By the time the school day and my tutoring session are over, I’m drained. I know Bobby wants to have dinner with me, and I know I even sort of promised him that we would, but right now I just can’t handle his drama and, I can admit to myself, his selfishness. So when the door to my classroom shuts behind Andy, I simply sit and stare at it. The afternoon sunshine streaming through the window behind me dapples the dark wood, casting the black grain into stark relief. I allow my eyes to follow the natural patterns even as my fingers automatically shut down my tablet and set it to the side. A small town girl at heart, that simple wood door beckons to me, suggesting a refuge from my worries and stress. Almost without deciding, I am on my feet and grabbing the dark green sweater draped across the back of my chair. I shrug into it, not bothering with the buttons, and slip on the pair of black leather gloves lying on my desk.

The hallway of classrooms is quiet as I pop my head out. I must have been the only one doing after-hours work, which is unusual. I’m half afraid that Bobby will be waiting for me, but I don’t see him anywhere. Relieved, I stride a few doors past my own and turn a sharp left. My salvation is in sight, the thick heavy door leading to the back of the school property.

I steal outside without seeing anyone, and I fill my lungs with the sweet fresh air as the door closes with a thud behind me. The tang of fallen leaves mixes with an undertone of moist earth thanks to a rain shower earlier in the day, but the sun warms the air enough to take away most of the chill I expected to encounter. Fall is my favorite time of year. The season in New York is so different from the muggy climate where I spent most of my childhood years, where even the bite of winter is a gentle nip and the heat drags on months longer than any sane person should want it to.

Standing on this small back patio isn’t quite enough, so I head down the stone steps and across the narrow expanse of grass to the trees a few yards ahead. There are trails through the woods, but I’m in the mood to forge my own path. My sneakers crunch through dry leaves under the layer of damp fresh red and orange, and I allow the small sounds of nature, birds calling to each other and the rustle of chipmunks, squirrels, and rabbits, to ease my frazzled nerves. Even the distant laughing and shouting of children, growing faint as I move farther away, soothes me. Although after a day spent around them, I’m glad for the peaceful solitude the trees offer.

After ten minutes or so of wandering, I realize that I’m close to the tiny lake the Professor cultivates on the property. It’s a much loved spot for all of us, although too secluded at this time of the year for the preference of most of the students wanting to wind down. I enjoy coming here to brood, personally, so I take the chance that it will be deserted at this time of day and head in that direction. Soon I hear the gentle lap of water along the rocky shore, but I hesitate before breaking through the cover of leaves and branches in front of me.

A figure stands with his back to me, hands in his pockets as he stares out at the sunlit water. I recognize Logan immediately, and my first impulse is to go to him. Something has been eating at him all day, and from the set of his shoulders the tranquility of the lake isn’t helping at all. However, I’m not sure he’ll welcome my intrusion, so I take a step back.

“Don’t go.” He’s gruff, as always, but that never bothers me.

I should have known he would pick up on my approach, of course. A warm glow fills me that he’s asking for my company, even if he didn’t say as much. I was worried earlier when he wouldn’t talk to me about whatever is wrong.

I say as much as I step up next to him, my own gaze on the water a few feet away and my arms folded in front of me. “I thought maybe you still weren’t ready to talk. You gonna spill, sugar?” I turn to face him, giving him a perfect imitation of his trademark raised eyebrow.

He sighs, not exactly the reaction I’m hoping for, but I guess he finally decides to open up. What he says startles me.

“I don’t belong here.”

My chest clenches, and I automatically reach out and put a hand on his arm. “What are you talking about?!” It comes out a little more high-pitched than I intend. What crazy idea is in this man’s head now?

Logan shakes his head, and I can see the frustration in his eyes transfer to that small movement. “That came out wrong. Sorry.” He stops and takes a deep breath. “You know about the way Kitty’s powers have developed, right?”

I slowly nod. “Yeah.” In the past few years my friend has learned how to move through more than matter—she can move through time. Or rather, she moves the minds of others backwards a little. We’ve used it to get out of some tight spots, according to those affected, although the rest of us never remember the exact circumstances. She doesn’t use her abilities that way often, thank goodness, and I hope I never have to be the one going backwards.

Backwards…My eyes widen as I take in Logan’s haunted expression. He’s much worse than the others, but I can see the signs now. I know it was no small skirmish he was sent back to help us avoid, since he’s always vowed that nothing will get him to let Kitty try out her mind tricks on him. My hand slides down his arm to grasp his wrist, and I drag him over to one of the wooden benches placed around the lakeshore. He grimaces but allows it, like I know he will. Whatever has happened, he’s still Logan, although it’s obviously unsettling him.

Once we are sitting I turn towards him and ask, “How far back did she have to send you? What happened?”

He runs a hand over his face and then up through his hair. I suddenly realize there’s some grey in it and wonder when that happened.

“Too far back, but far enough, too,” he answers me, not making any sense.

I have no idea what that means, and I shoot him a look that says that. He chuckles a little when he catches it.

“I get it. I’m just having a hard time explaining everything. It was easier with the Professor because he was there,” he mutters, and now I’m even more confused.

“Wait, Kitty sent you both back? I thought she could only send one person at a time.”

He shakes his head. “She just sent me, but I had to help Charles, which meant I had to tell him what was going on.”

He must see the confusion I feel because he quirks one of those little smiles that would be anyone else laughing. “Why don’t I start at the beginning?”

“That would help.” I allow the sarcasm to drip, nice and heavy, and earn myself a wider smile. Then it dies, and he’s staring back out across the water.

“Before I woke up this morning, I was back in 1973. And before that, I was in hell.”

I startle a little at the stark pain in his voice. He reaches over and grips my hand, whether to reassure him or me I don’t know.

