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Author's Chapter Notes:
Like last time, I'm so sorry this has taken me a while to post. Some massive vortex seems to have absorbed all my free time :o( I've decided to split the last two chapters into three chapters instead (they fit better that way... and there's more chance of me getting shorter chapters actually finished on time!) Also - I'll try and post the next chapter soon-ish, to make up for this one... *hides*

I glance though the thick glass of the window, over at the lake. It’s late morning and the muggy skies have grown heavy and dark with the greying promise of rain. The weather is always more fickle when Storm’s not around.

They’re not back from the mission yet, but I’m not worried. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Which is stupid really. Why lie to yourself when you know you are lying? I used to worry about all of them before I was old enough to join the team. Before I shut the part of me that worried down. Now it’s back with a vengeance.

I'm goddamn sexually frustrated too. Yeah, that helps.

Ugh.

I huff a sigh to myself, snuggling deeper into the armchair and watching the way my breath steams up the window, before scrubbing it clean with my fist. Maybe I need to get myself a job of some kind. Something useful. Or at least something to keep my mind occupied and away from this horrible sense of foreboding.

Rogue?

The Professor’s voice catches me off guard, as it always does, and I wonder if it was like that for Logan last night. Only a non-‘path can truly appreciate how much you jump when another sentient voice suddenly appears in your brain.

I’d like to see you in my study. I have a matter I need to discuss.

Oh. I frown slightly at his serious tone. Does he know what happened last night? Does he disapprove? Or... confusion is soon swamped by growing worry... does he know something else? Has something gone wrong with the mission? Is everyone alright? I’m out of my chair and fumbling with my shoes at the door in an instant.

The incessant drizzle dampens my clothes on my way over to the Mansion, but I hardly notice it. The school’s eerily quiet without the teaching staff. Kids probably in their rooms or camped out in front of the television or something.

I pad my way quickly through the corridors, let myself into the Professor’s study, the smooth click of his door handle ringing loud in my ears. It's a room that usually brings a familiar sense of comfort, but today when he looks up at me from his desk, it's not there. In fact, the reaching hints of unease I’ve been pushing to the back of my mind begin to deepen.

What is this?

I give him a nervous smile, but he doesn’t smile back. He still looks kind, like he always does, but sad.

Suddenly I feel like lead’s lining my stomach. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

"Please," he says, indicating to the door.

That alone makes me go all hot and cold. I close it behind me, feeling almost sick as I take a seat. Is Logan hurt? Did something happen? The words babble uselessly out of me. "Is everyone okay? The team? They’re-"

"They’re fine," he cuts in, still calm. "Ororo checked in half an hour ago. They’re on their way back."

"But they’re all alright?"

"Their report indicated Jubilee has a sprained wrist, Logan has destroyed half his uniform again, but there’s nothing to worry about."

There isn’t? I try breathing a sigh of relief, but it doesn’t quite feel right. And the heaviness only gets worse when the Professor slides the file he had been looking at across the desk towards me.

I look at it suspiciously. The plastic cover is smooth and shiny. New. "What is it?"

"Open it."

I don’t think I want to, not if this is what’s making him sad. "Can’t you just tell me?"

"It’s better if you see for yourself."

Now I really don’t want to.

My hands tremble; they slide over the cover as it slips and flaps open, and my heart thuds in my chest. I know it. I know what I’m going to see inside, it’s like a horrible aching that grows within me, but I don’t want to believe it. Not yet. Clinging on to the hope that I’m wrong for as long as possible...

But I’m not.

My picture stares back at me. Grainy, fiercer than I usually look, but definitely me.

I can feel the colour draining from my face.

Guilt, embarrassment, fear; they wash over me in churning waves, my palms growing clammy and cold. Words swimming before my eyes as I try to read the text. Warrant. Arrest. Dangerous. Places and names. Times and dates. So real.

It’s suddenly so hard to focus.

"I received it today," the Professor tells me quietly. His voice rings in my ears. "It appears they know you’re here."

They know?

This was coming. This was always coming. Of course they know.

I try and stay in control of my thoughts. Fight not to let them overwhelm me. It’s okay, I tell myself. I can fix this. I just need to think rationally for a moment. The Professor, he can fix it too. That’s what we do, we fight for the things we want.

Oh God, I don’t want to lose what I’ve found. Not now. Not when I’ve only just found it.

Tendrils of panic begin to seep into my mind. It’s hard to reason with words printed in black and white government lettering and the more I think about it, the worse I feel. My grip on the voices in my subconscious starts to loosen; my head throbbing and their thoughts come thick and fast. Capture, payback, retribution, they taunt. Justice. Nothing is without consequence.

Nothing.

It was coming. It was always coming.

