PART FOUR
ROGUE
Rogue shot into consciousness, her face wet, her throat sore, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. Bolting upright, she struggled to breathe, to forget the searing blaze, the incinerating nuclear fire. She rocked back and forth, praying for her mind to clear. As she swayed, her mind spun with images she did not understand; then she felt a hand rubbing her back and a soft voice whispering in her ear. "Shh, honey, it's all right, it's all right..."
"I - I don't know what's happening - it wasn't a dream, it wasn't - I'd know if it was - it was real - " she babbled, her shivering increasing. Someone held her very tightly in his lap, murmuring indistinctly into her hair.
Rogue clutched frantically at him, willing her mind to calm down and reorient itself. A sudden wave of vertigo crashed down upon her, and she shut her eyes tightly, a slight moan escaping from between gritted teeth. Through the impressions that reared up before her, she heard a door open and voices speaking in low, rapid tones. Then she was being lifted again, and she grabbed frantically at the air, the room spinning crazily about her.
A hand gripped hers firmly, and she narrowed her focus to that single point of contact. The noise of running water trickled into her ears; then she was lowered gently into a steaming bath. Immediately, her muscles started to relax. In her head, she felt someone moving around, quieting the panic centers until the room righted itself and she was able to open her eyes without retching
"Betsy - thank you..." she slurred, completely exhausted.
A cool hand touched her forehead. "Rogue, these episodes are only getting worse. I'm going to have to go in again, and I think now is as good a time as any." Betsy crouched by the immense bathtub and looked with concern into her best friend's eyes.
Weakly, Rogue managed a nod. "Anythin' to stop it, Bets. I don't know how much more I can handle without going insane." She did not smile. Neither did Betsy. Both were well aware of the gravity of the situation.
Immediately, she felt another hand on her shoulder, and she fumbled up, splashing a bit of water out of the tub as she sought out the hand there.
"I'm here Rogue. I'm not going anywhere." She felt a light kiss on the top of her head and nodded to Betsy.
"Full speed ahead." She closed her eyes and waited for the now-familiar feel of another mind going to work on hers. After a moment, she lapsed into unconsciousness, but not before noting in a tiny corner of her mind, that something red glowed through the darkness of her whirling mind. It flickered restlessly through the maelstrom in her head, leaving pockets of sanity in its wake. Another part of her mind compared it to the lavender sphere that spun lazily in the center of the storm and realized, with faint surprise, that something besides Betsy was inside -
She woke slowly, her mind active before her body was ready to respond. Shrouded in darkness, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust before dim outlines gradually resolved themselves into furniture. She lay quietly, allowing her mind to catch up to current events. The last thing she remembered was a vague disorientation, and a bathtub, and Betsy reaching inside her psionically to combat the - episodes, for lack of a better term - that had plagued her steadily over the past year.
A sudden block of light on the floor attracted her attention, and she turned her head to find a figure in the doorway holding a tray.
"Betsy said you were awake. Hungry?" Scott moved out of the doorway to a small table near her bed. Rogue yawned and pulled herself upright with his help.
"How long was I out this time?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"Uh -" Scott suddenly became very interested in the bed tray he was setting up.
"C'mon, sugar, you might as well tell me now." She folded her arms across her chest, and he sighed.
"A week," he muttered. Rogue leaned in a little closer.
"Come again?"
"A week," he repeated, a little louder this time. She slumped against the headboard and groaned.
Immediately she felt his arms around her. "Dammit, Scott, this is driving me crazy! I can't keep goin' through these - these - whatever the hell they are!"
She panted slightly, suddenly exhausted. "I give up."
Scott straightened up, shaking his head. "You're not giving up."
"Says who?" she challenged weakly.
"Says me," a new voice interrupted. They turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, his customary cigar smoking in one hand. Having gained their attention, he walked right up to the bed and stared Rogue down. After a moment, she glanced away.
"Quit slammin' yourself, darlin'. And quit shuttin' us out. We're here to help ya, but we can't do it unless you help yourself."
"Logan, I don't think she needs -" Scott took a step toward the shorter man to dismiss him, but Logan stopped him with a glare.
"She doesn't need more coddlin' from you, slim. She can take care of herself. You know it, and so does she." He waited for his logic to sink in, and only relaxed when Scott nodded tightly and brushed past him through the doorway.
"I'll get Moira to give you a check-up," he told Rogue on his way out.
She sighed. "Logan, could y'all be a little more confrontational? I don't think he quite got it."
