"Touch"

Chapter Six: "The Scream"

The endless meadow, stretching out in all directions. Soft breeze, gently caressing her skin, lining it up with goosebumps. Warmth, and the feeling of his stomach, rising and falling with every breath. His fingers, firm yet gentle, caressing her hair. His presence, the bare reality of him there. Always there, always by her side.

His hand went from her hair onto her shoulder, cupping over it. She shivered, her aphephobia rising. She tensed up. Scott immediately responded by brushing his lips against her forehead. His voice, light as a feather, in her ears.

"Shhh, it's alright."

Rogue looked at him. He still had his visor on and it was impossible to tell where he was looking. The cyclopean eye always seemed to watch her, no matter where she was.

She cuddled up closer to him, pulled him as close as she could. He responded in kind.

Gentle clouds overhead, floating on by.

She knew that he wasn't always watching her. No. But even in those moments where Rogue sat nearby him and Jean, she liked to think, to imagine that he was looking at her instead. Over Jean's shoulder and at her. Made her both nervous and excited. She loved the imaginary attention. She loathed it. She hated being watched, absolutely despised the thought and adored, fucking loved it.

"It's alright. I'm always watching you. I'm always there."

"Ah know. Ah know ya notice. Ah know you pay attention."

"More than that. I watch you. I love the sight of you – it makes me remember that you're real. That you're there."

"Ah know..." she bit her lower lip, "Ah wish Ah was somethin' to look at. Ah wish Ah was..."

"You wish you were what?" he asked, that soft sway of tone that told her, he wasn't trying to pump her for that information but gently lead her by the hand.

"Ah hate mahself." Rogue said, "Ah despise mahself. Ah'm the worst. Ah'm a thief, a taker... Ah'm ugly. Ah'm ugly on the inside and out. Ah'm a degenerate."

"Shush, now!"

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. She froze up. His kiss felt warm, tender, meant to silence her with the assurance that what she was saying couldn't be further from the truth.

He withdrew after a second or two. Her heart was beating out of her chest.

"Wha…"

"Why are you a degenerate, or a thief, or a... what was it, taker?"

"Scott, half the time, Ah don't even have mah own thoughts! Ah think like you or crave like Logan!"

"I know that. That wasn't what I was asking."

"Ah know..."

"It's alright. I won't run away. I'm here."

She clenched her teeth, but her tongue was eager to let loose the words. She tried to keep them back, but he kept kissing her, landing butterfly kisses all over her face, telling her it was alright, that he was there...

"You know what Ah used to do, all the time, when we were in school? Before we were ousted?"

"No."

"Ah'd touch random people. Ah'd live their lives, see what they had gone'n'done... feel their feelings, see their sights, listen to their music... and sometimes, just sometimes, Ah'd be beautiful. Ah'd look at mahself in the mirror, just that morning and a trillion times throughout their life, and there Ah would be, porcelain skin an' all, with all the clothes Ah'm supposed to wear, and all the friends Ah have that keep telling me, you're beautiful, and Ah know that, Ah know it but..."

She sobbed. Tears. Why was she doing this? Why was it that every time she told him these things, she cried? Was she so utterly incapable of responding in any other way?

"Ah just wanted... Ah just wanted to feel what it was like, if only for that second. To be told that, to be loved, to be held. But Ah can't control it, everythin' else just gets in."

"Y'know, I caught you sneaking a touch to Taryn once."

Her eyes widened. She looked up, and saw the gleaming red of the ruby quartz visor looking right back. Both the visor and his face were smiling.

"You... knew?"

"It wasn't that big a secret. Everyone knew you had made it a habit of actually touching people – the rumors all said different things about why you were doing it, but I knew, yes."

"Ah told you. Thief. Taker. No privacy to them, but all of it to me... this, too. Nobody knows. Nobody knows but you."

"It isn't up to me to judge, or them. Rogue, to touch is a very basic need. It's one of the few things that assure us the others around us are real, that what we are seeing is something malleable, something solid. Without that, without this,"-one hand running through her hair, fingers interlocking with strands, making her shiver all over- "who's to say if it is really here or not?"

"But Ah..."

"No. It's alright. You didn't hurt anyone. They were safe."

"Ah didn't mean to..." sobs, tears, all of it, pouring out, "Ah didn't... didn't mean..."

"Shhh... it's alright. It's alright."

His arms, gentle, strong, surrounding her. His warmth.

