Yes, yes, a new penname, for reasons too mundane to detail. And really, who cares! There's a new chapter (finally)! As always, a huge thanks to Katt for the bouncing and the beta, and to Tash for the gentle reminders. Thanks also to all of my wonderful reviewers, who are patient and kind beyond belief.
To recap: Hank thinks Michael Milbury is responsible for Rogue's abduction – but Milbury doesn't exist. Kitty's hacking revealed that Rogue is somewhere near New York, and that Sabretooth and Dane were paid by dummy corporations. Henri warned Remy that trouble is brewing in New Orleans. Rogue absorbed Carol Danvers, experiencing Carol's life in reverse. This chapter picks up right where that one left off.
Finally, it was quiet – no monitors, no screams, no bodies slamming against metal gurneys. Essex studied the readout of Rogue's vitals, nodded with evident satisfaction.
"She's stabilized," he said to a waiting technician. "Once I've finished, transport her back to her quarters."
The tech nodded, warily eyeing the girl on the bed.
Essex leaned over her. "Rogue?"
She lay motionless, skin a sallow grey. Her eyes flickered back and forth beneath closed lids. Her lower lip was swollen and bloody from where she had bitten it, and he dabbed at it with a square of gauze. "Rogue, wake up."
She didn't move, and he gazed at her consideringly. "Carol?"
She jerked once against the restraints, then fell still again. He drew another blood sample from her limp arm. "You did very well," he said, as if she were awake. "Even better than I anticipated. Now, my dear, simply rest."
He made a notation on the chart, spoke to the still-waiting technician. "Twelve hours, and there's no indication that the DNA is reverting to its original form. I want blood draws every six hours until further notice. We'll cancel any other absorptions for the foreseeable future. Unless there's a change in her condition, don't interrupt me."
The tech nodded at Essex's retreating back, then turned to Rogue. "You know," he muttered as he pushed the gurney down the white-tiled hallway that led to her cell, "the other chick got off easy compared to you."
Rogue didn't reply.
When she woke, the world had tilted and doubled. Her vision was hazed, and even her own body felt blurry, as if she couldn't quite tell where her skin ended and empty space began. A bottle of water sat on the chair next to her and she reached for it, missed by a mile, and watched with a sort of bemused detachment as it toppled off the chair and spun across the floor
Her eyes drifted shut again, and as the jumble of voices and images assaulted her, she clung to the memory of a library, warm and rich. She remembered a library, she was almost certain, and she could nearly feel herself sitting curled in a leather chair.
A girl entered, graceful and confident, long blond hair shimmering around her. "What happened?"
She blinked, sat up a little straighter in the chair. "Ah don't know."
The other girl's eyes narrowed. "Where are we? I don't recognize this place."
"It's the library," she said, glancing at the fireplace, the walnut shelves filled with books. "But Ah'm not really here…you're definitely not really here. At least, Ah don't think so."
"Who are they?" the girl said, pointing at the windows.
Indistinct figures pressed against French doors. Once in a while, she thought she recognized someone through the squares of glass – a flash of blue skin, a hand cupping a flame, a pair of reddish eyes that ducked away.
"Shades," she said without thinking.
The other girl stepped closer to the doors, traced a finger along the mullions. "They want to come in."
"Ah know. It's a bad idea." Some things were clear, she realized. Some things she knew as long as she didn't think too hard. But none of it had any meaning, any context. She knew in her bones that letting the shades in was a terrible idea, but she didn't know why.
The girl studied her. "Who are you?"
She concentrated, nearly had it, and gave up. "Ah don't know. Nobody. Who are you?"
"Carol. What do you mean you don't know?"
"You're not supposed to be in here," she said vaguely. "You should go."
Carol sat down in the chair facing her. "Go where?" She shook her head. "I don't think so."
"You don't understand," she said, not quite certain herself. "You can't stay. It doesn't work like this."
"Like what?" Carol's brows drew together, her face darkening.
"Those…things…out there. You're supposed to be with them."
"Well, I'm not."
"But you should be," she insisted.
"But I'm not."
For reasons she didn't fully get, she reached out a hand. "Take it," she prodded, when Carol hesitated.
