Marie Compson, currently known as Rogue to most of her friends, gathered her books and belongings into her backpack. Looking around, she was amazed to see the library empty, except for a cleaning woman and the librarian, who was checking her watch impatiently.
"I'm sorry," she said softly to the woman behind the desk as she walked out. "I lost track of time."
The woman smiled tiredly. "No problem, dear. It happens."
Rogue shouldered her backpack and headed out to the parking lot. It was dark, but she wasn't nervous. She was too busy thinking about her paper on Milton's Samson Agonistes. A junior at Sarah Lawrence, she still lived at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and drove to the college every day. It seemed safer than dorming with people who might not accept a roommate who could kill with a touch.
Muttering to herself about reorganizing her opening paragraph as she reached the car, she didn't notice anything wrong until it was too late.
An arm wrapped around her throat and she felt the cold metal of a knife press into her flesh. "Scream and I'll kill you," he whispered in her ear, his breath smelling of cigarettes and orange juice. With his other hand, he managed to get a pair of handcuffs on her.
Her mind raced through possible escape plans. She didn't have much leverage and when she opened her mouth to speak, he said, "Don't beg. Be a good girl and you might even enjoy it." The tone of his voice sent shivers down her spine. He pushed her up against the car and fumbled with something in his pockets. He forced her face down onto the hood and kept her pinned with his weight. She squirmed as his hand scrabbled over her skirt and coat.
She raised her head. "Don't do this," she whispered, trying to sound tough.
He shoved her back down, hard. She cried out when her forehead hit the metal. "I told you to shut up, bitch."
She heard the rasp of his zipper and started talking again. "I'm a mutant. You're going to get killed if you touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me!" This last came out as a shriek, earning her another smack and the knife once again pressed to her throat.
"Don't push me, missy," he snarled. "I got no problems offin' a mutie." Then, "On second thought, thanks for warnin' me." And there was the sound of tearing foil.
Oh, God, she thought. He's got a condom?
His hand once again raised her skirt up -- he pushed the hem into her cuffed hands. "Keep that outta my way, won'tcha?" he taunted. He pressed his forearm against her neck, the blade of the knife nicking her slightly. The more she struggled, the deeper it would press, she knew. She could smell the metal tinged with blood, and her stomach rose into her throat.
With one swift, brutal motion he pulled down her tights and panties and forced himself into her. She struggled again, not caring about the knife anymore, and screamed as he thrust into her.
His hand came around and clapped over her mouth. Immediately, the connection opened up and she could feel his mind -- and all the sick hatred it contained -- rushing into her. She felt him weaken and was able to push him over. She fell over backwards with him, and scrambled to get free.
Her breathing was heavy and she vomited repeatedly, until she was sure she'd thrown up the lining of her stomach. She couldn't scream at first, and then she couldn't stop.
She had no memory of running to the security guard at the parking lot entrance, no recollection of mentally crying out for Professor Xavier, and no remembrance of being taken to the hospital by the nice lady cop who didn't seem to care that she was a mutant.
Then Jean and Scott were there.
"I hope I didn't wake you," was the first thing she said.
They looked shocked and exchanged glances. Jean said, "No, Rogue. It's only midnight. Scott, why don't you wait outside? Detective Ramirez," that was the nice lady cop, "I'm going to examine her now." Jean patted the stirrups. "Rogue, I'm sorry, but we have to do this."
Rogue curled herself into a ball on the examination table. "Don't touch me," she whimpered.
"Rogue, please?"
"The more you give us," Ramirez said, "the easier it will be to put that bastard away, Rogue."
That thought made her unclench her fists and put her feet up in the stirrups.
"She fucking tried to kill me," she whispered hoarsely. "I was just looking for a little fun."
Ramirez looked at Jean, face full of questions. Jean straightened up and put a gloved hand on the side of Rogue's head. "Marie, you have to fight him. You're stronger than he is."
Ramirez watched, fascinated. "What's going on?"
"Rogue's mutation," Jean explained, "is to absorb other people's minds and energy through her skin. When she touched --"
"Calhoun. Newton Calhoun," the detective supplied.
"When she touched him, she absorbed his memories and some of his personality. We'll have to work with her to make sure she can control him. Right, Rogue?"
"She thought she was too good for me, but I showed her," Rogue spat.
Marie, you can do this. Come on, Marie.
Jean. Jean, he's so strong. He hates so much. I, I--
"Come on, Marie."
The girl on the table closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then growled, "Go ahead, Jeannie."
Jean was startled. They'd all thought Logan was long gone from Rogue's mind, the way he was long gone from their lives. Obviously, there was enough of him there to help Rogue push Calhoun back.
Jean was able to finish the examination without interruption. Rogue's knees buckled as she climbed down off the table, and the other women reached out to help her. "Don't touch me!" she cried again, crossing her arms over her chest and shrinking back against the table.
"Okay, Rogue," Jean said softly. "We'll be right outside if you need us." She and the detective left the room so the girl could get dressed.
Rogue pulled on the clothes that Jean had brought her -- the clothes she'd been wearing were now evidence, not that she'd ever wear them again anyway -- and stood looking at herself in the mirror. Wide, dark eyes. A mottled bruise covering most of her forehead. An inch-long cut on her neck, stitched closed. Long brown and white hair and pale, deadly skin... She hated what she saw. He hated what she saw.
She looked over the table of instruments that had been laid out for the exam. There didn't seem to be -- ah, that'll work, she thought, picking up a sharp, flat tool. It would do nicely. She slashed at her wrists, sawing back and forth when the blade didn't cut deep enough the first time.
