PART TWO

ROGUE

The first things she heard as she swam up into consciousness were the shouts of children at play. Loud children, evidently playing a game of tag, judging by their raucous calls to each other. Next, the semi-familiar scent of fresh coffee tickled her nose, followed by the sounds of footsteps on a staircase. Shortly thereafter, a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake.

"Come on, baby girl. Time to get up. Are you going to sleep the day away?" a gentle voice drawled in amusement.

"M'up. Swear. Inna minute" Rogue slurred and tried to pull up the covers.

"Oh no you don't," and now the owner of the voice took hold of her sheets and flung them back. "Out with you! Time to get up!" There followed a distinct chuckle as Rogue shivered in the cool morning air.

Rogue smiled sleepily and raised her head. "Momma!" She blinked. A striking woman in her mid-forties stood beside her bed, hands still on the sheets, and grinning. "Momma," she said again, and a strange sense of wonderment washed over her. Why would having a mother be so strange? The older woman leaned over and started to prod her legs, but Rogue, reacting instinctively, rushed to block contact with her bare leg.

"Momma, no!" she yelped as she felt her mother's hand reach her calf. Squeezing shut her eyes, she waited for an agonizing moment to feelwhat? Cracking an eyelid, she discovered her parent staring at her.

"Rogue, are you all right? Is there something wrong with your leg?" and her mother ran her hand up and down Rogue's calf, looking for signs of an injury. Rogue gaped at her, trying to remember why it would be a bad idea if someone, anyone, touched her bare skin. Nothing had happened, so why the panic attack?

"Sorry – I – I'm not quite awake yet."

Withdrawing her hands, the older woman stood up. "All right. You gave me quite a scare, young lady. Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs. " She gave Rogue a measuring look, a smile, and then she left.

Stretching, Rogue swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. As she started to rise, though, the room swam dizzily before her eyes, and a wave of vertigo swept over her. Grasping hands found a bedpost, and she hung on for dear life until the world heaved and settled down again. She risked opening her eyes, and the room stayed pleasantly still.

A cautious step brought her to her closet, in which hung her favorite school dress – a pretty, slim blue thing that she slipped over her head. Closing the door, however, she paused, looking with vague surprise at the reflection in its full-length mirror.

Looking back at her was a startled girl of half-past sixteen, her long straight chestnut hair pushed behind her ears, and wide green eyes that examined her image curiously. She put a hand up and tugged at her forelock, wondering why she had a crazy vision of it being pure white. Had she been dreaming about a punk band? Turning around, she watched as her reflection followed the movement to reveal a tanned back, arms and legs. Her limbs were at that slightly awkward, fast-growing stage, and she felt a bit clumsy as she tied the dress straps around her neck. It struck her that she felt very bare – as if she was used to being covered from neck to toes for the protection of -

Shaking her head, she reached inside the closet again, withdrew a navy blue cardigan, and pulled it on, clearing her head of the muzziness. Must have had some weird dreams last night, she decided. After throwing the covers into a semblance of order, she clattered downstairs to breakfast.

"Are you all packed, then?" her mother asked as she stood over the stove.

"Yes, Momma. I'm gonna miss you so much" She ran over and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. "So much movin', and I'll still barely get to see you, cept for holidays."

"Albany is a lot closer than Caldecott, don't you think?" She deftly served up the steaming omelet and handed the plate to Rogue. "Now eat up, and don't worry."

"Yes ma'am," Rogue replied and took the plate to her place at the table. "Still seems a bit crazy, me getting' in to a school like Xavier's." She shoveled in a mouthful of ham and egg. "Guess it'll be a good change. Things weren't great back home," she continued after chewing thoughtfully for a moment.

"Well, in Caldecott they didn't have the educational facilities they've got up here. I would have moved us years ago, but – "

Rogue nodded. "Daddy. Well, at least if we're startin' over, we're doin' it together."

She reached over and squeezed Momma's hand briefly before standing. "Guess I'd better get a move on, huh?"

She scampered up the stairs and took a final look at her room. In one corner stood a plain, iron bedstead laid with a voluminous navy comforter and three fluffy pillows, crowned with her Benji-bear – her best friend since birth. She caught up the careworn toy and held it close for a moment.