With a wary look, Carol's fingers touched hers, then grasped firmly. A spark flashed between them, then vanished, and they looked at each other.
"Nothin'," she said wonderingly. Carol tugged hard on her hand, but she stayed seated with no effort.
"Well, that's new," the blond girl said dryly, and they stared at each other. Carol let go first. "What do you remember?"
"'Bout me? Or you?"
"You remember things about me?"
She started to answer, stopped, started again. "It's all jumbled. Parts are you, parts are me. Ah just don't know which parts go where."
Carol stared. "Figure it out."
"What do you remember?"
She shuddered. "I went to an interview, and this guy showed up. And then…my powers were gone. He kept drawing blood." She scowled. "I hate needles. Do you know how long it's been since I had a shot?"
"Yeah."
Carol paused, momentarily confused. "They brought me into a room…a lab. They strapped me down, and I couldn't get away – even with my powers back. And then…" she trailed off. "You were there. Don't you remember?"
"Ah remember the lab," she said slowly. "But Ah don't know if it's your memory or mine."
"It's yours," Carol said, annoyed. "I saw you."
"I saw…" she thought back. A blond girl, wide-eyed with terror, strapped to a table with thick silvery bands. And another girl, darker-haired, with white streaks framing her face, her expression equal parts apology and anguish, with a matching set of bands across her body. "I saw us both. And then…"
"You touched me," Carol finished. "And it was like…someone shook me loose, like my brain was jumbled up, and then it just went black." Her head snapped up. "And then I was here. In your library. You did this!"
She knew instantly that Carol was right, and she started guiltily. "He made me! Ah didn't mean to!"
"You're a mutant! What the hell do you do to people? What did you do to me?"
The figures outside the French doors increased their pounding.
"What did you do to me?" Carol repeated.
"Ah don't know! Ah'm sorry!"
"Do you teleport people? Do you put them in some sort of alternate reality? Time travel?"
She tried to grab hold of the words that kept sliding past her. "I borrow them."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Their powers. Their memories. Their…lives."
"Well, give them back!"
She bent her head, clenched her fists. "Ah can't."
"What do you mean?"
"Ah can't control it." That part, at least, was crystal clear. "Ah can't make them come back. They do," she added hastily. "They always do. They always have, anyway." At least, she thought they did.
Carol looked at her dubiously. "They'd better. I like my life."
She nodded. "Ah know."
"You said this was different."
She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "You shouldn't be here."
"Well, I'm not going out there," she said, slanting a glass at the French doors, which were rattling in their frames. Carol turned her head and examined the paneled oak door she had first come in.
"Not that one," she said quickly.
"Why not?" She moved to the door, reached out.
The girl stepped between Carol and the door, swiftly blocking her way. Slowly, carefully, she pried Carol's fingers off the brass and crystal doorknob. "It's not…it's not for you," she said, her face white and strained. "Ah can't let you go out there. Ah'm sorry."
Carol stared at her, eyes narrowing. "Maybe you can shove the others around," she said, flipping a hand towards the shades as she moved back to the chair. "But I'm not them. You brought me here, and either you get me out, or I'll do it myself, even if it means taking you down." The grimness in her voice left no doubt that she would do exactly that.
"Look," said the girl, "Ah ain't exactly thrilled you're here either.. But Ah don't think Ah can help you."
"Who can?"
A figure glided up to the French doors, pressing an open hand against the glass, an oasis of calm and reserve amidst the roiling figures surrounding him. "Ah need to go home," she said suddenly, staring at the seated figure outside. Can you help me with that?"
Before Carol could answer, she winced and rubbed at her arm, startled when her fingertips came away red. Even as she turned to look at Carol, the room faded and fell away.
Her eyes snapped open as she watched the technician exit her cell, a small vial of blood in his hand.
Two-thirty in the morning, and the buzz of his phone startled him from a dreamless sleep. He felt around on the nightstand, knocking over the lamp and an empty glass before finally flipping the phone open, his eyes still closed.
"Dis better be good, Henri."
"Now, Remy. Ain't it always good to hear from y'pere?"
His eyes flew open, and he struggled to sit up. "Bonsoir, Pere. Quoi ca dit?"
