Note: Sorry this one is late. Real life has caught up with me big time this week, but things should be smoothing out and postings should go back to regular once a week after this.

Thanks again for the kind words and encouragements. They mean a lot and really do keep me motivated with this.

Chapter Four

Jean had wanted to save him. Scott believed that with his whole being. But, what she'd managed was to strand him outside normal space with very few options for continuing the quest for survival, and even less chance of solving the problems she'd handed him.

He glanced around the infirmary. Everything looked quiet. Jean slept. The machines surrounding her kept their vigilant cadence. But, the calm was illusion. The Eater of Souls rested here, ready to kill everyone Scott knew and loved. And, he couldn't even open the damn infirmary door.

"All right, I'm folded. Folded how?" The only interpretation that made any scientific sense was that Jean had somehow bent him into some extra spatial dimension. Some theories of the universe held that there were as many as nine spatial dimensions. Nine. Three sets of three. Three three-dimensional worlds layered on top of one another. Thinking of them as layers really helped him imagine the situation. Reality existed in one layer. The Eater resided in another. Jean had folded him into the last one. They all touched in some way, maybe shared one spatial dimension, but didn't totally intersect.

That at least made some sense. The Eater wasn't on Scott's layer, but he could see it if he turned the right way. So --

Maybe the door was the same. If he changed his perspective it might… what? He ducked and shifted until the door seemed to come apart at the seams. What, in the real world was solid, in his reality became a series of oddly shaped metal plates with gaps between. He managed to find a path wide enough to fit through. It took some contortion and more than a few old spelunking skills, but he eventually found himself in the hall outside the infirmary.

Scott allowed himself to enjoy the success for a moment. Conquering the door meant one hurdle down. He still had to figure out how to destroy the Eater of Souls before it began killing everyone in sight -- maybe figure out how to turn his power back on, maybe discover a way to communicate with the other members of the team. But, being able to get through doors was a start.

He avoided the elevator, no guarantee he could push enough weight against the buttons to register a floor request. Instead, he took the long route up the stairs and into the main corridor of the mansion. The hallway was silent, but Scott heard the television in the main room blaring horror music. A female squeal followed by male laughter told him the kids were holding a party of some sort in there.

He took a step toward the room and his foot seemed to crash down onto the tile as if it suddenly weighed a ton. His head spun and he experienced the strangest falling sensation. Scott shook his head. He backed up.

And nearly ran into Rogue.

They both startled. Rogue nearly dropped the huge plastic cup she was carrying, and Scott instinctively caught it before the drink could spill. He felt his fingers bend the plastic slightly, the liquid inside shift under the pressure. He clung to the cup, marveling that something at last felt natural.

He stared at his hand, then at the young woman before him. Rogue still clutched a fast food bag in her other hand, and her fingers around the paper had gone white with tension. Her eyes had rounded in surprise, perhaps fear. She gasped softly. He watched her mouth close over the sound. Her lips pinched as she swallowed hard.

She didn't see him, that was clear in the way her eyes darted back and forth, searching. Still, she was aware of the hold he had on her drink. She let go of the cup, took a step backward, and then a second.

"Rogue. It's okay."

"Are you haunting me?" Her soft accent gentled the accusation. "Why? Isn't there somebody you know better, and maybe like less?"

Her question, or maybe it was simple relief, made him laugh. "Like Logan maybe?"

Apparently, she couldn't catch either the joke or the lightness of his tone, because she only skittered farther away.

"Look, I'm not in the best place right now. I can't tell if you're real or a ghost or just all in my head. So, if you are real, you'd best go talk to the professor or someone who can do the psychic stuff because I can't really help." Her gaze fixed on the cup in his hand. "But, if you really want to keep my lemonade, I don't mind."

Her mention of the drink made his parched throat scratch. He almost paused to take a long draw from the straw sticking out of the lid. But, he had to prioritize here. Why could Rogue sense him when even Charles couldn't? "I can't talk to Professor Xavier. He can't see or hear me. Rogue, this is important."