She was working on her right wrist when the door opened. "Rogue, are you almost ready --" Jean looked up and saw the girl she'd come to love as a sister bleeding heavily from both wrists. "Scott! Get a nurse! We need sutures and bandages," she shouted, both vocally and mentally. "Rogue, honey, please don't do this," she continued, quickly pulling on gloves and applying pressure to the younger woman's wrists.
Jean sewed her up and bandaged her and bundled her into the car, never letting Rogue out of her sight.
The first few weeks were a nightmare. Calhoun was strong in her mind -- stronger than she'd expected a human to be. He hated her -- hated all of them -- and it disturbed her to no end when his vitriol would suddenly spill from her mouth.
The worst was how she began to look at her roommate and friends.
She stalked Jubilee for a week. She waited for her to come home after school. She watched her change in the locker room before and after their self-defense classes. She had obscure fantasies about making her pay. For what, Rogue wasn't sure. After the first few times, the fantasies became disturbingly graphic and violent. She saw her hands pressing Jubes to the bed, her knee forcing the other girl's legs apart and then she had to run into the bathroom and vomit.
Faintly, as if from far, far away, she could hear Logan telling her to fight, to be strong. Even Erik kicked in and ordered her to survive, the way he had survived -- by any means necessary. She rested her head on the cool tile of the bathroom floor and let the voices wash over her.
But Calhoun overrode the others. He told her to give in, stop fighting, and just do it. Do what he wanted her to do, what she wanted to do anyway.
She ripped off her gloves and looked at the scars healing on her wrists. Taking a razor from the medicine chest, she gently, almost lovingly, traced the angry red lines with the sharp blade, watching as beads of blood welled up.
Jubilee found her huddled on their bathroom floor. Her shrieks would have woken the dead. They roused Rogue from her warm somnolence, and Rogue hated her best friend at that moment. Calhoun hated her for taking away his revenge, and Rogue hated her for taking away her peace.
Rogue suddenly found herself with no time to herself. Someone was constantly with her, watching her. Calhoun faded. He was cunning. He could bide his time.
The trial, what there was of it, was a farce. Calhoun had spent a month in a coma and his lawyer seemed to think that was a mitigating circumstance that entitled him to get off easy.
The prosecutor was nervous about angering Xavier, one of the county's leading citizens, on the one hand, and upsetting the anti-mutant community on the other.
Calhoun got ten to fifteen after the defense attorney realized that the jury wasn't going to acquit a man who forced himself on the delicate-looking girl who sat in the courtroom everyday, staring at him with haunted eyes. Everyone thought she was so brave to confront her rapist in court. The Professor seemed to think it would do her good.
It just made him come alive again in her head.
She dropped out of school and no one argued with her. She took up smoking again. Between Calhoun, Logan and her own jangled nerves, the smell of tobacco and the rush of nicotine were soothing.
She had daily counseling sessions with Jean and the Professor. The volatile mix of personalities in her head made it hard for them to get a good read on her state of mind, but Jean thought she was slowly improving, especially after Calhoun was sent to Sing Sing.
Kitty came home for Spring Break and the stalking began again. The perky brunette was very much to Calhoun's taste.
"Why are you staring at me, Rogue?"
"Am I? I'm sorry," Rogue replied, disconcerted at being caught and disgusted at the thoughts circling in her head. "I, I have to go."
Out to the boathouse, where she could smoke in peace. That was the first time she burned herself. She'd thought of slitting her wrists again, but it angered Logan and made Calhoun happy, so she'd put the idea aside for the moment.
But sitting there, staring at the lake, trying to shake Calhoun's nasty thoughts about Kitty, she knew she had to hurt herself. Because hurting herself was the only way she could hurt him. She pulled the glove off her left arm. Every time Calhoun came up with another scenario in which she tried to fuck Kitty, she burned herself.
There were six marks on her arm before she finished smoking the first cigarette.
Erik screamed and Logan raged but David, long dormant, cheered the bastard on. Even though she thought she was hurting him, as long as she was injured in the bargain, he was content.
So it went, every day that Kitty was home. Rogue had covered both arms, and was working her way up her left leg by Friday.
On Saturday night, before Kitty was to leave to go back to Chicago, Rogue cornered her in their bedroom. Jubilee was out on a date, so they were alone in the room when Rogue locked the door.
Kitty came out of the bathroom, not aware of Rogue's plans. She wore a t-shirt and boxer shorts, typical sleepwear on a cool spring night. Rogue smiled, a cold, threatening stretch of lips over teeth. She was behind Kitty before the other girl knew what hit her.
"You look so pretty," Rogue whispered harshly, her voice not resembling her own in the least. "Why you teasin' me like that, sugar? I'm gonna make you pay." And she brought the razor in her hand up Kitty's throat. "Don't scream and you might even enjoy it."
"Rogue?" Kitty said in a hushed, fearful tone.
Rogue blinked and pressed the metal deeper into Kitty's throat. Blood beaded along a tiny patch of skin. The smell of metal and blood turned her stomach, and she stumbled back, shrieking, "Get out! Get out! Go away! I don't want to hurt you!"
Kitty, in her haste, phased through the locked door and barreled into Scott, who was on his way in response to Rogue's screams.
"Rogue! Rogue!" he shouted. "Let me in!"
He was about to blast the door open when Jean put a hand on his arm. "Kitty, could you--" she asked tentatively. The girl complied, phasing through the door to find the friend who'd attacked her slumped on the floor, crying.
Kitty unlocked the door and backed away, letting the adults in. Jean wrapped an arm around Rogue's shaking body, murmuring comforting sounds both aloud and in her head.
"Scott," she whispered, and he came and lifted the girl in his arms, careful of the small patches of exposed skin above her gloves and below her short-sleeved shirt.