"Heard you lost somethin'." Jean-Luc's voice was overly solicitous. "You should keep a better eye on y'belongin's."
He reached for the fallen lamp, set it upright again with a thump. "Ain't a somet'in, an' she don' belong t'me," he said tightly.
"Even so. Taught you better, son." He could hear his father taking a drink of something on the other end, a swallow, a slight hiss, the solid clink of glass meeting wood. Jean-Luc sounded almost smug, which meant that something had gone well, which meant he was drinking marc. The idea that his father had something to celebrate made Remy nervous, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Best to be on your feet when you had a run-in with Jean-Luc LeBeau.
"You callin' to make small talk, Pere? Cause I'm in the middle of somethin'."
"Sleepin'," Jean-Luc hmph'd. "You're getting sloppy, boy. No self-respectin' thief gets caught sleepin' in the wee small hours."
"Never said I was self-respectin'." He dragged on a sweatshirt and boxers, ran a hand through his hair. "Why you callin'?"
"You want y'girl back?"
Remy froze for a moment, then willed himself to relax. He reached for a pencil and charged it until it glowed. "Depends on de girl," he said eventually, bringing down the charge just enough that the wood cooled again to a dull yellow, but the graphite inside stayed bright red.
Jean-Luc chuckled and waited.
"You know where she is? You in on it?" He didn't think so – Antoine's inquiries and Kitty's research both suggested an operation too large to be handled and hidden by his father's guild. Still, he'd be a fool not to ask.
"Hell, boy! What kind of question is dat?"
"Should be an easy one."
Jean-Luc sighed. "Don' know where I went wrong wit you, Remy. Blame Mattie, I guess. Woman always was too soft on you."
"Where's Rogue?" he said roughly, staring at himself in the mirror.
"Don't know, an' I don' much care. She ain't f'you, son."
He turned away from his reflection, wandered to the window. "Den why you botherin' me?"
Jean-Luc sighed again in exaggerated patience. "What's the first rule of thievin', Remy?"
The response was automatic. "Don' get caught."
"What's the second?"
"Ain' no such t'ing as priceless." He could see his father's plan coming into focus, still a bit blurry, but inexorable and mercenary nevertheless. He leaned against the wall and stared out the window, readying himself.
"Damn straight. Everything has a price, son, even your girl. You willin' to pay?" Jean-Luc was pleased, no doubt, but his voice held the barest hint of triumph. It was one of his father's most obvious tells, Remy thought uneasily.
"Depends," he said, already knowing the answer. "Who's sellin'?"
"Belladonna. She wants to talk."
No surprise, really, but it didn't tell him which side his father was on. Remy had long ago stopped assuming Jean-Luc stood with him. "Dis a warnin' or an order, Pere?"
His father chuckled. "It's an option, Remy. You got a lotta others?"
"Good morning, you two," said the professor, voice colored with amusement.
Kitty jerked awake with a squeak, promptly phasing through her chair and landing in a heap on the floor. Kurt continued to snore, sprawled back in the chair, his mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly. Kitty shoved at him as she clambered out from under the conference table and he
blinked sleepily. The sight of the Professor waiting expectantly in the doorway, with a frowning Scott just behind him had Kurt straightening and smoothing his fur.
"Guten tag." He gave a small wave.
The two men entered the room, Xavier taking his usual position at the head of the table. "I trust whatever project has kept you up so late was a success."
Before either Kurt or Kitty could respond, Scott spoke. "What are you doing in here?"
"Research," Kurt said. Next to him, Kitty shuffled through the paper covering the table, pulling out various sheets and stacking them in a pile.
"You mean you're breaking into something again," Scott said grimly.
"What, exactly, are you researching?" asked the Professor.
Kitty rubbed at her cheek, trying to erase the creases left by sleeping on her keyboard. "Dexter Genetics." She slid a sheaf of papers across the table. "That's who took Rogue."
Scott took an involuntary step forward, and Xavier seemed to sit even straighter as his hands tightened on the armrests of his wheelchair. He looked closely at Kitty, careful to keep his expression neutral. "Are you certain?"
Kurt and Kitty nodded in unison. "Totally," Kitty said.
