A Smell Of Ashes
by Cuthalion

Xavier's school had been a shelter for me, and a home, ever since I came here. It was – and is – a place where mutant students can be what they are, without shame and fear. Walking through the gardens and entering the house with its ivy-clad walls always felt like stepping out of the current of time for me, into another, more peaceful, universe.

But of course I was aware of the fact that the Professor's altruistic project also served as a polished cover for those other activities... the ones involving stealthy flights in the middle of the night and merciless training sessions in the Danger Room. The ones that turned our teachers into infallible weapons made for battle, prepared to fight a secret war and to rescue those of our kind who couldn't help themselves.

I knew of the labs – partially because I had caught more than a glimpse of their antiseptic terror in what was left of Logan's patchy memories in my mind. But even those drastic images still hadn't prepared me for the idea that what they had done to him could also be done to others.

Xavier's secret sources whispered of a laboratory south of Philadelphia where mutant children were stored for experiments far beyond any idea I might've had about the cruelty of conscienceless scientists. And what he heard was obviously horrifying enough to act without delay.

They came home from that mission one cloudy Monday morning in September–two weeks after that night on the Statue, one week after Logan had left.

I was up early that day; I'd snatched a mug of hot cocoa from the kitchen, stood at the window, still in my pajamas, and saw the Blackbird sink out of the sky and disappear under the Basketball court. Only minutes later the iron gate down the hill slid aside for a massive Mercedes limousine. It purred up the driveway and stopped in front of the main entrance. A giant peeled himself out of the car, carefully unfolding his limbs and stretching his back. His skin was covered with what looked like short fur - and it was as blue as the hortensias in the garden of my Gran Eloise. He wore a trench coat the size of a circus tent, and I would have smiled, if not for the grim, tired expression on the man's face. A pool of warm, golden light fell on the gravel, and I discovered Storm, running to greet him. Her hands vanished completely in the giant's grip. They spoke to each other for a few minutes, and his face hardened to a grimace of anger and disbelief... and then they stepped inside and were gone.

I was about to find out more at the breakfast table that morning... or better, Jubes already had. She was my brand new roommate, a pretty girl with a mop of glossy, black hair, almond-shaped eyes and a smile like quicksilver. Instead of shying back from my cursed “gift”, she declared my trademark gloves to be the “sexiest thing on earth”. The stark white strands I'd come back with from Liberty Island were simply “cool”, and her open, eager friendship made me keel over and give in before I had the slightest chance to flee back into my shell. Aside from being a precious friend, Jubilee Lee was also the worst gossipmonger of the entire school. Trying to keep a secret from her was like hiding Gran Eloise's legendary gin bottle; she always found it anyway.

That morning, the quicksilver smile didn't appear. She fiddled with the toast on her plate and left her orange juice untouched while she spoke in hushed tones of a dozen stretchers, carried out of the Blackbird and into the Med Lab. Stretchers with mutant children, and they were only those they had been able to get out of that place alive. I fished a hankie out of my pocket and handed it to her over the table, my fingers trembling. Her face vanished behind it, pale with shock.

Silence lay over the mansion like a blanket of wet wool, and the kids only walked the hallways in groups. None of our teachers spoke about what they had seen. It wasn't necessary. We could feel the horror like fog in the air, and the overwhelming atmosphere of anguish and fear nearly choked us. Lessons ended early that day. Jubes hauled two or three students into the aged pickup we were allowed to use for shopping trips – Bobby and Kitty, I think - and off they went for the nearest mall. A new tank top or a pair of sassy leather boots were certainly a shallow comfort, but any comfort would have done that day.

I did something I'd never done before... I secretly waited in an empty classroom until I was sure that they had gone. As much as I enjoyed their company, right then I couldn't stand it. I just couldn't. A bone-splitting headache clamped around my temples like an iron vise; it had come right from the middle of nowhere, making me stagger and filling me with a helpless panic. I slipped out into the empty hallway, the sound of my feet on the tiled floor echoing back from the walls. And there was more... a sound like a badly tuned radio, flipping through station after station and slowly getting stronger.

