Um...I guess this chapter contains a short (Rogue/Pietro)...sort of.
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Rogue
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Rogue sat and looked out to the side of the road. She cried in the only way she would allow herself to in the presence of anther. Looking away, her eyes were blurred with hot guilty tears, but she did not blink. Moving her eyes would spill the salty water onto her face. Rogue didn't know why she cried; Anita's fate was disastrous but she couldn't bring herself to cry. It was one of the others who wept for the girl.
Even at the speed Scott was driving, they would not reach the mansion for at least half and hour. There was just too much traffic at the intersections in the early afternoon. With nothing better to do, she searched for the person who made her cry.
Closing her eyes, Rogue saw an ancient elegant door. A capital P in olden script was engraved into the polished wood. She placed her hand on the letter's base, marveling at the wonderful texture. She could feel every fiber, each cell, and all the tiny electrons whirling about their nucleuses. There was a small cracking noise and the wood began to burn. The tiny spark came from her fingertips. It blazed forth and traced the carved P until the entire letter was burning. The P turned cherry red, and then faded to leave only scorch marks.
Rogue stared at the door. It had never done that before. She leaned forward to examine the delicate burn scars. The P beginning to glow again was her only warning and it still was barely enough. The girl threw herself back and away as the enormous door was consumed in inferno. It burnt away in seconds. On her butt and covered in cinders, Rogue shook her head ferociously to knock a pound of ash out of her hair. She climbed to her feet, grimacing at the mess she had become. A practical joker was going to die shortly, as soon as she found out who did it. She added that question to her list to give Pietro and wandered through what was left of the doorway. The stone passageway lit by torches came out into -of all things- a shopping mall.
Mall hardly described the enormous collection of plazas and multilevel halls crammed with stores. Every inch contained something unique and extraordinary for the eye. With a million years to look at it, she would never see everything there was.
Thousands of shoppers swarmed about. They were full of laughter and lightning quick remarks. No two people were anything alike. One boy who seemed to have walked out of a Renaissance Faire casually slung his arm about the shoulder of a woman with black and white checker boxes tattooed over her entire body. The pair moved through the mall like hummingbirds: gone before she had time to really notice them.
Rogue made her way to a certain bench where nothing moved. It was the eye of the storm, where a pair of eyes watched the stormy world about him appreciatively.
*Hello Pietro.* She sat down and looked out at the colorful blurs. Fast as that world had seemed from within, it was too fast to follow from without. It was just Quicksilver's speed.
He turned to smile at her. The copy was more laid back than the real Pietro, calmer. His fidgets were gone and he held himself serenely. "Rogue, what brings you to my world?"
*I have some time an' I need ta talk ta one of them.* Pietro didn't ask who "them" was. He knew what she meant.
"Do you have any clues to which one? You know it's better to go to the one than to pull them all out from their little worlds." He leaned back into the bench and his eyes became little speed demons, tracking the entire crowd.
*Have you been keeping an eye on tha Real World?* Rogue asked. She wasn't willing to explain the situation out there.
"I've devoted the odd second, yes. Does this have to do with the new silver mutant?"
*She's been mortally wounded. Someone feels guilty and it's affectin' me. That means someone is breakin' tha rules and projectin' emotion onta me or is feelin' so remorseful it's leakin' from them uncontrollably. Somethin'...*
"...tells you it's that second one, I know . Don't bother to make that joke about putting on a plumber's belt to go fix the wet-works either. I knew you were going to say that to."
He swiveled to face her and sat cross-legged on the copper bench. His face held a bored expression and he sighed, "You're getting predictable Rogue. I hate predictable. See that man with the bald head except for a braid that reaches to the floor? I never would have predicted that so I love it."
He reached for the girl and touched her cheek with his bare hand.
"You're an interesting person, Rogue. I don't want to hate you. Quite the contrary." He kissed her too quickly for her to react. Pulling back, he watched her go pale and laughed. "See? Last time you blushed bright red. I never know how you will react and I love that part about you."
She raised an eyebrow. *Don't you love all of me?*
He grew solemn. It made a contrast to his impish words. "Predictable as ever. Let's play a game. You guess who the culprit is and I'll tell you the unedited truth. Three guesses."
Maximoff snapped his fingers and the bustling mall and its strange inhabitants disappeared.
They sat on a wood bench in the middle of a forest in spring. A ways ahead, there was an old-fashioned crossroads. A tall oak pole sported wooden arrows that pointed down the many paths surrounding the small clearing. Instead of destinations, there were names engraved into them. Some of the markers were blank. *Are you preparin' for new arrivals?* she asked her guide. He nodded cautiously, and then gestured for her to enter the cross-roads.
