Chapter 4

"I hope you'll take this in the right spirit, Logan, when I say that there's nothing I like less than receiving a visit from you," Nick Fury observed, glaring amiably over his desk at Logan. The Canadian was splattered thoroughly with mud from a long motorcycle ride in bad weather, and his wool-lined leather jacket was still fastened up to the throat against the late-February cold. "It never ends well for me."

"Just needing to check on your prisoner," said Logan. "If she's still where I think she is, then there's no problem."

"She was this morning," Nick deadpanned. "Still playing her mind games, of course, but certainly there. Not that she hasn't given us a couple of scares. She's trickier than the devil in a poker game."

"What kind of scares?"

"Well, back in November she got hold of a key . . . not the key to her cell, just some other key . . . and very nearly slit her guard's throat with it. He's all right, poor guy, but it was a close shave. Then three weeks ago she pulled a bit of sleight-of-hand that would have let her wander right out of this base if we hadn't caught her in time. Still not quite sure how she did it."

Logan took a chair, despite his not having been offered one, and crossed his arms. "What happened?"

"I wasn't on duty at the time, so I didn't see it. But she copied the form of the doctor who'd come to give her a physical . . . it's quarterly routine for long-term prisoners. Of course, she'd been pulling tricks like that for months, and nobody paid much attention. But the guard left them alone for a minute, and when he came back there were two Dr. Mansfields, one inside the cell yelling his head off and the other outside the cell looking annoyed and worried. Not a big deal, of course . . . just her same old game . . . but then the Dr. Mansfield outside the cell started shape-shifting. Somehow—and even Dr. Mansfield was never quite sure how she did it—she got outside her cell, locked him in, and would have waltzed right out of here if she hadn't lost control of her powers when she did."

Logan's scowl deepened. "What happened after that?"

"Nothing much. We got him out and put her back inside, though she was still playing her part to the hilt, her unmasking notwithstanding. And she's been playing it ever since. She hasn't been anybody but Dr. Mansfield for the better part of a month, trying frantically to persuade anyone in earshot that she really is the man himself."

"And what about Dr. Mansfield?"

"A little shaken, but not hurt. He was back on duty right away."

Logan pondered the information he'd received for a long moment. "Can I see her?" he asked.

"Figured you'd want to." Fury pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. "She's downstairs."

Logan followed him out of the room and down the long, gray corridors of the SHIELD base.

"I do appreciate your concern, Logan," he continued, placing his hand on the palm scanner for the elevator. "Mystique's one of the most dangerous people in the world. But we're taking every precaution."

"If you were taking every precaution, you wouldn't be keeping her in New York," Logan deadpanned. "She's barely two hundred miles from the Institute."

"Well, wherever we kept her she'd be within two hundred miles of something. I can't maneuver the whole of SHIELD to keep it away from your house, just because it's yours."

Logan snorted, but kept silent.

To Nick's credit, the security on Mystique's cell was nothing to scoff at. The main door was covered by two guards carrying considerable firepower, Beyond that was an anteroom, manned by another guard whose task was to verify the identity of everyone going in or out. He had code-secured control of the next door, which was plexiglass. It led to a room no larger than a closet, and the plexiglass door at the end of that led to the cell. The two plexiglass doors could not be opened at the same time. Neither could be opened by anyone but the guard in the anteroom.

With Nick Fury's authorization, Logan stepped through the first of the two doors, waited until it locked behind him, then pushed on into the cell. His claws weren't out, but he was ready to extend them in a heartbeat. He knew how fast Mystique could be.

The cell offered minimal comfort and almost no privacy, but other than that the arrangements appeared to be humane. Logan took them in with approval. But his immediate attention was fixed on the person curled miserably on the comfortless bed. The person looked like a heavyset, middle-aged man in a suit and lab coat, the fabric stiff from being worn too long. He raised his head and looked at Logan, and the look was empty and desperate.

