Title: House of the Rising Sun
Characters: Rogue and the classic X-men

Summary: Rogue is having problems coping with the results of her confrontation with Ms. Marvel, and so she comes to the X-men for help.

A/N: This story is about Rogue finding her place in the X-men, and about her learning to cope with what she's done. It's based off the actual comic plotline (I haven't read them but I use for summaries), with some modifications that I feel like making to suit my story.

Note: The House of the Rising Sun is an old song, and has been sung in many different ways by many different people. The 'Rising Sun' has often been thought to be a brothel, but also is thought to be a gambling house, or a prison. The song can be sung as by a boy or a girl. I like Sinead O' Connor's version a lot, but she sings it as from the boy's view. I put her lyrics below but changed 'boy' to 'girl' because this is Rogue's story.


House of the Rising Sun (as sung by Sinead O' Connor, with one modification-'boy' to 'girl')

There is a house down in New Orleans / They call the Rising Sun / And it's been the ruin of many a poor girl / And god, I know I'm one

My mother was a tailoress / She sewed my new blue jeans / My father was a gambling man / Down in New Orleans

Now the only thing a gambler needs / Is a suitcase and a trunk / And the only time that he's satisfied / Is when he down and drunk

So mothers tell, tell your children / Not to do what I have done / Not to spend their lives in sin and misery / In the house of the Rising Sun

Well, I've got one foot on the platform / And the other on the train / I'm goin home to New Orleans / To wear that ball and chain

There is a house down in New Orleans / They call the Rising Sun / And it's been the ruin of many a poor girl / And god, I know I'm one

Poor poor girl, poor poor girl, poor poor girl, poor poor girl, poor poor girl...

Chapter 1


The gate feels very solid and heavy beneath her fingers. It is very cold, too, but this doesn't transmit very sharply through the thin material of her gloves. Less sharp and biting, more muffled and gradual…just like everything else in her life. There is a loud crrreak as the gate resists her push, and for a moment she hesitates. Is this really what she wants to do?

She looks up at the huge, imposing brick building that looms on the top of the hill. She has stood here several times before, for several different reasons. To spy, to observe, to strategize…but never ever to ask for help as she is about to do.

Her head lowers as she looks at the ground, the edge of the fur-trimmed green hood slipping lower to cover her eyes—almost the same shade of green. Why would they help her? Because they're the good guys, she reminds herself. And I'm not. She pauses, shakes her head. I'm not, but I will be. Right?

As if, the other voice in her head argues. The voice that's not hers. You're a piece of shit. You're a parasite who lives through others. Give up the charade and—

She shakes her head again, biting her lip. Hard.

I'm not going away that easily, bitch! You don't deserve help! You're a MONSTER! YOU TORE ME OUT OF MY OWN SKULL—

SHUT UP! She shouts, in her own voice.

Let's see how you like it! The second person in her head hisses.

The hood slips down as she grasps at her head with her gloves hands, wincing. A throbbing migraine has just started up. She's been having these a lot recently, ever since The Accident (as she calls what happened). This one's a real doozy, the worst yet. It feels like her eyes are going to pop, like her head is being shredded inside. She sees bright colors flashing, and then a wave of nausea rolls up in the back of her throat. Before she can even register this, she's on all fours—in the snow—convulsing like she's trying to eject her organs through her mouth. The other woman screams in her ears the whole time, projecting terrifying images in her head…about things she'll make her do to herself.

I'll make you drown yourself! / Drink rat poison! / Fly into space! / Stop your heart! / Cook on the inside!

It lasts a while. Ten, maybe twenty minutes. Then she finally feels the other woman's voice fading, and she can see again. She gasps for air and realizes that she actually hadn't been breathing properly. Her eyes widen. The woman has been threatening her for a while, but only recently has she started to gain access to her internal organs.

She looks up at the big imposing building on the hill again with bloodshot eyes, dull with migraine. Don't have much of a choice, she thinks grimly, in her own tired voice.

I have to do this before there's nothing left.

After a few moments she gets to her feet and brushes the snow off of her clothing. She sees a patch of semi-frozen vomit on the front of her top and grimaces at the thought of a great first impression. Then she finds herself grinning, for the first time in what seems like years. Just a slight grin, but an expression other than pain or worry nonetheless. Typical me, she thinks, picking up a handful of snow and trying to scrub the mess off. Finally satisfied, she squares her shoulders and moves further up the snow covered pathway, her hood flopping on her back.

