Title: Single White Mutant Seeks Same
Author: Sandra
Email: ArcThalia@aol.comStatus: WiP
Category: S, R, L, J, silly fic
Rating: R for bad, Bravo-type language, naughty, sexual situations, violence, and all that good stuff.
Summary: 'My Karma just ran over your Dogma' suits this piece just fine.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, they'd be wearing nothing but biblical leaves.
Author's Notes: Guys wanted to see the movie, which is automatic grounds for dismissal in my book. Alas, I'm an idiot, and didn't see it in theatres. Thank god for Blockbuster. I got all excited about that Logan/Rogue chemistry, but then I read Change To Color, (Go read. Now) my heart broke for Scott, and that whole concept of "Hell, yeah, Rogue can have them both" started threatening me. So. There. Hopefully, I won't bail out on yet another pet orphan projectArchive: Got a pretty site? Gonna water and change the soil for my baby on a regular basis? Then you can have it. Feedback: Well, duh.
Etc: Apologies to Tracy, who fussed over me as I feverishly explained why bad guys are so much more interesting than good guys. And bone crushing hugs to Rach who doesn't complain when I feel like writing silly stuff.
-------------------------------------------------------------------The concept of destiny was hilarious.
Destiny was something that was always recognized on some level, persistently waiting to be completely accepted before it'd grin wickedly and tap its claws on your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you'd turn around, see its ugly face, feel your knees wobble as it punched you in the gut with all it had. It'd kick you around, showing off, until you stood up, wiped the blood off your mouth and said, 'Alright, God or whoever, I get it! Okay?! I freakin' get it! You can stop now.'
And you couldn't very well escape it 'cause it had all these stupid nets and crossbows and big, old scary bodyguards, so you did as it said. And, damn it, if destiny didn't have a really twisted sense of humor.
For example, it probably had stock in the Lifetime channel and got inspired to stick you on top of the Statue of Liberty like some demented Christmas angel, sending a knight in shining...um, make that a gruff Canadian in a really cool leather suit to save your life so you could develop one serious crush on said hairy brute.
And then it acted like one of those cheap relatives no one liked and thought it could give you dogtags in exchange for the love of your life, okay, fine, maybe not exactly the love of your life, but c'mon, she was 17, she had a legal right to over-exaggerate.
So you'd blink at destiny, figuring it was just taking a hiatus 'cause the new episodes of Buffy were just too good to miss, and shrug, settling into a cozy routine at Mutant High.
And then some tight-assed, stuffy, egotistical, Dole-sympathizin'...jerk, who wouldn't know good poetry if it bit him on that Fearless Leader ass of his, would give you a D for Deranged and send you to Professor Xavier for one of those nice, little, completely unconstitutional mind-probes.
Sometimes it was hard to remember that it was only Logan's presence in her mind that hated the living daylights out of Scooter, and this was probably one of those situations.
Whatever pole was up his ass had to be suffering horribly.
"Maybe we could call up Jerry Springer," Jubilee uncrossed her legs and squealed, "Oh, like, tell him Scott's mutation makes him very confused sexually, if ya know what I mean?" she giggled and watched Rogue pace absentmindedly.
"I mean, it was good poetry, and he had no right to tell the Professor about it, and where the hell does he get off giving me a D and--" Rogue flailed her arms wildly.
"Or we could put crazyglue on his seat on that ridiculous Bluebird thingie!" Jubilee clapped her hands excitedly, "I can just see him trying to fend off, like, that blue chick with his ass stuck to the--"
"Um, actually, it's Blackbird..." Kitty interjected anxiously, looking away from the spreading wear in the soft, fuzzy carpet.
"And who died and made him Logan? I don't need no one tryin' to be all protective of me," Rogue stopped in front of the mirror and glanced at the tags around her neck. They started itching so she concentrated on the carpet again.
"--And he'd have to strip or something!" Jubilee giggled and fell back on the bed, surrounded by a pile of small, colorfully soft pillows.