Jean gave her a light sedative when they got downstairs, and then undressed the younger woman carefully. She gasped in shock at the small, round burns lining her pale flesh. After covering her carefully with a hospital gown, she called the others into the room.
She pulled no punches. "It's worse than we thought. I don't know how long she's been doing this, but it's bad."
"I've put a call in to Dr. Braddock. She's an excellent psychiatrist and I hope she can help Rogue where we cannot," Xavier replied.
"How soon can she be here?" Ororo asked.
"She's in Europe, at a conference, so it may be a week or two. It may be a good idea to keep Rogue dosed with a mild sedative, until Betsy can arrive."
"I don't like it," Scott said bluntly.
"There's not much else we can do," Jean said softly, putting a hand on her husband's arm.
"Can't you just flush him out of her mind, Professor?"
Xavier shook his head. "You know I won't do that, Scott. Not unless it's absolutely necessary. It's best if she can work through this on her own."
"Jesus," he snapped, "if burning herself and attacking other students isn't a sign that it's absolutely necessary, I don't know what is."
"Scott--" Jean said warningly. "I know you love her. We do, too. But we can't just go in and take her memories away. You know that."
"Why not?"
"It would not be ethical without Rogue's permission. And right now, she's in no state to make that decision," the professor said, with an air of resigned patience. It was an old argument.
"Bullshit," he responded, walking out.
He'd always been closer to Rogue than the rest of them. Their closeness had grown during that horrible time two years ago, when Logan had come back. Logan, Scott thought, and for once the name didn't conjure up anger and pain.
He wondered if Logan would come back to help Rogue, if he knew what she was going through. He wondered if Logan could help Rogue. Then he dismissed the thought. That bastard had cared for no one but himself, and Scott wasn't sure he could bear seeing him again, even for Rogue. Not after what had happened.
He went upstairs, silently cursing the ethics of telepaths.
I heard that! Jean said, and he smiled reluctantly.
Rogue woke in the medlab early in the morning. No one was around yet. She looked down at herself and realized they were on to her.
Christ, you can't do anything right, Calhoun taunted.
Fuck you, she thought, gathering strength to resist from Logan and Erik.
I knew you'd come begging for more, bitch.
That sent her flying off the gurney with an anguished squeak. She had to keep quiet, so no one would know what she was doing. She pulled off the ugly blue hospital gown and wrapped it around her fist. Then she put her fist through the glass door on the cabinet holding Jean's medical equipment.
Glass was better than metal, she thought. Cleaner, and without that smell. She found a shard she thought would do the trick. Logan and Erik both screamed at her not to, but she wanted it, wanted it more than even Calhoun. She just wanted the pain to end. She wanted to feel the clean, sharp edge slide through her flesh and watch the blood come pouring out.
It wouldn't hurt at first. She knew that from the first two times.
"When they come out, does it hurt?" "Every time."
She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his claws sliding through her chest, like a hot knife through butter. The Logan in her head hated that memory, hated the pain he'd caused -- that night, and later on, when he'd come back.
Tears slid silently down her face as she remembered the last time she'd seen him, in the early hours before dawn, much like it was now. He'd had his bag over his shoulder again, and she thought she'd never see him again. Not after what had happened with Scott. And Jean.
The betrayal was all the more hurtful because she'd finally found the courage to tell him of her feelings, and then she'd discovered the affair. The whole school had. It ended with Jean moving into her own room for a long time, and Logan moving out altogether.
Rogue was the only one who missed him, even though she had him in her head. And she thought that maybe he'd miss her when she was gone. Maybe the professor would use Cerebro and tell him that Marie was dead. And maybe he'd actually care.
You know I care, he said faintly. Please don't do this.
Survive at any cost, Erik added, trying to goad her into anger, which would at least drive out despair. Make them pay for what they did to you.
She ignored them and slid the glass up over her arm. She'd learned from the other times -- slitting your wrists was a slow way to die, and not a sure one. She opened the vein on her right arm from wrist to elbow, and had just transferred the shard of glass to her right hand when Scott burst in.
He'd been unable to sleep for fear that she'd hurt herself, even though both Jean and the professor were monitoring her telepathically.
He didn't see her at first, huddled naked on the floor. "Rogue?" His voice grew louder as his fears increased. "Rogue!"
"Just leave me alone," she cried thickly, her voice not working quite right.
"Oh, God," he breathed, taking in the sight of her. "Oh, God, no. Please no." He bent down and cursed the t-shirt he was wearing. "Shit, shit, shit." Jean! Professor! Help! Down in the medlab. He continued to shout mentally as he grabbed the sheet off the gurney, wrapped it around her and lifted her onto the table. "Rogue, please, say something."
"Let me go," she whispered. "There's nothing for me here, anyway." He wrestled with her for the shard. It fell to the floor and shattered as Jean and Ororo entered the lab.
"Goddess," Ororo gasped as Jean went immediately into doctor mode.
Scott stumbled back, staring at the blood on the floor and then the girl on the gurney. His decision was made.
Just because he couldn't use Cerebro, didn't mean he couldn't find what-- or in this case, who -- he was looking for.
While everyone was occupied with the emergency in the medlab, Scott made his way to Xavier's office.
He knew that Logan had been in touch with the professor in the years he'd been gone and he was pretty sure where the latest communication from the Canadian was kept. There it was, tucked away in the folder labeled "Canadian Contacts" in Xavier's right-hand file drawer -- an address for Logan dated a week ago. He dialed information and got the number for the Crescent Park Motel in Moose Jaw.
Calling the place, he asked for Logan and was immediately connected; he hung up without waiting for the other man to answer. He went to his room, packed a light bag and headed down to the hangar.
