Left Turn

All characters owned by Marvel Comics

Author's notes: Been feeling a little nostalgic for the 90's lately (it was when I started reading the X-Men), especially with the lack of Romy in the comics, so I came up with this AU as a way to have them meet and get to know each other all over again. Be forewarned, there is a lot of fluffy angsty mush to follow, but I managed to keep it pretty PG-13 for once.

In this story, like the canon timeline, the psyche of Carol Danvers took control of Rogue's body during Rogue and Wolverine's rescue of Madelyne Pryor in Genosha (starting in Uncanny X-Men #236) Here, however, she never let go, burying Rogue so deeply in her mind no one could find her. After a serious injury later kills Carol's mind, Rogue wakes up confused and angry, having no idea how much time has transpired. I changed events, people, and places as I saw fit, and tried my best to figure out what would have happened to each of her teammates if Carol had been in the driver's seat instead of Rogue from Genosha forward.

The interludes included at the beginning of each chapter move backwards in time and tell Carol's story in reverse, and the chapters themselves move Rogue's story forward. A good knowledge of the X-Men issues from the Australia era through Fatal Attractions would be helpful, but hopefully not necessary. Romy, because I just can't help myself. As always, I write with minimal accents. I enjoyed writing it, hope you enjoy reading it!

"I'd be within my rights. You stole me—powers, memories, personality—permanently from my rightful body, as much as murdered me! Why shouldn't I take control of yours?

"I didn't mean to! It was an accident! I only meant it to be temporary, like the others—but things got outta hand…you fought too hard!"

"I was fighting for my life. There's no other way, Rogue. You'll have to trust me." -Uncanny X-Men #236

Interlude: Now You See Me

Too late…

Dr. Henry 'Hank' McCoy, the blue-furred Beast, kept a steady compression beat pounding onto the lifeless chest beneath him.

"We're losing her, Charles. If you're going to do anything, it's now or never…"

"Understood." Charles Xavier concentrated and placed cool fingertips against smooth temples. 'Jean…are you…?'

'I'm here, Charles, or thanks to Cerebro, I'm there, too.'

Despite his situation, Charles Xavier spared a smile for his favorite student, comforted as always by her presence. 'Together, then?' Their astral forms joined hands, combining the strength of their formidable telepathic powers, and plunged into the subconscious of their fallen teammate, sliding easily through fading, flickering resistance. Xavier turned a face clad in psychic armor towards the floating woman at his side. 'Jean, are you certain you are up to this? Logan is…'

Jean simply nodded. 'I'm fine, Charles. And so is Logan. You needn't worry…he knows I'm always with him…'

They moved silently through layer after layer of damaged subconscious, desperately searching for a trace, a glimmer of hope, for any sign their teammate could be saved. The mindscape of each individual was always unique, but most followed similar pathways and were organized closely enough that seasoned psychics such as Jean and Charles knew what to expect when they entered, much like a doctor opening up a heart patient, even if the details changed from face to face. In the dark and slowly failing fantasy landscape, Professor Charles Xavier found himself genuinely surprised when he felt the pull of something different, something unexpected. Fear, loss, anger, panic, despair, emotions hidden deep, kept locked away, seized hold of him with a cold grip that took away the breath of his exterior body. His astral form staggered to the ground with Jean right behind him.

'Charles!'

He concentrated, his eyes vacant. 'Do you feel…?' The world shimmied and shuddered, beginning to crack and crumble around them. Psychic boulders crashed to the ground.

'Charles!' Jean looked around warily, tugging at his arm. 'She's flatlining! You know we can't stay here…'

'Just a moment…' In his mind's eye, he found himself and Jean taken away, suddenly transported to the filtered grey of a cold and distant beach, his attention drawn to the steady pulse of…the ocean? No, it was more than that…the pulse of another…he reached out with his powers…

'Charles!' Jean gripped his arm fiercely. 'We have to go! NOW!' She enveloped him with a fiery burst of telepathic energy and yanked them both from the dying mind, her paralyzed body slumping forward inside a machine in Westchester County, New York, Charles crashing against the metallic rails of a gurney inside the X-Men's aircraft streaking from the skies of Washington D.C.

Hank had ceased CPR and was attaching a respirator and monitors to the still body of the battered young woman, the white stripe of her hair tainted crimson. The beeps of the heart rate monitor were thready, but holding, her brainwaves registering a flat, level nothing.

"Henry?" Charles breathed, but Hank shook his head grimly and removed his glasses, wiping them on a random spot of white left visible on his blood spattered lab coat.

