Chapter 10

Rogue found Magneto's study easily enough, and sort of hovered outside the open door, unsure if she should knock or otherwise announce her presence. She cleared her throat, but any form of greeting died on her lips as he raised his head to look at her.

"Come in," he ordered, and waved to one of the uncomfortable-looking metal chairs facing his desk. At least this time she'd be able to sit without having the chair strike the back of her knees and force her to do so.

Small victories were important.

As she entered the room, the door swung shut behind her. Rogue jumped a little at the sound. She sat down, feeling a bit foolish as she was still wearing Pyro's clothes, and looked at Magneto steadily.

They stared at each other silently for a long moment before Rogue eventually dropped her gaze.

"So. You are calmer now, prepared to listen to me?"

She really was, but his arrogance annoyed her. "Yes," she said slowly, forcing an even tone. She hoped he appreciated the effort.

"Good," he said simply. "Give me something to prove to me you're not lying."

"That I'm not lying about what?" she asked, brow furrowed. Did he plan on calling the Professor? That was a horrifying thought. Could he even do that?

"Any of it," he said, waving a hand. She tensed, because that gesture usually meant he was manipulating something, but there was no low-pitched hum that accompanied it so she relaxed a little. "Your story of working in…Lewiston, was it?...running away, finding your way to Bar Harbor."

Rogue thought about that. She supposed she couldn't blame him for wanting concrete proof, but what could she give him? "Do you know my name?" she asked him slowly, fingers twining together nervously in her lap.

He looked at her as if she were exceedingly stupid. "Rogue."

"No. My real name."

"Your human name," he corrected her immediately.

"Fine. My human name. Do you know what it is?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Marie, isn't it?"

She nodded. "If you call the diner in Lewiston, ask if a girl named Anna Marie worked there." Her gloved fingers lightly touched the streak in her hair. "I'm pretty memorable."

There was a strange look in his eyes as he watched her fingers twine in the white of her hair, and she felt nervous again. He blinked, as if he'd been somewhere far away, and nodded. "Fine. Give me the number." He pushed a piece of a paper and a pen over at her, and Rogue scribbled the name of the place and the number down and handed it back.

Magneto looked down at the paper. "The diner?" His lips quirked up. "Thank you for writing that down for me. I'm afraid I might have forgotten."

She scowled, face flushing. He was horrid to tease her like that. "Do you think this is easy for me?" she asked him seriously.

"Likely not." He picked up a very bulky looking sort of phone and dialed the numbers. The phone reminded her of something she'd seen in a movie—Jurassic Park 3, was it?

Satellite phone. Probably only way to get a signal out here.

"Why should I tell them I'm calling?" he asked her, eyes sharp.

She resisted the urge to tell him something bratty, because this was the least acerbic conversation they'd had to date and she wasn't all that eager to see him revert to scary again. Scarier, that was. "Don't tell them you're checking my references," she joked weakly. "Don't think you'd get a very good one."

That intrigued him, she could tell. His voice was very business-like as he spoke. "Yes, hello.
I'm calling to see if I may verify that a woman by the name of Anna Marie recently worked at your establishment?" He paused, listening, and Rogue wondered who'd answered and what they were saying.

Oh, her. The crazy mutant thief. Yeah, we ran her off real good.

Magneto's gaze flickered back to her briefly. "Yes. White streak in the hair. That would be her." His eyes narrowed suddenly, and he looked more dangerous the longer he was silent. "Was she? How fascinating. I'm sure you were quite pleased to be rid of her." He hung up the phone and looked at her. "Reasons for your leaving the diner are becoming clear to me."

Rogue laughed mirthlessly. "I guess they weren't real flattering, huh?"

"A dangerous mutant who steals and attacks her coworkers for no reason," he recited, still looking rather menacing. Curiously, she wasn't afraid of him. Instead she was almost…pleased at his obvious ire, because it wasn't directed at her—rather, towards those who had hurt her. "I should be wary of allowing you near other, normal humans," he continued, his voice so low it was almost a purr.

"Especially ones who try and rape me," she hissed, the memory of it making her angry.

"Tell me what happened," he urged her, his eyes no longer so cold.

There was a rhythm to their speech, frantic and fast, and the words were there before she'd given conscious thought to speaking them. "I was working there, and living in this motel across the street. One of the dishwashers asked me on a date. He was late picking me up, so I went into the diner to call him—it was closed on Sunday nights, and I had a key. They thought I was responsible, you see." She smiled, and it felt like a knife cutting across her face.

