Chapter 11

A cautious Rogue wandered around the last corner, familiarising herself with the houses she passed under the cover of darkness. As she gazed into the windows, she realised they were all filled with happy families. She even spotted her old neighbours, the Majeskis, sitting at the dining table, eating dinner together. Sighing, she scolded herself lightly, worried she had turned into a peeping Marie. And anyway, how would she know if they were happy or not? Everyone hid behind a disguise, whether they were a mutant, a bully, or just lonely and alone.

As she crossed the street, she gazed at the house she once called home. Without lights on inside its rooms, maybe it was lonelier than her. With the smallest of determined huffs, she pulled up her hood and walked toward the empty drive. When she crept to the backyard, she unlocked the gate, climbed onto the porch, and checked under the plant pot for the spare key. "Damn it," she whispered. Without the key, she wouldn't gain access to her old life.

She checked under all the plant pots for the missing key and eventually altered her plans. Maybe she could tour the outside of the house instead? The melodic tones of a country western song drifted over the fence from several houses away and she stepped closer to the door. She rattled the door handle, hoping to find it unlocked. But no, they weren't her. They liked to keep the doors locked.

"Damn it," she whispered again and wished she had stayed at the hotel with her Target snacks.

Before she left, she tried the door one last time, just because she wanted to. Startled, her gloved hand phased through the doorknob. A new plan swept across her mind and she almost smiled. As she focused on Shadowcat's powers, she inched forward, ordered herself to be brave, and dived through the door. She landed with a thud in the boot room, facedown on the tiled floor. Her mama still used the same cleaning products. She could smell lemongrass and pumpkin spices.

Climbing carefully to her feet, she wandered through to the kitchen. She spotted her mama's cookbook still open on the counter where it always seemed to live. Everything still looked the same until she reached the family room. Her stomach lurched as her gaze searched for the photos decorating the wall above the piano. She wandered closer to the wall and gently tugged her hood down. With the help of the streetlights flooding the room, she studied each framed photo and blinked away her tears. She had no right to be upset; she told herself sadly. Leaving them behind had been a betrayal, and they retaliated by replacing her pictures on the wall.

Rogue searched the rest of the house and found no photos, mementos, or even any of her belongings. A shudder slipped down her spine because the house she sometimes longed for in her dreams felt like the coldest place she had ever wandered through. She shook her head, the silly thoughts dropping away. Taking it to heart wouldn't help matters.

When she reached her old bedroom, she told herself things would be different inside. She would find her pictures, her books, her belongings, and her mama and daddy's love. Finally, working up the courage to step into the room, she opened the door and turned on the light. She discovered nothing but a treadmill with clothes dumped on the rail and a pile of boxes in the corner.

She gazed around with horror. Her furniture had gone. Her books had gone. Even the posters on the wall had vanished. With the slowest of walks, she crossed her bedroom carpet and opened one of the boxes. Inside were dozens of Tupperware items. The only belonging of hers that remained in the room was the map she pinned to the wall many years ago, excited about her future road trip to Anchorage. She closed the distance between her and the map, and with her gloved fingertips, she peeled it carefully off the wall.

"Don't cry, don't you dare cry," she murmured to herself, almost in a chant to stop the tears from falling.

Carefully folding the map, she tucked it safely in her coat pocket and suddenly gasped. She heard noises outside. The sound of a car on the drive and the jingling of a key in the lock downstairs. She turned off the light and panicked. Her X-Men training vanished from her mind and the anxiety flourished until it rooted her to the spot like one of Storm's many plants.

Her gaze eventually found the nearby window, and a plan sprouted before she fully formed a complete, foolproof strategy. She had read enough of Logan's simulations to know how to escape a room. He usually had ninjas or brawlers everywhere, but she could do this with only the fear of being caught chasing her on.

