"I don't see how y'all can be so…so blasé about this happening! Yesterday they're our enemies and today they're houseguests. He tried to kill me!"
Sitting on the sloping lawn by the lake, Rogue looked over at her friends. Most of them wore swimsuits or light summer clothes, but she didn't feel safe showing so much skin. Jean had given her a wetsuit and, though Rogue appreciated the gesture, she wasn't quite sure how to wriggle into the tight get up, which had refused to be pulled up past her mid-thighs.
Instead of basking in the sun like the others, she was trying to wrap her brain around their seemingly casual acceptance of the sudden…fountain-of-youth-magic-glowbird thing that had zapped The Professor, Magneto and Mystique into younger versions of themselves.
Everyone was acting like this was just something that happened everyday that ended in y.
Bobby turned to face her, sunlight gilding his hair a brighter shade of gold. "Things around here," he began gently, giving her a cute, lopsided smile, "are just different. It's like, when you go to school here, you just have to accept that reality is about two steps to the left of whatever you used to believe. Time travel, aliens, body swapping…that's our world. I mean, Cyclops's dad is a space pirate and the tech in the Danger Room was provided by the Professor's ex, who rules a galactic empire. So spontaneous rejuvenation and amnesia isn't all that odd."
When he put it that way, she could kind of see his point. "Still," she mumbled, "You guys aren't the ones who he tried to kill."
It was Jubilee who replied next. "No, the old Magneto and older Mystique tried to kill you, not the Abercrombie model versions."
There were soft laughs from most of the nearby girls, while the boys rolled their eyes. Choosing to drop the subject (for the moment), Rogue leaned back on her elbows, looking around at her classmates and teachers.
Logan had been corralled by Ms. Munroe into helping her keep an eye on the younger kids, who were splashing in the shallows. Ms. Frost was lying on a lounge chair, looking like some old school movie store in her white, retro swimsuit (not actually for swimming) and sunglasses. Mr. Cassidy had waded waist deep into the lake and was using his sonic powers to make waves for the kids on boogie boards.
Much to Rogue's amusement, St. John's black swim trunks had flames up the side. Bobby's blue color block shorts almost matched his eyes. Piotr was sketching Kitty, who was leafing through a book. Sam was keeping an eye on his little sister, who was watching the kid with the bandages on his face that Rogue didn't know.
Most everyone was enjoying the sun drenched day, lolling in the grass, playing in the water. It would be easy to forget the anger she felt and just….
The tension had finally begun to ease from her spine when Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey arrived with their three houseguests. A large, shiny grill and two coolers floated in their wake, held aloft by Dr. Grey's telekinesis…or perhaps Magneto held the grill.
Like everyone else, Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey wore light weight, summer clothes, he in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, she in a swimsuit with a sarong around her hips. On anyone else, her big, floppy hat would have looked like an affectation, but Dr. Grey, with her snow white skin, made it look stylish and functional.
Mystique, still blonde and peach skinned, wore a long sundress with a vaguely batik print. Her hair was braided and she looked, to Rogue, like some sort of hippie, flower child.
The Professor was dressed much as he had been the night before. Slightly ill fitting gray trousers and a pale blue button down shirt, rumpled but tucked in. His shoes were light brown suede bucks…not something one would normally wear to the lakeside. Unlike his two companions, he was still smiling, trying to take in everything around him.
Then there was Magneto. Rogue wondered if the man was physically capable of unbending his spine. Compared to Magneto, in his slim fit khakis and cream polo, Mr. Summers, always tense and upright, was a hunchback.
"Are the students in residence year round or will they be leaving for summer holiday?" The Professor was asking Mr. Summers, voice as curious and enthusiastic as it had been the night before.
Behind his head, Mystique and Magneto shared fond looks and Magneto wasn't quite able to mask his indulgent smile. If Rogue hadn't seen it, she wouldn't have believed it.
As Mr. Summers went on about the school, Rogue turned back to the wetsuit that lay on the towel beside her. Picking it up, she tugged at it, wondering how on Earth anyone was supposed to fit into something so tight.
It was hot, damn it! She wanted to swim with her friends, but wasn't willing to endanger them by exposing them to her skin.
"Baby oil."
She jumped when Magneto spoke, several feet to her left. He had settled onto a tree stump which allowed him to keep an eye on the Professor and everyone else by the lake. Mystique had laid out a towel nearby and seemed content enough.
Having his blue gray-green eyes lock on her was unnerving and she bit back a shudder and an angry remark, remembering what her friends had said. Magneto had tried to kill her, but not this Magneto. "What?"
That sounded civil.
More or less.
He made a short motion with one long fingered hand. "Those suits are…somewhat difficult. Baby oil provides lubrication."
"You'd know," Mystique drawled, then let out a squawk, twisting to stare at the Professor. "Charles!"
