A/N: For anyone still interested...the long-awaited 9th chapter.


He didn't wait. Even his healing abilities sped against the natural occurence of time.

He liked to strike quick and hard. No opponent was too big, too fast, too smart for him. With the exception of the runt and, most recently: Magneto, he had never been defeated or postponed. But it's been weeks and weeks since this whole plan was set in motion, since his target—his prey—was identified and left dangling before his dripping fangs.

He wanted the little whisp of the girl, wanted her fear and her pretty little screams. Wanted to rape her in every sense of the word—poison. If she was able to maintain sanity, if she was somehow able to go on with a normal life after he was done with her...Well, that would mean he hadn't done his job very well.

But the Superior and his two goons were holding him back and the strain was making itself more and more apparent. He just needed a chance, an opening. An opportunity to snatch her away without the X-Men being able to fall into their unfailing habit of getting in the way.

But he's been here every night, just far enough from the outskirts of the property to stay hidden from Wolverine's hourly scouts—and nothing. Air tight.

But he didn't wait, and bloodlust was causing planning and logic to bow under adrenaline and need.

...

Beep. Beep.

Rogue knew, with no hesitation whatsoever, that she was in her bed.

Not the too small, too cold, too hard bed that the X-Men were letting her use, but her bed. The bed she'd had since she was old enough to have a bed. The bed that felt like it had marshmallows for a mattress and clouds for pillows; with a sigh-inducing combination of silk sheets and cotton blankets.

The bed she'd cried on with her mother supporting her from the side, the bed she'd laughed on during numerous phone conversations with her friends, the bed she and Cody had been curled up in on movie nights. The bed that still smelled of her vanilla shampoo and strawberry body wash and smoke from the fireplace.

She smiled contentedly and curled into a smaller cocoon. The heat from the fire was basking her entire self in warmth, and kept her so very groggy that there was no hope for her to even try and leave the comfort of her bed.

"Are you awake, James?"

Her eyes opened involuntarily and she felt herself smiling at the stocky man. "Barely, father."

The man grinned, though she could hardly see his mouth through his thick beard. She watched as he removed his heavy coat to reveal old-fashioned clothing. He threw his boots by the fireplace and hung his musket on a wooden knob by the door.

It all seemed so foreign. Yet she knew this; she'd seen him do this a thousand times before.

"Let me see your hands, son." He reached beneath the blanket and brought her small, bandaged hands closer to his face for a better examination.

"They're much better, father," her mouth was working of its own accord once again. "Only horribly itchy still."

"No pain then?" He searched her eyes with his deep brown ones, and she felt all the love and devotion he had for her.

"Kitty! Kitty, honey, you're late, time to wake up!"

"No, no pain." But her attention was now on the woman's voice. Where was it coming from? It couldn't be mother, for mother died years before from the grippe.

She missed Mother's soft hands and crooning voice. She'd been gentle like the most delicate rose; just as beautiful too, with hair as red as the flower itself. As far as she was concerned the woman she married would be just like mother: beautiful, serene, filled to the brim with an inner kindness that warmed those around her.

Except she remembered losing Mama somehow: not in death, but because of forces she had no control over; people or things that were far beyond her realm but in her life somehow.

She looked out the window to try and find where the voice was coming from, but saw nothing except the forest and mountains she'd known all her life.

She turned to examine the other window, but was greeted with sunny skies and reddish-colored earth. Mississippi?

There was a burning in her knuckles and a crazed need to scratch them overtook her. She fought against her father's increasing hold and ripped the bandages from her hands and they were bleeding. Her knuckles were straining against the skin.

"James! James stop it!"

She could smell her father's fear, sense the increase flutter of his heart, hear the snow hitting the roof.

"Katherine Pryde, you get out of that bed right this instant!"

And she was falling again: through the bed and through the floor and then she was surrounded by water; and her cushioned bed was gone and her safe log cabin and her father and her mother and she was going to get grounded for sure, and there was a school dance this weekend and Cody—no—Lance, yes, Lance already asked her and...

