X-Men, X-Men: Evolution, and all characters, concepts, and material of the X-Men franchise are copyrighted property of Marvel and its affiliates. Their use in this story is entirely without permission and not for profit.
All original material belongs to the author of this fanfic.X-Men: Evolution
Maverick #1:
Brave New World, Part 1
A New Face
by
Bookwyrm
Fighting Is a Great Way to Meet New Friends.
Bayville High was a typical American public high school: it looked and felt like a prison. Most of the time its halls were empty and silent. Right now, however, it was the hourly migration of students from one class to another.
For Marie D'Ancanto, better known as Rogue, it was the absolute worst thing about school.
Rogue hunched over the books and papers she carried, doing her best not to touch anyone. She hung back behind a gaggle of cheerleaders holding up the flow, looking for a way around them.
"Hey, move it," came a boy's voice from behind her. She felt a jab in her lower back, and she flinched away.
"Don't touch me!" Rogue snapped, turning her head slightly. She saw a Bayville Hawks jacket out of the corner of her eye. Great. One of the almighty football players.
"I said move it, dyke!" The boy shoved her, and Rogue stumbled. Her stuff went flying forward, hitting two of the cheerleaders. They squawked in indignation. Rogue whirled to see one of the linebackers smirking at her as he reached out to push her out of his way.
He was completely unprepared for what Rogue did next. Her left arm snapped up to grab his wrist, twisting it to one side while pressing down with her thumb, hard. He stiffened at the unexpected pain, but Rogue wasn't done. Her right arm swept forward, slamming one gloved fist into his solar plexus. The linebacker doubled over, his breath a strangled gasp. The crowd around them, its members seeing what was going on, backed off to give them room.
"Oh, it's that goth girl," said one of the cheerleaders behind Rogue. She sounded artfully disinterested, as if she were watching grass grow.
All the frustration that had been building up was now boiling to the surface. To hell with the rules, Rogue thought She drew her hand back for another strike.
As she did, someone grabbed her wrist, barely avoiding her bare skin. Rogue caught sight of another boy out of the corner of her eye, probably another member of the football team coming to his friend's aid. Letting go of the linebacker's wrist, Rogue twisted around, bringing her knee up to hit the newcomer in the groin. It was a move she had rehearsed with Logan many times, and she moved with the speed and ease of long practice.
But the other boy simply shifted his weight, bringing his right leg up at just the right moment to block Rogue's strike before it gathered enough speed. Surprised, she looked up to see her own face, reflected twice in a pair of wrap-around mirrored sunglasses.
"Stop it," he hissed. Rogue couldn't recognize him. "I'm trying to help you here."
Rogue blinked. The incongruity seemed almost funny, despite the moment. Help? Me? Why me?
The boy looked at the football player. "You. Move on."
The player forced himself out of his surprise and sneered at the newcomer. "Tough guy, huh?"
"Get out of here," the boy repeated.
The player hesitated, but a moment later he just smirked and flipped the newcomer off. He started walking off, deliberately stepping on Rogue's spilled papers. Rogue tried twisting out of the boy's grip, but he held firm and Rogue couldn't risk touching him skin to skin. Seeing her struggle, the football player smirked and twisted one foot to tear the papers underneath him.
The distinctive voice of Principal Kelly rang out in the hall. "What's going on here?"
Rogue immediately stopped struggling. Several members of the crowd suddenly seemed to remember they had other places to be, though the majority remained to watch the show. The boy let go of Rogue's arm, though he didn't move away from her.
The principal pushed through the students and caught sight of Rogue. "Ah, Miss D'Ancanto," he said, looking her over. "Why am I not surprised? What have you been up to this time?"
"It was just a misunderstanding, sir," said the boy with the sunglasses. "This gentleman" -- the very lack of emphasis made the word a peculiar insult -- "bumped into the lady and she thought it was deliberate."
Rogue almost snorted. Kelly was no idiot; she had to give the devil his due on that one. Even so, as long as he didn't have testimony to the contrary, Kelly couldn't do anything to her.
