Prodigal

Chapter 3

When Rogue woke the next morning, she had a distinct headache. Not from alcohol—she had had hardly any. Rather, it was a headache that told her she'd been having dreams that weren't her own. Because her first thought when she had opened her eyes had been confusion about her… lackluster surroundings, she deduced them to have been Warren Worthington II's dreams.

She lay still, trying to find a reason for the sudden assertion of his personality. Rogue couldn't remember what his—or were they hers?—dreams had been about, so she didn't know if something she had done that had sparked an answering call in the rich man's recollections. That had happened before: a smell, a word, or a sound sometimes evoked memories that weren't hers, but not knowing what memory had been triggered, she had no way of pinpointing the trigger.

Of course, she contemplated darkly, it could have been something else entirely. It could have been that her head was getting so full of voices other than her own that she couldn't suppress them anymore. She had absorbed more people in the past two months with the Brotherhood than she had in the entire year before that.

Rogue shuddered. If overcrowding were the case, she didn't want to think about what that could mean. It was bad enough that she occasionally couldn't remember who she was after taking someone else's mind into her own. She hated to think what would happen if that kind of disorientation became more frequent.

Possibly in denial, she told herself she couldn't rule out other possible reasons: her guilty conscience working overtime at the psychic blocks Professor Xavier had helped her build so long ago, her nagging sense of loneliness, or her consistently high stress levels over the past few days.

Rogue told herself it was probably the stress. Or rather, she hoped it was the stress. It wasn't unreasonable, after all. The rising animosity with Pietro, the constant drain of mistrust, the incessant feeling that something bad was about to happen—all of it had her wound tighter than a coiled spring; the tension was bound to relieve itself someway.

Just when she had convinced herself it was the stress, a treacherous voice in her head (her own?) whispered that maybe it was just because of that Cajun jerk that had gotten too close last night.

Rogue threw her covers off, still angry about how things had played out the night before. The man with the red eyes had been so sure of himself, and he had reminded her of all the things she wanted but could never have. For that she hated him, despite the fact that in his world he was just another guy and she another girl. He had gotten unnervingly close, too close. He had scared her, she realized. She didn't want to absorb anyone else, accidentally or otherwise and he had been so near…

Rogue shook her head to rid herself of her thoughts. It didn't matter; she wouldn't be seeing him again. She stood from her bed and ran a few fingers through her hair. Grabbing her uniform, she pulled it on.

She would have to make an appearance soon, to keep up pretenses. Besides that, she was getting hungry, and if she didn't make it to the Brotherhood's fridge before Blob, there would be nothing left to eat.

Rogue made her way to the large room that served as the Brotherhood's common area, tugging her jacket closer to ward off the morning chill. The building was a crumbling mess, with gaping holes in the walls exposing broken concrete and rebar. Piles of rubble decorated the corners.

When she reached the room, she saw that Domino sat at a table, an array of weaponry before her. Blob was sitting on the water-stained couch, watching television, and Toad, perched on a mismatched lounge chair, watched with Blob. The click of billiard balls marked Avalanche's presence at the pool table where he was seemingly playing against himself. Pietro was noticeably absent.

Rogue made a beeline for the fridge without greeting anyone. She rustled around inside, but there wasn't much to be found besides a carton of sour milk, so Rogue closed the door. She turned around and hesitated, not sure what to do with herself. She looked to the TV area where Blob was playing keep-away from Toad with the remote. Rogue shook her head, deciding that Toad's nervous whine would probably augment her headache. Instead she went and sat at the table with Domino.

In general, Rogue liked Domino. She wasn't as insipidly stupid as the male members of the Brotherhood, and Rogue thought that Domino might actually have considered her a friend if she could take Domino's vouching for her as any indication..

"Are we plannin' something?" Rogue asked, nodding towards Domino's guns. Domino shrugged.

"Pietro said to 'get ready.'"

"What are we doin'?"

"I'm not sure," Domino replied with a bit of a frown. "Whatever it is, he's been antsy all week."

Rogue chuckled weakly, hard pressed to hide her relief. Domino glanced at her, a question in her eyes, before she turned back to the cartridge she was loading into the nearest gun.

