lucetilogs | There'll be trouble when the kidz come out

There'll be trouble when the kidz come out

Who: All remaining draftees
What: Zombies! Zombies! Zombies!
When: The 29th to 31st
Where: Vaskoth
Summary: Please read here for event information
Rating: B for BRRAAAIIIINSSSS

On the 29th, the Malnosso announce over the radios that the power cap will be lifted to a full 100%. Carol broadcasts a message.

On the 30th, the Malnosso declare Vaskoth completely lost. Those with radio access will discover that the enclosure is to be bombed.

On the 31st, survivors will have one last chance to evacuate or try to find the cure. 3PM is do or die.

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Better'n you. [Her green eyes were shaded, haunted.] But not by much. How do ya feel?

[It's bitter and horrible and entirely true; when Pepper gets a good look at Rogue's eyes, she can see there's more there than she first thought.

It's tempting to reply with similar honesty, but even without Tony there, Pepper won't do that. Even if Rogue knows all the symptoms, she doesn't need to be told that aside from the fever and the pain, Pepper's starting to feel hungry.]

You don't want me to answer that.

[Rogue ran a tired hand through her hair.]

Probably not.

[She glanced around and found one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs up against the wall.]

I'm gonna grab a seat, if that's all right?

Of course. [Pepper follows Rogue's gaze to the chair, which looks absolutely horrid, then lets out a quiet sigh.]

Sorry. The furniture came with the room.

It'll be good just ta be off my feet.

[It's said on a sigh as Rogue moved to drag the chair over so she could sit where Pepper could see her. She sat down.]

Can't stay too long, but I figured I might try an' take your mind off it a bit.

[She lets out a laugh before she quite realizes it, short and bitter and anything except sweet, even though it may be the first time she’s laughed since this whole nightmare began.]

I seriously doubt that’s possible. [Pepper almost snaps out the words, a venom behind them that shocks her moments after they’re spoken. Her eyes widen in horror, and she shakes her head.]

Rogue, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from. [Except maybe she does, in the back of her mind, where the list of all the symptoms she doesn’t want to think about lingers. Aggression, and Pepper internally winces, chastising herself for letting herself slip like that.]

S'alright. [Rogue wasn't fussed. She took a breath and spoke quietly, doing something she almost never does.] It feels like it's itchin' out of your skin, doesn't it. Like your blood is almost bubblin', an' you have ta do somethin' but ya don't wanna think 'bout what. 'cause you've got just enough of you left ta know it's wrong.

[Pepper stared at Rogue in stunned silence as the woman describes everything she was enduring, everything, in perfect detail. She straightens, suddenly afraid for Rogue, because how could she know? Pepper's tried to hide it, from Tony and everyone else, yet Rogue knows.]

You aren't-- [It's possible. If she'd gotten the proto-cure, if she hadn't been infected that long. Oh god.] Rogue, say you aren't.

[Rogue shook her head.]

Naw. It's not me. It's someone I touched.

[She glanced down at her gloves and took a long controlled breath.]

Sorry. Didn't mean ta imply otherwise.

[Some things just stick with you.]

It’s okay.  [There’s a hollowness to the words, because relief is harder and harder to come by.  Pepper lays back again, though her eyes are still fixed and wide, her mind trying to work through what Rogue must be experiencing.  To have the psyche of a person inside of her, one who had been infected—somehow Pepper doesn’t think it’s all that different from the experience she has with the proto-cure.  Rogue’s body is still whole, but that terrible awareness is in her.

Maybe worse.  The person she touched might not have had their mind saved.

She almost asks who, but Pepper decides she doesn’t want to know.  She can’t take the thought of losing someone else, and that person Rogue touched might turn out to be a friend.  So instead Pepper takes a slow breath of her own.]

Don’t tell Tony.  [Maybe it’s wrong and selfish of Pepper to ask that of Rogue, but there’s already so much on him.  Too much.  She doesn’t want to think about how hearing another person Tony cared for is suffering will break him.]  Please.

[Rogue was confused.]

Tell him what? [It never even occurs to her that Pepper might reference what she kept inside. She doesn't talk about things like that, ever, except in the rare event she thinks it will help.

And she hasn't gotten to that part yet here.]

“About the psyche.” It had seemed obvious to Pepper, and she wouldn’t have blamed Rogue in the least for wanting to vent. Pepper knew exactly how hard it was to keep silent as her body changed, to never complain or confirm anything Tony hadn’t already figured out just by looking at her. Everything she went through hurt him in turn, sent them both spiraling down into deeper suffering.

But the way Rogue asked, in confusion instead of as a conspirator, made Pepper realize something. She sat up a bit then, taking a better look at the young woman. “You never were going to tell him, were you?”

"Why would I do that?" Rogue was still a little confused. Why would she ever talk about that which she absorbed unless she had some sort of sterling reason? "The only reason why I'm tellin' you is 'cause even though it doesn't help with the pain, sometimes it still... helps your head. Helps your heart. Ta know you're not goin' through somethin' alone."

