Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Pfft, as if that's changed since the last update, especially since my state of unemployment hasn't wavered a bit…

A/N: Well, I still don't have a job, so here's to a stream of uninterrupted creativity! Damn, I need money. But, that's hardly anything that anyone here can remedy, unless Marvel likes to scout for writers here amongst the masses of fangirls (read: sarcasm)…

This time 'round, we pick up where we left off – Xavier is confronting Magneto, making him realize things that were really better off kept in the gloom of the Master of Magnetism's clouded mind. Rogue, meanwhile, is beginning to feel as if she's discovering something…like herself.

Love it or shove it.

Inappropriate Conduct

Chapter Six

Xavier had to admire his old friend's conviction – he was standing accused of both hypocrisy and immoral conduct, without the wherewithal to defend himself whatsoever, but still he remained proud and tall; he didn't slump in defeat, become frustrated or desperate, or begin to waver at all in his conviction and right to do as he wished. He merely stood there, awaiting condemnation and determined to face it like a man, preparing his rebuke in his silence. Perhaps he believed he deserved to be called on this act? Perhaps he was merely containing his raging anger, preparing to strike back with a vengeance? Perhaps he just had nothing to say?

Perhaps he just didn't care. As usual, Xavier couldn't discern his old friend's emotions for the life of him.

"Well, Charles?" came the impatient demand. "Do you suppose you can correct me when you yourself are guilty of similar transgressions?"

"Correct you? No, not at all." Xavier paused. "I can only implore to your morals; I can only feed your guilt. Failing that, I can only caution you…"

"Feed my guilt? What guilt, old friend?" Magneto demanded, his upper lip curling in disgust.

Xavier smiled slightly and, despite himself, took on a sardonic look. "Of course…I forget myself. You don't feel such things, do you? Each action you take is careful, decisive. Guilt is for those who make mistakes, those who aren't absolute in their conviction. Guilt is for those who act rashly, who surpass the restrictions of their morals." He leaned back in his wheelchair, his eyes turning hard and cool. "Do you have morals any more, Eric?"

"The first barb of disgust," Magneto mused, assessing his look carefully. "You accused me of hypocrisy; it seems as though I'm not the only one here guilty of it."

"I never said I wasn't."

"Indeed…but, if you cannot be morally upstanding in this situation, and if you – by your own admission – are without the ability to be self-righteous towards me…what have you? How can you suppose to tell me to cease and desist now, if doing so makes you worse than I in this foray of crumbling morality?"

Xavier shook his head. "You misunderstand me, old friend." He paused. "While I can no more approve of this situation as you could of the similar case ten years ago that surrounded myself…I am not here to pass judgment and condemn both you and I to being definite and true hypocrites. I am here to caution you."

"Caution me," Magneto repeated incredulously. "And what, Charles, do you suppose to caution me of?"

"Of Rogue."

Magneto was obviously taken aback. Xavier tried not to smile – it was plain to see that his old friend had expected a personal attack; the girl was already absolved from blame and all wrongdoing in the other man's mind. "As absurd as it sounds," Magneto said slowly as he recovered his composure, "what does she have to do with your warning to me?"

"You expected me to berate you for corrupting one of my pupils, didn't you?" Xavier said, allowing himself another slight smile. "Again, I couldn't honestly do that with a clear conscience. You were right when you told me, once, that my teachings to my students are on the very same level as yours to your followers – we each tell a tale that suits our purpose, omitting the bad and playing down the holes in our ideologies in favor of what we each believe. In a sense, I corrupt my students daily, as do you your Acolytes. However Rogue never quite followed my edicts as law…that is to say, she has always been knowledgeable to such propaganda – one couldn't remain ignorant, I suppose, given the nature of understanding that her powers allow her."

To both their seeming surprise, Magneto slowly sat down on a nearby park bench and – perhaps even more surprising – removed his helmet cautiously. "What are you getting at, Charles?"

"To be brief, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into," he said bluntly. "I won't harass you about corrupting my student – as I have said, she is a corruption of her own, much like Emma Frost had been and possibly still is; neither woman was aware of her manipulative powers and while that might have changed for Emma, Rogue is still most certainly unaware of her corruptive qualities. But what concerns me is that, currently, she corrupts you."

