This is what straightjackets are made for.


Well maybe they weren’t designed with mutants in mind, but this would be as good a time as any to have one. Or so Marie thought, as her body launched into another set of spasms. She had stopped screaming a while ago, seeing as how it wasn’t really getting her anywhere. Her muscles continued to seize, voices kept shouting in her mind, and she was still locked in the mansion’s isolation room. It wouldn’t do to have a sore throat on top of it all. Not that she would use her voice for anything though; her never-ending apologies fell on deaf ears.

With the sudden burst of copper flooding her mouth she realizes she must have bitten her tongue. Again. It’s almost enough to distract her from the warm wetness she can feel running from her clenched eyes. She’s sure she would have drowned in her own blood and tears by now. She can’t even feel ashamed anymore by wanting that if it means this ends. She’s not used to this much physical pain. Usually it’s all mental; the voices, the name-calling, the insults, foreign memories. That, while still hellish, she can deal with to some degree. She’s used to that, she has some tricks up her sleeve to help deal with the mental side effects of an absorption, ways of drowning out the voices and reminding herself of who she is. This time is different though. The physical pain is so intense, Marie can’t focus enough on those old reliable methods. For some reason Carol stays mostly silent, instead attacking Marie’s battered body from the inside out. Even her memories, which have always been the hardest thing for Marie to compartmentalize after an absorption, aren’t infiltrating her mind. Most of those are locked away, just barely out of reach, but still noticeable like a sore in the back of her mouth. Part of her wants to prod because it’s just there with a subdued ache, but Marie is crippled enough without the constant onslaught of another person’s memories.


When most of her body loosens and her muscles start the incessant twitching between total body spasms, Marie wonders, not for the first time, how much control Carol has. How much damage she can do. A vague memory stirs up of a humid Mississippi summer day spent in her grandmother’s nursing home, watching the machines she was attached to. Kidney failure, her momma had said, even though she was too young to understand what any of that meant. Now Marie wonders if she’ll know what that feels like without the machines. Or maybe Carol will go for her liver, let bile overtake her body instead. If she can even do that. Marie doesn’t know; she’s never killed anyone with her mutation before.
She chokes down the blood now that her throat is working again. With a tremulous hand she wipes away what trickled out of her mouth, but ends up soaking her gloves. They can’t see any worse. She’s been wearing them since she got here. Well, before that even. Since she absorbed Carol. Since her “family” forced her out of bed and into an unmarked car. Marie didn’t catch on until it was too late. Actually, she didn’t really get it at all, it was Carol who understood.

In the confusion of absorbing her, it was the dead X-Man’s thoughts that rolled through Marie, recognizing the set up and lack of the usual Brotherhood presence for what it was. An assassination. There were so much of Carol’s half-formed feelings rolling through Marie, but she could only latch onto a precious few, hoping to understand the situation. There was no Intel to be gained from the little Rogue, the Brotherhood’s least used, but highly advertised member. She was finally the weapon Magneto had threatened them with and Mystique pulled the trigger. Carol’s strength couldn’t even shake the shape shifter’s hold once the Rogue had drained enough of her. Then it never stopped. Not even when Carol was far too weakened to fight back against the both of them, not even when the Rogue’s tearful gaze met Mystique’s and she kept brokenly sobbing “why, please, why”?

It ended when there were two bodies on the floor, both very much broken shells, but for two very different reasons. Through one watery set of eyes, both saw an enemy and a foster mother turn and leave.



The digital tone of a keypad code brought Marie around to the present. Still twitching, still on the floor. She learned the value of keeping small and still long before she was hauled off to Xavier’s. It must be the reason she earned the privilege of face-to-face food deliveries now. For a while it was nothing but nourishment shoved through a slot in the door when her borrowed strength accidentally broke the chains during a particularly bad seizure. But now, after being so resigned, she’s finally treated to a person.

And sometimes they don’t even yell at her.

This time it was the one with the red sunglasses – Scott, according to Carol. She didn’t bother checking what was on the menu. Even if Carol was gracious enough to let her digest properly, Marie didn’t have the will to do so. It smelled like peanut butter and jelly from where she was and her stomach protested.

Shame, she used to love peanut butter and jelly.

“Here you go.” Very polite, very stiff. He sets the plate on the floor along with milk and a banana. The small part of her that’s still holding onto her old life with the Brotherhood wants to laugh at the wholesomeness. She doesn’t know why they still bother, when someone returns with a plate for dinner they’ll just end up leaving with one untouched from lunch. They know this, which is probably why the guy – Scott – pauses and frowns.

“You should really eat.” She’s not sure if that’s an order or a general observation. She’s more accustomed to the former and doesn’t know how to respond to the latter. So she doesn’t.

“Rogue, you –“ He’s about to launch into some type of leader speech. That’s something she does recognize from living around Erik for so long. Scott’s lecture is cut off when a shadow, a person, a wall of muscle appears behind him. She stiffens, her body preparing for the threat of Victor before her brain gets any say in the matter. When he steps forward into the light of the room she sees that it’s actually not Victor at all, but the expression on this new man’s face and the tension in his massive body keep her on alert. For good reason. His sharp glare fixes on her and she can see the promise of violence lurking just under the surface. A small window offering a selection of Carol’s memories don’t negate that and Marie knows this is the Wolverine.

“Logan, is there something you need?” She didn’t think it was possible, but Scott’s even stiffer than before.

Those focused hazel eyes don’t leave her. “Yeah. Garage. Your brats can’t change oil for shit. It’s everywhere.” His gaze narrows. Is he?...Yes, he is. He’s sniffing for something. She’s seen Victor do it enough.

“Then why didn’t you take care of it?”

Finally the Wol – Logan – looks at his teammate. “Not my class, not my problem, One-Eye.”

Scott sighs and looks like he’s desperately trying to find some sense of inner calm. In a tightly controlled voice he asks, “Can’t you do something about it? I’m a little busy here.” Marie imagines he would sound that way if he was talking about laundry instead of her.

This would be very different in her home, or what she thought of as her home. There wouldn’t even be a pretext of calm. Any member of the Brotherhood would take to the other’s throat and launch into a display of power.

Logan steps up to Scott and snarls, “I’m not your fucking maid or a goddamn lap dog, Cyke.”

So maybe some things don’t change.

“She needs to eat.”

Logan’s response is immediate and not lacking in venom. “What the fuck for?”

All calm is lost. “Just make yourself useful dammit!” And with that Scott hands off the untouched breakfast plate and storms out.

Leaving Marie with Logan.

He looks at the plate he’s holding, then looks at her. He gives her a snort of disgust and leaves too, closing the door harder than is probably necessary.

She’d rather be alone with her sandwich anyway.

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Scott came back a few hours later with dinner and a lecture. He’d probably been planning it the whole time. Figuring out how to balance giving a command with the practiced concern he no doubt got from his professor. She really should eat something, then they can discuss things like adults, what point is she trying to make, and isn’t this getting just a bit ridiculous, Rogue? She still didn’t eat. If she kept missing meals then one day she could save Scott the time of preparing his speeches.


Maybe they had an X-meeting or whatever they called them because while she was just coming down from another spasm her breakfast delivery service arrived. In the form of one pissed off feral. They must have discussed her mutation because he was completely covered, gloves and all. She could see three evenly spaced rips in the knuckles of the gloves though. Not that she’d take advantage of the skin contact. Not after the last absorption. Not with this guy.

“Eat this.” He slid the plate none too gently towards her curled up body, a good portion of the food spilling when it hit her elbow. He cursed, but she didn’t dare look up at him. Just stay small, just stay still. That’s all she had to do. If it worked, at least some of the time around Victor, then it can work around this guy too. Except she couldn’t stop the twitches in random parts of her body and her shot nerves were working towards another full body episode.

She hears some colorful cursing from the man in plaid. “The fuck are you waiting for, kid? I gotta make sure you eat so I’m not leavin’ ‘til you stuff somethin’ in your damn mouth.”

He’s not Victor. He’s not Victor. He’s not Victor. The shakes won’t stop. She’s too far gone to figure out if her reaction is more from fear of this guy or if it’s just Carol’s standard punishment. She feels the familiar tightening crawling up her spine and spreading throughout her bones, each disc fusing, each joint locking. The pain licking through her limbs like white-hot fire. One by one, her muscles constricting and locking, some releasing only to clamp up again. Pressure like a vice on all sides of her head and behind her clenched eyelids Marie could practically see Carol using her superhuman strength to do it. Marie clenched her teeth against it, hoping this time she wouldn’t get a mouthful of blood.


Distantly she can hear noises, a voice, but whether it was her own, Carol’s, or Logan’s she couldn’t tell. She feels the shards of the plate digging into her, lodging into side and back and realizes that she must have broken the plate at some point. Hopefully Xavier didn’t use the fine china with his prisoners. Just like her original mutation she can’t get control of Carol’s. Her strength and invulnerability not easily attainable or consistent. She would bleed now, but the minute she was alone with a leftover shard of the plate, the delicate skin of her wrists wouldn’t cleave no matter how hard she tried. Through the fog and shouting in her mind she could tell that somebody was touching her though. Not skin, but she could feel a weight on her. Considerable weight holding her down, trying to unlock her arms and pin her legs down. She wanted to warn them, tell them how dangerous it was to be so close to her, that she was a killer, that she had killed, that she should be killed. What came out was more of a guttural cry. A defeated, broken sound. And for her efforts she ended up biting her tongue again. Still locked, she couldn’t get her throat to work, her jaw to open. There was nowhere for the blood to go and she was sure she would choke this time. Just as sure of it as she was of the tears pouring down her face. She thought there were more voices, but her own crippled moans bubbling up around the blood in her mouth began to drown everything else out.

“Dammit, kid.” was the last thing she thought she heard before Carol finally broke her.

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“Does she look like she’s gonna attack anyone?”

“You know what she’s capable of, Logan. It’s a precaution.”

“Yeah, and so were those fucking chains. Lotta good those did. She could’ve done a shit ton more damage than that and she didn’t –“

“And Carol? You saw what she did to her. I think she has done enough damage.”

“It’s all right Jean.”


Marie wasn’t in the isolation room. That was clear even if the details weren’t. It was colder here, the air wasn’t as stale even though it had a cloying disinfectant smell…

“Rogue?” And this new room could fit far more people than her little cell. Or were those voices coming from inside of her? She swallowed and tasted copper. Gingerly, she opened her eyes, blinking against lighting that was even harsher than what she had been getting used to in isolation. Of course it was, she was in some kind of medical wing. She took in the room and the amount of metal they’d used to build it almost made her shudder with the memory of Erik. She felt a light pressure in her head at that, far different from Carol’s.

“I trust you’re feeling better.” She finally found the owner of that voice. He must be their professor. She figured a man who would…er…roll around his own mansion in a three-piece suit would be addressed as nothing but. He wasn’t what she had in mind though. She couldn’t remember how often she had heard members of the Brotherhood, her “family”, talk about Xavier. She expected a feeble old man, withering under his flailing hope and the pressures of an anti-mutant world. She wasn’t prepared for the serene smile or the knowing eyes.

Telepath, she remembered.

He rolled closer to her. “You are feeling better aren’t you?” Actually…she did. The muscle twitches weren’t as bad as they usually were. In fact, there was just an odd pinging every now and again that reminded her of a car engine cooling down. She had a headache, but compared to what she was used to it was manageable. She still tasted copper and her poor tongue was too sensitive to really check. Her shirt was damp though, probably soaked with sweat and blood. She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for an answer, or if he had really asked a question at all. Wouldn’t he know that she wasn’t exactly talkative these days? He was a telepath after all.

“I’m fairly certain you know where you are?” She could give him a nod while her body was still cooperating.

“Good. I’d like to offer you my apologies, Rogue. I was away and came as soon as I heard what had happened.” What, that she had killed one of his X-Men? No, he couldn’t know everything if he was telling her he was sorry. Didn’t his people tell him? Don’t they have a body somewhere?

“Rogue.” She was caught up again in those perceptive eyes. Took in his carefully measured tone, “I know that all is not as it seems.” The weary smile he gave her was enough to make her crack. When would she finally run out of tears? When would she not have a use for them? She wanted to tell him everything, to throw herself at his feet and ask him, no beg him, to please, please understand. It was the first smile she had received in days, probably longer if she remembers her time with the Brotherhood correctly. She was desperate for kindness, but expected none.


A gloved hand appeared with a box of standard hospital tissues and that’s when she noticed that she wasn’t alone with the professor. A stately redhead in a lab coat offered her the box with thinly disguised mistrust – Jean. Carol was kind of handy when she cooperated. With slow, practiced movements that only someone whose skin kills others could have, Marie took the box from the doctor and began sopping up the mess on her face. Scott was just behind her, his expression, what Marie could make of it behind his glasses, wasn’t as hostile as the good doctor’s. Logan was there too. Just at the foot of her bed with his brow furrowed, probably pissed that she’s still alive and kicking, even though she can’t help the latter thanks to Carol. Having spent a couple of days in a small isolation cell, she suddenly felt too exposed and found herself checking her gloves. Ruined. Disgusting. Like the rest of her.

“I’m sure you would like to get cleaned up and shown to a room?” A room? Like, not a padded cell?

“Professor…” Apparently that idea confused other people too.

“Jean I believe we’ve discussed at length.” Marie was relieved when the professor turned his attention towards the doctor. She dared to glance up and saw that his gaze was even more penetrating, but at least it wasn’t focused on her. Telepath.

“These past few days have been quite long indeed and I think everyone could benefit from some rest.” Marie was struck by how…not very commanding, Xavier’s command was. She didn’t know what to do with the patient, but expectant expression on the man’s face, the warm tone of his voice. As if they were allowed to question him. The X-Men must have their own consequences for challenging their leader though because none of them spoke up.

“Logan, could you please show Rogue to her room?” Uh…what were the consequences if she challenged him? Maybe the Brotherhood was right, the professor had lost it. No one in their right mind would leave the growling feral in charge of her, even for a brief period of time. He’d rip her to shreds, but maybe that’s a part of their plan. Promise of a shower and a room after days of nothing only to kill her in what she knew would be the most violent of ways. At this point all Marie hoped for was for it to be done quickly, but given what she had done to one of their own, she doubted she’d be granted that.

The not-so stable man in question grunted, clearly not impressed with the situation. Well, she wasn’t such a challenge. He could kill her easily and some flicker of Carol’s memories clued her in on the fact that the Wolverine wasn’t a fan of an easy kill. Instead of looking at her he seemed to be considering the unlit cigar that was rolling back and forth between his fingers. She knew, just knew he had to be thinking about the most satisfying way of doing her in. Logan barely looked at her when he shoved the cigar into his mouth and cocked his head towards the door. He didn’t wait to see if she’d follow.

With all the grace of a colt Marie unsteadily removed the blankets and began to get to her feet, muscles pinging away.

“Oh Rogue, I’d like you to stop by my office tomorrow afternoon. Please feel free to come after you’ve eaten lunch.” Another patient smile, more warm tones. The words I’d like you to and please feel free foreign to her. This was a tactic she was unfamiliar with. Is this what kill them with kindness meant? For lack of anything better to do she just nodded and cautiously followed her new reluctant tour guide.


The Wolverine was impatiently waiting by an open door down the hall. She couldn’t think of him any differently. She couldn’t reconcile Logan, the man she had fleeting glimpses of in the limited access of Carol’s memories to the glowering mutant that stood before her, arms crossed, still chewing on his unlit cigar. Another inclination of his head and she saw that it wasn’t exactly an open door, it was - the elevator – yes, Carol had used it everyday. With no alternatives Marie stepped into the little box with the big angry man. He jabbed a button and part of her thought she should remember the floor number on the off chance that he wouldn’t kill her, but she had to concentrate on her body. The last time she was in close proximity to him she absolutely lost it, still had no idea how she came through that one. The pinging was getting more insistent, turning into a random jerk of a limb. No, no, no. She couldn’t do this in the elevator, not so close to him, not with her skin.

“Quit it.” Now that she recognized as a command, even if it was bit out around the cigar. A fall of hair hid her downturned face from him, but she still risked a glance out of the corner of her eye. The way he was worrying it she almost wondered if he’d put the unlit stub in his mouth to distract himself. Then she thought about how absurd it was to assume the Wolverine would practice any kind of self-restraint.
Something passed right over her, a flash of a chill followed by a tingling heat that signaled the blood sugar crash feeling of someone else’s awareness. She caught foreign images of a familiar hairy, grumpy mutant, teasing thoughts of words like cigar and pacifier from her most recent mind-tenant.


To which Marie burst out laughing.

Marie was positive she was going to die in an elevator. Not in the way most people would think, with the pulley snapping and plummeting to death. No, she was convinced that the Wolverine would decorate the cream colored walls with her insides. By the look on his face after she seemingly caught a case of the inappropriate giggles, he was probably considering it. His jaw clenched right along with his fists, once again – or still? – in those gloves and thanks to Carol she had a sudden awareness of what those three slits in the knuckles were for.

If she thought the probing stare of the professor was bad, it paled in comparison to the barely restrained fury in the Wolverine’s eyes. One would think that the hazel color of them would be nice, if one wasn’t on the receiving end of a death glare. She wants to explain, but any variation of “sorry, it’s just your dead teammate” seems like bad form.

For reasons completely unknown to Marie the Wolverine doesn’t gut her. Instead he clenches his eyes to match his jaw and fists. When he turns away from her she can just make out his growled, “Un-fucking-believable.”


The elevator opens and for the hundredth time today Marie marvels that she’s still alive. Another cold-hot wave pass through her as Carol’s laughter floats through her mind – “wouldn’t have it any other way” – and the right side of Marie’s body goes numb.

“Hurry the hell up!” His barked order comes from halfway down the hall, but it’s as clear as if he was still next to her in the tiny elevator. Even though her right leg gives with every step she still presses on, hugging the wall for some sense of stability. Marie can only imagine what she looks like; stumbling, shaky, pressed to the wall, baggy borrowed scrubs covered in blood, tears, and sweat. It can’t be a coincidence that the hall is empty. He eyes her the entire way, as if she’s playing up her weakness, planning on getting the drop on him and run like a mad woman for escape. Maybe he can see that she actually does have that brief urge before the memory of not having anywhere to run to snuffs that out.


When she finally reaches him he only cocks his head again, this time to a closed door. It’s nice, better than nice, along with everything else decorating the hallway, and it’s just a door. She looks down at her ruined gloves and for some reason hates the thought of having to touch something so nice with them. The Wolverine must be considering the same thing, but for very different reasons, when he grunts and moves past her to open the door. Still, she hesitates before going in and has the absurd thought that he might just literally give her ass a kick so he can be rid of her. He must have more self-control than anyone would think because he just growls instead, but it’s a warning nonetheless. Whatever is inside that room can’t be any worse than what he can dish out. So she hops to…well, as much as anyone with a dead foot can hop.

If she thought the door was nice…

The walls were the same rich, dark wood with a glossy finish. The furniture, from the desk to the four-poster bed looked like antiques in a modernized way that only a lot of money could buy. A part of her that she thought she left in Mississippi noted the thick linens and started figuring the cost of the entire yardage. Xavier really was trying to kill her with kindness.

By the grumble coming from behind her, Marie could tell that this wasn’t the Wolverine’s preferred method of execution. She didn’t know if it was stupidity or a stolen need not to turn her back on a predator that made her turn to face him. The glare was back, along with the crossed arms and general “don’t fuck with me” attitude, but this time he added a curled lip around that crushed cigar, as if she was getting bored with the usual he gave her.

“I’m sorry.”

Crap.

Did she say that…out loud? Did she just mumble an apology for murdering his teammate? It looks like he’s thinking something similar. He’s got the same look on his face as he did in the elevator after Carol triggered her giggle switch. Like he can’t believe she has such a little amount of self-preservation. They might just be on the same page with that.

That look doesn’t last for long though and before she can figure out the proper etiquette for atonement she hears a SNIKT. The Wolverine – and she’s damn well sure there’s not an ounce of Logan in there this time – starts towards her with an accusing claw directed her way. Now she can truly understand the threat he carries in his frame, the unbridled fire in his eyes that he’s been working to reign in all day.

“You –” He barely spits out, the cigar gone somewhere around the time she started drowning in fear.

Her right leg is awash in numbness and she can only stumble back and pray that he makes this quick. Not Victor. Not Victor. Not Victor. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, but she must have because when she doesn’t feel the burning puncture of metal claws in her gut she opens them. Nothing but dark fury stares back at her, the glinting of a claw separating the brief space between them. If it wasn’t for the bedpost at her back she’d be whimpering on the floor. She thinks she’s whimpering as is, the right side of her body still sagging. It’s probably a pitiful sight and she thinks the Wolverine might agree. It would be easy pickings. He does the sniffing thing again, taking a long hit of her this time, which reminds her of every fluid she’s caked in. Maybe he thinks that she’s not worth getting his claws dirty. With a lot of effort he closes his eyes and steps back, still tense, clenched, and radiating animosity. The claw slowly slides back home and without sparing her a glance the Wolverine turns and leaves, enough stiffness in his body to rival Scott’s. As Marie slumps to the floor Carol lets her know that neither one of them would appreciate the comparison.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


By the time she fills the tub for a third washing, Marie almost forgets that she’s still in enemy territory, that there’s a feral mutant who probably wants her dead, that her mind and body are no longer her own, and that her foster mother has something to do with it all. Forgetting is a lot harder now that she’s mostly lucid.

When she was able to get her feet back under her long after Logan had left, Marie discovered a change of clothing on the bed in colors that a nighttime - roadside construction worker would find too bright. Even if she was keen on the idea of leaving her new room, Marie just couldn’t fathom doing so in Rainbow Bright’s rejected clubwear. Someone thought it would be hilarious to see the poisonous killer wander around a school in a tube top, a long sleeve shirt that was nowhere near opaque, a skirt that would make her Baptist birth mother blush, and hose fit for a streetwalker. All in various shades of neon. The X-Men had to be laughing it up right about now. Not to forget her mutation, they had left her a cheap pair of white costume gloves that looked far too cartoonish for her taste. Now this kind of torture made sense. At least they had salvaged her long green coat and boots.


After dressing, Marie only dared one look in the closet mirror before recoiling in horror. Yes, this was definitely torture. Even Carol was appalled that the new body she inhabited looked like a glow-in-the-dark hooker. Keeping far away from that traitorous mirror, Marie wrapped herself in her coat and parked herself on the bench in front of the window. She was afforded a view of well manicured gardens, a far cry from the near cave of her former home.
Even in the ridiculous outfit Marie would almost go as far to say that she nearly felt human after bathing and luxuriating in the toiletries left for her. Almost. She’s a mutant, after all. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t qualify her as human. She’s also a killer and a couple of baths can wash away the blood on her hands, but the stain on her soul is permanent. Marie closes her eyes as she rests her head against the cool glass of the window. None of it makes sense. She’s not exactly ignorant of the Brotherhood’s activities. She’s overheard enough boasting to know the kinds of things they do. She’s listened to enough of Erik’s lectures to know what they’re after.

Doesn’t mean she agrees with it.