"How'd you figure it out?" Scott asked, as he and the Professor scanned the papers Kitty had given them.
"You said the force field blocking Rogue would use a lot of electricity," said Kurt, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. "So we looked at the power company's records."
Xavier's head snapped up. "Are you telling me, children, that you illegally gained access to the nation's power grid?"
"Kitty," Scott ground out. "Do you have any idea how many laws you've broken?"
Kurt protested. "Hey, I helped!"
Kitty sat back and crossed her arms. "I don't care," she said fiercely. "At least I'm doing something. Rogue's been gone for almost two months, and we're just sitting here. We go to school, we train, we run recruiting missions. It's crazy! We should be doing more. We said we would find her, Professor. I promised her we would." Her voice shook, and Kurt took her hand.
"We didn't go into the actual grid," Kurt added. "We just looked at the billing records for the electric companies in the area."
"Oh, I feel so much better," Scott snapped. "Maybe that'll reduce your sentence to ten years instead of twenty." He turned to Kitty. "Just because we're not telling you everything we've been doing doesn't mean we aren't looking for Rogue."
Xavier spoke gently. "Kitty, Kurt, I can assure you that we are using every available means to find Rogue, even if we haven't kept the team fully informed of our discoveries. Certainly, your frustration is understandable, but Scott's point is valid: your research, however well-meaning, however helpful, is illegal. It could have serious repercussions."
"So?" Kurt said. "It doesn't matter, if it means Rogue comes home. I'd rather be in jail than leave her out there." He glared at Scott. "You'd do the same thing for Alex."
Before Scott could answer, Xavier cut in. "No one is questioning your devotion to your sister, Kurt. But any more law-breaking is out of the question. You're endangering yourselves and the Institute. It could hamper our ability to search for Rogue through other means. I cannot allow you to continue."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Scott scanned the report. "How'd you figure out it was Dexter? There are millions of accounts here."
"Process of elimination," said Kitty. "We only looked at commercial accounts."
"Nobody's keeping Rogue stashed in their basement," Kurt added.
Kitty rolled her eyes, continued. "We filtered out any account that existed before Rogue got her powers. Dane only started coming after her a few months ago, but we didn't know how long he'd been planning it, so…"
"You gave yourself a little wiggle room. Smart," Scott said. "Still, that's a lot of accounts."
"You said the force-field would have to run 24-7," Kurt said, "so we only looked at above-average hourly usage."
"Most businesses would have downtime," mused Xavier. "Their usage would be greater during the day, then drop off in the evening. I would think there would be a number of manufacturers that operated continuously, however."
"There were," Kitty said. "So we ran down each one that was left."
Scott whistled. "No wonder you fell asleep down here. What'd you find out?"
"Dexter Genetics is one of the largest accounts in the tri-state area," Kitty said. "They're using about a gazillion watts a day. But their corporate headquarters is an office condo in Schenectady, and they don't own any other property."
"So where's all the power going?" asked Scott.
"I don't know. We didn't look at the actual power grid, like Kurt said, just the billing departments."
"Ah," said the Professor. "And without the usage reports, we can't determine the location."
"There's more," Kurt said. "Look at the board of directors for Dexter.
"The bank accounts," Scott said flatly. "They're the same names as the ones paying Sabretooth. Son of a bitch."
The professor said nothing, studying the papers carefully. Finally, he smiled at Kurt and Kitty. "Legalities aside, this is very impressive work, you two."
Kurt shrugged, exhaustion and despair making him slump. "They're all fakes."
"They're establishing a pattern," Xavier pointed out. "And eventually, that pattern will lead us to Rogue."
"Professor," Kitty said, "If I could just crack open the power grid, we'd be able to…"
"No," he said, cutting her off. "Your work together has been admirable, but the two of you may not pursue this further. I'm sorry, but I must forbid it. There are other ways to get the information."
Kitty started to protest, but stopped, flopping back into her seat, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together.
Scott walked around the table, rested a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Go take a nap, okay? You could use it." He turned to Kurt. "Both of you. Good work."
Slowly, Kitty and Kurt both stood, Kitty gathering up her laptop and scattered papers.
"We'll certainly keep you informed about what we find out," Xavier said.