"Ah'm glad someone else noticed," Rogue offered as explanation. "Thought it was just me." Inside, Rogue felt some of her tension flowing away. Maybe her worries about Pietro had been paranoia, overreactions; perhaps his recent behavior could be explained as side-effects to planning a stunt.

Domino smirked knowingly.

"Yeah. It can be hard to tell his normal idiocy from his I'm-trying-to-put-something-together idiocy."

Rogue forced another chuckle, unsure of how else to react. Despite Domino's likeableness, she was the one most likely to realize Rogue was double crossing them, which meant that Rogue had to maintain a delicate balance in their relationship: friendly but not overly so. She couldn't afford to be that close, another frustrating barrier to the information she needed since Domino was also the one most likely informed about Pietro's plans.

Before Rogue could chance any conversation in that vein, though, Pietro strode through the doors, letting them bang loudly so that the noise caught the attention of all five of the room's occupants. It didn't take long for them to notice he wasn't alone. Rogue's jaw dropped involuntarily. Behind Pietro stood the trench coated Cajun from the night before, his gaze centered on her. The smug smile decorating his mouth told her he was not surprised to see her.

"Bon matin, chère. Miss me?"

"Great," Pietro enthused sarcastically. "You already know each other, so let's get down to bus—"

"What is he doin' here!" Rogue interrupted, standing so quickly that she knocked over the chair she'd been sitting in.

Domino glanced between Rogue and the newcomer. Toad hopped over, excited by the change of routine and the anticipation of contention. Blob lumbered after him, his brow creased in confusion and exertion.

"Who is this?" Domino questioned, a touch of impatience in her voice.

"Gambit, mam'selle." Remy bowed and Domino quirked an eyebrow.

"No time for chit-chat. We've got to get going." Pietro waved Domino off.

"To where?" Avalanche called, his cue poised in his fingers.

"Aren't you at least going to explain what you've been planning?" Domino asked, eyeing Remy skeptically.

"Can we talk about this on the way?" Pietro spat impatiently.

"Hey man," Toad greeted Gambit. Then he chuckled nervously.

"Ah ain't goin' anywhere with him," Rogue pointed a finger at Remy, residue embarrassment and anger manifested in a scowl.

"This is a team thing, Rogue. Not up for debate." Pietro frowned at Rogue, a challenge clear in his eyes. Rogue crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. The look in Pietro's eyes told her he wouldn't take no for an answer, and now, when she was outnumbered without any backup, was not a time to force a confrontation.

"Yeah, man," Toad piped up. "We taking a road trip or something?"

"Again I ask: where are we going?" Avalanche repeated his earlier question, having abandoned his pool game in favor of the conversation closer to the doors.

"People!" Pietro yelled. "We have a mission—you know, destroying stuff, causing general mayhem for the humans—and some trains waiting!"

Domino sighed and began loading her weapons into the various holsters she wore.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she commented.

"That hurts, Dom." Pietro placed a hand over his heart and rolled his eyes. "Really, I'm hurt."

The train car the Brotherhood was using as transportation swayed on the track. Now that they had exited the city, Domino stood near the open door, watching the countryside speed by as the wind whipped her short hair straight up. Rogue sat a little ways away from her, her back to a crate and her knees drawn up to her chest. She hadn't said much since they'd left the Brotherhood's hideout and Toad had been left there, too much of a "liability," as Pietro had put it, to go with them.

Remy sat on another crate, absently shuffling cards and half listening to Quicksilver argue with Avalanche.

"I already told you," Pietro said, "that this needs to be done quietly. Blob wouldn't fit in the car, and it'd be pretty obvious if he tried to force his way in."

"This train will take so long," Avalanche pointed out. "We should have stolen a plane."

"Again," Pietro reiterated in exasperation, "you're kinda missing the point. People seem to panic when they misplace large aircraft."

"That is what the Cajun man is for, no?"

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Even he can't cover up a missing airplane."

Inwardly, Remy smirked. He didn't doubt that he could with the right equipment and a bit of luck. He wouldn't tell Quicksilver that, though. The man wasn't paying him enough.

