I'm Not Myself

by AJ10

Rogue's having an identity crisis, she's just not herself. Will Gambit be able to help?

5. Getting away from here

"Who are You?" the Caterpillar said. "I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice, "because I'm not myself, you see."

-Lewis Carroll, "Alice in Wonderland"

"The past isn't dead. it isn't even past."

- William Faulkner

Ago...

There was a shuffling sound, that was what woke Raven up. It wasn't very loud, but years of habit had made her a light sleeper. The sound was coming from upstairs. Looking around she also noticed that Irene was not in the bedroom, so Raven got up and followed the shuffling noise down the hallway to the small attic.

She hoped the noise wouldn't wake the baby. The "little angel" had some type of stomach bug and it was making her extremely irritable. Her and her mother both, Raven thought wryly. It had taken over three hours to get that girl to sleep. Although she had complained at the time and asked Irene repeatedly, "Why exactly did you want to have children?" she secretly couldn't picture life any different. When Irene first mentioned starting a family, Raven thought the woman had gone crazy. After all her "occupation," mercenary spy, didn't exactly lend itself to child rearing. But Destiny didn't let go of the idea. It was what she wanted and Raven would do anything for her.

Irene and Marie, their little unassuming suburban house that Raven had absolutely hated at first...her family. Things she never thought she wanted but now couldn't live without. She had even cut back on "work" to spend more time at home. In short, she was dangerously close to becoming domestic. Perish the thought.
The attic entrance consisted of only a short flight of steps. It was dark inside, of course, Irene didn't need the light. Making her way up the stairs as the shuffling continued. Being as it was rather late to be rearranging the attic, Raven wondered what could Irene possibly be up to. Pausing at the threshold to flip the light switch, she there saw Irene rummaging, almost frantically, though a trunk that looked to be full of old books.

Lifting her head only slightly at the sound of someone else approaching, the older woman said, "I had a dream, help me find the right book," without wasting a second to acknowledge Raven's presence or stop in her own searching. A knot started to grow in Raven's stomach. Since Irene's power was to see the future, her dreams were not to be taken lightly. Also, she recognized the books. Irene's old diaries, the ones she wrote when she was just a young girl and her precognitive abilities first manifested, before she had gone blind. When the visions came so fast and so frequently, that she wrote or drew everything she saw, as a way to just stay sane.

Raven immediately rushed over, kneeled down and took one of the volumes from Irene's blind glaze. "Which book? What am I looking for, and what happened?"

"It's somewhere between the third and the eighth, I think. I'm looking for a picture of a girl, about sixteen with long brown hair. I know it's in one of these." Despite Raven's assistance, Irene had picked up another one of the books and was thumbing uselessly through the pages. The minutes stretched on endlessly while Raven desperately searched the jumbled pages.

"Here," this was the third picture that matched Destiny's vague description. Describing it, "This one is a girl with a long green coat standing in the snow. The writing to the side talks about running north into the wolf's lair."

"Yes, Yes that's the one," Irene grabbed the book for Raven's hands and "looked" down at the page, trying to remember it exactly. "There's another picture of her...I know it's here." More useless thumbing through old paper. The book's spine creaked ever so slightly as Raven gently took the volume from the older women hands. She couldn't remember that last time she'd seen Irene so shaken. Whatever this was about it wasn't going to be good. Sure enough five pages later, there was the girl again

"Describe it to me," Irene was getting more and more anxious by the second.

"It looks like the same girl, but in this picture she looks hurt... There's another picture next to it...part of a man's face, I think, his eyes are red. "...consumed by a hidden demon... draining of the soul...void filling with dark madness...," she trailed off, waiting for Irene to explain. Silence. There was of course, more written. All of these books were filled with rambling Nostradamus-type prose. Destiny didn't understand the passages when she wrote them, and passing time didn't always help make them clearer. Raven continued to wait, desperately hoping she was misunderstanding the pages, but Irene continued to sit there, head down. "Irene, tell me what's going on," she urged in a desperate whisper..

