When Rogue sees the big metal spheres waiting for them in the yard, she freezes, terrified. She can't quite recall what they're for, but she knows she doesn't want to get near them. Her feet are planted firmly on the ground in resistance, but Pietro is stronger than her. He pulls Rogue with him, and faster than fast he picks her up and places her inside one of them. The top closes, enveloping her in total darkness. The transition from blinding white to utter blackness is startling; she faints.
***
She regains consciousness as the top opens, but keeps her eyes shut, playing possum. There are a few short words, commands, in a voice she recognizes but a language that puzzles her, and then big, gentle hands reach into the sphere and lift her out of it. Rogue is held carefully in some unknown strong arms, like one would hold a baby, cradled against a broad chest. She can't resist quickly peeking.
He's definitely a large man, but his face betrays him; he's really just a boy still. In the instant she lets her eyes open, all she can discipher of him is pale skin and dark eyes and hair, but even in that second he catches her. His eyes meet hers, and he bites his lip. She pretends to still be unconscious again, despite knowing for sure that he knows otherwise, but remarkably, he says nothing of it. Slowly, the boy-man carries her across the room.
"What, she's FAINTED?" The same voice, now in English and somewhat disgusted. "The other ones made the trip."
Other ones? The Us.
"She's not as strong as them," another voice, Pietro this time, responds. It's not a disagreement so much as a suggestion.
"Perhaps." Who is it? Rogue knows this voice, but can't place it.
"How do we get the collar off her?" Pietro asks.
"We don't. That dampens her abilities; with it on, she can't use her powers and she can't threaten the rest of us."
"But..." If he was meaning to argue, Pietro doesn't finish.
"Rogue will go upstairs, in the empty room. The others, downstairs." Then more words in a mysterious language, and whoever is carrying her begins to walk again.
Oh, of course, she thinks. Of course I know who that is.
Magneto.
***
Sunshine pouring out of her small window and into her lap. Later, there will be the moon and stars, then sunrise again. It's beautiful. Days have gone by, three of them (she can tell by the movements of the light or lack thereof in the sky) and Rogue has been remembering. It's much easier, it seems, to remember things in the bed of a musty room with natural light than one that constantly blinds and dazes. She recalls everything now, and it feels like tears choking her heart.
Rogue runs her hand over her short hair over and over again, fascinated and perversed by the prickly sensation. She's never had to grow it from scratch before, not since she was a baby; she'll never take it for granted again.
There's a knock at the door. There's no doubt who it is. It's only ever one person.
"Come in," she calls softly.
The door opens and Mr. McCoy, awkward with his huge shoulders and lumbering steps, comes in.
"Hello, Rogue," he says, and smiles weakly. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yeah, mah head doesn't hurt so much an' stuff."
He nods. "That's good. Then maybe today you can get up and around. Get the jist of things..." Mr. McCoy frowns slightly and looks down at the floor. "Since we're going to be here for a while."
"Do ya know anything 'bout what's goin' on?" She is desperate for answers.
He sighs. "Well, we're on Genosha, a large European island, but I really don't know anything about it other than that. Geography isn't my subject, you see. This place is just a house, a large one. I suppose we're in the country, since there are no other homes nearby. Magneto has it protected with an invisible forcefield." Mr. McCoy grins sheepishly. "I know because I made a break for it the first chance I got. It really stung, too. But otherwise, I think we're pretty much free to go around as we please."
"Who else is here?"
"You, Evan, Fred, and myself. Magneto and Pietro, of course, but they're usually in the basement with Sabertooth working on something. There are also the three other boys, his new team, and they seem to just putter around the premises all day. I haven't talked to them, but Spyke and Blob seem to have made friends with one."
"So the boys are all right."
"Evan was very weak, like you, at first. I think you two seemed like less of a threat to the doctors, so they extracted more blood from you than Fred or me. But he's fine now, yes."
Rogue shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. "Ah can't believe this. It's so...weird."
He laughs bitterly. "You're telling me." He pats her hand and starts towards the door. "I'm going downstairs to see what else I can find out. Try and see if you can make it to dinner, okay? It'll be in a few hours." Then Mr. McCoy is gone again.
She sighs. It's weird.
***
The sun is a little closer to setting when Rogue finally wills herself out of bed. In the tiny closet, she finds some clothes, dark in color and rather too large for her, but she puts them on anyway; they're soft on her skin. The metal collar that inhibits her mutant powers feels chunky and conspicuous, loose and impossible to hide.
She stares at the door for a few minutes, nervous. She had forgotten to ask Mr. McCoy how long they'd been captured, but apparently it was long enough to make her feel uneasy about venturing beyond her small enclosure.
I've fought mutants jerks and giant robots, danced in front of the school in a play, she thought. I can do this. I can go outside.
She walks to the door, puts her hand on the knob, takes a deep breath, opens it, and steps outside.
"Hey," says the boy standing in the doorway directly in front of hers. "Welcome."
To be continued...
