Series: Chosen not to Fade Away. (3 of ?)
Word count: 700
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss is God, and I am but a lowly worshiper.
Stan Lee owns Marvel and all related things…except the Wolverine/Rogue shipping! That belongs to thousands of fan girls.
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Mutants. Since the discovery of their existence, they have been regarded with fear, suspicion, and often hatred. Across the planet, debate rages: are mutants the next link in the evolutionary chain...or simply a new species of humanity, fighting for their share of the world?
In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.
“I say our power should be your power.” -Buffy Summers
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“Can you feel it?” asked the petite blond, “The power humming under your skin, just begging for a release?”
“Yes,” gasped brunette seated on the lush red carpet before her, “it’s there, just below the crackle of my skin.”
“Take them both, imagine them as threads: one in each hand.” Buffy guided her through the meditation that she, Willow and Xavier had prepared for just this slayer.
“I have them,” her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Tell me, how do they feel?”
“One, it feels like I’m holding spun silver. It’s cold and hard. It is relentless, nothing can stand up to it.” grasping at what felt like wiggling silk to her mind, she held on. “It’s struggling against my grip. It does not want to be contained like this.”
“The Slayer.” Stated a voice from somewhere above her.
“Yes.” her two-toned head bobbing up and down slightly.
“And the other?”
“It burns.” she whispered, her voice quaking slightly in fear over the power she grasped, “It’s so hungry… like holding the essence of fire, my mutation.”
“Good, good.” Buffy softly reassured the other girl as best she could. “Now, do you know how rope is made?” she asked, bending down to whisper into her ear.
“Yes,” she recalled hours and hours spent with her mother before all this began; carding wool, spinning thread, finally weaving beautiful designs into delicate fabrics.
“From fibers to threads, to string” she chanted the words her momma had taught her with ease. “From string to rope. Weak alone, stronger together…” with a visible start that almost cost her the mental grips on the powers inside her, she realized what she needed to do.
“Do it,” ordered the Senior Slayer.
Setting her jaw, the younger Slayer set to work spinning her powers together; until one was so interwoven to the other nothing would separate them. Beads of sweat broke out over her body as she sat perfectly still. The moments slowed for those around her, until ever second was an eternity onto itself.
Finally, a look of pure bliss spread across her face. With that, she fell forward, limp, her body spent. Opening her tired chocolate eyes, she looked her up into the eyes of her savior, with the eyes of a eager child.
“Do you control the Slayer?” She asked.
“Yes.” she gasped in awe, tears falling freely.
“Show me.” Buffy ordered.
Her newest student rose from the floor of Professor Xavier’s office where she had sat lotus style. Pulling off her forest green opera gloves, she turned to a tall feral man behind her, who had stood watching her with hope in his eyes. Grinning, she pulled an ivory fist back. With a sickening crunch and a dull metal ‘thud’, she broke his nose in a splatter of blood and a string of curses on his part.
The Wolverine looked at her, stunned, his face healing as the room looked on. Cautiously reaching her bare hand up, she began to wipe the blood away.
The room had stilled.
Nothing but silence was heard as she wiped the last crimson droplet from his face.
“Congratulations,” came the deep fatherly voice of Charles as he broke the deafening silence.
“You’re a true Slayer now Rogue.” Buffy smirked. “What are you going to do now?”
With a squeal, Marie the Vampire Slayer lept at Logan, and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist before pulling him into a passionate kiss. One which he eagerly returned, after the shock wore off.
“Well,” said Willow, as yet another silence had enveloped the room, “I’m guessing she’s gonna make up for lost time.” Jean and Ororo giggled as they watched Logan carry Marie off to his -their- room.