Author's Note: This chapter contains a lot of dialogue in French and Cajun slang. These are translated in the footnotes at the end of the chapter. For those of you not well versed in French, the individual sentences are translated in the Footnotes at the bottom. You don't need the translations though if you don't want to bother with them because it's sort of my purpose to put you in the mindset of the other characters in these scenes since they do not understand what is being said. Now, settle in for a long haul. This chapter is monstrous. !_!
Callous
Chapter 05 – Mile
It was all so familiar. For the third week in a row, Remy LeBeau waited. The same club, the same love seat, the same drinks, the same music, the same girls, and the same lack of reply to his invitation. This week he stayed later than he ever had before, waiting. Much later. After the club closed, he tucked himself into the cleft between this building and the next to wait even more. Just in case. It was all so quiet. All was neglected. The emptiness scoffed at the life that had filled the streets only a short few hours before. The streetlights mocked the grand entrance he had imagined she would make. They mimicked theater spots, showcasing that which wasn't present on his stage, his leading lady. The only consolation he had was the number of spots lining the road. He wasn't the only one waiting.
He carried on, like a good actor does, continuing the play despite the missed cue. Under the spot he stood, not even remembering moving there. He was in character, wasn't he? But was he his own character or one that was made up? He looked up, as though for inspiration, as though accusing the light for not being bright enough for her when he knew it was his story that wasn't true enough and his play not important enough. He didn't pose an attractive enough offer for her. So, he stood there staring into the light that stung his oh so oversensitive eyes. It made a good excuse for the sting that somewhat threatened to water his eyes.
A flicker further down the street drew his attention. A streetlight had gone out; a spot had darkened; someone's waiting had ended. But why had the wait ended? Did the leading lady finally arrive and now he and she had gone ahead to their home? Or, did the someone-waiting just give up and call it quits?
Gambit never quit. It was a lesson learned long ago, before he'd been adopted off the streets. He had become a master thief in the New Orleans Thieves Guild. He was second heir there. It was not only because of his adoptive familial standing, but for his skills as well. Sure, there lived better thieves than he was. There always was and always would be. That didn't scare him off, though. That only increased the challenge. He loved a challenge, and he rarely failed to overcome it, to steal the jewel, to fulfill the contract, or to satisfy himself. Thieving had taught him patience. He'd learned it in an air vent that had been blocked by a guard dog that had slept there for three hours. He'd been lucky his sweat dripping—plong, plong—hadn't stirred the dog. The prize then had been a ruby necklace. And he'd gotten it. For the prize of Rogue he'd wait… well, nothing lasted forever. Though, he was willing to try to come close to it. Still, thieving had taught him other things besides waiting. There was always another way to get beyond even the most secured wall.
One week, he'd give it—he decided there and then—one more Friday for her to show and then he'd take a different route.
In a moment, the street was even quieter, emptier, more alone. He had left. He was gone, a thief in the night.
She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. It was the hardest thing she would ever do. Four weeks ago roughly, twenty-seven days to be exact, she'd made the decision to do it. That was the day that Fred had given her the Hope Chest. She'd spent the next three weeks working up the nerve—yes—the nerve to show up. At the last moment, though, she had chickened out.
"You coming in?" Evan had asked.
Panic seized her. She did a marvelous job of covering it with her usual scowl. "No. What made you think that?"
Evan just looked at her. She was standing outside the door.
With no sardonic quip springing to mind—Great now ya bail on me—Rogue rolled her eyes and left.
Another three days later, she actually managed to chicken out again. That time it was Fred she'd almost run into. She'd seen him when she turned the corner. He was coming towards her, walking from the other end of the hall. The door where they were both going was between them. A pause in her footing, and she just walked right on by like she'd been heading somewhere else the whole time. Right as they passed each other, a convenient lock of hair fell over her face. Couldn't blame her. She just couldn't show that sort of weakness to him after all that had happened when they were imprisoned. How would it reflect on him? It would only make him feel bad about his gift, like it wasn't enough.
Okay, so those were just excuses to talk her back out of it.
This time, though, she arrived twenty minutes early so that she wouldn't run into anyone on her way there. She would already be inside, waiting, when they arrived. She hated waiting. Hated it. But she hated her reason for being there more. She hated that she was going to do it. It would be the hardest thing she ever had to do, after all.
Okay, maybe it's the second hardest. Listening to Xavier prattle on about surviving and overcoming and releasing emotions in a healthy manner… That is now, most definitely, the hardest. She yawned to relieve the ache of her weariness. Then she yawned again. She'd stopped paying attention a long time ago. She'd been examining the pattern in the wallpaper for a while now.
"Go ahead, Rogue," Xavier said, reassurance bulging his words.
Rogue looked around the room. Everyone was there, just her luck, plus two more that Xavier had asked to join in when he'd seen her sitting on the couch like she'd done this a million times before. Xavier, Storm, Evan, Hank, Fred, and even Logan expected her to talk. Anticipation dangled them.
So Ah was wrong, this right now is the hardest thing Ah've ever had ta do.
"Ah…" She wrung her hands. "Ya'll…" She noticed she wrung her hands and sat on them to stop her wringing them. "Well… " She looked down. Her legs were clenched together.
A deep breath… in… out… Ah can do this. In, out, in, out. ..Inoutinoutinoutinout…
A paper bag against her face, over her mouth. Inconsequential words, "Hyperventilating... fighting us… hold her…" Consequential thoughts: Can't trust… Stop them… Get away… She tried to fly. Hands on her shoulders. Strong hands, but she was stronger. Hands on her feet, she was still stronger. Hands on her legs. NO. A prick on her arm. She saw the needle, watched its slow plunge and felt the burn. How'd it pierce her? How'd she feel it? She was invulnerable. And strong, but she felt so tired. Her eyelids were heavy. They were closing.
BLINK
AH HAVE TO FIGHT.
B-L-I-N-K
SKINT!
"What the flamin' hell are those?"
B—L—I—N—K
"What do you think, Logan?"
Gotta get away. Fly… but so tired.
B—L—I—N—K
CLOSE
~"Noooo…"~ It was a strong whimper.
Everyone jumped back. She was released. But she didn't know it.
"Did you hear that?" Fred asked tentatively. He needed to make sure he wasn't hearing things.
He hadn't. Everyone nodded in assent. They'd heard her too.
"It was too soon," Xavier said as he followed Henry, who carried Rogue out of the room.
Two days had passed before the guards had come near Rogue again. She had just lain there, on her cot, after having dragged herself full onto it. Fred and Evan and some of the other prisoners had spoken bits of encouragement to her. There was nothing more they could do. It wasn't like with Fred, where they could pass bedding between the bars to her, to him. Besides, she had been the one with the initiative, with the idea, with the determination, with the hope. When nobody else had done it, she had taken up the reigns. And now that it was her that was in need… She'd hauled her body against the back wall of her cell as far from a friendly hand as she could get and still be on the false relief of the cot. The closest Fred's hand would reach to her was more than three inches away from her.
Sometimes an inch could be as distant as a mile.
