... When Rogue's eyes finally opened, sunlight burned into them. She whimpered, turning her head away and saw that a young, stressed-looking woman was standing over her, dialling her mobile phone. "Yes, the girl is breathing. No, Ah don't know how she got here. No. No, Ah didn't want to go through her pockets for ID. Ah don't think she even has any pockets."
That wasn't true. Rogue had a small pocket in her skirt, that was where she was carrying the change from her ticket to the dance.
"Yeah. Thank you. She looks pretty bad- you'd better send an ambulance quickly."
Rogue lay there with the businesswoman holding her gloved hand for about twenty minutes before she really opened her eyes. The woman immediately said, "Don't try to move."
"Where am Ah?" Rogue asked wearily.
"Across the street from General Gas. Y'know, the gas station?"
"Mmm." Rogue gave a kind of strangled sob and tried to turn her face away in shame as something like a tear escaped her eye. "It- hurts," she choked out.
"You're being very brave," said the woman bossily. "What's your name?"
"Rogue."
"Oh. Nice name."
Rogue gave her rescuer a massive glare.
The woman rocked back and forth. "You can get a pizza delivered faster than you can get an ambulance or the police in this part of town. Somethin', huh?"
"Yeah." Rogue shut her eyes. Guess last night wasn't a dream, she thought miserably, and with a great deal of pain she managed to lift her head slightly to hit it against the ground.
"Don't do that," ordered the woman without trying to stop her. "How did ya get here, anyway?"
"Ah don't remember."
The woman raised her eyebrows. "Ya weren't using drugs last night, were-"
"NO."
"Were you attacked?"
Rogue stiffened. "Yeah," she said finally, eyes closed. "Ah was- attacked." She gave another sob.
"By who?"
"Strange people chasing me-" whispered Rogue. More sobbing escaped her, tears sliding down her sore face from under her closed eyes. "Strange people- hurting me-"
"Don't get worked up," her rescuer said, looking perturbed.
"Strange people. Strangers- wouldn't leave me alone. Why wouldn't they leave me alone?" Rogue cried. She could hear sirens. The woman could hear them too, she kept turning behind her.
Paramedics had arrived and started bundling Rogue into an ambulance. Rogue began putting up as big a fight as she could. "What are you doing?" she cried shrilly. "Get off me! Don't touch me!"
"... she matches the description," muttered a paramedic to another. "What's your name?" he asked loudly.
"Rogue Adler, but don't-"
"Your foster mom called the police last night and gave your description. We know about your skin condition. We won't touch your skin with bare hands, don't worry."
How could she not worry?
Irene was already at the hospital, and sat in the corner as Rogue's wounds were patched up. "Don't be scared, honey," she called at regular intervals as Rogue further humiliated herself by crying.
Rogue heard the terms for each separate ache wash over her. She was 'covered in bruises, mostly on the shoulders, spine, torso and arms with a few on the knees and lower legs. Twisted ankle, hairline fracture to one of her ribs, dislocated shoulder.' After she'd been lulled into half-sleep with painkillers she lay silently and heard the man she'd named Dr Pain and Irene converse. He didn't seem like a doctor. Maybe he was a detective.
"What do you think happened to her?" asked Irene, touching one of Rogue's hands tenderly. She curled it into a fist, it seemed the pain was spreading all over her skin and affecting body parts that didn't have anything to do with one another.
"Your foster daughter claimed when she was found that she was attacked by strangers and that she- uh- doesn't know what she did to deserve it. It must have been quite a group to inflict wounds like those- because from what you've told me Rogue is quite an accomplished martial artist."
"She's been doing martial arts since she was five, yes."
"At first glance it looked like she'd taken quite a beating but that's the strange thing. None of her bruises look like they were caused from fists or even blunt instruments. More like she was slammed into solid walls over and over again. There are some fingerprints on her clothes, but only partial ones. She didn't mention being sexually harassed or violated in any way, but there's always that possibility."
"No," said Irene sharply.
"No?"
"Rogue would have said something. I-I've always told her-"
"How long has Rogue been in your care?"
"Since a little while before her eleventh birthday."
"Would you say you have a good relationship?"
"Yes."
"And who was her guardian before you?"
Irene stiffened. "I'd prefer not to discuss this here. She's listening."
Dr Pain sounded impatient. "Rogue is asleep."
"She pretends to be asleep sometimes... when she thinks she's done something wrong." Irene's voice was heavy.
Rogue waited until they were gone before she used her unhurt arm to pull the pillow from underneath her head, press it to her face until it stifled her breathing. Then she screamed into it. For how long, she couldn't say.
A few days passed and Rogue was permitted to return home. She was set up on the couch with a stack of books and magazines to wait out the hours of intense boredom.
One late afternoon she was almost asleep when she heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. Blearily she opened her eyes to see a tall woman with glasses, black hair in a style frequented by women in their forties and conservative clothes. She was the first person other than Irene she'd seen in what felt like years.
"Who're you?" Rogue frowned, hand closing over a rolled-up magazine as if she intended to use it as a weapon.
The woman folded her arms. "My name is Raven Darkholme. I'm a friend of Irene's."
"Raven?" repeated Rogue.
Darkholme frowned. "What about it?" she asked, a little too readily.
"... That's a nice name."
Darkholme raised her eyebrows a fraction.
"Sorry," muttered Rogue after a short pause.
"And your name is Rogue."
"Mmm. Uh, are ya here to see Irene? 'Cause not to be rude or anythin' but Ah can't really jump up and find her for ya."