"Also, I do not understand why all the secrecy," Avalanche continued.

"You know what? I'm not doing this anymore. Just tell yourself it's because I said so." Pietro threw up his hands in defeat and zipped away to sit on a crate farther down in the car.

Remy chuckled. Pietro didn't seem to understand how to keep his team in check, and the large Greek man clearly enjoyed pushing his buttons.

Of course, Remy couldn't blame him. Pietro's bumbling explanation about their mission had been pretty inadequate, and it was only after they'd snuck aboard the car that Blob couldn't fit into that Quicksilver had offered any explanation at all.

"So here's the plan," Pietro told them. "There's an MRD detention center in Seattle where they're holding a mutant with information that we need for our next project—"

"And this project is…" Domino interjected, trailing off in hopes of an answer. She didn't get one.

"Details, Dom, details. Anyway, Gambit's responsible for getting us in and Rogue will get the information. Then Gambit will get us out again, no one the wiser. And that's all we have to do!"

No one responded for a moment while Quicksilver had basked in what he perceived to be the simple brilliance of his plan.

"That's it?" Domino finally asked incredulously.

"I know. What's not to like?" Quicksilver had replied obliviously.

And that's when Avalanche had started criticizing the plans. He had wanted to know what the information was for. Pietro wouldn't tell him, which made him think Pietro himself wasn't sure what they were going to do with it. And he had wanted to know why they needed Gambit to break them in when they were perfectly capable of doing it themselves. Without explaining why, Quicksilver had insisted that they do things subtly this time, emphasized that he didn't want anyone to know what they were doing. That was how he explained Gambit's presence—he was there to get them into the MRD facility without a mess, to make sure they left no traces behind.

Domino had accepted the explanation with little comment, though it was obvious that she thought there was something more going on than what Pietro had outlined. Remy didn't think Avalanche cared either way, asking questions only because it annoyed Pietro. Rogue hadn't said anything, but Remy had noticed that she had flinched when Pietro had mentioned her part of the job. However, Pietro hadn't specified how Rogue was going to acquire that information, so Remy was left to wonder how she would do it.

Because Avalanche hadn't asked about that part, Remy assumed that Rogue's part on the team was one of gathering information, that she did it routinely, her methods known to her team, which almost certainly meant that she would be using her mutation. But how?

What her mutation was Remy didn't know, and his only clue was that it had something to do with reconnaissance. Judging from her flinch, he speculated that whatever it was she did was something that garnered data not willingly given. Mutants who forcibly retrieved information were generally telepaths, and that was what had fixated him on Rogue's mutation.

Because he doubted she was a telepath; telepaths generally had negative reactions to him because he scared them to death. He had been told it was because he generated a constant static that canceled out his thoughts. Thus, to telepaths, his thoughts or psychic signature didn't register and it was as though he appeared from nowhere—he was a psychic dead zone. It was an excellent trait for a thief to have. He couldn't be tracked telepathically, probably the only reason he had gotten away with some of his higher profile jobs, including the one where he'd broken into the X-Men's mansion.

So, while Rogue reacted, well, less than positively to his presence, it wasn't quite the same as a telepath's less than positive reaction—she seemed bothered by the fact that he was there and not the fact that he wasn't. Therefore, he was almost certain that she wasn't a telepath. In fact, he was starting to think her mutation had something to do with her skin. First, it was always covered yet Remy had noticed that she still shied away from contact of any kind with anyone. Second, he'd been warned from the start not to touch her. Third, what could she possibly do that would make someone willing to pay him a hefty fee to make sure she made it to Seattle? The number of questions this gig generated was adding up, and his curiosity was becoming increasingly difficult to silence. Three mutant organizations—the X-Men, the Brotherhood, and whoever Carter worked for—were all involved one way or another. All signs pointed to a power play, and Rogue was at the center of it.

To understand th' game, understand th' players. Or th' pawns.

Remy slid from his perch on the crate he had been occupying and made his way over to Rogue. He sat down next to her, deliberately too close. Predictably she scooted away, her muscles tense.

"What do you want?" she asked irritably.

