Summary: A single act brings hurt and grief. (Scott and Rogue, implied Logan and Jean, implied Rogue and Bobby, Logan and Ororo, implied Scott and Jean)

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men

Rating: T

BETRAYAL

Chapter 2

Westchester, New York: Present Time

It was quarter after midnight when the Professor came into the medical ward to send Rogue to bed. Despite her protest, he insisted and promised to notify her if there was any change in Scott's condition. He was assured by Dr. McCoy Scott would continue to improve. Thankful, she left Scott to the Professor's care who, besides Jubilee, was the only friend she had left in the mansion. She knew what students and one faculty member thought about her as she made her way to the elevator. Their opinions assaulted the weak signals of Jean's telepathic abilities.

SLUT!

The term scorched her mind savagely. A trembling hand touched her brow, and she lightly brushed a platinum strand out of her eye. She would cry if she was truly upset by the hurtful thoughts. She might even shed a single tear in distress. Shockingly enough, she wasn't anxious about what crossed their minds as she came down to see Scott earlier that morning. She could care less. Besides, the real reason she moved out to the cottage was not out of shame or guilt. It was so no one would be injured in her relapses.

With a multitude of powers resurfacing, the Professor considered it wise to keep her at a safe distance until she could gain control. He visited daily to help her coupe with the alarming changes to her body. At first, like her skin, Rogue despised what was happening to her. The idea of having to re-arrange her life once again made her ill. But after a while, she adapted and took delight that she wasn't so helpless in the Danger Room. She could defend herself, aggressively, if necessary. True, she was a copycat, her powers weren't her own, but what did it matter. Her newfound ability was emboldening, yet as one power strengthened another was fading.

As she stepped off the lift, Rogue made her way down the dark hallway, all the while rubbing her fingertips together inside the silk gloves. The fabric cleverly concealed a secret she had kept hidden for two months. She could touch and not just through a layer of cloth. She could touch skin to skin. She didn't know how it occurred. It was alarming, not only to her, but to Scott as his eyes widened as large of golf balls. Hugging her torso, she turned sharply and crept into the library. Stealing out the French doors, she hopped down a flight of steps and headed towards her little cottage by the lake. She smiled in thought of the quaint house that seemed like miles from the outside world.

She had plenty of time to think out here without the annoying, immature talk of which celebrity split up after three days of marriage. Some people abhorred the idea of isolation. Being alone and plagued by their thoughts was horrifying. For Rogue, her time by the lake gave her a chance to really sit down and think about how she was able to re-discover the ability to feel. Closing the door to her bedroom, she stripped out of her clothes and climbed into bed naked. She reveled in the feel and smell of cotton against her skin. It was, for the longest while, the closest to a soft hand on her back.

Then it happened.

Westchester, New York: Three Weeks Earlier

Scott had touched her.

She was sitting in class one morning, preparing for another tedious lecture on William Shakespeare. She came early to English class because Jubilee sometimes provoked her. Begged her to copy answers to the questions she failed to do last night. Yes, the spunky Asian was her best friend, but it aggravated her to share the hard work she put into finding her answers. So, she started setting her alarm early in order to sneak out of their room to get to class. There was never a rush at breakfast and the extra time gave her a chance to read ahead. She was just finishing Hamlet's monologue when Scott burst into the classroom. She literally jumped out of her seat. He was muttering something under his breath as he stalked to his desk and slammed his briefcase onto of the table.

Rogue watched as he stood with his back to her; a hand covering his mouth. She knew something was troubling him, but didn't pry. Rumors were rampant. All was not well in paradise. Logan's sudden return from another venture into his past was taking its toll on their relationship. Rogue knew Jean was a pretentious flirt, laughing girlishly at one of Logan's tired jokes, and hitting him playfully when she had the chance. It didn't bother her anymore. One time she would become green with envy and wish to rip the older woman's lovely red hair out her scalp. But that was then when she had a major crush on the handsome loner. Eventually, she came to accept her position in his life. She was 'the kid'. The last figment of sanity in his life. He would return just to check and see if she was okay, threaten Bobby, throw his weight around, and then depart in three months.

She counted.

His time table was tattooed in her brain.

Logan wasn't the type of man to remain tied down. He was a wanderer and a piece of him in her head sometimes pulled her to do the same. His unannounced return would throw Scott into a state of panic. He would run around like a chicken with its head cut off, while vying for his fiancé's attention. Rogue had to admit she felt sorry for the man. Other times, she thought he was downright pathetic. If he didn't try so hard like Logan, Jean would come crawling back on her hands and knees. Maybe. Anyhow, she sat quietly reading then heard him clear his throat.

"Oh, Rogue," he said in surprise. "I didn't see you there."

"I was just reading."

"Kind of early don't you think?" He took a glimpse at the clock mounted on the back wall over the door. "Class doesn't start for another fifteen minutes."

"I know," she shrugged. "I needed a quiet place to read."

"Jubilee?"

Rogue giggled. "How could you tell?"

Scott smirked. "A wild guess." He shoved his hands deep into the olive slacks he habitually wore. He weaved through the field of desks crowding the room and stopped. "What are you reading?"

