Chapter Eleven

Rogue fingered the soft edges of the box, brushing her fingertips against its cool smoothness. It was battered and dirty, stained with flecks of mud, blood and tears, but to her it was made of gold. It contained the thing most precious to her: her memories.

Biting her lip, Rogue carefully removed the lid and looked at the contents. It mostly contained pictures, dozens of photos showing various people, but among the pictures were other things: a ticket stub from when Professor X had taken them to see Macbeth, a few dried petals from the red rose Scott had given her for Valentines Day, and some dried petals from the white rose Remy had given her, a small teddy bear figurine Kurt had given her for her birthday, a bracelet of red, black and white beads that Kitty had made for her, a small spike Evan had used to pin her posters to her bedroom wall, a silver ring Jean had given her for Christmas, and a dirty page from a book of poems that Jubilee had given her for Christmas; the rest of the book was long-gone, destroyed in a fight like most of her possessions.

Rogue picked up one of the photos and smiled sadly at the picture. It showed all the girls, the X-Women as Jubilee called them, covered in flour, sugar, cocoa powder and other ingredients, laughing as they tried in vain to bake something that mildly resembled triple-chocolate cake.

Rogue sighed and trailed her fingers along the glossy surface of the photo. She missed them so much. They had been her friends and her family. They had given her support and help and comfort. Leaving them, knowing that they were going to be killed for their cause, had been the hardest thing she'd had to do.

She'd had to leave at night, when the fighting was most intense so no one would notice her, and she hated that she'd had to leave a battle in which her friends were fighting. She remembered how desperately she'd wanted to go and help them….

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Screams and war cries filled the night air, mingled with the sound of machine guns and powers. Blood splattered against the grass, dark red and rich green mixing together like Christmas decorations. The moon and stars hid behind thick clouds as if too scared to witness the ferocious fight bellow.

She crouched on the hill, watching the massacre, and fought against the desire, the need, to help her friends, to fight with them, to protect them. She saw the bright red flash of Scott's power and she wondered if he was in danger. That was a stupid thought because they were all in danger, but she wondered if he was in extra danger, as in the 'about to get killed if a miracle didn't happen' kind of danger.

Then she saw two indistinct shapes fly through the air, thudding into the ground and staying there. It had to have been Jean; the redhead psychic rarely left Scott's side in a battle.

A loud barking sounded amidst the screams and gunshots, followed by a fierce growl and a pained yelp. The only animal mutant in the area was Rahne, and Rogue held her breath, praying that someone had noticed whatever had happened and had alerted a medic.

She knew she should leave, that the longer she lingered, the more the chance of discovery increased, but she just couldn't leave her friends, not now. They needed her, needed her strength and her skill, needed her powers and her weapons.

She fingered the butt of her gun, a Browning Hi-Power. Surely no one would notice if someone started shooting from the hill. She could fire a few shots, take out a few of the men, and then flee, the comfort of knowledge that she had helped relieving some of her guilt.

Go now, Rogue, a quiet but firm voice in her head said. You must leave before you are discovered. You must leave NOW.

I cannot leave my friends in danger! She cried in a mixture of sorrow and anger and frustration.

You can and you must. You have said your goodbyes and you must go. Go to Dr. Tear, she will help you, she will hide you. Please, Rogue.

With tears streaming down her face, Rogue nodded and picked up her duffel bag. She looked down at the battle, wishing there was more light so she could see her friends, and as if the Gods had heard her, a cloud slid aside and moonlight washed over the battle.

Her breath hitching in her throat, Rogue scanned the bloody scene and picked out her friends. Jean was there, maintaining a protective bubble around Cyclops and Spyke as they killed several men. Nightcrawler appeared briefly to teleport a wounded Wolfasbane away from the fight. Shadowcat ran into a beefy man and emerged out of his back, her bloody hand clutching at his heart. She threw it into the face of another man and then dived to the side to avoid a bullet. Wolverine snarled as he buried his claws in the chest of a broad-shouldered woman, throwing her at someone else. Storm threw a lightning bolt at someone, but then screamed as someone else shot her in her already-wounded shoulder. Wolverine shouted at her, fighting his way to her, and Rogue smiled sadly as he saw him protect his fiancé with a fierce determination.

"Goodbye," Rogue whispered, and then turned her back on the fight, on her friends, and ran away.

She fled, but vowed that she would return, and she would get her revenge….

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A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered running to Cathryn, asking to be hidden away from the world until the Wars were over. Every aspect of her life had changed that night. Cathryn had given her a new name and a new identity, hiding her in plain sight as a street bum in New York, giving her a DNA-masker to hide her mutant DNA from any scans.

She had lived on the streets for months, her clothes torn and dirty, her skin and hair covered in dirt, shuffling along the streets and mumbling to herself, all the while keeping an eye on the news. She had to know just when to start her revenge.

That day came when she saw Scott's televised execution. She had known it was coming for days, they had advertised it greatly ('Watch the last of the dangerous terrorist mutant group known as the X-Men put to justice live!) and had been torn as to whether or not she should watch it. She knew it would scar her, the image of his death burned permanently into her mind, but in the end she just had to watch. She couldn't, she wouldn't, turn her back on him again. She would watch and she would get revenge.

