Author's note: If you read Chapter 9 before the date of August 15th, please re-read the end of that chapter, as some important information was deleted during the uploading process and has since been revised.

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Chapter 11: Remember

I cannot remember your face

or the place

where we first met

and I will always regret

I never said what felt

and now after what Fate has dealt

me, you will never know

and I will go

and you will stay

and I can never ever say

I loved you.

For what it was worth, Toad answered the questions the Voice posed to him. They were simple enough and hardly intrusive. He had resisted until now, the answers forced out of him by various serums and electrical impulses, torture, things of that nature. Now, it mattered so little. The questions, the answers, the Voice, all of it.

"What do you see?"

Toad blinked. "Nothing."

"I'm shining a light in your eyes, can you feel it?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Good," said the Voice. "Mortimer, you seem upset."

"I can't bloody see," he answered numbly. "You'd be upset too."

He heard the Voice move some things here and other things there. It didn't matter. He didn't care. "It's not like your eyesight was twenty-twenty to begin with, you know. I just finished the job that nature neglected."

"You've blinded me."

"I suppose I have."

Toad breathed shallowly. "How about that," he remarked carelessly. He felt dead. Maybe he was. Maybe death wasn't anything more than being in one moment, in one horrible moment, for the rest of your life. Maybe his time with the Voice was actually Hell. If it wasn't, he did not want to think about what Hell might be.

"Are you the Devil, Voice?" he asked, not really caring to know the answer.

The Voice laughed. "Am I what? The Devil?" he sounded like he might be shaking his head, "you mean like Satan? Like," he laughed again, "like Beelzebub?"

"I guess that's what I mean."

The Voice moved around and adjusted machines, he supposed, and instruments. "No, I'm not the Devil, Mortimer. I am much more than that."

Toad listened to nothing and felt less. He wanted to sleep. At least sleeping was unawareness, at least there he could be some place else, someone else. At least there he could pretend to see her. To be who he was…whoever that was.

He could not remember.

He tensed. Could not remember…?

I am…I am what? Who? Who was he? Who had he been? Panic. What was his last name? His real name? Not Mortimer…no, Mortimer was a name that meant nothing to him…a name his parents hadn't even given him…a name assigned to him…as if being green weren't enough, he had to be given a weird name too. I am not Mortimer…I am…who am I? He could not remember…!

Have to! Have to remember!

With all his will, with all his being, with whatever was left of his strength, he tried to summon up himself! Could not remember? NEED TO REMEMBER!

"I am…" he barely whispered.

"Hmm? What?" the Voice asked.

His mouth resisted, his body held him back, but he had to, he needed to…it was all he had left! His one and only weapon!

"I am… the Toad," he said.

"What?"

"I AM THE TOAD!" he cried. "I AM THE TOAD!"

The Voice's voice seemed to shake, almost quiver. "Be quiet, Mortimer!"

It was pain beyond pain…painless agony! His mind wanted to lapse into nothingness…darkness…like his eyes…just forget and lie in the darkness!

"NO!" he pulled at the restraints. "I AM THE TOAD! I AM THE TOAD! I AM! I AM! I AM THE TOAD!"

"Shut up!" the Voice shouted over him! "Shut up!"

He said it, shouted it, screamed it over and over and over again.

He was sure they would put a stop to it, sure they would inject him with something, or hit him until he lost consciousness. Instead, Toad heard something, another voice, not like the Voice's voice at all. It stopped him dead. This one was female…it was the first voice he had heard beside's the Voice's in an eternity.

"Doctor Weir," she said, in a frightened tone.

He was angry. "What are you doing?" the Voice yelled.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but, there's a man outside, an older man. He's alone and he's calling your name…"

The Voice, the one the woman called 'Doctor Weir', seemed puzzled, seemed thoughtful. Then, he seemed excited. "Bring him in," he said with sudden enthusiasm.

"Sir?" she asked, confused.

"Do it! If it's not him, we'll just kill whoever it is…come on! I've been waiting for this my entire life!"

She paused before answering. "Yes sir," she acquiesced at last.

The Voice dropped something and picked it up. He was…nervous? Excited. Anticipating something.

"Weir," Toad said, using the newly discovered name, "what's got your knickers in a twist?" A breeze brushed him.

"He's here. I'll meet him at last. I'm terribly excited, Mortimer."

Toad looked in his general direction, the breeze hitting his face, seeing nothing but blackness. "Who is it?"

The Voice shifted and moved. "You know who it is. You've always known."

His heart jumped and his stomach felt like he was falling. It was terrifying and wonderful. His eyes flooded, he could almost feel the tears. "Magneto?" he asked, trembling, a wash of cool air passing near him.

"Yes, Toad," Magneto answered. "I'm here."

