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Author's Chapter Notes:
Woo! That was one helluva July 4th bash! I remember lots of people, colors centering around red, white, and blue, loud noises, and a heinous amount of alcohol. And what do you know, I have the vague impression that I might've been a real bitch. Whoops. I'm thinking that telling my loathsome family why I detest them in glowing, graphic detail might've been a bad move. Thank God I've learned to blame it all on PMS and alcohol. Heh, getting off Scott-free is the way to be!
Beta's Notes: My 4th of July was loads of fun, too. What with the strippers and various inebriated friends and all. I almost took a road trip down to visit Renee, but that would've been like 8 hours in a car. 8 hours I would've preferred to have a beer super-glued to my bottom lip. Well, I am a college student (and on vacation!), so guess which one won out? Sorry, Nay-Nay. You know you'll forgive me.
One thing about L.A. he didn't forget; it was fucking hot. It had some good fight bars, but the heat just didn't make it worthwhile.

Marie did. That was why he was here, enduring Scott's and ‘Ro's stony silence. He'd be damned if they'd said more than fifty words apiece to him.

Despite that, though, he felt better than he had in weeks. Hell, probably felt better than he had in years. This was something worthwhile. He'd grovel and beg and plead, and the kid would forgive him. There were so many God-awful mistakes between them, but he'd make up for that. He had to. Jean was history; he'd broken up with her just before he left for Los Angeles. Marie'd see how miserable he was, and she'd forgive him. At some point, he hoped.

A car horn blared in his ears and he whipped around, furious and just plain keyed-up.

"Ignore it, Logan. Was she here or wasn't she?" Scott asked. His voice was exhausted. He just wanted all of it over with so he could bring his friend home. He missed their late-night chats about mutual broken hearts, and debates on the respective suck-factors of various baseball teams.

Logan inhaled again, attuning his sense of smell to its sharpest point. All the tourists who'd come through here made it difficult, but underneath it all, at least a full day previously, Marie had been here. She'd sat right here in the coffeehouse. He exhaled in pathetically grateful relief. It was the closest he'd been to her in months, even while she was at the mansion. "Yeah. It was her." He breathed deeply, taking in the scent. She'd been calm, he could tell. Maybe she was okay. He let her fragrance imprint itself on his memory, burning it there.

"We must find her," Ororo said. It had become her mantra since the Professor gave them the new lead. She worried at her hands, brushing invisible dirt from the skin.

Scott comforted her as always, in his usual way. "We will, Ororo. She can't be far."

Ororo nodded but clutched at his arm. Scott brushed a hand over her back, doing his level best to keep his front of control up. He felt as though he were made of riveted steel plates, and slowly jittering apart. "She can't be far," he repeated. "Logan, can you track her any farther?"

"Nah. She musta flown outta here."

"Considering the situation at the time, we cannot blame her," Ororo said to them.

"Another personality in her head has to be awful for her. We'll have the Professor do what he can for her when we bring her back," assured Scott.

"Assuming she wants to come back," Ororo said.


If Damon wasn't going to shut up, SHE was going to shut him up. His thoughts kept racing through her mind. Of all the irritating, frustrating people to have in her head, why this guy? He was fading, though, and now that she knew what her skin was capable of, she would bet her ass it wouldn't happen again.

She flipped on the VCR and reviewed the security camera tape one more time. Most of the sequence she had memorized now. It just didn't make any sense at all to her.

According to the tape, she'd strolled into the hotel with an elegantly dressed blonde woman. Elegant being the key word. M. had a thing for white; her clothes were almost exclusively of the color. White leather pants, boots, and a white silk top. Creepy. And so… themed. Ugh.

They'd checked in, and just continued on up to the room. What got the self-appointed ‘Beth' about the whole thing? It looked friendly. M. and herself were carrying on, laughing and talking about something that the audio couldn't quite pick up. Were they friends? Had M. betrayed her?

There were several possibilities. M. was her friend and a telepath, and under the pretense of friendship had lured her here and erased her memory. Another? M. had lured her here and given her over to someone else who was a telepath, and performed a mind-wipe. And the last, though least likely; Beth had asked her or an associate to blot out her memories.

Each held its own implications, but had a main theme; it all boiled down to M. Who was she? An associate? A real friend? Where was she now?

Damned if she had a clue as to any of it.


"Nobody know a fucking thing in this town. Not that asshole, not you, not me," Logan swore after another fruitless interrogation.