"I had a dream," the older woman repeated, but her voice was quiet now. All of the frantic energy had bleed from her and she was preternaturally still. More waiting and the silence returned, filling the room until it suffocated. "I saw our little Marie grown. She was a beautiful girl and strong, so strong...just like we'd taught her to be. And then she was, gone, just vanished. I awoke and remembered where I had seen her face before." Irene stopped and her head hung again, looking even older in dim attic light.

Raven started shaking her head adamantly in denial, "Well, that's not going to happen. You've seen it. Now we know the danger. I will personally track down this soul-draining..."

"He will kill you," was the flat, emotionless rely.

"I don't care!" Standing up, Raven began to pace the small room, determined to think of a way around the future.

"We have to protect her..."

"I know! That's what I'm going to-"

"Someplace she'll be safe. Someplace where no one knows her power. I told you she would have power one day, like us. This thing wants her power, I'm sure of it," Shakily, Irene finally stood up, still clutching the book, "I remember this vision. We cannot stop this creature, but we must save our daughter."

"NO! We will find a way to stop this. If you have to search every permutation of the future there is. If I have-"

Mystique woke with a start, like she usually did when she had that dream. The room seemed unbelievably cold. After Marie was gone, she held on to house, in hopes of her little girl being able to return. After she lost Irene, too, she gave up the pretense and moved far away from the horrible house she'd grown to hate again. Never again would she pretend to be something she wasn't. It didn't last and wasn't worth it.

In the years since, Destiny's death, she had tried to use her love's diaries to prevent some of the prophesies, it was the only way to get her daughter back. But even when she could understand what the diaries were saying, her actions, rather than prevent, seemed to help the predictions occur. She now understood why Irene had become such a fatalist in her later years. Fatalistic to the point where she did nothing to prevent her own death.

Sleep had lost all of its attraction, so Raven headed off to the kitchen in search of coffee, taking with her that cursed book. Her salvation and damnation. It was only recently that she had noticed a very small detail.

In the second picture of Marie, her hair was highlighted in the front and it looked like a white stripe. The last desperate attempt at changing the future, had been to tell Eric about Marie and her "gift". The girl could be used to power his machine, leaving Eric free to direct events afterward. In the process, her daughter would die, but die a martyr's death to create a new world for her kind, rather than be "drained of her soul." But that too failed, and it was the stress of Eric's machine that gave Marie that "highlight" in her hair. Once again, playing Cassandra had only served to help the future along. The book lay unopened on the kitchen table. Raven Darkholme had always imagined she had lost the ability to cry a very long time ago. As such, she merely stared dry-eyed and hollow into the coffee cup for the rest of the night.

Getting out of here...

Gray rain was coming down even harder now. Water streamed down the floor length window pane in one endless diaphanous curtain making it nearly impossible to see outside. "Does it always rain like this?" Carol bemoaned. The glassed-in patio of the restaurant, "Die Fenster," had an "amazing" view. Unfortunately, on the way there it had started to rain, and rain, and rain. She and Remy were in Germany at the moment, and it could be worse, it was the middle of winter, it should be a blizzard outside. Eventually they were headed back to the States, but in no particular hurry

"It wasn't raining this much the last time I was here. It must be you and your bad mojo." She was glaring at him now. A fairly common occurrence over the past month. He just smiled more broadly, and that would make her glare harder and then he'd say something inane to make her laugh. And there was nothing in the world like the sound of her laugh.

They had left Madipoor sometime ago. He really didn't need to be there anyway, it was just a precaution, but he was very glad he had decided to be overcautious. When he said he felt like getting out of here, wanna come with, she said okay. So after that day, they had just been more or less inseparable.
It was rather strange when he thought about it, so he tried not to think about too much. He was used to picking up girls in odd places, but never did they stay for so long. Not that he had actually tried anything, beyond his usual flirting, because he didn't want to look sleazy, expecting something in return for his help. Somewhere along the way though, the situation had changed. It wasn't him helping her anymore, it was more like they were just friends traveling together. Only he wasn't quite sure he wanted to be her friend anymore...

Right now, he had a lead on stolen Nazi paintings and was trying to impress Carol with his "noble" side. She didn't seem to particularly care for his line of work, even though he was trying to teach her the finer points of picking locks. In cases you ever leave your keys in the car, was his reasoning.