Like home.

Rogue woke up to the smiling face of Charles Xavier. The face she knew to be the face of kindness that helped him thro...

No. Scott's thoughts. Kind, familiar and warm. Why him, she wondered?

It was his warm smile, fatherly and eager. It relaxed her for a split second, before a full recollection of what had happened during the night, along with running commentary from all the screaming voices, flashed before her eyes. Her fear must have been strong enough for the prof to react to it, as he lifted one eyebrow.

To him, her thoughts were screaming.

"No..." Charles said, "Don't do that."

Rogue's fear only increased. Charles rolled his chair back, putting some distance between them. Rogue was panicking steadily, trying to discern how much he knew, how much he had actually heard from her. How much did he know? Did he know her secret? No, think of something else.

"Stop it... Rogue..."

Think of something else, something else, not the presence, not touching almost everyone at school, no, none of that, but something different, like the recurring dream that Kitty shared, or...

"That's quite enough!"

Rogue felt her mental processes come to a grinding halt. All the others inside her head shut up, as suddenly as they had started to scream out all the things she didn't want to remember, as Xavier's mental touch stretched across Rogue's mind like a shadow. Everything fell to dead silence as the shadow-mind lingered there, for one precarious second, and slowly receded.

At least it made the others shut up and cleared her head.

"I'm sorry for that." Charles said, rubbing his temples. A few moments of silence, where Rogue became certain that the prof hadn't heard anything through the noise.

He spoke first.

"You never told me it was this bad. Telepathy on a normal day is similar, yes, as people rarely think in fully-formed thoughts or ideas but... your mind, on the other hand, is... overcrowded. I couldn't even hear one quarter-complete thought amidst all the others."

"Ah'm sorry." Rogue said, sitting up on the bed. No matter what, she knew how bad it could be – let alone for a telepath who went through that on a regular basis.

"No, it's not your fault." Charles said, cranking his neck, "Although..." Rogue held her breath, "I do have a question."

She was on the verge of breaking down and telling him all about last night. But something inside her, a devious little voice she couldn't quite identify, told her to stay put.

"Even by the most generous account," Charles said, "it just shouldn't be this crowded in your mind, the echoes shouldn't be this many in number. Do I need to know anything?"

She thought it best to tell the truth. Not because he could hear it, he clearly couldn't, but because she wanted to trade in one truth she couldn't tell with one that she could.

"Ah... Ah used ta touch random strangers... back at school."

"Used to?"

"Before Apocalypse. Ah used ta touch someone that caught mah eye, like Taryn..."

"Scott's former love interest?"

"Yeah..."

"Why?"

Rogue bit her lower lip. Drew her knees up closer.

Charles didn't need anything else to understand. It wasn't a surprise, really, he had felt some of her stronger emotions on occasion, but as per his lack of desire to pry, had left it as it was. It didn't seem to complicate things for anyone else but Rogue, and the issue was poignant enough that he felt that he had no right to interfere. As for the larger picture, Charles understood well enough her need for human contact, which would only increase in time.

"I understand." He said, "Well, I thought we could do a session right now. I would normally give you more time to recover, but..."

"You're scared Ah might go off on one?"

"Not quite, no."

Charles smiled warmly. Chilled Rogue to the bone.

She put on her usual face and told him about the dream, straight up. Told him about Kitty's dream also, that they were along the same lines and both recurring. He seemed oddly disinterested in Kitty's dreams, but Rogue was just glad that he wasn't going to stay on that topic. Last night had been strange enough without Kitty cat in the mix.

"Hm." Charles said, "There is something quite odd about this. I have seen, studied and even have had recurring dreams, but usually, there is no change in context or events. The dream just loops, but in your case... circumstances, your environment, everything changes. The only constant seems to be Scott's presence." He smiled, "Which is easy enough to explain."

Rogue just looked at him. Thought he'd see through her glare and understand what she wanted to tell him.

He already knew, so he let her assume she had had to make him understand and left it at that.

After the professor left, Rogue quickly pulled on the clothes he had brought her. He had made sense: her dark gray chinos and a surprisingly compatible, light blue-on-black checkered shirt, short-sleeved. Her black flats. Must have been a lukewarm day outside. She got dressed and went up, itching to grab a hold of her mp3 player and create a soundtrack for her thoughts, if only just to organize them around something she was comfortable around.

As the elevator ascended, she felt as if she hadn't seen the actual mansion in forever.