Sure enough, Kelly looked annoyed and more than a little frustrated. The man had a sore spot for any Institute student, and to be this close to coming down on her had to be grating on his nerves. Fortunately, the warning bell rang at that moment, and Kelly looked at the crowd. "Get to your classes!" he ordered.
The crowd began to disperse, some members more reluctant than others. Kelly looked at the football player. "Well?" he prompted.
"Accident," the player told him, smirking at Rogue.
Kelly paused, looking at the ripped and soiled papers under the player's foot. "Then you can go, Larry." The principal turned to Rogue. "Trouble-making again?"
"It was an accident," Rogue said, mentally gritting her teeth. "I thought he was attacking me." It was even true. In fact, as she thought about it, she realized that the stranger with the glasses hadn't lied either, only exaggerated. A lot.
"Try to keep your temper under control, young lady." He started to walk away. "And clean up your mess."
Rogue glared at his back. "I really hate that guy."
"He seems to return the love," the stranger said. He bent over and started picking up Rogue's books and papers.
Rogue joined him, feeling uncomfortable. She had lost her temper, and the Professor was going to have a talk with her about it. It was impossible to keep things from him. At least this guy stopped her from beating up a linebacker. That would have been a little hard to explain.
"Um . . . thanks." Rogue said, not meeting his eyes. She brushed one of her white locks of hair out of her eyes. "For keeping me out of trouble."
"Not a problem. I'm just glad I could help." He picked up the ripped papers. "Sorry about this, though."
Rogue sighed. "Not your fault. But I wish he'd ripped something else."
He flipped the papers over and looked at the heading. "Ah. English paper. Dated today."
"Yeah. I'll have to try to rewrite it in class. I hope I can get it done in time."
"You don't have it on a flash drive?"
"No. I don't have one."
He tilted his head. "Want some help, then?"
"What d'you mean?"
"I've got the next period free. I can type it up for you."
The bell rang. Rogue was going to be late as it was. She didn't want to ask him for it, but if he could do it, it might save her grade. She was supposed to turn in a typewritten sheet anyway, and she'd have to skip lunch to do that.
"Meet me at lunch," she said quickly, deciding to go for it. "The table in the far corner."
"I'll be there."
Rogue exited the kitchen line, tray in hand, and spotted him at her usual table. He was reading a book instead of eating. Actually, he didn't even have a tray.
She stopped without thinking, looking him over; she hadn't had much time in the hall. He was still wearing those mirrored sunglasses, which was unusual. The only person she knew who wore sunglasses inside was Scott -- though of course, he had to.
It wasn't the only thing that reminded her of Scott. His build was the same as well. It had the same solid but unobtrusive look that the other boy had. Scott kept in shape with Logan's special brand of martial arts; from the way this boy had kept a hold on her arm and blocked her strike, Rogue wouldn't be surprised to find he did the same sort of thing.
Why did he help me? she wondered. He looked like he should be in the popular crowd. Bit of a sandy-blond, a hint of freckles, good clothes, good-looking, fit, and cool shades. He didn't look like a walking billboard for big-name brands, but he was a far cry from Rogue's look, with her torn clothes and leather gloves and black lipstick. And especially the weird white locks on her hair and her freaky color-changing eyes.
I wonder if he knows that by helping me he's pretty much doomed himself socially? Rogue thought to herself. Maybe I shouldn't sit with him. I don't want him punished for just being nice. I should just get my paper and go sit someplace else. But this is the last table. Oh, I wish Risty weren't on that trip of hers!
"You going to sit down?" he said suddenly, not looking up. Or maybe he was; Rogue couldn't see where his eyes were pointed.
"Um . . . yeah. Sorry." Rogue sat down on his left. Oh well. So much for that idea.
He chuckled and put down his book -- it was called Mindhunter, Rogue noticed. He pulled a stapled sheaf of paper from a black bag at his feet. "Here you go. Verbatim, except for four mistakes I corrected."
"What were they?"
"One spelling, two grammar, one misnamed citation."
"Which citation?"