"Her body is alive. Logan's power is keeping her heart beating, same as its doing for him, but Carol has registered no brainwave activity since we retrieved them nearly an hour ago. Did you…?"

'Charles…' Jean reached across the miles, her mind free of the crushing limitations of her broken body, and held a ghostly hand out to her teacher. 'What was that? What did you see?'

A sudden blip on the brainwave monitor drew wide, disbelieving eyes, and they watched as a steady, tripping rhythm gained speed.

Chapter One

I pulled open lead weight eyelids, the blurry world above a haze that merged into the gridded lines of speckled acoustic tiles above me. A numb, heavy pain outlined the boundaries of my body, my own breathing a wet, sucking hiss echoed by the rhythm of a respirator. Turning my head was met with a scorching fire of raw nerves, and resistance in the form of an oxygen hose jammed into my nostrils. I hauled a heavy hand to rip it away, the action impaired by more tubes taped to my wrist. Clawing frantically, I removed them and the oxygen, turning my head to take in my surroundings. A hospital room, state of the art, every inch gleaming shiny white and spotless. An empty chair sat next to my bed, a folded magazine all that a possible visitor had left behind.

I tensed and tested arms and legs, fingers and toes, some worked better than others, but not without sending boiling nauseous waves crashing over me. I tried to think, to calm the great panicky gulping breaths making my heart jackhammer in my chest. Where was I? Oh, Jesus, Genosha. Logan and I had been fighting for our lives against the Magistrates before they got us down and got rid of our powers…then they had taken me to a cell, and those guards had gotten mighty fresh and threatened worse... Anxiety sizzled and burned through the agony. I had to get out of here. I listened, trying to steady my tripping breath. It felt like someone was standing on my chest. I was definitely alone, and there looked to be no guards in the hall. Had I been moved to a civilian hospital? Had the X-Men come to the rescue? The panic continued shivering through me, through the white hot pain that charred every square inch of me. I couldn't stay here, couldn't wait to see who held me, friend or foe…I had to get out…had to find the Wolverine…

I fumbled with the bed's railing, then shimmied with all my might to flop my legs uselessly over the side, the world spinning in front of my eyes. The edges of my vision turned into a shimmering swirl. Every breath burned a red hot coal into my lungs, but I forced my legs to the ground, one of them uncomfortably numb, gripping the sheets knuckle white. The impact strobed flashes of pain right through my pulsing eyeballs. I tried to get airborne, but was slammed by a thunderclap headache for my efforts, nearly blacking out. Well, fuck. Not being able to fly was gonna make my little bid for freedom a hell of a lot harder. I would never make it before someone found me, but I had to try. I steeled myself and tried for a Plan B, wrenching myself from the bed.

I had no memory of the injuries that now decorated my body. My chest and torso were bound, crisscrossed with skintight bandages. Attempting baby steps, I realized my right leg, the numb one, wasn't just asleep, it was seriously injured, gauze and tape spackling the length of it. Whatever had happened to me had left it useless dead weight that I had to drag as I zombie shuffled for the door. It slid open like Star Trek, the coast clear for the moment, so I shambled achingly slow down a maddeningly familiar hallway, gleaming metal floor to ceiling. I was lucky so far, nobody there, but that luck wouldn't hold. This was no ordinary hospital. Someone was keeping me captive, someone was going to find me. I couldn't let them get me again, I had to get out…My hands barely kept me upright against the slippery walls, each step lurching, pawing frustration, pain and fear churning my guts. What if someone found me? What would they do to me? What had they done to me? Fresh memories of unwanted, rude hands in inappropriate places flashed into my subconscious, but I shoved them down. Nothing serious had happened with those Genoshan bastards, just part of the job. Let it go, I told myself. Focus!

At the end of the hall, barely fifty yards, an elevator, an escape. Hurry, hurry! My thready heart, overtaxed from my exertions, skipped and fluttered in my aching chest, my breath corseted by the bindings. I couldn't catch a decent lungful... It might as well have been fifty miles away at the rate I was able to move. I had to get out of there, had to find the X-Men! What had happened to me? To them? To my clothes? I spared a wobbly glance at my legs, bare besides the bandages beneath a too short, too exposed hospital gown. I had thought anything would be better than that hideous bodysuit the Magistrates had shoved me into, but this was a bit ridiculous, and dangerous, too much skin, too many chances for an accident with my mutant powers. All it took was a touch for me to drain someone dry…I was out of breath, dizzier than the worst sickness and I stopped, resting my forehead against the cold metal lining the walls.