They had been doing some last minute checking on the paintings and had decided to call it a day and get something to eat. Remy mentioned the restaurant. It wasn't very fancy, but had a great view and was the only place to get edible German food. He liked the cuisine in Germany just about as much as he liked English food; that is to say not at all.

A gloved finger tapped impatiently against her temple. It was much colder in Europe than it had been in Southeast Asia, so she had plenty of excuses to wear gloves. Although she had replaced the prom looking ones with a more normal pair. Honestly though, the cold didn't bother her much, side effect of being invulnerable probably, but she always wore gloves anyway. It just felt weird when she didn't. Still looking out the window, trying in vain to see past the torrents of water, she asked, "How long is that guy going to be out of town?" referring to the "owner" of aforementioned paintings.

"Another week. We still got time. We could always case the building again,"

"In the this downpour?!" she truly sounded aghast.

He started to laugh, "It'd be the perfect cover. No one would see us..."

"No," she wadded up her napkin and threw it at him. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for him, the building was rather empty, but he still wondered how much it would take to get them thrown out.

A few more offers to try to find her identity had been made, and were always meet with a lukewarm response. She'd say "yeah, sure," but her heart was never in it. It was something Remy could understand. He had the feeling that if he woke up one day having forgotten his entire life, he'd actually be much happier.

Turns out that such a thing didn't have to be the result of a head injury. Technically, it was called a "fugue state." He could look up other things besides paintings. His traveling companion may have no problem her "mental state," but he wanted to make sure she was okay. A fugue state was a form of traumatic amnesia, where not only would someone "forget" who they were, they would also run away. Sometimes even creating a new identity, in order to distance themselves from whatever traumatic thing that had happened. The disorder didn't really explain her mood swings or the "talking to herself," but those had started to go away on their own anyway. For the first few days he could barely keep her attention, but now she seemed fine. So he didn't worry about that too much.

Now if the amnesia would start going away, everything would be fine. According to the psychiatric website, a "fugue" could last anywhere from a few hours to several months. Sometimes a person would start remembering on their own, familiar things would trigger a recall. She was definitely into the months category, but with the exception of the odd epiphany about mocha cappuccinos, wasn't recalling much of anything. Flying, strength and invincibility, were her only powers, but he suspected she had a little bit of psi in her. Not enough to be really noticeably or usefully. Just enough to make her a little moody every so often. And probably just enough to give the "fugue" a little extra staying power. The only real "cure" for a fugue state, though, was to deal with the "trauma" that caused it.

That left the question of what could be so scary to someone who could stop bullets and bench press tanks. Whatever she was running or hiding from, he didn't particularly want to know. After finding that website, he had tried to tell Carol about it. When he was through with his explanation, she had said she felt like getting some french fries. Was there a chance of finding a Burger King around here? There was probably a McDonald's somewhere, but Burger King fries were better. After that, he hadn't mentioned it again.

"Aw, come on, chere, a little rain never hurt anybody," another napkin sailed in his direction.

"You want me to catch pneumonia, LeBeau?" Maybe the cold didn't bother her, but that didn't mean she couldn't catch pneumonia, or that she particularly liked being soaked.

"You know I'd never do that to you, mon amour,"

"Don't call me that!" another napkin and a great show of rolling eyes.

"What? You doubt my love for you, Marie?" A couple weeks ago, on a train through Bern somebody had called for a "Maria" and Carol had turned around. Ever since then, despite repeated death threats, he had been calling her that, but he would use the French version, "Marie" with the soft "r, " and he would exaggerate it.

"Yes, yes I do. Just like I doubt your love for the waitress, the girl who asked for directions this morning..."

"Hey! I was just talking to them. I never confessed my undying-Ow!"

There were only four place settings on this table. She was out of napkins by now, and had instead chucked a spoon at him and had put some muscle behind it. The undying love cracks were irritating, but she secretly loved the way he said Marie, and was debating about whether or not to start going by that name. Both sounded familiar, they were probably her first and middle name, or one was a nickname or something. Even if she did decide to change it, she would still have to give him grief about pronouncing the "r."

