"...there is no surer way of keeping possession than by devastation."
--Niccolo Machiavelli, "The Prince"
Like everything else in this world, it was the familiarity that tended to spook me more than the differences. Logan's security codes, for one--I fished them up from memory and entered them, hands shaking, but boom, they worked. The door was trickier, but I'd learned the finer points of lock-picking from an expert, and with a few seconds of study and a few minutes of careful rotation, the door yielded.
Little victories were all I really looked for anymore. I didn't do a little dance or break into song, but I grinned when I pushed the heavy wooden door open. No squeak of hinges. I had to be surprised that Logan had oiled them--he usually liked an extra warning system, like bad hinges on his door. Low-tech all the way.
The apartment was about what I would have expected if I'd thought about it. He liked the combination of privacy and security--but not *too* much to arouse the interest of burglars. The brownstone high-rise was just enough out of character for Logan to work.
Carefully, I slipped inside the door, letting my eyes adjust to the dark, only the far window letting in the brilliant lights of the city of New York. Carefully shutting the door, I turned the lock and reactivated his security system--there might be a damn good reason Logan had it on, and I wasn't going to chance anything unexpected and nasty coming to visit in the middle of my revelation.
The furniture was darker blobs in the living room ahead--Logan was a minimalist at heart, so there wasn't much I needed to worry about. Passing the small kitchen to my left, I crossed the small living room and approached the only door. I brushed my fingers over the knob and it gave easily--not locked. Good.
--You ready for this, Marie?--
Sure thing.
There was a vague familiarity associated with this little nighttime trek into Logan's apartment, no matter what universe we were in. Known territory for me, the feel and the smells and the soft sound of his breathing. I'd fallen asleep here and got over ex-boyfriends here and cried my eyes out here--relatively speaking. He'd given me a key and told me to use it anytime, and he'd laughed when I'd told him I'd do his laundry. Hell, I'd even helped pick out the furniture. Armed with a highlighter and pen, stretched out in front of the television while he watched hockey, I'd marked possible furnishings and showed him the fabric samples that I'd picked up along with pizza for dinner.
He'd gone with leather. Such a lack of surprise.
Shutting the door, I leaned up against the wall, hoping he couldn't hear the rapid pounding of my heart and trying to keep my breathing steady as I let my eyes linger over the spartan room. Then I looked at Logan, stretched out in bed, the covers rucked around his waist, and I almost took a step forward in surprise.
He looked so--different. And on some level, no matter how many times I'd seen him in the Mansion, it was still a shock to see in real life.
Even in sleep, the hard lines of his face hadn't diminished, and his body was tense, as if expecting attack at any time. The short hair still threw me, more than I'd expected. He'd never let it get cut that short--up close, I could see even his beloved sideburns were trimmed closer than he had ever allowed. As I watched, he twisted slightly, a low growl reverberating through the room and through my chest. Blinking back tears, I tried to dismiss the images Kitty's memories kept trying to shove into the forefront of my mind--the smells of sterile metal and blood and a hate I understood down to my bones, that I shared absolutely.
A part of me wanted nothing more than to run up and throw my arms around him and apologize for dying on him and leaving him to this. The rest of me--I drew back into the wall, feeling Carol and Logan inside me growing a little stronger, bracing me for what I wanted to do.
--You can do this, Marie.--
Sure I could.
--You know him, honey.-- Carol's voice was careful, almost gentle.
--You said it yourself, Carol; this is a different world.--
A different world that I couldn't quite assimilate. Logan was Logan, any universe, I had to believe that. But this one had gone through things I couldn't even begin to imagine. He was head of school security, the man who scared the living daylights out of a room full of post-wartime mutants, a willing collaborator in the Polaris Project. I didn't know him
He'd saved five hundred mutant children during the war and survived torture and experimentation in the camps. He'd rescued Bobby, Johnny, Scott. He'd led guerilla attacks, had worked as Scott's second in the Resistance, in that final battle that had crushed the human armies and liberated fifteen death camps in the United States. He'd helped save mutantkind and his name was one with legend.
--Just do it.-- And I couldn't be sure what voice said that--but they were right.
"Logan." My voice cracked on his name and I shook myself. I was Rogue, an X-Man and a woman, not a kid.
He came awake instantly, claws flashing out, and I drew in a deep breath, waiting for him to cool. Vivid hazel eyes unerringly found me standing against the door. I wondered if I should turn on the lights. His vision was good either way.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Know my scent, know my scent, know my scent...
"I'm--I'm Rogue, Logan." Slowly, I pulled the wig off, running my fingers through my shorn hair as I dropped the wig on the floor, letting him take me in. It was too dark for me to clearly make out his expression.
Maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe seven years was too long. Maybe--
He flipped on the lamp and I saw the remains of naked shock flickering across his face, before his control snapped into place. Relaxing into the bed, he gave me a patient look. Not what I expected. Nothing even close, and I paused at the foot, blinking.
"Cute, Mystique. How the fuck did you get in here?"
Ewww. I didn't need that sort of imagery.
I waited for a second as he frowned. He got the scent now, taking it in. The patient look vanished as if it had never been there. I had the briefest second to absorb the blank rage that took its place, before he was in rapid motion, and the weight of his body knocked me back three shocked steps into the heavy cool wood of the door, adamantium hot on the skin of my throat. I brought a knee up reflexively and he kicked it out of the way. My feet scrambled helplessly against the wall as his thigh wedged between my legs, flattening me into the wood. My right hand was twisted up within inches of my head, wrist trapped between his fingers, and it was a concerted effort of will to keep my other hand still.
Skin might be invulnerable, but the thing about bones was, they really, really weren't. And I liked my wrist.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Breathe. This isn't your Logan. This Logan survived the death camps and helped rescue children from the exterminators. He's seen things you'll have nightmares about. He thinks you're dead.
--Easy, kid. Take it slow. He's hair-triggered.--
Blindingly obvious, thank you oh so *very* much.
I took a breath against the warm pressure of the adamantium laid against my throat, his, forearm tense, the knuckles of his right hand dangerously close to the bared skin of my throat. His face was almost expressionless, breathing lightly, just on the edge of pure feral rage.
Hair-trigger was just about right. If he flipped over while I was standing here, I could *not* say both of us would survive the night.
"Rogue." Breathe, Marie. Just breathe. He knows your scent. I felt him take me in with another breath, matching it up in his memory. He knew. The scent was right. All me and some of him, just underneath, from when I touched him. Rogue. Marie. Me.
"You're lying." He ground the words out like broken glass between his teeth. I shuddered and felt the metal press deeper into my skin. Adamantium might not break my skin--but then again....
"You never forget a scent--you told me that," I whispered over the pressure against my throat. "You might forget everything else, but you wouldn't forget that." I made sure my free hand was a good distance from my body, so he could see I wasn't trying to threaten, felt him tense against me, adamantium pushing a breath closer.
"She's dead."
"Yeah, I know." And the ways that still spooked me were beyond words to describe. Like, enough so I really *really* tried not to think about it. "I'm--it's hard to explain."
"Fuck that. Explain who the hell you are and why the fuck you're playing this." The cold precision of his voice scared me more than anything had yet. More than rage--he was off the scale, about a half-step from feral. Breathe, Rogue. Think. *Think.*
Okay, bring out the memories. My Big Guns. Well, my only guns. I could only hope they were accurate--that this matched the past of Rogue here, or I was *so* damned screwed. I met the hot hazel eyes and let out a slow breath.
"Marie." He froze--a predator before the jump, a single moment in time where there was nothing but the potential for action. "No one else knows. No one. I told you in the camper." Please God, so far, some things had remained the same in the past. Let this be one of them. "You said--you told me your name and you--you asked what kind of name Rogue was. I told you my name. I never told anyone else."
A pause, thick with tension--he took it in, the pupils of his eyes dilating completely, hazel swallowed into gaping black. He was putting it together, I could see it. Believe, Logan. God, trust your senses, trust your instincts.
"Telepath could figure that out."
What kind of telepaths would--oh fuck. He lived with the New and Unimproved Jean Grey and that pretty chick who kept watching me, Betsy. God knew what they did when they thought it was necessary.
"Telepaths can't read you. They have problems getting in your mind." I met his eyes, reading the disbelief. "A telepath couldn't fish out that memory unless it was right on top of your head. We both know that. You trained in the military and you have the mental discipline to hold out against even X--the strongest psis. Your--your mutation protects you too, from mind-probes." I let out a breath that shuddered. "I'm Marie, Logan. Your Marie. Rogue."
Another pause, longer--the claw wasn't retracting, but it certainly wasn't approaching any closer to my windpipe and that was all kinds of good.
"That isn't possible."
"Yeah, well, that's an opinion, not a fact. Fact is, I'm here, and I sure as hell shouldn't be." Ooh, maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. The tip of metal touched my skin briefly before pulling back just a little, enough so I could breathe easily. He freed my wrist with his other hand, reaching to touch my hair lightly, finger tracing the line of white down to my cheek.
*Really* close to my skin.
"Rogue, right?" A slight smile--he didn't believe and I honestly couldn't blame him. "Prove it."
I barely had time to accept what he was going to do, something that no one had done voluntarily since that one moment on the statue. Touch. My skin. A callused fingertip skimmed the length of my cheek and it was electric. For a frozen second, nothing happened, and the smirk didn't change. Then--
"Fuck!"
He jerked back, claws retracting, stumbling against the bed and almost falling. I sank into the short carpet, fingers burying themselves in the thick carpet, trying to put the pieces of a new Logan into some semblance of order. Sharp lines of rage/hate/fear/pain, too mixed, too strong, I couldn't even begin to sort them out. Pushing them back, I erected a temporary dam and took a long, shuddering breath. I hadn't gotten much. Looking down, I realized my hands were clenched and was vaguely surprised metal hadn't broken out from between my knuckles. They itched. All familiar.
--Darlin'?--
Oh shit--my Logan was still in there.
--Logan?-- I couldn't lose him, I couldn't, I could *not* handle this alone. God. --Logan???--
--WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?--
I shut my eyes, concentrating on his voice in my head, holding it in the storm of new memories and new personality traits and the unbalance that was created by every absorption. I clung to him with all I was until I felt him coalesce, complete and whole and *mine*, the one I knew and loved.
--Sugar, that's you.--
A brief flare of useless denial--he knew that--and then I cleared my head and Logan retreated from my consciousness, a strange cross between bewildered and inactively hostile. Outer Logan wasn't doing much better--straightening against the bed, he stared at me, eyes wide, as vulnerable as I'd ever seen him. Pure pain-remembrance of failure, I felt that slipping through my thoughts, bitter on the back of my tongue. Visions of me lying dead up there and my skin doing nothing but grow colder when he touched it. Cold wind and twisted metal around me--around *him*--unbelieving shock that it hadn't worked, it hadn't worked, it hadn't *worked*....
"Logan," I whispered.
"She's dead." His voice was hoarse.
"She's dead," I agreed, hearing my voice shake. Unsteadily, I levered myself back onto my heels. Carol and Inner Logan were at work helping me restore my tentative balance. "I'm not--not her. Not the one you knew." Trembling, I got my feet back under me, pressing a gloved palm to the wall to steady myself as I stood up. "I'm not--from this place."
"No shit, or Mags'd already co-opted that gift, darlin'." A pause, and he looked at me again--this time, really looked. The streak in my shortened hair, the lines of my face and my body. Taking in the match of scent, the feel of my gift. He knew me. Nothing to do with the mind, everything to do with the body. Smell. Feel. Sound. Things he depended on, things that were his territory, things he trusted. "You're--"
"I'm Rogue at age twenty-three. I didn't--where I come from, I didn't die."
Logan took that in. My inner Logan growled softly, and I felt him and Carol helping sort through the vague flashes of New Loganness I'd gotten, trying to organize. A table in the lab, my silent face, a quiet grave on the outskirts of the Mansion, a rush of animal hatred that seemed to dominate every memory that came after. The camps.
--You know he's under orders to bring mutants with this gift or similar in, right?--
No huge surprise there. Paranoia was my friend.
--There's a reason I'm not usin' the name Rogue 'round here.--
--So we're sitting here with this guy....--
--He's you, Logan.--
--He sure as hell is *not*.--
The vehemence startled me--he was in my head, mixing with the memories I was repressing until I could find time to assimilate them. Logan was under orders from Magneto and *why* did I think he'd help me now? My Logan--he would have died for me.
But--but this one had tried to. I had the concrete proof in my head, and damn it, that had to mean something. Unreadable hazel eyes met mine as he got his strength back, and I waited as he reorganized his mind, bringing the pieces together.
"You say you're Rogue--"
"You always called me Marie." He shuddered, almost imperceptible in the dim light, and the clear eyes left mine, fixing on the wall to my left. "Look, I know this is hard to believe--"
"Impossible crap, kid." Kid. There's no reason that hated term should suddenly ease the pressure in my chest. God, he did believe. He did. At least a little. One step. "I don't--"
"It's me--I--look, I don't know *what* happened." How did I explain to him what I didn't know myself? "I went to get tampons and I came out here. And that's it. I wish--I don't understand what happened and I don't know why. And I--" I froze, watching as he straightened, slowly approaching me.
He was staring at me--tracing every line of my face with his eyes. Something was in them I couldn't quite understand, couldn't really define at all--almost hunger. Then they fixed on my throat and stayed there. I lifted a hand, suddenly aware of what I was wearing when I'd been dropped here, what I'd hidden under my clothes instinctively.
I never really thought about it.
Slowly, Logan reached out, tracing the chain with one finger, and I shakily lifted my hands and pulled it out. Should have remembered--should have known--he'd know this. Knew it as he ran his fingers over it, the blunted, shiny edges from when I'd fondled it over the years, the raised numbers engraved in his memory.
It suddenly made me wonder where his were--the strong throat was bare.
"You're dead." But he didn't look quite so--he looked different. Like something had been confirmed for him. And I had no idea what to make of that.
"She's dead. I'm here."
"This can't happen."
"I know. Trust me, I know. It's--" Words froze, I froze, at the touch of his hand on my hair, hesitating as if I'd break with a breath, running across the streak of white with careful fingers. Tactile reality--scent and sight and touch, tracing me with the tips of sensitive fingers, the lines of my face through my hair, the shape of my shoulders, the scent of me overall. Older and different--but the same.
It was so sudden, so powerful--it was *Logan*, pulling me from the wall into a tight embrace, sudden and overwhelming, and it could have been anytime in my past with him when he held me but it wasn't. A different man was holding me bruisingly close as if he'd never let me go, strong arms wrapped around my waist and my toes could barely touch the ground. I didn't care. Closing my eyes, I buried my face against his shoulder, letting the sheer relief turn my body liquid. He *knew* me. He believed me.
Everything was right in the world. At least here. At least now. At least a little.
"I watched you die." I felt his breath stir my hair and his memories in me pressing forward, the scenes flashed vividly across my mind in painfully bleak grey and black, how he held me and tried and my skin, my fucking skin that had taken so much from me already--it didn't do a thing. How he dropped on the edge of the machine still holding me, how Ororo and Jean had had to bring us down. "God, Marie...."
I *hadn't* gone up there willingly, and the sheer relief of it made me dizzy. God, not so different, the Rogue of this world hadn't been a believer. Thank God.
"Logan," I whispered, feeling myself begin to shake. Instantly, he pulled back, leading me to sit on the bed as I tried to assimilate what I'd pulled from him. Too little, brief flashes, the strongest impressions--his newer nightmares, the ones I'd given him. The reason he slept so badly. Without even meaning to, I reached out, touching his face, feeling the tension of the muscles beneath.
I knew things about myself now--how cold my skin could be when I was dead, how fluorescent lights drained the color from my body, how tiny I could look on a medical bed.
Dear God, no wonder he became this. He watched me die every night of his life.
"Marie."
I jerked my hand away and he caught it before it could drop into my lap, gripping my fingers tightly.
"I thought I was going crazy." Logan had never looked at me like that before. Hungry, disbelieving--and believing. Believing because every instinct in his body was screaming out who I was, and he believed his instincts the way he'd believe nothing and no one else. "I smelled you everywhere."
I could remember everything I'd touched in the Mansion in vivid detail, every place I'd sat down, everywhere the scent would have teased him. I couldn't even imagine what that must have been like.
"It's me. Just--just the me I would have been. I think." If I'd survived, this might not have happened, any of it. Except that machine shouldn't have worked, it *shouldn't* have worked, Robert Kelley should be dead and he wasn't, and I was reminded of that with every dollar bill I saw.
"Tell me what happened." He lowered himself to sit beside me, our knees brushing, and I took a deep breath, trying to decide how. So I told him about the store and the camp, coming to the school with my hair up in a blonde wig, about the name I'd used and the suspicions of Jean and Scott . How I'd found out what Magneto was doing.
"So you came looking for me?" His expression was familiar--he'd looked at me a lot like that when he saw me in his trailer.
--See, I was gonna ask you 'bout that one day, darlin'.--
"Yeah." I felt my inner-Logan grin as well. "We're--we're friends, sugar. You--you did a lot for me."
"And you thought I would too?"
Oh, dangerous question. I lifted my head to stare at him. I couldn't read him like I could read my Logan; this one didn't give a damn thing away. Nothing at all. He'd learned things my Logan hadn't. He'd hardened in ways that frightened me.
But shit, he was still Logan. Period and end right there.
"You were willing to die for me."
"Maybe I was just stupid."
I looked down at my hands, pulling out a trace of memory and holding it up before my eyes.
"You dream about me."
He sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly.
"Got that, huh?"
I shrugged a little, pushing the memories back and away, not yet ready to deal with them.
"A little," I admitted. "Not much. You're better than the alternatives. Everyone thinks I'm dead and Erik's playing god with his machine and I don't wanna end up in it again." I laced my fingers together. "There isn't anyone else who wouldn't hand me over to Erik just for my skin, whether they believed me or not." Maybe Bobby wouldn't, but almost certainly Johnny would. No question.
He frowned a little, giving the wall a long look. When I looked up, I saw a strange, thoughtful look on his face. "What the hell do you want me to do?"
Good question.
"I don't know." It was more than annoying to have inner Logan nodding agreement. "I don't even know what to do with myself. Except I want to go home." Home, where Xavier was smiling over school papers and Scott was being anal and wonderful at the same time and Jean held me when I cried after my first break up. Where Logan--my Logan--was my best friend and confidante. "I know I need help though, and at least--at least one person who knows who I am and...." I began to shake. "I hate using Carol like this, I hate losing myself in her memories. I hate pretending to be someone I'm not."
I hated that this place was way too fucking familiar, that for the grace of God it wasn't my world at all. Grace of God and Logan getting up on that Statue in time.
--You'll get back.-- Carol's voice was gentle in my head, soft almost. Warmth. She'd never been that before, and for some reason, that hurt too.
--I don't even know how I got here.--
--You'll get back.--
I looked up, meeting Logan's steady gaze.
"What's it like? Where you come from."
I wondered what he wanted to hear--because I couldn't be sure this wasn't exactly the kind of world he wanted. Mutants won, humans were trapped, and my Logan had never exactly been fond of regular humans.
But he'd never exterminated them either.
--Marie.--
--Hush up, sugar. I need to think.--
"Different." I shook my head, bracing my hands on the edge of the mattress as if it would give me strength. "There was no war. We're still being discriminated against. No one's died. You're looking for your past. The X-Men do stuff. Big differences." Huge. My face wasn't the one on statues that talked about martyrdom. People knew I hadn't gotten into that machine willingly.
My friends hadn't lost their ethics, their ideals. And mutants hadn't won the war.
Logan nodded slowly.
"And you and me?"
Oh dear God. Get to the complicated questions.
"You and I--we're friends." More than that. I tried to put it into words. "You left for awhile--after the Statue." He winced a little and I hurried on. "But you came back. You trained me. You--you took care of me. You were on my first mission with me." I wanted more, you didn't. No, won't go into that. "You're my best friend. Always have been."
He accepted this--God, he was taking it way too calm.
--Logan, help me out. What's going on?--
--Depends on which one of us you're talkin' to, baby.--
I froze. No. No no no....
--I'm still here. Just--adjusting.-- A pause. --You're not gonna like this, darlin'. He doesn't know what to do now.--
Seven years of difference, of conditioning, of becoming the man he was now. Seven years of difference between the man that climbed that Statue for me and the man that sat on this bed.
--And instinct?--
--Run. Pick you up and run as far as possible. Get you out and not fail.--
I looked up to see him watching me again--still unreadable, still frighteningly familiar.
"You don't know how you got here?"
I mutely shook my head.
"Tell me what happened when you crossed over."
I told him, trying to remember every detail--the door, my chin, the blinding headache, my scraped knee, and the frightened man that helped me and handed me the wrong change.
"Two days ago?"
"Yes."
He nodded slowly, scratching the back of his neck. It was endearing--he did that when he was thinking.
"And you found out Mags is running his machine again."
"Yeah. They--he--you're--people are being gathered to use it--he found a girl he can use. Polaris. She--she volunteered to die in that thing." I choked, remembering the pain of the ripping out of my powers, the feel of my soul being drawn out through my skin. Shivered a little--I'd always wondered if that was how Carol felt, how Logan felt, when they touched me.
--Not exactly. But close. It didn't hurt that much.--
Logan nodded--well, of course. He was helping to run this hellhole.
"I don't--I don't understand. Where I come from, it didn't work."
Suddenly, my shoulders were in a tight grip, turning me around to face him completely.
"It didn't work?" There was a strange intensity to the question--I couldn't get around it, couldn't define it.
"Senator Kelley--he died."
"But up on the Statue--"
"Scott wrecked the machine before the wave hit New York. But here--here, Senator Kelley *survived*, he changed. I don't--"
"He didn't. He died in the Mansion. In the lab."
I jerked my gaze up--my hand went to my pocket and Logan tensed, but I only pulled out the money, and it fell from my fumbling fingers onto the floor. Slowly, he picked it up, frowning as he studied the worn bills.
"He's on there." I flipped the dollar bill over so the portrait was visible. "President Kelley." That was Kelley. I knew the man's face like my own.
"No. She's on there, Mystique." A little smile turned up his lips--almost amused. "No one knows, 'cept the X-Men. Shape-changing, that was what was given out that happened to Kelley, that was his mutation. Mags's trial run failed and Kelley died. He succeeded on the Statue." A pause. "He needed you to make it work. He doesn't know why."
"But that girl--" Polaris. He was putting someone else in that damn thing....
"It'll fail or succeed. He thinks it might need the death of the mutant to bring it to full power, not necessarily your presence."
The death of a mutant, or that special blend of magnet-and-rogue power. I stared down at the money in his hand, blinking. Logan went up that Statue to fetch me. I didn't go willingly. Everything matched up to--
"Then that's when the split occurred. I died here, lived there."
"He ran Polaris in the machine for a test two days ago. Ring any bells?"
My mouth went completely dry.
"You mean--that--that machine is responsible for this?" I remembered what Bobby said--how Polaris wanted to be as brave as Rogue. As I had been. I wondered what she would think if she knew how I'd screamed for help and begged Erik to let me go.
"God," I heard myself whisper. I couldn't even begin to figure this out. "How the *hell*--"
"God hasn't answered in awhile. Try again." Logan shifted on the bed beside me. "You gotta get outta here, baby. Mags finds out you're another absorber, you're might be playin' the part again. And you didn't like it the first time."
No. No, I hadn't.
"If I don't, Polaris dies instead." And maybe all those desperate people, who just wanted to survive in this horrible, horrible world would die too. Who would do anything to be free. God, this wasn't Xavier's dream, how could Scott fool himself into believing that? How?
"Why the fuck do you care?"
I jerked, looking up at him in surprise.
"She's--" I stopped short. What did he mean, so what? Polaris was going to *die* in that thing. Well, shit, look who I was talking to.
--That isn't me.--
--You think? Shit, Logan, this is too weird. I can't handle this. I look at him, and I see you.--
--Well, it ain't any easier from in here either.--
Logan was still staring at me.
"What?"
He shook his head, that strange smile back. Oh yeah, I'm dead here. This must be--freaky as hell. And he was still taking this rather well, all things considered, and that bothered me even more.