As she nears the front door, however, her newfound courage begins to wane again. Along with everything else in the 'school', it looks impressive. Hand-carved hardwood. Probably cost more than her entire room back home…the home she shared with her pseudo mother, Raven. She frowns slightly, shakes her head. It isn't her room anymore. She gave it up.

She doesn't even want to think about giving up her mother. She pulls her hood back up, her eyebrows drawing together, frowning slightly as she concentrates on the door. Well, how do you approach anyone's house? Knock on the door. Summing up every scrap of resolve she has, she raises her fist and raps on the door.

BAM!

The door rattles on its hinges, and she ceases immediately, wincing. She keeps forgetting how strong she is nowadays. The slightest touch is all she needs to accomplish feats that before took all her muscle power. Peering at the door, she sees that she's caused a slight crack along the surface. Oh my lord, she thinks, closing her eyes and feeling like a grade-A asshole. A moment later, she raises her hand again and knocks much more softly and timidly.

The ground begins to shake slightly. She looks around her in panic. Did she cause this? Then she realizes the shaking is footsteps, approaching the door. To answer it. She swallows, and raises her chin, her expression resolute. She will not run, no matter how tempting the thought is.

The door opens, and a very imposing figure looks down at her, the winter sun gleaming off of his steel skin. He's absolutely huge, towering about a foot and a half above her. She begins to tremble in fear.

"P-please don't hit me!" she exclaims, raising her hands. She feels so tiny compared to this behemoth…this behemoth who is the X-men's power-hitter and tank. He's made of solid organic steel, and weighs almost five hundred pounds. He could crush her into a diamond without thinking about it.

"Rogue!" he exclaims, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?" His voice has a echoing metallic quality to it. "Are you attacking us?"

"No, no!" She raises her hands in a gesture of peace. She's surprised that he hadn't just punched her lights out; she was sure she'd be on some kind of attack-on-sight list for the X-men, after what she's done. Should she lie about why she's here? No, that's not what you're here to do, she reminds herself, even as the other voice encourages her gleefully. Lie for all you're worth, kiddo, she says. Let's see how they like that.

Shaking her head slightly, she takes a deep breath. "Ah…ah know ah haven't been your friend in the past." She swallows. "But ah…ah'm in hot water up to my ears…and ah sure could use some friends like y'all right about now." She hesitates. "You see…ah'm as good as dead if you don't let me talk to your boss-man."

Colossus frowns down at her, considering her words. "Boss-man?" he asks, after about a minute. "You mean Professor Xavier, da?"

Rogue nods, also frowning, earnestly. "Yeah, him. The Professor. If he'll see me." She pauses, noticing now that the enormous steel man is wearing a frilly apron covered in an apple print. "What's with the get-up?" she can't help asking.

His angry expression wavers slightly. "I was baking a quiche," he says.

"Oh." She blinks. "What kind?"

"Ham and egg," he says, his expression forming into a scowl. "But you can't have any."

Rogue smiles, very slightly. "Ah can understand that," she says. "May ah come in?"

Colossus looks away. "What do you say, Professor?" he asks out loud.

She bites her lip and nervously clasps her fingers together. The man glances down at her sharply. "Don't do that," he orders.

"Oh, sorry," she says, bringing her hands apart again. He's worried she'll take off the gloves and steal his powers. No wonder—she's done it before.

"He'll see you," Colossus says tersely. "In the drawing room. Follow me."

Rogue feels her heart squeeze out an extra beat, of relief. The first step. She'd secretly thought the Professor wouldn't even see her. He steps aside, and she steps inside, for the first time in her life as a guest to the school rather than an enemy.

They head into a very lavish and old looking hallway, with dark hardwood floors and floral wallpaper. Her eyes dart around like crazy as she tries to take it all in. Beautiful paintings are hung in intervals, paintings which seem like doorways to other worlds. She shakes her head slightly. How can the Professor afford all this?

After what seems like an eternity but in reality is only about half a minute they reach what she assumes is the drawing room: a small meeting space, decorated in the same fashion in the hallway but also lined with velvet couches and elegant wood furniture, circa 18th or 19th century. In a space between a couch and a chair waits Professor Xavier, in his wheelchair. His bald head gleams slightly in the dim lights, coming from the two old-fashioned shade lamps in the corners of the room.

He's holding a teacup in his hands, but his eyes are on them as they approach. Rather, they are on her. The expression on his weathered face is serious. Very serious.

