Disclaimer: I own many things currently scattered about my person, including an empty juice carton, a very old hair bobble and a sheet of bubble wrap. The X-Men are not among these things. I do not own them.

A/N: Merci to all you guys who reviewed the last chapter!! I'm glad you all liked it, or at least pretended to. Either way, I decided to write some more today (with the possible assistance of bunnies), so here we are. (Shroom, you still rock dude.) Just to let you guys know – this is set just after Blind Alley, not including events after that.

Chapter 2: Cellblock

What did I do last night? Rogue thought, as she woke with a pounding headache. She couldn't remember getting drunk, but then with a headache this bad, she wouldn't have expected to remember much about anything from the night before.

Taking in her surroundings, she realised that for once the pain in her head was nothing to do with her habits. Along with the realisation came a measure of doubt – she had no idea where she was, or who had brought her here. Despite that, she couldn't help but feel slight relief – she hadn't got drunk last night and let anything slip about what she really thought of all the couples in the mansion. She knew she almost definitely wasn't safe here, but she'd have probably been even less safe in a house full of angry teen mutants out to get her.

Peering around, Rogue came to the conclusion that she was the only one in the dark room. There was a small unmade bed in the opposite from where she was sitting. Clearly, whoever brought her in had decided dropping her unconscious on the hard floor would suffice to make her comfortable, and left.

There were no windows in the room, only one door at the other end, about three meters away from Rogue. She got up and pulled the handle, merely to occupy herself for a few minutes – she had known before she tried that the door would be locked. She slumped down on the small rock-hard bed. Resting her throbbing head on the musty pillow, she drifted into unconsciousness in the quiet dark of the cell.

Muffled voices woke Rogue from her trance-like state later on. Pressing the light on her watch she discovered it was just after ten in the morning, despite the gloom of her windowless prison. It might have helped her to gage how much time had passed, she thought briefly, if she'd happened to check what the time had been last time she was awake. But then, she'd had more important things to think about then. Like where the hell was she? Maybe the voices would give her a clue. They were getting louder, coming closer to…wherever Rogue was right now.

"The boss said put 'im in 'ere."

"You sure? With 'er?"

"S'what 'e said. Somethin' 'bout keepin' experiments t'gether. Can't have 'em gettin' 'lost' now, can we?"

"Ain' arguin' with that. Hurry up then. Got better things t'do than hang around here all day."

The coarse voices ceased their conversation and Rogue quickly closed her eyes. No sense in drawing attention to herself if they thought she was listening – after all, Irene had always said first impressions were important. Listening into conversations didn't make for a very good impression. But then, neither did locking someone up who-knows-where for no reason. Nonetheless, she decided it was best to play wallflower for now, and kept her eyes closed in some semblance of sleep.

There was the sound of a lock opening, and the door apparently flying back on its hinges with a resounding thud. Rogue risked opening one eye slightly to see what was going on. With the amount of noise being made, remaining asleep would only look suspicious at any rate, and besides, it didn't look like the men were paying much attention to her.

There were two men in the doorway. Her powers of deduction told her these were the bodies of the voices from a few minutes before. They definitely fitted the harsh tones anyway – big and burly looking, they looked little more than jumped up club bouncers. One dragged a limp form behind him – the guy she presumed they had been told to put in here.

"Leave 'im and let's go!" The one nearest Rogue ordered in a rough whisper. The other one obliged, throwing their captive against the wall near Rogue. Both then swiftly left the room, slamming the door behind them so hard Rogue was surprised it was still attached to the doorframe. A key turned in the lock and the sound of footsteps walking briskly away echoed down the corridor.

Rogue opened her eyes fully and turned her attention on the one they had just put in here with her. He lay awkwardly against the wall, unmoved from where the flunky had dumped him. Rogue got up from the squeaky mattress and checked him for a pulse, putting one gloved hand to the man's neck. Relieved there was one, she sat back to look at her new cellmate. His eyes flickered open briefly, and Rogue had to stifle a gasp of recognition at the flash of red orbs in the dark. It was one of Magneto's Acolytes.   

Rogue leaned back against the metal frame of the bed, watching him through slitted eyes. The Acolyte's hair fell over his eyes and forehead, covering most of, from the looks of it, a recently-acquired angry-looking gash. Rogue peered at him through the dark, wondering what had happened. She could almost feel sorry for the guy, if it wasn't for the fact he'd nearly blown her hand off not so long ago, in a fight between the X-Men, the Brotherhood and the Acolytes. The memory brought yet more questions to join the buzzing in Rogue's head. If he was an Acolyte, what was he doing here?

Rogue firmly pushed away all the nagging thoughts in her head, with the promise that she would find out after she got the answers to a few more important issues, like what she herself was doing here, wherever 'here' was. Maybe he would know, if Rogue could get him to talk coherently. It probably wasn't a good thing for the guy to be unconscious anyway, she reasoned.

Rogue edged a little closer to the unconscious Acolyte and poked his arm. Getting no response, she decided this called for more violent methods. Ones she would probably enjoy at any other time. Reaching out, she cuffed him lightly upside the back of his head. Better. The red eyes Rogue had recognised blinked open, and he looked over at her, the glowing red full of confusion and pain, although she could have sworn there was a momentary flicker of amusement in there somewhere.

"..What the chere got t'go hittin' me for?"

TBC

Sorry about the delayed update – internet's playing up. *pokes it*