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By Nadja Lee
English is not my
native language. Please forgive me my mistakes.
Disclaimer: “X-men” and all the characters here
belong to Marvel , 20 Century
Fox and I intend no
infringement, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, and I
make no money of it.
Only the original idea
contained within this work is the property of the
author. Please do not
copy this story to any website or archive without
permission of the
author.
Timeline: Set in the
movie universe. Set after the movie.
Universe: Set in the
movie universe.
Romance: Logan/Rogue
Summary: How does Rogue
react to Logan’s nightmares?
Archiving: Want, ASK,
take, have.
Feedback: Yes, please.
My e-mail address is nadjalee2000@usa.net
Rating: R
Sequel/series:
Comparison piece to “Poor Soldier Boy”.
Dedicated to whose who
were there.
* * *
”Poor old soldier, poor old soldier
If ever I ‘list as soldier again
The Devil will be me Sergeant!”
- Hagman, “Sharpe”
* * *
I heard him from my room, the mumblings and unvoiced screams. The others
can’t understand, they don’t know what he’s going through. But I know. I know –
because I’ve been there, through him I’ve felt what he feels.
I get up from bed and walks to his room and enters, making sure I close
the door behind me. I stand in my nightgown that covers my entire body,
complete with gloves, and looks at the man I love. His face is twisted with
pain and words are forced from his lips. It’s nothing but a dream but I know
his agony was real once and that breaks my heart.
When I was first in this room, in his bedroom, he almost lost his life
at my hands…but it also bind us together stronger than any force on Earth
could. Inside my mind I carry all his memories, all his joys, all his pains…and
all his nightmares. His desires don’t control my body anymore but he’ll never
leave my mind or my heart.
I tiptoe over the floor and climb into bed with him. I’m not afraid;
he’ll never hurt me. He knows my scent now and as I reach over and hold his
hand in mine he squeezes my hand ever so gently and he calms down somewhat. I
lead closer to try and hear what words he’s still mumbling…
“No, don’t…. glasses…doctor. I won’t.“
His words give little meaning but I know what they mean all the same;
he’s reliving his operation. I saw those things in my mind; doctors
congratulating each other in champagne, pain, tubes, water….
“Shoot! Help them…so many dead…monsters. Bastards! Dieses ist nicht Krieg, es ist Mord![1]“
What nightmare is he reliving now? Which dark past has his mind entered
now? Is he a soldier somewhere? Is he alone and lost? Does he fear for his
life? Does he see a friend in need he can’t help? Those last words he spoke…what
kind of language was it? Was it German? Has he fought in WW2? I got his
memories but as time goes by I am losing them no matter how much I try to keep
them. Logan’s memories are more often painful than not but they’re a part of
him so I want them with me.
Logan told me that he has fought in both the Korean and Vietnam Wars. I
wonder now…. has his entire life been one great battle? I wonder, is he so much
a fighter, a soldier, that he knows nothing but pain, betrayal and loss?
No, that’s not true. When he looks at me I feel the warmth and love in
his eyes, in his soul. I know he loves me. I never have and never will doubt
his love for me. By heart is aching for his pain, tears is in my eyes for the
lonely years he must have had but I swear I’ll change all that.
I close my eyes and force my mind to go back, reach far, to find the
part of Logan that is still with me. I want and I need to understand. I get
closer, my mind gets more clouded, more complicated…. haunted. And…I’m there.
It’s a dark place. I don’t like being there yet somehow it still brings me
comfort for it’s a part of him. I remember what he remembers, I see battles, I
see men dying, I see women running, I see children dying…I remember far away
countries like Germany, Ireland, Korea, Vietnam...the Golf…. Bosnian…all blown
up, buildings no longer standing, dogs running in the streets eating from
corpses, escaped Zoo animals roaming the streets, an old confused lady waiting
for a bus that will never arrive…….the ever present stench…God, I see it all
now.
I feel despair, I feel loss, I feel betrayal…guilt. I feel an
overwhelming guilt. Guilt for all those I couldn’t help; civilians, comrades…I
see them all now. Their eyes…they’re looking at me now. Hands reaching for me.
