Unspoken: Full of Grace

Full of Grace
by Victoria P.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: "She hadn't slept alone in six years. ... And now, she lay in Logan's bed, and sleep was very far away." This is directly continuing from jengrrrl's "Strange Comfort"

Notes: Thanks to Jenn for letting me play, and to everyone for such a fun RR experience. I usually don't contribute, 'cause I can't write fast enough, but this 'verse is calling to me. Anche, mille grazie alle Dot, Jen, Meg e Pete.

The title has nothing to do with the song of the same name. <g>

Date: September 25, 2001

She lay in Logan's bed, willing herself to sleep.

She'd never been one to sleep easily, too many thoughts roiling around in her head at the wrong moment, kept at bay in the daylight hours only to come rushing through her brain the minute she stopped moving.

Scott's presence was a comfort on those nights she couldn't sleep -- nights of long, slow love-making to take her mind off the horrible things she'd seen, both on her own and through the eyes of those she'd absorbed.

She hadn't slept alone in six years. When they traveled, they went together.

And now, she lay in Logan's bed, and sleep was very far away.

Slitting her eyes, she watched him, his face half in shadow from the spill of moonlight through the window.

He seemed restful, at ease, yet wary. She knew he knew the consequences of this -- if anyone found out, it would be the end of Scott-and-Rogue, far more surely than anything Jean had done.

Scott would take many things from her, but betrayal wasn't one of them. Especially not when he had tried so hard to be noble and refrained from betraying her first. At least physically.

And no one would believe she'd spent the night in Logan's bed while he sat watching her in the chair. Even in the short time he'd been at the mansion, his amorous exploits were legendary. Sheer speculation, since he hadn't had time to seduce anyone, but Rogue had him in her head, knew what he was like.

He raised an eyebrow. He knew she was watching. Dammit.

Blushing, she rolled over onto her side. A deep breathe, a soothing chant. The rosary. It had always been her cure for insomnia as a child - she repeated the words mindlessly. She'd stopped believing in God the day her mutation manifested, but the words were somehow comforting, a mindless drone to lull her racing thoughts into silence.

In Italian, she told herself. She could pray in six different languages, the result of a father who'd traveled the world, selling bibles. He hadn't approved of her mother's staunch Catholicism, but accepted it as an integral part of the woman he loved, had allowed her to pass it on to their only child, though he tried co-opting her to the Baptist faith when she got older.

It didn't take. She loved the stained glass and the rituals, the stinging scent of incense and the mournful faces of the saints in the town's tiny Catholic church. She knew if she ever returned to belief, it would be to the faith of her childhood, with its solemn, ostentatious rites and very visible signs of devotion.

<Ave Maria, piena de grazia, il Signore tu conte. Tu se benedetto fra le donne...>

Piena de grazia. Full of grace.

Her mother had been -- probably still was -- graceful as a dancer. She herself had been, until the day her skin turned deadly.

After that, she'd become clumsy, afraid of touch, of the harm it could wreak on others, on herself. Until Scott -- when they'd gotten together, she'd remembered her joy in motion, regained the elegance of movement she'd thought long lost.

And now, would she retreat back into being that gawky, fearful girl?

Her confidence in herself shaken, she began to pray in earnest, mumbling the words out loud in a jumble of Italian and English.

Logan's ears perked, but he said nothing, just continued his silent watch.

She must have drifted into sleep at some point, but when she woke, she was crying. She was grateful she couldn't remember the nightmare, and then she realized it didn't matter -- she still had the waking nightmare to deal with.

She opened her eyes.

Logan sat at the end of the bed. She knew it wasn't fear of her skin that made him keep his distance.

"You were having a nightmare," he said.

She nodded, sniffing, using the back of her hand to wipe away the tears. "I'm all right now."

He moved back into the chair, his eyes never leaving her face. She could only hold his gaze for a moment, before she dropped her eyes in confusion at what she saw there.

Though she was exhausted, both mentally and emotionally, she didn't fall back to sleep.

They spent the rest of the night in restless, wakeful silence, he in the chair, she in the bed. They greeted the dawn together, and she left when the sun's first golden rays lit the lawn, leaving her bag and her hopes of comfort behind.

Graceful as a dancer, Rogue slipped from the room.

Logan watched her go, his face unreadable.

~*~

One Is One by Pollyanna

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Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.