Title: Gloves

Author(s): Alixy and Bologna (co-authored)

Summary: What does Rogue do with all her gloves after X3? (one-shot)

Timeframe: post-X3

Disclaimer: We own nothing. Bologna enjoys her fantasies where she owns Shawn Ashmore, but she's delusional.

Ororo Munroe was not in a good mood. Absolutely not a good mood. It was 3 o'clock in the morning, and the fire alarm had just gone off. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and into a robe.

As she ran down the hall, doors opened and bewildered faces peered out. "Bobby! Come with me! Kitty, find Logan. Jubilee, get the kids out."

---

She was sick and tired of those stupid gloves haunting her every time she opened her drawer. Just seeing them made her want to scream.

So there she was. In the basement. Like a mad woman. Burning gloves.

Yeah.

Well, she had to do it in the basement. It's not like she could do it outside with all the trees. Or inside with all the kids. So the basement was the only option. Even with all the cars. And the Jet.

"Oh, wait," she said to herself. "Storm's gonna be furious." She thought it for a second.

Oh well. This had to be done.

---

Where is she?" Storm screamed. Lightning crackled in her hair and around her hands.

Bobby kept his distance. "Calm down, Miss Munroe. We'll find her soon enough."

Logan had noticed that Rogue's scent was missing from the group of kids assembled outside the mansion and had asked Storm to help him find her. Storm felt almost certain that the girl, for some reason, was behind the fire.

She looked up to see Logan running towards her with Kitty in tow. "She's in the basement."

"What!" Storm's thought flew to the motorcycles, cars and the Jet that were down there. "She is in so much trouble," she muttered darkly.

---

Rogue threw the gloves into the fire one by one, with an insane grin on her face.

"Silk ones, cotton ones, crocheted ones," she sang softly to herself. "Burn. Burn, I say," she laughed.

'Ok, I am officially crazy.'

"What do you think you're doing!" Ororo's mood kept getting worse… and worse… and worse.

"Kid, seriously, what are you doing?" (Guess who.)

Rogue snapped out of her insane state. "Um… Ahm… well, what does it look like ahm doin'? Burnin' these dang gloves." She looked Logan straight in the eye. "Anymore questions?"

"Yeah, actually. Why're you doin' it at 3 o'clock in the mornin'? And down here? With the cars and the Jet?"

"Because Ah just couldn't take it anymore, Logan. They were haunting me. So Ah decided to, well, you see…" She gestured to the fire with pairs of gloves burning in it. "Ahm in trouble, aren't ah?"

Ororo laughed humorlessly. "You bet you are."

Logan stared at Rogue – Marie – for a second, then turned to Storm. "I don't think she meant any harm to anyone. She was just trying to bury her past."

"Logan…"

"Trust me, 'Ro. I know."

Rogue gave Logan a small smile. "Well." She looked back at the fire. "Anyone wanna do the honors of throwin' in the rest o' these?"

"Uh…"

"Logan?"

"Why d'ya have to pick on me, kid? Why not Ice Prick over there?"

"ONE! AH AM NOT A KID! AND TWO! His name's Iceman. Ah mean Bobby! And three, Ahm not pickin' on you. Ah figure you're the best person to help me out here."

Logan sighed. "Fine." He held out his hand.

She dropped the rest of the gloves into his outstretched hand. "Have fun, sugah."

A/N: This is the product of musings at around midnight a few days ago. We were not fully functioning, so it might not make much sense, but if it does, we appreciate reviews, whether they be flames, constructive criticism or praise.

Alixy