Once she was there, she didn't feel anything but relaxation. Warm, bright light bled through the windows and for a moment, dazzled her. Giving a half-smile's tribute to it, she heard the sounds from the outside: again, the shrieks, screams and mock protests of glee. Mutant powers given free reign, and a bundle of fucking laughs as a bonus.

Rogue went up to her room.

She found Kitty on her laptop, typing away furiously. She seemed so intent on the task that Rogue didn't know whether to greet her or not. Decided it'd be best not to disturb the flow of her key-demolishing.

Rogue hadn't taken two steps towards her half of the room when Kitty finally let out an exasperated grunt. Rogue knew that little sound – she sometimes employed it herself, unconsciously. She almost spoke out, asking Kitty what was wrong, but remembered, she didn't have to.

"Why is Lance such an idiot?" she said, "I keep telling him that it's the better thing to do, but nooo, he just can't tear away from his roots, can he, Mister Brotherhood! Ugh!"

She shook her laptop as if she wanted to shake the hardware loose.

Rogue didn't say anything. She proceeded to fumble around her mess of a room-half for her mp3 player.

"I just don't know why he wastes his time hanging out with like a bunch of juvenile delinquents in a rundown old house when he could be here, with us! We always have to meet on Neutral Ground, that's what Queekseelver calls it, apparently – streets of Bayville. We can hardly like get to sit on a park bench without someone whispering,"-voice shifting to the best imitation of a hoarse whisper-"Mutie! Mutie!"

Rogue found what she was looking for and lingered, aimlessly, and started to untangle the headphones. Heaven alone knew how these things even got that tangled up just sitting there by themselves.

"I mean, is it too much to ask for a little tolerance on his part? Cyke isn't the most difficult guy to hang with and-"

"Cyke?"

"Cyclops."

"He has a name, y'know."

"Yeah, but I like Cyke better. It almost sounds like a name." Kitty smiled, leaning back, "Like Rogue."

Kitty realized what she was implying a full minute of apologies before Rogue even had an inkling of what her roommate was sorry for.

Rogue really wouldn't mind. It wasn't like she remembered her own name or anything.

After letting Kitty vent off her last bit of anger, Rogue proceeded downstairs and went straight out. Of course, the front yard was a merry-go-round of mutant gifts. The more destructive-yet-fun ones, like Tabitha's, Jubilee's and Alison's were on display. Rogue froze up right after getting out of the door. The calmer days were replete with small bits of collateral damage from their well-meaning power trips, and she didn't want to get caught in the crossfire in this rather excited day. If she did, however, he could always teleport and... no. Kurt's thoughts.

Of course, upon seeing her, the entire crowd stopped dead and fell silent. Rogue felt all eyes on her and shirked for a moment, but then decided to put on the façade of carelessness to make it through. The Rogue wouldn't give a fuck. The Rogue they knew wouldn't give a fuck, and so wouldn't she.

But, she did. Every step through that crowd of stares –admiring, scared, cautious, inquisitive, curious- took her deeper into her sense of detachment. She left them behind and when they were sure she was far enough that she wouldn't be offended by their actions, they promptly picked it right up.

She sat down on her usual spot in the gazebo. Behind her, far and wee, were the sounds of their happiness. In her hands, the entangled cords of the headphones. In her head, thoughts of yesternight.

Maybe she should just multiply, be at three places at once and then... no. Jamie's thoughts. Not her own.

She put the headphones on and blocked out one more sensation from the world – the sense of the others, far off and happy. It didn't make one lick of difference, anyway, she couldn't go along with their games. She didn't have any real powers, not unless she touched one of them. But they knew, all of them – knew that the Rogue came at night and took your memories, your secrets. Your crushes, whom you thought about when you bit into the pillows at sleepless nights to keep your roommate from waking up, private moments of your parents, your intimate joys and sorrows. The Rogue took and the Rogue knew.

Closing her eyes, she let the music take over. Drifted.

The breeze flowing through the gazebo formed goosebumps on her skin and she welcomed the touch.

Familiar touch across her cheek, the back of his hand, brushing against her skin. So familiar that it almost didn't register in her mind. Yet, the flash of fresh emotions, like guilt and worry and buried underneath it, affection and care startled her. The colors of grey. She knew who it was. She took off her headphones and sat up, prompting Scott to sit next to her.

