Hmmm. Took a while. Carol did not want to play nice. But we have ways of making fictional characters talk. No, seriously. Who do you think makes up all these strange conversations in this story?
A word to my kind and wonderful reviewers:
Ish: I wanted to update really fast, just to prove the ol' self-fulfillment prophecy, but then I read your comment on tracksuits and that made me think of Starsky and Hutch, so I wanted to see the movie, and I was just lost. The fact that this is coming in January instead of December something is all. your. fault.
Willa: Hiya! The necklace thing was a ploy of Remy's to get Piotr to believe that his only interest in Rogue was purely work-related. How is that effort going, you ask? Well, read on! And review! And thanks.
enchantedlight: thanks!
Chia De Los Ojos Café: Thanks a bunch! Hope ya read and review again!
Sweety8587: Yay, coconuts! I can't believe you've never had a pina colada. I'd suggest you go out and find one immediately, but I wouldn't want to be responsible for the corruption of a minor… not again. Aw heck, go out and find one anyway!
Fudje: Thanks so much. I really wouldn't put in a Xavier/Wanda pairing, or whatever I said. I'm currently reserving much of my evilness for… hey, for this chapter. Ha. Read on, and review. Please?
Dreamschemer: My cookies! Mine! Mine, I say! Er, I mean, thank you, oh, so much! No go read!
Plague-darkholme: You know the 'break' comment was inspired by FRIENDS. I love that show. My little tribute. Ha. But anywho, thanks so much for the review!
Outofivanhoe: Awww, shucks. I know the pace has been a bit… er, draggy… but uh… oh, look. No excuse. No, I do have one. I was trying to get them through the whole getting to know you phase. They're through it. We're moving on. Read again, please? Review?
Dreamcatcher89: You…. You're too suspicious. Seriously, learn to trust a character. Really. I mean it. Just, don't trust me. Because I'm a pathological liar. I want to know what you were thinking!
Lady-Snape7: Thank you much! And please come again! Although, if you're here, I suppose that means that you have come again, in which case, thanks even more!
Crazy: Wow. You… I need a pin or something to pop this giant inflating head o' mine. You're so sweet. And… yeah. Thank you. I'm always glad when someone enjoys my fic, and the fact that it's not your usual cup o' tea makes me positively glow!
MwrulesC: Hey, I know you! It's great to have you on board again! Thanks a bunch! Glad you're still reading!
Emerald K: Knowing ruins it all. And if you tell a soul, I'll kill you where you sleep. I do hope you like the chapter, and oh, yeah, maybe there's still something even you aren't expecting. Gimme two days and you'll get your SPECIAL DEDICATION. Hahahaha.
Lady Godiva: I love knowing I distracted someone from school. Especially since I wrote it instead of paying attention to school myself. See, there's this connection we've got, now! Thanks a bunch!
We've Met Before
Chapter 10
Wee Willy Winkie runs through the town
Upstairs, downstairs, in his nightgown
Rapping at the windows
Crying at the locks…
Good Lord, are you singing to yourself, Rogue? That's pretty pathetic. Why don't you just shut up, open your eyes, and join the real world. It's waiting for you, you know. Something big has happened. Can you feel everyone's presence? They're crowding around you now, waiting ever so patiently for their little sleeping beauty to arise and weigh in on a few issues. Do you think they'd be content to sit and twiddle their thumbs if they knew you were in here recollecting lullabies? Nope. They'd send in Jean or the professor to drag you back. So come, come little Southern vampire, let's not put off the inevitable.
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn
The sheep's in the meadow
The cows in the corn
Why do you suppose you're avoiding this moment, anyway? Better yet, why are you thinking of the rhymes Irene sung to you as a very small, four-year-old girl? They're comforting, no doubt. You're probably remembering how it felt to hear her voice, so soft, so low, so warm, so friendly, so kind. Even the words themselves had been nice. You could just picture yourself lying out in the middle of a cornfield, basking in the soft Mississippi sun, hearing some faint horn in the distance. If you listen carefully, you can hear the horn now. Only it's not exactly a horn. It's the beep-beep-beep of the monitor that's hooked up to your body. They're all watching it now, noticing the change in your vitals, feeling optimistic for the first time in hours because finally, Rogue's waking up and she'll be able to answer a few burning questions.
