Fic: Sleeping Dogs (NC-17) (11/?)
Title: Sleeping Dogs (11/?) NC-17
Author: JaqofSpades
Verse: Xmen Movieverse/AU
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, language)
11. The bad guy
The next person to walk through that door was going to die, Jubilee resolved. Each time the swing doors screeched, her heart leapt and her pulse hammered, and then she had to tell herself to chill, chica, because, hey! False alarm.
In retrospect, maybe all that coffee hadn’t been such a good idea, but really, who knew there was such a thing as too much caffeine? Had to be an urban myth. But then she had jumped out of her seat and cheered when Scott had walked in, and the whole damn dining room had stopped to stare. She’d bowed, of course, because an audience is an audience, but it kinda blew ‘stealthy’ out of the water.
So she’d waltzed over to the A-table and sat herself down next to Storm. Cyke and Jean were having a pissy little no-conversation across the table, and to her left, Beast was perusing some sort of journal. The Prof was reading too - the newspaper - so she braced herself to interrupt someone. They had a right to know!
“Can we help you, Jubilee?” Ooh, Doctor Grey had deigned to notice her. Cue delight.
“Sorry to crash your breakfast, Doc, Cyke. I just wondered … any word on what’s going on with Rogue? Haven’t seen her yet, and after yesterday…” she let the query hang in the air.
Jean’s mouth opened and closed, and a red flush crept across her cheekbones. “I have no idea, Jubilee. I haven’t seen Rogue since yesterday,” she replied, unusually flustered. Ah ha! She doesn’t know, Jubilee crowed internally. Jean just hated being out of the loop - look what it was doing to her! Scott sent his wife a surprised look, and then a raised an eyebrow towards the Professor, who was watching them silently.
“You’ll be happy to know Rogue has apologised for her behaviour yesterday, and has agreed to work with the Wolverine in future, should he accept our offer of employment,” the Professor said quietly.
“Anything else is up to Rogue to tell you herself. Please keep in mind that many of us have events in our past that we choose not to share.” It was a kind and gentle reminder, but carried the sting of a wasp. Back the fuck off, Jubilee, she translated.
The doors screeched once more, and the Wolverine had finally emerged from his lair. She wouldn’t have picked him as a man who slept in, but here it was, past ten, and his hair was still wet from the shower. His fancy clothes had not survived last night’s pickup, but he filled out the standard Xavier Institute sweats well. Really, really well, Jubilee admitted as her eyes followed him down the length of the servery. The thin sweatshirt material was outlining his pecs and abs in way that left her mouth dry, and as for those pants … Jubilee forced herself to look away. Those pants were making lurve to his miraculous ass, and truly droolworthy thighs. He and his hot self needed some privacy.
“Get a grip,” she muttered, earning a puzzled glance from Cyke. Jean was too busy pretending she wasn’t looking at the hot guy to notice anything else, Jubilee realised, and even Ororo’s eyes were riveted on the incredible view. He had weird hair, Jubilee told herself, and the nasty scowl made him downright scary, what with the claws and the deadly violence. But all that hardly detracted from his … beauty, Jubilee admitted. It simply wasn’t fair. Bad guys were meant to look bad, dammit.
Half of the room seemed to sigh as he turned around, and she could have sworn she saw his mouth twitch with amusement. Ah ha! Obviously used to lots of female attention, she thought. Thank God he doesn’t know what we’re thinking, or he’d have no respect for us at all. They needed megaphone, really. “Oestrogen alert! Oestrogen alert! X-women, fall back!” She smiled as he chose an empty table at the front - “X-women, stand down!” - and kept a wary eye on the entire room as he began to eat. Was he avoiding company, Jubilee wondered, or was he simply unconcerned by their presence?
Cyclops cleared his throat and four pairs of eyes swung to him. Beast was smiling serenely at his plate, and the Professor was rubbing his temples, clearly in pain. He excused himself from the table as Scott launched into his most familiar lecture.
