Chapter Six

A/N: I still don't own anything belonging to Marvel Comics. The other characters are mine; please don't use them without asking. Also, if you're reading this story, do review. I don't know if anyone's actually reading and it would be nice to get some feedback! Thanks very much!

Over the cage floor the horizons come.

- Ted Hughes, The Jaguar

Rogue watched quietly as everyone milled around the Rec Room. Bobby tried to talk to her, but found she didn't have much to say. Illyria was feeling pensive, and so Rogue was too. She watched everyone, silently, and made mental notes of habits, gestures and mannerisms. Illyria was good at seeing people.

They had all become statues; she floated over them with the kind of indifference that would take one's breath away. Students, teachers, everyone – they were nothing. Illyria viewed them as a business deal: nothing more, nothing less. That frightened Rogue, but she was too tightly bound to the telepath to differentiate between them. She was beginning to suspect Illyria cared for no one, until Remy sauntered in.

She gave him a smile that was entirely involuntary and when he winked she took it totally in stride. Illyria loved Remy, she saw him as a member of her family - someone to be watched over and cared for.

When he walked away she again found herself seeing things through Illyria's eyes. She was drawn back into a memory, or more a though of a memory. She thought about how she'd known their faces once upon a time (although who 'they' were, Rogue had no idea), but the months had become years upon years and she found she couldn't remember the sounds of their voices or what they believed in or why they cried. The colours of their eyes, and the tattoos on their bodies and the endless, endless sound of their voices became nothing more than nothing. She was left with a name that outlived her if only because it was printed in the papers or carved on a tombstone and was something she screamed over and over again in her sleep because the blood gave her nightmares. They all became ghosts because there was nothing left to say.

She didn't realise she was crying until Kitty asked her what was wrong. Crying felt so alien to Illyria that she almost didn't understand… She loved and she lost and she made desperate amends for sins she didn't commit. She lived and she killed and she spared and she feared for her life less than she feared for those she loved. Once, she ran away from home. When the nights were too long, the nerves too thin and the hopes too lost, she was a runaway and all she wanted was to be home.

Rogue keeled over and sobbed, hard and loud. She cried because she remembered all the faces of hundreds of dead, friends and enemies alike, who she had never met. She cried because now she realised there was so much she didn't understand, so much she couldn't see. She cried because there was no way to go back, to be someone else. Not for her, and definitely not for Illyria. Then, for the first time that day, the voice in her head took real form.

"You cannot go back. You can never go back. You can only go forwards. I write letters and hide them in places I never go to, but I can never go back. Make do with that you have."

"I don't want to!" She screamed at no one. "I don't want to stay here, I want to go back. I want to go back to those weekends in far off places that I've never really been! I want him to touch me; I want to feel what you felt! I want to go back!" She was sobbing, and she couldn't stop.

"Don't be afraid of what you have. It's a gift; in it's own way. You just haven't seen I yet. There's a lot out there, you just haven't looked in the right place. Things come and go. The rain washes away all the blood and dust and sweat and tears. You never forget, but over time you learn to let it all go."

"I don't want it! I don't want any of it! I want… I want…" But she couldn't say anything else. There was nothing left to say because she didn't know what she wanted, so she just kept crying.

Minutes or hours or maybe it was years later, Felix's voice brought her back. He whispered in a language Rogue didn't speak, but she understood. She knew that he was there now, so everything would be all right – Illyria lent her that piece of mind for enough time to pull herself together. Through it all he just whispered soft and low.

"Felix…" He stroked her covered back gently, his hand so much bigger than she'd realised. When she looked up at him with a tear-streaked face, she noticed just how huge Felix was. He stood at 6"2 and weighed more than a truck, but the gentle touch in his eyes was enough for her. "Felix, I don't know what to do." She wasn't sure how he knew she was Rogue and not Illyria, but she took what she could get. He put his gloved hand in hers and pulled her to her feet.

"This has gone on long enough." He said, and his voice was strong, so strong that she believed his words. "This has to end soon. Illyria's too powerful, too intense, for you to have her stuck in there. She'll tear you to shreds." And Rogue knew he was right. Illyria was getting desperate. She was getting lonely and angry and afraid. She wanted out. Rogue was going to follow Felix out of the Rec Room, but before she could make her feet move she was blindsided by a flashback that made her knees buckle.