Hush little baby
Don't say a word
Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird
Tsk, tsk. You're trying to run from me. You're scared. Uncomfortable. You can't quite place who I am, and that unsettles you. Mystique? No, she'd never care that everyone else is waiting. Kitty? Nope, not nice enough. Kurt, Scott, Jean, Evan, Pietro, Wanda, Jubilee, Tabitha, Toad, Lance, the list goes on and on but I am none of them, either. The girl you accidentally touched while trying on gloves at the mall? Not a chance. She was a tourist from Germany, remember? Didn't even speak English. But haven't you skipped someone? Does the name Carol ring a bell? You've been avoiding the suggestion like it was poison. Still, that was quite unnecessary. Danvers, I am not. Ah, you're confused, because all along you've been harboring the secret fear that I was the blonde and now you really have absolutely no idea. Let me put you out of your misery. Today, Sweetheart, Rumplestiltskin is spelt R-O-G-U-E.
Ain't that a shocker? I don't sound like you, do I? I can, of course. Why, talkin' like y'all would be more natural ta me than glancin' out the window an' findin' the sun suspended in the sky. Ah reckon changin' the sound o' me took some fancy twistin' on behalf o' our subconscious, ya know? But you went through the trouble, because you never listen to yourself, Rogue. It's time you start.
You run too much.
You compromise too much.
It's time to wake up
She woke to the sound of humming. All around her, the setting was familiar: the firm bed, the scratchy blue infirmary blankets, the IV in her arm, the glass windows that provided a perfect view of the plain black walls outside. But the humming, that was new. The sound was vaguely off-key, quiet, personal… she rolled her eyes up to glimpse at the person doing it. It was Chris Clark. Dr. Franklin. Whoever he was today. In his hands, he held a small notebook and he was scribbling furiously while humming to himself. He hadn't noticed that she was awake yet.
"Uh, Mr. Clark?" Her voice was raspy. Scratchy. She ran a hand along her throat, as if she could rub the clarity back in. She repeated, "Mr. Clark."
The gentleman's eyes left the pad and found her instead. A smile spread across his face as he crossed his arms and approached her. "Well, well, Miss Darkholme. It's nice to have you back among the living. We were getting worried for a while. At least I was, anyway. Everyone else seemed to have the utmost confidence in your recuperating abilities. They were here, by the way, until about five minutes ago. Most of them have been trading off between you, Miss Danvers, and Miss Pryde."
"Is Carol in here, too?" Rogue wondered.
"Yes, but she should be good as new in a few hours, as should you. We're just observing, really."
"Observing what?"
Clark sighed. "How good is your memory?"
"Ah know we touched." Rogue answered, recalling the strange exchange. She closed her eyes and concentrated, but none of Carol's memories remained in her. She tried to fly and couldn't. None of Carol's powers were inside of her, either. How long had she been in the infirmary?
"I've been told it's not common for you to lose consciousness after absorbing another person. That's why you're here. We're not sure what happened. On the one hand, the both of you have remained in perfect health. On the other hand…" He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he twisted up the end of his lips and smiled, "I'm fascinated by you, Miss Darkholme."
"Why?"
"I think I could help you. With your powers, I mean."
Her heart thudded briefly, the way it did every time someone said that. A fleeting feeling she was used to. "Oh?"
"Maybe once it's safe for me to return to the lab, you can join me there and we'll do some serious tests."
"Maybe."
"Of course I'd have to recommend you visit your mother, first."
Rogue looked up sharply and suddenly, Clark was holding an envelope. A blue envelope. What was that, she wondered, two in a day? "You read my mail?" And there was an edge to her words.
"No. No, never." He smiled gently. "Just your file. And I have to tell you, one of the most common sources of power trouble is familial discord."
"Really." Sarcastically.
