Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters; they are Marvel's property.

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Prisoners of the Heart

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A/N: First off, thank yous go out to all who reviewed the first chapter. Please keep reviewing and let me know how the story is going from the readers' perspectives. Secondly, any confusion from the last chapter should be cleared up, as a few answers to some questions should appear in this chapter. My attempts at the mysterious and suspense are not quite honed enough yet. And lastly, I will try to update a little quicker next time. Read on for Rogue and Gambit's first meeting and also a few more explanations.

Enjoy!

Review!

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Chapter Two: Prisoner of Compassion

Due to the illumination of the surveillance screen, the darkness of Rogue's cell did not obscure the visual, and the two mutants in the control room had a clear view of the tortured mutant, chained to the floor as she curled up in a ball.

"What's wrong wit' her, Magneto?"

"The girl's broken, Remy. When she made contact with Mystique, she discovered quite a few unpleasant truths that had been hidden from her for some time now. The betrayal she suffered, combined with her growing powers, disrupted her mental control over her powers. Each of her personalities fought-----are still fighting-----for control over Rogue's being."

"Pauvre fille. All messed up in the head. Y' say they still fightin'?"

Magneto nodded and tapped a keypad, rendering the glowing screen dark. "I think the girl deserves a little privacy, don't you?"

Leaning back in his seat, feet kicked up on the console, Gambit tilted his head back to look up into his master's darkened face. "How can we help her?"

"This is helping her, Gambit. I can promise you that Xavier did not know how to properly deal with Rogue's new manifestation. He made an impulsive decision, recklessly driving out all the other personalities she'd absorbed. This has left her very confused, empty, and feeble. I believe that some of those erased personalities have left lingering imprints on her psyche."

His feet left the console and the chair swiveled to face Magneto in the center of the control room. "What does dat mean?"

Magneto shook his head in sympathy for the girl, and tapped on his helmet for indication. "Her mind, Gambit, has been a sponge for all other aspects of the individuals she has parasitically united with, and though they were eradicated from her mind by telepathy, these personalities have left mental fingerprints. Echoes of voices, sensations of leeched mutant powers and other phenomenon might be afflicting her in the dark as we speak."

"Den why the hell are we sittin' 'round? Shouldn't we be savin' the girl?" Gambit pleaded, his dark eyes flashing as he stood up from the chair. At full height, he stood an inch over his master, but the Master of Magnetism still appeared to be looming over his Acolyte.

Smirking, Magneto said, "Tell me, Gambit, would you be willing to go in there and try to comfort her? You, who has no personal investment in the girl, you, who is an enemy to her and her team, you, who drugged and kidnapped the girl, chained her to a cold floor and left her imprisoned in the dark. The mental trauma she's suffered could still be affecting her, thus making Rogue volatile and unpredictable. There is a reason why she is being held so cruelly right now."

"Jus'…if she's hurtin', wouldn't it be right t' take care o' her? Bein' in the dark is only gonna make her more volatile an' unpredictable."

With a swift hand motion, Magneto dismissed the Acolyte's admission. "This is no time to indulge in empathy, Gambit. The dark will harden her, yes. But when we show her light and trust and control, she will be all the more willing, all the more starved for what we have to offer." The grim crease of Magneto's mouth became a frown. "I think of you as someone who knows what's right isn't always what's best, Gambit. Look at Xavier and the X-men…They think they're doing right, but we know otherwise, don't we?"

Hesitant, Gambit gave a half-nod, his questioning expression shadowed by the glow from other surveillance screens. "S'pose you're right den, Magneto. That doesn't mean she'll come t' us willingly."

"And that is precisely why we did not leave her with five-star accommodations. The isolation and darkness will breed fear in the girl. If we use that as leverage, we can harvest a little trust."

"Hasn't de girl been manipulated enough? She be stabbed in de back so much dat her trust is probably marred forever."

"There are means at our disposal that will make sure she trusts us. I've let too many fall into Xavier's grasp…This is my second chance to right a wrong and liberate a mutant capable of limitless potential. I will not let her fall through the cracks."

"Jus' don' steal her sanity, homme. Dis femme has been through plenty o' agony already, non?" Gambit kept his voice gruff and controlled. There was no way he would whine to Magneto. A man of such power would cripple someone, especially one of his own Acolytes, who showed such weakness. Magneto would condemn him if he let his emotions rule his tongue.

