Home | Forum | Mailing List | Repository | Links | Gallery
 
 
Chapters
Chapter 1
 
 
 

Keeping a Distance - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Lori McDonald
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 1

He'd been a prisoner for so long he wasn't sure what his name was anymore. He didn't care either.

Quietly, experiment #713 lifted his head and looked around at his world. It consisted of the clear glass cylinder he sat in, with room for him to stand though not to stretch out. A grate on part of the floor would carry away excrement and there was a gap in the tube for food and water to be passed through. he could push his arm through it, but not much else. He'd once wondered if he could starve himself and squeeze through, but of course his head would never fit. But it was the only way out that he could see. He knew the cylinder would open somehow, but he was always asleep when it happened.

Beyond his cylinder there were more just like it, some occupied, some not. Around them was all the paraphanelia of a geneticist's lab. Once, he'd tried to communicate with his fellow prisoners. Now he didn't react when one of them was dissected.

Impassively he turned to see what had attracted his attention and watched Mister Sinister come in. At first, he'd raged against him, then cowered. Now he just watched without feeling anything at all.

Sinister set up one of the tables, then walked over to his container and pushed the button next to the one marked gas. Without surprise, he watched as the glass became opaque, leaving him in darkness. When it grew clear again, the woman from the cylinder next to his was on the table. Sinister didn't want him to see any of the cylinders open.

Dressed like he was in only a bulky inhibiter collar, the woman stared fearfully up at the scientist. He could understand that. The only time he felt fear anymore was when it was him lying on the table.

While he watched, Sinister picked up a scalpul and opened the woman's stomach, ignoring her screams. After a while, the screams went away and he went back to staring at nothing at all.

Sometime later - he wasn't sure how long, maybe hours, maybe weeks - Sinister came back to the lab. He prepared a table and came over to his cylinder, just as he always did. But instead of darkening the cylinder, he pushed the button which would close the food slot and turned on the gas.

With nowhere to run, he cowered and tried to hold his breath as the thick green smoke descended on him, fouling the atmosphere with the smell of burnt hair. He resisted as long as he could, but Sinister was patient and finally he had to take a breath. Immediately he felt his head start to swim and slumped down.

Somebody, please help me! he thought, to his own surprise. He'd believed he'd stopped praying a long time ago. He passed out soon after, to the sight of Sinister's familiar, glowing red eyes.

He woke up on the table, with heavy metal clamps holding him down. He knew he could get out of them, but Sinister was right there and he didn't try. He used to hope Sinister would leave him alone like this, but he never did. Other prisoners he would leave strapped down for hours, but not him. Of course, he didn't drug any of them before moving them either.

Still, he knew he was lucky to even be awake. Sinister eventually dissected all of his prisoners and he knew it was only a matter of time for him. He briefly considered asking Sinister when he would kill him, but that was looking ahead too much. A man could go mad doing that.

So he just lay there as Sinister took a series of blood tests and injected him with other things that made him shiver. Neither of them said anything. Finally, Sinister picked up an anethesia mask and moved to put it over his nose and mouth. It was time to go back to his cylinder.

Distantly, he heard an explosion. Sinister heard it as well and looked towards the door. There was another explosion and he cursed. Putting the mask loosely over the prisoner's face, he turned on the gas and ran out.

The mask wasn't on all the way and he sucked air desperately out of the side of his mouth, trying to stay awake. It wasn't enough, though, and he felt himself begin to drift into sleep.

There was another series of explosions and the lab shook. Then a thick red beam of light blasted through the wall, smashing into the ceiling. Support girders fell and a fire began in the side of the lab with the cylinders. The beam also cut through one of the computers and his restraints snapped open.

With all the strength he had left, he reached up and pulled the gas mask off. Then he just lay there for a few moments while his head cleared. Finally, he sat up.