He was rubbing his arm and looking around to see if they were about to get kicked out. The scary thing was he did love her, when he wasn't careful. When he forgot to remind himself that he really shouldn't. Actually, he had tried something once. Had tried kissing her in Prague, on a mediaeval stone bridge, at sunset even. She'd turned her head and said that probably wasn't a good idea. Which it wasn't. So he agreed with her and laughed it off. It was another complication neither one of them needed.
So he didn't push her, nor did he give up entirely. Logically he should...kept telling himself that...She was only with him out of necessity...Never really meant for this to happen anyway.

When he asked her to come with him, he honestly didn't think she would. But she did, and he thought of the situation as a good way to earn karmic bonus points, and it never hurt to have a pretty girl around. He was lying to himself when he said he wasn't sure about not wanting to be her friend anymore, he knew he didn't, but she hadn't taken that detour, yet...hopefully. Every once in a while, he'd catch a few glances in his direction, but apparently those weren't enough for her to change her mind.

The rain never did stop, but they did manage to not get kicked out of the restaurant. And the food wasn't too bad, he was pained to admit. Even more amazing, they both managed to not get completely drenched on the way back to the motel. It was the latest in a long series of non-descript motels. Marie would tease him about his constant traveling sometimes. Ask him if he ever missed having a mailing address or full sized fridge.

Being trapped in the motel room tonight, because of said incessant rain, Carol had started a game of solitaire on the table next to the window, occasionally looking up hopelessly to see if the sky had cleared. It never did. The rain finally turned to snow and it was even more impossible to see outside through the thick white against the indigo of the night sky. A clump of snowflakes hit the glass and slowly started to melt.

"It's almost Christmas, isn't it?" she asked looking over her shoulder toward Remy, while she shuffled.

Thinking about that for a second as he took off his coat, "Yeah, guess it is," he did a slight double take, "Did you steal my cards?"

She grinned as she played the ace of diamonds "Oh? Are these yours?" she asked oh-so-innocently and then laughed, "You should be proud of me. Took you five minutes to notice,"

"Beginner's luck," he muttered as he sat down one of the beds

She drew an eight of hearts, and looked for a place for it, "I think we should go to Paris for Christmas. If you're in Europe for the holidays, where better to spend Christmas?"

An eyebrow quirked, "Did you a hold of a brochure or somethin'? You sound like a tour guide,"

With a mock pout, she threw a card, like she'd seen him do before. The piece of cardboard only made it about four inches before flopping about ungracefully to the floor. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. The mock pout turned to a mock threatening glare, "You just watch it, mister. I got plenty more where those came from."

"Would you like me to move a little closer? Would that help?"

The too-sweet smile was back, "Actually, that'd be great. Could you? Oh, and when we get to Paris, you are not allowed to break into the Louvre," she admonished, and he wasn't quite sure if she was serious or not.

That really wasn't his style anyway, he hit mostly private collectors, "Can I just sneak in and rearrange a couple of pieces? I promise not to steal anything,"

A finger tapped her chin, making a great show of pondering his question. In her best humoring voice, "Hmm...I guess so, but if you take so much as a postcard from the gift shop, I'll dropkick your butt back to Madripoor," shaking another card at him for emphasis. She was going to try throwing it, but realized that it was a king and she could start a new row with it instead..

Being stuck in the snow didn't seem so bad anymore. It was nice to relax for a little. Constantly being on the go got tiring. She propped up her knee against the side of the table, not finding a spot for the ten she was curretently holding, so she drew again and got a six which was much better. Talking about paintings reminded her of something she wanted to ask earlier that day, "By the way, did you ever find that one guy, was he the son or the grandson of the original owner?" she asked as she put the six of clubs on the seven of hearts.

"Great-nephew, and no, he died in 87. So there's no family left."

Playing a two, "So no family. That means the paintings will end up in the Holocaust museum, then, right?"

He quirked his head to the side a bit. "Probably eventually, yeah."

Pausing in mid-arc and holding a card, she gave him quite the evil look, "Eventually? What does that mean exactly? If you plan on fencing stolen-"

"Easy, chere. Nothing like that. And watch where you're pointing that thing," he nodded to the card in her hand, poised and ready to throw. She just ignored him and continued looking evil. "They will go to a museum...just by way of an Israeli businessman who has a standing reward for any return of stolen property."

"Standing reward?" accompanied by a dubious expression.