“Pretty much for the same reason: so you know you’re not alone.” Even if Rogue’s case was entirely unique, there were still people who would listen. No one else could truly understand, but she could still scream to them, or cry, or break down and walk away after, without losing them as friends—or more. And despite how poorly Tony had handled whatever he and Rogue talked about that night, she thought that he’d at least come out better for it. Maybe she had too.

“He told me what you both said. About being family.”

Rogue did her best not to stare at Pepper as though she'd suddenly sprouted three heads. "That doesn't have anythin' ta do with this."

With a sinking feeling, Rogue began to realize she'd made a mistake. She stood to her feet. "Look, that's not somethin' you hafta worry about, all right? No one needs ta know anything about what goes on inside my head. I thought tellin' you a bit would help here, but I guess I screwed up. So just - try an' get some rest, okay?"

"No, wait." In the opposite of Rogue had told her to do, Pepper tried to sit up. Her muscles ached at the sudden movement, but she winced and did it anyway. She didn't want Rogue to walk out, not like this.

"You didn't screw up. I did." Pepper looked toward the door, making sure it was still closed, that Tony wasn't there to hear what she was about to say. "It's my fault this happened, and Tony--" Pepper swallowed, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Tony's suffering because of it. He's in so much pain, and I can't do anything to stop it."

She wasn't even strong enough to let him leave, so he wouldn't have to see it.

"I just wanted--I don't know. I wasn't thinking right. I'm sorry."

Rogue did, in fact wait. And she listened very intently to what Pepper had to say. And then she met the other woman's eyes straight on, placing one hand on her hip, and a certain direct intensity flavored both her gaze and her tone, "Pepper, we're in the middle of a gawddamned Zombie Apocalypse. If ya think this is your fault, you haven't seen enough horror movies."

She took a breath and settled her weight back on her far foot, the intensity easing off somewhat, "Don't make me hafta fix that when we get out."

Pepper knew Rogue was wrong, and that it wasn’t just a matter of numbers. Pepper had had the chance to leave, or the chance to shoot, and she’d made the wrong choice each time. But the cycle of blame that ran constantly through her mind was bad enough restricted to her thoughts. She didn’t want to argue with Rogue about all the mistakes she’d made.

Especially so soon after having made another one.

It helped when the woman issued her threat—and within it, a promise. When they get out, not if. That easy confidence that there would be a positive end for both of them spoke volumes, particularly considering the source.

“I really don’t think I’ll be up for horror movies after this.” Not after being forced to live through one. “Could you threaten me with something a bit more uplifting?”

"It's not a threat if ya want it ta happen," she tucked a strand of escaping hair behind her ear.

She sat back down again, however, and sought Pepper's eyes. "I know you're not gonna believe me now. Ya might not even believe me later. But I want ya ta think about what I'm sayin', 'cause you know I wouldn't spare ya if it weren't true. It's a Zombie Apocalypse. Stuff like this happens. Ya can't blame yourself without blamin' all of it."

And that meant blaming Tony. And blaming Steve and Bucky and whoever was holding Steve who didn't hold them, and the person who brought in the plague, heck, and Rogue because she wasn't there either, she was out with Tony who should have been here, if you were throwing stones.

The faintest hint of a grin played over Pepper’s mouth—not that it could be seen under the respirator, but maybe it showed in her eyes.  “How does it go?  You can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”

But Rogue didn’t leave like she had so wanted to do moments before.  Maybe it was a good sign, or maybe she would go after she said what she needed to.  Either way, Pepper listened, because Rogue had just paid her the same courtesy.  And she couldn’t say Rogue was wrong about the fact that Pepper didn’t believe her.  Not when the wounds were still fresh, both hers and those of the people she cared for.

Yet Rogue wouldn’t spare her if Pepper deserved the blame; she was certain of it, and that added extra weight to her words.  Pepper waited until the other woman finished, then focused her gaze on some random spot on the bed sheet as she committed the sentiment to memory.

“I’ll think about it.”  It was the best Pepper could promise then, and all Rogue had asked for.  But not until later, when everything in her didn’t have to be devoted to fighting against the virus raging through her system.

"Thank you," Rogue said quietly. She glanced at the clock, and then back at Pepper. "I've got a few more minutes 'fore I hafta take my next shift. Why don't ya lay back down, close your eyes, and... I'll sing a bit, if ya like."

That Pepper definitely didn't expect, especially since Rogue had been reluctant to talk about her skills the first time Pepper heard her sing. She almost made a joke about how bad she must look--but the words would lose their humor in light of their truth.

So instead she laid back down, making herself as comfortable as was possible. "I'd like that. Thank you."

And so in a full-throated, slightly hoarse voice, Rogue began to sing. She was tired, and it certainly wasn't her best performance, but she made her way through a fairly innocuous jazz and Garbage songs.

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