To put it simply, it was a matter of concentration. Concentration and the ability to remember the details.

In the case of the paperclip in Rogue's hand, those detail were the countless molecules of the metal. She concentrated on those molecules until they felt like an extension of her poisonous body, until their apparent simplicity revealed a minuscule world of complicated wonders and unpredicted contradictions.

Then she smiled slightly and moved those molecules, first one by one, then in small clusters, until the paperclip bent and bowed to her will.

It was, she decided - not without a little amusement - a lot like manipulating the world around her. With the metal, it was the molecules that let her control the paperclip. In the real world, it was the little things - what she said, the way she acted - that enabled her to shape her surrounding as she saw fit.

It was the first lesson Erik had taught her: freedom - mental as well as physical - required control.

First and foremost control of herself, of her body, her thoughts and emotions. If she couldn't control herself, she would never be able to control anyone else.

The second lesson had been more of a realization: She didn't owe the X-Men anything. Not her loyalty, not her gratitude, not anything.

She could still remember that conversation with mind-Erik. She'd made sure to remember it, just in case she ever felt any doubt regarding that second lesson.

'And just why do you owe them your gratitude?' mind-Erik had inquired from his little corner of her mind.

_They saved my life! And Logan's, too! They've given me a place to live, clothes to wear, food to eat..._ Rogue had explained, and then trailed off as she felt Erik shake his head slowly.

'No, my dear. You don't own them anything. They saved your life? If it hadn't been for them, you and your clawed companion would never have been on the statue. And the fact that they offered you shelter? They do it out of fear, Rogue. They are afraid of you. To them, you are what your name implies - a rogue. A question mark, a wild card, an unknown factor in their organized, little world. They fear your power because they know it could kill them. They fear you because you are not as naïve as the rest of the students.'

_But...Cyclops - he's dangerous, too. And Storm, and Jean..._ Rogue had asked in complete confusion.

'Charles knows that they - the X-Men - are completely loyal to him. They would do anything he said without asking a single question. And so would the students. They trust him - and each other - completely. You, however, ask questions. You do not trust easily. You have seen the real world and know that violence is inevitable. You are dangerous, my dear. And that is why they let you stay. They would rather keep you in a place where they could keep an eye on you, than risk having you as an enemy.'

_They - Cyclops and Storm - saved Logan and me in Canada. They got me outta that burning truck after ya had Sabretooth attack us. Yer the one who tried to kill me...several times, I might add._

Erik had sighed wearily at the return of their old argument.

'You have seen my memories, Rogue. You understand my reasons for what I did that night on the Statue. But Sabretooth wasn't trying to kill you in Canada. He was supposed to bring you - both of you - back alive.'

_I...I understand what ya tried to do with that machine and I'm not angry...well, not anymore, at least....but...Sabretooth almost killed both Logan and me. He probably would have if the X-Men hadn't shown up._

'No, my dear. Because without the X-Men, I would never have found you.' Erik admitted.

_What?!_ Rogue demanded.

'I only found you because Raven - Mystique - infiltrated the school, disguised as Robert Drake. The X-Men knew where you were. Raven found several files with your last known locations and the most likely route you would follow and gave them to me. The X-Men knew about you for months, my dear. They knew about you and the constant battle for survival on the streets, and still they didn't come for you.'

_Yer lying! They wouldn't do something like that!_

'No, Marie, I am not lying. Look at my memories. The X-Men never cared about you. They let you stay on the streets until you proved to dangerous to remain unleashed. I am truly sorry, but you deserve to know the truth.'

"No!" Marie had yelled and slammed her hands into the walls. The sharp pain had made her gasp, but it had cleared her mind. She had looked at her hand and watched as the last remains of Logan's healing factor slowly repaired the damage done to her flesh and bone.

Erik's words had made too much sense. Way too much sense.

_Fuck them. Fuck them all. They can go to Hell for all I care!_ she had snapped with her mental voice.

Erik had just nodded slightly.

'And that, my dear, was your second lesson.'