Kitty said nothing, and Kurt merely nodded, then steered Kitty out of the room, his hand at the small of her back.
After the door had shut none-too-gently behind them, Scott turned back to the Professor. "She's right," he said. "Going into the power grid is the only way we can follow the trail back to Rogue. She can do it, too."
"It's direct," Xavier countered. "And while I don't doubt that Kitty could eventually accomplish it, it's also illegal. I won't risk her future, or the Institute's, if there's another way."
"But there's not. Everything we've turned up is a dead end. Aliases and red herrings and dummy corporations. It's all some sort of elaborate smokescreen that we can't get through, and it's a member of our team on the other side. It's one of us." He stopped, scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Kurt's right – if it was Alex, I'd do whatever I had to. What right do we have to stop him?"
The professor sighed. "Because it's a measure of last resort, and we haven't reached it yet."
"You really think there's another way to get the location?"
Xavier smiled wearily. "One of the truly appalling things about government bureaucracies is their susceptibility to bribes," he said dryly. "I'm going back to my office – alone. Please alert the rest of the staff about this latest development."
She was in the library again, Carol running her fingers over the shelves of books. "Get me out of here," she snapped without preamble.
Rogue sighed and gestured to the shadows massed outside. "Be my guest. Too crowded in here anyway."
Carol glared. "That's not out."
"Sure it is." Things were clearer this time, she thought. She knew who she was, more or less, and how both she and Carol had ended up in the library. The problem was, she hadn't the slightest idea how to fix things.
"No," she said, dropping into the seat opposite Rogue's. "That's just where you stick people when you don't want to deal with them." She leaned in closer. "You're going to deal with me. You owe me that."
"It wasn't my fault! It was Essex!"
"Your power. Your fault. Now get me out of here!"
Rogue shifted, curled protectively in the chair. "It's not that easy."
Carol looked over at the shades pressing against the windows. "They're angry." Her gaze swung back to Rogue. "So am I. You're making it worse, you know, keeping them out there. You're making it harder on yourself."
"You don't understand how it works," Rogue said shortly. "If Ah didn't keep them locked up…"
"They wouldn't push so hard to get out." At Rogue's startled look, Carol shrugged. "What? It's not like I have a lot to do except go through your memories."
"Those are private," Rogue snapped.
"So were mine," Carol said, her voice honeyed. Then her tone turned brisk and businesslike. "You can't just keep shoving them back – it only makes them more potent." She examined Rogue critically, tapping her fingers lightly on the arm of the chair. "You need a balance. Give them a little room, and everyone will breathe easier."
"Ah can't just let them roam around my head, Danvers. It doesn't matter how much room they have, Ah still have to integrate 'em or they'll take over."
Carol shrugged. "Integrate them, then."
Rogue huffed and turned away, studying the creases in the leather chair. "You think you have it all figured out, but you don't. You don't have any idea."
"I think I have a pretty good idea, actually. You keep compressing them, and it makes them stronger, and you weaker, because it takes so much effort. But if you could find some kind of happy medium, they'd be easier to integrate, and you'd be able to focus."
"The last time they all got loose…it nearly killed me." She couldn't explain how it had felt – all of those foreign powers, coursing unchecked through her body, desperate to escape, all of the foreign minds battling for control, and her energy divided between the two.
"But it didn't." Carol said reasonably, and Rogue realized that the other woman knew exactly what had happened to her. "And this time, you don't have to worry about their powers."
Rogue stared at her blankly, and Carol reached forward, touching the silver band around her throat. "No powers," she said with a grim smile.
"No powers," murmured Rogue.
The sound of pebbles bouncing along the path to the beach had Remy glancing up warily, but it was only Kitty, bundled against the cold in a puffy jacket and absurdly striped knitted hat. He nodded as she walked up to him, and offered her one of the stones in his hand. She tried to skip it across the choppy waves, but it sank immediately. She sighed, and he slanted another look at her.
"Somet'in on y'mind?"
She stared out at the grey-blue water and dug the toe of her sneaker into the rocky sand, and he waited patiently. Finally, she turned to him.
"What would you do to find Rogue? I mean, would you do something, like, illegal?"