From the few times Rogue has seen the professor in the past, she's always thought him to be a very distinguished man of high intelligence and deep compassion. And fairness. This impression had been so great that she had been able to sense this even though she had sealed herself off to notions like compassion and fairness.

"Hello, Rogue," he says, in his highly cultured voice. It's always made her feel like a complete backwoods hick, a feeling she resents. Or has always resented in the past. Right now…right now it's a comforting thought, that someone might know more than her. It means maybe someone can fix her.

He gestures to the coffee table in front of him, on which is a porcelain tea service. "Please, Peter, pour our guest a cup of tea. Rogue, you may sit anywhere you like." The professor pauses. "We will begin our business when the other members of this household arrive."

"Ah thought—" Rogue's eyes widen. "Please, couldn't ah talk to you alone first? Ah mean—" she sees Peter's incredulous look. "—not totally alone…he could wait at the door or something…but…ah…" she looks down, tears rising to her eyes. "It's really hard for me to do this, and ah don't know if ah can do it if everyone's judgin' me, you know?"

Professor Xavier's gaze is hard and searching. "Precisely," he says, his voice firm. "If you truly wish to convince me that you want our assistance…you will ask everyone."

She hesitates, then she moves to one of the sofas and sits down without another word. He's right. What she's done…killed a woman…can't be taken lightly. Other people get the death penalty for their actions. Why should she be any different? Because it was an accident! a part of her says desperately. The other part—the Carol Danvers part—feels sick glee at the thought that her murderer is now facing justice of a sort.

Rogue hangs her head in her hands. Colossus clears his throat, and she realizes he's trying to pass her a cup of tea. She frowns. "Thanks, but ah can't stomach anything right now."

"Drink it," Colossus advises, his expression dark, like he'll murder her if she doesn't accept the cup.

So she does, with a nervous smile of thanks.

Rogue is shaking again.

She's being scrutinized by eight pairs of eyes. Eyes which have witnessed her doing horrible things. Spying. Stealing. Hurting. Helping a terrorist group orchestrate activities that left dozens of people permanently injured. Destroying property. And now…killing.

She's shaking so hard the teacup is rattling on the saucer, the hot liquid splashing all over. Closing her eyes, she forces herself to put the cup down on the coffee table before she breaks it and ruins the Professor's beautiful tea service.

"In case anyone did not know…this is Rogue," a deep and feminine voice announces. Storm, the woman with dark skin and shocking white hair who can call lightning down from the sky and create indoor tornadoes. "She is a member of the Brotherhood-yes, the same Brotherhood who's been on the news so much lately. The group behind the Golden Gate bridge bombing. The group behind the attack on the Pentagon. Professor, why haven't we alerted S.H.I.E.L.D. yet?"

"Please, Storm," the Professor replies, his voice calm. "I would like to hear what she has to say for herself first."

"She can absorb powers, abilities and memories through physical contact," Colossus warns. "Don't let her touch you."

The Professor looks to the creature-like man crouching on the arm of one of the sofas. Rogue knows a surprising amount about this X-man. His codename is Nightcrawler, and he is a teleporter…but his real name is Kurt Wagner, and he grew up in Germany. Raven spoke about him one late night in the kitchen, during a heart-to-heart with Irene…her voice small and strained, as if she was crying. She didn't know that Rogue was eavesdropping from the stairs.

"Thank you for your concern, Nightcrawler, but she is alone," the Professor says. "I have scanned the estate quite thoroughly." He looks at her again. "What are you here for?"

Rogue's eyebrows draw together. "Ah know we ain't always been on good terms—"

"We aren't on any terms!" a teenage girl interrupts. She has fluffy brown hair, and her face is plastered with freckles. Not someone she's really encountered much before…maybe once. Some ghost power or something.

The Professor silences her with a look. "Go on," he instructs.

"She's right," Rogue says, trying to keep her voice steady. "We ain't been on talking terms…because ah've done some really stupid things." She pauses. "This last one is a doozy, though…and ah'm afraid ah might not live long enough to fix my ways if…if no one can fix me."

"Fix you?" Storm asks.

Rogue swallows. "Well…you ever hear the term 'little pitchers have big ears'?"

There is a grunt of acknowledgement from the corner of the room. She glances at the source, and sees the eighth pair of eyes…belonging to the more shadowy member of this 'school', Wolverine. She's heard stories—mostly from Mystique—warning her to keep her distance unless she's looking to get something cut off. So far, he hasn't said a word.

"Ah'm kind of guilty of eavesdropping, here and there," Rogue explains. "It's not something ah'm proud of, but around Raven's household…Mystique's ah mean…" she frowns. "It's the only way ah knew what was going on, sometimes."