"Wish us luck, Benji. We're gonna need it," she whispered before carefully laying him in her open backpack and zipping it shut. Her oversized suitcase in hand, she swung her pack onto her back and strode out of the room with only a little bit of apprehension. Time for a new life, indeed.

As she stepped out into the hall, though, a whisper reached her ears, a sound that she did not immediately identify. She stopped, confused, and listened to the silence of the house. Her mother had gone out to bring the car around, and the place was almost too quiet. Moving forward again, the noise increased and she looked around. This time she plainly heard a voice murmuring.

"Momma? Did you want me?" she called. No reply. Forcing back a shudder, she made to walk again when the vertigo struck once more, only this time its intensity tripled. Nauseous, her vision blurred and whirled around her and she reached out, desperate to catch something that would support her before she fell down and knocked herself out.

Suddenly a hand wrapped around her waist; and, at the touch, the illness fled. Blinking, Rogue coughed and realized she was hunched over a snowdrift. Frightened at her apparent change of location, she reared back and almost knocked her rescuer over with her. He steadied them, and then gave her a little shake.

"Yo, Rogue – you okay?" A boy her age, maybe a year older, held her close to him. He looked at her with more concern than was strictly necessary, and she frowned, trying to place him. She noticed that he had light blue eyes and a freckled nose; she had a memory that he laughed a lot.

Feeling some strength return, she nodded. "Yeah, Bobby – "(how did I know his name was Bobby?) "Just a – a ghost walkin' over my grave." She managed a weak smile, which he returned, full of warmth. Rogue felt herself blushing as he brushed a long strand of hair out her eyes.

"Wanna sit down for a minute?"

"Yeah." He led her over to a stone bench, and she risked a quick glance around. School. She was at school – and the boy sitting next to her with his arm around her was Bobby – her boyfriend, Bobby Drake.

"What happened?" He murmured quietly. She relaxed a little.

"I don't know. I thought I was at home, on moving-day, just before we left, and then – " she looked up at him, frowning a little. Something wasn't right, somehow. She had the impression that Bobby wasn't the person she expected to see, to feel next to her, the heat of his body warming hers in the weak winter sunshine.

"What, you mean last fall?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah – " she frowned. No. Longer than that. "Maybe not. It felt like my first day, sophmore year. And then suddenly I was here and now. This is gonna sound funny, but what day is it?"

Bobby frowned anxiously. "If you have to ask that, you probably need to see Dr. MacTaggert."

"No! No, I – it's clearing out now. Just give me the date, for a – a reference point, ok?" she pleaded. She had yet to go to a doctor for any ailment simply because she never seemed to have any. It was a point that held sorely with her mother, who suffered from more than her fair share of colds. Rogue had no intention of marring her perfect record with such a silly thing as vertigo.

"All right, don't panic. It's finals week. Christmas break starts on Monday, remember?" Bobby reached for her mittened hand and held it tight. "We're going to make plans to see each other for Christmas Eve, right?"

Slowly, her memory began filling in the blanks and Rogue nodded absently. "It's probably just stress, anyway," she murmured to herself.

"Yeah?" Bobby asked and touched her face in concern. She nodded up at him.

"I swear, I'm not flakin' out on you. Mostly," she teased. He smiled back, and they sat in companionable silence. Across from them, a snowball fight resumed, fast and furious, freshmen versus the seniors. It looked as though the seniors had a definite edge. Rogue laughed as a lean, dark-haired boy dodged and spun with cat-like grace, firing perfect shots at the enemy all the while. A trio of junior girls oohed and ahhed his every missile, and he paused every once in a while to flash them a blinding, cocky grin.

Bobby followed her gaze and snorted. "Remy, you better pay more attention or you're gonna get nailed!" he called.

The acrobat shot a look over at them, and Rogue's stomach twisted briefly. He paused in the act of replying, obviously also affected by something - her? Before he could answer Bobby's warning, though, it came true - someone's snowball caught him smack in the side of the head, and he fell sideways into a snowbank. His cheering squad squealed and threw themselves over him, brushing him off and helping him up.

