Chapter 12

Rogue's first few weeks in the Brotherhood were definitely a learning experience.

It wasn't that everything was horrible—it was just so different. Rogue was used to being in classes, for one thing, and they didn't exactly do that here. She was expected to learn things—even to read books—but there were no exams and she didn't have to write any papers.

She did, however, have to learn how to wire bombs and diffuse them in a time limit. Which was a lot more stressful, when she thought about it, than writing a paper the night before it was due had ever been.

She'd likened the Brotherhood to the military, and it was definitely not far from it. There was a sense of familial togetherness occasionally, but it was never forgotten that they were there for a purpose, and that purpose governed everything they did.

Rogue supposed that had been true at the Institute, to a point, but there she'd been a student first, and an X-Man-in-training second. Here there was no such distinction, no such thing as a "trainee." At the Institute, the Professor had a staff of teachers who had meetings to discuss curriculum; here, Magneto's word was law.

There were things she liked about it, if she were honest. She liked being treated like an adult, for one, liked the fact there weren't things going on that she didn't know about. She was expected to agree with whatever plans were in the works, of course, because if she didn't then why was she there? There was no room here for uncertainty.

There were times that it was hard for her to hold her tongue when she was listening to Magneto,
because he said a lot of things that made her want to argue with him—though she rarely did, as he always had an answer to whatever objection she might raise, and it was easier just to be quiet. Sometimes, though, he said things that made sense, and she would have to remind herself she wasn't there to be a convert because she almost found herself nodding along in agreement.

You're only supposed to pretend, she would remind herself sternly. And even if he's right about humanity, that doesn't mean his methods of dealing with them are.

Training was still difficult, though she was a fast learner and her individual practices with Mystique were certainly paying off. Those were often two hours of exhaustion followed by an hour of Mystique's lectures on technique accompanied by intensive, painful stretching. There was no denying her technique was becoming sharper, more focused.

Rogue had always thought Mystique was devious and heartless, but she began to see another side to the woman as they trained. She was devious, that was for certain, but it was probably because she had to be to survive. However, she was passionately devoted to both Magneto and his cause, which was evident even in the few conversations they had while training, which led Rogue to rethink the heartless.

"You're getting better," Mystique told her one day, and then tossed a bottle of water at her. "Quicker. You'll be good, when we're done. You aren't afraid to work hard."

Rogue had felt herself smiling, pleased, and she couldn't find it within herself to mind that she'd just basked under the praise of her former enemy. In fact, she realized her training sessions with Mystique were the most enjoyable of part of her new day. If nothing else, no one would ever lay a hand on her again without her permission, and if she was even half as good a fighter as Mystique, she'd be a force to be reckoned with.

The others weren't exactly friendly, but they didn't go out of their way to make her life miserable, either. Except for Pyro, who seemed to determine to be as unpleasant to her as possible without being openly hostile.

In training he inevitably went after her first thing, and the number of times he'd thrown a fireball at her after Magneto had indicated the training session was over were too numerous to count.

She never said a word about that, or his barbed comments about her cooking skills (really, she probably deserved those), or the way he left the kitchen a mess after dinner when she had to clean up after him, or his refusal to speak to her if they happened to be alone in a room together. If he was trying to goad her into attacking him, she refused to let him. It was juvenile.

Rogue was confused by his behavior, though she wasn't sure what she should do about it. She and John had been friends of a sort at the Institute (as much as you can be friends with your boyfriend's best friend), but everything had changed in Boston. He'd barely been able to look at her after she'd touched him and absorbed his power—and with it, his memories.

He'd not spoken much to her on the jet after what had happened at Bobby's house, but then again, everything had been so crazy she'd not had time to think much about it. It wasn't until they'd been setting up in the camp that she noticed he wouldn't look at her.

At first she'd thought he was angry because she'd stopped him from causing any more destruction, but it wasn't until later that night that she'd realized what it was that was making him avoid her.

She and Bobby had been trying to light the camp lantern with little success. Pyro had been unnaturally quiet, sitting a few feet away from them, staring off into the darkness. Rogue had been annoyed because he wasn't helping them, as it would only take him a second to do what they'd been trying for five minutes to accomplish.

"You know, you could help," she'd called over to him, irritated. The flame had sparked and lit the lamp, though he'd not said a word or even looked over at them. Rogue had glared at him and walked away, but she'd seen him glance towards Bobby, and then...she'd just known how he'd been attracted to Bobby, and he really, really didn't want her (or anyone, really) to know.

