Author's Note
Gah. This chapter and I did not really get along very well. I kept trying to write it, it didn't want to be written, then we argued a bunch and I'm not sure that we're on speaking terms at this particular moment. Anyway, kind of an unhappy chapter but they do pop up every once and a while. Sorry it took so long to get up. And I'm sorry to say that we're getting close to the end of the story. Should be just a couple more chapters.
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There was a storm brewing outside the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children. The wind had kicked up, howling maniacally as it tore through the trees, bending them like they were made of rubber instead of solid wood. Branches snapped and leaves were ripped away, sent spiraling through the air. Overheard the sky was pregnant with heavy story clouds, thick and as black as the empty space they hid from sight. Lightening flashed, leaping from the clouds to the ground, scorching some distance bit of grass. Thunder rolled and crashed like the screeching brakes of a subway car. The rain would be coming soon and it would be no gentle summer shower.
Despite the weatherman's insistence.
Inside the school a very different kind of storm was brewing. The students themselves were calm, even blissfully quiet for once, caught up in their evening activities. But there was a weight in the air. A kind of feeling that something was going to happen. Some secret exposed. Some theft uncovered. Some bad decision made. And all that could be done was to wait and see.
The headmaster's office was perhaps a bit small, but more than made up for the lack of space with its furnishings. A cherry oak antique desk. Walls lined from top to bottom with books; priceless first and second editions, as well as not so priceless textbooks with glossy covers and highlighted pages. The lamp on the desk was more than eighty years old and lovingly kept. At the moment, it was off, keeping the room in darkness broken only by the flickering flames that crackled with the stone fireplace.
Professor Charles Xavier watched their reflections dance in the window pane as he stared out over the front lawn. Behind him, on a flat screen monitor, were medical records; the tests that had been performed earlier on one of the students.
Codename: Rogue. Identity: Unknown. Mutation: Absorbs memories, psyche, abilities, and life energy through skin-to-skin contact.
He had studied them thoroughly, taking in the information as well as the observations and thoughts of the doctor who had performed the tests.
McCoy, H. Subject's abilities appear to have blocked by a short energy blast of unknown specifications. Has resulted in subject being unable to absorb energy or use previously store energy patterns.
Folding his hands, Xavier rested his chin on top of them, his eyes focused on the darkness outside, seeing only the files as they flipped through his mind.
Upon re-examining X-rays taken of the subject on 4.23.05 (see file 37689-R7) I have discovered a slight mark between vertebrae 5 and 6, suggesting a possible break or fracture. The mark is gone in X-rays taken on 5.20.05, most likely due to the use of the accelerated healing factor previously absorbed from X-man00004, codename: Wolverine. If this mark is an indication of a break, it may be the cause of the subject's short term paralysis.
But try as he might to focus on the rigid, unyielding scientific facts that streamed through his mind, he found his thoughts drifting elsewhere. To other thoughts. And other memories. Or, better put, the memories of others.
There appears to be a connection between the subject's x-gene and a portion of the brain located near the stem. It is my opinion that the subject's lack of control of abilities as a result of some traumatic event. It is possible that the subject is unaware of this memory and its continual repression is the cause of the failure to control.
Had he seen that memory? He had been inside Rogue's mind before, had been given a glimpse into the chaos that had implanted itself in the young woman's head, forcing her to contend with a host of voices and psyches not her own. There had been so much to see, memories and thoughts flying by, but it had been difficult to separate the absorbed memories from her memories. And he hadn't been there to sort through them; he had been there to purge them. Quickly and forcibly. But he had seen a few scenes from her past, snapshots that had blurred by, some normal, some difficult.
Some more than difficult.
He lowered his forehead to his hands, suddenly feeling very old and very fragile.
Someone knocked on his door.
"Come in."
The door cracked open and Scott stuck his head in. He stumbled all the way in when the door was pushed open further. Logan stood behind him, half a cigar clamped in between his teeth.
"Yes, Scott?" The Professor turned away from the window and gave the ruby-eyed teenager his attention. Scott rubbed at the back of his neck.
"I just thought you should know that I went by Rogue's room and she isn't there. I did a sweep of the mansion and couldn't find her. Nobody else has seen her either. Not since dinner."
Xavier closed his eyes briefly, sending his thoughts racing out over the grounds. "No," he said, opening them again. "She isn't here."
Logan pulled the cigar out of his mouth. "We got a bigger problem, Charles. X-jet is missin'."
Frowning, Xavier turned back to the window.
The rain began to fall.
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Flying the X-jet wasn't particularly difficult under normal circumstances. Rogue had done it on a number of occasions. Flying the X-jet in the middle of a thunderstorm was only slightly more challenging. She had managed to do it before without dire consequences. But flying the X-jet while a sinfully sexy Cajun sat inches away, doing marvelously delightful things to her ear with his tongue was just a tad more than difficult and a good deal more than challenging.
It was damn near impossible.
