Twice a week since the second week Rogue had been a Brotherhood girl, Mystique had put her through training with her powers. She would be driven out to some crowded place, like the mall or the train station, and given a map of Bayville to look over while Mystique went to find a likely-looking victim.

Mystique would return about half an hour later and lead Rogue to wherever the person was. Rogue would be made to ambush them, to touch their skin. Mystique would make a hasty exit as the person fainted, taking the map with her, and she would time Rogue as to how long it took her to reach home with someone else's memories and abilities clouding her brain. She knew it took Rogue an hour and a half on foot to get home from the mall and about forty-five minutes to arrive back at the boarding house from the train station.

Sometimes her attempts were truly shocking. The first time she'd gone through Mystique's training, Mystique left her in a park about fifteen minutes' brisk walk away from the house. It had taken Rogue two and a half hours to sort her head out and find home.

Sometimes her efforts would steadily improve until one day she'd have a complete relapse and take half the day to find home again. What scared Rogue about the procedure was that she never knew how her powers would react to someone until it was too late.

It was about eight PM on Monday evening when Rogue stumbled through the front door of the boarding house and into the kitchen, where Mystique was scribbling into a notebook. Upon hearing Rogue enter the room she pressed a button on her stopwatch. "An hour and fifty-eight minutes," she murmured, noting this in the book, and looked sharply up at Rogue, "Go and close the front door, Rogue."

"Noooo," groaned Rogue, sinking into a kitchen chair.

Mystique's murderous glare was at full power.

"Yes'm," Rogue said finally, getting up and staggering into the front hall to close and lock the front door. Returning to the kitchen, she stood and glowered at Mystique.

"What?" asked Mystique curtly.

"Do not ever make me absorb kids again."

"Kids? That girl looked at least your age."

"Yeah, well, she wasn't," Rogue bitched. "Are ya suggestin' Ah look like a frickin' grade schooler? 'Cause she was eleven goin' on twelve. She was also really, really unfit, had a shitty sense of direction and a huge fear of the dark, the little wuss."

Mystique did not apologise. Rogue sat down at the kitchen table and propped her chin in her hands.

"Hope that kid's mom was able to find her," said Rogue finally. "Ah mean, you hid her pretty good behind that clothes rack."

"Having an attack of conscience, Rogue?" asked Mystique, sounding amused.

"No." Rogue folded her arms.

"Are you interested in hearing my findings?"

"'Bout what?"

"Your progress, Rogue."

Rogue shrugged. "Sure, fine, whatever."

Mystique began to read aloud. "My controlled study of you over the past weeks has concluded that you react more strongly when you absorb women and girls. By women and girls I mean either very young ones, like the eleven-year-old today, or older ones- any female old enough to be your parent provokes a strong reaction."

"Explain."

"By 'a strong reaction', I mean that when you absorb women and girls you tend to become upset emotionally, panic, lose your sense of time or direction. You even display alarming personality changes."

"Alarmin' personality changes?" asked Rogue, raising her eyebrows.

"Like that, for instance." Mystique nodded at Rogue's foot, which was twitching spasmodically.

"So what?" Rogue asked harshly.

"I know for a fact you find people who twitch parts of their bodies exceptionally annoying, because you don't have that particular affliction yourself."

"Oh." Rogue stamped the foot hard on the ground, so hard that some of the dishes piled in the sink vibrated. Mystique flinched slightly at the noise, but smirked as the foot stopped twitching. "All better," Rogue said sardonically.

"But although we haven't had a chance to test it, I think you react the most strongly when you absorb mutants, regardless of age or gender."

"How do ya see that?"

"You have nightmares. You recall their memories for much longer than is strictly necessary."

Rogue wondered how Mystique knew about her nightmares. "Ah don't think mah powers always operate accordin' to what's strictly necessary, Mystique."

"Well, we'll have to redouble our efforts, won't we? They are your powers, Rogue. You must be in charge of them. I am confident with the right amount of practice you will be able to exert an amount of control over them."

"But Ah won't ever be able to control them completely, will Ah?" This was a statement more than a question. Rogue had accepted this long ago, without even confirming it.

Well, at that moment it felt like she accepted it, anyway.

"There's always a chance," said Mystique offhandedly. "Testing your power's capacities is very important right now if you're to grow with them. Now, Rogue, on that note, could you run out and buy some milk?"

