Everything Changes
Meridan, Mississippi, 1998.
"You sure this is the right place, Charles?"
Charles Xavier anxiously waited outside a Victorian era home with Logan, better known as the Wolverine, at his side, on a mission to find and take on a new addition. Their interest were solely on one person; Rogue, a girl currently under the care of one Irene Adler, known throughout the mutant circles as Destiny due to her psychic mutation.
Another, somewhat unfortunate, truth was that Irene was a notable and close confidante of Mystique's...
Hence the reason we are here.
"Positive," Charles assured, ringing the doorbell. "I've already spoken to Destiny and she is no doubt aware of our arrival. We need only wait."
As soon as Charles contacted the Seer back in New York, he'd made arrangements for he and Logan to travel down to Mississippi to speak to Rogue, privately. He’d had his eyes and ears on Destiny for some time. The woman was not only a powerful mutant but also a close partner with Mystique, and that spelled nothing but trouble in Charles’ opinion. When he had discovered the truth behind the closed doors of her home and her recent dealings with Mystique regarding the young girl under her care, he’d instantly begun plans to get in contact with Rogue himself.
Irene Adler may have a strong mind, but she was not impervious to his spying…and he did not like what he found.
There was no way of knowing the suffering Rogue may have undergone in her previous foster homes, but he knew for certain that her treatment under Destiny and Mystique had been the most psychologically damaging. The poor girl had been used for her mutant abilities and isolated to the point of mental regression.
Charles would not stand for it.
“Remember why we are here,” he implored. "Logan, this girl could be a great asset to our team, but more importantly, she is in desperate need of our help. Removing her from this house is our main priority."
"I'll be honest with ya', Charles. If half of what you said before rings true, about what this woman and Mystique did to this girl, I can't guarantee this meetin’ will be peaceful," Logan rumbled, his forearms flexing to bare his deadly claws.
When Charles had informed Logan about what he had discovered, the feral had not taken it well. Of all their family, Logan had the strongest emotions and lowest moral standing about taking out those who would harm others, especially innocent children.
The idea alone was enough to have Logan seeing red.
‘That should make this visit perfectly relaxing’ Charles thought to himself skeptically, ringing the doorbell once more. To say he was nervous would be a lax description.
Logan, on the other hand, was breaming with coiled anger that only years of practice allowed him to mask. He could feel his claws itch beneath the skin, vibrating with the need to slice and dice.
No matter how many situations they ended up in with cases of abused kids, he would never get used to the feeling.
They always handled it professionally, even if they had to step away and let the police handle it, but there had been times when Logan had been pushed too far. It was difficult to stand before a total stranger and play nice, knowing they were walking pieces of garbage, asking permission to take their kid to a private institute just so they can actually have a chance to learn and be themselves without ridicule…it was never easy. They had no legal right to take neglected kids from their parents, so they couldn’t do much except ask and push. In the cases where their offer was bluntly refused, Charles simply worked his magic and got the police and Child Protective Services involved. They’d saved multiple kids from abusive homes, but only a handful had ever actually ended up at the manor.
He had higher hopes for this one, though. With Rogue being a legal adult, they could skip over the faux pleasantries and cut straight to the chase.
‘Let’s hope this case goes our way’ Logan thought, clenching his fists in his pockets as footsteps sounded from within the home.
The front door lock clicked open and a middle-aged woman appeared, her eyes blocked by thick sunglasses, though she leveled them both with a dead-on stare.
“Good day, Irene,” Charles said cordially.
"You arrived earlier than I expected," Irene replied stiffly, motioning them to enter her home. “We can talk in the living room.”
“As you wish.”
Logan took up the rear as they were led into the large house. Different knick-knacks covered the walls, pictures and paintings lined the hallway that led to the living room, with an air of vintage fragrance that littered the air. He honestly hated old-fashioned homes like this. They made his skin crawl.
It was all so…archaic.
“Would you like some tea?” Irene asked stoically, gesturing to the kitchen entrance from her chair as she sat.
Logan growled under his breath and crossed his arms. "Why don't we skip the small talk and get to the reason we came. We came here to talk to Rogue, not you."
Irene didn't need to be able to see to narrow her milky white eyes at the feral. She was giving off enough pheromones for Logan to know she was frustrated and clearly bothered by their presence.
And Logan didn’t give a single fuck.
“You don’t want us here pokin’ around, I don’t wanna be here any longer than I have to, and between the three a’ us, Chuck is the only one who’s gonna try and keep the peace. So, cut the bullshit and tell us where Rogue is,” he demanded.
Irene removed her glasses and shot him a scathing look, “You’re right. I don’t want you here, either of you. You have no business even being here.”
“On the contrary,” Charles broke in, folding his hands calmly in front of him. “You know exactly why we are here, Destiny, and you know that we will not leave until we are convinced that your daughter is safe. You know that I will not settle for less.”
“You would dare accuse me—” she started, fury flashing across her features at the unspoken accusation.
“You really gonna sit there and try to lie to a telepath?” Logan interrupted with a scoff. “He read your fuckin’ memories, Adler. Save the guiltless masquerade for someone who gives a damn, ‘cause we don’t.”
Irene’s unseeing eyes flickered between them, her features twisted in a deep frown. She was angry and currently backed into a corner.
