Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: Some of you wanted it; some of you didn't. Some of you were so disgusted and appalled when you realized what the pairing was that you immediately clicked the 'back' button, formatted your computer and sought out a priest for an exorcism ritual. Well, whether you were one who asked for it or not, here it is. I just couldn't let it die that easily. Anyway, it's more Rogue-centric this time – dealing with the 'morning after'.

On an unrelated note, this story got more hits than any predecessors I wrote. It just goes to show you; be vague in the summary, promise tension and throw in some sexy sexin', and you'll get results.

So…yes. Love it or shove it.

Inappropriate Conduct

Chapter Two

"You're not…upset? Not at all?"

Kitty stared down at her former roommate slack-jawed. Rogue, stretched out on a library sofa, was placidly flipping through 'Jane Eyre' without a single tense muscle in her face, without a twitch in her eye, and without an aura suggestive of the calm before a storm. Usually, after such an event as this, she was pacing, tense and saying the words 'bastard' and 'Casanova' continuously…but not this time. There was no trace of rage in her. She was quite poised, in fact – her limbs were loose, her expression was clear and her eyes, usually a window to her raging soul, were calm and still. She was the embodiment of all things composed and serene – she could've been pulled straight off of a travel brochure or a furniture commercial. Kitty raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Did you absorb Storm recently, or something?"

Rogue's mouth twitched upwards slightly. "Or somethin'."

"Right…" Kitty paused. "So…you're not at all upset?"

"Didn't say that." Rogue looked up from her passage in the book. "Ah'm mad as hell. But not so mad that Ah can't stop mahself from bein' snarky at ya."

That didn't sound like her at all. "That doesn't sound like you at all," Kitty said. She winced internally – she really had to work on not just saying anything that jumped into her head.

Rogue sighed, marked her page in the book and snapped it shut. "Should Ah bite yoh head off?" she asked, as though she were asking a five year old if he'd washed his hands after going to the bathroom.

Kitty shook her head 'no' rapidly. "No…no, I like where my head is just fine, thanks."

"Uh huh." Rogue swung her legs back off of the armrest of the sofa, sitting on it properly now. She shook her head at Kitty, who was still staring at her. "What?"

"Something's…up with you," the younger girl said, beginning to regard Rogue slightly suspiciously. "What is it?"

Rogue looked away as casually as possible, trying to hide her flaming face. Kitty didn't seen anything, except Rogue tucking her head away slowly.

"You're not just…you know…giving up, are you? You're not just resigning to it, because you know it'll happen again? You're not just going to put up with it, right?"

That was a convenient twist to the truth. She could have made it look like she had finally resigned to life as it would be, dating this 'forgetful' man, but she had a conscience – if she went with that construction, the facts would be a harder blow when dealt.

So she didn't feed into Kitty's theory.

Rogue looked up at Kitty, but only when she was confident that her face was the right shade again. "Ah'm fine, Kitty. Ah'm not broken or spiralin' inta depression, or anythin' like that. Ah'm just…Ah'm just gonna handle this a little more quieter than usual. No one needs ta hear mah problems."

Kitty's mouth twisted just a little. "Last time you bottled everything up…"

"Ah know, Ah know…" Rogue waved it off. "This isn't everythin' though – this is just one little problem."

"So now you're trying to trivialize your relationship."

Rogue closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Have ya been readin' Jean's psychology text books or somethin'? Watchin' 'Dr Phil' too much?"

Kitty gave her a wry look. "You don't want to talk about it, huh?"

She shook her head 'no' again. "If it makes ya feel any better, what Ah want ta do is find him an' tear him a new one."

"Marginally better." Kitty turned to go, but stopped. "But, uh…you're not actually going to tear him a 'new one', right?"

Rogue opened the book again and smiled fiendishly. "Of course not. Why ever would ya doubt me?"

Kitty's eyes widened and she suppressed an involuntary shiver. "Okay…you are seriously up there with Wolverine and Mystique on the list of people who shouldn't be allowed to smile like that." She slipped out of the library, followed by Rogue's quiet laugh.