Rogue gaped. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me! Ah'm exhausted, get one of the boys to do it!"

"They are all quite comfortable where they are, it seems."

"Can Ah at least take the Jeep?"

"Show me a driver's licence and you're welcome to, Rogue."

"You know Ah don't have one."

"Then why are you presuming you can take the Jeep?"

"Ah can drive just fine." Just not legally, that's all.

"Too risky. Do you really want to discredit the esteemed principal of Bayville High?"

"Ah dunno. Will it mean Ah get to have a shower and go to bed? 'Cause if it does Ah reckon Ah'm good to go."

"Go on, Rogue, a very fast run won't kill you."

"Yes, it fuckin' will!"

Mystique looked amused. "Figure it out, Rogue, will you?" She got up and gestured to the kitchen doorway.

Rogue cottoned on. Innocently, she rose to her feet and walked (somewhat painfully) to the kitchen door as if intending to walk on toward the front door. At the last second she swerved and walked to the living room, where Pietro sat watching television.

"Hey, Pietro," she said sweetly, leaning on the back of his chair.

"Hey, Rogue."

"Good show?"

"Stinks."

"Yeah, CSI does seem a little above and beyond you. You'd be more the Will and Grace type. What's goin' on?"

Pietro blabbed on and on at lightning speed about what had happened so far in the programme. "... so in conclusion, it stinks," he said matter-of-factly.

"Hmm." Picky boy. She could see Mystique standing in the doorway of the living room. "So Pietro, as this show's so damn bad..."

"What, Rogue?"

"Guess you won't mind missin' the rest of it," she said nastily, and slapped the back of his neck with her bare hand. She'd been easing her glove off while he'd been speaking.

As she saw him slump forward in a dead faint it felt like she'd been given an electric shock. She stared down at her bare hand, rotating it at the wrist. Rogue could see the muscles working as it seemed to move in super-slow motion. She looked up, blowing her forelock out of her eyes. It flailed upward slowly, slowly... it felt like it took ten minutes for it to fall again.

"Good work, Rogue. Time to test my theory," said Mystique. Rogue turned to look at her in midsentence, a feeling oddly like motion sickness (or, she supposed, lack of motion sickness) building in her stomach. Mystique's voice came at a normal pace but her mouth was still forming the first syllable.

"Don't make me stand here," said Rogue at a normal pace, and it felt like her vocal cords seized up. With barely a pause between words she asked, "Where's the money?" Speaking quickly made sense. It felt right.

"Kitchen table," said Mystique, and she had barely finished speaking when Rogue disappeared in a blur. Forcing her glove back onto her hand, Rogue flashed out through the front door with the milk money in her pocket.

So this is the world through Pietro's eyes. No wonder Quicksilver always says us slowpokes make him sick, Rogue thought as she shot through the night streets. A wonderful euphoric sensation built inside her, a kind of joy at going really, really fast. Ah suppose he's used to it. He doesn't retch when he looks at us so much as sneer.

She heard traffic noises and went for them, and skidded to a halt at the pedestrian crossing. Two young women in clubbing gear looked surprised at her abrupt arrival. Rogue looked impatiently at the cars driving past, and had a brainwave.

Ah wonder if the Speed Demon can outrun a movin' car? she thought as she stepped off the kerb and got lost in the traffic.

It was truly uncanny, to dash between the cars with a sense that none of the drivers were even close to the speed limit. Rogue felt entirely safe. She could dodge oncoming vehicles with lightning precision and outstrip even the fastest models. She got a real kick out of slowing down just enough for a motorcycle gang to make out her form. As soon as they all turned to look at her, she swerved in front of them, and disappeared from that part of the road, hearing the yells of terror as they screeched to a halt, looking around for the girl they were sure they'd run down.

She found a mini-mart easily enough, ran in and found the dairy section. The checkout lines moved sickeningly slowly, so Rogue did the obvious thing. She scanned her two cartons of milk herself and left the money on the counter before leaving. Nobody had even seen her, because she moved that fast with Pietro's power.

When Rogue arrived home, she found she felt even more tired and pained than when she had set out. Pietro's energy wasn't boundless- he got tired just like everyone else. More than everyone else. 'Spose livin' your life in superspeed takes a lot outta ya, mused Rogue. Maybe this is why the white-haired wonder likes sleepin' in so much.

