Title: The Wreckage

Disclaimer: I don't even own the rights to my soon to be college degrees and will not for many, many, many years… It's called a starving student, and by the state of my fridge, I'm living the dream.

Pairing: Rogue and Remy

Rating: Teen/Mature

Warnings: Contains dark and adult themes

Summary: It's what happens when two sides collide. The explosion between what you want and what you need, what's right and what's wrong. It's the wreckage. And it could be so easy. ROMY.

The Wreckage

Chapter 2

Oh Jeez, What Is It This Time?

Voices. So many voices. They were muffled, hard to focus on what each one was saying. They each said different things. Some were anguished, sad, mournful, excited. Others positively screamed in her already throbbing head. Granted they didn't actually scream at her, just in her.

She couldn't think straight; much less hear her own pained thoughts. The pain. It hurt like no other, like a madman crushing her head with a large sledgehammer in a direly violent rampage. It circulated all around, not missing a single inch of her skull. The noise just added to the nerve-wracking throbbing. There was no place from where the noise started from; it was just there, like an unnoticed presence. There were no speakers or windows in her small padded cell. There was no way the noise could penetrate the walls. The girl was utterly encased in silence and solitude.

Yet the voices wouldn't shut up. They said whatever they wanted to say- the noise was enough to make any sane person scream. It was as if someone had stuck a miniature speaker in her ear and blew it up full blast. The girl desperately wanted them to stop.

Over and over again she screamed her sobs into the empty, desolate room, yet it stuck to no avail. This mindless chatter confused her horribly and she couldn't help but cry in her misery. The padded corner she had huddled up against gave no solace; no matter how far she shrunk back, the babble retained its volume. At last, the child could not take the pain.

The pretty little girl started banging her small head into a padded wall. It produced a small ache, nothing compared to that of the turmoil burning in her mind. She struggled valiantly to fight the tightly wound straightjacket holding her thin framed body. No matter how hard she pushed, the white padded walls of her cell bounced her farther back. Again and again she tried, anguished in the fact she could not stop the continuous pain. She took many tries, but to no avail; if anything, she received large bruises that encompassed the whole of her body.

Finally, the poor girl fell, unable to fight her restraints. She squirmed around, thrashing her legs, tossing and turning, shouting and screaming near obscenities nonstop, while incessantly beating her head on the padded floor. The room was too bright; the lights above her bright enough for her not to open her eyes.

Suddenly, strong hands gripped her small arms and yanked her up roughly. Confused, she looked around herself with racking sobs and tears pouring down her face. There were two men at her side, covered in dark green scrubs and weapons adorned at their sides.

"Make them stop," she pleaded desperately, "just please make them shut up!" she clenched her eyes shut then reopened them. White flashed at the corner of her eyes and grabbed her attention. In the doorway stood a tall man, in brown pants and a long white doctor's medical coat. He promptly motioned for the men to follow him. It was then when the child finally realized what was really happening.

Louder became her screams when she saw him. Frantic became her struggles to get free. The two burly guards held her taut and began to follow the doctor out the room. The small body kicked and screamed in protest. In a failed attempt she tried to yank her arms away from her captors. Her whole body jerked in a wild endeavor to break free. Occasionally the guards would have to pull her up in the air to have her follow. After a while her arms grew numb and tired, yet her cries intensified.

The group walked through desolate, lonely halls, each occupied with different cells. There were doors, laden with a glass window, to which each compartment began. Each cubicle had a wondering person who had heard the girl's cries from afar. They all pressed their faces in the small window to watch the rabid girl squirming viciously with tears pouring down her bruised face. Pity fell onto her; didn't she know it was easier not to object following and just to shut up? Fright cast onto her hazel green eyes, she watched, through her screams the many wandering faces through the windowpane, their noses and cheeks pressed up, steam fogging up the windows.

They passed dozens of windows of the same containments, turned many directions and crossed through many of the high security doors before entering a cold, dark room. It was a concrete, four-walled room with one door, no windows, and not an inch of color. Smack dab in the middle of the room was a gurney, barley sufficed with an inch thick cardboard like mattress. The side was attached with metal rails on the side. On these rails were leather straps on both sides. Two were at the foot, two attached at the middle, one at the head of the bed, and one near the neck. The guards lifted the squirming child on the bed, pushing her down long enough for the doctor to strap her head, neck, arms, and legs to the bed. The hold was tight, nearly cutting off circulation.