"I'm very serious. Just three months ago, I learned about a telepath who couldn't stop reading people's minds. The cause? An overbearing father. Before that, an illusionist who accidentally made so many copies of herself no one could find the real one. Turned out, she was nervous that a sibling would make everyone forget she existed."
"Ah don't think Mystique has anything ta do with this."
"Yes, well, they didn't think so, either. Sometimes we are too close to a situation to properly assess it."
"An' sometimes we aren't."
He looked at her, examining. "Pugnacious. Powerful sense of self-preservation. Yet somehow, considerate and thoughtful, too. Your file is a bit confusing until matched up with the three-dimensional version, you know."
Rogue just rolled her eyes.
So… he'd blown off Rogue for this.
Well, blown off sounded so harsh.
Remy searched his brain for a better word, but none was forthcoming.
Damn it.
He had blown her off, harshness and all.
Still, he couldn't do it. Face Rogue on a regular basis and not tell her about Bella. It felt too much like lying and for once, he wanted something with someone that wasn't tainted with half-truths and mind games.
He kicked the mud up, onto the fence several feet away and glared like he possessed the ability to blow something up, just by looking at it. One of the wooden panels started to glow a bright pink, and he stopped, remembering just in time that he did possess that ability.
After the initial pause, though, he let it explode.
Hell, something had to give. And the fence was damn ugly.
"Come on, Mate. Got to keep moving." John nudged him from behind with a large crate.
They'd become rather well paid movers as of late. Whatever Magneto was working on, it required the movement of some very large, heavy boxes from the front porch to the basement laboratory. Bella had excused herself from the exercise, citing an appointment that was oh, so vital to the continuation of sentient life on earth, and Sabertooth hadn't been seen since the shift of the polar ice caps, but the rest of them were busy at work.
Or were supposed to be busy at work. Remy rolled his eyes as John moved on past him, navigating that crate quite well, despite wearing an expression that looked like it belonged on an angry ax murderer. "Just want to get it over with," the Aussie breathed. "You know?"
"I know."
The second time Rogue woke up, she was alone.
She glanced around for any sign of Clark, but there was none.
Pulling at the wires, Rogue wondered how much she needed them and whatever medicine they were injecting into her bloodstream. Deciding that the meds couldn't be terribly important, she tugged the wires out all the way, wincing as tiny droplets of blood welled up and took their place. Great, big and tough Rogue, suddenly squeamish at the sight of blood? She ignored the urge to kick herself, and instead swung her feet over the side of the bed.
There were people talking in the distance. Had Kitty woken up? Standing up was easy; she wasn't dizzy at all. Usually, the medicine made her feel tipsy, like she was trying to maintain her balance while walking through clouds and sometimes her feel would fall through the powdery white lily pads of the sky.
She followed the sound of voices, until it became clear that Kitty wasn't the one attracting the attention at all; that was Carol's voice carrying through the area.
On the other hand, Clark had said. What other hand? What had been different about her absorption of Carol?
"I can't wait to get out of here," the blonde was saying.
"I can only imagine." Tabitha answered.
"But the professor wants me to stay so he can talk to me."
"About what?" Hmmm. Amara's voice.
"What I saw in Rogue's head."
Rogue blinked.
"How did that happen, anyway?" Tabitha again.
"I don't know. Wires got crossed, or something. I ended up having her memories instead of the other way around. Everyone's hoping to understand it all a little better."
"So what was in Rogue's head?"
"Memories. Feelings."
"Any good ones?"
Any good ones?!
Rogue gasped as a sharp pain pulled at her hands. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been clutching the wall while she listened, and her knuckles were even whiter than normal. She chided herself on acting so guilty. That wasn't going to do her reputation any favors.
"It's true, you know." Those words were close, just outside her ear. Rogue jerked her head around and saw Clark standing there, a polite smile across his face. "I was going to tell you about that, but you were so drowsy the first time you woke, I didn't think it was a fair way of letting you know that someone else had gained access to your mind. According to the file, privacy is very high on your list of priorities."
She strained to hear Carol's answer, but kept a watchful eye on Clark. "What happened?"