"Oh no, dear. I'm here to see you." This was stated very matter-of-factly, as if Rogue was meant to guess it ages ago.
Uneasily, she watched Irene's friend pull up a chair and sit down. Rogue murmured, "All right..."
"So." Darkholme clapped her long-fingered hands together. "I hear you're a mutant, Rogue."
Rogue dropped her magazine. "Excuse me?"
"Don't fret, you're not the only one," said Darkholme impatiently. "For some, it's a perfectly normal part of growing up." Rogue remembered something very similar being said when the school nurse in junior high had loudly informed her (as she was exiting assembly) that she needed to wear a bra.
"Ah'm not the only one?" she found herself repeating.
"What did you think you absorbed from the X-Men? What did you think those X-Men were pulling the other night- carnival tricks?"
"Guess not."
"The best advice I can give you is to steer well clear of them. Traitorous vigilantes hunting their own kind at what SHOULD be the most joyous part of their young lives- the emergence of one's powers. There are ever-increasing numbers of mutants not only in America, but all around the world. And every one of them generally has a unique and interesting ability."
"So what are ya, some kind of expert on mutants?" asked Rogue finally.
"You could say that. I've known a lot of them. Tell me what you think you know about your powers, Rogue."
Rogue noticed the significance of the words 'what you think you know.' "When mah skin touches someone else's skin, somethin'- like... happens. Their thoughts are in mah head. The recent thoughts and then... Ah think... memories. But those are all in a jumble- Ah get recent ones and old ones all at once. Ah've been havin' these nightmares- the really scary ones are about mah house fallin' down, and about bein' locked in these tiny spaces. But they're not mah nightmares. For one thing Ah'm not claustrophobic, and for another- well, in those dreams Ah'm either usually a black kid, or lookin' on at this black family. And Ah absorbed a black woman on the night of the dance." She paused. "It's kinda scary."
"It is scary, but only at first. When you get used to your powers-"
"Oh no," said Rogue, shaking her head. "Ah won't need to. Ah'm never touching another human being ever again."
"Ever again? Think about what you're saying, Rogue. Are you saying that if someone were drowning you wouldn't offer your hand to them because you might get a very real idea of what their fourth birthday party was like?"
"Well, Ah never go swimmin' so there's not much of a chance of that happenin'."
Darkholme sneered. "And you're never going to have a boyfriend?"
Rogue tried not to blush, but she did. "Ah hate boys. It's 'cause of an idiot boy Ah'm in this mess."
"You mustn't blame Mr Robinson for what has happened. You should thank him- he pointed you in the direction you were meant to go."
Rogue folded her arms (wincing) and stared stubbornly at Darkholme.
"And on that note, Rogue- you'll never have children either, if you deny yourself that particular thing. At least not real ones."
"Adopted kids are real ones too," said Rogue, without thinking. She unfolded her arms laboriously and started wringing her hands.
"I didn't say they weren't."
Rogue realised what she'd said and added hastily, "Ah'm not having kids either. Nasty, disgusting little vermin."
"Oh?"
"And Ah'm definitely never, never, never touching anyone ever again."
"I understand that."
"No-one understands."
"Well, if you don't think I do, Irene certainly does. She was the one who insisted the doctors treating you had to be well covered up. She doubted, as I do, that you'd want images of grisly operations in your head."
"How did she know?" frowned Rogue.
"I suggest you ask her yourself," said Darkholme coolly. "Rogue. Dear. Know that I am speaking in your own best interests when I tell you not to lie around feeling sorry for yourself. Now is the time for action."
"Ah have fractures," said Rogue bitchily. "Ah can't move from this spot."
Darkholme raised an eyebrow equally bitchily and looked pointedly at the crutches lying on the floor near Rogue. "Dear God, what have all these years without a real mother done to you?"
Rogue stiffened. "Irene's a good mom. She's all-"
"All you know?" said Darkholme knowingly. "All you remember?"
"Ah was gonna say, 'All Ah could need in a mom.'"
"But it wasn't what you thought," Darkholme said triumphantly.
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry," Darkholme said finally. She sounded slightly ashamed. "It wasn't my place to say that."
As much dislike as she felt for Raven Darkholme, she felt at that moment that Darkholme was the first adult other than Irene who'd ever apologised to her and meant it. Maybe even the first adult, period.
"Ah don't remember when Ah twisted mah ankle, but it must've been before Ah landed in the alley. How did Ah run on a twisted ankle?" asked Rogue, merely for something to say. "With a fractured rib an' everything..."
"Mutants can generally endure more pain for longer amounts of time. They commonly have greater stamina and agility than normal humans. And they live longer, that's a fact." Darkholme paused and then, as if Rogue had asked, said, "At the very least, five to ten years longer than the current life expectancy for their sex. You'll live to well over a hundred, Rogue."
"Yay for me," muttered Rogue, glaring from under lowered eyelids.
"You see, it's not all bad. You might even heal faster, which would be very good news. The quicker we can get you well, the quicker the move from here to Bayville can be made."
Rogue didn't like that 'we'. "To- where?"
"Bayville. It's a town in Westchester. I'm principal of the high school there. Irene and I both feel you'd benefit from a change of scene, and of course- well, let's be brutally honest." Darkholme's thin mouth twisted in a sneer, ill-disguised as a caring smile. "You can't go back to Berridge High. I went there with Irene to chat with some of your teachers. All of the students are talking about what happened at the dance."