“Where is she?” Logan rumbled, his arms flexing to restrain the blades beneath his skin.
Charles could see the flurry of emotions racing across Irene’s face. He didn’t need to read her mind to know she was at her wits end. They had her backed into a box and she knew it.
Now it was just a matter of what she would do.
“You have no right to come here and make demands. I will not be disrespected in my own home,” she snipped, turning away from them.
“You think you’re owed even an ounce of respect from us?” Logan scoffed. “You must be crazier than I thought if you believe I give a shit about what you want.”
“You want to talk about crazy, Wolverine? Remind me again, where you were when Xavier found you.”
“This ain’t about me, Adler. This is about you, so don’t try and pull that deflection crap.”
“Destiney,” Charles tried again. “Let us talk to Rogue.”
“No,” Irene snapped, her knuckles turning white against the death grip she had on her cane. “I want you both out of my house. You may not see my daughter. I forbid it, Xavier.”
"Rogue is of legal age," Charles stated with a glare of his own. He did not wish to resort to force, but he could feel his temperance wavering. "You cannot control her anymore."
“No. Get out.”
“Destiny, stop this.”
“Get out of my home!”
In a flash, Logan had Irene pushed back against the chair with his hand clenching her sweater, his other hand poised near her throat with two of his claws trapping her neck, the third slowly inching towards her jugular.
The fire quickly died from her eyes the second she felt metal dig into her skin.
“You wanna play the victim? Fine. You wanna sit there and suffocate in your bed of lies and moralizing persecution of an innocent little girl? Be my fucking guest,” Logan growled. “But I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you bitch and moan about what’s fair when you, a woman who was supposed to protect and care for a helpless, scared little girl, locked her away from the world for years!”
Irene’s eyes widened, her breath stuttering under Logan’s furious rage.
“I did that to protect her,” she whispered.
“We both know that is not true, Irene,” Charles disputed. “Look at what you’ve done to her…”
“She was a danger to everyone around her and herself, Xavier! What would you have done?” she snapped, turning her sightless gaze to narrow at the telepath.
“Unlike you, Destiny, I do not neglect my children’s mutations nor do I encourage trepidation when teaching them to control their gifts,” Charles tutted. “Any mutation can have grand culminations if nurtured. What you have done is neglect a young girl who needed help, Irene…”
Irene’s eyes softened a touch, hardly a monumental change, but some of the fire seemed to die within her. She thinned her lips while turning away, still refusing to acknowledge the error of her own actions.
“Forgive some of us for not having telepathic abilities and a never-ending bank account, Xavier,” she quipped. “Do tell me what I could have possibly done for her in my state. I had no other choice but to keep her away from others.”
“For Heaven’s sake, Irene—” Charles sighed, but he was quickly interrupted by Logan roared furiously and Irene gasping at the sudden press of adamantium against her skin.
“You did it to try and control her! You forced an innocent baby girl to think she was gonna kill anyone she touched! You call that protecting her? I call it a recipe for emotional abuse,” Logan growled with a sneer. “This ain’t a fuckin’ witch hunt…you’re just as guilty as Mystique.”
A flash of pain crossed Irene’s face at the mention of the blue mutant. It was obvious there was something going on between the two mutants, but Logan could have cared less. Right now, he was focusing on holding himself back from committing murder.
“Now if you want to keep diggin’ your heels in, that’s fine with me too. Your damaged conscience ain’t my problem. But we’re not leavin’ without Rogue,” he rumbled, pushing his middle claw deeper into her flesh to the point a drop of blood rolled down her pale neck. “So, the only real question here is this; …’s this the hill you’re willin’ to die on?”
There was a tense silence that followed the feral’s threat.
‘Logan’ Charles pressed into the feral mutant’s mind.
‘I ain’t gonna kill ‘er, Charles. Much as I want to, and trust me, I do, I ain’t gonna. I’m just makin’ a point’ Logan thought back.
‘Do try to restrain yourself. I would rather this meeting not end in bloodshed, my friend.’
"Destiny, I know that some part of you feels remorse for what you have done to her," Charles pushed, rolling closer. "If you care for her, truly, then let us help her. Let us do for her what you should have. This is no life for her here."
Irene breathed deeply and shut her eyes, her grip on the armchair slackening.
"I doubt she will listen…but I won’t stop you," she sighed, pointing towards the hallway across the room. "You'll find her in the East wing of the house."
Logan retracted his claws slowly, silently backing away. A small part of him hoped she would have fought him some more. He’d have loved to have laid into her more on her shit parenting.
Or, you know…accidently nick her artery.
"How about I try talkin' to her first?" Logan offered to Charles. He knew a thing or two about betrayal, maybe he could connect with the girl to ease her mistrust. They had no clue what they were walking into.
“As you wish,” Charles agreed without argument. “I will stay here until you call.”
Logan navigated the hallway to another section of the home, what appeared to be a connecting guest apartment in some way, one that was obviously separated from the main house. He relied on his nose, following the sweet scent he’d caught wind of earlier. Following the trail, it led him to a set of double oak doors.
He knocked, listening to the quiet sound of footsteps on the other side as well as the tell-tell slide of a bolt lock unlatching. Mahogany and pearl hair was the first thing that greeted him when the door cracked open along with the scent he'd been following of magnolia blossoms and honey.
