. II.
(Tuesday, 12:05 p.m.)
She had never understood the rationale of this world, built upon values and morals that had never quite governed her kind. She had been brought up apart from the trappings of everyday life, of decency and monotony and normality. Her cage had been of a different ilk, the very nature of it stripping her of the human contact that was so intrinsic to basic human experience. The world, they said, was simply never black and white. But to Rogue, it had never simply been shades of grey either, when she accounted for all the spatterings of mismatched colour in between.
For most of her adult life a terrible, secret guilt had lain upon her – she, who had been the unwitting cause of her foster mother Irene Adler’s death. It had earned her the hatred and enmity of the other woman she had once called ‘momma’ – Raven Darkholme, the mutant terrorist otherwise known as Mystique. It had caused her immeasurable suffering, cruel nightmares in the dark, years of enforced loneliness. And all because of one thing. Her mutant ability to steal the life-force of another with a single touch.
Over recent months, however, her powers had been forcibly ‘shut down’; for once she had been able to indulge the dreams and fantasies of the last ten or so years – to be able to bare her skin to others without being afraid. To be able to touch without fearing she might kill. And to finally embark on a relationship with the man she loved in the fullest sense possible.
Small wonder, then, that now she stood in the middle of her mentor and teacher’s office, steadily growing colder as every word Charles Xavier said drew a blade through her heart.
“The Diaries testify that you are one of the Seven, Rogue,” the wheelchair-bound man spoke softly and sympathetically to her. “And that your role to play in this game is vital. You, in part, have the prophecies locked in your own mind – if only you could access them and control them then the secrets of the Diaries could be revealed to us.”
“Bullshit!” Remy exploded from beside her, losing his temper. “What dose Diaires say is vague, you could read any fuckin’ t’ing you wanted into dem! Why don’ you leave Rogue alone? Dis de one chance she gets to live normal, an’ you wanna take it away from her!”
“You’re wrong, Gambit,” Sage replied calmly from beside the Professor. “I’ve scanned through those Diaries precisely nine hundred and three times, evaluated the encryption procedure six hundred and twenty. With the help of Cypher, I have deduced without a doubt that our interpretation is correct.”
“Fuckin’ hell, woman!” Remy spat back at her. “What are you, some fuckin’ machine?! An’ what exactly would de margin for error be in dese crazy predictions of yours, huh?!”
“Approximately three point seven percent,” she replied without batting an eyelid. “And the Diaries also state that you are one of the Seven, Gambit.”
“Bullshit!” he raged again, but Rogue placed a hand soothingly on his shoulder.
“Remy, s’okay. Ah can fight mah own fights, sugah.”
“But Rogue…” he pleaded, and she saw the truly helpless look in his eyes.
“Sage has been workin’ on this for months, Remy,” she interrupted softly, “An’ y’ know she don’t make mistakes. ‘Sides, Destiny was never wrong. She predicted her own death, for Pete’s sake. An’ she’s given us the only chance there is of stoppin’ her.”
“Rogue, you do understand what they’re askin’ of you, chere, don’t you?” he replied, gritting his teeth.
“Completely,” she answered quietly. “An’ it’s mah decision t’ make. Lemme hear the Professor out.”
“I’m not likin’ dis, Roguey,” he shook his head slowly. “I’m not likin’ dis one bit.”
“I understand your feelings, Gambit,” Xavier cut in, his tone reasonable. “But Rogue is right. It is her decision to make, and hers alone. At least give her the chance to make an informed decision. The fact of the matter is that we have two problems here. One, the fate of the world hangs in the balance and Rogue herself is the key to discovering what exactly we are up against. Two, if Rogue does not reassert control over her own psyche, there is a very real danger that both Destiny and her dreams will consume her. Both psychic therapy and dreamscraping have proved ineffective in combating this. The only plausible solution at the moment is to restore Rogue’s genome to the state it was in before the instability occurred.”
“You mean gettin’ her powers back, right?” Remy cut in acidly.
“An’ how would that work exactly?” Rogue questioned, ignoring the comment.
“According to the data Hank has presented based on your previous test results, your powers have not been cancelled, merely disrupted on a genetic level,” Sage spoke up again, her voice clinical. “At the Professor’s request I analyzed the data thoroughly. I believe there is a good chance that I will be able to restore your genome to its original state, effectively ‘jump-starting’ your powers back into functioning order. But since such a process has never been attempted before, it will take a couple of day’s worth of evaluation before I will be ready to perform the procedure. In the meantime, I will have to continue my tests on you personally.”
“I knew it!” Remy exclaimed out loud. “So dis is what you’ve been plannin’ ever since Nawlins. I knew you were plannin’ somet’ing…!”
“Remy, please!” Rogue cut him off before he could level anymore accusations. He passed her a look, but she ignored it. Something was going round in her head – a half-baked memory perhaps – and it was tugging at her with a nagging insistence.
“An’ what happens after you restore mah powers?” she asked quietly, shaking off the feeling.
“I believe I will be able to give you further treatment in order to increase your control over your powers,” Sage returned. “But as to the effectiveness of the treatment, and your reaction to it – until the process is undergone, its results can only be speculated on.”
“We shall not press you to take up Sage’s offer,” Xavier interjected, seeing the dilemma on Rogue’s face. “It is your life, Rogue, and your body – what you choose to do with it is your prerogative. Please do not feel pressured to help this cause out of guilt.”