Rogue sighed. "Oh."
"Besides, you were never happy there. We ascertained that much from talking with your teachers, and the school psychiatrist."
Frowning, Rogue said, "Uh, Ah never saw him."
"The school psychiatrist was the one who initially suggested a move from Berridge High. I had merely come to convey my hopes for your speedy recovery in person, but I feel it's a splendid idea." Darkholme straightened her glasses.
Rogue looked up. She looked tired, unhappy and ill, and knew it. "So Ah guess Ah got no choice."
"It's not as melodramatic as all that, Rogue." Rogue noticed that Darkholme didn't contradict her.
"Where would Ah live?"
"At a place in Bayville called the Brotherhood Boarding House. It's only a short drive from the school."
"And- and what would Ah do there?"
"Fine-tune your abilities and help others do the same."
"OK, fine. Sounds good. Ah- Ah was sick of Berridge High anyhow."
"Excellent. I'll see you soon, Rogue." Darkholme turned to leave.
Rogue glared. "Ah dunno how ya can just tell me how mah life's gonna go from now on. You don't have any idea what's goin' on with me."
Darkholme turned around. Hands on her hips, she smirked very slightly. "Don't I?"
Her temper flared. Rogue sat up to shout, "No, ya don't!"
"Oh, Rogue. I think I have more than an idea of what's happening in your life. I went through something very similar when I was younger than you are now."
"That's bullshit," said Rogue bluntly. She suddenly didn't care about being polite.
Darkholme raised her eyebrows. "Is it now? Well, then, I guess my memories of when I was-"
Without warning, something seemed to- happen. From navel up and navel down simultaneously, Darkholme changed. She grew much shorter than she was. Her face became younger and somehow even more mocking, like that of a creepy china doll.
She changed into a young girl- younger than Rogue. She was shorter than the adult Darkholme, but still tall for her age. She was dressed in an old-fashioned skirt, blouse and cardigan with black lace-up shoes and her dark hair was tied neatly back from her face. She had blue eyes and pale skin.
Rogue's mouth dropped open.
"- thirteen and becoming something stronger than anyone could ever guess are a complete deluded fantasy," continued mini-Darkholme as though nothing had happened. "Thank you so much for enlightening me, young Rogue."
"What are you?" whispered Rogue, eyes popping.
Mini-Darkholme giggled girlishly, a slight hand over her mouth. "Rogue, Rogue, Rogue. I am nothing more and nothing less than what you are now. I'm a mutant- one of your mutant brethren.
"Now, when I was about thirteen I used to find that my looks could completely change from when I fell asleep to when I woke up. And yet when I took a second glance in the mirror I looked just the same as I always had. I thought I was going insane." Mini-Darkholme delved thoughtfully into her skirt pocket and retrieved a pair of thin wire glasses, which she put on carefully. She blinked slowly, innocently. "Especially as by the time I was fourteen I had begun to look- now, how did I look?"
As she mused, mini-Darkholme's looks changed again. She grew slightly taller. Her eyes had grown colder and even more calculating, and they went from inky-blue to an unnatural yellow-green. The glasses seemed to melt into her skin, disappearing. And her skin! Her skin had taken on a disconcertingly blue tinge and her almost-black, shoulder-length hair was overwhelmingly streaked with bright red. When she smiled at Rogue's horrified expression, she showed her teeth. The canines had turned into small fangs.
"Sometimes I could change into my true form in a public place, such as school. Most often it was at school. I became afraid of going there. It was only a matter of time before my parents found out what had happened to their only daughter. They disowned me. Or... perhaps I ran away from home. That was what they told their friends. Luckily, I was not the only mutant in the world. I was found and mentored by another, and I learned not to be frightened by the changes in my appearance. So when I finally wound up in my early twenties looking something like this-"
Teenage Darkholme changed again. She increased greatly in height, and her skin flushed to a deep blue. Her hair was long and entirely red. Her eyes were livid yellow.
"I really wasn't bothered by the change," Darkholme finished. She strode over to where Rogue sat and knelt in front of her. "And I have remained this way ever since. Call me Mystique."
Rogue tried to shut her mouth. "Hi," she squeaked.
Darkholme- Mystique? Darkholme?- gave a more genuine smile, a maternal sort of smile. "I want to help you, Rogue. I really... really do understand how it is you're feeling. And although our circumstances aren't exactly the same, I can truly imagine what it must be like to be you..."
Rogue hung her head, unable to take this in. When she looked up she flinched, because Darkholme had taken on Rogue's appearance. Rogue-Darkholme smiled conspiratorially. "You should feel honoured to be the miracle that you are, Rogue."
"Are you really a high school principal?" asked Rogue softly.
"Yes. At the moment, I am. When you arrive in Bayville, you will call me Mystique only when no-one else can hear. When I'm in my principal guise, obviously you'll refer to me as Principal Darkholme." It felt really weird to see herself saying this with Mystique's voice.
"OK."
"And remember, my true identity will be our little secret."
"'Course."
"Good girl. I'll see you in a few weeks, Rogue." With that, Rogue-Darkholme took her leave.
Over the weeks Rogue stayed out of school, recuperating, she slept a fair bit. She developed sleeping patterns right out of vampire folklore- she'd awaken sometime after sunset and retire to bed as the sun rose again. Rogue spent her waking hours playing CDs softly, trying out little tunes on her guitar, half-reading books and magazines or just staring out the window at the occasional pair of car headlights blazing out of the night darkness. Irene had all her assignments sent to her- after all, the last thing Rogue needed was to fall behind with her schoolwork.