For two days she had lain there on the cot. She didn't speak. She didn't eat. She didn't sleep, but she didn't seem awake, either. Fred and Evan and Hank had been considerably worried about her. They thought the guards had broken her, not just her legs. She'd never been hurt like that before on a mission, or otherwise, as far as they'd known. They thought that the injury and the prone position it had placed her in had caused her to give up. They'd never expected her to give up, she, who had been giving them hope the whole first week they'd been there. If they had been telepaths, they would have known better, however. There were telepaths there, in a few of the cells, it was the most common mutation, after all, but they were all wearing inhibitor collars, and therefore couldn't access that power to see the thoughts that were really brewing inside Rogue's mind. But, it turned out, after two days, they hadn't needed to read her thoughts to find out that she hadn't given up, hadn't resigned herself to her fate of imprisonment. Two days after the winking guard had broken her legs three guards led the familiar doctor (wearing a new set of glasses) into her cell to treat her wounds and they saw the evidence for themselves.
"Rotten sons of bitches," she'd sputtered quietly when the guard put a key in her cell door (they'd closed it again when they saw her dragging herself around her cot). When the door opened and the doctor entered, well, that when she really hurled the curses at them. The expletives that left her mouth would've made even Wolverine blush.
The doctor actually gave pause and looked at her with widened eyes. It was the most emotion she'd ever seen from him. It was the same doctor that had treated Fred two days earlier, before winking man had broken her legs and left her there to rot in her own infection. And infected her wounds were getting. But Rogue knew it wasn't her festering wounds that had given him pause. It wasn't even her words either, really. It was her anger and stubborn determination that hadn't wilted, but rather had festered even greater than the wounds on her legs had. They may have broken her legs, but they hadn't broken her will. None of the other prisoners had retained their fight after winking man's punishments and having undergone the research experiments.
But then, they hadn't really tested her yet, they hadn't figured out exactly what her powers were yet.
The doctor never got to treat Rogue on that first attempt. She'd kept him off the second, third, and fourth visits that day. Every time he came near her cell, she cursed, and hollered, and threw her bedding and toilet paper at him and the guards. But, Rogue was treated, just not by the doctor. After the first visit, Rogue tore strips off the bedding that Fred had tossed back to her. She'd dipped the strips in the water of her toilet and had cleaned the wounds caused by the bones that had punctured the skin. She only did a little at a time. It was very painful. She had to do it in steps. First cleaning, then later, more cleaning, and later still, more cleaning. It wasn't until just before the fifth visit attempted by the doctor that Rogue had finally tried to set the bones on her own. She bit her lip, but couldn't hold back her bark of pain nor the tears that had accompanied it.
Fred had watched her with curious eyes. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't take the doctor's treatment, why she wouldn't let them ease her pain. The doctor would at least make it bearable; make their torments and their imprisonment a little easier. The doctor always gave injections of painkillers.
By the fifth visit, winking man was getting very annoyed. Rogue had narrowed her eyes on his and said, "What's the problem? Boss man not happy with ya right now?"
Winking man hadn't responded to her. Instead, he led the doctor out without even having had touched a key to her cell door.
That night Rogue had woken to hushed whispers coming from Fred's cell. Leaning over Fred was the same doctor she'd always seen checking and further treating Fred's burns and lingering effects of the near hypothermia he had suffered. Two guards were there. One was inside the cell behind Fred and the doctor, and one was at the edge of the opened cell door. A second doctor, one Rogue had never seen before was behind the second guard outside Fred's cell. This second doctor stood more erect than the other doctor, carried himself with more authority, and had an eerie inquisitive glint in his eyes. He was watching Rogue while the first and more familiar doctor whispered with Fred.
Rogue never heard what was said between them, but she found out eventually… the next day actually.
Breakfast was served to everyone, half an hour after lights-on, like every other day. Breakfast was the one meal that was consistently served them. Even if lunch or dinner hadn't followed, they'd always had breakfast. The guards and kitchen hands rolled carts alongside the cell doors and passed plates through the crevice beneath the barred doors. It was a lot like being on an airplane, only less cramped.
There was one thing different that morning, though. That morning, the guards never slid a plate under Rogue's cell door, so she knew they had something planned for her. When Fred, looking guilty, had offered to share his with her, she'd at first turned him down just for spite. Then, she changed her mind, and accepted his shared breakfast for the same reason. If her captors wanted her hungry, well then, she just refused to be hungry for them.
This repeated for lunch as well. Only this time, when the plates were cleared away, the doctors had returned. And they had brought friends.
Winking man looked from Fred to Rogue, and grinned. Rogue could almost hear the singsong 'I know something you don't know' in that grin of his. Aloud, though, he said, "Enjoy your meals, mutie?" He chuckled when Rogue glowered suspiciously at him, then he winked and pointed to the cameras that were pointed at her cell. "Knew we'd find a way ta get you ta co-operate."
It had been a trick. They were testing her, seeing if they could manipulate her into doing what they wanted… like when they had used Wolverine's claws on Fred. Rogue, needless to say, was fuming.
"Shut up, Renfield," said the authoritative doctor with the inquisitive glint in his eyes as he pushed past the winking man.
Rogue almost laughed at Renfield's confused grimace. It was obvious he didn't like the nickname or that he didn't get the reference the name made [1].
"I'm Dr. Milbury," the authoritative doctor said as he approached her cell. His eyes flick to Fred—who looked like he'd had a change of heart and was about to lose his lunch from his guilt—then added, "Your friend here tells me your name is Rogue."
She'd been proud that she'd never given them her name. But Fred had told. If she could have, she would have ran to the bars and tried to beat Fred silly while reaching between them. But she couldn't. Her legs were too mangled, the wounds too infected, and the pain too intense to drag herself over there. Plus, over there was close to where Dr. Milbury was standing. So instead, she simply said, "So that's what ya'll were whispering about last night."
The three other doctors moved towards her cell as well. They all had clipboards and held pens poised above them. They looked like a bunch of hospital interns following their mentor around just waiting for a glimpse of brilliance they could note and later memorize. Behind them came three guards carrying Wolverine.
Her cell door opened, so her attention leapt there. Then the doctors parted to make room for Wolverine to be brought to the center of the room, so her attention leapt there. Two guards, neither one being Renfield grabbed her arms and again her attention shifted. They laid Wolverine on the floor; she shifted. A needle pricked her arm; she shifted. She looked up to the culprit. It was Dr. Milbury. Rogue's angry, confused, and scared emerald orbs met Milbury's eerily inquisitive ones.
"It's a painkiller, Rogue," Dr. Milbury said as he capped the syringe and slipped it in his pocket, "There is no need to be frightened."
Rogue blinked. She blinked again. She felt strange. She looked at Fred, his regret for his whispers with the doctor plainly spilled down his cheeks. She looked to Wolverine, unconscious on the floor. She looked to Dr. Milbury. She blinked again. She was getting tired.
"Whaz gooooiiinnngg ooonnnn?" She asked. It was difficult to speak. Her mouth didn't want to form the words. Her tongue felt sluggish, as did her arms. And now her legs weren't hurting so much.
Dr. Milbury nodded to the guards and they picked her up. As they carried her limp form out of her cell, Milbury followed and said, "You've been holding back on us, Rogue. Your friend here has kindly filled us in, though."
