Disclaimer: anyone I gave a full name for is property of Marvel. Some of the students I made up myself; any similarities to already-existing Marvel characters are coincidental and unintentional.

When Bobby awoke, the first thing he always did was turn onto his side if he wasn't already, and look at Rogue. He was always the first awake, so he was allowed this luxury. Rogue was usually nothing more than a head of hair, the comforter pulled well up to her chin. Being from the South as she was, she claimed to never fully adjust to the harsh near-New England winters. Plus, Bobby had a tendency to lower the temperature in the room overnight. It had driven John crazy; but had never bothered Piotr. Rogue, on the other hand, made jibes at his powers, but acclimated simply by cocooning herself in the comforter.

Bobby looked over, but Rogue was not there. Nor was the comforter. Nor was the painting hanging on the wall, a framed Dali print that Rogue had brought from her own room. There wasn't soft blue paint on the walls, only slick and shining metal strips. Bobby blinked, orienting himself, and knew exactly where he was. The infirmary. He was lying flat on a gurney, in his pajama pants, with electrodes strapped to his body, and a faint beeping somewhere behind his head.

"Bobby?"

Bobby turned the other way, slowly, because he was aching. Ororo was standing near him, examining an IV bag. She smiled, but it was fuzzy through Bobby's migraine. "You're awake," she said.

"What happened?" he asked, struggling to sit, but was greeted instead with a tidal wave of red heat in his head. He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple in an attempt to make it recede.

"You should have Rogue tell you," she said quietly.

"Bobby?" The pain in his head dulled a little bit, as Rogue's voice invaded his consciousness. Ororo stepped aside without a word, and Rogue dropped to her knees, putting her arms around him awkwardly. "Oh, thank God."

"Rogue, what happened?" he said. "Why are you wearing my sweater?"

Rogue's eyes, already red and tired, filled with tears. "It wore off."

"The cure?" She nodded, clearly on the verge of sobbing. "I'm sorry," he offered, squeezing her hand in his. "How are you holding up?"

Rogue shrugged. "I..." She blinked rapidly.

"It's okay," he prompted. Rogue blinked again, and he squeezed harder. "Hey. It's okay."

She bit her lower lip, sniffed and wrinkled her nose, focused at a spot on the wall, but finally, a few tears cascaded. Remarkably, she kept her voice even. "I don't want to be like this," she said. "I don't want to hurt people again. I don't want to hurt you. And I already have. It's my worst nightmare coming true. You almost died. And it's my fault."

"Hey," he said, "I'm fine." The throbbing in his head suggested otherwise, but he'd been in enough battles and training sessions to know that would pass sooner or later. "You can't possibly think that the cure wearing off is your fault."

"Logan said the same thing, but..."

"See? And you always listen to Logan." She opened her mouth to protest, though why, he couldn't fathom, because she did always listen to Logan. He cut her off. "I woke up, right? Waking up is the most important part. Forget about me."

Rogue stared at him. "My powers are stronger," she said. "I'm scared."

Bobby looked at her, and though he was a little heady still, everything seemed very clear to him. "I'm not."

Her smile was enough to cut through the remaining ache in him, and her hand fluttered to his chest, running around the contours of the machinery strapped to him with uninterrupted silken touch. It was making him stir in a way he was going to have to relearn to repress.

"Hey," he observed, trying to focus on anything else, "those are my grandmother's gloves."

"I found them in the drawer." She looked down at them, pushing the sleeves of the sweater up slightly so she could get a better look at them. "You kept them," she said.

"Yeah. I thought you could wear them for the wedding. Better than leather."

"How did you know I was going to be wearing gloves again?"

"I didn't," he said.

"So you kept them for our wedding before you proposed?" she said. "Before I even got cured?"

Bobby blinked at her. She was getting swimmy again; he felt fine overall, just a little tired. It had been awhile since he'd been victim to her powers, and he'd never been taken so badly. He figured he'd be fine after another quick nap. But it was even difficult to think about the sweet release of sleep when Rogue was staring at him like that. "Of course," he said.

"Sometimes you do such stupid things that I forget how sweet you really are," she said.

"What was the last stupid thing I did?" he countered.

"Remember the time you accused me of betraying the team, then had Logan beat you into a pulp?"

"You know he's been dying to do that ever since he found out you and I were dating. I was doing the guy a favor."

Rogue laughed sharply. "Some favor."

"Anyway, it was all good. I needed to learn how to deal with pain again. After that, this is nothing."

She rolled her eyes at him, her frown partly sincere and partly teasing. "You're being stupid again."

"Hey, I'm sweet, remember? Gloves? Wedding?"

"You still want to marry me?" she asked, her tone changing instantly from the sugary tease to the scared little girl he hadn't seen in so long. The girl that he loved, and wanted to protect, at all costs. There were so many faces that Rogue wore, each of them more complicated than the last, and sometimes being around her made him feel like he was solving an eternal math equation.

"Yes," he said. "Nothing's changed, Rogue."

"You're calling me Rogue again," she observed.

Bobby winced. The presence of the gloves had automatically cemented the name in his mind. "I'm sorry. I'll call you whatever you want to be called."

She cocked a grin. "How about Mrs. Drake?"

Bobby laughed, found that it hurt a little when he did. "You want to be a Drake? I'm not so sure I want to be a Drake."

"It doesn't matter. I just want to be with you."

He took her hand, squeezed it tightly. "That I can do." In another few short moments, Bobby fell back asleep, wrapped in a white haze. Things had changed yet again, for better or for worse, he couldn't decide, but it didn't really matter, as long as her hand kept holding his.

