A/N: Thanks to those sticking around AND leaving reviews, it means a lot.

What the Hell?

Ch. 14

You Can't Deny What Lives Inside You

Tangled in sheets, the couple slept. Rogue was using John's bare chest as a pillow. Through their makeup session, they were interrupted once—many hours earlier at an unidentified time—and as soon as Bobby started to pound on the door, the couple told him to go away in unison. Reluctantly, the ice elemental mutant did as he was ordered, relieved his roommate responded and wasn't alone.

John remained still as his eyelids lifted open. He heard Robin's movements within the box and was thankful she was being patient about breakfast. With his free hand, he held and played with a small portion of Rogue's white strands, while she continued to sleep. Was letting go of hate and anger as simple as being said? No, unfortunately, you'd be a fool to think otherwise. Those two feelings went hand in hand: hate and anger. However, on the other hand, a start's a start and you had to begin somewhere—regardless of the inevitable bumpy road ahead.

The bigger question was: do you explore the reasons for those emotions? They'd been a part of him and consumed him long before the Master of Magnetism was ever in the picture. John shook his head and sarcastically snickered under his breath at the first solution that came to him. "Too easy", he murmured.

"Hmm?" Rogue's hand lightly brushed his skin as it traveled to his right side, locking tight in a half embrace.

John kissed the top of her head and gently caressed her arm. "Good morning, lover." He felt her cheek shift to a grin.

Roughly thirty minutes later, she deeply inhaled as she positioned herself to a sitting position, slowly stretching and exhaling along the way. Rogue covered her chest with a sheet and used her uninhibited hand to fork her fingers through his disheveled brown hair.

"Whose fault was that?" John asked, smirking.

"I couldn't keep my hands off," she mused.

"At some point, I thought you were going to pull it out."

She smiled. "I was a little rough, huh?"

He shrugged. "I didn't complain."

Rogue bit her lip playfully. "No, you didn't," she agreed. "It's all there."

John stared at her as the sunlight highlighted every inch of her slender curvy frame. Robin brought him back to reality with a squeak; a reminder that it was time for breakfast and she was ready. He blinked a few times and took a mental picture of Rogue. "Stunning," he whispered, rolling onto his knees. John quickly placed his left hand at the back of her head, leaned in and kissed her deeply. Slowly, their lips parted. Their faces were only an inch away from each other. "It's going to be so hard keeping my hands to myself."

"I'm going to have that issue too." She gave him a quick kiss. "Go. You have responsibilities."

John made a face. "When you say it like that . . . "

"I know. You'll be okay." Rogue softly smiled at him.

John untangled himself from the sheets, pushed to his feet and padded a few steps to the drawer. She silently watched as he pulled out clothes. He felt her eyes on his bare behind. It pleased him as he wouldn't want her gaze anywhere else. Routinely he would cover that area first, but he decided to start getting dressed by buttoning a brown shirt. When John was done getting dressed, he pocketed his shark lighter without hesitation. He walked over to Robin's box, scooping her up. Once he was in the hall, he turned around, quickly giving Rogue a wink before shutting the door to his room.

John spent over ten minutes scouring the grass for the robin's breakfast. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing," he sighed. "How about giving the survival gifts you were born with, a try?" He bent down and Robin hopped onto the grass. "I did some research," he paused, "Shocked? I am too. Your species consumes about forty percent invertebrates like earthworms, caterpillars, and beetle grubs; and sixty percent of fruits and berries. The latter is easy." The small bird cocked its head to the side. "C'mon, stop looking at me and use your eyes. They are better than mine . . . especially for this sort of thing. Use your hearing too. The ground is still damp. It should be a pretty successful hunt. However, if you stay put . . . you won't find anythi—" John stopped short, taking in what he was saying as it applied to his predicament. Absently, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the Zippo. While in thought, in a particular pattern the lighter rolled between his fingers. The stupor state was broken a few minutes later when the silver object fell from his hand. John didn't move while scanning the lawn for Robin. His muscles relaxed when he spotted her doing her bird-thing: cocking her head left and right followed by a short sprint. He picked up the lighter, popped open the cap and placed a thumb on the wheel. No flame; just pathetic sparks. John wasn't surprised; he hadn't filled it in a while, nevertheless, that didn't stop him from getting back into an old habit.