He said the word with an inflection, and she caught his eyes, knowing what he meant. In many ways she felt responsible for Destiny’s death; if Destiny had not died at her hand, then none of this would need to be discussed – no worlds, no people, not even the Timestream itself would be in danger. And most of all Irene, her dear, darling Irene, would still be alive.
It was easy for the Professor to talk of guilt, when he had none done the terrible thing she had done, the thing that haunted her day in and day out, that had left its wicked legacy on a world that did not even know the inevitable destruction that lay in its wake. Destiny was her mother turned enemy, and it was Rogue that had made her so. It was Rogue who had aided in turning Destiny against the world. What the Professor and Sage were offering her now was the only way she could redeem the horrible mistake she had made.
And then there was this feeling, this strange, impelling feeling that she couldn’t shake…
“Ah’ll do it,” she spilled out, before she had time to think about it and regret the words.
“Rogue…!” Remy exclaimed. Even Sage looked shocked at the abruptness of her decision.
“Rogue, are you certain…?” the Professor began, but she interrupted him.
“Yes. Yes, ah’m sure,” she spoke quietly. “What other answer can ah possibly give you, Professor? The world is at stake, an’ everyone in it. If ah don’t accept, what would that make me?”
“It would make you a woman in charge of your own destiny,” Xavier answered softly.
“It would condemn me even more than ah am already,” she returned sadly. “You understand, don’t you, professor? At the very least it’s the only thing ah can do t’ make up for what ah did.”
Remy took her by the shoulders, looking at her fiercely in the eye.
“Rogue, d’you know what you’re sayin’ girl?”
“Ah know what ah’m sayin’, Remy,” she answered staunchly.
“Rogue,” he lowered his voice, talking to her through gritted teeth. “It ain’t your fault.”
“Then why do ah keep on feelin’ like it is?” she replied helplessly. His eyes caught hers. Whatever the truth of his insistence he could not break the strength of her conviction. He knew it. Her mind was hopelessly made up. His hands slid down her arms and he looked away, jaw tensing. She knew he did not want to let go.
“When do we start, professor?” she asked quietly, turning to look at Xavier.
“When do you want to start?” he questioned in return, equally softly.
“As soon as possible, ah guess.” She felt Remy’s fingers press into her arms and she paused. “One more day. Ah don’t want t’ be left hangin’ too long, but there are some things ah need t’ settle up.”
“Of course.” There was an inscrutable look on his face. “Whatever you feel most comfortable with. And Rogue? If you change your mind…”
She nodded.
Her mind was suddenly numb. One sentence seemed to flit round her head like snow.
Ah need to touch them…
*
(1:15 p.m.)
“Chere, why you doin’ dis?”
He was standing by the door; she, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window, hands placed neatly upon her knees. On the other side of the glass the sun was bright. Dappled colours played across the room; the light smarted her eyes. Her expression, however, was almost impassive.
“You know why,” she said.
“Rogue, how many times, do I have t’ tell you? What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“Ah thought you’d understand,” she replied, still staring at the window. “Ah thought that of all people, you’d understand…”
“I understand, chere,” he answered quietly. “But it doesn’t change de fact dat none o’ what happened to Irene was your fault.”
“Remy,” she began slowly, as patiently as she could. “D’you know how guilty ah’ve been feelin’ for all these years? That ah’d do anythin’ – anythin’ – to make it go away? You know how that feels, don’t you. Ah know you know.”
“Rogue.” He sat down beside her, placing an arm round her shoulder. “I had a reason to feel guilty. Your guilt, my guilt – dey ain’t de same, chere.”
“They’re exactly the same,” she replied, looking round at him earnestly. “We both did things, an’ we never meant to. It doesn’t make us any less guilty, Remy. Only you learnt t’ deal with your guilt. Ah just ain’t learnt t’ deal with mine.”
“An’ you t’ink dis is de right way t’ deal wit’ it, p’tite?” he asked her quietly. “You shouldn’t have kept it from me, Rogue. You should have told me you were still havin’ dose dreams. You know I wouldn’t have held it against you.” One hand reached out to gently link with her own. She looked down at their fingers, considering – what else could fingers be for but this? One, two, three, four, five…each seemed significant, poignant, yet the meaning felt painfully obscure. Whatever Destiny had given her, it lay apart from this, from the simplicity of their connection, and she did not want it: but she had it, and though the gift left her cold she knew she must use it.
Her fingers slackened. Nevertheless he felt the resolution in her as she broke their contact. He alone presumed to know Destiny’s nefarious intent – that Destiny had passed on her ‘gift’ to Rogue with the single purpose of making a duplicate of herself.
Rogue is goin’, she’s goin’ an’ Irene
deceived her…But I love her and I’m losin’… I know I’m losin’ her, but it
doesn’t change the way I…I’m still losin’, still lose…
“Rouge,” he said. “I will be there for you.”
*
(Wednesday, 1:15 p.m.)
Looking into blue, one might be reminded of the lazy, azure skies of summer; an idyllic view of the sea from some untouched beach; the sultry and mysterious gleam of sapphires in a ring one had always dreamed of.
But for a long time after this moment, blue would remind Rogue of lightning crashing across an indigo sky, of the thorny glimmer of sunlight striking ice like daggers.
Sage’s eyes went cold and penetrating as splintered glass.
That was when the bolt of blue went into Rogue, and shattered through every cell in her body so that she screamed out loud with the pain.
From somewhere Remy frowned, Joseph shook his head slowly, Destiny smiled silently.
But it was too late.
“S-s-s-stop,” she stammered.
But it was already too late.
*