He snorted. "P'tite, I do that cause it's a Tuesday. Ain' really a stretch for me, hein?"
To her credit, she looked only mildly taken aback. "Oh. Well, would you…I don't know…would you do something that was hard? That would cost you?"
"Everything costs somethin'," he murmured.
She tilted her head quizzically, and he shrugged. She watched as he picked up another stone and charged it, then skipped it along the choppy surface of the ocean. It bounced along the water a few times before it exploded, the fragments sizzling.
Kitty wandered to a nearby boulder and sat as he sent more rocks skittering over the sea. "She's been gone such a long time," she said suddenly.
He kept his eyes on the water, nodded once. "Two months."
"That's longer than you were here with her."
He made a noise of agreement, but didn't stop charging and throwing the stones.
She traced a fissure in the boulder, the stone damp and chill against her fingertips. "Do you think she's okay?"
"Hope so. I think she's alive. I think she's a fighter. Long as she's fighting, gotta figure she's okay."
"You miss her," Kitty said quietly, idly phasing her fingers through the rock.
"So do you," he shot back.
"Of course I do. Rogue's my best friend." Her gaze sharpened. "What is she to you?"
He turned to her then, met her eyes squarely. "No offense, Kitty-cat, but when I have that conversation? Ain't gonna be wit you."
She grinned then, and he couldn't help smiling back. "Too cold to stay out here mopin'," he said, and tugged her off the boulder. "Time to go back."
She nodded and started up the path to the mansion ahead of him.
"So," he called, "You gonna tell me 'bout this 'illegal thing' you been considerin'? It have sometin' t'do wit your meetin' de Professor and Scotty-boy this mornin'?"
"You heard about that?" she tossed back over her shoulder, waiting for him to reach the top of the trail.
"You ain' de only one round here likes t'talk," he said. "So, you goin' felony or misdemeanor?"
She frowned at him as they headed across the wide expanse of lawn to the mansion. "If I tell you about it, does it make you an accessory?"
"Prob'ly," he said, ducking his head against the wind. "Not real worried about it, though."
Kitty tucked her hands deeper into her pockets. "I had this lead," she began, but a shout from the back steps of the mansion cut her off.
"Half-pint! Get in here!" Logan wasn't waiting, though, and he strode across the grounds toward her, face dark with anger. Remy ignored his progress, concentrating instead on the black-clad figure standing in the kitchen doorframe.
As he stormed up, Logan shot Remy a murderous glare. "You put her up to this?"
"Don' even know what she did," he replied, then nodded in the direction of the house. "Friend of yours?"
"Not exactly." Logan rounded on Kitty. "You. Chuck told you no. What the hell were you thinking?"
She jutted out her chin, a gesture so like Rogue's that Remy nearly lost his footing. "I was thinking that it might be nice to, oh, I don't know,bring Rogue home."
"He told you no!"
"Do you always do exactly what the Professor says?" she asked sweetly, stepping inside. "Besides, he said that Kurt and I couldn't work on this together. He didn't say anything about what I did on my own."
Remy grinned. "I see a bright future f'you, p'tite. Girl's got a point," he said to Logan.
They had reached the kitchen, and the other man glanced briefly at Remy, then focused in on Kitty with his one eye.
"You're Mr. Logan's friend," she stammered.
He grimaced. "Not exactly. You're Katherine Pryde. Nick Fury," he said, extending his hand.
Kitty took it, trying not to stare at the eyepatch. "Are you going to arrest me?" she asked, her voice suddenly smaller.
"I'm going to tell you to knock it the fuck off."
She blanched and stepped back. "It was only the one time…"
Out of the side of his mouth, Remy asked Logan, "What'd she do?"
Fury answered grimly. "Shadowcat here decided to hack into the Eastern power grid."
Remy whistled appreciatively. "Definitely a felony, p'tite." He shrugged. "Go big or stay home, I s'pose."
"But I didn't get through!" she protested.
Fury folded his arms and leaned against the granite countertop. "Not yet. And if you ask the military, it's not a felony, it's an act of domestic terrorism."
Kitty sat down at the table with a thump. "I'm a terrorist?" she squeaked.
