Note to Readers: I know it seems like a long wait between chapters, and I may have half of this story written already, but I have more than one beta reader and it takes time for each chapter to be edited. So even though it may seem like I'm trying to torture you, I'm not. Each chapter is fairly long in itself, so I hope they satiate you at least a little. It's either you get the full chunk or bits and pieces here and there and I much prefer posting whole chapters. So even though it may be a little over a week for each chapter to be posted (and I did say in the beginning that it would be pretty much a week between chapters), I'm just trying (*trying*, possibly not succeeding) to put out a quality story here, which is why I allow myself the process of writing as it comes and not to a certain time table. I hope you continue to read and review if you've enjoyed it. I'll try to get the next chapter out soon.


Beta Readers (Chapter Three): A.J. and Laura, whom I adore. They pick me apart and I love them for it.

Chapter Three (3/15)


Bobby's hand trailed over her stomach, and her muscles clenched against the touch. She bit her lip, lying carefully back against his pillows as he had asked her to. He stared down at her intently, his lips slightly parted, a line around his mouth that was a dimple when he smiled. But Bobby wasn't smiling now, too busy concentrating.


"You okay?" he asked in a strange, hoarse voice.


Rogue blinked, once, and then smiled at him in answer. Yeah, she was doing okay. The blinds had been drawn, so the room was left a shaded yellow, dust mites drifting through the air, caught up in the half-light. Twisting like her nerves. The door to his room was locked, and Billy, who he shared it with since St. John had run off with Magneto and Mystique, was at lunch. They should have been themselves, but there was the lure of privacy and Rogue's newfound courage to push the envelope.


"Good," he whispered, and pressed more firmly against her belly, sliding his palm up until it rested just beneath her left breast. Her breath picked up as he leaned down, shifting onto his side beside her. The mattress dipped slightly, caving in at the center, bringing their bodies flush together. His pelvis rested against her thigh.


Their eyes met and a spark shot up her stomach, bouncing around like a ping-pong ball. His mouth quirked up at the corner. Cocky... She didn't finish the thought because just then, Bobby decided to slip his hand up to fully cover her breast for the first time. A breath gasped out of her, soft and between her teeth. Rogue could have cursed three ways from Sunday about the attentive way he was looking down at her. A hot look, from a guy that could freeze her if he liked.


A pile of scarves sat beside her head, one edge tickling her cheek as she turned her head to the side, hissing out a soft moan and squeezing her eyes closed at the new sensation. His breath warmed the side of her face, setting off the tingling of danger and excitement low in her stomach.


There was a knock on the door.


"Dammit, Bobby, you locked the door again!"


Bobby groaned in disgust and dropped down onto the mattress beside her, his palm sliding away from her breast. Rogue laughed at the ceiling, listening to him curse at his roommate.


* * * *


The morning was misty, gray and wet like it had been raining. The thick, evocative smell of freshly cut grass tickled Rogue's nostrils as she waited for Scott to appear at the doors of the mansion. It was chilly enough that she regretted not wearing a jacket, but the air was heavy in a way that meant the chill would soon be gone and replaced with the bloated heat of new summer.


She was smoothing her hair back from her face when she caught sight of Scott heading toward her, his long strides taking him down the steps to where she was, leaning against his parked car. Rogue pushed herself to a standing position, smiling warmly at him in greeting even as her fingers threaded together.


"Morning," he said, rubbing a hand over the side of his jaw like he always did when he was tired, scraping the palm across his freshly shaved face. She'd seen him do it a million times in math class when Pyro made yet another smart-ass comment. But thinking about Pyro, the way he'd just walked away, made her stomach twist because damn, he was in her head and she *understood* why he'd gone. It wasn't about betrayal. It was about need.


"Morning," she replied, tipping her toes up and rolling back onto her heels, flashing her eyebrows at him. "So..."


He shook his head. "I'm okay. Don't tell me you're going to be yet another person who asks that same question constantly."


Rogue bit her bottom lip, glancing down at her boots. "You can't blame us for it, Scott. You always look so sad, and yet, so... I don't know if there are words, but it's like you're part of this big... big... THING... and sometimes that thing is all around you." Scott only stared at her, and Rogue found herself blushing, eyeballing her toes as she rocked forward onto them again. "Guess that doesn't make a bit of sense, but I don't care because it's what I mean."


"It makes sense," he assured her. And then he laughed, a sharp little chuckle that had her looking back up at him. "God help us all, but it does. Which scares me. So let's leave before I become a coward and decide to leave all the arrangements to the Professor after all."