Bobby shook his head. "Show-off. You know you're the only girl who hasn't fallen for the charms of Mr. LeBeau over there?"

Rogue shrugged. "Not interested, sugar," she lied, though the guilt that accompanied it almost made her flush with shame. She leaned into his side, closing her eyes a bit against the glare of the sun on snow. "Flashy ain't my style. I like'em real," she added with a smile. He looked down at her, grinned widely, and kissed her soundly.

As their lips met, she found herself distracted again by LeBeau, who was eying them over the tops of his fan club's heads. A disgruntled expression crossed his face before he turned away to listen to a simpering blonde.

Bobby drew back after a moment and squeezed her shoulders. "Come on, the bell's going to ring any minute. See you for lunch?"

"Of course." As they stood, Rogue pulled him close for another quick kiss. It felt like such a novel experience, as if it wasn't something she had done very often - yet, her familiarity with Bobby indicated that intimacy was not foreign to them. What was the matter with her?

She shrugged to herself and joined the inflow of students to her first class. As she passed through the hallway, though, another wave of dizziness hit. This time it was accompanied by a sharp pain in her head and she groaned, leaning against a doorframe. After a moment, she felt someone's arm around her waist, guiding her to a bench and gently pushing her down onto it.

"Thanks", she muttered, rubbing her forehead fiercely. The ache had begun to fade, leaving a curious emptiness in its wake. She blinked.

"You all right, chere?" a low, warm voice asked.

Rogue froze for a moment - she had assumed that Bobby was with her. Slowly, she looked up to find the same brown-haired boy she'd seen a few minutes before now kneeling in front of her. She glanced around; the hallway was now deserted of students. Reluctantly, she met his gaze.

"Uh, yeah - think I might have a migraine or somethin'," she murmured. She closed her eyes again as another wave of disorientation hit, though it had lessened from the previous attack.

"You think maybe I should get you to Doc MacTaggert? You lookin' pale." Without waiting for an answer, he eased her to her feet and slung an arm around her. As they walked slowly down the hall, Rogue tried to quell the rising warmth his touch was generating. This ain't the time or place, girl! she railed silently at herself.

Remy didn't seem to notice anything, or maybe he was so used to his effect on the female sex that he was simply ignoring it. This made her a little angry, though she wasn't sure why. Probably, he was just respecting the fact that she was someone else's girl. Yeah, that was it. So why was her imagination taunting her with visions of being wrapped in his arms, of flying through the air together, of -

Flying?

The thought startled her so much that she stopped in her tracks, almost tripping Remy. "Sorry, I - sorry," she finished lamely.

He gave her a curious look that had more than a question in it. Whatever strange spark had flown between them earlier suddenly returned double-strength, and she could see it changing his face. They stood frozen for a moment, gazing at each other in confusion and attraction. Finally, with great difficulty, she managed to break eye contact and withstand the inclination to throw herself - literally - into his arms. After a few stern comments to her brain, she even began to breathe normally again. Putting a little space between them, she risked a quick glance in his direction - he looked a little dazed, himself.

"Chere, you mind tellin' me why I can't think straight whenever you around?" he mumbled thickly.

"I-"

"On'y girl ever done that to me, y'know? What, you a witch or somethin'?" he continued with a slight smile.

"No - of course I ain't! I think - " she faltered, her hands twisting uselessly around each other.

"Listen, thanks for the assist, but I can make it to Dr. - "

At that point, yet another wave of pain hit, and her legs collapsed. The howling wind returned, and she was barely able to feel Remy's hands catching her before she was ripped away from them and thrown into a swirling cataclysm of sound and light. "Help," she whimpered, but there was no one there to hear her.

Hurtling through the explosion of noise, her overtaxed mind threatening to let go at any moment, she finally did the last thing she was capable of - she passed out.


GAMBIT

Remy coughed violently and fell forward onto his hands and knees. His lungs burned as though he had not inhaled in a lifetime - but he couldn't have been out for that long, could he?

