Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: Oy. Could I be any worse about updating? Still, I have a legitimate excuse this time, what with the family Christmas parties and social gatherings and all. I got cool things for Christmas. Yay.

On the subject of Scott- I am SO glad that everyone liked his characterization in the last chapter. If you watch the show, he really does get like that when the BH is around, so with them in his house I figured he'd really uppity.

On the subject of Rietro- This fic is not a romance fic. The most romantic thing that will happen pretty much already has, and it was that Lance/Wanda scene. Other pairings with be canonical, including Jean/Scott, maybe some one-sided Todd/Wanda (admit it, the little dude's obsessed). Otherwise, Pietro will be paired with no one, and I'm afraid the Kitty/Lance tension will be nil. They never worked for me as a couple.

Kickassangel- I watch the 'Justice League' every once in a while, but I wish I'd seen that episode. Sounds absolutely rocking.

Kyrene- I know it looks like nobody is helping Pietro. But really, McCoy is down in the lab working his furry little butt off on all sorts of medical things. We'll get some more scientifical things with him in a few chapters.

A pair of people came CLOSE to naming the location of Pietro's ditty last chapter, and they were Amarth Obstreperous and Kapparan Majic.

However, the winner was Gerri, who actually named the source as "Santa Claus is Coming to Town". Ten points for her. *applause*

Now, on to the chapter from Rogue's POV. Keep in mind that this is set before 'Self-Possessed'.













~

Stomping up the stairs and into my room, I flop down on my bed and push Lance as far out of my thoughts as possible.

I try to remind myself that he just wants to help me.

They all want to help me. They don't want me to feel as lonely as I do, to feel as sad as I do, and all the other things that you're really not allowed to feel when you're living in the lap of luxury.

It's all for my own good.

And of course, as soon as that sentence passes through my mind, so does he.

A voice says calmly, "This is for your own good. Trust me." There's the burning sensation of a needle in my arm. I'm running and running and running. "Trust me." "Daddy, you're hurting him!" "Trust me." Needle. "This is for your own good."

That bastard.

I touched Pietro once. Once was all I could probably ever handle in my lifetime.

When I touched him, it was like something that had never happened before. Usually when I make skin contact with someone, I have to drag their memories and thoughts out of them. It's a painful process, but it's natural for them to resist. But with Pietro, the moment I touched him, it was more agonizing than anything I'd ever felt before.

His thoughts came racing at me at a hundred miles an hour. Rather than me sucking his brain dry by force, he ran to me, he drained himself into me. I felt the overwhelming sensation of relief, relief from him, relief from all the serious trouble he'd been packing in his head.

I guess he's kind of like a reservoir that got way too full, so he had to release the pressure somehow. I don't like to think about what might have happened to him if I hadn't stepped in. Maybe he would have exploded.

Now I'm talking nonsense again. It's not that odd for me to start going on and on like a crazy person.

See, he never left.

Most of the other people I absorbed just kind of linger in the back of my mind, phantoms, shadows, never bothering me. But with that rush of information, it's like a little piece of Pietro came into me, and I can't get rid of it.

I have nightmares whenever I go to sleep.

I see a horse running down an endless racetrack. The rider has a helmet pulled low over his eyes and I can't see him. It's the horse I'm concerned about. It's running and running and it just looks exhausted. It can't breathe properly, and it has foam slathered down it's sides. It's running for a finish line it can't see. And then suddenly, I'm the horse, and the rider is so heavy and I can't get any air and my legs are on fire and I feel like I'm going to burst.

This isn't my nightmare.

It's his.

Sometimes I hear his voice. Once, he was screaming. Another, he was talking in a slow dead voice, and I couldn't understand what he was saying. But most of the time, he's crying.

He's not actually alive and breathing inside my head. These are his memories. Memories that he shoved off and into me when he couldn't take it anymore.

I remember one night I dreamt I was walking down a long and empty hall, and I heard him crying somewhere, somewhere far away. I started walking faster to see if I could find him and help him. Eventually, I did find him. It was in a girl's room, a room with a 'W' monogram on the pillow. He was holding the pillow and crying. In this memory, he must have been about five years old.

He looked at me out of wet blue eyes and said, "Please bring her back to me."

Then I woke up. I wanted to tell the Professor about it, but I was afraid. I thought... well, I don't know what I thought. But something in me wanted to keep it private. I guess I kind of respected Pietro. Wanted him to have his privacy and all.

Last night, I had the same dream.

Except this time, when I got to the room, he was sixteen. He was just like the last time I'd seen him in the back of the armored car, but he was still holding that pillow and had the same look of lost hopelessness in his eyes. He stared right at me and said, "Please bring her back to me."

You never grew up, did you, Pietro?

No matter how hard you try, you're still trapped as a scared little five year old, waiting for someone to come back who still hasn't. Maybe she never will. I don't even know who 'she' is.

And yet I do. I've met her. I saw her in the living room. She was sitting next to Lance. And in the back of my head, I felt a surge of joy, while at the same time some kind of wail of sorrow.

She still hasn't come back to him. He's still waiting for her.

I feel really bad for Pietro sometimes. He's a lot like me, really.

Everyone expects him to be this big tough hotshot. This cocky, arrogant, untouchable guy that doesn't let anything in the least bit bother him. Nothing can ruffle his feathers, nothing can make him crack. And when he lets a little bit of weakness show through, he's scorned for it.

That's me.