She closed her eyes briefly and shivered at the feeling of his warm breath whispering over her skin. She wanted to tell him to stop; she really did. Because otherwise, someone was going to be scraping them off the pavement after she crashed the jet into the parking lot of a mini-mall or something. (Having concluded at a young age that she would die a horrible death, Rogue had felt, and still felt, that the most horrendous place she could think to die was within sight of a shopping mall. At least, at the time of her death she would finally know whether or not God hated her. If it took place outside the mall, God didn't mind her. Inside the mall extreme hatred.)
"Uh . . . Remy? You're really goin' hafta cut that out before Ah turn us into a fiery ball of death." Rogue winced slightly at the words as they tumbled of her mouth. Usually she didn't give a damn about the things she said; whatever she thought, she spoke. But now the words sounded a little . . . . rough in her ears. She couldn't seem to help it though. With him sitting so close, constantly running his fingers over the back of her hand, blowing air in her ear . . . . Christ, her brain was starting to fizzle. And when you're flying a very expensive and complicated piece of equipment, your brain really needed to be in on the experience.
It took Gambit a few moments to focus in on what she had said. He pulled his head back away from her neck and blinked slowly, looking a little like a drug addict coming down from a high. In some ways, that was exactly how he felt. Like someone had pumped a needle full of heroin directly into his brain. And though he had never been one for "chemical stimulants", as Magneto had once referred to them, he found that he didn't mind this particular feeling all that much. He felt a bit like he was floating and at the same time, it felt like he weighed a million pounds. He felt stuffed with her; his eyes, his nose, his skin. He couldn't bring himself to stop touching her—her hair, her skin, her lips—couldn't seem to get close enough. At this point, his brain informed him, if you get any closer, you'll meld together. Meld together. Well now, dat didn't sound too bad.
"Ya know, cherie. Wit' yore powers on de blink, dis could be the only chance for us to be toget'er."
Rogue slowly turned her head away from the dozen of blinking lights in front of her. She stared at him. Minutes ticked by silently.
"You didn't really think that was gonna work, did you?" she wanted to know.
Gambit scratched at his chin. "It was worth a shot, non?" Folding his arms across his chest, he stretched his legs out as far as he could manage. "How much longer till we git dere?"
She glanced back at the panel. "About an hour."
"Jus' enuff time fore Gambit to take a nap." He gave her a sideways glance and a grin. "Unless cherie changes her mind and—"
"Is everything about sex with you?"
He tilted his head thoughtfully and considered the question. Everyt'ing? Dat was a lot of t'ings. Hmmm. His mouth opened slightly and then snapped shut. Hmmm. Everyt'ing?
"Oui," he said finally, nodding.
Shaking her head, she gave a little huff. "Ah'm so glad the one thing Ah know about you is that you're a sex-crazed Cajun."
"Actually, dat's two things. Sex-crazed and Cajun."
"It's going to be three things in a second. Sex-crazed, Cajun, and dead."
"Gambit not sure how sex-crazed he'll be when he's dead." At her seething glare he threw his head back and laughed. He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "Gambit's an open book, cherie. You ask anyt'ing you like."
There was just something about his easy-going manner that pissed her off. Scowling, she turned back to the controls, her shoulders hunched. She could hear him chuckle quietly and it made her grit her teeth. Damn frustrating Cajuns. Damn frustrating boys in general. Against her will, her eyes slid over to him, taking in the long length of him, the broad shoulders, the stubble that darkened his cheeks. Okay. Not boy. Man.
Damn frustrating men.
In an abrupt motion, she punched at the controls to put the jet into auto-pilot and swung to face him.
"Tell me what happened that night."
Gambit's face instantly pokered up. He had been hoping she had forgotten about that, or else remembered it on her own. He didn't want to remember the crazed, dead cold expression that had been on her face, the blood on her hands. Nor did he want to explore whatever had caused her to spin so out-of-control.
"Which night you talkin' 'bout? Dey all so cluttered in Gambit's sex crazed mind."
She shook her head and he could see the seriousness in her eyes. And underneath it, the subtle plea. "Don't play with me. You know what night Ah mean. Ah remember talkin' with you in the bar and then Ah was back in mah room. Ah saw you," she said, remembering the glowing red eyes. "What happened after Ah left the bar?"
He thought about lying to her; telling her that he didn't know. That he hadn't left the bar. He knew he was a good enough liar to convince her. But as he looked at her face, calm and steady as it stared back at him, he knew that he couldn't. In fact, he was a little afraid that he'd never be able to lie to her again.
"You shore you want to know?" he asked finally, hoping she might change her mind at the last second.
She nodded.
"Alright," he said. But he didn't begin right away. He rubbed a hand over his face and stared out the front windows of the jet, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. Talking wasn't exactly his strong suit. Flirting? Yes. Talking? Not so much. Pro'lly best to start at de beginin'. But where was the beginning?
"You remember gettin' all huffy and leavin' de bar?"
Rogue shook her head again. "No. Ah remember kickin' your ass and leavin' the bar, though."
He winced slightly. "Right. Anyways, Gambit decided to follow you, 'cause you intrigued him. Most femmes like to . . . . wrestle with Gambit, not kick his ass."
