"I'd like for you to enlighten me on a small matter."

Hank turned quickly, surprised that someone could actually take him by surprise. That, combined with the fact that it was two in the morning, two days before the rescue-mission was to be enacted, which piqued his curiosity. In addition, it was unlike the White Queen to fraternize with any of the X-Mansion's inhabitants. He was curious indeed. "Do go on, Ms. Frost."

The lithe, elegant blonde gracefully seated herself in a chair close to his desk. "Why Rogue?"

"I do not believe I've deduced your meaning." He ignored the way her white leather skirt slid up her thighs slightly at the action. Well, mostly ignored.

"Yourself, Remy, and Logan." She gestured with her hand impatiently. "Why Rogue? Why do so many men find her so endlessly fascinating?"

Hank paused before answering. He felt that an oblique answer would probably be his best option at this juncture. "All beautiful women have many admirers, Ms. Frost. Surely you've been long acquainted with this concept."

"Of course. However, Dr. McCoy, there's a difference between mere lust and devotion, which the three of you display in almost ridiculous amounts. She is—was—a close friend of mine. I understand that her personality and beauty play a large role. What—why else?"

He stopped to take her in, making observations and conclusions as to her curiosity. Emma Frost had come across as a regal…statue, for lack of a better word. She flaunted her wealth, attractiveness, and faultless manners. Her attitude was another matter entirely. Frost saw nothing wrong with ruthlessly delving into the minds of others, undoubtedly how she'd gotten the gist that he, Remy, and Logan all loved Rogue. Her insults and haughty airs made her an outcast, though she seemed to actually prefer that. Was it insecurity? "I do not know. Why does anyone fall in love with a particular person?"

"Her qualities, though. She's thoughtful, kind, and courageous. I am honored to lay such compliments on her. What do you see in her?"

In asking, it came to Hank that she looked almost…childlike. She was honestly curious. Her chin rested on her fisted hand, and she was just…here. True, she treated him with more regard than the others here, but he thought that was due to his standing as a doctor and scientist. "I see…a kindred spirit. We are both locked in our skin, as it were, fearing that others are unable to see through such a barrier. She has always treated me with respect and dignity, and never"—

"Never thought less of you or was repulsed by your appearance?"

He sighed. "An accurate summary, yes."

"Hmm."

"May I ask—Ms. Frost, why did you ask this?" He was truly puzzled.

"My own curiosity. Not all things have a deep philosophical base, you know."

"Ah. I see."

"Do you? I wonder, Dr. McCoy. For you, actions must be tied to a deeper meaning. You're the sort who analyzes any given thing to death. I mean that with the utmost respect, of course."

"Of course," he replied, slightly miffed. "Why do you"—

The White Queen leapt up, cutting him off. "We shall continue this discussion at a later date, Doctor. I have something I must…take care of."

He would've protested, but she had already swung the door open and marched out. He thought long and hard in the following hours, about love, personal motivations, and analysis.

"Dr. Grey."

Jean turned on her heel, suddenly aware of the blonde telepath's presence. "Yes?"

"I would like to speak with you. Have you an office or private area nearby?"

Jean started back down the hall. "I don't have time to"—

"It's two o' clock in the morning. Of course you have time."

"You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" snapped the redheaded doctor.

"Yes, and I would like to speak with you." She tapped her foot in agitation.

"I can't, right now I have"—

"Oh, do not attempt to tell me any such thing. You don't want to speak with me. However, you are going to, make no mistake. Now, as a matter of fact."

Jean felt a prick of sorts in her mind, and with something like horror realized that Frost was inside her mind. She attempted to close down her mental shields, but Emma held them in place resolutely until she was finished.

"Now, Jean, we can talk, or I can speak to you utilizing my telepathy. Whichever you choose, doctor."

She snapped her mouth shut and strode away. "My office is this way. Keep up."

"What was so desperately important that you had to speak with me? And at this hour?" Jean affected an air of nonchalance by twirling a pencil between her fingers. The White Queen intimidated her, and she knew it, and moreover, Frost knew.