And what Darkholme had said rang true. She was fully healed a week or two before the doctors predicted she would be, and efforts were redoubled to get her to Bayville. Rogue refused to leave the house except to fetch the paper from the front lawn once a day. She sent away for some new clothes and trimmed her own hair. Finally the day came when Irene flatly told the closest thing she had to a daughter to pack her things. Rogue's flight would leave that night.
Tensely, they sat in the airport that evening, watching without seeing as people charged unstoppably towards or away from families they loved. A bland female voice announced things over the intercom.
"Irene?" Rogue asked tentatively.
"Mmm?"
"Are ya- a mutant?"
"Like you?" asked Irene.
"Yeah, like me."
"No."
Rogue frowned. "Oh."
"A mutant, yes, but not a mutant like you."
"So-"
"I am a mutant of sorts."
"What's your- thing? Like, what do ya do?"
"I can see the future. My mutant friends call me Destiny."
"Nice. Do you ever see mah future?"
"Yes."
"What about mah present?" asked Rogue sceptically. "Ever see that?"
"I do. I saw it in the past, which made it your future then."
"So you know what Ah look like even though you're blind."
Irene nodded.
"Whaddya think? Ah mean, do ya like what ya... see?"
Irene didn't answer.
"Tell me what Ah look like," challenged Rogue. "So Ah know you're not screwin' with me."
She rarely cursed in front of Irene, but Irene didn't even react to that. "You're about my height- maybe half a head shorter."
"Pfft. Ya can tell that just by putting a hand on mah head. C'mon, dazzle me."
"You have pale skin and you wear a lot of makeup. It makes you look even paler. Specifically, you seem to prefer purple lipstick and eyeshadow. Your eyes are sort of- grey-green." Irene had faltered here, her eyebrows knitting. She gestured vaguely around as she said what colour Rogue's eyes were. "Your hair is auburn, about chin-length and you have white bangs. You wear mostly dark clothes. At the school dance you were wearing a green semi-transparent top with a black shirt underneath, as well as a leather skirt and boots."
Rogue realised her mouth was slightly open and closed it. "Oh," was all she could think to say. Then- "So do ya regret puttin' all those pictures of me in the house? Ah mean, ya can't see 'em, but... do ya think Ah'm OK-lookin'?"
"I think you're perfect." This was not said sentimentally, but stated. This threw Rogue. Finally she saw fit to take Irene's hand.
"Thanks," she said quietly, and they sat for awhile, just watching all the people rushing by.
"What am Ah gonna be like in ten years' time?" asked Rogue, just to fill the silence.
Irene smirked. "Ten years older."
Rogue managed to laugh. It sounded strained. "You're funny. Really."
The two sat and listened as a message came over the loudspeaker. "Ah think mah flight's s'posed to start boarding," said Rogue awkwardly. She gave Irene's hand a squeeze and stood up, clearing her throat. "Uh-"
Irene stood up suddenly and enveloped Rogue in a huge hug. Rogue stood very still and just let herself be hugged.
"Write to me, I'll write to you," said Irene indistinctly.
"OK," said Rogue in a small voice.
Irene Adler and Rogue, her foster daughter of five years, had one final hug. Then they had to say goodbye.
The flight was passable. There were movies, all of which Rogue despised. Rogue spent much of it listening to CDs and reading. She had a few new novels for the trip, but she just went over Dracula over and over again, skipping to her favourite parts. It was like she wanted to go back to when she was reading that child's version. She'd become slightly desensitised to it- the blood wasn't vivid red in her mind's eye, and Lucy Westenra's voice didn't turn to the aristocratic British chirrup she'd once imagined it to be inside her head, from watching period dramas on television.
She couldn't keep her mind on the story. Maybe it would never be the same again.
Rogue had to be brave. She was going to Bayville in Westchester to become a part of this Brotherhood so she could start a new life as a mutant. Nobody would know her there.
She arrived at the Bayville airport early in the morning. When she'd collected her luggage she went and stood outside groggily- but only for a moment, before a hand landed on her shoulder. She flinched and shrugged it off, and looked up into the face of Raven Darkholme.
"Rogue Adler?" asked Darkholme quizzically.
She got it. Act like you've never seen her before. "Principal Darkholme. It's a pleasure," said Rogue immediately, as though they had only ever spoken on the phone. She solemnly shook the woman's bony hand.
They walked away together.
- - -
DISCLAIMER: None of the X-Men belong to me. I am only a slightly sad individual who, despite being in her teens, feels that Rogue is a Tragic Heroine on a par with Anna Karenina or all those ladies from Dickens. : ) All this belongs to WB, Stan Lee, Marvel Comics, whoever you like.
NOTES: You know the thing about being able to get a pizza delivered faster than you can get the police or an ambulance? Well, that's what the area I live in is like. And it's an OK area- I mean, I don't live in the pits of Hell or anything. But isn't that disgusting? It makes me so angry.
Don't expect another chapter for at least a week. I have exams coming up and they are VERY VERY important. I've been studying madly for two weeks and I'm still freaking out. The thing with this fic is I've been writing it mostly in excerpts- there are loads and loads of different bits from different episodes all written up in Rogue's POV drifting around on my computer. That's just the way I work.