And the figures in white were back and the bones protruding from her hands were no longer bones. She could smell the metal they used all over her body and it was making her want to vomit and she was thrashing and they were trying to contain her.

But this time she was ready for them.

...

Some months later, during one of their routine skirmishes in the Danger Room, Logan confessed to Rogue that most of his memory was blurred. He asked her about what she saw. How did he escape the facility? He had a feeling, but didn't want to believe it.

She answered in all truth that, mercifully enough, whenever this memory resurfaced she could see and hear nothing until the very end. But when she was done her vision returned and she was always in the middle of the metal room: knuckles throbbing and skin sticky.

She tried to assure him that it was probably nothing more than sweat or substances from the tank, but there was no need for her to lie. He already knew.

...

White lights. Too bright for her eyes. A soothing voice:

"I'm reaching her." The Professor.

In his chair. One hand on his temple and the other reaching for her. He was pleading both physically and mentally.

Wolverine on her left, Remy on her right. Both scooting closer. Trying to stop her. Stop her from...

Rogue looked down. In her grip was a terrified Scott. There were bones and they were dripping with blood from where they pierced the skin of her hands. They were pressed against Scott's throat and if she would've been asleep any longer she would have killed him.

She dropped her hold with a shriek and watched as Joseph and Kitty ran forward to help the traumatized man to stand. In their eyes was fear. All of their eyes. They were all terrified of her and she didn't blame them; she was terrified of herself. One minute she'd been in a log cabin with her father, and the next—No.

She brought her still-bleeding hands to her temples and tried to breathe. No. Not her father. Her father was Nick Fury, and her mother was Raven Fury, and she was Rogue Fury and she'd never even known someone named Lance!

Logan reached her first and she felt a catch between his soul and hers but she was too dizzy to try and figure it all out. He held her against him and they both sank down to the ground together.

"Hurt like a motherfucker, don't they?" He was smiling, and she found comfort in that.

She nodded, promising herself that she was not going to cry in front of these people, and he brushed what she guessed was blood from her cheek. He took her hands in his, and it reminded her of the man in the cabin. She knew that Logan would help her.

"Gumbo!" He said suddenly, "get everyone outta here. She don't need no audience."

Remy nodded, and looked at the two of them before doing what he was told. He didn't know what to be more shocked about: that the girl was still standing after losing so much blood, after almost killing a boy, after bones pierced her flesh; or that the Wolverine not only had a heart, but was showing it. Both were pretty shock-worthy.

"Come on, Scotty." He gave the still-pale X-Man a friendly kick on the ass. "Barely a scratch on y'. Git."

"All I did was go in to give her some food!" Scott said to Jean when she came to his side and encouraged him along. "And she just...she just..."

Soon the room was cleared save for the professor and himself. He threw one last look over his shoulder before he left. It seemed Rogue was even more intriguing than he originally thought.

...

The retracting of the claws was decidedly less painful than the initial extension, and after a shower, a hot meal, and a pain pill Rogue settled back into the little room she'd escaped from earlier and slept the rest of the night away. She rested comfortably knowing that Logan would honor his promise and stay next to her bed until she woke in the morning. There was a bond between them that came fast and strong.

She loved him subconsciously because her brain knew that he was a part of her; and he loved her because she was the only other person in the world to know exactly what he experienced. From what she told him before she fell asleep, she'd been in the tank, seen the men in white, seen his father. She saw the things he couldn't remember, and somewhere inside Logan felt excited, maybe even hopeful. She could be the key to his past.

...

"It's simply incredible," he said to the blue doctor as they made their way to the lower levels the next morning. "For her mind to completely heal itself in such a short time...it is unheard of!" Xavier shook is head and smiled up at his companion. "Have you ever seen anything like it, Henry?"

Beast entered the code on the keypad and the doors to the infirmary swooshed open. They both stepped through and the equally-excited doctor chuckled.

"You know I haven't. Nothing like this has ever even been recorded, Charles. There are numerous cases of telepathy, teleportation, invisibility, flight, and such—even Magneto has a match to his magnetism in Joseph. But Rogue is something completely all her own."