The hapless waiter looked ready to have a coronary. "I—I'm sorry, sir, I wish there was something"—

"Thank you for your time," Scott said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, we should go back to the hotel. It's almost eleven. We're tired and frustrated, and we won't get anything done tonight if we keep on this way."

Ororo nodded her assent. "We'll start again in the morning."

"I wanna see you both up and ready by seven."

Scott and Ororo glanced at one another, then at Logan. Scott spoke first. "I was put in charge of this"—

"Not no more, you're not. You're too care"—

"Say it, Logan. Go on. I'm too carefree? I don't care what happens to Rogue? I beg to differ. I've been scouring the earth for possible signs of Rogue. Before that, she and I were practically blood. You spent your time chasing my now ex-wife. Well, either chasing or screwing, depending on the time frame. You ignored Rogue during her worst times, the trials she was put through. Do you honestly think that saving her life that one time makes up for the callous neglect and disregard you've treated her with"—

"It was a mistake"—

"Isn't it always with you? What was it that you told Jean a few days ago? ‘It was a mistake'. What about what you told Rogue after she absorbed Carol? That it was a mistake, that you should've been there. And now what? Now she's your top priority simply because she's unattainable? You had Jean, leave Rogue be"—

"You know fuck-all nothin' about what I"—

"I know much more than you give me credit for, Logan. You're selfish. You wanted Jean, and you got her. Now, despite all the ways you've wronged Rogue, she's supposed to swoon and fall into your arms the second you come knocking on her door. It won't happen like that, Logan. I know her, and it won't happen like that at all."

"A self-fulfilling prophecy," murmured Ororo.


"I simply want to speak to you," argued the pretty redhead.

"Right now, I'm at the limit of my patience, lady. I don't want to speak to you, okay? Is that blunt enough for you? I don't care if you're with the American Red Cross, the Jehovah's Witnesses, or if you're Jehovah himself, okay? I want you to move on down the line. And isn't it illegal to solicit at hotels?" Beth tapped her fingers against the doorframe impatiently. She was on her last nerve, and that one was being grated pretty well.

"I have some things of interest that you"—

"No, you really probably don't. Look, I'm not always rude. I'm a pretty nice person. But I've paid big bucks to stay here, and harassment isn't what I ordered from room service. Now, goodbye." She moved to shut the door, but the woman's arm shot forward and stayed the motion.

"I know what you're looking for. I know about your past, Rogue."

"In that case, would you like some coffee?"


"We were not enlisted for that mission, Remy. It would be folly to"—

"You wanna find de chere, or no? ‘Cause I do, an' I not be trustin' Logan to do it."

Hank, a.k.a. Beast, sighed and let his wishes war with his rational side. "She may not be receptive to either of our advances. She may well be furious with us for finding her, my friend."

"Maybe so. But Remy know for sure she be madder at Logan if he be findin' her first."

There were many positive points to Remy's argument, thought the doctor. Selfishly, he knew that he'd have a better chance at winning her affections if he were the one to make contact with her. He wasn't up to par with Remy, that much he knew for certain, and certainly didn't hold the same status as Logan, so it could well be his only chance to make a play for Rogue's affections. "Your contact is irrefutably sure she is currently staying at the Four Seasons Hotel in Los Angeles?"

"Wit' out a doubt, mon ami."

"Allow me to pack and conceal my reserve of Twinkies, then."


"Excellent coffee, Rogue."

Beth eyed the petite redhead. "That's the second time you've called me that."

"It's your name. Undoubtedly self-appointed and most assuredly not on your birth certificate, but yours all the same."

"Wait. Who are you, exactly? I mean, do I know you? Or, um, did I at some point that I can't remember?"

"The latter would be correct. I must tell you, however, we were not on the best of terms during the tenure of our acquaintanceship."

"How so?"

"You remember nothing of your personal history at all, do you?"

"Flashes, sometimes. They don't make any sense, though. Now, answer my question, please, Ms…Mystique, right?"

"Just Mystique. That name is similar to yours, in that though we were not so christened, it has come to suit and serve us just the same."

"Go on. Why did we dislike each other?"

"My faction attempted to kill you, though it was not a personal issue. The leader of our cause needed your skin to complete his plans. You were saved by your own faction, and since our causes are direct opposites, we have met in battle several times."

"Wait, wait. My faction? Our causes? What's all that about? And— and shit, if you're trying to kill me, I"—`Rogue' jumped up, ready to fight.

Mystique continued to calmly sip from her mug. "I'm not here to kill you. Surely you've seen the news."

"Well, sure. But I don't see what you're getting at."