To answer enchantedlight's question, I will be making up LOTS of my own events. There are just so many questions that need answering about Rogue, and the really fun thing about this fic is that I will get to answer them my way. I will be sticking to the scripts but many missing scenes will be inserted... as you may have seen in this chapter.
That wasn't true. Rogue had a small pocket in her skirt, that was where she was carrying the change from her ticket to the dance.
"Yeah. Thank you. She looks pretty bad- you'd better send an ambulance quickly."
Rogue lay there with the businesswoman holding her gloved hand for about twenty minutes before she really opened her eyes. The woman immediately said, "Don't try to move."
"Where am Ah?" Rogue asked wearily.
"Across the street from General Gas. Y'know, the gas station?"
"Mmm." Rogue gave a kind of strangled sob and tried to turn her face away in shame as something like a tear escaped her eye. "It- hurts," she choked out.
"You're being very brave," said the woman bossily. "What's your name?"
"Rogue."
"Oh. Nice name."
Rogue gave her rescuer a massive glare.
The woman rocked back and forth. "You can get a pizza delivered faster than you can get an ambulance or the police in this part of town. Somethin', huh?"
"Yeah." Rogue shut her eyes. Guess last night wasn't a dream, she thought miserably, and with a great deal of pain she managed to lift her head slightly to hit it against the ground.
"Don't do that," ordered the woman without trying to stop her. "How did ya get here, anyway?"
"Ah don't remember."
The woman raised her eyebrows. "Ya weren't using drugs last night, were-"
"NO."
"Were you attacked?"
Rogue stiffened. "Yeah," she said finally, eyes closed. "Ah was- attacked." She gave another sob.
"By who?"
"Strange people chasing me-" whispered Rogue. More sobbing escaped her, tears sliding down her sore face from under her closed eyes. "Strange people- hurting me-"
"Don't get worked up," her rescuer said, looking perturbed.
"Strange people. Strangers- wouldn't leave me alone. Why wouldn't they leave me alone?" Rogue cried. She could hear sirens. The woman could hear them too, she kept turning behind her.
Paramedics had arrived and started bundling Rogue into an ambulance. Rogue began putting up as big a fight as she could. "What are you doing?" she cried shrilly. "Get off me! Don't touch me!"
"... she matches the description," muttered a paramedic to another. "What's your name?" he asked loudly.
"Rogue Adler, but don't-"
"Your foster mom called the police last night and gave your description. We know about your skin condition. We won't touch your skin with bare hands, don't worry."
How could she not worry?
Irene was already at the hospital, and sat in the corner as Rogue's wounds were patched up. "Don't be scared, honey," she called at regular intervals as Rogue further humiliated herself by crying.
Rogue heard the terms for each separate ache wash over her. She was 'covered in bruises, mostly on the shoulders, spine, torso and arms with a few on the knees and lower legs. Twisted ankle, hairline fracture to one of her ribs, dislocated shoulder.' After she'd been lulled into half-sleep with painkillers she lay silently and heard the man she'd named Dr Pain and Irene converse. He didn't seem like a doctor. Maybe he was a detective.
"What do you think happened to her?" asked Irene, touching one of Rogue's hands tenderly. She curled it into a fist, it seemed the pain was spreading all over her skin and affecting body parts that didn't have anything to do with one another.
"Your foster daughter claimed when she was found that she was attacked by strangers and that she- uh- doesn't know what she did to deserve it. It must have been quite a group to inflict wounds like those- because from what you've told me Rogue is quite an accomplished martial artist."
"She's been doing martial arts since she was five, yes."
"At first glance it looked like she'd taken quite a beating but that's the strange thing. None of her bruises look like they were caused from fists or even blunt instruments. More like she was slammed into solid walls over and over again. There are some fingerprints on her clothes, but only partial ones. She didn't mention being sexually harassed or violated in any way, but there's always that possibility."
"No," said Irene sharply.
"No?"
"Rogue would have said something. I-I've always told her-"
"How long has Rogue been in your care?"
"Since a little while before her eleventh birthday."
"Would you say you have a good relationship?"
"Yes."
"And who was her guardian before you?"
Irene stiffened. "I'd prefer not to discuss this here. She's listening."
Dr Pain sounded impatient. "Rogue is asleep."
"She pretends to be asleep sometimes... when she thinks she's done something wrong." Irene's voice was heavy.
Rogue waited until they were gone before she used her unhurt arm to pull the pillow from underneath her head, press it to her face until it stifled her breathing. Then she screamed into it. For how long, she couldn't say.
A few days passed and Rogue was permitted to return home. She was set up on the couch with a stack of books and magazines to wait out the hours of intense boredom.
One late afternoon she was almost asleep when she heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. Blearily she opened her eyes to see a tall woman with glasses, black hair in a style frequented by women in their forties and conservative clothes. She was the first person other than Irene she'd seen in what felt like years.
"Who're you?" Rogue frowned, hand closing over a rolled-up magazine as if she intended to use it as a weapon.
The woman folded her arms. "My name is Raven Darkholme. I'm a friend of Irene's."
"Raven?" repeated Rogue.
Darkholme frowned. "What about it?" she asked, a little too readily.
"... That's a nice name."
Darkholme raised her eyebrows a fraction.
"Sorry," muttered Rogue after a short pause.
"And your name is Rogue."
"Mmm. Uh, are ya here to see Irene? 'Cause not to be rude or anythin' but Ah can't really jump up and find her for ya."
"Oh no, dear. I'm here to see you." This was stated very matter-of-factly, as if Rogue was meant to guess it ages ago.
