Keltie,

I'm so so so sorry I didn't reply to your last letter. I feel horrible, but things have been crazy. You're not going to believe what just happened. It's horrible, and I'm crying now and I can't stop.

One thing you should know about me. I don't cry. Not often, and not unless I'm really upset. I'm bawling now. I can barely write this, I'm so confused, and I don't know what to do.

I know you're probably confused, as well. I'll start from the beginning:

Exams are over now, and Bobby asked me to meet him in the kitchen tonight. I didn't think anything of it…I even showed up a bit late; not thinking it would be a big deal. But then I sit down and I see the look on his face and—oh this is horrible-I laugh at him, and say that exams were over, so why is he looking so serious?

And then he launches into this whole speech about how I've been really distant lately and how it seems like I never want to spend any time with him anymore. And I realize (incredibly slowly, might I add—it was like watching one of those rats, you know the ones that keep on running into the wall, until they eventually realize that it's shocking them) that, "Oh my God, he's breaking up with me," and I should have seen it coming because really, how could anyone stand having a girlfriend they can't even touch?

Right now, I'm sitting in mine and Kitty and Jubilee's bathroom just crying my eyes out and thinking this over. And I'm remembering this cute little thing that Bobby did whenever he said something smart-ass or inappropriate. You'd say, "Excuse me?" or ask him to repeat it and he'd just say "Nothing," with this cute little smirk on his face. And I wish more than anything right now that I could just go find him and ask him to repeat what he said in the kitchen and he'd say "Nothing," in the same way.

Now I'm remembering how Bobby was the first guy who really liked me despite my mutation and took care of me and…

I guess that's not technically…well, whatever.

Anyway, I'm going for a swim, even though it's like one in the morning, because it seems like being in the water is the one of the only things that makes my head clear, and I'll finish this letter later.

Rogue

Dear Rogue,

Based on your previous song choices, we recommend:

"Poison" by Alice Cooper

"My Skin" by Natalie Merchant

We think you'll agree this song is a useful addition to your iTunes library.

Sincerely,

Apple iTunes Genius Suggestions,

In Association with

The "It's Not Emo Until You're Posting Mirror Pictures on Myspace" Club

Keltie,

Wow. Just…wow.

You won't believe how much has happened since I left the bathroom to go for that swim. I mean it. It's crazy.

I'll start from the beginning (again). Kitty and Jubilee weren't in the bedroom when I left the bathroom. I assumed that they were in the kitchen either getting comfort food to lure me out of the bathroom or cussing Bobby out. I hoped it was the first option because I would feel horrible if he thought I was taking this whole thing badly (even though I am - but he doesn't need to know that).

Anyway, I started walking down the main stairs as quietly as possible because if any of the kids woke up all they would see is a mess of a teenager creeping down the stairs, and no one need to see that at 1:15 in the morning.

So I was creeping down the stairs, and my hair was crazy and my mascara was running down my face, and there at the bottom, blocking my way, was Scott.

I was completely shocked for a moment. My first instinct was that Jean sent him, that she knew what happened, and this made me choke up again, a second later, when I remembered. I stood in front of him for a second, staring him down (as much as you can stare down someone who wears sunglasses 24/7).

"I'm going swimming." I said. Unnecessarily, as it was pretty obvious with my bathing suit and towel that I wasn't robbing a bank.

"Rogue," he said. "Come on." At first I thought he was being patronizing, like: "Rogue, come on. You are not going swimming at a quarter after one in the morning just because your boyfriend dumped you. Go get some ice cream and crawl into bed and watch all four seasons of Kitty's Felicity DVD's, like a normal teenager." I felt really, really angry for a second, until I realized that Scott wouldn't patronize me like that, and that the "Come on," was meant to comfort me. I stepped down the last step between us and he wrapped his arms around me in the kind of bear hug that was so completely appropriate for how I was feeling. The kind that I haven't had in so long because most people are too scared to even brush pass me in the halls, let alone extend gestures of physical comfort.

"Come on," he said again, and that's when I realized that I was crying on his really nice jacket, the one that Jean bought him last Christmas (and the one that Jubilee says makes him look too metro for his own good). I like it (it's really soft) and I felt horrible for crying over it, but the fact that he was wearing it meant that he was actually going somewhere, and I, apparently, was expected to follow.

By this point, I was too tired to protest, too tired to do anything but walk next to him until we reached the hangar and it sunk in that "somewhere" probably wasn't in Westchester.

"We're taking the jet?" I said, and Scott looked at me, I think both because he could hear the trepidation in my voice, and because the first words out of my mouth weren't "Where are we going?" as they probably would be if it had been Kitty next to him instead of me. Or "Hells Yeah!" if it were Jubes.

"Rogue," He said evenly as he flipped some switches on the wall and the hanger lit up, revealing the Blackbird in its huge, super-stealth glory. "You flew this thing, remember?"

"Yeah, and crashed it." I muttered. "And got sucked out of it," I added, as I started helping him haul equipment onto the jet. "Remember?"

"Smart-ass," he replied, and I smiled a little, which was a weird sensation because my face felt frozen and my cheeks were stiff from the tears, because the way he said it was so much like Logan had a few days earlier.

