Throughout Central Park, tourists stood in groups on the asphalt pathways, referring to unfolded glossy souvenir maps in their hands and oblivious to the steady stream of annoyed runners, cyclists and pedestrians forced to maneuver around them. Rogue was grateful for the shade cast by the large elm trees, providing some respite from the oppressive heat as she ran. A few men tried to catch her attention, whistling low and calling out as they openly admired the beautiful woman sprinting past them in tight boy shorts, their comments centering on the startling streak of white hair pushed into a high ponytail from where dark chestnut colored waves fell, swaying back and forth with every forceful step of her easily maintained pace.
It was another hot and hazy afternoon and the park was teaming, as usual, with a big crowd – mostly of people taking breaks from their office jobs with kicked off heels and loosened shirts to enjoy the late August sun. Rogue ducked and twisted her way around them as she jogged, pressing two fingers under her jaw to measure her pulse before abruptly changing direction to race down a wide balustrade that brought her into the Bethesda Terrace. Stopping at the large angel-topped fountain at its center, she bent at the waist and clutched her knees for support, working hard to drag deeply inhaled gulps of humid air into her straining lungs. An older gentleman sitting on the low sandstone wall that encircled the shallow body of water watched her with bemusement, clearly alarmed by the difficulty she was having in catching her breath.
Rogue noted the beige linen pants and jacket he wore in deference to the weather, his distinguished face topped with bright silver hair and bottomed by an equally burnished moustache and goatee. Both his hands were placed on top of a lion headed cane poised against the red herringbone laid pavers at his feet, fingers bare and free of jewelry. Breathing heavily, Rogue pulled out the water bottle she had strapped to her hip and drank from it, simultaneously grabbing a hand towel from her back pocket to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on her face and neck from her run. The man unabashedly kept his cataract rimmed eyes on her when she sat down heavily next to him.
“Such physical exertion in this weather is extremely imprudent, my dear. I have heard of the celestial healing power of the true Pool of Bethesda but I think this substitute would be hard pressed to cure preventable sunstroke.” He sounded English, his acerbic voice delivering perfect, crisply enunciated words in her direction.
Tossing the quickly emptied bottle with accuracy into a nearby recycling bin, Rogue looked sideways at him. “Such maternal concern. How sweet.”
His eyes flashed citrine.
“What do you want, Mystique? I doubt you’re stalking me because you’re worried about my sodium and chloride levels.” Rogue didn’t bother to hide her annoyance.
“I wanted to see how you are, Anna Marie.” The man calmly crossed his legs and placed his cane overtop his lap, turning to face Rogue completely. “To see for myself how you are holding up.”
“Well, here I am.”
Mystique was quiet, taking in the sight of her foster-daughter. Finally, the shape-shifter remarked, “You seem well.”
“I am.” Without missing a beat, Rogue enquired, “I don’t suppose you would know where I can find my dear friend Melanie?” Squinting from the glare of the sun, she reached for the sunglasses on top of her head and placed them over her eyes.
A moment passed. “Melanie is inaccessible.”
“How disappointing. Well then, what about Daken? Is he free?”
A small frown appeared on the wrinkled face next to her. “I don’t know who you are talking about.”
“Come now, mother.” Rogue laced the title with sarcastic sentiment. “I am sure Blindspot told you I have Wolverine’s mutation. I suggest you don’t waste what little time I am willing to give you on lies.”
Mystique’s lips thinned. “Do not seek Daken out.”
“Why?” At the other mutant’s silence, Rogue sighed. “Either you tell me, or this conversation is over.”
Mystique sat up straighter and turned to look at the flock of pigeons congregating nearby, thanks to the efforts of two young children throwing bits of sandwiches at them. Lifting her cane, she waved it menacingly in their general direction and the birds scattered, sending the squealing children chasing after them. Rogue moved to leave as well but Mystique scowled and put up a hand, stopping her.
“Daken has developed somewhat of an obsession over you.”
Rogue felt her mouth go dry. His smell was still on her, and her revulsion made the scent thick and pungent. She had briefly toyed with the idea of scraping off her skin to be rid of it but knew it was pointless – she could pluck out every hair off her body and douse her pores with kerosene and Logan would still be able to determine the freshness of his son’s scent on her. An alpha’s scent was powerful, almost scarring in its tenacity to cling to a potential mate’s skin. There was no hiding Daken’s attempt to mark her from the Wolverine and she was getting desperate. Daken left behind no trail for her to track last night and her hope that she could find him before Logan returned from San Francisco was disappearing with every passing hour. But she could smell him on Mystique. She could find him through her foster mother.
“In the spirit of shared suggestion, I highly suggest you stay away from Daken,” Rogue heard her say before changing the subject to ask, “Why are you no longer with the X-Men?”
Rogue shrugged, stretching her legs out and forcing herself to breath slowly to calm her racing heart. “I wanted a change of scenery.”
“And being an Avenger satisfies that?
“Maybe.”