"Or, uh," Kitty cleared her throat from her position on Rogue's bed, "You could maybe rewrite the assignment..."
The room quieted as the other two girls exchanged glances and then collectively glared at Kitty.
"No, of course not, silly me," Kitty offered a sheepish look.
~oOo~
He branded her.
It was almost an equivalent to taking her out back with shearing scissors and stamping a huge, ole "Property of Logan, No Trespassin,' ya hear?" sign on her ass.
It's not that he hated Wolverine, 'cause hate was such a...disorganized word, but that cerebrally-challenged animal couldn't just waltz in, flirt with his girl, flip him off, save the day and go on his merry way, leaving a lovesick little girl behind.
Plus, he stole his bike. His bike.
But back on topic. He'd never forget the day he met (saved, thankyouverymuch. Okay, so Storm was there, too, but.) that hairy ape and the girl no matter how much he kept trying. It's not like the Professor prepared him for what he was gonna see. Much. And Scott was really ready and willing to slap Wolverine with molestation charges (it's not like the guy would be smart enough to say the girl was his niece or something anyway) but the Professor didn't think it was necessary.
Yeah, alright, fine, Scott could live with that.
But he really wanted to find some hole in the carpet in Logan's room, so he could stumble, blast the guy who hit on his girl (repeatedly, grr) to smithereens, and say it was an accident. Sigh. He was Fearless Leader (that was one nickname he could deal with happily) so that was kinda out of the question.
Besides, the man was gone and Jean kept reminding him of that fact every other day when he wanted to go polish his bike.
And then...there was Rogue.
First, she was moping around, playing with those ugly dogtags like they were gonna start singing and grant her three wishes. Then she started growling at him, her teacher, of all people. He brushed it off as that whole 'Temporary Wolverine in her head' thing, but it wasn't going away.
And he couldn't very well have a student not liking him.
That would be just wrong.
So, he did what he thought was right and was damn proud of himself for coming up with the idea. He read her work, wrinkled his nose at the constant repetition of the words "hot" and "manly," and sent her to Charles for help.
Now, he didn't really know how that whole 'sucking the life energy out of people' thing worked, and how long they stayed in her head, but he figured she should be fine (maybe she'd even worship the ground he walked on) after Professor Xavier helped her. And help her he would. Not in that Exorcist type way, but with gentle probing and prodding and perhaps some kind of allowance for her to hit the mall.
He never expected Rogue would stop talking to him.
"Is Rogue in there?" he asked one of his students as he stared at the massive, wooden panels.
"Yeah, she's waiting for the Professor," the kid replied and levitated toward the stairs.
Scott peered over his shoulder with an almost religious fear of getting caught and opened the door, slipping quietly into the well-lit room. He spotted Rogue sitting in the Professor's chair with her arms crossed. You're in his seat, lingered on his lips, but the wisp of a girl glued him to the floor with a hateful glare.
"I'm real busy getting censured right now. Can I ignore you some other time?"
Scott stared, his whole 'I want to be your friend' speech forgotten.
"No, you may not. I thought we could perhaps discuss--"
"I don't wanna discuss nothin' with ya. I know your type," she swiveled in the Professor's chair angrily. Where the hell was the Professor anyway?
"My type...?" Scott blinked, grateful his little Geordie LaForge bit was saving him from looking like he just swallowed a toothpick.
"No, no, let me guess," she stood up as the Logan in her head cheered loudly, throwing confetti and blowing up balloons while releasing a hundred white doves. "You grew up as a poor little over-privileged bastard who climbed out of the horrors of an all boys' prep school and escaped into the unforgiving clutches of some other rich school. You'd probably run a political campaign if you weren't a mutie," she stopped to take a breath and then pointed her finger at him, ignoring all the warning signs rigidly forming on his face.
"And, I don't need you to be my friend, I can take care of myself," she applauded herself for not stumbling at all, but made the fatal mistake of glancing at the thin line his lips were forming. Concluding that she had less than a minute before he drilled a hole through her with his gaze (literally) she spun around,
"And, I watched Star Trek, mister, and I haveta tell ya, you're not very original!" she stalked out of the room, forgetting she had to wait for the Professor.
