Charles Xavier had never seen the Wolverine so angry. His claws shimmered at the surface of his knuckles, a muscle twitching uncontrollably in his jaw. For a moment Xavier was so fearful that Wolverine might lose control in the close confines of the jet that he thought about exerting a little calming influence...
He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had occurred to him. Of all the things that made the Wolverine angry, uninvited entry into his mind was at the top of the list.
“Goddammit, Chuck, how could you keep something like that a secret. You should have told me,” he snarled.
Xavier felt a rush of anger flush his face. The nerve of him -- the unmitigated gall -- to insist that he be told? He had been with the team for barely a year -- Jean hadn’t even told Scott for years! And yet...
Xavier took a deep breath, calming himself, marshalling his thoughts. He knew how Logan felt about Jean, the usually stoic man projected those feelings loud and clear. Xavier may hold his own opinions about what those feelings actually represented, but to Logan they were real. And when Jean had disappeared, and Logan had put his life on the line to find her...yes, he should have been told.
Xavier sighed, suddenly weary. “You are right, my friend. I should not have let you go into this situation without telling you. I quite honestly did not believe that Jean’s disappearance had anything to do with the Phoenix -- that anyone aside from myself, Jean, and Scott even knew that the Phoenix existed.”
The mixture of shame and guilt that always accompanied thoughts of what he had done to Jean rose up in his belly. “I will admit, I have always been conflicted about what I have done. To fracture a mind, even to save it -- to imprison the Phoenix, so that Jean Gray could live and be happy -- it was not a decision made lightly, by either of us. But we both felt it to be necessary, simply because of the unimaginable power the Phoenix could wield. Perhaps my ambivalence -- my shame -- affected my judgment in this regard.”
“Goddamn right it did....”
“Professor!” Kitty’s voice, shrill and frantic, interrupted them.
They both turned, and Xavier was unprepared for the wave of emotion that roiled off the Wolverine as they saw Rogue collapsed on the floor of the jet, papers scattered around her. A fierce protectiveness, concern, and was that even...?
He hurriedly threw up a barrier against Wolverine’s emotions, reluctant to pry despite his curiosity. Psychic ability was hardly needed in this instance, in any case -- in a single bound Wolverine had gathered Rogue up against his body, stroking her hair, murmuring words of concern and reassurance with a tenderness completely uncharacteristic of the man they had known for the past year.
“Put her on the cot,” Xavier urged.
Wolverine looked up, his eyes wild, but followed the directive. “What the fuck happened? -- Should we call Hank?”
“Just a moment...” Xavier closed his eyes, concentrating on the young woman. "My God..." he heard himself mutter, his hands clenching on the arms of his wheelchair as he fought against the swirling bedlam that threatened to drag him under. He had suspected, based on her mutation, but -- such chaos. It was almost unimaginable how she had managed on her own.
"What? What's wrong with her, goddammit?!"
Xavier opened his eyes, disengaging with the young woman's mind with a wrenching effort, gathering his thoughts to try to convey what he knew in a way that would not provoke Wolverine further. "I believe that the barrier Emma Frost put in place between Rogue and her prior self has been breached, but too quickly. The consciousnesses of those she absorbed in her prior life are all unfettered, and are overwhelming her. She needs to regain control."
"It's -- it's my fault," Kitty said haltingly. "I gave her the file -- I didn't know..."
She handed Logan the untidy stack of pages she had collected from the floor. A low, ominous rumble began in Logan's chest as he looked at the papers, the rumble building to a snarl as he stopped at the mugshot. Kitty backed away, sniffling.
"Logan!" Xavier stifled a shiver as the cold, predatory gaze shifted from Kitty back to him. He gentled his voice before continuing. "I believe I can help her, but you must allow me access to her mind, without interruption. She cannot assent, so you must. Do you understand?"
As he watched, the feral golden light faded from Logan's eyes. Logan looked down at Rogue again, brushing her hair back from her face, his expression haunted. “Just -- help her.”
