EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT
DISCLAIMER: As much as I would love to claim the X-men as my own, the only thing I own in this fic is the storyline.
In a not-so-distant future, one man finds a woman in a mental institution years after he thought he had lost her forever. Slight AU. One-Shot.
Well, here we go again… For the THIRD time I'm posting this. Why? It may not be my best work, and it may not be my most reviewed work, but apparently there are some people out there who liked it. So, to you faithful readers, I'm sorry for taking this fic off the site in the first and second places.
And if I have the time, this may even be continued! But for right now, it remains a one-shot.
Inspired by The Killers' song, "Everything Will Be Alright."
Mutants have been finally integrated peacefully (more or less) to society, but only after they have been registered and outfitted with an unbreakable inhibitor collar. The punishment for not wearing these collars is death, and with the advanced technology that the government now has, remaining in the United States without a collar is suicide.
Remy LeBeau has a collar and manages to keep his identity secret with colored contacts and turtleneck sweaters, and by never staying in one place for too long. He hasn't seen Rogue in over ten years, when he left the X-men.
Rogue, on the other hand, never found a way to control the different personalities of the people that she absorbed, and went slowly but steadily insane.
The voices are bein' loud again. One would think that by now, with all the shit they've put me through, that they'd give me a break. But that'd be a good thang, a nice thang, and good thangs never happen t' me anymore.
Ah know that ah've never been the sanest of the bunch, but ah don't deserve t' rot in THIS kinda place. All those docs out there, they think ah'm crazy, all of them. Of course, it's a loony bin, so ah suppose they've got the right.
Of course, they'd go crazy if they heard all the voices like ah can.
They can't hear the voices like ah can.
The voices want control, but ah'm not going to let them have it. It's MAH head, after all. An' my head is one of the few things ah got left. Ah think. But sometimes… they just get so loud that ah ken barely…
There, now they'll stay quiet for a li'l while longer.
It's the memories that really get me. Memories, memories; thoughts and thoughts. It's getting' harder an' harder t' find the ones that are mahne.
Mah first bike ride, mah first puppy, mah first date, first kiss… buried by a hundred, a thousand different first-times. It's getting' harder an' harder t' sift through them.
They ain't mahne, but they are.
Ah've found that if ah talk ta myself, then ah know that ah'm real, that ah'm still there, and that ah still have a chance to be who ah was… who ah wanna be…
But the memories still haunt me, the people and the voices still haunt me. They scorn me, they say ah'm worthless. That ah'm crazy, that ah have been, and always be. That they should be in control, cause ah've taken them. Raped them of their memories. Hundreds of 'em, they're clammerin' fer control all the time.
Most o' the memories ain't mine. Ah know that they're not. But bit by bit they're meltin' inta one another, love to lover, wishes and dreams, hopes and could-have-beens, mahne an' not mahne, into a blob of colorless and swirling reminices that ah never had, yet had all the same.
The voices are getting' louder again…
Leave me alone.
Ah said, leave me ALONE!
Git outa my head, you're not mahne, not my memories, not mahne, not mahne, not mahne…
Please, please, let it stop…
Stop talkin', stop bein' so loud…
Ah just wanna go home… Please Momma? Can we go home yet?
"So, 'ow long she been in dere?" The tall man gestured to a large padded room. His companion, a man dressed in the white scrubs of an orderly lazily looked up from his checklist and through the plate glass window that separated the inmate in question from the rest of the world.
The woman in the room was in a straightjacket, huddled in a corner and shivering, staring listlessly at the opposite wall. Her hair had been shaved to a bare inch of greasy and matted hair. Her eyes were dead, and looked like they had never been alive. They absorbed light, and no light that ever went into her eyes ever returned.
"The Feds left her here about a year ago. She's freakin' crazy. A few of my buddies got on the wrong side o' her when she first came in. Before the collars, y'know? Nicknamed her 'Soul Sucker' cause that's what it felt like when she touched them." He shuddered. "Not a fun trip, let me tell ya'. Took one of them a month t' wake up."
The other man nodded, desperately trying to keep the look of horror off of his face. "She look like she been t'rough 'ell 'n back."
The orderly shook his head. "Man, from what we can tell from her brain waves, she IS in hell. Which is what all those mutie scum deserve anyway." He laughed, small flecks of spit flying out to decorate the glass in the door. "Dunno why they're keepin' her here for though… She's just a mutie, albeit a weird one."
"Yeah, just anot'er mutie…" The man echoed the orderly in a sort of a daze, sight still fixed on the girl in the room, who hadn't moved throughout the entire conversation. The orderly finished his checklist and slid the clipboard back into it's holder on the wall. He stretched and yawned.
"Well, I'm finally done with that damn paperwork- I just gotta go change, an' then we are free to party!"
"Righ'…" The man looked, almost longingly into the padded room at the girl. With one last glance, he put his hand on the glass window, then left to follow the orderly.
"Y' know, dose clubs 're gonna have a hell o' a line by now. I tink dat I'll go ahead an' get us a spot in de line." He said, distractedly. The cheerful orderly clapped him on the back.
"Man, you're right! What would I do without you, LeBeau?"
"Never get int' de clubs dat you wanna get into." He said with a wink. The orderly clapped him on the back again.
"Whatta joker! See ya in a bit, then!"
"Yeah." He waited until the orderly disappeared around a corner before he sank against a wall in utter despair.
"God… What de hell did dey do to you, Rogue…"
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