"The one you attributed to Macbeth. That was actually Hamlet. When in doubt, any Shakespeare quote that sounds morose and depressing like that is usually Hamlet."
"Oh. Um, thanks." She hesitated a moment. "Um, what's your name?"
He gave her a crooked smile. "I was wondering when you'd ask. Jeff McGovern." He held his hand out, and she took it in her own gloved one.
"Rogue," she said. Wait, I recognize that name. He sits in the back in physics class, right?
"Not what's on your paper." He smirked. "Mother not like you?"
Rogue tried to keep the image of her real mother out of her head. "What's that supposed to mean?" she said, irritated.
Jeff shrugged. "Sorry. Movie and book quotes are a weakness of mine. Top Gun, Tom Cruise introducing himself as 'Maverick' to a woman who says that."
"Oh." Movie quotes. Not his fault he's reminded her of "Mom."
To change the subject, she asked, "Where's your food?"
"I ate during my free period."
"So early?" Rogue's lunch hour started at eleven, which she thought was too soon to work up much of an appetite.
"I normally have about four meals a day. Waiting until the normal lunch hour makes me too hungry. I actually tried to get a class for this period, but the administration wouldn't let me."
"For someone who eats so much, you look pretty good." Oops. That had sort of slipped out. Rogue fought a blush, but fortunately Jeff didn't seem to be looking at her face.
"Thanks. I've got a rather fast metabolism, so the extra calories don't really build up."
"I'm jealous."
Jeff made a show of looking her up and down, another of those crooked smiles on his lips. "If you say so."
This time Rogue really did blush. She wasn't used to people being this friendly with her. It made her uncomfortable. She'd always had to keep people at a distance, leading to the way she dressed. Jeff didn't seem put off by the way she looked, though.
"Why did you help me?" she blurted.
Jeff shrugged again. "I didn't want to see you put someone in the hospital, even if he started it."
Rogue blinked. "The hospital?" How'd he know?
"Marie -- sorry, I mean Rogue. I saw the way you moved. He's well-muscled, but you weren't playing football. You know how to fight. He only knows how to be a bully."
Oh. Of course. He doesn't know about . . . that. "But why be so concerned about some goth girl gettin' picked on by one of the in crowd?"
Jeff hesitated, looking off into space. Rogue found herself wondering what was behind those glasses. Finally, he just said, "Instinct, I guess."
"Oh. Well . . . thanks again. And for the paper."
"Not a problem. I didn't have anything better to do last period." He motioned to an approaching pair of figures. "Friends of yours?"
Kurt and Kitty came up, their own trays in hand, and sat down. "Hi Rogue!" Kitty said, in her usually sickeningly cheerful voice. "Who's this?"
"Jeff," Rogue said. "Jeff McGovern. He's new. Jeff, this is Kitty Pryde an' Kurt Wagner."
Jeff held out a hand to Kurt, who was closer. Kitty intercepted it, though, bubbling "Like, hi! Nice to have a new face!"
"Nice to meet you too." Jeff looked at Kurt, but the other boy just waved and didn't hold out a hand to shake.
"Ja, hello, Jeff," Kurt said, his German accent thicker than Rogue's Southern drawl. He was very careful with his Ws, though. "Where are you from?"
"Virginia," Jeff said. "I moved here just recently to live with my uncle."
"What about your parents?" Kitty asked.
For a moment, Jeff didn't say anything. Then, a little too casually, "They died."
Kitty winced. "Sorry."
"Not your fault. Drunk driver's to blame."
"'M erdop'd," Kurt said around a mouthful of food.
"Me too," Rogue added. "Adopted, that is."
"I see."
There was a bit of awkward silence as the other three friends tried to think of something to say. Fortunately, outside forces intervened.
"Rogue!"
Rogue jumped. Scott had come up behind her. She turned around in her seat to look up at the boy. Six feet, brown hair, red wrap-around glasses, and a rather obvious scowl.
"Yeah?"
"What's this I hear about you fighting?"