Mystique found her, took her in, clothed her, fed her, and it seemed like she cared for her…in her own way. Marie was never forced to take part in anything the Brotherhood did, Mystique was adamant about that. She was also pretty adamant about telling Marie just how important she was. Well, how important her mutation was. Hours were spent on her potential. If it wasn’t for her terroristic tendencies and general disregard for human emotions, Mystique would’ve made a killing as a motivational speaker. Instead she forces her foster daughter to do the killing. So what, was it take your kid to work day? That bitterness is all Marie this time and she has the absurd idea of testing the window’s thickness and hoping that Carol’s flight ability fails her when she then sets out to test gravity.

What the hell happened? Where did all that brass and southern spitfire go? She can’t blame Carol’s influence on the bleak turn of her thoughts because she was miserable long before this…incident ever happened. Not for the first time, Marie thinks that Mystique only kept her from dying on the streets so she could slowly kill her with life among the Brotherhood.



Pummeling of fists on the door breaks her out of her thoughts. “Hey, are you decent!?” Without even waiting for an answer her intruder barged in and…well, that was a whole lot of yellow on one tiny person.

Marie had an inkling of where her donated clothes came from.

“So you’re the big bad Rogue, huh?” The girl looked like she was Marie’s age, maybe a little younger, late teens. One thing was clear; whoever this girl was she had no concept of less is more. It took Marie a bit to remember that she had been asked a question and even longer to get her throat cleared to answer.

“Just Rogue.”

The yellow girl cocked a hip and put her hand there. “Well I’m the big bad Jubilee and I can take you. So don’t get any ideas.”

“I don’t have ideas.” Marie lamely replied.

Like the Wolverine, this Jubilee must have decided that Marie wasn’t worth a second thought. The girl walked over and flung herself on the bed, chin propped on fists, yellow booted feet in the air.

“So, word on the street is that you killed Carol.” Jubilee popped her gum while Marie winced. She had a feeling that she’d have the same reaction for the rest of her life.

The yel- Jubilee – shrugs. “Whatever. Ding dong the bitch is dead.” Oh…oh this girl either had a lot of balls or…

“Exc – uhm….what?” Marie couldn’t have heard her right.

“Carol. Super bitch.” …or was just a whole lot of brass. The girl in question offered another shrug. A shrug?! “Like, big time. Thought she was the shit and that everyone should know. Made my life hell. Oh, also, big time slut.” Jubilee popped her gum again and gave a decisive nod.

Marie had no words for that. Carol did though, and they all seem to be directed at the yellow girl stretching out her gum and they were just as vicious.

“I mean, like I know you’re not supposed to bad mouth the dead and stuff, but she was a total. Bitch. Complete Brotherhood material if you ask me.” Jubilee flicked her dark eyes towards Marie. “Uh, no offense.” What? Marie wouldn't be offended by that even if she could access that emotion behind all of the confusion she was mired in.

“Uh, aren’t…I mean, ya’ll are…aren’t ya supposed to be…”

“One big happy family?” Jubilee supplied. “Not so much. I mean, like sometimes yeah, but that’s usually the Junior X-Men. We’re tight, but there is nothing but drama on the main team.” This girl, this intruder, this person with seriously questionable taste in clothing was gossiping with the enemy? Marie was even more lost than she was in isolation.

“So. How’d my digs work out for you?” Jubilee sat up at that change of subject, but Marie was still stuck. Was this a way to lure her in? Have one of their team befriend her? Get fake information about problems within the X-Men? Out of habit, Marie reached up to rub her temples, feeling a headache coming on, hoping that Carol isn’t gearing up for playtime.

“Oh hell.” The girl is looking at her hands. Yeah, the killer skin is real – “Those are awful. Let me see the rest of you.” Oh the gloves. Yeah, they’re pretty bad, just like the rest of what she’s decked out in. Since she recognized Jubilee’s handiwork, Marie stands up and opens her coat, feeling all the world like some neon-fetish flasher.

“Damn. I know we’re not supposed to like you, but…geez. Even I can’t dish out this kind of torture.” With a sigh, Jubilee stands. “Guess I’m the only one who can rock something as fierce as that. C’mon my vampire pal, let’s find you something totally boring to wear.”

Marie doesn’t quite follow, literally and figuratively. “Huh?”

“Well you drain people right? Kind of like a vampire?” Jubilee stops just before she reaches the door and pops on the yellow-framed sunglasses that were sitting on her head. “They’re all the rage now.”

Marie can’t hold back a snort. “Yeah, I bet I’m real popular.”

“Dunno. Most people will probably hate you ‘cause you know, the whole Brotherhood and killing an X-Man thing.” Tact, thy name is not Jubilee.

“And you?”

“Wouldn’t pee on you if you were on fire, but you did knock off Carol for me. So the enemy of my enemy is someone I’m not going to outright kick the shit out of, right?” When she raises her hands, Marie sees sparkles shoot up from Jubilee’s palms. The girl in sunglasses smiles. Balls or brass?

“Uh, sure. Makes…sense…I guess.” No, nothing about this really does.

“Cool. Let’s get to it, chica.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Jubilee, Jubilation Lee, Jubes, Ms. Lee, Queen Bee - whichever of the many names she was going by that were rattled off to Marie – showed her where the mansion kept the second hand clothing. Jubilee looked around like everything was covered in Toad’s slime and of course, called it something not as nice. Once again the hallways were empty. Marie was told that it was dinnertime and while asked if she “wanted in”, she knew that the question was obligatory and there was no way Marie was welcome. Jubes didn’t elaborate why she hated Carol and the Carol in her head wasn’t giving her any clues so Marie decided to keep quiet.
Heading back to her room with a couple bags of more appropriate clothes, even some gloves, Marie felt a little better. At least if the X-Men killed her, she wouldn’t die in Rainbow Bright streetwear.

The sound of fists abusing the bedroom door was becoming a habit that Marie assumed she should get used to. That and people just barging in without waiting, which is exactly what woke her up the next day.

It was Logan and by the looks of things, he wasn’t exactly happy with whatever task he was given. The man was dressed in a variation from yesterday’s clothes, what Marie liked to think of as the Homicidal Lumberjack collection, with hair that would rival her own bed head. She flicked her eyes down to check her own clothes, and while they were hand-me-down pajamas, at least if this guy came to kill her today she wouldn’t be wearing what Jubilee had originally given her.

“Get up.”

She couldn’t read anything beyond the gruffness in his voice or body language, except for the possibility that he could easily end her. She was torn between hopping right out of bed and heeding his commands or moving slowly, deliberately, so as not to startle.

“You were supposed ta eat and meet the professor. So c’mon, let’s go.” He seemed to relax a little, or maybe she had just imagined it. His arms folded across his chest, making them look bigger - probably intentional – one eyebrow cocked, but the scowl wasn’t set as deep as before. Wasting precious seconds with an unstable mutant known for his hair trigger temper, Marie checked the clock on the nightstand. Two o’clock on the dot. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep until the sun began poking through the thick drapes and even then, it was fitful.

Obviously, the Wolverine wasn’t a man used to being kept waiting and he broke into her thoughts with a sharp, “Kid.”

“I’m not a kid.” It would have sounded more convincing had it been stated instead of mumbled petulantly, while wearing duck-printed pajamas. And since when does she sass feral mutants who have metal claws?

Apparently it’s not a killing offense. It just earns her a grunt. “You got five minutes.” And he leaves with just as much force as he came in.


Marie taps into what little sense of self-preservation she has left and quickly makes use of the prepackaged toiletries that were left for her the night before and throws together an outfit that would disappoint Jubilee. When she rushes out of her room she nearly runs into the wall of a man the people around the mansion call Logan. She sees a large gloved hand reach out to steady her before she makes contact with all that flannel and denim, but she flinches back out of instinct, hard. Hard enough to knock herself on her ass and from her new angle the Wolverine Wall looks more like Wolverine Mountain. A mental block crumbles and Marie gets a hint of Carol’s memories, just enough to show how often she made base camp at Belt Buckle Summit.

Oh wow, now would be a fine time to get knocked out by a seizure, but Marie is nowhere near that lucky.

He gives her an odd look, like for the first time he’s considering that Marie could actually be off her rocker – which would be true – and for a split second he starts towards her, but pulls back before he does something stupid like extending his hand. Then the scowl is back. “C’mon.” She’s left on the floor, desperately holding Carol back from making her check out the backside of Wolverine Mountain.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


She’s dropped off without so much as a backwards glance from her feral tour guide. It’s a good thing he doesn’t work on commission because his attitude wouldn’t help him earn his tip.

A clear “Come in” passes through Marie’s mind when she raises a fist to knock. Not Carol’s voice, not her own, not anyone else’s she’s absorbed.

Telepath, she reminds herself.

With a deep sigh she enters what must be Xavier’s study. It’s predictable in its stuffy ornate way, but no less impressive. Walls covered in more books than she can imagine, chairs that are probably as uncomfortable as they look, a giant desk that’s as intimidating as it’s supposed to be. He looks up from behind that particular piece of furniture when she lingers by the door and gives her that odd patient smile that she still doesn’t know what to do with.

“Please, have a seat.” In one of those awkward chairs, of course.

Gingerly, she sits…and finds that it’s deceptively welcoming, like the man across from her. Unable to meet his gaze, Marie’s eyes shift and she finds an honest to God tea service on the desk. No, she will not get another case of the elevator giggles. There is nothing funny about drinking tea in a mansion with a mutant in a three-piece suit. Nothing. At. All.

“Would you care for some tea?”

She snorts. Coughs. Chokes a little bit.

“Uh…no…no, thanks. Uh…sir.” When Marie can finally bring herself to look at Xavier she takes in the quirk of his mouth, the amusement in his eyes. Telepath. Of course. She wants to flop back and groan.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but you can be quite the projector, Rogue. That is, when you are in control of yourself.”

“Huh?” She is just on a roll with that type of response these days.

“You are aware that I am a telepath, yes?” At her nod he continued. “Well I don’t necessarily need to go into one’s mind to read their thoughts. There are times when a person transmits what they’re thinking, casts it out in a way. It’s the difference between listening in for a whisper versus hearing a shout.”

She supposed that made sense, but…”You said, when I’m in control of myself. What do you mean by that?”

“Yes, well despite my abilities I’ve found that you are quite difficult to read. I believe that it has something to do with your mutation, the other…the others that you have in your mind.” Great so now she needs an exorcist instead of a shrink. “What you’ve absorbed acts as barriers in your mind, which someone usually has to practice to achieve. I’ve only come across that kind of natural resistance once before. Even with access it is still quite difficult to isolate the parts that are truly you and not someone else.” The professor’s intense stare softens as he leans back in his chair like he just now remembers she’s a person, not a petri dish. After some consideration he offers her a placating look, “Frankly, I was not entirely certain that I could get past Carol.”

“So you fixed me?” Please, please say that. Marie has been seizure-free for almost twenty-four hours now with nothing but the slightest random twitch.

“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work that way, Rogue.” Of course it didn’t. “I constructed some very basic mental blocks while you were unconscious. However, they are temporary. You will have to work in order to maintain them…”

“But you said you got past her, you were able to put her away.”

“No, I was able to release her control over your body…for the time being. However, Carol’s memories were already stored away.”

“But I can see things from her sometimes. I get pieces of her life and I don’t have any control over what I see or when I see it.”

The professor nodded silently, seeming to measure his next words.

“Rogue, in the brief period that I was in your mind, I gathered that Carol’s presence is somewhat of an anomaly compared to the other personalities that you have accumulated.”

Which Marie knew was big brain speak for “this situation is real messed up.” But it rang true nonetheless. Usually, Marie drowned in a person’s memories and lost herself to their personalities after an absorption. Carol though…Carol didn’t seem to want to control her body in the same way the others had. They wanted their own bodies back and overrode Marie’s system to make that happen to the point where she would lose time, snapping out of it only to find herself engaged in daily routines that were not a part of her regimen. Carol’s control was far different, instead of desperately trying to be corporeal again, she abused Marie’s body, made it work against her will as a means of punishment. It was strange. It was also really damn tiring.

“So…Carol’s memories are like, locked away in my head or something? I just gotta work on her control and locking away everyone else?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” She flopped back in the chair at his words. “Rogue, doesn’t it concern you that Carol is withholding part of her presence?”

“No!” And really, it didn’t. Mostly. Well, at least until the professor brought it up. “It’s one less person to lock away right? Let her have her privacy for all I care.”

“There must be a reason why some of Carol’s thoughts are hidden from you and I fear that not addressing it will only harm you in the future.”

Marie groaned. “If it ain’t broke, then don’t fix it.”

“Yes, well while it may not seem broken, looks can be deceiving. This is only the tip of the iceberg.”

She wanted to bang her head against that shiny expensive desk of his. “So on top of all the other people in my head trying to take over, I’ve got to figure out what’s going on with Carol while trying to build these mental blocks?” Marie would almost call Xavier’s expression compassionate if she was more familiar with the term.

And if this entire situation didn’t revolve around her killing one of his own…

She eyed him, trying to gain something beyond the Professor’s measured expression. He shouldn’t be so at ease discussing this. Even if he was supposed to be the more passive of the two primary mutant leaders in this country, the treatment he was giving her just didn’t match up to the crime she had committed against him.

“So what do you care? Wouldn’t you want her to get control? Destroy me? Get a little revenge and have a body of her own again after what I did?” She tries, she really does, not to let her voice choke up too much at the end of that.

“Rogue-“ Ah, lecture voice, complete with a deep breath and steepled fingers. “Despite the difficulties, I was able to gather some impression of what happened that day. I may not have all of the pieces, but I know that you were not a willing participant.”

Once again Marie can’t meet the Professor’s eyes. She wasn’t sure she could even hold it together for much longer. She was a little relieved, still guilty, mostly confused. He understood, but…she didn’t deserve his understanding. It felt too easy. She didn’t deserve to be let off the hook, by someone from the other side no less.

“B-but…I…I’m the enemy.” She managed, voice suddenly thick with tears.

“Again, I do not believe that is the case.”

She huffed. “But what about…what about all the things they told you guys? All the stuff the Brotherhood has been tellin’ ya’ll about me? I know…I know from Carol that they talked about me. Told ya’ll that I was some kind of…this…this..”

“Force to be reckoned with?” She finally met his eyes and reluctantly nodded. “And what did they tell you?”

“About ya’ll?”

“No, I think I can guess what the Brotherhood would say about us.” He gave a wry, humorless smile at that. “I’m curious as to what they told you about you.”

About her? “Oh, well they would talk to me a lot. Well, they would talk at me a lot.” She quietly amended. The Professor nodded, which she took to mean she should continue. “They just went on about my mutation, all the things I could do, my potential. It always came back to how powerful I could be, how I’d help their cause.”

“And is that what you see for yourself?”

Feeling like the shy child she never was, Marie looked down to the gloved hands twining around each other in her lap. “I…I dunno. I just…I guess…” She huffed out a breath and slumped down, looking out of the giant windows at the bright day that was in complete contrast to her mood. She desperately wanted to just unload all of her troubles to this man, to anyone at this point. This was Xavier and she was considered Brotherhood, she shouldn’t be so open about this, but she wanted to. It bothered the hell out of her. Not being able to find the guilt that came with wanting to bothered her even more. “I just want to be left alone. I don’t want to be somebody’s weapon.”


The Professor didn’t immediately answer her. Her head still facing the streaming sunlight from the windows, she peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. His own were considering the polished top of his desk, steepled fingers pressed to his mouth, which was set into a frown. For what reason, she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“What?” He catches himself and looks up at her, just as surprised as she is by her question.

“I was just thinking that you have every right to feel that way, but I was hesitant to tell you.”

“Why?” That didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t this guy in the business of reassuring mutants? Offering them a safe haven and a grandfatherly shoulder to cry on or something?

He let out a long sigh. “Rogue, how often did Erik and Mystique tell you that the world wasn’t a fair place for mutants? That you have every right to be upset about being cast out? That the Brotherhood was exactly where you needed to be and that they would look out for you?”

Her gut twisted. That was practically word-for-word. Xavier must have seen that he hit the nail on the head.

“I will save you that similar speech. While I can go on about assurances of safety and a sense of purpose…” He hesitated as he let out another deep sigh. “…I imagine it would sound remarkably like the promises you have heard before. Instead I will do what I can to help you with Carol and those mental barriers, if that’s what you wish, and let you reserve judgment about us.”

Fully facing him this time, Marie eyeballed him closely as she measured his words. “So I stay here, in your mansion, with your X-Men and you help me. What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing that would exploit you, but I’ll let you make that determination on your own.” Exploit, not hurt.

She considered that for a while, the melody all too familiar even if the lyrics weren’t the same. He’d help her get control of her mind again, maybe her body –

“What about my skin?”

His expression closed down briefly and she recognized the disappointment written all over his face. The matching feeling filled her as soon as she saw it.

“I’m sorry, Rogue, but that I cannot promise. I honestly don’t know what causes your mutation. Perhaps Jean or Dr. McCoy could run tests or we may find it while working on your mental blocks, but I can’t be certain.” He offered up his empty palms as if she needed a visual aid to his crushing news. His tone was pure regret. “I don’t want to give you false hope.”

Even though it was expected, it was still a blow. She muttered her consent and it must have been enough to dilute his guilt a little. They agreed to meet a few days later to begin, giving her more time to recuperate from the punishment Carol put her through. Still, something was slowly gnawing away at Marie’s brain when she got up to leave. It wasn’t something that she really wanted to bring up, but she couldn’t let it go without doing so.

“Uhm..Xa – uh, Professor? Aren’t you...mad?” She regretted it the instant she said it. It was as if his age settled back on his face and body, the burden of who he was and what he did weighed down his shoulders. His expression was more resigned than anything. In that moment he looked like the Xavier the Brotherhood talked about.

“No Rogue. I’m…sad, but I’m not angry.”

She nodded, her guilt still pressing against her chest. She reached the door when she heard his voice again.

“Oh and Rogue? Please do try and eat something.”

Marie waits until well after the dinner rush to venture for food. She’s not sure if Carol is going to continue behaving while Marie tries to stomach anything. Earlier, she managed to avoid others on her way back from the Professor’s office, a part of her wondering just how invested in school everyone must be for the halls to be this vacant.

She had finished high school early, pushing herself to graduate and get away from home as soon as she could. When her mutation roared to life and all but ended the one of the boy she was seeing, she knew she couldn’t stay in Mississippi. Not that she particularly wanted to stay in her backwoods little town with her backwoods parents. The ones who were hell bent on sending her up shit creek without a paddle once they found out that she was a dirty mutie. Her father, in particular, couldn’t wait to sell her out to the nearest “facility”. That bastard.

Okay, so maybe she had some daddy issues…

With that sour thought Marie flicks the kitchen light switch on a little harder than necessary.

“Holy shit!” Pulse pounding, her heart in her throat, she leans against the wall for much needed support as she looks at the figure that nearly gave her a heart attack. Sitting at the table, looking as close to calm as she’s seen him, is Logan. Plus a beer. Minus a flannel shirt. One eyebrow fully cocked.

“What in the hell are you doing?” The question comes out of her mouth before she can stop it. First misplaced giggles, now misplaced sassiness. The part of her that’s not looking for the nearest escape route wonders why she found her backbone now that she’s faced with a man who could, and probably would, remove it.

That eyebrow, if possible, migrates higher as he cocks his head towards his beer. “Drinkin’.”

“In…the…dark?” That’s right, don’t just question the Wolverine, but make sure to do it slowly, offend him as much as possible. Great idea.

“Night vision.” He takes a long pull from the bottle, eyeing her the entire time. If she thought being under the Professor’s watchful stare that afternoon was unnerving, it doesn’t even compare to Logan’s scrutiny. She feels like a bug pinned in a display case.

“I uh…came for food.” Yes, because this is the kitchen and this is where people keep food. It is the natural order of things. The look he gives her says he’s thinking the same. That and she’s a bit of a dolt.


Keeping her back to the wall as if she’s in a bad spy movie, Marie cautiously inches toward the refrigerator. Damn, she’s going to have to turn around to open it. Perfect opportunity for him to go straight for her kidneys. The trembling starts in her extremities, just as it did in the elevator and for the first time in a long time she wants to let out a string of heated curses. This is ridiculous; Carol put her through hell both mentally and physically for days. If she’s going to die now, there’s no reason for her to be a quivering idiot about it.

Trying to sum up bravery she hardly feels, Marie turns away from the self-appointed boozing sentry and opens the fridge.

She could live in there. Really. The damn thing is huge, which makes sense since she’s in a high-occupancy mansion. As she gives each item a once over, her stomach starts to roll with the beginnings of Carol’s protests. The urge to curse only increases. She’s been starving ever since the Professor mentioned eating. She can’t even remember the last thing she was able to keep down. Marie feels her temple come into contact with the cool metal of the refrigerator door she’s holding open. Gritting her teeth, she resists Carol’s urge to start banging her head against it. Jubilee must have been onto something with the whole Super Bitch thing. That thought is followed by a shift in her inner ear; even with her eyes closed she feels the loss of equilibrium and slumps against the fridge door to compensate. She can’t be sure if she’s actually whispering “stop it” out loud or if she’s just repeating it in her head.

Suddenly she’s jerked upright with a hard tug on her clothes, one steady support gripping her upper arm. The sudden movement does nothing to quell the urge to puke.

“Hey.” That gruff voice is a lot closer than before. Great, she’s going to hurl all over the mighty Wolverine.

“Dammit kid. Open your eyes.” He gives her a shake and she groans.

“Not a kid.”

Marie tentatively opens one eye, then the other, finding Logan a little too close for comfort in his white sleeveless shirt. Despite the racket in her mind and the mutiny in her body, she feels a silly thrill at seeing his bare arms. She goes with that instead of fixating on Carol’s mayhem, indulging in the feminine appreciation of how much bigger he is than her, how much stronger, the definition of his muscles, his strong features, the heat coming from him –

“Hey.” He gives her another shake. A much, much needed shake. She pulls away, noting that she can only do so because he lets her.

“Ah’m fine.” Her accent reflecting just how thick her tongue feels.

He’s back to that scrutinizing, but she still manages to catch the imperceptible lean of his body, the subtle sniffing.

God, if she had a dime for every time a feral had sniffed her in the past few years…

At least Logan tries to hide it well, unlike Victor. Marie is caught when Carol’s voice envelops her like a soggy blanket, listing some other things the Wolverine does well.

“Shut up!” He snaps up at her outburst, his body mirroring how rigid hers had suddenly become.

Nononononononononononono! She doesn’t need someone helping her perv on the Wolverine. This will not happen. Barriers! What about those damn barriers!

She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, but she can feel her gloved hands clamp over her ears, ineffectually digging into her head through the cloth. Strong, firm hands grab her forearms, safely protected by her clothing. Even with her eyes closed she feels him get closer to her and with the closing distance she feels just as small as she did when she had fallen on the floor earlier that day, looking up at Wolverine Mountain.

The increasingly familiar spike of cold rushes through her, chased by a wave of heat as she feels Carol gaining the upper hand, whispering to her what it’s like to mount Wolverine. It’s exciting, it’s illicit, it’s something she’ll never have, and it’s torture. Marie stiffens in his vice-like grip and lets out a scream of pure frustration.

“What’s going on in here?”

“How the hell should I know, Scooter?!”

“You’re the one touching her!”