He was gone before they realized he'd left.
He arrived at the door of the Crescent Park Motel in Moose Jaw three hours later, shortly after six am local time. He saw the bike they'd built together parked outside room thirteen, and he whispered a silent prayer that the man was alone. He jimmied the lock and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He knew his presence would not go unnoticed for long.
Logan tossed and turned in the throes of his nightmare. It was a recent one -- a reenactment of the night he impaled Marie combined with the night she'd caught him fucking Jean. It was worse than his old nightmares, because in this one, he was the one inflicting the pain, and Marie bore the brunt of it. He hated it, hated himself sometimes, with a fierce loathing that hadn't lessened with his time away.
A sound startled him awake and he sat up abruptly, nostrils flaring. He could smell anger and fear and nervousness, as well as -- Shit -- Logan was out of the bed faster than Scott thought anyone weighed down by two hundred pounds of adamantium ought to be able to move. He suddenly found himself back against the wall, Logan's claws on either side of his neck and one just touching his Adam's apple.
"Why do you smell like her blood?"
Scott blinked behind his visor. He'd washed up and changed, but obviously not well enough.
"She's hurt."
"Where is she? Is it Magneto again? Sabretooth? That blue bitch? I swear I'll kill her this time," he growled, retracting the claws and pulling on his jeans and a flannel shirt.
"No," Scott replied. "She -- look, there's no easy way to say this, Logan. This morning, I found her -- she'd slit her wrists."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Logan breathed, his stomach twisting with nausea. "Why?"
"It's a long story. I'll tell you on the way."
Logan, on the motorcycle, followed Scott's rental car to the airstrip where the Blackbird was parked. He was trying desperately to tell himself that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't care. But he knew he was lying on both counts.
If he had kept away from Jean, didn't take the opportunity she offered when she and Scooter had fought and he'd left for DC with the professor... If Marie hadn't come bursting into his room, thinking his growling was due to nightmares... If he had stayed, regardless of the hurt in Marie's eyes, the accusation in everyone else's...
He sighed heavily as they reached the jet. If onlys were a waste of time. He had to get home and heal Marie. If he'd fucked up the one person who had always been good to him, he didn't think he could live anymore. Hell, he was barely living now, going from town to town, fighting and drinking and occasionally fucking. It was never satisfying, because Marie wasn't with him.
He rode the bike onto the jet and then settled into the co-pilot's seat. He'd been on enough missions in his time with the X-Men to know the rudiments of flying the thing, but he was glad he didn't have to.
"What happened?" he asked again.
"She was attacked. She absorbed the bastard. He's trying to make her kill herself," Scott said tersely.
"Christ," Logan muttered. "Two telepaths and they can't do anything to help her?"
"They don't think it's ethical." Logan's head whipped around at the sarcasm in Scott's voice.
"And you do?"
"If you'd seen her--" Scott broke off, blinking away tears the other man could smell, but couldn't see. "What that bastard did to her--"
There was definitely more going on than the One-Eyed Wonder was telling him, Logan thought. "And you think I can help?" That was the most surprising part of all. He and Scott hadn't fought when the affair with Jean came to light. Scott simply acted as if Logan had ceased to exist.
"No one else has been able to," the other man replied shortly. He said nothing more for the remainder of the trip.
They arrived back at the mansion, and Logan could smell Marie's blood from the hangar, a level below the lab.
Without waiting for Scott, he tore up the emergency stairs, taking them two at a time in order to get to her. That much blood can't be good, he thought wildly. She can't be dead. She can't. In the two and a half years he'd been gone, the one idea that crossed his mind constantly was how to make it up to Marie. How to get her to forgive his betrayal. If she was dead, he couldn't do that. Therefore, she couldn't be dead. It all made sense as he burst into the lab, startling Jean, Xavier and Kitty from their vigil at Rogue's side.
Xavier, as always, was the first to recover. "Welcome home, Logan," he said solemnly.
Logan ignored the other man and made his way to the girl on the gurney. Jean and Kitty moved so he could get closer.
"How--" Jean began, when Scott entered the room. "I see," she said, shooting a look at her husband that did not bode well for him. He ignored it.
I wish you had consulted me, Scott, instead of going through my files, Xavier said.
Would you have agreed with me?
I was actually going to suggest it as our next course of action, if you and Jean were comfortable with it.
I think I can handle a little discomfort if it helps Rogue, Scott replied, before putting his shields up and ending the conversation.
"I see," Xavier said, echoing Jean's words.
Logan ignored them all, his concentration focused solely on the girl with the white stripes in her hair as she lay upon the bed. Kitty wordlessly handed him a pair of latex gloves and he pulled them on before brushing a hand across Rogue's pale face.
"Hey kid," he said softly. "You awake?"
Her eyelids fluttered and she murmured, "That you, sugar?"
He felt his chest tighten at the endearment, one he hadn't heard in two years, and said, "Yeah."
Her eyes snapped open and she looked at him and shrunk away. "Don't touch me."
"Marie, please --"
Her voice was low and hard. "Don't fucking touch me. Any of you." She sat up, ignoring Jean's cry, and lifted her bandaged left arm. She saw Scott in the background and said, "You should have just let me die."
"You know I won't do that, Rogue."
"Right. Good old Cyclops, always playing the hero. And you," her eyes swept over Jean, Xavier and Logan, "the good doctor, always trying to make amends. The mentor, putting a good face on the failures and the freaks. The Wolverine -- fucking up everything you touch. I was right when I met you, Logan. We are alike. God, how I wish we weren't."
She hopped off the table and struggled out of the lab, leaving them looking at each other, stunned.
