Summary: In the aftermath of battle, and a shocking discovery, Rogue and Carol's struggle for control comes to a head, and Rogue's past - with hard truths - are revealed.
*Warning - if you are a RoNeto fan, this chapter is probably NOT for you! It's a good thing Magneto is a fictional character, because otherwise he might sue me for defamation. Lol. I would say that this chapter teases that line of "T" for a few curse words/strong language, as well as alluding to adult/sexual concepts.
~X~X~X~X~X~
Shattered: Part 5
By Wiccamage
~X~X~X~X~X~
Kurt Wagner looked down the beach, surveying the damage. He'd woken just a scant 10 minutes ago, hastened back to this world of nightmares and chaos by Beast. Despite his own exhaustion, Nightcrawler was needed. He didn't get a lot of details, just a hasty return to consciousness, and a mission - an extraction of some sort. For bodies who still clung to life despite impossible odds.
Hank McCoy had just finished moving the still sleeping pair - Kitty and Kurt - into the broken down building in the same room Rogue herself had occupied; where Colossus's body was resting in the corner, draped with a sheet. Just one more on a long list of their dead friends.
Colossus. Magneto. Moira. Banshee. Calisto. Dazzler. Madelyn.
Gambit.
With a sigh, Hank had checked Kitty over once more, noting the swelling over her temple. She should probably get a C.T. scan for that. Not that they had access to one right now. The entire island was currently without power. Without running water. Without anything that could ease the burden of this hellscape.
What they did have was bodies. So many, many bodies.
So many bodies, in fact, that after a person had been identified and/or claimed by family or friend, they were laid to rest in a mass grave on the far end of the island. It was crude, and a bit cruel to those who mourned, but there was simply nowhere left to keep the scores of dead. Thousands of dead. Millions, maybe.
Then, Beast had gotten a call not 30 minutes after Carol, Jean, Cyclops, and Morph had taken off after Wolverine to recover Gambit's body from the likes of Sinister and the Nasty Boys. He'd awoken Kurt with a gentle shake and some smelling salts, and the two had teleported down to the beach in four gradual bursts. Kurt was still exhausted, after all, and his powers were nearly completely zapped from overuse.
The scene on the beach had left the two blue-furred mutants with a momentary case of shell shock.
Nine people wrapped in sheets lying in neat rows along the shore, three of them miraculously still breathing. He recognized Boom Boom as one of them, her short blonde hair streaked with blood and dirt, and her sunglasses somehow still on her face, although the lenses were cracked and shattered in places. The second survivor was Jaime Maddrox, Multiple, who had just been dancing in the town square earlier that day.
The third person… the third was unrecognizable. His face was so matted with cuts, dirt, and burns it was impossible to tell who it was. His hair SEEMED to be white, but even then it was so saturated with blood, dirt, and ash, it was impossible to tell the actual color. Kurt had quickly teleported Beast and those three victims to the newest makeshift hospital - a mostly unaffected, nearby hotel they'd converted into a unit for the next wave of injured.
They'd started dividing the hotel into floors. First floor for the nearly dead and doomed. Second floor for the ones who probably wouldn't make it, and were merely being made comfortable until their demise. Third floor for the terribly injured, but who still had a half a prayer of pulling through, and so on until the final floor for those with wounds that were survivable, but too significant to be turned back to the streets just yet. Then there was an entire floor dedicated to those who were simply unconscious, with no significant external damage, but no way of telling when - or if - they would wake.
Kurt shivered at the sight before him.
Six dead bodies wrapped in sheets. They had been identified as three of the Morlocks, along with Sebastian Shaw, Marrow, and even Madelyn Prior. Two of Sinister's goons were dead as well. He knew them as Harpoon and Ramrod only because he'd overheard Jean, Wolverine, and Cyclops discussing them. A third man, large and stocky with a squared jaw, was being hauled out of the bay by Jean's telekinesis. His chest was oddly shaped, almost concave, and though he was still breathing, no one seemed in a rush to help him. The living were too busy moving the bodies and trying to ignore the other two figures sitting in the sand.