He fingered his cards, pretending he wasn't intensely interested in the way she warily eyed him or how she leaned away from him.

"Jus' wondering what an X-Man like you is doin' wit' th' Brotherhood," he stated casually.

She inhaled sharply. She obviously hadn't expected him to know she was an X-Man.

"What do you know about the X-Men?"

"'Nough," he rejoined enigmatically. Her eyes narrowed, and as a result he smiled. She was so easy to goad. She stared at him as if she thought he would explain more fully. When he didn't, she huffed in annoyance.

"It's complicated," she growled in answer to his question, her tone revealing it was a bit of a sore spot for her. Remy interpreted that to mean she was bitter about the circumstances that had led her away from the X-Men, which also meant she had probably wanted to stay there.

Rogue turned her face forward so as not to look at him.

"C'est la vie, chère. Not much of an excuse, though."

"And yours is bettah, Ah guess," she shot back sarcastically.

"Mais oui." He didn't add anything else, waiting to see how she would respond. She turned her head towards him again, and instead of just glittering annoyance in her expressive green eyes, he saw genuine curiosity and the expectation of having it quenched.

"So what is it?" She continued to look at him, and he realized she was waiting for his answer, that she assumed he would answer. His interest was piqued.

She really wanted to know why he was there. He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him a question and expected an honest answer. Normally all the people he conversed with expected him to say one of two things: either they waited for him to say what they wanted him to say (guild, honor, family, alliance, war, marriage, blood) or exactly the opposite of what they wanted to hear, a contrary habit he was well known for.

But never what he actually thought. He knew, somehow, there was a way to turn this to his advantage, her blinding naïveté. Before he could think of it, though, Rogue interrupted his thoughts.

"Are ya listenin'?" she snapped her fingers in front of his face as she leaned a little closer in order to catch his attention. When he focused on her face, she repeated her question: "Ah said, why are you here?"

Remy scrambled for an answer; he was slightly caught off guard and couldn't quite stop the first thing that came to his mouth from tumbling out.

"Money."

He almost blinked in surprise. It was true that he was there only for the money, but why had he told her that?

Rogue didn't say anything for a moment, like she expected him to burst out laughing before giving her his real reason. When he didn't, she recoiled, disgusted, and stood. She wasted no time in stalking off to sulk against some other crate.

He watched her go, fascinated and slightly confused by that fascination.

"Wait a second," Kitty held up her hands as if they would help her process what she was hearing. "You're saying the professor's working with Domino in the future?"

Logan nodded.

"And she told him that something bad happens to Rogue while she's with the Brotherhood? Like, something bad bad?"

Again, Logan nodded. Kitty bit her lip, worry causing her forehead to wrinkle.

"She is hardly more than a child," Ororo remarked faintly.

"What is it?" Bobby asked softly. Logan grimaced in the direction of the floor.

"I don't know. He got pulled away from Cerebro before he could finish."

Logan methodically clenched and unclenched his fists, and for a moment no one spoke. Kitty leaned on Bobby, who had to concentrate on keeping his hands from icing. Finally, Hank broke the silence.

"You're going to go get her back." He didn't phrase it as a question.

Logan nodded gruffly.

"I won't force anyone else to come, but I—"

Hank interrupted him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever else she may have done, she's our family, too." Some of the tension in Logan's shoulders eased, and Hank removed his hand. "I shall go make sure Forge has the Blackbird ready for takeoff."

"And we'll have Emma track her down with Cerebro," Bobby added, tugging Kitty's hand in the direction of the elevator.

Logan watched them go silently, and soon he was left with only Ororo, who was gazing at him in concern.

"Logan?"

"If something happens to her…"

"You must not blame yourself. We will find her."

"You're sure this will work?"

"He believed I was his father. They are already on their way."

"But—"

"It is her destiny. Or do you not believe your own visions?"

"It will be hard for her."

"As anything worthwhile is. She'll survive. We'll make sure of it."

Translations

Bon matin, chère. Good morning, dear.

mam'selle (mademoiselle) how one addresses a young, unmarried female; miss

C'est la vie, chère. That's life, darling.

Mais oui. Of course.