B-L-I-N-K
Rogue tried to look back at Fred. Her head lolled to the side and rolled back. The muscles in her neck just could not support the strain of turning her head any more.
"He tells us you are more than a…" Dr. Milbury looks to one of the other doctors, "How did that she phrase it?"
The doctor scrambled through his notes, then proudly beamed when he found it. "Psychic vampire, sir," he said.
B-L-I-N-K
The guards carried her to the center of the main area of the block as Milbury said, "Yes, that's what it was. Quite colorful."
"Ahhhh dooonnn unn…" Rogue slurred and then trailed off. Frustrated, she tried to lift her head again, but it was too heavy. Again, it lolled against her shoulder and fell back. She had a sneaky suspicion that this was what a marionette felt like. She suddenly understood Pinocchio's plight to a degree greater than she had ever before conceived of.
B—L—I—N—K
"There's no point in wasting our surplus when you could heal yourself, Rogue," said Dr. Milbury.
The guards laid her down beside Wolverine. She never wished to be human more than right then. Of course, she couldn't see the future. She didn't know they'd get her to kill.
B——L——I——N——K… Close.
B——L——I——N——K… B—L—I—N—K… B-L-I-N-K… BLINK… BLINKBLINK… Open…
Milbury pulled back, syringe in hand. He capped it and sat it on a tall metal instrument table to the side. There were other syringes and tools on the table as well. They seemed to glow from the light they reflected. There was a lot of light to be reflected. The room was bright, so very, very bright. It was surgical room bright. It hurt her eyes, the only sense she consciously felt at the moment. She closed her eyes. See, that's better. Not so bright, now.
"Ah-ah-ahh, Rogue. You'll want to stay awake for this," Dr. Milbury said. He turned his head and added, to someone else, "Note the time, Reynolds. I believe he's wearing off. She's not metabolizing the drug as quickly."
"Ten hours, thirteen minutes, forty-two seconds, this time, sir," the doctor replied from far away. At least, that's what Rogue thought. How far away is he? A mile? Funny how distance could be subjective, how senses could play with the truth. The doctor who had answered Milbury was really only fifteen feet or so away from her. But, she was tired from the many, many miles she had already traveled on this journey and this particular trip was far, far from over. There was still that mountain between here and there for her to contend with.
Milbury stepped back, which allowed her to see more of the room around her, or in front of her, really, since she seemed to be against one wall; or close to it at least. The other three walls were lined with guards, spaced apart, at attention. She was suddenly struck with images of the Nutcracker. It almost made her giggle—giggle and cry. He joined his gaggle of doctors, now there were eight of them not including him. Off to the right of the doctor was a console on what looked like a podium and a set of tables. These tables were covered with computers and monitors. The monitors had lots of diagrams playing on them: physiological designs that rotated, scrolling lines of code, charts, and things she didn't recognize. They were too far away for her to read anything specific on them, but she figured it was a good guess they displayed information about her. That was, until she heard the groan come from beside her, which incited one consolation: her hearing was getting better.
"Uhhhhhhh," Logan groaned as he came to. He blinked, and then blinked again. His eyes went wide. He looked up to see his arms bound together above him. He was dangling from his restraints like the wires dangled from his body before trailing up and over the slab he was restrained to. He yanked on his arms, but they wouldn't come loose. He felt the collar around his neck with a shrug of his shoulders and a roll of his head. He growled and looked around him, figuring out the room, the people in it, and the purpose they shared. He stopped his growl short when his view fell on Rogue to his left. His eyes widened for a second time since he'd woken, as he looked her up and down, and then, with a voice scratchy as sandpaper and brittle as parchment said, "Rogue, what's going on?"
Rogue's answer was a confused frown.
Let's see, Wolvie. We're being held prisoner and experimented on. Ya'll know that.
She'd meant for it to be spoken, but her body hadn't caught up with her brain yet. Still, the way he looked her up and down, and the way he was bound made her aware of the ache in her own shoulders. She looked up, followed the length of her arms and saw that she was bound like he was. Only she was inside something: a cylinder, perhaps. But the cylinder wasn't whole. The space directly in front of her, from mid way up her shins to half way down her forearms was open, as though a doorway had been cut out. With the ache in her shoulders came more of that sense of feeling. Her hands were cold, very cold, and they burned, like they would feel if her circulation had been cut off, that sensation that comes right before pins and needles. Wires dangled beside her arms, like with Logan, streaming from sensors attached to her body. She looked down next, and once she saw her legs, she felt what her eyes saw. Her legs were healed, good as new. She wiggled them, tested their mobility as much as her position would allow. Like she'd thought, good as knew. With that downward tilt of her head she also felt an emptiness around her neck, a certain lack of something. She wasn't wearing a collar.
"You're certain this will work, Milbury," a voice said right beside her ear a split instant before its owner blocked her view of Logan.
"Yes, Trask, I am," Milbury said.
"How can you be sure?" Trask asked. He spoke about Logan and Rogue as though they weren't there, or weren't capable of hearing him or understanding him. To him, they were less than human. He continued, "Logan's the only one to ever survive the bonding procedure. She only retains his healing factor for a limited period of time. What assurance is there that she won't die as soon as it wears off?"
"Such concern for the mutant, Trask. Are you having a change of heart?"
"That's not it and you know it, Milbury," Trask said. The offense in his tone was dense. "I'm just wondering what your angle is on this. She's been your pet project for the last two weeks. Why risk her?"
"Because, like you said, Logan has been the only one to ever survive. But now there may be a second who can survive… with a little help of course. Duplicating you and your partner's previous endeavors with Logan here was the primary contingency of our contract, was it not? Your Sentinels provide mutants for my research and I find a way to—"
"Enough!" Trask shouted, cutting Milbury off. A sly smile crept across Milbury's face. Trask eyed the room's inhabitants venomously. "The project is classified."
"I was only answering your question."
"That's not what I was asking and you know it," Trask spat. "Why not just follow our original plan? Why her, instead?"
"Not instead, Trask, but also."
"Just answer the damn question, Milbury."
His eyes glinted and that sly smile twitched his lips. "Because I am curious, of course."
Trask grunted, exasperated with Milbury's response, and stomped to the other side of the room. With his movement, Rogue was able to see Logan again. There was real fear in him. Fear for her.
A voice filled the room. It was an intercom system. "She's ready, sir."
"Good," Milbury said. "Bring her in." Upon seeing Trask's confused expression, he added, "One more test, to ensure her survival."
The other participant of this last test was brought in. She was unconscious and strapped to a gurney. Her wrists and ankles were bound in place to the gurney by adamantium straps. Guards pushed her directly in front of Rogue and the gaggle of doctors began hooking sensors up to her.
Trask paled when he saw whom it was. "What are you up to, Milbury? She's human. She's not one of your lab rats."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Trask. You couldn't be more wrong or more right. She is human, a mutant, and more."
"She's one of my top people. She passed all the screenings. You will release her."
"Your screenings were flawed. They were tampered with. She is not what you thought. She does have powers. But most importantly, she works for…" Dr. Milbury trailed off when another person entered the room… Gambit.
Remy was disheveled. There were leaves and twigs in his hair and grime smeared into his clothes. His shoes were black with mud and other things that smelled much worse.