“I didn’t do shit!”

“Enough! Both of you! Just hold her down and don’t touch her skin.”

Marie barely registers Scott’s and Jean’s entrance through her own cussing and screaming. Yelling for Carol to stop and get out of her head. Twisting out of the hold she’s in, aching to crawl out of her own skin. How the hell did things escalate so quickly? No, it’s not a seizure, her body isn’t warping under Carol’s control. This is pure Marie. Pure bitterness and resentment.

She feels pressure in her mind, different from Carol in a way that someone could tell the change in flavors. Marie is still bucking, resisting, demanding to be left alone. It’s too crowded in her head, someone she doesn’t recognize has barged in and Marie vaguely recognizes her own keening wail at the thought of absorbing yet another person.

“Fuck’s sake Jeannie! The hell are you doin’?!”

“Would you just let her work! Keep Rogue still!”

“Wasn’t askin’ you, Boy Scout. But if you’re gonna butt in, how ‘bout you tell your girl to cut the shit! It ain’t doin’ Rogue any favors.”

“Favors? That’s funny coming from you.”

The pressure in Marie’s head grows stronger and stronger. Lights burst behind her eyelids. Right before she loses consciousness she feels the phrase go through her mind at the same time her ears pick up a female voice saying “Both of you just shut up!”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Marie is most definitely not a fan of waking up in the mansion’s med lab. It wasn’t a fun ride the first time around and whoever screwed with her brain this time sure didn’t tip toe around up there. Keeping her eyes closed against the harsh glare of the lights, Marie does a little mental prodding to figure out who must have touched her.

“Head hurt?”

Oh hell. The growled question races up her spine and her eyes snap open against her better judgment. Couldn’t they afford a dimmer switch? Squinting, she turns to see Logan sitting in the corner closest to her bed, arms crossed, cigar in mouth, trademark scowl in place. And really, he should get on to trademarking that.

She’s strangely disappointed that he’s covered up with a plaid shirt again.

“Huh?” And she should get to trademarking that.

He grumbles a bit as he sits up and grabs hold of the unlit cigar. “Your head. Does it hurt?”

Well yes, actually. She feels like she just had a meet and greet with a convoy of tractor trailers.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

They were an eloquent pair.

Marie takes a look around; no one else is laid out beside her. Gently testing the limits of her barriers she tries mentally thumbing through the catalog of personalities she’s stored, but can’t find any new entries. Time for Plan Z: Q & A with the Wolverine.

“Who’d I touch?”

Oh that eyebrow, it was really starting to grow on her. “No one.” He grunts.

“No…there was someone else…in my head. I heard another voice.”

That eyebrow is going to have to apply for a passport if it migrates any further north. Well, what did she expect when she starts talking about the voices in her head? Of course she’s going to get the “shit, where do we keep the straightjackets” look.

He seems like he is actually considering humoring her after that. “Musta been Jeannie.”

Jeannie? Mental roll call shows…no, no Jeannie – wait –

“The doctor? Jean?”

Another grunt, this time with a nod. “Yeah, telepath.”

Well damn. Xavier’s is just brimming with the ‘paths these days. How fantastic.

“You…you weren’t…right.” Marie quickly gathers that this Wolverine isn’t much of a talker. Still, his statement brings out a wry grin and a humorless chuckle from her. She imagines she looks as crazy as she sounds.

“I never really am.”


With an efficient swish, the doors to the med lab open and the cavalry troops in.

“Rogue, how are you feeling?” Oh the Professor and his infinite kindness. It’s really starting to grate on her.

Maybe if she puts on her best sweet southern drawl, she can hide the snark she’s dying to let out. “We need ta stop meetin’ like this.” Bat her eyelashes? No, no that’d be too much. Also, the lights still really hurt.

“Yes, well I was hoping you would take it easy – “

Marie can’t help but snort, consequences of interrupting their leader be damned. Maybe it was years of repressing herself with the Brotherhood that’s made her tongue a little looser now that the only walls she’s finding herself up against are made out of patience instead of punishment. She’ll reflect on that later. Right now she wants to vent.

“I was tryin’ to eat something, dammit! Jus’ like ya told me to! What happened to those mental blocks you put in my head, huh? How can a girl eat in peace when she’s got an angry person living in her body trynna kill her!?” Her anger flares her accent, instantly undoing years of practiced repression. It’s during her rant, when she starts struggling that she notices they had strapped her down. Where the hell is Carol’s super strength when she needs it?

“Rogue. I need you to calm down. As I said, those blocks were temporary. We need to work to make more permanent ones, to –“

“Screw it! Ya can’t help! None of ya! I’m supposed ta trust a bunch of telepaths who go stormin’ through my brain like a bunch of damn elephants?” She shoots a glare to the pinched faced of the doctor. “There’s nothin’ anyone can do so just let me go!” She knows it’s pointless, they have her strapped down tight, but she still continues to buck against the restraints, pitching the little hospital bed to and fro, the little monitors that were taped to her now popping off.

“And where would you go?”

She stops her movements. Well that was the crux of it all, right? She can’t return to the Brotherhood and she really had nothing going for her before that either. But somewhere inside of her a little spark she thought she had let die comes to life. She knows she has nothing, nowhere to go, no one to go to, but screw it. She is just so damn sick of everything. She needs to get away. Away from people, away from the looks, the controlling, the restraints. If she’s going to go batshit crazy and live a life of uncontrollable body movements she might as well do it on her own terms.

Marie pins the Professor with a glare, ignoring the part of her that wants to recoil from his piercing eyes. “I’ll survive. I’ve done it before.”

He leans in, “Is that what you want? To go back to that kind of living?” And if she thought the wind was let out of her sails before, well that comment pretty much sunk the damn ship. He knows too much. The damn telepath knows just what her survival skills on the streets entailed.

And just like that, Marie wants to deflate, crumble and give in to the constant underlying exhaustion that seemed to follow her for years, that came with bouncing from one extreme emotion to the next. She wants to indulge in tears and the urge to ask him for help, just like she wanted to do yesterday when she woke in the med lab. It seems like a million years ago. It’s damn appealing. She’s so sick of this damn bipolar feeling, so she shoots to anger instead. To hell with their conversation earlier.

“Fuck you, you don’t know anything.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Scott stiffen, but she doesn’t care because really, screw his Professor. He may be a damn powerful telepath, but he still doesn’t know. She can guess at the fractured memories and impressions that he had gleaned from her mind, but he can never fully understand what that part of her life felt like.

The Professor sits back in his chair and gives her a long appraising look that she forces herself not to shy away from. “I suppose I don’t know everything – “ which is not exactly what she had said, “ – but I do know that you need a safe place to stay, stability, help.” His tone, his look dares her to deny him. So she does.

“I need to be left alone.” She hopes that grounding out those words sounds more forceful than reluctant.

“To try your hand at making it in the world with nothing?” For a man supposedly known for his passiveness, she’s caught off guard by the Professor not pulling any of his punches.

Her inner fire is flickering. Repeating that she would survive is on the tip of her tongue, but she’s not exactly sure that would happen, that she would want that. It would be hell, she knew from experience. She barely survived before the Brotherhood came knocking and even so, she had to compromise too much of herself to make that happen. It’s not something she can go through again. She doesn’t want to survive that much, especially after this.

“There are worse things out there than death.” The grandfatherly pretense is gone. She feels a ghost of Erik’s presence dimly bristle through her at Charles’ – no, the Professor’s – tone. He has a point though, even if she let exposure and starvation take its course, there are still labs out there, various anti-mutant groups that would either sell her to one or enact their own brand of torture. There’s also the little matter of whatever the hell the Brotherhood is up to where she’s concerned.

Marie has never felt so torn. Physically, yes – impossible not to with her type of mutation. Emotionally, no. She wants to fight them on this, throw their good intentions in their face and spit on them because she doesn’t know what else to do with something like that and it’s been too long since she’s indulged in her spite. On the other hand she’s just so damn tired. Of everything. Her mutation, her whole friggin’ lot in life. She’s done. Yeah she wants to fight her way out of this, do her own thing and not look back, be the Rogue everyone told her she could be. But afterwards, she just wants to curl up somewhere and not wake up. That earlier burst of fire she felt is now down to faintly glowing embers.

She works the lump in her throat a few times before she’s able to speak, and even then her voice still cracks. “Can’t…can’t you just…get her out? All of them. Just get in my head and wipe the slate clean.”

It’s Logan’s turn to stiffen, his eyes narrow with an expression she can’t decipher.

The Professor only gives a slow shake of his head. “To do so would be running the risk of erasing everything in your mind. The personalities you’ve absorbed are too entrenched. Your memories, all of the things that make you you would be gone. That would be the best case scenario. At worst, we could both end up trapped in your mind, your body of no use, on life support. Those are risks I will not take.”

Marie doesn’t know how long she’s been doing it, but her head is slowly shaking from side to side on the scratchy pillow, not wanting to process what the Professor was telling her.

“Rogue, controlling the barriers – “

“Ah’m tired. Ah want t’sleep.” She still doesn’t bother trying to control her accent like she usually does. She let it out; let it reflect just how thick and syrupy her mind and body feel. She closes her eyes. Done, wanting nothing more right now than to be left alone.

“I’ll have a tray brought down with something for you to eat when you’re ready. Jean? The restraints, please.”

“Professor, I really –“ The doctor is cut off by a loud sigh from Xavier. Silence follows before she reluctantly begins undoing the buckles. Marie lies prone, the fight gone just as quickly as it came. Smoldering embers to snuffed out ash. She gives into the exhaustion that follows.

The feeling of déjà vu from waking up in the med lab again with Logan sitting in the corner is really messing with Marie’s already fractured sense of sanity. The tray of food on the table next to her gives some credence to what she believes has already happened.

She’s still tired, feeling like an insomniac yearning for any sense of oblivion. In spite of that her stomach growls in the presence of food.

“Eat.” Ah, the statue speaks. Me Wolverine, me command you.

She reaches for the tray, resting it on her lap once she gets herself propped up. “You draw the short stick, sugar? They give you babysitting duty?”

When he only grunts – and really, what else did she expect – she turns to the food they had left her. Carrot sticks, applesauce, some brown rice-vegetable combo and water. Nothing too heavy for her neglected stomach of course, but like before, she still wants to snicker at the wholesomeness. She takes tentative spoonfuls of the applesauce, her blood sugar screaming for it and goodness…it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. Her stomach doesn’t rebel, her taste buds practically rejoice, and in the bliss of finally consuming food for the first time in ages she can’t remember why she only ever gave applesauce a passing “eh” before now.

“You two need some alone time?” At Logan’s question, Marie opens her eyes and realizes that she must have been enjoying her reintroduction to sustenance a little too much. She forces herself to calmly set down the cup and spoon, laying it on the tray like the little southern debutant she once wanted to be.

“I’m hungry.”

“Apparently.”

She glares at him and he returns the look with a hint of amusement. That actually…well, it doesn’t look bad on him. Not at all. And that just pisses her off.

“Seriously, why’d they put the mighty Wolverine on babysitting duty? Ya’ll don’t really think I’m that much of a threat, do you?”

He shrugs, “You did take out one of our team members.”

Marie immediately notices the lack of the word “kill” in his statement. She could’ve let that go, should let that go…

“Your professor tell you to say that?”

Another shrug, “He didn’t tell me to do shit. He gave us the run down of what happened. Keep eating.”

She scoffs and bites off a chunk of carrot. “So what, now all of a sudden I’m absolved or something?”

He gives her a feral grin, devoid of any semblance of humor. One she was sure Brotherhood members had seen a time or two. “I ain’t in the business of absolvin’, darlin’.”

It’s her turn to grunt – must be contagious. At least he’s moved on from “kid”. Marie just continues munching on her carrots, her thoughts running back and forth from her new Wolverine-shaped shadow to the likelihood that the X-Men wouldn’t buy the kind of precut carrots that were rinsed with bleach. She really wants to get to the bottom of why he’s always around. If the Professor isn’t forcing him to keep an eye on her, which she doubts, then what in the hell is he doing? Did he just up and decide to stalk her, growl at her, indirectly threaten her for kicks and giggles? Yeah, yeah he probably would do that. Well if the Wolverine wants to follow around the crazy poisoned- skin girl then it’s his loss.

She takes a few bites of the rice-veggie thing before her stomach tells her it’s full. Marie just hopes that it will stay down. She turns back to the glowering statue. “So…when can I leave?”

“You can’t. You heard the professor. Gotta stay here.”

Well, that’s not exactly what Xavier said, but…”I meant down here. When can I go back up to my room?” Or should she have said “the room”? It isn’t really hers, per say…

“Mmph. Whenever.”

O…kay. Right. Well then. She’ll just take her tray, slip out of the nice little medical bed with its cute little mental ward restraints and…oh…damn. How the hell do these doors work? There’s no doorknob and she’s only seen them swish open and Erik is really poking through her barriers for some attention…

“Just walk up to it.” Logan’s right behind her and takes the tray from her wobbly grasp. She just turns and gapes at him. A man of his size shouldn’t move that silently. She couldn’t have a normal stalker of the toothbrush-stealing, panty-obsessed variety, no. Hers has to have metal claws, be super stealthy, and distractingly attractive.

Wait. Where’d that last bit come from?

She feels a nudge at the small of her back. “C’mon, kid.” Oh, we’re back to that are we?

“I’m not a kid.” Although she bites that out with more heat than necessary, she still gets the hint and makes for the weird X-door. Sure enough, it swishes open once they come close enough. Neat.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all grown at the ripe old age of seventeen, ain’t ya?” Once again Marie turns to him at the blatant mocking in his voice. She knows she looks youngish, but geez, she didn’t grow up with a Flintstone vitamin everyday and the nutritious X-Men diet.

“You blind, old man? I’m twenty-one.” Yes, don’t just tease the Wolverine, downright insult him, right in his face. Excellent plan on her part. At least she’s not doing it as slowly as she did in the kitchen earlier.

Instead of filleting her like a fish right there in the X-hallway, or whatever these people call it, Logan just narrows his eyes. Then leans in and sniffs her. She supposes she’s going to have to get used to being sniffed again.

He lifts a brow, “You’re not lyin’.” It’s not a question, but she feels the need to reply anyway.

“No. I’m not. I can drink and buy cigarettes and guns and order stuff off of infomercials. I can do it all at the same time if I wanted.” Well maybe not. She’s never really done much of any of those things. The last three on her verbal list never held any special appeal and the idea of someone with her mutation getting drunk probably isn’t a good idea. She certainly isn’t a teetotaler by choice.

Logan actually seems confused for a moment, contemplating the floor like it’s about to turn into quicksand.

“Mmph. Still a kid. Get movin’.”

It takes all her willpower not to roll her eyes and stomp away like a kid.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After spending a couple of hours exploring her room Marie decides that she is going to go insane with or without the Professor’s help. Not from mutation side effects. Nope, death by shear boredom. Sure she spent most, if not all of her time sequestered in her little room while she was with the Brotherhood, but at least she had her toys. Magazines, TV, laptop, iPod. Her digs here in the mansion are far more accommodating, but there’s nothing to occupy her time but think. And thinking leads to introspection, which isn’t good for someone who had mutation-induced multiple personalities.

Marie sprawls out on the oversized bed, fiddling with her gloves. No one ever outright said that she’s quarantined to her room. The halls had always been suspiciously empty during the few times she had to make her way around and she can’t help but wonder what kind of reaction she would get from the other residents of the mansion if she comes out of hiding. It’s doubtful that she could just plunk down in the living room and join in on a tv show. The Professor might be all reassuring smiles and empathy, but even his X-Men clearly have a hard time following his example. No, there would be no open arms from anyone else. As Jubilee so eloquently put it, they’d let her burn.

Still, this place is huge. There have to be ways around the crowds, places where few people linger and even then, the threat of her skin alone could make anyone abandon their spot. Either way it’s a danger; face the other occupants or continue wandering through the overgrown thicket in her mind. Resolved, she pulls herself up and out of the bed. She peeks out of the door once she has it open and checks both ways, looking for an irate mutant that would run her down like a truck. All clear. With a deep breath she sticks close to the walls as she meanders through the mansion.

When she passes the hall clock she notes that most should be at dinner, hopefully giving her more time to roam free. She explores the game room with its foosball table that’s much more broken in than the pool table. The overuse of the handles and little plastic players obvious compared to the minimal scratches on the swath of green felt next to it. The differences in abuse show which forms of entertainment the younger generations of the mansion prefer. Naturally, every board game ever to exist form neat stacks in the corners and if she looks hard enough, Marie knows that they’d be organized in some systematic way.

The library is much like the Professor’s office. Expected in its quality, but still surprising nonetheless. As much as she likes to read, the excitement of the few opportunities she had to go to a library, or even rarer – a bookstore – was always overshadowed after her mutation struck. It was just so daunting and that feeling is something that flows through her now as she tours the stacks, never getting close enough to engross herself in a title. There are just so many, so much to learn, all that knowledge to soak up. Just as before, it all culminates in making her feel a bit bereft. Marie assumes, that unlike most, there isn’t an unending possibility to how much she can gain from studying. She knows how skewed that line of thinking seems, having spent years warring with herself about that concept. However, the more she pressed on in the past, trying desperately to disprove her fears, the more tangible her limitations became. She doesn’t get the luxury of losing herself in a story anymore. Her mutation, the lifetimes of memories stored in her own mind, act as a cap and she’s already all full up.


The sky is the limit! A banner she remembers seeing in her fifth grade reading class that she doesn’t think applies to her anymore. Secretly, Marie tried online classes, having to hide it from Mystique and Magneto because they didn’t approve of her curriculum choices. She didn’t, and still doesn’t, want a life of politics and law, so in their opinion, what good was continuing her education if it wasn’t going towards the mutant cause? But those pre-requisites had to be taken anyway and try as she might, the information wouldn’t stick. Unbidden memories and catatonic states would increasingly interrupt her studying. The various people she had unwillingly absorbed offering their two cents when she came across something relevant to them. She can thank the presence of her crotchety old neighbor for blacking out while writing an essay on the Korean War that ended up taking a pretty racist slant. And the F that it earned.

Very distantly, almost unattainable in its hiding place in her mind, is one of the precious few pieces of literature that she’s able to keep from her pre-mutation days. Something that’s remained untainted by foreign impressions and stolen beliefs. The idea of a “mind-attic” she first read about in middle school, which held no real meaning for her then as it does now. She revisited the passage years later and re-read the words from A Study in Scarlet, hoping to find something more than just the feeling of being able to relate. Instead of the answers and comfort she hoped for, the words she read left her more shaken than her last absorption.

“It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it, there comes a time when, for every addition of knowledge, you forget something that you knew before.”

From that moment on, Marie felt like a timer had been started, counting down every second she was losing.

Something as basic as words are largely denied to her and the few that aren’t only leave her feeling cold. No, she doesn’t belong in this room.



Marie slips out of the library and is about to test another door when a burst of commotion breaks into her thoughts. The dinner rush is over. She’s caught like a deer in headlights when a group of teens round the corner, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Marie recognizes Jubilee as one of them, but the others are indistinguishable in their fresh faces and carefree attitudes. All of which promptly change when they notice her pressed against the door she wants to slip into. She matches the gaping looks they all give her…well all of them except for Jubilee.

The teen who didn’t get the message that the nineties wanted their frosted-tipped highlights back sneers at her, “What are you snooping around for?” Nope, definitely no hugs from this group.

“I’m not snooping.” Marie straightens up, refusing to let a bunch of kids, even if they were a few years younger than her – she must have caught Loganitis – get the better of her.

“Psh, yeah right. You want to tell us how you didn’t kill an X-Man too? C’mon, let’s see those Brotherhood lies at work.” Okay, that snotty little sneer was just itching to be smacked off.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” High road, take the high road. If only they hadn’t cornered her, she could’ve walked away like the mature adult she sometimes pretends to be.

“No?” The little bastard leans closer, repeatedly flicking a lighter open in his right hand. “The Professor might believe your bullshit, but the rest of us know what’s really going on.”

“Dude, Johnny, just leave it. C’mon.” Marie can’t tell if Jubilee is piping up in her defense or just to avoid a confrontation.

This Johnny glances over his shoulder at Jubes before focusing back on Marie, raking his eyes over her, measuring her up rather than undressing her. She wants to curl her lip as much as his in response to the challenge.

“No, why should I? She hasn’t been taught her lesson and maybe the Prof really is losing it if he can’t see that.”

The lighter catches and Frosted Tips captures the flame, forming it to fit in a ball over his palm. Well there goes his bag of tricks. Still, Marie bristles. “Back off, flamer.” Ah yes, head straight for the homosexual innuendos to piss off a boy.

“It’s Pyro.” He bites out. Okay, maybe she hit a really sore spot. Still, Marie’s the one bribing the judges here, so this kid is getting zero points for name originality.

“Maybe you should just go back to your room.” Oh now Boy Band wants to get involved? This other boy, who was All-American personified, levels his stare at her, probably doing his best impression of his hero, Scott.

It would be easier for her to turn tail and leave, but hell, she’s riled up now.

“I was here first! Last time I checked, ya’ll were just passin’ through.” She gives Boy Band – Bobby¬, thanks to Carol – a deceptively sweet smile, which has the small mousy girl at his side frowning. “So don’t let me keep ya.”

“And last time I checked, we lived here.” Ice forms on his hands, starting at the tips of his fingers. Oh he is going to have to take more Leader Lessons with Scott if he loses his temper this quickly. A trickle of Carol’s memories siphons off to show Marie what this Bobby kid can do…and what he calls himself. Seriously, where’s the imagination?

“Look, Icehole –“ Oh yeah, that got him. “I’m plenty free to look around. No one said I couldn’t. Even if they did I sure as hell wouldn’t take heed if it came from a little boy like you.”

Pyro snorts, “Fuckin’ Brotherhood.”

Marie pretty much agrees with that, but they’re beyond the point where she would let them know now. Instead she leans closer to the fire-manipulator, against her better judgment, and rakes her eyes over him just as he had done to her, letting it show that she found him wanting. Then gives a sneer of her own.

“Fuckin’ hypocrites.” And that is exactly how she feels. This is Xavier’s next generation of tolerant X-Men? Good luck to the guy.

“You’re really in no position to talk!” The mousy girl is all brass, no real discernable courage that Marie can tell even with no background on the girl. She has to dig deeper into the small leak of Carol’s memories to find the identity of this one. Apparently she doesn’t readily register on Carol’s radar. No, not mousy – Marie has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling at the flow of info – in personality yes, but her name is Kitty, Shadowcat. She’s still usually quiet as a church mouse and about as interesting as a sponge. Yeah, Carol didn’t give her any regard.

Marie knows it isn’t in her best interest to bait them, but she can’t resist. Maybe she’s more Brotherhood than she thought. She brings a hand to her chest and in her best southern drawl she breathes, “Well, whatever do ya mean?” It was a close race between that or an “I do declare!”

“Stop playing us!” Icehole is so not earning his X-Men merit badge today. “What do you want? What are you after?”

Marie drops the front along with her arm. She knows they won’t believe her, but she still makes an attempt to keep her tone businesslike. “Nothing. I’m not after anything. I don’t want a damn thing to do with ya’ll. I’d be just fine staying out of everyone’s way, which is what I was trying to do before ya’ll ambushed me!”