"What on earth are you doing awake at this hour, Dr. Grey?"

"I was"—

"You were unable to sleep. Personal demons, Jean?"

"That's none of your business in any way, shape, or form. How dare you"—

"I dare to do exactly as I please, or so you'll find."

"You had no right--no right--to venture into my mind like"—

"In case you've failed to notice, which you so obviously have, I don't care. I do exactly as I please, and because I can. Those are my stock answers when asked or rebuked. Deal with it."

Jean shook her head quietly. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to counsel you. In my own way." She smiled nastily.

"Counsel me?"

"Yes. Please, don't tell me you're going deaf, dear. I dislike repeating myself."

"What could I possibly"—

"You. You are your own problem, you know. Of course, we all are, in one way or another."

"What are you"—

"You are terrified at the thought of missing out on something. In each situation you find yourself in, you cannot help but feel the all-consuming pull of something bigger, something greater. The unknown draws you."

"We all have"—

"I wouldn't care, normally, and I don't now, actually. However, it concerns me because you necessitated the mental wiping of Rogue's memories. How, you ask? You've taken from her, Jean. You took her love, her self-image, her self-worth"—

"I didn't"—

"Oh, you didn't mean to. That ever-popular phrase. I don't care a bit what you didn't mean to do, rather, my interests lie in what has occurred. I lay the blame for recent events at your feet, Jean. I place the blame squarely upon your shoulders. The spineless, jellyfish inhabitants of this mansion dare not say it, but I will. There you have it. It is your fault, are you understanding of this? Can you grasp it?" She paused, letting her words sink in. "Rogue confided in you often, I know. She overcame her own jealousy of you when she was younger. She made an effort, a conscious effort, to like you. She told you—sat you down and told you—that she loved Logan. Yes? Am I off the mark?" Jean stared back defiantly. Emma continued. "She did this. What did you do, Jean? Tell me what happened next."

"Logan and I consummated our attraction."

"While you had a husband, and despite the fact that you assured Rogue that you felt no romantic inklings for Logan. You revolt me, you know. I am literally sickened by you, in your presence."

"That is enough," snarled Jean, standing up. "I won't sit here and listen to you degrade me verbally."

"Yes, you will. You will sit there until I've said what I plan to say. I'm stronger than you telepathically, Jean. I can turn you into a vegetable, if I cared to."

"So then? What's stopping you?"

"The fact that I want to see you suffer in your own time. I could hasten that, but I feel that you're just not worth it. I don't want your anguish to be artificial."

Jean sat back down, stunned.

"Well then, onward. Do you know why you cheated on Scott? Why you violated your marriage vows? It's because of that terror that there's something better. Again, the allure of the unknown. You just cannot accept things that drop into your lap. Had Logan not ended your relationship, you would've done the same to him, yes?"

Jean sat in silence.

Emma persisted. "Yes? That's true, what I've said? I want to hear it."

"For God's sake, yes! Are you happy?!"

"Not yet. But I'm getting closer to it, I believe."

---

Rogue smashed half of the riveted steel door in with one powerful fist. Rearing back, she decimated the metal entrance with another blow. Security alarms were going off everywhere. God, and she meant everywhere. Every few feet was a red flashing light or a blaring siren. She could hear the terrified voices around her, jabbering away in quick Russian. Yikes, she hadn't known there were this many people. Why weren't they shooting?

Metal pings answered her question for her. She shot up into the air, watching the gunmen attempt to re-aim, then dove down and to the side, sweeping them off their feet and knocking them unconscious. The sporadic red lights cast an eerie on-off scarlet glow on her adversaries' unmoving bodies. Had she…had she killed them? No, no. Please, she hadn't wanted to do that. She carefully observed them for a few moments, then felt relief as their chests rose and fell in a slow rhythm. Thank God, they lived yet.

Her communicator buzzed to life. "Rogue! This is Toad, do you copy, love?"

"Right here," she answered a bit too loudly. The adrenaline in her system was making her nervous, jumpy. She wanted to finish this and get the hell out.

"Gotcha. Got the front down?"

