Disclaimer: I own nothing from the X-men world. I just enjoy playing with the characters.

Author's Note: While most of this story happens outside the actual movie (The Last Stand) when a scene from the movie is used, some or all of the dialogue will be directly from the original source.

Chapter One

"It'll be fine, Peter." Marie sat on the bench along the wall of the gym and rubbed her ankle. "It's not even really twisted. I just landed wrong."

"I shouldn't have thrown you so far. I'm --"

"--It's okay!" She leapt to her feet and had to hide a wince as pain bit her. If she grimaced, he'd be apologizing again. "I'm not mad at you, Peter. I'm really not. And, in a real fight no one is going to be nice to me. It's better practice if you aren't either."

He nodded, still obviously unhappy, and returned to the practice mats where Logan had stepped in to take her place. Marie eased herself back down onto the bench. The ankle wasn't bad, she knew. Just a little pull that would be gone by morning if she managed to ice it well tonight. It wasn't the injury making her snap at Peter and hate everyone in the room. She wasn't sure exactly what was bothering her.

The exercise for the evening was pointless. They'd been supposed to run through a new set of Danger Room scenarios. But, with the uproar over the announcement of a cure for mutation, no one on the staff had managed to upload the programs and test them in time. So, it was hand-to-hand combat practice in the gym instead. They could have just skipped the whole thing. The people in charge hardly seemed to care about the team anymore, anyway.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself.

"What's stupid?" Storm sat down on the bench beside Marie.

"This exercise. What good is me fighting Peter? He can't get a good workout against me and I have no hope of winning against him unless I use my powers. Now, he just feels bad because he tossed me too hard."

"That bad landing was your fault, Rogue. You were distracted."

Marie forced herself not to glance over to where Bobby and Kitty were wrestling each other to the mat. How many times did that girl have to practice the same grab and pin technique? "I know I was. I'll be more careful next time."

"Is there going to be a next time?"

Marie lied, "Sure, why wouldn't there be?"

"Because you're still thinking about this cure." Storm made a face as if even the mention tasted bad. "You're thinking about giving up on being an X-man."

There wasn't much point in denying that. Everyone at the school must have seen her expression when the announcement came earlier in the day. She'd practically bolted to the professor's office for confirmation. So far, between dinner and practice, no less than five people had come up and challenged her on whether or not she'd take it. Every one of them made clear they thought doing so would make her a traitor. Bobby included.

"Is that so horrible?" she asked quietly. "It would be a lot easier if I weren't a mutant."

"You'd still be a mutant," Storm said. "You'd just be a mutant without access to your powers. Is that what you want?"

Was it? She let herself look at Bobby. Kitty was helping him to his feet. He was laughing and gesturing -- something about the exercise. Marie felt an invisible fist squeeze her stomach.

Two nights ago they'd argued. She'd said horrible things to him about only wanting sex. That wasn't fair, and she'd yet to find the words to apologize for the accusation.

Their problem wasn't sex. Their problem wasn't infidelity. She didn't really believe Bobby would cheat on her, or that Kitty would let him. The problem was she could never have anything close to a normal life with him. She was jealous of the mere fact that Kitty could touch him and she couldn't. Her power was always in the way, a barrier to everything that could have been so good in her life.

"I just want to be normal, Storm. Is that so hard to understand?"

"No, it's not hard to understand. Everyone wants to fit in. But, the question you need to ask yourself is who do you want to fit in with."

Storm meant it to be a choice between the right side and the wrong sides -- Magneto and the X-men. But, Magneto was a wanted man, hardly the threat he once was. And there wasn't much left of the X-men anymore -- Storm and Logan and her friends were it, if they were honest about things. Dr. Grey was dead. Cyclops was gone even when he showed up. No one had seen him for two days and no one even wondered about where he was. The professor was too busy with politics.

Marie leaned back and took in the whole gym. The too-white lights glared and hurt her eyes. The stark metal walls intensified the sharp light. Peter's grunts as he fought Logan, Kitty and Bobby's laughter, Storm's question all echoed in the space. It all felt hollow and separate from her. She suddenly missed the paint-chipped cinderblock of her old high school gym.