“Your biology homework was unacceptable this week, Jubilee. I expect you to redraw the diagrams and make some attempt at labelling them correctly before class tomorrow,” her science teacher said. “And your calculus …”
Finished with breakfast, Wolverine had slouched back into his chair and wasn’t even bothering to hide his survey of the room. He was too many kinds of delicious, and sorry, Cyclops, but the homework lecture? So obvious. Her mouth went dry as his eyes swept their table, lingering on each face in turn. She raised an eyebrow when he got to her, and nearly choked when he did the same, before saluting her with his coffee mug.
“… you need to be concentrating more on the precision of your work, and less on ….”
Jean was twitching in her chair, and breathing hard. I’ll bet she’s trying to find an excuse to look around … yup, coffee, Jean, because that full cup simply isn’t enough for you, is it. Jubilee shook her head at the long look the school doctor gave the Wolverine as she moved in his direction. Less attention to my homework, Cyke, and more to your wife, she thought uncharitably.
But perhaps he wasn’t as clueless as she thought, because the monologue had ground to a halt, and his expression was growing thunderous as he watched Jean watch the Wolverine from the safety of the coffee station. It took Ororo’s soft voice to pull him back to them. “Scott. Scott!”
“The Professor is keen for Wolverine to join us, and he may need some help in making his decision. I’m going to outline our mission with the children, and the needs we have here. You would be the best person to talk about our security setup,” Ororo suggested with her usual diplomacy.
Cyclops glared at her. Ouch.
Ororo simply smiled sadly and nodded to Jubilee before picking up her coffee to move to where the newcomer was sitting.
“Can I join you, Wolverine?” Ororo’s tone held no judgment, and no pressure, and was coolly professional. Not that she’d expected her proud English teacher to drool on the man, but damn, she was good, Jubilee thought. He didn’t really respond - grunting doesn’t count, asshole - but Ro sat down anyway, and began to tell him about the school.
He was listening, Jubilee admitted grudgingly. Even asking questions - how many of them, what ages, about visitors - that suggested he was at least thinking of staying. What could have convinced him? This was what worried her the most, Jubilee admitted to herself. Especially with the hostile reception - why would a professional assassin have any interest in taking over security at a school? She had no doubt a huge wad of cash had been dangled - Professor X had very deep pockets - but even then … it was surprising. Even Xavier hadn’t really expected it, or he would have never sent in a strike team, she realised. Unease crept up and down her spine: why? What could he possibly want here?
She had no way of knowing. Yet. But something tugged at the back of her mind. She was missing something. Rogue.
Why had Rogue attacked him? She was unpredictable, sure, but … she wasn’t dumb. Or needlessly vicious or anything. There had to be a reason. They’d spoken, before she’d attacked, just a few words, but … she’d known him, somehow. Known him enough to want to kill him.
“Why?”
And then the answer came. Not the ultimate answer, but they couldn’t be unrelated. Wolverine was here for something. Rogue wanted him dead.
The answers had to lie with Rogue. Jubilee rolled her eyes. Piece of cake. Not.
*
Marie hesitated outside the dining hall, and reined herself in. The secretive smile dropped from her face, and she forced herself to stand straighter, and stiffer. She glowered at the doors for a moment, thinking menacing, murderous thoughts. The Rogue was pissed, and all the insects should quail before her.
She tried not to giggle.
Setting her game face with a deep breath, Rogue kicked the double doors open with a careless boot and swept the entire room with a glare before marching over to the breakfast bar. She fought the urge to find Logan as she chose her porridge and poured herself a coffee; she wasn’t sure she could manufacture what they needed, right now. Not with her body still singing his praises and all the voices fallen mute with admiration.
Rogue steeled herself as she collected her tray and swung around to face the room, eyes hardening as she looked through him, and contempt written on every line of her body as she stalked past, heading for the usual table in the back.
“Well, I guess it’s better than a knife in the guts,” Logan said to the room at large, and a few brave souls even dared to laugh. Rogue silenced one table full of teenagers with a death stare, and a second quietened as she moved past. Her senses, however, were focused on the table behind her, where Storm was making soothing noises about professionalism and personal battles. Logan, she could tell, was quietly amused, and resisting the urge to play up their act.