The other half of the lab was on fire. He could hear the screams of the prisoners and see their blackening bodies convulse in the flames, but he couldn't do anything. Toxic smoke started towards him and he got off the table, headed for the hole blown in the wall. He could hear fighting through there, but it was the only way out. If he stayed he would die, and he found that he still very much wanted to live.

On the other side of the wall was a hangar, filled with equipment, much of it destroyed. There was fire here as well, and mutants were attacking Sinister.

The sight of that, obscured though it was, stopped him. It was hard to imagine anyone standing up to Sinister, but as he watched he remembered fighting against Sinister himself. Only he'd been alone and the geneticist had shrugged off his best attempts. Then he'd learned not to resist.

Now, however, Sinister wasn't doing so well. There was a black woman who hurled lightning at him, and an auburn haired one in green who threw a punch strong enough to break a battleship. A short man moved to claw him as a second turned the floor to ice. But it was when a brown haired man in a visor shot beams at him from his eyes that Sinister screamed.

Unnoticed, he watched all this. Part of him wanted to help, but he was naked, and his collar was heavy, and he was already coughing from the smoke. More, there was something deep inside him that didn't know how to fight anymore.

Turning his back, he went to the entrance, walking slowly so as not to cut his bare feet, and climbed up a cracked ramp to the surface. It was cold and raining outside, but the air was sweet and there was no sign of Sinister. Wrapping his arms around himself and under his long beard for warmth, he hurried into the woods.

He got lost almost immediately. Stumbling on the uneven ground, he struggled forward, not making a sound as he twisted his ankle stepping into a hole. Limping and exhausted at his first exercise since his capture, he forced himself a little farther, but the stress was too much and he went to his knees.

Apparently he would die out here anyway, or be retaken by Sinister. Blinking rain out of his eyes, he looked around for anything that could help him escape and started.

He was kneeling on the edge of a clearing and inside it was a ship. An invisible ship made visible by the rain which fell on it.

Shivering, he hobbled towards it, hoping that it belonged to the strange mutants and not Sinister. Either way, it was warm and dry and a place to hide.

He had to use touch to find his way into the ship. Inside, everything was visible, but he didn't explore. Instead he limped to the very back of the ship. Back there, he found a closet that had room for him. In it were several uniforms as well. One piece blue and gold bodysuits with an X on the buckle. He only hesitated a moment before he pulled one on to find it contoured to his body and fit perfectly. Quickly, he found a pair of boots that were only slightly too big and crawled into the closet. It was cramped and dark, and reminded him of the cylinder that had been his home for so long.

He was fast asleep by the time the plane's owners came to fly it home.

He came awake as the plane landed, huge engines powering down. He'd been dreaming he was back on the table with Sinister coming towards him with a buzzsaw and it was only the fact that he was used to such nightmares that kept him from screaming.

Yawning, he pressed his ear against the door and listened to snatches of conversation.

"...wish... been able... save..."

"...forget... darlin'..."

"... report... Sinister... tell Xavier..."

He leaned back as they exited the plane. He'd never heard of anyone named Xavier before. Nor did he know who his benefactors were, and until he did, he had no intention of approaching them, if then.

Made patient by imprisonment, he waited, counting to himself until he sensed two hours had gone by. Then he cautiously opened the door.

The plane was deserted and he took a few careful steps. His ankle felt better and he went to the nearest window.

He was in a hangar, much like the one in Sinister's lab. He bit his lip and went to the next one. It wasn't until he'd looked out every window and was sure the hangar was empty that he lowered the entryramp.

No attack came at that point and he peered out the hatch. Still no one there. Quickly, he scurried down the ramp, reclosed the ship and ran as fast as he could across the floor to some stacked crates, his footsteps ringing on the ground.

The short run made his lungs ache, but he made it. Crouching behind a crate, he surveyed the hangar again. Still empty. Now he wondered what to do next.

The great hangar doors the plane came through were right across from him, a smaller door on the wall to their right. He was pretty sure the team had gone that way, though, which was an excellent reason for him not to.

