Pyro didn't like the idea when he'd first heard it floating around. Rogue had started fighting with the X-Men, so he'd seen her in action, and she was a mouse. She wouldn't be any use to them.

But Mystique was fascinated by her 'potential'. She could be anyone, Mystique reasoned, take any power, do anything. Pyro knew better. Rogue wasn't the type. She was self-hating. She'd never seen the potential in her power, only the inconvenience. She was afraid of power, of danger. 'Potential.' Rogue was a mouse, because she wanted to be a mouse. She would be human if the cure hadn't worn off. There was no piece of evidence more damning than that.

You can train someone to fight, but you can't make them want to. Mystique knew that too, but she went on about 'potential". Magneto agreed, said he'd seen it first, told Mystique to go on with the recruitment.

They didn't know her. He did. He knew better.

Rogue didn't exactly know where to go. She strayed a couple hours from the mansion, and bided her time, figuring someone from the Brotherhood would come to her. A few days went by, then a week, then two, and she started to wonder… Maybe she was supposed to find them… Maybe that was some kind of test she was supposed to pass, prove her worth.

She'd got good at eyeing out mutant bars, places people wouldn't mind a girl who covered all her were good places to get a quick meal, not be asked too many questions. The news was always on, so she could keep up with the X-Men's efforts and the Brotherhood's random acts of violence. She started keeping a log in her head of details, a hospital burned to the ground, a geneticist mysteriously disappeared, a refreshingly balanced reporter whose eyes flashed yellow just for a second. Maybe she could find a pattern in the details, find them.

Still, she couldn't stay in any one place too long. Men were handsy, and it got her into trouble.

"What do you drink?" The man was barely taller than her, had unkempt curls, smelled a little like sweat. He came from behind her, moved into the stool next to hers as she tilted her head a little toward him, reacting.

Early in, she tried not to make eye contact with them, men in bars, but she learned quickly that their next instinct was to touch her. Stupid. What did they think all the clothes were for, the gloves, the sleeves, the scarf.

She turned her head, looked him in the eyes, and with all the attitude she could muster, "I don't."

For some men, that was enough. They'd be put off, but they understood they'd fare better chances with a woman who was actually interested. Not this man, though. Not most men.

"Sure you do. I'll pay." He placed an arm close to her, leaning in. Sweat and beer.

It's around now that she has to look for an exit strategy, the moment of insistence. She darted her eyes around, looking first for the bartender, busy, then the exit, crowded, then the bathroom. It was a decent place to hide. They usually wouldn't go in there. Usually.

She stuffed a couple fries in her mouth, taking her measure of the man. He had sad eyes and aggressive body language, a dangerous combination. He really might follow her. His smile was pointed downward, forced.

She took a bite of the burger, grabbed a few more fries in one hand, and pushed herself off the stool in the opposite direction with the other. She didn't turn back, making a beeline for the door. She shoved a good few people with her shoulders, covered. Some of them yelled obscenities at her. The women were more likely to mumble an apology. Either way, attention was good. Too many eyes and too much movement. If he wanted to follow her out, he was more likely to be noticed. That was enough for a lot of men to shift things in her favor, a risk they weren't willing to take.

They never guessed the danger of actually catching her.

She found a pattern. A lot of major hospitals were being targeted for arson, big ones, the kind with research labs and endowments. Apparently Worthington Labs had abandoned their cure efforts. The gossip rags rumored that Warren Worthington was a mutant himself, that his father had built the company to help his son. She wondered what kind of power he had, thinking it must be something like hers, something dangerous and limiting, something hard to control. He must be like her. He must have one of the bad ones.

She thought Warren looked handsome in the pictures, confident and happy, and not like her. It was just a rumor. Who knows.

The legitimate news outlets followed their successors. The formula for the original cure had been lost, but the world was hard at work trying to resynthesize it. A mutant treatment, they were calling in now. Not permanent, not a cure, but a beginning, a hope.

Massachusetts General was supposed to start clinical trials, she'd heard it on the news. The reporters smiled big and bright, excited. A rumble moved through the bar, and the bartender turned the TV off. The air was tense, and she asked if they could turn it back on.

"No. Too controversial."

She looked around and she wasn't sure controversial was the right word. People were angry. Mutant opinion had mostly shifted against the cure when it broke that the vials had been put into guns and shot.

It didn't matter. She had all the information she needed now. John wasn't exact. He would burn every hospital in the system to ash. The X-Men would be there too. Someone would need to evacuate all those people before they were burned alive. And she would be there, a free agent, trying to meet up with the bad guys.

She couldn't help but think of Bobby when she got off the bus into Boston. She'd only been here a couple of times, always to visit his family. Things had been tense since Robbie had turned them in, but his parents weren't bad people. She wondered if hers would have tried to understand if she'd kept in touch.

Probably not.

But, maybe.

She picked one of the smaller hospitals in the system, found a deli across the way from the main lobby. It was full of people, mostly people from the hospital. A lot of scrubs and ID badges. She picked up some hospital gossip while she waited. She learned whose boss sucked and who was trying to get a promotion. People talked in loud voices about incidents sexual harassment, but every now-and-then, when someone mentioned the mutant treatment trials, their voice got quiet. People thought it was amazing, such important work, but some had heard rumors about a curse. People involved in testing were disappearing, a geneticist in Providence, and there were accidents too, deaths and sudden fires.

Often, they couldn't conceptualize they were being attacked. Why would mutants do that? This was being done for them. This would help integrate them into society. They could hold real jobs and have real lives. They could move out of the mutant ghettos that had started to pop up in major cities. They could protect their kids from being like them.

But every once-in-a-while, "No one can explain why mutants do what they do. They're just violent." That voice wasn't quiet. It drew attention. People around the deli nodded, most people. Rogue kept her head down, trying not to react.

Another voice, quieter: "It's sad, but true, isn't it?"

The X-Men showed up predictably early. People started to scatter immediately. They thought they were under attack.

But the guy at the deli counter didn't move. Nurses grumbled about needing to get back to work quickly, in case of injuries. One or two of them even eyed the X-Men with awe.

It was Piotr who came into the deli, asking the guy at the counter to close early. He refused. He said he'd been there for twenty years. He would protect his store.

Piotr pretended not to notice her, but she'd caught his eye on the way in. She wondered if they realized she wasn't coming back in the weeks that passed, or maybe he didn't want to make a scene, figuring she was unlikely to listen to him anyway. She slipped out, in case he threw word over to Logan or Bobby. They would be around here somewhere too.

She lifted up her hood and tried to blend into the panic. Finally, she saw it. An explosion. She turned her eyes back onto the deli. Pitor was helping the man close the metal gate over the front door. The streets were littered with cars that had caught flames in the explosion, and been abandoned in the road.

She ran toward it. John would be there. Finally, she'd found the Brotherhood.