She's lying flat on her back in the bedroom. The walls are spiraling away from her, flipping over and over into the darkness. The ceiling gets higher and higher until it becomes a pinprick of white and then she can't see it at all. The floor drops out from under her but she doesn't fall. She is suspended in the blackness, a fly caught in a web.
The air vibrates and she knows she isn't alone.
She can feel a presence, a weight in the air, a buzz, a prickling at the back of her neck, and she turns her head without getting up, feeling too weak to move much more than that, all of the air knocked out of her.
She hangs in the void, she waits for the spider.
A man walks out of the darkness.
Alexander Charles says, "Don't be frightened," he says, "I know who you are..."
He doesn't sound angry, he sounds like his smile. Kind.
She still can't move and she whispers, "What happened..."
"You tried to get inside my head. Uninvited."
There is an aura about him, like Jean's but not as vibrant. He doesn't crackle, he radiates. Green and blue waves of power undulate around his head in a kind of halo and she gets it, she understands.
"Ah didn't know ya were a telepath..."
Wait, a mutantwas gonna provide funds to the MCA?
"I had no intention of helping them. I am looking for someone."
"Lemme guess - Erik?"
"Yes."
"What's with this guy? Why's he so popular?"
Alexander weaves a picture out of the tendrils of power, the man's face, rugged and weary but strong with a set jaw, hard eyes
"He is a man who has the potential to become one of the most dangerous mutants on earth. The longer he remains under the custody of the Mutant Control Agency, the harder it will be for us to save him. We are trying to reach him before The Brotherhood does and if we fail... the consequences could be catastrophic. The X-Men want to help him, to convince him that there is hope in this world, that there is goodness, a light in the dark. We believe that mutants and humans can coexist peacefully. The Brotherhood does not believe equality is an option, they believe that hope only exists when the opposition is controlled. This view is extremely dangerous to someone like Erik who has already seen too much of the world's cruelty."
He watches her intently, his words echoing in her ears.
Too much of the world's cruelty...
She wonders suddenly how much he has seen in her mind, how much he knows of her past. Did he see it painted on the walls before they disappeared? Reflected in the windows, scratched into the floors? Did he see her darkest memories locked up in chains, shoved under the bed, pushed up on the highest shelves...
Did he see all that there beneath the surface of the sanctuary Jean has helped her create? Is that why it's gone now? So she could start fresh... like he wants Erik to start fresh?
She wonders if he is as worried about her on some level as he is about Erik. Jean thinks she could be one of the most dangerous mutants herself. She has hinted at this, and Alexander is looking at her in a cautious way now, sensing that she understands why someone would think about the world the way The Brotherhood does, the way Erik probably does.
He's prepared to tread lightly and she wants to tell him there's no need.
She wants to tell him that she understands it, but that doesn't mean she agrees with it. Her problems aren't necessarily with humanity anymore as much as with whatever God decided to make her skin toxic. She doesn't need to be on anyone's watch. She doesn't need to be saved. She has no intention of destroying the world or claiming it for others like her because no one is like her. She feels no real kinship with anyone these days except for Jean and she's not really even here.
"So y'an X-Man... an' ya posin' as an investor so ya can find Erik?"
"Yes."
"Have ya?"
He doesn't say anything for a long moment and she thinks this is a telepath thing - the making her squirm, the testing of her patience. Jean does this as well, makes her wait for answers she may not even give.
She thinks about reassuring him that she has no intention of telling the Brotherhood anything, but then decides he can think whatever the hell he wants. She still can't move and it's beginning to piss her off. She wants her room back, wants her sanctuary even if it is fake.
"So what're ya gonna do ta me? Ya gonna keep me here? Locked in mah head...?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Ya said ya knew who Ah was."
He smiles and holds out a cupped hand. His power reaches out to it, curling into a firebird that slowly pulses pink and red and orange in his palm.
"Someone has vouched for your character."
She frowns. She can't feel Jean at all.
"Is she still he-"
Alexander inhales sharply, the bird dissipates.