Huffing and puffing while panic-stricken, she quickly unlocked the window and climbed toward the outside ledge. She had no time to think of anything but how to fall without breaking a limb. "I can do this, I can do this," she whispered, inching herself onto the outside window ledge and gazing down at the trellis. The safety of the ground below looked so far away; she panicked even further. "I can't do this; I can't do this." She heard a thud and peered inside the room again. The box of Tupperware had fallen. As she heard a shout from downstairs and feet thundering up the creaking staircase, she cursed under her breath. "I can fucking do this."

Her feet scrambled for the trellis, and she held her breath. She couldn't do it. Oh Lord, she couldn't do it. All she wanted to see was Logan in the yard below, his arms outstretched as he smoked a cigar. He could make jokes about her weight when he caught her. She wouldn't mind until they reached the safety of the SUV. Maybe they could even buy tickets for the country western convention in town? She would like that. He could take her tomorrow. They would drink beer and swap dimes.

"I'm armed and damn happy to shoot, which is my legal right as a proud American patriot," Owen D'Ancanto's voice carried from inside the house.

Rogue realised no Logan would save her tonight. The sound of the bedroom door thrown open frightened her, and when she heard a gunshot, she accidentally slipped off the ledge and tumbled through the air. Squeezing her eyes closed at the last moment, she gasped and shapeshifted into Mystique.

Owen peered out from the open window and looked down at the identity of the burglar. "Raven Darkholme, what are you doing here?"

Fake Mystique landed gracefully on the lawn and gazed up at Owen. "You Southerners and your guns," she said indignantly and vaulted over the neighbour's fence. She made rapid progress of the obstacles in her path, and when she reached another familiar street, she paused outside the house where the country music played.

When she noticed the 'Howdy! Party 8-til late' sign on the front lawn, she hesitated. Tank Williams' songs played, and Rogue suddenly shapeshifted into herself. The house had been a drug to her years ago. David once lived there. Yes, David, the boy she kissed until she flicked the switch on her powers. Sighing, she turned to leave, but an older guy in a Stetson hat climbed down from his truck, tipped his brim at her and grinned. "You goin' inside?" he asked her.

"I'm not invited," she replied shyly, liking his double denim outfit.

"You little lady, can be my plus one if you'd like to be?" he proposed, gesturing to the stepping stones that led to the door.

After the last few hours spent breaking the rules, Rogue wondered what harm it would do to attend a party. She felt the emotions of the night still casting a weighted shadow over her, and she remembered Logan telling her to relax. Nodding, she joined him on the lawn and walked beside him to the door. She knew David and his family moved away after the incident, so she didn't fear a scene. Things had changed around here, and she didn't want to be left behind.

At a quarter to two in the morning, the Stetson man climbed down from his truck outside the Holiday Inn. He helped Rogue down from her seat and locked the door. "You've got a mighty strange name for such a pretty girl."

With a stomach full of soda, fried catfish, pickles and green beans, an exhausted Rogue gazed around at the cars. She spotted Logan's SUV and tapped it gently as she walked by. "It's a family name," she lied. "A pet name. You know, just a nickname, I guess."

"Is that yours?" he asked, nodding at the SUV.

She nodded in response and walked into the lobby with him. "It's okay. I can find my own way to my room."

"Leave a lady like you on your lonesome?" he said and followed her to the staircase. "My mama would spin in her grave if she knew I'd left you alone in the dark."

Rogue wrinkled her nose a little and glanced at the hotel lights above her. "I'm sure I can find my way under these lights. Just because I'm a lady, it doesn't mean I'm silly or weak. There's nothing wrong with the way I see the world, and I know my route just fine."

"Now look at you getting haughty with me," he laughed and caught up with her on the steps. "I like a girl who knows her mind."

She sidestepped him as she reached the fourth floor. "I'm sorry. My bed's calling me and these blisters on my feet will have their own babies if I don't hurry."

He continued to pursue her down the corridor, taking her words at face value. When she mentioned her bed, he pictured himself in it and followed her to the hotel door. "Is it a comfortable bed?"

