A quiet was beginning to settle, the rage subsiding. She lost all sense of time as she rested her head against his shoulder, hands reposed on his chest. The roar of fire, shouting, and police sirens sounded around them, but it all seemed so far away. She was only realizing then how great and terrible her powers were, how terrible she was.
"Rogue," he was calling to her. His hand rested on the back of her head, holding her to him as if…as if she didn't even know what anymore. She had seen the way he looked at her. He knew what she had wanted to do, what she was truly capable of. And there was no excuse anymore. She was in control now. No psyches to blame.
"Remy," she said quietly, voice thick with exhaustion. Would it be terrible to give up, run away? Become something else, not this container for destructive forces. Not this person who even at that moment, wished Remy had not stopped her, wished she had made those ignorant fools suffer more than she already had. Part of her wanted to hurt anyone who was like them. And she knew she was too dangerous a mutant to have such desires.
"Y' all right, chere?"
"How do you keep going?"
The resignation in her voice worried him. He slowly released her, held her in front of him and gazed into her face, "What are y' asking?"
"Nevermind." She tiredly pushed his hands aside and looked back at the mansion.
The smoke began to clear as the team did swift damage control. Storm had taken to the air, summoning winds and rain to cleanse the scene. Bobby iced over any flames that didn't succumb to Storm's efforts. Amara moved through the debris in magma form, invulnerable to the flames, and melted dangerous wreckage into easily transportable cubes that Jean then levitated out of the way of the others trying to get out. The X-Men picked each other up in the expert motions of those who had gone through this many times before.
Bayville police squad cars squealed through the Institute's destroyed gate, filling the night with their red and blue lights. News crews were not far behind, as well as a few members of the affluent neighborhood surrounding the Institute grounds who had wandered onto the street, regular citizens who came out to see the carnage. They saw the once regal manor once again in flames and took no pleasure in it.
Many of them thought it was a miracle no student deaths were ever reported on the local news, for who could take pleasure in the death of youth, even if they were mutants? Was that just the whole point—that they weren't all so different, that the death of a mutant child was just as tragic as that of a normal one's? But danger seemed so attracted to them, and that danger would most certainly face those around them, normal people with no special powers to defend themselves. Most of them couldn't really digest such thoughts, so they stared at the smoke and fire with concern that they didn't know where to direct.
Rogue and Remy stood at the center of it all, observing the activity as if in a trance. They watched Logan approach the police cars, carrying a slightly singed but other otherwise intact Professor. The police greeted Xavier with deference, his past interactions with them being nothing but respectful. Bobby came running with the Professor's wheelchair with a committed urgency he hadn't exhibited in a long time.
"Are you all right Professor?" he asked, as Logan lowered the Xavier into the seat.
Xavier smiled reassuringly at the boy, "Just scratches, Bobby."
"We came as quickly we could," the lieutenant said, an expression of frustration and guilt simmering just beneath his law enforcement composure. "Managed to capture a couple of the stragglers. Rest assured we'll be interrogating them to get answers."
"Rest assured we'll want to do some interrogating of our own," Logan said.
"Now, Mr….Wolverine, please understand this is a delicate situation. Professor, I know you are a powerful telepath and can get much more information than our conventional interrogation methods, but the law is not clear on whether you can use that on lawfully detained citizens. And now with the tense political situation, do you really want to push it?" The lieutenant raised his hand at the gathering cameras and reporters. "In front of the world?"
The Professor nodded, "Your point is taken, Lieutenant Stacy. Perhaps we'll be able to find answers in other ways." He nodded toward Bobby to pick up a weapon one of the attackers had left behind.
Bobby retrieved it from the ground and held it up for them to see. It appeared to be a standard M4 Carbine, except different. "These guys sure packed some heavy firepower," Bobby said. He frowned, "Weird. Even I know all weapons are tagged somehow. There's nothing on this. No serial number or anything."
Lieutenant Stacy looked up toward the sky as if the Almighty had broken a promise to him that day, "Great." With a great sigh, "We'll have our analysis team study it."
"Hold on, bub," Logan said, taking the weapon from Bobby. "I've seen this make before…"
Rogue recognized it immediately. "It's made of the same material as the bomb at City Hall," she called out to them.
They all turned as she limped forward, Remy close behind, watching her closely.
"Hank McCoy is in jail because of that," Rogue said to the Lieutenant. "And this M4 Carbine is made from the same material. It's not standard issue. Check into it yourself. Ah'm sure you can put the dots together, Lieutenant."
Lieutenant Stacy nodded, "We'll need to draw up an analysis for submission. You think you could assist with that?"
