Incredibly Late Ficlet
Title: Left Behind
Fandom: Wolverine and the X-Men
Rating: PG
Pairings: Neena/Rogue, slight Pietro/Dominic
Word Count: 1,306
Summary: After Battle Lines, Domino tries to get over Rogue’s betrayal.
Notes: So... this was supposed to be a really late birthday present for kelly1_watxm. I don't know if you'll see it Kelly but, if you do, I hope you like it and I'm sorry for how late it is.
Neena never returned from a mission with injuries. No sprains, no cuts, not even bruises. It only made sense, really. Luck was kind of her thing.
Of course, it had its own detriments. For one, she always had to play nurse to her less fortunate teammates, despite her protests that she was a mercenary not a medic and had far more important things to do than patch Dominic’s skull back together for the third time that month, thank you very much. (Perhaps these protests would have had more power behind them if she didn’t make them while doing perfect bandaging jobs but that was hardly going to stop her.)
It had gotten better when Rogue joined. Rogue never came home injured either and it was good to know that someone competent would always be available to help her. (Before, her guaranteed help had been Fred and, while he certainly tried, he quite honestly had no idea where to start in the realm of first aid.) It made the job tolerable, not that Neena was any less vocal of her seething hatred for it.
But, just this once, she kept her complaints to herself because having her hands busy, even if they were busy checking over Dominic’s bleeding skull, kept her from thinking too hard about how her competent help wasn’t there anymore.
Dominic’s actual wound wasn’t that large, just a small cut and a barely raised bump. Unfortunately, they couldn’t just bandage it up and let it go at that. They’d learned that lesson the hard way back in the early days of the Brotherhood, after Dominic had needed to be dragged into the hospital at midnight. After that, they never made the mistake of simply dismissing tiny head wounds again, Dominic got his head fully inspected after every one now.
Luckily, this one seemed no worse than it had first appeared. “Congratulations Petrakis,” Neena said as she reached for the bandages on the coffee table. (Did her voice sound strained? She couldn’t help but think so and she hoped that no one else would notice.) “You’ve won another round of skull versus concrete. It doesn’t look like a concussion.”
She glanced up at the door where Pietro was not so subtly hovering, a paper towel pressed to his still bleeding nose. (He really should have known better than to try tackling Pryde but thinking ahead had never exactly been Pietro’s strong suit.) “Hear that? He’s fine, now quit staring and go finish cleaning yourself up. If your nose heals wrong, I’m not going to be the one fixing it.”
“Yes, that is all great,” Dominic interrupted before Pietro could respond, wincing a little at her shout. “Now if you could just stop the bleeding…”
“Working on it, quit bitching or I’ll make you do it yourself.” He fell silent as she began to bandage, probably not being as gentle as she should have been but not quite thinking enough to realize it. To Dominic’s credit, he didn’t complain.
Once she finished, he tried to push himself up, likely planning on going into the kitchen to check on Pietro. Neena forced him back down as gently as she could. “Don’t even think about it. You’re not getting up for an hour or two at least.” It was a testament to how much he must have been hurting that he didn’t even try to protest the order.
Next, she turned her attention to Mortimer, who had huddled into an armchair clutching his wounded arm (courtesy of Cyclops blasting him through the ceiling) to his side. A makeshift bandage already covered it, Neena had thrown one on before they made their escape in order to keep the bleeding under control. She’d only intended it to be a temporary measure, though. He needed real treatment, before it became infected.
Mortimer sunk back into the chair as if he hoped to melt straight through it when he saw Neena coming at him. His protective grasp on his arm tightened. (His claws ripped straight through the bandages. Even if she hadn’t needed to change them before, she did now.) “I already told you I was going to be changing them, now get over here before I have Fred make you.”
Reluctantly, Mortimer obeyed, holding his arm out while casting a suspicious glance at Fred. The loosely tied bandages came off easily, exposing the mess of cuts and bruising. A few up by his shoulder particularly stood out, Neena didn’t doubt that they were going to scar. (Maybe he did have a point about not getting involved with fighting the X-Men.)
He squirmed a little when she began to clean away the dried blood and whimpered when she tugged on his arm. “Hold still, kid.” It came out harsher than she had intended but it had the desired effect. Mort froze, not moving even when she reached the deep cuts on his shoulder. Only when she began to replace the bandages with fresh ones did he allow himself to shift a little.