Logan didn't smile at the jibe, but drew up a chair next to the bed and regarded her for a moment.
"What?" she asked.
"I'm just wonderin' what's really goin' on in that head o' yours. Why yer seein' what you see. And most of all, what yer doin' with a square like that," and he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the departed Cyclops.
That elicited a laugh from her. "You're never gonna give that one up, are ya?" she teased. Logan had always watched out for her, from the moment he joined the X-Men to the present. They'd adopted each other as siblings in spite of the age difference. 'Course, half the time his behaviour made her feel as if she was the older one.
He'd never approved of Scott as a suitable match for her. He claimed that Scott had too much baggage from his previous affair with Jean Grey, a fellow teammate who had perished in the thrall of an alien entity known as the Phoenix some years ago. Once upon a time, Rogue had agreed - but things changed, wounds healed, time passed. And once she had gained control over her absorption powers, she was finally free to love whomever she chose. It just so happened that that someone was Scott.
Logan snorted and chewed on his cigar. "I'm serious, girl," he complained. "You got way too much spirit for the likes of him."
"I'm well aware of your position, Logan. I also know that Scott cares about me, and he's been good for me, and there really ain't nothin' y'all can do about it, so give it up, please? I'm too tired to be arguin'."
Logan touched her briefly on the forehead."All right. Listen, I'm wonderin' about somethin' - like when exactly these events started?"
Rogue closed her eyes and tried to remember."A year, I think."
"And when was it that you got control of your powers?"
Rogue frowned, not really following his train of thought. "Well, you know that - when we tussled with that kid who claimed to be from another timeline. What was his name?"
"Nate Grey," Logan supplied.
"Yeah, well, when Nate connected with me, I got pulled into his mind, instead o' the other way around, and he did something in there, and voila - I understood how to do it. O' course then that weird version of Beast showed up and grabbed him and they disappeared. But I still had the on/off switch." She finished and looked up at him. "What does that have t'do with anything?"
Logan rolled his eyes. "Since you're sick, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but it's pretty obvious, if you think about it. You ran into Nate a year ago, too, remember?"
Rogue shrugged. "I guess so."
"So," Logan continued with infinite patience - for him, "maybe you did absorb somethin' from him, after all."
She thought about it for a moment. While she experienced every vision first-hand, she had never had the sense that she was anyone other than herself.
"No, that's not it. I'm me in these visions, Logan," she told him flatly.
He frowned."Huh."
They spent a long moment reflecting on her predicament before Rogue spoke up again.
"Hey, I had a weird feeling when Betsy went in for housecleaning."
"What's that?"
"Well, when Betsy's in my head, she shows up as a purple sphere, and before I pass out, I can kinda see what she's doin'. This last time, I saw her, but there was this red smudge in there too - and it was doin' the same thing as she was."
He sat down on the edge of the bed. "So, y'think someone else was paying a visit?"
Rogue shook her head. "No, it felt like it was already there when Betsy arrived. I think I've got someone else in there with me."
"Nate?"
"No! God, no - I'd know if it was him. He'd be makin' a ruckus tryin' to get out. No, it's somethin' else. Who or what, I don't know, but somehow, I don't think they have bad intentions."
Logan harrumphed to himself. "Are you crazy? Something else is in your head, but it's not a bad thing?"
"Yes and yes."
He stood up."All right, I'm gonna leave now, because it's clear you need some more rest." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Now go to sleep."
Her eyes were already drifting shut, overcome with a wave of sudden exhaustion. She barely heard Scott returning, or Moira's calm voice informing them that he'd still be there when she woke again, and that sleep was the best remedy for the moment. She slept.
GAMBIT
He sat very still as the violet ball of light expanded into a semi-transparent, glittering net that slowly moved around the interior of Rogue's mind and soothed it wherever the net touched. It was a familiar presence, and he knew its owner's identity from the moment it appeared. The problem was, the owner he knew no longer had this capability. Which meant that they had once again jumped into another dimension. Which meant that he was still trapped.
Carefully, he blanked his own mind and concentrated on nothingness until the purple mist had done its job and slowly withdrew back into a purple orb. It gave another whirl, and then disappeared, leaving him feeling curiously unrestrained.
His own mind was very sore and tired, and the memory loss had increased. In the quiet of Rogue's slumber, he allowed himself to recall a few scattered reminiscences, ones that he was fairly sure belonged to him alone. Running through the streets of New Orleans with boyhood friends, a marriage to - to a beautiful woman with blonde hair - who?
