{Windrider,} Storm thought, glorying in the name, a reality again. {Goddess, thank you!}
She soared, high above the clouds, riding the jet stream over Conneticut. Storm had awakened, herself again, in the Blackbird. The other X-Men had filled her in through tears of joy. Her memories of '4705' felt strange and foreign, like a nightmare best forgotten. Part of her had wanted to fly back, to drop a tornado onto the Citadel, but in the end she had been persuaded to wait and see how the revelations played out on the world scene.
The night sky was as beautiful as she'd remembered. She hadn't allowed herself to realize how much she had missed it. She wasn't cold, of course - the winds could be as warm as she liked - but she still shivered at how close she had come to being a slave, forever. The memories of how she had gleefully attacked her friends was chilling, and she knew she would have nightmares about it for a long time to come. Not wanting to sleep yet, she had set out on a nighttime flight, and gone further than she intended.
There was some good news. The Magistrates had plenty of information about the X-Men's powers and tactics, but had not hurried to debrief her on more than that. Their identies and headquarters remained secret, to everyone's relief. No one was sure if her hair would grow back, but if that was the price she paid for her freedom, she would give it up gladly.
Ororo focused on the joy of having her powers again. She closed her eyes, perceiving the world as patterns of energy, as flow and balance and potential. The thunderheads to the west sang their fury, the winds chanted a melody, the cold front from the north hummed in harmony. Somehow she would find a way to thank Rachel, someday.
{Where shall I go now?} she pondered. {Perhaps I should rattle the windows of a certain penthouse in Dallas.} she thought, smiling. The winds, still warm and clean, shifted and intensified. {Yes, I can make it there by morning...}
Rogue waited until she was positive that Greg was asleep, then carefully pulled away from him and out of the bed. Normally she wore pajamas at night, but not when Greg was staying over, and he wasn't permitted a stitch himself. She wasn't the type to sleep on the far side of the bed, either. He'd mumbled once about feeling 'crowded', but her glare had shut him up pretty fast. Draping her whole body next to his was a luxury she refused to forego.
Not willing to risk the slightest creak of a floorboard, she floated over to her closet and silently opened the bag she hadn't had a chance to unpack yet. Quietly she pulled out the power-damping collar and gazed at it, idly turning it over in her hands. It was one of the ones Kitty had modified. Rogue had palmed it almost without thinking, and managed to smuggle it back. She was fairly sure no one had noticed.
She pondered the potential it represented. {Ah could almost have a normal life with this. Some women have a diaphragm or somethin', Ah'd just need this.} She glanced at Greg, then back. {Ah could be with most anybody. Just like any woman. Heck, I could just wear shorts once in a while.} She looked at Greg again. {Ah don't even need to use it now. Ah can keep it, just in case...}
She hovered there for a very long time. {...and that'd be like sayin' to Greg, "You'll do, unless somethin' better comes along." Yeah, right. "Ah'm committed to us, except..."} Slowly, quietly, she squeezed and kneaded the collar into unrecognizable debris, and deposited the remnants in the trash in her bathroom.
She slipped into bed next to Greg, sidling up and trying to get every square inch of skin contact she could. {Ah just don't want anyone but him,} she thought. {An' maybe that means Ah can believe he doesn't want anyone but me.} Rogue kissed his neck gently. Greg stirred, shifted, and settled again. She listened to his breathing, drifting off to sleep herself.
Mutate 1321 kept watch at the door. Her ability to damp vibrations had earned her the nickname "Hush", and now she was trying to use it without alerting the guards. It was easier now, there was less sound to suppress. A Magistrate walked across the wall, just a shape in the darkness.
Mutate 4516 was panting quietly, crying, but the worst was over now. She laid her baby on her skinsuit, the only cloth she had. Her powers allowed her to remove it at will, though she'd never let the Magistrates know. They had also masked the changes in her shape as the pregnancy had progressed. One other mutate had a similar ability, but at night the men were in a different part of the camp. He would find out about his son tomorrow.
4516 let out a gasp as 6332 withdrew from her mind; the mental blocks that dulled the pain dissolved, but they had gotten her through the delivery. She smiled her thanks, and 6332 snuck out, back to her own cell.
"Maybe this the last time you touch skinsuit, baby boy," she whispered quietly. He was still letting out a few lusty cries, but Hush kept the sound from leaking outside the room. All the mutates had heard about the broadcast from those who had been in the city two days ago. The Magistrates had brought everyone back to the camp early, and had tripled the guards on the fence. They had not gone to work yesterday, and no one knew if they would go to work tomorrow or not.
It made keeping the birth secret more difficult, but the mutates that hadn't been through the new process were full of hope. Surely the world would help them, now that they knew. Surely her son would be allowed to grow up free. 4516, who had once been called Sondra, prayed in the dark as she tried to suckle her baby for the first time.