Logan whirled on Xavier. "Talk fast, old man. You've got some serious explaining to do. I've spoken with you twice in the past month and you never mentioned this."
"We thought it was best -- " Jean began.
"Shut up, Jean. I wasn't asking you."
"Logan, please -- " He turned at her voice and she took a step back at the ferocity in his eyes.
"I said shut up, Jean." He looked at the man in the wheelchair. "Well, Chuck?"
"Rape is --"
"Rape?" An almost inhuman growl sounded from his throat as nine inches of razor-sharp adamantium sprang from his hands and wrecked the table on which Rogue had lain. "Who? I swear to God, Chuck, I'll kill the fucker."
"You're not the first person to suggest that, actually," the professor said dryly. "Erik offered to have him killed, as well. His influence, even from prison, is extensive."
"Old Magnethead's got the right idea for once," Logan replied.
"Calhoun is already in prison and killing him would not help Rogue deal with her situation." Xavier's voice was sure and authoritative. "It would only make us feel better."
"Why don't we find out for sure?" Scott said, in agreement with Logan for once
"You didn't mention rape, Scooter."
"I wanted to get home in one piece," Scott replied.
Logan let out a bark that might have been laughter, had there been any humor in it. "When did it happen?"
"About nine months ago. She was attacked in the parking lot at the college. She managed to free herself when he touched her.
"This was her third attempt at suicide. Dr. Betsy Braddock, a colleague of mine, is on her way here. I think she may be successful in helping treat Rogue. She regularly counsels survivors of sexual abuse. Obviously, with Rogue having absorbed her attacker, her situation is more complicated than most, but Betsy is an excellent psychiatrist, as well as a powerful telepath.
"I spoke with her this morning, and she'll be here in a couple of days." Xavier looked at them all sternly. "Until that time, Rogue is to be kept under a strict suicide watch. Scott, Logan and I will do most of it, since we can't be sure she won't attack you or Ororo, Jean. Logan, keep your temper in check, please."
He left them; Logan stared at Scott, Scott at Jean. Jean kept her eyes on the floor. She and Rogue had rebuilt their friendship after Logan left, but she still felt guilty. Especially now that he was back -- seeing his reaction to what had happened, she wondered how she'd ever doubted that Rogue was the one who truly held his heart.
Logan stalked out without a word. They knew he was going to find Rogue.
"Why, Scott?" she asked softly.
"We can't help her. Maybe he can." His voice was flat. Jean knew how much he hated seeing anyone hurt, and how much worse it was to see Rogue, the girl he thought of as his little sister, in such pain.
She walked over and put her arms around him, kissing him gently. "I love you, Scott Summers."
He rested his head in the hollow of her neck. "I love you, too," he whispered.
Rogue sat on the roof, knees drawn up to her chest, thinking. I can't believe he came back.
I told you I cared, the Logan in her head said. Calhoun was strangely silent.
"Hey."
She looked up to see him standing there, half in and half out of the window. She didn't answer.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked. He looked awkward, and she knew he didn't know how to deal with her.
She shrugged. "It's a free roof."
He came out and sat next to her. "Been a rough few months, huh, kid?"
She laughed bitterly. "You could say that."
"If you want," he started, not looking at her, trying to sound casual, "I could, you know, touch you. Maybe that'd help."
Rogue closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. He just wanted to help her. They all did. She knew that, her harsh words down in the lab notwithstanding. "I don't think you understand, Logan. He raped me. That's not fixable."
He put an arm around her, ignoring her flinch. "I know, but-- I'm sorry, Marie. For everything." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I understand--"
"You understand?" She leapt up, eyes blazing with fury, and would have toppled off the roof if he hadn't grabbed her sweater. "You understand? You don't fucking understand anything, Logan," she shouted. "He held me facedown and violated me. He took away my freedom, my confidence, my life and I still can't get away from him. He's still here," she tapped her head, "telling me how worthless I am and how none of it really matters, because he'll win in the end." Her voice dropped, "And the worst part is, I know he's right. So don't fucking tell me you understand." She bolted through the window before he could get up, and he was scared -- terrified -- by the despair and loathing in her voice.
Worst of all, though, was the knowledge that nothing he could do would make her see that he truly did understand.
Logan moved back into his old room, and lived with the way conversations stopped and their eyes avoided his when he walked around the school. He knew they were all remembering the high drama that had played out almost three years ago, when Marie had walked in on him and Jean in bed, confirmation of an affair that everyone had whispered about when Scott left on a trip to DC after a shouting match with his wife.
He'd known from the moment he'd taken Jean the first time -- up against the door in her office -- that it would end badly. There was no way it could have been otherwise. She loved Scott and he -- well, he couldn't admit it at the time, but he loved Marie. His betrayal of Marie had been compounded by the fact that she'd finally confronted him with her feelings.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" she asked, her eyes hidden by the curtain of brown and white hair spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall.
They had just finished watching ‘Titanic,’ much against his wishes, and she was curled up next to him on his bed. The bed in which he and Jean had had a quickie that afternoon, while Scott was in town, shopping.
"It's just a movie, kid," he said gruffly.
"But in real life, don't you think that some people -- they just make a connection? That they're just meant to be?" she pressed, raising her head to look at him.
Suddenly, he knew what she was going to say and he silently begged her to stop. Please don't, he thought, awash in the unfamiliar sensation of guilt.
She didn't get the message, though. Neither of them were telepaths.
She raised a gloved hand and gently stroked his cheek. "I know you think I'm just a kid, Logan, but I love you. I have since the moment I set eyes on you." He opened his mouth to make a joke, break the tension, but she laid a delicate finger on his lips.
