We searched the halls, the gym, any open classrooms . . . everywhere. No Brotherhood. No
earthquakes or breaking glass, no damaged light fixtures. No debris, no sound. I know I was
convinced that either Jean was mistaken (it could happen, even with Jean) or the Brotherhood had
something very scary in store. Maybe it was just the fact it was so dark and deserted. It felt like a
slasher movie and I was just waiting for someone to jump out at me.

Finally, we reached the auditorium--and it became all too obvious where the Brotherhood, if they
were here at all. The stage curtain was up, sure, but the black background curtains were all
down, all of them. And they made quite a maze. Even Freddy could be easily concealed.

"They're in there," Scott said quietly, finally voicing what we all thought. "But let's go slowly.
No shooting, no noise. We don't want to leave a lot of shredded cloth and props for the drama
kids to find and we don't want any neighbors calling the cops. Go slowly and try not to look like
you're angsting for a fight. We need to handle this without violence, if at all possible."

But I saw the slightest of trembles in Scott's usually upright, straight-as-a-board posture. I saw
his fists briefly clench, then relax. Scott's not a violent kid. Not at all. But I think something in
him was deeply wounded that day we lost the mansion . . . perhaps even further back when we
faced off Wanda. Maybe he thinks we don't trust him like we used to. Maybe we don't. Maybe,
on some subconscious level, we did expect too much of him and maybe the reason why we, or at
least, I, just don't see him as we used to is because he'd never . . . failed us before. Shallow, isn't
it? Even though it's probably as much my fault as Scott's, I keep thinking that he broke our "track
record" and now we'll never win again. A loser is bound to keep losing.

So even as I saw the flicker of violence in Scott, I felt it in myself. Maybe we really were too
used to winning. You know, we haven't really won since. Not without losses and not without
that niggling sense of incompletion. I think we all wanted this battle. We wanted to win and we
wanted to win hard. We wanted to see the Brotherhood retreat in shame for how easily we'd
beaten them. We wanted it to be like it was before.

Maybe, then, we could be friends again. But I think only I wanted that last one.

We approached the stage cautiously, in staggered groupings. Scott and Jean were in the front
(first line, offensive powers), Rogue and Evan in the middle (offensive, but very short range in
Rogue's case and bound to cause a lot of damage in Evan's) and me and Kurt in the back
(defensive, largely useless for beating people up).

Scott was first on the stage, Jean seconds behind. "We know you're in here," he hissed, taking a
couple toward the first of the curtains, "but we're not here to fight. Just come out or tell us what
you're doing or whatever." The stage remained silent. Slowly, the rest of us climbed the stairs,
until we were all there, no longer in strategic formation, but in a huddled clump. Scott didn't even
notice for a moment. Then he coughed into the back of his hand and raised his eyebrows. We
shuffled back into our former lines, a little embarressed, and walked very carefully toward the
center of the stage.

I tried to get a decent glimpse behind a couple of the closer curtains, but they weren't just flatly
deployed--they were crumpled together, rather, and you'd have to pull the sides of the cloth apart
to see what was inside. Which seemed pretty risky to me.

And I hated the suspence. I really wished the Brotherhood would just get on with it.

Evan whispered to Rogue, so low that I could hardly hear, that he needed to go to the bathroom.
The look she gave him nearly sent me into hysterics.

Then Kurt screamed and I didn't feel much like laughing any more.

When I say "screamed" I mean "screamed" and not the Toad kind either. I whirled around in a
crouch, ready to thrash whoever, even Wanda!, but I admit . . . . I didn't know what to do when
my eyes adjusted enough to actually let me see what was going on.

Hargeis stood over a gasping and twitching Kurt, smiling at me. Come on, her eyes challenged,
try your luck.

I should have kicked her or something, but I didn't know what she had done! I mean, she could
have fried Kurt's innards for all I knew and I was . . . . well, I was too scared to act. She
approached me leisurely, her hand out . . . and a red shaft of light cut across my vision.

For a split second, I felt relief . . . but Scott's blast did a tight curve in on itself and hurtled back at
him. It smashed him in the chest, knocking him several feet, into another curtain. Wanda
emerged from the shadows just behind Hargeis. She didn't smile, but, then again, she doesn't. I
didn't have much time to think more about Wanda, because Hargeis' hand was coming right at me.

I phased and her hand passed through me. I'd like to say it passed harmlessly, but a ferocious
shudder immediately convulsed my body and I had to fight to remain upright, let alone immaterial.
I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on keeping my rebelling muscles and stomach from doing
embarressing (and, in the situation, dangerous) things. I finally felt normal enough to open my
eyes, and when I did, both Wanda and Hargeis had moved on. Evan was already on the ground,
twitching as Kurt had a moment earlier. Kurt, meanwhile, had stilled . . . he didn't look dead,
exactly, but he didn't look as if he was getting up any time soon.

Maybe I'm a coward for it, but I really wanted to phase right through as many walls as I had to
until I emerged into the nice safe open. A nice safe open where I could throw up and have a
weeping breakdown without getting killed. Instead, I stumbled toward the battle, which had
moved more into the core of the stage.

Lance, Todd, and Freddy were there, as well, although they weren't exactly fighting with the fury
of the girls. They seemed to be more concerned with staying out of the way. Todd looked faintly
sick. I didn't see anyone who could be classified as Rafael--so I guessed he'd had to stay home
after all. That didn't make me feel any better.