So, this must be Rogue.
'Pretty eyes' he mused thoughtfully, noting how those beautiful grey eyes narrowed at him with suspicion. The scent of magnolia blossoms was quickly tainted with fear and apprehension.
"Relax, darlin'," Logan held up his hands. "I’m not a threat.”
"Ah'm familiar with Destiney's guests," she stated, her voice thick with a southern drawl of a woman scorned.
Her reaction alone spoke volumes to Logan. He had no doubt that people who associated with Destiny had more than likely harassed Rogue on more than one occasion. After all she’d been through, it was no wonder she looked so bothered by his mere presence.
"Name's Wolverine," he said, taking care to keep his voice neutral. When he eased his posture to a more relaxed state the tenseness of her posture lessened as well. He could hear her pulse begin to steady, her short breaths evening out a bit as she realized he meant her no immediate harm.
"Rogue," she offered softly.
"What kind ‘a name is Rogue?" he asked with a curious half-smirk, taking a step closer to her.
"What kind ‘a name is Wolverine?" she tossed right back, having to fight the instinct to step back at his nearness.
Logan smothered a smile at her sassiness. Most people were intimidated by him, but she didn't even seem phased by his domineering presence. He liked a woman with a backbone. Rogue seemed wary, but she definitely didn’t come across as timid.
"Logan," he proffered, his smirk morphing into a genuine grin. "My name's Logan."
She returned his kind smile with one of her own, "Well that's a lot betta' than Wolverine."
This one's definitely got some fire and sass in 'er.
“So, what brings y’ here?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Funny you should ask,” Logan said. “Actually, came here with an associate a’ mine. We’re here to see you.”
Rogue’s defenses instantly went back up and Logan’s nose burned with the spike of mixed emotions. He could have chosen a better way to word that…
Knowing he had to tread carefully, Logan held up his hands again and took a small step back to give the girl some room. He couldn’t fault her for her cynicism.
“Not like her, kid,” he stressed, jabbing his thumb behind him. “Listen, I’m just here to talk to ya’, nothin’ more. You don’t like what I gotta say, I’ll leave you be. Just give me a chance, ‘s all I’m askin’.”
Rogue’s eyes softened just a touch, the scent of fear slowly easing up to be replaced with curiosity.
“Ya’ said associate before, so where ‘s they?” she asked, stealing a glance at the hall behind him.
“He,” Logan clarified. “Professor Charles Xavier. He’s back sittin’ with Destiney. I asked him to let me try and speak to you first, but I can call him right now if you’d like.”
Rogue shifted, clearly not comfortable with the idea just yet, but she also didn’t seem comfortable with the thought of letting Logan into her private area either.
“Tell ya’ what,” Logan offered, slowly unsheathing his claws to show her. “This is my mutation. Metal was an added bonus later on, but claws and healin’ are my thing. Charles is a telepath, mind reader and all that. That’s all. He can read people and I’ve got glorified gardening sheers. You’re still the most powerful one in the room. We can’t hurt ya’, darlin’…”
He watched Rogue’s eyes land on his claws with surprise, her hand twitching like she wanted to reach out and touch them. She looked from his weaponry to his eyes, swallowing down her fears.
“Ah…” she murmured, opening the door wider. “Ah suppose Ah could listen t’ y’all awhile.”
Logan gave her a soft grin and sheathed his claws once more, following her into the room while giving it a once-over. It was a nice little set-up. She’d modified the large room into a tiny apartment of sorts. If Logan had to guess, he’d say this used to be a parlor of some kind.
It definitely didn’t have all the old-style furnishings like the rest of the house did. Most of Rogue’s furniture looked to be second-hand thrift finds, all mixed and matched together to create a cozy living space.
Rogue turned to head into the small kitchenette set up, "What'll it be, sugah? Tea or coffee?"
"Kind of ya' to offer," Logan said. "Coffee, if you don't mind."
"Wouldn't be much of a southern hostess if Ah didn't offea' ya' a southern staple," she smirked half-heartedly.
‘Kid’s got a kind heart’ Logan thought, letting his eyes roam the room.
The ‘kitchen’ was nothing more than a small island bar against the wall with a coffee maker, a set of hot plates, a microwave, and a mini fridge beneath. A dingy set of kitchen utensils sat in a glass vase beside a ceramic bowl, followed by a tiny stack of mix-matched dining ware.
It was clear that she’d been living out of that room for some time now.
Across from him was a modest twin bed with mismatched blankets and pillowcases, carefully folded and made. A small basket of laundry sat on top of the dresser beside the bed, neatly folded. The other portion of the room was set up like a living room. An old worn-down couch nestled against the wall beside a large floral patterned reading chair in the corner next to a television. The chair was obviously Rogue’s favorite spot if the cushion indent and threadbare blanket were any indication.
“Take a seat anywhere you’d like, sugah,” Rogue said, handing him a steaming mug of coffee.
She led him over to her modest living room, waiting for Logan to take a seat on the couch before she curled up in the chair, just as he suspected she would. He took a sip of his drink as he waited for Rogue to get comfortable.
“That’s a damn good brew,” he praised, looking down at his cup thoughtfully. It was rare that he actually enjoyed other people’s coffee when it was offered to him. Most of the time it was just branch water.