"Shh. I know. I'm too young, and you think I don't know what I want. That's okay. But I want you to know that I won't always be eighteen, and the day will come when you realize that I'm not a silly girl with a stupid crush." She raised herself up on her knees, and her lips were very close to his as she whispered, "And you'll want me, too. The way I want you." She brushed her mouth across his, so quickly her skin didn't have time to register the contact and he felt his groin tighten in response. Because he knew she was right. She left before he could say anything, and he laid awake most of the night, thinking of her.
Three days later, Scott and Ororo went on a rescue mission, and that night, Jean came to his room. They tried to be quiet, since the walls weren't very thick, and they really didn't want to get caught. But neither had recalled how attuned to his sleep patterns Rogue was, and how her senses had remained sharper than normal (though nowhere near as sharp as his) since the Statue of Liberty incident.
He was growling, lost in the moment, when he smelled her over the scent of sex and himself and Jean. Heard the door open and the gasp and then the sound of her bare feet on the wood floor rushing away.
"Marie!"
Jean's eyes snapped open in shock and he levered himself off the bed, barely stopping to pull on a pair of sweats as he raced after Rogue.
"Marie!" he yelled again, not caring that doors were opening and the cat was out of the bag, as Jean stood flushed and half-naked in his doorway.
Rogue was halfway to the greenhouse when he caught up with her. He grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around.
"Get away from me!" she shrieked, her eyes and nose already red from crying. "Oh, you must have had a good laugh, huh, after what I said the other night. Did you and Jean get a big kick out of poor deluded Rogue, declaring her love for you? Did you?"
"It's not like that," he pleaded, his hands clutching her arms.
"No?"
And then, as if things weren't already bad enough, the X-Jet roared and came in for a landing.
After a week of stony silence, Logan packed up and left. He tried to apologize to Rogue repeatedly, but she refused to see him. Finally, on that last morning, as if she could read his mind, she was downstairs as he walked out the door.
"You runnin' again?" she asked, her voice was weary, resigned.
"Sometimes runnin' is the only decent option," he replied. He couldn't meet her eyes. "I hurt you, and I'm more sorry than you'll ever know, Marie. I do care about you. Please believe that, if nothing else."
She smiled sadly. "I know. I just--" She sighed. "Be careful, Logan. Maybe I'll see you again someday."
He shrugged. "Maybe," he said doubtfully.
In the end, he'd known the sex hadn't been worth it. It never was. That's why he kept sex and love separate -- it was easier that way. Love was something with which he had no experience, and if it made you hurt the way he'd made Marie hurt, he wanted nothing to do with it.
Yet here he was, back again, and it wasn't solely guilt or the desire to make amends that brought him back. He loved her and his heart ached seeing her now, thin and broken. Far worse than anything he could ever have imagined.
Dr. Braddock arrived, a cheery British blonde woman with an air of confidence about her. She and Rogue met for hours at a time, and Rogue seemed to be improving slightly.
She no longer flinched at incidental contact, and none of the telepaths could pick up any suicidal thoughts from her. They threatened to take away her cigarettes unless she stopped burning herself, so she promised not to do that anymore.
A week slid into two and then three. Dr. Braddock had to return to England -- she had patients to treat at home, and she was confident that Jean and the professor could continue Rogue's counseling on their own.
It was just the break Calhoun was waiting for.
He started whispering to her again, about all the things he'd like to do to the other women at the mansion. When he picked up on Logan's interest in Jean, he focused solely on her, unspooling lurid, violent fantasies in which the redheaded doctor was the star and Logan was a featured player.
It was easy to begin burning herself again. She pressed the cigarettes to her poison skin in places even Jean wouldn't look, unless she were doing a full physical. On the insides of her thighs and on her belly. The pain felt good, because pain meant she was fighting against the perversion in her mind.
She also took to avoiding Jean -- it was easier not to face her after Calhoun imagined pushing her down onto the dining room table and spreading her legs.
Rogue bumped into her after one of these episodes, and she shook so badly she had to run outside. Logan followed. He found her on a bench in the garden, lighting a cigarette.
"What's wrong, kid?"
"Nicotine fit," she lied, inhaling deeply and cursing his presence. It meant she couldn't burn herself.
He let the comment pass. Something about Jean had upset her, and he'd get to the bottom of it eventually. They smoked in companionable silence for a while, watching the sky darken as the sun went down.
He slipped an arm around her when he felt her shiver, and she curled up next to him on the bench.
It was almost like old times, he could almost forget that two and a half years had passed since they'd last sat together like this.
And then her arms snaked around him and she pressed her lips to his collar. He drew a deep breath and said, "Marie."
She slid a gloved hand down his chest and then up under his t-shirt, enjoying the play of muscles as he tensed. "C'mon, Logan. It'd be fun." She climbed into his lap, putting her knees on either side of his thighs and rubbing against him. Her lips traced a warm, damp path down his chest as her hands moved up and down his back. He thought he'd never felt anything as good as the fine leather on his skin. His eyes closed and his head fell back and she hissed his name as she rocked into him. "I want to be with you, Logan. You can even pretend I'm Jean if you want."
It was like someone had thrown cold water on him. He realized he was about to take advantage of a young woman he loved very much while she was in an extremely vulnerable state. He pulled her hands out from under his shirt and lifted her off his lap.
"Keep it a fantasy, kid," he said gently. "It's better than reality ever is."
"Is that what you learned from fucking Jean?" she asked, pressing against him, the coldness in her voice contrasting with the heat of her body.