Behind him was a circular, reinforced door, marked Morlock Tunnels: restricted. He looked at it a moment, then made his decision. If it was restricted, then he'd have a better chance of not being found. Quickly, he opened the door, and hurried down the steps on the other side, letting the door swing closed behind him.

There were miles of deserted tunnels down there, crisscrossing each other in a maze it took him weeks to unravel. It became obvious pretty quickly that it'd been inhabited once, but whoever had been here before was long gone. They'd left some of their stuff behind though. Moldy books, tattered blankets and clothes, even the supplies and means to make candles. After a few days of feeling his way through the dark and making use of phosphorescent moss, he started making his own. It was the most ambitious thing he'd done since his capture and it felt good. Of course, everything he was seemed to be since his capture. He was truly starting over.

With a good supply of candles now, he expanded his explorations, marking his route with bits of chalk he'd found. Some places he avoided because they looked unsafe and one he ran from, when what looked like a squid erupted out of a pool and tried to grab him. He was lucky he'd been exercising, or he never would have outrun its tentacles. It was three days before he ventured forth again, in the other direction.

It was in that direction that he learned what had become of the tunnels' original inhabitants. As he walked along one passageway, he came to an archway and was surprised to find a cavern as large as the hangar beyond it. It was naturally formed, the ground sloping downwards and covered with moss as green as grass. The moss was spotted with dozens of square stones and he went in to take a look at the nearest.

It was a plaque, with a name inscribed on it. They all were, and he went from one to another, until he came to a raised pedestal in the very center of the cavern. This one was inscribed with something else.

Dedicated to the memory of the Morlocks,

who were cruelly killed by the Marauders.

They will be remembered.

It held a date and he shivered. He knew of the Marauders, had heard their names while he was still a prisoner. He turned back the way he'd come. The tunnels didn't feel so safe anymore, now that he knew Sinister was aware of them.

As he walked, he heard a screeing and turned to see a trio of rats. Slowly, he bent and picked up a small rock, then threw it at the largest of the three. It fell over and the other two ran. He let them go as he collected the little body and hung it from his belt. Afraid or not, a man still had to eat.

A few days later, he was reading a book by candlelight when he heard a rumbling coming from above him. Curious, he went to investigate and the sound led him back up the stairs to the hangar before it faded away.

Cautiously, he opened the door a crack and peered out. The plane was gone.

Surprised, he let the door open further and took a second look. The hangar was empty.

He started to turn back the way he'd come, but his stomach's rumbling stopped him. Rats weren't always plentiful, but even when they were, he had to struggle to choke them down. Could he go out there and find some real food?

It took him hours to work up the nerve. When he was finally ready, he crept across the hangar to the other door, ready to bolt at the slightest sound. Beyond the door was a corridor leading past several locked rooms to an elevator. He steeled himelf and pushed the button for the first floor.

Seconds later, the elevator deposited him in a mansion. He gaped at the rich wood paneling and expensive furniture, but didn't step off the elevator until he was sure there was no one there.

The kitchen was at the end of the hall. A loaf of bread sat on one of the counters and he grabbed it, ripped open the bag and stuffed a slice in his mouth. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. Chewing happily, he went over and opened the fridge.

It was filled with food. Dropping the bread, he began grabbing stuff and piling it on the table, forgetting where he was. All that mattered was filling his belly, and fill it he did.

There was a plate of fried chicken covered in tin foil. He yanked that off and grabbed a leg, chewing and swallowing as fast as he could between bites of an apple, a cream pie, carrots, pickles and a raw egg that he cracked and poured straight into his mouth. Milk he drank out of the carton.

He was so absorbed in his eating that he didn't hear the hum until a golden chair floated into the kitchen. Then he froze, staring over a cold baked potato at a bald man who looked back at him, equally shocked.

The man's eyes drifted down to his blinking inhibiter collar. "Oh, my God," he whispered.