When they were in the car, Rogue automatically buckled up, figuring he was the type of person that would be anal about it. Sure enough, he immediately slid the seatbelt over his chest like it was second nature, and then started the car up. It rumbled beneath their thighs, and she smiled secretly to herself, quickly concealing it with her gloved hand when he glanced over at her with a curious expression on his face.


He left the music off, so the sound of gravel popping under the tires and the hum of the pavement filled the air inside the car. It wasn't an unpleasant silence, more the type that was worn before a long night of speaking. An outfit that could be discarded at will when the time was right. Rogue found herself inexplicably comfortable, occasionally flicking her eyes to where his hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers shifting over the rubber grip, pointing north and west, tapping like maybe there WAS music playing. Somewhere.


There was a time when she could have said her life was made up of a of a future 'somewhere'. It had always been 'somewhere' down the road, she'd be happy again. 'Somewhere' not here, she could sit and breathe, not worrying about some little kid stumbling over his shoelaces and falling into her bare hands.


Death was a somewhere. And for a while there she had wanted it, even been a little hungry for it. To know it and bring it into herself...


Rogue shuddered, clenching her teeth inside her mouth, fighting it back.


She didn't want to think about 'somewhere' anymore.


"You never speak of your parents," Scott said out of the blue, five minutes later. Rogue jerked her gaze over to him, surprised that he had even mentioned them, especially so bluntly. It was like being sucker-punched in the stomach, when she hadn't been prepared with her usual defenses. He had his eyebrows raised, and with the road a straight line in front of them, he was able to stare at her directly without worrying he'd run them into a ditch.


Rogue shrugged, trying at carelessness. "There's nothing really to say about them."


Admittedly, that was the understatement of the century. Her fingers were sweating beneath the gloves, making her itch to take them off. Instead she just clenched her hands together in her lap and stared at the road ahead, shrouded by green-leaved trees, acutely aware that he wasn't doing the same. The sound of his fingers tapping against the wheel was making her jaw twitch, a nervous tick she had never quite been able to get rid of.


Careless? Not quite. She counted the carcasses of run-over animals as they passed.


"Nothing, hmm?" Tap. Tap. Tap.


Logan in her head, "I'm telling ya, kid, he's a tight ass."


One. A cat.


"Nothing," Rogue muttered, glaring at him sideways. The visor he wore cast a shadow over his nose, making him look stern and imposing, but mostly concerned.


"But isn't this how it goes?"


Two. A rabbit this time.


"What?" Rogue asked, confused. She raised her hands into the air, palms facing the ceiling. He turned his face toward the road again, but a smile was fiddling with his lips, like he wanted to tease her with it, but wasn't really sure how. Like he'd never really done it before. She felt an odd sadness for him permeate her belly. There were moments where he seemed like he had never really gotten to play. At least she'd had a childhood. Sort of.


"Show me yours, I'll show you mine."


Was that a joke? Had Scott Summers actually cracked a joke?


Rogue rolled her eyes. "Men."


"We're all pigs at heart," he said wisely.


They both laughed and she felt her heart lighten, a tight knot beneath her ribs loosen. Rogue tossed him a quiet thanks with her eyes, but he wasn't looking at her. His jaw was moving slowly as he chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip, facing the road.


In the distance, Rogue could see a town looming, like a blister that had to be popped at exactly sunset so that it wouldn't hurt. Not quite real like a folklore wasn't quite true. It always had that look about it, the surrealistic quality of fog, because none of them really lived there, even though they *did*. The sun peeked over the buildings, blinking through the gray, fading air, dissolving it into a bittersweet memory that she could taste on the back of her tongue but could never swallow.


"So you've successfully avoided the subject," Scott pointed out, a moment later when they had entered the town. He slowed the vehicle down to about twenty miles per hour, driving carefully among the other cars and trucks, with fresh light glinting off their hoods.


Rogue only sighed, squinting her eyes when the rays bounced of the metal surfaces and blinded her. Friends they might be, or at least heading in that direction, but still... just no. She didn't talk about her parents to anyone.


"It's that building right over there," she said abruptly, when she saw the red-bricked funeral parlor at the end of Main Street. Of course, he already knew that. But it was something to say, something to fill the space where another answer could have sat.


'My parents hate me.'


'Because you're a mutant?'


'Yeah, but that's probably an excuse. I think they just hate me.'


Scott slowed the car to a stop, put his blinker on, and pulled them into a parking space. Rogue unbuckled her seatbelt when he turned off the engine with a flick of his wrist, shoving the door open immediately and stepping out.


Friendship shouldn't be so exhausting, should it? Maybe it was just being friends with HIM that was tiring her out. Scott was so miserable that he sucked the life right out of her heart, made her ache for him, even love him a little for standing so straight and strong, made her care. But then, there were those moments when she could feel his focus on her, and it was like the only thing that mattered to him was figuring her out, which might be the most exhausting part of all.