The thought of choosing where she wanted to belong reverberated too. As if so many people wanted her. Her parents loved her, but they were terrified of her. She couldn't go home as long as her mutation remained uncontrollable. But, she didn't really belong here at the school either. Oh, everyone tried to pretend she did. For a time, she'd even let herself believe them, especially when Bobby had been trying so hard to make her accept a relationship with him. But, now that she'd graduated, she'd become a stranger again.

She'd hoped becoming an X-man would help. Instead, she just got a first row seat for watching the whole team fall apart.

"You know, Rogue, none of us had an easy time in the beginning. We all have to adjust to being different. But, you're strong. You can do it. And we need you." Storm put an arm around Marie's shoulders. "Think about what might have happened if you hadn't been there to stop John when he was attacking the police outside Bobby's parent's house, or if you hadn't thought to fly the jet over and save us at Alkali Lake."

"Bobby would have frozen John. And I'm sure he would have flown the jet to save you. He might have been able to land it without crashing, too." If she hadn't crashed the plane, Dr. Grey wouldn't have had to free them, and die. Then, Cyclops wouldn't have destroyed himself with grief. The team would still be whole. "I'm not needed here."

"None of that is necessarily true," Storm insisted and she hugged Marie a bit tighter. "You wouldn't be here if we didn't need you."

The tightness in Marie's stomach was crawling up her spine now. She clenched her fists until she felt her nails digging into her palms. Storm's hold, intended to comfort, reminded Marie that she'd had to wear a turtleneck under her sweats so her neck would be covered during practice. She could feel the pressure of the embrace, but nothing more. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to be touched skin to skin in a lingering, loving way -- a hug from her mother or father, a girlfriend clamping down on her hands as they talked about boys.

Was having done a good job, as if anything she'd done really was a good job, supposed to substitute for that closeness? She didn't think Storm would understand that question if she asked it.

Tears burned in the corners of her eyes and she fought them. "Fine, I did good. I get that. I'm proud of it all. Can I go shower now?"

"Rogue, I'm not trying to make you cry. I just want you to see how valuable you are to--"

"To what? To the team? To the cause?" Marie lost her fight and blinked furiously as her sight blurred.

"To all of us, yes. You are a unique and wonderful person. Why can't you see that?"

"Because it's not me," she screamed. "How am I unique and wonderful? All I do here is suck the life out of people. I want to just be Marie again."

"That's not true."

"It is. You don't want Marie. Maybe you want Rogue because you think in some wildly improbable scenario my power will come in handy. But, for what? You want to use me to kill someone? I don't want to be team assassin."

Anger flared across Storm's beautiful face. "That is not fair and you know it."

It wasn't. Not really. The people here had taken her in, taught her, befriended her. They'd rescued her from Magneto who really had wanted to just use her power and throw her away. But, in the end, they wanted the same thing he did, to use what she could do. And, if she couldn't hurt people anymore, she wouldn't have any value to them.

Marie sagged until her elbows rested on her knees. She put her face in her hands. She had to stop being such a bitch all the time. "I'm just tired of having to be Rogue all the time."

Storm squeezed Marie's shoulder tight. "You're still working with the professor on controlling your power, aren't you? He hasn't given up hope. You shouldn't either."

"He's been so busy lately. We've barely had time for sessions." What was the point of the sessions anyway? She'd been here nearly a year and a half and she had no better control than she had when she arrived. Maybe that was what was really bothering her. She was finally losing hope.

"Give it time. The good solutions are never fast or easy." Storm's voice had a honed edge to it now. Marie could tell her patience was wearing. "This cure is a shortcut, a lie. Don't fall for it."

Marie knew the right answer. She should nod and agree. But, she didn't agree. "How is it a lie, Storm? It works. What's wrong with accepting a solution that works instead of waiting forever for one that never will?"

"What's wrong with it?" Storm stared at the ceiling a moment, maybe wishing they weren't several stories underground where she couldn't access any lightening bolts. "Everything is wrong with it. They are treating us as a disease. They are trying to change who and what we are. They are trying to make themselves feel more secure by destroying our self-worth. What could be right with that?"