"Hey, he tries to find any family, too and maybe he'll have better luck, but if he can't, he donates it to the Jerusalem museum,"

She sat back and thought about that for a second, dubious expression still in place.

"It all ends up the same, so what the harm?" She might have protested more, still wasn't entirely happy with this idea, if not for the fact that she had been basically mooching of him for the past month. The boy did need to make a living. He couldn't be doing too bad, though, even if his clothes could be described as upscale homeless, he always seemed to have money. It was tempting to tell him to get a real job, but then again she could just as easily tell herself that, too.

"Come on, don't give me that look," he was still trying to justify himself. Didn't know why he was trying to justify himself. Had never bothered with what people thought about him before.

Another "look," that seemed to be saying "what look?" Then she relented, "Alright, alright, I'm not giving you any look. You're right. It all ends up the same, so it doesn't matter how." With that she turned back to the solitaire game.

So much for nobility points. This just another example of how she didn't really know him after all. "I'm not doing this for the money. If that was the reason, there are a whole lot better things to steal."

"I know," she answered only looking up briefly from her game, and drew a jack, which she couldn't do anything with. Aww, look now. You've gone and hurt his feelings... shut up. Her head jerked a fraction. She hadn't been "talking to herself" in a weeks and it startled her a bit. She didn't say anything else for a while, not because she was giving him the cold shoulder, but because she was trying her concentration trick to keep out the voice. Having gotten used to not talking and/or arguing with herself, she wanted to keep it that way.

Movement from the other side of the room caused her to finally turn her head. Remy was still sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees looking at the floor. Wonder if he still thinks I'm still mad? He was taking something out of his inside coat pocket. A shiny, sparkly something. It looked like jewelry.

It seemed "quiet" enough now to resume conversation, but something had changed in his face in the few minutes she had been "concentrating" on her game. She started with the obvious question, "What's that?"

There was a very grim smile on his face as he looked up at her. It had been over a half hour that she'd ignored him, when she supposedly' wasn't mad. "This? I could get a lot for this. It started off being about the money, but it's not any more." "This" was a necklace. What could have been a large sapphire or a huge blue diamond twinklied in an ornate setting in the center and progressively smaller stones radiated off from there to form a diamond chain.

"It's pretty, in a big, gaudy sort of way, but what on earth are you doing carrying around something like that in your pocket?" he kind of smiled when she said that, but didn't laugh.

The necklace shuffled it from one hand to another, like he was playing with a hideously expensive slinky. "It's called the L'Etoile de Tricherie, the Cheating Star. This is the third largest blue diamond in the world and it's the whole reason I was in Madripoor." He shouldn't be telling her about this. Any standing he had in her eyes would be gone, but judging from the last thirty minutes, there obviously wasn't a lot there to begin with. Not that he could blame her. Nothing about her life right now was real, and she deserved to know some truth. If it was this trurth that finally drove her leave and find her life again, so be it. Actually, from what he knew about her, she would probably start another "pretend" life, but hopefully it would be a better one. "You know I was lying low' for a little while. Usually, I don't have to worry about that. When I take something, nobody don't even now that its gone, let alone who took it."

Carol didn't like the look in his eyes, which were glancing to the side rather than at her. Why won't you look at me? "So you're getting sloppy in your old age?" She was getting good at this gallows humor, though she did remember; this was about the "personal" thing.

"No," one of the rare times he was doing the glaring, "This was personal, I told you that. They definitely know who done it. I wanted em to know. I wanted em to try and come get me."

It wasn't often that he was so serious. Mentally, she kicked herself for not trusting him about the paintings and cursed the stupid voice for making him think she was mad. That was the only possible reason for his mood shift. The card in her hand hung there, temporarily forgotten. "Can I ask why?" Part of her didn't want to hear what his answer. Wanted to just say she was sorry and get things back to normal. Another part was morbidly curious. Both parts weren't even sure he would answer her in the first place. For someone who talked so much, he gave out surprising little information. At first, he didn't say anything, just continued to dangle the necklace between his two middle fingers. Sparkles from the dim overhead light danced off the diamonds in the chain.

"It once belonged to Marie Antionette. Most recently, it belonged to a guy named Hertzog, Canadian ambassador to France." She wasn't sure if that qualified as an answer, but he continued.