He did not know. He had strong feelings for his mystery bride, but he could no longer remember her name or significance. There was something about her death...maybe...
Frustrated, he looked around. The terrifying visions of the age they had transferred from had been contained in one of Betsy's psionic "nets", but other recollections floated freely as she dreamed. They showed him bits and pieces of the life that she lived here, intermingled with shadows from his world. He wondered if this place would resemble anything familiar. It could not possibly be as terrible as the last one. Or so he hoped.
Her mind fluttered around him as she woke slowly and spoke to Scott. Remy clamped down hard on his jealousy, trying to contain the rage he felt at the other man's ministrations to her. As he sat stewing, he muttered to himself about her questionable taste in men, especially if this Scott was anything like theirs. At least Logan agreed with him, and Logan was someone she would listen to - most of the time. He wondered vaguely what the version of him was doing this time around. Head of the Thieves Guild, most likely - or worse. Still married to what's her name? Maybe.
Had Rogue ever met a version of him here? He scrabbled about in her befuddled head for awhile, but came up empty-handed. No, she was completely unaware of his existence outside of her head. This was new and slightly unwelcome. He held onto a theory that if he could come into contact with another version of himself, he might be able to extricate himself from Rogue's mind. Still, she needed him in here, so he was in no hurry to leave. Yet. It all depended on how much he was going to have to suffer from her and Scott's mind-boggling relationship.
Rising from his reverie, Remy poked a cautious tendril of thought outwards. Rogue was speaking to Logan - apparently, she had wakened, though it was odd that he had not noticed right away. He kept half an ear on the conversation, still preoccupied with other thoughts. Logan departed, and he felt Rogue drift off into sleep again.
Good, chere - you rest. Remy watch over you.
Quietly, he let his mind drift and watched Rogue's dreams float by. The longer he stayed trapped, the more difficult he found it to hold on to the idea that he was a separate entity. When confronted with the ideas that constantly whirled about in her head, he found himself surprised at how congruent the majority of them were with his own scattered ideology. Guess we really are made fo' each other.
A sudden bright image of Scott reared up in front of him, and he started - then groaned in disbelief. Was he the only thing on her mind? Woman, you killin' me! What you doin'?
"I'm thinkin'. Got a problem with that?"
Remy would have gaped if he had had a mouth to gape with. Guardedly, and with more than a little skepticism that she had been able to acknowledged him, he answered, No, course not. Just wonderin' how - He broke off suddenly. He had to very careful or he might unbalance her completely. Extending mental feelers, he was both surprised and suspicious to find that the invisible barrier confining him had weakened considerably.
Before he could ponder the ramifications of this new and startling development, she cut in. "You're wonderin'? How do ya think I feel, knowin' someone's up there in my head with me? Who are you?"
Don't suppose callin' m'self yo' conscience is gonna hack it, eh?
"You're not gettin' off that easy. Just please tell me that I'm not crazy for talkin' to myself!"
You not crazy. You been through more than yo' fair share of pain and madness, but you still sane. For the moment, anyway.
"Well, that's a relief. The voice in my head tells me I'm sane, therefore I am." Her words dripped both sarcasm and humor. "So y'all know up there about my visions?"
Oui, chere. I was there for most of them.
"What, y'mean in my head?"
And - in the flesh.
Rogue felt faint."How long've you been up there?"
Gambit hesitated. If he told the truth, she would either A) not believe him, B) believe him, or C) fall over the cliffs of insanity. He didn't know if he could handle any of the three.
"I'm waitin'."
Remy took a breath and decided he had little to lose. I don't know 'bout time, but I know dat we been through a lot o' livin'. How's dat?
"You're hidin' something, aren't ya?" she challenged. She cut him off before he could answer. "S'all right for now. I don't know if I could process much more than what you've told me." After a moment, she asked,"So, you can read my mind?"
Un peu. More like I get impressions and emotions.
"I don't know if I'm relieved or not."
Listen, Rogue, I only here to help. To protect. If I could get out, I would, but some things aren't meant t'be. For now, we're stuck wit each other.
She felt a wave of affection that took the sting out of the thought. I here cause I -
He stopped suddenly, aware that someone had been listening to their conversation. Someone who was very interested in the workings of Rogue's addled psyche. Someone whose faint lavender shimmer had, without warning, reappeared almost on top of his own presence. Frantically he backpedaled, this time running for the depths and the relative safety of his prison, hoping that he would be able to hide from its questing presence - because it felt very, very wrong.