"If Rogue consents, I will contact Moira immediately. I do not feel that we can handle something like this on our own, my friend."

"Couldn't agree more."

The two men headed over to the encased room and Hank peeked inside with a smile. "Logan is certainly very protective of our southern friend, is he not? I haven't seen him take a liking to a student quite so quickly."

Xavier's brow furrowed. "Indeed he is, I just hope he isn't counting on her for answers."

"Charles?"

The older man only laced his fingers together at Henry's inquiry, and brought the connected fist to his chin.

"If I know Logan at all, which I like to thing that I do, he will take what Rogue says at face value and will run blindly searching for the past he lost." He smiled sadly. "I just wish our friend could forget the restraints of the past and look towards his happiness in the present and the hope for the future."

Silence filled the space in between them momentarily, but soon they proceeded to their desired location.

"He hasn't slept all night."

Hank didn't need much evidence to support this, he could easily see the black half circles beneath Logan's eyes. He was in the exact same spot that the doctor left him the night before.

Hank quickly adjusted his image inducer before typing in the code to open the door. He saw the look his mentor gave him and shrugged in what he hoped was a careless fashion.

"Ms. Fury has not seen anything other than this form," he explained. "And I do not feel that startling her in the delicate state she's in would be wise."

He could tell that the professor wanted to discuss this matter further, but just then Wolverine was in front of them with a tired smile.

"Chuck. Fur ball." He jutted his thumb out behind him. "She still ain't woke up yet, but from what I can tell she's having some pretty messed up dreams."

Xavier smiled. "Thank you for your dedication, Logan. You must be exhausted." He wheeled further into the room and rested his hand above his newest pupils forehead. "Why don't you get some rest, my friend," he said with his eyes still closed, "I'll need you quite refreshed for the conference tomorrow."

There was no mistaking the immediate challenge in Logan's tone. "What? You can't be serious, Chuck!"

"Of course I am." He lifted his hand away from Rogue's forehead and gave Henry a small smile. "Would you mind excusing us, Henry? Logan and I have some things to discuss."

"Certainly." He left the room.

Logan barely waited until the doors were fully closed before starting right in. "That's nuts! Now ain't the time to be worryin' about some conference that won't change a damn thing!"

"Now, Logan," he soothed, "We've had this planned for months. This conference may not set things into motion just yet, but it is a chance to hear the thoughts of our counterparts and to have ours heard. This could be the beginning of an understanding between humans and mutants. They're scared of us, Logan. They know we exist yet have heard nothing from us. If we simply answer some of their questions—"

"I get that!" The redness of his neck was steadily creeping into his rugged face. "But why do you need me?" His gaze inevitably went to the small girl in the bed. "Shouldn't someone stay here with the kids?"

Xavier examined him serenely. "You know I have complete trust in Jean, Kitty, Scott, and Joseph. This conference is only two days long; they've held down the fort longer than that, as you already know."

Anger that was apparent enough to see sparked from the Canadian. But the professor, who'd seen Logan in his more feral times, did not back down or blink. He'd made his decision and would stand by it.

And Logan knew this. He could scream, go on a rampage, threaten to leave the team; but none of that would move the immobile. He would have to take his violence out on the androids in the Danger Room.

"Fine," he bit out, "but who're you expectin' to take care of her? The kids are scared shitless."

...

"...run my tongue from y' ears to y' toes. Stop on de way to nibble on y' neck—"

She knew she heard the entire conversation, but only began understanding what was being said when her eyes began to flutter and her mind became more aware. The medication she was taking for the unbearable migraines (the wounds on her knuckles had long since healed) was lovely in a way: she didn't dream those horrible, confusing dreams; couldn't cry because she was never awake long enough.

But at the same time she felt a constant grogginess and confusion she didn't like at all.

"...an' y' know dat whipped cream y' keep in de fridge? I'm gonna—"

Like now for instance. She was trying desperately to remember what Logan and Xavier had woken her up to say, but all that came were flashes of their faces and bits of sentences. It was important, she knew that, yet she couldn't bring her drugged mind to remember, darn it.