Sniffing, Rogue wiped away the tear and put the photo back in the box, carefully replacing the lid. She carefully put the box under the bed and stood up, wiping away the tear and tucking her hair behind her ear.

Someone knocked on the door and she checked her appearance in the mirror before answering it, frowning at Selene.

"Me and Alistor are gonna go to the club, okay?" she asked, and Rogue realised that darkness had fallen while she had been lost in her memories.

Selene was wearing a pair of tight dark blue jeans and a black corset-style top that emphasised her cleavage and her slim waist. Her shoes were a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals that added two inches to her height. Her dark brown hair had been pulled back into an elegant French plait and she had used just the right amount of eye makeup to draw attention to her sparkling green eyes.

"You look good," Rogue muttered. "Have fun."

"We will. Ya wanna come with?"

"No, I've got work to do."

If Selene doubted this, she didn't show it, she just nodded and walked away.

Rogue closed the door and leant against it, memories pushing insistently at her psyche. She shook her head and booted up her laptop, but couldn't focus on the screen, her thoughts always going back to the box. She sighed and gave in, leaning over to get it from under the bed.

Sighing again, she reached into the box and picked up a few of the white rose petals, gently rubbing them between her fingertips. She missed Remy. He had always been there for her, in his own weird way, always there with a wicked smile and an equally wicked comment. He'd always been there to make her smile, always helped her see that life wasn't all bad. In his own way, he had been family to her, just as much as Jean or Scott or Kurt.

And when she needed comfort and support more than ever, it had been he who gave it to her….

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War. I had never fully appreciated just how terrifying one little word could be. So many things were associated with that one little word-blood, pain, death, sorrow, tears, suffering, destruction.

Would I survive this war that I knew was coming? Would my friends? My family? Or would we all be killed, destroyed, crushed beneath the heels of oppression and hate? Would the flames of war consume us until we were nothing but bloodstained ashes?

I sighed and studied my gloved hands. There was so much potential in my body, the ability to cause so much pain and death to so many people lying just beneath the surface of my, waiting patiently to be released by a single touch. The Professor always called my mutancy a gift, but it wasn't a gift, it was a curse. Anyone I touched, I hurt. I dragged their strength, their energy, their very life-force out of their bodies and took it into mine. And if I held on long enough, I would kill them. How could anything that terrible be called a gift?

But now it was. Now, my friends were looking at me differently, because I had the potential to be the strongest of the X-Men. That title had always been held by Scott, but now I could take it from him, because now, I didn't have to restrain myself.

But I didn't want to. I didn't want to fight in a war and kill loads of people and watch my friends do the same. I'm not a coward, I actually consider myself quite brave and courageous, but I just didn't want to see my friends get hurt.

Why did we even have to fight? We had been fighting for years to protect mutants from the hatred of normal humans. Why did we have to continue fighting? Were we truly expected to give our lives for our cause?

"You look troubled, cher," a familiar voice said, and I sighed as Remy sat down next to me.

"I'm not in the mood to play games with you, Remy," I growled, but he just smiled at me in that infuriating way he has, like he knows all my deepest darkest secrets and is amused by them.

"Who said I wanted to play games? What's worrying you, ma petite fleur?"

"Nothing I would tell to you." I glared at him but he didn't go away, and after a while I sighed again and just gave in.

"War's coming," I said quietly, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Oui."

I stared at him, not comprehending how he could be so casual about something so horrific and devastating? Did he not understand that we might all die? That we might have to watch our friends and family die? Did he not understand that our lives were going to change forever? That we would never be the same?

"Look, cher, this is what I think: we are mutants, oui? We have abilities and skills that set us apart from others. We are special, and some people can't understand or accept that. They want to hurt us for something that we had no control over. So, we'll kill them, not because we want to, but because we have to. We'll kill them so that they don't kill us and the ones we love. And when all the killing is over with, people will be safe."

What he said made sense, and I really wanted to believe him, but… I couldn't. I just didn't want to kill. For all my talk and actions, for all my threats and insults, I wasn't a killer, and I didn't want to be.

"Do you really want to leave your friends to get hurt, cher?" he asked softly, and I sighed.

No, I didn't. I wouldn't and I couldn't. If my friends were in danger, then I would protect them. I would kill for them.

I don't know why, but all of a sudden, I needed, as lame as it sounds, a hug. I needed someone to hold me and comfort me, to tell me everything would be alright, that I wasn't alone. I needed that so desperately.

"It's alright to need, cher," Remy said in that silky voice he had, and I looked at him with tears in my eyes.

"I'm scared, Remy," I whispered, hating that I was actually confessing that, and to him of all people.

"I know."

He opened his arms, and I fell into them, curling against his warm, muscled body and holding tight. He held me as tightly as I clung to him, surrounding me with his warmth and his strength. He never said a word, and neither did I, because we didn't need words.

I could feel his heart beating in his chest, a steady, soothing beat, and I focused on the rhythm, letting it calm my own pounding heart.

War was coming, I could feel it in my trembling body, and I would face it, for my family. I would protect them with my cursed gift, because I loved them. I would fight for them, die for them, kill for them….

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Salty tears splashed onto Rogue's cheeks and she choked back a sob. Her body trembled just like it had that night, but this time, no one was there to hold her and comfort her, no one was there to soothe and calm her. No one was there. And they never would be.