She didn't want anyone to know her. Not really. Not when she wasn't sure who she really was. There were nights when she'd wake up and think she was an entirely different person, suspended like a reflection of someone else in the water. Clear and breakable as glass.


Rogue startled when she heard the slap of a palm against metal, breaking out of her reverie and looking sharply over her shoulder. Scott was on the opposite side of the car, lips a flat line, watching her as he rested his forearms against the roof.


"What?" she mumbled, slamming the door shut.


Scott shrugged, a casual shift of shoulders beneath white cotton. "I'm just thinking that you look alone again. Look, I may be a little rusty at being friends with someone other than... Jean... but I'm pretty sure friendship involves sharing of life experiences. And yes, I pry often, and you hate it, but that's part of the deal."


"And if I don't like this little deal of yours?"


"Tough." That firm line stretched over his mouth again.


A drop of rain landed on her cheek, making her flinch. She wiped the wetness away, smearing it across her skin. Wondered yet again if guilt was reason enough to put herself through this dissecting he loved to do.


"My parents hate me," she said, giving in.


Guilt *was* reason enough. Scott looked like she'd slapped him.


* * * *


Stepping into the funeral parlor was like stepping into a closet that had been overwhelmed by florists. Everywhere she looked there was a vase with flowers inside of it, stinking up the entire room. Oh, she loved flowers, but this place was just a bit overbearing with them.


Pushers. Flowers didn't make people live again. What was the use crowding up space that could be used for something that helped, like photographs?


Scott's shoulder brushed against hers, just slightly. Rogue eyed him, catching the intense expression of discomfort on his face. He didn't want to be here anymore than she did. She was about to suggest that they could come back another time when a plump man came out from behind a black velvet curtain, his skin streaked with sweat in the dim lighting.


"Welcome," he said gravely. "Have you come to pay your respects to Mr. Clevington?"


Scott appeared to be swallowing a grapefruit. Rogue cleared her throat. "Ah, no," she said when Scott didn't speak. "Actually, we came to discuss funeral arrangements for a loved one."


The plump man nodded sagely, as if he had known all along. The light glistened off of his shiny forehead, a clump of hair spun up at the center like it was wistful for days when it had been more than just a clump.


"This way," he said in a quiet voice, gesturing with his hands toward a door on the opposite side of the room, book-ended by two tables with yet more flowers on them. Rogue scratched her nose discreetly, irritated by the overwhelming scents.


She and Scott followed behind him, matching the slow, respectful pace he had set. Rogue was overly-aware of how silent the rooms they passed were. Like the dead would awaken if anyone so much as whispered. She shivered. There was just something about a funeral parlor that made a person want to run far, far away. It wasn't even about mortality, which was too obvious. No, it was facing the fact that there just might not be something beyond this world to look forward to. And if that was true, if there wasn't anything happier than this world, they were all just screwed.


The room they were led to was an office that smelled like dust. Near the window, it had a large oak desk with a fat leather chair behind it. Rogue shifted uneasily on her feet when the plump man took a seat in it and gestured for them to do the same with the two chairs facing the desk. Scott cast his eyes toward her as he did so, pushing her into motion beside him.


When they were seated, the man before them smiled. Vaguely. "My name is Frank Chaplin. You may call me Mr. Chaplin."


So... polite. Not quite honest.


Rogue nodded, keeping Scott in her sights as she leaned forward and shook the man's hand. "You can call me Rogue."

Frank cocked his head to the side, a roll on his neck bulging over his shirt collar. His eyes moved down to her gloves, and then over to Scott's visor. Jerked away on a quiet cough, his fingers fidgeting in her own, as if he'd just noticed what they were. "Rogue... Do you have a last name to go with the first?"


"Just Rogue."


"Just... Rogue. Lovely name." He coughed discreetly, and then dipped his head in the direction of Scott, who was sitting very stiffly, hands clenched over the arms of the chair. "And your name is...."


A pause. Tension that had nothing to do with what they were at the funeral home for. "Scott Summers," he answered eventually, when white lines had appeared around Frank's nostrils, and he appeared to be swallowing convulsively. Was he afraid?


"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Frank said, shaking hands with Scott. When he pulled back, he tugged at his collar, stretching his neck as if to escape its confines. "Though, not under these circumstances, of course."


"Of course," Scott replied politely, with a dip of his chin. And then he threaded his fingers together, calmly placing them on his stomach. "My fiancee passed away recently." So direct, so cool. He might as well be made of ice. "The body was never found. What sort of packages do you offer for a situation like this? I want the best there is." His voice cracked, just slightly, before he cleared his throat and continued. "The absolute best."


