I'm rather shocked by the positive reception to this, but I am very grateful for it. And your advice has been most welcome! Thank you.

WARNING: This chapter has strong language. Just letting you know.

30 Seconds To Mars – Stranger In A Strange Land
Angel or demon,
It came from my soul.
I'm guilty of treason;
I've abandoned control.

CHAPTER TWO – Uncontrollable

As a child, I had always maintained control. It was an oddity that even my God-fearing parents hadn't been able to explain away with religion, something that as a young girl I hadn't thought made me any different. I was wrong, on so many levels. The way in which I'd handled things, the way in which I'd reacted… it wasn't normal. I suppose I should've thought of it sooner, linked it to my mutation with some sort of epiphany that explained everything I'd ever wondered since that day roughly two years ago.

But I hadn't made the connection until now.

I had always been a quiet kid, too busy with my own imaginings to be particularly chatty. I liked to be alone and play with my own toys. Maybe it was the result of being an only child, but I had something other only children didn't. My parents, always trying to conform to everything and anything and desperately trying to achieve normality with their one point eight children, had shunned the issue. Ignored it, because everyone knows that makes it go away.

My tantrums as a child were little to none. And that's what had been scary, especially for my parents. I was not the hassle they had expected. Instead, I was a quiet, no-fuss sort of girl, and I'd been that way for a long time. I hadn't had a favourite colour as a kid, and I hadn't liked a snotty little boy, either (to which my parents had greatly feared for a period of a week that I might have been a lesbian, but quickly dismissed the idea when their neighbour had reassured them it was a 'phase'… because not liking disgusting six year old boys was 'just a phase').

I had sat quietly when they'd yelled at me, stared blankly when they thought I should cry, and acquiesced silently when they'd ordered me to go to my room. Every time I did such things they looked at me strangely – like having a child who did everything they asked was a curse, not a blessing. As I grew older, I hadn't understood it. By the time I was sixteen, I was still following my parents blindly, doing everything they wanted just to gain their approval. I was under control of everything – my emotions, my relationships, my whole God damn life – which was then under the control of my parents.

Then Cody happened and the look on my mother's face is the only thing I can really remember about the experience anymore. The sudden understanding that had appeared at the sight of my own horrified face and Cody's seizing body; it was like everything she'd ever asked God about her child had been answered. The control I had administered over every aspect of me for so long had been taken from me in that very moment.

I'd left, bitter, the next morning.

My skin was something I couldn't control. I didn't think it was possible and I didn't want to try. After my travels alone, I'd been desperate to do anything to commandeer control over something. Everything wasn't going to plan, and I had a strange sense of paranoia the more I was alone. This time, I was being controlled by my life, and I didn't like it one bit.

Xavier came along then – or, at least, his team did. At first I'd refused, totally against anything that would control me further; the understanding of my mutation, and the return to school life. I couldn't face it then, and so I'd waited until I could wait no longer. Frostbitten, starving and utterly alone one stormy night the next January, I'd asked for them just as they'd told me to. An hour later, I'd been picked up, cared for, fed and shown my way around what was to be my new home.

Despite my urges to control everything about my life, I'd let myself be pulled along for a month or two. I'd steadfastly ignored the attempts to ask my permission to study my mutation, and I'd definitely ignored every single one of my classmates. I was just floating, somewhere in between controlling and being controlled.

After I'd had enough of that, I'd attempted to regain the illusion of control over my life I'd previously maintained. School had been tough, but I'd studied almost every day for lack of anything else to do, and I'd been getting a Grade A average as a result, something which I had never seemed to be able to achieve back in Mississippi. Due to the hectic studying, I hadn't allowed time to make friends which hadn't bothered me at all. I ate by myself in the cafeteria, and I spent most of my free time in the room I shared with two of my female peers. They didn't bother me, and I didn't bother them – something they'd learnt in the first week of my stay at Xavier's.

But my skin… for some reason that was something I didn't want to control. Had you asked me at the time I don't think I would have been able to provide you with an answer as to why, just that I didn't. I still don't… not really. My skin is unpredictable. It's something that if I were to understand it, I might not like what I find. And who wants that? To find out that some part of them, some mutation that others may experience, is different once more? That once again, 'Marie' is not quite right?

I recoiled at the idea. How could I risk that? It is easier for me to pretend like I can't do anything. By not trying to control my mutation, it means that it can't control me – something which I would abhor. And if it controlled me, I don't know what I'd do. Would it change me, make me evil? Because my 'gift' is so inherently evil it is almost unbelievable.

