Moving On - Chapter 13

By Gimpy


On the outside there was barely even an expression on the now docile woman's features. On the outside she was a statue, frozen and numbed, strapped viciously to an ice-cold metal table staring at a dank and moldy concrete ceiling. On the outside she was drenched in Kale's blood and her own tears but on the inside she was screaming. On the inside she sobbed tormenting, thunderous tears and screamed shrill indiscernible words. On the inside she was destroyed, crazed, continuously replaying Kale's flesh tearing open, his life spilling freely into her hands.

She'd gone mad when they tried to tear his body from her arms, absorbing anyone stupid enough to draw close to her. She'd also paid the price receiving several blows before a tall and balding man had entered the room and ordered her sedated. It was the same man from the newly surfaced memories, Kemelman, the man she swore she would kill if it took all her strength simply to do it. She knew how to too, having siphoned the information from the unlucky few she'd imprinted. The route to the man's office was traced and retraced within her hazardous mind. No matter what she was going to get her revenge.

Gazing up at the molding concrete, only able to blink passed the drug-induced paralysis, a timid and desperate tear glided down the side of her blood stained cheek. She was a prisoner in her own body but she didn't give up, kept fighting the daze, fighting to move even a finger. Determination was her only lifeline and she clung to it, fueling it with every image and emotion she could muster, Kale's brilliant eyes staying near the forefront of her tormented mind.

A shadow suddenly loomed overhead, hindering her view of the aged rock and forcing her to stare straight into the eyes of her tormentor. Kemelman hovered there, eyeing her suspiciously with an undisguised look of disgust and hatred. His already receding hairline had almost completely vanished, leaving a barely visible ring of stubble around the back of his skull. The face she vaguely remember was young compared to what she now saw, new lines creasing along the old creating a vision of weathering years and a sour existence. He was paler then what she knew him to be now almost as ashen white as she was, his skin having thinned out, clinging to bone structure for dear life. His forehead slanted at an unearthly angle, stretching beyond what was normal giving him a long and drawn out look of someone starved and tormented. Simply staring at him gave Rogue's inert form reason enough to struggle even harder against the unnatural hold upon her. Suddenly his steely gaze averted to Rogue's side at an unknown occupant.

"She doesn't seem so dangerous," he commented, his voice a rasp of air with light tendrils of sound.

Rogue's fight increased, her want to show him just how dangerous she could be, spurring her on.

"Appearances tend to be deceiving," a man responded, his own voice fuller then Kemelman's but still as raspy.

The metallic eyes found her once more as if gauging through sight whether she was as much a threat as claimed. "Yes they do," he scornfully agreed, creeping away from Rogue's vision. Not having him in her sights unsettled the woman, her pulse quickening as sounds of footsteps and rustling cloth filtered along her twisted nerves. "She did take down two of my men with a single touch and managed to brainwash another into give his life for her," his tone bared something born of a sickly pride, like Kale's death had been her doing, her will. A solitary tear found refuge along her torn cheekbone, slicking through dried edges of a decrepit bloodstain, warming the docile liquid.

"Ah yes, such is the power of a woman," the doctor crooned, a bitter laugh echoing for a joke that had never been made.

A tense moment passed, silence clawing at Rogue's resolves her fear of the unknown scratching at her strength. She found herself praying for words, praying for a break in the unnerving nothingness, unable to take its isolation.

"Yes," Kemelman's throaty whisper assaulted the other man, an irritated annoyance swelling over every audible vowel. "How are the tests coming along?" he continued with a strict annoyance that demanded he be followed like the first lemming taking to the cliffs.

"I will not be able to tell you much until I am given the chance to witness her power first hand," the doctor admitted and Rogue's dwindling resolve diminished even further.

"I was expecting that," Kemelman responded, his spotted head and hollow eyes reappearing before Rogue's vision.

"You have a subject in mind?" the doctor questioned to which Kemelman grinned sadistically.

"I do."

There was something in the way that he said it, something in the look he gave that let Rogue know that whoever this 'subject' was it was going to kill her being forced to take their life. She only hoped that it wasn't Mystique, she couldn't bare the thought, another tear smearing the bloodstain on her cheekbone.

"This is good, I will have more for you after. Her secrets will reveal themselves to me."

Gazing back at the doctor Kemelman spitefully retorted, "I should hope so because I don't take kindly to failure."

"That is not a word in my vocabulary."

"Right," Kemelman quipped, simply humoring the inferior man. Gazing back down into Rogue's fiery eyes he leaned closer. "It's good to have you home," he leered.