Uneasily, she watched Irene's friend pull up a chair and sit down. Rogue murmured, "All right..."
"So." Darkholme clapped her long-fingered hands together. "I hear you're a mutant, Rogue."
Rogue dropped her magazine. "Excuse me?"
"Don't fret, you're not the only one," said Darkholme impatiently. "For some, it's a perfectly normal part of growing up." Rogue remembered something very similar being said when the school nurse in junior high had loudly informed her (as she was exiting assembly) that she needed to wear a bra.
"Ah'm not the only one?" she found herself repeating.
"What did you think you absorbed from the X-Men? What did you think those X-Men were pulling the other night- carnival tricks?"
"Guess not."
"The best advice I can give you is to steer well clear of them. Traitorous vigilantes hunting their own kind at what SHOULD be the most joyous part of their young lives- the emergence of one's powers. There are ever-increasing numbers of mutants not only in America, but all around the world. And every one of them generally has a unique and interesting ability."
"So what are ya, some kind of expert on mutants?" asked Rogue finally.
"You could say that. I've known a lot of them. Tell me what you think you know about your powers, Rogue."
Rogue noticed the significance of the words 'what you think you know.' "When mah skin touches someone else's skin, somethin'- like... happens. Their thoughts are in mah head. The recent thoughts and then... Ah think... memories. But those are all in a jumble- Ah get recent ones and old ones all at once. Ah've been havin' these nightmares- the really scary ones are about mah house fallin' down, and about bein' locked in these tiny spaces. But they're not mah nightmares. For one thing Ah'm not claustrophobic, and for another- well, in those dreams Ah'm either usually a black kid, or lookin' on at this black family. And Ah absorbed a black woman on the night of the dance." She paused. "It's kinda scary."
"It is scary, but only at first. When you get used to your powers-"
"Oh no," said Rogue, shaking her head. "Ah won't need to. Ah'm never touching another human being ever again."
"Ever again? Think about what you're saying, Rogue. Are you saying that if someone were drowning you wouldn't offer your hand to them because you might get a very real idea of what their fourth birthday party was like?"
"Well, Ah never go swimmin' so there's not much of a chance of that happenin'."
Darkholme sneered. "And you're never going to have a boyfriend?"
Rogue tried not to blush, but she did. "Ah hate boys. It's 'cause of an idiot boy Ah'm in this mess."
"You mustn't blame Mr Robinson for what has happened. You should thank him- he pointed you in the direction you were meant to go."
Rogue folded her arms (wincing) and stared stubbornly at Darkholme.
"And on that note, Rogue- you'll never have children either, if you deny yourself that particular thing. At least not real ones."
"Adopted kids are real ones too," said Rogue, without thinking. She unfolded her arms laboriously and started wringing her hands.
"I didn't say they weren't."
Rogue realised what she'd said and added hastily, "Ah'm not having kids either. Nasty, disgusting little vermin."
"Oh?"
"And Ah'm definitely never, never, never touching anyone ever again."
"I understand that."
"No-one understands."
"Well, if you don't think I do, Irene certainly does. She was the one who insisted the doctors treating you had to be well covered up. She doubted, as I do, that you'd want images of grisly operations in your head."
"How did she know?" frowned Rogue.
"I suggest you ask her yourself," said Darkholme coolly. "Rogue. Dear. Know that I am speaking in your own best interests when I tell you not to lie around feeling sorry for yourself. Now is the time for action."
"Ah have fractures," said Rogue bitchily. "Ah can't move from this spot."
Darkholme raised an eyebrow equally bitchily and looked pointedly at the crutches lying on the floor near Rogue. "Dear God, what have all these years without a real mother done to you?"
Rogue stiffened. "Irene's a good mom. She's all-"
"All you know?" said Darkholme knowingly. "All you remember?"
"Ah was gonna say, 'All Ah could need in a mom.'"
"But it wasn't what you thought," Darkholme said triumphantly.
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry," Darkholme said finally. She sounded slightly ashamed. "It wasn't my place to say that."
As much dislike as she felt for Raven Darkholme, she felt at that moment that Darkholme was the first adult other than Irene who'd ever apologised to her and meant it. Maybe even the first adult, period.
"Ah don't remember when Ah twisted mah ankle, but it must've been before Ah landed in the alley. How did Ah run on a twisted ankle?" asked Rogue, merely for something to say. "With a fractured rib an' everything..."
"Mutants can generally endure more pain for longer amounts of time. They commonly have greater stamina and agility than normal humans. And they live longer, that's a fact." Darkholme paused and then, as if Rogue had asked, said, "At the very least, five to ten years longer than the current life expectancy for their sex. You'll live to well over a hundred, Rogue."
"Yay for me," muttered Rogue, glaring from under lowered eyelids.
"You see, it's not all bad. You might even heal faster, which would be very good news. The quicker we can get you well, the quicker the move from here to Bayville can be made."
Rogue didn't like that 'we'. "To- where?"
"Bayville. It's a town in Westchester. I'm principal of the high school there. Irene and I both feel you'd benefit from a change of scene, and of course- well, let's be brutally honest." Darkholme's thin mouth twisted in a sneer, ill-disguised as a caring smile. "You can't go back to Berridge High. I went there with Irene to chat with some of your teachers. All of the students are talking about what happened at the dance."
Rogue sighed. "Oh."
"Besides, you were never happy there. We ascertained that much from talking with your teachers, and the school psychiatrist."
