Disclaimer: You know the drill.
Word Count: 2,016
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Chapter 3: Explanations, Young Lady?
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Silent, Rogue squirmed in the leather chair in front of Xavier's desk. Scott sat in the matching chair on her right, his face inscrutable. Pursing her lips with a quick glance towards him, she guessed that his eyes were probably giving away his feelings – if only someone could see them.
The Professor's hands were steepled atop his desk, and in spite of his invitation – command – that they join him here to talk, he too said nothing. It felt like he was waiting… Waiting for one of them to crack, maybe? He certainly was not poking around in their heads – Rogue would've felt it.
Her lips tightened. If he was waiting for one of them to crack and start babbling out apologies, explanations, anything, then he would have to wait a while. She had not spent all this time training to be Scott's equal just so she could spill her guts the first time someone wanted information from her – no matter that her interrogator was a father-figure to them.
She was legally an adult, just like Scott. Their newfound relationship was not against the law, and it was their own private business. No explanations necessary.
Besides, it was past time that she proved what she was made of. Her childhood stubbornness had grown to an adult's determination. She would stand by her decisions and she would stand by Scott, no matter what.
Xavier sighed – the first voluntary sound released since they had entered the room. Turning to Rogue, he observed, "So I take it that your vacation was successful? In more ways than one? I cannot help noticing that you are not wearing gloves."
Rogue smiled a bit, relieved and eager to share. Giving Scott quick glance, she explained, "It turns out that I've sort of been psyching myself out all along. We've figured out that my power is activated by emotions that signal danger. If I feel unnerved, uncomfortable, frightened, or so on, then my skin automatically turns on to protect me… But because my abilities and their consequences scared me, I was constantly keeping them active."
The Professor nodded. "A vicious cycle."
"Yes. After experiencing a… breakthrough this vacation," she lightly blushed, "we've been able to work out what triggers my power."
Scott's hand reached over to where one of hers rested on her chair's armrest. Twining their naked fingers together, he gave her a soft glance before returning his gaze to the Professor. "That's the first step in learning to control her powers. From here on in, we're looking at having Rogue practice isolating the particular muscle that activates her powers. Right now, it's running on automatic. Now that she's able to recognize when her power is on or off, she'll be able to exercise that particular muscle – learn to control it."
At first, Rogue had questioned whether she even needed to go past step one. After all, she could touch people she trusted, right? Why go further? Scott had spent ten minutes detailing situations in which she would need to have complete control of her powers in order to survive.
Suppose the Friends of Humanity were holding up a shop and were testing people to see if they had powers? She would feel threatened, then, and her powers would activate without her say-so. She would be outed and injured, if not killed. Or what if she was captured by someone interested in experimenting on her? They could drug her, make her so relaxed and happy that her powers would not turn on, even though her mind would know she was in danger. Scott had made it very clear that controlling her powers was in her best interest. She had the opportunity to do so and should take it. Some mutants like him would never get the chance.
"Good to hear," Xavier agreed. "Now, what else have you been up to while we've been gone?"
Ignoring the obvious aim of his question, Rogue prattled on about her solo adventures. How she visited the attic and played dress-up. How she roller-skated in one of the amazing fur coats. How she found the most gorgeous silk dress, a dress, which matched her eyes and made her body look like sin. To her surprise and delight, Professor Xavier offered her continued free rein over the attic's contents and pressed her to keep the dress she loved so much. The offer was met with an excited hug and a quick peck to the Professor's bald head.
Rogue, feeling more and more like she was detailing a lovely vacation to a doting father, continued with her tales. She told him of her extensive shopping and how she connected it to X-Men missions, which allowed her to keep with the mission objectives (read: her shopping list). She described her version of finger painting and the mountains of food she had cooked, promising that she would show him the former and share the latter. He simply had to try her pie, especially fresh from the oven!
She mentioned her continual X-Man training, and how Scott was training her. How she had already progressed multiple levels in the Danger Room, and how excited she was to finally graduate from her Junior X-Man status.
Gently, Xavier interjected. "Rogue. Do you mind if I ask why you want to become an X-Man? If you'd rather not say, that's fine."
Rogue shrugged. "No, it's fine. I just…" Biting her lower lip, her voice turned soft. "I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't been found by you guys. Or Logan. Starvation? Hypothermia? A life of crime? I don't even know. And that's not even taking into account Magneto's interference." Scott's jaw tightened. "Maybe I'd be dead at the top of Lady Liberty. Maybe I'd end up joining Magneto's little group out of desperation and a lack of options. Whether you guys meant to or not, you saved my life…"
She took a deep breath before continuing, her gaze locked on her hand clasped in Scott's. "Society isn't kind. Not to mutants, not to most people. If we want it to change, we have to enact that change ourselves – maybe give people an ideal to live up to. In a way, this mansion's Camelot, complete with its own Knights of the Round Table to travel the land righting wrongs… I'm too jaded to believe that it'll last forever, but I can hope that, even when it's gone, people will still try to reach its heights. I want to be a part of it – every mission, every triumph, and even every loss. Because what the X-Men do is worthwhile, and even if I don't believe in much anymore, I do believe in that."