He tilts his face up to the nonexistent ceiling, says, "I'll be there in a moment".
"Ya can't leave," she murmurs, and a part of her is a little satisfied that she knows something he apparently does not. She gets the feeling this does not happen often. "Ya stuck here like Jean. Didn' she explain to ya how mah powers work?"
He shakes his head, unconcerned. "You weren't able to get past my shields Rogue. You ricocheted off them rather violently, as you can see..." He gestures at the darkness surrounding them and continues, "I came here to make sure there was no permanent damage, and of course to find out who you are. I am quite satisfied on both counts and would very much like to know more about you - your mutation is fascinating... Unfortunately, there is something that needs my immediate attention."
He closes his eyes, concentrating, and everything suddenly snaps back into place. The furniture comes hurtling out of the darkness, sliding into their spots as the walls come together, the ceiling like the lid on a box clicking shut.
She sits up, finally able to move.
"You can remake your world, Rogue. You can heal the damages inside of yourself instead of hiding them... I can help you."
She looks at the walls, can almost see the stolen thoughts of the people she absorbed scrawled on them beneath the friendly yellow-flowered paper. He's making her see what's really there.
She doesn't answer him.
"The people you absorbed tonight-"
She'd almost forgotten about them they've been so quiet. She wonders if Jean put them in the closet-
"They are not there. They're gone."
"Gone? What do ya mean they're gone - how're they gone?"
"I couldn't allow you to pass on any of that information Rogue. I know you do not want to help The Brotherhood - Jean has made that clear to me, but I can't run the risk that they will get it out of you, not with the situation as delicate as it is right now. I hope you understand."
"Wait, how did ya get rid of 'em?"
"They hadn't had a chance to take root in your psyche yet. I simply released them."
"Where'd they go?"
"Where all memories go when they fade - somewhere deep in your mind so far away they no longer exist to you."
"Ya have the power to do that? Ta speed up the forgettin'?"
"Yes."
"Do I?"
"No."
She watches him looking around her room, giving her one last chance to take him up on his offer, so sure she will after his little demo.
She feels a flash of anger. She wants him out of her head. He's too comfortable here.
He looks away from the mirror flickering with a memory he has no right to see and turns back to her. He senses what she's thinking, all of a sudden too polite to read her thoughts outright like he had been.
She thinks he has a lot to learn about boundaries and makes sure he can read that.
He nods once, slightly embarrassed, tells her, "If you ever need my help, please do not hesitate to contact me - Jean knows how. My real name is Charles Xavier." He glances up at the ceiling preparing to leave but he turns to her one last time, says quietly, "I believe there is a girl involved? An innocent... The X-Men can help, Rogue... you just have to trust us... Contact us and we will help you in any way we can. We will help her."
You have my word.
His voice fills the bedroom, echoing softly as he disappears leaving behind a trail of green and blue haze that hovers about the ceiling. She watches it stretch across to each corner, shining like starlight until she can't feel him anymore.
She knows she should leave too, should get back. She does not know what has happened to her out there, if she has been discovered, if she is already being locked away...
She stands in the middle of her room, basking in the stillness of her mind, reluctant to find out. It has never felt like this here before, almost... clean. She looks at the walls, the mirror, and the memories are still there but she isn't struck with the accusatory feeling that usually accompanies them. The anger, the blame that always emanates from them in almost palpable waves is gone, the ghosts that fed them silent. She wonders if he has released them as well as the ones from the party...
She turns to the window, her heart suddenly tightening in her chest at the thought.
Cody...?
The tire swing swings in answer and she exhales her held breath, relieved. She's so used to him being here...
As screwed up as it is Ah'd miss him if he wasn'...
Maybe Charles knew that? Maybe he just left her with the good ones then? Jean is definitely still here... she can feel her now like a breeze... a slight pleasant crackle in the air, a warmth radiating from the floorboards.
But th' others...?
She looks at the closet door. Its face smooth now, unbroken. He has repaired it.
She goes to it, slowly reaching out a hand needing to know...