ROGUE
A knock at the door distracted her from her interrogation, and Rogue turned irritably, "Yes?"
The door opened, and Betsy entered smoothly. "Sorry. I thought I heard you talking to someone in here."
Rogue gave a bland smile. "Nah, just - just thinkin' out loud."
Gliding over to her bed, the former assassin narrowed her eyes and gave her an intense once-over. "Scott's really worried about you. I wish Charles was here - he's much better at psionic healing than I am."
"Yeah, well, he chose to go gallivantin' around the galaxy with Lil. If wishes were fishes-" Rogue eyed her companion covertly as the other woman stalked around the room. A particular feeling of unease crept across her - as if Betsy, her oldest friend, her best friend, had suddenly changed.
"We'd all be rich," Betsy finished for her. She pulled over a chair and straddled it, resting her arms across its back. "Or at least well-fed." With practiced nonchalance, she looked around the room, her eyes finally lighting on a framed picture of Ororo Munroe, another teammate. After a moment, she asked, "Did you know that the other team is out on a mission?"
"Without me?" Rogue struggled to sit up, but Betsy restrained her with a hand on her chest and gently pushed her back.
"As if you're in any condition to do anything! No offense, Rogue, but your mind is at a breaking point, and your body's suffering for it. Or hadn't you noticed your complete lack of energy in the past few - oh -months?"
Rogue winced. "All right, you win. Now tell me what I've been missing."
"We've had a few run-ins with some kind of extremist group -" she began
"Again?" Rogue interrupted."I thought we took care o' one last week."
Betsy gave her a mock glare."We did. They're not our average run-of-the-mill mutants or human-centric group. They seem to think we destroyed their species."
"Which we? We as in the inhabitants of Earth, or we as in the X-Men?" Rogue asked.
Betsy paused, and seemed to be choosing her words with care. "We as in the X-Men. Apparently our last scrap with Apocalypse -" she broke off, noting Rogue's reaction curiously.
At the mention of Apocalypse, Rogue had turned very pale, her blank gaze boring through the wall of the bedroom. Betsy reached over and touched her arm gently.
"What do you see?" she asked in a quiet voice, hoping to pounce on the other woman's subconscious before it locked itself up again. She got more than she bargained for.
"He's got my son, Remy! You let him have my son!" Rogue screeched suddenly. Startled, Betsy half-rose when Rogue, caught up in her hallucination, inadvertently sent her crashing across the room with a wild swing, her strength momentarily restored by the grip of her phantasm.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH! HOW COULD YOU?!"
Rogue fought against the bedclothes that tangled about her thrashing limbs. She ripped a sheet from her leg and threw herself forward off the bed, somehow managing to land on her feet, as she cursed and punched the air with enough force to kill anyone who got in her way. Across the room, Betsy had twisted in midair and rebounded off the far wall; now she watched warily from her position, ready to move if her friend decided that Betsy represented some kind of threat.
Rogue beat down the air in front of her, falling roughly to her knees, as though she was kneeling on top of someone, and methodically pummeled the floor - until her arms suddenly jerked back as if restrained. Biding her time, Betsy watched as an invisible force held Rogue back; after a moment, the other woman sagged and nodded, listening to whatever the unseen ally was saying. Then she looked at the spot on the floor - which, had it been a person, would have been one in considerable pain - and studied it with a look that could have frozen blood.
After a long moment, she leaned forward and hissed, "You find him. You come with me and you find him, or so help me I'll kill you where you lie." Betsy had little doubt that Rogue meant every word. She looked ready to murder as she stood, panting and wiping the sweat from her forehead, glaring at the carpet all the while. Then, without a backward glance, she turned on her heel and started to walk away.
She only made it one step before her legs crumpled and she fell forward, unconscious. Betsy leapt forward, caught her just before her head would have knocked against the bedpost, and lowered her smoothly to the floor.
GAMBIT
Closing her eyes, Betsy summoned the sum of her psionic power, which manifested itself as a glowing purple blade. This she carefully eased into Rogue's head. At once, she was assaulted by images of a clarity she had never experienced before, and there were literally millions whirling around. Alarmed by the flow, she tried to find a point to anchor herself, but it was like swimming upstream against a raging river. Buffeted to and fro, she reached out for something, anything -
And nearly died of shock when someone grabbed her hand and pulled her up, out of the stream and into a darker, quieter place. Betsy drew a deep breath and looked around for her savior.