“Ah’m a connoisseur o’ fine beans, mah doll,” Rogue smirked, taking a sip from her own mug. “But Ah doubt y’ wanna talk about good coffee, even if Ah do serve the best this side a’ Charleston.”
Logan felt a bit more comfortable at her gentle tease, leaning back against the warm couch cushions. From what he could smell now, Rogue was more at ease and seemed willing to talk for the time being.
“Figured we could just talk for a minute over some good coffee, just like normal folks do,” he suggested.
“Alright, how ‘bout y’ tell meh where ya’ from, ‘cause that accent sure ain’t no Southerner,” Rogue inquired behind her mug.
“Canadian,” Logan grunted. “But we’re from New York state.”
“New York,” she murmured, tapping her fingers against the ceramic. “Y’all are a long ways from home, then.”
“You’d be surprised how often we travel.”
“Make a habit a’ goin’ ‘round findin’ lost souls, do ya’?”
“Somethin’ like that,” he whispered.
Rogue took a sip and shot him a hard stare, “Ah’m no charity case, Wolverine.”
“Never said you were, darlin’.”
That seemed to soften her defenses, her shoulders loosening and her eyes losing their edge. It made Logan wonder how many times she’d been given offers, dangled in front of her like a carrot on a stick, only to have them ripped away or shattered by reality. She was guarded in a way that could only be forged by trauma. The unwavering belief that nothing is ever free, that she had to give something to receive something.
“Does it hurt?” she suddenly asked, her voice wavering slightly.
Logan shot her a questioning look before she gestured to his hands.
“The claws…does it hurt? When they come out, Ah mean?” she asked.
“Won’t lie to ya’, but yeah…every single time,” he shrugged, glancing at his own knuckles. “But I learned to control it. It’s just a muscle flex, like flexing your arm or your leg. That’s the easiest way to describe a mutation. It’s like a muscle that you have to learn to control. Mutants just have a different set than humans.”
“How did you learn?” she questioned quietly, looking down at her own coffee mug.
“Xavier. When he found me…well, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly packin’ a full set a’ tools at the time,” he murmured sardonically, tapping the side of his head. “But he brought me back. He unlocked my mind and helped me when I needed it most, even when I didn’t want to admit I needed it.”
Rogue looked down at her steaming mug with a small tilt in his lips, “Must be nice.”
“You know, that was part of why we came here to see ya’,” he said, setting his coffee cup on the table. “I’m not pushin’, just throwin’ out facts. Part of what we do is find mutants who need help, Charles finds them, and we do everything we can to get them the help they need.”
“Find them?” she asked, pointing to her head. “Like with his telepathy, or through a phone book?”
Logan smirked, “Bit a’ both sometimes. Charles has a way of findin’ those who need us most.”
“…but Ah don’t need help,” she replied quietly, shrugging her shoulders. “Ah’m fine.”
“Darlin’,” he murmured. “I think we both know that ain’t true…”
Feeling the young woman across from him begin to pull away, Logan knew he needed to bring in the big guns if they had any hope of convincing Rogue to leave with them.
“How about I let him explain it?” he offered. “He’s just waitin’ for you.”
Rogue still appeared hesitant, but her own curiosity overruled her anxiety. Gripping her coffee mug tighter, she slowly agreed with a small nod.
“You heard ‘er, Charles,” Logan said loudly towards the door. “Come on in.”
Rogue’s eyes widened a fraction when the door opened and an older gentleman in a wheelchair rolled inside, politely shutting the door behind him after he cleared the way.
“Hello, Rogue,” Charles smiled warmly, rolling his chair over to stop near the couch where Logan was still sitting. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear. I’m Charles Xavier.”
“Nice to meet y’, Professor,” she said kindly, already starting to rise from her seat. “Can Ah get y’ somethin’ t’ drink?”
“I’m quite alright, dear. Please,” Charles waved to her chair for her to sit again. “I’d like to talk about you, if we may.”
Rogue reclaimed her chair and shoved her legs under her, “What is it y’all wanna know exactly?”
“Well, to be frank, I’d like to talk to you about your mutation,” Charles said. “Specifically, how to help you learn to control it.”
“And y’ believe y’ could do that?” she asked, leaning back. “Forgive meh, but Ah’ve heard that before.”
“No offense taken,” he assured. “I understand that anyone who has been through an ordeal such as yours would be hesitant to believe a complete stranger such as I, I assure you. That said, I would like to try if you’d let me.”
“…try how?” she whispered cautiously.
Suddenly, Rogue felt a new presence inside her mind.
‘As Logan explained to you earlier, dear, I am a telepath, but even more so I am skilled in traversing the human mind. In your case, I can sense the personas of those you have absorbed through touch, you see?’
Who the Hell is that?
She did it again!
Let me out of here!
Don’t touch me, freak!
Who’s that speaking?
‘Ignore them, Rogue. Focus on my voice.’ Charles’ voice cut through the darkness.
‘Where are you?’ she asked, unable to focus on anything but the countless voices screaming from the void inside her head.
‘Right here, my dear. Focus on my voice, Rogue.’
Rogue turned around quickly to find the Professor behind her, standing to be exact, looking at her with a warm smile.