"One of the things," he muttered, pulling away, remembering how disappointed he was in Jean, in himself, at how easy it was to get her into bed. Somehow, he'd both wanted to sleep with her and yet have her remain faithful to Scooter. It was a bitter truth that he'd come to dislike her for being so ready to betray her husband in a fit of anger for some hot sex with someone who was almost a stranger. He'd come to dislike himself even more for betraying a man who'd never wronged him, and for whom, in fact, he felt a grudging respect.
"You want me, though. I could tell." She sounded hurt, and he wondered how he could explain.
"I do, Marie, more than anything. But right now, you're all messed up. And that shit about Jean -- it can't be that way with us. You understand?"
"I guess," she said doubtfully, standing up. She wouldn't look at him as she walked away.
He sat there for a few more minutes, and then went in search of Jean.
"What's going on with you and Marie?" he asked bluntly when he found her in the kitchen.
"How do you mean?"
"She ran out of here shaking earlier when she saw you. What's that about?"
Jean looked puzzled. "Honestly, Logan, she and I have become friends in the time that you were gone. She's like, like a sister to me and Scott. Unless…" her voice faded away as she thought. "I'll talk with the professor, but I thought Calhoun's presence had faded since you've been back."
"What would that cocksucker have to do with this?" Logan asked.
"One of the things he made her do was attack Kitty."
"Shit," he muttered.
She ignored him and continued, "Theoretically, it's possible that he's targeting me now. If his presence has manifested again."
"Why would that make her come on to me?"
"What?" Jean asked, startled.
"Outside, just now, she made a pass at me. And it was damned hard to resist." He paced the kitchen, dying for the opportunity to meet the bastard who'd done this to Marie.
"I think that's all her, Logan. She's got a crush on you, and even -- what happened -- before you left didn't diminish that."
"It's more than a fucking crush, Red," he growled.
She inclined her head. "Yes," she said softly. "It is." She got up and put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, Logan. We have a session in the morning. If she won't talk to me about it, I'm sure Charles will think of some way to find out what's going on with her."
"You can't just -- you know -- look in her head?" he asked, sounding very unsure.
"That's a violation of trust, Logan, and you know it. She doesn't like it any more than you do."
He exhaled gustily. "I suppose. G'night, Jean. And, well, you know --"
"I know, Logan," she whispered, and he walked away.
Rogue sat on the roof, sobs wracking her body as Calhoun whispered in her mind. He doesn't want you. He just wants the redheaded bitch. Make him pay.
"No," she said.
Yes. You're just a kid, sweet, little Marie. A burden. Worrying about you is dragging him down.
The Logan in her head tried to refute that, but since he had thought of her as a kid, had worried about being obligated, Calhoun's poison found its mark. She lit a cigarette and, raising her shirt, pressed it to her belly, hissing with pain.
If he doesn't want you, fucked up as he is, no one else is ever going to either. Just end it, Rogue. End it now. Make him pay. As she ringed her navel with burns, Calhoun seemed to be making a strange sort of sense.
She thought about just letting herself fall off the roof, but he didn't like that idea. Go to his room. Startle him. Think of how much it'll hurt him when he kills you -- he'll be a murderer, without a friend in the world.
She ignored Logan's voice begging her not to do it.
Rogue re-entered the mansion and headed toward her room. She had to be certain this time that she died. Pulling on tights and a bodysuit under her nightgown, she climbed into bed and waited for the right moment to go to Logan's room.
He tossed and turned and heard his name being called softly. He was having the nightmare again. Jean was above him, naked and flushed, as the door opened and Marie walked in. He tried to explain away his betrayal as she watched him with such pain in her eyes. He jumped, and in the way of dreams, Jean turned into Marie just as the claws came out and slid into her torso with sickening ease. "I love you," she whispered, falling to the floor, dying.
He bolted upright, claws unsheathed, shouting, "No!"
And then he smelled her. It wasn't a nightmare. Oh, God. "No! Marie!" Oh, God, not again.
He retracted the blades and she fell to the floor, smiling. "Thank you," she gasped.
The smell of her blood was overwhelming, and it made him dizzy with fear. He could heal her; he could fix this. She was covered in fabric from head to toe. He ran his hands up her legs, encased in thick black tights under the cotton nightgown she wore. Her hands were gloved under the long sleeves. He yanked the nightgown up, startled to see a series of round, black marks encircling her belly button and marching up her sternum. He pressed his hand to her stomach and cursed when he realized she wore a nylon bodystocking.
"Fuck." She was going to die before he was able to heal her.
"Love you," she whispered and the echoes of his dream sounded in his head.
In desperation, he realized the only skin he could touch was her face. He pressed his lips to her forehead, much as he'd done at the top of the Statue of Liberty, and then slid down to taste her lips. He cupped her cheek with his right hand as his left arm came around to cradle her limp body. "Come on, baby. Please don't die. Come on," he murmured against her lips, feeling the pull begin. He threw his mind into it, willing himself and all his healing power into her
He wasn't aware of the others in the doorway, how Jean and Scott and Ororo rushed in to try and separate them. All he knew was that he was going to heal Marie, and if he had to die to do it, well, it was okay with him.
He felt, rather than heard her gasp as her eyes flew open and she struggled to pull away from him. He was weakened; he fell back against the bed, passing out, content in the knowledge that she was still alive.
Rogue sat at Logan's bedside for three days. They'd been unable to get her to leave. She rocked back and forth, occasionally whispering things to the comatose man who'd saved her life.
"Why didn't you just let me die? It's all my fault. Why couldn't you let me die?"
No, Marie. It's not your fault. That bastard is telling you shit that ain't true. He's the one who deserves to die, not you, Logan told her. She was overwhelmed by his feelings for her -- the caring, the tenderness, the self-loathing he felt for causing her pain, and most of all, the love that infused his every thought. All he'd been thinking when he touched her was how much she needed to live, because he loved her, and it would be worth dying to protect her.