"That is preposterous…"

"…But nonetheless true." Xavier leaned forward now, all humor gone from his expression. "Tell me, honestly, that even after so short a time you could easily allow her to fall from your life. Tell me if you could terminate this relationship you have started with her and not spend an indefinable period of time lamenting your decision, if only because it suited you to continue. Tell me that you don't find yourself thinking about her far more than you would have estimated when you first arranged to meet with her regularly."

Magneto was silent.

That was an answer enough for Xavier. "Take the word of a man who has trod this worn path before you, Eric – she will be your undoing if you don't cease now."

"What do you mean by that?" was the following angry demand.

"Don't you remember what happened to me once I became fixated on Emma Frost?" Xavier returned, calmly. "I can't remember the time well at all, whether it was a series of days, weeks, months or years, but from what I gather from the bystanders – yourself and others – I spent much of my time blind to anything else but the sight of her. My concentration on all else diminished to nothing. I was irritable to anyone who was not her. She had me successfully captured under thumb without exerting even an ounce of effort."

Once again, Magneto remained silent but the expression on his face told that he was considering Xavier's words.

"It took more effort than I had ever exerted on any one endeavor to forget her when she left the Institute," Xavier continued. "At long last, when I was myself again, I found that everyone else had abandoned me in the process – you were long gone, and I had no idea when you had left. I sought to rebuild what I had lost, but for many years I had only a handful of people surrounding me – Wolverine and Storm…Cyclops and Jean. Only just recently have I been completely able to pull myself together, yet I still fear that if Emma were to return to the Institute I would find myself back in the very place I had striven to rise from."

"And you suppose that the same will happen to me? That Rogue has bewitched me in the same sense that Emma had bewitched you?" Magneto asked, finally awaking from his silence. The disbelief and cynicism was evident on his face. "The only similarity between the two situations is that there is a proportional age difference between ourselves and the two young women."

"Then you don't find yourself occupied with thoughts of Rogue when your mind should be concentrating elsewhere? You have been able to function normally, without any impediment? You haven't found yourself despising anyone else who attempted to consume your time, when you were preparing to meet with her?" Xavier paused, waiting for an answer – he received none, which was evidence enough. "Before long, Eric, you are going to find that you can only find happiness in your time with her. Later, you will find yourself wanting to share that happiness with her. Later still, you will find that you cannot comfortably pass a day without at least seeing her…unless, that is, you have already reached that point."

"And what point is that, Charles?" Magneto asked sardonically, caustically. He rose as he spoke, replacing his helmet and obviously preparing to end this meeting.

"The point of no return; love." Xavier smiled again as his old friend's eyes widened then quickly narrowed. "Yes, love. Once you have ascended to that point, I'm afraid there is no comfortable means to turn back. Even so, you mightn't wish to do any such thing." Xavier inclined his head. "I know that I certainly didn't, but Emma felt the need to and took the choice from me."

"This is ridiculous," Magneto muttered, looking away.

"If you insist." Xavier paused purposefully. "I will request, however, that you endeavor to keep these liaisons quiet – I know Rogue hasn't mentioned them to anyone within the Institute and I would like to leave the decision to her, so long as this doesn't interfere or jeopardize with her position as an X-Man. It's an unwarranted caution, I'm sure – after all, you are more than likely to be mindful of her wishes…perhaps more so than I."

One o'clock in the morning found Magneto in…a notably foul mood.

He paced lengthily up and down the expanse of his study – far too energized and irritated to go to bed – as he muttered to himself a series of empty threats to Xavier, a handful of self-affirming reprimands to himself and a number of unfettered, unattached curses to the world in general. His anger, his indignation settled over him like a low, dark cloud. Fatigue ate at him, but he had to let his anger run its course; sleep wouldn't come easily or fitfully, if at all, in the state he was in now.

"'Perhaps more so than I'…all that talk about not reducing himself to a judgmental hypocrite was nothing more than empty words."

What else did he expect from Xavier, though? His mind reproached him for leaving the shelter of his base to meet with the man. But what other options had he been given at the time? He could have denied Xavier the satisfaction and, rather than comply to meet him, had told the man – to use the vernacular – just 'where to go', but then how could he be certain Xavier would not keep silent? What was to stop his former friend from forbidding his young student from leaving the Institute's grounds? No…he had met with the man for precaution's sake.