That is what they do to us, child, what they did to us again and again. Do you understand now?

I knew that voice, recognized it immediately. It was the voice from Liberty Island, filled with merciless compassion when he told me that he was sorry before turning me over to the madness that was the machine. The voice of Erik Lensherr... and it came from inside my mind.

Once I was Max, not Erik. But that was before the ghetto, before Warsaw and before Auschwitz. Before I knew that they were monsters. And do you know what, my dear child? They still are.

He was still there. The tortured mutant kids had lured him out of the distant corner in my brain he still possessed. The news about their fate was impulse enough to awaken his memories, and now he flooded my mind with images of rain and mud and stumbling feet, with the sound of guns and cruel voices yelling in a language I didn't know but understood nonetheless. I ran along the hallway, faster and faster, both hands over my ears – as if that would have helped to keep the unspeakable horror at bay.

Do you know what Sonderkommandos are? I will show you. Open your eyes, child.

And I saw. Heaven help me, I saw. Saw the heaps of suitcases, names and addresses written on the side with white paint. Mandelbaum. Eisenhardt. Rosenkranz. I saw tiny clumps of gold, broken out of slack jaws. I saw hundreds of glasses no one would ever peer through again. And I inhaled the stench of burning corpses, dragged into the ovens with hooks that had been driven through the heels... bodies that had once been human, shriveled beyond recognition, like dry firewood.

Someone was screaming, shrill and unbearably loud. I felt my legs buckle beneath me, and then the carpet hit my cheek. I don't know if I passed out right then; it made no difference anyway. The beautiful, pitiless voice continued to rage in my head, stringing images and memories to a chain that slowly contracted around my neck. It robbed me of my breath and filled my nose with the smell of ashes and death.

ooOoo

“Oh Gott, lass es aufhören... ich kann nicht mehr, ich will sterben...”

Cool, gloved hands, cupping my cheeks and gently lifting my head from the carpet, and the foggy presence of a second person, looming over me like a huge shadow.

“I've never seen anything like this, not even close to it.” A bass-deep, rumbling voice, warm and strong enough to drown the words of Erik Lensherr, at least for a few precious moments. “Do I assume correctly that this is the poor girl Magneto misused in his machine?”

“Yes, that's Rogue.” I could feel Jean's fingers threading through my hair, a tender caress.

“Does she speak the language I believe she is speaking?”

“German? I think so... though I'm not entirely sure. The other kids are stable right now; would you carry Rogue to the Lab? I'll go and get Charles.”

I was lifted from the floor, and the man's fast steps rocked me gently in furry arms. I wanted to lose myself in this comforting embrace, finally deaf, finally numb. But Erik's voice grew louder again, whispering about places where his people had been starved, beaten to death and gassed.

Auschwitz.

Majdanek.

Treblinka.

Dachau.

That is what they did to us, child... and what they will continue doing, if we let them. Do you still think my plan was not justified?

“Ihr Untiere! Mörder! MÖRDER!”

My voice shrieked in despair, and the images were a sickening wave, crashing down on me once more and ripping my sanity to pieces.

ooOoo

“We have to stop this, Charles. He's driving her straight into a psychotic episode.”

I didn't know why, but I could hear them speak; Jean's soft voice, the Professor's British accent.

“I'm unable to block the process; Erik is deliberately shutting me out by using her strength, and Rogue is already too drained to fight it, as it seems. Perhaps this was my fault. I thought it would not take so long for him to fade from her mind.”

Another few seconds of blessed silence. My whole body hurt terribly, my skull felt as if it was about to burst, and I wanted to reach out for them. Help me. Please. Save me from this.

“Wait a moment, Charles... my God!”

“Jean?”

“You said that Erik didn't fade from her mind fast enough. But... he was not the only one she touched that day, remember? We... we need a trigger.”

“A trigger?”

From very far away, I felt a touch against my neck.
“She's not wearing them. Of course... I should have known. Wait a moment. I'll be right back.”

What...?