Was there a word in any language to describe what he felt at the sound, at the tremor, at the power of that voice? Was there any feeling that could sum up the relief, the joy? There wasn't. There simply was not. He took several, hyperventilated breaths before uttering a string of prayers and expletives, all mixed together in an unrelated strand. "Oh! Jesus… Christ. God. Dammit. Fucking. Hell! Jesus! God! Holy fuck!" he laughed and let himself cry and stretched his head backwards, as if he could see Magneto, just to see him, just once, come on eyes! Just once, please! The tears spilled over down his forehead. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he cried, for everything, for his weakness, for his powerlessness, for his blindness, and even now, for his tears. "I'm sorry!" He wanted his hands, to reach out, to beg Magneto for pardon, he pulled at the restraints and opened the old wounds, not yet healed. "Please, I'm sorry!"

"Anita," said the Voice, "put him in his room."

Toad went wild. "No!" he shouted as he felt the bed move, the wheels gliding across the floor. "NO!" The bed stopped and the door slid closed and the walls blocked all other sound, leaving only his own pleas and screams to listen to.

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It was early. Too early. Logan heard the doorbell and hated his extra-sensitive hearing. He rolled out of bed, grunting and despising whoever was at the door, put on a pair of pants and a T-shirt. He left his room, ruffling his hair, trying to wake himself up. Yawning and putting on a deliberate frown, he opened the door.

Within a millisecond he had extended his claws, grabbed Pyro, closed the door and shoved him against it. "What the hell!" he growled.

Pyro smiled, despite the glistening metal hovering far too close to his throat. "Hi Logan," he said.

"I should kill you right now!" he snarled, squeezing harder on the younger man's throat.

The smile, the smirk, the arrogance disappeared. Pyro's face became a mask of despair and apathy. "Why don't you Logan?" he asked, quietly, sincerely. It was almost a plea.

Logan looked deep into Pyro's eyes, breathing hard. Pyro never let his gaze fall. He let him go and the boy slid down against the door and hit the ground with a good thud.

He rubbed his throat where Logan had choked him. He looked up at him, smiling again. "So, how's it been?"

"Get up!" he demanded.

Pyro stood without argument. They were nearly the same height, Logan standing slightly taller.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Pyro sighed, his hand still on his own throat. "I've got something you might want. Some information."

Logan scoffed. "Information? On what?"

Pyro stood there, looking around him. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, shrugged and lifted his head, face to face with the Wolverine. "Magneto," he answered, simply.

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"Magneto." Weir said the name with relish. He stepped closer to Eric, eyeing him like a work of art. He shook his head in disbelief. "I cannot begin to tell you—"

Eric stopped him. "Give me Mortimer, as you said you would. I've come to meet you, as you asked."

"Oh no, Magneto, no," said Weir. "I asked you to come over a week ago. Clearly, you sent someone to follow my delivery man and you came here. And you're late, so my proposal no longer stands. What? Have you some people outside to take this place by storm?"

Eric shook his head. "Who would fight for a powerless old man? I followed him myself."

"Liar," Weir mocked. "Liar…how could you have?"

Eric shrugged. "Believe what you will."

Weir smiled. "I only believe what's true, Magneto."

"As do I."

Weir stepped out of the circle of monitors and equipment and wires. "But ours are different truths, are they not?"

Eric did not respond. He watched this man, how he moved and tried to gauge him. He was older, graying, but tall and fit. Not unlike himself. Eric considered himself in good shape for a man of his age and he assumed Weir was of the same caliber. He was fifty-five, perhaps, sixty? His face was European, and though he had no discernable accent, his speech was meticulous and refined, of a kind only found in those who speak English as a second language.

He was taller than Eric and had a certain disciplined grace in his movements, and an easy timbre in his voice, hypnotic in a way, calm. He wore a long, white lab coat, more for show, it seemed, than practicality, and he stood straight-backed, in a military-like fashion. All around him were screens, and tables and syringes; stethoscopes, blades and electrics. And there was a certain, inexorable confidence in the sound of his voice, in each step he took. He knew who he was, why he was, and that what he was doing was right in all ways. No questions, no doubts.

A man after his own heart.

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"John, why should we believe you?" Storm was saying.

"It's Pyro, dumbfuck, and I'm not saying you should," Pyro answered. "But what I am saying is true…it's probably happening now, and if you want Magneto, now is the time. He's got nothing."

Logan stepped forward. "Why are you doing this? How do we know this isn't a trick?"

Pyro crossed his arms. Bobby and Rogue watched him closely and he winked at them. "You don't," he replied, avoiding the first question. "But you're X-Men…you can handle anything."

"You were an X-Man too," Bobby interjected, "what are you now?"

Pyro stood up. "Free," he said. He looked all around at them. "Look, you don't have to do anything. I'm not doing you any special favors. I've got my own agenda. You do what you want."

He started to walk away but Logan stopped him, putting his hand out against his chest to prevent him from walking forward. "Where exactly is this lab? And no bullshit."