________________
Xavier pushed through the chaotic tumult of voices, searching for the one that was Rogue. Anger, vindictiveness, fear, all surrounding him in a dense swirling mass...there it was. Her struggling consciousness, fluttering against the forces of the other personalities, weakening already. He grasped the slender thread, following it as it grew thicker and stronger, all the way back to the core of her consciousness. Then he focused, expanding his psyche, spreading it outwards until it encompassed hers.
And there she was, appearing before him in his mind’s eye as just a young woman, the delicate form of her belying the strength of character he had already sensed in her consciousness. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her hands over her ears. She looked up at him, startled by the sudden silence. He knelt down in front of her and smiled.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Did I -- are you one of the people I hurt?”
“No my dear. And forgive my inexcusable manners for not introducing myself earlier, when you boarded the plane. My name is Charles Xavier. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“But...”
Her gaze drifted upwards and he self-consciously ran a hand through his thick hair. “Ah, yes. You must forgive an old man’s vanity. Sometimes one’s own self-image can be a little...outdated.”
He reached out a hand and helped her to her feet, absently enjoying the flex of the muscles in his own sturdy legs as he rose.
“Your self-image...is this in your mind? Or...mine?”
He considered the question. “A little of both right now, I believe. But my purpose in coming here is to help you with the aspects of your own mind that have become overwhelming. The voices.”
She bit her lip uncertainly. “I’m going crazy, aren’t I? That’s what it felt like.”
“Not at all, my dear. Nothing you are experiencing is made-up, or imaginary. The voices in your head are real entities -- the echoes of consciousness, if you will, of those you have touched. But they are controllable. You had developed control of them before, and you will regain control again. I am here to help you with that task.”
He focused his mind, and suddenly they were in a large field. He breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air of his childhood, as Rogue looked around in wonder. He gestured, and a ramshackle stone wall appeared before them, large sections of it tumbled and broken.
“Imagine if you will that this is the wall that Emma Frost created within your mind to keep you from the memories of your past.”
Rogue walked up to the wall, picking up one of the tumbled stones. “It all feels so real,” she murmured, dropping the stone and wiping her gloves on the legs of her jeans.
“In some ways it is. Everything you imagine here is experienced by the sensory pathways of your brain. But here is the key -- you have control over what occurs. It is still, in essence, your mind controlling this experience. I am just a visitor.”
“I remember a lot more now...is that why the wall is broken?”
“Exactly. Over the past few days, and particularly when you were presented with the information from your prior life, you were able to breach the wall. And soon, with my assistance, it will be gone.”
Rogue paled. “I...I don’t want to go back there...”
His heart ached for the poor girl. “The events of your past are unchangeable, and part of you. But the tumult of voices -- those you did control, and will again. We will start right now.”
“How?”
“The same way you managed before -- one at a time.” He hesitantly reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder, and was gratified when she allowed the touch. “You were such a young girl, so confused -- isolated from everything you knew, with no guidance from anyone -- and yet still you managed to control the voices. It was a remarkable accomplishment, Rogue. And you are stronger now than you ever were before.”
She bowed her head. “I don’t feel strong.”
He smiled, remembering times in his life when he had also doubted his own strength, his own control. “We never do, my dear. But when we do what is necessary -- even in the face of overwhelming adversity -- that is when our strength becomes evident. And you have already done so much -- defied Sebastian Shaw, rescued yourself and Wolverine. You can, and will, do this too. And then...then you can rest.”
She straightened her shoulders, her jaw set firm with resolve. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Xavier concentrated, pulling the consciousness of Cody past the barrier he had erected. His whispery voice surrounded them, faded by the years.
“Think back, Rogue. When you were alone, hitchhiking. You found a way to contain Cody within your mind.” He hesitated, but then decided to state it baldly. “You didn’t want him to see the things that you had to do to survive.” Her eyes avoided his, but she nodded. “Do you remember how you accomplished it?”