Trask snorted in disgust. "What is he doing here?"
Remy scowled at Trask, then shrugged. There was contempt in that small gesture. He pulled one of the many leaves from his hair and let it drop onto the floor and said, "Mercenary work. Gotta love it."
Dr. Milbury ignored their banter, addressing Remy about his own purposes, his own concerns. "Is it done, Remy?"
Remy's eyes, disguised with brown contacts, met Dr. Milbury's inquisitive eyes. "Oui, c'est finis [2]."
"How many?"
Gambit looked away then, but still hadn't seen Rogue, yet. It was like he didn't want to be witness to what was occurring in the room, as though not seeing it, not acknowledging it, would mean it wasn't happening, that he hadn't helped start it. "Un bon nombre d'eux. Un trop grand nombre." It was sorrowful. A moment later, he shook it off. His edge regained, he added, "Ils sont traités maintenant [3]."
"Very good, Remy," Dr. Milbury said, returning his attention to the doctors hooking sensors up to the woman that had been brought in. Remy, still avoiding the goings on in the room, turned to leave when Milbury, with his back to Remy, said, "One more thing, Remy."
Remy spun around. His rage seemed to burn behind contacts that had disguised his eyes as brown-on-white. "Non! Ma dette est payée. Vous dit ceci que ce soit. Pas plus. Nous sommes finis [4]."
With Remy's words, Dr. Milbury's smile became a hardened line under the clenching of his jaw. He looked up at Rogue, and an idea sparked.
"You are correct," he conceded to Remy. "Your contract has been fulfilled. He cuffed his hands behind his back and he strolled out from between Remy and Rogue, thus giving them their first unobstructed view of each other since Remy had entered. "Go then, Remy," he said knowingly. "Allez et soyez heureux [5]."
Their eyes met, embraced, and danced, Remy versus Rogue. It was much like the first time, during the battle. They stared. She felt his empathy and Remy felt her through his empathy. He felt her confusion, her fear, her stubborn determination, and her flare of hatred for him. He was the reason she was caught, that they were caught. He was the link between the fight started with Magneto and the arrival of Trask and his Sentinel. The weight of her gaze, of her emotions knocked his breath away. It threatened to release his hard won control, the thing for which he'd indebted himself to Dr. Milbury. He carefully reigned in the tingling sensation in his fingers, lest he'd be revealed a mutant to Trask and the others right then and there.
"Que faites-vous à la femme?" Remy said, transferring his anger from his powers into his words. "Vous l'avez dite souffririez pas plus qu'un malaise mineur. Qu'est-ce que c'est? [6]"
"True. True." Milbury said. He strolled further, passing by Logan. "But that arrangement was made under false pretenses, was it not?" He arced his stroll, stalking around to the side of Remy. "Vous n'avez dit rien au sujet de ses puissances d'absorption. Seulement dit sa peau était dangereuse [7]."
"Je n'ai pas su [8]."
"What are you talking about?" Trask asked suspiciously.
Dr. Milbury ignored Trask. He continued strolling, stalking a circle around Remy. "Ne mentez pas à moi encore. Vous prolongez votre dette avec chaque mensonge dont vous me parlez [9]."
Remy glowered at Dr. Milbury daringly. A snake is most dangerous when caught in a trap.
"English, damn it," Trask spat, "We're in America not France."
Remy turned that glower onto Trask and Trask took a step back. "Remy's not French, mais Cajun. Born an' raised in de Big Easy. Dat's N'awlin's in l'Anglais."
Milbury, still stalking a circle around Remy, said, "I believe Remy has decided to stay." He flicked his eyes to Rogue. "And watch." Back to Remy. "Isn't that so, Remy?"
"Je resterai," Gambit said, then repeated it in English for Trask, "I'll stay."
"No. You will not watch," Trask said as he stomped up to Remy and grabbed him by the collar, trying to push him to the door. "Classified, Milbury. Remember? Your little merc, here, will not be seeing this."
Gambit held his ground, surprising Trask with the strength in his slim body. Gambit caught hold of Trask's suit jacket where Milbury could see what he was doing. He looked to Milbury, not Trask, for Trask was not the threat, but rather Remy's hand on Trask's jacket was the threat. Milbury knew what Remy could do with that hand on that jacket. "Call him off," Remy said.
"Let him go, Trask," Dr. Milbury said. "He is an associate of mine. You will treat him with the same respect that you treat me."
"I don't take my orders from you," Trask said, but he let Remy go and backed away once Remy released him in return.
"Nor I from you, Trask. Those in my employment answer only to me. If I say he may watch, then he may watch."
Wolverine had watched and listened intently to the three of them bartering. Unfortunately, he didn't know a lick of French [10]. He didn't like being kept out of the loop, so he'd tried to piece together what they were talking about from the few words and phrases that sounded like their English counterpart. When he'd heard 'finis,' 'grand nombre,' and 'dette est payée,' and factored in Trask and Remy's referring to Remy as a mercenary, he'd figured they were arguing about Remy's pay. But, then, when he heard the additions of 'à la femme,' 'd'absorption,' and 'dangereuse,' he knew that whatever they were bartering over involved Rogue somehow. The rest was completely baffling, though. He'd recognized the words 'moi,' 'encore,' and 'prolongez,' but had no clue how they would factor into what he'd already guessed they were talking about. Confused, he turned to Rogue to ask her. Maybe she'd taken French in school or something. The shocked look on her face told him that she definitely understood more than he did.
"Is Gumbo there trying to buy you… as part of his payment?" Wolverine asked her, whispering. He really wanted to know what they had said. They had all but stopped talking to each other now and doubted that when they did speak again that it would have anything to do with what had just been said in French. He took some consolation in seeing that Trask didn't know what Milbury and Remy had said either, but he really didn't like the way that Remy was staring at Rogue. It was a mixture of desire, anxiety, and guilt… and something else… something more. That combination didn't look good to Wolverine at all.
"No, it's not that," Rogue whispered back. "Ah'm not exactly sure what they said. They spoke so much faster than mah teachers evah did. They were talking about that Remy guy getting paid for something he did for Milbury. I think. I'm sure he doesn't want to work for him any more. I think Milbury's using me ta keep him working for him. But Ah don't know why."
The doctors that had been setting up the sensors on the woman on the gurney and their monitoring devices all looked up at Rogue. She was sure they were going to tell her to be quiet, but they didn't. They looked at her like she was a newly discovered virus under the eye of their microscope.
One doctor looked to Milbury and said, "All ready, sir." Then the lot of them scattered back from Rogue, Logan, and the woman on the gurney. It was like they'd just realized that the virus was contagious. But, of course, they weren't.