That broke the spell. Grabbing up as much of the food as he could, he bolted for the elevator.

#Wait, I won't hurt you,# the man called, directly into his mind. #You don't have to be afraid.#

He just kept running. The open elevator was only a few feet away.

Then something reached into his mind. #Stop.#

Against his will, he skidded to a halt and stood there, trembling, not even able to move as the man came up beside him.

#You're safe now,# the man told him. #No one will harm you here.#

With a great effort, he closed his eyes for a moment and felt a tear trickle down his cheek. This was worse than Sinister. At least then he'd been able to move in his cylinder.

The man saw it in his face and sighed. "All right, I'm going to let you go now. Then we'll talk."

He felt the grip on his mind loosen and leave. Instantly he was gone. Tossing the food at him, he bolted into the elevator and hit the down button. The doors closed.

When they opened again, he exited at a dead run. Sprinting down the corridor, he turned the corner and ran into the hangar.

For an instant, everything seemed to drop into slow motion. The plane was back, the ramp down and a dozen mutants exiting it. Every one of them saw him.

"What the hell...?" one of them said in the slow, stretched way his mind seemed to suddenly make everything. The short man he recognized from his escape held up his fists and long metal blades erupted slowly from the back.

Time resumed its normal flow and he ran for the tunnels. Immediately, they were after him, some airborne, others on the ground. A beam of energy like that which hurt Sinister went by him, trying to force him to change direction. He leapt over it awkwardly and kept running. The next thing he knew, lightning danced around him.

"Don't hurt him!" a woman yelled. "The Professor wants him unharmed!" The lightning stopped.

There was a low growl behind him and he glanced back to see the short man had almost caught up. He'd had no idea anyone could move that fast.

Terrified of what those claws could do to him, he put on a burst of speed. Diving through the door, he kicked it shut and threw the locking mechanism to on. An instant later, three metal claws punched through the door, coming to a stop an inch from his nose. Then they withdrew.

Counting his blessings, he picked up the candle he'd left there and hurried back into the darkness.

The mutants were in the tunnels. Feeling frightened, angry and violated at the same time, he lay in a crack high up on one wall and listened to their voices drift out to him while they rooted through his stuff.

"It's hard to believe he's been down here a month without us knowing," a woman said.

He heard a low gutteral laugh he'd come to associate with the short man. "Morlocks were down here for years without us knowin' 'bout them either, Jeannie."

"But he stowed away on our ship. Why hide? Why not come to us for help?"

"After what Sinister must have done to him? Are you surprised?"

A new voice sighed. "Irregardless, we need to get him into Hank's lab for medical treatment."

He hunkered farther down in the crack.

"Logan, can you smell him?"

"Yup. His scent's everywhere."

"Then you better find him."

"Nope."

He sounded exasperated. "What do you mean, 'nope'?"

He heard Logan moving around. "Sinister took that boy and he broke somethin' deep inside. 'Til it heals, he ain't gonna trust nobody an' forcin' him t' do what we want'll just make it worse."

"He's right, Scott," the woman agreed.

"Well, what do you suggest we do? Leave him alone down here until he starves?!"

"Nope. I'm just sayin' we should let him call the shots."

They left soon after and he eventually came down out of his hiding place, only to scurry back into it when he heard footsteps. He listened to movement and talking, then the intruders leaving and the door to the hangar closing.

His nostrils flared. He smelled chicken? Carefully, he crept to the foot of the stair. A table and chair had been set up there, with a glass of water and a covered platter.

The memory of what happened the last time he went after food very much in his mind, he went up to the table. No one leaped out at him and he read a note sitting on the table, held down by a couple of pills.

You seemed to like my

cooking last time. Sorry

I burned these a bit.

BTW, the pills are only

vitamins. Our doctor

wants you to take them.

- Rogue

Ignoring the pills, he lifted the plate cover and inhaled the heavenly smell of the fried chicken and vegetables. Almost every type of food he'd eaten in the kitchen was there. His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered.