Logan took a deep breath through his nose. The scent of Mystique was heavy in the little room. Other people had been in and out—he recognized Nick's motor-oil smell, and the faint trace of antiseptic that medical personnel always seemed to carry with them, and the shadows of the last dozen or so meals that had been brought in.

He crossed the room and dropped into a crouch next to the bed, his eyes still fixed unwaveringly on its occupant. He took another breath, his face expressionless.

In a cracked, exhausted voice, the person in the bed commented, "I don't suppose you'd believe I am who I say I am."

Logan didn't answer. He watched his companion for one minute longer, then stood up and returned to the door without turning his back to the bed. There was a faint pneumatic hiss as the lock disengaged. Logan pulled the door open and stepped into the entry room, pulling the door closed in front of him before he turned to look at Nick.

As soon as the second door was open, Logan snapped an order. "Get that man out of there and let him go home."

"What?" Nick demanded.

"There's no way that guy's Mystique. She's gotten pretty good at masking her scent, but right up close like that, there's no way I'm wrong. That man's your Dr. Mansfield. Mystique has been wandering freely around your base for the past three weeks. You might want to send some of your guns after her. In the meantime, let that man out and give him some clean clothes."

"Logan, that's impossible. Curtis here" he nodded at the door guard "saw the whole thing. The one that could shape-shift is the one we locked up. Dr. Mansfield could no more change his shape than fly to the moon. I know every mutant in SHIELD, and he's not one of them. Flatscan. Normal."

"I dunno how she did it," Logan snarled, "but it's done. Run a blood test on your prisoner if you don't believe me. She's fooled you all. Now I suggest you call your Dr. Mansfield and find a way to get her in range of your snipers."

Nick gave him a long, suspicious glare. Logan returned it, minus the suspicion but with a whole lot of annoyance.

Nick grabbed the phone from Curtis's desk and punched in a number. "Present location of Doctor Robert Mansfield," he demanded of the person on the other end. After a long, tense moment, he slammed the handset back into its cradle. "Called in sick yesterday," he announced, his voice strained with anger. "Could be on the other side of the planet by now."

"I can tell you where she was yesterday afternoon. In Bayville, stalking my kids. Thanks again for putting her so close to the Institute." Logan strode out of the cell, so abruptly that he would have received a bullet in the back if Nick hadn't jumped after him and signaled the guards to stand down. "Nice talkin' to ya," he snapped over his shoulder. "We should do this again sometime."

"Not if I can help it," Fury called after him.

It was four a.m. when Logan got back to the mansion, cold, wet, furious, exhausted. He killed the engine and pulled his helmet off, scrubbing his face with one damp, gloved hand. It was a miracle he hadn't smashed into oncoming traffic. Not that it would have mattered to him, of course, but it would have meant the end of his beloved Harley.

A light flickered on inside the house. The door from the garage to the kitchen swung open, and Logan saw Jean standing in the opening, wrapped in a bathrobe and her own shivering embrace.

"What're you doing up?" he snarled, swinging off the bike and dropping his helmet to the concrete floor.

"Making tea," said Jean. "Your psychic impression woke me up about ten minutes ago. It sounded ticked."

"Get inside before you freeze."

He followed her inside and shut the door, stripping off his wet coat and gloves. The kettle started to burble, threatening to shriek. Jean took it off the burner and poured it into the mugs she had waiting. "So I'm guessing you don't have any good news."

"When do I ever?" Logan wrapped his hands around the mug she placed in front of him, feeling the warmth seep into his fingers. "She's gone. I don't know how she did it, but she did it."

Jean pulled up a stool next to him and measured a spoonful of honey into her mug. "Then in the morning we'll have to tell Rogue and Kurt."

"I was thinkin' to start by telling the Professor, actually."

"Well, of course you're going to tell the Professor. I just wanted to remind you that Rogue and Kurt will have to know. I know you don't want to have to give them that burden."

Logan hmphed. "If there's one thing I hate, it's nosy psychics."