If I were to let it in, would that be the end of me?

I shuddered when I thought of that lack of control.

Control is what I lived for, it's what I live for, and it's what I'll continue to live for until my dying day. That's just me. Marie. I can't help it.

Which is precisely why my mutation is still uncontrollable – why I still continue to put those around me in danger.

And why I'm currently lying on the floor in the room of a dodgy motel.

I sighed, turning over restlessly for what must have been the hundredth time. I couldn't sleep. Again.

"Will you quit it, kid?"

The voice startled me, and I sat up abruptly, so abruptly that my head started to spin. I looked to the bed on my right, squinting in the darkness to see the outline of a figure on its stomach, face buried into the pillow that was more yellow than white. It took me a second to register who it was and why they were calling me kid, but as soon as I took in the wild hair, scraggly sideburns and bulging biceps, I eased my tense muscles.

"I'm sorry," I started, apologetic and embarrassed, "I can't sleep."

"Well that's pretty obvious." His voice made me cringe. Every single time he spoke to me, I felt as if he thought he was talking to a three year old. The matter-of-fact tone and the sarcasm he used constantly made me incredibly embarrassed and for once, made me want to shut up. Because all I seemed to want to do around Logan was talk, talk and talk. I don't know what it was – maybe it was his intimidating muscle, or his wild persona. Either way, I was hell scared of him and he wasn't making it any easier.

Sighing, he spoke as if it were a painful concept to him.

"Get in."

And with that one sentence, I was reduced to a blushing school girl. What did he think he was playing at? There was no way I was getting into bed with him, innocent or not. I was eighteen, and he… well, he was certainly not. In fact, I was guessing he was early to mid thirties, and that he should definitely not be interested in a teenager, albeit a legal one–

"Look, you're not going to be getting any there." He paused, as if to let it sink in. I stared at him in horror. "You sleep here, I'll switch with you."

"Oh." I stated, and blushed again at the stupidity of my answer. Honestly, he was just trying to be nice and I was reacting in a way that made me seem like some perverted, virginal, eighteen year old girl with a crush. Granted, the fact that I was eighteen and completely inexperienced was true (Hmm, I wonder why?), but the other stuff was a lie and I felt silly trying to justify why I had hesitated on his offer, and instead kept silent as I gathered my things and moved to the side of the bed. He was shaking his head, and I thought I saw a ghost of a smile on his face as he got up from the bed, crawling across it and passing by me – without any sort of cringe, surprisingly – to land heavily on the makeshift mattress I had been lying on.

My hands were shaking as I pulled the sheet he had kicked off when he'd inhabited the bed, up to my armpits. I stared at the ceiling, and felt the sting of unshed tears in my eyes, blinking as if to simply will them away. I knew it wasn't that easy, and sniffled tiredly.

Why the hell am I crying? I really do hate myself.

"Kid…" he hesitated, and I saw that he was sitting up again, sheet at his waist.

"No, really, it's nothing. Just… just go to sleep, Logan." My voice wobbled and I flinched at the way I had no control over this situation.

At that thought, I sobered up and stopped my pathetic sniffling. Crying would do nothing. Life sucked, yeah, but at the moment there was nothing I could do about it, so I may as well suck it up and take it like the strong woman I was.

Yeah.

I turned over, staring at the green numbers of the digital clock glowing in the dark light of the small room, and watched as they neared more and more to the time of dawn. Logan snored behind me.

The sight of my miserable face in the morning seemed to worry the receptionist at this particular motel somewhere around Canton, Pennsylvania. Maybe it was the fact that I was dirty from the 'attack' the night before, as I liked to call it; as well as greasy-haired, slightly bruised and looking like I'd slept in my clothes overnight, which I had. Overall, I looked like some sort of hostage – and when she took sight of Logan, I guessed that's what she concluded. After all, he looked roughly double my age, as strong as a body builder, and extremely sour. In fact, I was surprised she hadn't called the cops overnight – after all, Logan had requested a room with one bed to share. He'd told me it'd been to keep up appearances or something or other, but if anyone believed we were together in any sense of the word then I think they really needed to reevaluate what they thought a relationship entailed. Because Logan and I certainly weren't in one, or even looked like we were.

She fumbled with the keys when he dropped them in her hand, and I tried to stifle my smile at the way she kept glancing between the both of us like we were going to suddenly pull out a gun and use it. Of all the things to pull out, a gun was not one of them. In fact, it was most likely going to be some insane claws.