Still, he was afraid to try it. Sinister had sometimes drugged his food and he had no reason to believe these people wouldn't do the same. His stomach rumbled louder and he thought of the rats waiting for him.

Finally, he grabbed the plate and the water and scuttled to the darkest, most remote corner of the tunnels. If the food was drugged, he'd have to hope the effects wore off before they found him.

They brought him food five times a day, good, rich food carried by a different person each time. It was probably so he'd get used to all the different members of the team. But also because they learned very quickly that there were some people whose offerings he just wouldn't eat. Most of the men were on that list, with the sole exception of the short, violent Logan.

He'd come down the stairs balancing a tray in one hand and smoking a cigar with the other.

"Rogue made ya more o' her fried chicken," he called. "Ain't never seen that girl cook so much. She's gonna set the whole damn house on fire." He tossed another cigar down by the plate. "Here, this is my contribution."

He enjoyed that cigar more than the meal. He hadn't had anything like it since before and he hacked for an hour after he smoked it. It was great.

His reaction to the Beast wasn't nearly as pleasant.

"My name is Doctor Henry McCoy," the blue-furred mutant said as he laid out the food. "I am a biochemist and medical doctor and I want to examine you. You may be injured or have medical problems you're not aware of."

He rambled on for several more minutes, getting more and more technical as he did, but his audience wasn't listening anymore. After the doctor left, he went out and threw the food on the floor. Then he smashed the plates and broke the table and chair against the wall. He never saw McCoy in the tunnels again.

Nor did he see most of the men beyond a single visit. But with the exception of a tattooed Asian woman who seemed to melt into the shadows and gave him the creeps, he'd take food from any of the women, and for his fried chicken cooker, he'd even swallow the vitamins.

Food wasn't all they brought him. Blankets, clothes, flashlights, even beer from Logan. With them and the food, he felt his strength and confidence return, though he still wouldn't let any of them see him. He didn't trust that much yet.

With his strength returning and very little else to do, he exercised. Jogging, push-ups, even lifting a set of old, rusty weights he found. He worked out until he could run all ten miles of the main corridor in the tunnels. Then he kept working at it until he could run all the way back.

He was as healthy as he'd ever been, no longer suffering from nightmares or jumping at any shadow that resembled Sinister. He wasn't afraid any more, but there was something missing. After a lot of soul searching, he realized what it was.

He was lonely.

Rogue was setting the table, laying out the food with her usual aplomb. He crouched in the shadows and watched her. She was trying to fold a napkin so that it'd stand up without any help, but she wasn't having much luck. Giving up, she crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it over her shoulder.

It landed only a foot away from him. He stared at it for a moment, then reached out and took it, folded it quickly into a rose and tossed it back to her.

It landed on the plate and she looked at it. He tensed, ready to run if he had to. But she only picked up the flower and looked around until she spotted him in the shadows. Then she smiled.

"Thanks, sugah. That was awful sweet o' ya."

He only nodded. It'd been so long since he used his voice that he didn't trust it to work.

Still smiling , Rogue backed away. "Ah guess ah better let ya get ta ya supper. Ah hope ah get ta see ya again, sugah." Quickly, she flew up the stairs and was gone.

He smiled after her, shaking his head, then went to see what she'd burned for him today.

"Mah name is Rogue. It's not mah real name, o' course, but it's the name ah go by. Ah grew up in Caldacott county, which is way down in Mississippi. Have ya heard o' it?"

He looked up from his meal to where she sat on the stairs and shook his head.

"Ya haven't, huh?" She hugged her drawn up knees. "Well, it's one o' the prettiest spots ah ever seen, an' ah been to a lot o' places, even outer space."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"It's true," she laughed. "Ya don't believe me?"

He smiled. This was the fourth time he'd eaten while she sat on the steps and he was coming to enjoy it more and more. He still didn't let her get any closer than that though.