"You will be if you manage to crack that grid."
"It wouldn't just be you, half-pint. They'd come after the Institute. No charges. No trial. No phone calls home – just prison, for as long as they want to keep us there." Logan leaned down so that they were eye to eye. "Do you get it now? Why he told you to leave it?"
She nodded, eyes filling. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just wanted to help."
Fury studied her for a minute, his expression softening momentarily. "The group I work for can pull a lot of strings, Katherine. But if the military labels the X-Men a terrorist group, there's not a damn thing I could do to help you."
He ducked his head, took a sip of coffee, and continued. "You've done some good work on your own," he said. "Getting those bank records, running them down."
Kitty flushed. "You heard about that?"
He rolled his eyes. "Kiddo, I hear about it when one of you runs a yellow light. You want to poke around foreign banks, that's fine. But if the places you're looking into are on U.S. soil, put down the goddamn mouse and go paint your nails, okay?"
Kitty nodded, lower lip still trembling.
"You done now?" demanded Logan.
Fury pushed away from the counter. "With her, yeah. Figured you and I could have a chat."
Logan nodded once and headed out. Fury followed, pausing in the doorway. "You ever need a job, kiddo, look me up."
"Like hell she will," they heard Logan snarl as they left.
Kitty looked at Remy, exhaled shakily.
"Look at de bright side," he offered, pouring them each a cup of coffee.
She took a sip, grimaced and added a generous dose of sugar to her mug. "I'm not in jail?"
"I'm not an accessory."
She gave a wobbly smile, pushed the coffee away. "Happy to help."
Through the window above the sink, they could see Logan and Fury stalking towards the woods. "So," he said, tugging off her hat and tossing it at her. "Sounds like you've been havin' all kinds o'fun without me. Tell me 'bout it."
"Don't recruit my kids," Logan snapped when they were away from the mansion.
"Her choice," Fury reminded him, and held out a cigar. "You wanted to talk to me?"
"Took you long enough," Logan grunted.
"Funny thing," Fury said dryly. "We've been a little busy lately, trying to figure out how to shut down Apocalypse. You remember him, right?"
"We get her back, maybe she can help with that."
Fury hunched his shoulders against the wind. "Hard to sell that at SHIELD right now, Logan. Rogue started this whole mess -- her name doesn't exactly bring out the warm fuzzies around there."
Logan chewed the cigar, kept his voice easy. "She packs a lotta power for a little thing. Seems like you'd want to keep an eye on her."
Fury barked out a laugh. "Oh, is that why you're shaking down every contact you ever had? You're worried about what she can do?"
"I don't give a hot damn about her powers." He stopped short, stared at the brown grass underfoot. "I'm worried about her, Nick."
He rasied an eyebrow, then nodded once. "I don't think this'll help much…" he said warningly.
"Tell me."
"It's classified."
"Tell me."
"Your Rogue was one of the mutants brought to Area 51 after Trask let the Sentinals loose."
"I remember." Remembered Rogue trapped in the stasis field, the look of stark terror on her face as she was transported past his cell to a lab. Remembered the way she went still and distant whenever someone brought it up.
"Trask liked her – thought she was an interesting case."
Logan began to growl softly.
"He ran a lot of tests on her while she was there. There was a huge file on her."
"And?"
"And the file's been hacked."
"What do you mean?"
"All the data on Rogue – all the test results, Trask's theories, his plans for her...someone broke into the system and helped themselves. None of the other files were touched – only hers."
"When?"
"A few days after you and your girl scout troop came home. Someone wanted her pretty bad to pull that off, Logan. Someone was hunting her."
"Why are you helpin' me?" Rogue asked, settling back into the chair again, resting her cheek against the cool leather.
Carol spun an antique globe in its stand. "I told you – I want out of here. Helping you seems like the best way to accomplish that." She met Rogue's eyes, her voice cool. "Don't worry. It's nothing personal."
Rogue nodded, unease spreading over her like a blush. "Guess we should get movin' on this, then."
Logan was first. She knew instinctively that he'd take the most energy. She stared at the chair in front of her, concentrated as hard as she could on the scent of cigar smoke and sweat and crisp autumn air, the feeling of a gloved hand cuffing the back of her head lightly, the shine of adamantium against perfect skin, and the sound of his voice, the low rumble of his voice.
