After their final set, Rogue felt like she was on fire in more ways than one. Her entire body ached –especially her arms, shoulders and her ass. Her trusty army boots didn't even manage to save her dying feet. But good god, she was elated. Her spirit was singing; her whole being was swirling with music like she was high. It probably had something to do with Cody, her sort-of mentor in music, that she made an easy transition from Rogue the Runaway to Rogue the BAMF Rocker. She felt like she could play for hours and hours. She was a little grateful that she was only wearing her bra because she was sweating like a pig –not to mention the rest of her sleeves were soaked to the core.

Intensely hot, darlin', Wolverine started, but was once again quickly muffled by someone in her brain.

You've got talent, child, Erik said. Which, after much contemplating, I deduced that you can utilize your musical abilities to unite mutants and serve as an example–

Oh for fuck's sake, bucket head!

"You were awesome, Joan Jett!" Koren praised her. "What rock have you been hiding under all these years?"

"Something like that," Rogue answered, and added in her head, A rock called the X-Mansion. For a second she thought that the vocalist was going to give her a hug, but she's quick to look busy by buttoning her shirt close, making it look like it was such a meticulous process.

"See you tomorrow night?"

Rogue just nodded, but flashed the woman a big smile and a wave goodbye. She then heads to where Karl waited by the bar. The green bills in his hand made her feel all giddy and excited. Ooh-la-la.

"Good job, JJ," Karl said once she was in arm's reach, and handed her salary. "Gave you a few bills in advance too. Some of the customers tipped you big."

"Wow," Rogue gasped. "Thank you. I know guitarists don't really get paid well…"

"Cut the drama, kid," he said quickly.

Rogue recoiled inside. Fucking kid. If it weren't for Karl's smirk, she would have probably smacked him on the face –without gloves. She noticed Wolverine was noticeably quiet. Where's your humor now, Wolverine? Kids don't have boobs like mine, that's for sure.

"Just get your cute ass back here tomorrow," Karl said, and before she turned away, he called her name again. "Someone asked to see you. Private booth near the restroom."

Something, someone, Rogue's senses tingled. She suddenly felt cold all over.

The owner obviously saw how terrified she was, that he laughed right at her face. "You're my prized guitarist, not a whore." He winked at her. "It's a woman, JJ, so don't get your panties in a twist." He gave her a rough yet playful shove on the shoulder before leaving.

Rogue exhaled loudly. Tucking the bills in her pocket, she knew she could finally buy Scott a new set of clothes, and food that will last them for a few days' worth. Coast is clear, she thought, looking left and right as if crossing the street as she made her way towards the private booth Karl told her about.

The maroon curtains were drawn close so she couldn't immediately spot who was waiting inside. She felt nervous, but even her Wolverine was keeping mum, probably still guilty about the 'kid' comment. Or maybe the guest waiting wasn't really hostile. Hostile? That's what you get for training for years with the X-men. Rolling her eyes at her self-made doubts, she made sure she was covered in all the right places before sliding inside the booth. "My boss said you…"

"Hello again, Rogue," the mystery woman greeted her.

Different face, hair, sure –but she knew that particular timbre of voice anywhere. She had Logan's dreams of killing this woman just for the pleasure of it, with Wolverine cheering in the background; swipe those motherfucking claws at her belly, don't just stab her for cryin' out loud!

Now Wolverine was growling angrily, Off with her head! Off with her motherfuckin'–

SHUT UP, Rogue warned loudly in thought. She tried her best to look relaxed and controlled, though her right hand reached for her other glove, ready for an emergency life-force vacuum session. "Mystique."

4am.

It's a record breaker, if you can call it that. Logan didn't know why, but he felt that it was a good idea to head back to the mansion earlier than usual today. As he parked the bike in the garage, he saw the hardly used black pickup truck on the far corner of the room. I could use that when I go up North, he thought positively. Hopeful. There's just somethin' about Canada. His thoughts drifted easily to platinum streak and pouty lips as he made his way to the front door. As he twisted his private key to open the lock, he grimaced when he realized that the door was already open.

"Huh," he wondered aloud as he stepped inside. Who the hell would leave the mansion unlocked at this ungodly hour? Already planning his verbal assault for the young residents later, his mild anger was interrupted by a vision of someone's hurried pounding by the stairs.

"LOGAN!" Ororo hissed in a harsh whisper as she ran down the stairs. She was always so graceful when she carried herself, but there was something different in her countenance this time –and it's not just because she looked like a half-crazed woman who was dragged out of bed in the wee hours of the morning. The woman was clearly dazed, and he couldn't decide if that was such a good thing or not.

Logan jumped when the headmistress latched on his arm and tugged him up the staircase. She pulled him through the hallway like he weighed nothing, but he was sure her anxiousness was getting to him as well. "RO! I'm notgoing to sleep with you!" he tried teasing, just to get some other type of reaction from her. He wasn't used to seeing her look so… cattish? A frown is already on his face when he realized that they stopped in front of a particular room. "Ro, are you–"

Her white head nodded quickly. She was hyperventilating a little. Her scent was suffocating him with a particular kind of fear, waves of confusion, surprise, and a tinge of sadness.

Logan shook his head in return, and suddenly, he got it. An intruder was inside the room. A different scent. He was already clenching his fists, readying for an attack. He shrugged off the weather witch's death-grip on him and burst through the doors.

And it surely wasn't the Hulk. Any other dreams of having an impromptu death match with a worthy opponent vanished instantly when he saw the man's big droopy eyes and wavy brown hair. The prim and proper attire of designer cardigan and casual slacks, as if he had just time-traveled from the 50s, didn't aggravate the situation either. Logan couldn't place a scent on him, and for some reason, the Wolverine told him NOT to attack… yet. But the claws slid out nonetheless. "What the hell are you doin' here, bub?"