"And that alone."

His mind wouldn't let that be the end of it, however – unbidden, memories of Xavier's decline at the unknowledgeable hands of the girl who had gone on to call herself the White Queen danced across his mind. He could remember quite clearly now the rapid disintegration of Xavier's interests in all things pertaining to mutant-human relations; his time became consumed with his young student until eventually there was no room for anyone else in his life. He abandoned all projects and concentrated all his time into the young woman, who had then been twenty.

At the time, Magneto had condemned Xavier a fool – he had been the first to abandon the man in his crumbling Institute. He had quickly come to the conclusion that whilst Xavier was perhaps not intentionally a lecherous man, he was – if nothing else – unable to keep himself fixated on the greater goal that lie ahead of him. He had given up love for his noble pursuit, but then reverted back. This, Magneto had concluded, showed weakness more faithfully than any devisable test. There was, he found, a distinct weakness in the man and – he later deliberated – a weakness in his dream.

Now, however…now he could only remember the young woman, Emma.

He hadn't ever been particularly attached to the girl; he realized some years ago, after having left the Institute, that Xavier had more or less intercepted any attempts made by either party to get to know one another better. That was of little consequence now, however. His mind, acting against him, brought to him memories of her and Xavier.

She had been a very apt, headstrong but compliant student – all very admirable traits in a pupil. She was sharp and keen-eyed; she could spot an exploitative point in an individual instantaneously. However, her quick senses had failed her all those years ago…yes, indeed…

…She had been entirely oblivious to Xavier's intent, until it was far too late.

Previously, Magneto would have laughed to reflect on that – the girl's disbelief when he had plainly communicated his old friend's feelings towards her in a fit of accusatory rage at her as he had first set to leave the Institute; the shock that had been evident on her face when she found out from the man himself upon a confrontation; the uncertainty and, though she never said it herself, fear that kept her solitary in her quarters for almost three days.

Now, however, he wasn't laughing.

It sharply stood out in his mind how oblivious the girl had been, despite being a telepath. He could remember distinctly, now, just how distraught Xavier had been when she had fled the Institute, confused with herself and all those around her. Images of his devastated former friend flittered across his mind – the man had walled himself up in his grief, refusing to say much or do anything; there had been no means of talking with him, then. Magneto had been contemplating leaving for some time, irritated with the stagnant progress of Xavier's grandiose dreams – in his disgust at this perceived weak and selfish mourning, Magneto had decisively left.

But now he could sympathize; now – despite himself – he regretted leaving as he did, like the few others that had been there at the time.

Now…he worried for himself.

But why?

Indeed, why? His situation was entirely removed from Xavier's – the only similarity was the age difference, as he had told the man so. After all, to draw the first dissimilarity, Xavier and Emma had advocated the same cause – Rogue was a part of the X-Men, and the X-Men stood for everything that Magneto fought against. Not once had Emma questioned Xavier – if ever Rogue joined him, he got the distinct impression that he would be badgered constantly with questions challenging, if not scrutinizing, every move he made.

Secondly – Emma and Xavier had never been lovers, before or after Xavier's declaration of affection for the young woman; Magneto and Rogue fought on opposite ends of the battlefield, certainly, but it seemed as if both had harbored a quiet, low-burning attraction to the other that had rather spontaneously erupted into this secret affair. Xavier had never shown a physical motivation for pursuing Emma, but physical motivations were what made the foundation of Magneto's relationship with Rogue.

And thirdly – Xavier had been blindly in love with Emma; Magneto was not…he was not…

Magneto froze in mid-step, finally ceasing his relentless journey back and forth across the wearing carpet of the study. It felt as if his mind had suddenly run into a brick wall – he couldn't finish his deliberation without it cutting itself off on his logic. An unbidden revelation struck him – before he could deny it, the idea had firmly taken ground in his mind; its retribution for having been previously ignored so blindly and fastidiously.

He sank down into an armchair; the revelation began to assault him relentlessly. He was in love, it stated clearly. He was in love with that small, pale girl. He was in love with Rogue…with Anna-Marie.