"I bet y' will, y' naughty, naughty t'ing. Y' know what naughty filles get? Dat's right p'tite: spankin's."

Her mind whirred to life after a particularly dirty line and she sat up in the bed, finally alert enough to wake fully. Whatever that conversation was about had obviously made Wolverine angry, she remembered that much.

Yawning and preparing her body for the effort of sneaking herself back to her room, Rogue kicked her legs over the side of the bed and came face-to-face with none other than Gambit.

He stopped in mid-sentence. Blinked once, twice. "I'll have to call y' back, p'tite." He slipped the phone in a pocket and grinned at her.

He remained completely casual, and was even demented enough to look happy to see that she was awake—as if he hadn't just been having phone sex with his girlfriend right beside her sick bed.

"Gambit." She could feel her left eye beginning to twitch and her palms sweat.

"Chére."

She exploded beneath his calm demeanor. "What the hell are ya doin' here? Ah'm sick, swamp rat! This is an infirmary in case ya hadn't noticed! Ya can't just sit in here like ya own the place and phone-screw ya girlfriend!"

He waved what she said away. "Wasn't even my girlfriend."

Her mouth popped open for lack of a better reaction, and she stared in shock at the Cajun's nonchalance over his shameful actions. It was like he knew not what things like 'embarrassment' or 'decency' meant. More importantly though, he still hadn't explained his presence in the infirmary.

"So," he threw his booted feet onto the pristine sheets and rested his shaggy head on the wall behind him. "how y' feelin'?"

She noticed that his eyes had traveled to her shoulder—where, during her rant, the too-big hospital gown had slipped down to reveal more smooth skin than she would ever want the likes of Remy LeBeau to see.

"What," she yanked up the gown, "are ya doin' here?"

She could feel her face reddening, and she hated that she was always the one left red-faced, tongue-tied, and unsettled after each of their encounters. He was the one who'd been caught in such a humiliating situation, he was the one with all the explaining to do, yet here she was feeling awkward and flustered.

"I am here, ma chérie, to watch over y'." He stood then and motioned for her to do the same.

Her arms went across her chest snottily. "Oh no. Ah'm not goin' anywhere with ya!" Inside her heart was pounding.

It sounded stupid even to her own ears, but Logan had promised to be there when she woke and she'd clung desperately to his promise. She was a Daddy's-girl through and through; though her father could never be replaced it still felt nice to know she was protected, and Logan with his shielding ways was just the person she needed.

For some reason she couldn't yet comprehend she felt as if she'd known the gruff man for much longer than a couple months. She trusted him unquestioningly and wanted him here to watch over her, not a dirty two-timing piece of gumbo trash that couldn't care less about her well being.

He seemed annoyed, yet expectant at her response. "Den y' don' wanna go to y' room an' shower? Don' know 'bout y', mais whenever I'm in here all I can t'ink about is gettin' out."

Foot in mouth. "Oh. Well..."

He was doing it again, being all sweet out of no where and making it so she didn't know what to think of him: was he a bad boy with a soft heart? Or just plain bad?

"Ah'm sorry," she murmured around her confusion. "Ah'm just tired."

She slid the rest of the way off of the bed and had to cling to the thin metal rail to keep from falling. She faced Remy, who had moved to keep her upright, and dared him with a glare to try and help her in any way.

He respected that—just a little. He returned his hands to his pockets with a smirk and stood by while she forced air into her lungs and visibly prepared herself for movement. The slight trembling of her knees made her no less strong in his opinion.

Slowly they moved through the mansion. She stared at the back of his head most of the trip, thinking of the exhaustion in her very bones and the small pocket of hurt ballooning in her chest.

"So Logan just...left?"

He turned back to smirk at her, completely seeing through the careless way she was behaving. "He had no choice. He had to accompany Xavier to Washington. De trips been planned for nearly a year."

"Oh." Her gaze turned downcast.

" 'Sides," he came face-to-face with her and opened the door to her bedroom with a flourish. "Y' got me, remember?"