Not 10 yards down the beach, slightly removed from the destruction, was Rogue - being cradled by Gambit.
Kurt swallowed hard, shaking his head. He'd gotten over his initial shock and elation upon seeing his friend alive and well, but Jean had telepathically informed both Kurt and Hank that it was merely Morph, trying to console a desperate Rogue, and his hopes had been dashed again.
Now he was left only with a sickness in his stomach everytime he glanced their way. It wasn't healthy, what Morph was doing - what Rogue was doing. It wasn't closure, or healing. It was temporary. A crutch. A substitute that felt almost blasphemous.
But, Kurt sighed with resigned acceptance, it was effective. Rogue was still 'here'. Still in control of her body for the time being. She hadn't retreated back into the depths of her own mind, yet. In fact, she was so consumed with holding 'Gambit' that she refused to look away from Morph's adopted visage, even though she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with the shapeshifter.
To his credit, Morph played into her morbid fantasy despite his own unease with assuming the identity of their dead friend. But even the shapeshifter seemed somewhat soothed by the ruse, taking some small comfort in being able to console Rogue.
By the time Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Jean, Cyclops, and a few other volunteers had loaded up Sinister's lackeys and the six shrouded dead onto a transport vehicle, Morph had resumed his normal form of featureless white face, and was approaching the truck with Rogue in his arms.
She was asleep, but even in slumber her features were contorted with suffering, haunted by anguish. Eyes highlighted with dark circles and bags, cheeks hollow and gaunt, lips pinched and pale.
A ghost amongst the dead, yet somehow, still breathing.
Kurt popped away only to return in a moment with a blue blanket. The texture was scratchy, and a bit soiled with dirt, but it was warm. He draped it over the woman, still held in Morph's arms, then carefully shifted her into his own before teleporting onto the truck with the other X-Men. The five living souls, along with the two or three other mutant volunteers, were perched on the edges of the truck with their feet lightly bumping the corpses as they were jostled by the rocky terrain.
Scott was staring down at the shrouded body of Madelyn, lost within his own tormented thoughts, while Jean held his hand. Wolverine stared hard at Slab and Sinister's other dead goons as if willing them to wake so he could unleash his own fury upon them. Morph's eyes were closed, but he occasionally brushed away tears, his mind on Gambit, and Sinister, and memories of his own time spent under the madman's control.
And all the while, Rogue slept in her brother's arms, gratefully oblivious to it all.
~X~X~X~
"Don't you DARE, Erik! You hear me! Don't you DARE!" Metal twisting around her torso.
"Your heart may beat for me, but I can't FEEL it!" Tears streaming down her face in the firelight.
"Remy was right…" The caress of her fingers against frowning lips.
"Ah - Ah can't FEEL you…" The smell of burnt flesh and the heat of melted concrete.
Words and images swirled in her head, haunting eyes and haunted souls, and Carol awoke with a start, her blue eyes blinking rapidly in the twilight of the day as she sat upright. Rubbing her temples, she groaned. Rogue's memories were horrific, even BEFORE the attack. No wonder she was all twisted up inside.
Derisively, Carol snorted. How ironic, she thought, that Rogue had managed to incinerate both men's hearts right before they died, yet they had both still given their lives for her. She shook her head in disbelief. How that woman could cause so much destruction in every word and action, yet still be so loved, was beyond Carol's comprehension.
The realization that Rogue had loved and lost both men made her jaw tighten with both sympathy and jealousy, and she stood up from the hotel bed to search for some fresh clothes.
Rogue, who had stolen Carol's life.
Rogue, who had taken Carol's chance at love.
Rogue, who had been accepted as an X-Man despite her sullied past.