So Rogue had steeled her heart against the X-Men, playing along as the grateful student and never letting her true feelings show.

It was only now, six months after the incident on Ellis Island, that they had started to trust her. They no longer treated her like she was a snake in a bird's nest, but instead they acted like they really cared.

The trust was a result of Erik's third lesson: To gain their trust, she would have to act like them. She would have to act like she wholly believed in their vision of a utopia where humans and mutants could live peacefully side by side.

_Utopia, indeed,_ Rogue had decided when she had learned the meaning of the word. _Trust the X-Men to dream of a place that in Greek means 'Nowhere'._

One of the best advises Erik gave her while she learned to act like the others, was actually the one she thought would never work.

'Play the role of the martyr, my dear.'

_Yer shitting me, right?_

'No, I most certainly am not. I am not saying that you should do the whole Joan of Arc routine, but the small things..._

_Like what?_ Rogue had asked suspiciously.

'When you can't sleep, get up. Roam the hallways. Sit on the balcony and watch the stars. They will believe that you are still plagued by horrible nightmares that are not even your own.'

_Well...I do have nightmares._ Rogue had corrected, slightly confused.

'But not very often. They will think that you are bravely trying to go on despite a burden that would have broken a lesser person.'

_Yer enjoying this, aren't ya?_ Rogue had accused him.

Erik had actually smiled.

'Quite frankly, yes, my dear. I am.'

_What about...?_

'Charles and Jean cannot read your mind because of all the conflicting personalities, so they will only see what we want them to see.'

_Cool._

'Indeed.'

_So, what else? Roam the hallways..._

'...Draw. Paint.'

_Okay, yer lost me again._

'I know for a fact that you used to draw while you still lived at home. Well, draw. Paint. Chose the most horrifying scenes from your nightmares and draw them. Then 'accidentally' leave them where people might see them - not too obvious, though. Put a few in one of your books and let them 'fall out' when you put the books away after class. When you pick them up, act like you are afraid that someone would see them, but do it slow enough for those around - preferably the X-Men - to get a quick look. Or you could 'accidentally' leave a drawer with some paintings in it half-open.'

_Got it, sugar._ Rogue had acknowledged with a grin.

'And finally - play the role of the untouchable girl to perfection. Act like you've accepted the fact that you will never touch anyone again. But do be careful. We wouldn't want to overdo it, Rogue.'

Rogue had nodded and decided to give this crazy strategy a try.

It had worked better than even Erik had expected. The X-Men started to act differently. They started to see Rogue as a possible student and not a wild card. When she walked down the hallways at night, she sometimes met Cyclops or Storm or Jean and they would always ask her if something was wrong.

And Rogue, by now able to juggle dozens of stories without slipping, would give them a slightly haunted smile and insist that everything was okay.

Scott would find her surrounded by paint and brushes and frown when she quickly hid the painting she was doing.

Storm or Jean would catch an 'accidental' glimpse of drawing that showed Nazi death-camps or laughing doctors or two people fighting in a cage. When they asked Rogue about it, she would simply shake her head and say that it was nothing, really.

And finally the X-Men decided that she wasn't really a threat, but just a scared, young girl who had been through too much and was afraid that even Xavier's school would turn out to be a trap of some sort. And they would support her and preach for her about peaceful co-existence because they saw a possible future team-mate in her.

Meanwhile, Rogue waited. Logan would eventually return and until then, she and Erik would just have to continue her masquerade. They were in control now, and they wanted it to remain that way.

"Rogue?"

Rogue looked up from her contemplation of the solitary paperclip and realised that the lesson was over and the students had left.

"Yes, Mr. Summers?"

Cyclops sent her a slightly worried look.

"Are you okay?"

Rogue nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she said and grabbed her books. "See ya later, Mr. Summers."

Cyclops nodded and watched her leave. Then he looked at the table she'd just left and noticed the bent paperclip. He picked it up and looked at it, then shrugged and tossed it out, never once noticing the fundamental changes that had taken place beneath the smooth surface.