It was the largest gathering of mutants since the Brotherhood had still been active. The difference being, of course, that they weren't a terrorist threat. Bobby gazed out over the assembled, comprised of the entire student body, and a few old friends, as well. The front pew was book ended by Bobby's closest blue buddies; Dr. McCoy sat with collected grace at one end, while Kurt Wagner sat at the other, his tail bouncing as he chatted with Jones.

Piotr and Warren were at Bobby's left, the wings popping out of the back of Warren's tux. Despite the obvious presence of mutants in the room, Warren angled himself so that the wings were hidden from the view of the priest. At Bobby's right were Kitty and Ororo, the former of which was exchanging what Bobby could only describe as googly eyes with Warren, so much so that it was all Bobby could do to choke back his laughter.

The laughter died in his throat, however, as the heads in the church turned. Rogue was making her way down the aisle on Logan's arm. Between the puffy sleeves, the long gloves, and the veil, she was covered literally from head to toe. Bobby could've sworn he felt his heart constrict, in the best possible way.

In a rare display of physical affection, Logan kissed the top of Rogue's head before going to sit next to Dr. McCoy. Bobby noticed movement under the webbing of Rogue's veil. "Are you crying?" he asked in a low voice, torn between wanting to be amused or concerned.

"I just never thought that someone like me would ever make it to this day," she whispered.

Bobby laughed, earning him an annoyed look from the priest, who had just begun speaking, and one from Rogue, who probably couldn't figure out why he was laughing. Bobby merely marveled at the idea that someone as wonderful as Rogue could ever think that she wasn't a catch.

He wisely kept his mouth shut after that, but he wasn't paying attention to anything Father Andrews had to say. He was staring at Rogue, unable to get over how beautiful she looked in that admittedly enormous dress, and how lucky he felt that they had made it this far. He had a good feeling rumbling warm deep within him, and he hoped she could see that when she looked at him.

"I do," he said, when the time came, those two words meaning more to him than he'd ever thought possible. A few years ago, what felt like several lifetimes, he'd been an innocent kid, going to public high school, torturing his little brother, playing baseball with his dad on weekends. He had a girlfriend who wouldn't yet let him kiss her in public, and he had a bunch of friends that liked to screw around and laugh at stupid things. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his future, because it seemed so far off.

Now here he was: his parents and brother were gone, and instead replaced by a group of friends that redefined family bonds. He was marrying the woman that he loved. He was an X-Man, a fighter for mutant rights, and for peace. He was a teacher. He had never pictured himself here, and he never imagined that he could be so happy with his life.

Father Andrews told him he could now kiss the bride, and Bobby didn't need a second command. Much to the priest's surprise and confusion, and utter lack thereof as far as the assembled party was concerned, Bobby kissed Rogue right through her veil. It wasn't much, but all the same, it was a kiss that held promise.

Bobby and Rogue turned, hand in hand, about to head down the aisle to the waiting car, when the car itself crashed through the doors of the church. The crowd exploded in sound, half of the congregation staring in abject horror, the other half clamoring over each other in an attempt to get out of the pews and out of the line of fire.

Bobby was the first to act, shooting out an arc of ice to stop the car mid-flight, and suspend it on a frozen pedestal. Regardless of what Bobby had done with it, however, the car was the least of anyone's concern, because in the gaping hole where the ornate church doors had once been, stood a purple-caped Magneto, flanked by his sidekick Pyro.

"All of these mutants, and yet I wasn't invited?" said Magneto with one of his pitying smiles.

The kids who'd managed to escape the pews were scrambling to find an exit, but Pyro clicked his lighter, and in less than the blink of an eye, turned the tiny flicker into bright balls, which he shot to engulf every door he could find.

Father Andrews watched, scared nearly to the point of wetting himself, as the wedding party seemed to transform before his eyes. He'd thought the wedding was a little odd to begin with, judging by the odd amount of blue and furry people. But he certainly hadn't been expecting a known terrorist to show up, and declare some sort of war.

He was trapped in this building, watching as the flames lapped higher at the church that was his home, and was on the verge of thinking that all was lost. Then one of the groomsmen rose ten feet in the air on glorious, angelic wings, as though heralding the end days.

One of the bridesmaids also rose, though she did it without the aid of wings, instead rising on a wind that wasn't there. There was a crash of thunder outside of the church so loud that the windows shuddered in their panes.

The other groomsman, the large one, was turning himself into metal while the groom himself was turning into ice. Neither of them seemed to have eyes in their unnatural faces, and the latter radiated tiny tendrils of vapor. In the front pew, the father of the bride protruded sharp blades from between his fingers. "Okay," he called out, his gruff voice rising to be heard over the panic of the younger people. "Angel and Shadowcat, defense. Get the kids out of here. Iceman, you deal with the fire. Storm, give us some cover."

It was at that moment the priest realized exactly what was going on and who these people were. He was in the presence of the people on the news, the ones that had taken down the infamous Magneto two years ago.

"C'mon, Father, let's go," said the other bridesmaid softly, taking his arm. "Don't be scared." Father Andrews felt the peculiar sensation of weightlessness. But although he felt weightless, he seemed to be sinking, as though there was an excess of gravity. He felt a tingle in his feet, and he realized the girl at his arm was sinking rapidly through the floor, and was taking him along for the ride. He was literally passing right through.

Seconds before his head passed through the floorboards, he heard the father of the bride declare, "Let's do this thing."

The last thing Father Andrews saw was the X-Men charging.

FIN