"A few years ago, Hertzog's mistress, Genevieve Darceneaux, stole it and fled to Paris. While she was in Paris, I got close to her and then I stole it." A pause, more sparkles merrily radiated off the chain, oblivious to somber tone in the room. "Yes, it was as bad as it sounds. I liked her, not enough to not steal her necklace...I figured she couldn't really hold that against me, since she'd done the same thing. Was gonna give her a few weeks to calm down, then I'd call her up. Maybe give her chance to steal it back. It was all just a game."

"But..." there was more coming, Carol was sure of that. The look on his face already told her it wasn't going to be good. Well, it started out not good and it was going to get worse.

He continued, his voice somewhat low, but even and he seemed to be looking at something very far away. "But Hertzog didn't want to go to the police. They'd ask too many questions. Genny was hoping for that, it would give her more time to get away. Instead, he hired someone to get "his" necklace back. A psycho someone. Psycho said give him the Star or Genny goes head first off of Notre Dame. So I give him the necklace,"

Knowing how this story was going to end. "But he killed her away,"

"Oui," he was idly fingering the small diamonds and looking at the floor. "I went looking for that guy, didn't find him, but did find out that anyone with enough information to hire him, would have to know he'd leave bodies behind. Hertzog just didn't care. A week before I meet you, was the anniversary of Genny's death. On that day, I took Genny's necklace back. I left my "card" in Hertzog's safe," he was holding up a card from another deck in his jacket. Cheap, compact, and easy to charge, were the reasons he'd given before as to why he always carried several packs with him.

"Let me guess, you want Hertzog to send that same guy after you, so you can get a rematch,"

"Wouldn't mind. I was kinda worried about that when I first meet you, but you can definitely hold your own." the grim smile was back.

True, she could go head first off of Notre Dame and all it would do was mess up her hair. "He never came, though?' that was a little puzzling. Hertzog had killed to his necklace back last time.

A thoughtful look, he had wondered the same thing before. "Maybe I did too good a job at 'lying low' and he couldn't find me."

"Maybe he's scared," Someone rich and powerful wouldn't be afraid of a former mistress, but maybe her severely pissed-off, demon-eyed, mutant, ex-boyfriend was a different story. It all depended on how much the hired psycho had told his boss.

Half of a shrug was Remy's only response.

"Did you love her?" Again knowing the answer before he spoke. but for some reason she wanted to her him say it.

"No," he sighed, knowing that made everything sound even worse and then leaned his head back. "Some days I envy you. There so may things I'd love to just forget."

She didn't respond to that. What was there to say? An obvious question still lingered, though. "Why do you carry it with you?" He seemed a sensible guy, more or less. Carrying millions of dollars in jewels in your coat pocket wasn't very sensible.

Nimble fingers turned the center diamond over in his hand wondering for the millionth time why he did keep the thing with him. To remind you that you can be real stupid, dangerously stupid and when you forget, it happens again. "Don't know what to do with it. Ain't gonna sell it. I thought about dropping off a cliff into the ocean somewhere, make some fisherman's day fifty years from now,"

"Or give some shark indigestion," From the day they met, she knew there were bad things in his past, that was enough for her, she didn't really need the details. So she wasn't going to hold his "confession" against him.

Her response surprised him and his smile was more genuine his time. Did that mean she wasn't mad or just unsure of what to say?

With one leg still propped up against the table, she fidgeted with the cards she had forgotten were in her hands. An awkwardness still stuck between them, coating the room. Her best, and only, friend in the world, still sat on the edge of the bed, only briefly meeting her eyes as he put the necklace back inside his coat. "We don't have to go to Paris...it was just an idea...it's not important..." she trailed off.

Surprise was written on his features, like that was the very last thing he expected her to say. "No, that's ok. It's really pretty there this time of year." A small mute smile and a nod. Although, she made a mental note to not mention midnight mass at Notre Dame. Something she had been thinking about, but wasn't about to say now. "Umm...My game's kinda stuck here. I drew this stupid eight...Can you help me?" He looked up and slowly made his way over to the table. Sitting down on the other side, he reached for her hands with the cards.