"Fuck." He stood up again, pacing to the door--typical-Logan reaction to stress, movement. With a growl, he went to the dresser, fumbling through, and pulled out a cigar. I restrained myself from asking for one myself--wrapping my hands together on my lap, I tried to think of something to say.
"You gotta get outta here--Marie." Hesitation--also lots of shock, but also typical-Logan, tuning it out because he wasn't sure how to deal with it. His eyes slid down my body hungrily and I resisted the urge to stand up and let him look his fill--he had to believe, I needed one person to believe me. But the hazel eyes focused suddenly on my hands, still coated in my leather gloves.
"You didn't learn to control it?"
I shook my head.
"No." I paused, remembering the hours in meditation. "Soon. I know it'll be soon."
--That's right, darlin. Soon.--
Logan stood up abruptly, capturing my full attention.
"I can fix that now."
Without a glance to see if I was following, he walked out the bedroom door. A lot like my Logan, actually, taking my obedience for granted. For a second, I didn't move, but curiosity got the better of me and I followed him into the living room. He was at the desk, pulling out a key from the top drawer and then turning to the wall. Ran his hand along the wood, growling something softly--
"There." Pressing his hand against the wall, he paused, taking a step back. "Logan."
:::Voice print accepted.:::
Startled, I crossed to stand behind him as an invisible panel clicked ajar and he flipped it completely open, reaching inside. Out came something that looked--well, that looked remarkably like a collar. Metal, gleaming silver-bright in the darkened room, picking up the lights of New York. It looked polished.
"What the hell is that?"
He flipped the collar in his hand and grinned, before shutting the panel and turning around.
"Genoshan specialty. Camp control. We kept the technology--turned out useful sometimes." He flipped it over again, putting the key in. I shivered as I watched it slide open. "Com'ere."
--Don't.-- That was Carol, a hiss across the top of my head that made my scalp itch. --Genoshan collar, Rogue. You've heard the rumors.--
I hesitated, and Logan's head tilted, a slightly sardonic smile curling the corner of his mouth.
"You come here and tell me this crap, *now* you don't trust me. Irony, darlin'." I still couldn't read him--I needed to sit down and assimilate him in my head, get a better feel for the man in front of me. My usual-Logan couldn't help much with this.
"What will it do?" I took a step, pausing to eye the collar uncertainly.
"Turn you off. It won't hurt." A long pause, while I stared at it, taking in everything that could mean. Turn me off. Everything--skin, strength, flying, invulnerability. As helpless as I hadn't been since before I manifested. "Trust me or not."
Oh. That was the way of it.
--Believe.--
And I had no idea what voice said that.
Slowly, I walked over and turned around. The long fingers lifted my hair, pressed the collar around my throat. I heard the click of the key and then, suddenly, everything in my head shifted.
*Shifted* three inches over, as if the entire world was trying to get away from my feet and leave me lingering in limbo.
"Oh *fuck*." I grabbed for my throat as a wave of dizziness threatened to overcome me. Strong hands braced themselves under my arms and I drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and even more slowly, the arms withdrew, touching my face lightly.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." I moved slowly, testing out the feel of this--my body felt different. Heavier, almost. I concentrated--nothing. No float, no hover. Just--here.
--God, Logan, this is weird.--
And--and nothing. I raised a hand to my head in shock.
--Logan? Logan! Carol! What the hell--
"Marie?"
"My--" I stopped, pushing down raw panic. "The voices are gone. Everyone--there's no one there." I ran around in my head, but only my own thoughts were there. Nothing else. I felt--strangely empty. Like a warehouse emptied of all merchandise, alone and yelling, only hearing the echoes of my own voice.
Then a hand brushed across my face and I stiffened automatically, beginning to jerk away, but Logan grabbed my shoulder, pulling me closer. The feel of bare skin on mine--I drew in a breath as every nerve came alight, shocked into the reality. I could touch. I could *touch*. He tilted my head up, looking into my eyes, and I felt my body begin to shiver.
I'd seen that look on Logan's face before. But never directed at me.
"How does it feel?"
I opened my mouth, trying to speak. Bare, wonderful skin against mine--I wanted to taste it and breathe on it, run my tongue over every inch of the hand against my chin, explore the textures and the warmth. Wonderful. Amazing. Incredible. Bare fingers on my cheek, on my neck, touch, it ran all through me and a wave of pure arousal flickered through my body that I tried to control, remembering all those lessons from Jean in control of my mind, all those meditation exercises, all those years and years of work to make myself strong. They flipped into place, but--but God, he had to sense it on me.
I'd always wanted his touch and he had to know that too. God, what a time to get this. What a damn *awkward* moment, but I couldn't help it. I'd wanted this for years.
"Fine."
"Most people stay dizzy for awhile. Sit down, get used to it."
Oh. *Oh*. He wasn't talking about the touch--he was talking about the collar and my new powerless state. Good Rogue, make everything about sex. There were more important things to be worried about here, like, hey, survival. I nodded slowly and he removed his hand from my skin--it was like withdrawal, I staggered a little, and his hand caught my elbow, helping me sit down.
"Weird," I whispered. Beyond words to describe. Jerking off a glove, I stared at my fingers and turned, seeing Logan so close beside me--
--I had to. Simple, instinctive, he was inches away.
He didn't move when I reached out, my finger hovering a breath away from his cheek, and then his fingers covered mine, pushing down until warm skin was beneath the tip of one finger. I cupped the skin and sideburns, and there was *nothing* that could be better than this, nothing that....
He pulled my hand away and I almost jerked my hand back to touch him.
"Here." Then he pressed something into my hand. "This'll unlock it. The lock is behind your left ear." A smile now--he was showing I could trust him. Damn me, and I'd hesitated when he'd taken the collar out. I nodded, putting the key carefully in my pocket, feeling the metal with bare fingers. Texture was still something relatively different to me. "It'll help you on campus--just keep it covered with somethin'."
Shit, that was a good idea. Brilliant, even, and I fingered the collar again. Granted, I was no longer invulnerable and I couldn't fly or use my strength, but at very least, if someone touched me, they wouldn't get their brains sucked out.
"So what do you plan to do exactly?"
I shrugged, still exploring the curiously empty arena of my mind, the undeniably strange feeling of skin that didn't injure. Shaking myself clear of self-absorption, I looked back at Logan.
"I don't know. If the machine is the reason, if he runs it with Polaris, I may be able to find a way back. But--" But I needed Hank, Xavier, someone who understood this crap. Someone who would know advanced physics and math and weird parallel universes. Someone who could explain why I crossed over and how on earth it had happened. "But I don't know how it happened." And I didn't want Polaris to die because of it either.
The machine had worked with my death. And now, seven years later, he took it on a test drive with Polaris and it did--*this*. For no reason--there was no reason that the store had been an entry point. There was no reason why--
--oh *shit* did I need some serious thinkers to help me out here.
"I think I know who you need to talk to." I started, but Logan wasn't looking at me, gaze fixed on the far wall as if it could solve every problem in the universe if he just stared at it long enough. To me, it just looked like cream paint.
"Who?" Who could I trust, who wouldn't turn me over to Magneto, who would understand...
"Hank McCoy'll be in town. I think he might be interested in this little situation."
"Hank?" What kind of Hank? A good, nice, ethical doctor Hank, or did I want to know what he could be doing in this brave new world?
"Let's say he's not a fan of the new world order, darlin'. Or big into Mags's latest enterprise."
I nodded numbly, and realized that I was still fingering the collar. Reaching up, I pressed the key into the slot--with a little fumbling, it slid smoothly in and I turned it sharply, feeling it slide off effortlessly and into my lap. The rush was extraordinary--my skin, for the briefest instant, felt as if it were burning, and the tingling of invulnerability settled around me. When I looked up, I felt Logan's intent gaze again and felt myself begin to flush under it.
He was just surprised. I wasn't the little girl he remembered. That was all, it had to be.
The voices were faint but beginning to return, and I wondered, light-headedly, what Logan and Carol would say to *this* development.
"Marie."
I turned my head to see Logan paused at the kitchen door, a strange expression on his face--half frown, half curiosity.
"Yeah?"
"Why'd you get in the trailer?" he asked softly, and I blinked at the question that seemed to come out of nowhere. Sheesh, good question. Why *had* I gotten in the trailer? Strangely, I'd never asked myself that. It was all mixed up in desperation and fear and hunger, but more than that, because, frankly, there *had* been better options that night.
Turning it over in my mind, there was only one real answer I could make.
"I knew you wouldn't hurt me. Not ever."
There was a flicker of something in his eyes, before he disappeared behind the dividing wall and I leaned back into the couch, taking a long breath.
--So, Inner Personalities, how'd I do?-- I teased. Logan and Carol were not amused.
I really didn't care.
I feel asleep on Logan's couch and woke up with a blanket lightly spread over my body and a vague sense of well-being that evaporated the second I opened my eyes.
The collar was on the coffee table and I sat up, rubbing my head absently as I looked at it.
"Awake?"
I turned and--oh God. God, God, God. Jeans, no shirt, barefooted, making coffee. He'd done that often enough when I'd stayed over at home, but that was just a little too surreal for my mornings these days. I pulled the blanket off my lap and slowly stood up.
"Yeah." Calm. Libido down, girl. This isn't--anything *close* to an appropriate time to think about the fact that he looks incredible. Just incredible. Just showered. Nice soap. He's holding out a cup of coffee. Why don't you be a dear and go take it? Good girl. Good girl. Now take a drink--yes, strong, yes, it should wake you right up.
--Interesting effect he has on you, honey.-- Carol's mental snickering was *not* something I could handle this early and I waved vaguely at my head, as if she could see it and get the message to shut up.
"Morning." I murmured, fixing my eyes on the mug, drawing in a deep breath. So he had a great chest. I'd seen it before. I'd slept on it before, for God's sake. Nothing new here. Nothing at all.
"Mm." Logan wasn't a morning person either--like mentor, like student. I turned my wrist to look at my watch. Damn.
"I--I need to get back to campus." I shook my head at his sharp glance.
"What for?" He leaned back against the counter with just delicious grace, and I forced my eyes back to my cup. To the coffee. Non-sexy coffee. Screw that, coffee was sexy when you were drinking it a few inches from someone who could double as an underwear model. Levi stock would damn well *leap* if he was the advertisement for their jeans.
"Bobby--Bobby's expecting me. For sparring." I'd tried to think of a way out of that one--short of going to look for full-coverage spandex work-out clothes and people wondering why on earth I was dressing like I planned to star in a questionable porn film--but even my powers of invention were stumped.
"You don't wanna go?"
I shook my head, taking another drink. "Risky. I can't tell him--you know, about my skin. And if we fight and he touches me--" I trailed off as Logan nodded, taking a thoughtful sip of coffee while his gaze fixed somewhere around my left ear. His thinking look. "I-my other powers will be turned off too, the ones I admit to. So I can't wear the collar." And Bobby would kick my ass without it, no question. I was good, but he had at least fifty pounds and some serious inches on me. I could hurt him, but not much. Pure skill could only get you so far.
"Did you tell anyone where you were goin' last night?"
I snorted, saw his lips twitch with what could have been a smile.
"Yeah, that'd be subtle." I took another drink, thinking. "I told Kitty I was looking up a friend though--she let me borrow a car." I wondered rather vaguely why I hadn't been followed. "I guess I should call or something."
"I'll call Scooter and tell him I needed you for something." Logan put down his mug, going to get the pot again.
"For what?" What reason could Logan possibly....
Logan grinned a little--it hurt my heart, to see that. Way too familiar.
"He won't get a chance to ask. Besides, he knows I check out all the new recruits anyway--he'll figure I'm pissed you weren't included in the latest list." A nod to himself as he filled his cup. "Go relax or somethin'."
Relax. I stretched my back, hearing the soft pop. "You--do you mind if I take a shower?"
A slight grin, though he didn't look up at me. "Feel free." Putting the coffee pot down, he turned back around, giving me a quick once-over. "There's some school sweats in the bottom drawer if you wanna change clothes until you get back to campus."
A nice way of saying my clothes looked like shit after sleeping in them. Never thought he'd have that much subtlety. Grinning, I finished my coffee and put down the mug, running my fingers absently through my tangled hair as I went to his room. As I turned to shut the door, I saw the fix of Logan's eyes on me briefly, before he turned away and disappeared out of my line of sight into the living room. Faintly, I heard him pick up the phone.
I felt better after the shower, even more so with clean clothes, and far more awake. Walking back out, I twisted my hair back up automatically, then remembered that I didn't need to put on the wig again for awhile. As I entered the living room, Logan was putting down the phone and the hazel eyes fixed on me with alarming intensity.
I wondered how it felt, to see the girl you thought was dead. Shit, it couldn't be easy.
"Hank'll be here in a couple of days."
"I thought you said--"
"He's worried about being detained in Salem if he shows his face. Took me a bit to persuade him I wouldn't tell Erik if he comes."
Slowly, I sank onto the couch a few feet from him, looking down at my bare hands. I'd left my gloves off last night, the first time I could remember doing that in a long time. With a glance, I spotted them by the collar--an addictive little device, had to admit.
"Did you tell him why?" I couldn't keep my eyes off the collar--stripped and helpless though it made me feel, it gave me something else--I felt *normal*. Normal as I hadn't been since I was fifteen.
"Nah. He trusts me." A pause, while I ruminated that thought--I didn't know enough about this Hank to guess whether that was something that was to be considered unusual or not, and suddenly, I wanted to spend five minutes just *not* thinking about any of it.
Temptation was close--I finally reached out and picked up the collar, running my fingers over it. Glanced up to see Logan's knowing gaze and quickly looked back down.
"How does it work?"
He shrugged lightly.
"No idea. Gotta ask Hank about that--he studied them, along with some of the other anti-mutant technology we collected after the war." Pushing the key over, he stood up, and a strange sense of panic seized me.
"Are--are you leaving?" I didn't think I could handle that. The last thing I wanted was to be alone now--too much on my mind, and finally, one person who knew who I was, and who it was safe for me to know. He frowned slightly--more in thought than anything else, though I could pick up vague traces of general alarm.
"Not for awhile." A pause. "You want me to stay?"
"I'd--" I stopped myself, tearing my gaze away from him and fixing it back on the smooth metal of the collar. Shit, this was awkward. "I--I don't--it's been weird, you know? I had to--hide and not--pretend I don't know anyone. It's--I like knowing one person. I like being myself for awhile."
He considered that.
"Give me an hour to talk to Scooter." Another long glance--God, it felt strange. He didn't know me at all, and I knew him so well and at the same time...oh no, that way led madness. I didn't want to examine anything right now. With a grateful smile, I nodded, rubbing my fingers along the edges of the collar and leaning back into the sofa as he went into his room.
I hadn't really realized how tired I was--before he left, Logan sent me to his room to sleep, pointing out, quite rightly, that Scott or anyone *could* drop by, and I should at least try to stay out of sight if I didn't want to put the wig back on.
And I didn't, so I curled up in Logan's bed, surrounded by his familiar scent, and drifted off again in a general haze of familiar comfort. My first night had been--not good--and my second had been stretched out on Logan's couch, not even sure when it was I'd fallen asleep.
So no, I wasn't protesting. Logan's bed was familiar, another tiny shred of comfort. If that made me weak, so be it. I needed what I could get.
It was much later when voices woke me up--sitting up slightly, I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the door, vaguely trying to identify the people outside the room, then checked the window to note that late afternoon was descending into evening rapidly. Logan was talking to someone--I concentrated and then pulled myself awkwardly to my feet and slowly approaching the door, eyeing my discarded wig on the desk chair.
The door was reassuringly locked at my touch, but I didn't feel much better.
"Scott wants you back on campus."
Logan snorted.
"Taking a personal day, Drake." Oh damn--shoulda recognized his voice, but he sounded so--stiff. Different from the Bobby I knew and this Bobby that I'd met. "I'll be back tomorrow. Got some things to do."
There was an uncomfortable pause between them, too much depth behind it for it to be a result of anything that was actually happening in that room right that second. I tried to pinpoint location by the sound of their voices. Logan was a little closer, so I guessed he was nearer the bedroom door. Knowing Bobby, he was standing right in the middle of the room, arms crossed.
Why did I have a bad feeling about this?
"Drake, spit out the real reason you're here--no bullshit about Scooter neither."
Another pause, even longer and more uncomfortable.
"Scott said Marie was with you. I wanted to check up on her, since she left so suddenly yesterday." A pause. "Is she here?"
I flattened myself against the wall, holding my breath.
"I have to check her out, Bobby. You know that." Logan's voice was almost--gentle? I frowned, because why would--
"Here?"
Silence again. Then Logan snorted, loud in the silence of the apartment.
"I knew her sister, Drake." He did? Dear God. "Danvers was in the same camp me and Kitty were in." I could hear Logan shifting--classic signs of Logan-discomfort. "She wants information."
"Where is she now?"
"Sleeping," Logan answered briefly, and I recognized that tone completely. Apparently, Bobby did too--his feet shifted softly and finally, I heard his footsteps steadily fade toward the door.
There was a pause.
"Can you tell her I was looking for her?" Bobby's voice was quiet.
"I'll tell her."
The door opened and shut without a single hint of slamming. I didn't move for a minute, then slowly began to straighten, reaching out to unlock the door and push it open.
Logan turned as I hesitantly crossed the threshold, looking around the quiet living room. He still sucked in picking out furnishings. The couch, now that I was completely conscious and less traumatized, was utterly atrocious. Some greens should not exist. The coffee table was just--ew. I almost asked him to let me go shopping for him. My Logan had known his own style limitations too.
"Bobby was here," he said unnecessarily, and I nodded mutely, playing with the edge of the oversized grey sweats. "You hungry?"
Was I? Surprisingly, yes. Stretching out back muscles I hadn't even known I'd tensed, I nodded again and slipped onto the couch, reaching absently for the collar on the edge of the coffee table. I didn't want to discuss Bobby. I especially didn't want Logan asking me about him.
"Marie?"
I jerked my gaze up to see him watching me again.
"I'm fine. Just--" I waved a hand around in general, trying to formulate something that made sense. Nothing came to mind.
"Relax," Logan said finally, and I smiled a little at that, then glanced away.
"Logan--"
He stopped, turning around to give me a curious look.
"Why do they--does everyone think I went up there on purpose? On the Statue?"
Something chased across his face--something bright-painful, sharp and raw as the day it'd happened, and I wished I hadn't asked yet, waited until he was more secure with my existence. So they'd perpetrated a lie--most people who did this sort of thing to dead people tended not to have to answer to them later.
"We needed a symbol," he said slowly, carefully, as if he were picking his way across a room of broken glass with bare feet. I could see on his face that it did, and I nodded, the other questions, even the accusations of what they'd used me for, dampened a little in the knowledge of the pain of my death for him. I wanted answers, but I couldn't get them from him. Not now. "Marie, I didn't--"
"It's okay," I said softly, and even believed it at that moment. Keeping my eyes down, I waited and he waited, then I heard his footsteps pad softly away.
Two nights of safety in Logan's apartment, and I figured I was ready to face the world again.
Tempting though it was to remain curled up under his blankets indefinitely and have him bring me food for the duration of my stay, I knew I couldn't--not if I wanted out of here, and certainly not if I didn't want to attract unwanted attention. When Logan went to campus the next morning, I went with him, curled into the front seat in school sweats that were about four sizes too big and aware that I didn't look my best under these conditions.
I wanted make-up and hair gel. Shit, I just wanted my hair back. And women's deodorant. Was that too much to ask? Damn, I was being girly. And I really didn't care.
"Marie--"
I looked up from my self-pity party as we came to a sudden stop in the garage. A quick glance around confirmed that we'd arrived. I hadn't realized we'd gotten out of New York already, yet here we were in Westchester. Logan flipped the engine off and turned toward me, giving me a long look.
I'd been avoiding looking directly at him so far that morning. Blue flannel and white t-shirts did something to my libido--always had. Probably should have figured out the connection around the time I convinced Bobby to get flannel sheets for our bed, but hey, no one ever gave me awards for my perceptiveness. The worn brown leather jacket, butter soft and so well-used it clung to him perfect, was just icing on the proverbial Logan-cake. And it didn't hurt at all that the shortened dark hair emphasized the strong bones of his face in ways that did a pitter-patter routine around heart-level.
God, he looked good. God, I needed to prioritize.
"Yeah?" I tore my gaze down to fix on his duffel bag between us, catching the edges of his smile.
"Meet me here after lunch, okay?" He reached out and pulled my face up, expression perfectly serious. "We'll go contact Hank then."
Slowly, I nodded. Had I ever noticed his eyes were the perfect shade of hazel? Not too brown, not too green, flickering in and out in a strangely hypnotic pattern that I wanted to spend some quality time studying. A tap to my chin dragged me back into the real world and I flushed, dropping my gaze back to--the duffel bag.
It was brown canvas and as non-sexy as things came. Or so you'd think.
"All right. Try to stay outta Jeannie's way, 'kay? Scott'll be too busy to wonder 'bout you." With that, a proclamation of intent to Distract Scott, he got up and out, and I hastily turned toward the door, pushing it open numbly and leaning forward--
--crap, I forgot to take off the seatbelt.
Fumbling it off, I felt him looking at me again and wondered if I looked like a tomato yet. With a smirk I caught from the corner of my eye, he wandered off and I leaned against the car and thought about what to do first.
Shower. Change clothes. Go hide somewhere. In that order.
Kitty wasn't in our room, and I was so glad that my mood took an upswing as I pushed the door closed and walked to the small dresser across from my bed that I'd packed my clothes in. Pulling out a long-sleeved blue cotton shirt, I dropped it on the bed and pulled out a pair of jeans and a pair of leather gloves I'd grabbed in the leather shop. I missed my wardrobe--it was extensive and creative and had flair, with gauze and silk and spandex and skirts, giving me full body-coverage and some claim to fashion.
I was beginning to feel like a reject from the grunge age now.
And the *gloves*--I shivered and peeled off the felt, dropping them on the bed and running my hands over the fine leather. I hadn't bought off-the-rack in years--Xavier had found me a specialty shop run by a gamma class mutant who had all my gloves fitted and hand-sewn. My formal wear too, but always the gloves, that I needed to do even simple things. I had dozens of pairs--silk, leather, gauze, velvet, satin, vinyl, cotton, wool, and nylon. All so perfectly made that I hadn't gotten a glove-related callous in years. Summer and winter and autumn and spring, all colors, all styles.
I could be accused of a glove fetish, come to think of it.
Pulling on the gloves, I checked their flexibility--I hadn't skimped on quality at least. Very nice. Slightly too wide in the finger and palm, but the finger length was okay, and they reached halfway to my elbow. So far so good. Making a fist, I felt the soft leather bunch and twist. Not perfect, certainly not what I was used to, spoiled as I was, but they would do. Stripping it off, I rummaged for the other pair I'd grabbed before checking out, plain cotton. Cotton was flexible. Cotton was shrinkable. I could soak my hands with these in hot water and get a perfect fit, or close to.
A pity I hadn't grabbed some scarves while shopping, but then again, I just had to think that might have been a bad idea.
Putting the cotton back for later, when I'd make some time to customize them, I grabbed my last pair of underwear and closed the drawer. The bathroom was dark and I used my shoulder to flick the light on, putting my clothes down on the toilet and unpinning my wig, tossing it on the toilet. Unsurprisingly, it slid right off the slick white surface and plunked onto the floor between the toilet and the shower. Great. Removing the pins, I carefully laid them in a small pile at the back of the sink and finger-brushed my hair quickly. The mirror reflected a stranger, and I tapped the glass experimentally, watching the green eyed woman do the same.
I wished I hadn't inherited Carol's eyes.
Turning away, I stripped off the sweats and tossed them in the laundry basket by the door, then flipped the shower on. Oh crap. Towel check. There we are. We're good. I stacked two on top of my clean clothes, considered retrieving the wig, and then shook my head and got in.
Hot shower. Long hot shower. No one was looking for me, I could conceivably take a nice, long, bubbly bath and meditate on the fact I was in a foreign world. Nah. Go for the shower. I picked up Kitty's shampoo and thoroughly wet my hair.
Shit, I needed a razor. And my own deodorant--I'd picked up a toothbrush at the mall that first day, but forgot the deodorant. For some reason, it just felt wrong to use Kitty's. Didn't mean I wouldn't, just--I sighed. I had eight dollars. I'd go shopping.