"My best guess is that her powers have some kind of natural resistance to yours. I believe that if this had happened a few months ago, you could've touched her without any kind of difficulty. No exchange, no worries. But you're growing stronger, and her immunity can't keep up. It took everything in her, and some of your energy too to keep her safe. If you touched again-"
"She wouldn't have anything left ta block me."
"And you might absorb her fully."
"Ya mean-"
"Avoid a second contact unless you like the idea of sharing your body with another person's psyche."
Rogue collapsed against the wall. "This sucks." She'd touched a lot of people, and regretted a fair amount of those contacts, but never had there been the threat of permanence. If the voices were already so loud, how much worse would it be if they were not just whispers of an actual person, but a full-fledged mind? And what about Carol… losing her body forever?
"How did ya find out that Carol had absorbed part o' me?"
"She woke up talking about someone. In French. To my understanding, that's not a language she's fluent in."
Rogue blanched. "Ah need…"
"What? Water? Support? Here, lean on my shoulder."
"Ah need ta talk ta Carol."
"Don't worry, you'll get the chance. Maybe in a…"
"No." She was firm. "Now."
Clark sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder, ignoring as she tried to shake it off. "Miss Darkholme, you have to understand. The danger to Miss Danvers is extreme. Before the two of you are allowed in the same room again, it has to be approved by you, Miss Danvers herself, her mother, and Charles. Everyone must be informed of all of the risks and factors involved."
She was helpless, Rogue realized, as the words sunk in. She couldn't exactly go and defy the rules, because they made sense. She was dangerous to Carol. And she was the only who knew the full truth: Carol was dangerous to her, too.
Any good ones, Tabitha had asked.
If only they knew, a voice whispered.
Worse yet, maybe they do.
"You're not looking at all well, I'm afraid. Can I help you back to your room?"
"Ah…"
"Rogue!" There was not any one person calling her name but many, and it rang like a chorus through the hall. Suddenly, hands were on and around her, embracing and pushing her away. Faces, smiling, and she felt like she'd just returned on a very long trip.
Kurt smiled. "I heard you'd be all right, but it's a brother's prerogative to vorry."
Scott nodded. "Can't afford to lose you, Rogue. I hear you handled the balloon situation really well."
And even Jean looked thoroughly relieved. "Don't let Scott fool you, he was scared to death he'd have no one to mediate between him and Logan on the next training mission. And he won't have a mediator; because there's no way you're going on a training mission tonight, not while you're still recovering. How do you feel, anyway?"
"I was just taking her back to the… room…" Clark frowned, and swallowed, looking beyond the small crowd. "Miss Danvers, perhaps I ought to explain the rules about contact again…"
There, just a few feet away, a pale Carol was leaning on Tabitha's arm for support. She wore a bright smile, but there was something wrong with it. A strangeness to her face. "I'm not going to avoid my friends." She said.
"We thought we'd join your conversation," Tabitha added cheerfully.
"We are all friends here, aren't we?" Carol asked, all but ignoring Tabitha. "I realize I'm the new one, but…"
"We're quick to adopt." Kurt assured her, pleasantly.
"You're quick to friendliness," Carol agreed, "but friendship is another matter. That's something that involves trust." The tone was just so, and Rogue could hear it being aimed at her.
"While we do like our privacy here," Jean conceded, shifting uncomfortably, obviously picking up on the awkward vibe floating in the air. "We make a point to trust each other. When you're in the line of fire, it's important to know that you can rely on the person standing next to you." She blinked, her features slipping into a frown.
Scott rubbed her arm. "Are you all right?"
"Carol… you're…" Jean let out a deep breath. "I don't…"
"What do you do when some breaks that trust?" Carol asked quietly. Tabitha pulled away suddenly; so that the she swayed a moment, but caught her bearings fast enough to maintain her balance.
"Miss Danvers." Clark said in a low, warning voice.
"Yeah," she answered, "what's a journalist doing here playing doctor anyway?"
She received no answer. "Rogue," she said finally, "I don't know why you touched me. I didn't do anything to warrant that contact."