"Don't know, let's see what you've got, Carol..." It was surprising just how much it hurt inside her chest when he didn't call her chere.

Her head tilted up half an inch to meet his eyes. His strange, beautiful eyes, that had been avoiding her. "Actually,... I've been thinking...I kinda like Marie'," He really did smile this time and fraction of a weight lifted from his shoulders. She didn't run that night. Of course, a nagging voice in the back his head said, she still didn't have any place else to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, I'm back. All of my sister's wedding craziness is over, be sure to look for the video on Fox's next edition of "Wedding Disasters." (Yes, it was that bad!) But enough complaining.

More Mystique, more angst. I love that family. I realize I wrote her really sympathetic, even though she seems quite evil in the movie. I couldn't help it, I needed something dramatic to explain her trying to kill Rogue in the first movie and worrying about her in the story. Another note, a fugue state is a real, albeit very rare, psychiatric disorder. It happened to my old choir teacher after he got in a car wreck. His case was much less severe and only lasted a few hours.

A few reviewers brought up some good points. It's kind of ironic, because this is chapter basically same as I had be planned to write next even before people talking about getting the old "Rogue" back and how this wasn't really her. I wanted to write this chapter showing that Carol's voice and influence have been steadily decreasing. Her powers are still there, but I think the bulk of the personality is Rogue's own. The reason a person developed traumatic amnesia is the "forget" the trauma, and Carol is part of the trauma. Rogue has been trying to forget" her and push her to the back of her mind. Whether or not she stays there is the question.

Being comic book geek, one of my biggest complaints about the movie ( I like both of the movies, but I still whine) has always been what a wimp Rogue is. It is a different universe and her characterization doesn't hurt the movie at all, but I've just always liked Rogue being strong. I keep telling my sister, (not the one who just got married) that the movie needs to bring in Rogue's powers, she needs to absorb somebody. Then I started thinking about that. When comic Rogue absorbed Carol Danvers, she turned into a complete headcase and she had been Mystique's lil' junior terrorist for years. What would actually happen to movie Rogue if the same thing happened? She would probably be even more of a headcase, because she didn't have that original "toughness" to begin with. She had been somewhat sheltered by having Wolverine and the rest of the X-Men always looking out for her.

I do realize that this situation would be very hard on Bobby and everyone else at the mansion and I'm not just going to gloss over that fact, when she does come back. I Briefly thought about having her and Bobby break up before she disappeared, but then realized that would be cheating, taking the easy way out. If I wanted to write about her having a break down and bring in Remy, I should deal with the repercussions of that.

Neurotic Temptress-I love old warner brothers cartoons and how can you not love Pepe? Carol playing nice isn't necessarily suspicious, but it is unusual. I was more trying to make a point about character development, rather than hints a something nefarious, although you never know.:)

ishandahalf-Is it Rogue is it not Rogue? It is one of the things I found interesting about Rogue's character. How much is really "her" and how much is from someone she absorbed. And since she's absorbed them doesn't that make them part of "her" anyway?

4Rogue- Thank you. Obviously I love the character of Gambit, so I'm thrilled you like the characterization.

Jenn()- When you mentioned Cerebro, I said to myself, "Didn't I say something about that?" So I went back and checked and realized I only had one line in chap 3. So I probably should have mentioned it more. The professor did use Cerebro, it didn't work, that's why they brought Logan in to begin with. Why cerebro didn't work will be dealt with later.
Jenn()- Every time I get a review, I do a little happy dance (honestly, who doesn't) so of course I want to respond, I'm just so excited people are reading. I'm taking the very gradual approach to Gambit and Rogue. Sometimes I wonder if it's so gradual that it's annoying people.

Eileen B-I updated, although not really soon. I'm quite jealous of the people who can write a new chapter every week.

kas()-Carrying on, hope you still like it.

Muccamukk()-Guess you're right. What's the fun of taking over the world if you can't brag about it. Yes, there will be more about Carol, there was a nice big hint in this chapter. And she could still have been zapped by Rogue, it just can't be under the same circumstances, because, yes, movie Rogue wouldn't do that. (Unless we find out she's been evil all along, is just faking the amnesia to get away fromo the mansion, all as part of her diabolical plot of passive aggressive world domination! :p)