Disclaimer: What I don't own, I don't own. What I do own, I do.

A/N:

I am currently doing a Master-Edit of this whole fic, meaning that I will be uploading edited versions of each chapter. I have finished the fic and have begun on the second part of the trilogy, "Escalation." The first chapter of the second fic will be updated at the same time as the final chapter of this fic. Please note, that "Contemplation" can be read all by itself and be considered complete. However, the subsequent fics will render it more complete. Trust me.

Contemplation

Part 1 of the Alternate X-Men Trilogy

Words: 2,229

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Chapter 1: The Deal

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It was math class yet again and Rogue was bored… Mr. Summers was at the front of the class writing out yet another long, mind-boggling equation on the board. As far as the class went, Rogue's grade was passable – a low B; not bad considering that the majority of her time in class was spent either doodling on her papers or gazing out the window, deep in thought.

Currently engaged in the latter exercise, Rogue stared out at the sunshine that seeped through the window, painting her figure with a warm, golden gloss of light. The gentle heat of the sun's rays soaked deep into her exposed skin, and briefly, Rogue imagined it was a warm hand that cupped her face instead of the indirect embrace of the sun's rays.

The illusion scattered after a moment, leaving the girl wryly entertaining the notion of one day lying out in the noonday sun naked, for light seemed to be the one of the few things that could touch her, among her other companions of wind, water, plants, and soil… Yet, the safety of others required Rogue to wear layers of clothing; they coated her body like thick layers of touchable skin and acted as armor with which she faced the world.

Her hands within the black leather gloves were baking with the heat from the window, the same with the skin beneath her long-sleeve, hooded jacket. But Rogue refused to find a different seat in class, for with the caress of the sun upon her cheek, the girl could pretend she was loved, however brief the illusion.

Sure, people cared for her…

Logan loved her in a familial, yet distant, manner that left her as "the kid" that he would give his life for – but in the end, he would still leave her here alone in a mansion full of strangers… stuck with his nightmares infiltrating her mind. Bobby, on the other hand, eyed her with a strange mix of desires; though lustful towards her, the boy was seeking gratitude and worship, as though by reaching out to her and connecting with her he deserved the deference of herself and others. St. John was even easier to read… He sought her out with lust and satisfaction in mind, only for her to be transformed into yet another competition with Bobby after her mutation was revealed. Meanwhile, Xavier was hospitable and respectful – never forcing Rogue in any direction and ensuring her privacy (or as much as could be supposed with the world's most powerful telepath). His love was universal and non-judgmental and was generous enough in its own way…

Twirling her pencil through her gloved fingers, Rogue mused that the sort of love she was searching for was not the sort she had already.

But was she looking for companionship? Kitty and Jubilee were her tentative friends… they shared the same room in the mansion and did things together, but did that make them friends, exactly? Maybe with time, the elements of friendship would develop between her and them: trust, respect, and confidence.

(Perhaps that was the problem… Rogue was always viewing people as her and them – never us.)

Rogue sighed. So was it family she wanted? …Unlikely. Family was what had scorned and despised her back in Caldecott County, Mississippi. Family was dangerous. Family was betrayal waiting to happen. …Just look at Logan; he was the closest thing to family she had now, and because Rogue cared so much, a knife seemed to twist in her chest every time the Wolverine choses to leave the mansion for another lengthy jaunt around the world. Meanwhile, the seventeen-year-old waited behind, stung with the thought that her father/brother/protector/friend did not care enough to stay or alternatively take her with him.

No, Rogue decided. Even with a family of just Logan and herself, it already had too many members.

Did she want romance, then? The thought left Rogue cold. She could not have that kind of love. It was impossible and forbidden (or verboten as her inner Erik Lensherr would comment in German). Her skin was poison and death – to her potential lover and herself, for how could she survive watching the man she loved turn pale and comatose on the floor while a piece of him took up residence in her head, crowding and jostling in the already shrinking space of her mind? A piece of her would die witnessing that, Rogue knew. It already did.

Watching her first boyfriend become prey to the awakened mutant genes within her had been hell. Rogue had liked him so much (she was smart enough to know that it was not love – not yet, anyways… but it could have been). Observing and experiencing a single touch of her skin causing destruction had seemed to rip Marie's very being apart before re-forging it again as a patchwork of what it was before – such was the birth of Rogue.

"Rogue," a voice commanded, waking the girl from her all-consuming reverie, "would you answer the problem on the board for the class?"

Startled, Rogue stared into the red-quartz sunglasses of her math teacher. "Sorry, Mistah Summers," she replied, her Mississippi accent barely evident even as her tone expressed her mild remorse. Nearly apathetic to the proceedings, Rogue stated, "I haven't been paying much attention."

Rogue noticed with interest how one eyebrow quirked above the rim of the glasses as Summers dryly remarked, "So I see…" Then, with a final, speaking glance at his inattentive student, he continued the lesson.

Reading his glance correctly, the girl stopped idly fiddling with her pencil, instead putting the tip to the paper and pretending to work. Meanwhile, Rogue pondered over how the man could give such meaningful glances with his combination of covered eyes and controlled facial expressions.

In the classroom, the math teacher showed his students the occasional polite smile, the more common sarcastic eyebrow raise, and the almost frequent brow-furrow of displeasure (usually directed towards miscreants such as St. John Allerdyce, but then, what else is new?). These same expressions were displayed in the Danger Room simulations, though sometimes with a downward tilt of his mouth in worry or a slight flare of his nostrils in frustration. Besides these, Scott Summers revealed little of himself through his expressions – except, of course, with his fiancé, Jean Grey.