Trask stood front-and-center of the action, eager to see what treat Milbury had planned for the mutie scum before him. Remy sat on the edge of one of the tables filled with computers and monitors. From what Rogue and Logan could tell, Remy had the best view of Rogue. Milbury went to a console that edged the tables. He picked up a device that looked like an overcomplicated joystick and began working it. A buzzing overhead signaled their attention to a mechanical arm that lowered. Under Milbury's expert usage of the joystick, the arm latched onto the woman's forearm. He paused then, reached over and pressed a couple of buttons on the console, and pop, the band around the woman's wrist, just the one on the wrist below where the mechanical arm had clamped onto, released. Milbury again resumed controlling the mechanical arm via the joystick. The arm raised the woman's arm and slowly, oh so slowly, moved it towards Rogue's bare midriff. All Rogue had been dressed in was a sports bra and shorts. It was enough clothing to keep her from being nude, while still exposing as much of her dangerous skin as possible. The mechanical arm stopped when the woman's bare hand was just an inch away from Rogue's skin. Then the grip on the arm rotated until the woman's hand flopped so the flat surface of the back of her hand angled parallel to Rogue's stomach. Milbury glanced at the gaggle of doctors once more to verify that all was ready. The doctors nodded. The arm moved. And finally, bare skin touched bare skin.
One second. Rogue felt her mind and body react. Ten seconds. Her mind narrowed and broadened all at once. Thirty seconds. Her body strengthened and weakened all at once. Fifty seconds. She became another person. One minute, thirty seconds. She gained another conscious. Two minutes, fourteen seconds. She acquired several new skills. Three minutes. And can't forget the powers. Five minutes. Oh, the powers. Eight minutes. If her restraints hadn't been made of adamantium, she could've broken free of them all and demolished the compound all by herself.
…Eleven minutes…
Rogue's powers worked on a one-to-sixty ratio. Touch for one second and she had the powers for sixty seconds.
…Sixteen minutes…
Theoretically, touch for ten minutes and she had them for six hundred minutes. That was ten hours.
…Twenty minutes…
Theoretically, touch for thirty minutes and she had them for eighteen hundred minutes. That was thirty hours—or one day and six hours.
…Twenty-seven minutes…
Theoretically, One hour lasted for sixty hours. That was two days twelve hours.
…Thirty-three minutes…
Is there ever a point where that changed?
…Thirty-four minutes…
A point where Rogue had reached a limit on what her body and mind could hold… like a sponge, or a glass, or a pool?
…Thirty-five minutes…
Or where there was just nothing left of the person for Rogue to take in? Rogue did take in their skills and memories as well.
…Thirty-six minutes…
Could watching the process tell when these things occurred? When Rogue became full, or her victim empty?
…Thirty-seven minutes…
The woman on the gurney went into convulsions at seven minutes. Seven… the number of perfection.
…Thirty-eight minutes…
…
…
…
And the whole time, Remy carefully watched Rogue, but he never once looked at the face of the woman on the gurney.
Wolverine noticed that.
Remy put on a good show, convinced Trask he was a mutant-hating human, but Logan knew better. Even without his heightened senses he could tell that Remy hated what was happening with Rogue. Yet, he didn't try to stop it. And still, Wolverine admitted that he couldn't even bring himself to watch after the first few seconds. That's when he'd turned his attention to Remy. He watched Remy watch Rogue suffer through the entire thing. It was Remy's self-endured punishment to watch.
Where am I? A cell? They caught me? Yeah, they did. Well, that guy did, Milbury's lackey. He gave me up, snap, just like that, when Milbury caught us talking together. I can't believe I confided in him. Can't believe I believed him. Where did it land me? Here. Wherever here is, that is. It's too big to be a cell. I've been walking for hours, days, weeks. How long have I been here? And why am I walking? Why aren't I flying? Am I flying? I can't tell. I can't see anything, least of all my feet, or legs, or arms, or hands, or torso… I can't feel them either, now that I think about it. Am I dead? I can't be dead. I'm invulnerable. So I must be alive. Right. I mean, I know I exist. Don't I? I can hear myself talking. I am talking. See, I have a… oh, I can't feel my hands to touch my mouth to prove I have a mouth to talk with or hands to touch the mouth I talk with. So, maybe I'm not talking. Maybe I'm thinking. Do I exist? That's stupid. Of course I exist. I have identity, don't I? I know who I am. I do… I'm, I'm… I know I'm a girl. I know it. And I have powers. I know that too. I can fly, I'm invulnerable, I have super human strength… but humans don't have powers like these, do they? Am I not human? Maybe I'm a figment of my imagination… or someone else's. Okay, now that's crazier than human's having powers. I am human. I do exist. I have a name. I have a rank. I have a seria—Wait back up a second. Rank? I have a rank… That's right, I do. I'm a Colonel. I'm a colonel in the U.S. armed forces. I do undercover work for the government. I work for Shield, with Colonel Fury. He sent me on this mission to pose as a human… no not pose, I am human… to pose as a high ranking guard in Bolivar Trask's latest pet project. He has an installation where he's researching mutants to determine if they're dangerous. Silly man! That's like saying all women are dangerous while falling asleep nude beside one. Anyone can be dangerous. How do people get funding for this stuff?! Who knows? But, there I was infiltrating the research center when I stumbled upon him… what was his name? There's an 'L' in it somewhere. I know there is. And a 'B'. And a… a… Oh, forget it. I know who I'm talking about and it's not like there's anybody else here, wherever I am, to explain it to, so I'm just going to move on now. So, I discovered he was a mutant. Right there working for the head Dr. who was partners with Trask, the holier-than-thou mutant hater… mutant… hmmm… Never mind. I knew something was up then. Something worse than what Trask was working on. Something far more frightening than Colonel Fury or I could ever have imagined. So I bummed around with him for a few days. Wasn't hard to get by his shell. He was a huge flirt. And he was real talkative about a particular prisoner. Most times I felt like he was working me as much as I was working him. Finally, after one week, he asked me if I'd ever been stationed in her block, if I ever see her. And right then, I knew I was in. That was the ticket. Of course I said yes, and that, yes, I would take him to see her sometime next week. At night. If he'd do something for me, of course. And that's when Milbury walked in… hey, why can I remember some names, but not all names? Like my name… what's my name… I know I have one. Everyone has one… it's…it's… it's… oh, yeah I remember it's—
B——L——I——N——K… B—L—I—N—K… B-L-I-N-K… BLINK… BLINKBLINK… Open…
Rogue was in her room. She was in the bedroom that she shared with Kitty. It was dark. All the lights were out, but it was dark outside. Nobody else was there, not even Kitty. She was alone. There was no Mr. McCoy checking her vitals. There was no Xavier quietly observing her. There was no Storm meditating for her emotional and physical health. There was no Wolverine watching. There was no teary eyed fellow student sitting in a chair beside the bed holding her hand… with his or her gloved hand.
Blink… Blink… Open…
She was alone.
Fine by me. It's how Ah prefer it. Can't risk them reaching me… and touching mah skin. The last part was added quickly.
She felt great. But, of course she did. She had Logan's healing powers. Probably burned off the sedative lickety-split. Besides, it wasn't like she'd been injured anyway. There wasn't any reason she would feel anything but great. She propped herself up, picked her novel up off the bedside table, and read.