Holding her psi-blade ready, she asked calmly, "Rogue, is that you?
"She's out cold. Don' worry - I watchin' her," a voice spoke behind her. She whirled around and her eyes widened.
"Who the hell are you?"
Remy eyed her for a moment. "You don't know me?" She stared back at him, shaking her head. "Look like I was right. Not an X-Man dis time," he muttered.
Betsy spent a long moment studying him with narrowed eyes, and he got the impression that she found him severely lacking. At the same time, a prickling at the back of his neck informed him that his earlier assessment remained valid. This Betsy didn't quite fit, no matter that they were in a different dimension. Still, she could be an ally...
Remy shrugged. "You want the truth?" Betsy nodded. "Dis Rogue - she ain't your Rogue. Dis ain't her world. I ain't even sure dis is a world, but it's not hers. Or mine. the reason she's losin' her mind is because she been through three lifetimes already, and it can't handle that kind o' stress. And in the last one, she died. Dat be causin' her no end of grief. The world blew up - in dat time, Apocalypse come to power and try to kill everythin'. Rogue and Magneto -"
"Magneto?" Betsy cocked an eyebrow.
"Dey be husband and wife." More than a little bitterness leaked out in spite of his vow not to let that raw fact get to him. Betsy caught it but ignored it.
"So how do you fit into the picture?" she asked sharply.
"I don't really know anymore." The words flew out of his mouth without a second thought. He grunted in surprise at the lack of discretion, but then reasoned that he had nothing to hide. Besides, this Betsy was still a telepath; she'd ferret it out of him one way or another.
"Anyway, in the last fight, the humans released their nukes from England, and Apocalypse fired from America, and -" he broke off.
"Boom," Betsy said softly. "No wonder her head's cracking. Her conscious mind doesn't know any of this, right?" Gambit nodded."What else?"
"The firs' time we jumped, she changed into a younger version o' herself. Wit' no powers. You can imagine what dat was like - her bein' able to touch anything and anyone, and not knowin' why dat seemed like a big deal. Cause, y'know, she got no control over her absorbin' in our place."
"How did your minds merge?" Betsy asked suddenly.
Gambit blinked. A big blank spot stood in place of the recollections he had expected to find. It had slowly gnawed away the surface memories of his mind, and now he realized that it had taken away his knowledge of their arrival into this mess in the first place. Groping, he came up with exactly nothing and frowned. They had come to – because of Rogue – and –
"I don' know. I t'ink Rogue was in trouble, and I had to get her out –" but even that sounded unlikely. Maybe they weren't really here at all; maybe this was all some weird dream induced by too much work and not enough play. Maybe
"What's the matter, Cajun? Can't remember?" Psylocke's words, spoken strangely in a mocking tone, hovered between them for a moment as he stared at her.
"No, as a matter o' fact, I can't. Strange, too, chere, cuz I know I was t'inkin' bout dis stuff before you came into the room. So what give, eh?" he challenged.
"You think you're here to help her?" Betsy countered, ignoring the question. He stared at her, frowned, and nodded. "Seems to me like you haven't done much except confuse her even more."
"How d'you know dat?" he demanded, and continued without waiting for her retort. "I didn't ask to be stuck in her head, it jus' happened!"
"What do you want from her?" Betsy had subtly adjusted her stance so that her psychic knife was now pointing directly up under his chin. He backed up a step, feeling the energy field crackle around the weapon.
"I don' want anything from her, I want to help her. What part o' dat don't you understand?" he growled.
"Why?"
"Because she's in trouble."
"Not good enough. What do you get out of it?"
He glared at her in confusion. "Nothin'. I don' want anythin' 'cept to get her back where she belongs. Which isn't here."
Her violet eyes boring into him, the not-quite Betsy cocked an elegant eyebrow. "You're committing a selfless act?"
"No," he said with complete honesty. "I'm bein' selfish, savin' another human being who drives me nuts on a regular basis, who's as bull-headed as dey come, who may or may not hat my guts when all's said an' done!" he roared, losing his temper. Days of rage and frustration fairly exploded outward in a red borealis of light that shimmered to life around him, flickering brightly.
"Listen t'me, girl. I will do anythin', anythin' at all, to stop what's happenin' to her, do you understand me? I don' care what it takes. She's too important -" The words died on his lips even as he spoke them. Too important. But that was the whole problem, wasn't it? The whole time, staring him in the face, and he's been trying too hard to fool himself to see it. There was no such thing as too important where Rogue was concerned. Bewildered by his sudden insight, his anger fading rapidly, he stopped and merely looked at Betsy. She scrutinized him for a moment and he felt a wave of foreignness roll off of her and through him.