All anyone could think about was ROGUE, and it made Carol's blood boil. Especially when a small part of her own mind actually felt sorry for the woman and all she had lost.
Not just one man she had loved, but two.
The thought of Magneto - Erik Lensherr - and Rogue's 'relationship' with him further incensed and sickened Carol.
Back when Rogue had first absorbed Ms. Marvel - taken her entire being into herself - Carol had been able to 'see' most of what went on between Rogue and "Erik." Even now it made her nauseous, and her jaw tightened further. Looking for a distraction, she searched the hotel room's closet, surprised to find an entire wardrobe still hanging inside.
Someone had been here, possibly on vacation, and had left everything behind. She briefly wondered if the owner was still alive, and almost felt bad as she pulled out a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeve, red, white, and blue tie-died top emblazoned with an American flag. They were a bit small for Rogue's curvy physique, but she poured herself into them, regardless.
Eyeing the top, Carol reminisced on her days as Ms. Marvel, and her time spent with Captain America and the Avengers. She knew that she would never be "Ms. Marvel" again, but it felt wrong to completely forgo her former title, just like it felt wrong to assume Rogue's.
So many things felt wrong.
It felt wrong putting on a stranger's clothes, even if they did fit well enough. Even if having the American flag on her chest felt right.
It felt wrong seeing Rogue's face in the mirror; felt wrong washing Rogue's hair in the sink, combing Rogue's hair with someone else's abandoned brush.
It felt wrong seeing Rogue's memories. Flashes - both vivid and blurry - of dancing sensually with Erik, of his lips on her neck.
The memory of that dance, and the kiss Rogue had shared with Magneto came with both Rogue's bodily reaction to it, and Carol's own. Rogue, who had been lost in the erotic sensation of that dance and his touch, and Carol, who wanted to throw up.
Staring hard in the mirror at her own blue eyes, Carol sneered at Rogue's face as she violently pulled her hair up into a ponytail using a borrowed elastic.
How? How did Rogue STILL have feelings for Magneto? How could she WANT him like that? How on Earth could that woman not SEE how she'd been manipulated all those years ago?!
Carol could see it. HAD seen it, almost first hand. She'd been trapped in Rogue's mind, but not like how Xavier (and later Jean) had trapped her. Rogue had just absorbed Carol, had taken to wearing fewer layers and feeling more confident than ever - thanks, in part, to Carol's own influence - when Mystique brought Rogue to Magneto for help.
He was SUPPOSED to help Rogue control her powers; help her control Carol.
Instead, he'd manipulated her; had endeared a young, naive Rogue into his good graces with promises of a brighter future and control over her powers. Instead he had monopolized all her time with his theories and ideologies, had regaled her with lessons on history, culture, and art.
Carol resisted the urge to gag. The art was amongst the worst of his 'lessons'.
"Would you allow me to paint you?" he'd requested, almost innocently. "I grow weary of landscapes, and you are by far lovelier than anything I could find inside these walls, or out of them."
Carol had been there, in the back of Rogue's mind, shouting at her at the top of her lungs that it was a line, a gateway to other, more intimate requests. She'd tried to warn Rogue that these were red flags, and Magneto's flattery was anything but innocent.
But Rogue had ignored her, had tamped down on Carol's intrusive thoughts and accepted. And Ms. Marvel could only watch in horror as Magneto had adjusted the young woman to sit on the couch, positioned her in such a way as to seem both innocent and erotic before he'd spent hours gazing at and painting her. Back then, she had felt Rogue's blush of pleasure, and desire, and knew she was fighting a losing battle with a barely 20 year old who was so touch-starved, she would willingly fall headlong into the arms of a villain.
And she had.
Despite all of Carol's attempts at warnings, despite Carol claiming control over Rogue's body a few times - once even nearly killing Erik after he'd first 'bedded' the young woman - Rogue had still fallen for the older man's trap.