Move! A voice screamed from deep inside and I dug way down, made my way one halting step at a time, the useless limb a dragging anchor in shallow water. Keep moving! I swallowed bile that burned my throat raw, my vision tunneling the hallway to a pinpoint. How badly had I been hurt? Supposed to be invulnerable, took a lot to damage me, but then again, supposed to be able to fly, too. I was in serious trouble.

I allowed myself a tiny victory when I clumsily slammed against the elevator's doors, managing to catch myself before I fell through them and into the thankfully empty car. Not alien, not foreign, the numbers and letters on the panel were the King's English, and they swam in front of me. I leaned my head against the panel and pushed the button for the ground floor, hugging myself to stop a slow slide to the bottom, praying nobody would come for me. Eyes closed, I willed my heart to keep beating, willed the air to rush in and out of my tender ribcage.

The doors slid open again, and I started in surprise at the softly lit room beyond, disbelieving my throbbing eyeballs and fuzzy brain as I staggered from the elevator. The dark luster of polished wood illuminated a hallway lined with antique furnishings, all of it vaguely familiar, like I had been here before, but it all smelled brand new, squeaky clean, like sawdust and new leather, like fresh paint and…cigarettes? I leaned heavily on a solid, high-backed chair and sniffed delicately at the air, straining my eyes while they adjusted to the dim light. Wherever I was, it was night outside, the stars twinkled in a large window at the end of the hallway. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the intruder smell and hopped my working leg forward, dragging its worthless companion.

I hadn't shuffled more than two steps when a man rounded the corner, his lithe form filling my exit, trapping me between him and the elevator. He was tall, slim but muscular, built like a dancer with wide shoulders and a trim waist, dressed to kill in a tight grey t-shirt and tighter jeans. Thick, ropy muscles strained beneath the thin fabric. He had a worn leather trench coat slung over one arm, and his shoulder length brown hair was twisted into a tousled ponytail. He hadn't seen me yet. His eyes were closed, but a smile played at full lips in the middle of a private joke. Long fingers brought a burning cigarette to that smirk, inhaling deeply. Behind the smoke, his face was gorgeous enough to make my shaky heart catch in my chest, and I hastily grabbed for a side table, rattling the chain of a Tiffany lamp decorated with green glass dragonflies. His eyes snapped open and mine widened at the sight, red irises on a field of black that stared back at me in surprise for a split second before they shifted, burning instead with contempt and disgust. A guard? One of the group of mutants who had spirited us to Genosha?

He pulled the cigarette sharply from his mouth between his thumb and middle finger, and glared at me while the room spun before me. "Mansion ain't smoke-free yet, Danvers," he jeered, his voice smoky and honey rich with the sound of New Orleans, if my ears were right. Danvers? I didn't know this man, but his handsome face twisted in revulsion when he said Carol's last name. Carol Danvers, the superhero Ms. Marvel. In one of my brighter moves, I had ruined both of our lives by using my mutant power to absorb her, getting the sum total of her memories, personality, and abilities as permanent fixtures deep inside my head. Why the hell had he called me her name? He was young, though, my age, maybe a little older. How did he know Carol, and what had she done to piss him off? My arms started shaking and the sharp angles of the hallway pitched unevenly. I slumped further onto the table. The man frowned and stepped forward, finally taking a good look at me. "Wait," he said quietly, "when did you wake up? You ain't supposed to be…" My legs and arms gave out at the same time and I crashed helplessly to the floor in a heap. He rushed headfirst with strong arms, but I flailed wildly to keep him away, trying in vain to defend myself.

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked and curled my screaming body into a tight ball, protecting myself as much as him. My mutant powers were uncontrollable and triggered by skin to skin contact, and I was showing a whole lot of leg in that moment. He knelt right next to me, close enough for me to feel the terrific heat radiating from him, warmer than most, the bare, tanned skin of his arms inches from my pale, poison body. I couldn't stop the tremors that racked my frame, but I caught his eyes with mine and shook my head frantically. "My skin…" I choked out, pleading.

His eyes widened as he looked at me, the muscles of his jaw tensing. "All right, petite," he took a final drag off the cigarette and ground it out against the heel of his boot. Holding it in his hand, it glowed a flaring magenta before he tossed it lightly into the hall, where it exploded, making me jump, the small blast barely more than a firecracker. He turned back to me and offered his trench coat, draping it gallantly over my shoulders. I tried to stand, to scramble away from him, but he snorted and swept me easily into his arms. I wasn't strong enough to stop him. His biceps and chest were hard, rippling planes of muscle, his skin so warm I could feel it through the leather of his jacket wrapped around me. Gritting my teeth to keep from screaming at the pain, I leaned into him, mindful of my exposed face and hands.