"He tried to rape me. I defended myself the best way I knew how." She looked down at her hands, lying quietly in her lap. "Then I hit him across the head with a frying pan."

"Did you kill him?"

She shook her head, not looking up. "No. I just knocked him out, then I called the owner. I didn't want—I just wanted her to fire him and make him go away." There were other reasons, but she didn't want to tell him about the Professor.

"She didn't, though."

"No, she didn't. He told her I'd been trying to rob the place, and had hit him when he'd caught me at it. Then he told her I was a mutant. Then she told me I was fired."

For a moment she wondered what was wrong with her hands. Then she realized she was trembling, hard, and wondered if maybe she'd yet to deal with what had happened. "I went back to the motel. The manager found me as I was trying to go into my room, told me he'd talked to the people at the diner. Dangerous mutant that I was, I best be gone the next morning." She raised her head at last to look at him, voice deadened. "You can call there, too, if you want."

"I believe you," he said quietly, and how strange those words she'd so wanted to hear would be from him. "Do you need something to drink? Water, maybe?"

She focused on him, confused. "Wh—What?"

"You're pale as a ghost," he explained, and he almost sounded concerned. "You're also shaking."

Oh. Right. Rogue took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. "No. I'm fine. It just…it's fine," she finished lamely, suddenly ashamed she'd been visibly upset in front of him.

"It's not fine," he said darkly. "You don't have to pretend that it is."

"I'm not," she protested, vaguely wounded. "I'm just saying—"

"You are," he interrupted. "You think it's your fault."

"I could have stopped him without using my powers," she said suddenly, the dark little nagging thought that had been bothering her since it happened. "I didn't have to let them know I was a mutant."

"Why shouldn't they know? It would have been better to have stayed hidden, would it?"

She was slightly frightened by the intensity with which he said that. "It would have been better for me," she said simply. "Whether or not it's right, it would have."

He leaned back in his chair. "So you'll accept that, then. Run away, pretend, hide who you are."

"I guess I have to. That's the way the world works," she informed him bitterly. "What should I have done?"

"Killed him," he said bluntly.

"Oh, and ended up in jail?" She shook her head. "No, thanks."

"It would have been self-defense."

Rogue narrowed her eyes at him. Was he even listening to her? "Are you delusional? The world doesn't work that way. They'd have put me in jail for murder. You have to know that."

"And this is the world to which you want to pretend you belong? That would accept such a thing, imprison you for daring to defend yourself?"

"Well…no. Of course not. But that's how it is." She focused on the skylight above him, cut into the rock. The sky outside looked grey and foreboding, which was a fine accompaniment to both her mood and her surroundings.

"It doesn't have to be."

Her attention snapped back to him, and she found herself captivated by his expression; utterly serious, a light in his cold blue eyes she'd almost call fanaticism if she thought him capable of such an excess of emotion. "Is that what you're going to tell me you do here? Fight for some better world?"

"Of course it is," he said, as if it should be obvious. "A world where you wouldn't have been subjected to that."

"Magneto, even if mutants were running things, you're telling me that there wouldn't be violence? Rape?" She pulled anxiously on her hair, a habit she tended to fall into when she was nervous.

"I'm telling you that the people around you should have enough respect for you not to try it." He leaned forward. "If that boy had known what you were, what you were capable of…do you think he would
have dared lay his hands on you?"

"Probably not," she answered him.

"So what is wrong with what we do here, Rogue? Fight for a world where you can be who you are, where you are respected for your abilities instead of hated for them?"

She felt caught by his gaze, and her heart was racing. There was something almost…exhilarating about arguing with him, though maybe that was an unhealthy thing to do. "Because! You're hurting people. You're teaching them to fear us."

"Shouldn't they?"

Taken aback, she stared at him. "What?"

"You're dangerous, aren't you? Certainly you don't lie to yourself about it." He cocked his head thoughtfully at her. "Or is denial what Charles is teaching you these days as a coping mechanism from the big bad world in that school of his?"

"Well…yes," she agreed, wondering if she was falling into some clever trap of his. "I mean, I know I'm dangerous." She decided to leave his words about the Professor alone.

"And do you think that's bad? Tell me the truth," he warned, before she could give voice to the no that hovered on her lips. "Are you ashamed of yourself, for being dangerous? Do you think it's your fault, that it's a curse?"

Rogue dropped her head, unable to speak. She'd thought that a million times, hadn't she, about herself? About her powers? More a curse than a gift. "Not all mutants are dangerous." It was a flimsy answer.

