Her name was Rogue. Or, at least, that's what she was called. She had been in the Xavier Institute for the Mentally Insane for so long that those who had known her name had moved on to better jobs. Xavier probably knew, but he wouldn't tell her or anyone else. It would just confuse the situation.

Rogue was lying down in bed, reading a book: I'll Love You Forever. Yes, it was a children's book... but she really couldn't handle too much else. Rogue had been told that she had an acute case of autism. She couldn't allow herself to become overly stimulated, which meant that she had become a person of routine, timing her day so that she could avoid activities or new situations that could cause her brain to overload. One thing that she had been taught to avoid at all costs was human contact. It was... just too much.

Sighing, Rogue let the book fall, looking to her left at the wall that separated her room from the one belonging to Jean Grey-Summers. Jean had decided not long after she had moved into the Institute that Rogue was one of the many mutants in Jean's fantastic reality. Rogue smiled, remembering the day when, during lunch, Jean had suddenly stood and run over to Rogue's table, yelling about a mission. Rogue had frozen, scared stiff. She ended up not sleeping for almost a week… but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Rogue had watched Jean from a distance, learning of Jean's world of X-Men and mutants. It was amazing how well Jean made the pieces fit together so that she had a happy ending. As Pheonix, she and her daughter were eternal. Rogue had never met Jean's daughter, though. Maybe they kept her away…

Rogue's mind wandered until there was a knock at her door. Three light taps. Remy, right on time. Smiling, Rogue rose from her bed and opened the door for him, then ushered him in, and pointed to where he should sit. Not talking, he sat at the desk she pointed him to. He knew it was most comfortable when she was in control. Reaching into his pocket, Remy pulled out the deck of cards. He could usually be found in the lounge area, playing solitaire, but once a day, at the same time, he would come to Rogue's room and play war with her. It was a simple game… a good game for Rogue. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Rogue and Remy were now facing the desk from adjacent sides. Shuffling the deck slowly and deliberately, he asked rogue about her day. It was just a formality, really. He knew all her days were the same.

Maybe he forgets, though Rogue thought. Remy was known for a volatile temper, and was kept under sedatives for much of the day.

Dealing the deck, Remy's hands hesitated every time he dropped a card onto Rogue's pile, his eyes constantly flickering towards hers, which we hidden by the hair that had fallen over her face as she stared at her growing pile.

"Yo' … see t'em yesterday?" He finally ventured to ask, referring to the visitors that Jean Grey had had.

"Ah heard them, yes," she muttered, quietly. "they were… quite loud."

"Scott come ta see moi afterward. He tol' moi… he tol' moi 'bout Rachel…" His voice remained solemn. He and Rogue had speculated for months about Jean's little girl, and he had never suspected the truth… but now that he knew it, he thought rogue should know.

"Yes?" Rogue replied, looking up, and eyes sparkling slightly with interest.

"He tol' Remy dat t'e girl… she been dead fo' a year now…" he spoke slowly and deliberately, due to both the sedatives and his consideration for Rogue's condition.

"J-Jean-Jean always said- Jean's always said," Rogue stammered, having trouble getting the words out. "She always- always said- she always said the girl was- girl was a- was away!"

"Remy know' she did," Remy said, putting the deck down (which was only halfway passed out), "but Jean sick… we all sick. An' we need to hold on to da trut'"

"Maybe… M-Maybe the truth isn't better!" Rogue cried, becoming even louder and standing up from the bed.

"Rogue!" Remy shouted, standing and reaching for her. "Calm down! Dey'll come in he'e, den Remy won' get at see ya anymo'e."

"Don't touch me!" Rogue screamed as Remy's hand came toward her, and she scrambled backward, falling onto the bed in the process.

"Rogue…" Remy groaned, pulling his hand back, but advancing slightly toward her.

"Get away!" Rogue's eyes widened and her knuckles grew white as she gripped the sheets, overwhelmed. "Get out! Get out! GET OUT!"

"Rogue!" Remy shouted, leaping to clamp his hand over her mouth so she would just be quiet. He had forgotten, just this once. But once was enough. Rogue stiffened under his touch, her eyes growing even wider as they focused on the hand that was being held over her mouth, then flashed back up to meet Remy's eyes. "Rogue… don't…" Remy almost whimpered, already realizing his mistake, but not taking the hand from her mouth. It started with her hands. The quaking that seemed to come from inside them shook them loose from the sheets. It traveled up her arms… up her legs… and soon her whole body was convulsing. She had no idea what was going on. She couldn't see anything. She had no idea exactly when the attendants threw the door open and grabbed Remy, pulling him away from her. Then they just held her down. Soon, someone came with a comforter and piles of blankets, which they threw on her. Calmed by the pressure, the quaking slowly stopped, and Rogue went to sleep, exhausted.


Laying awake that night, Rogue remembered little of what had happened that day. She had already forgotten the truth about Rachel. But she did know one thing: Remy touched her. She couldn't remember him touching her… but she knew he touched her. Making up her mind, Rogue forced herself to sit up in bed. Slowly, she opened the door to her own room, and silently walked the few steps to Jean's door, where she tapped lightly, praying Jean was awake.

"Rogue?" Jean asked in a whisper, after cracking the door open.

"It's me," Rogue responded. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Jean held the door open, and Rogue slowly, cautiously, entered. She stopped in the middle of the room, and refused when Jean asked her to sit.

"Jean, I know things I shouldn't."


A/N: sorry it took so long. School and such. More later.