They never had a chance to discuss it, because Pyro had left with Magneto and they'd gone home without him, and Rogue had never seen the point in the telling Bobby what she'd inadvertently learned about his best friend in Boston. He'd never have understood, not when he was still so hurt about his parents and his brother.

Rogue figured that was why Pyro seemed so angry at her now, though she wished she could just tell him that she could care less who he was attracted to, that it didn't matter, and then maybe he'd stop being such an ass to her all the time. It was tiresome to deal with him, and she enough on her mind as it was.

Besides, it wasn't like she was all that comfortable with the rest of them, either.

Mesmero was still creepy, and she was worried he was going to try and control her mind and make her do something horrible, or at the very least embarrassing, as some sort of bizarre hazing ritual. He made her nervous, as he was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, so that she was never sure what he was thinking.

She had a new respect for Gambit after that brief insight into his mind, though he still went out of his way to overdo it on the charming and it set her teeth on edge.

While she felt like she had a tentative understand with Mystique, she was far from friendly, and Magneto...

It was hard to remain in mortal terror of someone when you saw them all the time, when they fixed breakfast on Sundays and explained how to read GPS coordinates. Gradually she was able to relax a little around him, which was a substantial improvement from the first night she'd arrived, unable to look him in the eye.

He met with her once a week in his uncomfortable office, where she would sit in that same chair across from his desk and answer his questions. He usually just inquired if she was well, if there was anything she needed that Mystique could pick up from town, and sometimes, he'd lean back in his chair and ask her, "Do you like it here, Rogue?"

She never could make herself say yes. "I'm fine," she'd respond, perfectly polite, and he'd wave his hand to dismiss her. She wondered if he was on to her, if he suspected she was planning an escape. He never even alluded to the idea, and honestly, she was too tired most of the time at night to come up with a good escape plan anyway.

She usually just fell asleep somewhere in the middle of designing it.

Magneto never offered to remove the cuffs. She never asked him to, though she would often think about what she would have to do to earn his trust enough for him to offer. Images of explosions danced in her brain, and she wondered what the price of her eventual freedom would be.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Occasionally they had leisure time, though it wasn't very often, and it was usually Saturday nights.
Mystique did all the shopping on Saturdays, and it was also her night to cook, which she was very good at. In fact, it was usually the best meal of the entire week, which meant everyone ate too much and ended up sleepy.

Pyro and Gambit usually played video games after dinner, Mystique knitted (that had surprised Rogue, but she was smart enough not to say a word about it), and Mesmero liked to read spy novels. Magneto either read the newspaper Mystique brought back for him or was nowhere to be found.

Rogue usually took the opportunity to do her laundry, since no one else was usually using the machines and she could wash all her clothes and her sheets and towels, too. She also tried to read books that had nothing to do with electronics, psychology, or explosives, finding an escape in fiction that she remembered from when she was younger.

The only problem was they had a limited library of things to read. Seeing her perusing the available titles, Magneto had handed her a copy of The Handmaid's Tale. That sort of took the entertainment value away because he obviously wanted her to learn something from it, but she read it anyway. It had been so frightening, however, that she'd borrowed Mesmero's spy novels when he was finished with them instead of letting Magneto suggest any more books.

On one such occasion, she was carrying her laundry downstairs and walked past Gambit, who was headed towards the kitchen. He gave her his usual sly grin when he saw her. "Sort of makes us feel bad, cherie, you'd pick laundry over us."

Rogue looked askance at him over the top of her basket, following him into the kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

"The movie. Pyro told us you said you had something better to do than watch it with us." He took a bottle of Red Stripe out of the fridge. "You want one?"

"No," Rogue said carefully, eyes down. Pyro had, of course, never mentioned anything to her about a movie. "I'll just…um, finish this." She quickly left the kitchen and headed towards the laundry room, trying not to be upset about being excluded.

It wasn't as if she wanted to spend time with them, but…

She hated feeling left out.

Rogue put her laundry in the washing machine, but she didn't want to go back in and give in to the temptation to join the rest of them for the movie. She wasn't supposed to like it here, anyway, so what did it matter?

It does matter, though. Can't I fit in anywhere?

Scowling, Rogue made her way back upstairs, but instead of going in her room she went to the end of hallway and up a second staircase, which led to a small observatory. It was a simple round room with Plexiglas walls, affording a 360 degree view of the horizon, some high-powered telescopic device in the center for surveillance. Rogue headed towards the metal door that opened to reveal the smallest of patios, which was one of the few places one could go to be outside. The fortress had no beach, and the only entrance was through the boat slip or the helicopter pad. The latter was a bit too far up for her tastes, and besides, Rogue still hated heights. The little crow's nest was bad enough, but she was willing to risk it for a few moments alone outside.

