She was ten again.
Rogue smiled. That was a good year. Little league, friends, no skin condition.
No vomiting three times a day like clockwork.
She had always had white streaks in her hair. Doctors had said that it was simply a fluke—some of her hair could not pick up pigmentation, or something like that.
She had never thought much of it. Kids thought it was cool when she was younger, and in high school they had thought it was a part of her goth look; a cry for attention.
How little they knew.
Suddenly, it changed. She was eleven, and Mystique was disguised as her doctor, telling her how sick she was. Rogue lunged for her, wanting her to pay for all she had done. She didn't care that the woman had wanted her to live, even when she'd thrown the knife at her. It didn't make up for the life she'd taken from her then.
It never would.
"Rogue!"
Interesting, that sounded like Storm. Her hands gripped at Mystique's shoulders, holding tight, but her brow furrowed. This seemed ... off, somehow.
She cringed when a throbbing in her left thigh made her lose balance; Mystique seemed to tower over her as she fell to the ground. Rogue grasped her thigh, hissing from the pain that emanated from it.
When she looked down at it, however, she could only see a child's thigh, clad in jeans and seemingly uninjured.
Then, like watching time in fast forward, the leg grew and changed into an adult's, the jeans on them now torn and darkly stained with blood.
Oh.
Everything came flowing back: the cabin, being stabbed, stabbing her own mother, trying to find the control Mystique had hidden from her all these years.
It was so much information she had to sift through. She had had to hold onto her for so long, using her focusing techniques Professor Xavier had taught her to try and only obtain what was needed.
But it was hard to avoid the memories of her, through Mystique's eyes.
The feelings she felt were so contradictory; the desire for power but the love for a child so unexpected that Rogue had lost complete control of what she was after.
It was like having hundreds of thousands of files thrown at you, each with their own little memory, and it was up to you to find the one that contained the answer to fix your life.
During her desperate searching she had failed to realize she was still absorbing Mystique; she had forgotten she was slowly killing someone.
The interior of the Blackbird began to come into focus. Rogue looked up and saw Storm, looking down at her worriedly. Hands were behind her, lifting her up.
She didn't need heightened senses to know it was Logan. He placed her back onto the thin bed, carved into the sidewall of the jet for both sleeping and medical use.
Rogue looked down at herself and saw her normal form. When the Professor had invaded her mind—trying to help her find what she was looking for—he had helped to push back a lot of the memories she had taken from Mystique.
It appeared he had pushed them into her subconscious, deep enough to be forgotten about on the conscious level, but not hidden enough to stop her dreams from tormenting her.
"You got control, darlin'?" she heard Logan ask. She watched as he leaned in close, staring at her for some kind of response.
Rogue looked down at her bare arms. Professor Xavier had found Mystique's deeply embedded information for Rogue; he had found the trigger that was the control for Mystique's skin, and her ability to shapeshift upon command.
It was so utterly simple, tightening certain muscles that activated the change, thinking of what you wanted to be and thinking of your skin as millions of glass prisms, slowly turning to reflect that perfect shade, that perfect texture.
But it had not turned her skin off.
She realized Logan had called her name again as she lost focus of the present, and Rogue shook her head, focusing on the control to tame Mystique's power.
"I think we may need to sedate her," Storm said, still standing behind Logan.
"No, Ah'm fine," Rogue rebuffed quickly. She didn't want to be put under—she had had too many times of waking up in the medbay, confused on how she'd ended up there. "Ah've got control now," she added, hoping to convince them.
Storm's eyes softened at seeing her respond. Logan seemed considerably more relaxed, as well, backing away slightly to give Rogue some breathing room.
"You have control Rogue, but your body is exhausted and you've lost a lot of blood. When you sleep, you change ... shape," Storm glanced away, seemingly afraid to offend Rogue. "I can't treat your leg when you hide it beneath another form."
"I don't see why I just don't give her some of my healing," Logan crossed his arms, glaring at Storm. Storm sighed at him. Apparently Rogue had missed an earlier argument regarding the matter.
"The Professor said he had only temporarily stored Mystique's thoughts and memories away. If we add you to the mix, there's a good chance the mental block won't hold until we return." Storm was looking at Logan while speaking, but was clearly explaining the situation to Rogue, as well.
She appreciated the information.
"Look, Ah saw the leg heal a bit, so it's not that bad. Ah'm fine now, so you can do what you need to." Rogue looked from Storm to Logan, and back again. Disbelief seemed to be the expression of the night.
"Marie, you weren't fine earlier," Logan finally offered.
Rogue eyed him with confusion, but memories surfaced of her breakdown. Swollen eyes and a tight chest also told her that her emotional collapse hadn't been all that long ago.
Rogue looked down quickly, shifting nervously on the narrow bed. "How is she?"