Glancing up, Rogue blushed at the proud – even admiring – glances of the two men. One side of his lips tugged up in that familiar and irresistible one-sided smile, Scott leaned over to exchange a chaste press of lips. Her face flushed, Rogue's green eyes tracked him as he returned to his chair, his all-transformative grin lightening his face and loosening all of his muscles. He relaxed into his chair, unwound like a jaguar basking in a patch of sunshine. Scott looked so pleased and so proud that Rogue would hardly be surprised if he purred.
As the thought flitted through her mind, the young woman realized that they were still being observed. Sure now that her complexion resembled a tomato, Rogue faced the Professor yet again, waiting for some sort of verbal response – to her declaration, to their affectionate display, to anything.
"Consider yourself an official X-Man, then, Rogue."
That was not what she had been expecting. A reprimand for the kiss, sure. A humming acknowledgment of her words, certainly. Maybe even a date when she could undergo a series of tests to officially 'graduate' and achieve X-Man status. But clear and immediate acceptance? That threw her for a loop. It was like that moment earlier in the summer when Xavier had given her use of his last name for official documents and cards. Little things like that meant the world.
Acceptance like that… it was just so like the Professor. He trusted people. Took chances on them. Tolerated those that disliked him. Sought to reconcile with those who took arms against him. He was so very good that she wanted to live up to every ideal, every shining vision of the future. She wanted to make it happen.
Wryly, she could not help thinking that with such encompassing trust in mankind, he needed Scott at his right hand. Scott who trusted few. Scott who assessed and analyzed everything. Scott who held such devotion to those he loved, who would stop at nothing to care for them, protect them from outsiders, threats. Professor Xavier could chase after his grand vision, safe in the knowledge that Scott Summers would protect him and all who followed him.
Scott would lead the X-Men, that small circle of elite that would carry out Xavier's vision, most especially when that path of righteousness turned into a muddy slog or blurred by blizzard winds. Even if the Professor could not always see the way, Scott would put one foot before the other and lead them home again.
Rogue felt blessed to join them and their mission.
At her most depressed, the young woman viewed their quest as another ride of Don Quixote. An instance of naiveté and self-delusion. A worthy cause, maybe, but still hopeless. Society – like a looming, overcast sky – could not be ignored or done away with. In the end, it would have its own way, led by extremists, colored by mob-rule. It had happened before, as her inner Erik Lensherr so quickly reminded. Remember Auschwitz? Remember Mutti and Vater? And what they did to us?
She could shake off Erik's rage and sorrow, then, but it was difficult to argue with him with images – memories – of the Holocaust flickering at the back of her mind, refusing to burn out.
But it was only on her worst days that Don Quixote and the Holocaust were all she could envision. On her best days, the Professor's Institute was another spectacular rise of Camelot.
The Professor leading them out of the Dark Ages, into a new age of civility and enlightenment. His loyal knights out to rescue the distressed and the oppressed, and all coming together as equals.
Usually, at that point, she realized how much she was waxing on about idealistic and unlikely things, putting the people at such a distance that they became caricatures of themselves. That was usually when random tunes from either Camelot or Spamalot would strike up a chorus in her brain. Oddly enough, Rogue could count her happiest days by how often she wound up whistling life is quite absurd and death's the final word or humming there's no better place for happy-ever-after-ing.
On most days, though, the Professor was neither Don Quixote or King Arthur – just a man. A mutant with a beautiful vision of what the world could be. A vision that he and the X-Man were working to make a reality.
They weren't required to do this. There was no one telling them that it was their duty to bring tolerance and equality to society. They chose this. They followed the dictates of their own consciences, they toiled, they struggled, they fell… and they still got back up to try again. Xavier. Scott. Jean. Ororo. Brave men and women who had given up so much for this.
Respect always flooded through her when she thought about it, followed by admiration. Even if her runaway status and previously uncontrollable power had always made her feel predestined to join the X-Men out of a lack of options, there was always respect there. And a little fear. Did she have the courage to sacrifice so much of her life for a goal they might never attain?
Maybe. Maybe not. But Rogue wanted to try.
The Professor smiled at her and Scott. "So, is there anything I ought to know about your relationship?"
Rogue's throat dried up and her eyes went wide. She swallowed.
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