"You lived in Mystique's house?!" demands the teenage girl again. "God, why are we—"

"Can it, Kitty," Wolverine says sharply. "We're hearing her out."

Kitty falls silent, but she looks furious.

"One night I heard them talking in the kitchen, her and Irene." Rogue hesitates. "Irene can see the future, you know. Her name is Destiny."

"We know about Destiny," Professor Xavier says. "Continue."

Rogue takes a shaky breath. "Irene said that…that Ms. Marvel is 'intimately tied to a great danger' that would hurt me. Raven…Mystique…swore she wouldn't let that happen…that she'd take care of it. She said she'd heard that Ms. Marvel was in San Francisco." She hesitates. "But ah wasn't going to let anyone fight my battles for me. So ah went there on my own and ah…" she trails off, her breathing growing short. Damn it, not now! she pleads with Carol internally. I'm trying to tell them!

I have nothing to do with it, Carol replies icily. This is all you, cupcake.

"Deep breaths," Professor Xavier advises. His voice is calming.

Rogue closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on breathing. It feels like each breath is being ripped through her lungs, against their will. The room is shrinking, the weight of the gazes is growing heavier and heavier, her pores are squeezing out perspiration…and then, just as suddenly, the panic attack fades away. She lets out a shuddering breath and opens her eyes again.

"Ah went to San Francisco myself and confronted Ms. Marvel," she says, her voice surprisingly steady considering that she just nearly asphyxiated herself. "We fought. Ah thought—my intentions were just to scare her away…to show her ah wasn't easy pickings. Ah tried to borrow her powers and…" Rogue looks down at her gloved fingers. She closes her eyes. "Something went wrong. Real wrong."

"You absorbed her powers permanently," Professor Xavier says, frowning. "Along with her mind. That is why you have two diametrically opposed thought patterns."

Rogue nods, looking at him again. "Ah didn't ever mean for it to be permanent. It hurt me as much as it hurt her and…" she hesitates. Now for the hard part. "Ah blanked out. Ah don't know what happened after ah touched her. But ah'm afraid…" she looks at the ground, rubs the back of her neck. "Oh lord, ah think ah might have killed her."

Silence, throughout the room. She looks up at the Professor again. "And now Carol's trying to kill me. She's getting control of my body, in these crazy black-out periods. Ah'm afraid of what she's gonna make me do. She's kind of come unhinged after—after all of this. Ah don't know if it's just me she's gonna hurt or—or—please. Ah need your help, before something—"

"You have a lot of nerve asking us to help you with this mess!" Kitty snaps.

"Please, Kitty," the Professor says, his expression sober. "Let her continue."

Rogue clears her throat. "Something bad is coming, ah just know it. And not only that, but my powers…they're out of control. Ah can't touch anyone now. Ah used to be able to control it a bit…but just brushing against someone starts the transfer now…and sometimes ah get confused as to what's me and what's…someone else."

"An apt punishment for your crimes," Nightcrawler says, his lip curled in a sneer.

She feels tears welling up in her eyes. "Ah tried. Ah tried to make Raven understand that what we were doing was wrong. Ah didn't really want to do those things no more than you wanted me to do them. Ah thought—ah love Raven like a mother. Ah thought ah could make her stop before things got bad." She pauses. "She didn't always used to be like this. She was a good woman…she and Irene…they took me in when I needed it, they took care of me and they never hit me, not like—" she closes her eyes, shakes her head. Not sharing that. "Ah thought ah could make it come back. But ah was wrong. You're my last hope, Professor."

Kitty makes a scoffing noise.

Professor Xavier looks at her. "Kitty, that is quite enough."

"I didn't say anything!" she protests.

"You were projecting some rather unsavory thoughts."

"That's not fair!" she exclaims. "This all isn't fair! Why are we evening listening to her?"

"Are we being fair to Rogue?" the Professor counters.

"Is there any reason why we should be?" Nightcrawler asks.

Silence for a moment.

"I accept your dislike of Rogue," the Professor says to the room. "I would rather not examine her surrounded by such concentrated negative emotions." He squares his shoulders. "I will call you back when I am finished with my survey."

"She just admitted to killing a woman," Storm asks sharply. "Is it wise to leave you alone with her?"

Professor Xavier looks at Rogue, who is sitting with her head hung. "Given her mental state at the moment…and her current confusion…I doubt we have anything to fear from her," he says gently.