We finished the pre-flight check, and it wasn't until I was buckled (securely this time—I triple-checked) into the co-pilot seat that I asked him where we were going.

He took a while to answer as he opened the hangar doors and started the jet. "There's something that has to be taken care of tonight, and I'm not sure I can do it without you. That's why you're here."

I felt a glow of pride. I was needed for something. Then my mood darkened somewhat. "So this wasn't just some mission the Professor dreamed up to make me forget I've just been dumped?"

"The situations conveniently coincided." Scott smiled in my direction, but I felt myself getting angry, as we rose out of the hanger and started flying south-west.

"What, everyone thought I was going to drown myself?" I said, more harshly than I'd intended. "What is this, some alternative therapy for kids on suicide-watch? Wait, I can see the advertisement! Death Defying Missions to save the world: Watch formerly depressed teenagers miraculously transform into-"

"Rogue," Scott cut me off sharply, admittedly later than I'd expected. "Were you planning on hurting yourself?"

"Are you insane?" I half-yelled, trying to keep the edge of hysteria out of my voice. I leaned back to look at him. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"Thank you." Scott said, adjusting some controls. "Do you really think that the world's strongest telepath, not to mention a very intelligent man who happens to know you quite well, couldn't realize that for himself?"

Okay, I'll admit it. I was told.

There was a moment of silence. "I'm sorry," I said. "I know I'm not being very mature. This whole thing just kind of sucks, you know?"

He glanced at me as we rose higher in the air. "Of course it does. You're a teenager. Everything sucks. Haha," he said. "Even you, out of the jet. Get it?"

"Thanks," I groaned, but I smiled nonetheless. It couldn't remember the last time I heard one of Scotts corny jokes.

"I just mean that it's been really hard for you the last couple of weeks. I know that, and your teachers know that. You're not alone."

I was so touched for a minute that I didn't say anything until Scott broke the silence by saying, "Besides, you didn't get dumped."

I sooo didn't want to have that conversation, so instead I leaned forward and said, "Hey, is that Boston?" I think he got the hint because he nodded and dropped the subject.

I know why Bobby dumped me (and yes, he did dump me) but I didn't feel like talking about it anymore. Especially with a man who had experienced way more heartache in the past few months than I could even begin to imagine.

"Wanna hear a joke?" Scott asked, after a couple of minutes of silence.

"Sure," I said, bringing my knees up to my chin and wrapping my arms around them.

"A grasshopper walks into a bar," I smile and shake my head, having heard it before.

"I'm not finished," Scott grinned, and began adding tons of inane details to the joke: "A grasshopper walks into a bar, totally pimped out. I mean, he has this totally…sick hat on his head. And his shoes, well his shoes were-well, you know. They were like, dope, or something…"

And on, and on, and on like this until I put my hands over my ears and threatened to sic Jubilee on him if he didn't stop. I also promised to do the vacuuming for a month if he never said "sick", "dope", "ill", "pimpin'" or "gansta" again.

Finally, he stopped, both of us breathless from laughing so hard. My face hurt from smiling. It was a good feeling.

"So what, are we just going to park the jet behind some bushes?"

"You're hilarious, did anyone ever tell you that?"

We did eventually land, but if I told you where, I'd have to kill you. No, seriously, Scott threatened to give me a zero on my math exam and tell the grasshopper joke every night at dinner until I graduate. Sorry, I'm just not willing to take that risk.

So we started walking from this location, and somehow we ended up in the front hallway of this old, dilapidated apartment building, and this is when I got the brilliant idea to find out what we were supposed to be doing there.

Scott ignored my question and told me to wait in the hall while he went to talk to a fat, balding man sitting in an office that smelled like cat pee and beer. A minute later he came out, looking a little green, and the guy (who I assumed was the superintendent) followed him. When he caught sight of me, he stared at my chest like a rabid dog.

"Just up these stairs?" Scott asked, oblivious, pointing to a narrow hallway I thought was a closet.

The super sort of grunted, and then said: "Hey buddy, why don't you let your girlfriend stay down here with me…s'not very safe round these parts."

Okay, eww. Not only did he talk like he was in a bad western, but as he looked me up and down I was pretty sure that I was being mentally undressed. Gross.

"…wouldn't want anything to happen to a pretty thing like that." He finished, and before I had the chance to inform him that yes, I was in the same room and perfectly capable of speaking for myself, Scott politely but firmly told the guy that he was pretty sure I could take of myself. I backed away from the guy, moving to follow Scott up the stairs, but the guy didn't get the hint.

"Hey, what's your problem?" He grabbed my arm and before Scott could reach for his sunglasses, the guy was out cold on the floor as the result of right hook I delivered to the side of his head.

"Nice," Scott said, obviously impressed. "Why didn't you just let him grab you? Same effect."

I rolled my eyes at him. "You think I want that in my head?" I shuddered at the thought.

His eyebrows responded for him over the top of his glasses. They said "I see your point."

It wasn't until we were halfway down a hallway identical to the one we just left (minus one unconscious guy) that I realized with a paralysing start why we were (more importantly, why I was) there.