The truth of the matter was that – yes – Rogue was rather angry. In fact, angry really didn't cover it; there were points when she would swear blood clots were drifting over her retinas because she could only see red. At other intervals, she would picture in her mind's eye the empty place across the table from her at that restaurant, and she was left wanting to hunt down the man who'd left that space vacant and torture him in such a manner that would make Sabertooth cringe. But…in following that line of thought, her mind always drifted – inevitably – to the man who'd the place that had been left empty.

With her forearms deep in bubbly dishwater and with the plates of the evening meal beside her, Rogue could feel a distinct pair of eyes on her back – she had no need to hunt him anymore; they'd been assigned to dishes duty. He sat on the counter behind her, watching her as she placed clean and wet dishes on the drying rack on her right. He watched her like she were an unexploded and armed bomb. He was twisting a terry dishcloth nervously between his hands.

The cloth was humming with kinetic energy.

She was wishing that she could think of the better half of that night again. At that moment, all she could focus on was her deep, low-burning rage.

"Y' gonna talk, chère?"

The rage filled her, slowly spreading like a malignant tumor. She couldn't open her mouth; she couldn't look at him – if she did, she'd inevitably start to throw the Professor's fine china at his head.

Gambit pulled the charge from the dishcloth and slowly slid off of the bench. "M' sorry, for what it's good for."

His apologies were good for nothing. She wished she had the self-control to tell him so, but she didn't. In lieu of her reply, they found themselves stuck in an uncomfortable, cold silence. The rage in Rogue kept her warm against the silence, however – it spread into her fingers, into her toes, over her cooling heart, making her feel warm all over.

Which was a whole lot more, in retrospect, than he'd ever done.

Unfortunately she'd already lost her moral high-ground in the situation. She'd done something to him that was worse than what he'd done to her. They hadn't been dating that long, but they had still been dating. And though Rogue had never really expected faithfulness from a man with a reputation like Gambit's, she was certain that neither of them had expected her to do this. She certainly hadn't seen it coming. But it had happened and now she was the bad guy, ultimately.

Still, although it wilted slightly, her rage wouldn't die. He had to shoulder some of the blame.

Behind her, Gambit sighed, frustrated with her unresponsiveness. "Yell at me, Rogue. I know I deserve it."

She didn't yell. She swallowed down the bitter lump in her throat, attempted to un-tense her features and wiped clean another plate. "Where'd ya go?" she asked, stacking the plate on the dish rack.

There was a slight pause. "A nightclub."

Rogue's right hand clenched around a glass. She washed it quickly and put it aside before she broke it. She knew what a nightclub inevitably meant – there was only one reason people went to those places, after all. "Meet anyone interestin'?"

Another pause – a silence that was loaded with more meaning than words could ever carry.

How about that, then? They'd both been in bad company. "Don't worry, Remy, Ah never expected monogamy," she told him bluntly. Her rage was filling her again; her guilt was tapering off. It seemed they were both the bad guy now.

The dishcloth was flung to the floor. Rogue was pulled out of the dishwater and spun around to meet a pair of confused and angry red-on-black eyes. He stared her down in consternation for a long time before finally releasing her from his shaking grip. "I…I don't geddit, Rogue. Where's de anger?"

Rogue bit her bottom lip and looked back to the sink. She tried to hold her features in a neutral expression. Her famous anger was there, alright – it was threatening to burst out. She swallowed it down with tremendous effort, sighing as it subsided just enough so she could speak again. "What's the point in gettin' angry?" she asked, sounding hopeless and hollow. "S'all just more words in the end."

"Dis ain't like y'." Remy grabbed the dishcloth again and finally began drying the dishes, perhaps with too much vigor. "Normally y' woulda at least tried t' give me a black eye by now."