Somewhere less stressful than the mall.
"Marie? You in here?"
Kitty. How nice. I rinsed out the soap from my hair, closing my eyes and losing anything she said in the interim of rushing water through my ears. I surfaced as the bathroom doorknob turned and I realized with a spurt of horror--
--oh dear God, I hadn't locked the door. Obviously, I'd gotten *way* too comfortable at Logan's.
"Marie?"
The shower curtain was a perky yellow. Couldn't see much of anything through yellow. Kitty had always been a private bathroom person--why the *hell* was she in here?
"Yeah," I managed, putting down the shampoo and wondering what on earth to do now. I couldn't put my finger on why exactly it felt weird to start the body-washing process with Kitty a vinyl curtain away, but it did. Very weird. "Need something?"
"Bobby thought he saw you come in. We're running into town to pick up some stuff, and he said you didn't have much when you got here. You wanna go?"
The Razor and Deodorant Gods were laughing their asses off. Ask and ye shall receive indeed. I spit out water that got into my gaping mouth and nodded, then realized she couldn't see me.
"Sure," I answered as I pushed my hair back from my face. "Give me five minutes." The white streak was in my eyes, I needed to do a quick conditioning before I got out. My hair--
--my hair was on the floor. By the toilet. God and little sheep, this couldn't be anything but bad.
"Cool." Through the curtain, I could see her silhouette take a step toward the sink while I froze under the semi-boiling-hot water, much as a deer might in headlights. She'd see the pins. She'd notice--
"Damn, when did I leave these out?"
There went my pins. I heard her opening several drawers, the cabinet, tried to identify where my pins were going, but no dice. My pins were gone. My wig was on the floor.
I needed her out of the bathroom before she went cleaning this direction.
"Um, Kitty--"
"Yeah?" Another drawer opening.
"Could I--um, you know...." Crap, would it be suspicious if I asked for privacy? Would it be even *more* suspicious if I didn't? Was this a test?
--Are you paranoid, honey?--
--Carol, if you can't be constructive, go back on hiatus.--
There was a faint inner chuckle and then she faded back to watch the show. I wished I wasn't so amusing to my other personalities. Disturbing thought, that.
"Huh? Oh!" I heard her open and shut a drawer. "Sure, babe. Sorry. Be right outside."
Translation--I could NOT get out of this bathroom without going right by her. Turning slightly as she shut the door behind her, I hit my head on the tile and saw stars.
They were laughing at me too.
As quickly as I could, I washed off and rerinsed my hair, checking out the bathroom quickly before grabbing my towel. I wanted to lock the door so badly I could taste it, but somehow, I just didn't think that would engender any affection. If they were suspicious, it would only make it more so. Perhaps suspicious enough to check out what I was doing behind a locked door.
Wrapping a towel around my hair, I grabbed the other one and stepped out, leaving the shower on. The happy yellow rug under my feet was an insult to my panic. Drying off, I pulled on my underwear and shirt, pulling on the jeans and bouncing when I realized they were a size too small. Mental note--always check the sizes. Always. I pulled up the wig and straightened it a little before plopping it on the toilet and dropping the wet towel over it.
Just in case.
Okay, pins. Not this drawer, how does Kitty organize again? Panic wiped out my functional brain. I frantically made my way through all three drawers on the sink before remembering Kitty kept hair thingies in the cabinet and spun around, jerking open the door. The sheer level of organization stopped me mid gulp. She had a system. Me and Jubes had never paid attention. God, I wish we had.
I needed my pins. Just do it, Rogue. I mean, uh, Marie. Calm. Calm.
The first shelf was brushes and combs and curling irons--oh, a hair dryer. Remember that. Second shelf--tampons, pads, embarrassing stuff. Speaking of that, I needed to grab a few. Moving on--soap, hair gel, barrettes, hair clips, hair--pins.
My pins. Oh thank you GOD.
I dumped out the ones on top and pulled the towel off, grabbing my wig and almost inserting my head in the cabinet. The cabinet door blocked the view from the door and partially from the mirror. That was good. Very good. Brushing quickly, I secured my hair into manageability and shoved in the pins as quickly as I could, before dropping the wig on top. A quick check of the mirror to assure it was straight, then I went to town making sure the chin-skimming blonde was secured so tightly that a tornado would find it still attached to me. It was a little damp from the towel, but I'd been in the shower. It was all good.
Panic subsiding, I went back to the shower and checked for traces of white hair. None. That was nice. Then hung the towels neatly so they could dry, before checking my appearance in the mirror. The blonde woman was startling--but then, she was every time. I could almost swear I was starting to *look* like Carol.
--Not really-- Carol remarked caustically. --Too thin and the lips are too big.--
--Full-- I corrected automatically. No defense for my body--I *was* thin and all the hoping in the world wouldn't round out my body any further. I didn't think it would have hurt that if I got Carol's eyes I also got her breast size. --I have full lips.-- Pouty lips, even. Not big. I ran a hand through the blonde wig, vaguely startled to see the mirror do the same thing. --I look so--different.--
--You look fine, darlin'.--
I tilted my head.
--You never talk to me when I'm undressed.-- It was meant to be a tease, but it suddenly occurred to me--Logan had *never* been vocal during my naked periods. --Why is that?-- I was genuinely curious.
--You wanna get out there before they come knockin'?--
It was as transparent an evasion as he'd ever bothered with and I was surprised he'd even tried. He had a point, though, and I nodded with one last look before pulling on my gloves and pushing the door open--but not before securing a couple of tampons in one pocket for the trip. Kitty looked up from her bed, where she was reading a back issue of Vogue, tossing out a bright smile. She looked nice--bright blue blouse, matching skirt, cute little shoes, and that perfect lipstick color that I'd never been able to find for myself. Easily could have posted for *Mutant Mademoiselle* or something. I felt a longing for my wardrobe so sharp that was almost painful.
"Hey." She gave me a once-over that made me painfully aware that my jeans were about an inch too short. "Get your shoes and come on. Bobby's driving."
Bobby was driving. I might not survive this.
We went into Salem Ce-Complex, somehow completely avoiding going anywhere near the camp. My database searching a few days earlier had given me some of the rough stats on the sucker; it was big. Ten miles on the short side, fifteen on the long. A pretty good rectangle, covering a nice section of Salem Center and some of the surrounding countryside to the east. In the distance, I got a glimpse of the watch towers, but nothing more, and the giggling group with me didn't seem interested in looking.
I wondered if it made them uncomfortable. Or maybe they were just holding down their breakfast from Bobby's driving. I winced when what should have been a tiny bump tossed us all upward--there was something vaguely wrong about trying to break land-speed records in a vehicle designed for luxury driving.
It was a nice car, though--later model BMW, and very, very close to getting wrapped around a tree, signpost, or some random object that was foolish enough to get in Bobby's general area. I swallowed hard as Bobby performed a interesting maneuver that got us past a light I could have sworn was red, glad I hadn't eaten anything at Logan's but some dry toast. Bobby couldn't drive. Not well. Not with people. Probably not alone either. Luckily, there wasn't much in the way of traffic to maul. Piled in the front seat were Kitty and Betsy, who gave me a narrowed look before turning her full attention back to whatever Bobby was saying. Pressed uncomfortably close to my right was Johnny, pushing me into the door, and Piotr and Remy completed the group.
Jubilee wasn't here, and I had a bad feeling that if I went to that cemetery again, I'd know why. A search of Kitty's memories would give me the answer and so would a simple question to Logan, but I'd avoided it.
"Marie?"
I turned to face Johnny, who was only inches away, and automatically my body wanted to retreat. I held it masterfully in place, proud of my self-control, though the fact that I was flat against the left side passenger door was probably the more accurate reason for the fact I was still in the seat.
"Yeah?"
"Logan got the report on your car. You should have it back soon."
"Oh good." Hopefully, he'd figure out the weirdness of that entire--whoa doggies, how the hell did *Johnny* know my car was missing? "Where we going?" Better not get too flustered--he was on beta team and did security stuff, so he'd have access to the reports. Of course.
"The mall."
Oh. Just damned peachy--the mall. Shoulda guessed. That nice, blank, deserted mall full of scared people. Bobby took another corner at ninety degrees, as if trying to prove a BMW was actually an acrobat in disguise. I was thrown into the door, and Johnny was pressed up into every inch of me for a few brief seconds as we straightened out on the road.
His face brushed my hair and I reacted, hand going to the door, jerking loose of my seatbelt effortlessly. Three cheers for super strength.
Thirteen second later, the car was turned around and slowly making its way back to me like a whipped puppy, as I sat on the side of the road, breathing out slowly and fighting the urge to run.
Inner Logan and Inner Carol were too utterly aghast to even bother yelling at me. My head was echoing silent. It was all good.
Slowly, the passenger side window rolled down and Kitty peered out.
"You okay, Marie?" Her voice was but two degrees removed from that used on psychiatric patients standing on high ledges. I fought the urge to try out a manic grin.
Well, yeah, I was okay. Invulnerability had its advantages--to wit, one Rogue, one asphalt road, a little rolling, a bit of hovering. I would have been out of the car even if I hadn't been pretty much immune to the effects of sliding on painfully abrading surfaces, but it was nice to know my mutation was useful for keeping me alive during the process of evacuation from a moving vehicle trying to top the Indie 500's maximum speeds. Johnny had had a seatbelt on, I'd noted before I kicked the door closed during my jump. That was good too.
He was also conscious and un-absorbed, and that was even better.
"Fine." I didn't move. I wasn't sure I was going to move for a damn long time. At least until the urge to pee in terror had passed. That could be never.
"Ummm--is everything okay?"
Oh, I should probably explain. Uh....
"Claustrophobia."
It popped out with a faintly Santa Fe accent, Carol having the sense to realize I probably wasn't up to talking. My skin burned as if St. John had touched it, and God, if he had brushed me, he could be--
--let's not think about that or you'll be taking a bathroom break right here, clothes or no clothes. And these, before my acrobatics, were some fairly nice jeans, even if they were too small.
Kitty frowned at my statement, then the brown eyes widened in sympathy. Betsy was scowling, muttering something to Bobby, but I ignored her.
"Oh. I'm sorry, chica." She was thinking, obviously. "Betsy, move to the back seat. Would you feel better up front, babe, by the window? I can phase out so you don't feel as crowded."
Oh wow. I had to give Kit credit for brilliance. That was a damn good idea. I nodded, standing up and dusting off my jeans. There was a hole in the knee. Crap.
The exchange was fast and Kitty scooted over, almost instantly phasing out as I carefully got in and sat down. Behind me, the conversation was in whispers--they were wondering what camp experience I'd had that would lead to that sort of reaction. Their imaginations would do far better to supply the info than I ever could, so I leaned against the door and steadied my breathing, casually laying a gloved hand over my knee.
When I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw Johnny's steady gaze on me and quickly fixed my eyes back on the deserted road ahead. It was the longest trip to the mall in my life.
The first thing I noticed was that there were *a lot* of mutants doing their shopping this time. All kinds--not so many alpha class, but tons of the others, chatting and wandering around, generally acting like normal people. Was this Mutant Shopping Day? Should I mark my calendar?
I also noticed that most of the people who worked the stores were mutants too--not all, but most. Easy to spot on even the most human-looking ones--not a trace of blue on their wrists and wearing an ID around their neck, similar to mine. Kitty had apparently grabbed mine off the dresser before we left, because she'd presented it to me at the mall door, showing me her own draped just above the dropped neckline of her yellow blouse.
"Get used to always wearing it. This is Institute-issue." As if that explained everything. I needed to ask Logan a few more questions. Nodding as if I completely understood, I'd slipped it over my head and felt like an oppressor waiting for a minority to harass. Dear God.
However, the shopping went without major incident, and I suspected that this little get-together was not only planned, but specifically planned for me. Kitty, being Kitty, dragged me and Betsy into half a dozen shops within the first few hours as the guys waited outside--hold it....
*Why* weren't Bobby, Johnny, and the boys making for the comic book stores like the world would end if they didn't break some speed records getting there?
"Kitty," I asked at the seventh shop, clutching the our purchases as she held up yet another short sleeved blouse. I wanted long sleeves. She didn't quite understand that yet. "Why are the guys waiting outside?"
"They don't like this store." She ducked back into the stand, frowning in concentration, then picked up and discarded something in butter yellow.
"I mean," I said, shifting the bag--three pairs of jeans were resting inside, she was quick and had gotten my size on a glance. She had that sort of talent. I envied it. I couldn't pick my own size without trying on first. "Why aren't they--you know, going somewhere else?"
"Security."
I blinked.
"What?"
Kitty looked at me and held up a frothy green gauze shirt. Long sleeved, cute little pearl buttons. I wanted it. And told her so.
"Cool. Let's find something for underneath. And yeah, security." She pushed into another rack, going through the sizes with the precision of a born shopper. There was a reason why Jubilee and Kitty always went with me when I went shopping at home. I liked to look good, granted. But left to myself, I *would* be a reject of the grunge age, with pretty gloves and scarves. Just no talent at this sort of thing.
"Here?"
Kitty shrugged.
"Everywhere. Never do we go out in less than groups of three or more. Never do we get separated from each other. It's a precaution--humans escape the camps sometimes, and less than a year ago, one killed eight mutants before she was stopped."
"Wow."
"Took them out like a sniper. So we go in groups--watch each other's back. Besides, I'm not exactly the most powerful in a fight. Sure, I can phase and I have the training, but against enough humans--" she shrugged delicately and emerged from the rack again with something red and silky. Oh, that was nice. "Perfect with your coloring too. It's coming winter anyway, so you're smart to shop for cold-weather clothes."
"I spent time in the south, so my blood's thinner." It wasn't exactly inaccurate. Except in the heat of summer, I was pretty comfortable with my wardrobe in New York, truth be told. The human body was remarkably adaptable to normal ambient temperature.
We checked out and Bobby's eyes lingered on the garment bag carrying the two shirts--I kept my eyes focused straight ahead and tried not to blush. He'd always had a thing for me and the color red. Betsy and Piotr lingered near the back, and every so often I felt the brief flutter of her mind against mine, testing my shields.
I *really* wanted to slap her.
The next stop was the food court--and here I saw humans. Lots of humans, under the watchful eyes of a group of grey-uniformed mutants who looked like they were enjoying their job just a little too much. The humans worked steadily behind the counters, cleaning up the floor--got it. Menial labor. Some of them probably had doctorates, and they were used for this.
I couldn't be around them. Period and end.
"Marie?" Kitty's voice sounded far away. I was staring at a thirty year old woman with scars criss-crossing her face, and the flash of dark blue on her wrist with every turn of the mop was an accusation I'd never be able to stand up against.
"I'll be back." I dropped the purchases on the table, making a beeline for anywhere out of the large rounded white court with it's shiny clean tiles and skidded on the smooth floor because I was almost at a run. No way to call claustrophobia on this. Well, screw it.
I got around a corner and realized Kitty was right. No one was alone in here--normal at a mall, unless you were really watching, and now I was. Groups--more than three or four, sometimes ten. They were wearing weaponry--under jackets, tucked into jeans. I clutched the ID around my throat, knowing a quick twist would bring it off in component pieces. I really wanted to do it. I wasn't one of these people and I didn't *want* to be one of these people.
"You shouldn't go alone."
St. John, of course. I wondered if someone was sitting on Bobby to keep him in place. Or maybe he was just hungry--nothing came between Bobby and food, even recalcitrant love interests.
"I can fly, I'm invulnerable, and I'm stronger than five of you. I'm not hungry." That was an understatement. I could break adamantium--not without *a lot* of effort and general exhaustion afterward, but I could do it.
He was leaning against the corner as if he was prepared to wait until I started seeing reason.
"You're still alone." He tilted his head. "Snipers took out a superhealer, Marie. The camps showed all of us the ways it could be done. Humans remember."
"And mutants don't forget," I answered softly.
The icy blue eyes fixed on me briefly, as if trying to divine by sheer strength of will what was going on in my head.
"They killed your sister. You're not bitter?"
They tortured Logan, tortured Kitty, killed Xavier and Jubilee. God alone knew what they'd done to the survivors that changed them into the people I was with today. I was all kinds of bitter. But this--I wanted to say yes and no and maybe, and I wanted to leave without another word. I didn't do any of those things.
"I don't want to talk about it."
He nodded slowly, as if he understood, but the blue eyes didn't lose their cool appraisal and I shivered a little, turning away, viewing the mall with the many groups of far-too-well-armed mutants coming and going at ease. There was the leather shop. I had the credit card in my pocket. Might as well use it.
As I began to walk, I wasn't surprised at all at how St. John materialized at my side, matching my stride easily.
"Why don't any of you go armed?" I asked, waving an arm around at the mutants around us. In response, St. John flattened a palm and I watched him call fire without so much as a twitch of effort. Well, that answered that. Guns and weaponry were all well and good, but I supposed being able to burn someone up at a distance was a hell of a lot more useful than a bullet would be.
"Remy does projectiles, and Betsy and Kitty have problems with guns." He shrugged a little. "As long as the two of them don't go anywhere without someone who has proactive powers, they're safe enough." He paused, surveying the stores. "Where're we going?"
"I need more gloves." Oh God, did I say that out loud? Was I *trying* to blow my cover completely?
--Honey, you have to calm down.--
Like I needed advice on decorum from my resident sociopath.
--Look, love to chat, babe, but I have suspicions to diffuse and things to do here. And panic. I want to get some time to myself and panic.--
She giggled and I could almost feel her shake her head at me. Nothing on earth could just floor me so much as Carol giggling. It just didn't *fit*.
--You're overreacting. Let him think you have a glove fetish.--
Technically, I did.
"Gloves?" His eyes dropped to rest on my hands and I wanted to curl them up and tuck them under my jeans. I satisfied myself with locking them behind my back.
"I like gloves."
"So I've seen." His voice was a cool neutral--blue if I wanted to assign a color. Nothing else. This was St. John, after all; he had the uncomfortable silence routine down to a fine art. Somewhere along the line in his life, he'd learned how most people *didn't* like extended silences and used his accordingly. He was trying to unnerve me.
Oddly, the thought was cheering. I knew how to handle that.
Walking inside, I was assaulted with the fresh smell of treated animal skins on display. Belts, hats, and scarves spread across racks and counters, black, brown, and a rich, dark red that made my mouth water. Gloves. Looking for gloves--there was the long sets, the short sets, the--oh dear God.
My eyes found the long length of black and traveled up over the leather coat hanging in the place of honor near the center of the store. My first trip here hadn't exactly been under prime shopping circumstances; I'd missed it completely. God knew how. Forgetting St. John, I followed my libido across the cool blue carpet and came to a dead stop, reaching out with one hand to touch the exquisite lines.
Oh God, gorgeous. I stripped off a glove automatically, running the tips of my fingers over it, the leather so fine it was butter against my skin. I ran a wondering hand over the inner lining.
"You like it?"
Johnny, just behind me and to my left--not near my bare right hand. I took a second, decided not to panic and shove the glove back on--that would look suspicious. Instead, I nodded slowly and St. John turned around. From the corner of my eye, I saw him motion sharply at the nearby salesperson.
"Get it down."
I frowned and tore my hand away, stepping back and almost colliding with his body. Keeping my bare hand close to my stomach, I steadied myself and shook my head.
"I can't afford that--"
Wow, that was a weird look. He frowned slightly, and I wondered what that meant, before the salesperson skittered around me and I saw a flash of blue on the inner wrist. Flushing, I took another step back as he reached up and removed it from the hook, holding it up with the most perfectly expressionless face I'd ever seen. No one looked like that on accident. They had to practice being that utterly neutral.
This close though, over the smell of leather, I picked up his fear.
"Try it on," St. John invited, and hastily, the man removed it from the hangar, holding it up again. I was supposed to step into it with him holding it. That was new and all kinds of different. Salespeople in Salem kept a very consistent five feet between me and them--perhaps with some sort of object as well, like a rack or a car or, you know, a building. For safety--they didn't have to know my specific mutation to be afraid.
I couldn't back down without looking silly, and St. John's gaze was unnerving--slowly, I tucked one arm in the jacket, unable to really help the sensual pleasure of the leather against my cotton-covered skin. My other arm went through, and I tucked my right hand into the pocket as he settled it around my shoulder and I felt the weight brush over my calves. St. John smiled a little, gesturing me toward the mirror, and I slowly stepped over and took a look.
It was love at first sight. The length was absolutely perfect, the sleeves reached just below my wrist so I could wear short gloves instead of long. Surrounded with the rich smell of expensive leather, I let myself, just for a second, indulge in pure feminine vanity. I looked damn good, even as a blonde. I wanted this coat.
"Looks good. Anything else you want, Marie?"
I blinked and turned around, feeling with feminine vanity the attractive swirl it must have made around my legs. Much more attractive with some leather pants to match, or a short skirt. Maybe some better boots too. Pushing the unworthy thoughts aside, I shook my head.
"I can't--"
"Sure you can. What else?"
Stunned, I opened my mouth to answer when I was interrupted.
"God, Marie, that looks fabulous!"
Oh dear God. It was Kitty and Co.
With a sense of inevitability, I watched everyone tramp inside in various stages of admiration, surrounding me with too many bodies and hands that seemed intent on feeling out the coat with me inside. Not good for my already tense nerves. The salesman moved discreetly out of the way and I didn't miss how completely everyone seemed to just--not notice him. Like he wasn't even there. Kitty turned me around against my weak protests, running expert hands along the seams and back, resettling it across my shoulders and checking the fit.
"Perfect, babe." Her smile was a thousand watts. "Leather." A *really* weird smile stole across her face then. "He likes leather."
*Who* likes leather?
"Kitty, what--"
"She needs gloves to match." St. John was leaning back into the shelf, watching us with a curiously detached expression. I fumbled the coat off, holding it in my bare right hand, hopefully covering it well. Kitty paused, meeting St. John's eyes, then turned back to me with a quick nod.
"Grab some gloves, babe. I'll--"
"You ever stop shoppin', Kitty?"
It was like light between the big storm clouds. Like water after the desert. Like salt on popcorn. It was Logan, at the door of the shop, looking more amused than any three people on earth. Large and strong and *there* and oh, damn...
I was three steps from throwing myself at him before I remembered I still had the coat.
"Logan!" Kitty turned, skipping toward him with utter confidence, and the first prick of jealousy flickered through my body. Hmmm. Kitty and Logan had a good relationship? Why was this bad? They were pretty close in my world.
Kitty paused a step away, and Logan brushed her face with the tips of his fingers.
Okay, not that close. Grrr. I mean, hmmm.
"Whatcha doing here?" From my frozen position beside St. John, I could see her slight smile, and it widened as her eyes rested on me briefly before facing Logan again. Okay, double weirdness.
"Marie's got an appointment. Kurt said you went out." Logan didn't move from the doorway, but his gaze fixed down on Kitty with utterly unmistakable warmth. "Done with her yet?"
With a scarily wide smile, Kitty dumped two of the three bags and the garment bag in Logan's arms--whoa, hold it. I didn't remember getting all that. Both his eyebrows jumped and she turned around and returned to us, tossing me a wink and circling around me, pushing me toward the door, coat clutched helplessly in my hand.
"Go along--I'll pay for the coat and get you the gloves. Go. Scoot." Scoot? Another push and I tried to figure out why I was resisting, before I was unceremoniously hauled to a stop. "Had fun, Marie! Byes!"
I glimpsed a sour expression on Bobby's face and let my eyes rest briefly on St. John before I quickly said my goodbyes and fled the sheer weirdness of the store as quickly as possible. Logan repositioned my bags in one hand, resting the other just below my collar. I noticed he was wearing gloves.
"I can carry those," I said as we walked toward the far exit, tentatively reaching for the bags.
"No problem." Not much else. Okay.
"Did you get in touch with--him?"
Logan gave me a patient look. Probably not a good idea to mention the subterfuge in the middle of a mall. So I could have non-bright moments. It figured. Glancing down at my arm, I looked at the coat.
"I didn't mean to buy this."
Logan gave it a glance and we came to a stop as I held it up. It *was* gorgeous, no question. And I *really* liked it. And it wasn't that big a deal--a new coat. Everyone needed coats. They were like underwear.