She felt relatively safe on the little patio, surrounded as it was by a high metal ledge. She leaned against it, resting her elbows on the top, shivering a little in the wind. It was a clear night, and the sky was bright with stars. The nearly-full moon was bright enough to afford her a view of the water. Maybe she'd see a whale or something.

"You're not watching the movie?"

Rogue jumped, startled, and turned to see Magneto leaning against the metal ledge, arms crossed over his chest. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed he was there. "I'm sorry…I didn't know anyone was out here," she said quietly.

"You're allowed to be out here," he said, shrugging. "There's room enough for two people."

He took a step towards her, which caused her to immediately panic and cry out, "Don't!" Her gloved hands flew up to cover her face on instinct.

"Rogue!" He stopped, perplexed. "What on earth is the matter?"

She lowered her hands, forcing herself to inhale deeply. She didn't want to tell him what the problem was, why she was suddenly so afraid, because she didn't want to annoy him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking out towards the water. "It was—I'm sorry."

He was quiet for a moment as he put together the reason for her sudden outburst. "Ah. I imagine it's an unpleasant memory."

She turned towards him, surprised. He'd sounded….sympathetic, almost. She said carefully, "I know why you did it. I even know that you didn't want to. But you still did it."

He nodded, moving so that he was standing next to her. "I know. It is hardly a comforting thought, I'm sure, but I did not intend for you to have to live with the memory of it."

He was right—that wasn't really very comforting at all. She pushed her hair back, fighting against the wind, which was determined to make her look like Medusa. "Look, I'm really trying, okay? It's just…it's hard, sometimes."

"I know it is, Rogue."

"Do you know, when Logan was up there…part of me didn't want to let go. That was the worst part." She stared down at her hands. "That's the part I never told anybody. That I was screaming, and it…it hurt, but I didn't want to let go."

"That was me, I imagine," he said wryly.

She nodded. "Yeah. That, and…." She forced herself to look at him. "When I asked the Professor what had happened to you, after I'd…recovered, he told me about how you were sent to prison."

Something dark and unpleasant shadowed his features briefly as she watched, though it was soon gone and his face returned to its normal lines. He was a handsome man—she wondered how she'd never noticed that before.

Because you were terrified of him, and all you ever saw when you looked at him was a monster.

"And did that make you feel safe, to know I was all locked up in a plastic cage?"

Strangely, the vicious tone in his voice didn't scare her, because could she blame him? "No," she said quietly. "I went to my room and cried. I thought it was horrible." She reached out and ran her fingers over the top of the metal ledge.

"Did you?" His eyes were following the motion of her fingers, trailing back and forth over the smooth surface.

"Yes. Logically, I knew why they had to do it, but I had enough of you left in my head to understand why it was so…awful." This was the closest she'd ever been to him, but strangely, it wasn't bothering her.

"I've been in worse places," he said tightly.

She winced. "I know. I saw that, too." She pushed away from the ledge. "I have to go get my laundry and put it in the dryer."

"It takes a very strong person, Rogue, to do what you've done. To forgive someone for trying to kill you—even if you understand the reasons behind it, as you say—that's quite an accomplishment. Especially for someone so young."

Rogue turned back to him when she reached the door. "I'm not as young as everyone thinks I am. At least, not up here." She tapped her head with a gloved finger and smiled briefly. "Who said that I forgave you, anyway?"

"Isn't that what this little conversation was about?"

"Maybe. I guess. But just 'cause I might forgive you, doesn't mean I'm going to forget." Rogue crossed her arms and gave him a fierce stare. "Just so you know."

He smiled. "I would think something was wrong with you if you did forget." He waved his hand, and the door leading inside opened. "Sometimes it's hard to open in the wind."

"Thanks," she said, meeting his gaze briefly before she turned away, feeling strangely as if a weight had been lifted.

Rogue went downstairs, transferred her laundry to the dryer, then found the others watching some inane action flick in the rec room, which was the only place in the entire fortress with comfortable furniture.

"Finished all my important tasks," she said levelly, giving Pyro a challenging look as she sat down in one of the empty chairs, legs over the side. She reached behind her and tugged the blanket off the back of the chair, pulling it over her. "What are we watching?"

Mystique looked up from her knitting, a little smile on her face, but said nothing. "Die Hard," Gambit answered, filling her in on what she'd missed. She'd seen it before, but she didn't stop him from telling her. Pyro stood up and left, slamming the door behind him as he did so.