As Rogue reached for the door handle, she gazed at him with a confused smile. It was a strange question to ask, and she didn't know how to answer it. In her mind, she couldn't picture anyone like him interested in her, so she continued to gaze at him with a puzzled look on her face.

The door suddenly opened and out stepped Logan. He looked between the pair of him, noted the hat, and sighed heavily. Not another goddamn Texan. With his hand resting on the door to keep it open, he glanced at Rogue with a scowl.

Rogue smiled at first until she noticed the look on Logan's face. Sighing, she turned to her Stetson friend. "Thanks for giving me a ride and walking me to my door. I had a nice time tonight," she told him softly.

Logan eyed her again and raised an impatient eyebrow. She finally got the message and walked inside the room. He let the door close behind her and turned his full attention to the Texan.

"Who the hell are you?" the Stetson man demanded to know, disappointed the girl had left without giving him what he wanted.

Taking a step toward him, Logan growled. He hadn't liked the tone of those words. With each menacing step forward, the Texan took another five back. Eventually, Logan had him cornered in the stairwell. He could smell the scent of too many beers on the Texan's breath.

"Aw, you're her daddy," the Texan said, pleased he had worked the puzzle out. "You know, your sweatpants, that wife beater, the dog tags, and the bare feet ain't exactly matched to my list of tough stuff. Anyway, you best listen up as I explain myself. She came onto me in the truck, and the gentleman that I am, I turned down her advances and didn't squeeze much of a feeling out of her. Sorry, that's just me and my sense of humour. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, she's of age, ain't she?"

Logan had heard enough. He grabbed hold of the guy's shirt and dragged him over to the stairs.

"They weren't serious words of mine!" the man hollered, the Stetson tumbling off his head.

With a growl, Logan threw him headfirst down the stairs and watched with satisfaction as he landed with a heavy thud against the wall.

The non-Stetson-wearing man groaned in agony and gawked up the set of twelve steps. "It was a joke, you asshole."

"Go fuck yourself," Logan snarled and returned to the hotel room. He would kill that kid. What the hell was wrong with her? Taking rides off a drunken guy and leading him all the way to her goddamn room. He used the key card to enter the room and stepped inside with a frustrated growl.

Busily tidying the surrounding space, Rogue tucked the chair under the desk and brushed the cookie crumbs from the tabletop. She kicked her tennis shoes off and winced slightly, the blisters on her heels making themselves known. Shaking her head, she spotted Logan's jacket on the floor beside the radiator. When she heard him enter the room, she crouched to pick it up. "It won't dry down here," she said.

He closed the distance between them, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "What the hell's wrong with you, kid?"

The words resonated in her mind, but not in the way he intended them to. She stood with his damp jacket and draped it over the radiator. She knew something was wrong with her, and she didn't mean the voices in her head. Her own mama and daddy didn't want her. They packed away her things, hid all her pictures, and gave away her furniture. There was something wrong with her. David moved away. Bobby cheated on her. Her own family erased her. Even her hometown had shown her nothing but rain and beer-breathed boys. There was something wrong with her. Her own mama and daddy didn't want her.

Logan watched her closely as she broke down into tears. When she brushed them away, sniffling and attempting to escape his gaze, he offered her one of his hands. She gazed at him sadly, tears falling faster than she could catch them with her gloved fingertips. "C'mere," he said gruffly, and extended his arms to offer an awkward hug.

Rogue shuffled forward to him on her socked feet. When he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she felt safe enough to release every tear she had ever hidden in the back of her mind. She buried her face against his shirt and sobbed.

Careful not to catch her bare skin, Logan held her close and sighed. He didn't know how he had caused this, but he figured the tears were his fault somehow. Once again, he showed why he could never be fatherhood material. With his uneasy pat on her back doing little to stop the tears, he stayed motionless and let her cry it out on his chest.