Around the bed were numerous machines, just yelling to be tried out. There was an experiment lab on the right of her, which was where the doctor stood, concentrating on mixing the chemicals in front of him. The girl looked at him in horror and prayed he didn't do what he did last time. She was utterly wrong.

Two female nurses came into the room, whispering something to each other. They stood by the door, and then came in the room once given unclear orders. One blonde nurse came up to the girl and started applying different patches on the girl's scantily clad body the second nurse had needles in her hand. She poked the needles harshly into the girl's skin, holding them in place with the patches. She barely felt the poke and prod of the nurses.

What her mind was really focused on was the doctor. From the corner of her eye she saw a beaker filled to the brim with Kool-Aid blue serum in it. The doctor placed a long, thick needle in the beaker, soaking up much of the beaker's contents. Her screams intensified as she saw him, her weak struggles became seizures. The doctor strode up momentarily to her, needle ready in hand, and then took a hold of her arm. Her movement wouldn't allow him to strike a vein and he tried hard to quiet her. The convulsions continued, as he grew quite agitated.

The two nurses tried to aid in holding her more but that only fueled her more. A popping sound crackled in back of them, then another, as if glass was shattering all around of them. The machines around them hay wired, beeping incessantly without cause. The doctor paid no mind, only barked at the nurses when they tried to figure out the cause of the mishaps. He pushed the needle into her skin only to have it pressed back out. Putting more weight in, he cried out exasperatedly, "Damnit! Hold on, Jean!" He poked the needle in her skin, hitting a vein immediately, and then injected all of the blue serum into it.

Immediately after, a burning sensation washed repeatedly over her increasingly difficult body. She let loose a deafening scream.

Rogue's violent shake awoke herself to an upright position and her eyes flung wide open. Bright, almost blinding sun-like lights filled her vision, bouncing off the whitewashed walls only to come back more radiant. Beds filled the room, along with medical equipment next to each. Bed bars held both sides of the bed she was placed on; white immaculate sheets bunched up around her. A gray finger tab held her delicately pale left ring finger; the constant beeping sound that accompanied the tab sounded at her left. After a long, foggy moment, Rogue recognized where she was.

"Oh jeez, what is it this time? Ugh…" she deadpanned, not wanting to believe her current position. She covered her face and groaned. A hearty chuckle answered her from the other side of the Med Bay. Following the sound bounced Beast, carrying a clipboard in one hand and a smile on his face.

"Something tells me you are growing quite a dislike of awaking here, am I right, my dear?" Hank asked.

"You would be too," she mumbled.

"Is it that my company bores you?" Hank teased.

"Hardly," she grumbled. Pain gnawed at the back of her head. Rogue lightly pressed the back of her head with two fingers. It felt tender and swollen. A bruise was already forming, a rather big one. "I swear, you may as well move my room down here, I'm here so much," she mumbled.

Hank laughed again.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Rogue tried to hide her wince as she pressed the bruise again, somewhat harder. A muffled hiss escaped her mouth as pain branched out around her sore head. The psyches were hyper from the replay of Jean's memory and were giving her another unneeded headache.

"Just fine," she answered as levelly as she could, trying to pass off as peachy keen as she could.

"Are you sure? My reliable sources informed me that you did take quite a fall."

"Takes more of a fall to take me out, you know that," she dryly commented. A fall and psyche integration- now that's the magic combination.

He chuckled. "I also took the liberty of taking more chest x-rays. Your previous contusions haven't healed up completely, but there's no further injury from this accident. If anything, there will probably be only mild bruising. It's truly amazing you didn't receive a major head injury or broke more bones," Hank marveled, talking more to himself than Rogue at the prospect of it. Rogue snorted.

"Yeah, well that is something, isn't it?" she mumbled to herself as Hank pulled off her finger clip and copied her vitals on the clipboard. She hoped she gave him no indication that she should be an inpatient any longer than needed.

She looked around as he finished his work up of her. Everything was the same: sterile, white, cold, desolate… and horribly messy? She looked harder. Everything was disorganized, broken, or shoved around in a weird angle. She looked at Hank- even he looked disheveled. Well this was new. Hank wasn't the neatest person, he played the role of absentminded professor well, but he certainly wasn't this disorganized.

"Jeez, what happened here?"

Hank smiled, ruefully looking around his whirl winded Med Bay.

"Tornado Rogue, actually." Hank glanced at Rogue and grinned at her puzzled expression. "Jean's telekinesis activated while you were out." he explained.