"Normally," Rogue agreed quietly, turning back to the bubbly dishwater. But, normally, she wouldn't have spent the best part of the evening in a hotel room with Magneto, and – even if she had – they certainly wouldn't have been…

"What's changed, den?"

Rogue blinked.

What had changed, he wanted to know? A lot, actually, at least from where she stood – some of the changes were good and some were bad. Her state of seemingly perpetual virginity had come to an end; the general 'no way out of myself' feeling wasn't there anymore, either…though this was perhaps all at the price of her feeling of ease in the place she regarded as home. She wanted to tell him these things, honestly. She wanted to tell him that she was starting to feel good about life again, though uneasy about her place in it – she was starting to think that maybe she wasn't stuck between her powers and a hard spot. And she was wanted. Yes, wanted in a way that left her dizzy and blushing. It felt so good to be desirable. It made her feel so alive.

But she couldn't say any of those things.

Instead of telling him so, she looked up at him carefully. She let her rage wash over her – she let the warmth spread. She let the anger harden her eyes and flush her cheeks. She waited until the bitterness in his stare was gone, extinguished under the fury of her glare.

"What's changed?" he repeated, speaking with a whole lot less steam.

Rogue smiled coldly. "Ah had fun last night, too," she whispered.

Gambit reeled back, almost stumbling away from her – she may as well have hit him. There was absolutely no question as to what she meant – the glint in her eye eliminated that.

Rogue resumed cleaning the dishes, looking nonchalant. "Wha's wrong, Remy? Can't take it like ya give it?"

The dishcloth was flung down. Rogue turned away from the sink in time to see the swinging door of the kitchen mask the departure of the Cajun. She sighed heavily and plucked the dishcloth from the floor – her anger was already gone, draining from her in an instant and leaving with the strength she'd borrowed from it. Feeling weak and small, she dropped the dishcloth back on the counter and turned to the dishes. She was left with twice the usual amount of work for her tonight, but…she felt like she deserved it.

She was running.

…Running not in the sense that she was partaking of a vigorous exercise, but running in the sense that she was fleeing in complete terror from whatever lay behind her. In reality, there was nothing there other than the trees, benches and overflowing trashcans that made up Bayville Park, but she ran in abandon nonetheless. Her breathing was panicked, her eyes were wide and scared, her skin was both pale and flushed at the same time – she ran like her life depended on it. She ran with all she had in her, until abruptly coming to a halt in beside yet another ramshackle bench, nearly identical to all the others save that this one proclaimed 'Mort' on the backrest in silver, sprayed-on letters as big as her head.

She laid a hand on the backrest, panting heavily. Her panicked expression vanished instantaneously as she sank into the seat, her legs gratefully giving way beneath her as she crumbled. She'd run all the way to the park from the Institute, from her room to this very park bench…in the middle of the evening.

Why, though?

Rogue laid her head back and stared up at the starry sky. She hadn't said a word to anyone before sprinting away. She'd be in trouble when she got back, but – she reasoned with herself – she was already in deep trouble. This would get her more than just a light rap on the wrist and a brief admonishment from the Professor. She could be kicked out of the Institute entirely. Would the Brotherhood still be an option? Did she even want it to be?

She knew she had to think, to form a plan of action for when the inevitable happened, for when she was found out, but she just couldn't. Her mind was everywhere but where it should be – all she could think of was her triumph.

It might seem near non-existent to a third party, but it was there – her power was there. She had a firm hold of might and authority, now, and not just as an object of desirability…though that was a power in its own right. The power she held was removed from actual control – it was the power of an unstable, uncertain catalyst in a disaster. She was the catalyst, wielding the power of promised destruction over the unsuspecting heads of both her enemies and her family. With one admission, she could bring down so much – years of struggles and successes would be laid waste beneath it; team ethics and trust would be shattered; suspicion would run high and fast. She had power, more than even her mutant ability could provide her with…

It was a more cheering thought than it should have been, but for the first time in a long time, even as old problems remained like persistent scars of dissatisfaction and there was still so much she wanted to change…things were falling into her control.

