VIII: MAYBE

He was okay the next day. He got up. He gruffed and groaned a bit, but he was okay. And he was silent and brooding, threw her a few dark looks, but largely ignored her. Ok, then. She threw him amused looks, and ignored him back.

They emerged, the both of them, to find the world-turned-upside-down. Or at least gone mad.

Camera crews on the school lawn. Xavier trying to get them moved off school property, and thank God they'd cultivated positive relationships with local authorities these past few years. Jubilee back in Xavier's office again, snipping at the new assistant, fielding phone calls from Congressman, reporters, members of the press, colleagues, professors, the ACLU.

The mission, the lab. It had been a big one, from what she could piece together, newscasts, newspapers. Three hundred-odd mutants, nearly 100 humans, a huge facility, over 80 guards, and, in its heyday, over 20 scientists. But the head scientist had quit nearly ten years ago, and only three of the twenty were listed on the payroll this year.

After the bust of the smaller Ohio facility, the forces had panicked, been ordered to drop the program and withdraw. So, they'd decamped, moved out, leaving ten or so guards behind. And the strangeness of it had piqued the interest of some in the local community, news had leaked, whispers had gotten to Xavier.

When the team, headed by Logan and Storm, had arrived, bringing foul weather and strange electrical disturbances with it, the remaining guards had fled. And the X-men had simply walked in, claimed the space…and called the police, the hospitals. The media.

Conditions there were much worse. The emphasis wasn't on science (or hadn't been for a long while) but incarceration with torture thrown in for kicks. There was a lot of documentation, videos, pictures, witnesses. And, of course, just the facilities, the lack of amenities, the conditions of the cells, of the prisoners, was enough. Did Jubilee's redacted files even need to see the light of day? Historians might want them, but it hardly seemed necessary now.

Mutant rallies. Calls for amendments, legislation, independent investigations, many, many lawsuits. In a sad and sick way, it was the best thing to happen for the mutant cause.

And Xavier, head and chair in the spotlight as the spokesman for mutantkind, was at the forefront of this new effort, was awash with offers, publicity, opportunities. Rogue wondered, wryly, what Magneto thought now.

The school was, naturally, disrupted by the development. Classes were still in session, but the students were highly distracted, excited, barely contained. Phone calls poured in, from family members, friends, from around the country. A few of the brasher students had gone out on the lawn to the cameras, had given very aggressive and ignorant-sounding statements to the press. The senior class had even gone out and picketed (no one) on the lawn, a few hastily scribbled (and not clever) slogans on taped-together pieces of paper. Ah, but only think of the memories.

Logan had classes to teach, all the teachers did, but Rogue could help out, deemed capable, with her healed leg, of handling it. She updated the web site quickly, took orders from Commander Jubes in the office, found herself working as a P.A., booking dates and logging calls and contact numbers for Xavier all morning long.

It was such a strange and exhilarating day. She'd caught sight of Ted Koppel, square head, boyish curls and all, in their hallowed halls, and she'd just booked Xavier for a show on Larry King. 'Of suspender fame,' Jubilee had trilled, before rounding on the new girl, ripping her a new one for improper cross-referencing. 'Jubes!' Rogue had expostulated, and Jubes had just grinned.

She saw Xavier zipping down the hall, and she'd never known him to nip about like that: nearly ran a student over, nearly grinned when that happened, too. Hank whistled, trotted nimbly on his toes. Storm was wound tight, smiling worriedly, sometimes tiredly, but smiling, and Rogue'd seen Remy steal a kiss—whirl in, press in, dart away with those waggling brows—to Storm's startled blush.

Jean she'd only seen once; head-down, striding stiltedly down the hall, Xavier at her side, and, strangely, Scott just behind. They'd none of them looked very happy, but then, she'd expected stress. She hadn't expected Scott's brief touch to Jean's back, and Jean's…acquiescence? A nod, a wave of her hand in response, certainly not rejection. Hmm, what had happened there?