Both Icehole and Flamer open their mouths to retort when Jubilee gives each of them a shove. “C’mon, don’t be dicks. Let’s just go. We’ve got Tactical in the morning.” When they still don’t move, she snaps her gum and shoves them again, harder. “I said let’s go! Work on your trash talk later.”


“Is there a problem here?” Every head swings around to see Scott striding down the hall next to a beautiful woman with striking, white hair. Another piece of the dam falls away and Marie is able to connect the new face with a name; Storm to the kids, ‘Ro among the adults, Goddess to a tribe half a world away.

“No Mr. Summers.” Marie wants to roll her eyes at Bobby’s tone. All it’s missing was a “golly” or an “aw shucks”, maybe an earnest bob of the head.

“She got out.” Pyro doesn’t bother looking at her when he cocks his head in Marie’s direction, flicking the lighter again. Marie takes stock of the situation and notices that the ball of flame is gone just like the ice on Bobby’s hands.

Scott seems to be doing his own assessing, but Marie can’t really tell with those red-tinted glasses. After a moment he gives his protégés a tight smile. “It’s okay. Rogue isn’t to be contained.” Oh well bless him. Him and his dispassionate delivery of that news.

Pyro snorts at that, but the others remain impassive. Bobby and Kitty soaking up Scott’s presence as if he’d test them on how to iron a crisp pleat in a pair of khakis, Jubilee snap-chewing her gum and examining her nails, the last one that is with them – the only one to remain silent throughout the whole ordeal, Piotr – imitating a blank expression the Wolverine would be proud of.

“Tactical class begins at eight a.m. sharp –“ Jubilee groans at Scott’s news, “–tomorrow so I suggest all of you turn in early. I expect you guys to be on your game.” In other words, “no fighting in the halls, children. Run along now.”


They begin to file down the hall obediently…well, somewhat obediently – Bobby and Pyro shoot her a couple of dirty looks.

“Oh Jubilee, I need a word.” The girl in question drops her head and sharply turns on her heel to face Scott. Marie half expects a mocking salute to follow.

“We need to talk about your schedule for summer school.” When Jubilee groans again Marie has the sudden feeling that was missing during the argument with the X-Kids, that she doesn’t belong out of her room. Storm turns to her and Marie really hopes she’s not another telepath. A thought jumps out in Marie’s mind like a hand in the dark and no, this mutant isn’t of the mind-reading variety. Thank goodness.

The goddess inclines her head and unlike so many of the nonverbal head gestures she had been given in the past few days, this is more of a “won’t you accompany me?” and less of a “hop to, underling.” Marie appreciates that now that she has experienced the difference. She follows Storm in the opposite direction Pyro and Friends had taken, away from Jubilee’s unwilling obedience.

“You were not at dinner. Have you eaten already?” Storm’s voice washes over Marie, deep and smooth.

“I ate once today.”

“Hmm, that will hardly do. Come with me and we shall find you something.” Is everyone at the mansion obsessed with feeding her? “I’m Ororo Munro or Storm, if you prefer.”

“I know.” Half a second too late Marie realizes that it would’ve been better to just smile and nod at Storm’s introduction. To her credit, the X-Man doesn’t falter.



The rest of the walk to the kitchen is silent, which Marie greatly appreciates. Only after Storm gestures for Marie to sit at the island in the kitchen does she
start questioning her. She keeps it limited to food selection, a very precise smile on her face the entire time. Whatever self-control Kool-Aid the adults are drinking clearly hasn’t been given to the younger mutants in the mansion. Marie knows that despite the civility, the X-Men don’t trust her, don’t want her there, and for very good reasons. Shelving that line of thinking, she agrees with Storm that soup would be the safest bet for her abused stomach. She’s not sure what to do, her Mississippi roots urging her to remember her manners and give Storm a hand since it’s Marie’s food she’s preparing, but the possibility of coming into contact with her is too great a risk, even if she is covered head to toe. So Marie just sits, fiddles with the loose strings of her gloves, and pushes down those ingrained manners.

Just as Storm is setting down a bowl of tomato soup, toast, and ginger ale in front of Marie her growly stalker saunters in.

He’s toweling off his damp, unruly hair. He’s naked from the waist up. He’s glistening.

Oh…oh, damn.

Marie doesn’t know if that thought came from her or not, but if it was Carol’s, then they are finally in agreement about something. She’s far too busy appreciating the flex of his arms and abs as he’s drying himself off on his way to the fridge, the cording and stretching of his muscles as he moves.

And that’s how Marie ends up spilling hot soup all over herself. Before knocking over her glass of ginger ale in her haste to contain the liquid. On top of it all, her toast falls to the floor, butter side down.

Another pair of dirty gloves. Fantastic.

“This is why I can’t have nice things.” She grumbles, firmly keeping her eyes away from exposed Wolverine parts. She hears someone sigh as a roll of paper towels is tossed her way. Whoever made the noise – she couldn’t agree more. Probably figuring that Marie isn’t going to pull anything shifty while cleaning up, Storm and Logan leave her to her own devices.

“You hear the shit Scooter’s pullin’ with the firecracker?”

“If you mean the schedule he’s setting up for Jubilee to re-take calculus this summer, then yes, I did hear about that.”

Logan grunts at Storm’s statement. Well, at least he’s an equal opportunity grunter. Marie doesn’t quite know if she should be glad about that or disappointed that he isn’t saving up all of his precious grunts for her.

“Well it’s bullshit.” That is a matter of fact voice if she ever heard one.

Storm has the gull to laugh. Oh yes, silly Wolverines. Marie thinks this woman is heading for a stabbing.

“Logan, you know that she has to pass this one course in order for her to earn her diploma. She failed it the first time and frankly, Scott is going out of his way to ensure that she has one-on-one instruction instead of waiting until the fall and placing her with other students. At that rate she would also have to wait until the following winter to really train for the team.”

Something pounds against the counter, either Logan’s fist or the beer he grabbed from the fridge.

“Then maybe it should wait! She’s too young to be on the fuckin’ team anyway. She’s just a goddamn kid!” Marie wants to snort. Looks like he’s equal opportunity with the word “kid”, too.

“She is eighteen. You two have had this conversation before. In fact, you’ve had this conversation with just about everyone. Loudly, too. It’s her decision.”

“Well it’s a fuckin’ lousy decision.”

“I’m sure Jubilee could use your support rather than your condemnation.”

“Right. The only thing Yellow is gonna get from me is a hard time in training.”

Storm sighs as she sets another bowl of soup in Marie’s line of vision. She looks up at that, into the woman’s dark eyes.

“Try to be more careful with this one.” Marie has to fight the knee-jerk reaction of averting her gaze and mumbling “yes ma’am”. Instead, her eyes are drawn to Logan like a magnet. Okay, maybe not his face at first. It takes a while for her gaze to travel north, what with all of the nice rest-stops to make from the waist up, but when she finally settles on his scowl she has the sense to feel like a royal pervert. Is he scowling at her? Or is it residual scowling? From the conversation with Storm? Ugh, she just wants to ogle him and eat in peace. Nonononono! Eat, she just wants to eat in peace. Nothing else. Marie makes a mental check to see if Carol is listening, but all’s quiet on the home front. Oddly enough Carol’s presence is still there, but she’s hanging back, clearly withholding something. Unlike the Professor, Marie can’t help but think that this is a good thing. Carol’s lecherous thoughts are a bit much for Marie. She can handle her own PG-13 comments, but her new resident has far too much experience and not nearly enough shame.

Ducking her head, Marie forces herself to stare intently at her soup while she eats, lest Carol decide to get involved and ratchet the situation up to X-rated. X-Rated X-Men. She chokes a little with that thought.

“You turned the safety controls back on after your simulation, right?”

Some reluctant grumbling from Logan. “Yeah, yeah. Scooter’s scheduled after me. I don’t wanna hear anymore bitching from Ms. Delicate if he breaks a fuckin’ nail.”

He leaves right after that and Marie closes her eyes to fight the urge to ogle his backside. When did she turn into such a perv? This gives a whole new meaning to the show, To Catch a Predator. She’s already sitting on a kitchen stool, she might as well have a pack of wine coolers with her, chatting with Chris Hanson from Dateline and waiting for the police sting. A mental nudge from Carol lets her know that she can switch out the wine coolers in that scenario to a six-pack of Molson.

Marie spends the next few days successfully avoiding everyone in the mansion, including Logan.

Well, especially Logan.

As promised, she meets up with the Professor, steeling herself for a hardcore mind-breaking mental workout. Instead they talk. Oh sure, he does his little telepathic thing and checks her barriers. She can feel him in there, essentially reinforcing what was already constructed. While she appreciates that, it conflicts with what he had mentioned before about blocking Carol off. Xavier explains that he still believes Marie needs to explore the possibilities behind Carol’s hiding, but she also needs the freedom of having control over herself in order to prevent a total Carol takeover. Together, they’ll work on one thing before moving on to another trouble area. It will be a balancing act. A lengthy one. And to start off he wants to talk. Not just information about her mutation and the tricks she’s developed over the years to help deal with the mental side effects. No, he wants personal information too. Her childhood, likes, dislikes, hopes, dreams, aspirations. At first she wants to stonewall the Professor. Keep him out and prevent him from learning valuable information about her, from developing a relationship with her. That need lessens as he keeps asking questions about the future because she honestly doesn’t have answers to give him. She’s never been a planner, never really had the opportunity to fully explore anything. So there isn’t much to tell him after all.


She’s actually feeling more mentally secure after the Professor patches up the barriers when Jubilee seeks her out, once again barging into her room and flopping herself down on the nearest available surface. She does most of the talking. Half apologizing/half excusing the boys’ behavior in the hallway. Calling them both asses, saying Bobby’s usually not like that, Johnny’s always been a bit of a shit, she doesn’t know what crawled up Kitty’s ass and died, and man, Mr. Summers needs to stop riding her ass about calculus because, hello, hasn’t the guy ever heard of dyscalculia? . Even though she didn’t technically finish high school with Flamer, Icehole, and crew, it sure sounds like she graduated from the Wolverine School of Cussing Like a Sailor with flying colors.

“I mean, I’ve got training this summer! Like, I already took calculus and didn’t do so hot, but what part of ‘learning disability’ doesn’t Mr. Summers understand? I mean, come on! When will I need that while kicking ass anyway? When was the last time you used an equation in a fight?” Jubilee stops her tirade and looks at Marie, actually expecting a response this time.

“I don’t fight.”

Jubes rolls on her back and flops down again, head hanging off the bed while she sniggers. “Yeah, right. You’re Brotherhood. All you guys do is fight.”

“Yeah, they do fight a lot, but I was never a part of it.”

Jubilee is up again, adopting the same pose from the first day she visited Marie. “What do you mean by that?”

Marie has an inkling, somewhere in her mind that this is all a very elaborate ploy by the X-Men. Get a junior, not-quite-member to befriend her a little, chat about her own problems, draw Marie in, and then ask probing questions instead of a normal interrogation. Sure that could be an unhealthy dose of paranoia talking, but she doesn’t have any other explanation as to why Jubilee would risk the derision from her friends to come speak with her.

“I didn’t…get involved with Brotherhood stuff. I didn’t go fighting with them, I never fought the X-Men or anything like that.”

“So you stayed behind, like, planning stuff?”

Marie shakes her head, already tired of this conversation. She feels like she’s been on the defensive a little too much lately. “No, I didn’t plan anything. I didn’t take part in any of the messes Magneto and all of them got into.”

Jubilee looks like she’s actually considering Marie’s words, as if they’re really having a genuine discussion. In reality, Marie assumes that Jubes already had the questions planned out ahead of time instead of waiting for Marie’s responses to steer things.

“But didn’t you want to? Like do things with them? I mean you lived with them for a while and word on the street is that Mystique was pretty damn fond of you.”

“Yeah, I lived with them for a while, they took me in off the streets. And I thought Mystique was fond of me too, until she forced me to murder someone.” That comes out with a little more heat and bitterness than Marie had anticipated.

Deciding not to explore the fractured relationship between foster mother and daughter, Jubilee continues on in a different vein. “Then what did you do.”

Marie shrugs and blows out a breath. “I…just…lived there. I dunno. Tried school, that didn’t work. Just…hung out. Stayed to myself mostly.” And that was really all she did back then; just passed the time. For the first time she realizes how similar it was to living on the street. Nothing but waiting, surviving, just getting by to the next day. It was the same with the Brotherhood, but she was just a lot more comfortable with the regular showers and having an actual bed. It’s pretty fucking depressing thinking about how she had lived the last couple of years of her life.

“Didn’t they like, make you do things? I can’t see Mags and his merry band of mutants just taking you in out of the kindness of their evil hearts.”

Another shrug. “I just don’t know. I never wanted to be involved and Mystique went out of her way to make sure I wasn’t, so –“

“Why?”

“You’re gonna have to tell the X-Men that I don’t have an answer for that either.” Jubilee’s about to open her mouth, probably to refute that she’s reporting this information back to anyone, but Marie is tired of the song and dance. This is something she’s spent too much time thinking about and still, she has no discernible answer. “I don’t know. I don’t know why they took me in. I don’t know why Mystique went out of her way to keep me out of everything. I don’t know why she made me kill Carol. I. Just. Don’t. Know.”


Jubilee’s actually silent for a while after that, which seems like a first for the girl. Marie turns away from her, watching the night settle over the mansion grounds from her perch on the window seat.

“I’m not a rat.”

Marie stays silent. There’s really nothing more she can say to that.

“I’m not. No one told me to come up here and talk to you.” She can hear the irritation starting to flood Jubilee’s voice and in the reflection of the window, sees her fully sit up on the bed. So Marie just nods, not really committed to it.

“Hey! I mean it! I’m not taking orders!”

Marie turns to her at that. “Just like I wasn’t involved with what the Brotherhood was doing?”

Stalemate.

The yellow-covered girl opens and closes her mouth quite a bit after that.

Yeah, talk about an impasse.

She seems to find some tentative footing after a few minutes.

“So…we can’t trust each other to tell the truth, then.” It isn’t quite a question, not quite a statement.

Feeling like she’s on a roll with the nonverbal communication, Marie keeps up the shrugging. “I guess not.”

Jubes flops back on the bed, spread-eagle. They stay like that for a while, Marie once again facing the window, both unmoving, silent.


“Do you know why I hated Carol so much?” Jubilee doesn’t bother raising her head, so Marie has to verbally answer in the negative rather than just shaking her head.

“She’s like, still in your head right?”

“Yeah, but she’s not like the others. I don’t have an all access pass to her memories.”

She expects Jubes to start in with another round of questions, asking more “whys” about her mutation.

“Then you don’t know what she was up to.” Another half question/half statement, but this catches Marie by surprise. Now that Jubilee is sitting up, Marie can just shake her head.

“She tried screwing over some people here. I’m pretty sure she was trying to break up the team.”

Now it’s Marie’s turn for questions. “The X-Men?”

“Yup.”

“Why? She was one of them.”

“Dunno. Didn’t quite figure that out before you offed her.” Okay, this isn’t going to be tactful either.

“What did she do? What are you basing all this on?”

“So she was banging the Wolvster, right?” Jubilee looks at Marie for confirmation and yes, that is something that she had clearly picked up from Carol.

“They were dating?”

Jubilee nearly keels over, she’s laughing so hard. “Holy shit, no! Logan? As somebody’s boyfriend? Like exclusively? Oh grasshopper, you have so much to learn.” She’s wiping tears from her eyes at that point, carefully avoiding her thick, outrageous makeup.

“Well what then? They were sleeping together, I know that. What’s the point?”

“Okay, okay, keep your gloves on –“ That earns her a glare. “- they were gettin’ it on, pretty regularly, but nothing serious. Definitely no commitment or promises or anything.”

“And that pissed you off? You were…jealous?” Marie’s been wondering about the exact relationship between Logan and Jubilee for a few days now after watching them outside from her window perch or stealing glimpses from hidden spots in the mansion.

“Oh…oh man, I really hope you’re not implying what I think you’re implying.” Marie gives her one of those, “well if the shoe fits” looks and all humor flees from Jubilee’s face.

“Oh, ew! Are you serious? That’s like…that’s like…just…ew! Wolvie’s practically family!”

“Well how am I supposed to know? Ya’ll seem close.”

“Oh man, oh man. I’m gonna vomit. Or maybe I need to rinse my brain with bleach. Or –“

“Okay, fine! Just get on with it! So she was sleeping with Logan, what’s the big problem?”

After taking a deep breath Jubes replies, “She was using him, playing him. Yeah he wasn’t looking to get attached so he didn’t expect commitment from her, but she was specifically manipulating him.”

Marie doesn’t know how to respond to that, there are too many questions springing up from all of this unsolicited information so she just motions for Jubilee to explain.

“Carol knew that Wolvie had a thing for Dr. Grey –“

“Jean? The redhead?”

“With the pinched face and general air of snobbery and bitchitude? Yeah, one and the same.”

Okay, so Marie knows how Jubes feels about the doctor, too.

“Well, Logan’s been chasing after Jean forever. Long before I got here, probably when he first showed.”

“But isn’t she with Scott? Er…uh…Mr. Summers? I got the impression that they were together.”

“Oh yeah, totally. They’ve been together forever. Their involvement predates Logan getting involved with the X-Men. But that didn’t stop the Wolvster from flirting with Jean. I think part of it is to get under Mr. Summers’ skin, but a big part is that he’s always had a thing for Jean.”


Days of Our Mutant Lives. Jubes wasn’t kidding earlier when she said that there was a lot of drama on the main team. And this isn’t even the whole story. “So where does Carol come in to all of this?”

“Oh! Right. Well, Carol had her eye on Mr. Summers.”

Marie groans. Yup, drama. “So Jean and Scott are together…” Jubes nods. “And Logan likes Jean…” Another nod. “And Carol liked Scott…” More nodding. “And Carol and Logan were sleeping together, but weren’t in a relationship.” Jubilee looks at Marie like she’s just earned herself a sticker for passing a test.

Again, there are still too many loose ends. “So part of Logan chasing Jean was to get under Scott’s skin?”

“Yup.”

“He didn’t know? Wait, wouldn’t Jean know? She’s a telepath, right?”

“Hmm, dunno about the first. I mean, maybe on some level he knew that Wolvie eggs him on, but he’s still a guy, a guy with a pretty – but snobby – fiancée who is being tempted by this giant hunk of man who doesn’t hear “no” from a woman often…if ever. And I’m pretty sure Jean knew. Like you said, she’s a telepath. Also, it was pretty flippin’ obvious to anyone that Logan would notch up the flirting when Scott was around.”

“Okay…and Carol was into Scott?”

“Mmhhmm. She wasn’t as obvious as Logan, even though she was New York state’s mattress. Maybe Scott was too busy worrying about Logan to notice Carol’s flirting, but whatever the reason, he never really caught on. So that made Carol even bitchier than usual. Like, seriously. She was a hell beast, she –“

Marie holds up a hand so Jubilee can cut that train of thought. No need to wake the “hell beast” currently – and curiously – laying dormant in Marie’s head.

“Yeah, so anyway. Finally, Logan must have gotten it through that thick adamantium skull of his that this whole Jean thing was bad news. He like, totally eased up on the flirting and stuff. It was like he realized that it wasn’t going to happen. It looked like he was really going to move on, y’know?” No, Marie doesn’t know, but she nods anyway.

“So that’s when Carol and Logan decided to hook up. I mean, just because Logan saw the light and found that it wasn’t Jean didn’t make him a saint. I love him, but the guy is a bit of a man-whore. And we’ve already covered that Carol was a slut.” Uh huh. “But…not long after they got together something…changed. Logan started up with chasing after Jean again, but it was…like, totally different. Like, instead of playfully flirting he’d really swing some hard hits, like talking shit about their relationship. He’d go on to Jean about how long she’d been with Scott and she still didn’t have a ring and stuff –“

“But you said Logan wasn’t into commitment, so he wasn’t volunteering to put one on her finger though, right?” Marie’s really getting into this, as confusing as it is. All that’s missing is junk food and nail polish.

“Yeah, I know right? He was talking shit about that, but he’s not the kind of guy to take a knee. I know, I know. You’re not saying anything new to me, but Logan isn’t exactly Mr. Introspection, so who knows what he was thinking. But in any case, he was doing that and really stepping on the gas flirt-wise. Like really amping up the touching and teasing and ick.” Jubes makes a proper finger-in-mouth gagging motion before continuing.

“I hate to say it, and it makes me damn disappointed in the guy, but Logan was wearing Jean down.” Jubes looks like she has a really bad taste in her mouth. “She wasn’t putting up as much of a fight, like, she’d smile and blush more at Logan’s comments and she’d like, let him touch her and corner her and stuff. I tried talking to him about it and how terrible of an idea it was. I mean, I’m not a huge fan of the Jean-Scott duo, but what Logan was doing was still bad news, y’know? Okay, it’s one thing to flirt, but to knowingly tear apart a relationship? Not good. And when I would say something to him, he’d just like, brush me off and tell me that I didn’t know what I was talking about, that…that I was just a –“

“Kid?”

“Yeah! So it was just causing some major drama on the main team and in the mansion and everything. Like, even breakfast turned into a pissing contest between Logan and Scott. So like, Carol tried making the moves on Scott during this whole thing, but he just wasn’t biting, which pissed her off, especially since it looked like Logan was going to get what he wanted. I’m pretty sure…yeah, I’m like one hundred percent sure that she fed Logan bullshit to make him start up with the whole Jean thing again. Like, he seemed like he was totally done with it until he hooked up with Carol!”

“So…but…” Marie runs a gloved hand through her hair in frustration, entirely too caught up in the story. “Why?”

Jubes leans forward, matching Marie’s involvement, probably thrilled to have someone new to hash it out with. “Because if Carol could convince Logan to really go after Jean, like really pursue her hardcore, then she’d have an easier time getting Scott. Plus, if they split, it’d look like Logan’s fault. Carol would conveniently pick up the little Scott pieces at the end of the day.”

Okay…that’s all sordid and juicy, but…

“Why would Carol want to do that? Okay, I get that she wanted Scott somethin’ fierce, but why?”

Jubes wiggles her eyebrows and winks, “Compared to the mighty Wolverine, right?”

Marie waves a gloved hand, dismissing it from the conversation for now, but making a note of it for later.

“Just…on the basis of Scott alone. You said she wanted him from the get go, didn’t back off like Logan did with Jean, then kind of planted Logan as her own personal home-wrecker. All to get Scott for herself. Why? Why did she want him that much?”

Jubilee looks away at that and steals one of the shrugs Marie’s been commandeering all night. “I don’t know.” Then she flicks her eyes back to Marie. “I mean, why would Wolvie want someone like Jean? Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense.”


Now Marie’s the one who wants to flop back, exasperated. She has to remind herself that there is a very hard, very painful window behind her head. Carefully leaning back against it, she slowly shakes her head with her next thoughts. “No, something doesn’t wash. A person has to have more on the line than a raging libido to go through all the trouble you’re sayin’ Carol went through. I don’t see that as enough motivation.”

Jubes blinks. “So what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said.”

“So you don’t know anything else?”

