Thanks to everyone for the nice reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story, even given the unconventional pairing :)


Chapter 9

She hadn't thought she would, but she was so exhausted that she fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep and didn't stir once during the night. She woke up to a knocking sound at her door, and for a moment had absolutely no idea where she was. The sparsely decorated room was completely foreign, and it was still dark because of the lack of a window.

Oh. Right. I'm locked in a bedroom in Magneto's evil lair.

The knocking came again, accompanied by his voice. "Rogue? Are you awake?"

"Yes." She drew her legs up into her chest and rested her chin on her knees, waiting, because she couldn't do anything else.

Maybe he came to his senses, and he'll just let me go.

The door opened, and he walked in, looking much the same as he had the night before. "Good morning."

Was she supposed to actually answer that? She blinked as he threw the light switch, wincing at the sudden brightness that flooded the room.

"Did you lose your ability to speak during the night?" He cocked his head at her.

She shook her head, obstinate.

"You didn't have this problem last night," he observed dryly. He was moving closer to her, towards where she sat on the bed.

Rogue stood up, not wanting to give him the advantage by being seated while he was standing. "You wanted to kill me," she reminded him at length. "Have you forgotten about that? Cause I haven't."

"I didn't want to kill you," he corrected her, but she didn't like the way he was smiling at her. "I had to. There is a difference." He was still moving towards her—she backed up, wondering if they were playing some psychotic game of chase.

"Yeah, I'm kinda not…not getting that," she responded, and eventually she backed up against the closet door, trapped. "Don't…what are you doing?" She flattened herself against the door, wondering if maybe he thought terrorizing her was fun.

"We're not going to get along very well if you're terrified of me," he said, stopping a few feet in front her, but still closer than she'd like.

"I'm not terrified," she snapped immediately, but that was a lie. The last time he was this close to me, I was in that machine, and…. She turned her face away, as if he was going to grab it between his hands again. "And we don't need to get along."

"Rogue, I'm not going to kill you." His voice was very calm, but she still wouldn't look at him.

"Why should I believe you?" she asked him, tears pricking her eyes. She hated this, hated it, was so sick and tired of crying she would be very happy if she never, ever did it again.

"I didn't lie about it the last time, did I?"

She thought about that, really thought about it, and then turned her face slowly back to him. "No," she said slowly, shaking her head. "I guess you didn't."

"Well, there you go. If I intend to kill you, I'll mention it beforehand." He held up his hands—which were gloved—and said amicably, "Now, I believe we should find you some clothes and something to eat." He backed away from her deliberately, as if showing her with his retreat that he was serious.

"Why are you being nice to me?" She asked him suddenly, still unconvinced. "How do I know that you aren't furious at me for---" she stopped, expelling a breath.

"For what?" He gave her a calculating look.

"For not dying," she answered honestly.

Surprisingly, he laughed. "Rogue, I'm not a monster. Why would I do that? It wasn't as if you escaped yourself, was it? If it weren't for the timely intervention of Cyclops and Wolverine, my plan would have worked."

That was an unpleasant reminder of her helplessness, and she hated him for that. "I guess not."

"So, I hardly have reason to hate you or wish you dead."

Rogue's voice became very tired. "I just want you to let me go."

"To do what?"

She gritted her teeth. "Live," she snapped, annoyed.

"I've already told you that I'm not going to kill you, so it appears you'll be living regardless," he pointed out, and she nearly stomped her foot. He was so frustrating…!

"Well, that's just great," she drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Guess it's all settled then."

"You're impertinent," he chastised her. "I don't allow that."

"Well, that's just too bad, because—" Rogue yelped as her arms snapped together over her head again. "This is not making me trust you," she said slowly.

"You misunderstand me, Rogue. The goal here is for me to trust you. If you would think clearly for a moment, you would realize that."

She glared at him. "Why would I want to do that?" She scowled as she realized that made her sound like she didn't want to think clearly.

"Because perhaps you would find you like it here," he said simply.

"I doubt that," she huffed, looking up at her pinned arms. "This isn't exactly fun."

"I'm afraid fun is not what I'm going for." His voice was cold.

Rogue didn't say anything to that, and he released her arms. "Come along." He turned from her and went towards the door, opening it with a wave.