"Yeah, and the guards, but more'll be here in a sec. You'd better hurry," she warned.

"Over an' out."

In a few moments, she caught sight of her teammate's scurrying form mounting the exterior walls, then hurrying over toward her. He leapt up the wall, getting a bit too close for comfort. When fighting, she preferred to go it alone or have her comrades a good clip away from her. Her thoughts strayed a little. Had she always preferred to fight this way? Was she following her own muscle memory, or just coming up with a totally new way?

"This way!" Toad called, already halfway down the main entrance, dangling easily from the upper right wall. Rogue flew after him, carefully watching for others. Where the hell were Mystique, Mags, and Sabertooth? They were suppose to meet them at the stairwell that lay just ahead.

She turned the corner following Toad, careful hugging the wall. Her shoulder brushed expensive paintings and tapestries, knocking them askew. The scene in here was so peaceful…where were the guards, anyway? This place looked like some kind of expensive hotel, not a FoH stronghold. Chandeliers, thick-pile rugs, and antique furniture did not a good evil hideout make. Well, not that she really knew what a FoH-type-place looked like, but she could make some guesses. She'd expected…something different, anyway.

"Rogue," came Sabertooth's characteristic raspy voice over her communicator.

"I'm here," she affirmed. "Where are ya'll?" Ya'll? Where had that come from?

"Had some trouble with one o' the mag-lock doors. Me an' Mags'll be there—give us a couple' minutes. Seen Mystique? We can't raise her."

"Nope, I dunno. Me an' Toad'll be here, though," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, Mags, keep yer goddamn pants on. Rogue, we need ya out by the northwest side. I'll join ya pretty quick."

"What's goin' on?"

"We got X-Men comin' up on us. And hey—Rogue?"

"Yeah?"

"Mags says they got Jean with `em."

---

Blowing smoke rings was starting to get boring. Especially since he'd been at it for the past hour and a half. Logan ground out the cigar and sat fully upright. The wind carried a new scent on its autumn crispness…someone…'Ro? What the hell was ‘Ro doing out here?

"Logan?" came the soft call.

What the hell would she be doing looking for him? It didn't make any sense. She hadn't hardly fucking spoken to him since Marie left. What could she want all of the sudden? "Over here, `Ro."

"Hurry, Logan! Rogue is—there's a disturbance at the FoH headquarters in St. Petersburg. Rogue is fighting alongside the Brotherhood."

---

Logan fidgeted on the plane, gritting his teeth against the roar of the jet engines. Did they have to make ‘em so damn loud?

"Everyone strapped in?" Cyclops asked out of duty.

A resounding yes echoed throughout the plane, interspersed with urgings to get moving.

He looked around at his anxious teammates. Most of ‘em were terrified. With Rogue gone, they'd had to bump a few of the younger kids to the main team. Jubilee and Iceman looked almost white as ghosts, and Shadowcat looked shaky. Pyro was holding up okay, but he'd been on a coupla missions before this. Jean looked flat-out ready to come out of her skin, but that was due to the fact that they'd have to be takin' on Rogue. Hank'd and Remy'd been forced to head out on another mission in Bolivia or some shit.

This was bad, so bad. Rogue fightin' with the Brotherhood…and on top of that, her teammates were gonna be too psyched out by that to be of any help. Nothin' was gonna go right, he could feel it deep within him. They had orders to capture Rogue under any circumstances barring death. Jesus.

The White Queen looked fuck-all calm. She was ready to fight, by the looks of her. Totally steady, completely put together. He couldn't smell fear off of her, just anticipation. She'd be the most help, he guessed. Her telepathy could put just about anybody down for the count without her even taking her hands off her hips.

This was it, though. This was gonna help decide what happened. If by some chance Rogue did get captured, they could talk her through it. She might wanna give it all a try again, become an X-Man again. That'd give him a shot. She'd maybe not hate him, and maybe even give him a chance. He wasn't religious by any means, but sent up a silent prayer for those conditions. Please, God, let it happen. He'd—he'd do anything, go anywhere. He just wanted to breathe in her scent again by day's end.

