WHO: Rogue and Anka Irene WHEN: tonight WHERE: her room WHAT: Baby’s nightmares are not fun WARNINGS: grief, fear of abandonment
Metal sang just beyond the bedroom door, flowing in patterns that she had become accustomed to in the weeks they had been on the ship. But none of it offered the same comfort that Rogue had been able to find back in the cabin. This place was too sterile, all of it put together with no sense of meaning, with no emotion behind any of it. A carefully orchestrated puzzle that fell flat even when the last piece was put into place. It looped together seamlessly, but the coldness of it seeped into her bones now, and she drew back, cutting off the song that was entirely too out of tune.
Each slip of it at the cabin, every crafted piece of metal mixed with wood and plaster had been lovingly put into place by a man that didn’t exist any longer, except for in her mind. And even that piece of him was no longer whole, fastened together in ways with the other version that she had trouble distinguishing them when they spoke up. Their voices were silent tonight though, locked away. There would be no comfort to be taken from either and the last thing she wanted was for either of them to have a chance to slip out and let the others know precisely how strong they were inside of her. That had always been easier when her emotions were high and the grief that had renewed, hitting her in the chest like a wave she couldn’t quite escape, dragging her down with the undertow and depleting all of the strength she had managed to build up in herself again.
Getting a few hours to herself had helped a little, calmed her down enough to keep being the parent that she needed to be until night had fallen and the loneliness crept in all over again. If she focused enough on her breathing, stared long enough at the ceiling above then perhaps she could contain the sorrow long enough to manage a few hours of sleep. Or at least, block the pain she was feeling from Hope and Anka Irene for awhile longer.
A small cry broke through the silence in the room, a swift layer of panic slamming into her from the link she shared with her youngest, and Rogue bolted upright, moving to the crib set to the side of her bed. Anka Irene managed to pull herself up to be standing in that time, tiny arms wrapped tightly around the frame as she scanned the room frantically in the dark, trying to find her mother.
Rogue wrapped the girl tightly in her arms, murmuring words of comfort as she sifted through the baby’s thoughts as best she could, working to calm her down. The dulling of their link had terrified the little girl, reminding her too much of the abrupt shut off she’d felt when Erik had suddenly disappeared all those months ago, and Rogue loosened the barriers between them, letting her feel the magnitude of the connection that she was used to having. The baby’s thoughts might not have been as well developed but the emotions were strong, overpowering at times, and the fear swimming inside of Anka Irene engulfed Rogue, nearly drowning her with the ferocity of it. She rode out the wave, pushing back with love, working to assure her daughter the one thing she could never truly promise.
There was no guarantee that she would remain in this place, that she wouldn’t be the next person that was slung back to her home world. Promises to stay were meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but they were all she could offer the baby girl. It wasn’t quite enough, never truly would be, but she refused to let that fear be a constant in their lives. If she could offer her daughter nothing else, Rogue wanted to ensure she knew precisely how loved she was and would always be.
The baby’s fear dulled, slowly replaced by a quiet contentedness as sleep pulled at her. There would be none for Rogue, but another night of memorizing the way Anka Irene felt in her arm’s was the best way to end the day.