She takes a deep breath and turns the knob, unsure whether or not she wants to find him still there.
Jean had said she should talk to him. She never got the chance to ask her why, and as she steps inside she doesn't feel the normal blast of cold air he normally greets her with. She wonders if she's missed her chance -
"Hello, chere."
She hasn't.
He stands before one of her boxes. The oldest one. The one with the most chains. Bruce's seems to be gone, but that one, the one she is most afraid of remains.
He steps away from it, comes towards her, and she sees that it has been opened. The chains form a bird's nest of rusted links, broken and useless around it.
He sees the look on her face and stops, glances back at what he has done.
"I wanned t'see what was in dere," he says quietly. "I tink mostly... I jus' wanned t'hurt y'." He runs his hands through his hair, turns to face her again and she feels his pain in the pit of her stomach, stinging tears in her eyes. "I'm drivin' m'self crazy over y' in here, chere. I wanna hurt y' an' I wanna protect y' at de same time... I walk 'roun' in here cursin' y' hopin' y'hear it an' den prayin' y' don'... I sit here in de dark wantin' ya..."
He swallows and comes towards her again so hesitantly she doesn't want to run from him. His voice is too gentle. He doesn't want to hurt her now. He wants to protect her. She thinks she might need him to.
"What was in it?" she whispers.
"Y' don' know?"
She shakes her head.
"Ah jus' know it's bad."
"It ain' bad, chere..."
He holds out a gloved hand and after a moment she takes it. He leads her to the box and instead of opening it, he sits down, facing the darkness beyond and says softly, "Anna? Y'dere, ma petite? Don' be scared now... I wan' ya t'meet someone..."
He offers his other hand to someone she can't see
And then suddenly there are fingers, a hand, an arm, a shoulder. Gambit draws her into the light.
A little girl with a streak of white in her tangled brown hair and wide mistrustful green eyes.
A seven-year old version of her.
"...you weren' sittin' aroun' wishin' y'couldn' be touched, right?"
Yes.
Yes, she was.
"Oh mah God..."
She locked herself away so no one could touch, no one could hurt her ever again.
She did it without even realizing it.
Anna curls up against Gambit's chest as he strokes her hair. She stares up at Rogue curiously from under her eyelashes and whispers something in his ear.
"Dat's you, petite," he answers her. "You real pretty, neh?"
Anna studies her for a long moment and nods shyly. She slides off his lap and slowly comes to her as Rogue drops to her knees, unable to stand any longer. She reaches out with her little hand to touch the tears slipping down her face, and Rogue jerks away, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.
Gambit says, so softly she can barely hear him, "It's okay... you can let her..."
"No, Ah can't..."
"Rogue-"
"Ah don't wanna hurt her..."
"Chere... dat's what y'doin'."
She looks at Anna, her little hand no longer outstretched, but cradled in the other, a disappointed slump to her shoulders, a wounded tilt to her mouth.
Gambit crouches down beside her, nods at the little girl standing before them. "She needs to be held, Rogue."
She looks at him and his eyes say, trust me.
She takes a deep breath and closes hers wanting to.
She holds out her trembling hand.
And after a moment she feels it... another hand grasping hers and nothing else. No onrush of memories, no darkness.
She opens her eyes and looks into Anna's.
Her little face is beaming, and she turns to Gambit, wanting him to come too.
Anna takes hold of his coat, pulls him down beside them, and he reaches out to Rogue, traces the line of her jaw, his fingertips just grazing her skin. No flickering, no transfer of power.
No memories, no darkness.
She bursts into tears and he wraps his arms around the both of them murmuring into her hair, "Y'can touch, Rogue, y'can touch. Y'always could... y'were jus' too 'fraid... Don' be 'fraid no mo'...
I don' wan' hurt you... I won' hurt you... I won' let anybody hurt y' like dat ever 'gain-"
"Rogue!"
She looks up, startled. The voice is coming from the bedroom. His voice...
"Come back t'me..."
Gambit smiles, nods at her. "Go on," he says. "Follow it... you be fine."
"Chere... please..."