Marie watched the rest of the team head off to the showers. Bobby glanced over his shoulder at her once, then shook his head and turned. A cord holding Marie's heart together snapped. Anger unfurled inside her. "What's right with it? I could hold his hand, for one thing. I could give him a kiss."

She threw off Storm's arm before the other woman could reply. She didn't want to have this argument anymore. It wasn't helping. She was more miserable now than when Storm came over. "I know you don't think that's important, Storm. It's all causes and ideals for you. But, for me, it's about simple life. It's about people. When do we get to stop thinking about causes and start thinking just about people?"

"Rogue, that's not what I meant." Storm tried to catch her arm, but Marie dove for the door. "Marie, wait."

She didn't. She couldn't. She quickened her pace, not caring that her ankle throbbed with every step, until she reached the showers. There, safely enclosed and under the water, she beat the walls until she no longer felt like screaming.

-----

Scott had to force his way through the fog, as if each tiny bead of water fought his passage. He couldn't hear his footsteps over the rocks. Not one pebble skittered beneath his boots. A stray thought tickled him mind. Gray is such a cold color.

He shook his head to clear it. The world looked strange without the red barrier of his glasses, but there was no time to admire the scenery or worry about where Jean had hidden his power. Right now he had to figure out what happened to her.

He pushed through the unnatural air until he found her lying near the edge of the water. His first instinct was to drag her into his arms and hold her tight. But, instead he knelt cautiously, not allowing himself to touch her just yet. He didn't know what had triggered the burst of power that nearly exploded the world around them only moments earlier, and he didn't want to repeat the effect.

The hushed sound of her breathing competed with the quiet lap of water against the shore. Scott realized how silent the rest of the world had become. Jean's expression was serene. She looked like she did when she slept without dreams, peaceful and beautiful. Several strands of her long hair lay across her face, caught on her parted lips. Her breath quivered the copper threads. Carefully, Scott stroked his forefinger across her mouth.

The strands didn't move. It was as if they were glued in place. Her lips felt stiff as wood. His finger couldn't press into their softness. He jerked his hand back. What the hell was wrong with Jean? What had he done to her? Or what had she done to herself?

Fear scratched a warning across his skin. He focused on his senses, searching for a source of danger. But, he felt only the strange press of the air around him and the excessive hardness of the ground below. The world seemed to be trying to squeeze him out of existence. The cause of all this strangeness, however, remained illusive.

Enough. The questions could wait for a safer place. He had Jean back, an impossibility in and of itself. He needed to figure out how to hold her unconscious body on his bike and drive away from this evil spot before trying to figure out anything more.

Scott rested his hand briefly on Jean's shoulder, then tried to slide his arm beneath her. He'd lifted her a hundred times at least. Tall as she was, she had always been light in his arms. Now, he couldn't even wedge his fingers beneath her shoulders or knees. He gritted his teeth and strained his muscles, but couldn't push his hands between her body and the ground. She might as well have weighed tons.

Panting, he sat back and stared at her. She still looked peacefully asleep. Her chest still rose and fell with her quiet breaths, and the tiny hairs across her mouth -- the ones he'd been unable to brush away -- still quivered slightly against her lips. She looked so right. But, something was very, very wrong.

"God damn it." Bad enough to lose her. To regain her only to have her taken away again was unbearable. He closed his hands around her arms.

"Come on, Jean. Don't do this. Wake up and help me help you." Shaking her proved as impossible as lifting her. She was like a statue carved from stone -- warm, breathing stone. "I can't leave you behind again. I won't. You have to wake up. Please."

She couldn't, or wouldn't obey.

Scott released his hold reluctantly. No amount of shouting was going to wake her. He couldn't move her. He could not leave her. He sat back on his heels, chin ducked tight against his chest, and ran shaking hands through his mist-dampened hair. His jaws ached, he'd clenched them so hard. Her peaceful expression was a lie. She might be a lie. He turned his head, unable to look at her suddenly.

In that instant of despair he saw the monster. It crouched, mud-colored and indistinct, just behind Jean's head. A death-sweet stench curled out from it, making Scott's stomach lurch.

He pivoted toward it. His hand touched his temple before he remembered that he wasn't wearing his visor or that Jean had turned off his power. When he moved, the thing vanished.

