merciful God take her
away so young?
He shook his head and walked out of the chapel. Grief and
confusion cut straight through to Kurt's soul.
One person laughed on this day of tears. One person raised
his hands to the skies and howled a cry of victory. He had
done it. He had created the perfect tool of destruction for
mutant kind. Diseases had cures, weapons had faults, but he
had learned the final secret. Mutants could never be human.
END.
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