Two weeks ago I wouldn’t have even cared. But...now?

My hands wring against each other. I don’t want this. I don't. I'll never hurt anyone again. I just want my second chance back. Please.

I try to push the file as far away as possible, but although my hand moves, I can’t seem to let it go and it sticks to my fingers, all smooth surfaces and sharp edges and far too real.

"Rogue?"

I swallow. When I find my voice it sounds hollow, distant. Far too matter-of-fact to be coming from someone like me. "If they know I’m here, then I’m putting the school in danger."

They could be raided again. Shut down.

Because of me. Because of what I did.

The Professor doesn’t try to lie. "That may be true, yes, however we do not know that for sure." He slides something else across the desk to me, and places it on top of the open file.

I glance down. The memory chip? "I don’t understand."

"There’s enough information in that chip for me to make all that," he gestures elegantly towards the file, "disappear."

Something courses through me, but it’s not hope. It's too cold. It’s waking up to the realisation that this is really happening. "I thought you said you could use it as a device to fight the Registration Act. You said leverage."

"I had hoped, yes. But it’s your information. It’s your choice."

My choice? How is that a choice? "You want me to choose between clearing my name and preventing the MRA?"

"It’s still a choice." He leans forward. "I would very much like you to stay. There could be a career for you teaching at the school. A place on the team."

A life here.

I could stay in the lake house, where I’ve felt at home for the first time in years. I could spend time with... we could... oh God, but for how long? How long before the MRA reaches inside the school walls? How long before it tears all this down?

"It’s your decision," the Professor adds softly. "I will not think the less of you which ever direction you choose. You went through a lot to get that."

Yeah. I did.

I rub my face with my hands.

A lot of people went through a lot for that tiny piece of junk. That’s why it has to be worth something.

I shake my head. Catch a flash of my white hair out of the corner of my eye. Scarred. "No." My next breath is shaky. "Keep it. Use it the way you planned."

"Rogue-"

"It’s fine," I say quickly. But it’s not fine. It’s so far from fine that my mind is spinning and I’m wondering how I was the person I was this morning. "I’ll go. It’s better that way."

"It’s not necessarily-"

"Something good has to come from the mess I made. Besides, I’ve never belonged here anyway," I swallow back the lump in my throat. "We both know that."

"That’s not true."

Yeah. I know. But it’s easy to say. Easy to blame it on that.

He sits back in his chair, gives a long sigh. "You’re not going to let me fight it?"

"This is me fighting."

"But you-"

"I’m a survivor, aren’t I? I’ll get through this. Just like everything else. I always do....somehow..." But I can hardly say it, and this time I’m so far from believing it. I hope against hope that he’s not going to push it any further. I don’t think I could cope with that. Just accept it. Please.

"Where will you go?"

I press my hands against my forehead a moment, try and keep a reign on my control. Then I sit up and close the file, pushing it back towards him like it’s something final. I manage a faint smile, trying my hardest not to crack. "Wherever."



Walking back through the Mansion, I try and make myself invisible, shielded by a curtain of hair, passing feet, noises, chatter until... outside. Fresh air and grass underfoot. I don’t let myself think of anything but moving forwards because putting one foot in front of the other is what’s going to get me through this. Another dawn, another day, right? Familiar cycles. Slipping back into old patterns. Keys to a truck in my hand, the Professor’s one insistence. The oily concrete tang of the garage, the worn grip of the wheel beneath my bare fingers, the rumbling hum of the engine, the dizzy drive back to the lake house, windows wound down even though it’s raining. The mulch of wet leaves hanging heavily in the air like the omen of winter to come.

I feel light and faint as I move through the lake house, clearing it of my presence. I put the food I was going to eat for my dinner back in the cupboard. I take my list of things that are me off the fridge, crumple it in my fist before dropping it into the trash. I don't want people to see it. I can't bear the thought of them knowing I was vulnerable. Then I try not to think about that, or anything else, as I grab the rest of my stuff, forcing my mind to stay stark and blank.

I don’t even have a duffel anymore. I just have the bags from my shopping trip yesterday. How far away that seems now, like a flicker of another lifetime.

I stuff everything carelessly inside them, not letting myself feel bitter at the sight of them all lined up and pretty by the door, because they are a waste to me now. Not letting myself feel bitter about anything. Not letting myself feel.

Another dawn, another day. Another start. Another end. Another... I waiver. Of all things, torn by the sight of the book I was reading. It's sitting on the arm of the chair, page folded over, waiting for me to come back to it, and I choke back a sob. It nearly sends me over the edge, shattering that careful shell of self-control.

Nearly.

I take a deep gulping breath, turn around and leave it where it lies. I don't look back.
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