Frank looked uncomfortable. "Was she..." He paused, obviously expecting Scott to fill in the blanks for them all. Rogue remained quiet, watching.


"A mutant?" Scott raised an eyebrow, arching it high above the visor. "I'm not sure what relevance that has to a burial."


Frank flinched, and covered it by looking down at a pile of papers that sat on top of his desk. When he looked up again, his face was blank. "It does have relevance, I'm afraid to say. After recent events, the churches we are connected to have decided that we should sever any and all ties with... well. We just think that it's politic to separate ourselves from the controversy."


Scott's face was flat, showing no emotion. Abruptly, he got to his feet. Frank shrank back in his chair, his eyes squeezing shut. Rogue felt sick as Scott reached down and took her hand, pulling her from the chair gently and leading her out of the room, all without looking back at the cowardly man who was doing everything but hiding beneath his desk.


They didn't say anything the entire trip back to the mansion. Instead, he turned on the radio and held onto the steering wheel with more force than necessary. When they were home, he quietly escorted Rogue to her room, and told her he'd see her at dinner.


He didn't show.


Rogue sat with Jubilee, Kitty, and Bobby, trying to focus on them instead of casting her eyes to the door and worrying. Scott was a grown man. He'd be fine.


"....movies. Are you even listening? Rogue!"


Rogue jerked in her seat when Kitty slapped her on the shoulder, nearly falling off. She looked around to find all three of them staring at her with concerned expressions.


"Sorry," she said, clearing her throat. "What?"


Bobby looked at her oddly, and Rogue found herself blushing. She shoved a forkful of salad past her lips, chewing so she wouldn't have to explain herself.


"We were talking about going to see that new Matrix movie," Bobby said, after a moment of eyeballing her. He spooned some soup into his mouth, and then set the spoon down into the bowl with a clink. "Actually, we've been talking about it for the past ten minutes. We, as in, not really you talking at all. Are you okay?"


She stared at him. "Yeah. Just distracted. It's been one of those long days."


"You left pretty early," Jubilee said conversationally, taking a big bite of watermelon. Juice dripped down her chin, so she wiped it away with her finger, sucking on the tip like she wasn't drawing every boys' eyes in the room. "I woke up when you were getting dressed."


Rogue shifted uneasily, staring down at her food. "Yeah."


"You got up before noon?" Kitty gasped. "On a Saturday? Are you *sick*?"


"Ha Ha," Rogue muttered. The lettuce on her plate looked like it had crawled off of something dead. She poked at it curiously, lifting it up with her fork and examining it. Feeling a bit queasy, she scraped her tongue over the roof of her mouth and wished she hadn't taken the bite she had.


"So," Bobby began, leaning down to catch her eyes. "What's up, Rogue?"


"*Nothing*!" She said, emphasizing the word. Turning nothing into something. She fiddled with her silverware, before finally slapping her hands down on the table and meeting his gaze.


His eyes narrowed. "'Nothing' seems to be making you nervous. Tell me what's wrong with you."


"Look," she said, noticing that everyone at the table was watching what was escalating into a intensely person moment. "It's nothing, okay? It's personal."


Bobby pulled back like she had swung at him, Kitty coughed and went back to eating, and Jubilee appeared to be studying her fingernail polish as intently as her teachers wished she would study her schoolwork. Rogue felt like pond scum. But it *wasn't* her problem to tell. That was a rule of friendship, right? Don't tell unless they say you can.


"Bobby..."


He shook his hand, shoving the chair out and standing. She leaned back, looking up at him as he hovered near the table for a moment, and then walked away. There was a familiar tension in his shoulders, one she remembered from every time he'd asked her out and she had said no.


"Damn it, Bobby," she whispered.


Jubilee tapped her nails against the table. And then, "So... are we still going to the movies?"


Rogue rolled her eyes. "J."


"Just asking!"


* * * *


The adults' rooms were one floor above the oldest of the teenagers. Rogue climbed the stairs, holding a plate with foil covering it in her hands. It was still hot, so she found herself pausing every few seconds and shifting it on her palms to avoid burning her skin. She hesitated when she reached his door, sedate and brown, before taking a deep breath and knocking sharply on the wood.


'Hey, Scott,' she could say. 'So, I figured I could come clean with you about a few things. You see, I might be at least a part of the reason Jean's gone. How about that? Do you hate me? Are you hungry?'


She could see the dull pain in his eyes already. Shook off the image.