I still needed deodorant. Damn.
"Can I run a few more errands while we're here?"
Logan looked down on me and almost sighed. Oh yeah, that was familiar.
"Sure, baby." His glance went to the coat as I carefully refolded it over my arm, stroking it gently. "I like that."
"The coat?" See, I wasn't the only one. It was perfect. And mine.
"Yeah." He shrugged a little as we started walking toward the Body Shop. I knew they had deodorant. "I like leather."
There were one thousand, nine hundred and sixteen camps scattered across the eastern United States. Only five in New York Zone, though, the center of mutant power and privilege. Where I lived. What I was a part of.
Electric fences, eighteen feet high, nine hundred sixteen feet long, five hundred forty-five feet wide. Razor wire lining the top, spun so fine it could cut off your fingers with the most casual brush of your hand, bright silver and strangely beautiful.
I can't say I have a fabulous memory, but I knew my statistics now. They were burned into my mind as deeply as the ink soaked into human wrists.
I didn't know why I came out here, while Logan went to make contact with whoever it was that would contact Hank for him. Call it weird masochism. I didn't live here, I wasn't responsible for this. Except it bore my name and had been erected in my honor and something about that made it all about me--that here, I'd been the same frightened girl depending on others to save her. It'd been a long time since I'd been that little girl. And I hated her--hated her for dying and letting this start. All any war needs is a spark--one assassination, one death, one rallying cry, one single, shining event. Franz Ferdinand, Czechoslavakia, or Rogue, take your pick. They had me and they used me. And they--the ones that knew, the ones that crawled up that statue trying to save humanity--they'd built the lie themselves.
Shit, they'd had seven years. They might have forgotten the sixteen year old girl who screamed for help because she didn't want to die.
The camps were crap--the buildings dilapidated and so close to falling over that I shivered. Concrete ripped apart in chunks and thrown like children's toys across what had to have been once immaculate lawns, reminders of the war no one really could forget--or wanted to. The smell was horrible--sewer was either not working or simply abandoned for cruder methods of waste disposal.
--Why are you doing this?-- Carol, voice soft, whispering in my head, letting me keep my connection to the real world.
I didn't need to answer. I think she understood.
This had been a beautiful part of the city, upper-middle class apartment buildings, gorgeous trees, big green lawns, children's playgrounds. Everything beautiful and wholesome and simple, the life I'd longed for, the one thing I knew as a mutant was forever denied me. It was nothing now but the burnt-out remains of prejudice and hate, and people lived there, normal people. In hellish conditions, like a third-world country dropped in the middle of the pristine landscape.
Pulling my new coat more closely around me, I watched the children play.
Little girl--long brown hair, big blue eyes, maybe six. Clean, extremely so--I had to suppose that the occupants were afraid of disease from the lack of sanitary conditions. Smart people. Her clothes were as dirty as all children's were, but faded, obvious hand-me-downs of poor initial quality anyway. She was laughing, tripping with heart-stopping rapidity among the chunks of concrete and bare strands of browned grass, as if this was normal to her. And it probably was. She probably hadn't even been born when Rogue died.
The kids had gotten chalk and marked up the short remains of a sidewalk, and I remembered my own childhood playing that game, though God knew, I couldn't remember a single rule--it'd been too long. She threw a rock and hopped her way across, losing her balance with the third jump on badly-repaired concrete and falling with a scream loud enough to wake the dead. Instinctively, I moved toward her, stopping inches from the barbed wire, and watched a woman run out from a crumbling door, hair loose, obviously called from doing something else, not even wearing shoes.
That bothered me. I hadn't seen anyone behind that fence wear shoes yet.
The woman scooped her up, checking her knee and chin, and then the woman's vivid blue eyes turned on me. Never had I ever seen anything like what was reflected on that woman's face. Sixteen feet or sixteen inches, I could have felt it the same, the blank terror that washed over her face, over her body, stiffening it instantly.
Dear God, what was done to her, to make her look like that?
Before I could even begin to assimilate that, she said something to the other children and all eyes went to me, standing there watching them. And they--they scattered, no other word for it. Running toward broken doors to hide inside and curtains rushed into place over windows so nothing could be seen within.
Fear. Absolute, cowering fear. My kind, what I was--my clothes marked me out, my position outside the fence, Logan's car behind me. Things they didn't have anymore, things that branded me far more obviously than my mutation ever had or ever could.
"What are you doing?"
Logan behind me, and I shut my eyes tight. He was--they were--responsible for this. For those people and that little girl and this fence.
"Admiring the fine work that comes of hate, sugar."
"It's a different world, Marie."
"Tell me about it," I whispered.
"Was it better, to live where you were hated and they could hurt you? Where they ran experiments on you and where you never knew if you'd live through each day? Shit, baby, is your world such a great damned place, where we didn't win?"
I half-turned, looking at him.
"Logan never would have asked that. He knew the answer." I wanted to grab the fence and pull it down--and you know, I could have. Not that it would have done any good.
"I'm not him."
I swallowed in a dry throat, refusing to face the obvious.
"Erik said the war was coming."
"And we won it. After everything else they did to us, took from us, destroyed. We won it, Marie. You blame us for that? For this?" He waved at the fence. "The human population outnumbers us over three hundred thousand to one even now. Change is slow. We don't have the numbers or the energy to fight the war again. Or take the losses that'll happen if we let them out. Too many died the first time, too fucking many. Kids who had the gene were slaughtered before they even showed the signs. They killed infants when they found the gene early enough. They committed genocide as a first resort." He paused. "Tell me there's a better way."
I wanted to. God, did I. I wanted to blame the X-Men, hate them, tell them that never, never, never would we have done what they did. Except--except we had, here. This was what we could be, so easily, and shit, Magneto had been right. More right than I ever guessed.
It didn't seem like winning or losing. It wasn't right versus wrong at all, and it made me sick. There were the victors and the losers, and we'd be one or the other. In my world, there was still the balance between, that every single day could lead to this. This could be my future too.
--Keep thinking like that.-- Logan's voice was wry. --Believe it, even. Nothing in black and white, everything relative, and sit back and say, okay. This is how it happens. This is how you build a lie you can believe. And they do believe, baby. They believe what they're doing is right.--
--I didn't fight for this. I never would have fought for this. I'd rather be hated in my own world, and persecuted and tortured and even killed. But I never wanted this. Never.--
--But could watch your friends tortured and killed for being mutant? Watch your family killed? See children exterminated and experimented on? Ask yourself that real quick, darlin'. If you saw them go through what these people did--wouldn't you change?--
I blinked back into reality and Logan's hand was on my elbow, turning me around.
"Marie."
"'There but for the grace of God go I'," I quoted and shook myself.
--You--you think this is a good thing, Logan? This is something you want?--
--No. But I didn't live it here either. I didn't lose you, I wasn't tossed into those camps, and I didn't go through what they did.--
Fuck him for being reasonable. I didn't want reasonable.
"You don't need to see this if it bothers you this much. Let's go."
I nodded numbly, turning around to the car, and Logan opened my door. Slowly, I slid inside and closed my eyes as I listened to Logan get in, shut his door, and start the engine.
"Hits you hard." He gave me a glance as we pulled out, and I saw his glance flicker back toward the camp again. "Sorry--I forgot it's different for you."
"Yeah, it is." I lifted my head, staring out the window. "I can't--I can't see that and take it like you do, Logan. And I'm not sorry that I can't. You're right--I didn't see everything they did, everything they did to you. I don't--I have the second-hand memories now, but it's not the same." I shut my eyes again. "But I can't think it's right. It's not."
"That's not what matters. This is survival, Marie. Pure and simple."
--This is how it happens. Put everything in grey and say there's no such thing as right and wrong. Make it simple. Make it this.--
And there was no way in hell to answer that, so I didn't even try.
"Where we goin'?"
"Back to the apartment to wait." He paused briefly, obviously thinking about something else altogether. "Hank'll be by tonight. Jeannie's getting too curious about you and I don't think you should show your face on campus too much if you want to escape the medical exams."
God, the exams. Forgot all about that.
"She's gonna wonder what I'm doing then."
Logan was silent at that, but it was a weird sort of silence. Like there was something he wasn't telling me. Curious, I turned in my seat, pushing my seat belt out of my way, and got a good look at his face.
If I didn't miss my guess, Logan looked uncomfortable.
"Logan, what did you tell her?"
He was staring straight out the windshield with a curiously intent look.
"I didn't tell her anything. I let her assume what she wanted to. And she assumed, and that's it."
Assumed...
"Assumed what?"
A patient sigh--shit, that was too familiar. A smile forced its way across my face.
"Marie, you've spent two nights with me. What the hell do you *think* she's gonna assume?"
Oh God. I flushed, jerking my gaze straight down into my lap. St. John's strange looks, Bobby's frowns, Kitty's grins--got it. Well, I could be dense. No question of that.
"Does everyone--" This put a whole new complexion on the whole shopping thing.
"If you mean, have I said anything, no. If you mean, does everything think--yeah. And unless you have a better idea, just let it go." He just sounded amused. He would.
"Damn."
"Thanks." Oh hell, that did sound bad. I flushed even darker.
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Uh-huh." He hit the turn signal. "If you can think of a better reason why you've moved outta your room on campus--"
"I didn't!" Did I? Well, my toothbrush, because dental hygiene was important. And some clothes, but Kitty bought those and I hadn't time to get back--
Logan gave me a curious look.
"Unless you wanna explain how you slept on the couch, and trust me, no one will believe that."
He had a point. Damn him.
"So, what people think is covering your ass nicely. You don't have to actively avoid Bobby and the kids and you have a reason to stay outta Jean's sight."
Well, if he was going to be logical about it--damn. Well, not damn. I tried to regain a semblance of composure.
"How--how would that explain Bobby?" Because I couldn't see the connection there at all....
Logan grinned, giving me a short, amused glance before making the turn toward the checkpoint that would let us out of New York.
"Baby, I don't share."
"Oh."
Hank was perched on the couch and hadn't really moved for the entirety of the ten minutes since he'd seen me.
"It's not possible."
Logan's relatively laissez-faire attitude toward my appearance had been, in some ways, just a bit of a disappointment, even if it made my life easier. This was more the thing--blank, uncomprehending, gape-mouthed shock as I sat in the easy chair just beyond the coffee table, careful not to twitch as the large brown eyes stared into mine, before drifting over me again, inch by inch. I wondered if he needed dental records and almost offered to show him my teeth.
His scientific mind would kick into gear as soon as he got over the shock, I was sure of it. Just had to wait for the moment of shock to pass.
"Logan--" The brown eyes left me, fixing with almost desperate intensity on the man watching us. "She can't be."
Logan, stationed very strategically between Hank and the door, merely shrugged, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
"Smell and sight match--I don't make mistakes, Hank. She's Rogue." A pause. "For obvious reasons, we haven't done a DNA, but if you want to do it, she'll take it. Here."
Hank shook his head sharply, but his eyes were drawn back to me like a magnet. Eww, bad comparison. I tried not to shift--one thing the mutant population had here by the ton was some serious twitchiness with sudden movements while nervous. Understandable, but not exactly comforting.
"Rogue," he said softly, and then another glance at Logan. "You--"
"Yes." No question--Logan projected immense amounts of absolute confidence and surety, and I could see, very suddenly and very vividly, why he headed security at the school, why he'd helped lead the Resistance. This was the Logan he'd never been forced to become at home. A leader.
For another stretch of endless minutes, Hank stared at me again, then let out a breath, and I let out one too. He'd made the jump--he believed.
"So you just--appeared?"
Slowly, I dropped into a chair, nodding.
"Yeah, basically." A flicked a glance at Logan. "I don't understand it, but Logan thinks--it may have something to do with Magneto's machine. He ran it again the day I arrived here."
Hank was now flipping into Scientist!Mode--the brown eyes scanned me dispassionately before the large head tilted in thought.
"So you believe that your appearance here coincides to Erik's latest utilization of his machine?"
Somehow, from Hank, it was even more awkward than what passed here for normal to hear that very personal name used. I tried not to wince, nodding. In retrospect, it sounded rather--well, silly. How could that thing drag me here?
"Think so, anyway." Letting out a breath, I almost sighed. "Look, I don't understand how--but he ran it with Polaris at the same time I appeared." I looked to Logan for support, who nodded solemnly. "It's a guess. A bad one. But at least it's something."
"And in your world, the machine worked and you didn't die?"
I frowned.
"No--it was stopped by Scott before it reached New York, and Logan touched me to heal me." I carefully didn't look at Logan. "I went on to have a semi-productive life. I was shopping at a store in Salem Center and then I found myself outside the same store here, and I came to the school. I thought--"
I had no idea what I thought--at the time, it just seemed logical. When logic is very loosely applied to what had happened to me. I leaned back into the chair, thinking through what had happened, what I still needed to do, and how many ways this was just a situation that no amount of training could ever have prepared me for.
"It was a wise choice. Who else is aware of your--existence on this plane?"
I liked how he put it--very scientific. Like this was something that happened and he was prepared to deal with it like any other freaky occurrence. Like the Hank I knew. This was a plane. Very nice. Geometric sounding, even.
"Logan." I paused, taking a breath. "I didn't know who else--"
The look Hank shot Logan was indecipherable, so fast I couldn't even begin to wonder what it meant.
"Very well," he said quickly, noting my attention. "I'll need to look some things up--the truth is, Rogue, no one quite understands how Erik's machine works, even Erik. The principles of physics behind it, yes--but we still have no clear idea what *made* it--"
"That's easy," I said sharply. "My death."
There was a pause.
"Or the death of the host," Hank said gently. Then the softest sigh. "Rogue, I'm not sure--"
"Marie," I corrected, and my voice was still sharp, couldn't help it. "Rogue's dead."
Another lightning quick glance, and this time, Logan crossed the room, coming to stand beside my chair.
"This can't be easy for you, baby." His hands gently placed themselves on my shoulders, brushing the collar with his thumb as his fingers traveled down my neck. I didn't want to acknowledge how that still made me feel, to know that Rogue was dead. In a weird sense that made me uncomfortable--it was freeing. Liberating, even.
But mostly, just sick.
"I'm fine," I answered quickly, and dismissed everything but Hank from my mind. "I want a way home, Hank. That's all."
A slow shift, and then the brown eyes met mine.
"It's not that simple, R-Marie. It's not--"
"Not *what*?" Maybe it was stress, or the fact that my collar was on and the inner voices were silent so I didn't have any support anywhere, nothing to remind me of home. And maybe I just needed to vent--but God, was it that much to ask that someone know what the hell had happened to me?
Hank sighed softly, leaning forward, and for the first time, I thought his eyes fixed on Marie, the person, not the reincarnation of Rogue.
"I'll need to study the machine itself--" A quick glance at Logan.
"I can get you off-hour access," he answered in a neutral voice. "When?"
Hank shifted.
"Three days from now--Erik is aware I am here and I'd like to come at a time when he is *not*." There was a lot of significance in his voice and through my own misery, I had to wonder about that. Just protest against the new socio-political structure? I had no idea. Probably should care to find out. I didn't--I was too angry with myself for losing control. I buried myself in the chair and tried to clear my mind. Meditate. Think. Not react.
"Marie--" he paused, and I knew this wasn't going to be good. "Even if I--it may not be a simple thing to find out what happened to you. I want you to understand--I don't completely understand how this *could* happen. Or why it would."
"I understand." I'd believe anyway. I'd believe that this would work out and soon I'd be home with my family. Period.
Hank rose, now looking at Logan.
"I need to leave soon." He paused for a second. "The second item you requested--" The warm brown eyes traced me briefly. "The image inducer."
I straightened and Logan leaned forward.
"You can get one?"
Hank nodded slowly, still looking at me.
"It won't be--perfect. You wanted--hair color? Slight distortion of features?"
I stopped breathing.
"You can do that?"
Hank's nod was slow but firm.
"Before I leave, I'll have it finished. It should not take long--it will be crude, but effective for at least a few weeks." He gave Logan a quick glance, then rose. "I will attempt to get a working model completed by tonight."
"Leave it here when you're done." Hank nodded in silent agreement. "Your security papers are on the counter," Logan continued, following Hank toward the kitchen. "Put the second set up--that'll get you here next time." A pause. "I keep my promises, Hank. You'll be safe."
At the door, they spoke for a few more minutes while I thought about what had happened, how little I understood it--and Hank, a certified genius in so many things--he didn't know either.
Somehow, that just made everything worse. He didn't have to say straight out that there was little chance that I'd get home--there had been, what, a one in a billion I'd be a mutant? And what *were* the chances of this happening to me? Shit, I was the very epitome of an odds-breaker. So there.
Second biggie--I'd have my image inducer, and I could finally stop worrying about my wig, hair color, and at very least, I'd have one less thing to panic about.
Curling up a little tighter in the chair, I reached for the tea I'd almost forgotten, the unsweetened lukewarm lemon bitter on my tongue.
"Hold still."
Okay, I admit it--this was in my fantasy life. A large, handsome male on his knees in front of me--what else could a girl ask for? However, a few key differences.
One--I was dressed.
Two--no whipped cream was in evidence.
Three--sadly, this wasn't sexual. Or at least, no more sexual than it was in my world, which was depressingly little.
Keeping my arms out of the way, I twisted a little to watch as Logan unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off my hips. Oh yeah, baby. I'm gonna have some *damn* good dreams thanks to this. Sitting back on his heels, he picked up the small image inducer and its case, looking carefully over my currently-safe skin. Hank had dropped it by only a few hours later and Logan had pounced on it before retreating to his closet and returning with some key items he thought should be added to my wardrobe nowish.
"I'm still." He was taking a lot of time about this.
"I'm checking." For what? Oh, right. Also sitting beside him was an interesting variety of weaponry--he'd just raised a brow at me when I explained how very, very impervious I was to weaponry. A very pretty Glock all my own with its holster, an adamantium knife with a cute little sheathe--Logan was the practical type. For Christmas at home, Jean had gotten me earrings and a blue sweater and Remy had gotten me a diamond necklace. Logan invested in custom-made guns and a foot-long serrated hunting knife I kept by my bed. Used it frequently, too.
The knife, I mean. With deer. Just with deer.
Anyway, it wasn't something that particularly phased me much. Logan was Logan--he'd also made me fight for him in my brand new X-uniform, until he was sure the fit was perfect, the very day I got it. Though he had a point--a badly-fitting or restraining uniform in a combat situation could be a death wish waiting to happen. Too much of how I fought required physical agility to even take the risk of a bad fit.
I supposed, back then, it was just the idea of Logan showing any interest in clothes that made me giggle. Even now, it was a definite source of amusement.
"Relax, Marie." I almost sighed as Logan placed the projector in the hollow of my hip and, reaching for my hand, placed my fingers against it before pulling my jeans back up over it. Critically, he looked at the fit--I couldn't see a discernable bulge from my angle. It measured less than two inches by three inches and was about an inch thick. Not much. Very easily hidden--and broken, for that matter. Hence that metal case.
"That comfortable?"
I tested it with two steps--it felt odd there, but I figured I'd get used to it.
"It's okay."
Nodding, Logan pulled my jeans back down and picked up the stretchy material and the light adhesive that would keep it in place, turning me to fasten the material just below the line of my lower back. Then, carefully, he pulled my jeans back up and fastened them in place, then sat back on his heels, viewing the result critically.
"The restraint will keep it in place no matter what," he said, hand on my hip turning me to catch a side view. You sure that feels comfortable?"
"Not comfortable," I answered, frowning a little. "But I'll get used to it. Why the rest of the paraphernalia?"
He looked up at me with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't want you to leave campus or this apartment unarmed again if I'm not with you." Standing up, he picked up the shoulder holster and helped me slip my arms through, fastening it around my waist.
"Logan, I'm--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, invulnerable, super strong, like I care. Anti-mutant groups aren't exactly the sort that fire shots that they don't think will work. You don't have combative powers, baby--to use all your powers, you gotta be up close and personal, and there may be a time you need to *not* be."
So he had a point. I didn't have to like it, though.
"What, sniper shots? When will I need to be a sniper?"
He shrugged a little as he fastened the gun in place. Very Logan. The stomach strap fit neatly below the waistline of my jeans, and my shirt, carefully fixed around it, hid it completely.
Of course, you couldn't hide the gun itself.
"All right." He gave me a long look, then nodded. "Get that coat, check the fit."
See, this was my last birthday all over again. Sighing, I fingered the collar as I went to pick up the coat and took a second to caress the lines of it. It *was* nice. Pulling it on, I took a very feminine pleasure in the swirl of it around my legs before turning around and letting Logan look at me.
Efficiently, he checked the feel of the gun under my jacket, how well it was hidden, and I grinned a little.
"This isn't--"
"Are you ever going to listen to me without arguing?"
"Never have yet."
A quick expression chased itself across his face, too fast for even me to read it.
"Really?"
I shrugged, feeling the edges of strain between us that hadn't been there before.
"Yeah. You know--practical type."
That earned me an odd smile.
"No wonder you stood so still."
I snorted as I pulled off my coat and carefully placed it back on the chair, smoothing the long leather lines affectionately. I really loved that coat.
"I know how--Logan--he--you--" I came to a stop with a sigh. "You know how hard it is to do pronouns with an alternate universe?" That got me a grin and I relaxed a little. "Anyway, let's say this is how I spent my birthday afternoons for many years." I held out my arms. "Unfasten, please?"
Logan watched me for a moment, totally unreadable, before crossing over to me by the chair. For some reason, I'd fallen right back into our normal mode, and the hands pressed against my waist were a sudden shock--different hands, that slid down to pull my shirt free of the belt before his fingers were on the buckle. I felt my breath catch at the brush of hardened fingertips against the bare skin of my stomach, goosebumps breaking out along my arms and back. Sucking in a breath, I concentrated on the hands that slowly peeled the belt back, before he turned me around and his hands on my arms drew the leather down my arms.
I could feel the heat of his body against every nerve in my back, reminding me again that this collar let me *touch*. I could *touch* him. He could touch me. And in some crazy, obviously damaged part of my brain, I was beginning to think he wanted to, too.
When he leaned forward and dropped the holster beside my jacket, I let out a slow breath and thought about stepping away. I didn't, though.
"Marie."
It was my imagination that I heard something in his voice that matched what I felt moving inside me.
"Are we going back to campus tonight?" It was a physical shock to hear my own cool voice--it could be my Logan I was talking to, not this startlingly different man who had left his fingerprints like brands all over my bare skin. For a moment, there was nothing, then he stepped back--and God, it was like withdrawal, and my back seemed colder without him there.
"No." I heard his footsteps carry him to the kitchen and almost sighed, wanting that touch back so badly I almost followed him, but turned my clumsy hands to fixing my shirt back in place, clenching them tightly for a moment against my chest. "You hungry?"
"Whatcha have in mind?" Crap, he'd probably picked up all those--emotions--in my scent. I'd made him uncomfortable. Double crap. Turning, I decided to be more careful. I couldn't afford to alienate him too.
"Chicken okay?" His voice sounded tight and I bit my lip. God, I could be stupid.
"Fine with me."
So I was a masochist. Not a huge surprise--I pined after Logan for almost three years of my life and wore long sleeves during summer.
Logan fell asleep in his bed and I took the couch--there was something vaguely cruel, no matter the entire good manners issue, about putting a six foot Logan on the four and a half foot couch and he'd given in to my entreaties, mostly to humor me, I thought. True, the couch wasn't much better for me--I had to draw my knees up pretty far, and in any case, it was a lousy sleep.
On the other hand--well, see, I didn't plan to sleep.
The shopping bags were in a corner of the room and I made my way normally across the room--Logan was attuned enough to my scent and movements that he'd notice any attempt at stealth but would sleep through normal sounds. Pushing open the top one, I found the jeans and pulled out the darkest blue pair, tossing them behind me and pushing the bag closed before opening the next one. I blushed hot at the sight of what had to be a scary number of underwear. Non-simple underwear. Curiously, I picked up a concoction of strings, trying to figure out what it--*oooh*.
Okay, so Logan was right. And I was going to have to *kill* Kitty. Dear GOD, when had she had time to grab this stuff?