That, just like the lack of reasoning behind Carol’s behavior, strikes Marie as very wrong. She narrows her eyes at the girl sitting on her bed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Uh, well…I just thought…y’know since you like, have Carol up there –“ She gingerly points to Marie’s head, “-you’d like…know something.”

Seriously?

“Seriously? Y’told me all this just to see if I could give you the dirt? Just because, thanks to some trick of my mutation, I’ve still got her in my head? Wow. Well fucking played, Jubilee.”

“Hey! That’s not true! I just…” She looks away, unable to meet Marie’s glare and yeah, it is true. Maybe it wasn’t completely thought out beforehand, but Marie doesn’t need to be one of the many telepaths floating around this place to know that Jubilee went into this hoping she could get answers from her.
Jubilee, clearly not used to feeling so shameful, musters up some indignation and faces Marie again, hands fisted at her sides on top of the blue coverlet.

“Look, I just thought you could help, which isn’t totally unreasonable since you’ve still got her in your head.”

“Well, you thought wrong. I told you that it doesn’t work that way with her. I can’t get to her so you’re wasting your damn time. And what does it matter anyway? She’s dead. She’s gone. No reason to get your yellow panties in a twist about the stuff that happened on the team. It’s over.”

“No it isn’t! Yeah, Carol’s gone, but the damage is done, chica. You don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Because there’s nothing you can do anyway.” Marie starts ticking off a list on her gloved fingers, “I can’t access Carol’s memories or thoughts. Nobody would believe me anyway even if I did find something. Logan didn’t even believe you when you tried talking to him. And next time you want to fish for information, just be straight with me. Don’t pretend to be nice.” Having said her peace, Marie stands up and heads to the door, holding it open as a clear sign to the girl in yellow. After a glare and a couple of annoyed huffs, Jubilee gets the hint and finally leaves.


Taking Jubilee’s position, Marie drops to the bed, boneless and anticipating a royal headache. Okay, so maybe she didn’t handle that well. She might not have had to attack Jubilee like that; maybe the girl really wasn’t maliciously trying to use Marie…

But hell.

She still feels irrationally pissed. She’s been screwed over like that one too many times not to spring on someone when the situation feels familiar.
Everything Jubilee said is speculation anyway, and more importantly, it isn’t Marie’s problem. Just because she’s the reluctant jailer of Jubilee’s accused, doesn’t mean she has to get involved. Stirring that pot would only lead to a Carol-induced full body shutdown anyway. No, her conspiracy theories are her own. Marie has enough junk to deal with already.

Marie has her schedule timed out perfectly. Except, she isn't sure if it could really be considered a "schedule" since the only thing she has to do is meet with the Professor. Even with that, those meetings only eat up two hours out of her day – every other day. Xavier wants to give her "recovery" time, let her explore the mansion, assimilate. Instead, Marie spends a lot of time staring out of the window in her bedroom. When she does have to venture out to forage for food, she purposely avoids the usual mealtimes, – in what she's dubbed, the X-Cafeteria – preferring to raid the X-Kitchen when everyone is otherwise X-Occupied. And steering clear of people takes planning, so yeah, maybe it is a schedule after all.

On one of her "off" days from the Professor's meetings a wrench is thrown into her careful planning. She's cleaning up after her secret lunch when said wrench walks into the kitchen, looking even more tightly wound than usual. He stops short when he spots her, but continues to the cabinet containing the water glasses after giving her a tight nod.

Sheesh, tough crowd.

Marie is about to make a mad dash back to her room when Scott calls out her name. She turns to face him with all of the enthusiasm Jubilee showed the day he talked to her about summer school.

"How do you like it here?"

Really?

She wants to groan – and again flashes to an image of Jubilee – but the more rational (and boring) part of her suggests that it might be in her best interest to play nice with the leader of the X-Men.

"Uh…fine. It's fine." Maybe if she backs up, heads toward the door, he'll get the hint…

"We haven't seen much of you."

We as in the X-Men? We as in collective society? The royal We? Scott is trying so hard for a casual pose that it comes off as nothing but forced. Sure, on the surface this is going to be a polite little conversation between two mutants in a peaceful school. No murderers and enemies here. Nope.

"I've been around." She shrugs it off, the move about as natural as his straight back.

"So you've taken a good look around?"

Marie's eyes narrow before she can catch herself. She can't read anything behind those damn glasses of his. His tone, of course, is perfectly polite. It might be the ugly paranoia left over from Jubilee's last visit that's roiling through her, but it isn't a stretch for her to guess what he's implying.

"Not really. I'm not really much into snooping." Snottiness, now that is something she does well.

He has the audacity to look shocked, or so Marie thinks, firmly stamping out the part of her that thinks she's overreacting. He puts his glass in the sink before shooting her his best, probably practiced, apologetic grin.

"I wasn't insinuating anything, Rogue." Oh that must be his Teacher Voice. "I –" Then he does falter, seeming to look for the right thing to say, which Marie assumes doesn't happen very often. There must not be a How To Have Polite Conversation With The Enemy In Your Own Kitchen chapter in their X-Handbook.

"Have you been given a tour?" It's a weak offer and he's embarrassed for it.

She'll take pity on him.

"No, that's okay though. I'm fine. I'm just going to go back up to my room." She doesn't get far before tells her to wait.

"How about I show you around on your way up?"

How about no? Even though his smile is a bit on the forced side, Marie still feels a pang of guilt at the thought of turning him down. But Hell, she's no Miss Manners.

She isn't sure if it's the inner conflict that starts the tell tale thrum in her head, but at least it'll give her an excuse.

"Look, uh –" she isn't exactly sure how to address him. Mr. Summers, like the rest of the plucky X-Kids? Cyclops, since she was Brotherhood? Ah, screw it, the pain in her head is a downright pounding now.

" – Scott. I've got a headache. I just want to go to my room."

He nods and forces his smile wider, probably habitual now, giving her a glimpse of perfect straight, white teeth and laugh lines. She would have appreciated how it looked on him – even if it isn't one hundred percent appealing – if it isn’t for the nauseating blood sugar crash feeling that washes over her unexpectedly. She might make some sort of noise, but Marie makes damn sure she catches herself with a firm hand on the counter before she falls on Scott. A growing part of her mind, a foreign part, greatly wants that to happen, to feel his arms around her. Marie has to grit her teeth against the compulsion, her body shaking with the combined effort and the rapid loss of control. She thinks she hears Scott call her name, but the déjà vu feeling of the situation along with everything else her body is fighting drowns out anything external. First Logan, now Scott. What the hell is it about these two guys that crumbles her mental barriers and –

Oh fuck.

She doesn't need to have touched her birth mother to feel ashamed at such language. Still…

There must have been something to what Jubilee said. For some reason, some stupid reason that has nothing at all to do with Marie and that she can't help, Carol wants out. And it has to do with Logan and Scott. Probably even Jean.

The feeling of déjà vu increases when Marie dimly hears other voices enter the kitchen. One she can identify as the redhead in question, the other is new. She won't open her eyes though. Or can't. She is so out of touch with her own body at this point, she isn't even sure. Marie can tell the voices are arguing, trying to decide what to do with her, the murderer with poison skin. When she feels a delicate, feminine hand on her covered arm Marie's eyes do snap open and when she looks at Jean it's as if someone has pulled her deeply inside of herself. It's like watching everything run on a ten second delay, images fed to her from a shaky projector as she's held in her own mind against invisible arms. She snaps at Jean, literally. Well, whoever is in control of her body moves forward to bite Jean. Almost catches her before the doctor's X-Man reflexes kick in, along with someone else's. The difference in sensation between her mental restraints and the large arms firmly holding her down is very minimal. Even through the chaos she's pretty sure some awfully foul insults come out of her mouth, directed Jean's way.


Distantly, someone else is with her in her mind. She wants to call out for help, but she doesn't know how, doesn't even know what good it will do since it's probably just another one of her absorptions coming out of hiding. Marie is just so drained. Just so damn tired. This must have been why Carol’s been so quiet lately. She must have been waiting, biding her time, letting Marie think that the Professor's work was actually helping. As the new presence nudges her, gently getting her attention it slowly dawns on her that it isn't one of her victims.

It's the Professor, but…he's…walking. Not to mention that he is quite younger. She's too worn out to really think about that. She recognizes the kind smile he gives her though. And as if it's nothing at all, he reaches for her and lifts her restraints. She can't even see them, but he moves precisely, easily, as if he can see them clearly. Marie could've sworn it's the Professor calling her name, but his mouth doesn't open, it remains creased in that same smile as he works. Her vision, well the mental vision she's in, dims. Feeling like she's spent a few minutes in front of a couple hundred flashing cameras, Marie blinks away the spots.


She is back in her body. She is encased in blue arms. Furry blue arms. Ignoring everyone else in the kitchen she looks up. Furry blue arms attached to a furry blue body, topped with a furry blue head. And fangs. Big fangs that flash as he speaks.

"Rogue, are you with us once again?"

She looks around, needing a few seconds for her vision to catch up with the motion of her head, then waiting even longer for her brain to process it all. "The Professor…?" isn't there, but she can't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Jean does though and she looks pissed. "Is on his way. He said he was able to reach you, but he'd still like to see you for himself." You little bitch. Marie doesn't have to be a telepath to guess that's what is missing from Jean's statement.

"Yes and perhaps we should examine you more closely in the lab?"

"We've already done that, Hank. After her first…fit." Oh yes, a fit. Like a kid has a tantrum? Marie finds herself returning the feeling of Jean's contempt, not caring how much of it is Carol's.

"Oh? No structural abnormalities that would predispose Rogue to this kind of phenomena?"

"None."

The furry blue mutant – Hank, that's what Jean had called him, right – seems to consider this very carefully before declaring that he would like to study the findings himself. Jean doesn't quite like that either, but she's able to mostly hide that. Mostly.

With timing as impeccable as his suits – and really, how many of those did he have? – the Professor wheels in. Logan and Storm hot on his trail. Great, she's the centerpiece of an X-Meeting. Marie can tell that he's gearing up for yet another barrage of questions about how she feels, and damn, is she ever tired of that. She's still as drained as ever, her body limp against the blue furry guy, just barely maintaining awareness of where she could potentially come into contact with him. Perhaps they should have a calm discussion with the main team present. Just lay everything on the table with the all-knowing Oz mediating. Yes, that would be the rational thing to do. But Marie isn't feeling very rational.

"You said you'd help me!"

"Rogue –"

"No! You said you'd help! We've been working for a week now and then this happens! If you're not going to help me then fine, but don't string me along!"

"Rogue, I am doing everything in my power – "

"Lies." She hisses.

" – but there is only so much I can do, especially if you won't meet me halfway."

She was mad before, but that makes her downright pissed. "What?! I've been coming to you! Every other day for two hours! I've done what you've told me to!"

"No, I'm afraid you haven't."

Marie sees red and this time it isn't because of an irate personality in her head. All that anger is hers alone, but before she can speak, the Professor continues.

"I stressed how important it was to explore the reason behind Carol's evasiveness, but I think you've done your best to avoid that."

"And just how the hell am I supposed to go digging around for her when stuff like this happens? She takes over when I'm not doing anything so what do you think is gonna happen when I try to bring her out?"

He wheels closer to her, shaking his head, but still holding on to his ever-present patience, which Marie used to find comforting. Now it just adds to her anger.

"No, I'm not suggesting that you actively search for her, yet. What I am saying is that you need to keep your mind open to her." The Brotherhood is right, the old man had lost it. He is officially a crackpot.

"You've lost it. I keep my mind open, then she takes over. End of story. That's how it goes."

"Rogue, everything is a balancing act. Yes, I believe Carol will try to exert control as long as you keep fighting so hard to restrain her. If you're unable to find a measure of peace, of acceptance, then you will continue to experience these –"

"Fits." She finishes for him.

His eyes search hers for a moment before he reluctantly nods. Maybe there is something to the balancing thing, because she's having a hell of a time balancing her exhaustion and anger at that moment. He doesn't get it after all. Peace? The Professor wants her to find peace?

"You cannot fully gain control without it." Marie sends him a glare, clearly showing him her displeasure at his reading her mind, even if she is projecting.

She takes a couple deep breaths before biting out her next thought.

"I thought that was what this was all about; me meeting with you. We were working on my control. You were supposed to help me find my peace."

"Not exactly." She clenches her jaw so hard at his words, she's sure her teeth will chip. "I agreed to help you work on your barriers. Temporary mental blocks that would be in place to allow you to find your own sense of peace."

It's too much and not enough all at once.

"Let me up. Let me go." It comes out as more of a growl than anything, but she knows the furry guy will understand her. And he does, his arms loosen and Marie is able to scramble to her feet. Yeah, she'll be taking full advantage of the X-Men's belief in free-will right about now. She'll take it with her right out the front door.

Marie is fully prepared to make a fine dramatic exit from the kitchen, managing to clear a path through the members of the X-Men with her presence alone, when she's stopped right before she hits the entryway – by a wall of Wolverine. Hell's bells.

The Professor's voice comes from behind her, sounding almost as authoritative as Magneto's.

"Where will you go, Rogue? We've discussed this."

She doesn't have a good answer for that and they both know it, but she turns back to him anyway.

"So you're going to keep me here, then? Put me back in that padded room downstairs? We had a deal! I'd stay if you helped me. Just like you help every other mutant who walks through your doors. You're not helping me."

"I'm trying to help you help yourself."

A frustrated noise escapes Marie's throat, and although she'd be hard pressed to admit it later, she balls up her fists and stomps a foot. She doesn't need to be one of the mansion's too many telepath's to gather that the Wolverine at her back probably thinks that she's fully living up to the "kid" status he favors her with.

"Oh that is such horseshit!" Screw him, screw the team, and screw her mother's delicate Southern sensibilities. "I'm gettin' the hell out of Dodge before you can start in on that recruitment speech you also promised not to give. If I hear you spoutin' crap about fightin' the good fight and reachin' for the stars, I'm gonna vomit! I knew this was a bunch of bull! I knew you weren't going to do anything for me! I'm Brotherhood, right? I didn't even register on your radar until Magneto took me in, did I? So just spare me your shit!"

She whirls back around to face the wall-o-Wolverine and in a moment of brazen stupidity, thinks she can take him on. She gives him a "shooing" motion and manages to say, "Go on, then" without her voice squeaking too much. To say that he is unimpressed would be an understatement. He is as still as a statue, from his crossed arms down to his planted feet. Even that one insufferable eyebrow is fixed. The only movement comes when he lets out a deep breath, not needing any words to tell Marie just how annoyed he is.

Surprisingly, he steps aside and she realizes that she's able to leave the kitchen and the X-Men only because he’s letting her. Her inner brat really wants to flip him off, but she enjoys having all of her fingers still connected to her even more. Although she does try and match his glare as she stomps out. She'll just go to her room, grab her coat, and hightail it to wherever. She won't even feel bad for taking the extra pair of gloves she found in the mansion's secondhand collection.

Marie almost reaches the top of the stairs when she tumbles forward, her feet swept out from under her.

Marie pivots, overcorrecting for the loss of balance, but instead of falling face first down the steps she gets a shoulder to the gut and her breath is knocked out of her. Logan dumps her over his massive shoulder and Marie has to grab onto something to keep from pitching all the way over. That something is his belt. Her poorly timed thoughts remind her that it’s the furthest she’s ever gotten with a guy.

Anger over awkwardness, her mind screams.

“What the hell are you doing?! Put me down!”

“I liked you better when you were scared of me.” She feels him grumble the words, the vibrations rumbling through his tense frame into hers. And that really doesn’t help her obliterated composure at all.

“That’s bull!” And that is bluffing.

He grunts, “Well at least you were quiet then.”

They reach her room, with her not-too-desperately wiggling out of his grasp. Her shirt is in danger of riding up, which would leave plenty of her skin exposed to his. Add the fact that she isn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t just drop her on her ass. When he doesn’t put her down after crossing the threshold into her room, Marie grows more concerned and ups the struggling. Why is he taking her into the bathroom?

“Put. Me. Down!”

And he does. Kind of. Logan pitches her back off of his shoulder, controlling the momentum of her fall with one hand while the other turns on the shower. He doesn’t bother turning on the hot tap. She lands awkwardly on her butt, tangled up in the ripped off shower curtain, stunned into sputtering silence while the cold water seeps through her clothes.

“Wh – wha- w –“

“The fuck are you thinkin’?!”

Unwrapping her hands from the plastic sheet around her, Marie wipes the wet strings of hair away from her face and tries looking up at Logan through the falling water. She does some quick calculations and figures that he doesn’t look as wildly pissed as he did the first day he brought her to this room. This is more of a…controlled fury.

“Well?!”

“Huh?” She’s still shocked from the cold and her tailbone is starting to throb.

“Where the hell do you get off, huh?!”

“Seriously?! Where do I get off?! You just threw me in the shower!”

His eyes give her a once over before he replies, “You needed to cool the fuck off. Someone is trynna offer you help and instead of takin’ it, you’re too busy shootin’ your damn mouth off.”

That is not something Marie would have been accused of by anyone in the Brotherhood. Most of them probably thought she was mute. She doesn’t have a good reason why she can’t hold her tongue around these guys. Just thinking about it should have been enough to keep her quiet, but it doesn’t. She can’t even blame Carol for it either.

“He’s not helping me! That’s the problem!”

“You didn’t listen to a goddamn thing he said, did you?”

Despite Logan’s opinion, Marie is about to open her mouth and argue that point when he reaches for the knobs and finally turns off the water. Leaning over her, he braces himself with one hand pressed flat against the tile above her head while he uses the other to point one thick, dangerously exposed finger in her face. She’s close enough to see that the fourth button on his red plaid shirt is going to need reinforcing.

“I’m gonna make this real fuckin’ clear.” He growls lowly. “You’re hip deep darlin’ and no one out there is gonna be makin’ you any better offers. You wanna keep bitchin’ instead of gettin’ with the program, then fine. That’s your choice, but you take that shit to the Brotherhood. You stay here, then you gotta put in the work and quit complaining. We clear?”

Marie just swallows. He had inched closer to her while talking and from this distance she can probably count each one of his eyelashes. Hell, each one of the whiskers on his face – and there are a lot. Once again his eyes pin her. She desperately wants to look away. A tiny part of her, a part that she wants to kick, concedes that he…kind of…makes a point; one that she isn’t entirely ready to admit, especially not to him, but he looks like he’s waiting. Not too patiently either. Right. He had asked her a question. Okay, then that means he’s expecting an answer. All she can do is nod, still all too aware of their proximity. And all that skin.

When he straightens up she feels like she can breathe again and realizes that she actually hadn’t been while he was setting up shop in her personal space.

Logan gives a decisive nod as he looks down at her. “Good. You know where ‘Ro does her gardening?”

Marie is momentarily at a loss with the abrupt change of subject. Again she just nods.

“Your ass better be there at six a.m. tomorrow. You’re gonna have even more problems if I have to come lookin’ for you.” He turns and as he’s leaving, throws over his shoulder, “Wear something comfortable.”

She isn’t quite sure if she’s just been propositioned or not. Even though Logan left her in the tub, cold and soaked, her traitorous thoughts remind her that she still received the most welcome interaction with a guy that day than ever before.


It’s much later, after going through many towels to dry herself off that she realizes she hasn’t had so much as a single thought about the Wolverine killing her all day.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Part of Marie’s work with the Professor includes addressing the guilt she feels about what she did to Carol, which is how he wants her to think of it. Not as killing her. He tries to impress upon her the idea that she isn’t a murderer, that she didn’t want to do what she did to Carol, that she harbors no homicidal tendencies.

Until now.

After meeting Logan at the crack of dawn Marie is filled with nothing but homicidal tendencies. Waking up and doing anything before nine in the morning is already high on the inhumane scale in her opinion. So when she finds out that she has to meditate with the guy that early she’s less than pleased. Apparently the Professor had previously suggested that Logan could teach Marie the finer points of breathing deeply and inhaling pollen spores. Or as Logan puts it, “finding her inner peace and shit”. Despite his harsh words, Logan actually seems to take the whole process very seriously. It’s too bad he has her for a student.

Marie’s half asleep when she meets him in Storm’s garden, then he has the gall to tell her that she’d be doing something that will probably make her fall back asleep. Logan tops off his cruelty by discarding the standard issue zip-up X-sweatshirt, conducting the meditation session in sweatpants and white tank. Tease. She gets the impression that the shirt is a very, very rare formality for her sake.

Last night’s missing thoughts of him killing her resurface, but they take on a whole new approach to the method.

It’s pretty much a disaster. The one saving grace is the fact that Carol doesn’t choose this one-on-one time with Logan to act up. Marie does nothing but doze off, huff, puff, sneeze, and shift around on her mat after she imagines ants crawling over it and onto her. Logan, for his part, yells at her for every infraction. She’s never wanted to “mouth off” more in her entire life. In fact, she literally bites her tongue until it bleeds to keep from saying something bratty. She hears him sniff and when his feral senses pick up the smell of her blood he curses wildly before declaring that the morning’s session is over.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s still entirely too early in her opinion, as she sits on the sink in her bathroom, trying to stem the bleeding from her tongue. Marie makes sure to turn the lock should any more intruders barge in and see her awkwardly holding toilet paper to her tongue. Not the best idea in the world, but she’s swallowed enough blood while under Carol’s control to last her a lifetime. Maybe Jubes is right, Marie is turning into a bit of a vampire.

At the thought of the other girl, a brief pang of guilt hits her. She really shouldn’t have jumped on Jubilee like that and Marie knows that her real mother would have been appalled at her lack of manners. On the other hand, Jubes didn’t really deny that she was only after the memories now housed in Marie’s mind. And if there is one thing Marie is sick and tired of, it’s being manipulated and used. On top of those conflicting thoughts is the fact that Jubilee’s suspicions are probably on track, judging by Carol’s reactions to Scott, Jean, and Logan. Still, why didn’t Carol react when Jubilee was unloading all of that information? Marie expects that out of all the situations she’s found herself in at the mansion, that Carol would have retaliated the most during the discussion with Jubilee. Instead, the new tenant in Marie’s mind was uncharacteristically silent then.

And on the subject of out of character behavior, just what the hell is Marie doing? Sure, back talking was common during her early teenage years back in Mississippi, when all she had to rebel against was the iron fist her father ruled with. She’s almost positive that part of her had been stamped out. If not from the unending hopelessness of surviving on the streets, then the oppressive climate of living with the Brotherhood. Marie was the Brotherhood’s Kitty, quiet as a church mouse, unremarkable. At least that’s what she worked hard to be.

Maybe that’s it, Marie thinks as she swishes her mouth out with water. In the past, she had to willfully suppress that naturally reactive part of herself while she was with the other set of mutants. Being backhanded by her very human father is one thing, but getting knocked around by Victor is quite another. Marie leans over the sink, trying to get a better view of herself in the mirror. There’s not too much of a difference in her appearance. Same dark brown eyes, large enough to give the mistaken impression of complete guilelessness. Her hair, just as dark and more than a little wavy for her liking, only now marred with a shock of white from her encounter with Carol that she’s avoided thinking about until now. The visible evidence, a beacon to all others of what she’s done, what she is. Like those poison dart frogs in the Amazon, she thinks with the barest twitch of her lips. The lily-white complexion of her skin betraying her southern roots and giving no hint of the long summer days she spent running through the sprinkler as a kid. She doesn’t know how long she spends looking at herself, really looking this time. To the point where her features seem to distort, though logically Marie knows it’s all in her brain. It’s just the simple effect of examining oneself so closely and being so disillusioned while doing so.