…He was in love, for God's sakes.

He groaned and sunk his head into his hands. Good grief, Xavier was right…again. This was far beyond his expectations; he, as his damned former friend had warned, had gotten himself in a predicament that he hadn't prepared himself for. He hadn't guarded himself against the possibility of loving the girl, because the idea of love hadn't even crossed his mind when he'd first reached for her. There hadn't been any stirring in his heart when he'd first held her close to him; he'd been suffocated with lust, yes, but there hadn't been so much as a hint of love in him for her.

Yet…here he was, faced with a situation very much like that which Xavier had nearly destroyed himself with.

It had verily snuck up on him. Only a few hours ago, he had merely been contemplating the small idea of being infatuated with her; it had crossed his mind that he could be merely infatuated with her, but…not this. However it was most certainly love, he knew that much. Already he had compromised himself for her; allowing himself idle time to distract himself with thoughts and memories of her, endeavoring to know her better as a person where he should have kept his mouth shut, tenderly embracing her when he should have just left her alone, and so on.

What had persuaded him to continue on with this liaison? What sinister voice had been whispering in his ear, clouding his judgment and making him blind to the signs in front of him? A handful of days ago he had a firm hold on his emotions – he had been in control of himself and all around him – but not anymore. Now, love had him by the throat and he couldn't spare a moment for anything that didn't involve her.

Still…oddly enough, he didn't blame her for any of this.

She had, in actuality, discouraged his tender embraces. Whenever he asked her a personal question she would fall silent momentarily, as if attempting to find a means around and out of the inquiry. They had exchanged no declaration of feeling; she conversed with him little more openly than she would a casual acquaintance. There was little indication of any emotion in her actions and words…

But still…

He was certain that she would have perceived a change between them too. Perhaps she hadn't acknowledged it as love – perhaps she was still far from feeling that, yet – but she was quite clearly a naturally perceptive young woman; her powers made her so. Even if she felt nothing in return, she would have – in the least – found a change in him. Though he was still certain she felt something; he was certain that she trusted him to some degree. Trust hardly amounted to what he reciprocated it with, but…he'd take anything she had to offer. His pride prickled to acknowledge that, but it seemed that side of him had faded to a mere whisper where she was concerned.

It was a truly disturbing idea, to fall in love without his consent or, indeed, without his knowledge. How quickly had his pride eroded; how rapidly he'd lost control of the situation. It had only happened once before – with Magda – when he had been entirely unprepared against the emotion. Since then he had guarded himself closely, but somehow this girl had fallen through the chink in his barricades. Now that it had happened, though…what was he going to do?

The sun had dawned on a new day some hours ago.

Lunch had been announced by Storm not too long ago. A loud clattering on the floor below, accompanied by the occasional noisy exclamation or not-infrequent bang, provided all the necessary indication that, indeed, lunch had commenced. Rogue's stomach growled at her fiercely – it could have put Wolverine to shame – but she refused to move on its account. She remained as she was, bundled up with her knees drawn up to her chin as she huddled by the curtained French doors. She hugged her legs tightly, convulsively, as she shivered uncontrollably in the warm room. Her eyes were fixated on the locked door that led into the hallway beyond her darkened chamber.

There was a thin stream of light that shot across the dark carpet, emitting from a gap in the heavy curtains behind her. Along its way it illuminated a series of mismatched shoes, pieces of crumpled paper, an occasional book and a mass of CD cases – the debris of her roommate, who had left the room before Rogue had woken and, in a trance-like state, curled herself up to sit as she now was and as she had been for the past five hours.

Kitty would return after lunch – she always did. Every Saturday, without fail, Kitty would come into the room after lunch and spend half an hour selecting another ensemble before heading off with a number of other girls to the mall.

Rogue knew she should get up. She should at least lock herself in the bathroom – even Kitty wouldn't intrude on that locked door. She should have hidden herself. She should've done something.

But her mind was far from her younger roommate and her habits.

She'd fallen asleep last night with relative ease. In fact, she'd slept better last night than she had for some time now. She'd woken up, feeling large and in charge…ready to seize the day. She'd stretched luxuriously, reaching up high to the ceiling. She'd felt remarkably good. She'd felt as though she could've taken on the worst of the world – a level nine Danger Room simulation; a Friends of Humanity riot; Apocalypse; whatever. She had been ready to face the worst with headstrong determination and a defiant, battle-ready stance.