Opening the garment bag, I found one of the plain long sleeve cotton shirts I'd insisted on--black, perfect for my purposes. Slipping out of the t-shirt and school sweats, I dressed quickly, finding my old socks and pulling them on with my boots, then got my gloves. A glance at the chair that held my interesting weaponry stopped me from making straight for the door.
Granted, I was invulnerable. I was Rogue-- I kicked ass and took names. Punched through metal. On the other hand--curious, I crossed to the chair and picked up the gun, running it through my fingers for a second. It wasn't such a big thing--I'd been trained with a scary variety of possible guns and assorted items, after all. I knew as well as anyone that being armed was important.
I just wasn't used to doing it outside of missions. And that thought stopped me--the reality was, those people in the mall had carried those things for a reason. They weren't on missions--the way they carried them, the casualness of it, the mindset so it became something acceptable, even required, to arm yourself before shopping--did I *really* think that everyone else was overreacting?
Paranoia won--I picked up the holster and struggled into it, getting the band below the line of my jeans and letting the folds of my shirt cover the buckle. I tucked the knife into the thigh sheathe and took a good look down at myself.
I felt like I was going to war.
Grabbing my jacket, I pulled it on--evenings in New York were chilly anyway, and sweating was less annoying than looking like I was doing the next sequel to Rambo. Thinking about it, I tucked the image inducer into my pocket along with its case and restraints, then dropped my ID in.
Just to be safe.
I twisted my hair back in a clip Kitty had thoughtfully added to my collection of shopping merchandise (what *was* she about buying me underwear like that? Damn, she was good with sizes) and then picked up the gun before tucking it into its holster.
I felt utterly ridiculous.
Sneaking out was far easier than sneaking in, especially with Logan's extra key in my pocket. Downstairs, I emerged into the city and gave myself a second to think about what I was going to do. There really *wasn't* a good reason for it--but something in me wanted to see it.
Turning, I walked to the lot where I'd left Kitty's car a few days before. She hadn't asked for it back yet, after all.
My car's license plate got me past the checkpoint that took me out of New York and I watched the road signs carefully. I didn't think I was up to seeing the camp again, but I knew where the human restricted areas were from the maps. Okay, so I wasn't great with maps--I *did* know where the area was most likely to be, just from process of elimination.
Crossing the railroad tracks on the west side of town, I came to a deceptively genteel looking checkpoint booth and glanced shortly at the wooden fence that was obviously less than a full year old. Newly erected. Not as branding as chain-link, a little softer, no razorwire or armed men to be found.
Didn't make a difference. Fences were fences.
The grey-clad soldier came down as I came to a stop and I put the car in park. Rolling down the window, I was surprised when he lifted a flashlight, shining it in my face and I blinked away the glare.
"Name?"
"Marie Danvers from the Institute," I answered, hand in my pocket for the ID. Probably should have used the image inducer. I heard something click and took a breath, my eyes adjusting enough to catch a glimpse the second man standing on the other side of the car.
His gun was out but not pointed. Yet. Hmmm.
"I have my ID," I said slowly, and carefully pulled it out where both of them could see me do it. Even more slowly, I handed it through the open window, and he took it, giving it a long, thorough look, before looking at me again.
"Please step out of the car."
He backed off a pace, but his companion didn't move from his position on the other side. Even more slowly, I pushed the door open and got out, letting myself hover briefly before touching down. He didn't relax. Alphas apparently didn't impress him.
"State your business." Wow, he was a pushy little thing.
"I'm looking for John Andrews," I answered, wondering if he would frisk me. Though, thinking about it--I studied the uniform, noting the lack of insignia. Without meaning to, I shot a look at his wrist. Blue numbered and the imperfection of the skin that boasted an identification chip. Human. Question was, were they protecting the humans inside or keeping them inside? This was complex, moreso than I wanted it to be.
"Restricted zone entrance requires the authorization of--"
"I'm here under orders from Logan," I said shortly. If they called him, he'd cover for me. Be pretty fucking pissed, but he'd cover. I trusted him. The man in front of me threw a glance over my shoulder at the other man and my back itched. They couldn't *hurt* me--but the principle was the same. I couldn't see Guy #2 and it bothered me. "Call him if you need verification."
Another glance at the ID and my patience came to an end. Reaching out, I snatched it back and turned back to the car.
The sound of two cocked guns just pissed me off.
"Who the *hell* do you think you are?" I yelled, turning. I was a mutant, for God's sake. Mutants were supposed to be top of the evolutionary heap here--and though I hated the thought, I used it. Grabbing the gun, I jerked the man around, getting an arm across his throat and jerking the gun up so it rested on the other man. "Your bullets can't do a damn thing to me. Let me *in*." I jerked him a little closer, keeping my eye on the second guard before lowering my lips near his ear. "Open the fucking gate."
With a single motion, I released him and kept control of the gun. A part of me was utterly appalled--was I actually *using* that mutant-superiority crap? Both men gave me long looks, before the second nodded shortly and walked to the checkpoint office. For a second, nothing happened, then the wrought-iron slowly pulled open and I pushed the man in front of me from my path, dropping his gun to the ground.
They might call the school, but I found myself doubting it. What would they say? Mutant girl wanted in and they wouldn't let her? Putting the car back in drive, I pushed the accelerator down and went in, hearing the gate close behind me.
First thing--the roads were atrocious, and less than half a block convinced me that I'd better take it slow. So I looked like I was going to do a drive-by--so the hell what. At this speed, I could do the tourist view.
Three blocks finally made me come to a stop. Tourists, as a rule, looked for pretty things. This place was *not*.
I remembered this part of town okay--mid-income apartment complexes, a few small houses scattered inside. The space, according to the maps, was roughly fifteen or sixteen square miles--considerably smaller than the camp's bulk.
Most of the windows were dark on all the surrounding buildings. This area was in pretty good repair, but the smell again, lightly rotting garbage and sewage, which even a normal human would have picked up; near here, I remembered, there was once an old landfill. Great. No garbage-pick-up, they had to use that thing. Pulling over to the side, I opened the car door and stepped out on the pot-holed asphalt and looked around carefully.
--What the hell are we doing here, darlin'?--
I shivered a little. Damn good question.
--I wanted to see, you know, what it is like.--
--Go back and read some World War II literature. This is called a ghetto.--
Nodding to conceal the trembling of my legs, I looked around carefully, then levered myself from the car and grabbed my keys from inside, locking the doors on the way out. Then hesitated; someone might steal it.
Right. I doubted it. Looking around, there wasn't another car in sight, anywhere--a view of what used to be a parking lot showed nothing but the beginnings of grass growing through the cracks in the asphalt and dirt scattered over it. Turning, I crossed in front of the car and landed on the sidewalk--also cracked and uneven from the shifts of earth beneath that no one had or could repair.
--I wonder if it was bombed.-- I didn't remember seeing anything like that in the database, but that didn't mean much. I could have missed that easily. Looking up, I studied the ten story apartment high-rise. No lights in any of the windows--a quick glance around showed the streetlights were out too, and I crossed under one, concentrating to lift myself up to check it out.
No lightbulbs. Hmm.
--You think they have electricity?--
Inner Logan growled.
--Don't test it.--
Well, I wasn't so curious that I was going to check the socket or anything. Sheesh. Coming down, I stumbled a little on the uneven sidewalk and grabbed the pole to balance myself.
--Okay, these people are free--sort of. Not encamped, at any rate. But there are camps all over the damn country. What makes the difference between getting wooden fences or chain link?--
--War crimes?--
I snorted.
--That little girl wasn't old enough to even be born when the war started.--
Looking around, I took in the general feeling of the place. It felt like the camp, actually. Young John Andrews lived here, after all. Possibly so did all those humans who worked at the School and the mall.
--You need a workforce, after all Telephones, restaurants, the electric company, food delivery, farming. Someone has to do it.--
Logan's inner nod was sardonic.
--Still doesn't explain that camp in New Salem. There's four more camps in New York state *and* several restricted areas spread all through the state, but the New York camp isn't nearly as big as the Salem one.--
I shook my head as I walked by the high rise--the windows were blackened on the bottom floor, but the heavy entrance door looked rather normal--used, even. The doorknob was shiny with use and I noticed that the area in front, while still a mass of cracked concrete, was swept painfully clean. I felt vaguely guilty that my boots weren't equally so.
--You gonna go in there?--
I looked at the door and shivered a little, shaking my head.
--Why are we here?--
I came to a stop as we walked by a small convenience store, Clark's. No clerk was inside and all the windows were barred. Coming closer, I looked at the masking tape keeping the glass together across the front store window and the tape covering several panes in the door.
--I want to see everything.-- I answered slowly, stepping closer to see inside. I could make out the lines of shelves that looked depressingly sparse in items--canned goods to the back, though my vision wasn't good enough to be sure. Some of the stuff up front--brooms, mops, household items. Not normal fare for the corner store. I could be looking at the ghetto equivalent of the grocery store.
My stomach twisted over the chicken Logan had bought and I forced the nausea away.
--Why do you want to see this, Marie? What good will it do?--
I didn't really examine why. I turned in a slow circle.
--Do you remember World War II?-- I asked as I looked both ways on the ruined street. Habit was a strong thing, more powerful than chains in the long run. Habit could make you do things you hated every day without a thought of why.
--Flashes.-- His inner voice was soft, almost thoughtful. --What's wrong, Marie?--
I shook my head and began to cross the street, giving a glance to the row of darkened apartments and stores on the other side.
--Everything. Nothing. Breathing this air.-- Coming back up on the sidewalk, I glanced around. It was so damned quiet--even the best neighborhoods had dogs and cats, teens out after dark and being rebellious. The worst neighborhoods had drug dealers and prostitutes on the corner. This was a decent sized city--there should be *something*.
--Remember when I said it was spooky how close the school was to being EXACTLY the same as before?--
--Yeah.--
--Okay, look around. Does this spook you?--
Together, we turned in a slow circle as he watched through my eyes. The broken street stretched well into opaque darkness one direction, and the floodlights of the booth in the other.
--Yeah.--
--This is change. Negative change, but it's change. You see the difference? The X-Men are still pretending that they're the X-Men. They rebuilt the school in Xavier's image. But they remodeled the world into a mirror image of what Xavier wanted. Mirror. Opposite.--
Bingo. I felt my gun butt against my ribs and drew in a long breath, letting it out slowly.
--I don't....--
--They don't see the difference. That's the problem--they *don't* see that they've changed, they're not accepting that they *have* changed. Carol said the only difference between right and wrong was the power involved. That's not necessarily true, but it's more true here than anywhere. They have the power, and you know, I don't think they see this at all. They didn't walk out on Xavier's dream, or they never would have rebuilt the school like they did. They--I think they think this is what it IS. The letter, not the spirit, of the dream. They think this IS the reality of the dream. That this is the interpretation, the only one. The right one.--
Logan inside me grew silent as we looked at the buildings surrounding us.
--You'd never know people live here.-- Except that vague stirring of life just beneath the surface you feel anywhere there are people. A city has more of it than anyplace else. Jean had told me it was a form of psychic residue--she most especially could sense the multitudes that could surround you in a quiet town, but anyone can feel it. I could feel it here--people crushed inside these buildings, alive and living, and I'd bet money that they knew I was out here already.
--Logan....--
To my shock, there was the sound of a car behind me and I turned on my heel, hands going to my pocket to feel the keys still inside, but it was another car, coming from the opposite direction, careening madly over the truly terrible roads. They were seriously ruining their shocks. Two teens hung out the side windows.
Well, I'd been wondering where the juvenile delinquents were.
"Hey, bitch!"
I blinked, almost tripping, as the car slowed down and one blonde head lifted, revealing slightly elongated, slit-pupil eyes. Mutant. Not human. All chilling. Staring, I watched them come to a crawl, then stop in front of me. My instincts took over, stumbling me back one step, then another, and the uneven sidewalk let the inevitable occur, tipping me backward.
Shit, I *had* to practice auto-hovering more.
"Hey pretty norm, whatcha doin' out this late?" The car door opened and slammed shut and I tried to shake off the shock of the fall, rubbing my back absently. He was really close, but--
"Let's party, baby." A hand buried itself in my hair and jerked me forward, knocking me off my center of balance....
...and dragged out of the cell, down the hallway, hearing Logan yelling something behind me before the door shut behind me.
"So they call you Shadowcat?" he asked and I tried to get my feet under me but he jerked me off balance and, God, it hurt, it hurt, his fist against my scalp, felt like it was on fire....
"Come on, baby, whatcha afraid of? It'll be good if you let it."
"Let me...."
"...go, please, don't, don't." He jerked harder and then I was against the wall, my feet dangling when he pushed a leg between my thighs--under the hospital coverall I was bare and vulnerable and it *hurt* so much. Grinding against me and a sloppy wet kiss on my neck above the collar. My hands were still bound behind me and he pushed me flat so I screamed, it hurt, God, my wrist wasn't finished mending from the break....
"Don't do this. Please don't...."
"...please, it hurts." Not enough time, just another way to humiliate us, in the middle of the bright white hall where anyone could see and who the hell would care anyway? If I struggled, he'd hurt me, but I couldn't--I couldn't...
"Let me GO!"
Against the hall wall, he was laughing and unfastening his slacks, he would--he would--but my arms were pinned and I struggled against him, screamed when he jerked my head back against the tile, felt him push between my legs--
"NO!"
I jerked, arms free, hitting him hard enough to break his jaw, but he moved away too fast for the full force to get him, landing feet away in a fighter's crouch. The hallway was dark and I didn't know where the rest of them were, but I didn't care, I didn't care, I'd kill them all if I could, just don't touch me, don't touch me, *don't touch me*.....
The hallway was dark because it was a sidewalk in Salem and I looked at the three boys now several feet away.
Kitty's hate washed through me and I took a step toward them before I caught myself with a hand on the rough brick of the building as my legs began to shake. I heard their feet come closer and drew my gun, pointing it straight at them, clicking the safety off with a flick of my thumb.
God, Kitty. Oh Kitty, I'm so sorry...
"I'm sorry," the boy said slowly. He was straightening and his three friends were slowly backing away. "Look, I thought--"
"I was human?" I whispered. Keeping an eye on them, I pressed a knee into the sidewalk and shakily got my footing, hand against the wall to balance myself. "Just a stupid human? How the *hell* did you get in here?"
"They let us through," he answered, shaking his blonde hair back. "Just say you're from Lensherr and they let you through. You know that."
So that's what they were there for. Keep the humans in. That's why that guy didn't want to let me in--because I'd see these boys here. I felt Kitty move inside me--they *touched* me and they tried to--tried to--
--I want them dead.--
That scared me most of all. Slowly, I forced my thumb back to the safety and clicked it on.
"Get back to the school."
They didn't move for a second and I took two steps forward, grabbing the blond by the front of the shirt with one hand and jerking him into the air. He let out a shocked screech and I wished I'd grabbed his throat.
"Who the hell are you?" he choked as his friends tried to circle. With a quick movement, I had my back close to the wall and lifted him higher, twisting the cloth in my hand closer to his windpipe.
"Marie Danvers," I said softly, and a flicker went through his eyes. "You know Logan, right?"
There. So Logan was right, everyone was assuming some things. And this was *good*. I took a breath--it was tempting to let him twist a little longer, but his shirt was tearing under the pressure. Damn.
I threw him back to his friends and waited as he scrambled to his feet, staring at me warily.
"You don't come in here again," I said, carefully enunciating each word. "Got it?"
They didn't answer and I took another step, letting my feet leave the ground. Good, good.
"Danvers," he said slowly. My hair was brown right now, but the white streak was twisted under so no one could see. I wondered what would happen if they reported back to the school. And I realized I didn't care. "New girl."
"Give the boy a prize." I waited as all three took a good look. It was dark out--chances were, I could play off as trick of the dark. "Get out. You don't come back here. Ever. For any reason."
The blonde smirked a little.
"Who do you think you are to give us orders?"
I tilted my head. God, was I that stupid when I was their age? I'd bet the blond for a superhealer--he didn't look scared of the gun. I wondered if he was aware of the many, many weaknesses of being one--you couldn't die easily, no, but you could hurt them *a lot* if you hit the right places.
Logan in my head was telling me where to aim. My thumb twitched on the safety.
"The one with the gun and the feral lover who runs school security. Want me to tell him what you tried to pull tonight?" A pause for a second. "I don't have to be honest, kiddo. Get your ass out of here."
They were cocky, young--they'd been top of the heap for two years, but I'd outbutched Bad Guys bigger and stronger and a hell of a lot scarier than them, and I could back up my threat. We waited as they processed my meaning. They were cocky, young--but not completely stupid. Not yet. Give them two more years, though, and they would be.
Give them two more years, and they might not realize that my thumb wanted to be on the safety so badly I could taste it.
"Sugar, I could rip out your throat while you're sleeping. Don't fuck with me. Now get the hell outta here." Deliberately, I reholstered the gun and turned my back on them--they weren't obviously armed, and I just didn't think they'd take the chance. Two steps and I heard them make for their car like their tails were on fire, and then the car was moving, going down the street. I heard a gunshot, but kept my back still. Probably showing off their manliness or some crap like that. I tossed a glance after another second and watched them slow at the checkpoint before proceeding through without undue difficulty.
Anger was a gorgeous thing. It wiped out everything else--fear, nervousness, blinding terror, nausea, horror. That stuff... The stuff that made my knees weak as they passed out of view and I leaned back against the stone wall to take a breath against it.
They were going to--were going to--
--They didn't.--
They didn't need to. I shut my eyes tight, bracing a hand on my legs as Kitty's memories filled my mind, as if they'd happened not four years ago, but four minutes ago. They didn't need to, because it'd been done. A phantom ache on a wrist that had been broken and badly set, a tearing heat between my legs and the grind of teeth into my skin. The blank knowledge that this wasn't the first time, or the second time, or the last time.
That they could do this to me any damn time they wanted.
My knees gave out and I got onto all fours somehow, vomiting onto the sidewalk, eyes shut tight so I didn't have to watch, tears burning behind my closed eyelids. The smell was sickly-sweet, bitter, the memory of curry powder floating on my tongue enough to bring up more, and I choked as the heaves shook my body.
--Marie, baby...-- The mental touch filled my mind, blotting out the blank despair and fear, washing through me with warmth. Spitting out the taste, I lifted my head slowly and knelt back on my heels, letting Logan wash through me, almost like a physical touch, warm and comforting and all love and support. Everything he'd always been to me.
I felt him before I saw him, and looked up to see the other version standing only a foot away, watching me from behind cool, unreadable eyes. I'd never in my life wanted to see Logan less.
"Your car lost a tire, baby. Wanna explain what the fuck you're doing here?"
"You're a part of this. All of this. Camps, ghettos, the Polaris Project--this is your life, isn't it? What you believe." It was sinking in, hard and fast and deadly, like a stone to the bottom of my soul. This was real. Logan, my Logan--no, no, *this* Logan, this Scott, this Jean--this was their world.
I had been against a rough brick wall with a mutant boy pushing my legs apart because he'd thought I was human and this was what happened to humans. This was what humans were *treated* like. This was what happened to a human girl walking down the sidewalk in the ghetto. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. They made it into policy.
Logan didn't say anything, even as he opened the apartment door and let me in. He'd said a lot in the car. I didn't hear a word. I was with Kitty and with the human girl I could have been. If I'd--dear GOD....
He tossed his jacket on the chair by the door and gave me a long, patient look.
"Marie--"
I shut my eyes, stripping jacket and weaponry and tossing them on the chair, hands shaking. They felt filthy. I'd wanted to use them. Gun and knife. Shoot the little superhealing bastard through the head and gut him. Watch him heal so I could do it again.
"Why?" I whispered.
"Because Mags is right--we can't afford another war. Our species can't afford another war. Make it simple, baby--we're dead if it happens again, if they have something we haven't found yet. The Legacy Virus may be their version of a mutant cold compared to the crap they still might have buried out there and I sure as hell ain't pretending that in two and a half years we found it all. No where close."
"Hold the war criminals instead. That's natural, that follows Geneva Convention rules--"
"Yeah, because they've been oh-so-fucking-strict about following those themselves."
Shit, I was so fucking sick of hearing that justification, which wasn't a justification at all. It was cheap and easy and meant absolutely nothing. Taking a breath, I tried to steady myself.
"So you lower yourself to their level? What they did was wrong, Logan, but that doesn't make what you're doing right by default." Nothing could justify what had just happened--nothing.
Logan went into the kitchen--I wasn't sure what that meant, whether or not the argument was over or he was just getting a beer. Ah, beer, two in fact, dropping one in my lap and facing me from the other side of the coffee table--a truly ugly coffee table at that. Logan never had what I would call good taste in furnishings.
"Who says we give a fuck about right?"
I took a drink of my beer because there wasn't much of an argument to give to that one, feeling it slide into the empty cavern of my stomach. I felt rather than saw him drop neatly into a nearby chair, already hunting out a cigar like it was any other night in his life.
"What happened tonight? Who shot the tire of the car and why were you getting sick out there?"
I shook my head. A part of me wanted to tell him, so badly--but the rest of me needed an illusion. After all this reality, after that brick wall, after the taste of my own vomit, I needed this. Logan couldn't know what those kids were doing out there. He couldn't know that was going on. He couldn't--he couldn't believe....
I covered my mouth with my hands, then took a quick sip of the beer. It seemed to help.
"Don't you see those camps, those little kids trapped inside, and get sick?" I asked finally, feeling the light burn of the beer in my empty stomach, fixing my gaze on the worn edge of the table and what looked like the marks of his claws. I shouldn't drink or I'd be back at the toilet pronto. "Don't you--didn't you see them?"
"I put most of them there." A pause for the longest second of my life; time stopped. Logan was doing this. Reality, concrete, fact, Logan was putting people, putting children, in that damn camp for this. "Marie, if you're gonna try an abstract moral argument--"
"Then how about a concrete?" I snapped. "How many mutant sympathizers are in those camps? How many people who helped and supported mutantkind are locked up for being human? Those--those ghettos, that humans have to live in--how many of them were among the ones that helped you out?"
"How many mutants died before they woke up and realized that old-fashioned racism maybe wasn't the way to go when it was *their* kids being rounded up for the testing and some never came back?" Logan snorted. "They didn't do it for us--they didn't stop it when it could be stopped. They passed the MRA and approved the restrictions, they watched us hunted and didn't give a shit. They waited until we were dying before they did a fucking thing."
I didn't know how to answer that--I just didn't. Didn't mean I wasn't going to try.
"So their support was worth less because they changed over when they found out they had kids that were mutants?"
"It wasn't worth much to begin with, baby. So they slipped us food and medicines every once in awhile, when they could be bothered. They had cute little protests outside Congress and they wore nice buttons saying 'Free the Mutants'. They didn't have a problem when we were rounded up and I didn't see them storming the camps to get us out. Even when their own kids were there. We did it on our own." Another pause, while he lit his cigar. "It's not black and white and you're trying to make it that way."
"It *is* black and white, Logan. Those kids never did anything to anyone--and Salem Complex is going to be flooded with the power of that machine that will *kill* them, because you know and I know Magneto's machine will never work. And if it did work--tell me that I'm wrong. Tell me that Magneto is going to let all the humans go after we have the numbers." I drew in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly. "Tell me that's going to happen. Or is this everything there's gonna be? *This* is the future you wanted when you went to war?"
Logan was silent. No response, and I drew in a breath sharply. A soft sigh, before he turned his head to look up at me, and there was a trace of exhaustion in his eyes that cut me to the heart. The alcohol in my stomach seemed to congeal into lead and a faint nausea swam up into my throat, sweet-bitter on the back of my tongue. I was going to be sick again.
"That's--that's what's going to happen, isn't it? Here, everywhere you can get power, this place, this society, is what you're willing to fight and die for." It was too big to comprehend--just numbness.
"Lensherr hasn't talked about it much, but yeah, that's what we think he has in mind." Logan took a pull of the beer--now he *was* uncomfortable, not quite meeting my eyes.
"'We'?"
"Scott, Jean, 'Ro." Another drink of the beer, a little more desperate. "A few others we've talked to. We're not stupid, Marie. And Lensherr's not being subtle in how he's setting this up."