"Seriously?" He nodded. She cringed.

"Hank, I'm really sorry. Can I clean up or something?" she asked hesitantly. Once again, someone had to clean up after the mess her powers made. Hank shook his head jovially.

"No, no, my dear. What I would like you to do, however, is rest," he advised, taking a doctor's tone again. He sighed.

"Which might be impossible since you do have visitors…" he trailed off loudly, aiming his voice to the door. He walked over and banged the door. In fell Kitty and Kurt, phasing through the doors with matching sheepish grins on their face. Hank chuckled and walked away.

"Hey, you're up!" Kitty squeaked, finally seeing Rogue. Kurt immediately bounced up and ran next to Rogue. He lunged on her and attacked her in a bear hug with his tail wagging behind him happily. "Mein schwester!"

"Kurt!" Rogue managed to gasp out. "Suffocating…as in… not breathing!" Kurt released his death grip on her, a tremendous smile pasted on his face.

"We were, like, starting to get really worried," Kitty told her.

"Ja, what happened out there?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah, I came to and saw you hit the ground pretty hard." Kitty's eyes widened as she remembered the sight of Rogue falling from mid-air.

"Jean's powers were too much. I lost control, I think," Rogue shrugged her shoulders. Keep it simple, she reminded herself. No need to really let them know the horrific inner workings of my powers. "Jean's up, right?"

"Yeah, Jean's totally alright," Kitty consoled her. "She woke up in time for classes. Too bad for her though." Kitty joked.

"And I take it I didn't wake up in time for school," she deadpanned.

"I, like, totally got your work for you?" Kitty smiled uneasily, attempting to make her feel better.

Rogue sighed. "What time is it? And why is there still no clock in here, Hank?" she yelled to him. He just chuckled in response.

Kurt looked at his holowatch. "It's a little after eight."

"I'm guessing that's eight pm, right?" she drawled, unhappily, not even needing an answer. And another day of her shitty life just vanished. "God, I'm never going to graduate," she moaned into her hands.

Kitty rolled her eyes. "You'll graduate, so hush."

"Ja, and if not, you can spend an extra year with us!" Kurt jumped in his excitement.

"Oh goody," Rogue sighed under her breath. "Dr. McCoy, am I good to go?"

Hank popped his head out from around his large computer. "Well normally, I would say no, but seeing as your x-rays and vitals are fine and you have spent most of your residence here…" he trailed off, leaving Rogue to draw the conclusions. Rogue's eyes visibly brightened. That's all she needed to hear.

"Thanks, Dr. McCoy!" Rogue yanked back the covers and swung her feet over the edge. Standing, she swayed a bit trying to pick up her combat boots. Kitty and Kurt laughed. She shot them a look. Kitty and Kurt followed eagerly as she walked out of the Med Bay and down the hallway to the elevator.

"So what'd Logan say about this morning's session?" she asked, hesitantly awaiting the dreary answer as they entered the elevator. She laughed at the way Kitty and Kurt both painfully winced.

"Well, he, like, wasn't pleased at all," she confessed.

"Herr Logan yelled at us for letting so many of us get out."

"Like, especially since it took forever to finish."

"He was mad at the older members, ja?"

"Oh my gosh, yes. I, like, can't believe how harsh he was with us. Like, especially me and Jean for 'not keeping out guard up,'" she mocked Logan's voice. "Jeez, it's not, like, our fault you're a freaking ninja now," she blamed Rogue.

"Don't blame me that I took you both out and then some," Rogue replied smugly. "You were more than welcome to come to my extra training sessions."

"Ha, ha. Some people don't enjoy being totally icksome gross all the time like you, I guess." The elevator opened and they all spilled out.

"Speaking of icksome," she mocked Kitty's high pitched voice, "I feel gross. I'm going to go shower." She hoped this would dissuade them from spending the next day next to her side.

"But we were going to watch a movie!" Kurt protested.

Kitty narrowed her eyes. "And you, like, haven't eaten either."

"Well, I haven't showered, either, which is why I'm tackling that problem first." She felt her patience getting worn thin and her headache increasing, whether it was from the bump on her head or the voices in her head. She wanted a shower, some aspirin, and most importantly, she wanted to be alone in her room.

"Okay, well, have a fun shower." Kitty began dragging Kurt to the Rec Room. "I'll be up in a bit so we can tackle that second problem," she called back with a smile.