‘Forgive an old man’s vanity, but I find I prefer this version of myself overall.’ Charles smiled, holding out his hand towards her. ‘I can help you control the echoes. If you will let me.’
‘How?’ she asked, trying to block out the echoing voices around them.
‘Focus on what you want. This is your mind, Rogue, and you have sole control. You can silence them.’
‘But they’re innocent’ she argued, pulling her hand back.
Charles’ eyes softened, understanding her reluctance and misguided act of sheer generosity. From within, he could feel the turbulent amount of self-loathing that had no doubt been spurned on my Mystique and Destiny’s erroneous inculcates.
“Oh, darling…” He held both her hands comfortingly in his own, projecting every ounce of warmth and empathy he could into her wayward mind. “Those voices, they are but ghosts. They are not real, Rogue. You can not harm them here, my dear.”
We are real!
We want out!
She did this to us!
That freak did this to me!
Let Me Out!
‘Rogue, listen to my voice,’ Charles spoke louder. ‘They are merely echoes of those you have absorbed, but their ties to your subconscious are why they appear to be real. You can make them stop.’
‘How?’ she cried, stepping away from him while covering her ears. ‘How can Ah make them stop? They never stop!’
‘Control.’
Fingers touched her temples and warmth spread through her entire being. It felt as though her entire body had been wrapped in blankets and all she could focus on was how nice it felt. How nice it felt…to feel the touch of another person.
All of sudden she could hear each voice slowly begin to fade until there was nothing left but silence, and soon it was completely quiet.
It was…quiet?
Opening her eyes, Rogue looked up to see Charles watching her with sorrowful eyes and a gentle smile. He removed his fingers from her head and carefully gripped her hands again.
‘The only thing you are guilty of, my dear child, is having a kind heart.’
‘How did you—how did you do that?’ she whispered, her voice wavering as she tried to wrap her head around what had just happened. Was it truly possible to stop all those voices?
‘A simple exercise of the mind, darling. One that I would be more than happy to teach you. Shall we continue our conversation outside?’ Charles grinned and playfully snapped his fingers.
Rogue’s eyes suddenly opened and she found herself back in her room with Charles and Logan next to her. Bringing her hand up to her head, she blinked a few times to clear her vision. Having someone inside her mind like that was incredibly odd – but it was silent.
The voices…they were gone.
“Not gone completely, dear,” Charles said gently. “But they can be contained, just as they are now. I can help you, Rogue. You need only let me.”
Grabbing her lukewarm coffee from the table, Rogue held it in her hands to let the heat ground her as her thoughts ran rampant. The idea of someone being able to help her was enticing. She knew that Destiny and Mystique had claimed that they were helping her, attempting to convince her that locking her up was for her own good, that they were just protecting her from herself…she’d only recently begun to heal from that. She understood the reality of her morbid childhood, now, but nothing could ever undo the damage her foster mothers had caused. If she weren’t so damn broken she’d of left this house a long time ago, but she barely made enough to keep her little fridge stocked.
It was tough looking for work when you couldn’t touch anyone.
Xavier’s offer to help sounded too good to be true. In her own past experience, that usually meant trouble for her in the end.
After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Rogue figured she would test the waters and see if this dog and pony show was really worth the trouble of whatever they wanted in return.
"Alright," she murmured, setting her mug on the table before turning her full attention to her guests. "Y’ made ya’ offer clear...so what is it y'all want from me?"
"Nothin' from you, darlin'," Logan clarified quickly. He knew Rogue was still wary of them, and she had every right to be, but the last thing he wanted was for her to think they’d treat her like a nugatory instrument like her guardians had in the past.
“Allow me to delineate our intentions,” Charles said, reaching inside his breast pocket. He pulled out the folded set of papers he’d brought for her.
“This is a summary of our vocation and our private outfit,” he explained, setting the admissions paper on the table for her to see. “To put it bluntly, it is a safe haven for mutants.”
Rogue took the pamphlet and opened it, glancing at the opening panel to read over their mission statement. It was well laid out, short and to the point, but it was still an obvious spiel.
"I'd like to offer you a permanent place with us, Rogue," Charles stated, breaking her thoughts.
Rogue lowered her eyes and carefully slid the paper back towards him.
"Ah'm sorry, but Ah can't afford anything like what y'all are offerin'," she murmured. “Ah can barely afford groceries, let alone a room and board tuition fee.”
"No, no, my dear, you misunderstand. I would like you to join us as one of our own, a member of our team, like Logan, if you so choose. You could finish your schooling, or apply for your GED if you wish, even consider college if it’s what you want,” Charles said. “You would not be paying for anything. On the contrary, I would actually give you a stipend pay. Our students all get an allowance from me personally. You would receive the same offer, of course.”
“Ah don’t understand, are y’ askin’ meh to work for y’all? Or finish school?” she asked.
“Both,” Charles answered. “If you would like to go back to school, that would be wonderful. If you would like to only focus on your abilities, that is perfectly fine too. It is your choice, Rogue.”
She fingered the papers again, the rough pads of her gloves catching the crisp edges.
"Why are y'all doin' this?" she asked quietly, risking a glance at them. She was worrying the sleeves of her shirt, twisting the ends over her gloved hands nervously. You did not need to be a telepath or a feral to sense the restlessness within her.
