TO BE YOU
Setting: Movie and Post-Movie
Disclaimer: I own not. You sue not.
Personal Disclaimer: As I've said before, I'm SO a total movie girl. :) I
apologize to all of you comic/cartoon people if I TOTALLY slaughter any
defined version of Kitty. It wasn't even going to be her in the beginning .
. . but it worked some how. I think. Don't shoot me, in any case! PLEASE!
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
I stay up at night and stare at her.
It's not because she's beautiful. I'm a girl who likes boys, lots of boys,
some specific boys . . . and not even the deadly vixen could ever change
that.
It's not because I love her, though I do. She's been a friend, a companion,
a confident, a teammate . . . she's helped me through so much and leaned on
me from time to time.
It's not because I'm afraid of her, though I'm probably one of the only
ones. Logan isn't . . . and Xavier and Scott and Jean and Ororo . . . but
that's it. They were the only ones secure enough in their own powers when
they met her not to fear someone who could kill them with a touch.
It's not for any of those reasons that I stay up at night and stare at my
roommate.
It's because I want to touch her.
Because I want to die.
Not very heroic of me, but I can't help it. So I'm not a perfect hero. Never
said I was.
I fell in love with Logan the minute I saw him. He's the only man who's ever
made me lose my composure like that--so fast, so crazily.
I remember when he walked into our classroom that first day . . . I'm
usually very good about not using my powers too much, even when I'm just
around the school. I'll never forget when I was showing off for the kids
right after I got there, and I stumbled through the wall into Scott and
Jean's room, and it wasn't empty . . .
So I try not to go flying through walls if I can help it. But he had me so
rattled just /looking/ at me that I darted right through the door just so I
could get out from under his eyes.
I was bright red when I got to the other side, and Bobby was standing there
waiting for me. He laughed.
He stopped laughing at me after he fell for Rogue and she was giving Logan
the same goo goo eyes that I was.
I stopped laughing at him when Logan started giving them back.
Well, that's four broken hearts right there. Well, two broken hearts and two
just /waiting/ to get broken . . . after all, it's not like my deadly
beautiful roommate can date around. And Logan knew it.
And then Logan left, and I think the /only/ one who came out ahead was
Bobby, who lost his rival and gained a heartbroken Rogue who liked to cry on
his shoulder. Oh, I know he felt guilty about it--but he was so /glad/ that
Logan was gone. He used to tell me at length how glad he was.
Bobby's a nice boy, but he's not always too quick on the uptake. Guess it
didn't occur to him that Logan's leaving hurt more people than just Rogue.
He left her something. She tried to pretend they don't matter, but she wore
those ugly dogtags of his to bed. She always took them off in the morning
and set them on the bedside table, and then sliped them over her head again
before going to bed.
She came in once in the middle of the day and caught me crying with them
wrapped around my fist. She looked at me for a moment, and then went back
out and closed the door as if nothing had happened.
That night the dogtags were sitting next to my bed. Rogue is nothing if
she's not sweet--it makes me angry because it's almost /impossible/ to hate
her.
They sat there for three days, untouched.
And then she must have taken them away and put them somewhere, because I
haven't seen them since.
Time went by, and we both grew. They gave us the option of getting our own
rooms, but we never really talked about it. We just kind of stayed together
. . . because it seemed easier somehow.
Because when one of us woke up crying, we both knew why.
And then more time went by, and I was the only one waking up crying. Bobby
was smiling all the time, and Rogue was actually in a good mood, and no one
seemed to remember that there had been this strange, violent man named Logan
at our school at all.
I found the dogtags in the bottom of Rogue's drawer when I was looking for a
shirt she'd borrowed . . . and when they were still sitting there a week
later, I took them.
She walked in that night and dug through the drawer. Her brow wrinkled, but
she just handed me the shirt I had been looking for and smiled. "Thanks,"
she whispered, and my heart hit the ground because I suddenly knew that she
was over Logan, and he'd come back and love her and he'd hurt . . .
More time went by, and we were both a part of the team and we fought under
code names--only Rogue is just Rogue, and has always been Rogue. I'd never
call her Marie, and I don't think she'd ever call me anything but Kitty.
Kitty. I'm a grown woman and people still talk about me like I'm some kind
of small housepet.
And then one day--Logan was just back. He didn't come back . . . there was
no homecoming or event. He was just sitting there one day at breakfast,
looking older and careworn and tired, but perfectly at home. No one rushed
over and greeted him, no one pointed or stared . . .
Except me. Only I didn't rush over and greet him. The minute I saw him, I
dropped my dishes and bolted in the opposite direction, the dogtags I was
wearing under my shirt burning my skin. God, if he found me wearing them . .
I found Rogue and Bobby outside. I didn't say anything, just tore them off
my neck and shoved them into her hand and kept on running, and I didn't even
care that it took me half the normal time to get to my room, though I'm sure
I did make a scene appearing out of walls like that.
And so Logan's back, and Bobby's not smiling quite as much, and Rogue is
looking confused. And if she were any other girl, we'd hate her, with Logan
and Bobby and that new guy all chasing her around. But because she's Rogue,
no one feels anything but pity. Poor Rogue, loved by all, unable to touch.
Poor Rogue, she'll never get kissed or held or loved. Poor Rogue.
No one says poor Kitty. Just because boys can touch me. Doesn't matter that
none of them seem to want to . . . all that matters is that they could. And
so I watch as the men I love flock to this deadly little nymph, and I smile
as Bobby pours his heart out in my ear, and I listen to Remy's endless
questions about Rogue's likes and dislikes and interests . . .
And I watch the way those eyes I love so follow her around everywhere she
goes. Cool, calculating, animal eyes that are forever weighing the pros and
cons, forever testing the waters. Logan could never speak again, and I could
understand everything he ever wanted to say just by watching his eyes.
So at night I lay awake, staring at Rogue, wanting to hate her but having to
love her.
Staring at Rogue, wanting to /be/ her.
From the look in Logan's eyes, it won't be long until he's figured out a way
around Rogue's lifesucking gift. And then . . . I'd give anything to be her
when he wraps his arms around her and teaches her what it's like to be
loved.
And sometimes, when I'm staring at her . . . I wonder what would happen if I
got up and touched her. If I held on so long that I was lost in her head,
merged with her and part of her. What if I was part of the body that Logan
loved?
I love Rogue. She hates what her powers do, and for that reason alone I
simply lay here, wanting to get up and walk towards her, wanting to lay my
hand on her face and be a part of her. I won't hurt her like that . . . not
yet.
I'm afraid for her . . . but not for me. No, not for me.
Death doesn't seem that bad.
~*~
The End