The moment of lucidity was over and I was tossed back into the fire.

ooOoo

I would love to say that I fought against Erik Lensherr's absorption of my mind until I drove him out with a last gigantic effort.

I wish I had.

What he showed me, the memories he used to shatter my meager defenses... they were simply too overwhelming to do anything else but to give up. Until this very day I've no idea how long this struggle went on; the only thing I know for sure is that at one point the shreds that were left of me and my sanity retreated into a small, secluded corner of my mind. I was too tired to struggle, I was unable to face the unspeakable horror he confronted me with any longer... all I wanted was darkness and silence, even if the price I'd have to pay for it was a never ending coma. Better vegetating forever than facing more of this. And so I lay in that forgotten corner deep inside myself, curled up like a baby in the womb, shivering, hiding, waiting to fade and disappear.

Rogue. A woman, speaking in soft, reassuring tones. Rogue? I know you're there.

No. Too dangerous to listen. Too dangerous to answer.

Rogue. Open your hand.

No. I can't.

Open your hand, Rogue.

Somewhere, in another world, I felt my fingers unfurl. Something cold was pressed into my palm.

And now... look.

I... I don't know if...

Trust me. Just do it.

I'm so afraid.

Hey, come on, kid. Look at me.

A different voice, painfully familiar. That was...

My eyes flew open. The darkness was gone, replaced by a dim brightness. And in the center of that brightness, I saw him. He stood there, reaching out, his gaze fixed on my face.

“Are you... are you real?”

Of course I am, kid. Come on now, let's go.

I looked down at my hand. Something was glinting in my palm... a sturdy chain, two small, rectangular metal badges. The dog tags.

“You want them back?”

No, kid, Not yet. I just need them for a moment, okay?

He took them from me, opened the clasp and wound one end of the chain around his wrist. The dog tags began to move, swinging gently in my direction. I felt my face relax to a smile; instinctively I leaned in and caught them in a firm grip. All of a sudden he laughed, and this laughter was hope, it was warmth and joy and life.

Well done, Marie... that's my girl. Don't let go.

“Will you take care of me?”

Of course I will. I promised, remember? Best job I ever had. He laughed again, and then he began to walk, one step, two steps, three. I followed him, the dog tags warm against my skin, and the light seemed to follow him, too. We walked without any sound, and the horrendous images I had endured for hours were nothing but a dream. Erik... there had been a man called Erik, but I couldn't sense him anywhere. Far ahead of us, I noticed a wall that hadn't been there only a moment ago, and right in the middle of that wall, there was a door.

Stop.

Erik's voice, filled with cold authority. I ducked, my confidence crumbling under the weight of his power, but I didn't drop the dog tags. My fingers cramped around them to a fist, and the edges dug painfully into my flesh. My guardian turned around, face hard, eyes blazing.

Leave her in peace, old man. You've done enough damage as it is. His hand rose, touching one of the bone white streaks of hair around my face. We're out of here now, both of us. And if you know what's good for you, you'll go, too. It's time.

Wolverine, Wolverine... Erik sounded genuinely amused. You know you are nothing but a killer, don't you? And playing mother hen for a frail little girl with deadly skin will never redeem you from that fact.

Anger rose in me like a flashing fire, pouring strength into my spine.

“And what are you?” My voice was hoarse from hours of screaming, but the words came out with piercing clarity. “They've dragged you to hell and back and you know how it feels – and then you go and send the rest of the world to hell, too? You tried to use me like a battery, and you never gave a shit about my life. He cares. He always did. Leave us alone.“

Suddenly the door in front of us opened, and outside the strange room we had been in all the time there was a blue, cloudless sky. There were lawns and flowerbeds and graveled paths, and it looked like the garden of the mansion.

We left the room behind, and I wasn't surprised when I watched wall and door fade and disappear. Fresh air filled my lungs, and I turned to the man beside me. The sun warmed my cheeks: it turned his eyes to a golden shade of hazel.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much.”

No problem, kid. And you were right – I do care.