“So… are you okay?” he asked quietly. Neena said nothing, though she knew exactly what he was trying to ask. If Mort were smart, he’d take her silence as a hint and not push his question any further. “About Rogue I mean.”
But then, Mort never had been able to turn away from an opportunity to put his foot in his mouth.
He squeaked when Neena tightened the bandage a bit too much, apparently realizing (finally) that this train of questions was only going to get him into trouble. Shutting his mouth with an audible click, he watched in silence as Neena finished her work.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep Neena’s thoughts from going right down that same trail all on their own. They might not have lost if Rogue hadn’t betrayed them. Hell, even if she’d never joined up with them in the first place. (If she’d never squirmed her way into Neena’s life like she had. If Neena hadn’t let her.) Biting her lip drew her out of the thoughts long enough to tie off the bandages and stand up.
None of the others dared to say anything as she made her way too stiffly to the kitchen. Even Pietro, leaning against the fridge with an icepack pressed to his swollen nose, didn’t have anything to say for once as she went to rummage through the cabinet.
Her first instinct was to reach for the tea but she hesitated and ended up grabbing a glass for water instead. The tea was a tiny reminder or Rogue, but still a little more than she could handle. Not tonight. Still trying to wipe the thoughts from her mind, she leaned back against the counter and focused on her glass.
Apparently that was Pietro’s cue to decide that he’d been silent long enough. (It had taken nearly two whole minutes, she was almost impressed.) “It’s not your fault, you know.”
Good old Pietro, never knowing when to keep his mouth shut. Neena sent him a glare over the rim of her glass. As if he were one to talk, Neena knew he’d be shoveling all the blame onto himself if it were Dominic that had hung them out to dry. (Though it’s likely he’d taken all the guilt anyway, Pietro blamed himself for far more than he ever should have.)
“Who says I think it is?” she replied icily, a not so subtle hint for him to just drop it already.
Amazingly, he did, though he still sent her an annoyingly knowing look as he turned away. “If you say so. Just remember it.” He made his way out into the living room, likely to hover over Dominic some more, leaving Neena alone with her thoughts. Her grip on the glass tightened.
Pietro wasn't the only one who could play the self-blame game.
Fandom: Wolverine and the X-Men
Rating: PG
Pairings: Neena/Rogue, slight Pietro/Dominic
Word Count: 1,306
Summary: After Battle Lines, Domino tries to get over Rogue’s betrayal.
Notes: So... this was supposed to be a really late birthday present for kelly1_watxm. I don't know if you'll see it Kelly but, if you do, I hope you like it and I'm sorry for how late it is.
Neena never returned from a mission with injuries. No sprains, no cuts, not even bruises. It only made sense, really. Luck was kind of her thing.
Of course, it had its own detriments. For one, she always had to play nurse to her less fortunate teammates, despite her protests that she was a mercenary not a medic and had far more important things to do than patch Dominic’s skull back together for the third time that month, thank you very much. (Perhaps these protests would have had more power behind them if she didn’t make them while doing perfect bandaging jobs but that was hardly going to stop her.)
It had gotten better when Rogue joined. Rogue never came home injured either and it was good to know that someone competent would always be available to help her. (Before, her guaranteed help had been Fred and, while he certainly tried, he quite honestly had no idea where to start in the realm of first aid.) It made the job tolerable, not that Neena was any less vocal of her seething hatred for it.
But, just this once, she kept her complaints to herself because having her hands busy, even if they were busy checking over Dominic’s bleeding skull, kept her from thinking too hard about how her competent help wasn’t there anymore.
Dominic’s actual wound wasn’t that large, just a small cut and a barely raised bump. Unfortunately, they couldn’t just bandage it up and let it go at that. They’d learned that lesson the hard way back in the early days of the Brotherhood, after Dominic had needed to be dragged into the hospital at midnight. After that, they never made the mistake of simply dismissing tiny head wounds again, Dominic got his head fully inspected after every one now.
Luckily, this one seemed no worse than it had first appeared. “Congratulations Petrakis,” Neena said as she reached for the bandages on the coffee table. (Did her voice sound strained? She couldn’t help but think so and she hoped that no one else would notice.) “You’ve won another round of skull versus concrete. It doesn’t look like a concussion.”
