WHO: Rogue and Erik Lehnsherr WHEN: from the last day on the ship until this afternoon WHERE: the ship, their cabin, and the astral plane WHAT: A series of vignettes showcasing brief looks into their life WARNINGS: not particularly no
It would have been so easy to right the ship - to steer them bodily through the stars, the metal singing to him as they flew away from the black hole - but instead, Erik’s white knuckles at the porthole were the primary indicator that he felt anything at all. His face, passive, beheld the singularity which drew them irresistibly forward.
Some claimed - erroneously - that this would not spell out their doom. And everything in Erik that feared death for his family again crept up his back. But being able to affect nothing, he chose to simply stand between it and them.
“Rogue, I never did ask you. What’s your favorite song? Let’s play it for Anka Irene.”
It took her a moment to acknowledge that he’d spoken, her focus on feeling the baby still moving inside of her. The lack of connection cut deeply, each press of a foot or hand against the inside worried and elated Rogue simultaneously - a sign of life or was it more confusion as to why she’d been cut off from everything?
Her face was a splotchy, eyes red from all the crying that she had done since they had learned of the inevitable. There didn’t seem to be anymore tears now.
“Hit me with your best shot by Pat Benatar. Ain’t sure it’s real appropriate for a baby though, Erik.” She didn’t think she had it on her iPad either. Instead Rogue softly sung the first few bars of ‘All the pretty little horses’, smiling softly as Anka Irene pressed against her when she finished. “What’s yours, hon?”
Erik didn’t answer. The melody drifted through his mind, escaping in a brassy buzz from the depth of his chest. He turned to her, blocking the view with his shoulders as his hands lit on her waist.
***
But the universe had a way of illustrating irony. Hit me with your best shot was more appropriate as the days wore on and even now, with a wave of his index finger, it sounded forth from a record player in the corner of the office. In truth, this was one of the first mornings Erik could boast a good night’s sleep. Nina’s locket hadn’t left Erik’s palm for days, and only did now as he hefted a stack of leatherbound journals into a cabinet.
There, he secured the door and stepped back. His palm gave a measured wave and several pieces of metal began to affix itself to the cabinet door, weaving into an intricate set of locks.
He gave his work an experimental tug. There. Secure.
Rogue stayed in the doorway of the room while watching Erik work. Her gaze drifted toward the locket that he had put down, blinking her eyes at the onslaught of memories that came rushing at her. His presence was loud in her mind and she pushed him back, wanting to give him the privacy that he deserved in regards to those particular ghosts.
“Thanks for taking care of that,” she eventually got out as she focused on the locks he'd made.
She hadn't touched the journals since he had brought them home from the base. Doing so would have set off a torrential downpour of everything that was inside of them and Rogue deliberately kept that knowledge locked tightly away.
Rogue’s presence drew warmth out of him. He turned and smiled quickly, the gesture illustrating camaraderie. He knew little of the journals’ content, only that it was dangerous and required security. As he let his chair turn round to consider her, he sat back and then let his chin gesture toward the lock.
“Reinforced steel within, too. I think you won’t have to worry about anything.”
Dropping the locket in his pocket, he opened his arm to invite her to sit. Since Betsy’s news and these ‘gifts’, they had been all too quiet around one another. Of course, he built no psychic walls for Rogue. She had some idea or thought of what was in his heart if she wished to see. But he had to ask.
“What’s in them, my love?”
Taking a deep breath she forced her gaze back to Erik and reciprocated the smile before sitting down. Her heart was heavy, probably would be for weeks to come with the knowledge of Max’s death. She’d loved the man; knowing he was dead was hard to stomach. The fact that she had Erik in her life, her love for him more than that of the former, only seemed to intensify her sorrow. The worry that events would repeat here was far stronger and something she was working to keep tightly burried.
“Every event past and to come in my world.”
Her voice didn’t sound quite right for a moment, accent gone as Irene bled through. Rogue blinked, pushing the pieces of the past away as she recentered herself. Tiny telepathic butterflies in various shades of colors fluttered up from her bump, projecting worry mingled with love, and Rogue pressed a hand to her stomach to reassure the baby.
“When Irene’s precognitive power started she pretty much did nothin’ but write down everythin’ she foresaw for thirteen months. Ended up completely blind as a result of the intensity of it. Everythin’ she saw is in those books. People’ve killed to get their hands on them.”
Sighing, she turned her attention back to the locks. “I don’t need ‘em to know what’s in them. It’s all up here.” A quick tap to her head and she gave a wry smile. “I got all that locked away tightly, but touchin’ them loosens those mental locks somethin’ fierce.” And she hated that. -- it was true that Erik’s perpetual frown lightened when in Rogue’s company but this latest admission regarding Irene’s journals sank his brow considerably. What sort of capricious will would think it wise to send journals such as these to an already fractured people, whose happiness depended so heavily upon developing their own fate beyond what was laid out for them.
