She was new.

She was a fresh young woman with an attitude and a layer of ice that separated her from the prejudice of the world and the kindness of strangers. She was different and the same. She was nothing new, and at the same time nothing they'd ever seen before. But that was mutants for you.

She had the power to make herself and anything she touched invisible to human sight. Her leader could smell her, of course, so her power was nothing to him, but it made her convenient for certain missions. She was a good addition to the team, even though she was lacking in the combat area. She had a fire that made her deadly, but her mutation couldn't really be used against others. It was something she despised about herself, and she never understood why her leader seemed grateful for it.

But she was new. Which meant she'd hear all the gory details of past from the other students. Gossip was like that. A new person to gossip to was like the holy grail for them.

So she learned. Fast.

Anna was the one who told her about the original team of the X-Men. Lead by Professor Charles Xavier, who founded the school with his friend Eric. She never heard about Eric again. She still wasn't sure what happened to that guy. But Anna told her about Scott and Jean. How their relationship had lasted until they were both blown to bits by evil human military people who did it for "the safety of the country," when really Scott and Jean had been trying to protect humanity from vengeful mutants. The story made her stomach lurch, and she kept it in mind to stay away from Anna.

Gabby was the one who told her about the Goddess. Storm. Ororo Munroe. The beautiful woman from Africa, who had a head full of white hair that fell over her shoulders like a waterfall. Gabby was a poet. She liked her. She also liked the story of Storm, the thought of the Goddess and her stoic ways made her smile even though they'd never met.

The others shared stories about Magneto, about Bobby and Jubilee and Kitty, and all the other "second generation" X-Men. How when the Professor died, the entire school was as silent as a tomb. How when Scott had died, Wolverine took over as leader.

Wolverine was her teammate. But Wolverine was a stranger. After three weeks at the new school, she hadn't expected much more. But from what she'd heard from her fellow "third generation" X-Men, it wouldn't change, not even over time. She knew what it was like to want to be alone, to want to separate yourself from everyone else because you were afraid to share the pain. But her own layer of ice had melted under the love of kindred spirits. She had a feeling that his own ice never would.

He was mean and rude and so fucking cold. He glared and growled at anyone who got to close. But he was loyal and a good teacher, and wouldn't take any shit, not even from Bobby who had been his teammate for nearly twenty years.

They told her how he'd clashed with Scott. How he'd flirted with Jean Grey. How he'd been friends with Storm and the Professor and had kicked the ass of anyone who challenged him. But even that had left her with questions.

No one told her about Rogue. No one dared speak her name, not even Jubilee who still talked to much. She'd found out through the logs. She'd learned about the girl with shinning brown hair and a beautiful white streak through the goddamn computer logs.

She'd been searching for information on some past missions. Little things like tactics that had been used, and personal data on teammates who had come and gone. She'd learned about Hank McCoy that way, a beast of a man, but had the soul of a flower, beautiful and delicate. He'd been a doctor, and had taken over for Jean. He had healed so many wounds, physical and not, all with his gentle spirit and kind words. But even he hadn't been able to touch the wound that festered on the Wolverine.

Somehow, she'd stumbled upon a woman named Rogue. No last name. No long, unorganized record like some of the others. Her mutation was the power to suck the life out of people through a single touch. She suddenly became grateful for having a power that couldn't kill.

The only family that was listed was a man named Logan, under husband. But what made Rogue so special was the aka next to Logan. Logan. Also known as Wolverine. She had been afraid she'd had a heart attack.

She would have never guessed. She would never have seen her fearless leader as being the kind to marry and share their cold heart with another. But she had never really considered what made her gruff old leader so cold. She had never really considered that there might have been a beautiful young woman who had died too soon. But on finding that sole record, the one that answered all her questions and even ones she didn't have, she became obsessed.

No one would talk about her. She had asked and had immediately been silenced. No one would speak her name, or would even admit that her name had been Marie before she'd come to the school.