"And we're back to sex. How surprising."
"So Gambit went outside, even d'ough it was five million degrees below zero—"
"People are crazy to live up here."
"You can say dat again. Anyway, you weren't outside, so Gambit asked some femmes if dey had seen you. Dey were real polite—"
"Ah jus' bet they were."
"—and dey pointed out which direction you'd headed in. Gambit started walkin'." He paused slightly, because the memory was slowly beginning to sharpen. And he really didn't want it to. "Dere was a scream. T'ought it might be you."
She felt herself breathe in sharply. "But it wasn't me."
"Non. You weren't the one who was screaming. Dere was another girl. And four men. Looked like dey had roughed her up some." He had to stop again. It felt like he was trying to force a hunk of lead through his throat. Was this what the telling the truth felt like? No wonder he had taken to avoiding it at all costs. Or maybe some truths were just worse than others. Because they had the power to change things. Her. Him. Them. Something was going to change.
"Three of de men were down when I got there." His voice had lost some of its drawl. "You had de fourth one in your hand. And you were . . ." He trailed off, his eyes shifting around the cabin, until finally they met hers. He wanted her to tell him to stop. That she didn't want to know. But she didn't. She continued to wait, body braced as if expecting a blow, her eyes steady on his.
"And you were killin' him. Beatin' him with your fists. Dey were covered in blood. I yelled for you to stop, but I don't t'ink you could hear me. I tried to grab your arms, but you one strong femme when you angry, cherie. Pro'lly when you not angry." He said it without any humor. "I got hold of your neck. Was gonna try and knock you out but couldn't get a clear shot. So I broke your neck." The words tumbled out of him like a waterfall, expelled in nearly one breath. He waited for her to say something, but she only sat there.
"Dat's pretty much it. You were unconscious and I carried you back to your room. Den I left. Nearly got gutted by your guard dog on de way out." He tried for humor that time but it fell flat between them. There was an itch between his shoulder blades as a heavy silence descended, pressing down with an unidentified weight. Gambit rolled his shoulders and caught himself just before he started to squirm in his chair. He hadn't done that since he'd been a child, scolded for doing something. He wished she'd say something.
She remembered. Something that felt a lot like a tiny bolt of lightning had shot through her brain and she remembered. Could see the images clearly. Could hear the ugly sounds. Could smell the horrible mixture of sweat and alcohol. Could feel the smack of skin against skin. And it was as if she had been suddenly transported back in time to that night. Her mind had hidden it away and now she was going to try and drag it out into the light. Rogue lifted her head and saw him watching her, a mix of concern, sadness, and fear splayed across his face.
"Ah was raped."
She saw his face change. Surprise. Shock. Question. Anger. She shook her head before he could speak.
"Not by one of them. By mah father." She gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Ah don't know if he was really mah father. But that's what Ah called him. Daddy. Mystique had adopted me when Ah was about four, but he raised me. Then one night, when Ah was eleven, he came home drunk. Told me he had a present for me. And then he raped me." Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears and she felt disconnected from her own body, as if someone else had taken over and was telling the story.
"Ah remember beggin' him to stop. It hurt. It hurt so bad. And then there was somethin' else besides the pain. One time in school, the teacher had us all form a circle and hold hands. Then she ran a weak current through us to light a light bulb. It felt a little like that. Only stronger. It hurt him. Ah could feel him tryin' to let go of me. But it was like our skin was stuck together. And then . . . and then Ah was him. Ah could feel everythin' he had been feelin' when he had been raping me. It made me throw up."
She stopped, pressing a hand to her mouth and Gambit knew she was feeling everything all over again. There was a painful ache in the center of his chest that he didn't recognize and a violent buzzing in his mind that he knew was his temper. His fists clenched and unclenched by his sides and he knew exactly how Jean Luc had felt all those years ago.
"Ah killed him. Held on so long that Ah killed him. And then Mystique came. She said that Ah had been given a very special gift." Rogue's jaw tightened. "She had known what he was going to do. She set it up. She set the whole thing up. To jump start mah powers. And to make sure Ah couldn't control them." She exhaled a sharp, short breath and looked at him. "What do you think about that?"
Her chin was set in a gesture of defiance and her face was dry, but Gambit could see the tears filling her eyes. She seemed unwilling to let them fall. There was sadness and anger in her expression, and behind it, there was a bone-deep exhaustion. How tired she must be, he thought, of being forced to constantly wade upstream through life, always ducking to avoid blows that would drop anyone else, always having to question the motives of others, never being allowed to reach out on account of her powers as well as the untrustworthiness of seemingly every person she came in contact with.
No, he'd never be able to lie to her again.
Gambit felt his anger slowly drain out of him to be replaced with something much bigger and much more powerful. He had to swallow because his mouth had gone dry. Then he took a deep breath.
"Is dis a bad time time to tell you that Gambit t'inks he might be fallin' in love wit' you?"
She stared at him for a long while. Then gave a short laugh. The tears began to fall silently. And when he reached for her, she buried her face in his chest and cried.