Chapter 10

John couldn't get enough air in his lungs with the heavy smoke pouring through the alley, couldn't see very well past the watering of his eyes, but he'd be damned if he wasn't having the time of his life playing with all the fire. No! He was appalled at himself for even thinking that and immediately rephrased the thought. He would be having the time of his life if it wasn't for the fact that Rogue was on the warpath. Any minute now, someone might get in a lucky shot and drop her out of the air, bringing a quick--hopefully--end to her life. Like that was a fun thing to think about!

"Fuck my life!" he yelled while collecting a ball of fire in his hand and hurling it in a stream at the crazed mutant running toward him.

See, only having to battle and perhaps kill Rogue would receive a "this fucking sucks pig nuts," but the situation was elevated to a "fuck my life" moment because Rogue hadn't come alone. Twelve goons had come with her, each one dressed in a black uniform, the chests of which were decorated with a yellow X. They had effectively laid waste to much of the Bronx and were working their way through the city in a crazed manner. Anything that got in their path was destroyed. Anyone who tried to impede their progress met an untimely end. Hell, the human soldiers President Smithson had mobilized in an attempt to put a stop to the mutant equivalent of a stampede were little better than fodder under the heat of Rogue's fury.

Of course Stupid Fucker 1 insisted on putting on a burst of speed that brought him out of the path of John's fire instead of dying the way he should have, so John had to suck the fire back onto his palm, pivot, and shoot a streaming arch of it after Speedy-Fucking-Gonzales. Again he was a second too slow and paid for it when Speedy slammed into his back with just enough momentum to throw John forward into his own flames. What? Like that was supposed to hurt?

Shaking it off, he lunged back to his feet and forced his mind to focus on one pinpoint, because trying to think and worry about Rogue while in the midst of battle would end up being the death of him. He could imagine what Calisto would order carved on his headstone. "Here lies Pretty Pyro, dead by sap-induced brain-fartage."

A scream from overhead, however, destroyed the focus he'd found when he glanced up to find Rogue hovering nearby. She was grasping her head, shaking it back and forth the way a wet dog shook off water, and screaming in a maddened state of confusion that literally broke what heart he had to see her in such a condition. The fuckers--Bayard had informed them she had been sold to a secret military mutant program not even the president was aware of-- had hurt her so badly, but still she fought to return to herself. If she could fight. He sure as Hell could too.

His chest tightened when he watched Phoenix lift into the air just behind Rogue, instant fear gripping him. Was this the moment? Was now the time for Rogue to die? A quick breath left him when Rogue whipped around and sent Phoenix hurtling away from her, though he wasn't sure if the breath was from relief or disappointment that Phoenix hadn't been able to bring it to an end. John just wanted her misery to be over whether or not Phoenix would be able to resurrect her. It was like that sci-fi story he'd been forced to read at the mansion in which elderly people were kept alive in a comatose state by machines just because people were obsessed with prolonging life. What life would there be for Rogue if she went on the way she currently was? Better to be kind than to extend her suffering. Damnit, there he went getting sappy again! He'd spent too much time around the X-Freaks lately.

John half-ducked when he heard the sound of someone hitting a wall behind him and whipped around on his heel to find Calisto grappling with Speedy-Fucking-Gonzales. Obviously she had taken up the slack for him… again, so he tightened his features. Self-preservation forced Rogue and her plight out of his mind for the time being. There was a battle to be won, and he so very much loved his pretty fire.

"Hey Pretty, pay attention to what the Hell you're doing before you get your cracker ass killed!" Calisto shouted. "Quit mooning over that psycho X-Freak and get your head in the fucking game."

"I'm the only one who gets to call them X-Freaks," he muttered. At the same time, his hand whipped out to gather up fire from the building next to them.

Fire. So beautiful, so warm, such a cherished thing. It could succor life or cause destruction, and he was the only one who could truly control or contain it, unlike that idiot wannabe who called himself the Human Torch. A half-smile cocked his lips as he expanded the flames, shaping them like a sculptor so attuned to his work that it almost became an orgasmic process. From the chaotic flames began to appear the shape of a dragon. Within moments, it was almost a living entity unto itself, for John flicked the last of the fire off his palm so that the dragon was no longer connected to him and sent the beast bounding down the alley.

Flames erupted from is gaping maw to devour one of the twelve goons. There was no describing the sense of absolute completion racing through John's veins, the euphoria bubbling up inside him until he wanted to laugh for no reason at the knowledge he had attained the pinnacle of his potential. He was a god of fire and destruction, or was that Magneto talking? No matter. All he cared about was the beautiful beast whose jaw was devouring the mutant.

Great effort was needed to draw his attention away from the display, but he forced his mind back to the task at hand. Rogue was the powerful one. She was the one they needed to deal with, because these lesser mutants could be rounded up later and would cause less overall damage to the city than a pissed off Rogue who was even now forming tornado clouds around her to hold off the Airforce fighter jets seeking to pen her in. Didn't the idiots know the more they attacked her the more her fury escalated? Of course not. God forbid the X-Freaks listen to him for any length of time when they would rather do it their own way and completely botch things. He'd already explained the whole self-preservation instinct and didn't want to have to repeat it.