Rogue made her face. Kitty got her again. Rogue began her ascent to her room, hoping the shower would make her feel better. She snorted. Nothing could really make her feel better now.

She changed back into her clothes quickly and stepped out of the steaming bathroom. Now she was just cold and still slightly damp, and was feeling only marginally better. She crossed the hall quickly, not wanting to cross paths and socialize with someone roaming the halls. She fiddled the doorknob and entered her room quietly.

The room was an explosion due to her morning wake-up call. Clothes lay strewn hazardously around her room. Her vanity stood disheveled with makeup rolled on the ground. The covers were thrown back and crumpled in a heap at the foot of her bed. Rogue dropped her stuff aimlessly on the vanity and made her way to her bed. She curled up in a fetal position and just stayed there.

She wanted to sleep and to forget what had happened today. She wanted to forget about making an idiot of herself, losing control of someone else's powers, and knocking herself out cold for the rest of the day. Didn't matter that she got the flag- in all reality, she couldn't even bring the flag back to her team. And wasn't that the metaphorical point of the mission? Get the flag (or whatever recon item it would be in real life) and not be messed up enough at the end of the mission to bring it back to the team? She even failed at that. Once again, her powers proved to be the epitome of suck.

A light knocking disrupted her thoughts. Rogue didn't answer.

"I'm coming in. Hope you're dressed," Kitty sang. A second later, her head popped in, smiling deviously.

"Like, whoa. What happened here?" She stood baffled at the still curled up Goth.

Rogue made a face. "Six am happened." That was really all the explanation needed.

"Um, hello? Alarm clock?" Kitty looked around for one. "Where is yours?"

"Broken," she yawned, hoping it was distracting enough that Kitty didn't see the scorch marks on the electrical outlet. "Knocked it over," she lied. Actually, she zapped it pretty bad one night after a nightmare and ended up almost setting the mansion on fire. But Kitty didn't need to know that. Keep it simple.

"Hungry yet?" she asked.

"Not really. Kind of tired. I think I'm going to sleep," she yawned again. Not a lie, either.

Kitty gave her a weird look. "Tired? You spent the whole day sleeping!" Kitty exclaimed. Rogue snorted.

"Sleep? Ha! Try a coma," she snorted. A coma with brain activity and nightmares and telekinesis.

"Well, eating will help you sleep better, so up you go!"

Rogue groaned. "I'm fine," she stressed.

Kitty narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hip in a businesslike manner. "You look pale. You're eating."

"I'm really not hungry," came Rogue's swift reply.

"Go eat."

"No, I'm good." Both girls' glares matched each other, and then a mischievous glint flashed dangerously in the younger's eyes. A moment later, a slow, devious smile crept on to her face, created by obvious inspiration.

"Go eat… or else."

"Or else what?" she challenged. Kitty's smile widened to a gleeful smirk.

"Go eat, unless you want me to tell Hank you haven't been eating lately, so that he can stick you to a needle and force feed you in the Med. Bay."

Rogue's glare deepened and she shook her head in disgust.

"I hate you," she retorted, finally admitting defeat.

"And I love you," came Kitty's sweet response. The wicked smirk was now placed with a victorious and innocent smile. "Now, get up, we're going."

Rogue stared at her with ten different flavors of hatred. Kitty rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.

"So help me God, I will phase you through the floor."

Make that eleven flavors.

"I'll totally get Mr. Logan involved."

That doing the trick, Rogue begrudgingly set rolled off the bed, a pained expression stamped on her face and a murderous groan out of her mouth. She followed the perky brunette to the kitchen without a word. Upon entrance, Kitty leaned on the counter, arms folded, and triumph in her eyes. Rogue stood in the doorway, looking back at Kitty.

"What?"

"Eat!"

A heaved sigh escaped Rogue's mouth. One look around the kitchen ordered her in a deep scavenger hunt through the multiple pantries of the kitchen. Nothing appealed to her vanished appetite. The last pantry door shut as Rogue gave Kitty a pleading look. Kitty gave her a withering, no-nonsense stare.

"Are you totally serious? Out of the millions of cereals, soups, cans, even leftovers?" she asked incredulously. Only a half hearted shrug was returned. "Sit," she commanded. Rogue feebly moved to the nearby stool and hid against a wall that she was appointed to. Kitty walked around, gathering items from the panties as she went.