Rogue kept her face forward and fought the frown that threatened to pull down the corners of her mouth. Everything was far from satisfactory. Earlier that morning Nick Fury informed her that Senator Kelly was preparing to come out in favor of the proposed Mutant Registration Act, the newly chosen Republican candidate intending to make it the platform for his upcoming presidential run. The S.H.I.E.L.D. director expressed his hope that Rogue would become the spokesperson for mutant rights based on her new found popularity, but the prospect of remaining in the public eye made her nauseous. This was not what she had envisioned when she left the X-Men. Not by a long shot.
Dispersing her thoughts with a shake of her head, Rogue kept her voice neutral. “Do you have any other suggestions?” The question was rhetorical but she was surprised to see hope flicker across Mystique’s borrowed visage.
“Actually, I do. You can be with me.”
Rogue stared at her.
“There is nothing for you here. You have an opportunity to be finally free of people who want only to use you, daughter. People who have held you back.” Mystique leaned forward earnestly. “I can help you, Anna Marie. I can help you become who you are meant to be.”
Rogue let out a huff of disgusted disbelief. “You have the nerve to try and play savior to me? After all you’ve done?”
“Yes.”
Rogue could see Mystique was serious and her face reflected her amazement.
“Whatever shit you’re on, it’s potent. You’re in another fucking reality entirely.”
Mystique pursed her mouth disapprovingly at her foster daughter’s crudeness. “I don’t expect you to trust me. But in time, Anna Marie- ”
“My name is Rogue.”
Mystique flinched at the sharp rebuke but she continued undaunted. “We can be together again, Rogue. We can go back to the way things used to be.”
A lone pigeon caught Rogue’s attention, returning from its earlier frantic escape to snatch a piece of bread left behind. The bird fixed its tiny eye on her as it slowly sidestepped closer and closer, furiously working the dry husk down its throat before deciding to hop onto Rogue's trainer shod foot. Rogue kept still, impressed by how brave the small creature was, thinking how unafraid it was of her, and the people around it. But Rogue realized she was wrong. It was a learned complacency that made it appear fearless; the sustenance provided by the constant stream of visitors to the park caging the winged animal. It was as good as trapped, performing to an audience for its survival and a heavy sadness fell over her.
Rogue shook her foot, making the affronted bird fly away.
“We can’t go back to how things used to be. Auntie Irene is dead.” Rogue meant to be harsh and she was successful. The old face beside her became even older, the lines along the aged cheeks deepening with anguish.
“Irene left me, daughter. She wanted to be left alone in her madness. By the time I found out where she went to die, she was already gone.”
Another silence fell, their singular grief over a shared loss cocooning them from the bustling activity around them. Several minutes passed before Mystique spoke again. “I’m leaving for Muir Island tonight, where Irene spent her last days. I want you to come with me.”
“I don’t need a grave to say goodbye to Destiny, Mystique.”
“That’s not the reason why I want you to join me. I’m hoping you'll help me locate her last diary.”
Rogue was confused. “Her diary? What for?”
“Destiny wrote in several diaries as a young girl. It was a way of freeing herself of the precognitive visions that haunted her when her mutation first manifested.” Softness settled over Mystique’s features. “She hired me to help negate her prophecies, which was how we met. We were so young, so naive. Back then, we thought we could save the world.” She paused, lost in some particular memory, but only for a moment. Cynicism filled her eyes. “We learned quickly the world could care less about our efforts. We were successful for the most part, managing to prevent many of her predictions from coming true. But I’ve discovered there is still one diary left. One whose existence Irene hid from me.”
“Why would she do that?” Rogue couldn’t imagine her foster parents keeping anything from each other - their love had been strong and trusting. Even as a young child she could see how powerful their bond was.
“I don’t know. There are a lot of things that I have learned about my beloved Irene that have surprised me since the return of my memories.”
The answer was a mixture of half lie, half truth. “At least you have all your memories,” Rogue bit out.
“Yes.” Mystique tapped the cane against the ground and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I’ve only recently learned Blindspot stole your memories, daughter. If it’s any consolation, I do not condone her actions.”
“And yet, here you are, without Blindspot.”
“I am not able to get her to you.”
“So take me to her.”
“I can’t.”
Rogue’s eyes narrowed. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both. It’s for your protection, child.”
Rogue laughed loudly, causing a few people to look in their direction. “My protection? Wow. That’s rich coming from the woman who almost had me killed.”
Mystique’s breath hitched. “I…” She looked away and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, daughter.” She waited for a young couple to walk by before turning to face Rogue again. “What happened on Liberty Island is by far, my biggest regret.”
Rogue stayed quiet as genuine remorse wafted towards her from the mutant sitting beside her. She had nothing to say in response to her foster-mother’s apology. It meant absolutely nothing to her.
“I received your telepathic cry for help the night you were rescued.”
Rogue frowned. Fuck.
“Are you sure it was me, and not wishful thinking on your part?”
“There is no doubt in my mind it was you, Rogue. And I recognized Charles’ particular telepathic signature.”
“You’re delusional, Mystique.”