She'd managed to get her feet on the ground before it all collapsed on her.

Even now, after so many hours with nothing else to contemplate – after a near sleepless night throwing about her revelations and questions in her head – she couldn't understand what had happened, but as she'd looked up to the mirror on the dresser…well…

The reflection was her, or the 'her' that Rogue had once been. For just rolling out of bed, she had to admit that she wasn't looking too bad – her hair was only slightly rumpled and, with her face yet untouched by makeup, her eyes shone brightly. The faint, natural color of her skin seemed to glow with life. She looked invigorated, alive. She looked like she was supposed to, like the happy-go-lucky little girl that Irene used to care for should have looked as a young woman…before she was diagnosed with a 'skin condition' and had become a pale, shrouded ghost.

Once in possession of that medical certificate, Rogue had slowly developed a feeling of unworthiness – she wasn't that happy, smiling girl anymore, she used to tell herself – she couldn't be that girl when she was wrapped in a shell that prohibited it. Why should she…no, how could she still look like her? Thus had begun an expensive and concealing trial with heavy foundations, dark eye-shadow, thick kohl pencils and dense lipsticks.

Seeing that happy girl in the mirror had struck her strangely, but she hadn't been able to understand how it was disturbing her. It was just her reflection.

Perhaps her problem lay with the fact that she was used to not being that girl. Visitors to Irene's house used to wonder if she had two children in her care, when they observed the photographs on the mantel – there was one of a smiling girl in a green dress on a swing set, but then there was another of a miserable girl turning away from the camera and hiding her face in her hair. The only thing that linked the two girls together was the peculiar stripe in their hair.

Rogue still felt that she wasn't that girl. That girl was Anna-Marie; a sweet Southern girl who climbed the highest trees with the boys and played jump rope and hopscotch with the girls – she was not Anna-Marie. Quietly, she would have loved to be that girl again. She wanted to smile with carefree happiness. She wanted to be able to walk around without a greasepaint mask on. She wanted to throw back her head and laugh. She wanted to be pretty again. She wanted to be loved again.

She wanted to be Anna-Marie again.

Though what she wanted and what she could have were, as the saying went, two entirely different things.

She was still everything that made her what was the Institute's Rogue – quiet, untouchable and grave. No one smiled at this quiet Rogue like they did the vivacious Anna-Marie. No one loved this untouchable Rogue like they did the carefree Anna-Marie. No one wanted to know this grave Rogue like they did the happy Anna-Marie. She would probably never be as she was before – life experience disallowed it – but to have just a little of what she was inside would make Rogue feel like a complete person, rather than a shell.

All in a split second, in front of that mirror, had all these things danced across her mind. Gloom overtook her cheery demeanor, but just as soon as it did…up came another revelation that turned slight but manageable depression into sheer and unbalanced horror.

She had accepted long ago that no one saw anything of Anna-Marie in who she had become – not Kitty, who shared a room with the divided girl, nor the Professor who had seen into her mind previously. Not even Remy, in whom she had hoped to find the means to resurrect Anna-Marie, but had instead found a much more severely divided person who required help and healing more than she did.

No. It seemed that no one saw Anna-Marie in her…except Magneto.

Looking in that mirror, she could see the girl she had once been – devoid of a mask, ready to face anything that life threw at her. A girl who's unkempt wavy hair fell in front of her face on the right, who's eyes shone with anticipation; a girl who could tease and console at the same time, whose prickled pride could give way to a fiery temper.

She saw, in short, everything that she knew Magneto would have seen in her.

This was the girl he had so reverently called by name two nights ago; this was the girl he tried to impart gentle caresses to; this was the girl he marked so fiercely. She wasn't the Rogue that the residents of the Institute knew to him – she wasn't an enemy during that time. She was a companion, a lover, a quiet presence. It was amazing to feel that…to feel wanted as more than a comrade-in-arms on the battlefield. To be wanted as a woman. To be seen as more than just her shell.

That was what had changed.