"Hamlet."

He arched his brow. Clearly, he was impressed. "Wow," he said. "We don't start Hamlet till next Monday."

"I know." Rogue smoothed her bare hand over the finely printed page. For as long as she lived in the mansion, she never wore her gloves while she read. The soft material made it hard to hold books and turn the pages. Of course, she always made sure she was alone when she read, to ensure there would be no accidents. "I was bored one evening, so I decided to do a little light reading."

Scott nodded in amazement and moved closer to her desk. "Where are you now?"

"I guess where Hamlet starts talking to himself," Rogue leaned into her book, squinting at the words. "But then again, he always talks to himself."

Scott chuckled; almost glad to be getting his mind off the argument he and Jean had moments ago. He asked her what date in September they should marry. She decided they should push for a Spring wedding. He was peeved. Just this Spring he asked to set a date, she said she and Storm were looking at Fall colors. The woman was never going to set a date. He leaned close to Rogue and turned her book to him.

"Ah," he brightened. "The famous monologue, we'll discuss it in greater detail when we read it come Monday." He smiled and adjusted her book. "For now, let's stick to Macbeth."

"Okay," Rogue said, closing the textbook, knocking her gloves onto the floor. "Damn!"

"Here, let me." Scott bent forward to retrieve the dark green opera gloves.

"No, I'll get it!" She said nervously, fearful of his close proximity, and the danger of draining him again.

Scott laughed. "It's okay."

They dove for the crumpled fabric lying on the floor. It was a mere second. Fingers crossed as two different hands ensnared the gloves, bringing forth a contact that was alarming and unexpected. Scott stared in shock at Rogue. He felt nothing. He had been winded once before when Rogue's power had nearly sucked him dry. He remembered the grueling, painful sensation that mirrored death. But here, now, he felt nothing. There was no pull.

"Rogue," Scott's voice caught as his index finger flicked out to caress side of her hand.

She trembled. "I—I can't—feel you—I—"

"Neither can I."

"You're not in my head—how—"

The bell tolled and the boisterous cry of students descended into the hallways. Scott panicked and rushed to his desk. People would question why he was hunkered next to Rogue, not to mention holding her hand. His heart was thundering as he opened his briefcase and retrieved his teacher's edition textbook and grading manual. He looked at Rogue. Her eyes were stretched to their full capacity and her skin was as white as marble. He wanted to speak to her but was bombarded by a sea of students. He made up his face and greeted them in a loud clear voice. He would deal with Rogue later. Class had to begin.

"Uh Rogue," Scott said as students scrambled to their next period. "Might I have a word with you?"

She clutched her books and shifted one foot to the other. "I have History with Ms. Munroe."

"It would just be a minuet," he said. "I'll write you a pass."

Head down, she walked to the front of the class, and squeezed into one of the desks. When the classroom door closed Scott came from around his desk. He was still shaken by what just occurred an hour ago. Was it possible she'd found a way to control her powers? He knew of her struggles, an inner turmoil he could identify to his own self. A head injury gave him the sad misfortune of not being able to control his powers. It was this reason he was kind to Rogue and never treated her like an outcast.

"You—uh—should speak with the Professor—about—this," he said after five minutes. She nodded and bit her bottom lip. Another minute passed. Scott didn't know what else to say. "You can go."

Rogue scrambled to her feet, holding her books close. Just as she headed for the exit Scott halted her attempt to escape. She turned and saw him coming to her. He slowly held out a hand to her. A mixture of confusion and wonder flooded Rogue as she looked at her teacher and what he offered. She didn't know if she could trust it. During class she battled with herself. Doubt and hope nearly drove her to madness. Hesitantly, she peeled off a dark green glove, and reached out to take his hand.

Warmth burrowed bone deep into her flesh, a sensation so foreign she let out a soft gasp. Scott smiled as Rogue clutched his hand in desperation and saw tears well in her eyes. "I don't understand," she whimpered. "Why is this happening?"

"The Professor will know." He measured her hand. It was so fragile and pale compared to his own with nice clean, oval nails, contrary to Jean's fashionable French tips. "You should get to class."

Rogue frowned. She was afraid to let go of Scott's hand, afraid this was a cruel trick of her mind. If she let go, she was afraid she would lose this gift forever. The sound of the door opening forced the pair to separate much to Rogue's chagrin. She tugged on her glove and turned in time to see Jean enter. "Oh, Scott," she looked from her fiancé to Rogue. "I thought you were alone."

"Rogue had some questions about the assignment," he lied, praying Jean wouldn't pry into his thoughts.

"Yeah," Rogue said. "Thank you Mr. Summers."

He nodded. "Oh," he went to his desk. He scribbled something on a yellow pad and tore the sheet. "Here's you're pass." Snatching it, Rogue hurried past the tall red head.

"Funny," Jean said watching the young girl hurry down hall. "You always say she's you're best student. I wouldn't figure she would be having problems."

Scott didn't like where she was going. "Everyone has point where they need help Jean."

"Hmm."

"What did want to talk to me about?"

Jean went to him and draped her arms around his neck. "How do feel about June 15th?"