"No? I tend to think everyone is dangerous, but perhaps I'm just paranoid."

She gave a little, bitter laugh at that. "I think maybe I could agree with you there."

"Rogue, look at me."

She peeked at him from beneath her hair, her shoulders still hunched forward, as if she was trying to hide.

"Not like some caged animal," he snapped, and she saw anger flash across his face. "Raise your head and look at me."

She did so, straightening her shoulders, looking at him squarely, though she didn't really want to. It was annoying how easily he could make her angry, and then use that to make her do what he wanted.

"Are you dangerous, Rogue?"

"Yes," she said immediately, voice tight. Her fingers flexed in her gloves. Want me to show you?

He smiled. "Good. We agree. Do you want me to tell you where we disagree?"

"Sure." She reached up and pushed her hair back behind her ears, and crossed her arms defiantly over Pyro's sweatshirt.

"You see it as a problem. I see it as an asset."

"For what, terrorism?" She made a dismissive noise. "You want to use me to fight for you? Just like everyone wants to use me?" Like you wanted to use me before?

He slammed his hand down on his desk, the noise startling her. He'd seemed relatively calm until now—clearly intent upon his argument, but calm. "You should live in a world that respects you for what you are. Strong, deadly. Homo superior. You should not be at the mercy of the weak—it is not natural, don't you see that?"

"I'm not at the mercy—" she began hotly, though at this point she was arguing with him mostly just to argue, because some part of her thought she should at least try.

"Oh, but you are. Some human who does not possess a tenth of the abilities you do attacked you, and you sat here and told me that you could have defended yourself some other way. Why? Why should you have to, when you have been given the gifts that you have?"

"I told you," she bit out, "Because the world—"

"Doesn't accept you," he finished, and leaned forward. "And so you choose to allow that, to give up, let the world do with you what it will. What is it that you told me a moment ago in the dining room? I'm tired of being at the mercy of everyone else?"

She was breathing too fast, and her eyes were so dilated the spill of light from the sky coming in through the glass almost hurt. She pressed her fingers to her temple and rubbed, closing her eyes for a moment. "That's what I said."

"If you really mean that, Rogue, then prove it."

"You told me that life is seldom what we would choose it to be," she retorted, opening her eyes to glare at him.

He inclined his head to her. "So I did. If you want something bad enough, you have to be willing to fight for it. To make sacrifices. To take action, not just sit around and hope things will get better."

"That's what I was doing before, with the X-Men. Taking action to make the world a better place, so we would be accepted. Showing humans that we are just like them, that we can help them with our powers." Although, had she really ever done anything in that regard? She was merely a student, not an X-Man, wasn't she?

"Accepted," he repeated, shaking his head. "I fail to see how aiding one's oppressors will do anything that will result in respect." His voice was full of derision. "We are not just like them, Rogue. We are superior."

"So, what? Do you really think violence will solve anything?" She had progressed from twisting her hair to twisting her hands together in her lap.

"If I had succeeded in my plan at Alkali, would you have been attacked by that boy in Lewiston?"

"That's not the answer!" she shrieked, pounding her fists on the arm of the chair. "It can't be. You can't just kill them all."

"Obviously not." He said, a touch sarcastically. "I can kill enough of them so that they will learn, eventually."

She stared at him, wondering if he knew how horrible it was to even think that…"I know what happened to you," she said carefully, eyes straying down to his arm. "When you were young. How can you possibly think this is any better?"

He was quiet for a moment before speaking, staring past her. "Haven't you learned yet, Rogue, that there is no way we will be able to peacefully co-exist with humanity? It is either us or them, and I'm hardly going to sit by and do nothing while we're all systematically exterminated. Not again," he muttered.

"But don't you see how that makes you sound?" Like a monster.

"Like someone who is tired of being at the mercy of everyone else?" He smiled at her.

"Stop throwing my words back at me," she hissed, furious, unable to think of anything else to say.

"They're not just your words, Rogue. You might have been the last to speak them, but you were hardly the first. They are Gambit's words, and Pyro's, and Mesmero's. And Mystique's. They are my words, Rogue. They are the Brotherhood's words." His voice was almost reverent.

He stood up and approached where she still sat in the chair. "I could show you...convince you that you belong here, to show you that there is another way." He sighed. "I understand what it is like to be at the mercy of those who have none, Rogue, when you have no way to hide who you are. You understand, of course, that you don't? That what happened to you in Lewiston will continue happening to you if you keep trying to hide amongst them?" "

"And then what is there for me, here, if I stay?" She gazed up at him mistrustfully. "How do I know you won't strap me in another death machine and try to kill me?"