However, despite his attempt at nonchalance, Magneto's leveling gaze seemed to cut through the cool demeanor he used to disguise his genuine interest in the girl. "Get too close and she'll sting, Gambit. I'm sure you know what happened to the boy she shared an innocent dance with…and her emotions are as deadly as her powers. One dictates the other and they both correlate with a fate already befallen by many. Would you risk losing your life force to her touch, Gambit? Your memories, your identity, your powers, your skills; all hers within a moment of contact with her fatal flesh. In regards to potency, she is the most powerful of us all…"

Magneto exited the control room, his royal cape flowing behind him, as the electronic door sealed behind him. Gambit contemplated his parting warning. A mutant of Magneto's caliber and ego would not openly regard another mutant as more powerful than himself, even while disguising the proclamation with a technicality. He hadn't actually said Rogue was more powerful, but that her capacity for power was greater than his or any other mutants. And as an icy flow cooled his marrow, he began to imagine what it would be like to lose everything to a single touch…the untouchable Rogue was a thief unlike any Gambit had ever encountered. Her powers, impressive, to say the least, would be a major asset to any mission…

"Soon, cherie. Let's jus' wait an' see what old Mags has got planned."

Alone in the control room once more, Gambit found his place in the metal seat in front of the basement surveillance console, and within seconds of tapping a few selective keys, Rogue's sleeping, fetal-like form appear in front of his eyes.

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The deathly calm silence of the cell was both disquieting and mysterious. Because of the darkness, Rogue was not sure when exactly her eyes had open and she'd awaken. Cloaked in shadows, the blackest silk sheets, Rogue remained in her curled-up position; the fetal position, some would call it. Her chin touched her knee caps and her cheek pressed against the cold floor, numb. The last time she'd been like this had been the first day of a nightmare and the last day of her residence in Caldecott, Mississippi.

When her powers had emerged during a reckless dance…

What's the harm in one dance?

Rogue didn't have the strength to chide herself for simply being a teenage girl that night almost two years ago. Before that, she'd always heeded Irene's warnings of a "skin condition" and for some reason she had believed her guardian. Everything unraveled with one dance…and one devastating touch.

Guess Ah deserved it for dancin' with backwoods trash, a hauntingly familiar Southerner's drawl said from inside her head.

Rogue screamed into the darkness, her numbness gone, her security banished. Her pulse quickened and her head banged against the floor, as she rolled on her back and screamed again, tears forming beneath her closed eyes.

What's wrong, Rogue? Feelin' a pang o' guilt?

The young man's voice infiltrated her thoughts, her momentary peace, and her head throbbed from where she knocked the stone floor. Her vision of the dark blurred and her flesh chilled.

Never in her life had anyone she'd absorbed talked to her inside her head. The experience unleashed a wave of pain and vertigo that forced her to grapple the floor as if gravity had reversed its rules and the untouchable mutant was about to fall upwards.

Having never been at sea, Rogue could imagine that this was her own version of seasickness, as she clung to the floor that felt like it was weaving among choppy waves, initiating a bout of nausea in her stomach.

Poor, poor, poor witch. Can't even keep her head screwed on straight.

It was Cody's voice. Her first touch. Her first victim. Somehow, his voice was talking to her, each word rippling with effects of a migraine and vertigo. His words were uncharacteristically malicious. The voices inside her head were nothing new, but never had they talked specifically to her. She only heard echoes of speech, never a direct address. The voices never held conversations with her.

All alone…Withering in pain, Ah know the feelin'. Can you hear my voice, does it hurt? Tell me, Rogue, is it agony? Does your skull feel like it's splitting apart?

"Yes! It hurts! Get outta mah head! Out! Out! Out! Out!"

Rogue…

Rogue's eyes opened to the sound of a husky voice, and the nausea in her stomach became a fluttering sensation, like butterflies. The silence confirmed that Cody had ceased to exist inside her head, and the horrible, hot throbbing in her temple had subsided, relinquishing its spasmodic control over her muscles. Her whole body felt numb, and the desolate silence of her head reigned over all her conscious thought. She feared that the slightest movement would invite Cody to take up his position as an unruly commentator of her affliction once more, his voice like a fire on her synapse, needles to her psyche. Short breaths escaped her parted lips rapidly, but she could only suck in short bursts of oxygen. Her head reeled with dizziness, even though she was flat on her back against the stone floor, hardly moving except for her fluttering eyes and the rising and falling of her chest. The world was spinning, yet the darkness deceived her and told her everything was still.