However…that wasn't to say she wanted to use this power.

She loved her place in life. The Professor had instilled himself in her heart as more of a kindly uncle than a teacher and benefactor. The Institute was a tranquil, beautiful place. The X-Men were a strong and formidable team, one that it paid to be a part of. She had friends there, and she had discovered family there. She didn't want to destroy everything she held dear. Small dissatisfactions could always be pushed aside when she thought about the greater picture – so what if she couldn't control her powers? She had people who cared for her still, even though she was dangerous. And though she told Magneto last night that she didn't care if they found out…she really did…and she wouldn't stop caring, especially not just because of something so selfish as this affair.

Rogue snapped out of her thoughts and frowned at herself. She got to her feet. She was already going to be in trouble for running off without warning – she'd probably better not get in trouble for breaking curfew too. She began lightly jogging back from whence she came.

It didn't occur to her once, though she had little to think about in her solitary run, that she could have used this power against her enemies…even against the very man who'd given it to her.

As Rogue ran like a startled deer from the Institute, Magneto paced like a caged bear in his study.

Unlike her, his thoughts were far from any possible ramifications of his actions. He had tried and tried again to imagine just how this arrangement could effect his own authority as a leader – after all, who would follow a man who bedded a girl young enough to be his granddaughter? A girl who was only perhaps a year older than his own children? He tried to think about what the revelation could do to the X-Men, and whilst he thought anything that weakened them was a terrific thing he was reluctant to directly wound Charles in that manner – the two had been friends, once; to set about seducing one of Xavier's students went against the quiet, grudging respect he still held for the man. He tried to think of his cause – he was accepting a lover who would never advocate his movements, who would perhaps try to dissuade him…would he listen to her if she did try? Would his cause begin to lag and crumble?

But he found he couldn't care less about these things, which surprised and appalled him. He could imagine the reactions of those around them – Xavier, his children, her fellow X-Men, his followers…they would all be betrayed, confused and enraged. He could see his authority as a leader tapering off, even just slightly, in light of the ridiculous notion that he sought after a woman so very much younger than him. He could even see his cause beginning to wane as he devoted time and interest to her, tiptoeing around her watchful guardians…but…

All he could actually focus on was the constant, undying want that was eating away at the edge of his freewill, pushing him back to her.

He'd certainly felt desire for her before last night. She was a young woman, with such singular and beautiful features, and a lithe form – he was only a man, after all; surely it would have been more suspicious if he hadn't felt desire for her! But by the time logic had fled from his mind and they'd fallen into that hotel room, he had already determined that this would become a regular occurrence. Alone, though still with slightly-clouded judgment, he tried to ask himself why.

…And he received no answer.

She was pretty, yes, but he was above seeking a companion for no reason other than physical attractiveness. She was powerful, but that had nothing to do with their arrangement. She had a singular personality, but they had hardly talked after leaving the restaurant. He couldn't make sense of his want – the only thing that was different about her from any other was her submissiveness.

Perhaps that was it. All the women of his past were too proud, too correct and too knowledgeable to hand their will to him, even in an act that was – in essence – a display of male dominance. This woman had given him her control, though nearly without consent. She was proud, yes, but she had bitten down on that pride enough in the past to be able to ignore it when she wanted. She was free-spirited, breaking the rules when it suited her or bending them in search of a higher order. She was naïve, but her powers kept her from being completely so – she had absorbed some of the most filthy, wretched minds; she was becoming wise to the world, but not so quickly that she couldn't be caught and have her preferences shaped.

Was he taking advantage of her inexperience, her youth and her naivety? Quite possibly. He was certainly taking advantage of her inability to control her powers; as long as she couldn't touch, she would come back to him.

It was a very pleasing arrangement.