"Hey."

John spun around, his heart pounding.

Logan held up his hands. "Sorry, kid. I didn't mean to startle you."

John noticed a slight shift to the older mutant's gaze and that's when he realized what he was doing inadvertently—trying to ignite the flint repeatedly. He immediately closed the fluidless Zippo and shoved it into his front pocket. Forcing a smile, John sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "What are you doing out here, Logan?" He paused for a moment, quickly adding, "Besides, increasing my heart rate."

Logan detected the slight drawl to his tone and countered, "Your answer to that question is probably more interesting."

"Robin is hunting," John replied and then turned around.

Logan walked beside him and snorted, "That's hunting?"

John didn't respond. After about five minutes, he spoke, his tone even, "It's weird," he paused, sighing. "Not being able to sense the pull I used to get when I had my power. This constant void I feel will never disappear unless we find him."His gaze remained straight ahead as he continued, "I can feel that emptiness expanding and I'm afraid that it's going to swallow me whole one day—my own black hole."

"We'll find him, always do. It's only a matter of time." Logan took off, uttering, "Don't hurt her, Allerdyce."

John remained silent, watching the taller man saunter away, racking his brain for the reason behind that warning.

After a few strides, Logan decided to give the boy a little more to work with. Raising his voice a few notches, he said, "It's in the air, kid."

Automatically, John lifted his right arm and took a whiff. It wasn't that. His eyebrows knitted together. "What the . . ." he murmured and then cursed at himself mentally for being momentarily dense. "Ugh, you have got to be kidding me! He can smell that too?" His eyes dropped to the ground, stopping when they met red feathers—the color of the bird's breast was more distinct than when he first found her. John picked Robin up and walked to a wooden bench nearby. After he sat down, he placed Robin on the bench. "Do you want to try to fly? If not, you should at least stretch your wings." John stuffed both hands into his pockets. It seemed to him that the young bird was pondering over the suggestion. A few minutes later, Robin opened both wings and began stretching them. In excitement, she started flapping them. "Feels good, huh? That's freedom." A few heartbeats later, John added, "They seem to work . . . now put them to work." With that pep-talk, like a rocket, she took off. Dipping so close to the grass, John thought she was going to crash; but in the blink of an eye, the robin gained altitude and remained in flight. John gladly watched as the world appeared to change for his feathered friend—becoming whole. He could see from her movements just what it meant to her to be flying. She perched herself on a tree branch, standing tall, alert. Robin hopped from branch to branch eventually snatching something with her beak. Gliding swiftly back to John, she deposited a crushed caterpillar next to him on the bench. She looked at him expectantly and John cocked his head to the side. "Ah, thanks, but I want you to have it." Robin nudged it closer to him. "I'm touched. I truly am, but . . . " he trailed off as he picked up the damaged insect to peer at it. It was as long as his index finger and the parts that weren't flattened were fatter than he would've preferred. John titled his head back, 'one, two, three . . . down the hatch.' At the mental 'three' he opened his mouth with no further hesitation, consuming the gift with as few bites as necessary. "I take it since you were so persistent that it was a parting gift, huh?" Knowing there wouldn't be a response, he waited anyway. After two minutes, smiling softly, he spoke, "Goodbye, Robin." She jumped on his knee for a brief moment and then took off in the direction that called to her. John watched her fly away until she was just another speck in the environment.

The sleeveless white t-shirt clung to John's damp skin. His sight was locked onto the dangling and swaying target in front of him. He tightened the gloves on his hands before throwing another punch at the lifeless object, though the motivation was far from lifeless. Adrenaline took over as John repeatedly pummeled the exercise bag. Aiming: high, low, mid-section, and high again and again and again.

At the touch to his left shoulder, John immediately spun around, cocking his right arm back. His arm sprung forward making contact with a face. Blinded by adrenaline, John bent over to catch his breath.