"You, my dear, are the X-Man known as Rogue. I am Mystique, member of the Brotherhood of Mutants. Please tell me our names alone tipped you off to some degree."

"Not a thing. X-Man? The Brotherhood of Mutants? What're those?" She was totally befuddled. She hadn't been left with any knowledge at all concerning that.

"Obviously, we have quite a bit to talk about. Please, sit. I feel that you may now be more receptive to my cause, given that you retain none of your brainwashing by the X-Men."

"Go on, Mystique."

"You've surely seen the hatred and prejudice with which mutants are treated, my dear. It's rampant. It's only a matter of time before the lot of us are rounded up and thrown into boxcars and gas chambers. The Brotherhood will not allow that to happen. We are attempting to make the world a safe place for mutants."

"Okay, I can see that. Why was I against that?"

"I don't necessarily believe it was you who was against that. The X-Men believe that humans and mutants can co-exist peacefully. Now, as wonderful as that prospect seems, it will never happen. Flatscans will never cease to fear us. My dear, we are the next step in evolution. They fear that. They detest that they are no longer the `top of the foodchain', as it were. They will hunt us down like dogs in the street, no matter what beliefs mutants hold. The Brotherhood is not nearly so idealistic. We believe in protecting our kind. We will fight this war without mercy against those who would see us dead. We will assure our survival. The Brotherhood trust that you were forced into believing the ideals of the X-Men, led by Professor Charles Xavier. We would like to offer you the chance to begin again, a clean slate, on our side." Mystique had set her cup down midway through her spiel to vigorously gesture with her hands.

Rogue paused. "What about my friends? What about the rest of my history? Where am I from, who was I? I don't even know my own personality. Surely the X-Men were my close friends"—

"No. I know that factually, they weren't. They treated you as a tool, their own private `super-mutant'. To the X-Men, you were a weapon. They allowed you to be hurt grievously a number of times. Your memory loss is a direct result of their cold inattention." Mystique leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on Rogue's knee. "I know of all of this because I, too, was subjected to their ways. They honor and cherish the ‘pretty' mutants. You and I and the other members of the Brotherhood are scorned and treated as refuse. Our appearances and powers don't fit their idea of what mutants ‘should be'. The Brotherhood is accepting on all accounts. They love all mutants regardless of outward appearances or frightful powers. Your skin horrified them."

Horrified. She horrified them. If she was to take Mystique at her word, then the people with whom she'd fought for, for their ideals, had simply used her while rejecting her. All because of her skin. "What about you? Why didn't they want you?"

"A similar gift. Our skin is our weapon, Rogue. Mine," Mystique allowed her skin to shift, returning to its scaly, blue form, "is repulsive to those who would view it. We are very alike, you and I. I would accept you as blood, were you to join us."

Rogue remembered the letter she'd found. ‘Do you really want to find your past?' She supposed not. They'd rejected her. Used and abused, and she didn't even know who or what she was now. "How did my memory get erased?" She could feel hot, stinging tears collecting in her eyes, but didn't want to cry. She was Rogue. That was who she was, she accepted that. "I want to be me. I have to know that much."

"You are you, in whatever variation you develop into. A telepath erased your memory. She was for hire. It was nothing personal on her part, simply business. Dr. Jean Grey employed her. She, too, is a telepath. I suppose it would've been obvious had she done it herself. The hired telepath destroyed who you were at her request. She loathes you. Dr. Grey is an X-Man. Now, do you see? Do you see what you were to them?"

Rogue shivered through her layers of clothing and hugged her elbows. "But who was I? That—that fucking bitch took that away from me. She stole that. I just—I can't even remember who"— Revenge. She wanted revenge against those who had wronged her, who'd taken her from herself.

"Does it matter? You are who you are. The same core person is there. You're free of all weaknesses, of all prejudices that might've once limited you. Exploit that. You're still Rogue."

She nodded. That—that made sense. So much sense. For all the good things she'd gain about herself, there would be bad. She hadn't thought of that. It was like a safety net, her past. If she could just figure it out, she would be okay. That wasn't true. It was just as hurtful as it could be helpful, maybe more so. Yes. Rogue was who she was. And the X-Men could go to hell.

"Will you come back with me? Will you fight against those who would see you destroyed?" Mystique smiled warmly.

"Yes. But I—I want Grey. I want Dr. Grey to suffer for this."

"In time. You'll meet her on the battlefield, my dear, and her retribution will be close following."

Rogue nodded slowly. Her future was being laid down, and she liked the path it was following. "Where to?"
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