1973. The farthest back Kitty has ever sent anyone was weeks, and Scott was haggard as hell when he “came back” to himself. I begin to understand, or at least I think I do. What could have happened that he needed to go back so far?

“The world I’m from…the future I’m from, was worse than I could ever describe. Mutants were tracked down and killed by the thousands, and humans too. Only a few of us were left towards the end.”

I can barely absorb what he’s telling me. I’m unable to picture the sheer scope, and I’m sure he’s holding out on me. It is more than I can grasp, and I blurt out the first coherent thought I have. “What the hell caused all of that?”

Logan raises a brow at me. “You’re a history teacher. You’ve heard of the Sentinels, right?”

I slowly nod. “The original X-Men got rid of most of ‘em, but one crops up every now and then. They were created by a man named Bolivar Trask. He’s a nasty piece of work.” I wrinkle my nose at the memory of speeches he’s given throughout my life, hate-filled monologues urging humans to fear and protect themselves from mutants.

“And you know that there was an assassination attempt on him in 1973?”

I go still but then force myself to nod. This is hitting pretty close to home.

“Well, in the timeline I remember, the mutant who tried to assassinate him was successful but was captured before she could get away. Trask became a martyr, and his followers experimented with the DNA of that captured mutant and others to come up with Sentinels that were almost invincible. Governments ordered them by the dozens but kept them in reserve because public opinion on mutants kept shifting.”

I listen in horror as he continues.

“Professor Xavier and his X-Men, his school, existed in that timeline, too, but things were even more chaotic. Several of the teachers were…killed on missions. Students were kidnapped. Just a lot of bad shit happened. Then an American pharmaceutical company came out with a ‘cure’ for mutants, and a lot of mutants took it—some willingly, some not so much. At the same time there was a lot of unrest between mutant groups, and it scared the humans. Everything settled down for a couple of years, but then the so-called cure began to wear off. Turns out it wasn’t permanent.”

My breath catches, and I’m not sure why. I can only think of the temptation that must have been to my other self. Did she take this “cure”? Did she experience the crushing disappointment of its failure firsthand? Because it would have been disappointing, to think that she—that I—could touch normally again only to have those hopes crushed.

“When the cure failed, humans everywhere panicked, and the governments who purchased the Sentinels saw their chance to use them. It was chaos. We weren’t strong enough to last against so many, and the school was one of the first targets. The American government said they were only rounding up the mutants for everyone’s safety, including ours, but if you ran and were caught the Sentinels slaughtered you.”

“We chose to run anyway, kids in tow. We scattered into small groups, trying to spread the Sentinels too thin, but there were so many and seemed to be more every week. Within a couple years mutants were a dying breed, hunted and captured or killed, tortured and experimented on. Millions of humans with the potential to have mutant children were sterilized or killed, kept in labor camps where their lives became a living hell. And for the humans who tried to help us? It was a death sentence.”

His voice is bleak, as hopeless as the future he paints for me. I wrap my free arm around him, and to my surprise he lets go of my hand and folds me in his strong arms, his nose buried in my hair. We aren’t usually this touchy feely, but I can tell he needs the comfort. Just hearing his story makes my heart hurt. I can’t imagine living that way for years.

He speaks again. “We lost a lot of good people, a lot of friends. I was with Charles and Erik, you and ‘Ro for a lot of it, and Charles was always trying to find a way to stop the Sentinels, to make things better. He was close to figuring something out when we got into another fight and you were killed—or so we thought. We figured out later that they must have captured you instead. The Sentinels were programmed to seek out unusual mutations and bring them to their masters. Once we saw the Sentinels begin to exhibit the ability to absorb the powers of mutants attacking them, we realized what had happened. We hoped that you were still alive, even if that meant you were being experimented on, that they were still trying to figure out how to work your DNA into the Sentinel programming.”

He spits out the word “experimented”, and his arms tighten around me. My face is buried in the cool cotton of his shirt, my eyes closed as horrific images dance in my mind. I feel relief that I never knew that existence.

“We managed to find out where they were holding you through some hefty bribes and maybe one or two threats of bodily harm,” he continues, and I grin a little at his vindictive tone. “Erik and I busted you out, and then the Professor revealed part of his plan. We were going to find the group Kitty was with and convince her to help. It worked, and I was the lucky one to get sent back to 1973 because not only was I apparently alive then, but I was the only one who might survive the trip—so to speak.”

“And you must have succeeded. Bolivar Trask is, unfortunately, still alive and well, and the Sentinels are nowhere near that powerful. He sells them to the occasional militia group, like the Friends of Humanity, but as far as we know there aren’t any governments harboring them,” I point out, giving him a squeeze.

He sighs and then pulls away. My arms feel strangely empty, but I ignore it. I need to focus on Logan right now.

“Yeah, it worked. Only now I’m stuck in a timeline I barely recognize, and everything is all mixed up in my head. I have all my memories from the old timeline, and more from this one crowding in all the time. The Professor says that will keep up until eventually I remember both. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?”

He looks so lost. I take his hand in mine again. “You deal with it one day at a time, with the help of your friends. That’s what you used to tell me when the minds I absorbed were overwhelming me.”

He looks at me, and I can tell he’s trying to remember. “I did, huh? Sounds like someone smarter than me would have come up with something like that.”

I smack his arm, using a little of my strength, and his eyes widen. I briefly wonder what powers that other Rogue ever borrowed or kept, if any, but I pull my focus back. “You’re plenty smart when you want to be, and it was your advice that saved my sanity that first year. So hush.”

He reaches out and gently tucks a thick strand of white hair behind my ear, careful not to touch skin to skin. “And where was I when you got this?”

I open my mouth to reply, but an angry shout reaches us. I realize it’s my name, and I turn to see Bobby barreling towards us.