Ten minutes later, she checked the clock, 8:32 p.m. It'd been three hours since the counseling session had started. They all would've eaten dinner by now. They'd be hanging out in the recreation room or working out in the danger room or…
It was Thursday, no danger room sessions that evening. Diagnostics and maintenance checks were always run on Thursdays. Almost everyone would be in the recreation room then. Wrestling was on. Most of the guys watched it. Most of the girls, too, though they usually made fun of the guys who were really watching it, or they were talking about how hot certain wrestlers were, or they were there to just giggle and talk and be a general nuisance to those who were watching. Even those who didn't participate in the Wrestling ritual in some way were usually in there. They played pool or board games or read. Henry would read medical journals and sometimes he had been caught watching the Wrestling over top the magazine. Wolverine too. Though, Logan had done it from under the guise of a hat pulled over his eyes while he napped. Otherwise, when not napping, he would have a beer and chew his cheroot, opting not to light it in the room full of kids. Xavier, though, would just sit and observe everyone there, a contented pride relaxing his brow.
Thursday Night had become an Event since she, Evan, Logan, and Henry had been rescued. It was the unofficial, unspoken Family Night at the Institution. Tragedy can do that, can make people want to spend more time around each other.
And she was alone in her room, reading, like usual. She could go down, just to move around, get the blood flowing, and stretch her legs…
She checked the clock. Red on black numbers winked 8:46 at her. Red on black, just like his eyes. Today was Thursday, which made tomorrow Friday… She sat down her book and pulled open the drawer on her beside table. The card. The invitation to meet him at Spades. There it sat, shiny and bright and inviting, just like the most accomplished betrayer. She stared at it. Eventually, the stare became a glower. She closed the drawer.
Red on black winked 8:48. She returned to her book.
Red on black winked 8:49.
She opened the drawer and pulled out the card. 'Friday, 10 pm,' stared back at her, beckoning her, pleading her in his hasty script. It'd been four weeks to the day since she'd discovered it while changing her sheets, and another three to five days on top of that (she told herself that she couldn't remember exactly) since he'd given it to her. That had been the night he'd scared her into fixing the wall so he couldn't get in. He hadn't shown up since then. Perhaps she scared him off by filling in his place of entrance, the hole in the outer wall of her room, even if she hadn't actually accomplished the task until the day she'd discovered the card. If so, perhaps he'd never shown for the proposed meeting at Spades, never seen that she'd never come. And now it'd been four weeks.
Ain't no way he'd show up tomorrow. Nobody's that desperate. She tossed the card in the drawer, seemingly carelessly, and closed it. She reached over to set her alarm for the morning… her gloves setting beside it caught her eye.
He wore gloves. His were fingerless, though. Well, a few fingers at least. Her memory flashed to that day at the school, when the Brotherhood had come over…
A lock of hair tickled mah left cheek. Ah reached up to push it behind mah ear. Something caught mah hand, mah thankfully gloved hand. Ah flinched with the surprising contact, but a gloved hand grasped mah hand and held it in place beside mah ear.
Had he known what Ah was? Of course he did. Magneto had to have told him. And with him working with the Doc… She trailed off. She didn't want to think about that again.
But, he'd visited her anyway. Repeatedly. She chortled.
Maybe he was that desperate. She shook her head to straighten out her skewed thoughts. But nobody that looked like that, moved like that, talked like that, and watched mh like that could evah be desperate at all. He had ta have a list of broken hearts a mile long behind him. He had ta be in it for something else. For Magneto probably… or the Doc… She trailed off again.
That was enough of that. She rose from her bed and headed downstairs. Family Night at Xavier's would at least be a distraction from her crazy thoughts.
Ah was about ta convince mahself of the impossible. Like some guy like that would evah want a girl he couldn't touch.
She'd been so busy trying to avoid thoughts of Gambit and the…possibilities… that were so impossible for her, that she'd forgotten about the incident during the counseling session until she'd walked into the room and saw everyone—absolutely everyone—there. They were all performing their Thursday Night ritual as usual.
Not a one of them were worrying, harping, prying, gawking, nagging, questioning, harassing, needling, guilting, or any of those annoying habits that showed how much they cared about her. All of them were going on with their lives as though she had never existed. She watched them a moment. She just watched them exist without her. She watched them live and not need her and not being needed by her. And she smiled. She smiled and was content. And all of a sudden the dam was broken, freeing her frailty for all the world to see.
"Ah need yor help," she said. It had just come out. She had admitted her weakness. She had asked for help. It had been the hardest thing in her life to do earlier that day, and now, it had just slipped out like she was asking the time.
All of them did notice her then. It was the last thing anyone would have expected from her, actually admitting she needed help, that she couldn't handle everything on her own, that she needed them. It had cut through the noise of the room like a gunshot through the chest. She'd pierced them. She'd hooked them. And now they all wanted to know what she needed help for.
Rogue didn't say anything. All of their attention was unnerving her, rebuilding the dam. Finally, it was Kitty who spoke up, saying, "With what?"
Kurt was next, "Are you hurt?"
That launched into a tirade of questions and comments about the incident earlier that day. Those who'd known about it were saying, "Are you ill, faint, dizzy… Claws, telepathy…" Those that weren't in the know were questioning those who were. Her name bounced around like Quicksilver in a rubber room. It was too much for her. She wanted to bolt. But she stubbornly resigned herself to the fate she'd unleashed as she'd done so many times with the fate genetics had designed for her. She stayed, hovering a foot above the rest of the world's foothold.
But still, she wasn't having it.
~"QUIET!"~ She yelled into their heads.
And they were. It was shocking to hear the twang of her voice in their heads. Even those who had been in the room when McCoy had sedated her were startled by it. Then, it had been so quiet, so silky, so unlike her. Now, it was screeched like a banshee.
"You didn't have to yell," Ray said as he fingered his ear. It was habit for something that loud.
She gave them a caustic smile. "Okay. Like Ah was saying, Ah'm having a problem." It was getting difficult again. She'd practiced what she'd say. She had it all memorized, but it just wasn't coming out right. She was babbling, "Ah'm not hurt or anything, at least not because of an injury or… well, that's not exactly right… it's that with these powers Ah got some things…"
She caught sight of Scott's glasses and was transfixed by him. She knew he saw the world in red, but it was far from seeing it through ruby lenses. She looked at him and suddenly knew how to word it. "Aw, heck, Ah'll just show ya."
She lowered herself to the floor. Her limp toes met marble first, then the balls of her feet, and then—as Scott started towards her—then, her heels. She was standing—no, she was falling to the floor.
THUNK! Her knees hit first. SMACK! Her hands were next, followed by the rest of her. Then Scott was beside her, helping her stand. She shoed him off. They needed to see this.
She had to fight with herself to keep from lifting herself up with her power of flight. She had to allow her knees to buckle under her weight. It was the only way they'd really understand that there was a major problem with her legs. Yeah, with her legs…
She grabbed the couch to pull herself up, like people do every day. It was normal. It was just a way to take some of the responsibility of standing off her legs. Only thing was… her legs just didn't seem to want to take any of the responsibility.
"…"
"…"
"Is there somebody there?"
"Oh, you're brilliant, aren't you? Just my luck to get trapped here with some brainless—"
"You know where we are?"
"See what I mean?"
"No, I can't, that's the problem."
"Well, open your eyes, then, Bimbo."
"I still don't see you…"
"You don't? Oh. Well, then. Well, I don't know what to tell you."
"Can you see me?"
"Of course I can."
"Do you recognize me?"