I looked to Logan's knuckles – perfectly normal-looking things, and that's what stunned me the most. He was a normal guy it seemed, just incredibly well-looked after. So to expect that he was going to release those things and rip me in two was entirely unrealistic.

Then again, I suppose, to expect that I was going to take off my gloves, shake your hand, and you'd be in a coma was entirely unrealistic, as well. It'd certainly happen, though, you can have no doubt about that.

He grabbed me by the cloth-covered elbow, dragging me along and just serving to make the receptionist more suspicious of us. I yanked my elbow out of his grip and he glared at me silently. I couldn't understand him. Really, I just couldn't. One minute he was nice enough, accommodating enough – and then he was one of the most aggressive people I'd ever met, bossy and too pushy and ultimately one sour grape.

I grumbled to myself in annoyance, and he merely glanced at me before climbing into his truck. It was more like a ute, I suppose, but it served its purpose. I climbed in the other side quickly, afraid that he might drive on without me. It wouldn't surprise me, to be honest. Just as I'd thrown my duffle at my feet, he accelerated away and I was left clutching the underside of my seat to maintain control over my person. I hastily clicked my seatbelt into place and waited for him to say something. I never started conversation with him. The one time I'd tried, he'd just glared at me as if I was committing some sort of treason and I'd silenced immediately. Did Logan even realise the effect he had on me? I honestly couldn't go two minutes without either embarrassing myself, taking his words the wrong way, or asking a question. It was starting to annoy me, not even taking into consideration how much it was annoying him.

"Where are we going?" I blurted, and my eyes widened with the realization that he hadn't yet said anything. Was I put on this earth solely to embarrass myself? Is that my one purpose? It sure seemed like it, because it was becoming inevitable these days. What happened to the times I kicked ass, twenty-four seven? I miss those days.

For once, it seemed, Logan wasn't perturbed by my incessant questions. In fact, he seemed to have accepted it and I was thankful for that one small favour on his part. Maybe he was finally realizing that I couldn't keep my opinions in. Oh dear, one day I really hope he gets to see me around the Professor – because then he'd see that he's the one that's at fault with this because this is not me at all. But then I started to imagine Xavier and Logan meeting and couldn't wipe the grin off my face. God, what an interesting conversation that would be.

"Hey, bub, get the fuck out of my mind."

I laughed out loud in one full cackle but quickly stopped myself, pretending that any laugh of any sort was a figment of Logan's imagination. Of course, a logical guy such as he would never believe such a thing, and I was right – he was looking at me strangely while I hurriedly tried to conceal my blush with a curtain of brown hair tinged with white.

"Look, kid, you've gotta realise that I go things alone," he paused, and glanced at me slightly from his gaze ahead of him on the road, "and when I was alone, I didn't know where I was going. I just drove and went places and did some fightin'."

I opened my mouth to respond to that with some witty comment, maybe something related to his muscles, but he stopped me with a look and continued on.

"So where we're going isn't the issue at the moment. The issue is you." He leveled his gaze ahead of him again, and I didn't know how to respond to this. Me? What could he possibly need to know about me? I was just Marie, Rogue, whatever you wanted to call me. I was of no importance in any way to someone like Logan, so what–

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no!

"Stop the car." I mumbled, trying to open the door even though we were speeding down a highway. The door was locked.

"What?" Logan asked, frowning.

"STOP THE CAR!" I screamed, and it did the trick. Logan slammed down on the breaks in shock, and I saw him holding his right ear in pain. We came to a halt and I was panting in pain at the newly forming bruise across my chest. I unbuckled my seatbelt hurriedly and stuffed my stray belongings back into my duffle. I left the food wrappings on the dashboard for him to deal with – he may as well keep that shit because that's what I thought of him at the moment. I had to get away, I had to leave this car and get as far away from Logan as possible. He was staring at me weirdly, and I didn't trust him, I couldn't trust him. I can't believe I'd ever trusted him.

I grasped the door handle and pulled sharply.

"Open the door." I ordered, seething. I could see his glare in my peripheral vision and knew it wasn't going to be that easy. Damn it, why did I have to meet someone just as stubborn as me?

"No."

"God damn it, Logan, open the fucking door!" I exclaimed, staring at him wildly and I could only imagine what he was seeing right now; red face, bird nest hair and wide eyes right in front of him.

