Chapter 8

She couldn't see much of anything when he slowed the boat, having cried herself sick and given up staring into a sea of endless darkness and fog. At some point during her boat ride, she'd managed to convinced herself that Magneto was going to kill her. Maybe she didn't even care anymore.

The boat disappeared into what looked like the mouth of a cave, coming to rest in a slip once inside. Pyro turned the motor off and hopped agilely onto the dock, beginning to tie the boat up. Rogue watched him with dull eyes and remained silent.

He finished and came back onto the boat, putting the key in his pocket, then approached her. In the light she saw he looked almost as windblown as her. "So I'm going to untie you, but I'll shoot you in like, the knee or something, if you try anything. Okay? That hurts," he informed her seriously. "Just so you know."

Rogue merely nodded, and didn't struggle at all as he released the knots with a few pulls. His gloved hand wrapped around her arm and he yanked her up, hard.

She allowed him to tug her off the boat, quiet.

for the moment. He dragged her through a steel door into a darkened walkway, everything apparently surrounded by rock. She could hear the roar of the sea fading behind them as they disappeared further inside the darkness.

"So you got her."

Rogue looked up at that, hearing another voice drifting out of the shadows. It was a flat, oddly atonal sort of sound. She saw yellow eyes peering at her before the rest of the woman appeared, naked blue scales and short red hair. Mystique. Doesn't she ever get cold?

"Yeah," Pyro said, and pulled her forward. "Wasn't that hard. They don't teach 'em how to run at Xavier's, I guess." He smirked at that.

Rogue glared at him, but she was too tired to say anything. Plus, it was probably best to keep her mouth shut with the two of them there.

Mystique gave a little laugh. "Magneto said to bring her to him as soon as you got back. You tie up the boat?"

"No, I decided to let it float away," Pyro drawled, and sighed. "Of course I did, though I know you'll check it anyway."

"Go on," Mystique commanded, but Rogue was surprised to hear a thread of amusement in the woman's voice. That someone found Pyro amusing was a surprise, to be sure.

Pyro led her through a labyrinthine set of corridors, which she tried her best to memorize, and then eventually gave up. It was next to impossible to tell where they were going except for up--and then only because there were occasionally some stairs to climb.

They ended up in front of a set of metal double-doors, and Pyro knocked twice. "It's me, I have her." He looked at Rogue for the first time since they'd left the boat. "She might be frozen or something, though." He peered at her curiously. "She's not really saying anything."

She had little doubt to whom she'd been brought when the door opened on its own.

Pyro dragged her in the room, finally letting her go with a little shove that she privately thought was unnecessary. Rogue stared resolutely at the floor, which was rock, and tried to prepare herself for eventually having to face him.

"Rogue. How nice to see you again."

She finally raised her head, and tried to keep her face expressionless. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of appeared worried. Which was sort of impossible, but she tried her best.

Magneto looked much the same as the last time she'd seen him; frightening. He was standing behind a desk, his expression inscrutable. She suddenly found it hard to breathe, and couldn't say anything in response to his rather inane greeting. That wasn't only because of the fact she was shaking with cold and exhaustion, because she'd not been able to say anything the last time he'd spoken to her on the X-Jet, though she'd really, really wanted to.

She'd thought of all sorts of things to say in response to that We love what you've done with your hair comment—her favorite was Oh, you think your failure looks good on me, do you?, but she'd not been able to say a word to him. She'd gone for her glove instead.

That didn't seem all that wise at the moment and besides, he'd made the restraints too tight for her to tug her gloves off even if she wanted to.

"Pyro, you may go."

Pyro turned without another word and left her there, standing like some demented penitent in handcuffs before him. A chair moved across the room and hit her legs from behind, not hard, but with enough force to make her fall into it with a rather unladylike sort of thud.

She concentrated on her hands, head bowed, and didn't look at him anymore.

"So. As you might expect, I am very interested to hear why you're here. Did Charles send you?" His voice was benign, but she remained silent, not trusting him.

"Ah. The silent game. Name, rank, serial number, is that it?" He sounded amused. "You know, it would be much easier to just answer my questions, Rogue, rather than have me force the answer out of you." His voice hardened. "Which I will do, if you do not start talking."

"I'm not—I didn't mean to end up here," she whispered, darting a quick glance at him before staring at her lap again.

"Would you care to explain that?" He moved from around his desk, and Rogue sucked in a quick breath and tried to think through what she needed to say.

"N-no. I—you see, I was in Lewiston, and I—I had to leave. So I caught a ride with a trucker, and he d-dropped me off here. In Bar Harbor, I mean." She was babbling, but at least she was talking. It was a start.

"This fascinating tale is not explaining to me how you ended up on my pier," he said coldly. Suddenly he reached out and caught her chin between his gloved hands, raising her face up to his.

Her eyes were wide with fright, and she was breathing much too fast as she struggled to make some sense out of what happened so he would stop staring at her like that. "I was eating lunch." That sounded ridiculous even to her, but it was the truth.