The prickling on the back of his figurative neck had increased, and he watched her guardedly. Suddenly Betsy stiffened, her face blank and wooden, while the lavender aura that surrounded the telepath flared and rose, surrounding her. In disbelief, Remy gaped as her form elongated into something large and many-armed, with a prominent proboscis scenting the air around it. Around it, the false purple aura darkened to a midnight blue, and alien thoughts emanated from it.
More than a bit frightened, the Cajun tensed and prepared to fight. The being seemed to study him curiously for a moment; then it opened its mouth and issued a stream of melodic inquiry. The sound wreathed through his mind, and gradually he understood that it had asked a question.
You are a strange species. Why did you come after the woman? She would have been returned to you unharmed.
"Unharmed!" Remy roared. "You already mangled her mind - I've seen it! What the hell you doin' to her?"
Inaccurate assessment, human, it sang at him. We are merely studying her, attempting to educate ourselves about the reality of your world -
"Reality? What you talkin' 'bout?" Remy interrupted, his eyes snapping. "None o' what I seen happened!" Suddenly, some of the pieces of the puzzle clicked and he snapped, "You tellin' me you creating dese lifetimes? Dese alternate universes, or whatever the hell the are? And den runnin' us through like rats in a maze?"
Yes and no. We took the basic structure of each lifetime from her own memories, though we arranged them to form the parameters of the experiment.
It took a moment for the significance of its statement to penetrate his turbulent mind; then his eyes widened. "But we stopped Apocalypse - Bishop told us - when Legion died in time..."
For once, the thief was struck speechless. There had been indications of it, of course - Bishop retained memories, Nate Grey was a direct product of it, somehow transferred through space-time in pursuit of two villains of that age. But none of the other X-Men carried the faintest inkling of what could have been - excepting, apparently, Rogue. Rogue, who had because of this madness, cried out day and night for a child that could not exist, terrified by a world that they had managed to prevent. Ice coursed through his veins, and Remy's eyes narrowed in cold fury as another unwelcome revelation occurred.
"Where are we really, homme? We not travellin' at all, hein? We still on dat overgrown pebble in the atmosphere." It was not a question.
The being nodded once. Your intuition serves you well, human.
"Release her." Remy's voice was low and steady, but even Sabretooth might have thought twice at its intensity. His staff suddenly manifested in his hand and he gripped it tightly, sinking into a attack stance.
The creature stood observing him placidly. Aggression will serve no purpose. I am not physical on this plane. I am merely an idea. As, I might point out, are you. It waited a moment until he saw the concept sink in; then it continued in a placating manner. I have been an observer in these proceedings; I do not wish to harm you.
"Can't say I feelin' as generous towards you, ami. You shackled her, you invaded her mind, you screwin' wit' her memories. Don' sound like friendly actions t' me." Remy eased upright again. "Why you botherin' t' talk t' me now?"
Because she has progressed farther than we anticipated. Her mind has accepted too readily the situations it has been presented with, and taken control of her current actuality. Withdrawal back into the physical plane may shatter her psyche. This was not our intention. For a wonder, it managed to look sheepish. Our knowledge of Terran psychology is not as ... comprehensive as we believed.
"You done dis to her, you fix it!"
But we cannot. That is why we have summoned you.
Remy sank into a crouch, shoulders drooping. "No, no, you can' lay dis on me. I'm no telepath, and the chere needs the best if what you say is truth."
You share a rapport with the subject, human. It may well be that your intervention will be the only thing that can save her. It eyed him penetratingly as it paused. Unless you deem the effort unworthy of your sacrifice.
"Don' fence words wit' me, chien." Remy glared up at the insectoid. "You put me in here, neh?"
Again, a flood of near-music wreathed around in the space between them while the being considered its reply. Your current position is an unfortunate accident. We never meant for you to come in contact with the subject. This development is most unsettling - the communication sphere was intended to keep you in stasis, but the bond between you and the - woman, is it? - drew you into her psyche. Is this a common occurrence in your dimension?
Remy grunted. "I'm guessin' no. Sounds maybe like telepathy - I don' know! If you wan' me t'help her, how come you locked me up in a dark corner?"
The being bowed apologetically. It was for her safety - we realized after the preliminary trial that your mind was independent of the timestream, and as such, retained knowledge of every event you experienced, to some degree. Hers has been programmed to respond and integrate itself into a given situation without question; outside interference would not only have rendered the results invalid, they might also had damaged her psyche irreparably.