But, in the end, at least, Carol had prevailed. Her constant warnings, constant screaming and fighting, and the increasing number of times she managed to take control of Rogue's body eventually convinced the young woman to leave. Perhaps not because Rogue finally saw Magneto for the villain he was, but to protect him.
Carol had rejoiced in her "win." Her battle of wills with Rogue had rewarded her by forcing the young woman to abandon her mother, the Brotherhood, and the man she could touch, whom she thought she loved.
It had been a small, and short-lived, victory. Within two days, Rogue had encountered Charles Xavier, who had promptly imprisoned Carol in the deepest recesses of Rogue's mind for years, nearly an entire decade, in fact.
And now Carol was here, still trapped in Rogue's body, playing the hero in HER name, instead of as Ms. Marvel. But she would never be Ms. Marvel again. She knew that. Sorrow gripped her heart as she stared at the reflection of the shirt she wore. The American Flag. She felt like she should stand and salute. Like she was a captain of the sinking ship that was Rogue's life. Captain Marvel.
It had a nice ring to it, actually.
A smile played at the edge of her lips, and she toyed with Rogue's white streak. If she wore it up in a ponytail like this, tucked the white strands under the brown just so… Maybe wore a mask, or a helmet even?
Captain Marvel.
Hmm. Might could do. Sounded nice, any road.
Carol blinked rapidly, unsure if the thought had come from Rogue's mind, or her own. It sounded too colloquial for her own speech patterns, though. Regardless, Carol's smile widened in the mirror. If Rogue was - sort of - agreeing with her, then the decision was easy.
Captain Marvel it was.
~X~X~X~
"Any word from the Boy Scout?" Wolverine grouched as he spoke to Jean and Beast through the screen of the communicator. He and Morph were out looking for survivors amidst the rubble, and likewise trying to recruit volunteers to join their upcoming fight against Sinister.
"He and Captain America are on their way and should be here shortly. They'll be here in about an hour, then we'll regroup and see what we have to work with," Jean explained warily.
She and Beast had been trying to help the scores of dying victims find some peace and comfort in their last moments, and it was wearing heavily on Jean's mind. The pain and agony felt by so many was nearly unbearable at times. But, she couldn't stand by selfishly when she could use her telepathy to ease their suffering for a time.
The urge for action, however, was a siren's call, always pulling at the edges of their minds. They all longed to take the fight to Sinister, to recover whatever bodies the scientist had stolen, including Gambit's. But they had no idea where to start looking, and the one person who might have answers - Carol, or Rogue - was currently unconscious, and Jean could not penetrate the jumbled mess of her mind, even with Cerebro.
"How's Kitty doing?" Wolverine's brows furrowed with concern and sorrow.
"She's… awake." Jean admitted sadly. "She's helping prep for the mission with Kurt, debriefing new volunteers in between extractions."
The gruff Canadian snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What about Rogue - or Carol? Either of them awake yet?"
Red hair tossed lightly. "Not last we checked. I've had someone stopping by her new room every 30 minutes or so, but she's been out cold for hours. Until she wakes up and can tell us what she knows - what Rogue absorbed from Sinister's men - we're blind."
"Remind me again why we aren't wakin' her up?" Wolverine grouched, eyes narrowed.
The telepath sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We don't have the manpower or resource to go after Sinister yet. We only have five X-Men - six if you count Rogue - plus a handful of others like Shadowcat and Nightcrawler, who shouldn't even be on their feet, let alone going into battle. Once we have a team to work with, we'll wake her up."
"FINE," Wolverine barked back. "But Morph and I are gonna hit one more shelter, see if we can muster up any other recruits, then we're comin' back. If she ain't up from her beauty rest by then, we're wakin' her up."
Jean and Beast agreed, albeit begrudgingly, before several moans and cries beckoned them back to the dining hall, which had become the space for those who were suffering through their final hours within the living world.