Enraged by his callousness, Rogue found a renewed strength to fight the drug. The strain was evident on her pale and damaged face and Kemelman backed away. He followed Rogue's jerky gaze as she cast it down her frame. Peering down at her hand he stilled, watching with surprise and a sick sense of pride as her bloodied middle finger moved.

A light chuckle flowed from the demoralized man when he realized what his creation was attempting to say.

"What is it?" the doctor questioned at the gruff laugh.

Ignoring the man, Kemelman reconnected with Rogue's eyes, a light and scornful grin on his face, "Manners are most definitely not a mutant trait, are they?"

With a glint in her eyes Rogue defied the man, her lip quivering as she struggled to snarl at him. Kemelman merely chuckled again before standing back and turning to the doctor.

"Prep her," he ordered. "I'll have the subject delivered to you when you're ready. "

"Yes sir."

"Keep me informed," Kemelman commanded, finally vanishing from Rogue's line of sight.

"Yes sir," the doctor gleefully responded.

Rogue listened intently as Kemelman walked away. A fire slowly formed in her arm where the IV was carelessly ripped out. The burning sedative that had been scouring her tender veins stopped and another tear flowed freely, the image of Kemelman's smug face burning itself into her mind.

Her will to fight was starting to fade, the fire Kale had spoken of dimming, giving in to the need to simply let go. As many times as she had sworn to herself that she was deserving of this hell she couldn't stop the fear from surging. It wasn't so much for her but for those she would be inflicted upon. There were already so many voices inside her head, most dormant but collective in their discrimination of her. She didn't think she had the strength to take on anymore without loosing herself entirely.

The only comfort she found was the constant hum of pain that assaulted her. She wanted to give into it but she knew that she had to save Mystique and prevent herself from being used like a toy. Kale's soft eyes flashed before her and her heart tore just a little more. She would break free, challenge her enemies, and then slaughter them and she would do it all for him, for his sacrifice and his pain.

The doctor moved purposefully around her, gripped her arm in double-gloved hands and carelessly rammed another needle into her bruised flesh. If she could have screamed Rogue would have. The doctor's angular, stretched features bridged the corner of her eyes, a leer ever present on his sickly white features. The drug he'd introduced adeptly gripped her, dragging her under, forming swirls of haze where the doctors ugly face once stood. Her last thoughts weren't of herself but of the subject she was set to destroy.


The sudden rush of cold water caused the well-toned man to flinch, the freezing drops sticking to his chiseled face. Through ruby tinted glasses he gazed at his meager appearance, berating and scrutinizing the scruff along his jaw. Scott had never been one to simply let such things slide but at the moment he didn't have the energy to care. Blindly grabbing a towel he padded down his face and then loosely tossed the fabric behind him. His ten minutes were nearly up and he was no more level headed then when he had started, if anything he was riled, unnerved and downright restless. No matter what he seemed to do there was just no staunching the feeling that the road ahead was going to be the rockiest of all.

Heaving a tempered sigh he left the men's locker room and headed towards the hanger deck. When he arrived the jet was already humming softly, a familiar sound that Scott relished. Walking along the platform and swiftly taking the stairs down he advanced on the impressive machine, encased in steely black paint. Running a hand along its exterior he smiled and whispered, "Don't let me down."

"Talking to a machine, wow, you really did sort out your head," Logan quipped, as he passed the man.

Scott simply rolled his eyes and followed Logan to the ramp. The others were already dressed in their uniforms making Scott feel strangely out of place. From the cockpit Storm offered him a comforting grin before commanding the ramp up with the flick of a switch. Scott would have returned the gesture if it hadn't felt so wrong. Moving deeper into the cavernous jet Scott tapped a panel on the wall and a compartment slid out containing his uniform. Removing it from its hook he closed the compartment and started for the back to change.

It was then that he noticed whom was all sitting within the steel bird. Jubilee offered the leader a chaste grin and he stared at the bodysuit she now adorned. She was too young and he knew it, she shouldn't be here but from the looks of things the decision hadn't been his. She was dressed and ready as was the blonde haired boy sitting behind her carrying a look of absolute uncertainty.

"I know, I feel the same as you do but it was undeniable."

Following the voice Scott came face to face with the blue fury man. "What's that?"

Hank shrugged, his fur floating on air as he moved. "We need all the help we can get."

"Children, Hank?"

"X-men, Boss Man, and Rogue's friends," Jubilee indignantly answered before Hank could. "Sides its too late now, we're takin' off."

Scott narrowed his eyes feeling even more out of place.

"You trained us. We won't let you down and we most definitely won't let Rogue down," Bobby added, a confidence appearing on his face that was beyond his years.

"If things get harry," Scott warned.

"We high tail it," Jubilee answered gaining a nod of consent from the stoic man.