"Look, a guy pushed me in the hall and ripped my English paper. I was just --"
"I don't want to hear it, Rogue!" Scott snapped. "What if you touched him?"
"Um, Scott –-" Rogue started to say.
"Shut up. Professor X can't go around fixing everything for you. What if you'd put him in a coma?"
"Scott!" Kitty said loudly.
"Kitty, don't --"
"Scott!" Kitty repeated, looking a lot more assertive than the little girl normally did. She pointed. "This is Jeff. New student. Say hi."
Jeff stood, looking a little uncomfortable. He held out a hand. "Jeff McGovern. Nice to meet you." He didn't sound so sure of that last part, though.
Scott, however, was looking like a deer in the headlights. Rogue managed not to smirk at that, though it was hard. Mr. In Charge just made a goof-up.
"Um . . . hi." Scott shook Jeff's hand. "Er, sorry about that. Family squabble thing . . . you know." He sounded lame and he knew it.
"Oh, you're Rogue's brother?"
"No, no. We just live in the same house."
"Oh. Boarding house?"
"Kinda." Over his glasses, Scott's forehead furrowed. "Xavier Institute. Special education place."
"But you're here at a public high school," Jeff pointed out.
"The public school system takes care of the standard education aspects," Scott said, giving the canned response.
"And you're the RA?"
"Um . . . sort of." Scott was looking very uncomfortable. He'd almost said too much in front of an outsider, someone he should have noticed was there. And on top of that, Rogue wondered if Scott was suddenly realizing how uncomfortable his own glasses must make other people. It was impossible to read Jeff's expression.
"Look, um, nice to meet you, but I've got to get back to my lunch." Scott looked at Rogue. "I'm sure Professor Xavier'll want to talk to you after school."
Rogue almost sassed back at him, but held off because of Jeff. He was already looking uncomfortable. She just shrugged and said she'd do it.
Jeff looked at Scott as the other boy retreated back across the cafeteria. "He seemed in a bad mood."
"Oh, that's just how Scott is," Kurt said easily. "He likes things to go smoothly."
Kitty smiled brightly. "Professor Xavier likes to keep his school quiet, y'know? He thinks it works best in privacy. Scott likes that a lot, so he doesn't like it when we call attention to ourselves."
"Right. I can see that."
Rogue felt like sighing in relief. Jeff didn't seem to have picked up on Scott mentioning a coma.
"Hey! Wait up! Scott! Jean! Kurt! Oh for crying out loud." Rogue scowled as Scott's car left the parking lot, leaving her behind. She'd only been a few minutes late.
"Trouble?" came Jeff's voice, and she turned to look at him as he walked over.
Rogue had seen more of Jeff over the last few days. It turned out that he'd been assigned two of the same classes she had, and they sat together at lunch. He met some more of the Institute kids, including Jean -- who, for some reason, didn't seem to like him. Rogue was fine with that. She didn't like Jean either.
Jeff was odd. He seemed very laid-back and quiet, and hardly seemed to pay attention in class. And yet, if they discussed homework, he could remember it in detail. He didn't have a photographic memory, but it was still impressive. Kitty finally had someone other than Dr. McCoy to talk to about physics and space stuff, so she hung out with them a lot. She and Jeff could talk about some very strange things, and they'd get so absorbed that Kitty would actually forget to keep up the Valley Girl disguise she cultivated so carefully.
Rogue felt strange about that. She wasn't jealous -- she'd known Jeff only a few days, after all. Nothing to be jealous about. Even so, she didn't like how he seemed to relate to her roommate better than her.
Okay, maybe she was a little jealous.
Still, Jeff seemed genuinely interested in talking to Rogue, and they told each other details about their pasts. She told him about growing up in the Mississippi country, though of course she fudged the reason why she'd moved to Bayville. He, on the other hand, was a city boy. He'd grown up essentially in Washington DC, despite actually living in Virginia. After his parents died, his uncle, a lieutenant in the Bayville Police Department, had been given custody.