~X~X~X~
Carol, dressed in the borrowed long sleeve American flag shirt, denim blue jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots (the room's former occupants had DEFINITELY been American tourists), made her way down the emergency staircase toward the first floor. She could have flown out the window and made it to the ground in 10 seconds flat, but the idea of breaking the glass just so she could save herself some time was adding insult to injury.
Instead, she wasn't flying at all, but rather walking down the stairs slowly, lost in thought, when she was bumped by a tall blonde man with metallic wings and blue skin.
"Sorry, ma'am," he started, but one look at her white streak, which Carol had left on display as an afterthought, made him pause.
"Rogue!" He cried, immediately wrapping his arms around her in a tight squeeze. "I'm so glad you're okay! I'm so sorry about Gambit."
Unsure if this was a 'fanclub' situation, or a friend she should know, Carol smiled lightly. "Thank you," she said simply. There was no reason to just blurt out who she really was, and the man seemed so happy to see Rogue that she couldn't bring herself to correct him.
"Do you need anything?" the blonde continued. His words were earnest, but his eyes had flitted up toward the fourth floor.
"Actually, I'm looking for any of the X-Men. Have you seen them?" She tucked her white bangs behind her ear, uncertain if she should continue pretending to be Rogue, or not.
The winged mutant shook his head lightly. "Not for a few hours. I know Jean and Beast were helping with the dying downstairs. I've been going from floor to floor trying to find people with my blood type. Apparently I have some kind of weird healing thing with my blood, but it only works on matches. I was flying victims back and forth, but they haven't found anyone since Magneto and the others you rescued, and my wings were ready to fall off." He gave her a sheepish, almost apologetic smile.
Carol gave a start, a chill and a thrill racing through her body from both her mind and Rogue's.
"Magneto's ALIVE?!" Carol nearly shouted, but she wasn't sure if she was in control of her mouth, or if Rogue was. "How!? Where?!"
The blonde looked confused, but nodded slowly. "Yeah, he was one of the three survivors Sinister was trying to kidnap. You know, the ones you guys saved?"
"I didn't see who those yahoos had grabbed, sugah, just that they needed savin'. Is Erik really alive?"
Definitely Rogue, now, and Carol narrowed her eyes, forcing the other woman's psyche back down. It wasn't HER turn, not yet. Rogue was still too emotionally charged up and unpredictable, while Carol could look at things with a cool head and know what needed to be done.
"Where is Magneto?" Carol asked, forcing her voice back into her own dulcet tones and tamping down on Rogue's resurgence.
"Second floor, west wing. I'm so sorry Rogue, they aren't sure if he's going to make it." Angel - that was his name, Carol gathered from Rogue's quick foray to the front of her mind - put a hand on her covered shoulder in a gesture of comfort.
But Carol only gave him a tight lipped smile and a nod before turning on her heel and flying down the last few flights of stairs. While Rogue was desperate to see for herself if Erik was truly alive, Carol could think of only one thing…
Revenge.
As if Rogue could sense the other woman's intentions, she rammed into a wall on her way down the stairs, coordination failing as both women vied for control of their shared body. Carol reached for the door handle, and her other arm reached out to halt her own actions. But Rogue was still weak from her earlier fight, not to mention her emotional breakdown in Morph's arms, while Carol felt well rested and strong. Nonetheless, Carol and Rogue battled, and the entire door to the second level was ripped off its hinges and went crashing to the floor.
Closing her eyes, Carol's psyche punched Rogue's a few times, who was - for reasons unknown - still wearing that ridiculous red dress from in her mind. Rogue finally went down, and Carol quickly entrapped her in a sort of temporary cage within her mind.
She could hear the young woman shrieking from within the recesses of her mind, and she was guaranteed to have a nasty migraine later, but Carol ignored her and flew down the hallway of the west wing, dodging the many 'nurses' and volunteers who were attempting to save the victims being housed inside the various hotel suites.