"No, why should I? Do you recognize me, I mean, does my voice sound familiar to you?"
"Well, no. But, you can see me and hear me and all?"
"Hey, you know what? I think I'm going to go and check this place out. Talk to you later."
"Don't go. I'm serious."
"Fine, I'll stay. Yes, I can see you and hear you. You exist, okay."
"That's how that one psychologist described existence… or was it a philosopher? He said that we exist because our world responds to us."
"Yes, I have heard that before. So, I guess you're not as dumb as I thought."
"That's why I was so confused. Nothing reacted to me before you came. Well, not since I've been here."
"Really?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Not even those walls there? You never bumped into them or anything?"
"What walls?"
"Those walls. They're right there. They surround this entire place. Look, they're right—oh, yeah, I forgot. You can't see anything."
"No, I can't. Or feel or taste or smell."
"Bummer for you."
"Do you have all your senses?"
"…"
"Well?"
"Most of them."
"Which ones."
"I can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell."
"That's all of them."
"Not for me."
"Are you like me, then?"
"Are you?"
"Yeah. And you are?"
"Yeah."
"So what's this sense you're missing?"
"Well, I have some of it, sort of… barely... It's, it's…"
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"I'm not scared, if that's what you're thinking."
"It wasn't."
"'Cause I'm not. I, well, it's weird not having it. Makes it difficult to think. I'm so used to thinking with it there all the time."
"Telepathy."
"Yeah. You?"
"Super strength, invulnerability, and flight."
"Not bad."
"Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Except, I don't know if I have them anymore… since I can't feel or see or anything."
"Oh."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"So have you been here long?"
"Don't know. Could be a day, a week, a year, or a—"
"I get the point."
"—or a minute. Time's relative… You know, like Einstein says—hey I remembered another name."
"Ooookay… do you know your name?"
"I'm not retarded nor an infant, you know. You don't have to talk to me like that."
"Well, you never know."
"Sometimes I do. And I do know my name. Do you know yours?"
"Of course I do. I'm not an idiot."
"What is it then?"
"Emma Frost."
"Wow. It fits."
"How do you know? You can't even see me."
"Uh… Well… Never mind… I'm Carol Danvers. Nice to meet you, Emma. I'd shake your hand, but well, you know."
"Oh, no, that's quite all right. I don't mind."
"…"
"Oh, don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"You know."
"Well, you are being sort of a bitch."
"Hey, I'm not the bitch that put us here, okay."
"What do you mean? I'm here because a guy caught me."
"What guy? Never mind. Doesn't matter who he is. No way he could put you here. Only way you could be here is because that stubborn brat Milbury's been obsessing over put us here."
"You're not bitter."
"Shut up."
"…"
"But if I could get my hands on that little—"
"Maybe it wasn't her fault."
"Nobody's innocent."
'Do Not Enter!'
Logan ripped the note off and banged on the wall beside the kitchen doorway. Pictures rattled. The note had been taped to the back of a heavy china cabinet. It was a very, very heavy antique china cabinet. Rogue was the only one in the mansion that could have any hope of moving it. The cabinet was positioned across the doorway from inside the kitchen. It was larger than the doorway, so there were no open spaces for anyone to crawl through. Loud music was playing from inside. It was so loud, Logan had been pounding and yelling for a full minute and still, Rogue had not responded.
"Like, what is she doing in there?" Kitty asked from behind Logan. Several of the students were behind Logan… waiting.
The volume of the music lessened, then the cabinet shifted, and Rogue's eye appeared in the tiny crevice that had formed between the wall and the cabinet.
"It's eight o'clock, stripes," Logan said gruffly. It was only one day after Rogue's brave request for help. So far they had not been able to find any physical cause for her inability to use her legs. Xavier and Jean had tried accessing her mind to find the cause there, but Rogue's lack of practice with the telepathy she had gained during their captivity was proving itself as much a detriment as a benefit. At the moment they were still at square one. Everybody really was sympathetic to her, really they were, but that sympathy took a back seat to their hunger when it was an hour past the time they usually ate dinner.
"Dining room. Five minutes," Rogue said through the crevice. When Logan or anybody else hadn't moved, she added, "Go, or ya'll don't get in here all night."
The crevice disappeared.
"Vell, vat'd she zay?" Kurt asked. His stomach grumbled for emphasis.
"Everyone to the dining room," Logan announced, waving his arms at them like he were shooing away a bunch of flies. They groaned, but they all went.
Scott watched the minutes tick by on his watch… literally. At five minutes, he stood up, and stomped towards the kitchen, saying, "That's it, I'm blowing the cabinet out of the way."
Rogue's appearance in the doorway into the dining room halted him, though. "An' where do ya'll think your goin'?" Rogue asked him.
Scott was about to offer a straight answer about how insensitive and irresponsible she was being for tying up the kitchen at that inappropriate time… when he saw that she had two platters of homemade fried chicken in her arms. His mouth watered. It smelled really good. She handed him both platters, saying, "That's extra spicy, and that's honey glazed," before flying back out. They all looked at each other in confusion and surprise, but nobody questioned her about it. They were already eating by the time Rogue returned with two more platters of chicken. She made several more trips. After the second trip, a few of the other students actually felt gratitude for her cooking for them and they helped her bring it all out. The students dined on mashed potatoes, corn bread, corn on the cob, and, of course, two types of fried chicken.
All the students dined on it accept Rogue herself. After she and Jubilee brought out the last pitchers of iced tea and lemonade, Rogue smiled proudly and turned to leave.
"Uhh, Rogue, aren't ya gonna eat too?" That was Sam. Out of everybody there, he appreciated the southern meal the most. His homesickness eased a little just by the smell alone. "Ya made a right perfect meal, as far as Ah'm concerned. It'd be a shame if ya didn't partake of it yaself."
Rogue looked over the food and all the appreciative faces at the tables. After a moment, she picked up a plate and loaded it up. Standing behind an empty chair she paused and said, "Ah nevah did say thanks for ya'll getting me… and the others, of course… outta that place." She gestured to the spread on the tables with her free hand. "Thanks."
Then she turned and flew to her room. She stayed there by herself and never once did she feel lonely. A smile graced her lips the entire time… well, until ten o'clock winked red and black at her. Then she frowned. She had never thanked Remy either [11].
Footnotes:
[1] Renfield, if I have to tell you, was Dracula's inept and insane lackey. I'm sure most of you have seen the movies but read the book, it's better.
[2] French: Oui, c'est finis. English: Yes, it is finished.
[3] French: Un bon nombre d'eux. Un trop grand nombre. Ils sont traités maintenant. English: Lots of them. Too many of them. They are being processed now.
[4] French: Non! Ma dette est payée. Vous dit ceci que ce soit. Pas plus. Nous sommes finis. English: No! My debt is paid. You said this would be it. No more. We are finished.
[5] French: Allez et soyez heureux. English: Go and be happy.
[6] French: Que faites-vous à la femme, vous monstre? Vous l'avez dite souffririez pas plus qu'un malaise mineur. Qu'est-ce que c'est? English: What are you doing to the femme? You said she'd suffer no more than a minor discomfort. What is this?