"Wake up, mon bonbon," the darkness said.

Ah am awake, she wanted to say, but her throat closed up and her voice was lost inside her. Two crimson orbs gleamed in the shadows, the only illumination she'd seen since waking up in the cell. They floated in the dark sea of shadows just outside the cell bars.

"Remy come t' bring y' some food."

The name meant nothing to her, but the voice was that of a Cajun. As Rogue's eyes locked on the tiny orbs, a tall, broad figure's visage became visible as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Before she could turn away, the orbs, scarlet painted on black, mesmerized her. The dull ache in her bones gave way to a new feeling, and the aching in her skull slipped away. A man stood at her cell, his fingers extended as if he were reaching out to bridge the space between himself and Rogue. His fingers laced around the cell bars. His dark eyes continued to arouse her, and she was lost in them.

"Ne pas me craindre. Remy jus' gonna slip a plate in here for ya. It ain't poisoned or none. Jus' good o' Southern cookin'."

A succulent aroma composed of familiar scents whet Rogue's appetite, entering through her nostrils and reminding her of how hungry she was. Her previously dormant stomach released a growl loud enough to belittle any attempts at declining the food from the stranger. The rumbling in her gut overruled any paranoia, and after groping through the dark, her hands settled around the edges of a paper plate. Her pointer finger tapped a plastic fork, and she was no sooner shoveling food into her mouth when the stranger gave a dry chuckle.

"Remy never seen any femmes eat like that 'fore. Rogue must know a man's good cookin' when she eats it."

Through mouthfuls of simmering rice and gumbo, unaware of her own burning tongue due to the peppers on her plate, Rogue asked, "Did ya cook all this for me?"

More chuckling, and then in a voice that continued to stir Rogue, "You be eatin' de best meal in dis whole building. But no, Remy didn't cook all this himself. Remy did supply all the recipes, though. Cajun cookin' is unlike anyt'ing else, cherie."

She had stopped listening to him halfway through his response. His voice was so masculine and charming, but the food was better. She hoped he'd brought another plate.

"Water."

"'Course, girl. Remy always come' prepared." She heard him set it down on the floor between the cell bars. She reached out, tipped the bottle over, and then quickly snatched it up. She drained half of it, the icy water doing wonders for her parched throat and peppered tongue. Returning to the remainder of her meal, she nursed the water bottle between bites of steaming Cajun and Creole cooking, and in her opinion, some of the best Southern cuisine she'd had in a long while. She'd been away from home for far too long.

Sadly, the Cajun had no more food with him. Once Rogue had cleared the plate and emptied the water bottle, she was still hungry, though at least somewhat satisfied. Her eyes drooped and she rested her head against the bars, hoping to catch a better glimpse of her Cajun to the rescue. All she could see were his boots. She looked up and found him standing over her, the cell bars still between him and those eyes still like tiny flares in the dark.

"Are ya gonna leave me in here? Mah bladder's about to explode."

"Only if Rogue be a good girl an' waits fo' Remy t' lock the outer door."

"Whateva, jus' hurry," Rogue pleaded, and gasped as the shackles around her wrists broke apart with a bright flash that lit the darkness. Surprised, she scooted backwards on the floor until her back touched the wall. She really did want him to hurry. The half-liter of water she'd drunk was putting quite a strain on her nether regions.

A blinding fluorescent light assaulted her eyes and rendered her temporarily blind. When Rogue adjusted to the brightness, having been stuck in the dark probably two or three hours, she crept to her feet and gave the cell door a nudge. The door swung open.

A burst of hope filled Rogue and made her quasi-dizzy, until she remembered her urge to relieve herself. To her left were an open door and a spotless bathroom, contrary to the condition of the rest of the room. She rushed into it, slid the door closed, and found relief in seconds.

Once she finished washing her hands and splashing cold water on her face, Rogue looked into the mirror at her disheveled appearance and dingy clothes, but she was actually smiling. With a nice bathroom, a little more moving space, and good Cajun cooking resting in her belly, things were starting to look up.

Just as she'd expected, the only other door in the tiny, low ceiling room was locked. Her luck wasn't looking up that much.