She was surprised at how easily she re-integrated him, how he came to the forefront of her mind and wrapped himself around her, giving her the strength to push Calhoun to the side. He told her she was precious and that everyone around her cared, wanted to see her get well.
The fact that Erik offered to have Calhoun killed was news, but it made her strangely happy. If even this man, the one who'd tried to kill her, felt the attack on her should be avenged, then surely it couldn't be her fault.
It's not your fault, Marie. It never was, Logan murmured over and over before he settled down, fading into the background to give her some peace.
On the evening of the third day, she finally broke down, sobbing like a child on his sheet-covered chest. She was going to be okay. It would be hard, but she was going to make it. She had to, for him.
"Don't you die dare on me, Logan. Not after what you did. I'm going to survive and so are you," she said, her voice hoarse from crying.
He smelled salt. And Marie. Thank God, she's alive, he thought, surfacing from the depths of unconsciousness. "Marie?" he croaked, eyes fluttering open. He felt wet warmth on his chest.
She raised her head. "You're back." Her voice was in no better shape. She wrapped him in a bear hug he was only too happy to return.
Jean ambled over. "Good to see you again, Logan," she said softly.
"It's good to be seen, Red," he replied, unable to move because he still had an armful of Marie. "Can I get the hell out of here?"
She smiled. "Of course. Rogue, if you wouldn't mind?"
Rogue looked at the doctor. "What? Oh, yeah. I'll be right outside, sugar," she said, leaving so Jean could give Logan the once-over before she released him.
Scott was waiting in the hallway. "He's awake, huh?"
"Yeah." She hesitated, unsure of what to say. She knew how much Scott had been hurt by Jean's affair with Logan. She knew how uncomfortable it was going to be for him to have his wife's former lover living in the mansion. "Scott," she began, the tears welling up again, "I can't even begin to thank you for, for everything." Again, she decided to let physical contact speak where words could not. She threw herself into his arms and squeezed.
"Umph." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Rogue, breathing becoming a problem."
She eased up on the hug and looked at him. "If you hadn't -- I can't even begin to think what I'd have done. You, Jean, the Professor -- everyone has been so wonderful and I've been so awful." She gulped. "Did you know even Magneto helped me? He was my head, telling me to survive. And, and Logan -- I know how hard it is for you--"
"Shh. Rogue -- Marie -- how could I not do whatever it takes to make you better? You're my family. My sister. And I don't think I have to worry about Logan anymore," his voice dropped to a whisper. "I think he's got his eye on someone else now."
"You think?" she asked, giggling through her tears. She didn't want to hope, but she couldn't deny that he seemed to have feelings for her in the thoughts she'd gained from him.
"I'm pretty sure," Scott replied as Logan and Jean exited the lab. Scott looked at them, still holding Rogue in the circle of his arms. "You gonna tell me to stay away from your girl?" he challenged, but there was a smile on his face.
"If I had to do that, she wouldn't be my girl," Logan replied. He looked slightly uncomfortable. "Scooter -- er -- Scott, I'm --" he grunted, frustrated at the inability to convey how grateful he was for the other man's care of Marie. "Thank you." He held his hand out and Scott took it without hesitation.
Rogue continued to meet with Xavier and Jean for counseling. Dr. Braddock visited monthly to check on her progress. She'd asked them to remove Calhoun from her head if at all possible, and they were exploring ways to do so without damaging any of her memories. He still spoke to her, and it was hard for her to handle sometimes, but with the support of those around her, she managed to do it without hurting herself or anyone else.
There was just one more person she wanted to thank. Professor Xavier hadn't been surprised when she'd asked to visit Magneto in prison. Scott and Logan were against it, but she was insistent.
So there she was on Sunday afternoon. She'd had to remove Logan's dogtags, which she'd taken to wearing again as she recovered, as well as all the other metal in her pockets and on her person.
She entered the cell behind the guard, amazed at how frail the older man looked, in his plastic prison. Not at all like the demonic force who sometimes haunted her nightmares -- crackling with energy as he forced his power into her.
"Here to forgive your transgressor?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," she said, taking the seat across from him. "I don't forgive you, but I understand." Erik nodded and she went on, "I wanted to thank you for -- helping me. Being strong. Showing me how to survive when someone hates you so much--" her voice broke and tears shimmered in her eyes.
"Yes, survival is a fine form of revenge, Rogue." She started at his use of her name. "Charles told me what happened. You, more than anyone, understand the persecution we mutants face."
"No," she said, her voice low, "he hated me before he knew I was a mutant. He hated me because I'm a woman. I don't understand that. He made me hate myself. But you helped me. And I'm grateful for that."
"You are most welcome, my dear. I can still have him killed if you'd like." He smiled a little.
Rogue pursed her lips. "As much as I want to say yes, I think I'll pass on that." She grinned. "I'll let you know if I change my mind."
"Well, then, take care, child. If you ever decide that life as an X-Man isn't your cup of tea, you know how to find me."
Then, surprising both him and herself, she raised a gloved hand to her lips and pressed it to his cheek as she rose.
"Goodbye, Erik.
"Goodbye, Rogue."
She nodded to the guard and he led her out to where Logan waited with Xavier. Taking Logan's hand, she said, "Let's go home."
"As you wish, darlin'. As you wish."
End
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete. And virtual chocolate to anyone who recognizes the last name I chose for Marie.
Dedication: To Jen, who wanted angst... did I do right for you?
Dedication: To Jen, who wanted angst... did I do right for you?