Disclaimer: Yes, I understand that I don't own ANY of'em. Doesn't stop me from wishing I did!
A/N: To all my reviewers, you guys are the best! I have a vague idea of where everything is leading, but I welcome suggestions. Thanks so much for the great reviews. Makes a girl feel real appreciated:)
Watching. Living. Being: Chapter 6
"I don't understand what you mean," Angela began carefully, keeping her eyes on Sharon's.
Sharon narrowed her own. "I'm not an idiot, Angie," she snapped. "I knew you were hiding the day you stepped into the bar. And Ben?" she laughed sarcastically. "The first couple of weeks, he never answered when you called his name. Your skin is always covered, and you flinch when people touch you. I know you said that you have a skin disease, but I think it's more than that. There's also the fact that neither of you come to work the days the burglaries have happened. And, you lapse into a Southern accent when you're excited." She paused. "I could go on," she added meaningfully. "But I don't think I need to, do I?"
"No, you don't," Angela said slowly. "You're not an idiot. I never thought you were."
Sharon's face crumpled. "Then why have you been lying to me? Didn't you trust me?"
Angela sighed. "It's not that I didn't trust you. Ben," she choked out the name. "Ben and I were both trying to put the past behind us. We didn't see the need to bring it up at all. I guess we thought that by doing that, it would never come back to haunt us."
"Can you tell me now, at least?" Sharon pleaded. "I'm so tired of pretending to be okay with everything, when I'm not."
"I can tell you about me," Angela said, after a long pause. "But I can't about Ben, or the burglaries. At least not yet. Listen," she snapped out when Sharon opened her mouth to protest. "Whoever killed Ben is obviously someone from his past or someone who knows something. They might come after you. So the less you know, the better."
Sharon closed her mouth with a snap. "I guess that makes sense," she conceded grudgingly. "Tell me about you."
Angela closed her eyes. This was the hardest part, dredging up her past. It had been more than two years since she had contacted the Professor. She would sometimes see the X-Men on television, but she had contacted no one. She had meant what she had said. She was not going back.
"My name is Anna Darkholme. I'm a mutant," she began, keeping her eyes on Sharon's face. "My 'power'", she said this bitterly, "is that I can touch people and absorb their memories, and energy. With other mutants, I can also absorb their powers. That's why I keep my skin covered," she continued. "I can't control it, and people who touch me…" she shuddered.
"Go on," Sharon said, her eyes full of sympathy.
Encouraged by that, Angela doggedly continued, focusing her eyes on a spot on the table. "I was part of a mutant team, the X-Men, under Professor Charles Xavier. He formed The X-Men to protect humans and mutants and to show the world that mutants are humans too. The X-Men were trying to help me control my powers, but something inside of me kept blocking any progress. After 10 years, there was no change, and I realised that my life was going to be that way forever unless I did something about it. So I left. Changed my name, my looks. None of them know where I am. I have no real family," she continued. "My brother is away somewhere finding himself, and I don't know who my father is. The X-Men were the closest thing to a family I had, but after I came here, Ben was it."
"What about your mother?" Sharon asked.
"She's dead to me."
Something passed over Sharon's face, but still looking at the table, Angela missed it. "What was your codename?" Sharon asked, gently. "I've heard of the X-Men. You all have codenames don't you?"
Angela smiled sadly. "I was Rogue."
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Two weeks had gone by, and the police were no closer to finding Ben's killer. In fact, though the investigation remained open, Angela was convinced that they were doing nothing to solve the case. Standing in their kitchen, she replayed the scene in her mind. Whoever had shot Ben would have had to be a good shot, because the police had told her that it looked like the shot had come from directly outside the window, as if the person had been standing on the other side, which wasn't possible, because they lived three stories up.
The sound of the door opening had her whirling around, her hands brought up in a defensive fighting stance. She stayed where she was when the woman stepped in.
"Who are you?" Angela asked. The woman gave a start of surprise and whirled around to look at her. There was something familiar about the blonde, but Angela couldn't quite put her finger on it. "What are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that question," the blonde snapped. Flashing a badge at Angela, she continued, "Lieutenant Dorian, Homicide. And you are?"
"Angela Logan," Angela said. "And I live here. Ben was my roommate." She paused, narrowed her eyes. "I've been a regular at the police station these past couple of weeks. I've never seen you."
"I've been away on an undercover assignment," Dorian snapped. "And you're in a crime scene."
"I just came to pick up some of my things. Detective Bannon said it was okay."
"Well, Detective Bannon isn't in charge of this investigation, I am. So get your stuff and go."
"Well, you're real personable, aren't you?" Angela growled.
"I can be more personable, if you like."
"Just find the person who killed Ben, Lieutenant. That's your job, right?"
"Yeah, and if you get out of the way, I can start doing it."
Furious, Angela stormed out. She'd leave all right, but she wouldn't be going far. Something about Lieutenant Dorian struck her as off.
Alone in the apartment, Carol Danvers breathed a sigh of relief. "That was close," she whispered. Then she headed straight to what used to be Ben's room. Pulling on her gloves, she booted up his computer while doing a standard sweep of his room. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she sat in front of the computer. The desktop showed a collage of pictures of him with a bunch of other people, most notably the roommate.
So you guys were tight, she mused. Could be you told her something. Well, if I can't get information from your machine, I might as well get it out of her. Let's see if you squeal, Angela.
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