"If you remind me of that again, I shall perhaps try harder," he snapped. "I have explained that to you already, and I have precious little desire to explain it yet again. Perhaps, if nothing else, you will at least understand that." He raked a hand through his hair, a sure sign of agitation. This obviously bothered him, her continual reminder of his attempted murder, and she wondered why that should be so.

"You will stay here. You will train, and listen, and learn things."

That sounded rather vague. "What kind of things?" she asked dubiously.

He shrugged, leaning back against the desk. "Fighting techniques, the ugly realities of humankind's views towards mutants. Perhaps, if nothing else, you will learn to have pride in what you are."

She stood up on shaking legs, and after taking a deep breath, forced herself to move closer to him. "Pride is a sin," she said lightly, stopping just in front of him

"The only people who say that are those who do not have any," he said blandly. "What are you afraid of, Rogue? That I'm right?"

She bit her lip, considering what he was offering her. It seemed so final, staying here, becoming one of them. Was changing her allegiances really the answer to her problems? Did she have any choice?

I could pretend, at least. Then, when he trusted me, I could make him take off these stupid cuffs, and I could escape. By that point, I'd have learned everything about this place that I would need to know to do it...after all, Magneto's not a telepath. If I'm careful, he'll never know.

When had she become so devious?

When you realized that was the only way you'd survive?

"All right," she said slowly, expelling a breath. "I'll stay here." This was a huge gamble, but what other choice did she have?

"Good," he said, a small, pleased smile on his face that sort of made her want to hit him, and held out his hand.

"Is this how Faust felt?" she wondered aloud, which surprised a laugh from him.

"I do not believe his intentions were so noble."

"I don't know that yours are," she answered, but reached her gloved hand out and placed it in his. Touching him—willingly—was very strange. She looked up at him again, her face flushed from anxiety and nerves. "Don't expect me to be buying into all this at once," she warned him. Then you'd know it was all a lie. I'll have to be careful, and do it over time, so you think it's the truth.

He shook her hand firmly, and she felt the warmth of his hand surrounding her, even through the layers of cloth that separated their skin. "I admit to being unsure what to expect from you at all."

"Did you really just admit to being unsure about something?" She pulled her hand away and smiled a little, without a touch of bitterness.

"Astonishing, isn't it?"

She gave a very small laugh, but stepped away from him, as if she had done something wrong and somehow let her guard down. "Can I please have something else to wear?"

"Yes. I've had Mystique find you appropriate clothing and take it to your room. I'm afraid, Rogue, I'll have to leave the wrist cuffs on. Think of it like a probationary period. When I'm assured you can be trusted, I'll remove them." Suddenly, there was a clicking sound, and her ankle cuffs fell off. She looked at them lying on the floor, then back up at him. "Do not make me regret that," he warned, voice hard.

She nodded, but was unsure what to say, because he looked scary again.

"Now, you remember where your room is, I take it? Good. Go and change your clothes. You will have training with the others, and I'm certain Mystique will explain to you various other assigned duties."

He returned to his desk, and she felt rather foolish standing there. "What um—what will you tell the others?"

"You may tell them whatever you wish," he said, sitting down again. "I shall inform them you are to be treated with courtesy unless you do something to harm them. Outside of training, of course."

That sounded ominous. She turned to go, hoping she had at least a few minutes to compose herself before she was required to start exchanging blows with the Brotherhood. She stood in front of the metal door, but noticed there wasn't a knob. Which meant she wouldn't leave until he let her, and obviously, he wasn't ready for her to go.

"Rogue, I would be interested in hearing what made you leave Charles' school. I won't ask you to speak of it to me—or anyone else—before you are ready to share that information. In addition, I will not share what happened in Lewiston with anyone. Your story is your own until you choose to tell it. Do you understand me?"

She stared at her reflection in the door, slightly warped in the metal. "All right," she agreed, and there was some comfort in his words, that her sordid tale wouldn't be dinner table conversation unless she made it that way. Which, of course, she wouldn't.

The door swung open and she left his study, bemused by what had just happened. What have I done? She waited for the panic to set in, but curiously, as she navigated her way back to her room, she didn't feel any.

Is that a good sign, or a bad one?

She remembered his words, I can kill enough of them, eventually, and shuddered. She had to keep in mind what he was capable of, had to make sure she didn't forget.