He solidified in the chair across from hers, and Carol straightened, walked over behind Rogue wordlessly.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, shifted and stretched in the chair, growing more substantial. "Jesus, I hate being locked up. You know that."
"Ah had to," she replied. "Ah can't just let you run around."
"Then why'd you spring me?" He glanced at the silver tea service on a nearby sideboard. "We gonna play tea party?"
Rogue shook her head. "Ah need your hand," she said quietly.
"It's too much for you."
Carol stepped forward. "She's got help."
"You don't belong here," he said coldly.
"I noticed," she replied, and her eyes flicked over him. "So you're her Logan."
"Wolverine to you," he clarified. "And not hers."
Carol's mouth curved. "You're here, aren't you?"
He snarled in reply, and Rogue leaned in. "Ah know there are things…you want to keep. But Ah need your help, Logan. Ah need to think like you. Ah need to feel like you."
He leaned back in the chair, folded his arms. "That's the last thing you need."
Carol spoke. "You know he won't keep her alive indefinitely. If this is about protecting her, you might want to consider that."
Rogue whirled around to glare at her, but Carol continued, her voice even and almost pleasant. "Of course, if this is about protecting you and all your monsters under the bed…" she shrugged. "Well, once she's dead, you won't have to worry about them coming out."
He raised an eyebrow. "Ruthless little bitch, aren't you?"
"It's not like I've got a whole lot to lose at this point," she retorted.
"Enough!" snapped Rogue. She turned imploring eyes to the figure in the chair. He wasn't really Logan, she reminded herself, just his memories made visible. "Logan…it ain't really your choice. Ah'll do it either way. Ah just wanted…" she trailed off. "Ah just wanted to square it with you. It'll be easier, Ah think."
"Nothing easy about it," he replied. "It'll change things."
"Ah know. Adapt or die, right?" She gave a wan smile and reached out a hand. "Please, Logan."
He gave a short, curt nod. "Don't' say I didn't warn you, kid." And he laced his fingers tightly with hers, and the storm broke within her.
"The changes are small, but pronounced," Essex commented. "And yet she hasn't regained consciousness for a sustained period?"
"No, sir." The tech said. "The abnormal phases don't seem to follow a schedule, but the EKG readings for each are nearly identical. She's yet to fully wake up, either. It's like she's been sleeping for a week."
"And the fluctuations are dreams," Essex mused. "Very well. Inform me of any further changes." He glanced at the chart once more, then strode out.
She sank back in the chair, nearly boneless with exhaustion. Carol eased herself over to another chair and put her head between her knees.
"We're not really here," Rogue pointed out. "You'd think we wouldn't feel so crappy."
"Try telling my legs that," Carol grumbled, sitting up again and pushing her hair back. "Your friends have some serious issues."
"They aren't all my friends," Rogue said, thinking back to the stench of the concentration camps and the creak of bending metal. "Made some progress, though."
"We'll have to move soon."
"Ah know. There won't be time to finish it." The crowd outside the French doors had thinned, individual bodies visible instead of a seething mass.
"I can't believe you live with a valley girl. How have you two not killed each other?"
"She's nice when you get used to her."
Carol shrugged. "What about the guy with the creepy eyes? We should work on him."
"They aren't creepy. And Ah'm not integrating him." She forced herself to look away from the doors.
"He's sneaky, and smart. He plays dirty. He could help us."
She shook her head. "You don't know that. You don't have any idea what we'll get from him."
"You do, though. You lived with the guy."
"That doesn't mean Ah knew him. We can do this without Remy."
Carol snorted. "Are you crazy? We need all the help we can get."
"Remy…has secrets."
"And we have a rather pressing need to get the hell out of here. I don't care how squeamish you are about poking around in your boyfriend's head, okay? Time to grow up. If he's got something in there that can help us, we take it."
Rogue was quiet. Finally she turned and faced the French doors, studying the figures on the other side. She nodded. "We take it."
Up next: Belle and Remy negotiate. Rogue, Carol, and Remy have a chat. Rogue fights back.