“Then they will never see the light of day. I promise you that.”
She trusted that promise with her whole heart. If Erik said they wouldn’t be let out then they wouldn’t. Not unless she asked it of him and Rogue had no desire to go down that path. It only led to madness. Even if it was nice to have a piece of Irene here with her in this world. Rogue would have prefered getting another picture or the woman’s mask over the journals. But she supposed they were her mother’s legacy. Maybe that was why they had come — a piece of her past to remind her to keep looking toward the future.
Her attention shifted to his pocket, knowing Erik had gotten his own link to the past.
“You got the locket, didn’t ya?”
A quick press of his palm against his breast pocket. The locket was there, its weight comforting and cool even through the flannel he wore. “Quick study, you.” He’d worried it against his fingertips, the waves emanating from the silver still so familiar and so finely tuned to that terrible day. It was comforting and terrifying in equal measure.
“Another ‘gift’ -- on the edge of a knife.”
Memories warred inside of her, juxtaposing Nina and Anya’s deaths, and Rogue flinched at the images and emotions. Deaths of loved ones were always raw and she felt intrusive to have them playing out in her head, especially when the person they belonged to was right there in front of her. She reached over and pressed her hand against Erik’s chest, needing the contact.
“I’m goin’ to attempt to look at this positively, but it ain’t really workin’ all that well. It’s good to have links to pieces of who we are though.” That was all she could come up with to even slightly dull the pain of their gifts. “We’re quite the pair.”
It was easy to pull her into his lap and safely encircle her - and Anka Irene - in his arms. For a moment, the weight of Nina and Magda’s joined bodies were a muscle memory, and a breath caught in his throat. God would not allow this thrice over. A chant he kept up in the nighttime hours, in the garden and the forest, along the lake and in the root cellar.
They had so many near misses. Already.
His fingertips skated across her shoulder to lead his palm to her nape. “Don’t dull the pain. It has to be felt. Don’t bury it. All these people around us, they either engage in the most disingenuous theatre (suggesting they are fine) or war that their wounnds are the deeper ones. Irene and Magda and Nina are real; they are with us. We do them honour.”
She tensed as his breath caught, a mixture of telepathy and having him in her mind allowing her to know what he was thinking, before forcing her body to relax as best she could. Her fingers curled into his flannel and she laid her head against his shoulder, taking a few moments to simply breathe.
“I ain’t always sure if’n I’m supposed to feel the pain when it ain’t mine. At least not originally mine.” It cut through her the same though, mingling with others in a continuous cycle. “I’m tired of cryin’ though.”
It felt like that was all she had done for the last few days, limbs sore from the intensity of her sobs, the weight of Betsy’s news still pulling her under. She couldn’t help but look at Erik and worry over him meeting a similar fate as Max. The journals showing up - the possibility that their lives were written out in them was a scenario that Rogue was unprepared for, and one she wouldn’t allow to play out.
In leaving himself open to Rogue, he did not consider what might be an overwhelming emotional flood which could ultimately do her damage. In such a way, he supposed he had been lazy and as such laid his lips against her temple to whisper -- “If it hurts, you don’t have to. I can bear it, Rogue. I meant your own pain, your mother’s legacy.”
He paused. Suddenly, overtaken with an idea. “Let’s take dinner to the meadow tonight. And I’ll cook. You direct me, I’ll obey.”
She smiled against his shoulder, indulging in his gentle touch for a moment. She might have been able to control her powers for over a year now, but every single offered touch without flinching still felt brand new to her.
“I don’t mind helpin’ with bearin’ it...more so just was wonderin’ if you were okay with that.” Not everyone always was, but Erik was different in that regard. After all he had willingly opened himself to being linked to her and their baby, even with his past experience with telepathy being used on him.
“I do like the idea of dinner in the meadow though.” It would be peaceful and some peace and quiet sounded perfect after the events of the last few weeks. “And you can make whatever you’re wantin’. As long as there are strawberries with it.” Her cravings for that had gotten particularly strong.
“ … I’m satisfied that you can if you’d like. The rest of our telepath friends can go hang. No one gets to be in my head except for you.” Anka Irene went without saying. But one thing that this news did manage to cement for him was that he needed an airtight way to keep out telepaths -- more airtight than a helmet. His thumb rubbed a lazy circle over her shoulder, deep in thought. Erdbeerkuchen mit Sahn might be a dish to try on her. Despite his claims to the contrary, most of what he’d made in the past consisted of pierogi with his Mother. And the Passover dinner. But for Rogue?
“Strawberry surprise for you, my darling.”