Meanwhile, three tables away, Cyclops looked as if someone had poisoned his granola. Rogue knew he fancied himself her protector, but she was going to have to do something about that soon. He was going to himself in big trouble with the Wolverine if he didn’t pull back on the macho protector thing … because Logan pretty much had it covered. And they couldn’t know that.
Jean was weird, though. Cyclops’ sputtering had obviously pulled her back from somewhere else, and she started as she realised Rogue was studying her. But instead of the usual proud enquiry, she looked almost … embarrassed? Dr Grey? Rogue shook her head at the unlikely thought, before lifting her gaze to the inhabitants of the junior team’s table. Jubilee had been sitting with the teachers, she noticed absently, which meant everyone else at their usual table probably hated her. Bobby actually had a reason, Kitty had no mind of her own, and Colossus would be genuinely hurt. Pyro would be his usual unpredictable self, and Gambit … ouch. That was going to hurt.
Sometime friend, sometime lover. And right now, so angry that raw energy was sparking around those long hands as he shuffled through a pack of cards, trying to settle himself. She hesitated, standing opposite him for moment, and he didn’t even look up. Remy, minus the quips and constant come-ons, was study in quiet menace, she realised with surprise.
Oh well, thought Rogue, sliding into the chair opposite him. One wall of silence at a time.
“Gambit.” Flat, non-inflected. He would need to ask before she answered, thank you very much.
“Rogue.” The flirtatious ‘chere’ was noticeably absent, as was the seductive heat that usually characterised her exchanges with this man. Just as well, really, she thought, as she clamped down on her need to look about for Logan. In fact, extracting herself from their convenient little liaison might become a matter of priority if the possessive howls currently giving her a headache had anything to do with it.
Silence hung heavily at the table as she began to spoon porridge into her mouth. She’d drizzled it with honey and yoghurt, and heaped it high with fruit to make the sticky concoction a feast for the senses, one she was showing every indication of enjoying. She ate slowly, and delicately, and stopped periodically to take a long swig on her coffee. And still her plate was scraped clean, and he hadn’t said more than a word.
Rogue’s patience snapped.
“Gambit. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” Her tone was sweeter than the breakfast she’d just consumed.
“No. Not really. I’ve been betrayed often enough that I’m used to it by now,” the Cajun thief replied coolly. “But the others - I think they might be expecting something. An apology, a reason - something like that.”
Embarrassed noises and half-hearted denials filled the table, but she would get to them. She returned her attention to him, and waited.
His blank face took on a sneer.
“But Remy? Non.” He leaned back in his chair, hitched his shoulder negligently, a picture of complete disinterest. “You chose the thief for a reason, Rogue. And this thief, he might have chosen you for the very same. A past you don’t talk about, skills no sweet girl ever had? I sure wasn’t expecting any happily ever afters.”
He paused, and the red-on-black eyes turned cunning.
“So I ask a few questions, call in a few favours. Turns out, you were a prisoner of the Brotherhood for a long time. Turns out, you might not have been a prisoner at all.” His tone was lazy and silken, but condemnation lurked in the offhand tone. The rest of the table stilled. She had never really spoken about her time before she came to Mansion. They had assumed, and she had let them. The truth was ugly.
“You were with them for two years. You killed for them. You weren’t just Brotherhood, you were right in there. Best buds with Mystique, so they tell me. Wasn’t ‘til Magneto decided he wanted to sacrifice you that you figured it out, and then we come in, charging to your rescue.”
Words like bullets. Something inside her wanted to plead, but the Rogue wouldn’t do that. Let them believe she had deceived them, because what had really happened was even harder to explain. She wasn’t sure she understood it herself.
“A few fights, a few drinks, a regular fuck … why would I expect your loyalty? No one escapes the Brotherhood, Rogue. When you turned on us? I wasn’t even surprised.” Utter silence fell at the table as he rose to his feet and stalked out of the dining room.
