A/n: Hi! This is my first fanfiction, so I hope it doesn't suck too much...anyway, reviews are appreciated. If you only want to read the funny bit, it's the last bit of italics.
EDIT: I reread this and thought, How on earth did I miss all of those grammar mistakes when I posted this? So this is the new, improved, grammatically correct version of the original. Enjoy!
Memories
The woman with the gloves was alone, cold wind whipping against her as she walked. Her head, usually raised in anger or pride, was tucked down in shame to hide her tears. Wild curly brown hair with a white streak in the front tangled and spun around her. Her thin green coat and dark gloves wasn't much protection in this weather, but they were all she had now. Her new family had given her so much, but she couldn't take any of it from them, not now.
The girl sits nervously in the classroom, not sure what her place is here. The teacher, a tall African woman with snow white hair, stands at the front of the room in front of a bunch of plants. Her name is Ororo, she said in the jet (they had a jet here!) after rescuing her and Logan.
Where was Logan? He was unconscious when they landed, and the man (she couldn't remember his name—it started with an S maybe) had took him to the med bay. She doesn't know where that is; she doesn't know where anything is here. She can't visit him, they say, she has to go to class.
Class means here, surrounded by a sea of faces that she doesn't know and that don't know her. They smile at her welcomingly, but they don't know what she is, what she's done. What will they do when they find out about why she left home? What will happen when they ask why she wears her gloves, even inside? She's so scared she can't even pay attention.
Someone walks in the corner of her eye and she turns, desperate to focus on something, anything but where she is. And it's him, it's Logan, so she smiles at him because even though he's a stranger, he's the only person she knows in this crazy place that they want her to call home.
She had thought that she could have a home there, she honestly thought that. She had thought that she could stay there for as long as she wanted and they would never turn her away. She had thought so many things, and so many of them were wrong.
She missed Logan. He had left a few days ago on one of his rides. Nobody knew when he'd be back. She'd left his dog tags on his bed when she went.
The woman with the gloves shook her head, mentally turning her back on the memory. She was young and desperate then. Young and desperate and stupid.
She blinked and looked around, not recognizing her surroundings. She was standing on an old stone bridge. It would have been picturesque, she thought, if the sun were shining instead of the cloud-covered moon. Still, it had a certain charm about it.
She walked to the edge and peered down. The water was farther away than she had thought. It ran quickly through the riverbed, not stopping to care about what she thought or felt. Out of the blue, she wondered what it would look like when it was frozen over in winter.
She sits at her window as she watches the boy and the girl walk to the pond. That should be her with the boy, not her friend, but she can't bring herself to be angry. It's not his fault that they can't touch. It's not his fault that it's human nature to want skin-to-skin contact. It's not his fault that her friend is pretty and likes him and can touch him all she wants.
The boy freezes the pond and leads the girl out onto the ice, laughing at her clumsiness as he skates circles around her. They make a pretty picture, like something in an old, famous painting. They make sense, not like when he's with her. When he's with her everything's awkward and they don't know what to do, because neither of them knows how to prove that you love the other person without kisses and holding hands, and she can't do either because of what she is, at least, not really.
It's too much, all of a sudden, and she turns to leave, bag in hand. She can make the choice, she can become normal again, and she can make him want to do with her what he's doing instead with her friend. What does she have to lose?
A small voice at the back of her head whispers, you'll lose who you really are, but she ignores it. She can free herself of her curse, she can be who she used to be, everything will be wonderful again. All she has to do is take the Cure.
The woman with the gloves looks down at her hands and sighs. She had thought it was a good idea at the time, but it had all been false hope. The Cure had worn off and her life had gone back to the way it was.
Of course, she figured it out eventually. She only wore the gloves now because it was cold and because they belonged to her and her alone. They were optional now, not that it changed anything.
She leaned on the edge of the bridge and decided to sit there. The view was nice, and she couldn't see where she used to live, which made it nicer. The moon broke through the clouds for a moment and everything was still and beautiful and perfect. But only for a moment.
"Listen, I think you should stay behind," the boy says. They both realized long ago that they weren't meant to be, that what they had wasn't love, or not a romantic love anyway. Still, sometimes she wonders what would have happened if they'd stayed together, what their lives would be like.
"What do you mean stay behind? This is the third mission in a row that you've made me stay behind on. Do you think I can't keep up or something?"
His face is all she needs to see the truth. "You think I can't do missions just as well as the rest of you. Why? I could understand if it was because I didn't have control, but now I do—"
"But you don't. I don't want to risk you losing control of your psyches again and ruining the mission for everyone else!"
She goes cold and looks around the room. Looks at the faces of the people she's called family for years now, and not one of them can look her in the eye. They all agree. None of them thinks that she's good enough.
She's never been good enough. Forget that she flew a jet to save them without killing any of the passengers before she even had one lesson on how to be a pilot. Forget that she mastered her powers with no help from any of them. Forget that she had to go through hell because of her mutation and came out of it stronger than any of them could ever be. She's not perfect, so they don't want her.
Fine. She turns and walks away, back to her room where she changes back into regular clothes, puts on her old ragged coat that she came here in (she doesn't remember why she kept it, sentimental reasons maybe) and her gloves, and goes down and walks straight out the front door.
Rain jolted her out of her reverie. It started out as a few drips but within seconds it began to pour. The woman with the gloves sat there, face tilted to the rain as it mingled, then washed away her tears. It felt good, like it was cleansing her soul, washing away all of the bad and angry feelings.