Everyone was in the kind of good and bad mood that came from too much stress and too much excitement. And when Rogue had gone back to their room that night, skipped in, pushed back her mussed hair, exhausted, she'd thrown her arms around Logan and exclaimed, 'Oh. My. GOD. I know it's terrible, but…Could you believe what happened today?'

And even though he'd been a little reticent and closed and gruff when she came in, even though he looked fatigued and careworn, he'd smiled, really, genuinely, hugged her and twirled her round, and she'd loved him in that moment, laughing delightedly.

And he certainly didn't seem to mind either when she pounced on him, had eager, energetic, excited, exhausting sex with him. Yeah…she loved that part, too.

By week's end, it was largely just exhausting. The press had decamped, the interviews were half-over, and it became clear, in the slog, in the aftermath, just how much work lay ahead of them.

Interviews. Talking points. Media blitz. Conferring with senior lawmakers, lawyers. Writing draft legislation. Lobbyists, political ads. Funding of law suits. Xavier's new book deal.

Luckily, Xavier was better connected than Rogue thought.

The school itself was going through painful changes, too. Conservatives, not without cause, were still very concerned about mutants and their powers, and Xavier felt that the school, and others like it, had to be at the forefront of this fight, assuaging fears and inculcating feelings of responsibility and stewardship in (potentially) dangerous mutants. But this put the school in the tricky position of needing as much credibility and trust as mutants were not gaining from the community.

And…there had actually been a bit of an incident, call it the illustrative moment, a few days before. The cameras had still been camped out on the lawn, then, just outside school grounds, and a group of reporters had turned to some loitering, attention-hungry students: 'Do you have a statement to make about mutants?'

'Yeah! Mutants are people, too. And we—I have the right to be free!' Chorus of yells in agreement.

'I can shapeshift. And I'm not gonna hide!' Yeah! 'I can change color!' Woah!

'I have the freedom! I have the power!' None of them old enough to know He-Man, but it was every bit as corny. And the reporter was marveling over Harold's surprising green thumb, which, applied to an acorn in excitement, had sprouted a 20-foot sapling.

When 'That's nothing!', 'See what I can do!' erupted from several students at once: Zoey demonstrated her ability to concentrate high temperatures to specific objects, setting the new sapling on fire, and then melting a few people's watches, buttons, the reporter's zipper, and Daniel clapped at a frequency that caused rain droplets in the clouds above to tremble and fall (neatly extinguishing the sapling), and Chen rumbled the earth below, gave it a bit of a mischievious shake. Chaos before the cameras until—

'STOP!' and Xavier had been there, somehow mighty in his wheelchair, the students' suspended motions and frozen expressions. 'Now you are going to stay there,' Xavier intoned grimly, 'until you've thought about what you've done. You all know better. This does not become you.' And he'd very solicitously inquired after the shaken reporters and cameramen, a little impromptu interview with the frozen tableau behind, the only movement from the watchful, wide eyes of the immobile senior class.

After some chatter, 'Yes, yes, I've immobilized them. They're fine, just ignore them,' and some discussion of mutant issues, Xavier had finally turned a sharp-quarter turn to the group, asked 'Are you ready to apologize now?' And one-by-one he'd released the students so they could, sheepishly, bashfully.

The press ate it up; it was played on every cable news station, every nightly news broadcast, even a few senate hearings. It was one of the most watched clips on You-Tube. It was lampooned on the Daily Show.

But the incident proved a lightning rod: Liberals pointed to how easily the mutant situation could be contained, focused on 'schools', education. Conservatives loved Xavier but also loved the demonstration of how dangerous mutants could be. Libertarians warned that Xavier was just as dangerous.

So Xavier was privately grieved about the entire thing, very sensitive to bad press, and defensive, ready to focus attention on something other than the school. Jubilee had remarked what a bear he was in the office.

At the weekly strategy meeting that Saturday (the first, to Rogue's knowledge, held since the Ohio mission), Xavier wanted to talk about something new, the new agenda, the Important IMMediate political strategy. Jean and Scott and Ororo and Logan and Hank and Xavier and Rogue.

Xavier wanted to talk…about the labs and going public.

The Senate hearings were the week following, the specific evidence, the explicit and graphic (hopefully shocking) evidence was to be revealed.