She started to notice things. Little things. Like when Wolverine flinched ever so slightly when her name was called. "Marie." She started to hate her name, because every time he said it, it didn't sound like her own. It was a ghost's name, a ghost he couldn't chase away.

She started to notice the anger he'd set loose in the Danger Room. In simulations of fights she hadn't been alive for, he'd fight with a fury that scared her silly. Suddenly, she didn't feel so tough. Suddenly, her problems didn't seem too big.

She'd read the file over and over again. It shed little light, but enough to spark her curiosity. She knew her name had been Marie. Then Rogue. Why she'd changed it, no one seemed to know. She had been sixteen when she came to the school. It was later she learned that Rogue had come with Logan, a fact that had felt revealing at the time, when it really told her nothing. Except maybe that they had been together before the school, before Magneto. The log for that mission was vague, undetailed, written by Jean Grey three months after it had happened. Almost like she'd been trying to keep it at its bare minimum so it wouldn't hurt the reader like it had hurt Rogue.

Magneto had tried to mutate the entire World Summit using a machine that, unbeknownst to him, killed any normal human it touched. The machine, which the report had spoken most of, took energy from the user and spread radiation that triggered unnatural mutations. There was a ton of mechanical babble and she'd skipped over most of it. But the bottom line was that Magneto had given his power to Rogue, and had used her to power the machine.

Rogue hadn't died that night. But for some reason, she seemed to think a part of her had anyway.

It explained the streaks though. Somehow, the machine had started to pull everything it could to power it, and had shocked her hair out of color. The beautiful white was an eternal reminder. One that could haunt a person for their entire life.

The report told her how Wolverine, who had been Logan then, had deliberately touched her, lending her his ability to regenerate, knowing he would probably die. The thought had made her heart wrench, and she'd spent an hour crying for people she hardly knew.

The log ended with a note about the "brave and loyal." A note she knew had been a hint into Jean's humble soul.

She learned about the wedding. About how suddenly they had announced that they were getting married. It was the only thing she'd managed to get out of Kitty. For some reason, the gentle, shy woman was the only one who would even talk about Rogue. She thought it was because Kitty liked to remember the good times, and was blunt with her honesty. Kitty told her about the flowers and the gowns, about how the entire school had been shocked shitless with the out-of-the-blue announcement (well, she hadn't said those particular words but same thing.) Kitty told her about the beautiful white flowers, and how Storm had made it gently rain because that's what Rogue had wanted. Kitty told her about the dress Rogue had worn, and about how it still hung in Logan's room. They had both ended up in tears, and she knew she wouldn't get another word about Rogue from Kitty. The entire subject was too dark, too sad, even for blunt and honest Kitty.

1/14/04.

It was the date that Rogue had died.

But she still didn't know how. She didn't know why.

So that was how young Marie ended up sitting in front of a computer, going through old logs and reports until three in the morning.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She whirled around in her chair, her heart already pounding because she'd recognized his voice and didn't know what it meant. What was she supposed to say? Oh just going through old logs so I can find tid bits about your wife's death. She had a feeling that "Nothing" wouldn't work. So she just stared, speechless, terrified at finally getting caught. She'd kept it from him. Why she did she didn't really know. Mostly because she knew it would hurt him more than she could bear. She hated the thought of seeing her leader, a man she respected and cared for, hurt even more. He had all the answers, but she was afraid of what they might cost.

He glared at her, his constant scowl deepening impossibly. Finally it broke, and for the first time since coming there she saw the weary soul underneath.

He leaned casually against the door, crossing his arms, and relaxing his heavy frame. She'd heard that metal ran through his entire skeleton, an answer to one of her questions. Why the hell was he so strong? How did he bear so much weight, so much responsibility. So much pain.

He spoke softly, his voice devoid of anything resembling emotion. "I heard you've been doing a little research."

She said nothing still, afraid her mouth would run without her.