There was a long pause before Storm quietly contended, "She's stable. She's lost a lot of blood, and with the loss of energy her body is very weak." Rogue noticed Logan glance over to the other side of the jet, so she risked a look over Storm's shoulder.
On the opposite side of Rogue—where an identical indentation of the wall allowed another narrow bed—Mystique laid, various wires and tubes coming from beneath the blankets covering most of her body. She was strapped down, probably to avoid any mishaps with turbulence.
Kurt was sitting by her side.
Rogue quickly looked away, swallowing hard.
More silence. Then: "Rogue, can you tell us what—"
"She'll tell us when she's good and ready," Logan interrupted Storm. "Right now she needs her leg treated, unless you want me to do it." He stared at Storm pointedly, but kept his voice level.
Storm's eyes narrowed slightly at Logan's blunt method of changing the subject, but the look quickly faded. "Leave us, so I may tend to her."
Logan seemed to understand the meaning of Storm's words, but looked to Rogue for the final okay.
Rogue blushed a bit at the thought of Logan staying while Storm helped her change. She gave a curt nod to have him leave.
Logan gave her one last reassuring glimpse before walking towards the front of the plane. Storm pulled the built-in privacy curtain around the bed, creating a makeshift room out of the side of the jet.
Rogue rubbed the back of her neck nervously. "Heh, twice I gotta get help changin' in two days. Ah'm on a roll." She looked up at Storm, who seemed to have the same expression Destiny had had on her face when she realized what Rogue was planning to do to Mystique.
"Rogue...." Storm started, but let the sentence trail.
"Ah wasn't planning on killing her," Rogue murmured. She looked away from Storm's penetrating gaze.
Storm sighed. "When you're ready," was all she said. Apparently Logan had made a more compelling argument than Rogue had thought. The older woman grabbed a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt from a cabinet next to the bed, before pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
Rogue grimaced as Storm helped her pull her turtleneck tank top off. She reminded herself to burn that shirt and keep her neck exposed for the rest of her adult life.
A hiss escaped from Storm's mouth. "Rogue, your neck!"
Rogue flinched away from the feel of rubber on her tender neck. Storm was staring incredulously at it.
"She found out Ah had Logan's healing; Ah think she was trying to make me pass out." The explanation only seemed to make Storm's expression grow more troubled. She kept quiet, however, as she examined the damage Mystique had apparently left on Rogue's pale neck.
Another gasp left Storm's lips, and Rogue felt hands along her back. The touch was cool to her skin, as if she had a sunburn.
"Where are these burns from Rogue?"
"Uh, fell onto a TV. Doesn't hurt too much." As if to rebut Rogue's previous comment, Storm touched a more unhealed area of the electrical burns on Rogue's back, causing Rogue to recoil a little. She wondered why the burns hadn't fully healed as the gash on her face had.
"They seem to be mostly healed, but the skin is still slightly burnt." Storm's reached over to grab some gauze. "It'll need to be treated when we get back, but it's likely to leave some scars."
Rogue cringed. Great, another reason to have to cover up.
Storm finished bandaging Rogue's back and helped her into the large sweatshirt, followed by the removal of her jeans for some cotton shorts. As Storm began to clean the somewhat healed stab wound on Rogue's leg, she cleared her throat a little.
"Rogue, the control you were looking for—Mystique's control—you said it didn't work for your skin?"
Memories of finally having the control, of being able to control Mystique's mutation, flooded through Rogue. She had felt it as she tried to turn her skin off, but the residual hum from touching Mystique still tingled all over and did not go away.
"No," Rogue finally answered, reveling in the stinging pain of antiseptic Storm was using to clean her skin. Pain kept her senses on alert, and prevented her memories from taking over.
"You had held on to Mystique for quite some time, though." Storm finished cleaning the wound, stepping away to put the bottle of antiseptic away.
Rogue frowned at her. "Ah didn't mean to," she defended, though it came out pretty weak.
Storm shook her head as she grabbed more gauze. "But with Logan, you had only held on for a little while and he needed to be intubated." Storm unrolled the sterile white padding, placing it on Rogue's wound and wrapping it around her entire thigh. "Mystique didn't need incubation."
"What's yer point?"
Storm, finished with bandaging Rogue's leg, brought a hand to Rogue's shoulder. "Child, some level of control had to have been placed to keep you from absorbing all of Mystique's energy. If it did not come from Mystique, then it must have already been within you."
Rogue's breath caught and she could only watch as Storm put away the rest of the supplies and pulled the curtain back. How could she have had control all this time and not know it? Her eyes glanced down to her bare hands, studying them.
Leech's power had control similar to Kitty's. She had already tried using their form of control as her own, and had failed miserably. Logan's healing had no control—it just did what it did, whether or not it was wanted. And his heightened senses were somewhat controllable, but only to siphon them.
She had tried everyone's form of control, all of them. None had given her the ability she so desperately needed and desired.