As she put the milk in the fridge, she heard a noise behind her and found Mystique clutching the stopwatch. "It took you ten minutes," said Mystique, grinning. "Ten minutes to run all the way into town with no shortcuts. Pietro's own personal record is nine minutes."

"Ah scanned the milk mahself," Rogue stated.

"Pietro does too. Look inside your mind now, Rogue. Is anything there?"

Rogue knew what Mystique meant. Putting a hand to her temple, she said, "S'all- blurry. Like it's on fast-forward." Is this the way Pietro thinks? The way he remembers things? Poor bastard. It's givin' me a migraine, so Heaven knows what it does to him. He's used to it, though.

"Hmm. Maybe Pietro wasn't the best person to use for this first test."

"Yeah, yeah, it's all a rich tapestry. Can Ah go to bed now?"

Mystique looked like she was trying not to laugh. "Go on, then."

"Thank you. 'Night, Mystique."

"Yes, goodnight, Rogue," said Mystique, waving her away. Rogue began to take her leave. "Sweet dreams," the shapeshifter said absently, studying her stopwatch.

Rogue stopped dead despite her tiredness. Sweet dreams? "Mystique, did you just say somethin' to me?"

"I don't think so, Rogue," lied the shapeshifter smoothly. "Maybe you imagined it. You are very tired, after all. I've been overworking you."

It was a rare moment when Mystique admitting to overworking one of her disciples. But Rogue just had to push it. "You just said-"

"I said nothing. Go to bed, now."

Rogue resented being sent to bed like a child, but it would be unwise to say so. She nodded and went upstairs.

"Rogue?" called Fred through her bedroom door as she changed into what she called her 'evil neon pyjamas.' She had many sets of evil neon pyjamas- the ones she wore then were orange and white. Rogue looked down at herself, checking for exposed areas. Neck. Face. Some of mah wrists. Feet. Belly. Won't do at all.

"Hang on, Ah'm not dressed!" replied Rogue. She couldn't decide what to cover up first, so she grabbed one of the blankets off her bed and pulled it around her shoulders like a cloak. Rogue was still wearing her gloves, of course. She never took them off until she knew everyone else in the house was asleep, or in their rooms at least. Lying awake was rarely difficult for Rogue. She was a restless sleeper at the best of times (at the worst she was a full-blown insomniac).

Opening the door, she asked, "What is it?"

"Pietro says you stole his powers. He wants me to tell you he's pissed."

"Never knew the boy would act like a martyr over missin' the end of CSI. As far as Ah could see it wasn't even a good episode."

Fred looked severe, and therefore slightly foolish. "Mystique told you to, didn't she? Don't do everything she says, Rogue."

"Mystique seems to be the only person around here with any brains, so why shouldn't Ah listen to her?" Rogue folded her arms. "You're annoyin' me, Fred. Get lost." She slammed the door in his face and threw the blanket back on her bed.

Why did the boys have to so touchy about Rogue and Mystique? And why did Mystique have to favour Rogue quite so obviously? It seemed Mystique cared about her, and the boys just slacked off and didn't listen to her. But then again, Mystique had ordered the boys to teach her a lesson when she had helped Summers and the X-Men against Fred.

She hadn't seen Summers for a few days. Ah almost miss him, the big loser. He always gives me a good laugh. The list of his annoying qualities had reached two hundred and twenty-eight, and she was considering turning him into a song.

She had a lot of homework she hadn't done. It looked like she would continue her shining record of being a completely mediocre student. She had, however, breezed through her French homework without much trouble at all. Rogue had always liked French.

In accordance to what Mystique had said earlier, Rogue found herself going over Pietro's memories as she lay in bed, waiting for the other Brotherhood members to go to bed. There was a strong one... he had probably been mulling over it as he watched TV, before Rogue had sapped his powers.

Two little children lay on their stomachs in front of a heater, playing a board game. Her choice, of course. The TV was on, but neither one paid it any attention. The couch was set up with sleeping bags, because the girl had only recently destroyed the room they shared. Pietro didn't dare to say anything about it. He could run fast, but not always fast enough to escape the girl. He could always outrun her, but rarely escape her. No matter how fast he ran, she could always catch him and get her own back sooner or later.