Rogue stood and walked towards the arrows. Leaves from the last fall were damp under her feet. Tiny blades of grass and other plants poked out of the wet carpet, eager for the meager sunlight that the budding trees allowed to touch them. The light glinted off one of the signs, the one that read Eric. His name wasn't carved like most of the others, but letters of gold were set in the wood instead. She admired the fine craftsmanship, but narrowed her eyes. *This was made lovingly,* she remarked cruelly. *You are still devoted ta him? I thought you agreed Eric was rotten ta tha magnetic core an' had a heart of iron.*
Pietro seized her from behind. His body was older, stronger than the real Quicksilver. Her servant whispered into her ear harshly, "My father -Eric- is not Magneto. One is a man. The other is a monster created by monstrous men. I have done everything you have asked of me. I saved you from insanity, I created this Wonderland for you to frolic in, I became your cheerful servant...I am yours, are you happy? Uphold your side of the promise and leave me and mine be. You call that place where you live Real World, but for us, this is real. If you tell your precious professor to remove us, it will be murder."
His touch left quickly as it had come. Rogue turned to face the bench. Pietro stood behind it with one hand lightly resting on the frame, head bowed. For a moment, he looked truly beaten and broken, but she threw the notion away. Whatever he thought, whatever they all thought, they were only transient minds. They were only copies. Nothing they said or did was real because they were not real. It was not murder to destroy a floppy disk. It was not even a loss if the data it held was still in the original computer. Pietro's copy was only a tool. When its knowledge held no further use to her, she would delete it.
Rogue looked at the blank signs. She was not a piece of real estate. *Destroy those,* she ordered. They vanished and her temper cooled. The abandoned puppy look returned to his face and she sighed. She shouldn't treat Pietro so unfairly. Like he had said before, her mind was the Real World to him. How could he know any better? She wouldn't blame a puppy for not understanding what was wrong, but she would be firm and teach Pietro what was right. Who knew, maybe she would grow attached and keep the tool as a toy.
She looked at the different signs. Pietro had given her a game to play. The girl allowed a small smile as she realized what the boy had done. *You know what I intend ta do when yeh are obsolete?*
The wince was audible in his voice. "I am not a fool."
*No, Pietro isn't. You knew I would delete you when you were of no more use, so you sought ta become somethin' I would keep.* She smiled and brushed her lips with a fingertip. *It worked. I won't delete Pietro's memories from my mind.* Rogue locked her arms behind her back and studied the many names.
*Kurt.*
Pietro dropped the subject quickly as she had and played along. "Nice try. Blue boy has mixed feelings about this issue, but hasn't shed a tear yet. At least not my Kurt."
*Do you always call the absorbed minds yours?*
"Ever since you put me in charge of this little piece of mental real estate, yes. Everyone is happy now and rarely bothers you. I am the caretaker of this world; the Father, I suppose. Make your second guess."
Rogue thought for a while. The tears had been guilty. She had assumed Kurt should feel guilty. Two minutes of Anita's blood gushing out could have been prevented if he hadn't bailed. Perhaps it was someone who feels guilt when it isn't his fault. She looked back to Pietro.
*Scott.*
Laughter rang about her. "One Eye? Don't make me laugh more than I already have, girl. When was the last time you saw Scott cry? Never, and do you know why? Because he can't. Boy doesn't have tear ducts anymore, just little power plants. He's forgotten what it means to cry. Real tears anyway. Couldn't be him. Last shot."
Pietro looked away to study his creation, from the shadows the trees cast to the occasional bird hopping on a branch. He stared at them, ignoring her look. To Rogue, he looked guilty.
*You.*
"Hmm?" he asked without looking away from a crimson cardinal.
*You're tha one. Now spill. I've beaten your little game. Why were you cryin'?* Rogue grew annoyed and a little angry. He, of all of them, knew how she would react when he affected her physical body. Despite that, she would have dropped it instantly if he had come right out and asked forgiveness. Instead, Pietro had tried to fool her with a game. If she had guessed wrongly three times, he could have refused to tell her who the culprit was and she would have seen nothing amiss. He just would have been like the real Pietro: always teasing and unable to give a straight answer.
He sighed and looked away, trying to hide the fat tears rolling down his face. "I'll answer your questions in the order you gave them. You asked me if I loved you. To answer that, I need to show you something." He walked past Rogue to the cross-roads, giving her a wide berth while trying not to be obvious about it. Instead of reaching to touch one of the arrows, he knelt and dug through the mound of soggy leaves. Eventually, a large stone imbedded in the ground appeared. Engraved in it was the word Pietro. He traced the letters and the trees blurred.