Jean smiled and shook her head. "I don't know what you're thinking because I'm psychic. I know it because I've known you since I was eleven years old. I know you like to take the blame for anything that could hurt those under your charge. And I know that you and Rogue are really close. I don't want to see her have to go through another emotional mess with Mystique, either. But she's strong enough to handle it. You need to trust her."

"I know she's strong enough. Ain't nobody tougher than our Rogue. But just because she can take it doesn't mean she should have to."

"You're right. She shouldn't have to. It's not fair." Jean reached across the counter and put her hand over Logan's. Though she knew that his adamantium claws could come slicing out from between his knuckles at any second, there was no hesitation, not a trace of concern for her safety. "I know you'd take the hurt from her if you could," she assured him. "And Rogue knows it, too. It's why she loves you. It's why we all do."

Logan squeezed her fingers, grateful for their warmth against his wind-chilled skin and for the little redheaded girl that was growing up into a confidante and friend. When she withdrew her hand, the heat and comfort of her grip remained.

"Drink your tea," she ordered gently. "Then go take a hot shower and get some rest. We'll deal with it in the morning."

A shadow of a smile forced its way onto Logan's face. "Thanks, Red."

Jean snuggled herself into her bathrobe and lifted the mug of tea to her face where she could breathe its steam. "What are friends for?" she asked rhetorically, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.

"Mystique."

"Yeah."

Rogue sat very still on the couch in Professor Xavier's office, her posture ramrod-straight with discomfort and stress. Next to her, Kurt was perched on the back of the couch like a monkey, his tail whipping back and forth behind him. He was nervous and upset, but Rogue was paralyzed.

"Now we know," Logan assured her, "and we're on the lookout. She's probably not interested enough to hang around, not now she knows how dangerous it is for her to stay. Anywhere else in the world is safer for her than Bayville. She's not stupid. She'll move on, leave you two alone."

"And even if she doesn't," offered Professor Xavier, "we are ready for her. Her disguises have improved, but with the whole household on alert they won't protect her for long. You will be safe."

Rogue snorted. "Ah'm invulnerable. You could drop a nuclear bomb on me an'Ah'd still be safe."

"No doubt," acknowledged Professor Xavier. He knew better than to make Rogue own up to her fears and weaknesses, at least in public. "But we felt you had the right to know what Logan found out, since you two have a personal stake in it. Whether you want to let the other students know is for you to decide. The teachers, of course, will have to be told, as will Scott. Jean already knows."

Though she struggled to mask it, bitterness still snuck into Rogue's voice. "She knew before we did?"

"She is psychic," offered Logan, in Jean's defense. "She won't say a word unless you tell her it's okay."

Kurt, seeing that Rogue had no intention of saying another word, spoke up for her. "Thank you for telling us." He poked Rogue in the back with the tip of his tail, reminding her that she'd have to stand up if she wanted to get out of the room. Rogue stood, walked to the door, opened it, stepped through, and closed it, all with forced, mechanical calmness.

Kurt ported onto the roof.

He was just in time to watch Rogue go streaking off into the sky like a bullet. Kurt sat down and waited for her to circle back. Which she did, after about ten minutes. She loved Kurt too well to really abandon him right now, no matter how much she might have wanted to just fly away and never stop.

"Vhat should ve do?" Kurt asked her as she dropped lightly onto the roof, her hair flaring up around her face and then dropping down again.

"You're askin' me?" she sighed. "Ah don't even know which way mah head's screwed on right now."

"Should ve tell the others? You'll tell Gambit, at least, right?"

Rogue groaned. "Yeah, he'll have it outta me whether Ah want t'tell him or not. And they're gonna have to know. It'd be too dangerous for them otherwise."

Kurt nodded. "Okay. And maybe it von't even matter. She might do like Logan said, and just move on."

Rogue glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Well, try to contain your excitement, will ya? What's the matter . . . you want her to stay?"

Kurt shrugged. "No, not really. I mean, there are a lot of questions I'd like to ask her, but . . . not enough to take the risk."