Illyria was lying on the beach with precious little to protect her from the gunfire. The rain was pouring down and she could hear the crashing of the waves, just feet behind her. She looked to her left and there was Quinn, watching their left flank. She tried to even her breathing enough to control the minds of the militia they were running from.

The hail of gunfire was still coming, but she was getting so used to the sound of AK-47s she just didn't give a fuck anymore. Everyone's confusion, fear and disorientation made controlling them difficult – she fucking hated amateurs.

"What are we looking at?" Quinn had to yell to be heard over all the noise. The rain was getting heavier and she was soaked down to the bone – the chill night wind wasn't helping much either. He asked again and she caught his eye. His skin was pale and she focused long enough to sniff at the air. Blood.

"You're hit!"

"Yeah, so hurry the fuck up!" then he went back to firing his rifle.

One by one, she had each of the rebels take their own lives. Finally, the gunfire stopped. The rain didn't. She rolled over to Quinn and shook his shoulder.

"Quinn! Quinn, my man, look at me." When he did, his eyes were showing whiter than they should have been and there was blood trickling out of his mouth. "Where're you hit?" He didn't answer. "Quinn! Where?" The pounding rain and crashing thunder meant he could hardly hear her and she knew it. She rolled him onto his back and saw the blood running down the wet sand into the sea. She was working his shirt open to get a look at the damage when he grabbed her hand.

"Don't… bother… Not got long left."

"Quinn, let me look. Maybe I can..."

"Do what? Put … pressure on? Until when?" He coughed and she wasn't sure if it was rain or tears running down her face. "No one's coming for us, Blue. No one knows we're here." He was right. No one knew where they were, no one was coming. "You've got half a chance of getting out of here, love, when the rain stops."

"Quinn. I can carry you when I fly, we can-" He shook his head.

"Time's up, love." A tiny smile lifted one side of his lips, but he was stressed enough to drop his mental shields and she could feel how messed up his head was.

"Please, hold on."

"No such luck, pet." He put a little kiss on her hand. "It's been fun, true?" Then he was gone. She watched the light go out of his eyes, and all that was left was the dull reflection of the moon behind some clouds.

"No, no, no, no, you have to wake up!" She shook his body. "Wake up, Quinn! Come on, we have to get out of here! Come on!" But he wouldn't budge. She heard shouting from the tree line. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tears ran down her face as she checked his weapon. Almost empty. He only had one clip left. Fuck. She went back to his body. "Quinn, come on!" But he wouldn't move. He didn't talk. He didn't even blink. "Please, Quinn, PLEASE!" Nothing…She knew he was dead, his heart had stopped – so had his mind. But no! Not Quinn! Not here, not now! "Fuck!" She waned to scream, but that would give her away.

The rain just wouldn't fucking stop and now her hands were covered in his blood. The shouting got closer and she knew it was time to go. She closed Quinn's eyes, took off his tags, his ring and his silver bracelet. Took his wallet (wouldn't do to leave ID), then she placed a tender kiss on his forehead, said a quiet prayer, unfurled her wings and threw herself into the air with tears running freely down her face.

Quinn Rocke died there, on a beach in French Guyana, in the pouring rain, with no one but her to bear witness. He died with her, but alone.

Every year after that, Illyria went back to that exact spot, on that exact beach, laid a white chrysanthemum down, for remembrance, and watched it fly away on the wind seconds later. She never cried for him, not after than night. But she did miss him - big, strong Quinn, who died watching her back…

"Quinn!" Rogue came back to herself screaming. "Quinn…" the look on Felix's face when she said the name was enough to break her heart all over again.

"You don't ever talk about Quinn…" He reminded her. "You never told me the story, and it's not going to come out this way…" She just nodded, numb all the way from her lips to her toes… so numb… was this how Illyria felt all the time? Cold, numb? She cried and she cried and she cried, but she didn't know why anymore.