“You spoil me.” Not that she minded. Especially not when he was helping to satisfy her cravings. She did want to figure out something to do for him though, to show her appreciation for allowing her entry into his head, for the creation of the secure lock, for everything that he’d done and was still doing for her. Rogue wasn’t entirely sure what just yet, but she’d figure it out.
Craziness with her extended family and death experiences aside, the life she’d created with Erik and Hope exceeded pretty much every single one of her dreams. He hadn’t needed to let her come around his tent to check on him in the beginning, but Rogue was forever grateful that he had, and that their relationship had blossomed into all it had become.
“Mind if we just sit like this for a lil longer?”
She was in no hurry to step back into reality and have the weight of her grief come crashing down around her again. Not when she could curl up in the comfort of Erik’s arms.
He snorted blithely. “Don’t let it get out.” Erik knew many expected that he would do nothing more than afford Rogue headache and trauma. He also knew they expected him to unleash an unholy wave of segregationist ideology and human hatred upon their little enclave. Little did they know that the terror which could have rose, given the opportunity, was kept so neatly at bay by moments like this.
He wanted to live quietly. He wanted to scratch out his living on a plot of land and invest his heart in something true and pure. And instead of answering Rogue, he chose instead to wrap his arms around her snugly and fit his chin over her head. They would take this quiet moment and live in it. Then, as one moment beaded to the next, together they could create a chain of them.
And the sum total of that would be a good life together.
Cocooned against him, she finally felt some slimmer of peace that had escaped her since Betsy’s news. Anka Irene moved inside of her, tiny feet pressing against her stomach, and Rogue smiled, forever amazed at the life they had created. Colorful telepathic butterflies fluttered from her stomach, flickering around the two of them to show the baby’s contentedness.
For the moment Rogue’s worries over what could happen to her Erik were safely tucked away, the love she felt from the two of them enough to allow her to relax and breathe the world in again. Those emotions would return, they always did, but for now she was content to focus on this moment in time and leave the worries of the world beyond their office door.
***
It was inevitable that the quiet contentedness would be broken. The universe only allowed so many perfect moments to roll around at once. A glance out the window and she spotted Sorcha and Bamfy playing in the backyard, unaware of the mess that had started in town and rippled outward. The damage to the town square might have been rectified but Rogue knew it would be some time before the rest of it settled.
She worried that she had been too tough, harsher than she ought to be, but the lack of responsibility and willingness to try and put things right...it said so much about a person. Grief was overwhelming, but it wasn’t an excuse not to try and fix things. Any thought of offering to help the girl had quickly evaporated and as Rogue’s eyes adjusted, seeing her reflection instead of the animals, she couldn’t help but wonder how much of Raven Darkholme she could see shining through in her features.
It was unsettling--and yet she didn’t flinch from the thought like she used to.
Such a short time passed in which God had forsaken Erik and managed to spill all his fear and anxiety and rage into one vessel, which had then been transferred to the other. Such a short time to bless him with this woman and their growing family. But despite this cocoon of peace, he knew darkness lay just beyond the goodness they managed to craft out here in the woods.
He refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he walked over to the record player and flipped through the topmost albums, selecting a compilation of Cole Porter songs.The needle descended and filled the room with a lazy saxophone.
“Madam. May I have this dance?”
Brow arched, she turned to look at him, a smile slowly blossoming in response to his words and the music filling the room. Some of the heaviness lifted from her shoulders as she stepped toward him. Dancing was something Rogue enjoyed doing and it had been far too long since they had an excuse to do so together.
“You may.”
She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I reckon you’re in need of forgettin’ about the world as much as I am right now.”
He pulled her snug against his chest, wrapping one arm around the small of her back as he swayed gently in time to the music. “They are their own worst nightmare.” It was all he really wished to say about the matter.
Wanda’s presence in their home had been one anxiety on top of the other, then when compounded with the other stressors his alternate universe mutants brought, he could not help but press it all clean out of his mind. At least briefly.
“But I’ve awoken from mine.”
Rogue held tightly to his shoulders, pressing her face against his chest as she swayed with him. She closed her eyes next and simply breathed him in. She focused on the sound of his heartbeat and the music, the scratchiness of the shirt he wore and the way Anka Irene moved inside of her, almost as if she was dancing to the sounds as well. It allowed Rogue to discard all of her worries and thoughts for the time being.
“I’m real glad about that, hon.” Even if part of her continuously dreaded that they would get pulled back into one. She wouldn’t right then though, not with the ease with which they moved together. “I’ve been thinkin’ about the whole lawyer thing and with the school and Anka Irene comin’. Much as I’d like to eventually journey down that path, I’d rather focus on her and the school for the time bein’. I don’t wanna go sacrificin’ time with her over me studyin’ for classes and eventually a bar exam.”