Carol spoke to no one, instead ignoring the various questions and protests flung in her direction until someone addressed her directly.
"Rogue!" A blonde woman wearing what could be considered lingerie called out to her. "Who are you looking for, darling?" Although the woman's hair was mussed and she had a few streaks of dirt on her face and clothes, the blonde looked relatively unharmed.
"Magneto," she growled viciously, then softened her expression and corrected herself. "Erik, that is. I'm - I'm looking for Erik."
Emma, to whom Rogue was practically screaming at from inside her mental prison, narrowed her eyes but smiled lightly. "Hmm… Yes, well, probably best if you say your goodbyes. Last door on the left."
"Thanks… sugar." Carol replied, forcing one of Rogue's characteristic phrases. After all, no one would suspect Rogue for what Carol was about to do…
She alighted in the room mere moments later, and was taken aback to see Erik adorned in all matter of medical equipment. There was a small, portable solar generator running both an IV machine and a respirator as they snaked around and into the old man's body, providing him a bit more borrowed life.
This would be easier than she thought.
Except Rogue was screaming and flailing from within her mind at every moment, trying so hard to break free of the mental prison that her knuckles were raw and bleeding to the point Carol could practically feel the damage on her own hands.
She took a deep breath. This was for the best. She knew it, Rogue knew it - at least deep down she did. Erik wasn't going to survive anyhow, and the machines were only prolonging his suffering. Plus, he deserved to die. Deserved to perish under his dream that had cost so many their lives. Deserved to be punished for his own role in Carol's demise, and the demise of so many other victims over the years.
The man had SEEMED to try and make amends over the last few months, but Carol - and anyone with a modicum of good sense - knew it had to be an act. Furthermore, he had come waltzing back into Rogue's life after so long, pretending he hardly knew her at all, and yet had taken every opportunity to insert himself between Rogue and Gambit, souring the tenuous relationship they had been building.
Remembering the way Magneto had once affected Rogue in the Savage Lands - all those little comments and touches, those glances laced with hunger and affection, those words of praise and suggestion - further boiled her blood, and Carol took another step closer, putting her hand on Erik's cheek and feeling the slightest tug of Rogue's powers before… nothing.
Of course. He was immune. How had she forgotten? Except, she had always assumed it was Erik somehow creating an energy field to protect him from Rogue's powers.
Carol frowned. Fought back another wave of shrieks and curses from Rogue as she reassessed her plan. She couldn't just crush his windpipe like she wanted, and she couldn't simply turn off the machine. Both of those tactics would leave her as the obvious culprit. Instead, she had to make it look natural, as if he'd simply slipped away as a result of his injuries.
She gulped down the sickening feeling in her stomach and hardened it, letting that rage and disgust take root and bloom in its place.
Magneto had been the one to order Rogue to steal that plane. Magneto had been the one who taught her to hold on to her victims until they completely succumbed. Magneto had been the one to seduce a naive young woman into his bed until she did everything - EVERYTHING - he asked of her, even if she hadn't wanted to, even when it had HURT.
Carol's face twisted up in malice, remembering times when Magneto, after fully ingratiated Rogue to his side, had convinced her to 'just try' something the young woman had initially declined. Carol could remember times when Rogue's pain - emotional or physical - were so great she'd retreated into her own mind just long enough to allow Carol to share her torment.
True love didn't feel like that. True love didn't HURT like that.
Carol knew it. Had felt love and what it should be.
She knew love was messy and sometimes painful, but it should never breed shame.
Should never have to hide.
Should never leave scars on the mind or in the heart.
Rogue - then only 20 years old and still so young and inexperienced - had no frame of reference. For her, all that mattered was the touch, the affection. What she had assumed was love.
Carol's chest heaved with rage as she quickly detached the respirator from the mouthpiece. There were no monitors to tattle on her, she realized, and she could always replace it just as quickly. Her hand shook and nearly failed to twist it free as Rogue's psyche fought her furiously. Even still, the man continued to breathe on his own, damn him.