His glasses didn't hold the same sort of secret that Scott's did. He just happened to have unusually sensitive, very pale eyes. Wearing glasses all the time just kept him from squinting. It also kept his eyes out of the sight of others. He said he'd been accused several times of wearing tinted contacts, and when he showed them to Rogue, Kurt, and Kitty, they could see why.
"Oh . . . mah ride just left." Rogue said. Her Southern drawl had become more expressive with her frustration. "I have t' walk."
"To the Institute?" Jeff asked rhetorically. "Long walk."
"Yeah."
"Want some company?"
Rogue hesitated. It was a long walk, just around two miles as the crow flew and almost four walking, and she could use someone to talk to. But the Institute was supposed to be private. The Prof didn't like having visitors, even just people walking by. That's why it was as far off the beaten track as it was.
". . . sure," she said finally. "If you don't mind, I mean."
"Not at all. Nothing better to do this afternoon."
Jeff and Rogue began walking. "Where's your home, anyway?" Rogue asked.
"Oh, over in the Green Hills neighborhood."
Rogue frowned. "This'll take you out of your way."
"Like I said, nothing better to do. It's a beautiful Friday afternoon, which means no homework needs immediate attention. It's late September, just turning into fall. I don't really want to go inside yet. Plus I'm getting a set of wheels next week, and I've got to get my exercise in while I have the chance."
Rogue smirked. "I see. So walking me home ain't out of being a gentleman, huh? You've got an ulterior motive?"
"That's it exactly," Jeff said immediately. "Walking a pretty girl home is secondary to the calories I'll burn."
Rogue fought a blush. She'd never been called pretty, not to her face, not since she started dressing goth-like. She wondered if he really meant it, or if it was just playful banter.
She didn't have much time to think about it, though, as she saw two boys walking towards them, one carrying a baseball bat. She recognized the other as being from the football team. They both walked purposefully at Rogue and Jeff.
"Jeff . . . ."
"Yeah. I see them. Three more behind us."
Rogue twisted her head just enough to spot them. "Yeah, you're right. How'd you see them?"
"I saw the refection on that car's windshield."
"Oh. What do you think they want?"
"Me, I'd say."
"I'm guessing they don't want your autograph, then?"
"No, probably not," Jeff replied. "From the look of it, Charlie wants to dance the foxtrot."
"The who and the what now?"
"Never mind. Tell you later."
"Hey, McGovern," the football player said, almost conversationally. "Mind if we have a word?"
"I certainly don't," Jeff replied with extra politeness. "In fact, you just had several. Now please, you're blocking our way."
The player laughed. "That's kinda the point. See, we owe you a little something."
"Thanks. I'll take it in tens and twenties, please."
All five of them laughed. Rogue looked over her shoulder again. Only the guy in front of them was carrying a weapon, but they all looked tough. She could take two, she thought, but no more without touching them skin-to-skin.
If Jeff weren't here, I could take them all down pretty easy, Rogue thought. One touch, that's all . . .
"Lookit the joker," the guy with the baseball bat was saying. "Hey, funny guy, you put Larry in the hospital. We owe you for that, and it don't come in bills."
"'Cept doctor's bills," said one of the guys behind them, laughing at his own joke.
Jeff turned slightly. "Leave the jokes to someone else, okay? You suck at it."
Rogue was finally figuring it out. "So . . . Larry. Same guy that pushed me the other day?"
"Yup."
"And you put him in the hospital?"
"I think I broke a bone or two."
"He broke his leg in five places!" said the leader. "He won't be able to play this season!"
"I'm sure the team will survive. He shouldn't have come at me like that."
"So . . . it's okay for you to put him in the hospital, just not me?" Rogue asked, as she sized up the fight ahead of them.
Jeff shrugged. "I didn't plan it. He confronted me the same way these guys are, off school property. I wasn't trying to hurt him. I just forgot there was a telephone pole behind me."
"Oh. Okay then." Rogue shrugged, then pointed. "Hey, look, there's a telephone pole right there."
"So there is. We don't need to keep them waiting, do we?"
"Nope. I'll take two." With that last word, Rogue dropped her bag and leapt at the leader.