I heard the click of the lock and glanced at him in surprise before yanking on the handle and flinching against the bitter cold that ran through my hair, freezing my scalp and sending a chill down to my bones. Ignoring this, I stepped out, the puddle beneath my feet splashing as I did. I'd forgotten it'd rained last night. I slammed the car door behind me, and the rusty red of it caught my eye briefly, making them flicker to the driver's window quickly before looking ahead of me at the vast road, coated with a layer of grey reflection that seemed foreboding rather than possibly magical.

Shaking off the feeling, I purposefully strode forward, keeping to the side of the road. My feet were already sopping, and I'd only walked five metres. I heard the slam of a car door behind me and sped up my pace. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my thick coat to avoid the icy grip I felt would suit my mutation all too well. Smiling wryly to myself, I was slightly stunned when a rough hand gripped me on my upper arm and spun me around like a ragdoll.

"What do you think you're doing?" he yelled above a sudden gust of wind, "You're going to fucking freeze!"

"I don't care!" I yelled back, terrified and at an absolute loss of what to do. He must have been ten times my weight, and a hell of a lot more used to fighting, especially in this weather. If he were to start one… well, I didn't have much hope. "I can't stay with you when I can't trust you!"

"What in fuck's name are you talking about?"

I reeled at his harsh use of language, but also wanted to laugh at what this conversation would seem like to an outsider. A lover's tiff, most likely.

"I'm talking about you taking me somewhere, the hell if I know, and the fact that it seems more like you're taking me to someone. I'm not falling for this again, so you're wasting your time, mutant!" I spat.

I had never used the word as an insult before, and the way it fell from my lips felt wholly sacred. He started at me wordlessly and like he wanted to slice my head off. I couldn't blame him, I'd felt the same way the other day. But things were different now – I had the power to do what he didn't expect, because he had no flipping idea as to what my mutation did, and I had planned on keeping it that way until we left each other's company. Maybe now was the time to utilise it.

Walking away from him again, I immaturely gave him the bird over my right shoulder. No, it wasn't the time for my skin. It was never the time if I was going to be honest with myself… but I felt dirty simply thinking about using it against Logan, and that feeling made me feel like a coward. But confrontation wasn't necessarily my style to begin with, so that was the excuse I was going with. When he woke up, anyway, from the unconsciousness my mutation would undoubtedly induce, he would skewer me for all that he was worth. And I didn't particularly want to be skewered, thank you very much.

"What the fuck are you on about?" he yelled from about fifteen metres behind me, and I paused in my step. "You think I want to take you to those fucking camps? Do you think I want to know that I'm the one responsible for your fucking rape and torture? Who the fuck do you think I am?"

I turned around fully now, staring at him in shock. I hadn't expected that from him. Well, I'd expected the many fucks, as I'd noted he tended to use that word in anger, but I hadn't expected the other stuff. Logan had a conscience? Logan cared about what happened to… me?

No, no. It's guilt. He doesn't want to feel guilty. Get over yourself, Marie, you're not that important to him. You only just met for God's sake.

"If you haven't realised," he spat bitterly, "I'm a 'mutie' too."

He was walking toward me now, slowly. I stared at his nearing figure.

"And… and fucking hell, Marie… mutants need to stick together in times like these. It's fucking everyone out for them fucking selves and you and me… we're the ones who don't want to be on either side. So maybe it's time you take your head out of your ass and see that you're not the only one in trouble, here, kid." He said the last statement softly, and it was a stark contrast to his previously harsh and loud words. I couldn't quite place Logan in a category linking him to anyone I used to know. He was completely and utterly unique and so unpredictable that I knew he would be the death of me. He was everything I despised about my life – he was uncontrollable, and I was a control freak.

So to explain why I closed the distance between us and started believing him is a little too hard. I just knew that I would never meet someone like this ever again in my entire life and the curious side of me refused to walk away. Damn it.

"I… I'm not trying to be selfish, it's just…" He was looking at me expectantly now and I didn't really know what to say, and that baffled me because I always knew what to say. I avoided his eyes and looked at the dripping trees surrounding the deserted highway. "I've been in this situation before, and… well I trusted the last person and they fucked me over. So I don't really know what to do, Logan. Who's to say it won't happen again? How the hell can I trust you?" I tried to keep my voice down but by the last question I was yelling again. Eugh.

"You can't." He said simply, staring me down and making me feel small like he constantly seemed to. I looked at him helplessly and just stood there, feet soaking wet, jeans chafing against my thighs, hair windswept, cheeks flushed and hands exposed to the chill of the early spring air.