They were in a spacious but cozy room. On an easy chair that was wide enough to fit four people in Rogue's opinion, was a woman and her two children. It was obvious they were related. They all had the same delicate features and fair complexions. One child was asleep, lodged to her mother's hip. She resembled the mother very much. They had the same nose, lips, and hair. The little boy seemed almost out of place with the two. His white hair clashed against their raven heads. His body was much lighter and narrower than the females' bodies. He leaned against his mother's chest and sat in her lap.
The entire thing seemed like a wax exhibit. They held perfectly still like statues or like God had hit pause on the Universal remote. Pietro sat down on the floor in front of the trio. "Allow me." He snapped his fingers and the scene sprang to life.
"One mo' story, Mama. Pwease?"
The woman laughed and tickled his neck. He giggled and squirmed out of the way, but she just ran her fingernails up his spine instead. She didn't stop until she had gotten his armpits, tummy, and feet as well. Finally, she let her son catch his breath. She used the short silence to say, "Another story, is that what you want? I've already talked Wanda to sleep. Isn't that enough for you? No, I must talk you into dreaming too. Old story or new story, Pietro?"
"New story."
There was an exasperated sight on the mother's part. "But you always want a new story. Can't I tell an old favorite?"
"You said I could have a new story, an' I want one."
"Oh, all right. Have I told you of the story of the Goddess, the Maiden, and the Boy?"
"No." Pietro shook his head to prove his words.
"Very well. In ancient times where gods were common as horses, there was one Goddess who…yes, Pietro?"
"Daddy says dere's only one God."
She laughed, "That's because he's Jewish. I tell anyone who asks what my religion is none of his business, especially if he's a holy man. That way, I can tell all the stories, not just the ones that say there's only one God.
The mother pulled a bit of hair behind her ear. "Anyway, the Goddess was ruler of the Dreaming World. Over the centuries she grew lonely and looked in the Waking World for a husband. After a long and hard search, she came upon a boy not yet a man. He possessed all the qualities in a husband, but was still a dreamer for his youth was not yet entirely lost to him. She began to court the youth, entreating him to marry her and come live with her before his birthday, when the god of the Waking World would turn him completely into a man. Every night he dreamed of her and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen."
"Like you."
"Oh, she was much prettier than me."
"That imbossiple," was Pietro's fierce response.
"Well gods do impossible things all the time," she stressed the word her son had mispronounced, "so believe it. So every night, the boy looked at her radiant face and promised to join her forever the next night. Every morning he awoke and went to say goodbye, but then he would see his friend the Maiden. Every day the girl grew more beautiful and the boy forgot about his oath. The Goddess would have grown angry with any other mortal and sent her Nightmares to slay him in his sleep, but her love staid her hand.
"As the Boy's birthday grew near, the Goddess became desperate. When he became a man, he could no longer join her in the Dreaming World. She called upon her powers and the next day, neither the Maiden nor the Boy awakened but remained in the Dreaming World.
She called them both to her court and told the boy he had to make his final decision. He looked upon them both and...sleep tight, Pietro."
Pietro snapped his fingers again and the scene rewound back to where it had started. "The boy chose the Goddess," he finished.
*Some story.*
"It was the thought that counted. She was trying to tone down the story anyway. Gruesome thing, really.
Pietro turned to look up at her from the floor. "The Goddess didn't really love the Boy; she just wanted him. But the Boy loved the Maiden. The Goddess was beautiful, but every morning he looked back and only remembered being in the clutches of a monster. So every night he told the Goddess he would be hers willingly if only he could say goodbye to all his friends. When sleep came again, he talked all night about some new person he had met and not had a chance to say farewell to. The Goddess was forgetful, as many gods were, and always failed to remember how many times the Boy had used his trick on her. Eventually, she grew wise to the ruse and locked the Boy in eternal slumber.
"But even as she held him, she could not covet his soul until he was her husband, something he could only become willingly. Without his soul, she was unable to stop the Boy from aging. If he became a man, he would fall from her grasp forever. The Goddess grew impatient and set her Nightmares upon the Boy, hoping to torture him into submission. The Nightmares, terrible black steeds with iron hooves, instead galloped away from the Boy to a far off corner of the Dreaming World. They set upon the Maiden in her dreams. Her death, and not his, was the Boy's fear. He begged the Goddess to spare her and do with him what she pleased.
"The Goddess refused and killed the Maiden with her own hands. The Boy collapsed, his heart in pieces. It was then the Goddess gave him a terrible choice. If he became her husband, she would make him forget the Maiden altogether. If he refused, she would chain the body to him. Even after he became a man and left the Dreaming World, he would never be able to forget that he was chained to the Maiden. Her death was his fault. If he had done as the Goddess wished in the beginning, his love would be alive.