He wasn't wearing his normal glasses. Instead, he had his visor on. Wind made him shiver and she knew, from his touch, that he hurt. His face hurt, and worse yet, he couldn't shave. He hadn't been able to sleep much because every time his cheek hit the pillow, he hurt.

Moment of silence. Comfortable, yet tense.

"How are you feeling?" Scott asked.

"Okay, Ah guess. Ah think Ah'm doin' better than you."

He smiled, an expression that immediately melted into a grimace.

"Ah'm sorry, Scott." Rogue said.

"You apologize too much." Scott replied, trying to smile again, much to the same effect, "It's not your fault. I am the one who should apologize. I'm the one who fucked it up. Couldn't protect the others, couldn't even protect myself in the middle of it – worse, I put you in a place you shouldn'tve been in. If it weren't for me, none of this," he pointed to his face, "would have happened."

"No." Rogue said, unable to look into his visor, that always seemed to watch her no matter what she did, "No. Ah didn't have control. Ah didn't have enough resistance. Ah should have been... better." She chuckled bitterly, "And to think, after all that practice Ah've had, Ah still can't control this."

Scott sighed and leaned back, his elbow brushing against her arm. She shivered at the contact, but it didn't produce anything. Just thoughts swimming under the surface. She knew that gesture: leaning back, head cocked upwards and thus began Mister Summers' Staring Contest with the Ceiling. She had to break the contact by using something, anything she knew, like causing the door to sl... she couldn't. There was no door. And she certainly wasn't Jean Grey.

But with the Miss Perfect echo, came all of her emotions. Looking at Scott, tearing at himself with his over-zealous guilt and volatile self-loathing, she felt nothing but the desire to run her fingers through his hair and tell him, it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. That's what Jean would have done. Jean knew all the right things to say, so Rogue knew them as well.

But the Rogue wouldn'tve said anything. So she didn't. She let him sit there, thinking up of new ways to apologize.

"Listen," Rogue said, "This ain't exactly mah way of puttin' it, and ya know who it belongs to, so... This ain't as bad as you think it is. Sure, shit went down, no arguments there, but nobody died. If anythin, Logan's pleased that Drake finally had something knock him down a notch. Maybe it'll teach Jamie some caution, Ah don't know – point is, it can all work out. Ya know it will."

"But I..."

"Not done here, sugah." Rogue said, "Yeah, you instigated it, but what about me? Didn't Ah agree to it? Didn't Drake?"

"That's not..."

"It's not? Ah thought everybody volunteered for your experiment, so how the fuck're you the only one ta blame? Huh, Summers?"

Scott rose an eyebrow and shot her what she thought was a sideways glance. He then started to laugh, often stopping to grimace or clench his teeth, but still, it was a laughter that elicited half a smile from Rogue.

Smiling, Scott said, "You're right, that's not your way of putting it. You lifted that word-by-word, too."

"Ah did?"

"Yeah."

"Ah just thought... about what'd... have the best impact and..."

Scott's brow creased. That cute little brow that she adored, that she... no, that hadn't been her, that'd been Jean. But hadn't she? Hadn't she caressed and kissed and leaned against that brow many times? Hadn't she done that? Didn't she...

Yes, Rogue heard a voice tell her, after all, he knows you better than anyone ever has or ever will.

So she relaxed, her final reservations drowned out by the sickly-sweet Jean Grey in her head, and Rogue reached out to Scott. She wrapped her arm around his, interlocking her fingers with his, and leaned against him, one hand brushing against his cheek.

"Rogue what..."

Lips sliding against his cheek. Affection, lust, the actual ecstasy of skin against skin... she closed her eyes.

Scott choked.

"What're... wha... Ro... Rogue..."

Why was he whispering her name!? What the fuck was his problem anyway, why did he like that little rogue so much? What did he see in the company of that goth?

Lips on lips. His scent, strong, pleasant, in her nostrils, filling her body with much-needed sensations barely there. Memories awakening, and some falling asleep, race to full pulse on and his breath against hers...

Scott's body growing limp snapped her back to attention.

Like surfacing after a deep dive, she suddenly became very aware of a barely-breathing Scott summers pressed up against her.

The Rogue, reclaiming the driver's seat and looking on ahead.

Panic.

She screamed her lungs off as she kicked Scott away. He slumped across the seat and then fell onto the ground, as she, struggling, a mess of limbs and no coordination, fell also.

Rogue looked at him, pale, lying there, broken, drained and did what she could. She screamed for help.