He studied her under lowered eyelids, trying to pick out some sign of evil in her childish face. She had black hair and very blue eyes. You wouldn't think a witch would look like that, he thought sourly. He had to be careful. If she caught him looking at her she'd ask why, and then he'd have to answer, and then there'd be trouble.

"Wanda?"

The girl playing the board game with Pietro looked up. "Yes, Father?" she asked guardedly.

A man, tall and powerful, stood in the doorway of the living room. "We have been at odds for days, Wanda. I want to make it right with you again. Get your coat, I'm taking you out for a surprise."

The girl was staring very hard at the white-haired man, trying to see if she should take him seriously. "... All right," she said finally.

A wave of fear swept over Pietro, and before he could stop himself he'd blurted, "I want to come too."

The man glared at him. They'd already discussed this. "But Pietro, this is Wanda's surprise. A special outing just for her. I'm afraid you can't come."

"I want to come, Father," said Pietro. "I really, really need to be there."

His father's mouth twitched. "On Wanda's surprise?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then. Both of you get your coats and meet me in the driveway in ten minutes. We have to hurry." Pietro could tell he was dying to make one of his accusing remarks, like, 'Get your coats- assuming, of course, they survived Wanda's latest temper tantrum.'

For once, Wanda seemed completely oblivious as she pulled on her coat in the front hallway. "Come on, Pietro," she said in Transian, their first language. "I want to see what the surprise is."

He cringed. "You know it's probably going to be a boring restaurant or something."

When his eyes met Wanda's, Pietro flinched. Her cold blue eyes were narrowed in a menacing stare. "Don't screw this up for me, Pietro. It seems like Father really wants to make peace," she said in English.

"Aw, daddy's little demon. I'm not scared of you," he sneered.

"Please! Don't give me that. You're shaking, Pietro," Wanda said witheringly.

"It's just the cold. It's raining outside and all."

"Stop whining. You don't have to come. I don't want you to come. It's my surprise. Mine."

"Why do you even want to go?" Pietro asked desperately. "You hate Father."

"Friends close, enemies closer," Wanda said in a sing-song voice.

Why were they discussing such stupid matters now, of all times? Why were they parroting what their father, their mutual enemy, said to them every day? Only one Maximoff twin would be returning to the house that night. Only one...

"Come on, then," she sighed, opening the door. Pietro didn't move. Wanda glowered. "I make an effort to be nice to you, Pietro and you..." She cursed at him in Transian and left in a swirl of malice and unforgiving blue eyes.

He stood there, biting his lip. He hated Wanda sometimes, but he had to go with her on the 'surprise'. He knows how I feel. I've got to show him I need her. It won't be so bad, she'll probably be sedated, she won't even know what's happening and hey- maybe Father will let me say goodbye, he thought, and followed her. He didn't even entertain the notion that his father might change his mind.

... And then, the memory went sort of hazy and frantic all at the same time. It was as if it was too painful to remember in its entirety. There was a lot of rain, and a big, dark Gothic building. There was the dark-haired girl, and suddenly she wasn't there any more in any way that counted. She wasn't the same person, she wasn't dark and angry and vengeful and a part of him. She was a terrified nine-year-old girl, her neat black hair drenched, being dragged up stone steps by men. In that moment he had silently begged her to unlock the powers that made her such a menace, but her powers were fuelled and activated by rage, not blind fear. And blind fear was all she had, as she was taken from him.

When those doors closed and they drove away, she suddenly wasn't there any more in any way at all.

Rogue entertained this memory for a few more minutes before pushing it away. She slept deeply for once, but not without dreaming of the rain and the girl's screams. By the next morning she had all but forgotten most of the details of the memory. She recalled a girl, and rain, and a darkly ominous building, not to mention a sense of loss and guilt. But not much else.

She ate breakfast with the other Brotherhood boys, and as usual she was dressed long before any of them. Excepting, of course, Pietro, who was never seen in his pyjamas. Maybe he's so exhausted at the end of the day he doesn't even change his clothes when he falls into bed, thought Rogue. Pietro and Rogue were making a definite point of not looking at each other.

Mystique had a new car. She pointed it out offhandedly through the window, and Rogue wondered idly where she'd gotten the money. "Cool ride, can Ah drive it?" she joked.

"Absolutely not."

Bitch, she thought, not exactly fondly.