"Oh no," I said, stopping dead in the hallway, my arms crossed over my chest. "I'm not."

Scott turned around, probably expecting to see another weirdo trying to harass me. "Rogue…" He said when he realized why I'd stopped, and I was surprised to hear a hint of begging in his voice. "Please? I wouldn't ask unless it was important."

"It's not that important. I know." I sounded petulant, and stubborn, and I didn't want to tell him exactly how I knew, but I wasn't going through with this little plan the Professor cooked up

(Right now I'm getting this image of the Professor sitting in his office, tenting his fingers and laughing maniacally as he thought up his little plan. If you knew the Professor like I do, you would find this image HILARIOUS.)

Scott crossed his arms as well, and even though I couldn't see it, I could feel his stare, so I looked at the ground, the wallpaper, anything other than his face.

"What do you know?"

Finally I looked up at him, hoping that my stance was as intimidating as his. "I know that I'm in an apartment building, in Boston, in a hallway that smells like lighter fluid and…and…" I sniff the air experimentally. "…hair gel, presumably because you—" I put extra emphasis on the pronoun, hoping that it would clearly express my disgust, without actually poking my finger into his chest like I wanted to. "-want me to convince a boy I don't even like to retire from his life as an Evil Minion of Doom and come home to a place he hates." I stopped for breath; a little disappointed that Scott hadn't tried to cut me off. "...and where everyone hates him." I added, lamely.

"Hate's a pretty strong word," he said simply. I swallowed, because of course he was right. Hate wasn't what I felt, exactly. Hate was the memories I had in my head of tattoos and ghettos and shovels applied to the back of your head. Hate wasn't inside that door, but a pretty damn strong dislike was. I said as much.

Scott kept on staring, and I was imagining us, years from now, locked in this same stance, when he leaned over and knocked on the door marked "2B".

I gasped, furious that he would break staring protocol. And then the door opened, and my protest died on my lips.

Let me get this straight. About John, I mean. I do not feel sorry for him. At all. Leaving school and his best friend to join the ranks of pure evil does NOT garner sympathy from me.

But he looked horrible. He was thin, his hair was far too long, and almost every surface of his skin was scratched or bruised in some way. His nose looked like it was broken, but it was his eyes that creeped me out the most. They talk about people's eyes looking dead, lifeless, and his were. There was no defiant spark in them, or sarcastic smirk on his face.

He stared at Scott, and Scott stared back, and I stood there and wondered why my stare contests with Scott never lasted that long. And then the strangest thing happened: The same way I had earlier in the night, John stepped forward and Scott gave him a huge bear hug. For a moment, it seemed to be the only thing holding him up.

He caught my eye over Scott's shoulder. I felt pretty stupid, standing off to the side, my mouth still sort of half open, but I closed it pretty quickly when he said, in this horribly raspy voice: "Thanks for coming…" and then collapsed.

I'll give you a few seconds to get over all of this.

Actually, it's more for me cause I'm still having a hard time believing it.

And my hand is cramping up from so much writing.

Okay, so you want to know what happened after that right? Of course you do. But I have to do this, partly for dramatic effect and partly because I've rambled on for pages and pages about myself.

So what's up with you? I know you said in your last letter that you can write Ben and Leah's names without burning hatred, but it looked like you were pressing REALLY hard on the paper, so I'm not sure if I believe you. But that's okay, because you deserve to feel angry. I would be.

And don't for one second think that I got sick because of you, or that I have things that are way more important to do. I worry about you, but your letters keep me going. I'm pretty sure if you stopped writing to me I'd fall to pieces. People would walk by this giant puddle of uncertainty on the ground and when someone asked, "What's that?" one of my friends could answer "Oh, that's just Rogue. Step this way please."

See? See what would happen? So please don't stop writing. And I would love to meet with you in person, preferably over coffee or frozen yoghurt and not yoga class. As soon as I get back we will figure something out.

You've probably guessed that I'm still not home yet anyway, as I'm going to be sending this care of the Boston University Hospital. Yep, that's where I am right now, tucked into a hospital bed. It was pretty obvious that John was sick, and when the nurse saw me, they insisted that Scott admit both of us (geez, you forget to put on eyeliner one day…).

It's kind of cool though, because the hospital specializes in mutant care, and Scott had to fill out these long, complicated forms that asked for specifics on our "powers". I got a kick out of the fact that they said "powers" instead of "mutations" or "defects." It made us seem like superheroes, or something. I think John liked it too, because his eyes lost the glazed look that had been persistent ever since we found him.

We still haven't talked though. He's lying in the bed next to me, trying to sleep, but he keeps on coughing and every time he has a fit, smoke billows out of his mouth and nose. I shouldn't, but I find it kind of funny. Actually, he sneezed about a half hour ago and they had to come in and disconnect the room's smoke detector. I don't know what's going to happen when we do have to talk, or who's going to speak first.

Wow. I just looked back over this letter and realized how long it was. And Scott just woke up in his very uncomfortable hospital armchair and told me to go to sleep, so I guess I'll mail this tomorrow.

I really hope everything is okay with you!

Love and Chocolate covered almonds,

Rogue.