Yeah, here we go again, Jeff thought. Another fight. Move to Bayville . . . meet exciting new people . . . and pick fights with them. Or them with you. Whichever comes first.
A bare beat behind Rogue, Jeff spun, letting the motion pull his bag off his shoulder. He carried the move through and sent the backpack flying at one of the three other bullies. It hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He wasn't a worry for at least another few seconds.
One of the other jocks tried to rush him, but Jeff side-stepped him, bringing his left hand, fingers blade-like, to stab his right side just below his ribs. The jock yelled in pain and surprise as Jeff hit the nerve cluster. As he doubled over, Jeff followed through with a shove at the base of his neck, sending him to the ground.
The third one tried to bull rush him, like he was playing football. He was holding his arms to protect him from the same maneuver that Jeff had used on his friend, but Jeff spun on his right leg, hooking his left foot behind the boy's knee. The jock fell on his back, hard.
The first one was just getting up, and had actually turned his back on his target. Jeff rewarded such short-sightedness by bringing both hands down to chop at his shoulders, where they met the base of his neck. The guy grunted as his arms suddenly gave way.
Jeff really did like using pressure points.
He looked over to see how Rogue was doing. The leader looked out cold, and there was blood dripping from his nose. The one with the baseball bat looked to be giving her some trouble; she was favoring her left leg, and it didn't look like she'd managed to lay a hand on him.
Jeff took a moment to give his second opponent the same treatment he'd given the first; those strikes temporarily paralyzed the target's arms. He'd have to send a thank-you email to Officer Talbot for teaching that to him.
"Need any help?" he asked Rogue mildly.
"Oh, no, just having some fun here," she said, only a slight tinge of sarcasm in her voice.
"Okay, if you're sure." Jeff paused a moment. "Though, you know, my friend," he added to the guy with the bat, "four out of five are down. Maybe you should be thinking about the better part of valor."
Bat Boy hesitated as he considered it. Jeff was thinking he'd do just that when he heard a slight sound behind him. He turned just in time to see Number Three throwing a rock at him. Jeff just barely twisted out of the way, and it slammed into Rogue's upper arm. She yelped, and Bat Boy took that moment to swing at her. There was a sickening crack, and Rogue screamed.
Bat Boy didn't look like he cared. He lined up for another hit, this time aiming for Rogue's head. Jeff was there in two strides, grabbed her by her arm, and yanked her out of the way. Bat Boy over-swung, thrown off-balance, and Jeff stepped into the gap. Normally he preferred minimal force, but now he came in with a good old-fashioned uppercut. Bat Boy went down and didn't get up.
Jeff turned on the one who threw the rock. "You want the same? Get out of here!"
The jock looked the way all bullies do when faced with someone better: scared. He got to his feet and ran as fast as his bruises would allow.
"I can't get up!" Number One yelled. He was trying to prop himself up, but his arm wouldn't take his weight. "I'll sue you for this!"
"It'll wear off in a few minutes," Jeff said, absolutely no sympathy in his voice. "And you'd be laughed out of court. Now shut up and leave, or wait for the cops."
He turned his attention to Rogue, kneeling beside her on the ground. "Where's it hurt?
"Mah wrist," Rogue said, her drawl making itself known again. She held out her right arm. "Ah think it might be broken." She looked pale and was beginning to sweat. Her eyes were a steely gray, but they looked like they were becoming duller by the second.
Her eyes look so much nicer when they're green, Jeff thought. However, he pushed that thought aside. "Let me see." He pushed her sleeve out of the way.
Distracted, Rogue didn't realize what he was doing at first. Then the touch of his hand on her bare skin registered. "NO!" Rogue snatched her arm back, ignoring the pain the movement caused.
Jeff looked confused. "I didn't even touch your wrist yet."
Rogue just stared at him. He'd touched her skin -- not just brushed it, but held her bare arm with his whole hand. And yet he was . . . okay.
Well, except for how he was looking at her like she'd just grown a second head.