"Ah didn't do it on purpose!" Rogue cried, feeling the creepy crawly sensation of eyes, watching her.
"There was no way that could've been an accident. Come on. Just tell me why? I didn't know anything about you and that… that Gambit character… I never even suspected."
"What does Gambit have to do with this?" Scott demanded, cradling Jean in his arms.
"They've been meeting." The redhead whispered. "She's projecting the images. I wish she'd stop."
"You've been meeting Gambit?" Scott asked, with just a hint of an accusation lining his words.
Rogue felt the wall behind her back and realized she couldn't retreat any further. "Ah…"
"How long?"
"Since around the time I came," Carol answered.
"Since our secret intruder appeared," Jean murmured.
"No!" Rogue said, wishing she could melt into the wall. Oh, if only…
"No, not since then? Then since when?"
"Vhy?" Kurt implored, suspicion clear in his eyes, like he was begging for an answer that would explain everything perfectly, but wasn't convinced she had one handy.
Rogue opened her mouth to explain, to tell them that she hadn't been trading secrets, only affections and hadn't Kitty done the same thing? The words were lingering on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said and heard. And it occurred to her that she'd never been so much on the defensive and… why?
She'd been careful.
She liked Remy, a lot, but she'd kept so much from him, anything that could possibly involve the X-Men, or the building they lived in, or the school they attended or…
Didn't they know she knew better than that?
They don't know, she told herself. After all this time, they still don't know. They still think you're gonna go off and betray them with the first bad guy who winks in your direction? Carol's right about trust; it's necessary for friendship. And they aren't sharing it with you.
"Ah…" She tried again, willed the words to leave her lips. But they wouldn't. Because… She'd. Been. Careful.
"Rogue, don't you think we're entitled to an explanation?" Suddenly, staying far from Carol didn't seem like such a difficult task to manage. Something in her heart broke, and something hardened, and something flashed in her eyes. Cold, angry, no, furious. The others noted the change, because Jean sighed heavily, and Kurt took a step back, and Scott reached out with his hand, as if to touch her.
"Rogue," he said, using a Voice. A Voice was different than a voice. A voice was just a sound, just vibrating vocal chords. A Voice was planned manipulation, meant to bend her mood. She was having none of it.
"No." She pushed her way free from the mob, shaking her head, laughing a little, hurting more. She looked at them, at Clark, who'd fallen silent, obviously recognizing this was something beyond his grasp, at Carol, who wasn't the girl she'd imagined… and, she turned on her heels and left.
She knew exactly where to go.
Remy always knew romance novels were full of it. And by 'it', he meant garbage and lies and rather colorful, imaginative metaphors. He leaned against the bathroom sink, keeping the towel around his waist secured with a one hand, brushing sloppy hair from his face with the other. Romance novels, from what he'd heard, were full of muscled, longhaired, dashing heroes, who loved toiling out in the fields and getting hot and sweaty and being all around manly. Therein laid the lie, of course, because no sane man would actually want that: to slave away in the field, dousing his face with icy water when he could be slouching in a recliner, drinking beer, watching television, eating pizza, and all preferably in the company of a barely dressed, but attractive female. Where was that romance hero, he wanted to know.
Helping Magneto move equipment was not his idea of fun.
It didn't live anywhere near his idea of fun.
They didn't reside in the same universe.
He let out a sigh and made his way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where'd laid out his clothing. No elaborate uniform, just torn blue jeans and an old sweater. And Bella.
She'd returned and draped herself, rather attractively, on his desk, her hair tossed haphazardly to one side, legs crossed just so. Just so he'd notice, Remy thought dryly, making his way to his clothes, ignoring the girl. He picked up his bottoms, and his other necessities and moved to one corner where his bed could protect his modesty. The thought made him smile. Like he'd ever been modest.
"I saw y' father," she said conversationally.
"Oh?" He hadn't seen his family in a while.
"He misses y'."
"I'm sure he'll survive." LeBeau's were, if nothing else, survivors. Just look at him.
"I tol' him I'd like t' take y' home."
