How Not To Live Your Life As A Teenage Mutant

by Emily Said It

Rogue screws up, a lot. It's a good thing her friends are consistently there for her, even if to a fault. Set after the events in X1, but is with a lot of Evo elements, including that Logan is already an X-man. Mostly a coming of age story with a focus on family and friendship. RYRO and eventual ROMY; no ROGAN. Rated M for language and self-destructive tendencies.

Disclaimer 'n' Stuff: I'm not a writer. Don't expect greatness.

HOW NOT TO LIVE YOUR LIFE AS A TEENAGE MUTANT

Chapter 1: How Not to Die in the Hands of a Crazed Mutant Supremacist

Rogue discovers the consequences of cheating death.

In another lifetime, things might've been different. In another lifetime, I might've had a chance. But as it stood now, in this time, where a girl like me could be exploited for my curse rather than cured, there was nothing that anyone could do to help me. No one was coming for me. No one would save me. I had played right into the devil's trap and lost. I only had one move left. I could scream.

Even to my own ears, the sound spilling from my throat was broken and weak, but the screaming seemed to drown him out. Whispers of martyr and destiny crawled through my mind, but I had to ignore him. Erik wanted me to believe I was helping my kind this way, helping mutants, but I wouldn't be their martyr. Despite my curse, the terrible things I'd done, the people I'd hurt and the people who hurt me, I couldn't just let myself die.

A fighter, that's what my foster mother used to called me. Boy, if she could see me now, screaming like a little girl... thinking of her, where had that come from? I couldn't afford the overwhelming guilt and the remorse. Those emotions were far too overwhelming, and I had so much else to consider now.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

The heat beneath my palms, I could feel it. That's what was real. That's what was happening. The heat, the machine, the metal – my God, all that metal. It called to me. I didn't speak the language but I'll be damned if I didn't get the meaning. I wish I could understand it, do more with it, control it.

Make it stop.

The voices in my head just wouldn't leave me alone.

You can make it stop.

Logan. Why couldn't he just understand? I would have stopped it if I could but I-

"I can't," I cried aloud. I was so dizzy. I could feel my very life being drained through my palms. It was funny, really, because with my affliction, it's usually the other way around.

Focus.

I opened my mouth, ready to scream again, but my throat became suddenly painful. That was when it hit me. I couldn't scream anymore and this, this nightmare, this really was it for me. I was destined to die alone for Erik's dream.

I felt myself slip down from where the restraints intended to keep me. My hands, the source of Erik's power, remained in place but it was my own will that had kept me standing. Now, there was nothing. Instead, the restraints bit at my wrists, stretching and cutting me from the pull of my weakened body. Everything I heard and saw kept blending together and separating again until all of my senses faded into one dark and encompassing sensation. For what seemed like an eternity, there was blackness.

I was sure I was dying, but where was the light?

And then, sure as that thought crossed my mind, I saw it. A bright, blinding light appeared with a blurred figure in the center. As the picture cleared I could make out a woman, no, a girl; a teenage girl with long, brown hair was lying on the ground. I blinked and then I was kneeling right in front of her, her slumped body in my arms. I was devastated, sad, angry. I looked at the pale skin of her face, the white skunk stripes in her hair and- that it was my face! I was looking at myself, and I was dead.

I began to feel a small tingle in my cheek, but it quickly escalated into a burn that was rapidly pushing to my chest. The burn, hot and painful, spread throughout my body to my limbs, and then my fingers and toes. I felt like I was being sucked dry and restored all at the same time.

I'd experienced something like this before. It was like the last moment of someone's memories when I touched them, the first one that coursed through me right before anything else that I stole. What I felt now, it was just like that.

I choked and gasped. My eyes shot open and the scene abruptly changed. I was no longer seeing myself, but the battered man in front of me. He was wearing torn, black leather and the cuts on his face were reopening behind his wild hair. He'd been fighting, and fighting for me.

"Logan?" I breathed. He didn't respond, just maintained this eery, stunned and, yet, empty expression. His brown eyes were wide, hollow and they forced the shock right out of me. I noticed then that he was touching me.

"Logan!" I shouted, my voice much stronger than before. I pushed his bare skin off of mine watched in horror as he slumped to the ground.

I didn't have to guess what happened. Everything around us was in shambles. Erik's machine had been ripped apart, the whirring that accompanied it finally put to rest. There was so little light, but I could see everything. I could even see the blood from Logan's open wounds seeping onto the concrete beneath him. He shouldn't have been bleeding at all. I'd seen him heal before. It was quick, almost instant. This was wrong, so wrong. I grabbed Logan's covered shoulder and shook him. There was nothing. Everything was all so incredibly still, so quiet, so dead, like I was sure I had been only moments before.