Charles understood Rogue's hesitation all too well. Knowing what she'd been through, it was no wonder her first response was to believe they wanted something from her in return, or possibly that they would try and use her abilities like Mystique had.
Trust was simply not a feeling the poor girl was familiar with.
"I know what you've been subjected to, Rogue," he said gently. "I know everything that Mystique and Destiney did to you, as well as what they tried to do to you."
Logan’s nostrils flared as the heavy scent of panic and shame wafted through the air, shaking his head briefly to clear his senses. He could imagine what was flying through Rogue’s head. He’d be unsettled too if someone looked into his mind and saw all the things that had been done to him.
‘You’re scarin’ her, Charles’ he projected loudly, trying to silently tell the telepath to back off. The last thing they needed was Rogue spiraling into even more self-doubt.
Leaning forward, Logan took over and tried to ease the growing tension in the young woman.
"I won't lie to you, Rogue," he stated, taking the wheel. "What you've been through, it ain't gonna be easy to get past. Somethin' about betrayal always sticks with ya'. Sometimes it ain’t about getting past it either, sometimes it’s just about learning to live with the memories without lettin’ ‘em win.”
Rogue spared the large mutant a glance, her eyes drifting back to the paper in front of her.
“You really believe that,” she stated rather than asked, wondering if she too could achieve what Logan seemed to have.
Reaching over the side of the large armchair, Logan gently set his large palm over her own twisted hands, trying to offer what little comfort he could. “I'm livin' proof that you can."
Rogue let the feeling of Logan’s warm touch ground her, taking a few deep calming breaths to ease her racing heart. Knowing that someone else now had first-hand knowledge of the pain Destiny and Mystique had caused her was a bit rattling. She was so used to keeping every part of herself private that it was nerve-racking for her to try and let others in.
That aside, the offer they had given her was tempting.
The idea of being able to finish school was a wonderful thought, but she wouldn’t lie to herself and claim she wasn’t terrified. The judgment alone would be tough to handle. She didn’t exactly have much faith in herself to succeed, not with the age gap between her and the others that would be around her.
"Professor, Ah'm just a couple months short a' bein' twenty," she admitted, nervously wringing her fingers against her palms. Her continued silence spoke volumes though.
“I understand,” Charles offered with a sincere smile. He knew anyone in Rogue’s position would be apprehensive about joining a house full of younger schoolchildren with a slight age gap to consider. He had no doubt that her self-esteem was exhausted. The idea of re-joining school at her current age seemed daunting.
However, he did have an idea how to work around that.
"Might I offer a solution?" he suggested.
Rogue met his gaze and nodded, wondering what he could be thinking.
“There is no reason for anyone else except our closest staff to know your true age. For all intents and purposes, the others would not need to be aware of your age or the circumstances that brought you to us. It would not be difficult for you to pass for much younger than you are, dear,” he stated.
“Ya’ want meh to lie?” she asked skeptically.
“Not entirely,” he clarified. “It is your choice whether or not to withhold such information, Rogue, but I see no issue with keeping your private affairs, including your age, concealed from others until you felt it was necessary to disclose that information yourself.”
Rogue seemed to understand his point then, biting her lip as she thought it over.
“How old would Ah be able t’ pass for?” she asked hesitantly.
“I believe you could easily pass for, say, fifteen or so?” Charles suggested, sharing a brief agreeable glance with Logan. “That would place you in the same grade as our oldest students, Jean and Scott. Since your birthday is nearing anyway, I would start with fifteen and claim you are turning sixteen. That would put you directly between Scott and Jean.”
“Ah…suppose that would be alright,” Rogue murmured, still unsure. “If you’re sure about all this.”
“Absolutely, my dear,” Charles smiled brightly.
Logan held out his hand to her, grinning when she took it without hesitation.
"Welcome to the X-Men."
After everything was finalized and Rogue agreed to join them, Charles played mediator between Rogue and Irene to assure the young woman that her belongings would not be touched during her absence and she would have them moved out as soon as possible, also assuring Rogue that she was indeed free from Irene’s hold over her life.
A few veiled threats may have been spoken, but, nonetheless.
By the time they had packed up the car and reached the runway where the X-Jet lay waiting, Rogue had been given a run-down on the mansion and the X-Men, learning some of the team’s names and a most of the students that lived at the manor. Seeing the X-Jet in person, however, had made the young woman do a double-take.
“Y’all really weren’t kiddin’ ‘bout the travel thing, were ya’?” she murmured in awe, catching the grin Logan tossed her.
“Told ya’.”
“You are in for quite the treat when we get home, my dear,” Charles chuckled while he settled into the cockpit, letting his chair lock into place. He turned the radio on and began firing up the controls while Logan and Rogue were finishing up with loading her belongings, storing her things in the cargo hold above.
“Xavier to Base. Come in,” Charles spoke out, strapping in. He checked his watch and wondered if the children would be back from school by now or if Storm was still manning the mansion alone. The radio burst to life with a crackle, the sound of multiple voices arguing over the speaker filling the cabin.
“N—ive me th—no give it—give me tha—it’s mine—give it! Professor? Are you there? Did you get her?” Scott’s voice came back, followed by a scuffle sound of hands fighting over the radio.