"What'd he say?"
She grinned. "Dat he'd like t' rule da world, an' we all oughta be used ta disappointment by now. Don't think he likes me, Remy."
"Neither do I." It wasn't as true as he'd like it to be, but it was true enough. He pulled up his zipper and came around for the sweater.
"Like an' love aren't da same." She pointed out.
"Y' right," he acknowledged, reasonably. "But let's not kid ourselves. Bot' are necessary if two people want t' live t'gether an' raise a family o' little children who will either like o' love one another."
"Is dat what you want, Remy? T' settle down and raise a family? Y' used t' want ta conquer da world. Marryin' me was just a formality."
He gave her a pointed look. "Maybe dat says somet'in', non?"
She sighed and stood. "I spent all day t'day t'inkin'. I never imagined it would be like dis, Remy. I t'ought you were just waitin' for me t' come and sweep y' on back home. Should a' known better. Remy LeBeau waits for no one, not even a girl he claimed t' love." She bit her lip. "When I realized it was different, two options were clear: go on back alone, o' fight whatever thing had hooked after me."
He fought the urge to protest her use of the word 'thing'. Rogue was more than that; she was soft -at least she looked soft- friendly, protective, passionate, humorous, loveable…
"But every day it seems like I'm sinkin' lower an' lower in yo' esteem." Bella scrunched her nose. "Tell me how t' convince you Remy, o' convince me it's over. I still can't believe that."
"It's over." He said quietly.
"Why?"
"Why?" He rolled his eyes. "Y' tried t' kill me."
"I've done dat before an' been forgiven."
"Y' changed an' I changed an' da new us aren't compatible."
"How have I changed?" She was defensive.
"Y' turned into Two Face!" Remy cried. "One minute it's oh, how nice, how wonderful da world. An' da next, y' pullin' y' knife outta m' back. I don't even know if dis is genuine, o' just another trick."
"Remy," she whined softly.
"No." He faced her, eye to eye. He frowned. "Why aren't wearin' dat necklace?" Because around her neck, Rogue's cross dangled. It was wrong, all wrong. Out of place and downright ugly.
"Y' had it around. I was just messin'."
"Take it off."
"Convince me it's over."
"Take it off." He repeated.
"Make me." She said back.
His shoulders sagged. "How?"
"Tell me da truth. Why is it over?"
"I'm in love wit' someone else."
She drew back, shrank away. "What?"
"I'm in love," he said again, "wit' someone else."
She studied him, a myriad of expressions parading across her face. Disbelief, as she waited for the punch line. Confusion, because how could he be in love with anyone but her. Anger, because how dare he be in love with anyone that wasn't her. Sadness, because he might actually be in love with someone that wasn't her.
"Kiss me."
"What?"
"A kiss." She repeated, and he looked to her for that sneaky, sultry smile, or coy bat of the eyelashes, but the girl before him seemed serious and honest. The girl he could've loved, or rather, had loved, for quite some time. And that was… unsettling.
"Why?"
"Because I could always tell what you were t'inkin' an' feelin' through yo' kisses." She sighed, dropping down to the chair and drawing her legs up into her arms. "I remember tastin' the emotion. God, no one else in the world is like dat, Remy. No one can do dat. So if y' want t' convince me, t' make me sure yo' sure, den a kiss it is."
"An' you'll go away?"
"Well," she sighed, "I am under contract wit' Eric, y' know."
"Money's not an' issue."
"No, but m' word is."
"Bella," and it was almost a whine, because he was so tired of this game.
"Fine." She was almost glum about it. "I'll break m' word an' go on back home if I taste love f' someone else."
Just curious, he asked, "What does it taste like?"
"I don't know. I'm guessin' bitter."
Remy nodded. He rubbed his hands on jeans, and God, was that nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach? Yes, a voice answered, it was nervousness, because this was like a test. Did he care so much about Rogue that someone else could taste it on his mouth? Banishing all fears, Remy blinked and then leaned forward. His mouth found Bella's and there was a pleasant buzzing feeling in his head but-
"This is his bedroom. Let me open the door for you."