"He doesn' believe me," she repeated, teasing. "After ah bring him all his meals an' put up with that awful ratty beard an' th' fact that ya ain't even told me ya name."

He blinked. He hadn't had the opportunity to shave since before, but he wasn't aware that his beard was ratty.

"Ah mean, some people are so rude!"

That was too much. Playfully, he grabbed a dinner roll and threw it at her, bouncing it off her forehead. Giggling, she lunged at him.

The next thing he knew, he'd kicked the chair back and was running as fast as he could away from her.

"Wait!" she yelled, though she didn't follow him. "Ah didn't mean ta scare ya! Damn it, ah'm sorry!"

Rogue didn't come back the next day, or the next. Instead, Ororo came in her place, the beautiful black woman with the long white hair. He could tell she didn't like to come, but he sensed he didn't have anything to do with it. She didn't like the closeness of the tunnels that gave him comfort. He wanted to ask her why, but his voice was so unused it was almost nonexistent. He'd practiced trying to speak, but the best he could utter at a time was a word or two. If he could only ask a single word sentence, he didn't want it to be about her fears.

Quietly, he walked up to her as she came down the stairs with a tray. She saw him and stopped immediately. He stopped as well, twenty feet away.

"Rogue?" he croaked.

Her regal voice stayed calm, though this was the first word he'd said to any of them.

"It was decided that we would do everything we could to make you feel safe and not to threaten you. No one wants to see Rogue frighten you again."

He shook his head. Rogue hadn't frightened him. Well, she had, but mostly it had been surprise. Running was instinct. He never meant for her to stay away. He just... couldn't bear to be touched.

Ororo nodded in understanding. "Rogue is truly sorry for what happened. And she wants you to know that she does understand about not wishing to get close."

He thought of Sinister, of his experiments, and snorted in derision.

Ororo's smile was gentle. "It is true. Rogue's powers make it impossible for her to make skin to skin contact. She would not have actually touched you."

He sighed, suddenly feeling stupid.

"May I put this tray on the table?" Ororo asked. He nodded and stepped back to give her room. After setting the tray down, she surprised him by saying:

"Would you like to come up to the mansion? Surely you do not wish to spend the rest of your life down here. If nothing else, we will be able to remove that collar."

He backed away, uncertain. To lose the collar he'd worn so long, to have his powers back... to be near people again. To trust. He wasn't sure he could.

Quietly, he turned and walked back into the shadows.

"Sugah? Can ya hear me?"

He lifted his head sleepily at the sound of Rogue's distant voice, noting as he did that for once he hadn't immediately dived for cover.

"Can ah talk ta ya?"

With a yawn, he climbed out of bed and yanked on some clothes. With all of the clothes and furniture he'd been given, he'd been able to set himself up a fairly nice bedroom.

A few moments later, he shuffled out of the passage to his room to see Rogue standing shyly at the foot of the stairs, holding a small case. She blushed when she saw him.

"Ah'm sorry ah woke ya."

He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, then smiled. It was good to see her again.

She looked down. "Ah - ah'm sorry ah scared ya. Ah didn't mean ta."

He forced himself to walk a little closer. "It's okay," he whispered.

Her head snapped up at his words and her smile just glowed. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Ah - ah brought somethin' for ya."

He watched curiously as she set the case on the table. "It - it's a straight razor, an' a brush an' cup. Mah momma gave them ta me. Mah real momma." She looked down. "She said - she said, Clover, this was mah momma's razor b'fore it was mine. Now, you keep it safe until ya find a man ya really trust, who ya want ta get close ta." She blushed. "Ah thought ya might like ta borrow it." She started back to the stairs.

He stood watching her for a moment. He didn't want to let her go, he didn't want to be alone. Not anymore.

Quickly, he hurried after her and caught her arm. She looked back at him, her eyes wide.

"You do it," he whispered.