The hairs on the back of Scott's neck stood stiff and he felt a slow, cold sweat run down his spine. It was the scent that told him the thing had been real rather than a trick of his mind. Illusions didn't smell. Slowly, Scott canted his head back down, tilting to one side as he had before. He focused on the very edge of his vision and the thing rotated into view. It was like a holographic image, shifting with his perspective. He held his breath, afraid even the minor movement of his chest might cause him to lose sight of the mass that huddled behind Jean.

Wet as half-congealed jelly, larger than his torso, it squatted on above her head. Hundreds of long hair-like limbs spread out from its back, each ending in a dark pustule. Its miniscule head held six reddish eyes and a long snout that it thrust into Jean's chest, right into her heart. It whined, thin and shrill, and the stench of death, rolling off it in waves, continued to twist Scott's stomach.

He wished he could blast the thing out of existence. But, even if he could use his power, that would be too risky. He measured carefully the distance between his hand and the horrible beak protruding from Jean's body. Could he, from this position, rip the monster out of her? If he succeeded, would she survive?

One red eye focused on him, and Scott's muscles tightened for flight. He realized what it was to be a mouse in the eye of a hawk -- frozen, doomed. Another eye pivoted in his direction. He knew, somehow, that if all six of those red eyes found him he would die. His body made the choice for him. Despite his training, he dove backwards out of the way. He landed hard on his ass in the rocks a good three feet from Jean.

His heart stampeded inside his chest. His breath came in tight, quick gasps. He couldn't remember feeling that afraid.

The monster had disappeared the moment he moved. But, he knew it was still there, still clinging to Jean. He needed to save her. He needed to find the courage to confront those deadly eyes again, to somehow kill the thing that owned them. Still shaking, he pulled himself back to Jean.

Storm's voice cut through the fog. "I can take care of that."

Her winds escalated to hurricane force almost immediately. The air stung Scott's eyes, pushed the breath out of his lungs. He grabbed at the stones, barely catching hold of a large outcrop before being pushed along the ground. Why the hell was Ororo using so much power?

Leaves floated past, twisting lazily. Scott looked over at Jean. Her hair stirred softly in what had to be a light breeze. Why did it feel like a hurricane to him?

The wind died as abruptly as it began, dropping Scott to the ground. He lay there a moment under the now clear sky, stunned, aching. Scott had a pretty good working understanding of physics. For Storm's gentle wind to nearly blow him into the lake he'd have to have a mass roughly equal to the leaves scattered around him. Jean hadn't been turned to living stone by the monster. He simply hadn't had the strength to lift her.

He'd been changed, not Jean, not the world. His body, which felt normal and solid to him, must have almost no substance in the real world.

"How does that happen?" he muttered. But, he knew he couldn't afford to ponder this new problem at the moment. Ororo was coming down the rocky beach toward Jean. She shouted for Logan. Scott knew from the way she was moving that she hadn't seen the monster yet.

"Storm, be careful!" he shouted. She ignored him, falling to her knees beside Jean. Putting her hand on Jean's hair, stroking the long strands gently, right over the place where the monster sat. Nothing happened. Scott released his breath. She hadn't heard him, but at least she hadn't been hurt, yet.

Logan arrived a moment later, all passion and irritating possessiveness. The monster didn't attack him either. Logan had no trouble lifting Jean in his arms.

But, neither of his teammates acknowledged Scott, sitting not ten feet from them. Even focused as they were on Jean, one of them should have looked up and asked him what had happened to her. Clearly, they couldn't see him, or hear him, or sense him in any way.

Which meant what? That he was invisible? That he, like the monster, was compacted in some way so that he could only be seen from a very particular angle? That he was dead? Scott considered that last option. He supposed it was possible, but he couldn't work up much concern one way or the other. The professor would tell him that was a bad sign. The professor would probably be right.

Still, alive or dead didn't matter to him. The monster attached to Jean did. He got to his feet and started toward the jet after Logan and Ororo. They were taking Jean home and Scott suspected that if he didn't get on that plane with them, he'd have a damned hard time following any other way back to New York.

He had the chance now that he'd been denied him all those months ago when Alkali Lake swallowed her. He was going to save her.