But as much as it amazed and thrilled her, it scared her. Who wouldn't be scared? She was being brought back to her former glory by a man she was supposed to be indebted to fight against; she was showing her brightened side to a man who she was supposed to abhor with all her being. No one at the Institute had even inquired after the girl she was; none of them seemed to think she had ever been anything more than a quiet, solemn person. None of them knew anything about Anna-Marie. He knew different and he wrought change in her, without her knowledge.

Thus, trance-like, she had risen from her bed, locked the door against intruders and tucked herself into her corner.

There, she had tried to deny that Magneto could see what was left of the girl she used to be. She tried to tell herself that there was no resurrecting Anna-Marie now – the very thing she'd begun to believe after she'd discovered that Remy couldn't even attempt mend her until he himself was mended. She attempted to make herself see that he probably only saw a convenient vessel in her; his tender touches were probably invoked by fleeting memories of women he had loved in the past. She reasoned with herself that she was still Rogue – nothing Magneto did would change that.

None of this reasoning stuck with her.

She couldn't place why she allowed him to see Anna-Marie, though, which only unnerved her even more. Trembling violently, she had shut herself down against all thought and pulled her knees to her chest all the more tightly, eyes staring wildly over her limbs at the door handle.

There, without even coherent thought for company, she had wiled away the hours until lunch.

A polite knock came at the door at one o'clock. She knew it was one because of the voice that issued forth after the light rapping: Kitty's voice. The girl was as regular as clockwork, on Saturdays. "Rogue? Are you in there? The door's locked."

She didn't answer – her brain was still closed off against any higher processing than it took to keep her breathing.

"Hello?" A pause, then a sigh. "She must've forgotten to turn the latch when she got up…but I would've thought she'd be here. She wasn't at lunch…" There was no second voice; Kitty was musing aloud to herself. Remarkably, after a second pause, she left without further investigation – her light footsteps receding down the hallway advertised her exit.

Silence resumed.

Rogue hadn't moved all the while; she had barely registered her friend's appearance and departure from their bedroom door. However, as this second silence fell over the room – only the birds in the grounds beyond the French doors were audible now, and their song was faint – her hands loosened from her legs. Slowly, her chin rose from her knees and she blinked; her glazed eyes cleared. She looked around the room as if she had only just seen it, as if she'd only just really woken up.

With the falling silence, Reason had spoken up again in her mind and broken her stupor. It had told her the pointlessness of her fear; what answers would she get with a jumbled mind in a closed room? Least of all she could pick herself up. She should face the day like she did any other – blank and impassive, but vigilant. Better, surely, to act as normal than to arouse suspicion, even if she felt far from normal.

She got to her feet and caught her reflection in the mirror again; she couldn't help but smile sardonically at the sight there. She was once again too pale, her eyes unattractively dull and her face plain and humorless. There was no pretty blush staining the cheeks, nor a light smile on the lips, nor a steadfast determination in the forehead. She wasn't the woman that Anna-Marie was supposed to become. She was herself again, as the X-Men knew her.

She was weary-eyed, guarded, malcontent and spiteful.

She was not Anna-Marie.

A quick glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table told her she had guessed the time of her roommate's arrival correctly – it was now five past one. She was meeting Magneto at eight.

Yes…despite this horror at seeing things that shouldn't be, despite her growing fear of this unusual feeling that hung over her yet-fresh memories of her time with him…despite all things that would ordinarily keep her away from a destination or an individual, she would see him tonight. It wasn't so much an obligation – though it never had been – as it was a curiosity. The fear and apprehension was charmed; there was something all the more unusual in her unrelenting want to see him despite the apparent deterrents. That too scared her, but the fear was overridden by curiosity and her simple, stubborn want.

So she would see him tonight. She would be Anna-Marie again, even if only for a few hours.

It was something she both wanted and had to do.

