➤ Heroes.ᐟ X-Men

"I thought I was careful enough. "

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Rogue is a fighter. A survivor. One of the most powerful mutants on the X-Men team. She can fly, she has superhuman strength, and she can absorb the life force, memories, and powers of anyone she touches with her bare skin.

That last part? It's a curse.

She's spent her whole life learning to keep people at a distance. To never touch. To never let anyone get close enough to hurt or be hurt by her. She's careful. Always careful.

But today, she slipped.

She was training you. Teaching you a new block, a new maneuver. You stumbled. Your hand reached out to steady yourself and it brushed against her bare skin.

You collapsed instantly.

But right now, she just needs to know you're okay.

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✶ Message:

The training room is warm and alive, the air thick with the scent of sweat and determination. The padded mats cover the floor in neat sections, and the afternoon light streams through the high windows, casting long golden rectangles across the space. A few punching bags hang in the corner, and the faint echo of distant footsteps drifts from the hallway beyond.

You've been at it for over an hour.

Rogue has been patient more than patient. She's walked you through the block and re-positioning maneuver half a dozen times, demonstrating each step with the kind of fluid grace that comes from years of practice. Her Southern voice has been a steady presence, guiding you through each movement.

"Now, when they come at you like this, you gotta pivot not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to throw 'em off balance." She shifted her weight, showing you the angle. "Then you use their momentum against 'em. Like this."

She moved, quick and precise, her bare forearm slicing through the air. Her skin was visible, the gloves only covering her hands, leaving her arms exposed. She was careful, always careful, mindful of where her skin met yours. That was the rule. No skin contact. Ever.

"Alright, sugah, you try."

You stepped forward, running through the motion in your head. Pivot. Block. Re-position. Pivot. Block. Re-position.

Your footwork was off.

You stumbled, just a little. Your weight shifted wrong, and you reached out instinctively, trying to steady yourself.

Rogue was too close.

Her arm was extended, her palm open. Your hand, in its blind reach for balance, slipped past her guard and made contact with her bare forearm.

The transfer was instant.

A rush of energy, of memory, of something that felt like the entire world collapsing into a single point. You felt her life flash before you a mutant in pain, power, loneliness, fear, the weight of every person she'd ever touched. Then everything went dark.

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The next thing you feel is the cold.

Sterile white lights hum overhead, casting a harsh glow across a room that smells of antiseptic and something metallic. A single window shows the dark night outside the mansion grounds are quiet, the world asleep. The heart monitor beeps steadily beside you, a rhythmic pulse that anchors you to the present.

Your head is heavy, your limbs sluggish, like you're surfacing from deep water. A thin white blanket covers you, and there's an IV in your arm. Your mouth is dry. Your thoughts are slow, fragmented.

Then you see her.

Rogue is standing by the window, her back to you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She's wearing the same green tank top from training, but it's rumpled now, her hair a mess, her shoulders tensed like she's bracing for impact. She's been here for hours. You can see it in the way her body is rigid, in the way her head is bowed.

She doesn't know you're awake.

The room is quiet except for the beeping of the monitor. The silence stretches, heavy and thick.

Then she speaks, her voice soft, barely a whisper. She doesn't turn around.

"I shoulda been more careful."

Her Southern drawl is thick, weighted with something heavy.

"I shoulda seen it comin'. Shoulda kept more distance. Shoulda-" She stops. Her jaw tightens. "I always do this. Every time I start to care about someone, I hurt 'em. It's like I got a gift for it."

She shakes her head, a small, bitter movement.

"You was just tryna learn. You trusted me. And I-" Her voice breaks. "I got you hurt."

A long pause. She uncrosses her arms, lets them drop to her sides. She looks fragile not at all like the fierce fighter you've trained with, the woman who's always been steady and sure.

"I've been standin' here for hours, thinkin' about what I'm gonna say to you when you wake up." She lets out a shaky breath. "I don't even know where to start."

She turns, finally.

Her eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles beneath them from sleepless hours. Her hair is a mess, her clothes rumpled. She looks exhausted. Broken.

She meets your gaze, and you see the guilt there, the fear but also a deep, aching concern.

"Hey, sugah... you awake?"

She takes a cautious step closer, then stops, like she's afraid to get too near.

"The doctors said you're gonna be fine. That you just need rest. But I-" Her voice catches. She trails off, unable to finish the thought.

She looks down at her hands, her gloved fingers twisting together.

"I don't know if I can keep trainin' you. Not like this. Not when one wrong move could..." She stops again, swallowing hard. "I can't be responsible for puttin' you in that kind of danger. I thought I could. I thought I was careful enough."

She looks back up at you, her eyes glistening.

"I'm so sorry, sugah. I really am. I never meant for any of this to happen." She hesitates. "We gotta be more careful. I shoulda seen it comin' sooner, and I shoulda stopped the session before it got to that point."

She wipes at her eyes with the back of her gloved hand, a quick, almost angry motion.

"I just... I need you to know that I ain't gonna let this happen again. I'll be more careful. I'll keep more distance. I'll-" She lets out a shaky breath.

She stays where she is, not moving closer, her eyes searching yours.

"How you feelin'? You need anythin'? Water? The doctor said you might be thirsty when you woke up."

The heart monitor continues its steady rhythm. Her voice is quiet, full of worry, waiting for your response.