Stories by Lise
"Faces of Fate"
Circa X-Men #73-76. Maggott mulls on his own isolation from the rest of the
world, not realizing that Rogue is going through much the same thing.
elsewhere in Alykat's World:
"A Perfect Kinda World"
During a rare break between Remy's treatments, Bobby and Remy enjoy an all-too-short
quiet moment in the park. Part of Kaylee's "Kinda
New Kinda Perspective"
His sickness in remission for the time being, Remy appreciates the view from
the rooftop as he's never done before.
Bobby grieves at Remy's grave. Part of Kaylee's "Kinda
Warren tries to comfort a grieving Bobby, and the evening turns into something
neither of them bargained for. Part of Kaylee's "Kinda
Scott tries to reach out to Bobby, but to no avail. Part of Kaylee's "Kinda
Jean knows what's happened between Bobby and Warren, and all the pain that's
been stirred up, but she feels powerless to say anything.
"Clouds on the Horizon"
When the world begins to madly shift among parallel universes, Bobby tries to
find comfort with an alternate world's Remy. Slash. Part of a larger series.
"Dancing to the
Cyclops tries to puzzle out what happened to cause the shifts from Bobby's random
mutterings to him. (sequel to "Clouds
on the Horizon")
Taste of Wine"
Bobby and Remy share some intimate moments, but refuse to believe that they
mean anything. Slash. (mature themes)
E-mail: Itty Bitty
Archives, On the Road
Disclaimer etc: Maggott and Rogue
are not my property....
Continuity: Before the Psi-wars, after the UXM that
reveals "the Tragic Origins of Maggott"....
Note: There aren't many (any?) Maggott fics around,
so.... I've guesstimated about Maggott's past...he's said
that he's tried to kill himself more than once, and the comics
have hinted at ties beyond the once-off with Magneto. I'm
guessing his story, whatever it is, wasn't his fault-- and
that he feels responsible for as much blood as anyone else
in the Marvel universe...
Hot, searing sun.......
It was home. He looks around, and watches events unfold like
they did so many times. Always in his dreams. Faces in pain,
screams, and the babble of an insane more-than-man raining
down on the street, acting like the people were animals, in
need of training. And as always, just as the horror reaches
its crescendo, the final peak, he wakes up, leaving the last
blow to the imagination.
Unable to face the nightmares in his room, he slips through
the silent hallways in search of comfort. He wonders what
it means to belong in this place, to deserve the right to
exist alongside such heroic creatures. Knowing it was only
a matter of time before things got worse, as always. Knowing
the joke that was himself. On himself. Wondering if things
might change here, or if they never would...
Thoughts like those wouldn't help anyone. Trying to shut
out the things in his head, he pauses in the kitchen, and
sits down at the table. Looking around but seeing things far
away, he is taken in by the promise of a new beginning. He
can see the possibilities. He knows of these people, and he
knows he is accepted. He can almost believe it.
And then the real villain appears in his mind. The reason
he is here, not dead so many times over. The face of deranged
wrath. His savior, and his teacher. A madman, like so many
have called him.
It is like looking into a mirror. He blinks, and slowly the
picture comes into view...the features slowly becoming his
It didn't happen.
He blinks, and he is staring at the refrigerator again. He
can feel his missing organs outside-- feeding as always, and
he knows that soon it will be time to do something about it.
For now, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block out
their noise. Somewhere, a clock chimes. He wonders where it
came from, then shrugs. Where anything comes from in this
life, he isn't sure. He has no control. He rides the train
of life, and jumps off-- to be pulled on again by an unseen
hand. They deal cards. He folds....
He thinks he cannot succumb to this old guilt, old pain.
Not here. Not now. For once, he is needed for something. And
it is beyond his pathetic attempts at changing. As everything
is. He sighs softly, hearing his missing parts slithering
in the door. He talks to them softly, gently. He needs them
to live. He wants to tear them apart.
It isn't an option.
He straightens, hearing someone moving around. He isn't used
to having people around constantly. Trying to figure
out who would be up so late, he listens intently. Not knowing,
"Sugah, up for a midnight snack?"
Her voice was sweet, if sad. He tries to answer, putting
every strength in pushing down himself in favor of his mask.
"Nah." Inwardly, he laughs. Snack. Yes.
She pulls open the fridge, and offers him a cola. He shakes
his head once, no. She has no idea the finality, the summation
of his life, in that gesture. She shrugs, and sits down.
"Why're you up?" He watches her drink closely,
reliving the sensations in his memories.
She answers, "Can't sleep." She thinks about how
little they all know about him. About how a lack of knowledge
leads to lies. She thinks about many things.
He smiles charmingly, and says flippantly, "I'll tuck
you in, kiss you goodnight..."
She laughs inwardly. Kiss her goodnight. If only. Each and
every mental scar from every person she'd ever drained suddenly
itch. She stares at him, and wonders how things got to be
like this. How she ended up here, in this fate. Outwardly,
she blinks, and replies, "Sugah, you don't want to try."
He watches her go, unaware of the conflict in her heart.
Her life is guided by the same irony of his. They don't realize.
He goes back to staring at the wall, and the face of a brother
comes back to him full force. He wonders what Fate led him
to this life, this place. Shaking his head, he thinks about
dying. It isn't the first time. It won't be the last. Each
separate time, he tried to save people the pain of his existence,
and put them into greater pain. He questions his decision
to stay here. He smiles a little bitterly, and doubts if he
has a choice. If he ever did. Fate intervenes at whatever
moment it wishes. He has learned that, if nothing else.
He has passed ordeals. He has fought for the Dream. For the
devil. For survival. He has learned. And he hasn't grown an
inch. This he also know. From boy to man to worse, he still
has that inexplicable but urgent need to rid the earth of
his existence. It would be so easy. It might be the best thing.
It would be the final, the only, blow to Fate.....
He stands, and makes his way up to his room again. Out the
windows, he can see the first light of dawn on the horizon,
and sighs. It doesn't matter what he fought, or who he fought
with. Even if he could win against his life, he can't leave.
It doesn't matter how much he longs to end it all. He'd tried
more times than he could count to end it. Failed, each and
every time. He knew that it wasn't over. He knew. Not yet.
No matter what he wants to do to himself, he can't. The game
had to be played. The role carried out.
But it was so tempting sometimes....
"...at least, not today."
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