"The risk that she'd try to hurt you, or the risk that you just wouldn't like her answers?"

"Kinda both. But I have a mother already. I don't need Mystique. Sure, I'm curious about her, but I can live vith zat."

Rogue nodded, curling up with her knees pulled into her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

"Vhat about you?" Kurt asked. "Do you ever wonder, sometimes . . . if she thinks about us?"

Rogue sighed. "She used to tell me she did," she admitted, her voice hardly more than a mutter. "Irene brought me up, but Ah always knew she was just a foster mom, that she was keepin' an eye on me while my real mom was busy. Ah didn't love her any less for that. But sometimes I'd have a nightmare, and Ah'd wake up, and just . . . just want my mom so bad Ah felt like the world was gonna crunch in around me, like Ah just couldn't, couldn't stand bein' away from her for one more minute. Ah'd wake up Irene, and she'd let me curl up in her bed, and she'd call.

"My mama's voice was real southern, like mine. Ah liked that. She'd call me Sweetpea, and tell me she'd been thinkin' about me, and ask me what was wrong, and Ah'd tell her about the dream. Then when it was done, she'd ask if Ah thought Ah could sleep now, and Ah said Ah could. And Ah always said, 'Ah love you, Mommy,' and she always answered, 'You be good for Irene now. Sleep tight.'" Rogue caught her lower lip in her teeth and bit it until the pain restored her composure. "She never once answered back 'Ah love you too.' Never once. She came sometimes t'visit, brought presents. She had brown hair, and her skin was real pale. Purple shadows of stress round her eyes. Ah liked t'see her, but it's those phone calls Ah remember. But as Ah grew up, the nightmares went away, and Irene stopped makin' calls. Then Ah manifested, and Principal Darkholme brought me t'Bayville."

Without quite realizing it, she started to rock, back and forth, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of the world as it tilted around her. "That woman who called me Sweetpea was Mystique. Ah kin forgive her for bein' Principal Darkholme, for bein' Risty, even for being Kitty that time in the mall. But how kin Ah forgive her for the brown-haired woman with the drawl? How kin Ah forgive her for never sayin' 'Ah love you'? How can Ah, Kurt?"

Kurt wrapped his arms around her, one around her back and one around her knees, helping her to hold herself together. "Maybe you can't," he admitted. "Maybe you don't have to right now. Forgiving her is God's business. When you need to, He'll help you." He sighed and shook his head. "Sorry. Zat vas out of line."

Rogue rolled her head back and groaned. "If you apologize one more time for bein' Catholic, Ah'm gonna smack you."

"No, the 'sorry' vas for acting like I have ze answers to your problems."

"Well, somebody'd better, 'cause Ah sure don't."

They sat in silence together for a long while, Rogue taking deep breaths to compose herself and stuff her memories back into the past where they belonged. Then she straightened up and announced, "Let's go tell the others."

Kurt did most of the talking. Rogue stood beside him, her defenses up and her face grim. When Gambit caught her eye, he almost wished he hadn't. Her answering glare snarled 'don't touch me' as eloquently as any words could. Logan's news was a blow to her, and everybody knew it, but she wasn't going to let it show. She was Rogue the Invulnerable, and she was not going to fall sobbing into Gambit's arms while the entire team looked on. She was going to stand on her own two feet and spit in the eye of Mystique and anyone else who dared to pity her.

"So what are we gonna do?" Bobby asked. "I mean, do we know what she wants? Do we know where she's going?"

It was Amara who voiced what everyone was thinking. "What if she wants us?"

"All she has to do is copy one of us and she's in the house," said Kitty. "She could be anybody, all the time."

"She could be here right now," Jamie whimpered.

Glances were exchanged across the room, suspicious and frightened.

"Non," Gambit announced. He shoved his biology textbook off his lap and let it fall to the floor as he stood up. "She's sneaky, but she ain't perfect. There are ways a'keepin' her out, spottin' who's friend and who's foe. First off, she can't copy our powers. Those are ours." He pulled a card from his pocket. By sheer good luck, it was the ace of spades. He charged it and held it up, letting it flicker for a few seconds before it fizzled into ash. "So now y'all know I'm Gambit, and nobody else."