Rogue heard nothing for a moment, but then there was the sound of footsteps heading in her direction. She pasted a smile onto her face and held up the plate. Scott opened the door a second later, surprising her with his appearance. His hair was mussed up, sticking out in odd directions, flattened at the side. His jaw had that mysterious five o' clock shadow men got that somehow made them look dangerous, although on Scott, it just made him look ruffled and edgy. The shirt he was wearing was half unbuttoned, hanging from his body limply, wrinkled like he'd slept in it.


"Rogue?" His voice was rusty. His forehead wrinkled above his glasses, puzzled.


She blinked and held the plate up higher. "You weren't at dinner."


He shook his head, pushing away the last vestiges of sleep, and then glanced at the watch on his wrist. With a sigh, he dropped his arm and rubbed his fingers into his forehead, scrubbing at the skin. "I guess I slept through it." Scott gestured to the plate she was holding. "Tell me that's what I think it is."


"Freshly made by the chef. Or not so freshly, depending on your definition of that word."


Scott smiled ruefully, taking the plate from her. "Thanks. Um, come on in." He opened the door wider and stepped out of the archway, ushering her in with a light hand on her elbow. She moved inside, trying to be inconspicious as she looked around in curiosity.


"I appreciate the food," he said from behind her, voice still gravelly from sleep. She heard the shuffling of tin foil and nodded vaguely, glancing at the unmade bed and the bottle of vodka she spotted beside it. A space inside her stomach felt hollow. Regretful. Maybe she'd had a reason to worry, after all.


"Well, I was there. I figured bringing you up some food wouldn't completely ruin my day."


"Good thing," he muttered, taking a seat in one of the large chairs that looked like Jean had hand picked them from a antique shop. "I'm starved." When she turned to face him, pretending she hadn't seen the bottle, he motioned for her to take a seat beside him. Rogue noted the lines of tension around his mouth were showing instead of the dimples she'd often seen there.


"I really can't," she replied, regretfully. "I have to find Bobby before he makes some grand romantic gesture. You don't know how embarrassing those can be."


"I don't know," Scott said, setting the tin foil aside and picking up a fork. He poked at the salad with interest. "I've always thought they were sweet. That time he sent you a singing telegram to ask you on a date in the middle of class was funny. He's a hopeless romantic"


"Yeah," Rogue laughed, still standing there, hands in her pockets. "But we all know your secret. You're just a big softie."


His lips parted, head jerking up to eye her through his glasses. "What? No. I'm not. I'm extremely unpredictable and dangerous."


"Yep. Saving stray dogs and everything. I'm so scared of you."


Scott shook his head and pointed to the door with his fork. "Out."


Rogue laughed again and started out of the room. She paused at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. "Watch out for the lettuce. I think it's alive. It tried to climb off my plate."


Scott chuckled. The lines around his mouth had faded. "Didn't I just tell you to get out?"


"I'm going, Sugah. I'm going."


When she closed the door behind her, she felt a little better about the day. Granted, he'd turned to drinking and she had some bad memories associated with alcohol, mostly originating from her experiences in bars, but he'd been laughing when she left. And that was something. A definite something.


* * * *


It took only a few seconds to go crazy, Rogue thought. She felt sick at heart and sick of fighting. It was always the same thing, every time. He wanted more than she could give him, and she was left unsure how much of her there really was to give.


Bobby wasn't in his room or the library, where he sometimes went when he wanted to be alone. It took Rogue over an hour to find him. In fact, she had pretty much given up on finding him when she stumbled upon him. In her room.


"Bobby," she gasped, when she found him sitting on her bed, elbows on his knee, shoulders hunched forward. She placed a hand over her heart, which throbbed in her chest, and smiled at him hesitantly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."


He slowly lifted his chin, watching her silently. The light from the lamp slanted over his cheeks, making his pale skin seem somehow more vibrant, fluid and thick with things she would probably never fully understand.


"Why'd you run off like that?" Rogue asked, wrapping her fingers around each other, tangling the fabric of her gloves together. "I was worried about you."


"Were you?" Bobby sighed, long and drawn out, studying her closely. The bulb in the lamp hesitated, flickering, before flaring brighter than before. Revelations were like that, pulsing and hateful. Rogue swallowed at the sadness on his face, inching her way forward into the room, closing the door behind her so that whatever was going on (and she wasn't sure what WAS going on) wouldn't be broadcasted to the teenagers lounging in the hallway.


"What's that supposed to mean?" Rogue demanded defensively. She was painfully aware of how loud her voice was. "Of course I was worried about you. I mean, you don't usually wear that look on your face."