She glanced up at the door where Pietro was not so subtly hovering, a paper towel pressed to his still bleeding nose. (He really should have known better than to try tackling Pryde but thinking ahead had never exactly been Pietro’s strong suit.) “Hear that? He’s fine, now quit staring and go finish cleaning yourself up. If your nose heals wrong, I’m not going to be the one fixing it.”
“Yes, that is all great,” Dominic interrupted before Pietro could respond, wincing a little at her shout. “Now if you could just stop the bleeding…”
“Working on it, quit bitching or I’ll make you do it yourself.” He fell silent as she began to bandage, probably not being as gentle as she should have been but not quite thinking enough to realize it. To Dominic’s credit, he didn’t complain.
Once she finished, he tried to push himself up, likely planning on going into the kitchen to check on Pietro. Neena forced him back down as gently as she could. “Don’t even think about it. You’re not getting up for an hour or two at least.” It was a testament to how much he must have been hurting that he didn’t even try to protest the order.
Next, she turned her attention to Mortimer, who had huddled into an armchair clutching his wounded arm (courtesy of Cyclops blasting him through the ceiling) to his side. A makeshift bandage already covered it, Neena had thrown one on before they made their escape in order to keep the bleeding under control. She’d only intended it to be a temporary measure, though. He needed real treatment, before it became infected.
Mortimer sunk back into the chair as if he hoped to melt straight through it when he saw Neena coming at him. His protective grasp on his arm tightened. (His claws ripped straight through the bandages. Even if she hadn’t needed to change them before, she did now.) “I already told you I was going to be changing them, now get over here before I have Fred make you.”
Reluctantly, Mortimer obeyed, holding his arm out while casting a suspicious glance at Fred. The loosely tied bandages came off easily, exposing the mess of cuts and bruising. A few up by his shoulder particularly stood out, Neena didn’t doubt that they were going to scar. (Maybe he did have a point about not getting involved with fighting the X-Men.)
He squirmed a little when she began to clean away the dried blood and whimpered when she tugged on his arm. “Hold still, kid.” It came out harsher than she had intended but it had the desired effect. Mort froze, not moving even when she reached the deep cuts on his shoulder. Only when she began to replace the bandages with fresh ones did he allow himself to shift a little.
“So… are you okay?” he asked quietly. Neena said nothing, though she knew exactly what he was trying to ask. If Mort were smart, he’d take her silence as a hint and not push his question any further. “About Rogue I mean.”
But then, Mort never had been able to turn away from an opportunity to put his foot in his mouth.
He squeaked when Neena tightened the bandage a bit too much, apparently realizing (finally) that this train of questions was only going to get him into trouble. Shutting his mouth with an audible click, he watched in silence as Neena finished her work.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep Neena’s thoughts from going right down that same trail all on their own. They might not have lost if Rogue hadn’t betrayed them. Hell, even if she’d never joined up with them in the first place. (If she’d never squirmed her way into Neena’s life like she had. If Neena hadn’t let her.) Biting her lip drew her out of the thoughts long enough to tie off the bandages and stand up.
None of the others dared to say anything as she made her way too stiffly to the kitchen. Even Pietro, leaning against the fridge with an icepack pressed to his swollen nose, didn’t have anything to say for once as she went to rummage through the cabinet.
Her first instinct was to reach for the tea but she hesitated and ended up grabbing a glass for water instead. The tea was a tiny reminder or Rogue, but still a little more than she could handle. Not tonight. Still trying to wipe the thoughts from her mind, she leaned back against the counter and focused on her glass.
Apparently that was Pietro’s cue to decide that he’d been silent long enough. (It had taken nearly two whole minutes, she was almost impressed.) “It’s not your fault, you know.”
Good old Pietro, never knowing when to keep his mouth shut. Neena sent him a glare over the rim of her glass. As if he were one to talk, Neena knew he’d be shoveling all the blame onto himself if it were Dominic that had hung them out to dry. (Though it’s likely he’d taken all the guilt anyway, Pietro blamed himself for far more than he ever should have.)
“Who says I think it is?” she replied icily, a not so subtle hint for him to just drop it already.
Amazingly, he did, though he still sent her an annoyingly knowing look as he turned away. “If you say so. Just remember it.” He made his way out into the living room, likely to hover over Dominic some more, leaving Neena alone with her thoughts. Her grip on the glass tightened.
Pietro wasn't the only one who could play the self-blame game.