“Well, that went well.” Rogue turned to Bobby and Kitty with a shaky grin. “Next?”
*
The psychic uproar crashed into Jean’s shields like a tsunami overwhelming a breakwater. So many projections, so loud and distressed.
“Rogue’s Brotherhood!”
“She can’t be Brotherhood!”
“I always thought …”
“No, no, not the Brotherhood,”
“She’s betrayed us …”
Jean had no time to decide how she felt about the matter; instead, she writhed with the pain of those who had heard Gambit’s spiteful words. Most believed him, and hate and fear were close behind. She could feel the Professor reeling with the impact, and took a moment to explain what had happened.
“Rebuild your shields, Jean. Then we can deal with problem.”
She drew herself deep within, and thought of iron doors and insulation, and buffers. Piece by piece, element by element, they slipped into place, dulling the noise to a rumble, and then a murmur as the walls grew higher, and more complete.
She opened her eyes in relief, only to see a grim Rogue swinging her way through the dining room, and slamming the double doors back against their hinges on her way out. For once, her fractured psyche was tangible, and shrieking. Beneath the cold, angry exterior, the girl was in pain. Questions of truth, and perception, and cold, hard reality roiled in her mind, and fuck, even she didn’t know which was the truth. Logan, though - she was screaming his name with every heartbeat, longing for him to take the pain away, make it right. Like he used to do, before. Before.
Confused, Jean turned slowly to look at the man three tables away. He was still watching the door, and his face was frozen with concern. Careful, Wolverine, you’ll give yourself away, she thought. Ships passing the night, remember? One bad encounter, many years ago? Not with that look on your face, my friend. The truth might even come out.
And then shivered at the thought. Because if Rogue was Brotherhood, and he had come for Rogue, where did his loyalties lie? They had hoped to recruit a formidable new team mate, one strong enough, and mean enough to finally end this thing. Had they instead invited their own worst enemy into the Mansion?
Because no one escaped the Brotherhood. She should know.
***
Author: JaqofSpades
Verse: Xmen Movieverse/AU
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, language)
11. The bad guy
The next person to walk through that door was going to die, Jubilee resolved. Each time the swing doors screeched, her heart leapt and her pulse hammered, and then she had to tell herself to chill, chica, because, hey! False alarm.
In retrospect, maybe all that coffee hadn’t been such a good idea, but really, who knew there was such a thing as too much caffeine? Had to be an urban myth. But then she had jumped out of her seat and cheered when Scott had walked in, and the whole damn dining room had stopped to stare. She’d bowed, of course, because an audience is an audience, but it kinda blew ‘stealthy’ out of the water.
So she’d waltzed over to the A-table and sat herself down next to Storm. Cyke and Jean were having a pissy little no-conversation across the table, and to her left, Beast was perusing some sort of journal. The Prof was reading too - the newspaper - so she braced herself to interrupt someone. They had a right to know!
“Can we help you, Jubilee?” Ooh, Doctor Grey had deigned to notice her. Cue delight.
“Sorry to crash your breakfast, Doc, Cyke. I just wondered … any word on what’s going on with Rogue? Haven’t seen her yet, and after yesterday…” she let the query hang in the air.
Jean’s mouth opened and closed, and a red flush crept across her cheekbones. “I have no idea, Jubilee. I haven’t seen Rogue since yesterday,” she replied, unusually flustered. Ah ha! She doesn’t know, Jubilee crowed internally. Jean just hated being out of the loop - look what it was doing to her! Scott sent his wife a surprised look, and then a raised an eyebrow towards the Professor, who was watching them silently.
“You’ll be happy to know Rogue has apologised for her behaviour yesterday, and has agreed to work with the Wolverine in future, should he accept our offer of employment,” the Professor said quietly.
“Anything else is up to Rogue to tell you herself. Please keep in mind that many of us have events in our past that we choose not to share.” It was a kind and gentle reminder, but carried the sting of a wasp. Back the fuck off, Jubilee, she translated.