"Ow"

Still hunched overusing his gloved hands for support, John lifted his head and saw Bobby on the floor holding the left side of his face. "Shit. Sorry." He used his teeth to pull the Velcro to one of the gloves. Standing up straight, he stuffed the glove under his arm. John outstretched his other arm to Bobby and pulled his roommate to his feet.

Bobby flexed his jaw. "I called your name . . ."

John said nothing as he removed the other glove, brushing past Bobby to quench his thirst. After draining half of the water bottle, he sat on the bench, picked up a towel, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Rogue was looking for you," Bobby said, making himself an ice pack, he pressed it to his jaw. "I didn't expect you to be in here . . . let alone working out."

"It's a good way to release anger." John took another gulp of water. "Hitting you was an accident, but it felt good," he admitted.

He smiled at the information and said, "Well, I'm glad it was helpful . . . for one of us."

John tried to hide his amusement and changed the subject, "Can you tell Rogue to meet me down here?"

"Mission accepted," Bobby replied and exited the gym.

Hastily, John stood to his feet and jogged into the hall just beyond the doorframe. "On second thought, Drake," he called out, "I'll find her as soon as I am finished here." Bobby didn't turn around; instead, he lifted his hand in acknowledgment.

Once back inside the gym, John bent over taking out a few things from his dark blue duffel bag and then stuffed a few into it. He removed his t-shirt and tossed a towel onto his shoulder, proceeding in the direction of the showers.

Lounging alone in one of the many commons rooms, Rogue tried to concentrate on the pages in front of her. After reading the same sentence for the fifth time, she gave up, tossing the book onto the far cushion. She would have to find out who the killer is another time.

When her eyes landed on John's figure, she swung her legs to the floor, stood up and placed both of her hands on her hips. She finally spoke when he was within a yard, "I thought you were going to meet me in your room after Robin's breakfast. Speaking of . . . where is she?"

"With nature where she belongs," he answered in a casual tone. "Her parting gift was a bug, a fat caterpillar to be exact, and I ate it . . . for her." The corner of his mouth quirked upwards briefly at the recollection, disappearing for the apology that followed, "I'm sorry, Rogue. I shouldn't have—," he paused, "I wasn't thinking. Anger took over my thoughts and—"

"I saw Bob—"

"That was an accident."

"I'm not accusing you of anything, John, but I can't deny that you didn't shoot the messenger."

He smiled and cocked his head to the side, "There is some truth to that, but I never gave the messenger a chance to speak before I clocked him. I'm surprised he didn't object to being the messenger again."

"He should've asked for a contract. There are labor laws . . ."

John laughed and Rogue couldn't help but laugh too.

When the amusement of the joke faded, John said, "I realized something this morning, Rogue," he began, "I don't know why it took me so long to get my shit together, but I'm done waiting. I'm done complaining. I'm done sitting on the sidelines. I should be helping. I was only with the Brotherhood for a year, but in that year I learned a lot about Magneto and how he operates. It's time for me to be useful instead of the opposite, which is how I've felt and how I've been acting ever since Magneto stripped me of my X-Gene. I want, need, control of my life back, and he's the ke—" He stopped short, in thought. A few seconds later, he flashed a grin, "He's the relic key with all of the answers. He forced me into a mental and emotional prison, and I've finally broken out. Nothing—and no one—is going to hold me back. This is it."

Rogue's lips formed into a big smile, "I can see the determination in your eyes, hear it in your voice, and I can sense it." She hugged him and whispered, "I've missed this part of you—the spark before the flame."

Typically one with a quick tongue, John found himself speechless.

"Let's get to it, former Henchman." she teased, ending with a quick hit to his chest with the back of her hand and then took off in a sprint.

John watched as Rogue's hair flowed behind her like a river of brown silk. 'Sometimes . . . all you need is a spark', he mused, before running after her.

A/N: Decisions, decisions (for whatever I write next for this story) . . . my head is going to explode. I've started planning it out and it's giving me a headache. With that confession . . .

Have a Happy New Year!

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