I followed him back to the car silently and as Logan started the large vehicle, I held my hands in front of the heater as it warmed itself. The hot blowing air brought back the feeling to my fingers and I sighed in relief and weariness. I didn't know how to go about this. What was I to do? Follow Logan around for months to come, help him out so we could both survive? This… this conflict, or whatever it was, wasn't going to end anytime soon, and I knew if I was on the run for the rest of my life with Logan, that that's all I would be doing – running. And that was hardly surviving at all.

I leant back into the comfortable backing of the car seat, content to let Logan drive through the now drizzling rain.

"I've been to those places before," I started, and I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing. I felt like I was vomiting words out without any sort of conscious decision to do so. But I was on a roll now and I didn't feel as if I could stop. "Twice. The first time it was on a mission," Logan gave me a glance but I ignored it. The X-Men was a story for another time. "I saw it all, and I couldn't do anything. It didn't seem as bad then, just little food and a few hateful comments. And of course, the lack of freedom. But I'd seen that before, in places that weren't mutant camps. It was the second time that did it."

Logan stayed quiet, but she knew he was curious. No one had that sort of reaction to going to the camps that hadn't seen them before. And I knew that had it been me, I would have suspected just that – that I had been in one of those camps. But I had to explain. I had to get this off my chest because I'd been alone with it for too long. It wasn't like it was a secret – I'd just had no one to tell.

"The second time I'd come in willingly. I hadn't known we were going to the camps. I'd thought we were going to a– … to a safe house." I almost choked on my own words and I hated myself for it. I was strong enough for this, I could say it. I'd said it to myself many times before. "But I was wrong. It was a trap. I was taken to one of cells underground, the highest security ones because they knew what I could do, what my skin meant to both mutants and humans. I… I couldn't escape. I tried so many times but the beatings got worse and I got weaker. Soon they stopped the experiments, saying I was an anomaly and that my mutation didn't have any background, any reasoning. So I was left to rot in one of the bottom-most cells of one of the underground units."

I could see his hands whitening under the pressure on the steering wheel and was surprised at the control he was exhibiting and the fact that he hadn't broken the thing yet. I knew he was capable of it. But his anger threw me off a bit… I'd thought maybe some sympathy, a little nervousness at the chance it would happen to him, but anger? Not how I'd thought he'd react.

"One day, about two weeks into my time there, although it seemed more like two months, one guard decided to come in to..." I couldn't find the right words without sounding bitter, so I just went ahead and said it. "have fun, but they hadn't told him about my mutation. I always wondered whether he was that desperate for some that he hadn't even considered my mutation. He hadn't seemed worried at all…" I trailed off, remembering his face, and his hurried manner. I couldn't remember him humiliating me much, or even trying to make me fight him.

"Well, he was my ticket out and I touched him, ran through the open cell door and picked a lock somewhere to get my duffle and left the camp behind me. I hadn't thought I would last more than fifty metres, but by the time I came across a human settlement I think I'd run at least a kilometre." I smiled to myself, remembering the relief that had flooded through me at the sight of people that weren't in guard or prisoner uniforms.

There was only silence as I didn't know how to continue. To tell him about the trouble I'd had finding somewhere to sleep when I didn't have money? And the looks I'd received because of my weakened state and lack of belongings? When people saw you helping a mutant during these times, you became a target. So I hadn't held it against them – really, I understood. It didn't help the fact that I'd been miserable for the two weeks after my escape. At least then I'd already been captured, and under no danger of being found. I can't remember sleeping during those two weeks, but I must have because not sleeping for two weeks certainly wasn't possible. Even paranoia couldn't beat sleep deprivation.

Logan hadn't said anything and I didn't either. It must have been an hour or so until I seemed to garner any noticeable reaction from him.

"They used to call me Wolverine." He stated, and he shifted slightly, a clinking sound resonating throughout the car. I caught sight of a glinting object in the front window, and looked to his neck to see it clearly.

WOLVERINE.

I smiled slightly, flicking my long fringe out of my eyes before pushing up the sleeve of my coat and jumper up my right forearm.

"Rogue." I said, and he looked down at the brand on my arm that said the same thing, along with my number beneath it.

We were silent. These weren't our real names. They were names that had been created for us, or by us, to represent what we were to most of the world. They were our other personalities, our survival instincts. But somehow, the disclosure of these names seemed more personal than anything else, including the giving of our real ones.

And the fact that I had just done so with Logan, and he with I, meant more to me than it should have.

We drove on.

I'm hoping this is all making sense, and that it's at a slow enough pace. Any thoughts?

P