She followed him down the stairs, walking on her own volition so that he didn't pull her along with his power like a dog on a leash. The cavernous fortress still looked impossibly cold and inhospitable to her; though it was much better once they arrived in the dining room, which actually looked fairly comfortable.

"This is Rogue," Magneto said, gesturing to her for the benefit of the four people seated around the table. She recognized Mystique and Pyro, but not the other two. One was man with green skin, hair, and yellow eyes. The other was a tall man who appeared to be in his early thirties, with dark brown hair and red eyes. Neither of them looked familiar to her at all. "She as the ability to drain your powers and your life force if she touches you with her bare skin. If she keeps contact long enough, she can kill you. I'd suggest not trying it."

She watched them all absorb that information with apparent interest as Magneto turned back to her. "Pyro and Mystique you know, of course. The man with the dark hair is Gambit. The other is known as Mesmero." He didn't tell her what their powers were, which she thought was unfair but predictable of him.

"How do you know her, then, Pyro?" Gambit asked her, his accent lyrical. Rogue recognized a Louisiana Cajun when she heard one speak. "She's wearing your sweatshirt."

"She was at Xavier's with me," Pyro said, and Rogue heard the strain in his voice as he answered, and wondered why he was reluctant to admit he knew her. "She was all wet from the boat and didn't have any other clothes, so I had to lend her some." He went back to eating his breakfast, which looked like cereal, without glancing at her.

That bothered her. Bad guys weren't supposed to eat cereal. They were supposed to eat…kittens, or something.

"Have a seat," Magneto said, waving towards an empty spot on the table. Rogue hesitated a fraction of a second too long, and she felt herself propelled forward by his power towards the table.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to work on that," he said, and the others laughed. Irritated, Rogue sat in the chair and tried to avoid assuming a petulant adolescent sprawl, though it was very hard not to do so. The others—except for Pyro—were gazing at her with interest. Rogue figured most of Magneto's Brotherhood were willing converts, and that prisoners didn't take breakfast with them with metal shackles around their wrists.

Magneto returned with a bowl and a plate of bacon and some toast, setting the plate in front of her before disappearing again. Pyro pushed the milk over at her, and Rogue filled up her bowl with a generic cornflake-like cereal. The entire thing was extremely uncomfortable, because the rest of them were staring at her as she ate, but she was starving so she tried her best to ignore them.

"So why'd you leave Xavier's?" This from Mystique, and Rogue felt herself tense as the other woman addressed her. She chewed slowly and didn't look up from her breakfast.

"Rogue hasn't told anyone that yet," Pyro answered for her.

"Rogue doesn't think it's any of your business," Rogue muttered, though she sort of wished she hadn't, because it was very rude and she was trying not to call attention to herself.

"Then why did you show up here?" This from Mesmero. The name reminded her of a carnival act, and he certainly looked like he could be featured front and center on an advertisement, though she felt a little bad about thinking that about him. He couldn't help how weird he looked, could he?

"Accident," Rogue said with a shrug. "I was having lunch on a pier and Pyro showed up and made me get in the boat. He threatened to burn me."

"Your technique with women needs work, mon frère," the red-eyed mutant drawled, and Rogue actually smiled a little at that.

"That hasn't changed," she murmured, daring a glance at Pyro.

The look he gave her was completely unfriendly. "Can I hit her or something?" he asked, directing his question to Mystique.

"Not at breakfast," Mystique answered, her husky voice amused.

Rogue sat her spoon back on her plate and took a deep breath. She wondered where Magneto was, why he'd left her alone with them.

"Maybe she'll have to take Wednesdays," Gambit said suddenly, and Rogue's brow furrowed as she looked up at his apparent non-sequitur.

"What do you mean?" She was really hoping she wasn't going to be here for Wednesday.

"We all take turns cooking dinner," he explained. "Can you cook?"

"Yes," she snapped, then sort of thought about that. "Um...I can sorta make spaghetti." Wait, what was she doing? "But why would I?"

"Would you like to eat?" Mystique's yellow gaze was unblinking, which Rogue found disconcerting.

She looked down at her breakfast, which she'd eaten all of. "If Magneto isn't going to let me go, then yeah, I suppose I would."

"Very well then. You can have Wednesdays." Mystique pushed her plate away, exchanging an amused look with Gambit.