Logan nodded, "Anything that might exonerate Hank."
Lieutenant Stacy hollered at a uniformed officer to take Logan to forensics.
The Professor nodded to Logan as he left. Then he turned his attention to the reporters set up across the lawn delivering their pieces to camera. "I imagine you'll be wanting to make a statement."
The lieutenant nodded, "We'll also have to take statements from every one of you. I'll make sure to include all the facts when I address the press. Trust me, Professor, when I say I find all acts of needless violence unacceptable, especially toward kids. I don't want my Gwen growing up in a world where something like this is ok." He signaled his men to begin making the rounds, then turned to the Professor with another thought, "Maybe you want to talk to the press with me?"
"That's an interesting proposal, Lieutenant. I'm not sure you will like how my presence may taint your message."
"My captain and the whole department stands behind keeping the peace. That's the only message I plan to deliver. People can read into the rest all they goddamn want. You in, Professor?"
The Professor nodded and settled back in his chair as Lieutenant Stacy began approaching the reporters. They swarmed around him like wasps, a couple boldly approaching the Professor, until they noticed he was blocked by an imposing Bobby who guarded him like a dutiful son.
"Calm down, people," he said. "You'll get your sound bytes soon enough."
Rogue felt herself begin to deflate. There was a sense of relief in knowing Hank might finally be freed, as well as seeing an ally in the police force. If rumor was true, George Stacy was a rising star in the Bayville Police Department with aspirations of leadership in New York City. It was a welcome thought.
As if reading her mind Remy said, "Nice t'see a decent homme with influence in the police department. Can't say I've encountered dat many."
She nodded in agreement, and an empty silence filled the air between them.
"Ah can't fight you too, Remy," she suddenly said.
He turned to look at her with an expression only an expert eye would be able to perceive as pained. This is what they had come to, angry exchanges and aching moments. "M' not tryin' t'fight y', chere." He saw her wince and favor her left arm.
She met his gaze, "It's just too hard. Ah can't do all this."
He didn't know what she was saying, but what could he do but acquiesce, if it would lift this burden that seemed to be crushing her right before his eyes. "Me neither," he said. "S'okay chere. I get it."
She nodded and tried to raise her left hand to massage her head but hissed from the pain.
"It's dislocated," he said hoarsely.
"Ah know. Just give me…" She raised her arm telekinetically, squelching the desire to cry out in pain, and with a telekinetic yank, reset the limb back in its socket. "…one second." She gasped from the exertion.
Remy watched in astonishment, "Well, dat's one way t'do it."
She almost smiled. He had always been able to make her laugh. She remembered the giddiness, the lightness. So unlike the weight that hovered over them now.
"Remy..." she started, but her words trailed away, lost in years worth of unsaid sentiments, wasted time and misunderstandings.
Two uniformed officers approached at that moment, notepad in hand, "Apologies, Miss, but we need to get as many statements as possible. Sir, my partner is ready to take your statement as well."
She caught his eye before he moved away but didn't understand the expression in them. As the officer asked her question after question and she answered as dutifully as any responsible citizen, she watched Remy from afar. It was then she realized she hadn't taken much time to think about the details of where he had been all this time and what he had done, how he was involved in the massacre that now left Evan holding on to his life. She had taken the Professor's word. But in light of facing her own darkness, she began to wonder about his. What had he done? What was he truly capable of? She realized she did not know, and the distance between them felt even greater.
X
Everyone was asleep in the underground complex. The reporters and police had gone hours ago. Rogue lay in her cot in the bunker she shared with Kitty, exhausted but wide awake. She had barely slept all night. The digital clock hologram on the wall glowed a calming blue 5:46 AM.
She was picturing the terrified faces of the attackers as she unleashed on them. She first saw them in their makeshift military garb, then in normal clothing, playing with their kids in the park, sitting at family dinner. Everything felt upside down. She pictured Remy in Seattle, in New Orleans, at the Plaza Hotel. She saw him plummeting down to save her. She remembered his hands on her, the tenderness. Then she pictured Evan, clinging to life in the med bay, Remy among the Morlocks. All those bodies she had pulled out of the sewers.
She rolled over in bed and saw Kitty, snoring lightly in a deep sleep. She sat up and rubbed her sore head, some of the cuts and bruises still not completely healed. Her dislocated arm also ached. She looked back at Kitty one more time before leaving the room.
The underground facility of the Institute was silent to any outside noises, but Rogue could hear the subtle whirr of the generators and air scrubbers. She found herself at the medical bay and Evan's bedside.
She was surprised to find him not alone.