But it was still no answer to the questions that brewed in his mind. He could find excuses why he wished their relationship to remain consistent, but he couldn't find an answer that suited him. She was desirable, yielding, a forbidden fruit of sorts…but none of this could explain away that he had given into his baser instinct…a thing usually under his strict control. These half-hearted reasons couldn't tell him what had prompted him to throw caution to the four winds and more or less tell her that they would be seeing each other again, regularly. It couldn't explain away the desire to feel her under his hands again; it was eating away at him now, even though it was barely twenty-four hours since they had…

…Hm. Well, even if he could find no reason for his actions and deliberations, why not indulge them as long as she was willing? Remembering that she had told him that she would be there for him as long as he wanted her did nothing to quell his unreasonable desire, either.

With a reluctant pause, he retrieved his helmet from his desk and strode out of the study, full of purpose.

The Institute was almost in her sight when she realized she wasn't alone.

There was no sound save for the chirping of the crickets in the grass and the wind pulling through the trees softly and rustling the leaves, making the branches creak and groan. Aside from the occasional leaf fluttering to the ground, everything was still – even Rogue as she slowed to a halt, feeling a pair of eyes on her. She looked around, standing in the middle of the rocky little strip on the side of the road, listening and watching. Waiting.

"Hello?"

The wind picked up, whistling in the branches of the trees and making the leaves shuffle. Rogue frowned at herself, but began walking again, slowly and tentatively. She was certain that there was someone…

There was a crunch behind her. She spun around, fists clenched and ready to spring.

"Now, now, my dear…there's no need to be hostile."

Rogue sighed with relief and relaxed, then smiled slightly at herself when she realized that usually she would have pulled off her gloves by now and launched at his face. "Ah'm sorry, suh," she said. She relaxed her position, but kept her head up and her eyes directly on his.

Magneto closed the space between them and Rogue felt all the bruises he'd left her with begin to tingle – she'd forgotten entirely about them after dressing this morning, until now. She shivered outright as he twisted a strand of her hair in his fingers and tugged at it lightly. "I want you to meet me tomorrow night," he told her in a low voice. "I expect to find you at front of the hotel we visited last night, at nine o'clock."

She nodded. "Tomorrow at nine," she repeated. "Ah'll be there, suh."

He released her and gently trailed a finger down her jaw. Her eyes fluttered closed; he couldn't help but smile at the sight. "Good."

His hand left her skin – when she opened her eyes again, he was gone as suddenly as he'd appeared. She shivered, touching her jaw lightly where his hand had just been. Her heart was pounding incessantly against her ribs, making it hard to catch a good breath of air. The bruises on her throat and shoulders still tingled.

Somewhat reluctantly, she turned back to the Institute. Guilt surged in her, high and fast, at the sight of the immaculate white structure, but she bit down on that feeling. She either kept a secret or she destroyed all she loved, because she knew for a fact that there was no third option – there was no 'stopping', at least not on her part. There was one thing she still had no control over…

But she could take solace in the fact that it wasn't something that mattered, ultimately…

A/N: REVIEW TIME!

selestria: 'Bizzare yet oddly compelling' is pretty much what I'm going for here – so thank you! Whee! Onwards with the disturbing-ness!

musagirl15: Personally I wouldn't have called the fic 'cute', but…meh. It'll get better, though – promise!

RogueBHS: Oh, man, I would love to write in a reaction from Pietro like that. "See this look on my face? Right here? This look means you have broken my mind!" Tee hee! You probably guessed it was Remy who'd stood her up, but as I mentioned in this chapter he wasn't the only bad guy when their relationship fell through. You're welcome for the story, and thanks for the review! (By the way, what does the 'BHS' stand for in your moniker? Just curious – you don't have to say.)

ishandahalf: The age difference is hugely creepy, isn't it? But I've been fixated on this pairing since I was introduced to the Age of Apocalypse series. Rogue gets paired up with all the weird guys – if not Gambit of the tormented past, then Magneto of the bipolar disorder or Juggernaut of the homicidal tendencies (see Ultimate X-Men Annual #1 – it's in there!). Ah, the poor girl. She'll never get a stable guy, will she?