**Author's Note - Oooh, a cliffhanger! Who is the boy? We'll find out next time, I suppose...tell me what you guys think, as usual. This is getting harder and harder to write, and I need encouragement. But wow, I NEVER update this fast! I'm on a roll!**
***
She regains consciousness as the top opens, but keeps her eyes shut, playing possum. There are a few short words, commands, in a voice she recognizes but a language that puzzles her, and then big, gentle hands reach into the sphere and lift her out of it. Rogue is held carefully in some unknown strong arms, like one would hold a baby, cradled against a broad chest. She can't resist quickly peeking.
He's definitely a large man, but his face betrays him; he's really just a boy still. In the instant she lets her eyes open, all she can discipher of him is pale skin and dark eyes and hair, but even in that second he catches her. His eyes meet hers, and he bites his lip. She pretends to still be unconscious again, despite knowing for sure that he knows otherwise, but remarkably, he says nothing of it. Slowly, the boy-man carries her across the room.
"What, she's FAINTED?" The same voice, now in English and somewhat disgusted. "The other ones made the trip."
Other ones? The Us.
"She's not as strong as them," another voice, Pietro this time, responds. It's not a disagreement so much as a suggestion.
"Perhaps." Who is it? Rogue knows this voice, but can't place it.
"How do we get the collar off her?" Pietro asks.
"We don't. That dampens her abilities; with it on, she can't use her powers and she can't threaten the rest of us."
"But..." If he was meaning to argue, Pietro doesn't finish.
"Rogue will go upstairs, in the empty room. The others, downstairs." Then more words in a mysterious language, and whoever is carrying her begins to walk again.
Oh, of course, she thinks. Of course I know who that is.
Magneto.
***
Sunshine pouring out of her small window and into her lap. Later, there will be the moon and stars, then sunrise again. It's beautiful. Days have gone by, three of them (she can tell by the movements of the light or lack thereof in the sky) and Rogue has been remembering. It's much easier, it seems, to remember things in the bed of a musty room with natural light than one that constantly blinds and dazes. She recalls everything now, and it feels like tears choking her heart.
Rogue runs her hand over her short hair over and over again, fascinated and perversed by the prickly sensation. She's never had to grow it from scratch before, not since she was a baby; she'll never take it for granted again.
There's a knock at the door. There's no doubt who it is. It's only ever one person.
"Come in," she calls softly.
The door opens and Mr. McCoy, awkward with his huge shoulders and lumbering steps, comes in.
"Hello, Rogue," he says, and smiles weakly. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yeah, mah head doesn't hurt so much an' stuff."
He nods. "That's good. Then maybe today you can get up and around. Get the jist of things..." Mr. McCoy frowns slightly and looks down at the floor. "Since we're going to be here for a while."
"Do ya know anything 'bout what's goin' on?" She is desperate for answers.
He sighs. "Well, we're on Genosha, a large European island, but I really don't know anything about it other than that. Geography isn't my subject, you see. This place is just a house, a large one. I suppose we're in the country, since there are no other homes nearby. Magneto has it protected with an invisible forcefield." Mr. McCoy grins sheepishly. "I know because I made a break for it the first chance I got. It really stung, too. But otherwise, I think we're pretty much free to go around as we please."
"Who else is here?"
"You, Evan, Fred, and myself. Magneto and Pietro, of course, but they're usually in the basement with Sabertooth working on something. There are also the three other boys, his new team, and they seem to just putter around the premises all day. I haven't talked to them, but Spyke and Blob seem to have made friends with one."
"So the boys are all right."
"Evan was very weak, like you, at first. I think you two seemed like less of a threat to the doctors, so they extracted more blood from you than Fred or me. But he's fine now, yes."
Rogue shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. "Ah can't believe this. It's so...weird."
He laughs bitterly. "You're telling me." He pats her hand and starts towards the door. "I'm going downstairs to see what else I can find out. Try and see if you can make it to dinner, okay? It'll be in a few hours." Then Mr. McCoy is gone again.
She sighs. It's weird.
***
The sun is a little closer to setting when Rogue finally wills herself out of bed. In the tiny closet, she finds some clothes, dark in color and rather too large for her, but she puts them on anyway; they're soft on her skin. The metal collar that inhibits her mutant powers feels chunky and conspicuous, loose and impossible to hide.
She stares at the door for a few minutes, nervous. She had forgotten to ask Mr. McCoy how long they'd been captured, but apparently it was long enough to make her feel uneasy about venturing beyond her small enclosure.
I've fought mutants jerks and giant robots, danced in front of the school in a play, she thought. I can do this. I can go outside.
She walks to the door, puts her hand on the knob, takes a deep breath, opens it, and steps outside.
"Hey," says the boy standing in the doorway directly in front of hers. "Welcome."
To be continued...
**Author's Note - Oooh, a cliffhanger! Who is the boy? We'll find out next time, I suppose...tell me what you guys think, as usual. This is getting harder and harder to write, and I need encouragement. But wow, I NEVER update this fast! I'm on a roll!**