"Look, you need to see a doctor," Jeff said after a moment. "We can call an ambulance --"
"No!" Rogue said quickly. "I can't go to a hospital. I . . . I just need t' get t' the Institute."
"Rogue, if that's broken, then --"
"We've got a doctor there," Rogue interrupted. Well, two. Of course, they weren't MDs, but she couldn't let Jeff take her to the hospital. Unless . . . people could touch her now. But no, she couldn't risk it. Jeff touching her was probably just a fluke. A really, really weird fluke . . . .
"Fine. Do you have a cell?"
"No. You?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I did."
"Maybe . . . knock on someone's door?" Rogue looked around for the first time, and was surprised to find them alone. It was a residential neighborhood, and they'd made a lot of noise during the fight. "Where is everyone?"
"Most of them are at work," Jeff replied, patting down the lead bully. "No use ringing doorbells. They're either gone or they've bolted the doors and called the police." He pried a small object out of the unconscious boy's pocket. It was a cell phone. "Fortunately, we have the spoils of war. I hope he's out of free minutes. What's the number?"
"I'll do it." Rogue held her hand out for the phone, and she dialed.
"Logan? Yeah. Ah need t' be picked up. Yeah. Mah wrist. 'Kay. Thanks."
She ended the call and handed the cell back to Jeff. "Someone's on the way."
"That's good, because the police are coming."
"What?" Then Rogue heard it too -- sirens, coming closer. She felt cold. She hadn't done anything wrong, but she was drawing attention to herself. The Institute couldn't afford that.
"Don't worry about it." Rogue looked up, startled. Jeff gave her a reassuring smile. "They won't hold you, and 'Logan' will be here soon to take you to a doctor."
The sound of footsteps caught their attention, and they turned to see the two remaining conscious bullies running away. Jeff shrugged. "I'm surprised they took that long to get up."
"Sirens . . . kinda helped, I think." Rogue was beginning to feel detached from the pain. Mild shock, she figured. "Nice with the pressure points, by the way. I have trouble with them."
"Thanks. Maybe I can help with that after your wrist heals."
"You hurt your hand?" Rogue asked, noticing his bloody knuckles.
Jeff looked at his right hand in surprise. "Huh. Didn't notice." He flexed his hand and winced. "Yeah, that's why I don't normally like punching people. Certainly not in the jaw."
Rogue knew what he was talking about. Logan had lectured them on the subject more than once: be careful about hitting boney places, because anything that breaks one bone can break another; and even if it didn't break, you could still feel it for a while.
The squad car soon rolled up, and Jeff stood up, arms held from his body to show he was unarmed. A single police officer stepped out. In her pain-induced haze, Rogue wondered why they were called squad cars when they normally only held one guy.
"Jeff?" the officer asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Just killing time, Sam."
"Just so long as you ain't killing anything else," the officer said, looking at the two bodies."
"Yeah. They attacked us."
"Took out two of them by yourself?"
"Marie here helped."
The officer looked her over. "You hurt, miss?"
"Yeah." Rogue nodded. "But 'sokay. Someone'll be here soon."
"You call an ambulance?" the officer asked Jeff.
"No, but her family's on the way. They'll take her to their doctor."
"What about these guys?"
"Well, I think they'll be all right. They ought to be checked out, though."
"Right." He spoke into his radio, calling for an ambulance and reporting in on what had happened. As he finished, a Rolls Royce pulled up.
"Now, there's a ride," Sam said appreciatively. "Who's this girl's family, anyway?"
You don't want to know, Rogue thought sadly. Even Jeff . . . if Jeff knew, he'd never speak to me again.
Good question, Jeff thought. What kind of boarding school uses a genuine Rolls Royce to pick up an injured girl?
The car stopped, and Jean Grey got out of the passenger door to rush over to Rogue. A muscled, rough-looking man stepped out of the driver's side. He was built like a fireplug -- short and solid. He was most certainly not the sort of person Jeff would associate with a Rolls.
For that matter, why does the driver move like a cage fighter and look at me like I'm a target in a shooting gallery?
"What happened, kid?" the man asked Rogue.
