Rogue pulled the bike up to the curb, cutting the engine. Her legs still hummed with the tingling of the motor from the long ride, and as she demounted she shook them a little to rid the feeling.
Her thoughts wandered to Logan, and she hoped he had awoken from his semi-coma.
Rogue sighed a bit, placing the helmet in the built-in storage underneath the seat of the motorcycle. She ruffled her short hair, hoping to rid it of the helmet-head she was sure she had. After all, she had essentially been riding for eighteen hours straight, minus the gas fills and rest stops. She was tired, but determined.
The house in front of her was small and quaint, with a long row of small and quaint houses on either side of it. The late afternoon still had quite a bit of sunlight, but the neighborhood was quiet; most people were probably already home and preparing for dinner.
The South wasn't really known for its suburban communities as much as it was for its marshes and having your closest neighbor a mile away; however, Meridian, Mississippi had a bit more city-like quality to it, and provided the anonymity Destiny and Mystique had wanted for Rogue.
Most people would find their childhood home to be full of fond memories. Rogue, however, was completely numb to its sight and meaning.
Placing the keys in her jacket pocket, Rogue took a deep breath and walked up the long walkway leading to the front door of the house.
She could see soft light illuminating behind the closed curtains of one of the front windows. Reaching her destination, her hand went up to knock.
It stopped short of contact with the wood, and stayed there a moment before Rogue brought it back down to rest at her side. Her hand clenched and unclenched in frustration.
She could do this. She had to do this.
For Logan.
No. Not for Logan. Logan didn't want this of her. He said he didn't care about her skin. Rogue cringed. He probably cared now.
They would most likely come looking for her, soon.
When Storm had helped her change out of her bloody clothes, Rogue had persuaded her to let her see Logan. Still in chains, Rogue had walked down the long hallway to where Logan had been placed.
The slow, rhythmic beat of the machines, followed by the whooshing sound of the life-support device breathing for Logan, had made Rogue want to die.
He was hanging on by a thread, and she stood before him without a scratch on her body.
Scott and Storm both stood behind her at that point, and she had turned and asked them if she could recover in her room.
They had been wary of the idea, but she had assured them she wouldn't need the chains any longer—she was in full control now, but needed time to recuperate in peace.
They had, of course, trusted her.
She had briefly slept once she was in her room and finally alone. It hadn't lasted long, however, and the dream she had had plagued her thoughts, questioning her memories. It wasn't long after that she had come to the conclusion that she needed to resolve her problem, once and for all.
Rogue's hand came back up and, this time, managed to make solid contact with the wood.
She had barely been able to place a second knock on the door before it opened, revealing an older woman with dark glasses standing before her.
"Rogue," she stated warmly, a smile creasing her lips.
Rogue shook off the anger that came rising to her throat. "Expecting meh, Destiny?"
Destiny's smile rolled smoothly into a smirk, and she stepped aside, opening the door wider. "I'm always expecting something, child. Please, do come in."
Rogue's fingers ran across the mantel of the fireplace, glancing at the few photos that rested on top of it. All of them contained her: one from when she was about four, eating a pizza; another, of her in her little league uniform, bat swinging in a dramatic pose; and one with her, high school age and covered up, Destiny in the picture behind her.
The last picture had been impromptu—Destiny had been trying to console Rogue about school and Rogue's fears with returning, despite it being what Rogue had begged her for. She had been isolated for so long she hadn't been sure she could return to the normal social routine of high school.
They had been on a walk together when the conversation had started, and had sat down on a bench to finish it. Destiny had grabbed Rogue's gloved hands, holding them in her own, next to Rogue's face.
"Look at your hands, Anna. Just because you have to cover them up doesn't make them any less hands. They write, hold books, and open doors just as they always have. And you, my dear Anna, you have not changed either. You still can smile, and laugh, and be the Anna I know so well. And the Anna I know wouldn't back out of something she had worked so hard for in the first place."
A snap had startled them both, and looking up Rogue had realized an amateur photographer had walked by and noticed them. He had apologized profusely, and had given them a business card to have them contact him to get a free copy.
A couple weeks later Rogue had come home from school and found the picture on the mantel.
"That picture is so beautifully real, Rogue."
Destiny's voice in the present startled Rogue, and she jumped a little, her fingers falling from the mantel they still rested on. She turned to face the blind woman.
"Too bad it was all a lie." Rogue kept her voice void of emotion, and hid the trembling in her body by crossing her arms tightly in front of her. She wondered how blind Destiny really was, sometimes; her mutation let her see the future, and as a consequence she was unable to see the present.
But her home was always in immaculate order and pictures were hung everywhere.
She supposed that Mystique probably had a large role in that, though.
Destiny didn't reply to Rogue's quip, instead using her cane to find the sofa and sit down. While her dark glasses hid her unseeing eyes, Rogue could sense the sadness in the older woman.
No. She smelled it.
Rogue realized Logan's mutation was still strong within her, and she was glad. She would probably need it.
Rogue let the silence reign for a bit, taking in all the details of the home that had once been hers. Finally looking back at Destiny, she cleared her throat.
"Ah'm guessing you know why Ah'm here."
Destiny nodded. "Yes."
Rogue took a step forward. "Will ya tell me?"
Destiny's face looked up towards Rogue, or at least in her direction. "Why do you believe it'll help you?"
Rogue sighed, and made the rest of the trip to the sofa to sit down next to Destiny. She uncrossed her arms, resting her hands in her lap. She nervously fidgeted with the threads on her gloves, her eyes fixated on the ground in front of her. "Ah was hoping ... you could tell me."
Destiny smiled again, shaking her head. "My dear, I see the future, not the journey that leads to it." Her hand reached out and came to rest on top of Rogue's. "Tell me why."