But when she looked back at the open cell, she noticed a small object nestled in the pile of rusty chains on the floor. She walked over and reached down, plucking out, of all things, a playing card. She flipped it over and found herself staring down at the queen of hearts. The edges were frayed and the card looked well-worn, or, in this case, well-played, as if she were always the card to be counted on in games where luck was not just real; it was everything to certain people.

When a light finally went on in Rogue's weary, aching head, her mouth dropped open and the card slid between her gloved thumb and pointer finger. She whipped around towards the only door leading out of the room, still gawking as things continued to fall into place within her mind.

The Cajun accent. The charming voice. The queen of hearts. How had she been so stupid!

They'd only met twice before, Rogue and the Cajun stranger. She didn't know his name, but she knew his face, his voice, and his trademark playing cards. He was one of Magneto's Acolytes, but the twenty dollar question of the day asked whether or not he was now flying solo. Rogue hadn't seen him since he'd contacted the Brotherhood months ago, when she and Kitty had played hooky during sixth period and "hitchhiked" their way into a battle that ended with Kitty saving Pietro and Rogue rescuing a soldier. She had no idea if the Cajun was still one of Magneto's cronies.

Today marked their third meeting. Rogue was not just his mere enemy anymore, but judging by all that had happened lately, she was now his prisoner, too…

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"Come on, Rogue! Will you unlock the door already?"

"Shush, Kitty! Ah'm on the phone."

Rolling her eyes, Kitty slammed her fist into the door. Learning the boundaries of privacy had been tough for someone who was not physically bound by walls and closed doors. She'd walked in on too many people, had seen too many things she did not want to ever see again, and that had been enough to jilt her into respecting everyone else's privacy. Normal, respectful people just don't go passing through closed bedroom doors…

"If I wasn't a nice person…" Kitty said, listening to Rogue talk in a hush voice, most likely on the phone. She didn't understand why her roommate wouldn't allow her to enter if she was only talking on the phone. Respecting privacy sucks, she decided.

"Don't tell me you're locked out of your room."

Kitty stopped her pouting and threw an innocent glance at Scott Summers, man of ruby quartz shades and victim of a bad haircut. Ten minutes alone with that mane and she would make it look daring and not so bland.

"Did you forget you can pass through solid objects?"

"Do I look like an imbecile, Scott? Quit badgering me or I'll walk through you, and maybe take an organ or two with me."

"Ouch," Scott said, staggering backwards in mock offense. The fact that she could do something so morbid-----she had the power but not the will-----forced his mouth shut. Kitty smirked through a pang of guilt, but then broke down and apologized.

"Rogue's just been getting on my nerves lately."

"How so?"

"Well, I know she, like, just got out of the Med Bay and all. And I know she's been pretty whacked up and all, but she's been so…weird lately."

Scott gave a sheepish grin. "Who, Rogue? Weird? No kidding."

Kitty ignored his crack and continued. "She's been sort of moody."

Scott opened his mouth, and Kitty slugged him in the arm, having to swing upwards because of the major height difference. "Ow!"

"Well, you deserved it! I knew you were going to make another sarcastic remark. Seriously, Scott, get some new material. You aren't the funny type."

Mr. Serious Leader shrugged and finally reverted back to his old self. "Has she said anything to you?"

"No, that's the point! She won't even talk to me! And she's always sleeping, or being sneaky." Kitty turned toward the door, shouting, "Like right now!"

No response from inside the bedroom.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's a little detached after everything that happened to her," Scott said, looking at the door.

"Me, too. But she isn't that way, Scott. No mourning, no bitterness, no lamenting. She's just tuned off, concerned with other things and very suspicious. Do you think she's on drugs?"

"Kitty, its Rogue we're talking about." Kitty continued to stare at him, hands on her hips. "Kitty."

"Morphine, maybe? Does that, like, affect her personality along with alleviating the pain? Maybe it's symptoms or something."

"She was taken off the morphine after the first night. She was only given it once, Kitty. That was almost a week ago."

"Well…" Kitty stamped her foot on the floor, stumped by the lack of explanations.

The door suddenly opened, swinging inwards with a jerk.

"Room's all yours, Kit." Rogue slid past her, said nothing to Scott, and headed down the hall.

"Weird," the pair said in unison, watching her turn the corner and disappear.

Once Rogue was out of sight, Kitty dashed into the bedroom and straight to the phone on the nightstand.