He continued like he hadn't been waiting for an answer. "So, it leads me to question." He tilted his head a little, "Why exactly are you doing this?"

He didn't ask about what she was researching. Only why. Why are you dredging up the past only I remember? Why are you making it harder than it has to be? Why? Why? Why?

She bowed her head, swallowing hard, wishing she could be completely invisible right then, even to him. But it wasn't meant to be, and she could only stare at the black laces of her shoes, trying not to look up at the eyes that were painful to look at.

She didn't answer for a long time, and he waited at that door, boring holes into her head (or maybe it was just her.) She felt like crying and screaming all at once, because she felt like she was carrying a burden that wasn't hers. Because she found herself asking the same question he had.

"I don't know." She finally said, because she didn't, she really didn't. Maybe she'd wanted to find out more of the mysterious leader who had never failed to save her life in some crazy mission where she'd pushed to far and nearly gotten herself killed. Maybe she'd stumbled upon something bigger than herself and had tried to fix something that couldn't be fixed. Whatever it had been she still didn't know, and she still couldn't quell the burning curiosity that flamed whenever a hint of Rogue was seen in the old walls of the school and lab.

A long silence ensued. A long, pregnant pause in a conversation that should have never taken place. When she couldn't take it any longer, she spoke, wincing at the sound of her own voice.

"I'm sorry."

And she looked up, and saw that he was near crying himself. She berated herself for hurting him, for hurting a man who'd only been kind to her, despite her name and despite his gruff exterior. She wanted to kick herself and at the same time she knew it wouldn't be enough because right then she hated herself for causing him pain. He was a stranger, and yet she felt his pain, she felt it twist inside of her, and she hated it all the more.

"I know." He whispered, his voice blank, his expression controlled. He straightened, pushing off the wall. "Her name was Marie." He didn't look at her, and she knew he wasn't even talking to her. He was just speaking, finally letting out the past that had plagued him for too many years to count. He spoke of things she knew, and of things she didn't know. He told about the mission to rescue her from Magneto. He told her about realizing he was tied so deeply to her that he'd tried to run away. He told about coming back, and finding the girl he couldn't stop thinking about had grown into an amazing woman. He told her about the wedding that she'd only heard about from Kitty. His voice had slowed and she'd seen a weird sort of smile when he spoke of the rain that had fallen that day. It meant something to them, something he would never share, something she would never ask for.

His voice had changed suddenly, when he spoke of her death. He told her they'd been married for five years, when the drug that had made her touch safe had backfired in her body, had killed her from the inside out. He told her how he'd held her hand, even though it had burned his skin to the bone. He told her when he'd buried her, where he'd buried her, and how her ghost still haunted him. He told her everything she'd wanted to know, and even more.

She'd cried. Anyone would have cried. A stranger would have cried. But he didn't. At first she thought it was because of his pride, his reputation, or maybe that he was shielding himself from the pain.

And then she realized it was because he had nothing left. She realized he was only going on because she'd asked him to, because she'd begged him to let her go with her dying breath. She realized he fought each day with anger because he'd been exhausted of emotion when she'd left this world. She realized the tears had come and gone, and his pain was still raw.

She knew suddenly that it would never be resolved. That he would always hurt and that it would always haunt him. He was a shell now, a dead soul in a strong body because his mutation kept him alive while the rest withered away. She saw now that Rogue had been the first to thaw his ice, and when she'd died, his ice had frozen over again, thicker and with a bite that stung everyone. She saw now that Rogue would never die, because Logan would always harbor her memory, and a load of pain that he never should have had.

She saw, she realized, she learned, and somehow, she was no longer quite so new.

---

morning smiles
like the face of a newborn child.
innocent, unknowing.
winter's end.
promises of a long lost friend.
speaks to me of comfort.
but I fear.
I have nothing to give.
I have so much to lose
here in this lonely place

--Fear, Sarah McLachlan