"Oh, what? No one likes my macaroni and cheese and fish sticks anymore?" Pyro interjected, sounded wounded.

"Those are supposed to be fish?" Mystique asked, curious. "I thought they were chicken."

"Pyro cooks them so long, they may as well be," Gambit said, reaching across the table and snatching a piece of bacon off of Mesmero's plate.

"Would you care to spend the morning tormented by the most horrible image you can imagine?" Mesmero asked him darkly, in the sort of voice that reminded Rogue of the carnival again.

"You in a swimsuit?" Gambit said with a wink, and Pyro laughed.

Magneto reappeared, and the change in the room was instantaneous. The banter stopped, all hints of humor vanishing immediately. As if on cue, everyone stood up at once, stacking dishing and carrying them into the kitchen. Pyro reached out and took hers without a word, though Rogue didn't bother to thank him for it.

They were so efficient, it reminded her of the military. It wasn't at all like the cheerful chaos that followed meals back at the Institute, but then again, Magneto was hardly running a school, was he? She heard them file out of the kitchen and leave the dining room, but she was too busy thinking of what to say to Magneto to give them much attention.

Magneto sat at the table with a cup of coffee, watching her carefully. Very slowly, Rogue stood up, enjoying the experience of looking down at him for once.

"Please just let me leave. I promise I won't tell anyone where your secret lair is or that you have Malt-O-Meal cornflakes for breakfast, or who any of you are. I just want..."

"What?" He was looking up at her intently. "What do you want?"

She managed to hold his gaze longer than usual. "I want my life to be my own. I'm sick of other people telling me what to do all the time. I don't want to be a pawn in anyone's scheme, or a scapegoat, or someone's project. I'm tired of being at the mercy of everyone else."

"That, unfortunately, is life," he answered, something very cold behind his words that she did not understand. "It is very seldom the reality you would choose if you were given the opportunity to do so. Sit down."

Rogue remained standing, chin tilted defiantly. "No."

Her feet jerked forward suddenly, and the world tilted as she fell back into the chair. Rogue glared at him, face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "I hate you," she said childishly, breathing hard.

"I know," he said, shrugging. "You don't have to like me. I just want you to behave yourself, and actually listen to me."

"Fine," she snapped, crossing her arms and glaring. "I'm listening."

He picked up his coffee mug. "I'm afraid I'm not inclined to speak to you while you are so clearly agitated. Perhaps you need to do something to take your mind off your anger. Say...clean the kitchen?"

He wasn't...was he serious? "What?"

"Attend to the dishes. I'm sure you can figure out where to put things. Don't use all the hot water up—we had precious little in the tank this morning after your lengthy shower last night. You may find me in my study—second door to the left when you leave the kitchen—when you are finished. If you're longer than twenty minutes, I'll come looking for you." He stood up abruptly and went to leave the room.

"You'll have to pass by the study to get anywhere, Rogue. If you try and sneak past me, I'll know."

"Yeah? I can be really quiet," she said peevishly, unable to believe she was going to have to do the dishes. Although if it was between that and torture, maybe the dishes weren't so bad.

"Not with those on," he said, gesturing towards her cuffs. "I'll know. Go on, now. Twenty minutes. Don't make me come looking for you—you won't like it, I promise." He left here there, and she wished there had been a dish left on the table to throw after him, the arrogant bastard.

She narrowed her eyes when she saw he'd left his coffee cup. Snatching it up, she carried it into the door that presumably led to the kitchen, which was a modern affair with a fair bit of stainless steel. She added the coffee cup to the pile of dishes in the sink and turned on the faucet, opening the cupboard beneath to find some soap.

The smell of the detergent gave her a moment's panic, remembering Troy, but she resolutely pushed that aside and began scrubbing the dishes. She wondered who had made breakfast—they'd used a lot of dishes, that was for certain, and made quite a mess.

There was something calming about doing the dishes, actually. It was nice to have something to focus on for a few minutes, so that she didn't have to think about what had happened or what she should do. She didn't really want to admit that, though, because that would mean he was right about diffusing her anger with housework, and just about the last thing Rogue wanted to do was admit he was right about anything.

When she finished, she dried her hands on one of the blue dishtowels and went to find Magneto.