"Damn straight you do."

"Hey Scooter, little under prepared aren't you?" Logan jibed as he emerged from the back room completely encased in black leather.

Rolling his eyes again Scott passed the smug man and filled the room he'd just left. As Logan strolled passed the younger members he glared, hating the idea of children joining the mission but knowing Charles had a firm grasp on what he was doing. Taking a solemn seat across from Jubilee he couldn't help but notice her blatantly staring. Sighing hotly he turned his steely eyes on her.

"What," he barked.

For once the girl actually grimaced at the intense malice Logan harbored, to which Logan's guilt swarmed.

"Out with it kid," he said, this time in a softer tone.

Hesitating, Jubilee suckled at her bottom lip before cautiously speaking. "I just, I want ya to know that no matter what happens out there, none of this was your fault."

Logan faltered at her words, agitation and fury bubbling but quickly evaporating at the earnest look the young woman gave him. Breathing a soft chuckle he turned his attentions forwards but not before softly saying, "Thanks kid."

"Seatbelts ladies and gentlemen," Scott ordered as he quickly made his way to the cockpit with Storm.

"Yes mother," Logan quipped even as he did what Scott had instructed.

Casting a wayward glance at the man, Scott chose not to respond, instead taking control of the jet and finishing what Storm had started. Rising higher, he watched out the window as the basketball court slowly closed behind them.

"Try to land better this time, will ya?" Logan chided smirking at the inside joke as it resurfaced.

Biting his lip to keep from retorting, Scott thrust the throttled forward instantly setting the massive jet into motion, a large boom following in their wake.

From within the subbasement walls Xavier mentally watched the giant machine fly off, telepathically whispering, "God speed."

All occupants heard the voiceless words, each allowing a moments grace to wallow in the warmth that Xavier's presence endowed upon them.

"Thank you Professor," Scott whispered back before focusing entirely on the mission at hand.


A black abyss swarmed her, coating her in chilling uncertainty. Consciousness was fleeting, passing in waves of light, shadows, and indiscernible mutters. Each time she'd catch barely a glimmer of her surroundings before the frozen tendrils of the drug attacked, drawing her back into the nothingness of her own mind. Those moments she didn't remember, too dazed, too confused and time became groundless, seconds, minutes, hour's perhaps even days passing, which she couldn't tell. The commotion about her was haunting in its haziness. The brief moments only cemented the fear she'd refused to give into. Her fate, however many times she argued the opposite, was still up in arms. The callused moments of reality were revealing nothing. Desperation became her doctrine as she tried each time to gain the upper hand on the demobilizing drug. Her only comfort was the few extra moments she was awarded for her fight, a few extra moments for a thousand pounds of effort. Within she cried, screamed, called out not for escape or rescue but for understanding, control over her own abilities.

She feared what was happening to her outside the somber bubble she was forcibly shoved into. She prayed for solace, for reprieve from the torment, knowing full well it would lead to an even greater torment, that born of touch. Another moment came, the staunching haze lifting, light bleeding into her sight but the ominous sounds were gone, the rumbling echoes having ceased. She channeled her energy, utilized all that she could muster to force the dawning of consciousness to remain, to lift the unbearably cruel emptiness of her own mind. The brilliant white escalated, assaulting her weary, dry eyes, causing double-edged tears to form.

The brilliance roared, flaring beyond her capability to cope, darkness soon following. For a moment she fear the shadowed tendrils had found her once more but the buzzing sound of neon lights became her savior. Each dragging sound reminding her that the unsettling emptiness was gone replaced by incomprehensible everything and yet there was still that unending barrier between her and actuality. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't bridge the gap. Her irritated pupils stung, the acidic salt of tears trailing along her worn cheeks, agitating the tender flesh beyond all distinction.

"Yah alright?" A coarse but obviously female voice called through the fogged darkness.

Inwardly, Rogue gasped sharply, her drive to understand intensifying. Edging her glassy mind from the intolerable abyss she let out a strangled gasp, a deepened breath forging in her lax lungs. The grayed areas of her clouded vision separated, true shapes taking form before her. The light accentuated the dull ache within her thundering mind, its continuos humming pounding along her skull.

"Ah'll take that as a no," the coarse voice softly mocked, a hitch forming in the pitchy words.

The overwhelming hold of the drug's affects lingered making speech impossible, a fact with which the disembodied voice found humor in, letting out a jerky laugh.

The woman chuckled again, "Nuttin' left, gutted, all tha lil entrails torn, nuttin's left dearie, not for yah ta get yahr grubby lil hands on."