With a snarl, Carol placed a hand on Magneto's bandaged chest and pressed down. All it would take was a bit of effort and his ribs would crack, lungs would deflate, heart would stop. She'd rather snap his neck, but that would have been obvious. That would have been murder.
This wasn't… This wasn't THAT. It was mercy. Justice.
The pressure was increasing, and she could feel his bones shift under her bare hand, if only just. Rogue was screaming so loudly Carol couldn't even hear the whooshing of the respirator, couldn't hear the door open, couldn't hear anything except those angry curses in her head as the X-Man fought her furiously.
She didn't see the sucker punch until she was sprawled along the carpeted floor of the king-sized hotel suite.
"What do you think you are doing!?" Ororo Munroe stood before her in a black one piece suit, her blue eyes sparking with rage that had nothing to do with her powers.
Blue, tear-filled eyes stared up at the dark-skinned, former X-Man with as much vicious ferocity as Storm was giving her back.
"By the Goddess, Carol," Ororo admonished, slightly more gently, but no less enraged. "Why would you want to do such a thing? I could not believe it when Ms. Frost warned me of your intentions, yet I have seen it with my own eyes. Why would you try to kill Magneto in cold blood?!"
Carol's chest heaved, her eyes flicking back to the man who had evaded death for the second time. "You don't know what I know! You don't know what he DID! He DESERVES to die!"
"Has there not been enough death as it is!?" The former weather witch proclaimed. "We know of his past crimes, and his wish to make amends. He has been pardoned by the highest level of the law."
"Not by ME!" Carol seethed, rising to her feet. "He saw no trial for his crimes against ME, Ororo! Nor any of his other scores of victims who he ensured would never raise their voice against him." The former Ms. Marvel stood her ground against the wall, with Storm between her and Magneto.
"He is evil, and manipulative, and a PREDATOR!" She continued, the tears in her eyes now streaming down her face. "I had to watch, you know? After Rogue absorbed me? Mystique took her to him, for HELP. But he just manipulated her, wined and dined, and flattered her at every turn. He didn't want to help her control her powers. He wanted to USE them. To make sure HE was the only one she could ever touch, or love, so he could control her."
She was so furious, now, with her back against the wall of the suite, that she failed to hear others approaching, waiting just inside the door, silently crowding the entry to overhear every word she spoke.
Carol's fists were clenched so tight she could feel blood dripping from her palms. "He GROOMED her, Ororo, made her think it was love when all it was to him was a game. A game of chess - a little caress here, a compliment there. The rat bastard even convinced her to sleep with him less than 24 hours after she realized he could touch her! He told her she should never turn down an opportunity because of uncertainty or fear. That second thoughts and trepidation would just hold her back."
Carol could read the shocked and appalled expression on the weather witch's face and sneered. "Bet you had no idea, huh? Had no idea just who you let into the X-Men. And he went right back to it - to grooming her! The second he got her alone, he tried to push her into touching him! He even convinced her to rule Genosha as his QUEEN, Storm!"
Carol was nearing hysterics now as Rogue's psyche was sobbing from the recess of her mind, begging Carol to stop, to just shut up.
"She was FURIOUS at him, even knew he was trying to take her as a fool, but all it took was a few sweet words and a bit of flattery about how she could make a difference and help Xavier's dream come true, and she was ready to go back to him! She broke up with Gambit, Storm! For fucking MAGNETO! Not an hour before the gala, she broke Remy's heart - shattered it - because Magneto could touch her! That poor man died thinking he lost the woman he loved to Magneto."
Storm's expression had morphed to one of abject horror as Carol hovered, pacing slightly in the small space of the hotel suite facing away from the door.
The former Avenger barked with derisive laughter. "If only Remy had known the things Magneto did to Rogue all those years ago. The way he manipulated and seduced her? Remy would have killed him and saved me the trouble."