She wondered where everybody was. They must have realized by now that she had left. After all, the building was full of telepaths and she hadn't exactly been trying to hide her intentions. But—but—
But if they knew she was gone, wouldn't they have sent someone after her? Not everyone was going on the mission. Storm was staying behind to watch the kids, she was pretty sure. Kurt was, too. Didn't they care that she was missing? Wasn't anybody coming to find her?
She stood up, scanning the sky. No dot of white against the dark sky, no smell of sulfur or loud BAMF to signify Kurt's arrival. A motor churned in the distance and she half turned towards it, but it was coming from the wrong direction.
They weren't coming. They didn't care that she was gone, they didn't need her. They never had.
Her head drooped, tears pricking her eyes again, and she wiped at them angrily. She wouldn't cry for them, not anymore. She was done.
"Hey!" The woman with the gloves flinched at the loud voice on the empty road. Or, not so empty. A man stood there, just as soaking wet as she was, next to a motorcycle. His brown hair stuck to his forehead and his sunglasses (who wears sunglasses in the middle of a storm?) were splattered with rain. He wore a trench coat, and it flapped around him like the wings of a demented bat.
"Hey, don't jump, okay?"
What? What the hell was wrong with him?
"Look, I know that your life might be bad right now, but trust me, dying is not going to help."
Dying, what—she looked down at where she was standing. On the edge of a bridge, with her head drooped, obviously distressed… "I'm not trying to kill myself. I'm just—thinking."
"Uh huh." He took a step closer. "Thinking. Right. Well, how 'bout you come with me and think from the ground, 'kay? Remy knows a nice place up the road. They won't mind helping you if you're in trouble—"
"Oh, shut up." She was mad at him, now. He had no business with her.
"Remy would feel a lot better if the belle femme got down off the bridge." He was next to her now, holding out a hand. "Remy'll even help you if you're scared."
"I ain't scared, swamp rat." She glared at him and jumped down, ignoring the hand. "Now will you leave me alone?"
"Not till Remy sees you safe and sound. What's your name, anyway?" He smiled at her. It would have been more attractive if he didn't look half drowned.
"Rogue," she said. She didn't really want to tell him, but then again, it wasn't actually her name.
"Well, Rogue, at least let a southern gentleman see that you're safe and sound."
The woman with the gloves and the man with the sunglasses walked back to his bike and drove off into the night.
She gets off the bike and pulls off her helmet, smiling at Logan across the garage. It's been three years since she last saw this room, and she's a little surprised to find how much she missed it. "Remember," she says, "don't tell anybody. That'll ruin everything."
He grunts, "I'll remember Stripes", and her smile gets even bigger. She can't wait until dinner.
The hours pass in a whirl of hugs and greetings with old friends and new. Bobby can't stop apologizing for what he said, and it's fun to tell him that it's okay, don't worry about it, but if you ever say something like that to anybody else I will find you and chop you into pieces. The look on his face is priceless.
Finally dinner arrives and she sits down in her seat with all of the teachers. It's funny to see how everybody's relationships have changed. Kitty and Piotr sit next to each other and steal kisses in between bites of food. They got engaged last summer. Betsy and Warren sit just close a little too close—they're really bad at pretending they aren't together. Logan and Ororo steal glances, but only when they think the other one isn't looking. They're worse than teenagers with a crush.
Some things haven't changed, though. Tabby still flirts outrageously with everyone. Bobby is still the man to get, although nowadays he's closer to Jubilee than any of his other girls. And of course, the students are laughing and talking and gossiping about the teachers and each other.
The door slams open with a bang and a man walks in. His brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and his shirt is some shade between pink and purple, it's too close to tell. He still wears his sunglasses (though not for lack of her trying—or stealing), and he still makes half of the girls in the room swoon.
"Remy," Ororo says, mostly calm. "What took you so long?"
"Désolé, Stormy," he says, using the old nickname just to get on her nerves. "I lost track of time."
She doesn't believe him, but points him to a seat next to Rogue and proceeds to make introductions. "This is Rogue. Rogue, this is Remy."
"Bonjour, Rogue," he says, taking her hand and kissing it. The other half of the girls in the room swoon now. "It's an honor to be in the presence of such a belle femme."
She rolls her eyes, hiding an inner smile at Logan's growl. She didn't tell him about this part of the plan. She wouldn't have told him about the other part, either, if it weren't for his sense of smell. "Shut up Cajun," she says instead, pretending to be annoyed.
They go back and forth throughout the meal to the amusement (or not) of the others at their table. It's hard not to burst into laughter whenever he says something especially absurd, but for the sake of the plan she refrains.
Somehow Emma finds out her "secret" (she wasn't trying to hide it.) "So, Rogue, who's the father?"
"Excuse me?" Dead silence in the room. Then the whispers start up. Rogue, pregnant? No way, not Rogue! Especially not her. But then again, she's been gone for three years…
"Well, I accidentally heard you thinking about your pregnancy, since you were projecting a little. Sorry. But I have to know, who's the father?"
"Just some guy I met on the side of the road one night." Remy almost chokes, Logan growls.
"Well, Cherie," Remy starts to say, but she interrupts him.
"Stop calling me that! I'm sick and tired of you flirting with me!"
"You know you love it," he purrs seductively, and she has to ignore the tingle that runs down her spine. Jerk. "Otherwise why would you have married me?"
Even the whispers die down now. The entire room is completely focused on Rogue and Remy, who look at each other and start laughing hysterically. Nobody saw it coming, not even Logan, who knew that Rogue was pregnant.
"What?" Rogue asks when she finally stops laughing. "I never said when I met him."
The woman, filled with confidence, and the man, still laughing, stand up and walk hand in hand out of the room. This is a memory they will never forget.