As she picked it up, Scott said, "Invasion of privacy." He would not come in the room. Kitty ignored him and hit #69, which would call the last person Rogue talked to. She paused, considering the fact that Rogue might've been the one to place the call. A sneaky person would not want fellow conspirators to call them if they themselves could do the calling. Then again, if Rogue was truly up to something, she might not want to dial out from a phone in the mansion, as the Professor kept immaculate phone records. "Guilty conscience?" Scott asked, noting her hesitation.

Kitty pushed the redial button and held her breath, expectant. "Hello?"

A woman's voice. Kitty remained silent. Rogue had placed the call after all.

"Raven, is that you?"

The phone fell from Kitty's trembling hands, and she stumbled backwards, bumping the side of her bed. A static-filled voice asked, "Raven?"

"Scott, I…"

"What?" He was behind her, switching gazes between the phone and Kitty.

"We have got to get the Professor." She bent down and picked up the phone, clicking it off. "There's something really bad going on."

She turned around to face him, and the back of his fist caught her cheek with such force that Kitty spun, spilling into the wall and crying out. Dazed, she crumbled to the floor, on the brink of consciousness. Scott knocked her head against the drawer of the nightstand, and then she was out cold on the floor.

"Sneaky sluts deserve to be banged around," he hissed, and then picked up the phone. With his foot, he slid the unconscious Kitty away from the nightstand and stood next to it, hitting the redial button. He sat down on the side of the bed.

A female voice answered after the first ring. "Hello?"

"There've been a few changes, Irene," Mystique said, as Scott's form shifted into her true form. "Has your vision changed any?"

A pause on the other end of the line; then a sigh. "No, Raven. The boy is still in her future."

"Fine. I'll see what information I can find on him."

"How will you use Cerebro?"

"No need to," Mystique said. She gave a cautious glance behind her, regretting having left the door open. Scott Summers' crumpled form lay in the threshold to the room, bleeding from a gash on his temple. Unconscious. She was surprised the girl had not heard her teammate go down. Kitty Pryde lay at her feet, moaning but still very much stunned. Purple and blue contusions were forming on the flesh beneath one of her bangs. Her cheek was already puffy.

"Raven?"

"I'm here, Irene. Xavier keeps physical records aside from the data stored in Cerebro. Locating those files will be simple."

"How have they not detected you yet, Raven?"

Mystique smirked, shaking her head. "Never doubt me, Irene. Their surveillance system was easy to foil, and the X-men themselves are even easier to deceive. Only the telepaths and Wolverine would ever have a chance of detecting my presence. I've learned to…adapt and hone my resistances. If I stay too long though, their powers will eventually catch onto me."

"Then go, Raven. But remember…"

"Yes, yes, I know. The boy, Gambit, is in her future. I'm sure Xavier will have a file on him as one of Magneto's Acolytes. I'll contact you again soon."

Clicking the phone off, Mystique placed it back on the nightstand and stood up. Her form shifted like amorphous gel, her blue skin melting into white, her bone structure shifting to that of someone shorter and with different curves. Her fiery mane blended into auburn and white hairs. Her eyes became white behind green irises. She glanced at the armoire beside her, with Rogue's reflection in the mirror. Guilt toiled in her only momentarily. There was something wrong about impersonating your own daughter, one of the few people in the world Mystique cared about, almost the only person she would sacrifice herself for. If Irene had told her that Kurt had a chance of being saved, she would've sacrificed for him as well. At the moment, Rogue was her major concern.

Once Scott was in the closet and Kitty behind the open door, hidden between it and the wall inside the bedroom, Mystique hurried into the hall. The two teens would awaken soon, and she must have that file.

Ten minutes later, as Scott and Kitty stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hall, both of them semi-conscious, a hawk clutching a manila folder soared towards the woods of Charles Xavier's property. With a wordless cry, it dived into the brush, unseen by anyone in the mansion.

Mystique had found what she had sought. The new man in Rogue's life had quite a colorful history. With Gambit's folder in her possession, Mystique set out to continue her attempts at bringing home her dear Rogue, before the Cajun had enough time to steal her away forever.

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Translations:

pauvre fille-poor girl

homme-man

femme(s)-woman (women)

cherie-darling

mon bonbon-my sweet

Ne pas me craindre-Don't fear me

-fathoms-