Another convulsion hit, and his hands slid out from under him, pitching him face-first onto the floor. As it passed, he rolled onto his side and stared into the darkness. Wherever he was, it was big - the echoes of his racking coughs ricocheted all over the room. In the pitch black, though, he had no idea what its dimensions were, or if there was a door, or how he was going to get to Rogue -

One thing at a time. First I gotta breathe -

He pushed himself into a vaguely upright position and concentrated on taking deep, cleansing breaths. As his lungs began to function normally again, the foggy confusion in his brain started to lift. After a moment, everything gave the impression that it was working correctly, and he attempted to stand. A wobbly minute later, he was upright and not even weaving too badly. Hands outstretched to prevent collision, Remy edged his way across the floor until he ran into a wall. He followed it forever, but there was no end to it.

Frustrated, he fumbled with the releases of his spacesuit so that he could reach into a pocket of his uniform underneath. Withdrawing two of his trademark poker cards, he charged them with kinetic energy and held them up close to the wall. In the faint light, he could see no seams, no angles - nothing except an amazing expanse of wall. Holding them up as high as he could, he could not determine how high the ceiling was, or even if there was a ceiling.

He felt the cards start to vibrate slightly, and tossed them at the wall in the futile hope that they would create an escape. Unfortunately, they did no more than flare briefly against the impenetrable material, and then flame out harmlessly. Muttering to himself in French, Remy stalked blindly around his immense holding pen, wondering how the hell he was going liberate Rogue if he couldn't even liberate himself. A few further attempts with more highly charged cards had little or no effect on the wall, which somehow dulled their energy before they had even reached it.

Finally after what felt like hours, he gave up and slouched against the wall, waiting impatiently for something to change. After awhile, he thought he was beginning to see things at the corners of his vision, little glimpses of objects he could not quite make out. Trying to ignore the distractions, he turned his mind toward Rogue, striving to feel her somewhere, anywhere. Almost at once, a surge of awareness slammed into him from her- she was close enough to feel, but he had no sense of the direction from which the link was emanating.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated of the last image he had of her before her departure in the Blackbird. Normally, Remy prided himself on his ability to love 'em and leave 'em, but Rogue was completely different. Something about this mission had caused him a minor panic attack, a condition he was completely unfamiliar with, and one that at once frightened him and pleased him. Before she had boarded, he'd caught her and drawn her into a shadow.

"Be careful, chere." At the anxiety in his voice, she had glanced up in surprise. He tried to cover it with a laugh. "I want a rematch, and this time no powers."

With a grin, she had reached up a gloved hand and chucked his chin briefly. "Sugar, I'll be back to trounce ya in no time." She started to leave, then turned and gave him a long look that started a strange tingling in his middle, and he frowned as emotions suddenly conflicted. Seeing his reaction, she sighed.

"Rem, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl. Relax."

"You sure you don' want me up dere?" he asked, the unknown anxiety increasing.

A small frown creased her forehead. "Why the sudden loss of faith?"

"No, no - I don' mean...Forget it. I'll see ya later." Annoyed with himself and a little with her, he turned as if to leave but she spun him back around.

"Will you just say it and get it off your chest so I can go and do my job?" she snapped. She stood glaring at him, and he felt his temper rise.

"Clear skies, girl," he said coolly and immediately regretted it. A wall clamped down behind her eyes and she took a step back, but not before he saw a flash of hurt anger cross her face. She backed up a few steps and ran a hand through her hair.

"See ya," she told him shortly and whirled around.

"Rogue -"

Striding away from him, she had waved him away. "Later." He watched her sink into command mode as she crossed to the open hatch of the Blackbird, passing Storm with a curt word. Ororo looked back at Remy and shook her head at him, then followed her teammate up into the ship. Cursing silently at himself, he had watched as the landing ramp rose and sealed itself before returning to the command center. He had been unable to shake the foreboding that something was about to go terribly wrong.

He hated it when he was right.

With a grunt, he opened his eyes and stared grimly into the inky blackness, his concentration broken. The wisps of light were growing stronger; now he could almost see webs of silvery strands darting directly in front of him. The glare from one particular streak made him wince, and his frown deepened. This was more than tricks in the dark. Something, finally , was happening.