John slapped the com unit on his wrist, located there because he absolutely refused to wear one of those X-Men uniforms, and said, "How many times do I have to tell you people to stop attacking her before you get it through your thick skulls? Pull those fucking jets back. The only way you're bringing her down is through an ambush."

"Remember what I told you about checkin' your snark at the door, Kid," Logan's voice emanated from the unit.

"Do you want your kid back to normal or not? Tell Cyclops to pull everyone back. She's pawning your asses hardcore, so it's obvious the 'rush in and bungle everything up' approach isn't working."

He jerked his glance skyward when he heard Rogue scream. Gambit, poised on the roof of a building, had gotten in a lucky shot with one of his cards while her attention was diverted toward the jets. She plummeted from the air. John's heart leaped into his throat, and he tore off in the direction he saw her falling. He refused to allow himself to hope Gambit had actually gotten in a killing blow, that it was already over and he wouldn't have to live in the morbid mire of knowing Rogue was in mental agony.

Though he knew it wasn't possible, he swore he heard her hit the ground over the cacophony of other sounds rumbling through the tight press of buildings. He rounded a building and saw her there in a crumpled heap of black uniform and hair, the splash of her white hair pristine against the rubble-littered ground. She wasn't moving, and the lump of his heart got even bigger, so big he thought he would choke on it. A running leap was necessary to clear a pile of bricks, but then he was there. He was crouching down beside her. The trembling of his hands was passed off as residual excitement from the dragon he'd created earlier rather than fear or grief.

"Rogue," he whispered while reaching out to brush hair back from her face.

Her chocolate eyes were open, but they fixed on him, assuring him she wasn't dead, her existence above snakes being further proved when she said, "John, help me. Make it stop. I can't make them go away."

John didn't think he could get the words out past the constriction of his throat, but he managed to choke out, "It'll all be over soon. All you have to do is close your eyes, and then it'll be over."

With exquisitely slow motions so as not to alarm her, he retrieved the knife from his boot. God, why did he have to be the one to give the killing blow? Of all the people engaging in this one battle, a coalition between X-Men, the Brotherhood, and human soldiers, why had fate given him this task? Because fate was bullshit created by philosophers who had nothing better to do than sit on their asses dreaming up ways to make people more accepting of their lots in life. There was no God. There was only Hell, and he was a card-carrying resident.

"I woulda liked to have mooned the Dairy Queen drive-thru attendant with you, but I'm so tired." she breathed in a thickened Mississippian accent.

"Hey, the drive-thru dude isn't going anywhere. He'll be there when you get back. Should we warn him to bring a camera to work that day so he can get a picture of the hottest ass in the world?"

She grabbed his hand suddenly with bloodied gloves and exclaimed, "No matter what happens you gotta promise me you'll forgive Bobby. You gotta promise me you won't disappear for another five years without talking to anyone at the mansion. They believe in you. We've always wanted to believe in you."

"Don't get all mushy on me, Rogue. You know how much I hate sap." But he had to blink away a stinging at the back of his eyes. It was from the smoke. Yeah, just from the smoke.

"Promise me."

"Yeah, yeah, I promise. I'll forgive the little prick and do a better job of keeping in touch." The knife was there in his hand, but even though he knew what had to be done, he was loath to do it, wanted just another moment memorizing her face if Phoenix wasn't able to bring her back.

Now. It had to be now. Her control would slip at any second and rob him of this opportunity to put a quick end to things, but as the knife was poised over the back of her neck and ready for the plunge that would have sent it severing her brain stem, a group of human soldiers came racing into the alley shouting.

Two things happened simultaneously then: John shouted at the soldiers to put their weapons down and Rogue hit him so solidly in his chest he was thrown down the alley into the knot of soldiers like he was a bowling ball to their bowling pins. Her fury returned, snapping her tenuous control, before he was able to get back to his feet where he might have had a chance at incinerating her. She rocketed back into the air with a maddened scream to continue the assault on New York City.

"You brainless, fucking, moronic idiots!" he shouted his frustration at the soldiers. "No wonder your kind is fucking going extinct!"

***

"You gotta get me up in the air to her, Jeanie," Logan said, more than a small amount of dread in his voice. "Either she'll calm down and let me coax her down to us, or I'll be in a position to…" He couldn't even say it. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could do it, but nothing else they'd tried had worked.

"No. Charles made a promise to Rogue that you wouldn't be the one to give the killing blow, and we will hold to that promise."

"She's tearin' the city to pieces. Not even you and your new ET powers have been able to crack through to her, so the way I see it, this is the only thing we got left. She can't kill me."

"It might not have to come to that," Scott suddenly said from where they were monitoring the battle from a nearby rooftop while Rogue used a car as a baseball bat to tear apart a building. At least she wasn't going after the people fleeing the building and was restraining herself to merely causing property damage.

