Virago
Chapter Three
15 April 2009
Scott couldn't sleep. He'd had a full day of training, and his body ached for rest, but his mind denied him any respite. His thoughts remained constantly on her.
Rogue.
It hadn't been easy to keep away from her, but he'd managed to evade her for two full days. The first day he'd insisted that he take Storm's place in accompanying the new students at the Institute for their first training field trip. Answering Storm's probing questions proved far more difficult than he'd expected. And today, he'd locked himself in one of the training rooms.
But she wouldn't leave him. Scott could still hear her laughter in his ears, so clear and full of joy. Could see her smile, free of all the angst of teenagehood. She'd grown, matured. She was no longer the lost girl who peeked at him behind eyes that begged to be loved and understood.
Rogue.
With a frustrated groan, Scott threw back his covers and sat up. He reached for his glasses on the beside table and slipped them on, opening his eyes. It was bright, the full moon casting a pale shade of red all around him.
A shadow leaped across the floor before him, and Scott whirled around in surprise. The large French doors that led into the balcony were slightly ajar, the curtains pulled aside as far as it would go. And outside, beneath the radiance of the full moon, an angel soared.
He stood and walked out to the balcony. He watched, recalling the first time he had seen the other man. Christmas time, in New York. With Rogue. Scott remembered how magical it had all seemed as they tracked the city in search for a man with wings. An angel. He remembered how close he and Rogue had grown in their short time away from the Institute, and away from all other X-Men. He remembered the feeling – peace and tenderness and contentment – of having her in his arms as they watched the overjoyed parents hug their child.
Funny, he couldn't remember how Rogue and Angel had managed to become so…friendly.
Scott turned away, and as he did he noticed a figure out of the corner of his eye. A figure he had not seen in seven years, but a familiar figure nonetheless. Sitting on the grass, head tilted back as she gazed up at the sky.
Up at the angel.
*
'Ah love to watch him fly,' she murmured, her eyes not straying from the airborne figure above them.
It wasn't until then that he realised how much he had missed her voice. How much he had loved listening to her charming Southern drawl.
Scott kept his eyes on her, surprised, but not, that she had sensed him behind her. He hadn't made a noise.
'Why did you leave, Rogue?'
The words were out of his mouth before he become conscious of what he was asking. But he didn't want to take them back. He wanted to know. Needed to know.
She kept her head back, the tender smile still curving her red, unpainted lips. Scott wondered how red they were without his lenses, what exact shade they could be. They used to be dark, he knew. Dark purple, almost black. But not now, not anymore. Maybe cherry red? Crimson red? Garnet red? Burgundy red? Or a more novel red? Perhaps rose mist? Though that was more pink than red.
'I didn't do it to spite anyone, Scott,' she answered, returning to her new, less distinctive accent. 'At the time I didn't realise just how much my actions would affect everyone.' Rogue finally looked away from Angel, her gaze turning to him. 'I had believed that nobody would care or miss me.'
'We were your friends, your family. We are your family, Rogue,' he answered softly, the constant ache at the back of his heart expanding. 'We did care, and we all missed you like crazy.'
'I never meant to hurt anyone.'
Scott swallowed hard. 'I know that.'
Rogue turned her eyes back to the angel in the moonlit sky. 'I was a lost, confused, terrified girl. And I was hurt beyond words. Someone I considered a good friend had been lying to me. Mystique, a woman we all detested and regarded as a dangerous enemy, was my adoptive mother. And my team mates, people whom I had grudgingly began to call my family – and the boy I had been in love with – had attacked me.'
'Rogue-'
'I was fifteen years old, Scott,' she interrupted, a small frown now marring her features. 'I was a teenager, and you know how that can be. Everything is blown exceedingly out of proportion.'
But Scott knew the truth. Nothing had been blown out of proportion, exceedingly or otherwise. Rogue was right. And hearing from her lips that he – "the boy I had been in love with" – played a role in pursuing her out of the Institute pained him more than he expected.
Rogue looked at him again, and smiled. There was nothing forced or false about her smile. 'None of it matters now, Scott.'
'But it does.'
She shook her head. 'No, it doesn't.' She turned once more to the sky, and he knew that it would be the last time she would return her eyes on him. 'Sit with me a little, Scott. It's a beautiful night, and we have an angel to watch over us.'
Scott's gaze lingered on her a little longer before he, too, looked up. The full moon, large and round and bright against a midnight blue sky. It truly was a beautiful night.
*
16 April 2009
'His name is Langdon Garrison. He was doing some research into mutant DNA, trying to find out how the different abilities manifested,' Rogue said.
'How did you come to know about Langdon Garrison?' Charles asked, frowning slightly.
Rogue glanced at him, biting her lower lip. Warren nodded, offering her an encouraging smile. 'I don't think he's going to get mad, Rogue.'
She blushed, and he was reminded that in some ways she was still so young. She turned back to the Professor. 'I'd read about him in an underground mutant magazine that had been dropped at the house. The page of the article had been marked out, and his address written on the opposite page in a red marker. And…and the words, "Merry Christmas".'
'And you didn't question the source of the delivery? The integrity of Langdon Garrison?' Charles said, his frown deepening. Although he was not angry, there was a tone of disappointment in his voice that was much worse than his wrath.
'I'm sorry, Professor,' Rogue said, almost in a whisper. She dropped her gaze to the floor.
Warren reached out and took one of her hands in his. The ability to touch her without reserve always thrilled him.
'Charles, you must understand that Rogue had all but given up hope of ever finding a way to curb her powers,' he explained, silently begging the older man to empathise with his ex-student. 'She had lost so much weight, and-'
'Warren, it's okay,' Rogue interrupted, squeezing his hand in hers. She looked at him and smiled gratefully. 'Professor X is right. I should have been more careful.'
'Rogue, I can't even begin to imagine how difficult these past few years have been for you,' Charles said. 'In many ways your powers distance you even from other mutants, you and Scott. You have powers that can't be controlled, that you are unable to turn off, even just for a time.'
'I know, Professor.'
'But what matters now is that we find out what's happening to you.' Charles wheeled away from the desk and towards the wall-sized screen beside him. He pulled out a keyboard from a console to the side and started to type.
A large headshot of Langdon Garrison filled the screen before them. He was a distinguished looking man, well into his sixties. Silver peppered his dark hair, combed neatly back. He had a charming smile, and though his nose looked to have been broken at least once, it only added character to his face.
'Dr Langdon Garrison was a well respected man in his field, that of DNA research,' Charles started. 'He was an astounding geneticist who was employed by the government when he was only in his mid-twenties. He had the innate ability to know precisely which DNA strands were needed to splice and create mutations that the government wanted. Before long they had him working in top secret labs. His reports to the scientific community were always few and far between but in 1999 he just disappeared. Up to this day the government continue to track him down.'
'What happened?' Warren asked, more intrigued than he cared to admit.
'They believe that Dr Garrison managed to create a micro-organism that destroys mutant genes, and they want it. For whatever reason, they want it.'
Beneath his touch Warren felt Rogue become rigid at Charles' words. He looked at her, pushing aside his own fears for the moment to concentrate on her. 'Rogue?'
But she was staring at the Professor in shock. 'Destroys?'
end part three.