[7] French: Vous n'avez dit rien au sujet de ses puissances d'absorption. Seulement dit sa peau était dangereuse. English: You said nothing about her absorption powers. Only said her skin was dangerous.
[8] French: Je n'ai pas su. English: I didn't know.
[9] French: Ne mentez pas à moi encore. Vous prolongez votre dette avec chaque mensonge dont vous me parlez. English: Do not lie to me again. You extend your debt with every lie you tell me.
[10] I know Wolverine is from Canada and that the citizens of more than one of the provinces there speak fluent French, but as far as I know from the comics and from Evo, Wolverine can only speak English and Japanese. If he can actually speak French fluently, well, then for the context of this story, let's just pretend that he cannot. ~_~ooo
[11] There's much more to Remy's role in the duration of Rogue's captivity under Trask and Dr. Milbury. More will come in time.
TIME LINE
- 14 days (2 weeks before DoR). Magneto briefs Remy, Piotr & St. John on the Brotherhood and X-Men members (Ch. 3, Pietro's memory). Pyro asks if Rogue's power is to imitate the dead (I love that!).
0 days: DAY OF RECKONING. 1st news broadcast of mutants. Rogue, Logan, Fred, and Hank are captured by the Sentinel and held as prisoners in Trask's Institution (research labs).
3 days: RAID ON THE INSTITUTE. Described briefly in prologue.
5 days: Fury sends Carol undercover at Trask's installation.
8 days (1 week and 1 day): Rogue convinces the prisoners to pass their blankets to Fred resulting in punishment from the guards: forcing an unconscious Logan's claws to pierce a collared Fred's skin and the winking guard (Renfield, Ch. 5) to break Rogue's legs (Ch. 4). Fred kept a shard of glass from the Dr.'s glasses, broken in Rogue's struggles (Ch. 4).
9 days (1 week and 2 days): Remy meets Carol and they both try to play each other for information (Ch. 5).
10 days (1 week and 3 days): Rogue refuses the doctor's many attempts to treat her festering broken legs (Ch. 5). Rogue first glances Dr. Milbury (though they do not speak to each other) while the more familiar doctor whispers to Fred (Ch. 5).
11 days (1 week and 4 days): Guards stop feeding Rogue; Fred shares his with her, exactly what they wanted to happen (Ch. 5). After giving the winking guard the nickname Renfield, Dr. Milbury formerly introduces himself to Rogue and informs her that Fred told them her name and powers, well, that she absorbs psyches (Ch. 5).
16 days (2 weeks and 2 days): Dr. Milbury catches Carol and Remy sharing information (Ch. 5).
23 days (3 weeks and 2 days): With Trask in attendance, Dr. Milbury tests the ratio of touch-time to retention-time when Rogue, suspended in an open cylinder, absorbs Logan, strung up by his hands, in order to weigh the possibility that Rogue could survive the adamantium bonding process (Ch. 5). Dr. Milbury reveals his agreement with Trask: Sentinels provide mutant research subjects in trade for progress on the bonding process (Ch. 5). Gambit reports to Dr. Milbury that the assault on the Morlocks is complete and Rogue discovers that they work together (Ch. 5). Rogue absorbs Carol Danvers (Ch. 5)
42 days (6 weeks): RESCUE. Mentioned in prologue. X-Men discover that Rogue has new permanent powers that allowed her to survive the warehouse collapsing on her and prevents Jean and Xavier from reading her mind (Ch. 1).
56 days (8 weeks): PROLOGUE. It is revealed that Xavier changed the memories of Bayville inhabitants to make them forget that the X-Men and Brotherhood were the mutants involved in the news broadcast of the giant Sentinel attack.
70 days (10 weeks): CHAPTER ONE. Rogue's 1st week back to school. Pietro tries to rescue Rogue from the dastardly Remy, who has so evilly trailed the Queen of Hearts card on her cheek. How horrible of him!
72 days (10 weeks and 2 days): CHAPTER TWO. Logan flashes back on his memories of the rescue, prompting him to confront Rogue about helping more with the reconstruction of the institute. Surprise, she's been avoiding using many of her new powers because she'd killed those whom she'd stolen them from.
84 days (12 weeks): CHAPTER THREE. Sleepless Pietro confronts Gambit outside the mansion. Gambit gives him advice wishes him luck with Rogue.
85 days (12 weeks and 1 day): CHAPTER THREE. Rogue skips out of the overcrowded breakfast and ends up being confronted by Scott. She explains how she hides her constant floating/flying, to keep from getting caught. Rogue/Pietro locker and lake scenes. Wanda tells Pietro he's without honor.
87 days (12 weeks and 2 days): CHAPTER THREE. Gambit slices the tarp to sneak into Rogue and Kitty's room to watch Rogue sleep. He uses his spatial (kinesthetic) sense and empathic (charm) abilities as a way to 'touch' her. Rogue pretends he didn't wake her. Logan bursts in, missing Gambit. Smell's fresh blood on Rogue, but doesn't know it's because she popped a bone claw out ala Wolverine. Gambit left a card with a note on it (see Ch. 4) for her.
90 days (12 weeks and 6 days). News report/interview with non-mutant Dr. Moira McTaggert of the Muir Island Research Center catches Xavier's attention.
91 days (13 weeks): CHAPTER FOUR. Xavier, Logan & Hank meet with Moira McTaggert, who, to inspire faith in her so they could work out a trade of services, gives them guaranteed contact to Jean-Luc for the hiring of a thief to track down some of Trask's files. Rogue and Pietro skip school and spend the afternoon on the mansion's reconstruction by themselves. Pietro throws a fit when he finds the card from Gambit. Fred gives Rogue the Hope Chest. Gambit again waits futilely in Spades for Rogue, who doesn't show (Gambit's note on the card he gave her in Ch. 3).
112 days (16 weeks): CHAPTER FIVE. Gambit decides to only wait one more week for Rogue to show up at Spades (stage and spotlight references to standing in the cones of light on the street waiting for his leading lady to show). In remembrance, Rogue runs into Evan on her way to reveal the problem with her legs and chicken's out (Ch. 5).
115 days (16 weeks and 3 days): In remembrance, Rogue chicken's out about telling the team about her legs again, this time after running into Fred (Ch. 5).
118 days (16 weeks and 6 days): CHAPTER FIVE. Rogue freaks out while trying to tell the team about her legs and Hank sedates her to calm her. She remembers several events that took place while she was imprisoned: meeting Dr. Milbury, meeting Trask, absorbing Logan and Carol, learning that Gambit worked for Dr. Milbury, being suspended in the open cylinder. She wakes from sedation during Wrestling Night (unofficial Thursday Family Night) and is plagued by the red-on-black numbers of her clock into going to meet Gambit at Spades the following night. So much so, that she stumbles downstairs to avoid them, and facing everyone, on impulse, shows them her dilemma with her legs. Psyche-Emma meets Psyche-Carol.
119 days (17 weeks): CHAPTER FIVE. Rogue makes the team a southern dinner as thanks.
Author's Note: I know I promised the secret of Rogue's legs for this chapter. And to be quite honest, it is in there, sort of. It's just not said straight out. This is because Xavier and folk haven't figured it out for themselves just yet… and because this chapter was getting way too long.
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