"Ya - ya mean it?"

He nodded.

Rogue went to the table and opened the case while he watched, taking deep breaths to settle his nerves. Rogue looked at what she'd brought, then up at him.

"Ah think ah need scissors an' a basin o' water and towels an' stuff. Ah - ah'll go get them and be right back." She hurried up the stairs.

He watched her go and exhaled loudly. The tunnels felt cold and empty without her and he didn't want to be alone. Could he follow her? The fear started again and he chided himself. He'd been outgoing once, the life of the party. That was before, but that didn't mean that part of him was dead. He didn't want it to be.

Slowly, he closed the case and went up the stairs with it. Rogue had left the door open and he stepped through and looked around.

"Good morning."

Almost, he ran back the way he'd come. Almost. Instead he jumped and turned to see a man standing under the plane, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes narrowed, trying to remember what name went with this particular face.

"I'm Scott Summers," the man told him. "I'm the leader of the X-Men."

He nodded, looking towards the other door.

"What's your name?"

He blinked, and barked a laugh at his own surprise. These people were probably going nuts wondering who he was. Well, he decided, he wasn't going to tell them. He shook his head and grinned at the look of frustration on Scott's face. He was definately starting to get his sense of humour back. Still, the other man did make him nervous, so he hurried across to the other door. Scott watched, but didn't say anything or try to stop him.

The corridor beyond didn't have any people in it, but he could hear voices and steeled himself to go through. He felt like he was running a gauntlet, but he didn't see anyone and the voices quieted. It felt like the whole house was holding its breath.

Holding his own, he walked down the passageway, peeking in the doors as he did so for any sign of Rogue. He didn't see her, but he did see a room full of computers and another one holding a lab.

He forced himself to stand and look at it. It held much of the same equipment as Sinister's lab, but there were no cylinders and the tables didn't have shackles. In all, he realized that the concept of a lab didn't terrify him as much as it used to, but he also knew that nothing would force him to go through that door. He continued to the elevator.

It deposited him on the first floor, the same place he'd been before. Again he heard voices, but saw no one. Either they didn't know he was there or, more likely, they were giving him room. He appreciated that.

He walked cautiously into the foyer and heard a clatter on the stairs as Rogue ran down them and stopped a few feet away.

"Ah guess ya got tired o' waitin', huh?" He grinned. "Well, if ya don't mind, ah'd probably do a much better job o' shavin' ya upstairs an' ah'll even be able ta wash ya hair."

He considered that. He bathed in a small underground lake below, but it'd been a long time since a woman washed his hair. "Sounds good," he whispered.

"Great! Follow me!" She started back up the stairs, looking back to see if he followed. He did.

He heard more whispering when he reached the upstairs. Rogue smiled at him. "Everyone's talkin' about ya, sugah. They're kinda hopin' ya gonna stay." She opened a door. "Here we are."

He followed her into a spacious bathroom where she pulled a chair up to the sink. "Sit back an' relax, sugah. Rogue's hairdressin' an' barber shop service is now open f' business."

While she switched her regular gloves for some rubber ones, he sat down, telling himself over and over again that he wasn't going to panic, he wasn't going to run.

It took willpower, but he didn't, and Rogue trimmed, then lathered and washed his long hair, combing out the tangles with her fingers. It felt good, but he kept his eyes open, for when he closed them she became Sinister taping electrodes to his head.

As she finished with his hair and started cutting his beard short enough to shave, she talked to him. Rambled nothings that calmed him right up until she brought the straight razor into his field of vision. It looked like a scalpel.

With a gasp he surged out of the chair and away from her.

"Sugah, it's all right. It's just a razor, okay?" She held it out for him to see it more clearly. It was longer than a scalpel, the handle bent to one side. "Please trust me, ah'm not goin' ta hurt ya."

He looked deep in her eyes and saw no guile in them, none of Sinister's coldness. Slowly, he sat down again.

"Thank ya."