She holds Anna to her, hugs her one last time, breathes in the scent of her skin, warm and soft, and whispers into her ear. "Ah'm so sorry, Anna... Ah promise Ah'll take better care of ya... that'll never happen again..."
Anna nods, holds tight onto Gambit's hand.
She points at the sunlight creeping in from the opened door.
"Hurry," she says.
-/-
"Chere, come back... come back t'me..."
She opens her eyes.
She can hear rain pouring down and if she turns her head she will see it falling just beyond the curtain of the willow tree they are under. She stares into his eyes instead and they flicker in the darkness like candles.
"Y'were so still..." he whispers leaning over her.
"Where are we..."
"In de garden. I caught y' b'fore y'fell - tol' everyone y' jus needed some air. As we speak dey're trowin' all de caviar away. Musta gone bad... all dese people passin' out."
"Then our cover ain' blown?"
"No, chere... we fine."
"Ya left y'post..." she murmurs.
"So?"
"So ya could get inta trouble."
He shrugs, smiles lightly. "Iss what I do."
She had felt his worry so acutely before, felt it calling her, guiding her back to herself and now she can feel his relief. She can almost see it, and it suddenly occurs to her that if she pushes she can see everything, can hear everything... every thought, every secret...
She has Charles's power - she must have siphoned a little of it off when she touched him despite the shields... or maybe the residue from his visit had clung to her when she left. It was still there when she came back into the bedroom, a net of power like a spider web glistening with rain, shaking with Remy's voice as he called her back... She must have gotten just enough to be able to pick up the vaguest edges of his thoughts without even trying, because she knows if she did try she could be inside him, could know everything.
She's not even tempted. The way he's looking at her right now, gazing at her in the moonlight slipping in between the swaying branches, striping his face in a soft melancholy blue... so open, unguarded... She knows all she needs to know.
The shields Jean spoke of in his memories are down, and she hasn't seen him this way in so long... he hasn't let her see him this way...
She can't help herself, she reaches out to touch him, knowing it's okay, knowing she can...
He flinches.
"Remy-"
"We should go."
She stares at him, her hand still outstretched, frozen in the attempt.
He pulls away, gets up. He turns his back and the shields come up, blocking her, leaving her cold and shivering, alone.
She should have known better.
She gets shakily to her feet, the world shifting slightly when she lifts her head, and she leans against the tree for support. She looks at the mud streaked down her skirt and is glad. It was Raven's dress.
She slides a dirty hand down her thigh making it worse, trying not to think of the stricken look on his face when she had tried to touch him.
"We leavin'." He says, still turned away from her, his fingers playing with the willow branches, tracing their spines. "We've aborted. Avalanche and Pyro are still in dere takin' drink orders - it'd look too suspicious if dey suddenly disappeared. You an' I dough, we done, we goin' back."
"Raven aborted the mission?"
"I did. It was bad... When I got y'out here... y'were barely breathin'. I tol' Mystique we were done an' t'sen' de car. She prolly still screamin' 'bout it on y'com link now if y'wan' it. I stuck 'em in m'pocket. Dat lady has a limited vocab'lary when she mad..."
"Thank you."
He doesn't say anything.
"If ya hadn't gotten me outta there they woulda foun'out."
"Don' mention it. We teammates, neh? Iss our job to look after each other. 'Sides Mystique'd have my ass if any'tin happened t'ya."
She looks at his fingers gently weaving the branches together and she knows, she knows...
She knows she can trust him. As unsure as he is about her right now, her intentions, she knows all she has to say is I need your help and he will give it. He will trust her because he wants to just like she had wanted to. She can feel it even with his shields up and that gives her hope.
"Rem-"
An arc of light cuts through the swaying leaves as a limousine pulls up beside the tree. Raven's car.
"Can y'walk?" he asks his hands.
"Yeah..."
She lets go of the tree, takes one cautious step and then another, still feeling a little shaky. She trips over a raised root and he is there in an instant, holding her up, his hands on her ass, the warmth of them seeping through the damp silk.