The two mutants looked at each other for a few moments. Mystique broke the deadlock by pulling out a handkerchief from the inside of her jacket to blot beads of perspiration on her forehead. “I see you’re not wearing gloves. You’ve regained your control?”
Rogue ignored her question. “I want to know where Blindspot is, Mystique. I want my memories back.”
“Why, Rogue? From what she tells me, your life hasn’t been all that wonderful since leaving the Brotherhood. Your missing memories are a blessing.”
“I’m not going to debate this with you. Where is Melanie?” She was getting impatient.
“Daken won’t let her leave his side.”
“Then tell me where to find them.”
“No, Rogue. Daken is too dangerous.” Mystique’s face tightened. “If you won’t come with me, then stay where you are. Away from the X-Men.”
“Why? Does Daken plan on paying them a visit?” Rogue tried to appear only mildly interested, but her senses were on high alert. She radiated tension.
Mystique hesitated but seemed to come to a decision. “Not all of them. Just one.”
“Who?”
“Why, your lover of course.”
Rogue’s hands fisted and the older woman tilted her head, a knowing smile curling her lips. “I don’t fault you, daughter, for falling in love with the Wolverine. There are many facets to him that women find…irresistible.” Mystique’s hand shot out to stop Rogue when she jumped up to leave, but her grip slackened as the buzz of Rogue’s mutation skirted over her body.
“You know better than to try and absorb me while I’m in another form, Rogue,” she chided. “I’m immune to you this way.” Wincing, Mystique hold on Rogue tightened. “Telepathy won’t work either. You disappoint me, child. You should know this.”
Suddenly, Rogue grabbed the sides of her head in agony, a soundless scream escaping her lips.
~ RELEASE ME. ~
Xavier?
~ RELEASE ME. ~
No! I won’t. I - I can’t…
~ Listen to me. You are in grave danger. ~
“Anna Marie?” Mystique’s concerned voice sounded far away, coming at Rogue from the farthest edges of her consciousness. Rogue fell to her knees, her skull feeling as though it would splinter apart from the pressure Charles was placing on it.
Get out of my head!
~ You need my help, Anna... ~
NO! I am NOT Anna. I am Rogue. ROGUE!
Rogue struggled to stand up but another wave of crushing pain shot through her head and she stumbled forward. This time Mystique caught her before she fell, the cane in her hand clattering to the ground in order to hold her foster daughter.
“Anna Marie! What’s wrong? What’s happening to you?”
With a tremendous effort, Rogue slammed up her psychic walls, severing the connection she had inadvertently opened between her and the professor when she attempted to read Mystique’s mind. The pain began to subside, the throbbing growing less intense with every beat of her palpitating heart. Mystique held her upright with a bracing arm and waved away people who had rushed to help, making Rogue sit down again on the fountain’s edge.
“Come with me,” Mystique insisted when they were alone, her eyes flashing yellow once more. “Leave all this behind, daughter. I love you. I will take care of you.”
Breathing shallowly, Rogue fought to remain conscious, cold sweat breaking out across her skin. She looked down at Mystique’s hand holding hers and saw that it had turned into its true form.
“Let me help you, Anna Marie,” Mystique whispered into her ear. “You and I are the same. You belong with me.”
Rogue was finding it hard to stay awake. Exhausted, she leaned heavily against Mystique and memories of when she was younger began to flash through her mind, the images and emotions saturating her as the familiar scent of her foster mother washed over her. She saw Raven and Irene in their small home, laughing and affectionate, encouraging and supportive. Rogue’s heart ached as she remembered the brief time in her childhood when she felt safe and happy.
Loved.
Momma had loved her – Auntie Irene did too, and Rogue knew the two women worked hard to repair the damage caused by her father’s abandonment. But when her mutation had reared its ugly head, things changed. Once Mystique and Destiny revealed their true selves to her, everything that had been safe and happy in her world became unstable and terrifying. They molded her into a weapon and she had willingly joined her foster parents’ fight for mutant supremacy as part of their Brotherhood to make them proud of her. So she could keep their love. So she could remain part of their family.
Looking into the amber eyes of the only mother she had ever known, Rogue realized, with an absolute clarity, exactly where she belonged.
“No.” Rogue pulled away, conviction returning her strength and lacing her words. “I’m done being manipulated, I’m done being used, and I’m done with you. I am going back to the X-Men. You are nothing but a murderer and I will never be like you.”
Seeing repugnance pool in the eyes of her foster daughter, Mystique’s heart began to ice over. Gone was the little girl whose same dark green eyes used to shine with adoration for her, the little girl who would do anything to make her Momma happy. Her Anna Marie was gone, replaced by a woman who had the audacity to judge her. And find her lacking.
Mystique’s eyes turned brittle.
“Oh, but you are so very, very wrong, child. You were already like me when I found you.” Silver hair gave way to red as feminine cerulean flesh appeared in a wave of replaced tegument. Screams of “mutant” pierced the air and the idyllic atmosphere of the park turned chaotic around them.
Mystique stood up in her flowing white gown and her face twisted with malice. “You, Anna Marie D’Ancanto, are a murderer. In fact, you were born one."
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