She couldn't quite bite back her smile in time, and Remy purposefully blocked her escape with his arm. He reveled in her grin and even sported one of his own.

"Maybe de ice princess not so icy, hein?"

Instead of letting him get a rise out of her like she knew he so enjoyed doing, the belle remained just as playful as he and even batted her lashes just a bit. "Promise ya won't tell anybody?"

She ducked under his arm and winked, closing the door and resting her back against it before he could come up with a reply. Her heart was pounding harshly in her ears from excitement and disbelief. Had she been flirting? With Remy LeBeau of all people?

Yep. She definitely needed to stop taking those pills—no matter how froth-y they made her feel.

...

Breakfast the next morning was probably the most tense she'd ever suffered through in all fifteen years of her life. Worse than the morning after prom even, when she'd had the hangover from hell and Mama had made her force down every morsel of food she prepared as a sort of round-a-bout punishment for Rogue's actions the night prior.

She could literally see awkward sparks sizzling between she and the other members at the table. The younger kids stared and whispered, Scott avoided her at all costs, Joseph was babbling, Kitty was too sweet, and Jean made a point of spearing her eggs extra violently whenever she looked Rogue's way.

Remy...well. Remy was just Remy.

He alone seemed pleasant and unaffected by the less-than-comfortable atmosphere surrounding him. Clanking his silverware loudly, the Cajun made one-sided conversation with whoever would listen, he didn't seem to mind whether actual participation was put forth or not.

"You're barely touchin' y' food," he said around a moutful of self-made omelette and French toast. "aren't y' hungry?"

Rogue glanced down gloomily at her own sorry excuse for a breakfast—soggy Cheerios in warm milk—and let out a sigh. She was going to try and guilt Remy into making her something just as delicious as what was on his plate when Jean finally ended her silence.

"You must not be feeling completely well yet." She took a dainty sip of her orange juice and let her turquoise eyes convery her true feelings. "Maybe you should go back to the Medlab until you're one hundred percent again."

Kitty and Joseph's forced chatter ended then, leaving only the sound of Remy's chewing to fill up the sudden, even more oppressing silence.

"Ah feel fine," was all she could muster. In no way was she fooled by Jean's sugary-sweet 'concern.'

"Come on, p'tite." He shoveled the rest of his food in his mouth and stood. "Nice day outside for a Yankee state, non? Let's say you an' I hit de town, get y' some fresh air."

She went red, not knowing if it was due to her recent ordeal or Remy's careless invitation.

He followed her through the swinging door and into the kitchen, and she was silently fuming the whole way. He was just so confident and...and sure that she had nothing better to do than to dip out of the mansion, hop on that purring bike of his that she'd heard at all times of night from the window, wrap her arms around that waist of his, let her hair blow in the warm breeze...

And to pretend to be normal—just for a little while longer. She knew that normalcy would be coming to an end soon: bones didn't pop from knuckles and voices didn't whisper in minds for no reason—and that life was changing around her; she needed to hold on to The Now.

She knew all of this and yet still remained numb to it. Her mind couldn't yet grasp the thought of being part of the race she'd pitied so much over the years. She didn't hate mutants, but she certainly didn't want to be one—who did these days? And from what she'd endured so far, she could already tell that her condition (she still couldn't label it as her 'mutation') wasn't at all useful and wonderful like Mama's.

And the world could end tomorrow. Her hair could fall out. She could begin wrinkling prematurely.

And she got angry. Livid. An animalistic fury like none she'd ever experienced formed in her stomach and boiled and brewed until her entire self felt scorched by the heat of it all.

"Ah'd like that."

She was done thinking.


That took FOREVER. Literally. I don't think I've ever made you all wait THAT long...

Thank you to all who still read and review. Believe it or not: YOU people are my motivation. Especially Ruroca(Darling your sweet and supportive e-mails brighten my day. It's wonderful to know someone can care so much) and Scribblemyname(I love you, ma'am, as you surely know by now. You're my inspiration and friend).

The ending of this chapter didn't come together quite as nicely as I would have liked, but alas. Expect things to take a sudden and unexpectant turn next chapter.

Review Please :]