He sighed and dropped her chin, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The gesture was oddly humanizing—she noticed he looked tired. "You were eating lunch. On the pier that just happens to have camera surveillance wired straight to here?" He drew another chair over and sat directly in front of her. "If you were me, would you believe that?"

"Yes, because it's true," she informed him. "I've never been to Bar Harbor in my life." She forced herself to meet his gaze, which wasn't easy, but she hoped if there was any way he could see the truth in her eyes that he would.

"I have, many times. There are nicer places to have one's lunch."

She almost scowled at him, but then remembered who he was and changed her mind. "Look, I—I'd seen it before. But..." she was hesitant to tell him it had been in a dream, because how insane would that make her sound?

Wait. He's the one that strapped you in a machine designed to mutate world leaders. He's not playing with a full deck, himself, is he?

He was looking vaguely triumphant, as if she'd just admitted she was on some secret espionage mission for the Professor. "Yes?"

Rogue watched him carefully. "I had...I had your memory of that place, but I didn't know what it was. I didn't even know it was your memory at first, and when I figured it out, I wanted to leave, but then Pyro showed up..."

She watched the moment it registered with him. "Ah, yes. Your ability to absorb memories, of course. Though, to my knowledge, it's been quite some time since Liberty Island. You've been stuck with me all this time?"

Why did he look like that amused him? "No, not really. I just...you're like the others. Sort of quiet, but still there, sometimes. I saw the pier in a dream." She winced, but if admitting it got her out of there, then... "And when I saw it in person, I just..."

To her surprise, he nodded. "I think I understand. I don't know that I believe you, but your story isn't implausible.

"Of course," he said smoothly, standing up, "It's exactly the sort of story Charles would concoct if he were to send you here."

"Trust me, he didn't," Rogue responded darkly.

"I trust very few people, Rogue, and you are certainly not one of them. Now," he waved his hand and she found herself compelled to rise—he was using his power to tug on the handcuffs—and he gazed down at her thoughtfully. "What to do with you?"

"Let me go?" It was worth a try.

"It seems I would be doing you a great disservice, however. After nearly killing you, perhaps I owe you a bit of a good turn." He smiled, and she took a step backwards. "Don't you think?"

"Um...no, really. You don't," she promised him fervently. The idea of Magneto doing her a favor was sort of terrifying.

He reached a hand out towards her, and she shrank away instinctively from his touch. "What happened to you?"

There was the slightest hint of actual concern in his voice, and that frightened her more than anything else. That he should be the only one who cared was unthinkable.

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered, too upset to say anything more coherent and determined not to cry in front of him.

"As you wish," he said with a shrug, though his voice wasn't unkind. "Rogue, I believe you are in a rather unfortunate situation at the moment. You are either lying and attempting to spy on me, which I promise you will not end well, or else you are all alone in the world without a thing to your name."

"Well, thanks to Pyro throwing my bag--" she interjected, but he held up his hand for her to be silent and she did so, though grudgingly.

"Despite our...past history...you are a mutant and I will not turn you away with nothing but the clothes on your back." He paused as if waiting for her to speak, watching her carefully.

Rogue didn't say a word, but inside she was seething. Arrogant man. Does he expect me to thank him for that?

He sighed and turned away from her. "You have no appreciation for my generosity? Ah, well. Follow me. We'll discuss what to do with you in the morning."

She really had no choice, because he was still using his powers on the metal cuffs shackling her wrists and she was too exhausted to struggle. They left his study and proceeded out into a centralized room with a staircase, at the top of which were doors that presumably led to living quarters.

Or holding cells, but she doubted they had staircase access.

He paused in front of a door at the end of the hallway, which opened to reveal a small bedroom. It was furnished with a bed but nothing else. It reminded her of a prison cell—there weren't any windows, though there was a door that led to what was likely a closet. The second door opened up into a bathroom.

Despite the spartan appearance of it, the room was still nicer than her hotel in Lewiston. That was sort of of depressing.

He motioned to her and Rogue followed, because what else was she supposed to do?

"Your hands, please," he instructed, and far beyond wanting to fight, she held them out obediently. The cuffs clicked off and clattered on the floor. "Go have a shower. There's no way to escape, and Rogue—try and use your powers on me and I'll kill you," he said bluntly. "We're clear?"

She nodded, looking away from him. "Yeah. Clear."

"Good." He stepped back politely and she went into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror—which was a bad idea, she'd never seen her hair look that bad before, and her face was waxy and ashen, eyes wide and glassy.

"Shower, Rogue," he called, and she glared fiercely at the door because she couldn't do it to his face.

She pulled her gloves off, then attended to the rest of her clothing, which formed a sodden pile on the floor. She turned on the shower and stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. The hot water did feel good, her skin was very chilled from her boat ride.

She found a bar of soap and lathered her hands with it, and then the ridiculousness of her situation seemed to strike her at once. She was naked and soaping herself up in Magneto's fortress. Was there no limits to the absurdities of fate?

She started laughing, but the sound was so brittle and dry she was surprised the glass of the shower door didn't shatter beneath it.