With a mad lunge, Carol swooped toward Magneto's body, intent on destroying him once and for all. But even without her powers, Ororo was a force to be reckoned with, and she used the other woman's momentum to turn and fling her into the opposite wall away from the injured man.
When Carol rose to her feet again a moment later, the other X-Men - Jean, Scott, Wolverine, Beast, Morph, and even Kitty and Kurt had crowded into the room to put themselves between Carol and Magneto.
"You - you don't know what you're doing!" she cried, frustrated tears spilling down her cheeks. "He's a monster! He'll just do it again - to Rogue or some other poor kid who just wants help! He needs to be dealt with!"
"That is not for you to decide, Carol." Storm declared, her voice ringing with finality even as her eyes shone with sympathy. "You are not judge and jury. Nor do you speak for Rogue, or Magneto. The truth has many versions, but reality often lies in the space between them."
The white haired X-Man turned to her former teammates, briefly making eye contact. None of them were surprised by her presence, as she had arrived hours prior after leaving Forge in a New Mexico hospital. "I suggest we let Rogue speak for herself. If Magneto's deeds are as true - and heinous - as you say, Carol, then he shall answer for his crimes accordingly, but fairly."
Blue eyes shining with tears narrowed within Rogue's visage, but a moment later she blinked rapidly and gasped, irises hazel-green as the drops of emotion spilled over blushing cheeks.
"It - it ain't TRUE!" Rogue's voice was strangled and desperate, as if on the verge of dissolving into hysterics of her own. The faces of those present conveyed varying degrees of surprise, disgust, embarrassment, compassion, or disappointment, and the Southerner's cheeks flamed. "Ah didn't - it wasn't like that! Y'all have to b'lieve me! Erik is NOT a … a PREDATOR! He never…"
Words bloomed and wilted in Rogue's throat under the uneasy gazes of her teammates. "We - we were t'gether once, YEARS ago. B'fore Ah ever even joined the X-Men!" The harsh and sympathetic gazes did not change as she pleaded with her friends, and her embarrassment was painted over with thick layers of anger. "It ain't NONE of y'r business, alright?! It was a long time ago, and Ah ain't gonna sit here and justify mahself to y'all!"
Cyclops, who stood resolutely next to Ororo, spoke, his voice gentle and kind. "Rogue, we aren't accusing you of anything. You - you didn't do anything WRONG, okay? But you were BARELY 20 years old when you joined the X-Men, and only 15 when Mystique adopted you, right? If Magneto was supposed to be your mentor, supposed to be helping you, and he abused that position of trust… That would almost be like Professor Xavier trying to seduce Jean when we were in high school."
Rogue, Cyclops, and some of the others cringed at the thought, but Jean, who stood in the shadow of the doorway, blushed furiously. *
"It wasn't LIKE that, okay?" Rogue retorted. "It didn't start off like that, at all! Ah was old enough t' make mah own choices then, and Ah can make mah own choices now! This ain't a dang soap opera! Ah don't need your approval, OR your opinions! We've got bigger problems t' deal with, any road!" Hazel eyes flashed murderously as furious fists found their home on cocked hips.
THIS was the X-Man who had been M.I.A. for the last few days.
THIS was their teammate, before she'd been laid low by her own grief.
THIS was Rogue.
"We've gotta get Remy back from Sinister before he does who knows what to him!" The Southerner's temper flared again as she set her jaw. "Whatever happened between me and Erik is done and over, and don't mean a lick compared t' what's happenin' right NOW. Ah can barely make sense of all the mem'ries Ah pulled from Sinister's men, but Ah do know that everything we've faced so far, everything that's happened, is just peanuts compared t' what's comin'."
Flecks of green shone brilliantly as her gaze flicked once to Erik before she searched the faces of the X-Men and their friends.
"It's Apocalypse."
~X~X~X~X~X~