"They attacked us. Ah got hit with a bat. Jeff took care of most of them."
Jeff frowned. "I'm sorry I didn't finish him before you got hit like that."
The tough guy looked at him. "And you are?"
"Jeff McGovern."
"Logan. How many?"
"Five," Rogue answered.
Logan snorted, scratching his unshaven face. "Five against two, and you're upset you didn't get 'em fast enough."
Sam whistled. "Yeah, man. Those odds? Dang, but I owe your uncle an apology. I thought he was jus' exaggerating about you."
Jeff shook his head. "He was the only one left standing. I could have finished him off, but I thought I'd let Rogue try. She'd have done it if one of the guys I thought was down hadn't hit her with a rock."
"Don't worry about it, Jeff," Sam said. "It's over with. She'll be okay."
Jean was examining Rogue. Interestingly, she had on a latex glove. Must be from a first aid kit, Jeff thought. "I think it's just a sprain," announced the redheaded girl. "We'll need an x-ray to be certain, but I don't feel any obvious breaks. How are you feeling, Rogue?"
"It's not hurting so much anymore," Rogue said, though sweat was still standing out on her forehead.
"Why'd they go after you, anyway?" Sam asked Jeff. "Money?"
"No, revenge," Jeff admitted. "Seems they think I had something to do with a friend of theirs getting sent to the hospital a few days ago."
Logan looked at him. "Did'ya?"
"I believe he hit a telephone pole."
"Not what I asked, bub."
Jeff shrugged. "I might have been standing next to the telephone pole."
Sam laughed. "Well, I won't worry about it. If he hasn't pressed charges by now, it's probably because he started it. You want to charge these guys?"
"Nah. It won't help. The other three guys got away, so a two-on-two fight won't look so good in court."
"Maybe, maybe not. The call was seven people in a fight."
"Oh. Well . . . Rogue? You want to charge them?"
Rogue flicked a glance at Logan, but said no.
"Okay then," Sam said, shrugging. It just meant less paperwork for him, after all, and it didn't look like anything really serious had been going on. "Best go see that doc of yours. The paramedics'll be here soon for these two fine citizens, and they won't like to see you leave without poking and prodding you six ways to Sunday."
"Thank you, Officer," Jean said, helping Rogue to her feet.
"Yeah. Later, bub," Logan said over his shoulder, as he climbed back into the Rolls.
Sam shook his head as he watched them leave. "I've seen that thing in town a few times, but I didn't think it belonged to a guy like that. Who is he, anyway?"
Jeff smirked. "Aren't you supposed to get contact information before they leave?"
"I got you, don't I? It's enough when you ain't filing charges."
"If you say so. She's from the Xavier Institute. I expect the car belongs to the headmaster."
"Oh. That place." There was a funny note in Sam's voice.
"What about it?" Jeff asked, curious.
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. That place is . . . weird. Strange stuff happens around it."
"What kind of strange stuff?"
"Nothin' definite. Just complaints from people, both about the residents and about things they think they see around the place. One guy even said he saw explosions."
"Sounds exciting," Jeff said dryly.
"Yeah, sure. Well, they haven't done anything criminal that I know of, so it ain't my problem." Sam leaned over Bat Boy, who was stirring. "This guy, on the other hand, is. Hey, good morning, sunshine. You've had a busy time, haven't you?"
To Be Continued . . .
Author's Note
I hope you've enjoyed this first installment of what I intend to be a long and involved series.
You may like to check out the Maverick homepage. (You'll find the URL at the bottom of this page; the extra spaces are in it due to some glitch that won't let me put it in the normal way.) It will soon have extra content, such as character lists, story blurbs, and more informative author's notes than what I'll be putting here (which will probably answer many questions you the reader may have, such as "Why are Rogue's eyes changing color? Is that canon?").
Issue #2 will be up around July 15th; I'll be out of the country August 1st, but otherwise I'll be keeping to the 1st-and-15th-of-the-month schedule for as long as I can keep it up.
Here's hoping for an enjoyable ride all around!
maverick . evolution . googlepages . com