Quickly, she mixed up some shaving cream and brushed the lather onto his face and neck. Then she took up the razor and scraped it along his cheek, removing the stubble.

He didn't move. To run now was to go back to the tunnels, to possibly never see Rogue again, and he loved her too much for that. He blinked. Love? Could he feel that emotion anymore, after everything Sinister had done to him? He looked up at her emerald green eyes and smiled. He supposed he could.

"Whatcha smilin' at, sugah?" she teased as she shaved his chin.

"You," he whispered, and she blushed.

Finally, she finished shaving and wiped the last of the lather off. She studied him critically. "Ya know, ya look awful cute without all that hair on ya face."

He stood and looked in the mirror for himself, then sighed at the sight of a face he'd never thought to see again.

"Penny for ya thoughts, sugah."

"Been a long time."

She strained to hear his whisper. "Yah. How'd ya end up with Sinister anyway? Ya don't have ta tell me if ya don't want ta," she amended quickly.

He sighed again, louder this time. He remembered far too easily when Sinister came for him. He'd asked for his services and when he'd said no, Sinister had taken him for an experiment instead. He'd often wondered if he'd have been better off accepting Sinister's offer. Even so, it wasn't something that he wanted to talk about; even if he could force the words through his strained vocal cords.

Rogue seemed to understand. "That's okay, sugah. Come on, ah'll make ya breakfast."

Again, Rogue hurried ahead, but he followed her more slowly, looking around curiously and rubbing his newly shaved skin. The drapes on the windows of the first floor, closed when he'd gone by earlier were open now and he squinted in the light of the sun. The sun. He'd forgotten what it looked like, how it felt.

Slowly, he walked to the front door and went outside. The morning was sunny, almost hot, with just enough of a breeze to lift his shoulder length hair and cool his skin. Too used to candlelight, he was almost blind, but this was too good to leave. It was freedom. He'd forgotten what that was like too.

He wouldn't go back to the tunnels, he decided. He'd healed as much as he could down there and now it was time to be around people again. Otherwise he'd just be locked in that same cylinder again, only this time he'd be his own jailer.

He heard laughter and walked around the house to see the X-Men playing a game of baseball in the backyard. Rogue met him there.

"Ah wondered where ya wandered off ta."

He smiled. "I'm stayin'," he told her.

"Ya are?" Her face beamed. "That's wonderful!"

He continued to smile and looked towards the game, half wondering if they'd mind another player.

"Ya know, sugah, there's somethin' we've all been wantin' ta do since th' first time we saw ya." She reached up, grasped both sides of the collar latched around his neck and snapped it in two. "That's much better." She handed the pieces to him.

He stared down at the broken device, his neck feeling unnaturally light without it. This was the last sign of his imprisonment, that which Sinister most used to control him. Without it, he'd never have been able to keep him in that lab.

His teeth ground together, all of the anger and grief he'd buried boiling out of him. He didn't rage or cry, though. Instead, he sent it into his hands and from there into the metal until it glowed an impossible colour and Rogue backed away.

Then he threw them, as hard as he could, one after another in quick succession. They screamed away from him and exploded against the ground, throwing chunks of dirt and rock everywhere. The X-Men dove for cover.

Rogue gaped at the twin craters. "Ah guess that answers th' question as t' whether ya an Alpha class mutant or not."

"I guess it does." He looked at her and grinned, feeling more like himself than he had in a lifetime. "T'ank you, chere," he told her and turned again, readying himself to meet the approaching X-Men.

 

GambitGuild is neither an official fansite of nor affiliated with Marvel Enterprises, Inc.
Nonetheless, we do acknowledge our debt to them for creating such a wonderful character and would not dream of making any profit from him other than the enrichment of our imaginations.
X-Men and associated characters and Marvel images are © Marvel Enterprises, Inc.
The GambitGuild site itself is © 2006 - 2007; other elements may have copyrights held by their respective owners.