'We have one chance, THE chance,' Xavier spoke with suppressed excitement. 'The public is already beginning to move on to concerns about mutant powers and stewardship. Don't forget that the MRA is already written—passed by the House. We must redirect the conversation, make them face the horrors their government has done, make them agitate so that it will never happen again.'

On and on in this gripping vein, and Rogue expected it (Xavier could stump speech at the drop of a hat now—plenty of practice this week, perhaps natural inclination?), but was prodded to wakefulness by '…and Jean, of course, shall testify, shall be the face and voice of this injustice, shall be the call-to-arms that every mutant, every human is looking for.'

Not expected—when had Jean agreed to that?—and she snapped round to Jean, frowned over the weary air, dutiful profile. Not her idea? Looking around—Theirs. Damn it! Where was Jubilee? Back to this again.

''Scuse me, sorry,' Rogue inserted tremulously, glancing side-to-side. 'But—Jean is going to testify at the Senate trials? Was that a meeting I missed?'

'It's already been decided, Rogue,' the Professor asserted. 'Jean will put a face to the experimentation going on at the labs, a highly-articulate face, already well-known to its audience.' Jean shifted in her seat, managing a reasonably resolute expression.

Rogue leaned forward, darted looks round the table, and oddly, no one would look at her. Who had decided, and had she been the last to know? She cleared her throat. 'Decided? Well, I think it may be a mistake. We shouldn't ask this of her.'

'She's already agreed to it,' the Professor calmly explained, though she could detect a hint of irritation. Rogue saw Scott reach round to touch the back of Jean's chair. All those personal meetings with Xavier, Scott's little touches all week. 'Putting aside your personal feelings on the subject, the idea is a good one.'

'I don't see why,' Rogue countered, hiding the trembling, 'I think it's a bad idea for a whole bunch of reasons,' And she forced herself not to react, not to take it too heatedly, to remove Jean from the equation.

'You're not considering what an opportunity we have with her, Rogue,' the Professor pressed, exchanging significant glances to his right and left. He templed his hands on the table. 'You're not considering what we can accomplish when we can speak out from such a position of authority.'

'Yes, but there are others—many others—and a lot of evidence,' Rogue continued, bracing herself.

Xavier's face was frozen into an implacable, set look. 'Jean is much more,' he insisted. 'She was known before this happened, has a clean record. Jean's experiences will show the degree to which the government violated the rights of its citizens.'

Rogue swallowed, glancing round. 'But because she's well-known, there will be more questions, the full story, things we don't want—' She tripped over herself, thinking of how much they couldn't control, how much she couldn't.

'We likely can't hide how Jean returned to us, Rogue. So we're using her return to our advantage, to the advantage of all mutantkind.' The Professor paused, and Logan, for the first time since she'd spoken out, fixed his gaze on her from several seats down, an understanding but firm one that warned 'Let it go'. She didn't know if she could. Nor, slanting a look at Jean, wearily waiting until this was decided, did she think she necessarily should.

'We buried Jean,' the Professor continued, and Rogue was shocked at the casualness of it. Jean didn't react, but she saw Scott grimace and Storm stiffen. 'Many know that; and many more know she came back. We can't hide that. How else do you suggest we explain that?'

'You're making it trickier to explain by staging her front and center. And easier to explain that than Alkali Lake, or how we helped her escape.'

'That's a chance we'll have to take,' the Professor declared, gimlet-eyed.

Rogue harrumphed in frustration, at how dense he was, how short-sighted. And glancing around, everyone else was goddamn stupid, too. There was a collective shift at the table, as if the team members were settling in, settling down, convinced, or willing to be. The Professor was nodding firmly, eyeing up and down the table. Shit.

'We agreed to keep the identities of the mutants anonymous,' Rogue tried another tack, a little desperate now.

'Rogue,' Jean called softly, and Rogue was halted, turning to Jean, searching her eyes, trying to grasp whether she did have it wrong, whether this was the best thing for everyone. But what she saw—pallor, dark circles, weary air, and…the desire for peace, not justice—decided her.