"Why are you doing this?" Rogue asked suddenly. The quiet of the kitchen unnerved her. Kitty lifted her head from out of the refrigerator door.

"Because you need to eat more. Kurt thinks so too."

Her voice was strange. It was sincere, offhand, rehearsed, guarded. Rogue knew Kitty wanted to say more, but Rogue wasn't exactly the "pour your heart out to" type. Kitty was censoring her concern- and Rogue was thankful and felt oddly touched. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face.

"Oh Kit-kat…" Rogue was cut off as the swinging door leading to the Rec Room swung open. Both girls swung their heads with it to meet their visitor.

"Thought I told you it was curfew, Half-Pint," came Logan's gruff voice.

"It's my fault, Logan, she's making me dinner," Rogue piped up quickly, revealing herself behind the safety of the cabinets. Logan's eyes adverted to Rogue, and slightly softened.

"Stripes, when'd you get up?" he changed the subject.

"Not too long ago," she rolled her eyes, still annoyed by how long she slept. Logan looked back at Kitty, who had already placed the jelly and bread on the table, and was now half phased through a pantry. She soon emerged victorious, peanut butter in hand. She set to work, spreading the jelly onto the bread lavishly. Logan turned his attention back to Rogue.

"Uh, Stripes," he started, grabbing her attention, running his hands awkwardly through his hair. "Good job on earlier." Rogue scoffed.

"Which part? Losing control or putting myself into a coma?" she remarked sarcastically, smelling the peanut butter that Kitty was opening. It… looked weird to her, foreign almost. Not a good vague feeling. Alarm bells started ringing as she watched Kitty.

Logan smirked. "For lasting the longest and grabbing the flag."

"Right," she scoffed. She watched Kitty intently for some reason, as if the peanut butter was fascinating. Something felt off as Kitty reached into the jar with a knife. The Jiffy was about to be layered on the bread when something finally clicked in her head.

"Kit, wait!" she startled her. "I'm allergic to peanut butter." They looked at her like she was talking in German.

"Since when?" Logan asked. Creases appeared on Rogue's forehead, as if she was trying to remember. A blank came to her mind.

"You're not allergic to peanut butter," Kitty reminded her quietly. "Scott is." Rogue pondered her own memories.

No, she wasn't allergic to peanut butter, or anything else for that matter. Where had that come from? Jean's memories more than likely. A girlfriend would know that offhand.

"Yeah… never mind about that," she slowly replied, still trying to get a grip on her head. After that, all was quiet.

"When yer done, straight to bed," Logan said finally. He turned and left wordlessly.

Kitty finally finished up the sandwich and handed it to Rogue.

"Eat," she ordered again. "All of it." Rogue looked at Kitty.

"Thanks, Kit," she replied begrudgingly, taking a bite. Kitty watched her intently.

"You, like, really need to eat more," she started, conjuring up a huge glass of milk and sliding it her way.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Rogue replied, slowly making her way through the sandwich. Kitty was watching her a little too intently, and it was unnerving. She knew how to fix this. "So uh… how was school?"

Kitty's eyes widened dramatically.

"Like, oh my gosh! You would not believe Lance and them!" she started, arms flailing. Rogue smiled into her glass of milk. Works every time. She smiled and nodded along with the occasional "mmhm" interjection. Nothing else was needed on her part.

"And then so I was like-"

"Kitty, child? I'm quite certain Logan called curfew a bit ago," came Ororo's mothering voice.

Kitty's eyes widened in alarm. Caught. Rogue poked her head out behind her hiding spot quickly.

"Sorry, Ms. Monroe, I just got up a bit ago and Kitty was making me dinner," Rogue apologized.

"Ah, Rogue. It's good to see you up. How are you feeling?"

"Awake," she shrugged. She couldn't say she was fine or better (because that would be lying and lying is bad).

"Oh!" Kitty exclaimed, scrambling from her seat, and phasing through everything in her path. She ran through the door and came back seconds later carrying a piece of paper.

"I, like, totally couldn't find you earlier, but someone called for you, Ms. Monroe!" she exclaimed. She handed the paper to Ororo's puzzled face. "He, like, didn't leave a name, but he did leave his number."

"What did he say, child?"

Kitty scrunched her face. "Well, it was like, really hard to understand him. I think he was, like, switching between English and Spanish or something, but he said something like, to let you know that someone's being sent your way? I don't really know, it was totally cryptic."

Ororo smiled faintly, looking at the piece of paper.