His hands closed around my face; with a shock, I realized that he wore no gloves, and I tried to shy back from his touch. But there was no pull at all, and he didn't let go. I stared at him in deep wonder, reveling in the glorious feeling of his skin against mine.

I do care, Marie.

The hazel eyes were very close, and I felt the brush of lips against my own... short and fleeting, but still intense enough to make me gasp with surprise.

I gotta leave.

He gently picked up the dog tags from my palm. Then he leaned in one more time, laid the chain around my neck and closed the clasp; he took one step back, smiled at me and ran one finger down to the place where the tags lay against my skin.

I'll be back for these. You know that, don’t you?

“I know. Logan... ”

From one second to the next, he was gone.

ooOoo

“...Logan?”

I opened my eyes. The world was in a blur, but there were sheets and a soft mattress beneath my body, and a pillow under my head. My mind was as battered and worn out as my body, but it felt blissfully empty. No dying victims. No smoke, no smell of ashes. No Eric. No...

“Logan?”

“He is not here, child.”

I turned my head, blinking. The professor's wheelchair stood beside the bed, and the calm, inscrutable eyes met mine with a small smile.

“Welcome back, Rogue. That was a long and dangerous journey: I am glad that you made it back in one piece.”

“I... I don't understand... where's he gone to?”

“To Alkali Lake, I presume, investigating some details of his past. He left seven days ago, remember?” He shot a glance at the calendar on the wall. “No... eight days, to be precise. He should be home soon.”

“But... in my dream...”

“It was not a dream, child. I guess I owe you some explanations.”

“You bet.” I rubbed my brow. “Right now I have no clue whatsoever.”

“Which is absolutely understandable, child, I assure you. Having your mind crowded and invaded is a harrowing experience... and you fought the good fight as best as you could. The only thing we contributed was a brother in arms.”

“A brother in arms?”

“Yes... an indestructible body and adamantium claws included, my dear.” Suddenly the professor grinned, and I eyed him with honest surprise. He looked twenty years younger, and I could easily imagine how he must have been back then... humorous, imaginative, and more than a bit cunning when it was needed. A kick-ass hero, wheelchair or not.

“So Logan was..”

“...in your mind, yes. As was Erik. A direct result of your encounter with his machine, I fear. And a part of Erik... perhaps only a kind of echo... stayed with you, undetected and silent. After that mission in Philadelphia, when we brought all those afflicted children from the laboratory...”

“He told me.” I stared straight ahead. “Erik, I mean. About the camps. And what they did to the people there. And to him. He... he showed me.”

“I am very sorry, Rogue.”

“Not half as sorry as I am.” I swallowed.

“I guess the news about those children awakened his own memories. He tried to give you a lesson about his motivations. And being Erik, he didn't exactly care if he caused any damage while doing so.” Xavier sighed.

“He nearly drove me crazy.” Our eyes met. “It was close, wasn't it?”

“I won't lie to you. It was very close."

“What... what did you do?”

“It was Jean who did it. After I found out that Erik kept me from reaching into your mind and building some urgently needed defenses against his reckless attempt to take over, it was she who reminded me of the fact that you did not only have skin to skin contact with Eric, that day in the machine.”

“Logan,” I whispered.

“Logan, yes. Her conclusion was that – if Erik was still in your mind – Logan had to be in there, too. And it was she who found out how to call him to battle, so to speak.” He smiled. “She remembered the dog tags, you know.”

No wonder. I had been wearing them around my neck every day in class. Only yesterday I had taken them off, for the very first time since he dropped them into my hand, the day he left.

“The wounded children from the laboratory were the trigger that brought Erik forth to haunt you. And Jean thought you might need something you could actually touch, to call for Logan... something you could hold in your hand. So she went to your room and, with the generous help of Jubilee, found out where you had left the tags. She hurried back to the Med Lab and gave them to you.”

“Open your hand, Rogue.” The cool metal against my palm.

“Where is Jean now?”

“I convinced her to take some rest, early this morning. She spent most of yesterday afternoon caring for the children from Philadelphia, and then helped me to supervise your journey back to yourself during the night, while a good friend took over in the Med Lab.”

