Work Text:
Signs of Life
Death felt his eyes widen as he stared down at the prone body of the woman in front of him.
Rogue.
For a moment, she had gaped at him, had held a hand to her chest.
Remy? she had asked.
He'd said nothing back, could not yet understand the words that had already burst forth.
Don't cry, chere.
He reached into his mind, trying to sift through the sludge that must be memories of more, to find the place from whence those words had come.
But then she swayed, put a hand to her head, and toppled to the floor.
Death's limbs felt like ice, and something pounded inside a chest that felt tight. He could not seem to draw in air, had not known that he could even breathe.
She was still on the floor, and the thumping in his chest seemed to grow faster, now clamored inside his head.
Was she breathing? Had he done this?
He held out his hands, glanced down at himself, then back at her.
He looked around, wanting to scream. But what would he say with a mouth that all but refused to speak? Where would he find the words, and how?
His eyes continued to dart around frantically.
There was a control panel on the wall that he could not reach. His powers were not his to use.
But she needed help. He needed to help her.
I will be back later, the white-haired woman had said.
But when?
Death knelt, looking at the woman before him.
This sensation felt familiar somehow. Wanting to get to her. Close and yet far away.
But is she breathing? his racing heart still seemed to say.
He pounded his hands on the floor, louder and louder, but she remained still.
Rogue! he tried to say.
Nothing.
He raked his hands through his hair, stood and looked around again.
Death had chased people before, had hunted before, had climbed mountains so that the deserving met their fates.
Surely he should be glad of this, that the universe was doing his bidding though he had been cut down and locked away.
But he hated this, felt more powerless than when the collar had snapped shut around his neck.
He did not know how to bring someone to life, to keep them safe, to defeat himself.
Death slammed his hands against the energy shield keeping him contained in his cell. It crackled to life, felt like fire against his frozen skin.
Some part of him was screaming, in pain just as much as terror. But he gritted his teeth, pushed his blistered palms harder against the shield and left them there.
An alarm finally went off, but Death kept his hands in place.
His body began to shake in pain, but the agony told him that he was alive, that the air in his lungs was real. That he could somehow act and think and feel.
The door swished open, and the white-haired woman and Le Lapin Bien Fâché—the man with claws—ran in. [the very angry rabbit]
"What the hell-" he growled, stomping toward Death. "What did you do?"
Death ignored him, felt his chest heaving as he tried to see around the man.
The woman—Stormy—hurried toward Rogue, checking her over.
"What did you do?" the man repeated.
Death clenched his jaw and began pounding his hands against the shield, craning his neck to see.
Stormy held her fingers to Rogue's neck, feeling for a pulse.
Death pounded his hands again.
Why wouldn't the words come out?
Is she breathing?
Stormy finally looked up at him, her brow furrowed.
Death looked down at Rogue, who was now lying on her back.
Please-
"You are concerned for her," Stormy said, sounding surprised.
Death hit the shield again.
"She is unconscious," Stormy said. "But I believe she is alright."
Death stepped back, his fists clenched.
He saw the man watching him, also looking surprised.
"Let's take her to Hank," he said, not taking his eyes off Death. "Then I'll look at the cameras."
He gave Death a warning look.
"We're gonna have a problem if I find out you did this."
Death glared back defiantly.
"Would that even be possible?" Stormy asked. "Without his powers? And from inside the cell?"
"Right now, anything's possible," the man said gravely, shooting Death another look. "So if you-"
Death punched the energy shield, looking down at Rogue.
Help her, he wanted to growl.
Stormy looked at him in surprise.
"We will take her to be examined," she said reassuringly. "She will be alright."
Death studied her face.
He wanted to believe her.
Death's day had been eventful afterwards, and he'd had a few visitors, all of whom had wanted to ask questions he couldn't answer even for himself.
He'd spent a great deal of time staring at the door, feeling a pit in his stomach, but the visitors did not share about Rogue, and he could not make himself ask.
A bald man in a wheelchair had come in and sat staring at him with a hand on his temple, otherwise barely speaking.
A red-haired woman who somehow looked familiar also came in and did the same.
Was this a greeting among these people? A gesture he should know and understand?
Death put his hand to his temple in confusion, and Le Lapin snapped at him from by the door.
"You being cute?"
Death shot him a warning look before returning his gaze to the door.
"I am able to sense strong emotions," Red said.
Madelyne?
No, something else.
"As am I," said the bald man. "I am not able to do more than that."
Red nodded.
"Apocalypse is known to be a powerful telepath," the man continued.
Death felt himself start at the name of his master, was used to feeling his mind become alert, ready to be receive guidance.
But it felt like hearing the name of an old friend he had almost forgotten.
Death felt a wave of shame at that, though when he turned his gaze back to the door, he again found himself stewing in worry.