"... Ah had a dream," Rogue finally murmured.
"About her?"
"No. About meh." Rogue looked at Destiny, who seemed to be looking right at her. She always loved how Destiny could do that, despite her blindness.
"It was when Ah lost control of all the powers Ah had stolen. She had confronted me, told me to search mah memories." Destiny's hand squeezed Rogue's hands reassuringly. "She was trying to convince me she was mah mom, but in the dream Ah saw me shape-shifting. Ah think Ah was seeing me through ... the X-Men's eyes." She avoided saying Logan, as she didn't really want to talk about the last twenty-four hours with Destiny.
"In the dream Ah knew Ah couldn't control meh changing shape. Ah could control everyone else's powers, through their memories, but Ah could never really control hers. Anytime Ah'd think of someone, or use their powers, Ah'd become them.
"When Ah woke up, Ah tried to remember her thoughts—but Professor Xavier had rid most of them for meh. What Ah could remember, though, was that her thoughts were always so ... messy. Like Ah only got tidbits of what she was thinking." Rogue had been looking at the ground as she spoke. Now, she looked at Destiny. "Almost like she was able to keep some of her thoughts hidden from meh."
Destiny gave no visible reaction to what Rogue had said. She seemed to be looking at Rogue, but she remained silent.
"Dezzy," Rogue said quietly. The nickname seemed to cause Destiny to flinch a bit, and this time she looked away before speaking.
"When Mystique was young, she had been used by other mutants—especially telepaths. They would enter her mind and change her shape, using her for their own selfish needs." Destiny's hand left Rogue's, using it instead to remove her glasses and rub her eyes tiredly before placing them back on. "She knew she couldn't stop a telepath from entering her mind, so she did the next best thing: she hid how she controlled her mutation into the deepest recesses of her mind."
Rogue, who had been listening intently, leaned forward. "But how?"
"She found a telepath and made a deal with them to help her move those specific memories out of reach. It took months of countless sessions, but they managed to hide the memories so deep that telepaths entering her mind would not be able to access them—they might have been able to control her body, but only in her natural form."
"Even Professor Xavier?"
Destiny let out a breathy laugh. "Xavier might be an exception, my dear. But it would take time even for him to expose those memories of control."
Rogue looked down again, thinking. "So when Ah absorbed her, the memories Ah got came out all jumbled 'cause of the telepath?"
"Yes and no. The telepath also taught Mystique defensive tactics to fight off other telepaths trying to invade her mind. In a way, your mutation is like a telepath's—you steal others' memories."
"So her defenses came up and gave me garbled information."
"Yes."
Rogue sighed. It may have come out garbled, but she had taken enough of Mystique's memories to figure out a chunk of her past. Perhaps....
"Where is she now?"
Destiny's hand reached out again, this time coming to rest on Rogue's jacket-clad shoulder. "You've grown so much," she finally said, ignoring the question.
"Dezzy, please."
"She won't tell you," Destiny rebuffed. It held sadness in its tone. "She can't tell you, because she doesn't really know anymore."
Tears threatened to fall from Rogue's eyes, but she blinked them back. "Ah know," her voice cracked at the end, but she kept her tone purposeful.
Destiny squeezed Rogue's shoulder, releasing a shaky breath from her pursed lips. "I never wanted this for you. I never wanted to hurt you, Rogue," Destiny pleaded.
Anger began to rise up in Rogue, memories of the past haunting her. "Heh, well, you sure failed that miserably," Rogue snapped back, her voice thick with emotion. She shrugged Destiny's hand off her shoulder.
"I had wanted a child so desperately, to raise as my own. My blindness, however, made me unqualified to adopt. Mystique, she gave me that chance when no one else would." Destiny's voice had grown tight, and Rogue noticed a couple tears had fallen from beneath the older woman's dark glasses.
She ignored them, as well as the stray tears that had finally fallen from her own eyes. "Was it also your wish to make meh sick, too? To hide meh away from the world, making meh think Ah was dying?" Rogue was surprised at the venom in her voice; she had buried so many emotions for so long—perhaps they were beginning to eat away at her.
"I had no choice! Mystique, when she learned of your powers and potential, she threatened to take you away if I didn't do as she told. I—I couldn't bear the thought of losing you." Destiny shook her head, her head bowed toward the ground. "I know I made mistakes, my child. But she gave me you."
Rogue remained quiet. She had known Mystique put her care into Destiny's hands—she was glad for it. Mystique wasn't exactly the mothering type. She hadn't wanted Rogue as a daughter: she had wanted Rogue as a machine.
Even though Mystique had faced her own enemies trying to use her for their own agendas, she had adopted Rogue with the intent of using her the same way.
This time Rogue reached out, grasping Destiny's hands with her own gloved ones. "Dezzy, Ah have to know. Ah can't live like this anymore."
"You've hurt someone you love," Destiny whispered, still facing away from Rogue.
"What?"
"I know why you're here, my Anna. Are you sure you're doing this for yourself, and not for him?"
The use of her real name caused a twinge of regret in Rogue, but Destiny's words did not sit well with her. Thoughts of Leech, of the people she dropped in New Orleans; of Logan, with a machine breathing for him; every one of the faces of the people she had touched; their fear, their pain, their memories and their powers bombarded Rogue's mind.
No, she was not doing this just for Logan.
"You should know who Ah'm doing this for," Rogue softly responded, keeping her emotions in check.
"I want to know that you know who you're doing this for, my child."
Rogue knew. She didn't know whether this would work, but she knew she had to try. She squeezed Destiny's hands.
"Dezzy."
Destiny nodded slightly, as if agreeing to Rogue's thoughts.
Rogue leaned forward, looking up to Destiny, whose face remained fixated toward the ground.
"Dezzy, where is she? Where's Mystique?"