“Hank,” I said. Suddenly another detail of those lost hours made sense. “He's very big. And blue.” I grinned triumphantly. “He drives a Mercedes.”

“Exactly.” Xavier nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “He is a truly remarkable man; I hope you and he will meet very soon, and under better circumstances.”

“When I'm not utterly cracked up and halfway passed out, you mean.” I closed my eyes.

“When you are your usual lovely self, my dear... which you almost are right now. All you need is a few more hours of sleep.”

Sleep was a good idea. The headache was gone, but not completely... it was a distant pounding at the base of my skull. I laid back into the pillow; the chain and dog tags a small, reassuring weight between my breasts. I heard the soft hum of the wheelchair, rolling towards the door.

“Is he gone from my mind?” I asked, eyes still closed. “Is Er... Magneto... gone?”

The wheelchair stopped. “I think so, yes. I met no resistance or barriers when I probed your mind a few hours ago.” A small pause. “Logan left, too... I could not sense him anywhere. There were only a handful of new memories...”

The brush of his mouth against my own.

“... but I didn't touch them. They are yours, and yours alone, only to share as you please.”

Well, thank you. At least I won't die of embarrassment now.

“Professor?”

“Yes, child?”

“Why does Magneto do all those things?” I bit my lip, incredibly thankful that they had made the images go away. “What he made me see... those dying children... those burning corpses... I thought memories like this should teach a man pity. Some kind of respect... whatever. How can he do to others what those monsters did to him? How could he turn to a monster himself?”

“He is not a monster, Rogue.” The professor turned his wheelchair around; his eyes were very sad. “No more than those myrmidons of the Third Reich in Auschwitz were monsters. They were human beings, and Erik – my old friend Erik – is a human being, too. Same as those terribly misled men, he could decide between good or bad, right or wrong. Same as those men, he decided to unleash his inner beast, creating a pandemonium... while others do their utmost to curb it and desperately strive for the light.”

My exhausted brain slowly worked its way through the intricate labyrinth of his little speech. Perhaps I should ask him to write it down. I'll have to look up half of the words he's used in the library anyway. “What does that mean?”

His lips twitched, and I wondered briefly how much of my puzzled thoughts he had caught. “Very simple, Rogue. It means that you always have a choice.”

I promised, remember? Best job I ever had.

“Logan made a choice, too, didn't he?” It came out almost against my will.

“Yes... yes, Logan made a choice indeed.” Xavier eyed me thoughtfully. “Actually, Logan is a very good example.”

“Of what? Making the right decision?”

“Hmmm... of making the first in a long row of right decisions, I'd say. He may still go wrong, you know.”

“Not if he has help,” I shot back, wincing at the fierceness of my own voice.

“Agreed.” A bright spark shone in the calm, blue eyes. “Not if he has help. --- Sleep, child. I will send Jubilee with lunch, in a few hours.”

“No. I mean, please... ” I cleared my throat. “Could you send Jean? If she's awake until then, that is. I'd like to thank her.”

“I will.”

The wheelchair hummed away and the door closed behind him. I lay back into the pillows and my hand closed immediately around Logan's pledge under my loose shirt... as if the chain linked me somehow to the man in the North, the man who was on a never ending hunt for his past.

I do care, Marie.

“Me, too,” I said softly. And then - finally alone and unobserved – I pressed the dog tags against my lips.

FINIS

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sonderkommandos — interred Jews forced to dispose of the bodies of fellow internees, but granted somewhat more freedoms and better treatment than the majority of other prisoners (It didn't help them very much. Most of them were killed sooner or later, being replaced by “fresh” material).

“Oh Gott, lass es aufhören... ich kann nicht mehr, ich will sterben...” - “Oh God, make it stop... I can't bear it any longer, I want to die...”

“Ihr Untiere! Mörder! MÖRDER!” - “You beasts! Murderers! MURDERERS!”

Erik Lensherr was not Magneto's original name. In the comic universe, he was born as Max Eisenhardt, son of a Jewish middle class family in Germany.