Frowning, Rogue said, "Uh, Ah never saw him."
"The school psychiatrist was the one who initially suggested a move from Berridge High. I had merely come to convey my hopes for your speedy recovery in person, but I feel it's a splendid idea." Darkholme straightened her glasses.
Rogue looked up. She looked tired, unhappy and ill, and knew it. "So Ah guess Ah got no choice."
"It's not as melodramatic as all that, Rogue." Rogue noticed that Darkholme didn't contradict her.
"Where would Ah live?"
"At a place in Bayville called the Brotherhood Boarding House. It's only a short drive from the school."
"And- and what would Ah do there?"
"Fine-tune your abilities and help others do the same."
"OK, fine. Sounds good. Ah- Ah was sick of Berridge High anyhow."
"Excellent. I'll see you soon, Rogue." Darkholme turned to leave.
Rogue glared. "Ah dunno how ya can just tell me how mah life's gonna go from now on. You don't have any idea what's goin' on with me."
Darkholme turned around. Hands on her hips, she smirked very slightly. "Don't I?"
Her temper flared. Rogue sat up to shout, "No, ya don't!"
"Oh, Rogue. I think I have more than an idea of what's happening in your life. I went through something very similar when I was younger than you are now."
"That's bullshit," said Rogue bluntly. She suddenly didn't care about being polite.
Darkholme raised her eyebrows. "Is it now? Well, then, I guess my memories of when I was-"
Without warning, something seemed to- happen. From navel up and navel down simultaneously, Darkholme changed. She grew much shorter than she was. Her face became younger and somehow even more mocking, like that of a creepy china doll.
She changed into a young girl- younger than Rogue. She was shorter than the adult Darkholme, but still tall for her age. She was dressed in an old-fashioned skirt, blouse and cardigan with black lace-up shoes and her dark hair was tied neatly back from her face. She had blue eyes and pale skin.
Rogue's mouth dropped open.
"- thirteen and becoming something stronger than anyone could ever guess are a complete deluded fantasy," continued mini-Darkholme as though nothing had happened. "Thank you so much for enlightening me, young Rogue."
"What are you?" whispered Rogue, eyes popping.
Mini-Darkholme giggled girlishly, a slight hand over her mouth. "Rogue, Rogue, Rogue. I am nothing more and nothing less than what you are now. I'm a mutant- one of your mutant brethren.
"Now, when I was about thirteen I used to find that my looks could completely change from when I fell asleep to when I woke up. And yet when I took a second glance in the mirror I looked just the same as I always had. I thought I was going insane." Mini-Darkholme delved thoughtfully into her skirt pocket and retrieved a pair of thin wire glasses, which she put on carefully. She blinked slowly, innocently. "Especially as by the time I was fourteen I had begun to look- now, how did I look?"
As she mused, mini-Darkholme's looks changed again. She grew slightly taller. Her eyes had grown colder and even more calculating, and they went from inky-blue to an unnatural yellow-green. The glasses seemed to melt into her skin, disappearing. And her skin! Her skin had taken on a disconcertingly blue tinge and her almost-black, shoulder-length hair was overwhelmingly streaked with bright red. When she smiled at Rogue's horrified expression, she showed her teeth. The canines had turned into small fangs.
"Sometimes I could change into my true form in a public place, such as school. Most often it was at school. I became afraid of going there. It was only a matter of time before my parents found out what had happened to their only daughter. They disowned me. Or... perhaps I ran away from home. That was what they told their friends. Luckily, I was not the only mutant in the world. I was found and mentored by another, and I learned not to be frightened by the changes in my appearance. So when I finally wound up in my early twenties looking something like this-"
Teenage Darkholme changed again. She increased greatly in height, and her skin flushed to a deep blue. Her hair was long and entirely red. Her eyes were livid yellow.
"I really wasn't bothered by the change," Darkholme finished. She strode over to where Rogue sat and knelt in front of her. "And I have remained this way ever since. Call me Mystique."
Rogue tried to shut her mouth. "Hi," she squeaked.
Darkholme- Mystique? Darkholme?- gave a more genuine smile, a maternal sort of smile. "I want to help you, Rogue. I really... really do understand how it is you're feeling. And although our circumstances aren't exactly the same, I can truly imagine what it must be like to be you..."
Rogue hung her head, unable to take this in. When she looked up she flinched, because Darkholme had taken on Rogue's appearance. Rogue-Darkholme smiled conspiratorially. "You should feel honoured to be the miracle that you are, Rogue."
"Are you really a high school principal?" asked Rogue softly.
"Yes. At the moment, I am. When you arrive in Bayville, you will call me Mystique only when no-one else can hear. When I'm in my principal guise, obviously you'll refer to me as Principal Darkholme." It felt really weird to see herself saying this with Mystique's voice.
"OK."
"And remember, my true identity will be our little secret."
"'Course."
"Good girl. I'll see you in a few weeks, Rogue." With that, Rogue-Darkholme took her leave.
Over the weeks Rogue stayed out of school, recuperating, she slept a fair bit. She developed sleeping patterns right out of vampire folklore- she'd awaken sometime after sunset and retire to bed as the sun rose again. Rogue spent her waking hours playing CDs softly, trying out little tunes on her guitar, half-reading books and magazines or just staring out the window at the occasional pair of car headlights blazing out of the night darkness. Irene had all her assignments sent to her- after all, the last thing Rogue needed was to fall behind with her schoolwork.