"We're coming down for the landing," Cyclops intoned.

---

"Nyet! Nyet!" screamed the young trooper, frantically waving his hands in front of him in a vain attempt to dissuade his attacker.

Rogue watched Sabertooth grin, baring his teeth, and eviscerated the almost-man with a savage precision. He'd had practice, she noted. It wasn't suppose to go this way. No one was suppose to die, for God's sake! She felt the weight of the young man's death on her soul as if she'd killed him. In a way, she had. She hadn't moved to stop Sabertooth, had she? Oh God, oh God…

The sirens were still blaring, and the alarm lights were still on. Her calm, or at least her nerves, were jittering apart. She could feel everything starting to weigh on her and wondered again just how the hell she'd allowed herself to by dragged into this horror. This was suppose to be an information-destruction mission, not an attempt to kill anyone! When had they veered so far off the plan? Weren't Mags and Toad finished inside yet? And where was Mystique?

Sabertooth's head snapped up while he was—Rogue's stomach turned over on itself. He'd been in the process of licking his gore-covered claw. Oh God. Enough. Enough.

"We got X-Men," he growled, nodding his head toward the yet-clear sky. "Yer gonna have yer shot at Jeannie, babe." He looked over at her. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

Rogue lunged at Sabertooth, fury, anguish, and disgust all breaking free in the movement. Her mind stuck on the image of him licking, lapping, at the young man's blood. He'd murdered him. He'd killed and it struck her deeply that she knew he'd killed many times before. She was in the company of a vile, despicable murderer. Regardless of her past, of who she'd been or what had been done to her, she recoiled from the fact that she'd not only witnessed this atrocity, but actively participated. Not anymore. Not anymore, and she would atone as best she could.

"You fuckin' cunt! Whaddya think yer doin?!" Sabertooth's outraged roar broke her thoughts.

"What I shoulda' done when I laid eyes on you! You—you monster!" she screeched.

"And ya had so much potential," he snarled, swiping at her midsection with one heavily clawed fist which still wore the boy's blood.

She didn't respond, just deftly avoided the blow, and feigned left. Expecting an attack on that side, Sabertooth lunged forward to protect himself. Rogue swerved to the right at the near second of impact, though not quickly enough to avoid a moderate clawing to the shoulder. She felt it heal as she slammed her foot into the side of his knee, throwing him to the ground for the moment. In a flash she was on him, pinning him to the ground with her strength and pummeling where her hands could reach. Bones shattered under her fists, flesh bruised and broke, all the while attempting to heal. She didn't stop.

Her outpouring of rage slowed when she couldn't feel anything more than soft, destroyed tissue beneath her knuckles. She heaved a half-sob, half-breath, and cringed as she looked down at her handiwork.

His skull was battered so badly as to be unrecognizable. Gray matter oozed from a few places, and pale bone jutted out in places. His vertebrae were utterly destroyed—some popping through the skin, others so deeply pushed inward that she wondered if even his healing factor could maneuver them back into place. Sabertooth's back and shoulder blades were so thoroughly smashed they were completely useless. Blood still pumped out of his body at an alarming rate, and she staggered up, wiping her fists uselessly against her green-and-gold Kevlar uniform. Could he heal from those wounds?

She'd done this. This is what she was. Maybe—maybe the X-Men had been right to treat her so badly. This was probably why they had. She was the monster. Had Dr. Grey done her a favor, wiping her mind? Trying to destroy the horrible creature that she was to give her a second chance? Everything skewed to a vicious, unclear angle. Nothing was as it seemed anymore. She'd—she'd wanted to badly to believe that she had been good, that she'd just been horribly wronged and victimized.

A few snowflakes began to drift downward, unbeknownst to her. Some landed on her ashen cheeks, others on her uniform or messy hair. She convulsively squeezed her hands and then cradled her elbows, rocking slightly as the new, frightening possibilities invaded her mind. In the distance she could hear a jet, but it didn't particularly matter to her now. Let the X-Men do as they would to her. She deserved their judgment and punishment.