"Hmm." Bobby nodded, an ironic glint in his eyes. The collar of the jacket he wore was wet, like he'd been outside, walking in the rain. "That's probably a good thing, because I don't usually discover my girlfriend doesn't want me to get close to her." Rogue opened her mouth up to respond, but he held a hand up in the air. "Before you say anything, Rogue, that's not what I mean. You've let me closer... physically. But with everything else? No. When something makes you sad, you close up tighter than a clam and I can't even get you to talk about it. Why is that?"


She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the band of pressure tighten around her lungs like it always did whenever he began pushing the envelope of their intimacy. His gaze drifted down, landing on her forearms pointedly, making Rogue aware of exactly what she had done. With an effort, she uncrossed her arms and took a step forward. He didn't move, just continued looking at her like he was waiting for her to say something. Something important. Something that she didn't know how to say. Rogue took another step forward, reaching out to touch the side of his face with a single, gloved-finger. His eyes fell closed.


"I know I'm not always the most forthcoming girl in the world," she murmured, and he chuckled ruefully, deep in his throat. She tapped his lips in response, keeping him quiet. "That doesn't mean I'm trying to keep you out. I let you touch me physically, which means more than you'll ever know. But there are some things... some things just aren't meant to be said, Bobby, and I can't change that."


"What *things*, Rogue?" He asked pleadingly, opening his eyes and looking into hers with a flicker of hope. He was always flickering, as if he sat on the edge of a flame and was forever dashing it with ice to keep it away. She remembered a feeling she'd gotten from him during that first, dangerous kiss... he WAS afraid of her. Bobby was afraid she'd break his heart. She didn't know how to comfort him or make that fear go away.


"People in relationships share what hurts them," he was saying. "And most of the time, I feel like you... like you just don't want this or *need* this as much as I do."


"Oh Bobby, of course I do." She cupped his jaw with her palms, kneeling between his thighs and leaning close to his face, wishing she could kiss him on the lips. "I need you *so* much. You don't even understand the half of it."


"Then tell me," he whispered. "*Tell me*."


"I... need you to understand me," she told him, reaching her arms around his waist to grasp the silk scarf lying on the bed behind him. His breath fell against her forehead, warm and quickening. "I need you to believe me." Rogue pulled the scarf up toward his face, watching him intently. "I need you to hold me." She leaned up, lifting her butt off of her heels, stretching to kiss him lightly through the fabric. His eyes were open on hers, serious. "I need you to kiss me," she whispered.


"Rogue," he said, painfully.


"I need you to kiss me," she repeated, compelling him by touching his mouth with just her fingertips. "Kiss me, Bobby."


With a groan, he did.


* * * *


"Looks like we're not going to make it to the movie," Bobby pointed out, a few hours later, after they had spent far too long making out and not enough time cooling down. His breath was a little shallow as he cuddled her into the crook of his arm, laying back against the pillows and staring at the dark ceiling. He smelled like a lust, a hot scent that she found herself drawn to.


Rogue stroked his cotton-covered chest slowly, feeling his heart thud beneath her palm. Nodding against his arm, she said nothing. Instead, she counted the shadows as they shifted inside the ever-darkening room. Her stomach was cramped with tension.


"Rogue," he murmured, threading his fingers through her hair, holding her against him. He was using the 'shaky voice.' The one that got to her every damn time because she knew he needed her, had sometimes rubbed her hands over her own body because she knew what it was like to ache for herself, from his point of view. She knew how, at times, his fingertips throbbed to touch her.


"What had you so distracted today? Please, just tell me. As much as you can. You looked upset."


"Bobby." She didn't want to fight again. She'd had enough of fighting with him about how open she was. It wasn't like she was a nutshell to be cracked open. These days, she wasn't even sure if there was anything inside her to be found but scattered remains of other people.


A car passed outside, its light briefly touching the ceiling of her room, washing it in yellow light, stretching out the shadows into creepy shapes. And then it was gone, and the room seemed darker than it had even before the headlights had flooded it.


"No. I mean, I know. You need space, I understand that. Just tell me what you can."


His finger, moving along her collar bone. Gentle. He was always so gentle.


"Okay," she said, on a breath of resignation. "This morning, I went with a friend to help him with certain arrangements. I was worried that it had been too much for him when I didn't see him at dinner.


Bobby's finger paused briefly, and she felt his chest rise and fall before he resumed the caress. "Ahh. So, you're weren't having second thoughts about this whole sexual side to our relationship?"


"What?" Rogue gasped, sitting up. She saw the slightly embarrassed look on his face and slapped at his chest. "No! Is that what you were upset about? Scott's right, all men are pigs!" But she was giggling when Bobby grabbed her around the waist to keep her from scrambling off the bed, hauling her onto the mattress and trapping her beneath his body.


"That we are, Rogue, my dear. That we are."