Felix looked at the girl next to him and tried not to swear. She was crying like a leaky water main and he had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He had no idea what she was crying about. Illyria never cried, ever! It was a rule!

And she mentioned Quinn. Illyria never mentioned Quinn. She'd just come back from their job in South America, said 'he didn't make it' and left it at that. He knew she went down there every year, on the anniversary of his death, but he also knew not to say anything. Fuck, she was crying again.

A crowd had gathered now, to watch Rogue rip her own eyes out. Not good. Not good at all. He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. All of twenty seconds later, London hopped down from the upstairs landing and came to his side.

"Sweet Jesus, mate. You do know how to dig yourself a grave." He then picked Rogue up like a little baby and carried her up the stairs. Bobby followed and that kinda made Felix want to hit the guy, although he had no idea why. Fucking kid.

He made his way through the kitchen, down into the basement, took a right (never left) and opened the door to one of the Medical Lab's recovery rooms. Illyria was laying on her back in the single bed; her blue hair brushed neatly (courtesy of Ash) and smoothed over her left shoulder. All the beads, trinkets, rings and braids were as odd looking as ever and it was a small comfort to know that even in this fucked up situation something was normal. He pulled the straight back chair from the corner up to the bed and straddled it, leaned on the back, rested his elbows on the top, and stared at his partner.

"You gotta wake up, Snowflake…" He knew she couldn't hear him, knew she wouldn't wake up, but Illyria had stood by his side for almost forty-five years – he needed her. "Everyone's going pretty fucking nuts. Rogue's got all your memories floating around in her head. She doesn't know how to deal. Doesn't know what to do with your pain, your fear, your anger, feel me?" She didn't move. When he looked around the boring room, he noticed a glass vase of purple and white calla lilies on the beside-table and they made him smile. Illyria loved calla lilies. She said the shape was sensual…

Her loaded .45 was next to the vase, which London had put there. She liked having weapons close and he knew it would make her feel safer when she woke.

He took in her features in a way he so rarely did these days. Illyria was the kind of woman who was beautiful, but so angry and so cold that no one ever saw it. Her blue hair and violent eyes distracted from the soft angles of her face, which was gentle as she slept, all the hard, angry lines gone for now – only to return when she reopened her eyes.

Ahh, those eyes. Her eyes weren't just blue. They were sky blue and robin's egg peppered around streaks of midnight and lapis. Cerulean and sapphire shocked around an inner ring of brandeis, her pupils an inky black that just called him in. He'd spent so many years looking into his own black eyes that the first time he stared into hers, he was shocked to the core. The ice and fire in her gaze had shot right through him on that dismal July night in 1969. The windows into her soul had been shut and locked tight. He'd know she was it for him. She was the woman in his life.

It wasn't love – not the kind with the kissing and the fucking and the having kids. But it was, in its own way. It was their kind of love. He trusted her with more than his life. He trusted her with everything he had and that meant more than love.

When he'd met her, she'd just escaped her prison and she was looking to make a living doing the only thing she knew how: killing. So she'd come to The Reverend - the king of the black market, the preacher, the leader, the lord, the everything. She'd found him and requested he put her on retainer for jobs he needed done, like he had with so many others. But that wasn't what he'd needed at the time. No, he'd been in the market for a right hand man. She fit the bill.

Six years later had them both living in Belgium. She was her own woman, working jobs she got here and there – enough to live life as comfortably as she allowed herself – but still running the empire with him. She'd met Wade in Monaco, in 1975, just after the end of the Vietnam war. He was still working for Stryker on the Weapon X programme, but somehow they managed to hang out for eight months.

Eventually Illyria had come back to Belgium, in time to move to Japan with him. By 1985, all international black market transactions were run through him and she was pretty much the queen to his king of the world.

When Quinn had died in '86, she had disappeared to Cyprus for a few months, where Wade had joined her. They stayed there until late '87. When she came back, she was different – better. After that she and Wade saw each other for 48 hours every three months, without fail. He was pretty sure they were romantically involved, but he didn't ask and she didn't tell. Not because she didn't want him to know, but because it was personal and she liked things that were 'just her own'.