Everyone expects me to be this tough who-gives-a-damn kind of gal who never lets anything get to her. No one can hurt me, no one can make me cry.

But that's just not true, is it?

Not for me, and not for him.

There's no one for me to talk to about it. No one I can confess my weakness to without fear of it being made a widespread fact. And let me tell you, ninety percent of the time I'm grateful for my iron exterior. It keeps people away. No one comes to me with their problems, no one expects me to care.

The Pietro in my head agrees with me on that one, and I know that's why he's such a jerk, too.

But then there's that other ten percent of the time...

Those are the times when I'm lonely. When I wish someone would listen to me talk, someone would comfort me. Times like that I wish I could just cry my eyes out and no one would be nervous or annoyed.

I wish I could have gotten to know Pietro better. We would have got along great, I bet. He was only with the Brotherhood a short while before I... well, before I ran off.

Dammit, here come the tears again. But I won't let them out; I'll keep them tight in my eyes by squeezing them shut.

How come life has to be so full of decisions?

I hate making decisions. Especially because all the big decisions I have to make usually end up hurting someone or another. Someone I care about. Someone I love.

Like the boys.

I'd never had brothers before. Then all of a sudden, I had four. Sure, I pretended not to like them. I don't think they're ever gonna know how much they meant to me in those early days. I was lost and confused and just about the loneliest person the world has ever seen.

Then I met a bunch of guys who were just as lost and confused as me. Those emotions stayed, but the loneliness left. They all tried to hide their fear and vulnerability, but I saw theirs, just like they saw mine.

There was an unspoken agreement among us. No one would ever pick on their brother. We got enough of that in school, from the normal people. We didn't need it from each other.

I can remember how I met all of them.

The first one I met was Todd. It was when I first got to that dusty old house. He was eating PopTarts, and when I came in the door he started hooting and making catcalls. I guess someone else would have killed him. But no one had even hinted that I looked pretty before, let alone appreciated it so loudly. I just glared at him and he shut up. We ended up watching a 'Star Wars' marathon on TV together.

Lance came next. He'd been in his room when I first got there, so I didn't meet him until breakfast. He was grumpy and about as ornery as they come, but I liked it. Reminded me of myself in the morning. We spoke very little but already he was the leader.

Freddy I met in a rather compromising situation. That is to say, he was being kinda rough and tough with a certain redhead, and I felt like I ought to step in and do something. Naturally Fred wasn't too thrilled by this, so I ended up throwing him around a bit. Then I came home, and he was there, so it was awkward. He was too depressed to be angry, though, and I was too tired. We ended up reconciling over a bag of Oreos.

Pietro came last. He came to the house after me, and he crashed into our lives like a hurricane. I hated him at first, because he seemed too confident and proud to be in a group of misfits like us.

He took some warming up to, but every shell can be cracked. Mine was cracked, so I figured I could crack his. I ended up cornering him in the kitchen and demanding to know why he was here. He laughed at me and said he liked my spunk. I told him that was the most cliched thing I'd ever heard. He said that was the point.

So yeah. We all got used to him eventually. I thought he was going to usurp Lance at first, I really did, but he ended up being content to be second fiddle. Lance could be the leader, but Pietro would always be the brains of the outfit.

And just when we were all getting nice and comfortable with each other, I bolted.

I didn't plan to, I really didn't. But so much happened... after seeing the way Mystique had tricked me, fooled me, lied to me, I didn't really see any other way out. So I went with the X-Men.

I kind of wanted to quit. And even when I didn't, I really wanted to go see the boys and apologize and say goodbye and stuff. Thing is, I just couldn't get up the guts to go. I was afraid they'd be mad, or worse, hurt.

I hurt people without meaning to.

It's just like my mutant power. When I touch people physically, I hurt them. When I touch people emotionally, I hurt them too. I really don't want to, but it happens. I'm just about the worst person you could ever be friends with.

A tear escapes my eye and hits the pillow, despite all my valiant efforts to hold it in.

With these feelings of self-loathing, Pietro returns. You wouldn't ever associate him with self-loathing, him being such an egotistical jerk and all, but he really hates himself. At least, he does when he's talking to me. Or his memories, anyway.

In flashes of lightning, the voice soothes, "It's for your own good." A little girl screams, "Daddy, you're hurting him!" The needle spikes my arm. Running, running, "Trust me." "Trust me." "Trust me." "Trust me."

I winch and touch my temple again, lightly so as not to shake up my rattled brain too much.

Go away, Pietro, please.

Please.

I can't handle your problems. I have way too many problems of my own. I don't need your nightmares, I don't need to find you in that lonely room waiting for someone who's never gonna come for you. You're lost, Pietro, and so am I.

I can't help you.

I wish I could, Pietro, I really do. I wish someone could help you. But you're just... you can't be saved. You're too far gone. And I can't let you drag me down with you. I need to live.

I remember a long time ago, I almost looked up to you. I wanted to be just as tough and aloof and untouchable.

Now I see that it's exactly those qualitites that have been tearing you apart.

No one should be expected to be like this. No one should be expected to be calm in the face of everything, nonplused by everything, emotions tidily locked away where they can never be hurt again.

I tried to do it. But slowly, I'm giving it up. Maybe I can edge back into humanity and reclaim myself.

You can't give it up, can you, Pietro? And now it might be too late to ever ask for forgiveness, to ever change your ways.

I hope I don't end up like you.

But I wish you'd leave me alone.

It's crowded enough in my head without you bringing your troubles to me every night.

~