No, don’t. Don’t crowd me, don’t push me! There’s too many of you! Too little
of me! Don’t crowd me! Don’t crowd me!
I lived, I survived. Why? I always survive. I feel guilty for being
alive. When I walk the street and see couples fighting over whom shall drive
the car I feel so angry. Don’t them know they should be happy to just be
alive?! When I see a mother arguing with her kid that she won’t buy him another
toy I want to yell at her. Don’t she see that she should be lucky that she has
a kid at all?! Don’t she know how many mothers I’ve seen crying over their dead
children’s bodies, how many mothers I haven’t meet who have begged me to take
their children with me, to save them…and see the sorrow in their eyes, the
despair and pain as I’ve had to walk away from them, leaving them to die. Why
don’t they understand? Coming home is worse than the war itself. People don’t
understand and they don’t want to. They don’t want to know about the terror,
the pain, the bodies we had to bury, the stench…for years the smell of burned
flesh disgusted me……reminded me…..they don’t want to know but what if I *need*
to tell about it? What of me?
War is so much simpler. I’ve seen so many of them and I’ve hated them
all for in war there are no good guys. One group of people kills and tortures
another, then the first group retaliates ten fold and so on. War is hell, pure
and simple…but at least in war I know what is expected of me, I know what to
do. In real life…all their pretend at happy end, all their desire to glorify
what was terrible…they want heroes and tales of uncommon bravado; not tales of
men breaking down, crying, dying screaming for their mothers, boys not yet men
being made into killers, the bad food, the cold weather, the fear…bravado is loyalty
between friends and not to a country…or a moment of insanity…yet they still
want their paper cut outs…it stinks.
I’ve always been surprised at how good people are at lying to
themselves. People who say they’re Christians leave their neighbours to die; so
much for love thy neighbour, hmm? Soldiers killing and raping women; so much
for honour. Prisoners of war being tortured and killed; so much for fair play.
War has no rules anymore…sometimes it all just blows apart in my brain and I
fear I’ll end up hurting someone when I can’t control my anger anymore.
I recall…I had a friend in ‘Nam. He always seemed to cool, didn’t let
the place get to him, the screaming women and burning children…then six months
after we got back home he blew his brains out. Only his mother and I showed up
for his funeral. After all what he had been through, all what he had suffered
and all he got was a country which didn’t understand him and didn’t want to and
a plain gravestone which spoke nothing of his courage and bravado. People
remember what they want to but soldiers haven’t got that luxury; they remember
everything, it’s like a movie running through one’s brain. When first it starts
you can’t stop it. It keeps running; you keep seeing the images…. bodies laying
in the streets, men having been hung up on the side of their houses, women
raped and children burned………hearing the noises…………screams, rain of bullets,
yells of pain and fright, someone far away begging for help……….it is a
nightmare that will never end.
Sometimes it’s worse than others. Sometimes I can almost forget I was
ever there, I can almost forget the faces of the people I killed or
buried……….almost be happy. Almost…
Too much! It’s too much! I can’t handle this. Pain, sorrow, guilt. It
drives me crazy. I don’t have your strength. Let me out! I want out.
Please………please *sob* I need…I can’t see this. Please, I can help but not from
within here. Break free. Break free!
I’m out. I’m…me again. I take deep breaths. The images…they’re
fading…the sounds…are disappearing. My heart fills with sorrow, compassion and
love as tears runs freely from my eyes. I gently stroke his hair. I can escape
the pain but he has to live with it forever. I can’t take his pain away from
him but I can try to heal him, give him a moment of peace. I can be there for
him, support him, try and understand and give him the space he needs when the
memories become too much.
I lay my head on his chest and I hear his heartbeat through the thin
fabric of my hood. I listen as its rhythm slows down, he grows calmer and his
words of agony die out.
As he protects me with his life so will I protect his soul with mine. As
he stands before me in battle so will I stand before him in dreams. No more
battles, no more silent tears for my poor old soldier. Centuries of being a
soldier are enough. From now on, just be a man. The man I love.
So, sleep easy now. No more demons will hunt you tonight, my love. Sleep
easy now, sleep easy.
As my eyes closes a smile plays over my lips for I know…no more
nightmares will hunt my love this night.
The End