"But you're okay with this." I jumped to my feet, almost dropping my beer, and hit my head with the heel of my hand. "Oh, look who I'm asking! Of *course* you're okay with this! You're Logan, war hero, saved thousands, right? You've *suffered* for being mutant, so you sure as hell can be objective about this. All those nasty humans--they don't deserve to live, do they? All those little kids who never did a thing against us--well, fuck them for being stupid enough to be born." I could hear the acid drip from my voice, wished I could stand to look at him--not that I'd see anything there, this was Logan. Raising my beer, I spun to face him. "Here's to this brave new world, sugar. You and the X-Men are going to do what every major tyrant throughout history could only hope to accomplish. Your very own slave force on a worldwide scale. Kill them when they get in the way, lock 'em up otherwise. Practical genocide. Kudos to you, sugar."
Another drink, before I turned away, stumbling to look out the window on a dead city, the nausea in my stomach enough to want to send me running for the bathroom. Curiously, Logan was silent.
"How can you stand to look at yourself in the mirror?" I whispered, wrapping an arm around myself. "D-Do you know that after I killed Carol, I couldn't stand to see myself? Every time I looked into these eyes, I saw the permanent mark of what I was--my whole mutation meant death. And I hated it--I hated myself, for killing her, for being alive and perfectly well. I took her life, I took her powers, and I took her soul. Everything she was or would ever be, I did it, and somehow, it was worse than just killing her. I benefited from her death, and that still makes me sick."
I'd held her head in my hands, the fourth time I'd touched bare skin with my own since I manifested, knowing that there was no other way--she'd been too strong, too fast, too impervious to everything we could do against her. Scott had been down and Jean and 'Ro, unconscious, maybe dead on the field, the team scattered--all that had been left was me. Alone. She didn't know what I was, the rogue power among the team, and I'd peeled off my gloves and let her attack me, grabbed her face in my fingers and drew her body close to me, rolled her on her back and listened to her scream in my ears and in my mind.
Death was always personal for me.
"I knew--I knew she was trying to kill me, that it was her or me. When I go on missions, I'm always aware that there's a good chance I'll be forced to do it again, that I'll have to deal with ripping apart another person from the inside out. When they send me in to take out the FoH, when I work against Sentinels, when I--" I stopped, drawing in a deep breath, trying to clear my head, remove the images of Carol beneath my body. "When I wear the uniform, though, Marie doesn't exist. I'm just Rogue, an X-Man, and I'm also Rogue, who knows that I'll get dirty doing it. But I never--I *never* look in the mirror and not balance what I'm doing against what's right. Not what the FoH thinks is right, not what's been done to me or my friends--just what's *right*, and it *is* black and white. And I never stop asking myself, every time, if there was a better way, and I never stop looking for a better way. I never stop making sure that what they are, the FoH, the Brotherhood, all of them, is what I don't become. It's a choice I make every day."
"You make it sound simple." His voice was low.
"It *is* simple." I remembered how Carol's skin had felt--smooth, soft, silky beneath the tips of my fingers. Her hair brushing my face. The way she felt in my mind, alien and heavy and terrifying. "I wish I hadn't died here, if this is what happened because of it. But--but if I hadn't, and this had come about anyway--I would have died in the camps before letting myself become them. That's a choice too. You went through a lot, all of you did--but you *chose* to wake up one day and say that the FoH was right, that we are exactly what they thought we were. You *chose* to become them--you might as well have taken over their headquarters and changed the name to FoM or something. There's no difference in the methodology or the intent. The only difference is that you're mutant and they aren't; you took their creed for your own, their prejudices for your own, and you let them win by becoming them." My throat began to close over. "Congratulations, sugar," I choked, knowing I was going to be sick, knowing I couldn't let it happen. Not in front of him. "I'm so proud."
I could feel myself begin to shake--I'd argued against FoH members before, and there was no way to get through blind, unrelenting prejudice. There just wasn't. It had to come internally, it had to be something inside their heads that clicked over, because nothing outside themselves, nothing they saw or heard, would make them understand. Nothing. I was doing it again, though--just like stupid, idealistic Marie, who still got sick before missions and who still cried through sappy movies and who still believed with all her heart and soul in Xavier's dream.
God, I was glad I was dead here, glad that Xavier didn't live to see what his dream had become.
"What do you want?" His voice was quiet, and it hurt me to hear it. "Spell it out."
"Let them go. Take the war criminals, bring them up for international trial for their crimes. Burn the camps and salt the earth where they used to stand. Open your fucking eyes and look at yourself for five seconds and tell me what you see when you look in the mirror. And instead of saying this is the only way, look for another. Real simple, sugar."
"And if they come after us again?"
I turned to stare out the window.
"Make sure when you rebuild, you do it right. Work from the ground up, work to make it so they don't *want* to. You have--a post-war society is more flexible than anything. Humans--you think they *want* another war? Those sympathizers you mock--they realized they were wrong, and don't tell me they didn't help you during the war effort. Humans saw what mutantkind was capable of when pushed--you went to war and you won. But you're still at war--it never ended. You, Scott, Jean, 'Ro, Bobby, all of you. You're at war still, in your minds. You haven't moved on and said, 'it's over', because its not. You're fighting people who can't fight back." I paused, looking at the remains of Manhattan outside the window, wondering about the abandoned houses, the lost lives, and those people in the camps, the ghettos, the streets. "You've never been the nicest guy in the world, sugar. But what you're doing now--all of you--it's beneath you. You're shooting fish in a barrel."
There was silence for a long time, then I heard him stand up.
"Go to bed, Marie."
Nothing got through, and it didn't surprise me at all. I finished off the beer, passing him to drop the bottle on the coffee table, before slowly approaching the bedroom door. I didn't want to sleep in there tonight--but I just didn't have the strength for another fight.
"Nice dreams, sugar."
Bobby was waiting for me by the Danger Room door when I came down the elevator the next morning--Logan had cleared my presence in the lower levels with Scott. I hadn't known, however, that *Bobby* was at all aware of that, and came to a confused halt.
He looked slightly grim, and I almost dropped my bag before recovering. I didn't need this. I seriously did *not* need to relive the Jealous Bobby Years now. One, I'd done it before, it hadn't been fun, and I'd managed to come out the worst of it. Two, I wasn't seventeen or eighteen--I was twenty-three and had been screwed over before, so my sympathy for his position was pretty much shot.
And three, this was *not* my world, we had *never* been in a relationship, so he had absolutely no right to look at me with that peculiar cross between hurt and angry that reminded me of a recently kicked puppy in need of some serious doggie-treats to make up for it. Sorry, babe, I ain't your doggie treat.
"Hey," I said, surreptitiously making sure my skin was covered enough beneath the sweats I'd grabbed, wishing for about the millionth time in my life that there was a way to flip my skin issue off.
"Hey." Still grim. "I'll be your supervisor for the run." Nothing else--he pressed his codes into the door and walked in, giving some vocal commands for lights, and making his way across the room to a far door and what looked like a darkish mirror--ah, one way glass, for observation, I remembered. Probably to make sure I didn't get myself killed. Hehehe. Fun by five. "I'll start you on level one. Be ready in five minutes."
Well, then. Be a baby. I stripped the sweats so I was in the tights and leotard I'd picked up from the locker room's stores--I'd trained in minimal clothes and in full coverage and since I was alone for this, I could certainly strip as far down as I wanted. I checked the flexibility of the spandex and decided against the overpiece so my arms were bare. Legs covered completely. I smiled a little when the lights flashed and I kicked everything to the corner, preparing for a little serious aggression therapy. Shit knew, I needed it.
Then the animatronics began and I flipped my mind into here-and-now, forgetting everything else.
Two and a half hours later, Bobby turned it off and seriously pissed me off.
--I'm thinking he doesn't know you very well.-- Carol offered it with amusement. --And honey, you've never had a session this long outside your post-break-up therapy runs. They don't train to save the world anymore--they train to destroy what's left.--
"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled at the glass. Nothing. Crap. Going to my bag, I got my water, looking a little vaguely around the room before finding my towel and wiping my face. After a few minutes, Bobby emerged, looking more than a little shell-shocked and not quite on-keel. I tended to have that effect on men when they realize I could kick their asses even on an off-day. Funness. The next figure, however, wiped the smirk off my face--Logan shut the door and leaned back against it, head slightly tilted to watch me as I slowly began to cross the room, stopping myself in the center.
"Wow," Bobby said, and there was definite awe in his voice. Logan gave the room a once-over, before the hazel eyes fixed on me again.
"Nice job. Glad Scott told me that you were playin' here today--I can do your hand-to-hand evaluation." Bobby gave him a sideways glance that spoke volumes--this was supposed to be Bobby-Rogue time, where he could possibly, from the expression on his face, warn me off Logan again. It was almost enough to make me sigh in frustration at men and their powerful need to tell me what was best for me. That got really old *really* fast, and it had taken many moons to get Logan to stop growling at my dates as a test of their masculinity or something.
Though to be honest, I'd noticed my most successful dates tended to be with those that didn't pass out when they met him. Curious, that.
"You wanna go, old man?" I asked, tilting my head in challenge. "Anytime, anyplace."
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face.
"Soon, darlin'. Real soon." Bobby looked a little confused now, which matched pretty well with how I was feeling at the moment, and then Logan nodded shortly at Bobby. "Have something to do, doncha?"
A hot flush spread along Bobby's face and the temperature of the room seemed to take a slight dive that I didn't like at all. He'd never been the most stable in the use of his powers, which might have had something to do with his emotional equilibrium--or lack thereof. With a glance at Logan, he turned to me.
"If you need anything, you know where I'll be."
I began to wonder if I'd stumbled into the Classic Movie A/U. All I needed was him to chuck me under the chin and call me kid. Nodding, hoping my irritation didn't show, I went back to my bag and picked up my sweats, listening to the sound of his footsteps crossing the room and going out the door.
After a few minutes, I turned back around to see Logan hadn't moved a muscle.
"Still pissed?" he asked conversationally.
"Nah, I get over moral issues pretty damn easy. Gimme another hour and maybe I'll even get supportive, 'kay?"
To my surprise, he didn't do anything but nod, and I didn't like that at all. Slamming down my water, I turned to look at him.
"Did you think I'd like this? Or just given enough time, I'll agree?"
Logan paused briefly, before he straightened, pacing across the room. Absently, he picked up my sweatshirt from where I'd kicked it earlier, folding it neatly. That military training thing, didn't like a mess.
"No."
"I have the memories, Logan." His head came up in surprise. "I know what happened--I know it from--a person I touched. I--I know that isn't the same thing as experiencing it, not really. But--you can't convince me what you're doing is right."
"I never said it was right." Dropping the sweatshirt neatly on my pants, he leaned against the wall beside my bag and gave me an intense stare that made me seriously wonder what was going through his head. "It said it was survival."
"This isn't survival."
"What if it's the only way?" He wasn't hostile, wasn't mocking--in point of fact, I realized I couldn't read him at all, and that was beginning to bother me a little. I couldn't tell where this was going.
"Then find another." I sighed, crouching to fish my water back out--I was still slightly dehydrated from that much physical activity that fast. "And don't tell me this isn't retaliation, Logan--that's what it is, whether you and Scott and the others can admit it or not. You're not choosing the best solution--you're choosing the one that gives you some serious satisfaction, to hurt them like they hurt you."
"Won't deny that."
"And you're all better than that. You're above that. Morals don't only apply when you feel like applying them or when they're easy to follow--they're not there for that. It's easy to be just to someone who's never hurt you. It's harder to do it when they've damaged you, and that's when you're *supposed* to use your morals." I rubbed my forehead, taking a drink of water. "I've preached to FoH and Brotherhood and I gave up doing that a long time ago, because it was so pointless. Why am I arguing this now?"
"Because you look at us and see your family and friends, and it hurts you to see us as less than what you want us to be."
I jerked, almost spitting out my water and the hazel eyes met mine knowingly before he dropped into an easy crouch, watching me absorb what he said. It was too true, too close to the bone.
It was also something else entirely.
--Wait for it.-- Carol whispered into my mind.
Logan once told me that assumptions were the single most deadly mistake I could ever make, in general and as an X-Man. Never assume you understand everything--always ask, always check, always double check, always be *sure*. Considering his line of work, I could understand his feelings on the subject and tried to act accordingly. Observe the enemy, watch the enemy, but never assume anything that you couldn't verify.
I'd assumed a lot coming into this--assumed that I could hide who I was indefinitely--assumed that I knew the X-Men well enough to be shocked by their behavior--assumed that I understood motivations. Assuming I knew Logan inside and out yet dismissing all my instincts, instead telling myself that my Logan and this Logan were too different for me to interpret. I couldn't have it both ways--either I knew him or I didn't. And I'd assumed I didn't but played it like I did.
Holding Logan's eyes, I was proved utterly wrong in every assumption I'd made, starting with my first hour in this world.
"My God," I whispered, feeling it click in my head. "You hate it too."
He didn't want me to see that. He was on his feet, stepping back, but I didn't let him run, not this time. Moving faster, I put my body between him and the door and after what he saw me do in the simulations, he had to know that I could probably hold him a good time before his greater skill overcame me. I didn't even try to fool myself that I could beat this Logan if he seriously wanted to get out.
Damned if I wouldn't try, though.
"I don't wanna--"
"Fuck you." I watched his eyes mark my position, working out a way around me. "Shit, I'm preaching to the converted, aren't I? You know--you have to know. Don't--don't lie to me, Logan. It's all over you." How'd I miss it? How in the name of *God* could I miss something this obvious? He didn't believe a word of the arguments he'd used against me, never believed them. He'd never try to justify himself if he did believe. That wasn't Logan. "You've never been a believer. What the fuck are you trying to do?"
"Survival." Clipped short, he didn't want to explain. Too fucking bad.
"Survival?" Was it worse, that he *knew* this was wrong and doing it anyway? I held in the comments--here it was, my job. No more assumptions, no more tricks, no more dancing around the issue. I was going to sit down and listen, and more, I wasn't going to let him go until I understood what the hell was going on here. "All right. I'm listening this time--tell me what you're doing." He'd never been a believer in his life--I should have remembered that too. But those camps--they'd changed everyone. They'd changed--God, I was stupid. So stupid, so obvious. "It's all of you, isn't it? You, Scooter, Jeannie--"
He, Scott, Jean. Magneto's supporters. They'd fought a war and survived it, but I didn't see, didn't understand, not completely, even with Kitty in my head.
He sigh, and I knew the sound of it, because I knew *him*, at least a little, and that was something. "Marie--"
"Tell me." I pointed to the concrete floor, then dropped down to sit, fixing my full attention on him. "Tell me what I'm missing here. You're playing me and there's no reason to. Why?"
"There's reason." A growl, before he finally did what I wanted, and I caught my breath a little at the stretch of all those muscles and that body... No, down girl. Down now. "We don't have a choice."
"What choice?"
"I was with the original containment policy--we needed it. I was behind it and I helped Scott organize it. Scott had reintegration planned before the war ended, but we had to buy the time we needed to find the weaponry." I shivered at the thought of the things I'd seen in the computer, Kitty's memories of the testing in the labs. "We figured a year, tops--we had telepaths working on it 'round the clock, not always ethical, maybe, but we wanted to move fast." He paused for a second, eyes meeting mine again before twisting away, focusing on the wall behind me.
"We worked with Magneto because he ran Genosha and at the time it was the only safe-haven for mutants--every kid we found who carried the gene went there automatically. That place was so fortified even the strongest of the anti-mutant groups were scared to show their faces anywhere within a hundred miles. We didn't--we couldn't afford to slow down, and it wasn't until Magneto came back that we realized our mistake--he'd been indoctrinating his own army, all those kids we sent and most of the survivors we got out. He came in, and he and Mystique took over with the miraculous resurrection of Senator Kelley--quite a fucking trick to pull, lemme tell you." The grim humor wasn't reflected on Logan's face--more than resigned bitterness, more than simple anger.
"So you--what, went along with it?" I tried to imagine Scott doing that and just couldn't. Not at all. Of course, before, I could never have imagined Logan working with Erik Lensherr on anything at all, so again, assumptions. I couldn't afford them.
"At first--we found some of the crap they were workin' on, that they tested on us. Crap we still have stored up in Genosha because we have no fucking clue what to do with it. It wasn't--it wasn't easy to sit back and follow Scott's plan after that shit came to light. So Magneto's plan for containment didn't seem too extreme--a year of restriction, then we lift the ban and start rebuilding. But we kept finding crap and Magneto started making it an institution--and we went along because we agreed in the first place."
I shook my head slowly, only partially understanding.
"But--"
"There wasn't a but, baby. Erik was there when Xavier died and I think he assumed--and he was right--that if he moved while we were all still raw from what happened to us and to the others, that he could get his programs in place."
I tried to absorb what he was telling me--and what he wasn't. It was dizzying, so much information so fast.
"But you support this project," I said slowly. "You said it yourself, you're helping round up--"
"We never thought he'd get that machine workin' again--all a big exercise in futility. And even if he got the fucking thing to work, he didn't have anyone to put in it. No absorbers, and he sure as shit wouldn't go in it, even if Mystique and some of the others woulda let him. Then Polaris appeared outta nowhere. So we're at a stand-off now--we're still bringing them in and Jeannie started working on the equations so at very least the casualty rate was lower--younger they were, the more likely they were to survive the change. But Magneto built that fucking machine and he can't figure out how to drop the death rate and Hank refuses to have shit to do with it, so it's lose-lose."
"Unless you get Polaris out."
Logan snorted.
"She wants to be like Rogue." I winced at the reminder. "You're a demi-god, baby. Little mutant girls grow up now being told the story of how Rogue died for mutantkind. Polaris volunteered before we even knew she existed. And there aren't enough of us to stop it."
I had no idea how to argue against that.
"All of you, though--"
"Not all of us. Scott, Jeannie, me, 'Ro. That's all we have."
That was more than I'd thought only five minutes before.
"I was wrong. About you." Amazingly wrong. Breathtakingly wrong.
"Nope." Logan leaned his weight back on one arm, fixing me with that intent stare, trying to drive out whatever small amount of sheer relief I'd obtained. "You've had time to check out the databases--it's all true. I won't lie about what I've done, Marie. There's been plenty and most of it wasn't pretty. And I won't pretend I'm sorry for most of it. The containment camps we set up for post-war--we did what we had to do to survive."
True, all true. I stared down at my feet and tried to think through it.
"I-I understand," I breathed, lifting my head to look at him. And he looked no different than he had before, nothing had changed except everything. I did understand, more than I'd expected, and something in me turned over with his slight smile, before he stood up, offering me a warm hand.
"Polaris," I said suddenly, and his head tilted as he studied me.
"What?"
"We have to stop Magneto," I said steadily, caught the surprise written across his face. Before he could answer, I shifted to my feet and looked him straight in the eyes. "We can't let this happen, not again. No more legends, Logan. No more lies. There won't be another Rogue."
The computer lab was a much safer place to do my hack-work, and with Logan beside me feeding the correct codes, it made it easier to find the information on Polaris.
Scott appeared, as if by magic, while Logan and I were in the computer lab. He figured it out first, of course, casually leaning over my shoulder and with a few taps of the keys changing the page. My heightened sense of smell had faded somewhat, so I looked up, ready to growl a warning, when I saw Logan casually turn around and lean back into the desk, arms crossed, classic Scott-is-here pose. It was utterly ruined as a sign of hostility by the smile I could see trying to fight its way across his face.
"Still tryin' to sneak up, Cyke?"
It startled me, the general comfort level between them--if there was one thing to be counted on, always, it had been the hostility between the two resident alpha males. Hostility with edges of general respect, granted, but this was different.
"Now what makes you think I was sneaking?" A curious tilt of his head--sun-lightened hair fell in casual disarray over his forehead and I could see grease stains on his jeans and a smear of it across the heel of one hand. Different type, though--I breathed in as unobtrusively as I could and picked up the difference. He'd been working on the jet, and there were few things that could drag Scott from his favorite toy during routine maintenance. I debated turning my chair around and decided against it, keeping a view of both from the corner of my eye without intruding on their discussion. "Hey, Marie."
I managed a quick glance and nod, feeling the red gaze fix on me briefly, consideringly. I should have asked Logan what he'd told Scott--well, probably nothing. Assumptions were working in my favor, at least in public opinion.
"If you were, that was a piss-poor way to do it. Whatcha need?'
"Get rid of the pleasantries, right?" Scott shook his head shortly and leaned back into the desk behind him "Turns out the FoH cell we cleaned out three days ago wasn't as clean as we thought."
"We should have bombed it." I stiffened at the casual tone of his voice. "What happened? Someone cannibalize what we left?"
"Someone cleaned it out pretty thoroughly--Piotr said it was stripped bare, not even a wire left. Computers were gone--we have most of the information from it, but Kitty's still analyzing the encryption codes." A low snort. "What she's found is that this cell may be affiliated overseas--possibly with quasi-government support."
"Germany, right?" Logan bared his teeth in something that I was sure wasn't anything close to a smile. "You'd think they learned not to interfere. You sent the report to Lensherr?"
"He left yesterday to discuss it with Kelley."
"Official or non-official action?"
Scott grinned then. It was strangely boyish, made him look barely eighteen and getting his driver's license. I blinked to dispel the illusion, focusing back on the screen, trying to pretend the geographic information was just fascinating.
"Non-official. Want to go?"
"Stupid question. When do we leave?"
"Forty minutes. You, me, Ororo only. Jean will keep contact from here. Be in the war room and I'll tell you the plan." The grin widened. "It'll be fun, Logan."
Fun.
"Gotcha." A glance down at me. "Baby--"
"I better run and see if St. John's still on campus." Gonna avoid Bobby for all I'm worth too.
"You walked perimeter sweeps with him last time, Marie?" Scott's voice was coolly interested and I froze for a moment, thinking. Watch-the-suspicious-new-mutant-Marie time again. I turned fully in my chair, nodding warily.
"Yes."
"Good." A short nod. "I'll tell him to show you how we do it from the ground up. He's getting briefed by Jean--he'll meet you in foyer." He gave me a casual nod of dismissal and I began to rise automatically, before Logan's hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"I'll find you when I get back." I looked up into the hazel eyes, finding only warmth and a little worry behind them. Swallowing my nervousness, I pasted on a smile to reassure him. "Don't worry."
"All right." I gave Scott a short nod, then went quickly toward the door. I could feel Scott's gaze on me, though his head never moved--damn visor--and as the door shut behind me, I walked fifteen steps and around the corner, knowing Logan would hear that, then dropped quietly to the floor and crawled back to the corner.
The recent touch with Logan hadn't been enough to recharge my senses, but it was enough to slow the rate of dispersion, so with concentration, I could just manage to hear both voices with relative ease. Please God, let no one come up this hall wondering what the hell I was doing crouching there.
"If I tell you something, what are the chances you'll slam me into the wall?" Scott's voice was light, almost bantering, but there was an odd note under it all that I couldn't quite define.
Silence for a moment.
"Depends on the question, One-Eye."
"I don't trust her."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Not a surprise, but still, shit.
"Jeannie couldn't get in her mind?" Slightest mocking edge--that was interesting. But still not unfriendly--Logan in my world would have lost his temper completely by now.
"Hear me out--you owe me that at very least. It's not just Jean and Betsy--it's her questions. St. John and Bobby both reported some unusual reactions from her. Not to mention her history, which is just a little too vague for my peace of mind. It's been two years since the war and I can't find a report of her or anyone like her in any of the recovered databases. And with Hank's appearance in this zone--"
"You found her sister, though."
"Yes." A pause. "Carol Danvers died five years ago in the Miami Camp, around the same time you and Kitty escaped. But nothing on a Marie Danvers or any information on anyone with her abilities. And there would be, Logan. If they got a matched pair, there *would* be some files on it."
"We haven't decrypted half of what we found in those labs, and most of that was incomplete. Come on, Scott, you're reaching here."
"When Jean's able to run a full genetic work-up, we'll know more." I could almost hear the patter of Scott's fingers--his stress relief. He definitely sounded stressed.
"You're worried about me?"
The amused shock in Logan's voice was almost funny.
