***

Four days after, she still hadn't slept. Her eyes were wide; any lethargy was nowhere to be found, and she was scaring the people who knew her.

The Professor and Jean had likened it to drug use.

Perhaps it was. Rogue had never taken drugs, but she knew all about them. Could remember what they felt like. Magneto had used them more than once as he tried to cope with what he was.

Magneto left her then. Whether it was because of her own somewhat dubious control or his own decision, she couldn't specifically tell.

She smiled, huddled in the corner she had already spent the last thirty-two hours in, murmuring to herself. "There you are..."

The one watching her - it was Storm this time - looked concerned.

{Yes,} she replied, incredibly delighted. It was the first time he had talked to her 'direct'. Before it had all be instinct, feelings, desires. She could feel him moving around up there, making himself comfortable. He was there for the duration.

Rogue didn't care.

She didn't realise she was growling her pleasure until Storm suddenly stood, unsure of whether she should approach or not.

Rogue laughed, freely. Christ, that was so liberating. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done that personally, although she could remember the last time he had come close. It didn't seem odd that she had better memories of him than she had of herself.

"Don't worry," Rogue purred to the stricken-looking woman staring at her. "I only attack girls if they have blue skin."

If anything, Storm looked even more upset. "I'll be right back," Storm told her unsteadily, leaving the room that Rogue knew had at least two guards outside.

Like she couldn't take them if she wanted to.

Closing her eyes she tipped her head to the left slightly, listening with a skill she didn't used to have.

"...getting worse."

"It's bound to happen. He nearly died saving her life - he was bound to leave the biggest imprint."

"Like he hadn't left a big enough imprint, anyway."

Someone chuckled.

"She will get better...?"

"Of course she will. I won't say she'll be exactly the same, but now that her brain is sorting its way through the deluge of information, it's making use of that information. She'll adapt, eventually."

"She's already smoked her way through ten cigars."

"I'll go and see her."

Footsteps approached. Murmurs of greetings were given to the 'guards'. Someone walked in.

Eyes still closed, Rogue inhaled.

"Jean..."

"That's right, Rogue."

Rogue opened her eyes, inexplicably angry. "Don't speak to me like I'm some kid. Don't patronise me."

Jean's eyes - shit, they were such a gorgeous colour - widened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"I know things that'll make that skin of yours turn an even brighter shade of red."

"Oh? Such as...?"

"Things," Rogue replied enigmatically, smirking. "So, how's Cyclops?"

Jean looked surprised at that one. Rogue drank her expression in; the contours of her face, the way escaping strands of hair hung, the...

The way she smelt.

"Fine," She responded cautiously. "Concerned about you, of course."

"Really?" Moving for the first time in hours and feeling no pain whatsoever - he really could come in useful sometimes, he really could - she stretched like a cat. Not a difficult task. Lying on the floor, she looked at Jean. "Is that why he never comes to see me?"

"Rogue-"

Moving until she was on her hands and knees, Rogue stalked towards her slowly. "I mean, you would think that a friend would come and visit you when you were 'ill'. When they were worried about your mental stability. When Logan had left an imprint of himself the size of Texas in your fucking brain."

"Rogue-"

"What?" She was scant inches from her now, well within touching distance. Her fingers itched to move, even constrained by the gloves. "Surprised by the profanity? Nothing wrong with a little profanity every now and then. Nothing wrong with acting out that profanity, either."

"This isn't you."

"No," Rogue argued, reaching up a gloved hand to touch Jean's face, and was pleased when she didn't flinch. She knew, of course, that it was only because who was running about inside her head, but she didn't care. He was probably the one who was making her not care, too. "This is exactly who I am right now, Jean. No confusion, no uncertainty. I'm sure there will be later, accompanied by a great deal of embarrassment, but this is me now. I prefer to think of it as a merger. Do you know how much I want to spend time just smelling you?" When she received no response, she leant a little closer. "Come on. Afraid you might like it?"

For a moment, she could tell Jean was tempted. That she had completely forgotten that this wasn't Logan in front of her, that Rogue could kill her with one touch, that she was engaged to another man...and she didn't know whether to be delighted or depressed.

Saving her from having to answer, Rogue pulled away and stood up. "Red," She stated. "I think I should start wearing red. He likes it ever so much, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I had," Jean admitted quietly, sounding like she wasn't really paying attention.

"Good. Red. Shit, I could kill for a smoke. And a beer." Fumbling around the room, she managed to find a solitary cigar in a drawer. "Well, look what we've got here..." Lifting it up to her nose lengthwise she inhaled, then sighed loudly. "And I've got nothing to light the damn thing with. Tell you what," She began. "Why don't we get old One Eye in here, take off his visor, and tell him to light this for me?"

"Scott's not going to do that."

Sighing, Rogue thumped onto the bed. "I didn't think so." Stretching out of the bed, she clamped the cigar between her teeth and folded her arms behind her head. "Go on, get out of here. I want to spend some quality time with the ceiling."

Jean seemed to hesitate, but when she left she closed the door behind her.

The instant it closed, Rogue rolled onto her side and threw the cigar at the wall. The cigar didn't object to its treatment of course; it merely thumped against the wall before falling to the floor.

She smiled. {I know everything you love.}

Her response, as she was sure she could feel the metal moving beneath her skin, was part desperation, part fear.

She smiled. Jean had no idea what she was missing.

***