The man merely smiled at him and Ororo, whom he regarded with an all too familiar nod. "Why, I didn't think I needed permission to be in my office, Logan."

The voice was different. Youthful. Logan's eyes widened like he just saw a ghost. That unmistakable calm, the subtle authority, the respectable tone, the self-assured wisdom… That do-goody charm Scooter learned down to an art. Only one person: "Charles?"

Welcome back, Logan.

"You've grown in all the right places, I see," Mystique verbalized what her eyes were doing to Rogue's chest and lips. Then she flashed the younger woman what seemed like her seductive come-on-to-me gaze.

Stab her with the salt or peppershaker, I don't care, Marie, Wolverine ordered. Just fuckin' get rid of her! You can start with her eyes–

My beautiful Tiger, Erik lamented. I detest it when she resorts to hiding her exquisite skin…

Call Logan, Marie. Or any of the X-Geeks, Wolverine snarled. They have to know she's here with you–

No, Rogue thought decidedly. It may have been just a few weeks, but the X-Men didn't look for her. And she didn't want them to. She knew she picked the perfect time to get lost, because they would be too occupied keeping the place together to spend it looking for a hopeless/dangerous woman. I am no longer an X-Man.

Erik snorts, clearly entertained. Wolverine growls in frustration. Rogue felt rebellious all of a sudden –because she's here, all out on her own, rocking on this god-forsaken bar, and she's talking with the enemy! Who's the new badass motherfucker in town, right? Rogue marveled. I should have done this years ago. She was brought out of her thoughts when Mystique laughed softy. "Huh?" she asked with a frown. Fuck. How mature was that. 'Huh?' I might as well have said I still play with Barbie. Biting the inside of her cheek for confidence-boosting reasons, she tried to get hold of the situation again. "If you just came here to say hi, well, I'm more than willing to say 'go fuck yourself and goodbye'–"

"Rumor has it you took the cure, but I had to make sure for myself," the true blue woman said, her plump lips doing that pout models were so fond of, because she honest-to-god looked like she just stepped out of a magazine. "But judging that you're still the walking glove lady, I can see that you're still, well... you."

"Now you insult me?" Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick.

"Oh no, honey. That's the last thing on my mind." Mystique shifted in her seat and fluttered her eyelashes at her. "For what I came here for, I'm actually rejoicing because of the fact that you didn't take or got shot with the cure."

Rogue noticed how she said the latter part of her sentence with much malice. She huffed indignantly. "I'm not going to join your Brotherhood."

That's my girl, Erik quipped, though Rogue didn't know to whom he was referring to.

"I'm no longer associated with them," Mystique drew sharply. Bitter, as if she had been betrayed. "Just like you're not chummies with the X-Men anymore."

Erik suddenly withdrew from her head like he got burnt. It was Wolverine's turn to laugh at the man. Rogue sighed then, remembering her 'family'. Or should I say, X-Family? Hah. "What did you come here for again?"

"I have a job proposal. But given our history, you can also consider this doing a favor for a friend."

"Do I look like I'm having it easy, Mystique?" Rogue hissed through clenched teeth. "Oh it's a fucking job, alright. I'm not going to do you fucking favors." To think she actually found it amusing, given their history. She let out a dire chuckle. "You sure are a mischievous bitch."

"Are you Logan-possessed?" the other woman beamed knowingly at her. "Because I'm starting to love the way you talk."

Is she flirting with me? Rogue felt sour and sick to her stomach.

At least give her a slap on the face, darlin', Wolverine begged. Just–

Mystique laughed again, shook her head as if having come to a conclusion. "Let's start over." She sat up straight and smiled nicely. "I'm Raven and I'm here because I need your, ah... services."

Services. Somehow, Rogue knew it wasn't her guitar-playing that she was after. "How much are we talking about?" she asked, and pushed Wolverine to the darkest recesses of her mind. She didn't need him stealing her thunder when it came to earning money; it wasn't like his violent suggestions were earning her millions in the bank. She didn't care that she sounded like she was willing to sell her soul for money, because it was actually far from the truth, but she wasn't going to let Mystique –Raven hire her for shits and giggles.

Mystique regarded her for a moment, and looked straight into her eyes. "Enough for me to give you a blank check when it's done."

A blank check?

"I'm not even lying to you," the former Brotherhood shapeshifter said calmly. "I'm this desperate simply because there's only one person who could do this: You."

Might as well listen to her offer, right? Rogue flinched when she felt her mental barriers rattle with the force of Wolverine's protests, ever the natural cage-fighter. Before Mystique could say anything else, she put her hand up to halt their conversation and stuck her head out of the booth. "A bottle of Cuervo here, please!"

When Rogue settled back in her seat, her future employer was clearly entertained. "Something tells me we're going to get along so well, honey."

I doubt it, Marie thought. But Rogue nodded, and poured the tequila on both their glasses when the order came. "By the way, you're paying."

Mystique raised her jigger in her direction. "No problem by me, honey."

"Stop calling me honey!" Rogue yelped as they clinked shot glasses, then drank together. Their pretty faces crumpled in front of each other, but they didn't mind, considering they didn't have an audience. She held back a laugh at that thought. She coughed a bit, but felt that thick, distinct tequila effect starting to do its little wonders in her system. Judging by how Mystique's face looked more relax, more feminine, she could tell that both of them were starting to lighten up.

"We're a lot alike, you and I…" Mystique (or should she say Raven from now on?) whispered as she stared at her glass.

"Stop it, you're not even drunk yet."

"Pull that stick out of your ass, would you, hon?"

"I said, stop calling me–"

"Yeah, yeah." Mystique flashed Rogue her pearly whites. "Honey."