"Yes, I am," Scott answered seriously, and I blinked, balancing myself against the wall. *Not* what I expected. "She's physically stronger and she's invulnerable, not to mention she can fly up high enough and drop you. And considering the hell you give Jean in the lab, I don't want to see you back there so we can unbend your skeleton if Marie gets bored and decides to play with it. It's annoying to hear you bitch."
A longer silence.
"I could be wrong, Logan. But instinct says not to trust her, not until we know more."
"Then it'd probably be better if I kept her under observation." A low laugh. "Cyke, she's a kid--if she pulls anything that threatens us, I'll gut her myself. You know me better than that. Invulnerable or no, I think the labs showed us what could be accomplished against mutants if you're creative enough."
Gut me.
"Logan, we've been friends for a long time--and this is the first time I've argued the side of caution. That tell you anything? Your private life is yours, fine--but if it affects the team, I want to know about it."
"You're really pushing."
"It's my job. Goes along with my other charming personality traits. I was going to assign St. John to watch her, but since you're already--in a position to do so, I suppose that'd be redundant. I trust you, Logan. You see or feel anything off about her--"
"If I think she'll betray us, I'll fix the problem." End of discussion voice. I sat back against the wall, chilled, and then began to edge down the hall. End of discussion voice meant end of discussion period, therefore immediate emergence from room. "I'll meet you downstairs."
"All right." Scott, giving in gracefully because he'd already won. New, definitely. I listened for the door to open, then the sounds of footsteps going down the opposite direction. When they faded, I stood up cautiously, hearing the sounds of the elevator.
Breath now. Breathe. He'd never gut you. Never. Probably. Biting my lip, I crept down the hall toward the exit stairs. I didn't hear anything--
"Try that again and you *will* be watched. I'll assign one of my men to do it, got it?"
I whirled around to see Logan leaning against the corner, head slightly tilted, utterly unreadable. I took a deep breath, remembering to keep still, not to make too much noise. Oddly, it was the concept of Logan having his own set of men watching me that disturbed me most--the Logan I knew *ran* from leadership positions. This one had *people working for him, ready to take orders. Creepy.
"You blame me for being curious?" I choked out, pretty impressed I could even manage a coherent sentence.
"Nope. Blame you for being stupid. You've managed, in two days, to make at least five people suspicious, which is quite an accomplishment, since Bobby's about as perceptive as a post. When I get back, first thing, you tell me everything you've said to anyone, and the history you gave Scott. The last thing we need is Jeannie to go checkin' out your mind--"
"She can't." At Logan's raised brow, I hurried on. "She and Betsy already tried. They can't get in. It's--it's part of my mutation. Multiple personalities make it hard to read me, and Jean--my Jean--taught me to shield. Even if--"
"Hard to read, not impossible, and Jeannie's had a lot of practice working her way through shields and other crap." He took a step closer, utterly serious. "Listen to me--you don't wanna test this. At all. And I sure as hell don't wanna look for a way to talk you outta her lab if she feels threatened enough to do a deep scan, which, considering Scott's reaction, is too fucking likely for my peace of mind." Logan breathed out--he was worried. No, fuck, he wasn't just worried, he was actively nervous about this, maybe even a little scared, and I wondered what constituted a deep scan.
I decided just then that this was something I could be happy never finding out.
"I'll be more careful."
Logan gave me a long look.
"So far, your idea of careful and mine are different, baby. When you meet with St. John, keep in mind he's one of Scott's best informants and don't try to get away from him--that'll just make everything worse. Keep in his line of sight, don't go scouting for interesting things to look at." Logan sighed, and it must've meant something that I could exasperate two separate Logans so easily. Whether it was good or not was debatable. "If Scott had been paying any attention at all, you'd have been caught here spying, and shit if I know how I'd have gotten you out of a chat with Jeannie then. You're just damn lucky he's been distracted recently."
He'd gut me if I was a threat. I didn't believe that, did I?
I felt myself begin to shake, and Logan caught the change in my scent, the involuntary movements of my body. A step and he slid an arm around my waist, ignoring the exposed skin of my face to gently hold me.
"Marie, I won't let anything happen to you." His voice was soft, brushing through the hair near my ear. "I'll take care of you, all right? You've just--you gotta be more careful."
I nodded against his shoulder, taking in a long breath, wondering if I could ever forget his voice when he said he would gut me if I was a threat. I had to believe he wouldn't--had to believe it or that was it. That would be the end of my sanity right there. After several minutes, I was finally able to pull away, looking up at him, trying to make myself believe it.
It was a simple choice and I nodded and chose to believe. He'd never hurt me. The long fingers stroked my hair back, then he tilted my head up gently.
"Now go. Be careful. I'll find you when I get back, all right? If you want to go back to the apartment, the keys are in my office--just get the car and go. If anything happens and you get worried, just go. I'll fix it when I get back." He raised my chin a little. "And stay the fuck away from Jeannie if you possibly can until I've talked to her." With that, he let me go and turned away, back to the corridor and toward the elevator. Shaking a little, I turned around and walked toward the emergency stairs.
Like I needed to be more paranoid than I already was.
St. John arrived in the foyer a few minutes after I did, and it was obvious Scott had had a little chat with him. The blue eyes looked me over carefully and I smiled brightly and waited for him to say something.
"All right, you ready?" He took in my boots and jeans, eyes lingering on my gloves again. I wondered if my shirt was high enough to slip the collar on underneath and decided against it--no one had tried to touch me yet, and I had enough leftover paranoia to be aware of any feints in that direction. Okay. I could do this. "Scott wants me to show you standard procedure--while on non-official missions, it's slightly different, since this isn't advertised and only half the team will be gone."
"Are you always in charge of campus security when Logan's gone?" I asked as we began to walk, noting the tiny comm in his ear again. I had to wonder how he concentrated so well--but then, he'd had two years to learn to do it. It'd taken me a *long* time to get used to hearing verbal orders in my ear and listen to the world outside--and I'd never quite figured out how to get my inner voices and the outer world synched well enough to concentrate on both at once either. Says something about my attention span.
--You're gettin' better at it, darlin'.-- Logan's voice was soft and I smiled to myself at his amusement.
"Nope, that's Remy, but he's on assignment. Anyway, beta is school security, and Remy's a permanent alpha team member" See, this was the thing. At home, there were three teams that rotated pretty frequently--for vacation time, for off-duty, and just for relaxation. I got the distinct impression that what St. John was referring to was much more rigidly organized.
As St. John launched into the technical aspects of what amounted to be alert without looking like an alert, I took in the security systems, listening with half an ear. Official and non-official action were two very different things, it seemed; one was meant to be public and advertised, such as the destruction of the FoH cell--but this one, which I wasn't clear on the details and St. John didn't seem very eager to tell me about, was meant to be utterly private. Hidden. Rumor, not fact.
Perfect cover for legal terrorism, in fact. Somewhere out there, Scott, Logan, and Ororo were going to put some serious fear of mutantkind in someone and make sure it went through by word of mouth only--or maybe as nothing at all. Remembering Logan's cool suggestion of a bombing, I suddenly wondered how normal this was.
"It's not really a problem--again, it's rare someone gets into the New York zone without us knowing about it. There are plenty of countermeasures in effect. But the problem with infiltrators is the reason we have this policy--we've had several cases of hacking our databases. Luckily, Kitty designed and protected the systems pretty well, so all we really worry about is people in the Mansion who try to get in using the computers here." St. John shrugged. "It happens, but we've caught them most of the time."
I blinked, feeling a chill creep down my spine.
"What happens to them--someone caught hacking? Here?"
St. John shrugged a little.
"Send them to Scott--he takes care of the problem. Usually lose their citizenship and blacklisted. Affiliated countries won't accept them, and non-affiliated usually hate mutants. Pretty much the definition of screwed over. There aren't many places to hide, unless you're really hot for Antarctica or something." He grinned a little and I wondered what that meant, but he was already moving on. "Doesn't happen often."
No, I imagined not.
"SHIT!"
Four hours later, I found out exactly how very, very, very practiced the second team was. On the back lawn facing a good-size area of brush, St. John and I ran into what had to be some of the best trained humans I'd ever run across.
My mind processed three things before the first one fired, hitting me in the chest and knocking me several feet backward--one, thank God I didn't put on that collar. Two, that they were black-ops trained, because if there was one thing Logan's memories had given me, it was the ability to recognize genuine style when I was up against it, and this was the real deal. Third--St. John Allerdyce was far more capable than I'd ever believed.
Instantly, a wall of fire spun around him as I sat up, rubbing my chest. Liquid yellow-red, it looked almost solid, touchable, burning an instant black line into the flawless lawn. No permanent damage to my body--hurrah invulnerability--but the ache wasn't making it easy to breathe. Stumbling to my feet, I watched St. John concentrate, both hands raised carefully as he barked sharp orders into the comm and kept his gaze on the group watching us. Back-up. We needed back-up.
My eyes quickly catalogued the scene--eight, spread out neatly in an obvious attack pattern. Black ops were well-trained--I'd guess they were ready for counter-measures, though, and their uniforms were distressingly sturdy--heads completely covered, stepping through the fire without much hesitation. That was some seriously good psychological conditioning there too--I was invulnerable and literally could walk through fire without a scratch, but had never actually voluntarily *done* it. Dropping into a crouch, I let my mind slip over into defense, removing everything else from my consciousness.
--Good girl.-- Almost a growl, as Logan's personality slid into the dominant position in my mind, allowing me access to his abilities as well as my own. --Focus.--
I understood that completely. Taking a breath, I let it out, noting their weaponry quickly--I wasn't familiar with anything but the Glock, which seemed to officially be standard issue around here. Damn, I wished I'd worn mine. St. John's eyes narrowed as the group entered the first wall of fire, intensifying it slightly and I saw in surprise that the edges turn dark blue--ultra-hot, he wasn't able to do that in my world.
Then his blue eyes seemed to completely dilate and the fire closed like a living fist around one of them, dragging a scream out of the man and jerking me out of shock--because I'd *never* seen anything like that before. The total concentration St. John was using, however, was amazing--a second fist opened up and shut itself around man number two, and the other six backed off warily. Sweat broke out across Johnny's forehead, but his hands were steady and so was his fire.
The other invaders saw me, just outside the edge of the fire and looking awfully vulnerable.
--Be careful.--
I grinned to myself. I knew that much.
Ops dude number three went down hard--good uniforms were all very well, but they didn't protect against the strength to knock through solid titanium I heard bones break under my fist and the impact of another weapon against my lower back, sending nerves screaming through my thighs. I dropped into a crouch to take in the damage and the tingling that meant invulnerability was pissy about being challenged--that weapon had been more than high caliber, it contained something else that was working my nervous system. Spinning, I marked the remaining five with a glance.
I chose the one pulling out a second weapon--I couldn't do this alone, and they worked together too well, circling me warily. And St. John couldn't possibly help--he was holding two, so I should at least take two down myself. Fair's fair and all.
I jumped before they could move in, using flight to extend my leap, coming in at the knees and shattering a kneecap with a kick of my foot, before the tingling in my back started to drag me down. Fuck, what *was* that crap? I took a breath--there was one sure-fire fast method of getting them all down with a minimum of annoyance--and St. John was distracted, so he wouldn't see.
And really, this was information, after all. I could use it.
--Marie--
I shut down my mind, working one glove off, not wanting to hear Carol's or Logan's protests. The four remaining paused--probably suddenly wondering what it meant when a mutant removed her gloves during a fight.
Logan had said they didn't have absorbers, none. Not in the records, not in the camps. Now they had me--
"Now, Kitty!"
I whirled at the sudden feel of cold around me, rolling out of the way of the first blast as ice followed--Bobby close by, and then everything went strangely surreal, my vision changing--what the hell *was* that in that fucking gun? I knew the effects well enough--invulnerability trying to neutralize a new and ungood threat to my body and sucking out energy from everything else to do it. On the upside, recovery time would be faster next time, but I really, really couldn't afford--shit. I blindly worked my glove back on, jerking at the sound of a voice to my left and struggled to maintain my balance. Three bullets narrowly missed my leg as Kitty took up a sniper's position just outside the fight zone. Good girl.
Kitty and Bobby were doing fine, no problem--but Johnny--oh dear God. A flicker of the flame revealed St. John hit the ground with a modified roll and a Ops guy already on him.
--Pyro.--
Shock jerked my head up, a hissed breath parting my lips. Not from me.
--Carol?--
Terror. Absolute, blind, unthinking terror and anger and reaction to it.
Carol was already moving--grabbing my feet from under me and dragging me along--*Pyro?*--her single-minded determination taking over completely so I could only watch. We floated effortlessly over one well-singed body and straight through fire, that would have made me wince if I could, before St. John was in view, the barrel of that weird-ass gun against his stomach and blood trickling down his chin. The dark blue eyes were still dilated, holding concentration on the two trapped in his flames, and I'd bet money Ops Dude was itching to get them back in commission Real Soon Now.
--Oh hell no, you little norm fucker.--
Carol was a streetfighter by inclination and avocation--dirty all the way. I had just a little too much Scott Summers in me to throw myself blindly into a fight and break whatever got in my way, but Carol was six years my senior--rather, had been when I killed her--and more ruthless than I'd ever been or probably could ever be. Our fist went out, stabbing straight through the back and shattering his ribs, hand closing around a living heart before ripping it out his back, splintering the remains of his spine. Bone fragments clung to our gloves and sprinkled around our feet.
For an endless second, I grasped a human heart in my hand and running through me was Carol's rich satisfaction, Logan's unwilling pleasure, blood thick in my nostrils and awakening things in me I'd never known were there, never had even tried to discover in the very depths of my soul. All I knew was that it felt too good and I should never feel like that after taking a life.
I knew the feeling and I'd hated it every time.
He keeled over at our feet, soaking our shoes--my shoes--in blood as I ripped control from Carol. Shaking, I fell to my knees, staring at the bloody muscle in my hand before dropping it on the ground, feeling rather than seeing the others drawing close.
I couldn't pass out, couldn't do anything, because then they might touch me and that would be all kinds of not good. Can't do it. Won't do it. Sit up, Rogue, and for God's sake stop being such a little girl.
Looking up, I watched St. John slowly sit up, the clear blue eyes meeting mine.
"Thanks," he whispered, and I nodded, mouth dry. Carol's feelings were fading, and I looked down at St. John, dazed, wondering if he'd ever known how much Carol had loved him--no, he never had.
"You okay?" I almost offered him a hand, but the blood soaking my gloves was just--no. I flinched a little as I heard Bobby approached, then Kitty phased into view, and they all looked at me as if I'd suddenly grown horns--or as if I'd just saved the universe as they knew it.
"Get the samples, Kitty," St. John said softly, slowly moving into a crouch, rubbing his hand across his stomach before focusing on the fire, letting it die completely, dropping the two well-singed bodies--uniforms still intact. They'd been ready for him. "Bobby, strip the uniforms and pile them over there." Casually, he flipped over the body beside us, turning over the right wrist, pulling the glove back out of the way. Deep burns--acid. I shivered, focusing on that. It seemed better than thinking about what I'd just done. "Burned out chip--no reason for extraction. Hurry, Kit. We need to report." A pause and he started giving orders into the comm, something about Mansion security, calling a full lockdown. Faintly, I could now hear the alarms that must have been going since the first rush.
I couldn't follow anything, even as St. John braced a hand under my elbow and pulled me unresistingly to my feet.
"You okay, Marie?"
"Yeah," I answered automatically. He nodded shortly and turned away, kicking by the corpse before directing Kitty in the location of the pile. My stomach did a flip and then resettled, discipline asserting itself. I was Rogue, I'd seen death before.
But I'd never done it so personally, either. Not since Carol.
"Got the samples?" Kitty took blood samples on little cards, sealing each one up in a tiny plastic lab baggie, before tucking them into a leather case she was carrying. Nodding, she stepped back as Bobby dragged up a corpse stripped of uniform, dropping it in the center of the burn zone St. John had created when they attacked. Slowly, the other seven were added, also stripped of their uniforms, and Bobby got hold of my elbow and led me back.
It was a few seconds before I realized what he was doing--at fifteen feet away, Bobby touched my shoulder to bring me to a halt and I watched St. John's hands come up, a bright blaze of blue-white fire that emanated amazing amounts of heat even where we were standing. A few endless seconds with St. John's slim body outlined almost black against the sheer power of it, and the smell of searing human flesh came to my nose before everything was over--when I looked again, the world seemed so much darker and the men had been reduced to ash and charred bones in the center of a blackened area that used to be living grass.
Instantly, Bobby was moving and I watched St. John collapse backward just as Bobby got behind him.
"Cleaning crew will be here in a few minutes," Kitty told me as I blinked at what I'd just witnessed. "Come on--let's go get cleaned up. Bobby'll take care of John." She tilted her head, peering in my face. "You sure you okay?"
Her kind voice snapped me into motion.
"Fine, Kitty-kat," I murmured, dragging out my composure and wrapping it around me like a tattered cloak. "Just fine."
"That was fast thinking, by the way," she said as we approached the Mansion. "John's pretty valuable, you know. He was on the priority Alpha list from identification."
"Oh." I wondered what to say to that.
"Pyrokinetics are valuable--the experiments on his capacity were off the scale. He was in a Genoshan collar for almost a year after they managed to top him out--blew up most of the city of Lansing, Michigan, a mutant refuge. Scared them to death." Kitty's voice grew quiet. "Logan and Hank got him out. He doesn't remember a lot of it. Or a lot of the first year after the war, for that matter. When we got him out, it took him a long time to snap out of it--we had him in isolation in Alberta for almost three months, no control at all, burned up everything close to him. Bobby and I were with him the entire time--it was pretty rough." Kitty's face darkened a little. "Whatever they did, it changed him--he has a hard time *not* using it now. Builds up inside of him sometimes and he has to release."
"Oh." I glanced over my shoulder, watching St. John shake off Bobby's supporting arm and staggering upright. Bobby was waiting to catch him when he stumbled, just like always, keeping the space he knew St. John needed, but the warm blue eyes were filled with worry. So familiar, so much like training at home. They'd always been amazing together. I had to wonder why this Bobby hadn't figured it out already. Strong fingers rested lightly on Johnny's shoulder and I watched as St. John slowly nodded.
I quickly turned my gaze back to the Mansion, trying to remember how Jean had tested St. John--I knew for a fact we'd never seen him do anything close to pure cremation temperatures. And that fast--I tried to review what I knew of St. John's mutation at home; I'd trained with him, but the flashes of pure heat like that--I knew I'd never seen that before. "Why--why did he--did he burn them?"
"They got inside the perimeter defenses, violation of alpha zone restrictions. We don't return bodies for burial when it's treason.
I started a little but Kitty didn't seem to notice, pulling out a pack of gum and offering me a piece before pulling out some and stuffing it in her mouth without thought.
"You're really good," she said finally, as we approached a grey metal door--backdoor to the underground. Kitty punched in her security code, waited, then moved a little in front of the door as it did a retinal scan. A soft click and she opened the door, motioning me to precede her.
"Thanks," I answered, belatedly realizing she wanted a response.
"Fast, too. You'd be great on the team, you know?" How nice. Ripping out someone's heart qualified me for team membership. Ducky. I knew at that second my stomach wasn't going to last much longer, and luckily, Kitty sped us both toward the showers without much more in the way of conversation. Or if she did say anything, I sure didn't hear a single word.
I could still feel the weight of that mass of tissue in my hand and the second Kitty moved on to a far shower, I shut the screen and locked it, flipping the hot water on, ignoring my clothes, and dropped to my knees to throw up, jerking the grating on the drain out at the last second so the evidence would be washed away.
Bloody water twisted lazily around my hands and to my horror, I could see it on the cuff of my shirt. Wiping my mouth, I ripped my gloves off, throwing them against the tiled wall, then my shirt, hearing the buttons popping off and rolling somewhere over the tiles.
White tiles--why on earth would the team bathroom have white tiles? I brushed bloody water out of view, seeing the smears of red-tinged water on my hands and then realized the knees of my jeans were responsible--clotted there, dear God, get it off, get it off, get it *off*--
--Marie, baby--
Oh God, no, not now. I fumbled my jeans off, looking desperately for the collar in my pocket, almost dropping the key as I fastened the metal around my neck, shutting down all the voices--I couldn't listen to him rationalize what I'd done, even if Carol had done it--
--I'd let her and I'd *liked* it.
Leaning back against the side wall, I let the water rush over me--too hot, already reddening my skin now that invulnerability was off--and distantly, I heard Kitty's voice, singing something off-key and in French. She'd always been a shower singer. Licking my lips, they came away faintly iron and unreasonably attractive, and vaguely, I remembered--I'd been wearing my gloves, they'd been on me when I wiped my mouth, dear God, I couldn't do this, I couldn't, I couldn't--
"Marie?"
I pushed myself under the full power of the shower, so it came down on me, not noticing the scrape of my knees over the grate, lifting my face to the too-hot water and taking it in, taking it all in.
"Marie! Shit, what the fuck--."
"John, she's--"
God, leave me alone, please. Please. I didn't want to handle this, I didn't give a shit about handling anything now. I could smell the iron of the blood that had worked into my skin, and the hand that had done it--the hand I'd used was staring at me like an accusation. And under my nails, that crap had worked inside my *gloves*--
--fuck this, I wasn't going to deal. Just fuck it.
Vaguely, I heard the sounds of the door being shattered, several voices, then someone's hand on my shoulder.
"Marie, babe--" I heard him hiss something before kneeling in front of me, pulling my hands up from the floor, and I realized I'd been scraping my nails into the tile. "Get out. All of you." St. John--no, Pyro, who coolly immolated eight corpses and walked away, who had wrapped two people in fists of fire so they could burn before his eyes--he grasped both my shoulders, meeting my eyes before breathing out something that sounded like a curse. Over his shoulder, I glimpsed Bobby's and Kitty's startled faces, but my eyes wouldn't focus. "Clear out, everyone; that's an order."
"John--" Kitty, sounding worried. I buried my face in my hands and St. John pulled me close, blocking the sight of my body, water soaking us both.
"I'm field commander of Mansion security until we stand down--Bobby, go on perimeter sweeps and organize the others. There could be more. Kitty, stand outside the door and I don't care if Lensherr wants in here, no one comes in, got it? Out, now."
A pause, then there was nothing--I guessed they were leaving. St. John shifted onto his knees, pressing my head against his shoulder and running careful hands down my back, then up until he found the collar.
"Where did you--"
"Leave it," I whispered. "Keeps you safe." He nodded against my cheek, arm tightening around me.
For the longest time, he knelt with me on the tile floor, letting the water simply rush over us both, until he was soaked, and as I slowly pulled myself together, I realized he was dressed in clean clothes and I could barely smell the hint of char on his skin.
"Sorry," I whispered. The slightest shrug of his shoulders.
"You okay?"
"No." I'd never be okay again. I'd killed a man and watched Johnny burn the bodies after without flinching. For treason.
"All right."
A few more minutes of comfortable silence between us, and I lifted my head. The blue eyes looked into mine, before he stood up, pulling me to my feet.
"Just stand still. Close your eyes and just breathe. Okay?"
I nodded numbly and I heard him switch the settings on the shower--the water was considerably cooler and felt wonderful to my burned skin. Methodically, he removed my remaining clothes, throwing them somewhere out of the shower stall, then turned away as I focused on regaining my control, pushing everything into silence in my head. I felt the sponge against my back, and without comment, St. John washed me himself, turning me like a wooden doll, rinsing my hair out, then lifting me over the broken glass of the door and leaving briefly, before returning with a towel. With quick, precise movements, he dried me off and wrapped the towel around me.
Distantly, I realized I was shivering.
"It's never easy, Marie." A tentative brush against the skin of my face and I flinched, imagining I could smell charred meat in the air around his hand.
It seemed pretty easy. Really easy. I could kill anything on two legs--in theory, I'd always known I could. Reality had just caught up--I'd killed him myself, and not with a gun or as a casualty--it'd been so personal, so close. I'd reached inside him--
"Shh. It's okay." I looked around, realizing I was sitting on a bench and St. John left as I slowly brushed my fingers over the edge of the towel, looking at my own hand in shock, at the lack of blood--I was sure there should be some sign of what I'd done. No one did what I'd just done and not had it on them somewhere. I could still smell the blood over the soap and the fresh scent of the towel.