"But dat's what you want me t'do now, non? Even though it might kill her?"
This one has an exceptionally strong mind. The danger is high, but several extrapolations we've run on the current scenario indicate that survival is possible if the right conditions are set and adhered to.
Remy sighed in frustration. He thought he understood the gist of it, but sensed that the alien had yet to get to its point. "Spit it out, homme. What I got t'do?"
It hummed to itself for a time before replying. She must understand that what she is experiencing is not real. She must walk on the edge of insanity and accept that the seeming insanity is in itself her salvation. We never thought to encounter such adaptability in a mind. It is a tribute to your species, it commented.
"I gotta convince her to wake up, eh?"
In essence, yes. But you must do so in a manner exceeding cautionary. We are lifting the block we have imposed on you, but please use your freedom sparingly until you can accommodate her to your presence. Your earlier conversation with her directly could have dangerous repercussions - please do not attempt further direct contact. Do not attack mental walls within her mind - you will only send her into an overload, and she may shut down permanently. It has been suggested that you contact her through her sleep patterns - you call it dreaming?
"Yeah."
It may be the best starting point. It shimmered slightly, and looked inquiringly at him. Do you understand the gravity of her situation?
Remy nodded tightly.
Then you may begin at will.
"You people an me gon' have a talk 'bout dese experiments when dis is through, y'hear me?" Remy sighed, and cast about for inspiration. He could feel Rogue beginning to wake. Turning back, he was unsurprised to find himself alone.
"Merde. I gonna kick some alien ass 'fore dis is done, Roguey."
ROGUE
In the darkness, Rogue spun wildly out of control, the stars flashing up, down and around until she was too dizzy to do anything but close her eyes and moan. Suddenly an enormous force struck her, and she reversed direction, the disorienting gyrations stopping as her body righted itself and zoomed backwards. She turned her head vainly, trying to see what had caught her, but all she could get was an impression of a huge dark mass looming over her -
Abruptly the scene vanished and a sense of calm smoothed out the tension coiled in her muscles. Gradually another place came into focus, somewhere that also felt familiar, though in a far less disturbing manner. A carriage drawn by two Morgan horses. A crisp, clear autumn night in a park - in a city - She strained to remember where, but a wave of soothing well-being whispered that where was not important, and she let the thought drift on. Inside, she sat with a man of shadows, but she was not afraid. His presence felt comfortingly familiar, and she did not wince when he eased an arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. Her cheeks warmed pleasantly as he leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Chere, it's time to awaken."
Her eyes snapped open, the words still echoing in her mind. Strangely, the last part of the dream did not fade, but seemed to increase, at least to the point that she was certain she would not soon forget it. Something about the voice -
The voice of the dream was the voice in her head. Blinking at this interesting discovery, she lay very still, considering. She did not believe that the voice triggered her last episode, and so had not mentioned it to anyone, knowing she was walking a thin line towards the loony bin as it was. Aside from Betsy's psionic balm, she had refused any kind of psychiatric drug for fear of falling deeper into the haze of her splintered psyche than she already had.
There it was again! A faint, vague impression of an outside rationality that was communicating with her from within, agreeing with her assessment. She tried to focus on that place of otherness, but it faded even as she locked onto it.
"Fine, then, be that way. Aw, hell - any minute the nice men in white coats are gonna show up anyway; I'm about ready t' surrender."
There was a faint resurgence of awareness that insinuated reproof at her self-doubt. Trust me, it seemed to tell her before again winking out.
"All right, all right. For the moment. Have it your way." Weakly, she tossed aside the bedclothes and tottered to her feet just as Scott opened the door.
"Oh, hon, wait - let me help you," he told her and quickly moved to her side to support her. She shot him a wry grin, a little annoyed, but holding it in check. It was only Scott being overanxious Scott, after all.
"And here I am, the invulnerable strong-woman of the team, and I can barely make it two steps without my knees bucklin'. Just goes to show ya that God does have a sense of humor."
Laughing, Scott picked her up. "That's all right - I love any excuse to hold you."
Rogue kissed him lightly. "It is kinda nice playin' the damsel in distress, even if'n it was a command performance, as such."
His smile faded and he set her down on the edge of the bed. "Moira still can't pinpoint a source of this - disturbance. The only thing he can relate it to is -" he broke off, frowning.
"What?" she prodded.