~oOo~
Xavier could shield his mind from random thoughts and nearby events well.
That is, if the emotions weren't too high and his concentration focused on other matters.
He was in the middle of replaying his latest talk with Eric when he heard it. The screeching and the yelling and all the hostility, then scattered pieces of embarrassment and anger and...he had to hurry.
He already knew what he had to say and who to say it to, and his mind indulged in his latest conversation with Magneto. Charles sighed in remembrance as he traversed the silvery corridors.
"Where is, or, perhaps I should say, who is Mystique now?" he had asked, his breathing even. Eric had looked at him with a sardonic grin.
"I thought you were well informed, old friend. You wouldn't want to take that hope away from me, now would you?"
"I took nothing away from you, Eric."
"Of course. Freedom fighter actually taking away someone's freedom. How impudent of me to complain."
"All you have to do, Eric, is wait. You were right, a change is coming, but I am still confident in humanity."
"And I am still surprised you actually believe yourself."
Charles had taken a deep breath and tried to steer the topic to his weekly mission, this time promising himself not to fail again.
"You could help."
"Why? So humanity could go on inventing pedal-powered wheelchairs or
waterproof teabags? Things no one needs, but then again, they wouldn't know what they needed if it came up and--"
"Look...We're stronger now. The legislation is improved and we have lobbyists staked out in Washington. We...We can fight just about anything."
"Except yourselves."
Charles sighed. He didn't have time to deal with what happened today, -- none of it -- he had a rogue to talk to.
~oOo~
You didn't need to be a telepath to see the Professor was angry.
Ticked off, furious, irritated, annoyed, pissed as hell. At her. Um, and that wasn't good.
"Rogue, close the door, please."
Oh, God, how late is it to rewrite that stupid assignment? she thought as she fidgeted with the doorknob.
"I am aware Scott tried talking to you today," the Professor asked calmly and Rogue collapsed into one of the leather seats in front of his huge, neat desk.
"I was, uh, Mr. Summers, he..."
The Professor raised his hand to silence her.
He's gonna throw me in the Hudson, and they'll never find me, Rogue's mouth went dry. Stupid tightass got her in trouble again. She clamped a hand over her mouth involuntary as she tried to shackle the Logan in her head to the wall, with ducktape over his loud mouth.
"Did he familiarize you with the new technique we were contemplating for you?"
Rogue blinked and sunk deeper into the warm chair. Gonna throw me in the Hudson in little bity pieces, she stared at the Professor, wishing Logan would crash through the window and save her.
"No, no, well...actually, he didn't get a chance...I think..." she fought to glue a few coherent words together to form some semblance of a proper sentence.
"Logan's characteristics are still strong in your mind, Rogue. I'm not going to judge you," he said nonchalantly and moved around the table to one of the bookshelves.
Rogue stiffened as her eyes followed him reverently. Maybe he would just whack her over the head with a book and consider it a slap on the wrist. What? He could. He was weird that way. She blinked as he wheeled himself to where she was sitting and carefully dropped a thick, paperback book on her lap.
She stared, blinked, reread the title three times and then burst out laughing.
Charles Xavier looked at her strangely and she collected herself immediately, "Inside the Miracle of Hypnosis, Professor? I know I've been causing trouble acting like Logan, but I don't think you could...hypnotize him out of my head."
"That wasn't our intention, Rogue," the Professor steered his wheelchair back to his usual place. "You've been practicing the assigned mental exercises regularly, is that correct?"
Rogue nodded, confused and a little bit apprehensive. Cyke, the Professor's anger, and even Logan were the farthest things from her mind now. "I've been trying really hard to find that off switch you talked about, but..." her shoulders slumped and she unconsciously tugged on her silky gloves.
She looked up at the Professor, and she could have sworn there wasn't even a trace of anger left. She hoped the opposite wasn't pity and automatically raised her chin up in defiance, "I'll find it one day."