Every time she looks at herself like this she half expects to see the remnants of those she absorbed flit though her expression, through her eyes. She knows that sometimes if one personality is able to get enough control her eyes will actually change from her secure brown to whatever color that person had. There’s no logic behind it. That shouldn’t happen. Eyes shouldn’t change color! Marie turns away from the mirror in renewed disgust; there is nothing right about her anyway.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Professor asks Marie how her meditation session went with Logan and her knee-jerk response is to be snotty about it. Lately that reaction to old man has gotten stronger and stronger. She catches herself though, remembering Logan’s scared straight tactic from the night before all too clearly. She has an inkling of what that may be, even if she doesn’t know what words to label it. All she knows is that it feels dark and sticky, a tar pit slowly growing in size and yawning out before her, all too ready to swallow her up whole. It’s a completely different consumption that her absorptions constantly threaten her with. This…whatever it is…is purely Marie. She can tell that her increasing attitude towards this man is organically her own.

With as much diplomacy as possible, she informs him that it wasn’t the most helpful exercise in the world. The Professor leans back and to Marie, it looks like he has his thinking cap on.

Unexpectedly, she feels a ghost of a long ago touch against her cheek, paper-thin and rough with age, still as cold as the day Erik first tasted her mutation. Through a veil of borrowed memories she sees the Professor in a machine Erik helped build, a large round room that she now knows is housed in the sublevels of the mansion. Perched on the end of the ramp is Xavier, fully engaged in the process of using Cerebro. And he has something covering his head. Helping him think. He has a thinking cap.

Marie can’t control the following bout of laughter now anymore than she could when she was in the elevator with Logan. To his credit, the Professor patiently waits for her to finish, letting her soak up the tears with her gloves.

“Anything I should know about?” he asks her kindly.

Marie just shakes her head, not trusting her mouth. She does raise a hand to her temple and swirls a finger, making the universal sign for “crazy”.

He’s about to launch into a speech to boost her self-esteem, she’s sure, but after Carol’s last “take over” Marie feels like it’s time to take a chance and make a move to grab the reigns herself.

She cuts off his little pep rally with her own question, “Did you know that Carol was supposed to meet with the Brotherhood that day?”

The Professor is startled for a minute at the interruption, but takes a moment to consider her question nonetheless. She can tell because he does the steeple-finger thing.

“No, I did not. Furthermore, I was not aware that she had made any type of contact with the Brotherhood.” Marie has to bite her cheek at his “thinking cap look”.

“She…I…well it was Carol who realized things. Kind of. At least I think so.” She’s always hated trying to explain the workings of her mutation to others. She always sounded like a nut. For his part, the Professor is at least favoring her with a patient look.

“I don’t know how to explain it, but when I k- uh…absorbed her…I got little bits of her thoughts. I mean, the whole thing was so…it was just…overwhelming and I couldn’t control anything. I couldn’t even control what was happening. Mystique….but I did get a few things.” She’s rambling, picking at the pilled up fibers on her hand-me-down gloves that had clearly seen too many washes. “She – Carol – expected me. I’d never talked to her before, I mean I wouldn’t have known her to pass her, but she thought she’d be meeting me. Someone told her that she’d be getting information from me.”

“Can you ascertain who would have told Carol this?”

Marie shakes her head, frowning, because No, she doesn’t have access to that memory of Carol’s. “I – I don’t know, but I mean…now that I think about it…she wasn’t like…alarmed to see Mystique at first. It was…it was when she – uh, Mystique – was holding me to her – to…to Carol – that she thought it was an assassination. Well, I didn’t get that until….you know…when she was in my head and all.” It’s not until the Professor pushes the box of tissues on his desk towards her with all the subtlety of a man used to people having emotional crises in his presence, that Marie notices her eyes are indeed leaking.

When the Professor doesn’t say anything she glances up to see that “thinking cap look” still on his face, but this time the sight doesn’t prompt any laughter from her. Marie really hopes he’s not the type to fancy himself a therapist, the kind who just sit and stare at you, assuming that you’d talk yourself to some kind of conclusion. Her parents took her to one of those before her mutation surfaced, when her biggest problem was her typical teenage attitude. Didn’t work then and she’s sure it wouldn’t work now. Only the Professor isn’t looking at her. His eyes are trained on the surface of his desk, which seems odd on him since she’s accustomed to his penetrating stare. Maybe he does that when he tries to read people’s minds? He already said he had a hard time reading her so maybe he’s not even trying at this point. Maybe he’s actually looking for an answer that he can’t lift from someone else’s brain. She imagines that coming up against her, Miss Unreadable, after a lifetime of doing that would leave him a bit lost now.

So how the hell is he going to be of any help?

Marie forces herself to push that thought away. Okay, so he’s not the all-powerful Oz, but that doesn’t make the man incompetent. Just because he’s pushing some New Age relaxation techniques with one majorly Fed Up Feral doesn’t mean that he’s as out of touch as the Brotherhood said.

Marie thinks back to how disastrous her morning “session” was and thinks…yeah, maybe that last part is a little true.

As she leans her head back in the chair, Marie considers that maybe this is becoming a matter of where she’ll spend her final days in lucidity instead of how to help her permanently achieve that state.

The ticking sound of that internal countdown timer, activated after reading A Study in Scarlet, grows louder.

After her secret dinner in the kitchen, well after the normal feeding time, Marie ventures out onto the deck. It’s a little too warm to be so covered up, but in that she never really gets a choice.

Hells bells, her mood grew dark after her meeting with the Professor. During their time together he gave her assurances that he would look into Carol’s activities before she had left that final day, but Marie took no comfort in it. She still doesn’t. She figures his mouth is probably writing checks his ass either can’t or won’t cash, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone promised her something and didn’t deliver.

That thought is followed by a notion that she should be slinging back shots in a grubby bar if she’s going to be flinging around clichéd lines like that. Since she’s alone with the stars Marie lets herself laugh at that.

“You goin’ crazy again?”

Marie startles and turns in the direction she thinks she heard the growl come from. Her ears barely catch the soft, faint sounds of grass giving way. A small orange glow flickers to life before dying in intensity as the looming figure the cigar belongs to lumbers up the stairs of the deck.

“You lurking in the dark again?” And there is that mouth of hers again. Talk about mouths writing checks…

“Yep.” Is his only response as Logan settles himself, bracing his forearms on the railing and looking over whatever his keen eyes can make out in the darkness. She knows that he’s purposely keeping her sitting form in the corner of his vision though.

Marie has the absurd idea to get pissed for about half a second. She was here first dammit and part of her wants to let him know. Sure it’s a big deck, but big enough for the both of them to brood? She doesn’t think so. Then again, Marie doesn’t exactly think telling him that would be the best idea either. That line of thinking stops when she shifts in her seat, her elbow bumping something on the arm of the chair. Looking down she spots the ashtray she almost knocked over. Full of ashes and cigar stubs. Looks like she wasn’t here first after all. Damn damn damn.

“You mind handin’ me that?” He doesn’t bother to look her way, preferring instead to favor the dark landscape with his attention. Well if he’s going to be an ass about it.

“Here.” Technically she is handing it to him. He never specified that she should get up and deliver it to him. So Marie holds her arm out, ashtray balanced on her palm to avoid getting ashes all over her borrowed gloves.

This time he does look askance at her and he clearly isn’t impressed with her cheekiness. With a frown he reaches over and plucks the tray from her hand, placing it on the railing next to him after giving her one last sideways scowl.

“You’re welcome.” She points out, because she’s sure that wherever he’s from, he didn’t have a Southern mother who instilled any manners. The man in question huffs out his smoke harder than usual in response.

No they haven’t lost their eloquence.

Deciding that a territory dispute is a terrible topic to address with the Wolverine, Marie curls back into herself on the deck chair. As much as she really wants to avoid the trouble her mouth will cause her by talking to the guy, remaining silent is going to be a problem. Already, she can feel a light tingling in her limbs, a shiver crawling up her spine, but Marie can’t tell if it’s Carol or…something else. It might be the former X-Man beginning to test her limits or a more unfamiliar response that Marie doesn’t have a name for.

Either way, Marie can’t deal. Taking a haphazard guess, she chooses to blindly go in one direction. With her teeth clenched, Marie envisions a thick, solid metal door sliding into place, shutting everyone out like a panic room. It isn’t the most elegant solution; it’s not one that she’s heavily relied on in the past. It’ll also give her one hell of a migraine later, but it’ll have to do while she’s in Logan’s presence.

“How d’you think the Professor is at body language?” The question is out of her mouth before she can think the entire thing through, which is probably why it comes out sounding messier than she wanted.

Logan turns to her, affording her a view of his profile, the side that doesn’t house The Eyebrow, but she knows it’s cocked and ready to go on the other side of his face. Marie half expects his response to be along the lines of “You talkin’ to me?” and the image of this man doing that scene in his own mirror, with claws pointed instead of a finger does wonders to shut down worries of Carol.

He takes a drag on his cigar before speaking. “What d’ya mean?”

“Well he’s a telepath. He’s used to being able to get answers from people’s minds even if they don’t say anything out loud.” Logan nods, still clearly not sure where she’s going with this. “He said he couldn’t with me because of my mutation and all…the other people…the voices in my head.” She checks his expression, anticipating the “where do we keep the straightjackets?” look her confession would elicit, but Logan is as neutral as ever. She isn’t entirely sure why she’s unloading this onto him, but he’s here and he hasn’t killed her in all this time, despite the multiple opportunities he’s had. Marie is almost convinced that he might not even be considering it.

When he fully turns to face her, leaning his back against the railing and folding those formidable arms across his chest, she realizes that she’s let the silence linger a little more than comfortable. Clearing her throat, she tries to put the rest of her thoughts into words. “So I was thinking that a guy like him, someone who’s depended on his mutation, on reading minds, wouldn’t really know what to do with me.”

Logan scratches the stubble on his chin as he thinks about her words. “That why you think he can’t help you?”

“No – well, maybe. I’m…not sure. I thought about that, but that wasn’t what I was really trying to get at. I figured that if he’s so used to plucking things out of people’s minds, then he’s spent his life ignoring other things and now that he’s dealing with me, someone who can’t have her mind read, he’s…he’s just…at a loss, I guess.”

“What other things?”

“Hmm?”

He huffs. “You said he spent his life ignoring other things. What other things?”

“Oh! Yeah, well the body language thing that I mentioned. I don’t see a telepath really having any need to study that. That got me thinking and…well, I guess there’s really a lot that goes unsaid in conversations. So sometimes we have to rely on the nonverbal things to help us figure out what’s going on with a person. Someone like the Professor wouldn’t have to do that.” And that’s her piece on the subject, what’s been bugging her since she left Xavier’s office that afternoon. Even if Logan isn’t conversationalist of the year, Marie still feels a little lighter getting that off of her chest, out of the intangible swirl of her mind.

Logan’s staring at the scuff marks he’s creating as one of his boots rub over the other. No, definitely no speech awards hiding in this guy’s closet. She feels like leaving now that she’s said what she needed to, she isn’t expecting a lively dialogue with him.

“Yeah, he’s kind of shit at that.” That isn’t at all what she thought he’d say and her expression must have shown it. He just looks at her and shrugs, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “What? You called it like you saw it and you’re right.” He goes back to examining his boots for a few seconds before fixing her with a glare. “Doesn’t mean he can’t help you though.”

Marie just nods, not bothering with a verbal answer if her heart isn’t in it.

She’s not sure how long he’s going to stand there, watching as he ruins his own shoes even further, but the silence is becoming uncomfortable again. At least for her. She gathers that Logan is the type of guy who prefers not having a conversation. He’s probably out here for the sole purpose of avoiding one, thinking that the rest of the mansion would be occupied inside. Well that may have been his nature, but it just isn’t hers.

“We’re not having any more of those…sessions, are we?”

He turns his attention back to her, looking like she’s just asked him “are you sure the sky is blue?”. The tone of the “Yeah” he gives her is pretty similar to his expression.

Marie has to stop herself from flopping back in her seat and sighing in frustration. She really doesn’t want another one of those Wolverine Brand Cold Showers. She still needs to scrounge up a new shower curtain from the last one. Taking a much more measured deep breath, Marie meets his stare and makes sure to check her tone. “Do you honestly think that’s going to work? You saw how terrible I was at it.”

“Yeah, that’s why you gotta keep at it.”

“Look, I just don’t really think it’s my thing.”

“You don’t know that. The session ended early.”

That dents her composure a bit. “That’s because you ended it!” She’ll bet she’s doing a good impression of a goldfish right now. Screw the calming breaths, she’s on the edge of her seat, pointing an accusing finger his way without fully comprehending how easily he could slice it off.

Logan’s composure doesn’t falter. He shrugs with his response. “Yeah because we were gettin’ nothin’ done. You weren’t committing and I was gettin’ pissed. And get your damn hand outta my face.”

“Ah – I – you - ooooh! Are you serious? So I gotta follow your whims now too?!”

“Would you just calm your ass down? Listen, this shit doesn’t take overnight. You gotta work at it. It takes practice. Time.”

“I don’t have time!” She wants that to sound more heated instead of the desperate whine it turns into. Logan is about to retort when Marie points to her head and continues. “You think she’s going to give me time? You think she’s just gonna sit up here and behave while I get my act together? That isn’t gonna happen!” She smacks a gloved hand against the wooden arm of the deck chair to accent her point. “She wants out and she wants it now! I’m running out of time.” Her tone is a little more pleading than she likes, but at least she isn’t crying. Yet.


The silence stretches out between them again. She turns away from him and in her periphery Marie can see his blurry form facing her, knows he is openly watching her, but she keeps her head turned, resolutely staring into the endless dark. Internally she’s grasping at straws. Scrambling to mentally find one of her tried and true methods of shutting off whenever the absorptions get out of control. Surprisingly no one within her mind is taking the opportunity to start a brain revolt, but she still needs the dulling repetitions she uses to block everything out. Logan doesn’t seem to get the memo about that when he interrupts her thoughts with his rumbling question.

“What d’ya mean?”

Marie has to swallow a few times before she can get her voice to work, battling past the ache in her throat that comes with fighting tears. “You saw how it is with her. What she does to me.”

His blurry form in the corner of her eye reaches up to rub a hand against the back of his neck. “It’s gettin’ worse?”

This time Marie does face him and makes sure she lifts her chin, giving him as defiant a glare as she can muster. “It’s not getting better. You’ve seen it.” She slowly stands to leave and Logan straightens his posture to match hers. “Whatever reason she wants out it has to do with Scott, Jean…and you.” His gaze narrows at that and the growing ache in her throat forces her next words out as a whisper.

“So I don’t think any amount of time is going to matter for long.”

She’s struggling, straining, fighting against the arms grabbing for her. The thick, pudgy extensions reaching for something she’s not willing to give up for payment. They had made a deal, one that she’s becoming so used to making in order to get from one place to another, that she can easily just shut down during. She’s getting to the point where she would even forget to turn her emotions back on well after she scrubbed her gloves clean. This time is supposed to be like all the rest. He’s not supposed to say that he isn’t satisfied with just her hands. He’s not supposed to reach over and cop a feel. He’s definitely not supposed to pin her down and try to find purchase on her bare skin after she screamed about how she could kill him.

When Marie pushes his nearly lifeless body off of her somewhat clothed one, the trucker’s raging voice in her head lets her know that he didn’t heed her warnings due to all of the other professionals’ various threats to end his life.


With a scream still lodged in her throat, Marie comes awake at that last memory. She barely registers the intruder barging into her room as she scrambles to the bathroom. She slams the door out of some misplaced reflex for privacy, but it kicks back open as her stomach empties into the toilet. Her body is on autopilot, convulsing and heaving against her wishes, doing so even when there’s nothing left to get out. Her stomach clenches reflexively and an ache starts to form between her shoulder blades at the unwelcome spasms. Twin trails of burning hot tears race down her face as she spits and shakily flushes. Not even bothering to look, Marie drags herself to the sink and reaches a hand up, sloppily patting around for something, anything to get the acrid bile taste out of her mouth.

A shadow falls over her crumpled form, cast by the bedroom light that she didn’t turn on. She cowers, still too fresh, too raw from the dream. Whoever’s casting the shadow keeps their distance from her exposed skin as she hears the tap turn on. A cup enters her vision. It’s attached to a very large hand with an even larger arm, but it’s nowhere near the pudgy form of the man in her dream. Even behind a blurry veil, Marie registers the hard planes that are uniquely Logan.

“Rinse.”

Slowly, carefully, still shakily she grabs the underside of the cup to avoid contact. His touch isn’t the only contact she’s avoiding. Marie doesn’t want to know what his expression has to tell her. Dragging herself back over to the toilet, she spits after rinsing and flushes. The cup is plucked out of her grasp and replaced with a toothbrush and toothpaste.

While brushing, Marie remembers a quiet, small-town girl she brushed against in the convenience store of a gas station a while ago. The girl went to a party a few nights beforehand and got pretty drunk. Her roommate was there, but didn’t even bother doing half of what Logan is doing now.

More rinsing follows before Marie tosses the toothbrush in the trashcan. Xavier – or maybe Scott the Perfectionist – included a couple of sealed toothbrushes in the cabinet under the sink. She’d get to that later. Without so much as a grunt Logan leaves, he doesn’t bother turning off the bedroom light and Marie can’t find it in her to really care. Instead, she curls up on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, relishing the shock it sends to her body as she closes her eyes.

The enjoyment lasts only minutes when he comes back, covering up his previously bare torso and arms with a long sleeve shirt. His scowl is filled with something other than menace, but she closes her eyes again to block it out.

“What are you doing?”

“C-c-cold. Have t-t-t-to be c-cold.”

“You’re gonna get sick. C’mon, get up.”

She only curls up into herself even more and makes a small sound of disagreement. In this the Wolverine is wrong.

“You will.”

“No. N-n-need this.”

Marie assumes she’s won as she hears his footsteps pad away from her.

He’s not doing what she expects tonight.

Again he returns to her and she feels the soft linen from her bed draped over her, one of those weighty hands cradling her head as he lifts it and slides in a pillow. Her hands, legs, feet, all bare and still exposed to the tile floor and it’s enough.

She doesn’t hear Logan leave again until a good while later. He doesn’t come back.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


For three weeks Marie continues to meet with the Professor and reluctantly, with Logan. Her Muscular Meditation Muse never once mentions the conversation they had on the deck or the night after. She figures he would relentlessly hound her about it, latching onto the nugget of information she dropped like…well like a wolverine. Hell, she doesn’t even know what he was doing, busting into her room in the middle of the night. Was he still on stalker duty at three in the morning?

So he keeps up his gruff attitude, but on occasion Marie catches Logan giving her the contemplative looks that he usually bestows upon his cigars or a bottle of Molson.

It bothers her.

Carol has been relatively well behaved. Marie figures that she should be more concerned about that instead of Logan’s behavior. She isn’t. And that disturbs her even more. There are a few hiccups to be heard from the peanut gallery. Marie can’t spend too much time around Jean without rumbling starting in her mind. For her part, Jean doesn’t seem to want to spend time in Marie’s company anyway. The same is true with Scott. Marie starts to feel ticking in her extremities whenever she’s around him for more than a few seconds. Even more concerning is the new lack of response from Carol during the sessions with Logan. Nothing. Not. One. Thing. It’s a problem.

Aside from her sessions with the Professor and Logan she tries to stay in her room. Those handful of times she found herself outside of it only ended in disaster for her. She hasn’t heard from Jubilee since their argument even though Marie knows she sort of owes the girl a bit of an apology. The way Jubes went about the whole thing still rubs Marie the wrong way, but her reaction could have been reigned in a bit.

Logan’s cold shower must have really done a number on her.

Marie is loath to leave the safety of her room, but if she’s going to find Jubilee and offer some sort of apology, then she has to seek her out. Making sure that she’s completely covered, Marie ventures out of her sanctuary. It’s just past lunch, but she has no idea where to find the girl. As Marie strolls the halls she realizes just how little she knows of the mansion, only remembering the places she frequents and the paths that take her to and from.

Once she’s in the main hallway, in almost the exact spot Pyro and Friends cornered her, she hears voices. Pressing herself against the dark wood paneling behind her she waits, holding her breath and thinking how un-effing-funny it would be if the same merry bunch of teenage mutants cornered her again. From her spot glued to what she now knows is a door, she peeks around the doorjamb and sees Scott and Jean round the corner, mid-argument. Desperate to avoid a Carol uprising, Marie takes a chance and twists the knob of the door she’s pressed to, thinking that anything behind it has to be better than earning a trip down to the med lab.

Marie turns and takes stock of her new situation.

Music room. More than she could have hoped for. Her eyes shoot straight for the baby grand piano soaking up the natural light afforded by the large, pristine windows. She’s vaguely pleased that Logan’s abs aren’t the only thing her gaze is magnetized to. Approaching the instrument like a skittish horse, Marie can’t help the flood of memories that wash over her. Thankfully, they’re all her own.


For all the resentment she holds for her Momma’s passive silence at Daddy’s side, Marie can almost forgive her for the gift of teaching her to how to read music and play the piano. At first it saved her from getting caught up in the path of her father’s ire, then when her mutation manifested it saved her sanity when she was confined to the house. When Marie decided that she had to leave, after overhearing her parents talk to a “recruiter” for a “medical facility”, she began to grieve not just for the life she would have to leave behind, but for the instrument and the sheets of music that had given her more comfort than anything.

When she was on the streets Marie recited the notes to all of the songs she had memorized over and over again in her mind. The E-E-F-G-G-F-E-D beginning of Ode to Joy, one of the first songs she had to remember, became her tried and true method of detachment when she needed a quick fix. The harder the situation was to deal with, the more complicated the pieces she would try to recall. It helped drown out the new voices she kept accumulating and the more unpleasant external sounds coming from whatever hellhole she found herself in. Then, during her time with the Brotherhood she would unconsciously find her hands spread out on the closest level surface, fingers stretching to reach chords that she wouldn’t hear. In the solitude of her own room she was free to remove her gloves and she watched as her pale skin shifted over bones and tendons, blue veins marbling the translucence while she went through the motions of playing scales on her desk. She turned it into an exercise to preserve what little of herself she had left whenever there was a new absorption or mutiny among the ranks already occupying space in her mind.

Marie had passed many music stores in her travels, stopping to stare through the windows before pushing herself on, but this is the first time she’s been in reaching distance of a piano since her childhood home. She didn’t know how much she ached to feel the cool keys under her bare skin until she sees them reflecting nothing but pure shine. It would almost be a shame to mar them with her fingerprints. Lucky she’s confined to gloves these days…

The pull is too strong to deny and when she touches them…

…when she touches them it’s like coming up for air. Pure and clean. It’s as if someone had opened up parts of her that were long closed up to air out in the sun and warm breeze. This is the one thing in the entire world that is safe for her to touch. The gravity of just combining the words “safe” and “touch” makes her stomach flutter.