I shut my eyes and decided not to think about it anymore.
After a few minutes, I heard him return, and my feet were lifted into a pair of sweats. He pulled me gently to my feet, dressing me like a doll, pulling a t-shirt over my head, then something on my hands--I looked down and saw him working a pair of felt gloves over my hands and arms.
"Where--"
He shrugged, not meeting my eyes.
"We have them around for touch-telepaths that have problems with control." I took the other from him and slowly pulled it on. Stared at my hands.
"You must think--"
"I think a lot of things. Come on--you were in there awhile."
I blinked a little, surprised.
"I was?"
"Yeah." He smiled then, a little, a hand brushing down my hair--not touching my skin, and the thoughtfulness surprised me. "Scott will want a report--we all need to be there to give it, but I can--I mean, you don't have to be there, all right? No one except us were out there."
God, he was going to lie for me. I stared back at him.
"No. I--I can handle it."
One eyebrow arched slowly, then the briefest nod, before he took my elbow, leading me to the bathroom door. God, the embarrassment--but I honestly didn't care. He pushed the door open and Kitty jumped from her position beside it.
"Get someone who can keep their mouth shut to clean up in there," he said shortly. "Is Scott and the alpha team back yet?" I realized he'd taken the comm off. For some reason that my mind wouldn't process, that was endearing--he'd taken off the comm to deal with me.
"Yes to both--he's up in his office with Logan--I told him you'd bring Marie with you when you went up." Her lips quirked up in a grin when she looked at me, and I had no idea what that meant. "Logan's worried."
"Did you tell them--"
"Nothing, oh Leader." She reached out, hesitated, then gave my covered arm a squeeze. "S'okay, Marie. It happens to everyone, you know?"
I tried on a smile to reassure her, and St. John nodded at Kitty, before he led me to the elevator. Then turned suddenly, looking at Kitty.
"Lensherr in there?"
Kitty paused and thought.
"Not when I was up. He's still in Washington, I think. Back tonight."
"Good. I'll talk to you after I report--Scott will want you later, so be ready."
Kitty straightened and mockingly saluted.
"Anything else, oh Captain my Captain?"
That broke out a grin.
"Can you be in my bed naked in an hour?"
"When hell freezes over."
"Bobby can arrange that."
They grinned at each other and then St. John fastened his hand under my elbow and led me to the lift.
"What happened?"
Damn good question.
Logan had sat on the far side of Scott's office as St. John gave his exceedingly succinct report. Hadn't said anything when I stood up and gave Scott mine--hideously unvarnished, unable to find a euphemism for what I'd done, not really caring anymore, because shit, these people--this thing was everyday to them. It was treason to invade the school and people died for it. Executed.
Treason, and that was a word I'd never really related to my life before. Treason was something governments handled, distantly, involving complex negotiations and spies and people in expensive suits with brown envelopes filled with money in vague places like Vienna and Yalta and Moscow or maybe Beijing. It'd never had anything to do with my life, with my world.
Yet--yet I'd just done the equivalent of executed a man for treason, and everyone seemed fine with this.
"What happened?" I echoed from the other side of the car. Scott had nodded, noting down what I told him on the paper in front of him, immortalizing the actions of Marie Danvers for posterity. Blinking, I'd sat back down and felt that red-visored gaze on me--suspicions perhaps leavened by the fact that I'd so easily killed a man. Not injured, like the first two--killed. With my own gloved hands.
For treason, of all Godforsaken things, and what the hell did that mean? I lowered my head into my hands, trying to put everything together. Logan had stood up finally when I was done, giving Scott a long look that seemed to shut out everything else in the room before he reached down and took my hands, pulling me unresistingly to my bare feet--and I wondered what had happened to my shoes, and did one give reports on death in bare feet with your hair still wet? Said something to St. John and Scott, and I felt their sympathetic gaze on me as I walked out of the office like a lost puppy with Logan's hand on my back, perhaps aware I didn't give a good damn where we were going.
And maybe I was a lost puppy. Who the hell knew.
"I'm fine, Logan." I wasn't fine--I wasn't even in the general realm of fine. Raising a hand, I fingered the collar, wondering if I could take it off yet and let Logan and Carol tell me how very justified my actions were--not because of all the treason nonsense, but because the man had been the Enemy and of all things I should know instinctively, the Enemy was always fair game. It was him or me--or rather, him or St. John, and St. John's life was more important than that man's to me, to Carol.
I didn't want to hear Logan say Carol had done it, because it was my hands that had, my powers that were used, and it was my pleasure when it was done. I couldn't deny that.
"You're not fine, baby." There was a lengthy pause, before he suddenly flicked on the brakes, pulling to the side of the road--not quite off, but even what used to be the most populated roads in the Salem/NYC area were pretty much the definition of deserted. Coming to a stop, he flipped the car into park and turned slightly. I gave him a sideways glance, taking in his obvious worry, the restless movements of his hands. He wasn't sure what to do, what exactly I needed--it was endearing.
For the first time, I noted he was wearing his seatbelt.
"I guess you learned your lesson," I choked out, and he frowned a little. With one felt-covered hand, I brushed against the woven vinyl across his chest. "You know, after careening out of the truck--you still don't in my world." Lightly, I ran a finger down mine as well. "I don't need to, but I still do. Habit."
He stiffened a little and I withdrew my hand. He reached out, catching it in a firm grip.
"I remember." Gently, he rubbed my palm with his thumb, shaking his head slightly. "Marie, I'm sorry. Scooter'd never sent you out with Johnny if we thought there was any real threat."
"I've never killed anyone like that before." I let out a slow breath, knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that if I didn't bring this under control now, I'd break. "That was--it wasn't just Carol moving inside me. It was me too--I liked it, how I could--how I had the power to. I never--" I stopped, drawing in a breath and Logan waited patiently while I tried to gather my thoughts. "I haven't taken a life since Carol. And she was an accident--I never meant to kill her. That was--that was knowing I would kill him--not hurt him or stop him. If he'd backed away from Johnny and threw up his hands to surrender, the only difference would be that I'd break his sternum getting through, not his spine."
"That's new to you."
I turned on him, irrational anger pouring through me.
"That's not who I am! I'm an X-Man, I--" Oh fuck, I was talking to an X-Man, and I knew what these X-Men did to enemies. Shit, my own Logan would have taken this pretty coolly--he understood all about instinct and reaction and the necessity of death.
Logan reached over and unhooked my seatbelt, pulling me unresistingly across the wide front seat until he wrapped a gentle arm around me. Shutting my eyes, I let myself pretend, just for a minute--just for a second--that this was my Logan, who held me just as close after my first mission, when I'd thrown up in the Blackbird. Who'd sat with me when I cried through the shock of the first time I'd faced down FoH members, and who had sat outside that nightmarish isolation chamber when Carol battled me for my body.
He'd always been my source of security, of peace, of strength, the reason I became the person I was. I let myself believe this man was too, turning into his shoulder and burying my face, letting it go in a rush of emotion and release while he stroked my hair back, not saying a word.
When we arrived back at the apartment, Logan pushed me over to the couch, handing me a beer and patiently waiting while I assimilated what I'd done.
"What are affiliated countries?"
Logan glanced up from his contemplation of the view outside his window--I saw him do that pretty often, wondered what part of Manhattan was so fascinating.
"Affiliated countries--the world leaders who walked outta Magneto's gadget as mutant--walking being a general term." He muttered something, glancing down at his half-full beer.
"They didn't have the war that you had here?"
"Sometimes, sometimes not." Logan gave me a glance. "It's in the databases, if you wanna read up--Scott knows more about that crap than I do."
I doubted that--I'd guess Logan simply didn't want to talk about it. Fair enough.
"What's the difference between official and non-official missions?"
He jerked around, giving me a long look, before finally giving up the window and crossing the room, dropping on the edge of the coffee table (which was far more stable than it looked, since Logan's weight wasn't inconsiderable).
"Straight to the hard questions, huh?" Logan took another swallow from the can, then put it down on the table beside him. "Long story."
"I have time, apparently," I answered. "What's the difference?"
With a growled sigh, Logan rested both elbows on his knees, looking thoughtfully in the general area of ear before finally answering.
"Official means we follow the rules of conduct for enemies--they get arrested. Unofficial we don't. Official is reported and can be read by anyone. Unofficial means no one knows other than those that gave the orders and those who received them."
I paused a little.
"*I* know about the non-official mission."
A grin cracked his face then.
"Yes, you do, which is the reason the next time you show your pretty face on campus, don't be surprised if you have Johnny attached to your hip. Scooter's testing you."
Shoulda guessed.
"Yeah." I looked at my beer, from which I'd taken no more than one drink, and quickly chugged another mouthful. "I can understand that." Glancing down again, I shrugged a little. "You have better beer? This is crap, Logan, even for you."
Logan choked on a laugh, bringing my head up sharply--making me grin despite myself.
"I'll find you something better, darlin'," he answered, then glanced at my clothes. "And something to wear."
I flushed a little, shrugging.
"I have one set left in Kitty's room." The new stuff was in Logan's laundry basket. School sweats, comfy as they might be, just weren't really high on the fashion scale. So I wasn't a trendsetter--I wanted to at least look decent.
"You want me to go get it?"
I took another drink of my beer.
"Yeah--and I need to do laundry." Come to think of it, some of my clothes were in the shower downstairs. Would someone figure they were mine? Would--the key was still in my pocket. Oh dear God.
Logan watched curiously as I dropped my beer on the coffee table, hands scrambling for my throat, feeling the edges of the collar.
"The key--"
"Where'd you leave it?"
I gave Logan a harassed look.
"My jeans pocket. I had a little situation in the showers--" I trailed off as Logan nodded--of course, one of the team had reported the Nervous Breakdown of the New Girl. Shit. Before I could get another word out, Logan got to his feet, picking up his can.
"I'll go find them." A pause. "Do you want to go back to campus?"
Oh dear God. I couldn't face Kitty after the way I'd acted. She'd be--sympathetic, and sweet, and draw totally wrong conclusions and I didn't want to have to handle that. Not to mention a St. John Allerdyce who saw me very naked.
"Can I--" But what would Logan think, if I was constantly crashing on his couch? This was the fourth night--not that he'd complained, and first night had been mostly spent with revelations and such, but still--what if he wanted company. Female-type company? Or actually, considering this was Logan, any-type sexual company. I began to get up. "I'm fine. You can--you can take me back." I was brave. I'd face Kitty and St. John and Scott's suspicions.
"Shit."
Huh?
Logan shrugged.
"Means I gotta be on campus tonight." His sigh was almost mocking. "I *am* supposed to be watching you," he said mildly when he saw my mouth gape open.
I hadn't thought of that.
"Here's fine." Here was good. I mean, obviously, if he was going to have to watch me anyway. "I just didn't--didn't want to bother you." Sure I didn't want to bother him. Yes, let's all face it now--I was living with Logan. I was *living* with my primary fantasy. Dear God.
"I'll tell you when you're bothering me." Ah, case closed--very Logan. He picked up the can, walking to the kitchen briefly, before coming back out, keys in hand. "Come on--you can pick up your clothes and we'll go get something to eat."
Oh. Food. I consulted my stomach, which tentatively suggested I tread with caution.
"Nothing spicy."
He grinned a little.
"Sure, baby."
I felt myself warm at the endearment, some of the sick nausea receding as I stood up.
"Logan?"
A quick, questioning glance back at me.
"Thanks."
There was a hesitation before he nodded, a second that I probably wouldn't have noticed anyone else doing, but this was Logan and I knew him inside and out. As he went out the door, shutting and locking it behind him, I curled my legs up under me and wondered at the expression that had chased across his face.
Almost regret.
How odd.
Well, he was right--in the fact that I'd basically moved in with him. My room was cleared of my clothes and the bed looked remarkably like no one had used it in awhile. Yeah, Marie does *not* live here anymore. Fishing out the jeans and shirt, I stripped and re-dressed--I liked the clothes Kitty and I had bought. They *fit*. The underwear situation was a different story altogether.
So I didn't want to be a danger to Kitty. True. And I sure as hell didn't want to slip up if a nightmare decided to rear its head. And slipping was so easy when you lived with someone--I *knew* I'd say something to Kitty, just off the top of my head, that would come from my past with her. Or worse, from *her* specific past, the past now lodged firmly in my head.
It was more than that though, and sitting down on the edge of the bed, I thought it over, twisting the length of the scarf I'd bought earlier between my gloved fists. Being here--it was doing something to me I couldn't quite describe. Surrounded by all the students who knew me as Marie Danvers--it was worse than slipping up and saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was feeling myself becoming more and more Marie Danvers--and the touch of my hand on my hair, the short strands against my fingers, proved it more every second.
My personality, Marie herself, was always in flux--it was a delicate balance to keep stable with the additions of Logan and Carol and Erik and Kitty, and David, and the others I'd touched over the years. Subtle, those I'd only touched once and passing, brief flashes of other times and other places. Me, Rogue, was a mixture of that first girl and everyone who had come in contact with her. Like anyone, Marie grew up, changed, adapted. Unlike others, I desperately worked against inner change, wanted to keep as much of the original me as possible.
I could feel that slipping, the more I let Carol Danvers' memories, Kitty's memories, become Marie Danvers' memories, the more I became the new personality I needed to hide myself. And it was scaring me. The truth was, I was with Logan because I could finally let it down and be just Marie, I could keep her, I could strengthen her and be her.
No, not that either. I was with Logan because I didn't want to be anywhere else. I wanted to be myself and I wanted to be myself with him. Simple as that. He might be a substitute for the one I wanted, but a substitute was better than nothing.
"Marie?"
I turned on the bed and saw St. John standing at the door, blue eyes veiled. Clean and neat in a white t-shirt and jeans, he seemed completely different from the man who'd held me downstairs in the shower. Distant.
"Hey, Johnny." We'd had a severely embarrassing bonding experience. I wasn't quite sure I was ready to see him yet. Giving him a long look, I twisted the remaining shirt in my hand. If I took it, it was sort of an admission that I wasn't living in this room. I *was* living with Logan. That should bother me and it didn't.
"Feel better?"
I nodded, shifting slightly on the bed. Logan should have found my jeans by now.
"Scott's talking to Logan downstairs about the attack," he told me, answering my unspoken question. I hadn't realized my face was that easy to read. "They'll be a bit. Logan said to tell you it'll be about an hour."
"Oh." I didn't like it. Though really, *was* it so unusual that Logan was chatting with Scott about the attack?
St. John nodded, pushing the door shut and leaning back against it. His steady gaze was unnerving.
"Does anyone--know why they were here?"
St. John shrugged, absently toying with his pocket.
"Lucas left an interesting report for Lensherr," St. John told me suddenly, and a folder seemed to materialize in his hand. Taking two quick steps, he dropped it by the bed and I turned it over, curious. "What were you doing in the restricted area?"
My hand was steady as I turned the page, an act of pure will. I shrugged.
"Logan--"
"Yeah, Logan told Remy to toss it out and has all three kids locked to campus." I flipped the folder closed, but not before I saw the description of my appearance and the very *non-blonde* hair I'd had. Shit, shoulda worn the image inducer. "Interesting description, Marie." His eyes fixed on my hair briefly and I almost lunged to cover it, no matter how silly it was The image inducer seemed large and obvious against my hip.
"It was a dark night."
"Yeah. Lucas couldn't explain what he was doing over there--he's stupid sometimes." A pause, before St. John took a step back and pulled something from his pocket. Small and silvery-bright in the bright overhead lights. I blinked a little in surprise. My key. "You forgot to grab this, babe."
I didn't lunge for it and he didn't come any closer to hand it over. We looked at each other for several long seconds before I managed to swallow in a dry throat and choke out a response.
"Thanks."
"Those things aren't good for extended periods of time," St. John answered neutrally, playing with the metal idly.
"Yeah." No way to answer that--and if he asked why on earth I wore one, what the hell would I say? For a second, there was a stalemate.
"Bobby was asking about you. He's worried." There was the slightest trace of derision in the cool voice and that didn't help my nerves any further.
"I'm away from Bobby," I answered sharply, too unnerved to even pay attention to what I was saying. "So you don't need to be nice to me anymore."
An eyebrow arched in apparent surprise--rare, St. John just didn't let emotion show.
"Who says--"
"Can it. You always acted like this. When I was datin' Bobby, you used to--" I broke off and St. John blinked. Before I could find a way to explain that away, St. John turned and locked the door behind him, then spun around, leaning back against the wood. Oddly, he didn't look surprised at all, and that scared me. The intense focus in his eyes scared me even more.
"Rogue." He breathed it like a prayer answered, and that scared me most of all. How the fuck--
"I--I don't know what you're talking about." Somehow, I found it in myself to move, to get up, but St. John shook his head, leaning back against the door.
"Gloves and doesn't want to be touched, except with that collar on. To keep people safe, you said." Shit, I *had* said that, in the shower. "Brown hair, not blonde. Bobby falling at first sight and following you like a puppy. You wince away from everyone and telepaths can't read you. Logan's hovering like a hen with one chick and throws out files with your name in them and tries to convince Scott you're not a threat, when usually he'd be the first to toss you to Jean." He met my eyes. "You were quiet and wore gloves all the time, because you were scared you'd hurt someone. You think I don't remember. I do. I met you."
"Rogue's dead." Shit, he had to know that, why would he--
"I know--I saw her body. Doesn't change the fact--you're her." He was studying me, matching me with his memories--and Johnny had a good damned memory, no question. I drew in a breath, letting it out slowly.
He was reaching, that was what he was doing. Slowly, I sat down on the edge of the bed.
"You're wrong."
"Carol never had a sister. I knew the bitch inside and out--and apparently, so do you." He paused. "Invulnerability, strength, flying, and Carol's green eyes--add in touch and I can even guess how it happened. She screwed over the wrong person."
I stiffened at the trace of satisfaction in his voice. St.John took two steps toward me, and an arm's reach away. Bad tactical maneuver if he was trying to keep himself safe. But the long fingers reached out and brushed the collar around my throat, before hooking in the chain--Logan's chain--circling my throat, pulling it out and up to the light. Crap. I'd forgotten to take it off.
"These are buried in the cemetery with a dead girl."
I breathed out sharply.
"It's not--"
"Don't try." A casual wave of his hand, dismissing anything I could have come up with--and I couldn't have thought of anything anyway. Damn. "I wanna know how it happened. How you got here."
I took a breath, looking for something to say. There was nothing, nothing I could even begin to try to explain with this. St. John cocked his head, eyes growing a little distant, and I wondered if I could get by him, collared or not. "I'm not sure."
"Logan knows. That's why he's keeping you outta Lensherr's way." A thoughtful silence--he was quick, had to give him that. "Mags would sell his soul to get another absorber--and the rest of our souls to get the original."
"I'm not her. Not like you think." I paused--how the hell did I explain that?
"What do you look like? Show me what Lucas saw the other night." He paused. "I saw the image inducer on your hip, Rogue."
Crap. In the shower. I'd forgotten all about that.
St. John waited, eyes fixed on my face. With a sigh, I tucked a hand under my jeans and flipped the image inducer off, letting him see the streak of white, the dark brown of my hair, letting him take me in.
"Rogue." A pause, and something went out of him--hurt, anger, amusement, relief? No idea, I didn't know how to identify it. Slowly, he sank down on the bed beside me, then pausing to look me over again. He believed, and why did he believe?
"Tell me what happened."
Slowly, I did. Everything--what I had told Logan, what Hank had told me, about the machine and the speculation and my appearance. Finally, St. John was sitting on the bed beside me, looking thoughtful.
"Kitty, that first night--"
"She touched me to wake me up. Fell down after." I wasn't going to tell him I'd inflicted that headache on her, no way. He nodded slowly.
"Makes sense." A pause. "Cool."
Huh?
"What?"
"You know, physics theory appearing before my eyes." He smiled a little. "Before the war, I was getting my bachelor's degree, physics." A little smile. "Faked gene tests, escaped the camps for a few months because of that. My professor was this ancient guy, liked mutants. We spent hours together, talking. Multiverse theory, stuff like that. He was friendly with Xavier and got the original specs to the machine thanks to some judicious payoffs to some of Lensherr's buddies. He was fascinated by it--by the concept of magnetism being a trigger for DNA mutation. And by your ability to absorb raw energy. He had a lot of theories."
I needed his name.
"Dagby," St. John said softly, anticipating my question. "He died during the war. He was put in camps like the other sympathizers. I got him out and into Malta when Scott took back Manhattan. It was too late--he was old and the conditions wrecked his health. But he died with the best care and he wasn't in pain." A pause, and the blue eyes grew distant. "I cremated him over the Mediterranean. He loved Italy." The blue eyes sharpened. "Hank won't come here because of what the X-Men became and because he knows what they're planning. I came here because of that."
"For Bobby." Not so different--Bobby might never notice, but I knew, I'd always known. Didn't say much about me that I dated Bobby anyway, either.
A soft sigh.
"And for Bobby. He's bitter--the things that happened to him, to Cecy." A pause. "I promised Hank and I promised Dagby, promised them I wouldn't be one of the opponents of reintegration. Hank's ostracized by the X-Men, for wanting something different from this. But he was overruled. Scott, Jean, Logan, Ororo, they all supported Magneto, and they were the ones that decided policy--war heroes and all. Mystique sits as president of the United States and follows Lensherr, and the other countries we won follow her."
"They're looking for infiltrators, you have to know that." He was taking a risk, dear God, such a risk.
"They know how much I loved Dagby. They don't think I am one. I've been here since the beginning, to watch and see what I could do."
I stared at him, wondering suddenly about my Johnny--I'd underestimated him. Always did, and shit, I'd have to have a talk with him when I got back. Another smile, a little different now.
"So you--"
"I've been waiting--when I found out about the project with Polaris, everything changed. Except--except you came, and something's different. Logan's spending time off campus and seriously worrying Scott and the others." The blue eyes met mine. "Logan's always been pretty fucking loyal to Scott and the others, you know? So there's some curiosity that he's been--less than enthusiastic about the project."
I nodded slowly, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.
"What--tell me again how you got here?"
I'd told the story enough now that it tripped off my tongue easily, and St. John watched me, weighing every word and every movement of my body. Told him about the store, my world, the key difference that made up Rogue-who-survived and Rogue-who-didn't. Whatever difference that actually was--the only concrete moment I could be sure of was that up until whatever happened on the Statue that night, Rogue had died here.
And the machine had, miraculously, worked.
"Lensherr wants an absorber because he thinks that it might make the difference; either that or the entirety of a mutant's power, up to actual death. And he could be right. Hank has Dagby's notes, the equations, the way to make the changes stick. Mostly."
I felt my stomach drop. Hank could stop the mortality rate. I breathed out slowly, evenly. Logan knew that too. But Hank would never help Erik do this. Even to save those people.
"How many people are going to be in the project?"
St. John's lips tightened.
"Fifteen thousand so far, with more coming in every hour. That's what Salem Complex is--that's why the convoys keep coming, that's why Betsy and Jean aren't on campus as much and that's why they look exhausted." He gave me an amused look. "And why Jean hasn't gotten around to doing a deep scan on you yet. Lensherr's going to jack the machine up as far as it'll go and get everyone. They have lots of volunteers--and they have lots of people who have been manipulated into thinking they're volunteers. And some who are being forced, ones the X-Men need to finish everything, wipe out the threat, the ones they need Jean and Betsy to control--scientists, world leaders, people with power." St. John let out a slow breath--I couldn't breathe at all. "Lensherr wants to switch the ratio over. He doesn't want to live in peace, he never wanted reintegration, especially after Xavier died. He wants practical genocide. Every human being on earth."
*No.* Oh no. No.
"But--even if he changed them all, even if Polaris did work--that leaves the rest of the population of the earth, Johnny. That's--" my mouth went dry "--four billion humans."
A pause. The blue eyes burned into mine for a endless moment and I realized what he didn't want to say. I'd implied it to Logan, but I hadn't--hadn't really comprehended what that meant. Four billion. *Four billion human beings.*
"He'll kill them all, won't he?" Magneto had learned a long time ago, in those first camps, how it was done, how easy it was. How to make a lie the truth.
"We're not sure," St. John said slowly, measuring out the words. "And we don't want to find out."
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