"Merde," he cursed quietly and rose to his feet, backing away from a nimbus of bright light that was forming before his eyes. Its luminosity increased to a terrible brightness that seared his eyes. Arms over his face, he retreated to a wall and crouched defensively.

Through his closed eyelids the glare decreased to a more manageable level, and he cautiously opened them again. A few feet away from him, a sphere hovered above the ground at waist level, crackling with raw energy. Tendrils of molten silver washed over it sporadically - almost like an orb of a self-contained electrical ocean. Shapes moved on its surface; pictures appearing and changing rapidly. He had drawn a little closer, trying to identify the visions - when a tendril suddenly reached out and touched his temple.

It was a strange feeling; he was no longer aware of his body contained in some sort of room on a wandering asteroid. The sphere had vanished - or perhaps he was inside of it. For a moment, he floated in midair, and then there was a great rush of wind driving him down, down -

He plunged into a maelstrom of visual and aural noise, voices howling and winds ripping at him. At the center, he saw a tiny figure that he was fast approaching, and a sharp pain shot through his chest. Through the pain, through the noise, he reached out and held onto her image.

And suddenly, it stopped.

He started, hearing unfamiliar thoughts. Oh LeBeau, you in trouble, ami... That girl be the prettiest thing here, and she's goin' wit your best friend.

Looking around, he determined that a tall young man with his back to him was the source. The boy stood watching a couple walk away from him, an athletic-looking blond boy leading - Rogue. Only this was a Rogue Remy had never known. Obviously still a teenager, she showed no sign of her mutant abilities -

"What's goin' on?" he muttered as he watched her sit. The blonde boy put an arm around her, and he felt his insides churn as she leaned comfortably against him. At that moment, her boyfriend turned to look back in Remy's direction.

"Bobby?" he breathed in astonishment. What the hell was this? He tore his gaze away from them and took a quick survey of his surroundings. He stood in a snowy field in front of a tall stone building - a school. "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" blazed across a wide entryway in bright red letters.

A fast and furious snowball fight whizzed all around him, but the snow didn't touch him, it went through him. As his brain tried to catch up with his circumstances, the lean, dark-haired boy whose thoughts still echoed in his head turned back to the snowball fight, and Remy's jaw dropped.

It was himself, ten years younger.

Bewildered, he watched the boy dodge and leap, occasionally tossing glances back towards Rogue and Bobby. He took another careful look around.

The schoolyard was full of familiar faces, but none of them were quite right. Hank McCoy, for example, was neither hirsute, nor blue, nor huge - but he was nonetheless a bespectacled, familiar face. Jean was there too, wearing some sort of expensive and stylish coat and chatting amiably with Ororo, a brunette Betsy in her former Caucasian body, and throwing coy looks over her shoulder at Scott - who was not wearing his ruby visor.

Remy blinked. And there, playing alongside the younger LeBeau, still tall and burly but nowhere near his mutant size, darted Peter Rasputin, gaily shouting encouragement in Russian to his flagging comrades. After a slow scan of the premises, he identified almost every one of the teenagers as his fellow teammates - but none of them showed any indication of their mutant powers. They were clearly, undeniably, fully human.

A bell rang, and he followed the flow of students into the building, curious to see the differences between this reality and the one he knew. Ahead of him, he saw Rogue and Bobby part. His younger alter ego tailed Rogue, and Remy shadowed him, sure now that no one could see him.

Abruptly, Rogue hissed in pain and started to crumple. Without thinking, he sprinted up to catch her, but she passed through his hands. Another pair was there in time, and he stepped back while the younger LeBeau spoke quietly to Rogue.

Ignoring their conversation, Remy moved around so he could see Rogue more clearly, and impulsively reached out to touch her face just as something seized her. A vortex manifested in front of them and dragged both the physical Rogue and the incorporeal Remy into another hurricane of disorientation. Rogue was obviously in much pain; desperate to help alleviate it, he tried to reach out to her, and this time the touch was solid - he could feel her skin beneath his fingers.