She sits down heavily on the bench, hands still poised and ready over the keys. Up close she notes that it’s electric, currently off. No chance of creating a disruptive noise even if the probable soundproofing of the room already assures against that. She gives in and presses down, closing her eyes in pure satisfaction despite the lack of sound. The light pressure she uses, the weight of the taught strings inside, the cool slide of the veneer against her gloves.

In this she finds her peace.


When she was with the Brotherhood, Magneto had always spent his time talking about peace. His old dream of it, his twisted new conception of it. He once told her how America failed to be his land of tolerance and peace. So now he’s trying to turn it into whatever that means for him. Sitting on the bench, with her fingers pressing down the silent keys and feeling like she had come back to something even though it’s her first time at this particular instrument, Marie understands why Magneto will fail. All this time he’s been looking for a place to find his version of harmony. A free land, a sanctuary for his people has always been the basis of it all for him. After a beat, Marie jumps to the conclusion that with this mansion, the same can be said for Xavier, even though he’s the one pushing her to find what she’s feeling at that moment. They’re all hinging something so abstract – safety, harmony, peace, freedom, whatever – on something concrete – land, government, laws, buildings.

Not possible.

When she thinks about it, she gets that those concepts are all just too theoretical to pin down to a tangible thing. Yes, they can try, just as they have been. But it’s kind of like music to her. The notes can be marked on paper, arranged in a certain way, neatly placed on evenly spaced lines. Each person plays the same piece differently though. Past experiences, lessons, teaching techniques, even mood lends to an alternative approach, a new meaning. Magneto and Xavier will never find their opposing versions of peace if they don’t get this. As Hallmark Moment as it sounds, it has to come from inside. They each have to pull it out from within themselves or they’ll only end up finding conflict everywhere they turn.


“You gonna play that?”

Marie screeches and launches off the bench, smacking her hip into the lip of the keyboard as she turns to her intruder. Logan’s leaning one shoulder against the door frame, booted feet crossed at the ankles, giving her a glowering look reserved for mental patients.

“Or were you just gonna sit there all day?”

She feels like she just got caught, even though she knows how absurd that is. She was so caught up in her thoughts when he yanked her out, she can’t help but feel like she’s treading water. And she’s hard pressed to give up the insight she had just been luxuriating in. Marie doesn’t notice that he’s walked up to her until he’s snapping his fingers in her face.

“Hey. Kid. You okay in there?”

“Not a kid.” It’s a mumbled reflex at this point, but with the path her thinking was taking moments ago, it still rings true. It effectively pulls her back to the here and now. More so than his snapping, which she bats away, growing fully annoyed at the realization that he interrupted her. He looks down at her gloved hand, confused and clearly not used to being dismissed so physically. Belatedly, she realizes that it’s the first touch she’s initiated in longer than she can remember. That it’s with Logan, even if she’s still gloved, bothers her like his sidelong glances. She uses that.

“What do you want? There’s a whole mansion full of people for you to stalk and growl at, y’know.”

He just crosses his arms and lifts The Eyebrow at her tone and she will not, will not be intimidated by the unspoken threat of more cold showers. Not in this room, not even with him.

She sighs, trying to aim for something less bitchy. “Just…what are you doing? You ruined my moment.”

“Your what?”

She makes a small gesture towards the fine specimen of an instrument behind her. “My moment. I was having one. You ruined it.”

He’s moved on from the “I’m gonna haul your bratty ass into a tub of cold water” look back to the “where do we keep the straight-jackets” look from nearly a month ago. And here she thought they were making progress…

He grunts and the world makes sense again. “You weren’t playin’ it. Damn thing wasn’t even on.”

“That’s…that just…that’s not the point.” She sighs and straightens up, chin lifting to prepare herself for her next statement even if she can’t quite meet his eyes when she says it. “And actually, I’m not going to be needing those meditation sessions anymore.”

“Wanna run that by me one more time?”

“I know you’ve got super mutant hearing. You heard me. I’m…good to go.”

“Only because of those sessions, maybe.”

She snorts. “Those haven’t done a damn thing and you know it. I spend most of the time fighting sleep!”

“You haven’t had another…”

“Fit?” She finishes for him, using Jean’s favorite word.

Logan reluctantly nods, shooting her a wary look as if she’s about to start spazzing out right then and there. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

“Not around you, but I have to avoid Scott and Jean.”

He’s about to open his mouth and Marie can tell by the set of his features that he’s about to settle in for a good old fashioned inquisition, so she turns away from him, kneeling down and rifling through the sheet music she finds tucked away in the bench. In her mind she’s desperately grasping for the hard won thoughts she had been having, the ones that seem to be all too eager to slip away with Logan in the room.

“And why the hell is that?”

She shrugs, belaying the growing concern she’s been reluctantly harboring about that. “Don’t have an answer for that.”

“Then what the hell were you goin’ on about? What’s all this shit about –“

“I don’t know!” She half-turns to face him this time and meets his stare, reminding herself to check the hysterical tone of her voice. “I wouldn’t be like this if I knew. It’s not like I’m enjoying the ride, y’know.”

He takes a steadying breath that she recognizes from the day he showed her to her room, which jogs another memory.

“What were you doing outside of my room that night?” She’s not entirely sure he’s going to answer. That’s something she suspected even before the question left her mouth.

“Wasn’t outside of it. I was next to it, in my room.”

She can’t have heard that right. Marie briefly wonders if early hearing loss runs in her family. When exactly did her MeeMaw start going deaf?...
So she asks for clarification in the most eloquent way she can manage. “What?”

If his expression is any judge, they may be on the same page with thoughts of her functioning capabilities. “I could hear you from my room.” He drops eye contact and directs his utmost attention towards his boots. “You musta had a bad dream or somethin’.”

Marie chooses not to confirm that, apparently not needing to, but takes a few seconds to digest this information. In a measured tone she slowly asks, “How come I’m just finding out about this now? I’ve never seen anybody else up there.”

He grunts and gives his boots an answer. “You never come out. Plus, ain’t nobody else up there. Just me before you came along.”

“So is this…what? A part of the plan or something?”

He finally glances towards her, head still ducked a bit in case he finds his boots more interesting again, but he scowls nonetheless. “There ain’t no plan.” He straightens when she stays quiet, her eyes giving his boots the attention he gave up on, even though her mind is a million miles away. “Now what was all that shit about Scoo-“

“Logan, are you ready?”

The deep, serene voice rings out clear across the music room and both sets of eyes swing towards the white-haired woman peeking in the doorway. Logan gives his customary grunt and nod, “Meet you down there.”

Sparing Marie a glance, Storm ducks back out and despite what he said, Logan shows no signs of moving. Wanting an out and hating herself for it, she grabs a stack of sheet music from the bench and makes sure to give the man a wide berth when she passes him on her way out.

In the confines of her room, which she used to think of as nice and secluded, Marie tries to immerse herself in the pages of sheet music spread out before her. Instead, her mind keeps flitting back to the revelation that her space isn’t as sacred as she previously thought. Having become acquainted with the feral mutation from observing Sabretooth and mildly tolerating his perverted advances, Marie knows that even with her door locked tight, Logan can easily keep tabs on her without even seeing her. His hearing, as displayed the night she got sick, is acute enough to pick up her every move and his sense of smell can clue him in to her location, give him a head’s up on what she’s feeling even before she registers any emotion.

Which is just plain rude, she thinks. It’s ridiculous because she’s seen his senses at work, usually on her and she’s never been bothered by it. The more she tosses around the idea in her head the more she realizes that the difference is in the location. Although she didn’t outright consider it, the fact that she could escape to her room to get away from the cues she was unwittingly feeding to the Wolverine always loomed in the back of her mind.

That illusion is completely shattered now that she’s got a wolverine infestation on her hands.

Marie doesn’t know if he’s telling the complete truth about lodging her next to him not being a part of any plan to keep tabs on her, but the more she thinks about it, the more she starts to think that Logan doesn’t seem like the type of guy to cover anything up. No, if that’s the case, if he really is assigned to keep tabs on her, he’d own up to it, unapologetically too.
She doesn’t want to think about it anymore. She just doesn’t want to think, period. The strain of constantly being on guard, questioning everyone’s motives, anticipating riots in her mind and impending loss of bodily control has drained her in ways she assumes her victims feel.


Collecting the papers strewn about her, Marie reverently places them on the desk before curling up on her bed, hoping for any oblivion afforded by closed eyes.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There’s no pounding on the door at six in the morning. No one bursting into her room demanding to know what the hell her ass is still doing in bed. The lack of all of these things ensures an uninterrupted sleep for Marie and a very late wakeup. It’s nearly noon when she cracks her eyes open to find that she hardly moved from her curled up position on top of her covers. She’s even wearing her gloves. For all she knows, her surly neighbor could have easily crept into her room when she didn’t show for that morning’s session and left just as silently. Although that approach doesn’t have the mark of the Wolverine anywhere near it. And she really doubts that Logan would just let their meetings fall by the wayside just because of her comment in the music room. He’s not a man to be easily persuaded.

And if that’s the case, then how did Carol get him to start in after Jean again?

Hell’s freaking bells! She just woke up!

Marie groans and digs the heels of her palms in her eyes. Those thoughts are not what should be rattling around someone’s brain at first rising. Burying her face into the down pillow, Marie lets out a huff.

This is not a good sign.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

An hour later Marie is awake, clean, and dressed not to kill. Her mission, and she can’t really choose not to accept it, is to find Jubilation Lee and get to the bottom of this Carol-Logan-Scott-Jean drama. And to work in an apology somewhere. She supposes that hugging the walls and cautiously moving around the mansion isn’t the best way to proceed if she doesn’t want people to think she’s sneaking around, but when there are a few people she absolutely has to avoid, it’s necessary.
There’s a whole separate category of people Marie doesn’t absolutely need to stay away from to prevent a meltdown, but she wants to steer clear of them all the same. Unfortunately as she peeks into the game room, she sees one of them. The most annoying one in her opinion.

And of course he notices her too.

“Hey. What do you think you’re doing?” Pyro, Johnny, Flamer, whatever – seems to think he’s mansion security, in all his scrawny glory.

Marie sees the high road, registers it in all its sunny glory, and chooses to ignore the hell out of it. What can she say? This kid brings out the best in her.

“Sneaking.”

The kid – goodness she’s really starting to sound like Logan – narrows his eyes at her before smirking.

“Right. So who are you going to kill next, huh?”

Marie shrugs and musters up as much sweet nonchalance as she can. “Jubilee, of course. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”

“Not going for the heavy hitters, are you?” If by crossing his arms and leveling a gaze at her, this Pyro kid thinks he’s doing his best Wolverine impression, then he’s wrong. Very wrong.

“No, I believe in working my way up.” Marie replies with the same detachment as before, with a big ol’ side of sweet Southern charm. “Now if you could be a dear and point me in the right direction, I’d be much obliged.”

He’s not buying it, but the kid smirks anyway. Still, it’s a pale imitation of the Chesty Growling King of Aloof Smirking. “So what’s your game plan, then?”

She’s so very tired of this conversation. Always with the motives, but belatedly, she realizes that she’s been carrying around the same guarded wariness about everyone in the mansion. This is more than she’s prepared to deal with today so she drops the act.

“Look, I’ve said it before and despite your inability to comprehend this, I’ll say it again: no game plan. I just need to talk to Jubes and since you’ve been oh so helpful, I’ll be leavin’ you now.”

She’s about to walk out of the game room when his voice stops her. “Hey, you really believe what Magneto’s been slinging at you?”

With a deep, centering sigh Marie turns to face the smirk that she’s barely stopping herself from smacking. “No offense – well, actually take as much offense as you want at this – but, I’m not about to have this conversation with you of all people.”

“Right. So…you don’t think everybody here buys into Xavier’s dream, do you?”

Marie stops at that. Pyro’s flicking his shark lighter and alternating between watching the flame and gauging her reaction. And she knows that’s what he’s doing. There’s no way he’d fling out a comment as provoking as that if he’s not looking for something in return. Marie tries to quickly take stock of the situation, realizing a little too late that she’s never been very good with confrontations.

Trying to sum up as much cool indifference as she’s seen from Mystique, Marie goes with it, ignoring the small part of herself that’s telling her not to get entrenched in more X-Drama.

She clears her throat, “What, you’re not trying to fight the good fight?”

He gives her the smarmiest, shit-eating grin she’s has ever seen, but before he can answer another voice joins in from the doorway behind her.

“Yo, Johnny –“ Jubilee stops once she sees Marie and after a few seconds of visual inspection, she returns her attention to the boy. “The Bobster is looking for you. Some great, stupid video game face-off thing with him and Piotr. You’re late, dude.”

Pyro saunters out, casting Marie a sidelong glance that she has no idea how to decipher. She can’t give it much thought as Jubilee turns to follow her friend’s steps.

“Hey, Jubes, wait! Can I…uhm…could I talk to you…please?”

The girl in question – covered in as much yellow as usual – dawdles for a few seconds, not meeting Marie’s eyes. Marie doesn’t know if Jubes is actually considering the request or if she’s just doing this for effect. After much feigned interest in everything else in the room except for Marie, Jubes finally squares her with a pissed look and crossed arms.

“All right. Shoot.”

Marie takes a steadying breath and in a flash, really wishes she had actually prepared something instead of choosing the “winging it” method.

“Uhm, well, I wanted to apologize…for uh, how I…for what…uh…I didn’t handle things properly. Y’know, when we…talked last time.”


“I commend you for owning up to that and accept your apology. Please know that I too am sorry for how I approached you.”……was what Marie was hoping for, but not what came out of Jubilee’s mouth.

Instead, it sounded more like a snort, followed by a terse, “Yeah, that was pretty shitty of you.”

O…kay. Marie supposes she deserves that. Still, maybe they could dabble in a little Diplomacy 101 here.

“Look, Jubes, I…I was hurt. I…felt kind of used, y’know? I don’t really know what they’re going to do to me here and I was just sold out by the people who took me in and looked after me for a few years. I…look, I know it’s no excuse for jumping all over you like I did, but…that’s just where I was coming from. I…uhm, I hope you can understand that…a bit.” If she keeps toying with her gloves so much, Marie is going to be left with some really threadbare coverings.

Jubilee must have taken thorough notes from Logan because she’s as stone-faced as ever throughout Marie’s admission. After a very long, tense moment she finally drops her arms and the expression, going back to avoiding Marie’s eyes at all costs. Her next comments are reluctant at best. “Yeah…well…I guess…” She lets out a deep sigh, “I could have…like…I dunno…done…something…differently. Or something. I guess.”

And Marie knows that that’s the best she’s going to get from Jubes. So she’ll take it. With the brightest smile she can muster, Marie tries to dispel the lingering awkwardness. “Thanks! Okay, great. I’m…I’m glad that’s out of the way because I gotta tell you, I think you’re right.”

Yeah, that’s the best course of action. Jubilee perks up at that last part, showing Marie some renewed interest at the praise.

“Yeah? About…”

“The whole Carol-Logan-Scott-Jean thing. There’s something to it, after all.” She’s about to launch into everything when Jubes holds up a hand to stop her.

“C’mon chica. Not a primo place for this. Walls have ears and all. Let’s motor.”


Marie’s about to tell Jubilee that she doesn’t think leaving the mansion is a good idea, but soon realizes that they’re heading up the stairs instead of to the garage. With the younger girl’s assurance that Logan is still on one of the X-Men’s many pick-up missions – which explains the lack of intruders that morning – they choose Marie’s room since she’s the one without roommates.

“I mean I love Kit and all, but she gets in a tiff if she’s not in the know with everything. She’d be pretty pissed if I walked in our room with you in tow and told her to get. That and she really doesn’t like you.”

Good information to know, Marie muses. Although the last part isn’t really shocking.

Once Jubilee parks herself on the bed, and therefore Marie has to subsequently settle on the window bench, the yellow one doesn’t waste time getting down to business.

“So you were saying I’m right?” She prompts.

“Uh yeah. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think it has something to do with what you said. Uh, you…uh, do you know how my mutation works? That Carol’s in my head?”

“Kind of. So she like, lives up there right?”

“Uhm, to be honest I don’t really know how it works. You know I get memories, thoughts, powers if they’re mutants, right?” At Jubilee’s nod Marie continues. “Well, it doesn’t work that way with Carol. Like I said before, I don’t have a free pass to access whatever I want to know from her. The Professor thinks she’s holding back. I mean, she is. I can’t tap into her memories or even her powers whenever I want. Sometimes I get a small feed of information, but that’s about it.”

Jubilee considers that for a bit, picking at the embroidered flowers on what has to be an expensive duvet cover. “So what’s the relation to the stuff with the main team?”

“Right. Well, Carol is holding back stuff. Thing is, when I get near Scott, Jean, sometimes even Logan, Carol just lets loose. Sometimes I’ll get a bigger stream of memories, some comments, but usually she just does this all out attack on my body. She like, takes over.” At Jubilee’s raised eyebrows Marie takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, realizing – not for the first time – how insane this all sounds. “It’s like I’ve got no control during those times. Carol tries to hurt me, y’know, interally. Making me feel sick, giving me seizures. I mean, the last big one was when I was near Scott. She took over, she wanted me to notice him, go to him, touch him. Then Jean came in and I was so far gone at that point…Carol snapped at her. Like, she literally tried biting her. I’m pretty sure some really awful things came out of my mouth towards Jean, but I can’t remember.”


Marie is fiddling with her gloves again, picking, pulling, generally ruining something that she can’t afford to ruin. Jubilee is uncharacteristically quiet. Marie’s waiting for her to burst out in laughter or accuse Marie of making it all up.

“So like, what about the Wolvster?”

The question surprises Marie, but she supposes she should have expected it. Still, she doesn’t have a good answer for it. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s just pure intimidation, but a few times Carol made me sick, made me seize up when I was around him. She’s made some…uh…racy comments about him –“ Jubes snickers at that. “ – but she doesn’t make any moves, or make me make any moves towards him like she does with Jean and Scott. Actually – and this is the strangest thing of all – for the past few weeks Carol hasn’t made any comments or tried to do anything to me whenever I’m around him. And I’ve got to be around him a lot since a stupid decision was made for him to teach me to meditate.” She spits out that last word like it’s left a bad taste in her mouth. She really hates meditating.

Jubes nods, “Yeah, Wolvie does like his Zen time.”

“Well, there’s not much ‘Zen time’ when he’s yelling at me for falling asleep or moving or making noise or practically existing! I hate it. It doesn’t do anything.”

The girl on the bed laughs. “Yeeeaah. You wouldn’t catch me doing that either.”

“I don’t get it. Logan doesn’t seem like the type to…I dunno.” She shrugs, because she really didn’t know what to say.

“Not the type for inactivity?”

“Yes! I’d figure he’d be picking a fight wherever and whenever.”

“Oh, he does. The dude loves himself some fighting, but he spent a lot of time in Japan, tapped into some Zen thing. Really took to it I guess. He’s got some like, crazy ninja skills he’s supposed to teach us in combat training, too.” Jubilee’s eyes are bright and she’s practically bouncing on the bed at that prospect. “But yeah, the man loves himself a good fight, y’know? Which brings us back to the problem. On one hand, Wolvie’s always loved to get Mr. Summers riled up, so that could be a part of why he chases after Dr. Grey…”

“But on the other hand?”

“It got worse after Wolvie hooked up with Carol and it hasn’t completely stopped just because she’s…uh…dead?”

Marie tried not to let any frustration show when she sighs. “Yeah, she’s in my head, but she’s not alive.”

“Weird.”

Among other things.


The both spend a few minutes digesting the information they just traded. Both of them trying to come up with some conclusion, or at least some small clue as to why the Carol in Marie’s head is acting so weird.


Jubes jumps up from her lounging position on Marie’s bed and claps her hands once, startling Marie. “Hey! So Carol has like, some unfinished business! Like a ghost, right!”

Marie just stares at Jubilee for a moment. The girl in the bumblebee-clubwear clothing looks so damn proud of herself, Marie can’t utter the groan that wants to escape her or bang her head against the window in frustration.

“A ghost.” Marie deadpans instead.

“Yeah! If she’s trying to possess your body uh…like a ghost, duh, then it’s like, because she left something undone!”

This time Marie does let her head fall back against the window, the thud jars a thought, though.

“Jubes, don’t – I can’t believe I’m having this conversation – don’t ghosts think they’re alive or something? Isn’t that the point of them? They don’t know to… – this is ridiculous – uh, crossover?”

For some reason Jubilee doesn’t catch on to Marie’s disbelief. She’s at her most animated.

“No, dude. Not all the time. Check it, I’ve been watching some stuff on TV. Sometimes they like, know, y’know? They get that their dead, right? But they died before finishing something important. So they stick around because they’re all like “oh woe is me! I’m dead and I totally didn’t finish this important thing!” or they stick around to get the attention of the living so that someone else can finish it or find out what’s what.”

There are no words. Marie simply can’t find any to respond to what Jubilee just said. Stylistically, her portrayal of what a ghost would say could use a little work, but as for the content, Marie is at a loss. Then again…

Marie checked her tone and made sure to speak slowly. “Jubes. That’s uh…great and all, but the thing is, we’re not talking about…ghosts. Carol is dead, true, but she’s in my head. Not walking up and down the halls rattling chains.”

“Chica, you are so missing my point! I didn’t say she was a ghost, I said she’s like a ghost. I’m telling you, Mega Bitch has unfinished business.”

“Uh huh, which would be?”

“My theories? A) Break up the main team for some reason and B) to uh, probably give you shit for ending her, but mainly the first thing.”


Trying to organize this all in her head, Marie’s coming to the conclusion that wrangling the very corporeal and alive Jubilee is as much of a chore as keeping the people in her head in check. Marie scrubs a gloved hand over her face before voicing her thought. “Yeah, I get she’s not happy with me. The big hole here is why she’d want to break up a team that she was on? You said before that she wanted Scott. So she used Logan as her wrecking ball to Scott and Jean’s relationship.”

“Yup, so that she could break up the team.”

“So you’re saying that it was more than her wanting to get into Scott’s pants?”

Taking off her bright yellow sweater, Jubes reclines back on Marie’s pillows and seems to consider her next words. “Well yeah. I mean, I threw that idea out there before, but I didn’t really start thinking about it until after we talked. You said that for Carol to go to all that trouble just to bang Scott didn’t really add up. So I got to thinking and what I think is that she wanted to break up the X-Men.”

Marie sighs, stretching her legs from their cramped position under her. “Jubes, you can’t pull something out of thin air as justification, all because you didn’t like Carol. I mean, she was an X-Man. This was her team, her home. Not to mention that’d be betraying her Professor on top of it all.”

“Not if she didn’t jibe with the Prof’s view of things.” Jubilee shrugs off her own comment, tossing it out in the air in between them, but clearly not giving too much thought to it. Marie does though, because it’s the second time she’s heard something like that in the same day.

“What do you mean by that?”

Jubilee looks up from chipping the paint off of her nails – all over Marie’s bedspread. “Huh?”

“You said ‘if she didn’t jibe with the Professor’s view.’ What do you mean?”

The younger girl shrugs, still not following Marie’s concern. “I just threw it out there. I mean it could be reason enough for her to betray him, break up the X-Men and all that jazz. It probably wouldn’t be so she could get her hands on that snazzy chair of his.” She finishes with a wink and a smile.