My new reality, the one where I would survive this mess, was equally terrifying. Certainly, I had killed him this time. I dropped to my knees and put my ear to his chest, listening for something, anything that said Logan was alive. I could sense the X-Men approaching, but I ignored them. I had to know I wasn't a murderer.

At first, I couldn't hear anything, but then a slow, faint gallop began to echo through Logan's chest. A heartbeat. Immediately, I looked to his chest to see the very faint rise and fall of breathing. His breathing grew more obvious under my gaze. I ran my hands through my hair and released a heavy breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"He's alive," I whispered to myself. Scott, Jean and Ororo had surrounded us now. Jean squatted next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. I wanted to lean into her, let her comfort me, but my neck and arms were bare.

"Rogue?" she asked.

I looked to the three of them, all as battered and beaten as Logan from the small war they fought. My audience was weary, but expectant.

"He's alive," I said again.

I was running off stolen power and foreign instinct when we loaded onto the Blackbird. Hell, I didn't even know the X-Men had a name for their fancy jet until the Logan in my head told me. I helped deposit Logan on a cot in a makeshift medical closet at the back of the plane before strapping myself into a seat. I was anxious to leave this day behind me.

I didn't start to relax until we were in the air, and I found quickly that was a huge mistake. As I let my guard down, I began to feel more emotions that weren't mine to feel. I grew agitated because of the flight, disgusted because of my company. I felt betrayal that my own kind would destroy the very catalyst of our survival. I felt angry that anyone could be so stupid as to get herself into this mess to begin with. A war of whispers and emotions in my head began to grow into complete thoughts and, from there, morphed into a screaming argument.

I couldn't help but cry out as I clamped my hands over my ears.

Ororo came rushing to my side, but I couldn't hear what she said. I shut my eyes tight and tried to calm the argument in my head, but then something else happened. I began to feel a pressure and a sharp push against the skin between my knuckles. My focus shifted. If I didn't get things under control, I would unsheathe terror through my fists. The voices became unbearable while I struggled with Logan's abilities.

"Rogue, what's the matter?" I could hear Ororo speaking to me but she sounded so faint compared to the noise in my mind. "Child, open your eyes," she commanded.

I was afraid I couldn't handle it, but when I realized I could feel the Blackbird ready to bend at my will, I knew I had to try. If I couldn't control this on my own, maybe she could help. It was a gamble, I knew. One wrong move and the battle I was experiencing in my head would kill us all.

I steadied myself and parted my eyes slowly. Ororo was kneeling down in front of me, her large chocolate eyes full of concern. Something about that resonated with me, and I remembered feeling this way with her before. But it wasn't really me; it was a memory from someone else. I looked deep into her eyes, remembering all the times I felt lost in their depths, all the times she allowed me to feel safe there. I wanted to touch her mocha skin, knowing that it would be soft and delicate under my finger tips. I wanted to run my hands through her long, white hair and follow the tresses until I found her full, breasts...

"I think I'm going to be sick," I'm croaked. Ororo nodded and got up quickly but the damage was done. Logan was a dirty, shameless pig.

Ororo shoved a small bag in my hands just before the first heave came. The vomiting not only emptied my stomach, but cleared my head of my unwanted passengers. For that short moment, I was left with my own experiences, my own memories, and my own emotions. And they were bitter. I was a an expendable, mutant runaway, nothing more than a pain in my aunt's side, a disappointment to my foster mother, a vulnerable piece of ass on a street corner, and a pawn in a struggle I knew nothing about. This was my life and all I had to show for it was a puke bag.

Then a Ororo took that, too. I was thankful because it was pretty gross, but when life comes down to nothing but a bag of vomit, well...

I lost it. I mean, I absolutely fell apart and began to cry. When Ororo came back and asked me how I was, those few, silent tears morphed into heavy sobs. I was a pathetic and disgusting mess. Then Ororo did the worst thing she could've possibly done in that moment: she reached out to comfort me.

I shrank back and shrieked. "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!" I knew I was overreacting, knew I was hysterical, but I just didn't care. I couldn't care. There was so much that I was feeling, and then they came back. Logan and Erik, they came back.