The Professor gave her an imperceptible grin, and inclined his head slightly, "Perhaps we can help you speed the process up."
~oOo~
Rogue frowned and thumbed the book in her hands, turning it over incredulously.
She was no fool. She saw all the James Bond movies and she knew that if hypnotherapy worked, she'd probably end up as a presidential assassin or she'd poison the water supply of some poor, little city in Mississippi. But, of course, that stuff never worked in real life. Right?
"How could..." she started, then changed her mind, "Y'all aren't gonna make me cluck like a chicken just 'cause I yelled at Mister Summers, are you?" she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
The Professor chuckled and shook his head, "I believe he's tempted to do just that at the moment, but luckily for you, Jean and I will run an analysis on what words might work as a trigger and..." he looked at the curled up girl in the huge chair, "Hope for the best."
"And if it works...I could...control my..." Rogue swallowed, unable to stop the rush of emotions as her eyes welled up.
"Possibly," the Professor said simply, a semi-satisfied look drifting across his face.
Rogue jumped out of the chair and contemplated hugging the older man. Oh, I can hug him when I'm less likely to kill him, she giggled and bolted for the door for lack of a better idea.
"Oh, and Rogue?" the Professor's voice stopped her before she pulled a Kitty and ran straight through the door.
"This was initially Mr. Summer's theory, so perhaps you could thank him."
Rogue froze and turned around. "I will."
When I absorb some of Kitty's powers so I can fall off the face of the earth, she blushed horribly. Stupid karma and its ideas of what poetic justice was.
~oOo~
If he were paying attention, he probably would have noticed that something was very off about the professor today.
But, as it were, he was paying attention to his backup bike and its level of polish-ness.
"Sneaking up on people could get you in trouble," he muttered, avoiding a shiny oil stain on the ground. He heard similar muttering behind his back and tightened a screw angrily.
"It's only fun if you can get in trouble."
"I see," he inspected another impeccably clean bolt.
"Mister Summers...I talked to the Professor, and I..."
Scott turned around to look at the girl, aware that he was the adult without Logan's influence in his head but not so aware that his recent frustration needed some kind of, any kind of outlet.
"Did you mention Star Trek to him, too? I'm sure he'd appreciate a good comparison," he got up and dusted off his clothes (not that there was anything to dust off) calmly.
"I came here to--"
~ Turn on the television, Scott. ~ came an urgent voice in his head. Since he doubted thoughts traveled well from Washington to New York, he concluded it wasn't Jean.
~ Professor? ~
~ The television, Scott, hurry. ~
Scott rushed past Rogue immediately, reaching for the worn-out switch on the old black and white TV. The girl just glared at him, but he ignored her and concentrated on the small screen.
"--e Supreme Court has decided today that none of the individuals involved in the fatal terrorist attack last month will be held responsible, a senior defense official said. Although the three men found at the scene of the crime have been found to carry the evolutionary mutant gene, Detective Northup stated they will not be prosecuted. Detective Northup, chief of police operations and final arbiter in the matter has publicly endorsed Senator Kelly, who was, until recently, a lead campaigner in the current Mutant Registration Act. After his initial disappearance, Senator Kelly unrestrictedly ostracized the MRA and promoted mutant awareness prior to his second disappearance."
"A defense official, who was close to the deliberations and who discussed the matter on condition of anonymity, noted the decision to reverse the DA's charges has prompted minor riots, reportedly organized by a small MRA supporters group, going by the name of Friends of Humanity."
"The former terrorist act is now being accredited as an unintentional exploit, faulted by shortcomings such as inadequate intelligence warnings of filed reports on the part of the employees as well as employers, but has, in an amazing turn of events, spurred today's violent protests."
Rogue and Scott glared at the screen in silence as live, unedited footage danced across the tiny, blurry screen.
"The three individuals held at Westchester County prison were assaulted by a larger group of protestors. Even with all the security measures in place, the attack was not preventable, officials said earlier today."
