Peek into the shadow, I come into the light
You tell me I'm wrong, then you better prove you're right
Janet Jackson
Fall 2010
In the hanger, Xavier’s gifted filed out of the wounded Blackbird, staggered and exposed. They had never had cause to see the lower levels. The X-Men had been a school secret, a badge of honor. Until black-op soldiers had stolen away starry-eyed notions of superheroism in the night. Two mornings later, the helicopters that circled their sanctuary belonged to TV stations. Police held distraught parents and concerned citizens behind barricades just outside the grounds. The rest of the students were in the safe house nearby, watched over by Pete and Kitty as life as they know it gave way.
Marie had seen the lower levels before. One month prior, she’d been carried through to the med lab, body shudder-wracked and mind crackling, soaked in blood spilled for her. She learned then what Erik always kept in mind: even Charles saw his X-Men as a necessary evil.
She’d become well-acquainted with the concept. She’d curled back her toes from the corpses left in the wake of Logan’s rage. She’d bedded down a tent away from the madman who tried to kill her. She’d kept her mouth shut as they let lost, angry John live with his choice. She’d survived through Jean Grey’s ultimate sacrifice.
Now she took a moment of the chaos for herself. She knelt in front of the exhausted Professor. She didn’t have to say anything; he’d chosen her to pilot the Blackbird to the rescue, he’d taught her to use her curse responsibly. She may not have been eighteen just yet, but if someone didn’t start letting her have half a say in which evils were necessary and why, she'd burst.
The uniform was supposed to elevate her out of victimhood, not be an exercise in frustration. They were the superheroes who didn’t do anything. She felt like she was living in an extended training montage. Learn to not crash the jet, check. Learn to borrow her teammates’ powers without knocking them flat, double check. Kick harder. Duck faster.
“The whole world’s goin’ to hell. You just gonna sit there?”
No matter how many hours she’d logged in the Danger Room since the last time she saw him, it was never enough for Logan. He pushed her because he didn’t think she should have to be a soldier. His protection felt like a punishment.
Kitty, Pete, Bobby – they were having a good time developing their powers. As Marie’s got stronger, she got weaker.
A Danger Room session in Logan’s absence. Magneto had stood with an army in front of him and raised his hands like he was performing Shakespeare. They were supposed to be practicing recon. What’s the point? She couldn’t stand listening to his lies. The program works by tapping into minds, so his presence seemed all the more real for Marie.
“I have made sacrifices,” he boomed, and that was more bullshit than she could handle. She took the presence at her back to be Bobby and reached behind her to squeeze a little power from his wrist.
Even before red light blasted Magneto into airwaves, she knew she had made a terrible mistake. She had no control over the boundless energy pouring out of her.
Cyclops put his arms out to steady them as they sank to the metal floor. Everyone else was yelling. He was calm. “Close your eyes, Rogue.”
The pressure of the light was too much, her eyelids too thin. “I can’t!”
“Yes you can. You have to close your eyes and hold them tight.”
She did what he said. Cyclops took her hands away from her face and guided her forehead to the floor. While the others scrambled to get his spare glasses, she tried to think past the red.
But Scott Summers’ mind was a cracking compression gage. He was not the only one in there. Whispers in Jean’s voice. She was on fire, everything burned.
“Make her stop,” Marie choked out. “Scott, please!”
His grip got tighter, but there was nothing he could do. Only hate this persecution, love this obsession.
She isn’t real. You’re safe.
She blindly lifted her face toward the Professor and he slid Scott’s glasses over her eyes, brushing the pad of this thumb across her forehead as he did. Instantly, the flames became smoke.
She was disquieted.
Her head was too crowded. Her skin was a livewire. She was scared. She lashed out.
Bobby stood back and took her attitude. Logan called her on it.
“Rogue. Front and center.”
She shared a split-second frown with Scott as he hit the door. Neither of them had been the same since Alkali Lake, and they seemed to be the only ones who didn’t think they should have to be.
Logan waited, hands on his hips, for Marie to stroll over. She mirrored his stance and nailed an impression of his sardonic eyebrow. “Sir, yes, sir?”
“Knock it off. You know you were sloppy in there today. You need to quit starin’ at your boyfriend and start focusing on keepin’ your ass in one piece.”
That struck her as funny enough to snort at. She was a dozen pieces. She couldn’t help it.
He made an effort to soften. “Kid, tell me what’s buggin’ you, and I’ll fix it.”
“’Fix it’?” Having Logan in her head didn’t stop him from astonishing her at times. “I’m not your motorcycle.”
“Look, if Bobby is messin’ around behind your back – “
She put up a gloved hand. This was far too humiliating a topic to get into with Logan. Especially when he was bound and determined to play the role of the overprotective daddy. She could almost hear him rehearsing his speech: Treat her right, Iceprick, or I’ll use your frozen balls to cool my drinks. Paternal was low on the list of things she wanted Logan to feel toward her.
Not to mention, the cheaters-should-pay routine was a bit rich coming from him. A little of Scott’s hostility bubbled up.
“No offense, daddy – “ the word dripped from her mouth like a honey-covered expletive – “but you’re the last person I’d go to for relationship advice. See you next time you’re ‘just passin’ through.’”
That wasn’t not exactly fair of her. He was out there working, running down leads for the Professor and picking up other kids whose parents made them run. But she told herself she didn’t care about fair. She’d gotten Logan’s attention by making him think she didn’t want it. Now he had to stick around until she forgave him.
Seemed like obligation was the only hold Marie had on anyone anymore.
From Bobby’s bedroom window, she watched him skate around the fountain. They’d done that. They’d tripped and fallen into each other and laughed. They’d held hands.
Bobby reached out to Kitty. They touched, skin to skin.
Marie was plenty stung and pissed off, but it was her righteous indignation she nursed. He did a good job of pretending away her deficiencies and his desires – “Have I ever put any pressure on you?” – but after this, he’d have to admit he wasn’t that perfect. In his grief, he’d sought out the comfort of relative normalcy. Meaning Kitty, with her understanding parents and plucky optimism and kissable lips.
Finally, Marie got to be the wronged party. She never would have seen this if for once she hadn’t tried do the right thing. She could have just taken off, but she’d thought she owed Bobby an explanation. She hadn’t wanted him to worry.
Screw him. She turned on her heel and strode down the hall. He could find out she was gone from her empty room.
She shoved clothes into a bag. Maybe she’d need them, maybe they’d just make it look like she’d left for good. Bobby would wonder. He’d feel doubly awful and appreciate her all the more when she came back. Hopefully. Or not. Whatever.
Her gloves got tangled in the static cling of her laundry. Marie shook her arm with increasing violence until she gave up and ripped the glove right off, tearing the seam.
How could she be this upset? She’d known what was coming. She’d known from Bobby’s self-denial. She’d known from Kitty’s hyper-friendliness and guilty conscience. She’d even known from Pete, who was better at reading people than he let on. Those stupid cartoons he drew, like Bobby was a mutant Archie.
With her bare hand, Marie chafed at her face and neck. She hated feeling like this, like she was seconds from a psychotic breakdown. Like she’d end up peeling off her own skin or something equally horrific.
Deep breath. Put on a coat. Pick up the bag. It’d all be over soon.