I started pulling at the seat belt, desperate to get the buckle to unlock. I heard Ororo call to Jean for help. When the buckle wouldn't release, I willed it to. When it splintered apart, I sprang from my seat and moved away from Ororo until my back touched the wall of the plane.

Ororo held her hands out, a gesture meaning to show deference and submission, but she was still inching closer. In my peripheral, I could see Jean easing away from Logan's unconscious form with something small in her hand. They were crowding me. Part of me recognized that they meant no harm, but I couldn't help but feel threatened and, after tonight, I was damn tired of being threatened.

Once I realized the women were gaining ground, I lunged for Ororo. She evaded me easily and I rolled before jumping back up and facing her again. I could hear Scott yelling from the pilot's seat and then the jet tipped to one side, knocking me to the floor. I saw Scott do something with the controls and felt the plane level out again as he left his seat. It was three to one now. I jumped back up into a low crouch, ready to attack Ororo again, but didn't quite make it.

"I'm sorry, Rogue," I heard Jean say as Scott wrapped his arms around me from behind. I turned just in time to see the needle, but I never felt the prick.

Hours later, it was dark. And cold. Just ahead in the darkness was a tiny keyhole of light.

Hadn't I just done this?

I heard something faint. Mumbling. As it grew clearer, I followed what I began to recognize as the sound of Jean's soothing voice.

"Come to me, Rogue. Don't panic. Everything is alright."

Though my eyes were heavy, I attempted to open them. They only fluttered at first, but they finally made it. The lights were harsh and I squinted to adjust until I could see Jean's tired features hovering about me, a placating smile on her face. I tipped my head to the side to see a very empty and sterile looking room. I tried to sit up to get a better look at my surroundings, but my arms and chest were caught. I looked down to see white straps over my limbs and trunk.

"Everything is okay, Rogue," Jean said, this time aloud. "Relax and let me help you control him."

I just stared at her. If everything was okay then why was I strapped to a bed? I'd never been claustrophobic, but I was sure the room was going to close in on me. I felt my breathing get heavier and my heart started to pound in my chest. My gaze darted around the room, looking for anything that could help me get out.

"Logan is taking over your body right now. Until you learn to control him, you're dangerous."

"You wanna talk control, Red?" I sneered.

I knew in that exact moment that she was right. I would have never said that to her on my own accord. I began to panic, and as much as I tried to quell the fear, it was all consuming. I looked at Jean. I felt like I could break these restraints and snap her neck for tying me down like this. I lost all my control and began to pull at the cuffs, bruising my wrists and ankles, but they wouldn't budge. Hell, I was still drugged.

I felt a sort of tickle in my brain and someone inside me knew the feeling well.

Before I could stop myself, the words spilled from my mouth. "Dearest Jean, certainly Charles taught you better than to be so intrusive."

Jean looked calm but I was having an internal conniption. Logan's feral side was manipulating my body and Erik had my tongue. Fabulous. But then the look on Jean's face became one of concentration. Almost immediately, everything I felt and saw began to swirl and fade into a hazy, well, nothingness.

"Rogue." I jumped when I heard her call me, and as an afterthought realized that I was also now standing. Jean stood in front of me, no longer looking tired. Her green eyes were vibrant and her thick hair tumbled around her in soft, red waves. She was dressed comfortably in a ruby knit sweater and denim, a stark contrast from the tattered black leather she had been wearing when I first woke up.

Jean continued to speak, as if she sensed the many questions I had. "We're on the astral plane," she explained. "Think of this as a place where we can speak, without interference."

I understood what she meant, but I couldn't help raising a hand to my head, as if that would help me listen. Everything was quiet. When I pulled my hand down, I realized that I too, was dressed differently. Gone were the gloves and long sleeves. For the first time since my affliction manifested, I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt like I would have on any Mississippi summer day. I gasped and reveled in the feeling, the freedom. It felt so good.

"You have to take control," Jean said, bringing back to my bleak reality.

"I don't know how," I admitted. I immediately began to sulk.

"I'm here to help you," Jean replied with a smile. Then she did the unthinkable. Despite my protests, Jean took my bare hand in hers. "See," she said sweetly, like she was speaking to a small child. "It's fine."

I was too shocked to say anything, so I just nodded. I hadn't held hands with someone in so long. Jean was showing me so much understanding, so much compassion, and to bring me here, to this place, where I could touch without killing and be rid of the voices? My respect and trust of her grew tenfold.

I allowed Jean to lead me to a door, which seemingly floated in the middle of nothing. She nodded at me and I turned the knob. It opened and we stepped through together, ready to reclaim my consciousness from the man who tried to kill me and the man who tried to save me.