Rogue ended up sobbing, curled up on the floor of the shower, the bathroom filling with steam.

"Rogue, we don't have a great deal of water in the tanks, so you'll deplete it eventually and suffer the displeasure of everyone else who would like a shower," he called, and she didn't raise her head from where it rested on her bent knees.

Fine. Maybe they'll kill me. I can't imagine how this can get any worse.

"I will come in there in two minutes if you're not out by then"

Oh. That's how, then.

Rogue forced herself to stand up and turn off the shower. She wasn't as cold, and felt a little more clear-headed as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a dark blue towel. It was nice to be clean and dry, not to mention warm, but she chewed nervously on her lip as she looked down at the pile of clothing on the floor. They were still soaking wet, but she be damned before she'd ask him for a--

A knock came at the door. "I assume you need something to wear."

Yes, since you had all my things thrown into the ocean, I assume that I do. Instead of that, she said, "My clothes are fine. They're just wet."

"Let's not be childish about this, shall we? I'm opening the door to hand you something. If this offends your modesty, hide in the shower."

Rogue gritted her teeth and stood behind the door, and when the door opened she thought about jumping towards him—naked, she was really dangerous—but she didn't. She watched as he dropped something on the floor and shut the door again, then reached out and found a gray U-Conn sweatshirt and a pair of men's pajama bottoms.

She looked at them doubtfully. Why couldn't she see Magneto in a pair of plaid flannel pants and a college sweatshirt? Unless it was College of Evil Masterminds, or something.. Besides, he was a tall man, and these clothes didn't seem like they'd fit him all that well.

"Pyro's," he called, as if reading her mind. She glanced distastefully down at the pair of wool socks, but her feet were freezing on the cold tile so she supposed she shouldn't complain.

She dressed quickly and left her clothes in a pile on the floor—she had no idea what to do with them—and put her gloves back on. "Um...now what?"

"Do you wish to sleep in the bathroom?"

"Maybe, what's my other choice?" she asked, and he laughed. It was a nice laugh, too, and it annoyed her. Villains were supposed to have bad, evil laughs.

"Open the door, hands out with your palms facing upwards."

Sighing, she pulled the door open and did as he asked. Seeing him made her nervous again. If she could talk to him with something as a buffer—say, the door, or maybe an ocean—between them, it might not be so hard to have a conversation.

He clipped a thick metal circlet on each of her upper forearms, which effectively kept her gloves in place. He repeated the same with her ankles, and she really wished she could kick him. She wasn't stupid—the four pieces of metal rendered her completely under his control—and didn't want to think about what he'd do in retaliation if she tried that.

"You know, if you wanted to do something nice for me, you could just give me some money and let me leave," she suggested hopefully, as he fastened the final piece of metal on her ankle, over the sock.

He stood up to face her again "Perhaps I shall, if you still wish to leave." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her an appraising glance. She stood still as a prey animal caught in the predator's gaze, and suddenly her arms jerked up over her head and snapped together at the wrists.

Rogue made a noise somewhere between outrage and fear. "Why'd you do that?"

"Just checking," he said, and she hated that he sounded smug. "Are you hungry?"

She was, but she shook her head. She wanted to take as little from him as she possibly could. "I will still want to leave in the morning, Magneto. So maybe you should just send me back now."

"Tell me why you left Charles' school," he said suddenly, his voice intent, and she did not like the look on his face at all. How could he go from benign to scary without any indication whatsoever?

"No," she whispered again, looking away. "No."

"Fine. I shall assume you became...disenchanted...with Charles' philosophy and went seeking a way to live amidst the humans," he drawled, waving a hand. "Likely it's not working out so well?"

How did he...? Rogue stared at him, but she didn't answer, because he did not need to know the full extent of her recent problems.

He laughed shortly. "Perhaps you may find our way of thinking here in the Brotherhood more to your liking, if what I have said is true."

"The answer isn't violence," she said quietly, remembering what she'd heard on the news.

"It is not the time or place to discuss the answer to anything. You should sleep."

Rogue turned her attention back to him, then looked at the bed. She was tired, but shouldn't she try and least make an attempt at escape? Would she ever respect herself if she didn't?

"I'll have to lock you in, of course." He was standing in front of the door, and she really wished he would leave.

"I figured as much," she said with a shrug, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress was firm, which was a nice change from the one in Lewiston.

"If you wish me to trust you, then you must earn it." He pulled the door open and gave her a long look before shutting it behind him. She heard the small click that denoted the lock and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She felt ridiculous, wearing clothes that weren't hers and lying in a bedroom in the home of a man who'd once tried to kill her.

Rogue sat up and found the light switch, after trying the door rather half-heartedly. She climbed into the bed—the sheets were cold, no one had obviously slept here in a while--and buried her face in the pillow, trying to muffle the small sounds of her crying herself to sleep. She didn't think he'd be able to hear, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how miserable she was.

At least at Liberty Island I had Magneto's certainty. Now if he were to touch me, I'd probably get that he was really pleased at how low I've sunk.