From where he stood with Mr. Summers, the Professor, blushing bright red, chided, "Be nice, Raven."
Mystique tossed a rude gesture at the Professor, who replied by sticking his tongue out at her. Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey looked so taken aback by this that it was almost funny.
But it was Magneto's expression that his Rogue like a 2x4. He was looking over at the Professor, chuckling, the faintest blush coloring his high cheekbones and there was something so…soft and warm that it changed his entire bearing.
The memory, foreign, a remnant of absorbed personality, flooded her senses before she could think….
Bitter cold water biting her skin. The burn in her lungs as they cried for oxygen. But that was nothing compared to the swirl of rage, pain and hate that seemed to bubble up from her soul, nothing compared to the metal hulk of the submarine that made her powers sing, her outstretched fingers tingle. (The hands are not her own…yet they are….)
She's shocked when arms snake around her torso.
It's difficult to fight the urge to gasp when a voice, cultured and firm, sounds in her mind, You can't, you'll drown. You have to let go. She tries to ignore him, but he persists, I know what this means to you, but you're going to die. Please, Erik, calm your mind!
Knowing the voice spoke the truth, she let herself go limp, conserving her energy and allowing the man behind her to tug her to the surface. Once there, she thrashed, breaking free. "Get off me! Get off!"
She can barely see through the churning water, but she can see the pale skin contrasting with the dark water. "Calm down. Just breathe," her rescuer says, then turns, shouting, "We're here!"
"Who are you?" she asks, still shocked and breathing hard.
"My name's Charles Xavier."
As though that explained anything. "You were in my head. How'd you do that?"
Treading in the frigid water, Charles said, "You have your tricks, I have mine. I'm like you. Just calm your mind."
Like me? There was a spark of hope, of want, but it was tempered by pessimism. "I thought I was alone."
"You're not alone, Erik. You're not alone."
Those words changed the world.
A blink and she's somewhere else, standing on one of the paths overlooking the lake. A huge satellite dish was visible in the distance, beyond her trembling hands. She can feel it, the metal, in her bones, but she can no more move it than she could the mansion.
Exhausted, her hands fall and she bends, gasping for air.
"You know, I believe true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity."
She turns to look at Charles, who stands there in tweed. He raises a hand, wiggling the fingers by his head and asks, "Do you mind, if I….?"
There is a tingle of fear, but she trusts him (far more than she thinks she should) and nods. Charles closes his eyes, touches two fingers to his temple, then his eyes fly open.
It's instantaneous, the feeling of falling into Charles's blue, blue gaze, swimming in a memory within a memory. Lighting the menorah with Mama, who strokes her cheek. Safety, warmth, love.
The emotions steamroll over her and she's shattered, a tear escaping her eye. Charles is regarding her with such kindness as he wipes moisture from his own cheeks.
Broken, she asks, "What did you do to me?"
"I accessed the brightest corner of your memory system," Charles replies, drawing closer. "A very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you."
"I didn't know I still had that," she murmurs, shaken, unable to look away from Charles's damp eyes.
When he speaks, he's so earnest, so sure, so close. "There is so much more to you than you know, not just pain and anger. Good too, I've felt it. When you can access all of that you'll possess a power no one can match. Not even me."
Blinking, tears clinging to her lashes, she is bowled over by the faith Charles has in her. She doesn't know why he's chosen her as his equal, but, in this moment, she can't imagine ever parting from him, being alone again.
He hasn't felt such love since before the camp. Before Shaw. Before Mama died.
Charles clasps her on the arm. "Come on, try again."
Not wanting to disappoint (knowing Charles will be there whether she succeeds or not), she turns and raises a hand. She trembles slightly, residual memory coursing through her even as the tears fall.
She laughs with elation after the dish turns and Charles does too, patting her on the back in giddy congratulations. In her adult life, she can't ever remember feeling so purely happy….
"Rogue?"
She starts when Bobby touches her cloth covered shoulder and the memory dissipates. Blinking, she realized those nearby are looking at her oddly, wondering about the tears she's wiping from her cheeks, but the concern hasn't reached the teachers yet. "I'm okay," she hurried to reassure Bobby, offering a quick smile, "Just…girl stuff."
The boys accepted the explanation, though Magneto regarded her with doubtful eyes. He has no reason to think that she'd just seen his memories, lived them as though they were her own, but he knew something. Raising the wetsuit, she said, "I'm going to try to get this on. Thanks for the tip."
He nodded and, as she trotted toward the mansion, she heard Mystique begin attempting to coerce the Professor into the lake. The tone in her voice was pure, doted upon little sister.
Shaking her head, Rogue began her search for baby oil. Mystique was the Professor's baby sister and Magneto was in love with him.
You learn something new (or old) every day.
TBC…..
Comments, pretty please?