The doors screeched once more, and the Wolverine had finally emerged from his lair. She wouldn’t have picked him as a man who slept in, but here it was, past ten, and his hair was still wet from the shower. His fancy clothes had not survived last night’s pickup, but he filled out the standard Xavier Institute sweats well. Really, really well, Jubilee admitted as her eyes followed him down the length of the servery. The thin sweatshirt material was outlining his pecs and abs in way that left her mouth dry, and as for those pants … Jubilee forced herself to look away. Those pants were making lurve to his miraculous ass, and truly droolworthy thighs. He and his hot self needed some privacy.
“Get a grip,” she muttered, earning a puzzled glance from Cyke. Jean was too busy pretending she wasn’t looking at the hot guy to notice anything else, Jubilee realised, and even Ororo’s eyes were riveted on the incredible view. He had weird hair, Jubilee told herself, and the nasty scowl made him downright scary, what with the claws and the deadly violence. But all that hardly detracted from his … beauty, Jubilee admitted. It simply wasn’t fair. Bad guys were meant to look bad, dammit.
Half of the room seemed to sigh as he turned around, and she could have sworn she saw his mouth twitch with amusement. Ah ha! Obviously used to lots of female attention, she thought. Thank God he doesn’t know what we’re thinking, or he’d have no respect for us at all. They needed megaphone, really. “Oestrogen alert! Oestrogen alert! X-women, fall back!” She smiled as he chose an empty table at the front - “X-women, stand down!” - and kept a wary eye on the entire room as he began to eat. Was he avoiding company, Jubilee wondered, or was he simply unconcerned by their presence?
Cyclops cleared his throat and four pairs of eyes swung to him. Beast was smiling serenely at his plate, and the Professor was rubbing his temples, clearly in pain. He excused himself from the table as Scott launched into his most familiar lecture.
“Your biology homework was unacceptable this week, Jubilee. I expect you to redraw the diagrams and make some attempt at labelling them correctly before class tomorrow,” her science teacher said. “And your calculus …”
Finished with breakfast, Wolverine had slouched back into his chair and wasn’t even bothering to hide his survey of the room. He was too many kinds of delicious, and sorry, Cyclops, but the homework lecture? So obvious. Her mouth went dry as his eyes swept their table, lingering on each face in turn. She raised an eyebrow when he got to her, and nearly choked when he did the same, before saluting her with his coffee mug.
“… you need to be concentrating more on the precision of your work, and less on ….”
Jean was twitching in her chair, and breathing hard. I’ll bet she’s trying to find an excuse to look around … yup, coffee, Jean, because that full cup simply isn’t enough for you, is it. Jubilee shook her head at the long look the school doctor gave the Wolverine as she moved in his direction. Less attention to my homework, Cyke, and more to your wife, she thought uncharitably.
But perhaps he wasn’t as clueless as she thought, because the monologue had ground to a halt, and his expression was growing thunderous as he watched Jean watch the Wolverine from the safety of the coffee station. It took Ororo’s soft voice to pull him back to them. “Scott. Scott!”
“The Professor is keen for Wolverine to join us, and he may need some help in making his decision. I’m going to outline our mission with the children, and the needs we have here. You would be the best person to talk about our security setup,” Ororo suggested with her usual diplomacy.
Cyclops glared at her. Ouch.
Ororo simply smiled sadly and nodded to Jubilee before picking up her coffee to move to where the newcomer was sitting.
“Can I join you, Wolverine?” Ororo’s tone held no judgment, and no pressure, and was coolly professional. Not that she’d expected her proud English teacher to drool on the man, but damn, she was good, Jubilee thought. He didn’t really respond - grunting doesn’t count, asshole - but Ro sat down anyway, and began to tell him about the school.
