Response to Victoria to Worthing: Yup, I've got a definate amphibian obsession. I was glad that somebody caught the reason for his memories being so well kept. And yes indeed, there is more.

"I don't...no! No! Just stay away from me--NO!" Rogue bolted up from her bed, breathing heavily. The potent after-images from the nightmare clung maliciously to her mind, refusing to relent. Across the room she could see golden, glowing eyes staring back at her from the mirror. With a curse, she hit the mattress, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to force the memories from her mind. It wasn't fair. It wasn't bad enough to have bits of Logan's jumbled memories poking into her dreams, but every night since...since it had happened, she'd had such violent flashbacks that she could swear she was touching him again, not just remembering. There were so many awful memories, and each one was so clear in her head.

It had been a week since the Liberty Island incident, and while Rogue was fine physically, she found herself growing tired of everyone treating her as if she were made of glass. Glass that surrounded a possibly-lethal, green, glowing chemical of doom that could break if the slightest jolt was given to it, releasing liquified death upon all around it. Or something like that. Not just the students, who looked at her with outright fear at times, but the teachers, like Jean and Scott, who dealt with her so delicately. She was fine!

Of course, Logan wasn't. He'd been in the infirmary for the past week, his normally accelerated healing factor hindered by his sacrifice. Rogue felt another surge of guilt. It was her fault he hadn't recovered from the fight yet. Though Logan would never blame her for it, of course. She'd been to see him before, and after getting over the initial gut-twisting remorse, she found that even with him lying bandaged up in a hospital bed, she preferred to be with him more than with anyone else. Logan treated her like a normal kid--he wasn't afraid of her; it had never really crossed his mind that he should be. She loved him for that.

So it was this, combined with the nightmare-induced insomnia that had plagued her since the kidnaping, that had her out of bed, making her was to the infirmary at three in the morning.

She stumbled through the pristine corridor in a half-awake daze, hoping being with Logan would sooth away the nightmares and let her sleep, as she'd been unable to for so long. She found herself staring at a door, uncertain as to whether or not it was Logan's. Had she been dozing off while walking? She glanced down the hall, but saw nothing that could indicate to her sleep-fuzzed mind where exactly she was. With a shrug, she turned the handle. If it wasn't Logan's, no harm done, she would just keep looking. At least it was something to do with the night hours other than ward off sleep and memories. She opened the door and walked in.

"Hey, Logan, I--" she broke off. The man who occupied the bed, struggling to sit up, was definitely not Logan. At the sound of her voice, he froze and quickly raised his head. Dark gold eyes met hers and she felt her breath catch in fear.

"YOU!"

"'Allo, Princess," he said with forced cheerfulness and a cruel smirk. "You're lookin' well." Rogue opened and closed her mouth for a moment, speechless.

"What a' you doin' here?"

"Ah, y'know, a vacation, a week away from th' kids..." he said flipply.

"What. A' you. Doin' here?" Rogue repeated coldly.

"Ask Baldy; I dunno either. Figgered I was dead after your little weather-witch got me, but apparently, your boss believes all that peaceful bull he talks about." Giving up his attempt to come to a full sitting position, he settled back on his elbows, looking at her arrogantly with his head cocked to the side, his gold eyes glittering in the dim light. Rogue eyed him warily. He had bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. An IV was hooked up to his left arm. His face was red with fading blisters, coloring his skin to an almost normal hue.

"It's your fault," said Rouge with quiet anger, her voice breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Eh?" Toad raised an eyebrow, confused.

"It's your fault I can't sleep anymore. All those memories..." She pressed against her forehead as said memories came trickling back at the sight of him. "Every night...they're all I can see...all I dream about..."

"Get out o' them." Toad's voice was flat and dangerous. Rogue looked up to see that his eyes had gone cold. "They're mine. You don't have any right to see them."

"I don't want them!"

"That makes two of us," Toad muttered quietly, his eyes sliding away from her. Rogue blinked, surprised by his tone. She looked at him for a long time before speaking again.

"How do you do it?" she whispered. His eyes shot back to her.

"Do what?" She lowered her gaze.

"Live with it. With all that..." She trailed off, gesturing helplessly. "Ah only remember it sometimes--at night--but it's still so... How can you just live with it all the time?"

Toad stared at her through narrowed eyes for a while, fighting between his anger at her intrusion and his need to speak. Finally, he sighed, and stared at his hand on the bed sheets.

"You do things...," he began slowly, unsure of how to word it. He'd never been good with words. "You do things in life...that's you're not always proud of. But y'hafta do 'em. And once they're done, it's too late to change anything. So y'hafta either live with it an' get over y'self...or y'don't." He cocked his head up slightly and looked at her again. "How many o'my memories did ya get?"

"I dunno...A lot, I think..." she stammered. "Ah held on for a while." He snorted softly and shook his head.

"Sorry for you, gel." He tried to push himself further up, but winced as the movement hurt his ribs. "Look, y'did what y'did, an' now you're stuck wiv 'em. 'F I were you, I'd get Baldly or that mental chick t'clear 'em outta your head. Cuz if I get outta here, an' you're still siftin' through my memories, I might just kill ya ta keep them personal." He said it calmly, with a chilling sureness, but Rogue remembered his uncomfortable expression that night when he'd told her that she was going to die. She looked at him curiously, and for a moment could only see an awkward, teenage boy, weeping over the body of the dead man in the coat.

"Y'don't mean that," she said with more confidence than she felt. Toad merely raised an eyebrow, daring her to try him. She sighed and backed toward the door. "G'night, Mortimer."

At the sound of the name, he stiffened and glared at her, wide-eyed, with a mix of fear and anger.

"Toad," he corrected. A warning. Rogue nodded again and walked out of the room.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as she closed the door behind her.