"This is only the last in a string of unprecedented attacks on the so called mutant community, and the first resulting in any serious casualties. Special concerns involving this case have already been discussed in the Capital today, for more, we take you live to Peter James in Washington, D.C."
Scott mentally wondered why Jean hadn't called and worry quickly etched onto his face. He turned to Rogue in the briefest moment of unguarded instances in history, and asked, "Oh, hell...did you see that?"
"No, I was picking mushrooms. How about you?" she replied automatically, but her big, brown eyes were suspiciously moist. Scott tried pushing her aside, but she wouldn't move.
"Well, thank you for sharing, Rogue. I'll be sure to mention mushrooms when another riot breaks out," he half-growled, annoyed at himself. She still wasn't moving. "Now, seriously, bad guys don't usually excuse tardiness. That whole evil thing of trying to kill mutants and all. Move."
"They're not evil..." she whispered, "They're just scared 'cause they don't know better."
Scott contemplated it for a moment. She, of all people, was defending them? Okay, fine, then she could be the adult about this, he had Jean to check on. And so help him, if something happened to her, even Rogue would suffer the...God, what was he doing? He had to move it. Now.
"Rogue, you've helped the mutant community enough for today," he glared at her angrily, chanting to himself to keep calm because everything was probably just fine. "Move out of my way."
"I don't think so, you pompous, arrogant, hypocritical--"
"Well, if we aren't playing little thesaurus-girl today. I'm very intrigued, but I'm afraid I'll have to take a raincheck. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Way. Kid."
"Kid?" she glared at him and he really did regret using a Loganism, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" he pushed her away, "Do you need me to use smaller words?"
~oOo~
Logan was in Canada.
That meant Logan was safe.
And that also meant he couldn't come here right now and kick the crap out of One Eye. Or Four Eyes, depending on what he wore.
How could he be such a bastard to her (okay, aside from the obvious, please) when she was all scared and guilt-ridden and ready to apologize?
"Oh, just stop it. You do not want to be an X...er, woman," Kitty plopped down on her own bed for a change.
"Uh, hello, free leather?" Jubilee followed with a yawn.
"Yeah, but...could you really serve, and I'm only using this word 'cause I'm brain dead at the moment, under Cyke?" Kitty yawned, as well, prompting Rogue to accompany them.
Jubilee suddenly giggled when everyone stopped yawning, "Well, I think I could live with it. He's got a cute ass."
Rogue rolled her eyes. When exactly did she have time to check out Mr. Summers' ass?
"Oh, oh, yeah, what happened to our revenge plans anyway?" Jubilee looked at Rogue, cuddling into her fuzzy blanket.
Rogue shrugged and glanced at her own blanket wistfully, "I don't know, but I guess we gotta wait to see if he comes back from that new mission. It'd be a waste to plan and use up brain matter if he dies anyway," she gave them her best 'I couldn't care less if he ended up as shark bait' performances. Now if she could only convince herself that she wasn't worried...
"Alright, but after we take care of your guy, we gotta do somethin' about that guy down the hall with the huge grin." Jubilee yawned again and burrowed her way further into the blanket.
"What's your beef with the little guy anyway?" Kitty turned the lights off and tried not to stumble.
"Well...he's way too happy considering he has no genitals, don't ya think? Seems a bit strange for him to be Mr. Giggles, is all."
"Oh. Right. 'Cause you're an expert on genitals..." Kitty nodded and closed her eyes against the warm, cushy pillow.
"I'll get back at you, Kitty-Kat...tomorrow." Jubilee covered her head with her pillow.
Rogue listened to them absentmindedly, suddenly remembering that there was a period of the day today when she was kinda happy. Good news and all that crap. She got to yell at Scott, she got to put Scott down, she got some hope 'cause Scott maybe figured out a way to help her be...sorta normal, she got to feel guilty over being a bitch (damn it, Logan, shut up already!) to Scott but now she was worrying that Scott could get hurt.
Wait, there was something very wrong with that sentence.
Not only was it absurdly long, it was repetitive. (damn it, Magneto, you shut up, too!)
