Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Marie had begun to suspect that her thoughts were not her own.

In fact, if she were being honest with herself, Marie thought she might be actually be losing her mind.

Because as the days and nights blended into one another, as her tiredness and worry and panic-as-loss merged together until she thought her heart might simply die rather than break… Time ceased to be meaningful. Ceased to matter. The past grew hazier and hazier every day, the only thing she could hold onto with certainty the memory of Logan, dark and strong and fierce inside her head. Real. Whenever she closed her eyes (seldom as that was) she pictured him- couldn’t seem to stop herself - Memories of their time together assaulting her and making her uncertain whether she wanted to scream or cry. And nothing made it better. Only his presence would have done so, and that was the one thing she knew she couldn’t ever have again. Not if she truly wanted him to be safe. So she let herself fall farther into this, this No-Mans-Land inside her head, this place where nothing had form and substance. Where everything felt like smoke. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been on the road now; The grey as iron nails landscape around her seemed endless, bereft of hope and sunlight, no star to set a course by- Kinda like her. But Marie wouldn’t let herself follow that self-pitying thought to its conclusion: She was doing this for Logan.

And if she froze to death slowly from sorrowing, what of it? At least he’d still be safe from her. At least he would survive.

The shadowy thing that was torturing her, the thing that kept switching between Remy and Logan’s face, grunted beside her then. Amahl, (at least that was what he called himself) reached out a smoking, burning hand in his sleep, his fingers elongating. When unconscious he couldn’t hold the form of either her husband or her- or Logan. His body roiled and smoked instead, all claws and fangs and malice; His mutation was unlike any Rogue’d ever seen. She knew better than to try and get away from him even if he had his eyes closed though. He reacted to her actions as quickly and surely as Smokey did. She’d tried, two days ago, to set her corrosive pet shadow on Amahl, figuring since he and Smokey seemed so similar in composition then maybe they could do one another damage in a fight. Retribution had been swift and agonising: pain had erupted inside Marie’s head and for a second her link with Logan had opened despite her protests. The shadowy kidnapper had sworn he could torture Wolverine through their link and threatened to prove it. You’ll never even know if you’ve killed him, Amahl had promised. You’ll just have to live your life wondering-

Just the threat of that was enough to make her docile.

Well, as docile as an X-Man ever got.

Though she knew Logan would hate her for it after that she wouldn’t fight him. She thought of Jeannie, of the Phoenix. Of what she, Marie, could become, and then she let Amahl do whatever he wanted. At least, within reason: His fear of this “family,” he kept mentioning prevented him from really- Well it kept her clothes on for the most part, and that was something. She winced though, her fingers lingering over the burns along her torso, along her wrists and across her clavicle: She still had some of Logan’s healing factor, which was why the bastard’s…attentions hadn’t left her more marked. At least on the outside. She thought back briefly, surprised at the sudden clarity of the memory, to the night Sabre-tooth had come for her, and shuddered. She’d only been nineteen that time and she’d been so scared when Logan had saved her- So damn relieved, she’d have done anything for him-

And she still would do. She’d give up her mind or her life for him, and not give it a second thought.

Amahl stirred then, waking. Just for a moment he held his frightening, King of Shadows shape, and then he morphed into Logan. He’d figured early on that it made Marie way more uncomfortable than looking at Gambit. She flashed back to that first night on the road, when he’d pinned her looking like Wolverine: It had felt so wrong, so Goddamn unwanted- Marie pushed the thought away before it could upset her more. Because she’d learned from Sabretooth that bastards like that liked it when you cried. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, the worthless sonofabitch.

“Morning darlin’” Amahl growled then, grinning. Even the voice sounded near pitch-perfect, his large hands reaching out for her though Marie shrank away. Once again she wished she could just wail on the bastard, let loose with her famous grizzly-bear temper but she couldn’t. She had too much to lose and he knew it. “Sleep well?” he muttered then, reading her expression. Grin widening.

“Like a baby,” she drawled.

“You dream o’ me?”

Of course she’d dreamt of Logan. Of the Battle of Smokey, where she’d nearly killed him with her thoughts. And then of other moments, other nights. The scent of cigar smoke and his fingers curled in her hair… Safety and adamantium, and four years without his touch… But what she grunted was, “Ah dreamt of Sponge-Bob.” And pursing her lips she said no more on the subject.

Tried not to hear his laughter, which was mocking and wicked and near.

“Well it’s good ya thought o’ something enjoyable, sweetheart, because we’re here,” he snickered. And he gestured to the building about twenty yards in front of them, which hadn’t even registered she was driving towards. She had no memory of choosing the road which had brought her here, no memory even of turning the ignition key. Yet clearly she must have so done if she was at the wheel. And once again she wondered whether she really was losing her mind. She brought the truck to a stop and popped the door, gingerly getting out. The place looked broken and scarring from the outside, an angry, fallen angel which had tumbled far from home. Her New Reliable was singing to her through every inch of exposed skin, the aura of pain, of loss, too terrible to be pushed away. Images and feelings bloomed inside her mind, moving too quickly to decipher- Desires and sensations which she knew were not her own filling her up like memories. But whenever she tried to focus on them, they once again drifted away like smoke against a gale.

And the strange thing was she let them. Something told her that once they made themselves known to her there would be no going back.