"Sorry," he grins despite himself. "Dere ain' any material higher den dat on y'back..."
Tell him ya need him... tell him ya know who he is...
She holds on to the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. The smile slips off his lips as they stare at each other and hers part and she can feel his heart pounding against her knuckles-
A car door slams and she whispers breathlessly against his mouth, "Ah need to tell ya sumthin'... Ah know ya-"
"Is everything alright?" the driver calls out, and she bites her lip as Remy looks at her curiously, waiting for her to continue.
She looks over his shoulder and sees the man standing in front of the headlights, throwing his shadow across the screen of leaves. She sees his hand reaching out, parting them, and she quickly finds her footing as Remy's hands slide away.
The driver holds the drooping branches back like a curtain for them to pass through and the rain hits them hard, immediately pasting their clothes to their bodies. She can feel Remy behind her as they make their way to the car and she reaches for him, she finds his sleeve and holds on.
They climb inside, the door slams shut, and she turns to him, stares into his eyes in the pitch dark, knowing he can see just fine.
The driver gets in. The screen between the front and back seat is down. He can hear whatever they say, but he can't see it.
She looks down at Remy's hand resting open in her lap, her fingers still curled around his sleeve. She grips it tighter, raises her head.
Help, she mouths.
She touches his chest, pressing gently. X-Men... Help... She tilts her head towards the driver, shakes it slightly keeping her eyes on his.
Can't talk here...
She can feel his frown like the warmth of his hand and she takes a deep breath, moves hers over his heart, rests it there.
Trust...
His eyes flash, his uncertainty swirling about him like cigarette smoke, like fog, so strong she can see it.
If he thinks it's a trick, that Ah'm tryin' ta blow his cover...
She can't do or say anything to convince him of her sincerity, not with Mystique's driver watching them in the rearview, listening... She can feel the corners of his thoughts plain enough. He's very interested in the shadowy outlines of their bodies, so close to each other in the back of the car, the way her hand has disappeared beneath his jacket.
She lets go, turns away from the both of them, stares at her reflection in the rain-streaked window.
She may have a little of Xavier's power, but his psyche isn't there for her to learn from, to recharge from. She only got a trace of his power and it's already fading. Even if she did have full access it wouldn't matter anyway. She can't send her voice into Remy's mind and tell him what's happening, what she's trying to say, what she needs to say... She'd never be heard... She'd come up against his shields like she had Xavier's and although his probably wouldn't knock her out like Charles' had, she knows it'd hurt a lot more. It'd be worse than having all the breath knocked out of her, everything familiar ripped away until all that's left is darkness. It would be so much worse to touch that burning coldness, to scream and not be heard and know that it didn't have to be this way, that once it wasn't.
It would make her weaker than she already is, and the one thing she needs tonight is strength.
She'll have to find another way to reach him, to make him see she's not playing him now.
And she has to do it soon. She does not have the information Mystique needs anymore. All she can do is bluff, bargain with what she doesn't possess.
She looks at Gambit's reflection beyond hers in the window, knowing it'll be a lot easier to do that with someone like him on her side, someone who knows how to play that game and win.
She trails her fingers over the cool glass, touches his face there. She calls to him knowing it's pointless, knowing he can't hear...
She says, Remy... and it sounds like a whisper in her head even as she tries to yell it, to scream it with all she has.
Please, Remy...
Nothing.
Please... hear me... Plea-
He lifts his head.
He looks at her reflection, and she holds her breath watching his.
Remy... can ya hear me?
He doesn't answer, he hasn't heard.
He felt her eyes calling him, not her voice.
He glances at the driver and the silk of her dress slowly slides across her thighs as he gathers the material that has fallen across the seat in his hand. He tugs gently, echoing her touch from before when she had held so desperately onto his sleeve.
He's saying yes.
She turns away from the window, looks at him out of the corner of her eye as the driver adjusts the mirror, a flash in the dark. Gambit nods once, almost to himself, and leans back against the seat. He stares straight ahead, just a passenger awaiting his destination.