-It wasn't any better than a drink of good champagne.
"A break?" The voice that spoke was low and broken.
He tore himself away from Bella, slid the backside of his hand across his mouth, and looked with horrified eyes to see Rogue standing there, looking something less than well. Her expression was one of loss and exhaustion and so much anger. Her eyes darted between him and Bella, before finding something of interest.
"Chere, I can explain."
"Is that my necklace?" This time, it wasn't low and it wasn't broken. Like an arrow, her words were sharp, crisp.
Bella reached back and tried to unlock the clasp around her neck, but Rogue beat her to it, grabbing the cross and ripping it away so quickly even the steely assassin flinched. "Ya stole my necklace an' gave it t' her?"
"Roguey, I-" If he could just explain…
"Although, really, it makes perfect sense. So long as yo' trickin' the x-girl, why not pick up a few presents for y' fiancé while y' at it."
"She's not m' fiancé." Remy said.
"No. What are y', married now?" Rogue cried. "After what Ah did, an'-"
"Rogue, please."
He stopped then, because she screamed. No words. No accusations. Just… screamed.
Loud.
Piercing.
And then…
Gone.
Remy moved to follow her, but a hand caught his. He looked over a shoulder and saw Piotr. "Let her go," the Russian advised.
He'd go to hell before he let the Russian get away with another one of those comments. "I don't know where y' get off givin' me advice, Colossus. Everyone here knows yo' betrayin' yo' own convictions every time y' sleep in dis house. An' just now, when y' could've done somethin' 'cause y' damn well know dat I care 'bout her, but y' stayed silent. Let me give you some advice, mon ami. It's not gon' get easier. One day soon y' gon' wake up an' realize dat y' can't stand da sight o' yo' own face in da mirror an' all o' dis is gon' make you sick t' yo' stomach." Remy leaned closer, lowered his voice. "An' if I'm around, Petey, I'm really gon' laugh."
He tore himself away and started running.
Outside, the rain had just begun.
A little Later…
So, she had connections.
Or rather, Mystique had connections, which she had finally decided to utilize.
A private jet that the X-Men couldn't track.
Money that paid the taxi fare.
Inside, she ached. She was desperately tired, but her eyes wouldn't close. To have trusted them all… and they never returned that sentiment. It was stupid of her to think that the X-Men would've ever forgotten her life with Mystique. Stupid to imagine that Remy was anything more than a sleazy lackey. Irene was the only one who'd always been there for her. More or less there, at any rate. Give or take little lies, but compared to everything else…
Besides, she was a Darkholme, and maybe she couldn't escape that after all.
Maybe she didn't want to.
For all of Mystique's trickery, the shape-shifter was always in control, never seemed overly hurt or pained.
The taxicab slowed to a halt, and the pudgy driver smiled back at her. "We're here. That'll be eight dollars and fifty cents, if y' please, ma'am."
She handed him the money -too much, but she didn't care. At least someone would be having a good day.
It was raining. Pouring. Thundering. Lightening flashed over her head like some kind of cosmic warning, but she didn't heed it. She was home, in Mississippi, with Irene.
It felt so familiar to walk that curvy stone path up to the door. The roses on the side were having a difficult time with the weather, but they seemed strong. They would last.
And so would she.
Rogue raised a fist and knocked loudly on the door. It took a moment, but soon the brass knob turned and the door peeked open. A young man stared back at her with curious blue eyes. "Rogue," he breathed, like it was honor for her to show up. He smiled widely and opened the door. "Please, Irene's in the kitchen. Waiting for you. It's a pleasure to meet you, I've heard so much…"
She moved past him. He called after her.
"Oh, I'm uh, Joseph, by the way."
Well, been waiting for that line since I agreed to make this more than a one shot. Ha. Don't say I didn't warn you. I offered a hint a few chapters back, and if you recognize it, give yourself a cookie. Well, tootles for now! Review and get a prize. Don't review and get… a pout.
Questions? Comments? Coconuts? I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo. Drop me a line anytime.