He took a step closer and then several more until he was nearly on top of her, and the last step was like plunging down an unexpected stair. He nearly lost his balance. Rogue turned and ran down the hall as fast as she could.

The feeling of falling, of weight, left with her. Scott really had no choice but to follow her.

-----

Marie didn't believe in ghosts. So that could not have been Cyclops haunting her in the hall. Sure, her lemonade cup had sort of stuck in the air there and then followed her around a bit. And she'd heard a weird mumbling that sounded a lot like Cyclops voice. She knew that voice. She'd heard it shouting in her ear often enough in the early days of her X-men training, before he'd gone all strange and sad over Jean.

But, whatever she thought she heard and saw, it hadn't been a ghost. Because she didn't believe in ghosts. Some new students might have been playing a prank. There were plenty of people whose powers she didn't know well.

Marie took a deep breath. There, she'd found a rational explanation that didn't require her to be going crazy, hearing voices and hallucinating floating lemonade.

So, why was she still sitting in this corner of the kitchen floor, well away from the broad, black expanse of window that dominated the far wall, clutching her bag of chilling fast food to her chest as if they were cholesterol-laden shield? She should do exactly what she intended before meeting the apparition -- join Bobby and the others for the horror movies and eat her dinner with friends. Maybe they could even tell her who was playing tricks in the hallway.

She managed to stand and push herself over to a seat at the wide table, but she couldn't force herself all the way to the door. She just couldn't. Not right now. She knew whatever was out there wasn't a ghost. Still, she didn't want to meet it again. Slowly, she pulled fries and a burger out of the bag.

Bobby had gotten her mayo on the burger again. It was Kitty that liked mayo. Marie groaned and pushed the sandwich away. She really couldn't eat it when it had white slime on it. And she didn't have a drink anymore. She picked at the fries in growing disgust. "I can't get anything right."

Now she was being not only silly, but an unreasonable bitch as well. The sandwich was just a mistake, and the drink was her fault for being so terrified of a childish prank. The fries tasted like sand in her mouth. "Too much salt too," she grumbled.

A fry floated lazily into the air in front of her face. It turned side to side. And then it vanished. Marie froze. The air beside her grew heavy, as if something thick and weighty had just leaned toward her from the end of the table. She could not make herself move, she was so scared.

"You don't want the food? I'm starving."

She had to strain to hear the words, but they were real, unmistakable. And she still knew the voice.

"You want it, take it," she managed, though she thought she sounded like she was squeaking. She tried to remember it was just a prank. Some smart-aleck new kids teasing. She tried to picture them crouched behind the kitchen door, snickering at her. Some X-man she was making, terrified of some brat's game.

"Thank you." The voice was warm with genuine gratitude. The hamburger slid to the very corner of the table, and the bag of fries followed. Then they slowly separated like wind-blown sand and vanished.

Marie stared. She didn't know anyone with a power that worked quite that way. She wondered, too, where some brat-prankster had learned to imitate that particular voice so well.

What if this wasn't a prank? What if it really was Cyclops' ghost? The rumor was that he'd died trying to rescue Dr. Gray before Logan and Storm managed to get to the lake. That thought made her sad. It seemed cruel for him to grieve so long, and then die right before his love returned from the dead. Only some lame old playwright like Shakespeare could come up with a story that unpleasant.

"Sorry the food's cold," she whispered. It seemed impolite to not offer some dinner conversation.

-----

Scott forced himself to chew the hamburger slowly as he thought this new twist in his situation. Whenever he stepped within a few feet of Rogue, he felt that strange falling sensation, and could begin to affect normal matter. If he moved away, he experienced an equally strange pull upward, and whatever he happened to be holding folded with him back into the unnatural dimensions he now inhabited.