"Multiple Personality Disorder. Except that you don't seem to be changing personalities, just - lifetimes."
"I wonder if my past lives are comin' back to haunt me?" she pondered, only half-joking.
Scott shook his head. "Only they don't seem to be past lives, from what we've heard. Just - different."
Rogue gave a little groan, and he gathered in close to him. "Will somebody just give me a lobotomy and be done with it!"
"That's not funny."
She glared up at him. "Who says I was kiddin'? I'm certifiable as it is, even Moira would admit to that if ya pushed her hard enough. I forget things, I see other people in place of the ones in front o' me - the list goes on. I can't go on missions because I'm too much of a liability -"
Scott interrupted her. "You can't go out because you don't have the strength. This thing is draining you too much. Anyway, with Mystique back and Quicksilver filling in the tight spots we're managing. Work is not an option, and you know it - you're just too weak."
Struggling again to her feet, she put out a hand to stop him from pulling her back down, her eyes flashing. "All right, I get the picture, Scott. I'm weak. Fine. I'm goin to bathe this weak body of mine in a hot shower and massage my weak skull t' get rid of this never-endin' headache, and then I'm gonna haul my weak self down to the kitchen and feed it breakfast."
"Lunch," he corrected absently. He never understood these periods of anger directed at him; as usual, he attributed it to her ordeal and ignored them.
With great effort of will, she managed not to throw something at him and hissed, "Lunch. In the meantime, I think I'd like t'be alone, all right?"
He stood and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "See you downstairs." With a distracted smile, he left .
Rogue closed her eyes and counted to ten, and then counted to ten again. In the past few weeks, Scott had grown increasingly irritating to her - all of his careful ministrations notwithstanding. In fact, they were part of the problem. She had never been sick and hated to be mother-henned in moments of weakness. The past month, as the occurrences had increased in severity, she had not only had to survive the experience but the good intentions of her teammates as well. Only Ororo and Logan had the common sense to treat her normally, not as though she was a piece of crystal on a one-way trip towards a cement floor destiny.
"I'm a fighter, not a lover," she quipped grimly under her breath as she pulled off her nightshirt on the way to the shower. "And I refuse to go nuts."
A half hour later, she meandered slowly downstairs, her system already flagging, and she knew she would need a good nap after her meal. Making a simple sandwich took an eternity, and by the time she finished it, she felt as though she had pulled an all -nighter in the Danger Room. Putting her plate carefully in the sink, she wandered into the library, hoping to find a good read to keep her company and perhaps stave off sleep a while longer.
After long minutes of perusing the shelves, she settled on a battered copy of The Princess Bride, planning to test the theory that laughter is the best medicine. She made it through a few chuckles before she nodded off and once more fell into dreamland.
This time she stood atop a hill of carnage, clutching a two-year old boy and a man she knew to be her husband, though she could not see his face. They faced East, towards thousands of approaching pinpricks of light that she somehow knew were not stars at all but something far more sinister. Holding her tightly, his long silver hair mingling with her own, he tried vainly to shield them as the bombs hit. A brightness as brilliant as a thousand supernovas burned her eyes, followed by a wave of intense heat, but just before it touched her, she was yanked away into another place.
She looked around, breathing hard, the paralyzing fear of the attack barely starting to diminish. Around her rose the skeleton of a run-down theater, its house bare, the stage falling to pieces. Ragged curtain remnants fluttered in the drafty hall; bats swooped by overhead.
Suddenly a presence was behind her, and she whirled, surprised but not frightened. The man from the carriage, whose voice she knew, stood backlit by a single functioning gaslight. He made no move to approach her, merely held out his gloved hand. She looked at it curiously, noting the glove's peculiar design: the middle two fingers were covered, leaving the thumb, index and pinky fingers bare. To promote dexterity, she knew, agility to draw things out and throw them - to draw out - what?
Again a presence tickled her mind, urging her to trust her instincts, which were agreeing with the voice. Still, she hung back, the scene all too familiar for some reason, and one that pricked of ill consequences.
I've been here before. I've done this before, and something went wrong.
The man picked up on her doubt and froze; then his body slumped and he looked for all the world like he was mentally kicking himself. She thought she heard him mutter, "Stupid idea - o' course she'd remember dat. Have t' try somethin' else."
Rogue slowly backed away and turned around. On all sides, the walls of the theatre dissolved as she fled towards wakefulness. She did not see the pain in his eyes as he watched the event replay itself - as in life, so in dreams.