"Did he need me to call back right away?"

"Mmm, he said like, looked forward to hear your voice again. He sounded super sexy though," she giggled. "Does this, like, mean we're getting a new recruit soon?"

Ororo laugh quietly. "Quite possibly, child, but only time will tell." She folded up the paper and placed it in her pocket. "Now, off to your rooms, both of you. No need to conjure up idle gossip," the weather witch mused.

Rogue got up and put her dishes away in the dishwasher.

"Night, Ms. Monroe," they called as they hurried upstairs.

Ororo finished her nightly rounds and quickly retired to her room. She began to ready herself for bed, cleaning and organizing her quarters as she went. She pulled out the piece of paper from her pocket and promptly ripped it into miniscule, unrecognizable pieces before throwing it in the wastebasket. A single glance told her the number was a fake- all it spelt out was OMonroe. She chuckled as she picked up her phone and dialed a number by heart.

"Bon soir, Ororo," came a silky voice from the other side.

"Ah, Jean-Luc. How nice to hear from you again. It's been a while," she shook her head, thoroughly amused with his debonair attitude.

"Et vous aussi, cherie. I was getting worried your student didn't pass on the message," he confessed lightly.

"You know how young students are. Distractible and excitable, especially when you tell them someone's coming for dinner…"

"Kids will be kids, Storm." His voice took a tired turn, no longer laced with charming undertones.

Ororo sighed. Very few things could kill a Cajun's suave demeanor.

"Oh dear. What is it this time?"

He pondered on the final words of his father before he started his bike and flew out of what was once his home.

"Get out of here quickly, mon fils. And if I can never see you again, just remember this: you still have a heart, so don't try to hide it."

He assumed it would be the last cryptic message he'd ever get from his adopted father. And obscure it was. The guild's head had always given him vague advice since he was a child, but he'd always figured it out sooner rather than later. But this one? It was a rather unneeded headache.

If this was his way of being fatherly for once, it was a bit too late. It was a bitter thought, but with the recent events, could you blame a guy for reviewing his father's inherent goodness? His exile wasn't surprising- it would have happened sooner or later, he figured. He was a rogue, so to speak. Sure, he loved his family and his heritage, but it's implications for the rest of his life was too restricting to say the least.

It was a quiet, ominous night in the back roads going north. Moonlight bounced off of the untouched road. No one came, no one went. He revved and pursued the twisted path, not bothering to admire the inhospitable scenery before him. He could stop, admire the scenery, but there's a good chance it would be his final resting place. Not that he shirked in the face of danger, except he'd hate for his family (oh the tears his Tante would shed!) to hear the news of him dead and gone with no one in the world to care for him, and by guild law, they'd be even unable to give him a proper funeral.

He thought about the last time he ran this path. You could have called him a runaway then- he had hired himself out to Magneto to run away from everything south of the Mason-Dixon Line. He knew eventually all of it would catch up to him again, to haunt him again, to beckon his return again. It was inevitable. His past would always find him; it would rear its ugly head when things were beginning to change. He hesitated to wonder if it would follow him into his new life.

He pulled into a sparsely lit station and rolled up against a pump. He pulled his sunglasses on- these country folk didn't take well to his kind. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a few bills and handed it to attending inside- a poor sap looking dead on his feet and drained of all will to live.

"Fill her up and keep the change," he spoke smoothly, quickly. The guy looked horribly grateful. He gave the man a quick lopsided smile and strolled out quickly. Take from the rich, give to the poor.

He shoved the nozzle into his bike, and took a step away, quickly lighting up a cigarette with his fingertips. Quick in and out, keep his accent hidden, keep social interaction to a minimum until he got north of the Mason-Dixon. And then…

And then what? He wasn't normally the type to stress over the details. Be like the swamp-trash and go with the flow was his typical mantra. He just needed a general direction and his lady luck by his side. But he had always had back up plans, usually his family and their connections. But now, he honestly didn't know what he was doing. He was a thief by nature- things changed and he had to be ready to adapt to sudden complications. It was the story of his life, really.

But now he had nothing to rely on except his reputation as a Master Thief. If he really thought about it, he didn't need another good heist for a while- his prior accomplishments would keep him afloat for a while. What did he really need to do now, besides lay low for a little bit, before the bloodhounds came after him? He was now a free man, a free bachelor in the prime of his adulthood- rich, single, and… full of baggage. All that aside, he really had no need to weigh his options for quite awhile.