A/N: The end is nigh. Not right now…but soon! Right now, though, it's REVIEW TIME!

ishandahalf: That was one honking enormous review! Where to begin, where to begin…? Well, I'll give you this – the Gambit Confrontation that you and many others are looking forward to is scheduled for chapter nine (the second-to-last chapter, or maybe third-to-last). There will be anger, hurt, betrayal and angst a-plenty, but there's still a chance for Romy goodness. I must say, though, that there shall be no floating metal orbs into the sunset, whether Magneto convinces Rogue or not. :) There will be complications ahoy if I decide that Magneto will be accidentally cluing Rogue in at a premature time that he's (as you've now found) in love with her. Otherwise, it will more of a game of cat and mouse with the skirting about the delicate issues, avoiding the 'L' word and so on. Tee hee! I hope you enjoyed this update and – since you appreciated it last time – here's another preview (ahem): 'Yes…that was what he wanted; he wanted her to be with him, always. He wanted to be able to wake with her, to spend his idle moments with her, to wind down a long day with her. …As long as she was an X-Man, however, she would never want to fill any of those places – he knew that.'

RogueBHS: I'm sorry for the Emma/Xavier gag-worthy moment there, but I felt that Xavier needed to lose some of his high-ground in the situation – it was kind of spur of the moment, and it was either that or bringing in Moira MacTaggart and say that she'd been his student, despite not being a mutant, but there's just this happy feel of gossip and indignity around the mere mention of Emma Frost, isn't there? Half of the scandal is already laid out for the reader before I've even mentioned what happened between them! Whee! I'm glad that you think my work doesn't look as though it's thrown together in ten minutes – sometimes I worry about stuff like that, even if I spend a day and a half editing it. Bleh, I'm neurotic. Anway, thank you for the review and words of encouragement – stay tuned for more internal dialogue:)

IvyZoe: Mm-hm, oh yes he did! Xavier's pretty smooth, isn't it? I'm hoping that I can capture that, and I also hope that the confrontation between Xavier and everyone's favorite Master of Magnetism was a satisfactory job. :) As far as the three anticipated reactions go…firstly: Magneto. You know how he is – he'd sooner die than admit to anyone aloud that Xavier's right, but at least he admits it to himself; yes, he is in love with Rogue. I know, it does feel kind of icky with the age difference, but – like you pointed out – it doesn't really matter in the end. Gambit's reaction will appear in chapter nine, unfortunately (I'm saving the good stuff). And as for Rogue…hm. It could be that she's falling in love…but she might still have feelings for Remy. I'm not telling just yet! Ah, anyway…thank you for your feedback and I hope you enjoyed the latest helping of update!

thriller: All the praise you give me goes straight to my inflatable head, I swear. I pour over most of my paragraphs once they're written, trying to make them more emotive; it's wonderful to hear that it's appreciated. :) Onto the Troy discussion, I'm not entirely sure about the tie-dyed mu-mus to be honest – they're like big ponchos that cover your entire body, sort of like a dress except they can be worn by men; specifically, I believe they were on Brad Pitt and Eric Bana in the movie 'Troy', and both men are the kind you don't associate with dresses, but with manliness. You see, that's where my issue stems from. Lastly, regarding Remy (hey, that sounds like a good title for a Romy…hm), he's got a while before he makes his case to Rogue – then, at long last, the moment of truth! (Insert crazy 'The Shining' music here.) Anyway, thank you for the review, I hope you enjoyed the update and you're welcome for the previous response.

willowaus: Oh, there's more to come with Magneto, trust me. I've always felt he was a sort of unbalanced character, not listening to his own mind and ignoring warning signs when it was convenient – after the wondrous revelation above, well…it gets better. Just wait. Their relationship is about to either spontaneously combust into oblivion or it's going to become more of a cat-and-mouse chase. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment and thank you for your response.

Elle Mooreside: Being replied to is fun, is it not? Thank you for the compliment of the internal monologues – I have to admit, they're where I flounder. I keep going over those paragraphs more than I do the spoken dialogue, because spoken words are more easy to…I don't know, envision. You sit down to write internal monologue, and you keep wondering 'would they say that?' I'd love to read your smutfic, by the way, and I'm certain it's not ADD at all. Could I get a title, at least? Pretty please:) Well, anyhoo, ta for the review and I hope to hear from you again.

Expected Aberrance: It was probably my lack of luck finding any Magneto-centric fics that really pushed me to write this one (and thank you for your high esteem of said fic!). Clever moniker, by the way – would there be any particular story behind it, or is it just something that came to mind when you created your account? Well, as you requested…here (or was) is the update! I hope you enjoyed it.