Pyro gave him a satisfied half-grin. "Now we're talking," he said and sat down again.

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They didn't know what to do with him, so they had left him in that room with Rogue, who was told to watch him. They had only stepped outside, so she was in no real danger. Besides, they had taken away his lighters.

Pyro allowed himself the liberty of ogling her. She was pretty hot, still. He could only imagine how it had been for Bobby, sleeping with her finally, after she'd gotten the Cure…all that pent-up sexual frustration. He smiled thinking of it.

"What're you smirking at?"

He leant back, folding his arms. "You haven't told him yet, have you?"

She flinched. "Told who what?"

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Told Iceman that your powers are coming back."

Rogue tensed. "They're not comin' back."

"Yeah," he nodded, sneering, "sure. Of course they're not."

She flipped her hair out of her eyes. "And even if they were, Bobby wouldn't care."

"Oh no?" Pyro laughed. "I don't know, Rogue. Once you've tasted the forbidden fruit…well, you know the rest."

"First of all, it's Marie, dumbfuck," she retorted, "and second, you don't know anything about me and Bobby."

He liked her angry. He liked her mad. "Personally, Rogue," he began in a kind of whisper, "I don't know what his problem was with your powers in the first place. I can think of a lot of interesting ways to fuck without actually coming into skin-to-skin contact."

She walked up to him and slapped him hard across the face. And he felt it…felt that…sucking…like his life was being torn out of him. He had felt it once before. It was painful, but not unbearable, and he was not so shocked by it this time. He was able to look her in the face as she stared in horror at him, as she took the life and powers from his body, the thoughts from his mind, the feelings from his heart. She yanked her hand back, holding it to herself, massaging it, as if by doing so she could somehow force her powers to go back where they had come from.

He slumped forward shakily as she let go. "Shit," he whispered, gathering himself. He took a deep, ragged breath. "Rogue, there's so much…so much you could do." He stood up and walked over to her. He raised his hands and touched her face. Her power had disappeared again. "When it comes back, use it. You could be the most powerful mutant in the entire world."

She shoved him away. "And do what? Join Magneto, like you?"

He shook his head. "I'm not with Magneto. I don't fight for anyone anymore. I'm Pyro," he stated. "And you could truly be Rogue."

She lifted her eyes and met his. They stared at each other for some time. She seemed about the speak, when the door opened and the others walked in. He never let her look away, even as he moved back to the couch and sat down at Logan's command. Bobby saw it and reached for Rogue's hand, to hold it, to comfort her. She pulled away instinctively and left the room in tears.

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"Doctor Weir, hand him over."

Weir grinned. "Magneto, we are both grown men, seasoned men, even. I don't have to do anything you say, because there is nothing you can do that will make me. You know that, and I know that. However, I can make you do whatever I want, because I am more powerful than you are." He paused, inhaling rapturously. "I have been waiting for this day."

"Why?" Eric pressed. "Why have you been waiting? What is it you want?"

"Just you."

"Well, I'm here. Now what?"

Weir coupled his fingers. "Magneto, I am a realistic man. And I know that the only reality that is ever constant is war. I have always known that, been taught that, as I believe you have." He paused. "So, I have spent my entire life in the study of the enemy. I have discovered its weaknesses, and its strengths. I have even been able to infiltrate its most staunch ally. Is it not a wonder that I should be a key member in the Department for Mutant Affairs?" He stopped again, seeming almost giddy. "Magneto, you don't understand what an influence you have been to me, how I've longed to stand in your presence…you who allowed me to discover my purpose in life. It's all come full circle."

Eric's insides fluttered and warmed. "How have I allowed you to discover your life's purpose?" he asked with loathing.

"By simply being!" said the man. "You don't understand, yet, do you?"

"I'm afraid you've lost me," Eric sneered.

"I suppose that's true," said Weir, "well, allow me to explain."

"Don't bother," Eric answered.

Juggernaut plowed through the wall as a mutant called Hawk soared in through the newly made opening. Several dozen mutants entered different ways. Once they had, they began to tear the place apart. Weir stood dumbfounded, but not entirely surprised.

"I knew they would follow you, Magneto!" he yelled over the din. "But I have followers too!"

At least one hundred men with several hundred cure weapons and guns entered the fray. They fired in all directions. Mutants that could fly lifted them and smashed them into walls or let them go mid air. Some mutants were struck, others were injured by the more primitive guns, some were killed. He looked to Juggernaut, Eden was clinging to his back, hiding from the others. He would make sure she would not be a target.

It seemed that the battle swarmed all around him, and that Weir and Eric were in the eye of the storm, the tornado's funnel. Nothing touched them.

Weir looked at the battle with a passive gaze, as if from the inside of a snow globe. "Ah, this is how we would have it, is it not, Magneto?"