In 1993, he had met Eleanor, when she had died, it had been Illyria who had talked to him, sparred with him, cleaned up after he'd thrown an angry fit and handled business while he was 'otherwise occupied' (read: drinking himself stupid). When Ash had been left without a mother, Illyria had accepted her without question and raised the little girl as her own.

They'd moved to the states shortly after, Los Angeles, and Felix had toned down his hands-on approach to business. He handed over most of it to his next in command, Rich, and concentrated on raising his daughter. They moved to New York in 1998.

Two years later, Victor and Cardinal came across the pond from Europe and formed Larmes du Soleil. London and Kinessa came in from India, Haven and Sherrylin from Russia – and so a family was formed. They earned their name in the business, they were The Tears of the Sun, and here they were – the world's leading mercenaries, the best of the best.

Now there she was, his girl, laid up in a hospital bed and all because of an act of kindness. Illyria wasn't a lifesaver. She didn't have the kind of bleeding heart a lot of people sported. Nope, she was stone fucking cold and he loved it. The one in a million time she'd decided to help someone, just for the sake of it, she'd ended up in a coma. Fuck. He wanted to throw the chair, but that almost seemed disrespectful.

Felix was caught up in his swearing marathon that he didn't hear the door open. He jumped when Aisling put a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatcha doin' down here, princess?" She just smiled. Tucked under her arm was Arabian Nights, the Arabic version.

"She gonna be okay, Dad?" He stood, turned the chair, sat properly and patted his knee. It had been years since the seventeen year old had sat on his lap, but nothing brought people closer than tragedy. He kissed her hair.

"Yeah, she will be." He took the book out from under her arm and opened it at her marked page. Slowly, in fluent Arabic, he began to read.

From behind the two-way mirror, Ororo watched father and daughter sit by Illyria's bedside and read. She hadn't known Felix spoke Arabic and she hadn't known Ash understood it. She guessed one did learn something every day.

Rogue could practically see Illyria pacing. In her mind's eyes she had formed the cage, with its cold iron bars, and she could catch glimpses of a beautiful white tiger in the shadows, padding up and down and up and down and up and down and never stopping. The huge tigress just walked back and forth, the glint in her blue eyes feral and deadly. The more time passed, the faster she paced.

"She's getting restless." Rogue looked up at London who was fixing her something small to eat.

" Aye, pet, I suspect she is. Just surprised it took this long, is all." He chopped up some left over chicken. "You can take them gloves of, you know."

"What?" She looked down at her gloves.

"It's just you and me here, love. I'm not afraid of you, an' it must be a nightmare to wear them all the time. I know it pisses K off no end." She turned one gloved hand over and stared at it. He didn't say more though, just left the choice up to her. She'd discovered that that was London's way: he said his piece, then he let it all play out. If it was none of his business, he stayed out of it.

"Can I ask you something?" She couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, and she hadn't been around long enough to read him.

"Go for it." He put the chopped celery in a bowl.

"Do you stay out of things because that's just who you are, or because you learned to?" She just caught his raised eyebrow.

"I didn't realise this would be a personal question." It took her a moment to realise he was joking. "I learned to, love. As a kid, I was impulsive, outspoken – but that got beaten out of me eventually.

"Beaten?"

"Those are the rules when you live in a pack. The king's word is law - you can't protest it. If you do, you get beat." He shrugged and put a plate of chicken salad in front of her. "White meat," he said, "it should help to keep her tiger away." Rogue's eyes widened.

"What do you mean, keep her tiger away?" He licked some mayonnaise of his finger.

"You're lucky you haven't shifted yet. In fact, I'm surprised – what with all the emotions you've got banging about in your noggin."

"Why shouldn't I shift?"

"Firstly, you've got absolutely no control, so you'd just be a wild animal in a house full of people. Second, it hurts. The first time hurts like a motherfucker. If you shift, you'll experience more pain than you could ever imagine." He put everything back in the fridge.

"Any idea why I haven't yet?" She spooned some into her mouth.

"Best guess? Illyria's got some incredible control. Not over herself as a person, but over her tiger – best I've ever seen. Felix has top of the line control over himself in any situation, but he doesn't spend long enough being close to shifting to have the kind of expertise Blue does. I 'spect she's making sure you don't." She contemplated that. It made sense. For all the things she'd seen and all the things she'd felt, Illyria had kept a pretty good handle on it all. As well as she could anyway.