He looked down at Kitty, who'd been sitting on the couch next to him. "You next, Minou."

Kitty stood up and stuck her arm through the wall.

"Good. Bobby."

Bobby reached up a hand. A heavy layer of frost coated the ceiling.

"Ray."

Electricity crackled from Ray's fingertips.

One by one, they proved themselves, until everyone in the room was sure that everyone else was who they said they were.

"Now here in de house, we safe enough. We got Jean, Logan, an'de Professor who kin spot Mystique if dey watchin' for her. Plus all de security codes she don'know. An' we kin use our powers, so we can always check. But school's another problem. We split up an'come back t'gether half dozen times a day, an'no powers allowed, an' no psychics or hunters coverin' our backs. So we need a way to check dat we are who we say we are, every time we meet, every day. Sign an' countersign. Every secret society has 'em. It's how dey spot each other, even after years a'bein apart, even if dey never met each other before. We use sign an' countersign, and Mystique never gonna sneak into us."

"Yeah, like a password!" Amara cried. "That's a great idea!"

"Or a secret handshake," said Jamie.

"But you guys, we can't have a secret handshake," Kitty insisted. "I mean, it's gonna be obvious what we're doing. And we'll look weird."

"Not if it's something really small," said Ray. "Like that game, Psychiatrist. You guys ever played that? You send one person out of the room, and then everybody else decides on one thing they have in common . . . like a movement they do, or a word they say, or the way they answer questions, or something they change about their clothes . . . and then the psychiatrist comes back in and has to guess what it is. I played it with my friends at my old school, and we once kept a round going for twenty minutes just because we started every sentence with 'Um'."

"That's great!" said Sam. "So, like, when you see somebody in the hall at school, you just . . . I dunno, wink or something. And then they have to say back, "Um, hi, Sam," or, "Um, get out of my way," Or "Um whatever," and then we know. And if somebody doesn't do it, then that somebody is Mystique."

"And nobody's going to notice a little thing like a wink," Amara elaborated. "Or 'um'. Everybody says that. So we'll always know."

Gambit grinned at her and winked. She giggled. "Um, hi, Gambit."

"It don't work if y'giggle," Gambit told her.

Amara forced her expression into studied neutrality. "Right. No giggling."

"I think ve can do zis," said Kurt. "I think it vill vork."

Rogue nodded. "Yeah."

"Sign an' countersign," Gambit said again. "No forgettin' it. No exceptions. And no spreadin' it around. Not to Amanda, or Lance, or anybody. Dis is about keepin' each other safe. So we all countin' on each other t'keep dis secret between us. Right?"

"Right," echoed everybody. The stress and worry that had been smothering the room at the start of the conversation was suddenly gone. In its place was excitement and assurance. Nothing picked the mood up like starting a secret club. And Rogue was calm again.

When Gambit went upstairs to put his books away before dinner, he was not surprised to turn and see Rogue standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

"Y'always manage to come save me," she observed.

Gambit let a half-smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "I like savin' you."

"How come?"

"'Cause it makes you smile."

He could see her fighting it, but in the end she lost the battle, and smiled. "Thank you."

He crossed the room and wrapped her up in his arms, holding her tight as he breathed in the scent of her, part magnolias and part cold, clear air from miles above the ground and part something dark and rich and spicy-sweet that he couldn't quite identify. He wanted to tell her something . . . something about how that smell made him feel secure and calm, or about how he loved the way she rubbed her face against his chest when she was tired or sad, or how her trust made him believe that he was still worth something in this world. But when it came right down to it, he found that most of these ideas were very hard to articulate. So instead he said, "Yo'welcome, chère," and left it at that.

Author's Notes: All the French in this chapter is stuff you guys already know, so . . . no French lesson today. Sorry.