Only Marie isn’t feeling it. “Why is that the first thought you came to, though?”

This time Jubilee really looks at her, taking stock of Marie’s rigid posture, leaning forward on the window seat, hands gripped to it on either side of her legs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Dude, don’t go down that road again. I’m not implying anything. I’m not trying to do anything sketchy here –“

Marie sits back a little and waves away Jubilee’s protests. “No, that’s…no. I’m not accusing you of anything. Just…don’t. It’s not that. I…uh…okay, let’s just change tactics here. Why would she not “jibe” with the Professor’s view? Was their something she disagreed with?”

Still shooting wary glances at Marie, Jubilee settles back into the pillows, absently picking her nail polish again. She focuses on a random spot on the bedspread beneath her, thinking, brow furrowing, before slowing shaking her head. “I…I honestly don’t know, dude.”

Marie gives in and lets out a long groan as she flops back, this time connecting with the window rather solidly.

“Hey, I’m really trying here!” Jubilee defends from the bed.

“I know! I know. I get that. It’s just…” I’m running out of time. The time she’s losing weighs on her shoulders even more, even in the absence of Carol’s interference. Maybe even more so.

“…frustrating.” Marie finishes instead.

When Jubilee leaves, Marie is once again left with more questions and not nearly enough answers. Why does it have to be so flippin’ convoluted? She much preferred it when it was just bad guys versus good guys and she could stay out of it. She didn’t like what the Brotherhood was into, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth either. They took her in, fed her, and she didn’t have to pay in any way for it. Well, until Carol.

“DAMMIT!” She lets loose as she sprawls on her vacated – and now nail polish chip free – bed.

A knock on her door interrupts her spiraling thoughts and before she can thank the heavens that at least this person doesn’t just barge in uninvited –

Logan fills the doorway. Without waiting for her permission to open the door. He’s nothing if not consistent.

One hand on the doorknob, the other braced against the doorjamb, he looks around and finally fixes his gaze on her. Then quirks The ‘Brow.

“Everything all right in here?”

Oh, right. They’re neighbors. Oh how convenient.

Marie closes her eyes and just nods, not trusting her tongue to keep from forming every sarcastic comment rolling through her mind. When she opens her eyes again he’s still there. Staring at her.

“Fine.” She manages, with a forced smile plastered onto her face.

She doesn’t need to be a telepath to know that he doesn’t believe her. Hell, he can probably use those senses of his to figure that out, though she doesn’t know what he’d get off of her.

“You didn’t eat.” It’s not a question so she’s not entirely sure what to say to that. Does he want a confirmation anyway? An explanation?

Logan lets go of the doorjamb, steps aside and cocks his head towards the hallway. “C’mon.”

There’s white noise in her head. Not unpleasant. Definitely not interference from a Brain Tenant. Marie just genuinely doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Uh…it’s…late.” She looks at the alarm clock to confirm and yes, it is in fact quite late. She briefly wonders if he’s just getting back from that mission before remembering that she shouldn’t care.

He grunts, of course. “Since when do you eat on time?”

Since never, her inner petulant six-year-old self replies in her mind. The one that didn’t get her Barbie dream house for Christmas and pouted for months after, only using that same tone of voice.

“I don’t have good luck with kitchens.” And really, she doesn’t. Every big meltdown/takeover has occurred in that room. Marie does a little, mild mental probing and finds that Carol is silent, but experience tells her how quickly and unexpectedly that can change.

He looks at her disbelievingly. “So you’re just gonna stay out of the kitchen, huh? Just not eat, then? That your plan?”

That damn petulant six-year-old Marie wants to pipe up again, so Marie just nods to avoid saying anything stupid. She’s also hoping that maybe he’ll drop it, leave her to her own devices, and be done with it.

Apparently they’re not on the same page.

“You ain’t starvin’, now get your ass in gear. C’mon.”

“I’m not going into the kitchen with you!” It comes out a bit louder, a bit shriller than she wanted, but the meaning is the same. Kitchens, plus Maries, plus Logans, equal inner ear deficiencies and unwanted telepathic invasions and images of his half-naked post-shower body. Danger! Danger!

Logan gives her the glower of the year before he barks out a “Fine!” and slams the door on his way out.

It’s 2 a.m. when Marie finally creeps down to the vacant kitchen to grab some food.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Right from the get go, Marie’s meeting with the Professor the next day is tense. He’s as unflappably kind as ever, but she feels guarded. With the conversation she had with Jubilee the day before, the cold shoulder she’s been getting from everyone, and the constant nagging in the back of her mind about Logan’s odd…everything, she doesn’t feel like sharing. Add to that one niggling thought that’s been infecting her mind since her first meeting with the Professor and she doesn’t really feeling like processing. Her answers to his questions are short, succinct, and most definitely lacking in detail. The chance of projecting her thoughts keeps her on edge, forcing her to focus on the sheet music she pilfered, reciting the notes to the pieces she knows by heart, building up to chords, and then finally adding the pieces together to form a melody.


Right before she left her room earlier to head to his office, Marie considered telling the Professor about her suspicions with Carol. The more she considered it, the more she figured it was a bad idea. What was there to tell anyway? Jubilee was the one that threw the ideas out there, intentional or not. There’s no proof, nothing to corroborate the theories. Even with the strange conversation she had with Johnny, Marie knew that she’d end up walking into the Professor’s office, flinging crap up against the walls and seeing what stuck. No, she had made up her mind before she even reached the bottom of the main staircase. There was nothing, at this point, to tell. What she thought she really needed were the right questions to ask him. She didn’t even have those.

So she sits before him now as he looks at her, occasionally peering at the notes he’s jotted down. Her memory travels back to the conversation she had with Logan about the Professor’s skills at reading body language – or lack thereof.

“Rogue?”

She’s interrupted from doing her best Jubilee impression. Except her gloves ruin the effect by covering any nail polish she’d have on. And she’s pretty sure Jubilee wouldn’t have classical music floating through her head. When the Professor has her attention he gives her that grandfatherly smile and continues.

“I can’t help but notice your reluctance today. Is something the matter?”

Feigning nonchalance, she shakes her head.

“Very well then. I trust you found what you needed in the music room?”

Now he has her attention. Just as her eyes narrow the Professor smiles. Smiles!

“I thought you said I was hard to read.”

“Unless you project.”

“But…I wasn’t thinking…”

The old fool chuckles now. First smiling then laughing at her expense. Well she must be a riot.

“Rogue, you were trying so hard not to think of anything but music, that I was bound to catch pieces of it. Do you have a preference for Beethoven or was Für Elise a spur of the moment choice?”

“Preference.” She reluctantly grumbles.

He simmers once he sees that her mood won’t lift. “Well then I hope the collection we have on hand suits your needs.”

“How could you tell? How’d you know which piece it was? Took me a while to get to the melody.”

“No, I recognized it myself. It’s been quite a while since I’ve played, but that piece was a standard that I was expected to practice meticulously.” At the wistful twitch of his lips Marie just nods, despite the fact that his eyes are trained on a place years behind her.

The alarm they agreed – but she originally suggested – on setting to mark the regimented two hour meeting time sounds and to Marie, it’s almost as beautiful as the music she had been reciting in her head. She’s about to jump up and make a hasty exit when the Professor’s voice stops her.

“Rogue. I would be remiss if I did not express my concern of your reluctance to share today. The fact that you’re using a distraction to keep your thoughts guarded…well, I just wonder how we can make any progress if this continues.”

Marie gauges that patented grandfatherly smile and weighs each of his words. Her immediate reaction is to look for the thinly veiled threat there, but she’s not sure she can find one without jumping to conclusions. She’s so caught up in her theories and assumptions, that when she remembers that he’s expecting a response, she doesn’t think about that constant infecting thought that comes out of her mouth.

“Then why bother?”

His raised eyebrows are the only movement from the man and although they’ve touched upon this subject before, Marie realizes that she hasn’t been satisfied with where they left it. Not by a long shot as it seems.

“I believe we discussed this.”

“And I don’t believe that we really did.” This isn’t a conversation she intended on having. Sure she thought about it, wondered about the details, but something new always popped up. Whether in the form of a Carol takeover or clashes with the other residents, it was always pushed out of her mind.

She’s not entirely sure she wants the answer he’s going to give, but not knowing is going to eat her alive. “Yeah there’s been a comment here or there, you not thinking I’m the enemy, but that can’t be it. That’s not all of it. I can’t sit here and expect you to do all this work for someone who’s Brotherhood.”

He leans forward, arms clasped on his gleaming desk and pins her eyes with his own. “And why is that, Rogue? Why should that matter?”

“Because it does! Because your team and Magneto’s team are constantly fighting! Because I kil – I’m the mechanism that took the life of one of your X-Men! You can’t really sit there, after all of that bad blood, and think to help me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you Rogue, other than that’s exactly what I intend.”

Marie groans and runs both hands through her hair, not caring of the disarray it causes, not caring how condescending her tone turns. “What? Is this rehab? Are you going to bring me to your side, Professor? Turn the Brotherhood’s Rogue into one of your gleaming X-Men?”

“Rogue, I –“

“No! You should have thought about those damn lofty intentions when you were in that round room of yours picking your recruits!” And there it finally is. She huffs and thinks, to hell with it.

“I know what you do with Cerebro! I know how you go looking for kids and send your finest to get them and save the day.” More incensed than she can ever remember, Marie leans forward, planting her hands on Xavier’s desk. “You’re keeping me here because you’re too damn scared to go up against me. Magneto must have really talked me up to you guys.”

She straightens and whisks herself towards the door on the heels of her ire. Before she completely slips through the opening, she shoots a glance back at Xavier. “If you really wanted someone like me to be one of your good guys, you would have tried a little harder the first time around, when I was barely surviving on the streets. All this after the fact crap is too little, too late.”

The Professor’s unwavering expression tells her everything she needs to know.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She’s in her room packing.

Except she owns nothing that she’s been using or wearing since she got to the mansion. For that matter, she doesn’t even have anything to put all of her non-possessions in. She has nothing. Looks like this will be easier than she thought. That notion erases all fire she felt in Xavier’s office, which had also helped propel her up the stairs to her room. Or “the” room, as it’ll soon be. Damn depressing is what it really is.

She never intended to have that conversation with the Professor. Even now most of her thinks that just letting sleeping dogs lie would have been easier, but it had been silently building up in her. She’s been preoccupied with all of the Carol-related trouble from the get go. The snubs of the main team of X-Men, the blatant mistrust of the juniors in-training all adding up to making her feel more isolated, more of an outsider than ever. Considering her mutation, that’s saying a lot. Just like with Jubilee, Marie initially thinks her execution could have been better, but she’s still not done feeling angry, she can’t see past all of the slights to really figure out how to handle her suspicions better.

The fact of the matter is that she’s a fly in the ointment. In a school full of nothing but mutants she’s still the outcast and not just because of her skin this time either. With her unwelcome insider’s tip, Marie knows how everyone comes to have a place at Xavier’s. Out of Cerebro, through the Professor’s direction, and via the X-Men’s heroics, everyone here has been handpicked. Saved from hell or the threat of one and shown a bright leather-clad future.

Everyone except for her. She ended up here because they don’t know what else to do with her. Kill her, punish her, help her, save her, they just don’t really know. Not even the great Charles Xavier. No, if he wanted her he would have found her just as he did with all of the others in the mansion. Normally, Marie would try to shrug that off as fine, but it’s not fine, it doesn’t feel fine. It just is.

With that thought and a final look around at all of the things that aren’t hers for the taking, she feels that familiar undertow of exhaustion well up inside of her. Marie leans over from her sitting position on the floor and curls up on her side, deciding to wait until well after everyone is asleep to leave.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until she hears pounding on her door. Like clockwork, Logan enters without an invitation and after blinking against the bright light he flips on, she sees the deep set scowl in his features. All dark shadow and sharp planes. He knows. Damn telepath can’t keep a secret.

Marie holds up her gloved hands and when she can work her voice, it’s gravely with sleep. “Just…just don’t toss me in a cold shower this time, okay?”
His hulking frame marginally loosens and after taking a long look at her crumpled form on the floor he roughly scrubs a hand down his face before sighing. “Get up.”

“But –“

“Not one fuckin’ word.” He growls.

He waits until she starts moving to leave, not quite slamming the door behind him.


Unlike that one afternoon she ended up on her butt after nearly smacking into him, Marie is prepared to see Logan in the hallway. She’s even prepared for the scowl and the reflexive clenching of his fists. When he turns to leave he gives no indication for her to follow him, but she knows he expects it.
It’s late and the halls are devoid of activity, everyone already in bed for the night except the same kid Marie passes on her way to the kitchen at night. Like every time before he’s watching TV and takes no notice of them. When Marie and Logan get to the kitchen he flicks on the light and she fully expects the little plastic switch to break with the force of his hand. It doesn’t though, neither does the refrigerator door when he flings it open before diving in to root through the contents. She wonders if the air conditioning can be blamed for her trembling.

She doesn’t realize that she’s stalled in the doorway until he directs his glare to her and gives a grunt. “C’mere.”

Marie moves stiffly, cautiously, despite the impatience in his demeanor. Not Victor. Not Victor. Not Victor.

Logan stands and thrusts two six-packs at her chest, forcing her to grab hold before she can decide not to. If not for the padding of her bra, she’d have some interesting bruises later. After shifting things in the fridge with as much care as he handled the cans of Molson and soda Marie’s holding, the Wolverine finds what he’s been hunting for. A growled, “C’mon” is her next direction to follow him and his pizza box to the back deck. Another light switch becomes a victim to his abuse and the nighttime is bathed in artificial light.

Oddly, Logan doesn’t choose the nice patio set, what with its proper table and matching chairs to sit in. Tossing the thin box down on the planks, he parks himself on the wide deck steps, facing the illuminated backyard. He throws a look back at her, once again paralyzed in another doorway, the lingering cold from the cans seeping through her shirt. With another tip of his head and a grunted, “Sit”, she finally moves, gingerly seating herself on the step, as far away from him as possible. Not Victor. Not Victor. Not Victor!

“I’ll be takin’ my beer now.”

Her arm is shaking as she holds out his six-pack, cans clanking together with a dull, tinny sound. Logan gives that arm a long look before taking his beer and with a deep sigh the rest of the tension leaves his body.

“You gotta cut that shit out.” Although his voice is noticeably softer, it still carries that distinctive rumbling timbre. The change in tone helps a little.
Marie tries working her throat while he pops the tab on a can a takes a long pull. She’s still clutching the soda in her right arm.

“I –I c-can’t…h-help it.” No matter how much she wants to. No matter how damn weak she feels when her body goes on auto-pilot around the threat of anything remotely Victor-like. The indignity of having Carol takeover her body almost pales in comparison to the automatic lockdown she goes into when the memory of one intimidating mutant washes over her.

“Yes you can.”

She manages to at least make her neck work, shaking her head in disagreement as she watches him reach back for a slice of cold pizza from the cardboard box.

Logan shows her that his lack of manners extend to talking with his mouth full, too. “You can. Just gotta work harder.” When she still only shakes her head he finally turns his attention away from the slice he’s holding and takes her in. “Yes, you do. You haven’t been workin’ hard enough and you keep avoidin’ shit. You or Carol or whoever’s got problems with me, then have out with it. Don’t keep fuckin’ runnin’.”

He takes another healthy bite, fully engrossed in the overloaded slice when Marie finally manages to force a gravelly, broken sentence. Hating. Hating her own weakness.

“It’s not…it’s not that. Y-you…It’s not C-carol…now. It – it’s y-you…You remind me…when you’re…w-when you get l-like that...it reminds me…of – of Victor.”

Logan chokes on the piece he swallowed, turning his wide-eyed gaze on her while coughing and thumping his sternum. Old manners suggest that maybe she should thump him on the back, but she doesn’t think any help would be welcome.

The space between them is heavy and thick with tension when he finally clears his airway. She briefly considers what that must smell like to him. After a few deep swallows, Marie flicking her gaze between his thousand mile stare and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, Logan remembers the slice of pizza in his hand and he flings it back in the box with a curl of his lip.

Pure, unfiltered disgust registers on his face as he drains the rest of the can, and now it’s more a chore than anything, the enjoyment of the beverage gone. When he pops open a second one, drains it and goes for a third, the repulsion in his expression gives way to something that looks far more resigned. Logan spends the next ten minutes with his back bent, elbows resting on his knees, working through the rest of the six-pack and not even looking at her.

He drops his head down and Marie has to strain to hear the rumbled question. “What’d he do?”

She’s back to shaking her head again, even though he can’t see it and the lack of verbal response prompts him to turn his head, still bent over as he is.
“N-n-nothing.”

At her whisper, Logan straightens and breathes deep, he shakes the can in his hand a bit before finishing it off and reaching for another. “You’re lyin’. What’d he do?”

“N-not what you’re probably thinking.” The slowing of his movements, the noticeable deliberateness of them since the shock she gave him, bolsters her voice some.

“Then set me straight. What did he do?”

“Got backhanded. Knocked around. That kind of thing. Nothing more than that.” Hunched over the sodas still clutched to her chest, Marie chooses her words carefully. Realizing for the first time how dangerous and damning pronouns can be.

“The night you got sick?”

“Not him.”

He slowly nods at her succinct answer. They sit like that for a while, silent, pizza untouched between them. She flicks a glance over to him out of the corner of her eye and can barely keep up with all of the emotions passing over his normally stoic face. None of them pleasant. Despite her earlier reaction to his demeanor, she can’t help but feel guilty now. After all, it’s not his fault; she now knows that he’s not going to physically harm her. He hasn’t needlessly intimidated her just for the hell of it. Throwing around his weight to get off on her fear like the only other feral mutant she knows. Years of conditioning are hard to erase though. Logan just has the misfortune of sharing some growling, feral characteristics with the Brotherhood’s resident psychopath.

“It – it’s not you, y’know. It’s just…the intimidation thing.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, but when he does speak his tone is as quiet and resigned as she’s ever heard. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid.”

“I know.” She’s quick to assure him. “I know that now. I mean, I didn’t at first…uhm, because of – of what I did. To Carol. Your teammate. It’s just…now, it’s just habit. I was with the Brotherhood for so long…I know you’re not like that –“

He snorts. “No ya don’t. Not really.”

“Well, I think I do. Okay, so I may not know you, but I know Victor…and you’re not like that.” She takes a deep steadying breath, her next words coming out in a rush. “You wouldn’t have stopped yourself that day you showed me to my room, or y’know…any other time I pissed you off…if you were.”

And she is sure of that now that she’s got her emotions back under control. Logan may have a point; she doesn’t know him very well, but she can tell the difference so far. She knows what it’s like to live under the constant fear of Sabretooth’s ire and perversion and although she expected that same treatment when she first got here from the only other feral man she met, Logan didn’t follow through on her expectations.

Marie doesn’t know why she has an overwhelming urge to reassure Logan. Her only explanation is that comparing anyone to Victor, no matter how bad the offense, isn’t ever deserved.

“Sometimes it’s just Carol, y’know? Not all the time, but sometimes she acts up around you, so…that can’t really be helped.”

She can’t tell if he’s thinking about that new piece of information or still hung up on the Victor comparison. His expression is back under lockdown. Once again full of those sharp planes & dark shadows. The only thing she can figure out by the few shakes he gives the last empty can he’s holding is that he probably wishes he had another beer. Realizing that she’s still clutching the now luke warm sodas, she pops one off of the plastic ring and offers it to him, making sure to extend her arm enough so that he notices how steady it is now.

He does notice, taking an even longer look than he did before when it was shaking. A quick glance to her face and he takes the can from her, the little reluctance he shows having to do with the fact that the beverage is lacking in alcohol. He takes a few swigs, wincing at the sweetness and just as Marie’s thinking about grabbing a slice of pizza she hears his voice.

“And why would she do that?”

She has to take a moment, having forgotten what she had last said that would prompt his question. He decides to jog her memory for her.

“Carol. Why does she act up around me?”

“Oh. I…don’t know.”

“But you got some theories.” It should be a question, but it’s not and Marie can’t help but wonder how he can be so sure of that statement when even she isn’t.

“I don’t really know that either. I mean, I don’t know why she only acts up sometimes around you, not all the time. Why it’s different…” She trails off, not at all sure that she wants to get into what Jubilee told her.

“Why it’s different with Jeannie and Scooter?” He’s really throwing her off. She remembers the comment that slipped out the last time they were on the deck. So he damn well knows that Jean and Scott are involved in some way, no need to ask. Maybe he wants her to hear herself confirm it.

“Yeah.”

She knows she’s not ready for this conversation. She’s not ready to untangle the gossip from the truth that seems to have wrapped around the main team. Moreover, she’s not prepared to do that with someone who’s involved in all of it. Marie closes her eyes, sees ivory keys and slick black varnish, imagines pale fingers stretching to create different chords. She’s about to pick a scale to recite when her stomach grumbles. Loudly.

Her appetite is a threat to that damn inner peace.

She opens her eyes and wonders if Logan can see her embarrassed flush in uneven light. She can certainly see the quirk of an eyebrow and the twitch of his lips. Not completely letting go of the dark thoughts still clouding his features, but it’s a vast improvement. He slowly reaches over and opens the pizza box for her. Marie has to make a conscious effort not to shove the slices into her mouth like a rabid heathen. She flashes back to a memory of her fourth grade class pet, Mr. Slithers, and how the snake would consume his food in one large bite. She thinks she’s hungry enough to unhinge her jaw and do the same with the pizza she’s rapidly consuming. Maybe if her deteriorating table manners are disgusting enough Logan will lose his appetite and she can have the entire thing for herself. She’ll revisit that odd thought when she’s full.

“Don’t forget to breathe, kid.”

Marie blinks at him like she’s been caught, but he’s not looking at her. He’s slightly less involved in his own food. “Might want to do a finger check too.”

Forcefully, Marie takes daintier bites of her pizza and once she swallows the last bit she does check. Yes, all ten, still there, no bite marks. She’s still slightly civilized. Mission accomplished.


They sit in a much lighter silence for a while after their demolition efforts, leaving the carnage in the cardboard box. No one should have to see that. Marie yawns and she’s fully prepared to go hide now and beach herself like the whale she’s currently feeling like.

She hazards a glance in Logan’s direction. Although lighter with a considerable amount of effort, his expression is still as closed as Fort Knox. Another regret to add to her list. She should’ve just let him continue thinking her reaction had something to do with absorbing Carol. Just one of many examples of how nothing good comes from Sabretooth. Not even mentioning his name.

Logan glances over at her and nods towards to the kitchen. “Go on. I’ll take care of this.”

Ah yes, he’ll dump the evidence. They are now partners in crime.

She reaches the sliding glass doors when she hears the comment he tosses over his shoulder.

“We still got unfinished business.”

Marie stands there for a few seconds. Her brain and the neurotransmitters in it doing the happy dance that comes with stuffing oneself with obscene amounts of food. That’s probably what’s fueling her sudden good mood and the humor she finds in his last comment.

“Pistols at high noon, then?”

Logan turns around to face her and she sees that it only takes a second for his familiar “where do we keep the straightjackets” look to change to “I might find that kind of amusing” look.


She’ll take it.