In her room, she tried to weigh up who it was wiser to ally herself with: the boys or Mystique? Perhaps it didn't matter either way. Both entities could absolutely kick her ass if she crossed them.

Let them try! Ah'll give 'em what's comin' to 'em, if they try and mess with me. She brushed her hair with more vigour than was strictly necessary and for the last time checked her makeup. Eyeshadow: good. Lipstick: fine. Face: good and pale, need a little more on mah jawline though.

After deeming her makeup pretty much good to go, she saw Pietro walking- actually walking- past her bedroom doorway. Well, this is a once-in-a-lifetime happenin'. Pietro walkin' somewhere, wow.

Oh, what the hell. She stuck her head through the doorway, her backpack in her hand. "Maximoff, get in here," she called.

He swerved back, heading into her room. "You rang, Rogue?"

"You seem cheerful," she observed. "Fred reckoned you're pissed at me."

"Oh, I am. But I'm ready to hear your apology."

"Ah ain't about to apologise," snapped Rogue. Pietro looked affronted. "You need to get your defences up around me, Pietro, that's all Ah'm sayin'. Ah ain't about to make nice with you. Ah know why Ah'm here."

"In your bedroom?" quipped Pietro.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "In Bayville, bein' part of th' Brotherhood. Idiot. Have you even thought why you might be here?"

Pietro sneered maddeningly. "Bye, Rogue. See you at school." He began to take his leave.

She didn't know why she said what she said next. "Hey, Pietro?"

"Yeah?" He turned around.

"When Ah touched ya... absorbed your memories... Who was the girl?"

Pietro sneered. "I know a lot of girls, Rogue. Wanna narrow it down a bit?"

Rogue scowled at him. "Ah can't remember it too well now, ya cocky little brat, but she had dark hair... and she was your age. And there was a lot of rain, and this huge buildin'. Was it a hospital or somethin'?"

Pietro looked stunned.

"Doesn't ring a bell," he said after about ten seconds, though he looked very shaken.

"Ya sure?"

"Positive. Must've been a movie or something, y'know?" Pietro smoothed down his hair.

"Hey, ya do that any more and your hair's gonna start growin' back into your scalp," teased Rogue, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

Rogue turned around and picked up the luxury copy of Dracula she'd spent part of her sixteenth birthday present money on. She frowned as she ran her gloved palm over the leather cover with its studs.

"Is she your sister?" she found herself asking.

Silence from Pietro.

She shouldn't press the question. What remained of Pietro Maximoff in Rogue's mind was screaming at her that he did not want to remember that night, when the dark-haired girl had been taken away and locked up in that dark, ominous building. But the idea of Pietro with a family was so ridiculous to Rogue she was sure he'd answer 'no'.

"Ah said Pietro, was that girl your sist-" She turned around and stopped midsentence.

He had gone.

- - -

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evolution belongs to Marvel, Stan Lee, the WB, whoever you like. If it belonged to me, I would put more XME videos out where I live, because I only have Mutants Rising and the US has shitloads of them. Grumble. CSI and Will and Grace (I like the latter, haven't seen it in awhile though. I've never watched the former) don't belong to me either.

NOTES: I'm on HOLIDAYS, yay! Two weeks of no school! This means I'll be able to do loads of writing, and although most of my time will be devoted to my Novel, I will try and get a few more chapters of Untouchable up. My goal is to get all of Season One up, which I probably won't achieve but a girl can dream, can't she?

OK, can I just say that Bueno bars are the most delicious things on Earth? The company that makes them is doing a promotion, and they sent loads of free boxes to my big sister's work. She bought home ten, and I've stolen two out of her room already. Excuse me while I go and get another one...

... I'm back now. Bueno bar... yum... (End product placement there.)

Funny you should mention Godfried Adler, Terminatrix T-X. This year I decided to name my school locker- what else but Godfried Adler? My best friend named hers Lady Fred, and would you believe she has locker number 69? I NEVER pass up the opportunity to take the piss out of that.

In a sense, Ivan Alias, the songs I list are the background music. They are basically whichever songs I used to help inspire particular chapters. That's why some songs might be listed more than once, capische? I list them (with reasons why) in case anyone wants to write something in a similar vein and needs some music to inspire them. Plus I love compiling soundtracks for my works, everything from fanfics to novels.

Thank you to everyone for your good reviews. I'll try and have the new chapter done soon!