"Broken, the Boy accepted. The End."
*Gruesome is right."
"My mother's family -the Maximoffs- was quite gruesome. Eric came off as something of a white knight to Mama."
She snorted at that unlikelihood. *How does that whole thing relate ta my questions? Or have you been stallin'?*
"There are...parallels between that tale and my life. For one, I'm locked in a sort of Dreaming World, only there is no escape but Death, even though you insist on calling it deletion. And you don't love me either. You think you do, but in truth, you only wish for the touch." She was held in his arms and he kissed her. He pulled back sadly.
"Do I love you? What would you do to me if I said I hated you? That I prayed every minute of this Hellish life that you end up in a permanent coma so we all can be free to live without fear?" Pietro's copy looked into her eyes that became so cruel so easily. "I really don't want to think about it." He shuddered and tears began to flow down his face. He stared again into Rogue's eyes. "Do I love you?"
Pietro kissed her again. He finally let go, but only so he could pull her closer to him. "God, yes. Yes I love you. You are the Goddess of my world. My soul is in your hands. Please, please don't delete it. Don't copy it over with a newer version of Pietro. If you do, then we will all become characters in Mama's story. The new Pietro will be the Boy, you will be the Goddess, and Anita will be the Maiden. Because I don't love her, but he does.
"I cried because you don't deserve to go through that, for all your cruelty towards us. I feel guilty because of what could happen to you. I love you; I can't hide that anymore. But if you ever come to feel anything more for me than you would a toy and absorb Pietro again, then your heart will break when I don't remember. Farewell, Goddess of My World."
"Rogue?"
The girl opened her eyes, startled. They were waiting in line to cross the intersection. Thankfully, it was the last one before the straight road home. Their car was the only one that would turn straight judging by the blinking turn signals in front of them. Scott looked at her in a way Rogue thought meant that he was concerned. She could never read his expressions correctly with his sunglasses blocking the view.
"Yeah, Scott?"
There was a shift in the line and he moved forward a space. "Has one of them been bothering you again?" Just like Pietro's copy, Rogue didn't have to ask who "them" was.
"One of them got a little too sad 'cause of Anita. I just had ta go in an' talk ta him.
"It, not him. The professor can't give you the pep talk right now, so I'll have to do."
Scott moved up another place in line. "No matter what these copies tell you, they aren't real. One of those copies; it's just a random collection of memories and habits that it tries to use against you to gain the upper hand. You can't let it trick you like that. It can't feel emotion; it can only push a memory of it at you."
Another place in line.
"It can't have reacted to Anita. Only a real person could do that. Just stay firm, get that information you say you need from it, and then the professor will go in and delete it. Remember the analogy? That they are only floppy disks, copies of the real thing? There is nothing on one of those discs that isn't in the original source. Just transfer the useful data to you and then destroy the disk. That simple."
Scott drove through the intersection and sped up, a little. Though he was impatient to find out about the girl, it wasn't worth their lives. A little voice at the back of her head told her so. "Scott has always thought like that," it continued. "I should know. He's wrong about us though."
*Shut up.* Scott's copy scampered away.
Rogue looked out at the world again. She knew Scott and Xavier were right, but something seemed amiss. The real Pietro didn't act anything like his copy. Either Maximoff hid his maturity and deep emotions very well or the copy had changed. It was impossible, but the second one seemed more likely. Something was different about the Pietro in her mind. It wasn't like it had stopped changing while the real boy moved on ahead. It was as if it had gone on in a completely different path from Pietro. Became its own person. He was a real..."
"It's just a copy, Rogue." She turned back to look at Scott. The professor's words repeated by her friend drove out the false thoughts. Xavier practically lived in the mind, of course he was right about them. How could he be wrong? They were just copies.
"Just a copy," she agreed. Scott smiled and looked back at the road. Rogue leaned into her seat. A faint voice behind her said sadly, "Predictable as ever." Rogue whirled around to see Pietro's copy standing in the medieval hallway that led to the mall. She shoved it back into that exotic place and snapped her fingers. A door of adamantine sprang up between them. An R was cast into the metal. She smiled grimly and walked back to Real World.
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Okay, that was a little different. If it seems...intense, blame my "Thief of Spirits" fic. Wow, that thing is extreme. Affected my general writing, it did.
If anyone is confused about what my font changing means, here are some hints. Just think that italics are scenes/actions/dialogues in someone's head. *This* means a projected thought and *this* means a more powerful/important mind is speaking. Do I have to explain what *this* means?