Rogue closed her eyes, thinking back. “I made a box...” She looked down at her hands, and suddenly a cigar box appeared. She tilted it back and forth a bit, listening to the rattle inside. Finally she opened the box, pulling out the Matchbox car inside. She spun a wheel on the red truck and smiled. “It was his favorite.”
“It was very clever of you, Rogue. Can you put Cody back in that box?”
Rogue hesitated. “Is he...is he sad when he’s in there?”
The poor child. Xavier suspected that concern for the happiness of the consciousnesses she had absorbed had likely prevented her from being able to contain them entirely. At least that fear he could set to rest.
“Not at all, my dear. When they are not sharing your mind, these other consciousnesses do not experience the passing of time. They are simply...in stasis.”
Rogue took a deep breath, and released it slowly. The whispering of Cody that surrounded them faded, until it was entirely silent. She ran a hand over the surface of the box. “Goodnight, Cody,” she murmured.
“Excellent, my dear. Do you remember who was next?”
Rogue’s eyes were shadowed with fear but she nodded again, a rusty toolbox appearing in her hands. Xavier gritted his teeth. He had briefly experienced the truck driver’s thoughts in the chaos of Rogue’s mind. The man was truly repugnant, and he did not look forward to engaging with his consciousness again. He smiled reassuringly at Rogue. “He is going to be quite challenging. Are you ready?”
She met his gaze squarely. “Ready.”
______________________________
Logan gazed down at Rogue’s unconscious form, fear for her churning in his gut. She and Xavier had been as still as death for more than an hour. The urge to hold her, shake her, try to rouse her somehow was almost overwhelming. What had he let happen to her? Why hadn’t he paid more attention -- he had been so caught up in his argument with Xavier and Scott that he hadn’t even noticed her distress until it was too late. The Wolverine was howling in his mind as Logan tried to contain his own panic. He trusted Xavier to do his best, but if it was too late...if she never awoke again, never looked at him again with that honest, trusting expression in her deep brown eyes...
The growl escaped him, and he chafed under the sympathetic gazes of the other X-Men. Trying to distract himself, he flipped through the file again, even though he had already practically memorized it over the past hour. Something in his chest twisted again at the thought of Rogue as such a young girl, abandoned by all who claimed to love her. But she had been strong -- she had struggled and scraped, but survived. Succeeded, even. He fervently hoped that strength would be enough to sustain her now.
He pulled one photograph from the pile. It was Rogue, sitting on a bench, a university library in the background. She was gazing down at a book but her beautiful face could be clearly seen, her profile composed, her lashes dark against her cheeks. It was the picture her friend Gretchen had submitted to the police along with a missing person’s report, not believing the letter of withdrawal the University had supposedly received from Rogue. With no evidence of foul play and no family to push the issue, however, the local police had not even opened an investigation.
Logan felt foolish. As much as he had promised to help Rogue find her memories, he hadn’t given much thought to what they might reveal. For some reason he had let himself believe that she had become entirely his. They would escape Shaw -- preferably killing the bastard -- and she would come to stay at the mansion with him. It had never occurred to him that she might have a whole other life -- one that she would be anxious to return to. Something in him bristled at the thought of it. He cursed himself for a selfish bastard. He should have been happy for her, and instead all he felt was fear and loss.
Mine, the Wolverine was still howling in his head, but Logan knew better. If Rogue awoke, she would not be the lost, friendless Rogue he had come to know, the one who had relied on him. She would have her memories back, and her life back -- one with options better than to be with a feral mutant she had only known for days. He remembered the shock on her face when she had seen the carnage he had left in the guard booth. She would probably run back to her old life as fast as she could. Run from him as fast as she could.
He smoothed his hand down her hair again, trying to force himself and the Wolverine into acceptance of the decision he already knew she would make. It’s okay, he told himself. I’ll give anything, as long as she wakes up...
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter may not be too exciting, but it was a necessary step. Stay tuned for more angst and action coming up soon!
Chapter End Notes:
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