Anka Irene was a miracle that Rogue never thought possible and she had no intention of squandering a single moment with the girl.
“Rogue.” Erik pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her chin to pull her into a gentle kiss. “I support your decision. But you should neither let your dream fade. If you want to wait, do it. But Anka Irene and I want you to be happy.”
Erik’s own needs proved simple. But he was prepared to move earth to give his Anna Marie scope.
“However happiness looks.”
“It’s a dream I had because at that time I knew I wouldn’t get the one I really wanted; the one that I got now.” There had been no breakthroughs in controlling her powers at the time, sessions to help her do so had fallen to the wayside with everything else that the X-Men had been doing. Finding something else to focus on had been needed. Becoming a lawyer was still something she could do later on if she wished to do so.
Rogue smiled reassuringly, wanting him to know that this wasn’t her letting a dream fade. It was more grasping hold of the one she’d longed for more than anything. “I promise you that I’m doing what I really wanna be doing.”
Rogue brushed her thumb against his cheek before resting her head back against him in order to block out everything but them again.
***
No matter how many times Rogue arrived on the astral plane the initial jolt was always disconcerting. There was something inherently other about the place, a sense of not quite completeness that prickled in the back of her mind and kept her on alert. That was probably due to all of Betsy’s warnings about what could occur there more than any actual trouble that might have been brewing.
Any worry she had was quickly pushed aside as a stream of rainbow butterflies swirled around her, signalling her daughter’s presence in the room that Rogue had created with Betsy to try and keep the baby more secure in the wild’s of the astral plane. The butterflies shifted as Rogue sat down on one of the overstuffed chairs, swirling into an approximation of a little girl. Rogue couldn’t determine an age and wondered how much of what the baby was projecting mirrored her and Erik’s thoughts about their soon to be born daughter.
She might not speak yet, but her emotions were clear as day.
A ripple in the air signalled the arrival of someone else to the room and Rogue offered a bright smile as Erik appeared.
The environment of the mind had for so long been foreign to Erik that his arrival on the astral plane still solicited a momentary lapse of panic. It immediately abated, however, with a focusing of his vision. And he carefully stepped forward, kneeling by Rogue’s side as he extended a hand toward the whirling convergence of butterflies.
“Hello to my girls.”
The insects darted toward his hand, looping briefly around it before moving back into formation. The love that emanated from them and through the walls nearly knocked Rogue over; no matter how many times she might have experienced this it was still overwhelming to sense the rawness of Anka Irene’s love.
“Hopefully you weren’t in the middle of anythin’ important.” A pointed look extended in the baby’s essence’s direction. Thankfully Rogue had only been doing some last minute grades and nothing to strenuous, unlike other times their daughter had brought her forth.
Each delicate brush from the filmy wings -- Erik imagined them to be promises of what was to be for many a year. That, together, this tenuous and gossamer presence would soon be measurable weight in his arms. “Anka Irene, I wonder when you’ll settle on a form.”
But for Rogue’s comment, there was a ripple within the cloud of butterflies, almost as if they were laughing. Erik’s brow arched and he smiled. “This one knows I’m going to wake back up headfirst in the compost bin. I think she likes it, too.”
She snorted, unable to contain her amusement at the images that fluttered in her mind’s eye. She needed to be stern, to curtail the child’s behavior, but if it wasn’t an issue for Erik then Rogue wasn’t going to interfere this time. A silent warning passed between her and their daughter though, causing a flurry of wings that changed from their vibrant rainbow pattern to a darker red before shifting back again. They moved, swarming around Rogue before settling down to rest against her in an approximation of a hug.
“She knows better’n to do that sorta thing to me. I’ll be wakin’ up in bed with my laptop and papers strewn about.”
“Bamf will have them righted for you.” The little creature seemed desperate to remind them all that he was a terribly important part of their family and the most primary receiver of their affection. It was almost like he knew Anka Irene was coming to them soon.
“Child,” he said softly, addressing the butterflies lit upon Rogue’s arm. Wings bowing in and out, irridescent, made for a pattern which briefly resembled a face. He blinked and it was gone. “We are waiting very patiently. It is almost time.”
Rogue gingerly stroked the butterflies, fingers passing through some while briefly able to touch upon others. She was ready with a retort, a snippet for things to come, but as suddenly as she had been pulled into the astral plane, Rogue felt herself be pushed out of it. She slammed back into her body -- a rougher experience than she’d ever had via Anka Irene’s telepathy before. It didn’t take long for her to figure out why the baby had sent her reeling back.
“I think my water just broke.”
It seemed that it was finally time.
“Alright then, baby girl. Let’s go get your Daddy and do this.”