“Your feral can’t help you now though, darlin’,” Amahl snickered then. Once again he tried to slide his unwelcome hands across her body and Marie felt bile rise in her throat, as he tried to sink his claws into her skin. She recoiled, his burning flesh searing hers though he couldn’t keep hold of her for long, his body starting to contort and twist, becoming more and more monstrous as he grabbed at her. Despite her best efforts Marie gave a startled snarl and instinct took over: She clawed at him, kneeing him viciously in what would have been his balls had he been flesh and blood. But it did no good: His burning fingers were tearing through her dress now, his thoughts and emotions forcing their way underneath her skin- Jesus, she felt sick, twisted- And then-

“Amahl!” A voice cut over them. Immediately her attacker froze. “You have been warned before.”

Amahl suddenly stopped his clawing and stepped clear- Well clear- of her as a tiny boy, no older than ten, appeared before them. It occurred to Marie with a jolt that he was the first child she’d seen in days. Skinny and sandy-haired, he was wearing a blind-fold, his face set into the kind of impassive mask which no child should ever wear. Three deep scars ran down his babyish cheeks, his fingers hooked unlike any child’s she’d ever seen. Amahl waited for a moment, until the little one was within range and then maliciously swiped a claw-like hand at him: In one fluid movement the boy avoided the blow gracefully, pulling at his blindfold and releasing-

Releasing a beam of brilliant crimson light from his eyes. Neatly clipping his opponent. Just like-

“Cyke?” Marie heard her own voice saying it, as she watched him. It was crazy but- “Jesus, Cyke, is that you?”

The child stepped stiffly away from them then. Repositioned his blind-fold. Amahl was still cradling his hand. “I do not have a name,” he said coldly. She was reminded suddenly, painfully, of the way Scott stood to attention whenever Jean or Storm were in the room. The boy seemed more like a statue than flesh and blood. “You are mistaken.”

“But you’re-”

Marie tried to reach for him, her shock over-riding common sense and he made to raise the blind-fold in warning. “Do not touch me,” he muttered, his voice still that clipped, dull monotone. “I have been forced to discipline the glutton before-” and he gestured to her shadowy tormentor, “Do not force me to do the same to you.”

“But you’re Scott,” Marie muttered, unable to stop herself. “Your name is Scott Summers- Ah mean, you look so much like him-”

“We have no names here,” the boy said quietly. Marie had never thought a child could sound so intimidating. “Now that you have come to us, you will have to learn the rules. At least until the history walker arrives.” And with that he gestured crisply towards the orphanage. “You will enter,” he ordered. “Father has been waiting.”

“And just who the Hell is this “Father,”?” she snapped. She realised disjointedly that she was trying to hold her shirt together as she spoke.

The boy’s cold smile was chilling. “You know who he is; He sent your husband to you.”

Why does every Goddamn villain Ah encounter talk like a fuckin’ fortune cookie?

“Well then why don’t you jog mah memory and give me some details?” she snapped. Still frightened because- Jesus- That boy looked so much like Scooter. And the past was seeming less like a ghost these days and more like flesh and blood and that was downright worrying to her-

But the boy was unimpressed.

“The thought-breakers will deal with your memory when you enter,” he muttered, uninterested. “You will understand all once they have opened your mind.” Again, he made the tiniest move towards his blind-fold and Amahl winced at her side. Even Marie felt a little spooked. “Now enter. Or your husband will pay for your actions alongside you.” And the boy stalked away, turning on his heel and executing such a perfect military exit that Scott Summers might as well have been in the room. After a moment, three identical little boys, all wearing blind-folds, followed after him. One was holding tightly onto another child, a slim, doe-eyed girl with a mess of icy blond hair. Her skin glittered like diamonds in the diffuse, grey light, almost like-Almost like Emma Frost, when her secondary mutation came to call.

What the Hell?

Marie felt it again then: Panic. Not for the first time she reached inside her clothes for Logan’s dog tags, felt them twisted and beaten beneath her fingers, but a reminder of home and comfort nonetheless. She held them closely even as Amahl prodded her towards the building, his voice still gloating. Still venomous. She held them and thought of Logan. Reminded herself she was doing this for him-

And then she was inside. Prodded down a long dark corridor that reminded her chillingly of Logan’s memories of Alkali Lake. A massive set of metal doors swung open before her to reveal a cavernous silo room, its light green and sickly, its walls stained with remembrance and pain. Her New Reliable started to croon inside her, to whimper: She didn’t want to be able to read the memories this place had written upon it. But it didn’t look like she’d have a choice. Human bodies hung suspended from the ceiling inside glass cylinders, eyes open, staring: Some of them were conscious while others looked asleep. The youngest of them looking- Jesus, looking less than twelve. She took in the blood stained walls, the discoloured remains of military equipment; Not an inch of the room was clean or clear pure. And everywhere, everywhere there were children. Young and old, boys and girls, some obviously mutant though others as normal looking as Marie.

And there, right in the middle of them, she saw a pair of familiar black-and-red eyes staring at her. Gazing out of a face in which Marie felt they didn’t belong. Rogue felt her whole world turn sideways and wrong-feeling, felt that sickening sensation blooming in her stomach that she always got right before a mission went South-

Because there in the middle of the room, her face angry and intimidating, stood a black-and-red eyed, red haired young woman. A young woman who looked exactly like-

Exactly like Jean Grey.

Marie heard her voice say it, apparently of its own volition. “Aw, crap,” she muttered.