A stinging sensation started at his fingertips and spread rapidly until his whole being vibrated like a plucked string. His fingers were glued to her temple, but she was unaware of him, wracked in a torrent of mental pain.

Rogue, can you hear me? he shouted silently, and the tingling increased. Suddenly he felt a great heave, as if something had pushed him forward. He pitched forward into another lightless space and fell to his knees, out of breath.

Again he felt foreign thoughts, though the space around him remained dark. They weren't as clear as those from his other self, but he could recognize confusion and pain and fear. A light flickered, and then a blurry image started to focus around him. He blinked, and the vision became his vision. He stared.

Gradually coming into focus was the reflection of a tall young woman with green eyes, a lithe build, and a tell-tale witch-streak in her auburn hair. She lay on her back, staring dazedly up into some kind of mirrored surface. So did he.

He was inside of Rogue.


ROGUE


Rogue blinked, her head throbbing. Waves of pain radiated out from somewhere in her lower temporal regions. Through the mist that hung before her eyes, she began to make out the fuzzy shapes of cables. Lots of cables, which were connected to the helmet she felt pressing down onto her head.

Out of the fog, she heard a strange cacophony of clicking noises that ran up and down a scale so melodiously that it sounded more like music than a form of communication. The sounds wreathed around her from all directions, and she could not determine its source. She tried to move her head, but found her body completely restrained; after a moment, she felt a metal slab beneath her and metal bands confining her entire body. Panicking, she called upon her strength and strained against her bonds, to no effect. Whatever else the thing on her head was doing, it had also negated her mutant strength - and, she was willing to bet, her flight and power-absorption capabilities as well. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the last thing she had seen before waking. There was a memory of - of school, and home, and Bobby - and of being normal -

Being normal? That couldn't be. Yet, the memory felt real. Even now, the image of the school tallied with other, slightly submerged memories of a normal childhood; of her mother's pride when she was accepted to one of the most prestigious prep schools in the country, of meeting Bobby there and falling in love...

But that wasn't true, was it? Wasn't there something about Bobby that didn't feel right? There was someone else, some connection that wasn't quite there with Bobby but was there with...who? A strange feeling of movement coalesced briefly in her head, and she frowned. It almost felt like someone else was in there, thinking at her, but what?

Abruptly the faint image of a face evolved in her inner eye. She caught a quick glimpse of strangely red eyes that bored into her, but not with threat or malice. There were hints of irony and slyness there, but most of all, she saw fear and concern and something so deep and unfathomable that she was afraid to put a label on it. Before she could study it further, though, a lance of white-hot agony washed through her mind and she screeched involuntarily. The face vanished, and her confusion shattered into one thing only - pain. Fruitlessly she struggled to bring her eyes into focus as a tall shadow leaned over her and tugged on a wire, but another shear of pain made her close her eyes and clench her teeth, tears streaking down her face.

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy... Her mind seemed capable of only the one word, but it couldn't force her vocal chords to do anything but scream. The feeling of something else in her head returned, and suddenly some of the misery eased. It felt as though a barrier now stood between her and the worst of the insanity. It was not a perfect blockade; slivers stole around the edges and pierced her sore mind - but it deflected the brunt of the attack to the point that she was able to reorganize some of her thoughts into a coherent pattern.

Evidently, the beings around her picked up the fact that she was somehow protecting herself, because they fiddled with a control panel, and then there was nothing. Rogue lay still, panting, wary. Her ears rang incessantly and her vision blurred in and out. She still could not get a good look at her captors. Too weak to do anything but lie there contemplating their next move, she waited.

Then the lights went out.

Without warning, an intense flash of blue-white light swept the room, ricocheting around the room until it hit her straight in the chest. Her heart contracted painfully as oxygen was forced out of her lungs. In front of her, a tube of energy the size of a small building hung in the air and emitted a vacuum-like suction. It pulled her off the metal slab and stretched her body into contortions she did not want to think about, until the last metal band shrieked and gave under its insistence. Plummeting down a corridor of light, she pinwheeled past images of her life that stretched on for several galaxy-lengths. Another burst of energy consumed her and she blacked out -