Jean was reposed in an armchair against the wall, arms and legs crossed, a blanket over her shoulders. She looked haggardly, crumbled against the cushions as if her bones couldn't hold her up.
She didn't seem surprised to see Rogue, "Can't sleep either?"
"What are you doing here?"
A yawn ballooned out of Jean's mouth, "I promised Ms. Munroe. She's barely left his side. She needed to get some rest."
"That's nice of you."
"It's no big deal. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Rogue lied. She peered at her old friend, one of the few X-Men back then she felt kindred with at a fundamental level. Evan had never tried to conform. He had a defiant spirit, and she had always admired him for that. He looked more hardened than she remembered, as if he had aged more than a couple years since she last saw him.
"They sure did do a number on you," Rogue breathed. She placed her hand gently on his arm, "We're all pullin' for ya, Evan. You have to get better." After a few moments of silence, she sensed Jean wanted to say something but was trying to stop herself. She didn't need to summon any telepathy to figure that out. "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing… I just… Have you talked to Gambit?"
"About what?"
"About…the last couple years. What happened."
Rogue felt herself tense and didn't respond. She was most definitely not in the mood for this. "We discussed it already. At the meeting."
"But not all of it."
"Ah'm not really interested right now."
Jean stood up, clutching the blanket around her delicate frame, "I just… I believe we should trust the Professor's judgment. And I do. I don't think Gambit's a danger to us or anything like that, but Rogue, as your friend, I think you need to know…." Her words trailed away as if she were beginning to regret what she started.
"Know what?" Rogue said, eyes narrowing.
"Please don't take this the wrong way. I'm just worried about you. I don't want to see you go through all that again, and I really think the best way is for you to talk to him and get everything out in the open."
"Will ya get to the point, Jean?"
"I don't think you should trust him," she blurted out.
Rogue stared at the redhead blankly, then released an incredulous laugh. She would have burst into a storm of giggles if it weren't for Evan's presence. "You just said he's not a danger to us."
Jean looked at her pityingly. Or sympathy. Either way, Rogue hated that expression and felt an urge to slap it off her face. "He's not a danger to us," Jean said. "He's dangerous for you."
Rogue did not expect that, "Excuse me?"
"I think he'll hurt you."
"Ah can't talk about this right now, Jean."
"I'm sorry. I just…you're my friend, and I care about you, and he isn't good for you."
Rogue stared at the redhead's pretty face, at the earnest worry seeping from her. She was so good. Jean Grey would never want to hurt anyone. She only ever wanted to help.
"I'm not saying he's a bad man. I think he's really trying to do good, but he's been through too much. And I don't see it ending anytime soon. He needs time to heal. And so do you."
Jean Grey was the type of girl people fought for, Rogue thought. People like Scott Summers. Scott Summers, who was also so earnest and good. Uncomplicated. Always there. He had never left her. Rogue knew he never would. Jean wasn't the type of girl you left if you could help it. Jean was good. An old and irrelevant bitterness toward her rose like bile in Rogue's throat.
She felt Jean take her hand.
"I see you now and you're so in control. You have such grace, Rogue. And I think he'll make you lose it. He's been through so much. I've seen some of it myself." She looked down at Evan, "Gambit was there when this happened, you know. I can't even figure out how responsible he was for what happened, but I know he tried to stop it and he failed. Now he carries that guilt. And he carries the guilt of what happened to his people in New Orleans. None of this is easy for any psyche to deal with. He'll need time. And so do you. Especially with all that's happening. I know how you still feel about him, but you need to look after yourself first." Jean smiled at her gently.
Rogue pulled back her hand, "Are you done?"
"I…I guess so. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to lecture…I guess I got carried away—"
"Who do you think you are?" Rogue snapped.
Jean's eyes widened, "I—"
"Does it make you feel perfect and important to patronize me?"
"Rogue, that not what I was trying to—"
"What do you know about what Remy's been through, what Ah've been through? Ah carried the bodies, Jean. Me. You think Ah haven't thought about any of this? Ya think Ah just sit around fantasizing about happily ever after? How simple do you think I am?"
"I never said you were—"
Rogue held up a hand to silence her, "Save it." She turned to leave.
Jean grabbed her arm, "Rogue, look, I'm sorry, but I'm just trying to help. Sometimes the right thing is the hardest."
Rogue couldn't suppress the disdainful sneer that crawled onto her lips, "You may want to be the Professor one day, Jean, but you need to grow up and face reality. You can't help anyone." Ignoring the hurt look on Jean's face, she stalked away, seething with an irrational anger. At that moment, she didn't care to be good. Not one bit.
Coming soon...
Chapter 14: Rise