He'd tested his theory by watching her face as he accepted her offer of food. As he'd drawn the hamburger and fries toward him, her gaze followed. He moved to the far side of the table, still dragging the food. Then, her eyes widened and he knew the items had vanished from her sight.

It was at that moment that the smell of food nearly overwhelmed him and he'd shoved half the burger into his mouth in one bite. Never had a slab of greasy, sauce-smeared mystery meat in a stale bun tasted so good. He hadn't realized he was starving until that instant.

Think, Scott reminded himself as he chewed. Figure this out. It's important.

He had to assume some aspect of Rogue's life-absorbing power was causing him to partly unfold when he got close enough to her. Normally, Rogue had to touch someone to absorb their life or powers, but she managed to affect his folded state from about four feet away. At that distance, he first felt like he was falling. He could only grab things when he was closer than two feet, however. And she could only hear his voice if he leaned in close. Very close.

What would happen if he actually touched her? He didn't dare test that yet.

"Sorry the food's cold," she whispered. He'd never paid much attention to how honey-smooth her voice was, how very pleasant it was to listen to her. But, he'd always taken the fact of people conversing with him for granted. Perhaps it was simply relief that she acknowledged his existence that shivered his skin when she spoke, and not the silky texture of her voice.

More tests. Scott pushed the hamburger wrapper and fries bag away from him. He felt her power pull on his arm, almost painfully. And then he withdrew, leaving the debris behind. Rogue gave a little start, telling him the papers had reappeared in her vision.

Good, he could release things into reality as well as fold them away. To be sure, he repeated the process with the now empty lemonade cup.

"You still thirsty?" she asked quickly. "I don't have any more lemonade, but I could fill it with water?"

"Water would be…" he remembered that she couldn't hear him at this distance and stepped around the corner of the table again. He leaned toward her -- close, very close -- but was careful not to touch her.

He could see the subtly metallic reflection in the white strands of her hair. A gold hoop glittered in her earlobe. And, from beneath her jaw a whiff of vanilla perfume drifted to him. More small details about a young woman he'd never bothered to really notice or know. He should have tried to know her better, he thought, especially since he was soon going to have to ask her to risk her life for him.

"Water would be very nice," he told her.

Rogue leapt up, snatching the cup from the table. She raced to the sink, leaving his body with that falling-elevator sensation he now associated with folding. His head went dizzy with it. He almost followed her just to recover the sense of being real she gave him.

She returned quickly enough, however, cup in hand. He took it and drained the water. His body was still parched, apparently. He pushed the cup away again, and this time she left it next to the discarded hamburger wrapper and fries bag.

"So, why can't I see you?" Rogue stared at the spot where he sat intently, proving she knew where he was even if he remained invisible to her. "I can see the cup and the wrappings now, but not you."

"I think I'm not here enough for you to see me," he answered against her ear. "I think I'd need to actually touch you to make that happen."

"You know that's dangerous." And she shivered. Her breath accelerated. This close he could feel warmth rise across her cheek.

He didn't want her to be afraid. "I know. I'm not going to do it, not now."

"Oh?" The sound was low and quiet. "Why not? You worried I'll hurt you even though you're… whatever it is you are?"

"Folded," he answered automatically. How bizarre was it that he was becoming comfortable with the idea? "I'm not afraid of you, Rogue. But, I'm not sure whether touching you will bring me back to regular space, or if I'll only wind up folding you into this dead existence with me."

She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the movement so quick Scott had to pull back in order to avoid her gloved fingers bumping his nose. "That doesn't sound very good."

"Your touch might well be my salvation," he told her. "I don't want to extinguish that hope with haste."

-----

Marie knew the moment he moved away because the air around her lost its unnatural density. For several moments she just sat, eyes closed, and breathed. 'Your touch … my salvation.' The words had made her mouth go dry. Not pain, not coma, not death. Salvation. "I'll save you," she whispered into the empty air. "I promise."