"You got a better idea, One-Eyed? I'd sure love to hear it." If he got any tenser, he knew he'd end up snapping in half. Hell, he intended to have Magneto do just that if Phoenix couldn't bring Rogue back to life, because there was no way he could face an eternity without her.

"Actually, I do. Why is Rogue so powerful against us?"

Bayard, who had indeed volunteered the services of the thieves to help mop up the situation they had caused in the first place, for a price of course, cut in to say, "Because she knows your moves before you can even conceive them. She has all of you inside her head, knows precisely how to counter every plan of attack by using your own mutations against you." The black mask and goggles covering his features prevented Logan from seeing the face of the man he intended to beat the shit out of later.

"Exactly," Scott returned, "but how would she react if a new and unique mutation was brought against her? It might slow her just enough for us to get in one shot. We would have one chance to end it."

"Who the Hell here hasn't she touched except for Bug Eyes over there?" Logan snapped.

"Angel's wife, Symphony. She has the power to enchant all listeners with her singing voice. The rest of us will have to wear ear plugs while she's singing to keep ourselves from being enchanted as well, but if Symphony can stop her for even a moment, it will be enough."

Jeanie cocked her head to the side in a rather bird-like manner as she seemed to consider Scott's plan. "Yes, I believe that may buy enough time to get in a killing blow. I do not like that she has been able to thwart my attacks thus far. This shell is not quite used to using my abilities yet, but this upstart girl has learned to control them seamlessly."

"That upstart girl is my baby, and that shell you're wearin' is Jeanie, so you better watch how you're statin' things."

"She and I are one now, Logan. You must accustom yourself to that fact. There is no Jeanie, and there is no Phoenix left inside this body, merely a combination of the two. Yet I understand your snappishness is a result of your fear for Rogue."

"I suggest you implement your plan as quickly as possible," Bayard interrupted. "It seems she is no longer content simply beating a building into a pile of bricks. Show me to this Symphony. I will outfit her with one of our telepathic disruptors."

Logan couldn't tear his eyes away from Rogue when she plummeted into a dive toward the fleeing humans that was barely turned aside by a gust of wind from Ororo. What was it the kids were always saying? They were getting their asses handed to them on a plate. Leigha and Angel had their hands full trying to medically treat all the wounded. Kitty was limiting herself to a support position by going into buildings to retrieve any who were trapped inside because she simply couldn't face fighting Rogue. Bobby had taken a blow to his arm while trying to freeze Rogue in place that had snapped his bone, thus putting him out of the battle, and Piotr was nursing a case of scalded flesh when Rogue had set fire to him.

Yeah, getting their asses handed to them was a mild way of stating that they were fucked. His baby girl… Finding the person responsible for her present condition had become a top priority, ranking just above learning about his past and just below getting Rogue back to normal. One thing was certain; he was never having fucking kids of his own! Trying to raise and care for one kid was hard enough. Imagine adding a miniature Logan to the mix, but then he had never really thought about biological children. Breeding just wasn't an urge for him when he knew he'd make a shitty father.

As soon as the miniature meeting had been brought to an end, Logan dropped from the rooftop, his claws slowing his decent by raking gouges into the side of the building until he landed gracefully on the ground. People assumed he was a lumbering ox because of the bulk of his muscle, but he just let that play in his favor when they ended up underestimating his quickness.

Rogue's attention had turned to the people fleeing from the immediate path of destruction, so Logan sprinted onto the main road she'd been working her way down to try to get her attention. Somehow, he had to lead her away from the humans if only because he knew how much it would hurt her when she returned to herself if she had, however inadvertently, caused a slaughter. He threw up his hands and roared her name at the top of his considerable lungs. That gained her attention all right, but it also gained the attention of one of the goons who had come with her. Logan leaped to the side to avoid one of the bone spikes that was hurled at him, not that it would have done any lasting damage, but he wasn't a damned masochist and would rather avoid pain if possible.

He rolled to the side at the last possible moment and brought his claws slashing toward the back of the mutant's head. The anticipation of impact tightened his body, but the impact never happened. A pivot brought him back around to face where the mutant should have been only to find Rogue in the process of snapping said mutant's neck. The body crumpled out of her hands.

Never in all his eternal existence would he forget the feral expression in her eyes, the absolute emptiness he saw there. Gone was the vivacious, sassy young woman he loved more than he could ever possibly love a child of his own loins. In her place was a shell, a creature who survived on instinct and the desire to cause pain and death. Her eyes suddenly cleared as though a light had been turned on, and she instantly burst into desperate tears. She reached for him.

Logan could never deny her anything, so he ran forward and gathered her up in his arms, one of his big hands covering the back of her head to press her face against his shoulder. His baby was shaking so terribly.

"Please stop it. Kill me. It's the only way I'll never be able to hurt anyone else. Dad, you gotta help me, because I can't do it myself."

Tears beaded the lower rim of his eyes. Did she know what he was asking of him? Of course she did, because he might be the only one who could kill her, might be the only one she would ever let get near enough to do it. God, how could he? The claws extended on one of his hands.