'NO,' she flashed to the rest of the group, 'We agreed on anonymity for a reason. It was so each mutant could decide how to handle what happened.'

'She has decided. You're interrupting her,' the Professor rebuked, his accent deepening. He was nearly, Rogue thought searingly, wagging a finger at her.

'I'm—she's letting you decide. Look at her,'—Rogue pointed—'She just got back. You want her to confess to this publicly so you can have your news cycle?!'

'She is not the first to do so,' the Professor dismissed, pushing back from the table. 'Many people come forward like this, to call attention to injustice, to be the face for a cause.'

'It's not the same,' Rogue stressed, looking round the table at their closed faces, and she swept a hand in the air. 'They chose it, their idea, and not after a few weeks but whenever it was that they'd dealt with all their shit. Jean's not even comfortable with us knowing.'

Rogue was dimly aware of Scott growing more tense, more withdrawn, but Jean, all she looked was watchful. 'And now you're asking that the world know, that she play the victim again and again. In front of the senators she used to know, the people she used to lobby. Everyone! For all time, everyone she ever meets. All so she can be your face, your symbol. You're asking her to be a victim as her job.'

Rogue darted glances round the table, and she repeated, maybe a tad moronically, but… 'It's not the same. It's not the same.' Could they not see that? Well, most of them weren't looking at her. Logan was rigid, staring frozenly at the wall, and Xavier looked lurid, angry, but also unsure. Well, she was—sure.

'If Jean really wanted to do this,' she finished, tilting her chin down, 'if she hadn't just agreed for your sakes, she would have stopped me.' She was sure about that, anyway. She eyed the group, trembling a bit, drew herself up, focused. She rose, more like rocketed, and slid her chair in with a click. 'I'm sorry, Jean,' she nodded gravely, and she left.

The door shut behind her with a mighty whoosh, and she walked out with unsteady legs, but she hoped she was right. She hoped she had made a difference. She hoped Jean would do…whatever she wanted.

She worked out. She made a tasteless meal, added jalapeno to spice it up, and had to throw the rest away.

She sulked, she knew.

She did laundry. Already in shitty mood, why not take advantage?

She watched fuzzy showtunes in the laundry room, but they were so bad, she ended up staring at the dryer.

'Where were you?' he called from the bed, a stupid question, as far as she could see. She hefted up the laundry basket mockingly, rolled her eyes at him. She let the door slam, then slammed her chest-of-drawers, too, because she needed the extra satisfaction.

'So what was that earlier?' he asked, watching her put away her clothes.

'I'm not in a very good mood,' she warned, again she figured pretty self-evidently; she supposed if she were exploring her darker motivations, she'd answer that it would absolve her of responsibility should he provoke her. Please, provoke her.

When she turned round, he had an eyebrow quirked at her, but he just raised the bedclothes in a motion to get in. Her lips parted—he didn't want a fight?—but he just waited, and she grew absurdly peeved that he was being so understanding now. She stuck out a hip, a lip.

'C'mere,' he murmured, and she realized petulantly that it was what she wanted. So she went and she burrowed into him like a child, and he sighed, and she sighed, and she felt a kiss brush her hair.

She had thought that she'd just go to sleep, that she'd just let herself be comforted, but she didn't and she wasn't. After about ten minutes of feeling as wide awake as ever, she kicked out a bit restlessly, and confessed a bit defensively, 'I wanted to make sure it was what she wanted, not just what she was letting happen.'

Logan tugged on her hair a bit to get her to look up at him, and she did, resting her chin on his chest. 'Letting happen?' he parroted, his brows drawn together. He seemed…touchy about this for some reason, his hands coming up to hold her shoulders in position. But if he thought they were going to fight now, it was ten minutes too late for her to want one.

'Look, Logan, maybe she will come round, and maybe she will agree to it do it in the end. Maybe she still said she would after I left, I don't know…maybe I was outta line.' She just threw a bunch of those maybes out there, hoping one of them would do the trick.