"His abilities in the area of mind control appear to be equally potent," the bald man was saying.
"Was it like this with Warren?" Red asked.
"I sense similarities, but this is far more severe."
"Meaning the guy's programming is stuck like this?" asked Le Lapin.
"Logan," Red chided. "We have less reason to believe that than before."
"Do we?"
The bald man was studying Death closely now.
What was he seeing?
"I believe so."
"We don't think he did something to the kid?"
"If so, I believe he also experienced true fear. I continue to sense it now."
Le Lapin—Logan—snorted.
"Fear he got caught doing something?"
The bald man shook his head.
"I do not believe so."
He looked Death in the eye.
"I notice you have been glancing at the door. Has anyone shared with you how Rogue is doing?"
Death knit his brow, watching the man warily.
He gave his head a small shake.
"She is still resting in the infirmary."
Logan snorted again.
"And not too happy about it."
Red smiled softly at that.
"I understand you were concerned about her when she fell," the bald man said.
Death clenched his jaw.
Something about that felt wrong, insufficient somehow.
He gave the man a terse nod.
"You are still very worried about her," the man said.
Death sighed, beginning to feel very weary.
He nodded again.
"I see," the bald man said enigmatically.
That made one of them.
Death was sitting on his bed with his head in his hands when he heard the door swish open.
He'd stopped looking up. He had no answers to give, and his body was beginning to feel weak.
He hadn't needed to eat, drink, or sleep for a long time. Hadn't seemed to be anything other than a train rushing down the tracks. His body had been power, a source of others' pain.
But he could feel every sinew now, and his bones were leaden, his skin clammy. His scalp itched, and his mouth felt dry.
He wasn't sure he could look at visitors if he tried.
"Hi there, sugar."
Death's eyes shot up.
The face that looked back at him felt like a sigh of relief.
Rogue.
She wasn't in her uniform, and she looked smaller and softer in her sweater and jeans.
He looked her up and down, and she seemed to read his mind.
"I'm okay, sugar. Just be glad I ain't Humpty Dumpty."
He felt his brow furrow at that.
He wasn't sure he'd ever understand some of her riddles.
"Looks like you've had a day yourself," she said wryly.
She took the chair designated for visitors and dragged it over next to Death's cell.
She sat down and began fiddling with her gloves, the way she always did when she was anxious.
"Logan showed me the footage. Your hands okay, sugar?"
Death felt his brow furrow.
She'd collapsed.
What did that have to do with his hands?
He looked down, turning his hands over to see singed palms.
Rogue gasped.
"Remy!" She caught herself. "I mean…"
He waggled his fingers, studying them in surprise.
He guessed his hands did hurt. But everything hurt.
"Sugar, we gotta get Hank to look at those."
Death shook his head. He felt so damn tired.
"You really think I'm lettin' you get an infection on top o' all this?" Rogue asked archly.
Death felt his eyebrows go up.
She stood, going to the control panel on the wall and keying something in.
"Hank, y'all mind comin' to take a look at Remy's hands? Look like a couple o' overdone steaks."
Death heard himself snort.
"I will be right there, my dear," came a voice through the intercom.
Rogue came back and sat in the chair.
"Lost your damn mind," she huffed, shaking her head at him.
After a moment, she tilted her head, seemed to be studying him more closely.
Her ire seemed to have shifted to uneasiness and worry.
"You need to lie down, sugar? Look like you could sleep for days."
He shook his head, though he probably could.
"You gotten any sleep since you got here?"
Death shook his head again.
"Guess it'd be hard after all this."
For a while she seemed lost in thought.
"Used to run my fingers through your hair when you were tired," she finally said. "Told me it felt good even with my gloves on. Always wanted to do it without gloves, but I was worried I'd accidentally touch your scalp."
She began fiddling with her gloves again, would be mad when she inevitably had to mend the seams for the millionth time.
"Silly reason to push you away," she said wryly. "Lot I done been silly, I guess."
He shook his head. She was wrong about that, though he didn't know why.
"Sugar, why don't you put your head down?"
Her tone had gotten even softer, and Death felt an unwelcome lump in his throat.
Death ought to scorn gentleness, at least ought not to want it.
What the hell was happening to him?
He shook his head again.
"You worried somethin'll happen if you close your eyes?"
He realized he was, but not in the way she meant.
He swallowed hard.
"Oh, sweetheart…"
Death felt his eyes beginning to sting.
"Can't go in there with you yet. But I can look out for you from here."
He blew out a shaky breath.
He wasn't worried about himself. And though he was apparently falling apart, he absolutely didn't care.
"Remy…"
Death looked up, realized he'd been staring at the floor.
Was he Remy?
"Sugar, we'll figure this out."
Audio/Podfic Version
(read aloud by me!)
Length: 13:26
Listen: Signs of Life mp3