By the time I limped close enough to be of any help, Scott had taken two more of his own blasts
and wasn't walking well any more. His face was dark with exhaustion . . . and a despairing sort of
helplessness that twisted the fear tighter in my throat. I croaked out a warning as Hargeis' hand
snapped toward his face, but he was too tired and hurt to move away. I couldn't watch. I half
shut my eyes and ran as best as I could toward Rogue and Jean . . . who, if nothing else, didn't
seem ready to collapse.

Two months of ferocious training and we still couldn't do a thing against Wanda. Jean was trying
to attack her with her mind, I could tell that from the furrow of her brow, but I guess she wasn't
strong enough of a telepath. Especially when she was frantically using her TK to keep Wanda's
hex bolts from destroying her and Rogue.

I just hung back. I felt pretty awful and I wasn't terribly effective against either Hargeis or
Wanda. If the Brotherhood boys burst in, then maybe I'd interfere, but they still just stood there.

"What's . . . what's going on here?!" A highish tenor voice echoed from the far end of the stage. I
wasn't occupied, so I dared a glance in that voice's direction. It's owner was a small kid . . . a boy
with black hair and brown skin and whiteless eyes that had to be Rafael, if anyone was. His
horrified, almost betrayed expression brought a tiny surge of hope--maybe he'd be on our side.

"Get out of here, Rafael!" Lance spat, stalking toward the kid. Todd and Freddy didn't move,
uncertainty moving in their faces again.

"You said . . . you said you were . . . this isn't what you said you were doing!"

Lance reached out to grab Rafael . . . and abruptly tripped. He let out a howl as his ankle decided
not to move in the same direction as he was falling.

"RAFAEL! You . . . you . . . how can you . . . after all we've done for you . . ."

Lance's voice descended to an anguished sputter as he clutched at his ankle, which, (and I was
actually sorry for him) looked very broken. Rafael took a couple of steps backward, his stark
black eyes widening with shock . . . right into Mystique.

And then . . . to my right, Jean fainted. I didn't even notice her shield failing. One minute she
was struggling with Wanda, the next, she was flat against the ground and Hargeis was pouncing
on her.

I'd had enough.

I rushed at Hargeis' back, pulling every scrap of martial arts that Logan had taught me out of my
mind. My safety wasn't important any more something big and nasty was afoot and if only I out
of the X-men walked away tonight, it wouldn't do me any good anyway.

At least, that's what I told myself as I aimed a kick right under Hargeis' shoulder blades.

It was only a second later that I realized I hadn't unphased.

I fell nearly a foot into the stage before I caught myself and pulled back to the surface . . . just in
time for barbed waves of nausea to leave me half paralyzed under a curtain. I fought the
disjointed pain, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching and unclenching my fists until I felt decent
enough to crawl a little more out into the open.

It was the entire Brotherhood against Rogue.

She was backed up against the wall, both hands bare and out in front of her. "What? Ya'll too
scared? Ah'm just one, right? Or ain't that even enough fer you?"

Rafael was trying valiantly to stomp hard on Mystique's foot, but she ignored him, even when he
connected. "Rogue. This is your last chance. I've left the door open, so to speak, for you to
return, but you've been sluggish. My patience is at an end. You can join your X-men or you can
escape with us. Now is not the time for heroics no one will ever see them. The X-men will
hardly fault you for your choice. And what are the X-men to you? Priveledged, condenscending
children who perhaps you longed to be a part of . . . but you know you never will. You belong
with us."

"Yeah." Todd muttered, half under his breath, "Yeah."

I wanted to say something to Rogue, yell some sort of denial-of-everything-Mystique-just-said,
but I didn't. Maybe it would be better for her to "join them." I trusted Rogue, I did. And maybe
she was a bit . . . aloof, but she was a good sort and I think she liked us. And we honestly liked
her, I mean, really . . . she knew us. But maybe, maybe if she got out of this safe and unharmed . .
.

Rogue spat in Mystique's direction. Well, that's an answer for you. I really thought that both
Wanda and Hargeis were going to rush her at once. Instead, Mystique tightened her grip on
Rafael's shoulders . . . and practically threw him at her. It was only a meter or so Rogue barely
had time to flinch. Their heads collided, and Rafael promptly crumpled to the ground. Rogue
staggered badly against the wall, her jaw already swelling a little. I watched with a sort of wan
fascination as Rogue's pupils grew, overtaking her irises and sclera in a matter of seconds.

Mystique folded her arms, actually letting Rogue recover. "Can you feel his power yet? I'm
sorry I didn't let you absorb someone more useful."

Rogue glared at her, a stony, almost soulless gaze that would have just about melted me . . . if
there was really anything left to melt.

Mystique laughed, "So? Do you want to risk it?" She nodded at Wanda and Hargeis, who finally
leaped (although I noticed they were careful to keep their more clad portions forward).

Rogue stopped them. I mean, simply stopped them, mid air. It wasn't like Jean's TK at all . . .
neither Wanda or Hargeis stirred, at all. It was almost as if they were frozen in time or something
Matrixy like that.

But Rogue looked like she was going to die. Seriously. Every inch of bare skin (and there wasn't
much) was practically shimmering with sweat, even in the darkness. Her veins stood out against
her forehead and one of them burst. Blood spurted against her pale skin, trickling down the side
of her cheekbone. A second later, red was staining one of her open palms and the fight just
seeped out of her. She collapsed next to Rafael and Wanda and Hargeis suddenly resumed living
(although I took some pleasure in the fact they both landed badly).

And then they left. They just left us there. Todd and Freddy supported Lance and jointly hobbled
out the door. Lance did throw one kinda guilty glance in my direction . . . but then he was gone.

And there I was and there they were and I waited for the pangs to come back and finish me off.

(Ooooh. Don't worry, I'm not done. It gets worse.)