Charles grinned as Logan and Rogue came up behind him, “Affirmative. Mission successful.”
“Booyah!”
“Don’t scream in my ear!”
Charles shared an amused look with Logan, shaking his head. “We’re coming home. We shall see you all shortly.”
Logan helped Rogue get situated in one of the seats behind them, adjusting her straps while she gazed around the interior of the jet.
“What kinda place did y’all say this was again?” Rogue asked softly, staring up at the controls with wonder.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Logan smirked, his hand reaching up to playfully flick a streak of white hair away from her face, "Stripes."
For the first time that day, Rogue actually smiled and Logan felt his heart melt a little. He could get used to seeing that smile real quick. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the radio coming to life again with Jean’s joyful voice ringing out.
“I get to meet her first!”
Present Day, 2000
Bayville
X-Mansion
If you asked the residents of the X-Mansion what a typical weekend day was like, most would tell you it was fairly relaxing. The large house wasn’t too full, with only six people living there full time, but they were a happy little bunch with Charles leading the charge, Storm and Logan acting as fellow guardians and X-Men, along with Jean Gray and Scott Summers as bright-eyed students and flourishing X-Men themselves.
And then there was Rogue, probably one of the founding forces besides Xavier who kept the train rolling and on track.
“The Captain and the Engine,” said girl snickered, thinking about her life at the manor. If you had asked Rogue where she thought she’d be at twenty-two just a few years ago, she more than likely would have said six-feet-under.
Harsh, but none the less true.
Her life had been anything but a slice a’ pie, but she was saved by none other than the Professor and the fearsome Wolverine that fateful day down in Mississippi, living a hermit life, locked away in a small section of the grand Victorian house of Irene Alder.
‘Better known as one of my harrows of mah life’ Rogue thought blandly.
Destiny – because that is all she will ever be to Rogue now – had adopted Rogue at the tender age of four, for reasons unknown to Rogue at the time, and raised her under her strict care along with the absolute bane of Rogue’s existence – Mystique. The blue-skinned menace had attempted to mold Rogue into the perfect weapon, a weapon to use at her disposal and control without fail, but by the time Rogue’s true powers manifested and grew to incredible feats, the girl had come to realize how cruel her ‘mothers’ truly were.
Nothing like having the wool removed from your eyes.
By the time she was a teen, Rogue refused to bow down and accept the abuse bestowed upon her by Mystique, using her own mutation as her defense. She’d rejected Destiny as well, disowning them in every way shape and form. It had been guilt that drove Destiny to allow Rogue to remain under her roof for safety, because as she put it; Rogue was still her daughter.
Yeah, well, you don’t treat babies like that and expect everything to be all roses and sunshine.
When Rogue was nineteen, lo-and-behold, her life took an unexpected turn when a charming man in a wheelchair showed up at her door with a burly mountain of a man, claiming they could offer her an escape. Who in their right mind would turn down such an offer? In a short time, Rogue had witnessed what it was like to truly be part of a family and exist in a positive household where people thrived under the patient guidance of Charles Xavier, the best parental figure anyone could ask for.
Charles had been the driving force behind Rogue's healing process, helping her heal from both the emotional and mental scars she'd been subjected to. It had taken a full year's worth of daily therapy sessions together to get passed her walls, but Rogue now held herself high and was proud to stand beside Logan and Storm as a fellow X-Man.
She wouldn't trade her life for anything in the world.
“Morning, Rogue!” Jean shouted from down the hall, racing towards the elevator. The fiery redhead was one of her closest friends and fellow teammates, schoolmate, and roommate. Jean was eighteen, and a budding telepath just like their Professor.
“Mornin’, Red. You seen Scott?” Rogue asked, following after the younger girl.
“You know him,” Jean smirked. “He’s probably washing that car of his for the hundredth time.”
“Pfft. Probably.”
Scott Summers was more than likely the closest friend Rogue had besides Logan, who was without a doubt her best friend and partner in crime, but Scott was definitely a close second. He was the oldest student - according to public knowledge - and took his role as team leader very seriously when training.
What Scott and Jean did not know was that Rogue was technically the oldest, but that was not known by all. And so long as Rogue had any say on the matter, it would remain that way. Her reasons were her own, but she was perfectly happy with others believing she was younger than she was, regardless of why.
And boy wasn’t that a morbid story…
“You okay? You totally zoned out,” Jean knocked her shoulder against her own, offering her a gentle grin.
“Sorry, just lost in though Ah guess,” she shrugged. “Ah’m gonna head to the kitchen an’ grab some coffee or somethin’. Ah’ll see ya’ later for a Danger Room session if not before.”
“Don’t be late,” Jean winked.
“When am Ah ever?”
“Well, there was that one time—”
“That was one time!”
Jean giggled and waved bye as she left the elevator and headed for the front doors of the mansion. Judging by the outfit and purse, Rogue would venture a guess that the other girl was headed to the mall.
No force on Earth, nor gale-force winds summoned by Storm herself, would ever move Rogue into willingly going shopping.
People…blegh!
Continuing on down the hall, she rounded the corner in the foyer and smirked at the sight beyond the windows where she could see Scott and Storm outside. The weather goddess was pruning the roses around the front steps, meticulously maintaining the beauty of the mansion’s landscape, as usual. Behind the white-haired woman was Scott off in the driveway – as she thought – washing his corvette…again.