He was listening, Jubilee admitted grudgingly. Even asking questions - how many of them, what ages, about visitors - that suggested he was at least thinking of staying. What could have convinced him? This was what worried her the most, Jubilee admitted to herself. Especially with the hostile reception - why would a professional assassin have any interest in taking over security at a school? She had no doubt a huge wad of cash had been dangled - Professor X had very deep pockets - but even then … it was surprising. Even Xavier hadn’t really expected it, or he would have never sent in a strike team, she realised. Unease crept up and down her spine: why? What could he possibly want here?
She had no way of knowing. Yet. But something tugged at the back of her mind. She was missing something. Rogue.
Why had Rogue attacked him? She was unpredictable, sure, but … she wasn’t dumb. Or needlessly vicious or anything. There had to be a reason. They’d spoken, before she’d attacked, just a few words, but … she’d known him, somehow. Known him enough to want to kill him.
“Why?”
And then the answer came. Not the ultimate answer, but they couldn’t be unrelated. Wolverine was here for something. Rogue wanted him dead.
The answers had to lie with Rogue. Jubilee rolled her eyes. Piece of cake. Not.
*
Marie hesitated outside the dining hall, and reined herself in. The secretive smile dropped from her face, and she forced herself to stand straighter, and stiffer. She glowered at the doors for a moment, thinking menacing, murderous thoughts. The Rogue was pissed, and all the insects should quail before her.
She tried not to giggle.
Setting her game face with a deep breath, Rogue kicked the double doors open with a careless boot and swept the entire room with a glare before marching over to the breakfast bar. She fought the urge to find Logan as she chose her porridge and poured herself a coffee; she wasn’t sure she could manufacture what they needed, right now. Not with her body still singing his praises and all the voices fallen mute with admiration.
Rogue steeled herself as she collected her tray and swung around to face the room, eyes hardening as she looked through him, and contempt written on every line of her body as she stalked past, heading for the usual table in the back.
“Well, I guess it’s better than a knife in the guts,” Logan said to the room at large, and a few brave souls even dared to laugh. Rogue silenced one table full of teenagers with a death stare, and a second quietened as she moved past. Her senses, however, were focused on the table behind her, where Storm was making soothing noises about professionalism and personal battles. Logan, she could tell, was quietly amused, and resisting the urge to play up their act.
Meanwhile, three tables away, Cyclops looked as if someone had poisoned his granola. Rogue knew he fancied himself her protector, but she was going to have to do something about that soon. He was going to himself in big trouble with the Wolverine if he didn’t pull back on the macho protector thing … because Logan pretty much had it covered. And they couldn’t know that.
Jean was weird, though. Cyclops’ sputtering had obviously pulled her back from somewhere else, and she started as she realised Rogue was studying her. But instead of the usual proud enquiry, she looked almost … embarrassed? Dr Grey? Rogue shook her head at the unlikely thought, before lifting her gaze to the inhabitants of the junior team’s table. Jubilee had been sitting with the teachers, she noticed absently, which meant everyone else at their usual table probably hated her. Bobby actually had a reason, Kitty had no mind of her own, and Colossus would be genuinely hurt. Pyro would be his usual unpredictable self, and Gambit … ouch. That was going to hurt.
Sometime friend, sometime lover. And right now, so angry that raw energy was sparking around those long hands as he shuffled through a pack of cards, trying to settle himself. She hesitated, standing opposite him for moment, and he didn’t even look up. Remy, minus the quips and constant come-ons, was study in quiet menace, she realised with surprise.
Oh well, thought Rogue, sliding into the chair opposite him. One wall of silence at a time.
“Gambit.” Flat, non-inflected. He would need to ask before she answered, thank you very much.
“Rogue.” The flirtatious ‘chere’ was noticeably absent, as was the seductive heat that usually characterised her exchanges with this man. Just as well, really, she thought, as she clamped down on her need to look about for Logan. In fact, extracting herself from their convenient little liaison might become a matter of priority if the possessive howls currently giving her a headache had anything to do with it.