We spent what felt like days walking through my tangled mind. Jean had me envision everything like a house, a house with lots of doors to lock away the different psyches. I was thankful that Jean didn't bother to ask why there were so many people in my head or why on earth I'd cram them all in a tiny Mississippi ranch. At the time, I was so focused on learning how Jean trapped the unwilling personalities that I failed to ask for privacy.

The process was both exhausting and emotional. My first real boyfriend, a well-meaning woman from the street, two probable rapists, an angry clerk from a drugstore and, finally, my two strongest terrorists all fought their potential imprisonment but ultimately lost.

When we came back to our physical bodies, Jean noted the clock on the wall. I was astonished when she told me that only a few minutes of reality had passed. I could still feel things I probably shouldn't. I knew that Jean was wearing a gold necklace under her uniform and that part of the metal frame on my bed was a cheap alloy. I wondered if what we just did, if it wasn't some sort of crazy dream, really worked, but then I realized it was actually quiet. Sure, there were some unclear whispers lurking around in there, but my head was mostly silent.

I looked to Jean, who was worse for the wear.

"I'm not the professor," she admitted. She rose to unbuckle my restraints with gloved hands. "The barriers we put in place may only be temporary, and I don't know what all we were actually able to block."

I nodded and rubbed the feeling of the cuffs off my naked wrists and ankles. Though I fought hard against them, there were no marks or bruises. Jean surmised that Logan's healing abilities were still at work and asked to check me over further, but I declined. We were both spent and I was ready to get out of there.

"You've been through a lot, Rogue," Jean told me on my way out. "Please let me know if you need help again, or even if you just want to talk."

I nodded and continued out the door. I knew where the elevator was, so I went in that direction. I stopped when I passed an observation window. I was surprised to see Professor Xavier lying there next to Logan, both of them unconscious. When I left, he was as fit as any man in a wheelchair could be, although supposedly very angry with me. Logan cleared that misconception up on the train, but he never said anything about the man being ill or hurt.

I didn't spend as much time considering the Professor as I did Logan, though. That man was a damned fool doing what he did for me. Three times in 36 hours, he risked his life to save my own. He wasn't kin to me and wasn't even a friend, but a perfect stranger who rescued me without any regard for himself. Even I knew that I wasn't worth all that.

"What a fucking idiot," I grumbled.

"He'll be okay," came a low voice from the doorway.

I looked and gasped at what I saw there. Coming in my direction was a large animal covered head to toe under a lab coat in blue fur. His face was catlike but his gait was just so human. And did I mention the blue fur? Because that was a really big thing for me.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said kindly.

I felt my eyes grow wide. This wasn't, couldn't, be right. He continued.

"You must be Rogue. I heard about your recent experiences. I'm pleased to see you are up and about. I'm Dr. Henry McCoy, but you may call me Hank." He stepped forward and held his, was it a paw or a hand, out to me. I just stared at it.

"You have fur," I blurted out.

He smiled and pulled back the proffered hand. "Of course," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing. At least he didn't sound offended.

"Would I," I started. Could I touch his fur? Would it kill him, since it wasn't skin to skin? I chided myself for being so petty and stupid. Here we were, in front of two men hooked to machines and possibly comatose to boot, and I was wondering if I could touch a furry, blue man-beast. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my dirty jeans. "I don't want to hurt you," I said meekly.

Hank just nodded.

"You said he'll be okay." I looked back into the window. "Which one?"

"I am confident that both of these men will recover," Hank declared, but then added with a tone of humor, "even the fucking idiot."

He said the last part so eloquently that I grew embarrassed about my language. I felt the blush creep into my cheeks and Hank chuckled.

"Don't be abashed. Those of us with feral qualities possess very keen senses." He grinned as wide as he could to show off his sharp, white teeth. "Besides, I rather agree with your assessment of Logan. He can be quite nonsensical, that one."

No argument there.

I thanked Hank for filling me in and then left in search of my room. A hot shower was what I needed now. I hoped that along with the dirt and dried sweat, the last year of my life would just wash down the drain. Maybe this was all some kind of terrible and twisted nightmare. Maybe I'd wake up and everything would be normal again. I couldn't stop the heavy sigh that fell from my lips. As I exited the elevator at the main floor, I had to wonder at my own 'nonsensical' self. This was my life, my reality, and no quantity of wishing nor sleep would change that. It was too bad, really, but a curse like mine? It just doesn't work that way.