Rolling her eyes fondly, Rogue wondered if he was going to one day wash the paint right off of it.
Making her way to the kitchen, she wondered where Logan had run off to. It was still fairly early, barely passed 10 o’clock, but normally she’d have seen him by now. She’d been hoping to get in a training session outside before the afternoon heat arrived. The only other plans she had that day were to make some cookies and finish reading her latest romance novel.
‘Carlos and Vennie were about to play hide-the-salami on the kitchen counter and Ah’m invested in it’ she sniggered, rounding the doorway into the kitchen.
“Darling, I have no idea what fantasy dalliance you’ve been reading but I do hope there is no actual salami involved?” Charles queried with a raised brow behind his morning paper, nursing a fresh cup of tea and what appeared to be scones.
Cackling at the scandalized Professor, Rogue made her way over to the cabinet to pull out a fresh coffee mug. The pot was thankfully full and she could hear the sweet nectar of the Gods calling her name.
“No, ‘course not,” she waved her hand, taking a slow sip from her mug. “That’s a completely different book series.”
Charles chuckled, shaking his head and refocusing on his newspaper. He slid over the fresh plate of scone as she sat next to him, grabbing the remote from the table to turn on the TV overhead to try and catch the weather forecast.
“—look for sunny skies for your weekend in lovely Bayville! Today’s forecast is in the high 70’s with mild overcast later on this evening. Tomorrow we’ll see a few clouds with a 11% chance of rain Sunday around dusk, so get on outside and soak up that sunshine!”
“Awful warm weather lately,” Rogue murmured, grabbing a scone. Late spring and summer were never her favorite seasons. Having to dress in layers from head to toe was never fun, especially when the temperature rises above 70 with humidity.
You’d think she’d be used to warm weather being from Mississippi, but that was before she’d discovered the wonder of central air. Back in Mississippi she’d had a tiny window unit that sounded like a freakin’ semi engine that’s thrown a rod and kept the room at a nice, balmy 83 degrees!
“Do mind the humidity today, dear. We don’t want to risk heatstroke,” Charles said pointedly, giving her the look.
“That was one time!” she grumbled around her scone, finishing off her coffee before standing up to re-fill it from the pot. “Have you seen Logan anywhere?”
“I believe he’s in the garage, dear. Do tread lightly,” he cautioned with a small smirk. “He's been brawling with the X-Van most of the morning, it seems.”
“Well Ah best go play referee then,” she deadpanned, sharing a grin with the Professor before making her way towards the door. “Wouldn’t want it t’ be an uneven match.”
“My wallet thanks you,” he joked.
Taking her leave, Rogue snatched another scone before heading out the door towards the garage. It wasn't long before she found herself opening the door to step into the large manor's garage, finding Logan working on the X-Van with the garage door open, a nice breeze coming in.
As Charles had predicted, Logan was, indeed, brawling with the X-Van.
"Havin' fun there, sugah?" she asked cheekily, leaning down to see her favorite partner lean up just in time to brain himself on the undercarriage!
Logan grumbled under his breath as he rolled out from beneath the van, popping his neck. She smirked at his grease-covered hands pushing himself up off the garage floor, offering him her mug before he could steal it.
"Damn oil's leakin' again," he muttered, taking a sip of coffee.
Leaning back against the workbench behind her, Rogue felt a smile tug at her lips. This really was a nice life she had, and who would have ever guessed that gettin' covered in oil grease and chit-chatting with a 200-plus-year-old mutant with claws would be the highlight of a perfect Saturday? Sometimes she still had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that this was her perfect world. If it hadn’t been for Charles and Logan coming down to Mississippi to find her, to try and convince her that her life could mean something more than it had, she had no doubt that she wouldn’t have lived to see her 21st birthday.
They had saved her life in more ways than one.
Everyone in the manor had.
In the time she’d lived with the X-Men, she’d learned what it meant to be part of a family. She had friends, loved ones, a full-time calling and a formal education. If she had turned down Charles’ offer back then, she knew she would have either given up entirely on living or succumbed to Destiny’s way of thinking, knowing it would only end with her losing herself along the way.
Now, she had a different future. One she was actually proud of. Filled with people who cared about her, who she loved in return without question. Though she would admit, she was pretty fond a certain feral more than most.
“What are you thinkin’ about so loud over there?”
Speak of the Devil.
“Just reminiscing,” she said. "Ah got a question for ya', sugah."
"Shoot."
"What kind ‘a name is Wolverine?" she asked playfully.
"What kind ‘a name is Rogue," Logan smirked, tossing his oil rag at her and finishing off her coffee out of spite. “Now get over ‘ere and help me fix this damn thing ‘for I drive it into the ocean.”
“Temper, temper.”
Sliding her jacket off, she tossed it onto the hood of the van and rolled up her sleeves. Grabbing a new rag of her own, she slid down under the vehicle with ease and took over the job Logan left unfinished.
“Kinda odd for you to be thinkin’ about those days,” Logan grunted from above, handing her a drink from the fridge they kept in the garage. “You okay?”
Rogue popped the top of her cold can and met his concerned eyes, leaning back against the van with a serene smile.
“I’m home.”