She smiled as he kissed her through the shield of her hair.


Fight avoided. Harmony restored.


* * * *


Some days moved like molasses. Everyone spoke slower, laughed harder, and kissed sweeter. The sunshine, noon-bright, slid its nosy fingers through the blinds and crept over the desks as students read aloud, passed notes amongst themselves, and took notes as their teacher dictated. The sound of chalk on the chalkboard, scraping and scratching, was familiar and numbing, bringing about the taste of ease and comfort inside the mouth. Students joked, occasionally, and were tossed stern glances from the smart girl in front of them who wanted to hear what the teacher had to say.


Today was one of those days.


After math class, Rogue plopped down in the chair she'd pulled across the room, propping her feet up on Scott's desk, and clunking her boots down on the surface. His chin lifted and he peered over her toes at her in annoyance.


"Feet," he said, tapping the sole of one boot.


She smiled coquettishly. "C'mon, Sugah, they're clean."


"Maybe," Scott replied, while pushing her feet off the desk. "But it's rude."


Rogue shook her head, straightening in the chair. "Whatever. So, how'd I do on the exam?"


Scott didn't look up at from the homework he was grading, but his dimples were winking on and off, like he was fighting a smile. "I'm not telling you that."


Rogue pouted her lips, folding her arms over her stomach. "How come?"


"Because you'll find out your grade as soon as every other student in the class does." He tapped the desk with his pen, emphasizing his words. "Next week."


She shook her head, sadly. "Why are you so uptight, Scott?"


He lifted his head, touching the pen to his mouth as if in deep thought. And then he flashed her a mocking smile. "Why are you so persistent, Rogue?"


Yes, one of those days for sure. The type that itched with layers, bloated and happy, like nothing could go wrong. Rogue crossed one ankle over the other, the tights she wore bunching at the calves. She picked at the wrinkles, and then gave up, pushing her skirt further down.


She hated to break the mood.


"So," Rogue began deliberately, watching his jaw tense, and then release. "How are things?"


Scott set the pen down carefully, and then he laced his fingers together, leaning forward against the desk. "You can ask me outright, Rogue. I'm not going to break."


"I know that," she defended. Her shoulders tensed, before she took a careful breath and relaxed. Things didn't have to be constantly hard between them. She didn't have to be constantly defensive. At least, she told herself this much.

Scott was watching her, waiting. "Then ask," he said simply.


Rogue took a breath, thinking wryly that Bobby was often trying to get her to do the same exact thing: open up, be a little more carefree, say what she wanted to say. She sometimes wondered if she inspired something protective in men. Logan, Bobby, Scott, and at one time, Pyro ( before he had been Pyro, and just Bobby's annoying roommate who would probably do just about anything to keep her and Bobby alive... and had). All the men in her life seemed intent on fixing whatever they saw broken in her. The difference was that Scott didn't appear to have any motivation.


"I was wondering what you were going to do for Jean now that..." she trailed off, swallowing. It hurt. The rejection, simply because they were different. Right to the simple truth of it, she felt as human as they probably did, just with a little more problems and a little less ability to touch. She cleared her throat, and light sun shifted across the desk, turning a darker yellow, shadows lengthening as a stray cloud shielded the sun. "Now that they won't perform the services."


Scott shifted in his chair, a soft sadness passing over his face like the rain during a quiet summer storm. Shrugged. "I'm not sure. I was considering performing a quiet ceremony here."


Rogue nodded. "I think that's an excellent idea."


"Yes," he murmured, a far away expression on his features for a moment as he appeared to look somewhere over her shoulder. "I was thinking that we'd hold it outside, by the pond. Sometimes she'd sit there in the summertime, in that white dress she had, and just dip her toes into the water, picking on me because I wouldn't do so myself."


"Hmm," Rogue hummed, seeing the memory clearly in her head, as if it was her own. "I think that would be a lovely place to hold it. You could set up a quiet picnic, and people could remember her as she was. Lovely, kind, and strong. I envied her."


Scott's face cleared and he turned his head toward her. "What do you mean?"


"What?" She inquired, confused. And then her chest filled with horror over what she had said. "Oh, I didn't mean... I was only... God. I should go." She stood to leave, but found her arm captured before she could, careful fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Scott."


"Hey, I'm not mad. I just want to know what you meant by that."


She blushed furiously, trying to hide it by ducking her head down and concealing her cheeks with the veil of her hair. "I um, well, you know when I first arrived here? Everything that happened?" Rogue waited for him to nod and then continued. "Well, I had this huge embarrassing crush on Logan."