Faintly, Rogue wondered if his eyes gave everything away… Maybe, the girl concluded to herself, it had been so long since anyone had seen his eyes that they had lost the ability to shield others from his thoughts and emotions… The idea intrigued Rogue, for if one could but see them, the man's gaze promised such honesty – and frankly, the mansion's untouchable student was tired of lies. Not even her poisoned touch ensured the truth, for more often not, Rogue found that people tended to lie to themselves more than anyone else.

Shaking the subject of denial and self-justification from her mind, Rogue turned her contemplation once again unto the unseen eyes of her teacher. Since the eyes are said to be the windows to the soul, did that mean that Mr. Summers' soul is blocked? Caged behind the rigidities and restrictions set for him in his role as Cyclops? His mutation – limited as it was by physical damage to his brain as a child – required constant control and restraint. Always he must be aware of his sunglasses or visor… Always must he curb desires to experience the world in a multitude of colors…

For those unable to control their mutant powers, life-defining changes were inevitable.

Scott Summers was forced into a life of control and regulations, while she was propelled into a physical isolation so poignant that it became so achingly emotional. Rogue, torn between laughter and tears at the similarities, remained silent.

Attempting to shove her thoughts as far from self-pity as she could, Rogue stared down blankly at her math notes. A few messy equations graced the page, side-by-side with doodles and stick-figures that tangled and leapt across the length of the page. Rogue sighed again, still somewhat misty-eyed.

Then, the bell signifying the end of class finally rang out, almost causing Rogue to jump in her seat from surprise. As the last class period of the day, her peers flooded through the doorway in a mass exodus that Rogue physically could not allow herself to participate in (too much bumping and shoving and touching of skin). Still, today Rogue could not motivate herself to even rise from her seat. Her body felt grounded and steady in her chair while her mind seemed to float up in the clouds, only lightly tethered to physical reality. Carefully, Rogue mentally reeled herself back down to earth like a kite caught up in strong gust of wind… Then, blinking her eyes back into focus, Rogue glanced up to find herself being observed by her teacher.

"Are you alright, Rogue?" Mr. Summers asked, the corners of his mouth frowning from concern even as his tensed eyebrows revealed his bewilderment at the cause of her behavior.

Rogue shrugged. "No better or worse than usual, I suppose, Mr. Summers…" Then, pausing a moment, as though grappling with her thoughts, she added, "…Just different."

"How so?" the team leader of the X-Men delved. Then, relieved to see the girl standing and approaching his desk, Summers shuffled around a little with his papers, as though to make the situation a little easier and more detached for both their sakes.

Positioned in front of his desk, Rogue shared, "I don't know exactly how to explain it Mr. Summers…" Then, gazing at the reflective and opaque red of his glasses, she gave a small apologetic grin, explaining, "I may not learn a lot about math in this class, but I do learn. Sometimes – usually in this class hour – I just need to organize my mind a bit and let my thoughts drift and see where they take me…"

Scott mulled over her answer for a few seconds, testing the merit of it. Weighing it for inconsistencies. Finally with a decisive nod and a precursor to a real smile on his face, he stated, "Alright. You can space out in my class all you want from now on." Putting his hand up to forestall any expressions of delight from the girl, he adamantly added, "But… if your grade drops, I'm revoking this deal… Also, you can get the day's notes from me after school everyday. However, I'm adding a condition to this agreement." Rogue nodded, holding back a grin at getting out of class-work. Turning more serious, Scott continued, "Everyday, when you receive the notes after class, you will have to tell me something you learned that day through your contemplations – whether it was in my class or not. Do you agree to this?"

Rogue was silent a moment, weighing the pros and cons in her mind. On the one hand, her mind could definitely use time and effort spent on it, organizing and mulling things over… After all, having psyches constantly using her brain for a playground was not exactly a picnic. Plus, she would not have any work in class. Yet, naturally an introvert, Rogue was reluctant to share her thoughts. At least with telepaths, she could pretend that they could not hear the inner workings of her mind, but saying them aloud always added greater weight to the words than that allotted when they flitted about her thoughts.

Finally, Rogue came to a decision.

With a vulnerable expression evident on her face, the girl slowly nodded, still noiseless. She decided that she would risk herself to see if Scott Summers could be trusted and relied upon. It was a gamble that Rogue was not in the habit of making; still, here she was, uncertain as to why, yet going through with it nonetheless.

Maybe eyes that are truthful would be trustworthy as well…

Scott gave her a disinterested nod, encouraging her to speak while simultaneously hiding the burning curiosity he had about her thought processes. Licking her lips lightly, Rogue summarized her lessons for the day.

"Well…" she began nervously, "there are many different variations of love… Friends aren't friends unless you trust them with your uncensored self… And…" Here, Rogue paused, uncertain as to whether she should share the summary of her thoughts concerning him.

Scott, already rather impressed at the depth of her contemplation – though bemused as to the impetus for the musings (for he could tell that he was receiving only summarized version), made a motion with his hand for her to keep speaking.

Slinging her backpack on her back, Rogue braced herself before taking the plunge. "Eyes that are not seen have no need to shield themselves or lie to others…" the untouchable girl began. "And as such, if they were seen, I think they'd be honest and trustworthy."

With those words, the girl scurried to the door, leaving her teacher with wide eyes from surprise (not that she could see them). Then, pausing at the door, Rogue decided to press her luck further…

"Oh, and Mr. Summers?" Rogue called back to get his attention. Blushing a little from embarrassment, she went on despite the sharp focus of red sunglasses on her face. "Another thing – both of us were forced to adapt to our mutations… You to being in control, and myself to being in isolation."

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