Wait, he's not Scott, he's Mister Summers, she thought as her face scrunched up. She waited until she was semi-sure her friends were asleep and then sneaked out of the room and headed for the briefing room. She had to
apologize before he, like, kicked the bucket or something, 'cause...'cause that was the right thing to do. Right.
~oOo~
Sometimes he wanted to see things from their point of view, but he couldn't get his head that far up his ass.
He was worried (no, wait, not exactly worried, let's go with pissed) about all these new riots and crap down in New York. Okay, fine, he was worried about Marie.
He had every right to, 'cause she was his and if some idiot did anything to hurt her, he'd personally see to it they never got the chance to do it again. Besides, Canada didn't get new episodes of Buffy until later.
It was time to return to Westchester and see if he could finally work on that tan.
~oOo~
No matter how many times the democrats won in Congress, she couldn't get any leeway with all the amendments to the Mutant Registration Act and its very loud echoes.
People suddenly had no interest in tax cuts, health care, or in the fact that what they were doing was not only unconstitutional, but very, very, very wrong.
It wasn't like history was repeating itself or anything.
Jean rolled her eyes.
The Professor shouldn't have sent her here alone. Not now, not ever. There was a whole new set of rules, starting with the Senate, and ending in dark, dirty bodegas. It was a miracle something more serious hadn't happened yet (not that today's riot wasn't bad, but she was sure Scott and the team handled it well on their own), what with all the protestors blocking her way to the House every morning and all.
"I wouldn't touch the radish if I was you," came a voice and she spun around, giving up on the idea to eat what the vendor assured her was a hot dog, but looked like dog, period.
"Detective Northup," she tilted her head and shook her head at the vendor and his offer of tasting a sick-looking kebab.
"Don't tell me, another telepathic bonus," the man grinned and motioned toward a park.
"It's called the news, actually," Jean extended a hand, "I saw your speech on the New York militants."
"Ah, yes, one of my best readings to date. The teleprompter loves me," the tall man clasped her hand in his, "Nice to finally meet you, Miss Grey."
Jean felt bad about it, but thought probing his mind wasn't such a bad idea. After all, she needed the distraction. She had spent hours unwillingly listening to minds of dirty old Congressmen. Yuck. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she inquired, already knowing the answer.
"Try to act surprised, how's that?" the detective grinned again and spotted a remote bench. "You got the democratic leader on your side, I'd just like to know when y'all are planning on proposing the Mutant Protection Act to the public," he said calmly as he sat down, his dark coat yielding to the hard wood.
"When the chamber approves it," Jean remained calm. "If you know this much, you probably know how much resistance there is from members of both parties."
That was putting it...mildly. Although, to be fair, the most vocal critics of her little 'Save the Mutants' crusade were only going as far as trying to make her crack under pressure in front of others. Yeah, showed how much they knew. She was a telepath, a telepath, for crying out loud. Xavier's telepath.
"Well, short of killing you, they can't stop you from addressing the public," the detective said with a slight shrug, splaying his arm on the bench's surface.
Well, it wasn't like they couldn't kill her. They hated her, but then again, they hated pretty much everyone who wasn't old and grey. And even that wasn't a rule. Some of these people...leaders, were so...so...well, let's just say she could hear the ocean if she stood close enough to a few of them.
"Law says I wait for the block until the opposing parties are satisfied," she heard herself sigh, "Then I can debate them."
"And that's...it?" he asked.
Jean cocked her eyebrow at him, trying to get a better reading, but something blocked her and she remembered The Talk she had with the Professor about privacy and gave up. Maybe the man was a mutant, too. If so...well, she could use him. Uh. On her side, that is.
"That's it."
"I see. And you're just gonna sit there and let this thing go down like this."
"No, I'm probably gonna stand," Jean grinned and the man followed suit.
"I always knew I'd never like you much, and now I finally remember why."
"And yet..." Jean caught a transitory thought drifting away, and her grin widened.
"And yet...I'm willing to buy you lunch."
To Be Continued...