Confusion reigned, spurred by her inability to see the woman belonging to the crazed words. The darkness still loomed at the edges of her vision but she found strength to swallow the lump preventing speech. The words that finally cascaded from her torn, bloodied lips were raspy, hitching and catching upon labored breath. "Ah'm not here ta hurt yah," she croaked, catching each swell of breath in her wary chest.

Damning silence followed her words as they resounded in the concrete room. A sharp breath followed, seeping from the shadows where Rogue couldn't see. Another inhale came and then passed, Rogue's shattered pulse fixating on the haunting sound and quickening.

"That's not what they said," the woman finally crooned, the sound louder then before, surprisingly closer.

Calling to her languid limbs, Rogue furiously tried to move them, push passed the tingling that came with sleeping muscles. The pricks and tingles grew with fever, intensifying exponentially along with her desperation to make them move. Her chest hitched and heaved through the excursion, her head finally managing to tip to the side she thought her companion to be. Despite the over powering lights dangling above, all she saw was shadow, a thin silver lining of a silhouette taunting her from the blanketed darkness. Rogue tried to discern the outlining, tried to bring solidity to the blank slate of a woman. The lining stood still under her gaze, the bare hint of the woman's chest rising letting Rogue know this was not her imagination.

"Yah're mah horseman," the woman spoke suddenly, shocking the lucid woman. "Tha bringer o' mah death, mah salvation. They said yah'd end it, end tha nightmare. All Ah havta do is touch mah skin ta yahrs an' it'll all be ova. They promised."

"Ah won't, Ah can't," Rogue sharply protested, renewing her will to move her weighted body.

The lining stepped forward, entering the light but not enough for Rogue to see all of her. "Yah can't lie ta meh, yah neva could."

The true meaning of the woman's words didn't register with the preoccupied Rogue, her listless arms finally taking her weight. In jerky, uncertain movements Rogue managed to push up. The exertion became too much for her and with one last-ditch attempt she lurched forward, slumping like a dying tree during a dry summer. Her entire form rose and fell along with her chest, her lungs starving and demanding for the stale oxygen it direly needed.

The form itched to step forward, to reach out to the agonized woman. A sideways gaze from the arched woman ended the need, the disgusted, piercing gaze stemming all want to go to the shriveling woman. Rogue just stared at the lining, showering it with demoralizing questions.

"Why?" Rogue breathed, the word pitching through her clenched teeth. A sniffle and chaste breath slowly broke up her sentence but Rogue didn't take notice, caring only for the answer that would follow. "Why do yah breath want breath meh ta kill breath... y-"

"It's only fair," the shadow interrupted. "Ah deserve this."

There was so much conviction in the woman's words; so much underlining pain that each word she spewed seemed to plead with Rogue for salvation.

"Look, breath Ah'm sorry for yahr pain but breath Ah will not be tha one ta end it," Rogue proclaimed, firmly believing in her words.

"It's only fair!" the woman shrilly repeated.

Shaking her head sadly, Rogue returned, "Yah don't breath need meh ta kill yahself. Ah'm sure there's otha ways."

"Yah don't get it sugah. Ah've been waitin' for this, waitin for yah. If Ah just wanted ta die, Ah would," the shadow forcibly retorted, resentment lingering within her tone.

"Ah don't…"Rogue started but faltered, the words refusing to find cohesion on her swollen tongue as her stare upon the half shadowed woman intensified. The harder she stared the sicker she felt, her unending pain mingling with a disgust and torment of a different kind. The woman leered knowing the path Rogue's demented thoughts were traversing.

"It's ironic," the woman calmly spoke when Rogue continued to stare at her disguised form. "Ah gave up everythang, forfeited mah life just so that yah wouldn't end up in this place."

A completely different form of tears swelled in Rogue's haunted eyes, a dark realization fueling them.

"An' here yah are, right where Ah didn't want yah ta be 'bout ta take mah very last breath. In a twisted way it's fittin' seein' as yah took every otha one Ah've eva had. Yah did good Kemelman, yah have a great sense of dramatic irony!" the woman cried, gesturing wildly to thin air.

Rogue's lungs refused to fill, her vision refused to clear and her mind raced in one giant circle until all she was left with was one breathy word. "Mama?"

Jerking her hidden eyes back to Rogue's disheveled form, the woman stared long and hard. There was nothing but darkness but Rogue held the formidable gaze holding a desperate breath within her lungs as the woman took one agonizingly slow step from the shadows, following by another until the only darkness that remained was on her shallow and bowed face. The sound of Rogue's beating heart pounded in her ears as the woman angled her head into the light, inch by inch showing Rogue what she desperately didn't want to see. The naked truth glared at her, shelled out, sunken, filled with animosity and a deeply seeded nothingness.

TBC…