"What say we get you back to bed, eh?" He carried me effortlessly to the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind us. I closed my eyes to hide the burning tears that threatened to slide down my cheeks. I had failed. Whoever held me, I was at their mercy.

"Where…" I started, my voice thick and shaky, unable to catch a breath. "Where am I?"

He shifted me in his arms and breathed deep, his chest rumbling beneath me. "Westchester. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," he said softly, but I tried to push away from him, to get him to put me down.

"That's…not possible…" My bottom lip trembled and the lousy tears gathered at the corners of my eyes blurred my sight. Was this some stupid trick? Some super-powered time-warp? Was I so hurt I was hallucinating?

He gripped me tighter. "Why is that, cherie?" I was right, New Orleans. Cajun. I struggled the best I could against him, but everything hurt so much and my limbs were exhausted from my botched escape, rubbery and hopeless.

"School's closed, Professor Xavier long…gone." I twisted my head and glared at him through the blur of salt water. "We were…gone, too. Dead to the world."

His heart thrummed louder against me and his pupils dilated a split second before a casual, composed mask of easy charm slid back into place. "So I heard, but as you can see…" The elevator glided open and he carried me into the metal lined hallway. "School's back in session." He walked us back towards the hospital room, passing windows and doors I hadn't bothered looking into on my first pass, too worried about my malfunctioning legs and getting away than about taking a look at my surroundings, at my neighbors in the infirmary. Rookie mistake.

In the first room we passed, a pale blonde woman lay comatose, and her face I recognized as Emma Frost, The White Queen, one of the X-Men's old enemies, knocked inexplicably unconscious months ago. If this was Xavier's, what was she doin' here?

I gasped at the next room, covering my mouth with the sleeve of the borrowed trench coat. Logan, Wolverine, my longtime friend and teammate, was lying in the bed, his body a mummy's wrapping of bloodied bandages, tubes coming out every which way they could.

"Oh, my God," I sobbed despite myself, burying my head against the man's strong chest, his smell a heady mix of musk and smoke, his nearness causing my heart to pound again even if he were my enemy. I lifted my eyes. "How?" I managed as we reached the room I had awoken in. "His healin' factor…" My troubled eyes sought his wary ones again, my savior or my captor, I still couldn't tell which.

He laid me gingerly on the bed. "Its workin', cherie," he fluffed the pillows behind me. "Slow process, though, when you as hurt as he is…" he was going to say more, but the door slid open, two faces I recognized causing me to cry out in relief.

"I told you she was fine!" Bobby Drake, Iceman, founding member of the X-Men, ran an anxious hand through sandy-blonde hair. "Where were you? Out for a midnight stroll?"

Dr. Hank McCoy, the blue-furred Beast, fellow member of the original team, shoved Bobby out of his way. "It is hardly Carol's fault, Robert. You were supposed to be keeping vigil, not making popcorn." Bobby shrugged. Carol again. What the hell was goin' on here?

"She's been out for days. How was I supposed to know she'd come to before the Jiffy-Pop was done?" The man that had found me, my heart glad I could safely put him in the friend category, smiled easily at me, but stayed close to my bed, those ruby orbs of his shrewdly observing. Hank moved towards me, stethoscope in his big old paw. I cringed and burrowed into the rich leather jacket still wrapped around me.

"Better glove up, sugar," I said. Hank's eyes widened behind his round glasses and Bobby's jaw dropped open.

"What…what did you say?" Hank sputtered.

"Ya heard me, Hank McCoy." Talking was a little easier now that I wasn't trying to keep myself upright, but the pain was still excruciating. "Keep your hands to yourself! Last thing I need is to sprout blue fur and fangs…" The handsome stranger laughed out loud, a wonderful bark of a laugh.

"Holy shit!" Bobby whispered, and Hank snapped on the biggest pair of rubber gloves I'd ever seen.

"I need to check your vitals, and then I'll give you something more for the pain," he said evenly, gesturing to the trench coat. I shrugged out of it cautiously, my chivalrous rescuer helping me.

"Thanks for the loan…er?" I hadn't even gotten his name. He settled me back onto the pillows and Hank injected something warm and wonderful into my arm, the heat spreading and floating my mind into painless clouds.

The man shouldered into his jacket and smiled. "De name is Gambit," he said, his devil eyes twinkling mischievously.

I smiled lopsidedly back, the room blurring again. "I'm Rogue," I managed drowsily.

"Oh, my stars and garters," Beast mumbled. "Bobby…"

"I'll get the professor."

I sank away into a warm bath of darkness.