Silence hung heavily at the table as she began to spoon porridge into her mouth. She’d drizzled it with honey and yoghurt, and heaped it high with fruit to make the sticky concoction a feast for the senses, one she was showing every indication of enjoying. She ate slowly, and delicately, and stopped periodically to take a long swig on her coffee. And still her plate was scraped clean, and he hadn’t said more than a word.
Rogue’s patience snapped.
“Gambit. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” Her tone was sweeter than the breakfast she’d just consumed.
“No. Not really. I’ve been betrayed often enough that I’m used to it by now,” the Cajun thief replied coolly. “But the others - I think they might be expecting something. An apology, a reason - something like that.”
Embarrassed noises and half-hearted denials filled the table, but she would get to them. She returned her attention to him, and waited.
His blank face took on a sneer.
“But Remy? Non.” He leaned back in his chair, hitched his shoulder negligently, a picture of complete disinterest. “You chose the thief for a reason, Rogue. And this thief, he might have chosen you for the very same. A past you don’t talk about, skills no sweet girl ever had? I sure wasn’t expecting any happily ever afters.”
He paused, and the red-on-black eyes turned cunning.
“So I ask a few questions, call in a few favours. Turns out, you were a prisoner of the Brotherhood for a long time. Turns out, you might not have been a prisoner at all.” His tone was lazy and silken, but condemnation lurked in the offhand tone. The rest of the table stilled. She had never really spoken about her time before she came to Mansion. They had assumed, and she had let them. The truth was ugly.
“You were with them for two years. You killed for them. You weren’t just Brotherhood, you were right in there. Best buds with Mystique, so they tell me. Wasn’t ‘til Magneto decided he wanted to sacrifice you that you figured it out, and then we come in, charging to your rescue.”
Words like bullets. Something inside her wanted to plead, but the Rogue wouldn’t do that. Let them believe she had deceived them, because what had really happened was even harder to explain. She wasn’t sure she understood it herself.
“A few fights, a few drinks, a regular fuck … why would I expect your loyalty? No one escapes the Brotherhood, Rogue. When you turned on us? I wasn’t even surprised.” Utter silence fell at the table as he rose to his feet and stalked out of the dining room.
“Well, that went well.” Rogue turned to Bobby and Kitty with a shaky grin. “Next?”
*
The psychic uproar crashed into Jean’s shields like a tsunami overwhelming a breakwater. So many projections, so loud and distressed.
“Rogue’s Brotherhood!”
“She can’t be Brotherhood!”
“I always thought …”
“No, no, not the Brotherhood,”
“She’s betrayed us …”
Jean had no time to decide how she felt about the matter; instead, she writhed with the pain of those who had heard Gambit’s spiteful words. Most believed him, and hate and fear were close behind. She could feel the Professor reeling with the impact, and took a moment to explain what had happened.
“Rebuild your shields, Jean. Then we can deal with problem.”
She drew herself deep within, and thought of iron doors and insulation, and buffers. Piece by piece, element by element, they slipped into place, dulling the noise to a rumble, and then a murmur as the walls grew higher, and more complete.
She opened her eyes in relief, only to see a grim Rogue swinging her way through the dining room, and slamming the double doors back against their hinges on her way out. For once, her fractured psyche was tangible, and shrieking. Beneath the cold, angry exterior, the girl was in pain. Questions of truth, and perception, and cold, hard reality roiled in her mind, and fuck, even she didn’t know which was the truth. Logan, though - she was screaming his name with every heartbeat, longing for him to take the pain away, make it right. Like he used to do, before. Before.
Confused, Jean turned slowly to look at the man three tables away. He was still watching the door, and his face was frozen with concern. Careful, Wolverine, you’ll give yourself away, she thought. Ships passing the night, remember? One bad encounter, many years ago? Not with that look on your face, my friend. The truth might even come out.
And then shivered at the thought. Because if Rogue was Brotherhood, and he had come for Rogue, where did his loyalties lie? They had hoped to recruit a formidable new team mate, one strong enough, and mean enough to finally end this thing. Had they instead invited their own worst enemy into the Mansion?
Because no one escaped the Brotherhood. She should know.
***