Scott's face shifted into a knowing smirk. "That's not exactly news. You were envious of his feelings for Jean. His rather *blatant* feelings for Jean." He let go of her wrist and sat back, his face hidden by the shadows of the room, the sun only catching the tip of his chin. "There's no shame in that. And there shouldn't be any guilt. You're only... well, I'd like to say human here, but that's not quite true. You exist, you have a heart, you feel pain. There's nothing wrong with that."


Rogue nodded, still avoiding looking at him too directly.


There was something to be guilty over.


"I take it your huge embarrassing crush on Logan has gone away?" He asked, and she found herself laughing reluctantly, and taking a seat again.


"I guess you could say that," she said.


Scott leaned forward, a teasing note entering his voice. "What else might I say?"

"You're digging," Rogue pointed out.


"And you're evading," he tossed back.


They both stayed quiet for a moment, facing off. And then Rogue tossed her feet back up onto his desk, distracting him briefly, and toyed with her gloved fingers. "Well, maybe, and this is a big maybe... but maybe sometimes, I toy with naked-Logan in my head."


Scott's face twisted into an expression of disgust. "Rogue!"


"What?" she demanded innocently, eyes deceptively wide. "You were the one that was digging."


"Well," he replied, still looking mildly perturbed. "You were the one that should have continued evading."


A content silence, moving like the return of molasses, filled the room. Rogue continued to fiddle with her fingers, and Scott didn't push her feet off the desk. Instead, he picked up a homework assignment that one of his students had turned in, and leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him.


After a moment, he calmly set the paper onto his lap. She glanced up, feeling his attention on her.


"Flowers, do you think?"


Rogue's lips twisted to the side, thinking of Frank Chaplin. "No," she said, chest full of memories. "I was thinking pictures."


"Pictures?" Scott frowned, forehead creasing. She nodded, and he did the same thoughtfully, spinning his chair so that he could look out the window. The sunlight moved over him, catching on his glasses, reflecting a red glare across the desk. And then, at last: "That sounds about right."


* * * *


Rogue had a dream, that night, as she often did.


This one was different.


There were colors, mostly red, and they burned into her eyes. She was standing in the middle of Bobby's bedroom, holding onto him as he pressed his lips onto her throat, and her bare skin bit him, grew hungry.


He cried. He cried, and then he was dead.


There were colors, mostly red, and it was the color of Bobby's bloodless lips that struck her the most, as he fell to the ground, inside her as much as he was gone.

Jean stood silently in the doorway, holding pictures in her hand while Scott looked in through the window, lips moving like he was counting, flowers in his hair.

"Rogue," Jean said. "Marie," she whispered. "Take care."


Someone shook her arm, and Marie turned around, still holding onto Bobby's lifeless form, finding Jubilee standing over her in her nightgown, a concerned expression on her beautiful face.


"Rogue," she called. "Rogue, wake up. You're crying."



* * * *


Bobby passed her the popcorn, and Rogue shook her head, even though she took it anyway, balancing it on her thighs as her focus remained on the movie. He had been careful to order popcorn with absolutely no butter, so she wouldn't stain her gloves, but she still felt uncomfortable with the idea of eating finger-food wearing them, and she wasn't about to take them off.


She knew it frustrated him, but there were still some truths that weren't about to change.


Bobby had to fight to keep his mutation under control when his emotions were volatile; his love for her was making that control come harder, and sometimes, he couldn't sleep at night because his parents, his father especially, had rejected him. Logan was restless, stalking through the hallways with a cigar shoved between his teeth, growling at anyone that looked at him a second too long, sometimes dragging her into town for a game of pool, a drink of beer and a warning to not tell Scott he'd let her drink underage. Scott was getting better, laughing a little, loosening up, but he was still grieving, and he probably always would be.


Rogue... well, she was still the girl with the deadly skin. The girl who wasn't really sure who she was, if she even existed or if she was just the compiled bits and pieces of other peoples' personalities. And she'd probably never, ever let anyone inside that she didn't have to. She'd had a few that she hadn't had a choice about, after all. There was no way she would let in anyone when she could keep them out.


"Would you like a soda?" Bobby asked in her ear, causing her to flinch, ever so slightly. Luckily, he didn't appear to notice.


"Nah, Sugah. I'm fine. You know how I get if I have a soda during the movie. I always have to go to the bathroom while it's still playing, and I hate missing scenes."


Bobby nodded, turning his eyes back to the movie screen.


Rogue watched his profile, shivering with emotion that floated in the back of her head and heart like a low buzzing white-noise. Always there. Never leaving. As the light from the movie shifted over his face as the scenes changed, she couldn't help but picture him as he was in her dream: in love, dead, and both because of her.



End Chapter Three (3/15)


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