And what Darkholme had said rang true. She was fully healed a week or two before the doctors predicted she would be, and efforts were redoubled to get her to Bayville. Rogue refused to leave the house except to fetch the paper from the front lawn once a day. She sent away for some new clothes and trimmed her own hair. Finally the day came when Irene flatly told the closest thing she had to a daughter to pack her things. Rogue's flight would leave that night.
Tensely, they sat in the airport that evening, watching without seeing as people charged unstoppably towards or away from families they loved. A bland female voice announced things over the intercom.
"Irene?" Rogue asked tentatively.
"Mmm?"
"Are ya- a mutant?"
"Like you?" asked Irene.
"Yeah, like me."
"No."
Rogue frowned. "Oh."
"A mutant, yes, but not a mutant like you."
"So-"
"I am a mutant of sorts."
"What's your- thing? Like, what do ya do?"
"I can see the future. My mutant friends call me Destiny."
"Nice. Do you ever see mah future?"
"Yes."
"What about mah present?" asked Rogue sceptically. "Ever see that?"
"I do. I saw it in the past, which made it your future then."
"So you know what Ah look like even though you're blind."
Irene nodded.
"Whaddya think? Ah mean, do ya like what ya... see?"
Irene didn't answer.
"Tell me what Ah look like," challenged Rogue. "So Ah know you're not screwin' with me."
She rarely cursed in front of Irene, but Irene didn't even react to that. "You're about my height- maybe half a head shorter."
"Pfft. Ya can tell that just by putting a hand on mah head. C'mon, dazzle me."
"You have pale skin and you wear a lot of makeup. It makes you look even paler. Specifically, you seem to prefer purple lipstick and eyeshadow. Your eyes are sort of- grey-green." Irene had faltered here, her eyebrows knitting. She gestured vaguely around as she said what colour Rogue's eyes were. "Your hair is auburn, about chin-length and you have white bangs. You wear mostly dark clothes. At the school dance you were wearing a green semi-transparent top with a black shirt underneath, as well as a leather skirt and boots."
Rogue realised her mouth was slightly open and closed it. "Oh," was all she could think to say. Then- "So do ya regret puttin' all those pictures of me in the house? Ah mean, ya can't see 'em, but... do ya think Ah'm OK-lookin'?"
"I think you're perfect." This was not said sentimentally, but stated. This threw Rogue. Finally she saw fit to take Irene's hand.
"Thanks," she said quietly, and they sat for awhile, just watching all the people rushing by.
"What am Ah gonna be like in ten years' time?" asked Rogue, just to fill the silence.
Irene smirked. "Ten years older."
Rogue managed to laugh. It sounded strained. "You're funny. Really."
The two sat and listened as a message came over the loudspeaker. "Ah think mah flight's s'posed to start boarding," said Rogue awkwardly. She gave Irene's hand a squeeze and stood up, clearing her throat. "Uh-"
Irene stood up suddenly and enveloped Rogue in a huge hug. Rogue stood very still and just let herself be hugged.
"Write to me, I'll write to you," said Irene indistinctly.
"OK," said Rogue in a small voice.
Irene Adler and Rogue, her foster daughter of five years, had one final hug. Then they had to say goodbye.
The flight was passable. There were movies, all of which Rogue despised. Rogue spent much of it listening to CDs and reading. She had a few new novels for the trip, but she just went over Dracula over and over again, skipping to her favourite parts. It was like she wanted to go back to when she was reading that child's version. She'd become slightly desensitised to it- the blood wasn't vivid red in her mind's eye, and Lucy Westenra's voice didn't turn to the aristocratic British chirrup she'd once imagined it to be inside her head, from watching period dramas on television.
She couldn't keep her mind on the story. Maybe it would never be the same again.
Rogue had to be brave. She was going to Bayville in Westchester to become a part of this Brotherhood so she could start a new life as a mutant. Nobody would know her there.
She arrived at the Bayville airport early in the morning. When she'd collected her luggage she went and stood outside groggily- but only for a moment, before a hand landed on her shoulder. She flinched and shrugged it off, and looked up into the face of Raven Darkholme.
"Rogue Adler?" asked Darkholme quizzically.
She got it. Act like you've never seen her before. "Principal Darkholme. It's a pleasure," said Rogue immediately, as though they had only ever spoken on the phone. She solemnly shook the woman's bony hand.
They walked away together.
- - -
DISCLAIMER: None of the X-Men belong to me. I am only a slightly sad individual who, despite being in her teens, feels that Rogue is a Tragic Heroine on a par with Anna Karenina or all those ladies from Dickens. : ) All this belongs to WB, Stan Lee, Marvel Comics, whoever you like.
NOTES: You know the thing about being able to get a pizza delivered faster than you can get the police or an ambulance? Well, that's what the area I live in is like. And it's an OK area- I mean, I don't live in the pits of Hell or anything. But isn't that disgusting? It makes me so angry.
Don't expect another chapter for at least a week. I have exams coming up and they are VERY VERY important. I've been studying madly for two weeks and I'm still freaking out. The thing with this fic is I've been writing it mostly in excerpts- there are loads and loads of different bits from different episodes all written up in Rogue's POV drifting around on my computer. That's just the way I work.
To answer enchantedlight's question, I will be making up LOTS of my own events. There are just so many questions that need answering about Rogue, and the really fun thing about this fic is that I will get to answer them my way. I will be sticking to the scripts but many missing scenes will be inserted... as you may have seen in this chapter.