---

Jubilee shuddered at the sight before her. Rogue standing sentinel over an inert Sabertooth, both covered in blood. Rogue wasn't even— oh, oh! She wasn't even paying attention to them, not at all. Was she—she was crying! Why? Duh, she'd taken out Sabertooth. That was, like, the greatest deed of the century. He was gonna get tossed in the can, and maybe Mags-y too. Ooh! Maybe they'd even get Mystique and Toad!

"Rogue?" Cyclops' voice broke through Jubilee's random ponderings. She watched the scene with avid interest. She wanted to go over and comfort her friend, but Mizzy Frost had told them to stand clear since Rogue didn't really know them anymore. Still though, she looked so sad…

"Rogue?" Cyclops tried again, taking a few steps forward.

Rogue's head snapped up and she backed away, trembling.

Jubilee stepped forward. "Hey, chica, it's okay! It's me, remember? It's us, your pals. ‘Member?"

Rogue tensed, eyes narrowing and looking past the crowd. Jubilee turned and followed Rogue's eye-line to…Jean? Huh? What was that all about?

The White Queen stepped forward confidently, unmindful of Rogue's stagger backward. Frost raised her hand and…what was she doing?

Rogue wilted and would have hit the snow had Wolverine not bounded forward to catch her.

---

"Ugh," groaned Rogue, rubbing her head. God, felt like she'd just had one too many boiler-makers and—

Okay, and what was a boilermaker? Never mind.

She sat upright, not alarmed in the least to find herself in this particular room. It felt so…familiar. That, and she felt so weirdly relaxed. Desk, dresser, television…

And a nearly six-feet tall blonde standing just at the edge of her bed. Again, that strange calm feeling rushed back over her. Why wasn't she afraid? "Who are you?" she asked.

"My name is Emma Frost, or the White Queen, as some know me."

"What did I know you as?"

"Emma."

"Oh. Well…pleased to meet you—or—or get reacquainted with you." She lilted the last few words up so that they could be taken as both a question and greeting.

"Entirely mutual, Marie."

"Marie?"

"Your name. To everyone but myself and a certain contemptible man here, you are Rogue."

"Huh. Why's that? And why do I feel so"—

"So comfortable? I'm a telepath, Rogue. I'm using my powers to shut off your natural alarmed responses. Do forgive me." Something in her voice told Rogue that Emma obviously hadn't the slightest bit of sincerity in that apology. Still, she didn't care.

Another thought came to her. "You're the one in the security tapes, aren't you? The one who wiped out my memory?" Still, she didn't feel the slightest inclination to get up and give this woman the ass kicking of her life.

"I am she, yes."

"Why? Why would you do that to me?"

"You asked me to."

Emma may have removed her alarm and maybe her aggression, but not her ability to be surprised. "I what?!"

"You asked me to do so. We were quite close, so I complied. We had been attempting to keep you sane, my friend, and that was the only way."

"Why would I have done that? Is it because—it's because I'm awful, isn't it? I was horrible and I had to stop"—

"Stop that this instant. You were not in the least ‘bad'," she sneered at the word. "You were going insane from your mutation."

"Huh?"

"When you touch someone skin-to"—

"I know what happens."

"Ah. Well, that had happened quite often, on accident. You were forced to absorb a rather insane woman, by the name of Carol Danvers. In addition, you were infatuated with a rather taciturn cretin by the name of Wolverine, or Logan. He was an idiot who turned to another woman, and it all finally destroyed you."

She let the words sink in. "I was—were Logan and I, y'know, together?"

"Oh, heaven forbid, no. You were quite lucky at that."

She quirked a grin. "Narrowly dodged that bullet, huh?"

"Most definitely. Now—later tonight, when I have regained my telepathic strength, I am going to give you the full information, yes?"

"Oh, uh, okay. Okay. Thank you—Emma, right? Thank you, Emma."

"Carry on, now. I'll give you till nine o' clock tonight to fraternize with your old friends, and then you shall decide what you choose to do, hmm?"

"Okay. Thanks again, Emma."