But he knew that would get boring, quick. He wasn't one for keeping low, especially without the direct protection of the guild. He needed new alliances, and fast. He knew there were two routes he could go, and he was stuck pondering the fork in the road he was at- or would be at in a few short hours.

He stubbed the cigarette with the toe of his boot and made it back to his bike. He unhooked his bike and capped it shut. He gave a salute to the help and kicked his bike to life. Who knows how long he had been on the road- he had barely made it halfway through Tennessee, he had guessed. While he wasn't as familiar with the layout of the nation, he figured he still had a few states to pass through before he was safe, a few more hours on the road until he could sleep well.

Until then, he figured he could set up some kind of game plan, maybe set up some alliances. His father offhandedly and frequently mentioned in the last few days "going up north" or "going back up to that town you were at before" or Remy's personal favorite, "whatever happened to that girl who could do all that with the touch of her finger?" He remembered the tone of his voice, suggestive and scheming. Jean-Luc knew damn well what was up there- it was almost as if he had been planning for his exile.

Remy sighed. It would do no good now to think of his father who had seemingly fought the elders for his son's right to stay in his home town up until the very end as a scheming one-jump-ahead-of-the-bread-line thief. Even Jean-Luc had figured his slippery son would eventually turn to a fate such as this.

And Remy could read between the lines like it was a second language. He remembered the contact his father had at one time. In fact, had his father realized his contact was with the other team, Remy could bet the spoils of a good heist that he would have ended up on the other side of the mutant war. He wouldn't have ended up with Magneto, and hell, he probably wouldn't be in this situation to begin at all- well, not at least for a few more years.

And he knew what his father was hinting, with the offhanded "What about them northern states, Remy? You liked it just fine up there, hein?" He knew that there was a good chance his father had set him up with a "residence" without telling him directly and he was trying to point him in the right direction. 'I don't like being pushed in any direction, got it?' rang hotly through his ear. He chuckled. Was this ever a time to remember such a catchy phrase.

He knew how that place ran. He had heard of the defects and he knew some insiders. You wouldn't be forced to sign a contract-no, this place was much more amiable than that. From what it sounded like, they guilted you into staying, with their superhero-save-the-world-lets-make-a-difference mentality. At least, that's how St. John put it painfully. But John was just like his element- a fire. He needed freedom to burn.

Piotr on the other hand, was more suited to the lifestyle. Granted, he was never an evil person to begin with- he was just the victim of unfortunate circumstances. Now, he was in his rightful place, and was he glowing with Russian tinged praises about this place, that the X-Man life was good and righteous, that it was the place he could see himself living for a very long time.

Which led to Remy's debate. He had either two options in front of him.

Magneto was no longer an Acolyte leader, meaning he was no longer employed as an Acolyte. He could do his own freelance work up there, using his thieving skills to make a comfortable life. A stolen life, of course, but a life after all. It represented all flavors of freedom and whims that he had ever enjoyed in his life. Of course, he'd have to watch his back carefully.

Or he could teeter towards the X-Man life, join his former Acolytes, and fight the good fight with his shady undertones. He had no doubt his father hadn't wasted any time informing Storm of his arrival to the north, whether it be for a new alliance for either of them, or an explanation of the ruckus of explosions he would undoubtedly bring with him to the area. An offer or a warning. A wild card. Take it as is and accept its consequences.

He just didn't know. Either way, something was calling to him. Maybe his lady luck, he mused, was taking him in the right direction or on the search for nothing. He had nothing to gain, nothing to lose.

His father's last words left many interpretations to be explored.

Hello all. The second chapter in one week! It's a record for me, I think. Again, you'll notice that this has many and similar elements of Tormented Sanity. There's similar scenes, but what you ideally will notice is the subtle changes in ideology, mannerisms, etc. This beginning (I hope) is the pivotal beginning to character development, etc.

Anyways, thank you all for the reviews AND the bajillions of author alerts and likes and such! I'm really glad people are enjoying my fics and taking the time to alert me and review me. I'll try to send out thank yous and such, but as of today I have oodles of work to do, as finals week is pretty much one week away…

But anywho! I'm hoping my writing style has become easier and less droney, as I've done a lot of research on how to really do a story line (in terms of reading A LOT of awesome stories on here!) and the last 4 years have definitely changed some of my thinking and writing abilities. So thank you for the reviews and don't forget to review more plz! Even one worded flames will be welcomed.

Toodles!