He ran one hand down her back and up again. 'The meeting pretty much broke up after you left,' he explained, and there was a pause as he stroked a hand down a strand of her hair, then heavily, 'But she's not going to do it.'

She…hadn't meant any of those maybes, but maybe Logan—it meant more than she realized. She tucked her chin down, turned away, because she wasn't sorry, and she didn't care what Xavier or Scott or…though she was suddenly tearing up, almost suppressing a sob. She worked at keeping it back, but she couldn't hide the reaction from him when he forced her to turn back to him, applying pressure with a lock to her face. 'What?'

She shook her head with a snort, shook away the tears. 'Just…' Just reaction, just stress, just… 'I'm glad,' she finished.

He didn't look glad. 'Why?' his voice cracked.

At another time, she would have had a lot of fun teasing him about that—hey, what was so wrong with glad? But this wasn't teasing time, and she was wrung out. She rattled out a laugh. 'I haven't talked to Jean much, but she reminded me…she seemed like she was looking for something to go with, a way to move on.' She sighed. 'I just thought, with this, that it was important she want to for herself, that she make the choice.'

His hand froze, and his face froze over. She belatedly realized that he might have been one of the pushers. 'Logan, you didn't—you all probably didn't mean to.' She placed a careful hand to his whiskers, pressed to get him to look at her, this time. 'You were thinking of what was best politically, and I—could only think…how much it sucked to be Jean.'

Both his hands traveled down and settled in the slope of her back, and they squeezed, a bit uncomfortably, and she peered up at him, saw his dry swallow, and decided to just ask. 'You gonna tell me why you're so upset now?'

He hesitated, then shook his head, gruffed, 'Not upset.'

She took his measure: he looked upset, shadowed eyes, furrowed brow, drawn mouth, and she decided, as she swallowed the rising sob in her throat again, she decided that, no, she wasn't going to let it drop. 'Guilty, then?' she persisted, trembling a little. 'Mad at me? Disappointed? Irritated? Concerned? Anxious? What?' His mouth twisted.

She thumped his chest. 'You seriously annoy me,' she asserted. 'This is where we go wrong. Every time. Ok? Just tell me. I can take it.'

He hesitated again, and it made her wonder if she actually could. Maybe this was the thing he couldn't tell her, that this was about Jean, about Scott, about something he wasn't ready to say. So she was very relieved, but also puzzled when he said, 'I'm worried that you can't turn your skin off.'

She sucked in her lower lip, nibbled it. 'You are not.'

'Yes. I am, Rogue.' He sounded certain, and it was his most serious face.

She brushed that aside. 'No, I mean: Fine, worry, me, too. But that's not what you were upset about.' It didn't sound right, not here.

He tipped her over suddenly, as he turned onto his side, a loose arm at her waist, and their heads nearly even now. But she knew him, and he was ducking the question, so she waited. Why were they so bad at this lately?

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. 'Logan, whatever it is, it can't be that bad,' she assured him, and when she caught his guarded gaze, thoughts flashed, and she added, defeated, 'Or even if it is, I'd rather know. Ok?'

Here it comes. How bad is bad?

His face gave her no clue. 'Did I—' he growled, inching away a bit. 'Was it me?'

She peered forward uncomprehendingly. 'Was what you?' And goddamnit, if he was going to clam up on her again…

His face grew harder, his voice. 'Your skin.'

'My skin?' His expression didn't alter. 'It won't turn off, but—I don't know what makes you think—no. It doesn't have anything to do with you.' She had no idea why he would think it would.

'No?' he asked in a lighter tone, swallowed, sniffed her a little.

'Is that what you were upset about?' she huffed in disbelief. His expression was clearer, though a little shrewd, calculating.

His hand skimmed her body, and she wondered for a moment if he was seeking confirmation through contact or something…until he paused significantly at the top button of her pajamas 'So, it won't matter if I…touch a little?' he damn-near purred.

'You want to have sex now?' she exclaimed. He quirked an eyebrow. 'It's gonna take some persuasion,' she told him honestly; I mean, hey, she was tired.

'I think I can be…persuasive,' he growled, and she laughed her first genuine laugh of the day. And he was very persuasive.