She looked up at Storm with wide eyes, but could not find her voice to question Storm's statement. Storm gave a small smile to her before disappearing towards the front of the jet.
Rogue had barely enough time to swing her legs onto the bed and get into a lying position before Logan came up, grabbing the curtains and closing them so they had a little bit of privacy.
Rogue attempted to sit back up so she could talk to him, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down.
His own breath caught, however, and his gloved hand pushed her chin up, giving him a better look at her neck.
"It's not that bad," she said softly, barely audible over the constant hum of the jet barreling through the sky.
"She do this to you?" was all he asked, his voice sounding rough from anger but also more quiet than his usual speaking voice.
Rogue pulled her chin out of his hand, looking away. "Nothing compared to what Ah did to her," she muttered in response.
Logan brought his hand back, but only to grasp the railing by her head when turbulence caused the jet to dip quickly. His other hand went up to rake through his hair frustratingly, and without permission he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, pushing Rogue's legs to the side.
He nodded with his head toward her legs, only half covered by a blanket. Her injured thigh could still be seen, the thick white bandage making the wound look as though it was twice the size it really was. "How's your leg?"
Rogue shrugged. "Ah'll live."
"Why'd you go?" he blurted, his eyes boring into her and the small talk all forgotten about.
She kept his gaze for a moment, but adjusted her head on the pillows and decided to stare at the ceiling when she began to speak. "Ah remembered some of her memories after ... well, last night. They had always come out jumbled, like encrypted or something. Destiny told meh Mystique knew how to block her control from telepaths." She glanced at Logan and saw his brow furrow, lips parted and ready to prompt her for more information; she continued before he had the chance to. "Ah thought if Ah held on long enough, using those focusing techniques the Professor taught meh, Ah'd be able to learn her control, and ... and use them." She looked down to her hands, resting listlessly on her stomach. "Ah was wrong."
Logan's hand came out, his gloved one resting on top of both her bare ones. "She could've killed you."
Vague memories from Mystique swept through Rogue, but they were hard to concentrate on. Most of them had been pushed back by Professor Xavier, leaving her with only figments of feelings and thoughts. It was like hearing a television through a thick wall on a quiet night.
Rogue's forehead creased a little in concentration, her eyes staring solemnly at his hand, gloved and protected from the monster residing within her skin. "Ah ... Ah don't think she would have."
Logan growled. "Your neck looks like it was a squeeze away from bein' snapped in half; she stabbed a knife halfway into yer thigh, and you don't think she wanted to kill you?!" He kept his voice low, or at least tried to. Most of what he said, however, was spoken through clenched teeth. His hand had begun gripping hers a bit more tightly, as well.
"She found out about mah healing, so Ah think she knew she could push it." Rogue took one of her hands and placed it on top of Logan's, sandwiching his hand between her own. It seemed to help relax him, as he loosened his grip and took a deep sigh, his stare away from her.
He looked so tired.
Rogue hesitantly gave his hand a squeeze. "Ah'm sorry for hurting you."
That brought his stare back up to her real fast. He shook his head. "No." He pulled his hand away from hers, instead bringing it forward to brush her white strands away from her face. "I told you, I'm not afraid of your skin."
"You should be."
"I'm. Not." Logan's hand lingered a bit by Rogue's face, his gaze penetrating her. "This didn't happen because you suddenly had control."
Rogue's hand went up and grasped Logan's, holding it next to her face. She closed her eyes, imagining the feel of his bare skin mingled with hers.
Now, all she had was the feel of worn leather from his glove. The fear began to build up, starting slowly in the pit of her stomach and cascading into a frenzied panic that caused her to push his hand away from her.
This was the part she'd been so afraid of: the loss. She opened her eyes, looking at him and internally wincing at the affection written on his face. "Logan, Ah ... Ah can't. Not like this. How could we?" Her voice had lowered to a whisper.
There was a pause as the expression on his face saddened briefly, before hardening. He sighed, bringing his hand back to his side. He shook his head, looking away. "No, you're right. We can't." He looked down at her as he stood. "Not until you figure out what you want."
Then he tore the curtain open and disappeared towards the front of the jet.
Rogue had sat up when he stood, but had not been able to voice any words as he left. Tears began to well up as she looked down at her hands.
Her cursed, untouchable hands.
She knew what she wanted, and she had a feeling Logan did as well. She just wanted it in a way she couldn't have it: with control.
As she laid back down she turned to her side, facing herself towards the wall. The tears that had formed began to fall, leaving small dark droplets on the pillow.
This whole time she had been chasing the fantasy of gaining control and being with Logan. One came with the other; she had never considered it any other way. How could she have? She'd been unable to touch for so long, and even with things like translucent scarves there'd always be that danger; that risk.
Her fantasy had been set in stone inside her head.
Reality was now telling her she needed to be flexible.
Her throat tightened a bit from refusing to let a sob escape. She didn't know if she could be okay with never having control.
Not even for Logan.