"What about you? How's your control?" He was behind her, so she didn't see him flinch.

"Mine isn't brilliant."

"How come?" He didn't answer for a long few minutes.

"Suffice to say, I have my own personal shock collar, so it's not something you need to worry about. Okay?" Then he washed his hands and poured himself a coffee.

"Shock collar?" His mirrored sunglasses pinned her down.

"Anyone ever tell you, you ask too many questions?" He dried his hands and folded up the towel.

"Sorry…"

"Don't be, just remember that curiosity killed the cat." He pulled up a chair opposite her. "Kinessa's my shock collar. Physically, emotionally – the whole shebang." He rubbed his hands together, and she noticed how big they were. "She keeps me on a tight leash." He shrugged. "Makes sure I don't get out of control."

"What happens when you do?" Illyria's telepathy picked up a brief image of blood and death before his walls went back up. She sucked in a breath.

"Bad things, pet. Bad things."

"Why is your control bad. I thought you said you weren't impulsive anymore…" He leaned back in his seat and watched her silently. The coffee in front of him steamed.

"I'm not tellin' you this cause I need to 'open up', or because I 'trust you'. Understood?" She nodded. "When someone spends too long in their animal form, they start to change. Start to think more like an animal. Sometimes its physical. That's why Illyria has fangs." He tapped his tooth "and I have funny eyes." He tapped his shades. "Some of it's mental, which is why Illyria is the way she is. It's why I'm on such a hair trigger. Mine is worse than hers; that was the whole idea. It was a punishment. They made me spend long enough as a wolf that I went bananas. Now, I think more like a wolf than a human. See things the way an animal would. With me?" She nodded. "I'm not as capable of rational thought as your average human." He shrugged. "Tends to end badly when I get angry." She took along, hard look at him.

London was a big guy. Not as big as Haven but bigger than Felix and a hell of a lot bigger than Rogue. He was leaning back in his chair, big hands folded behind his head and his long, jean clad legs sprawled out under the table. He wore a black Henley and a silver chain on his left wrist. She'd never seen his eyes - they were still hidden behind mirrored shades. His black hair, cut short, but longer than it had been a few days ago was sticking up a little on one side, as if he'd slept on it funny. Stubble made his jaw look a little darker than the rest of his face, but his skin was pale.

"Where's Kinessa?" She asked. He fidgeted a little.

"We're fighting."

"Why?" He chuckled and shook his head.

"Curiosity, pet. Killed the cat." She just smiled. "I had a stupid idea. It's dangerous, but it might just work." He shrugged. "She loves me too much to let me try it out." He shrugged. "She's completely right." Rogue laughed.

"I don't think I've ever heard a man say that before!"

"It's true. Kinessa doesn't argue if she's not right. She's always right." Just then, the door opened and the woman in question came in. She put her handbag on the side and looked at them both, her brown eyes as closed off as ever.

"How are you feeling?" She asked Rogue, who just shrugged. "I just had to feed Sergio…" Sergio was Illyria's cat, who Rogue had never actually met. He apparently didn't like anyone. London scratched his head and Kinessa sighed. "Do what you gotta do, London." He leaned back in his chair, then rocked forwards, coming to his feet. He slipped off his glasses and blinked away the pain, putting them carefully on the table. Rogue got a glimpse of his diamond eyes and caught her breath.

He walked up to Kinessa and tucked a stray wave of hair behind her ear. He traced he lines of her face with his eyes, adjusting to the light.

"You're my girl." He said. "You always will be. Stood by me when no one else would. Saw things no one else saw. I became more than I ever thought I would be because of you." One long finger ran down her throat, then across her shoulder. "My girl." Then he wrapped his huge body around hers, like a cocoon, a shield – a protection from the world.

Rogue wasn't sure what to do with herself, so when Caroline's computer screen spoke up, she was relieved.

"Mr. Bendeci has requested that everyone come down to the main living room. Ms. Destiny has made her appearance."