by MizzMarvel

Time has passed. Winter is coming now, and naturally Genosha is growing colder. The fog rolls in thicker each morning, and hovers far into the day; one can taste it sometimes even at twilight, lingering in the garden still. The sky stays gray, colorless, and dark, carrying a chilling wind that cuts like a knife and is as cold as its steel blade. And then, on some days and nights, there's the rain, so chill it's nearly sleet and pounds now incessantly in torrents. The entire world, all existence, is beginning a slow and painful death, it seems.

And yet, inside the gated house, it's warm sometimes.

* * *

"Check mate," St. John says for the seventh time in less than two hours.

Rogue peers down at the board to make sure he's correct in his declaration. When it appears as such, she looks back up at him, frowning.

"Again."

St. John groans.

"AGAIN?! I'm not a robot, y'know!"

"How does playin' chess with me make ya a robot?"

"Never heard of the chess playin' robot?"

She starts picking up the pieces and arranging them on the board.

"Stop teasin' me."

"I'm not! There was a chess playin' robot! It played in front of Napoleon. Well, an' others too, I guess."

She makes her first move after great consideration.

"Seriously?"

Without even looking at the board, he moves one of his pieces.

"Yeah. It wore a turban."

She rolls her eyes as she makes her next move.

"Oh, shut up!"

"WHAT?! It did!"

Just then, Mr. McCoy bursts in from the yard, shaking the rain off his fur. He tramps across the room, passing the chess board. He glances at it briefly and steps back, reaching out one huge hand to move one of St. John's figures.

"Check mate," he says distractedly, and keeps going.

St. John leans back, laughing.

"Dammit!" Rogue cries.

* * *

Rogue is posed on the couch, her hand touching her temple. Piotr sits in front of her, a pad of paper in his hands. His eyes dart over at her from time to time, pencil flying over the paper the a duck diving into water. This attention no longer bothers her...as long as it comes from him. Only him.

"Ah dun' know how ya can stand it. Not bein' able ta talk ta 'nyone."

He nods distractedly, gaze fixed on the page.

"Must be terrible. Bet yer lonely."

He continues his work, humming under his breath.

"Ah mean, yer here an' all, with all these people, hearin' 'em talk, but ya can't un'erstand 'em. Ya can hang out with me an' St. John, but what's the use o' it if ya can't talk back ta us?"

He glances up at her.

"But at least ya got some friends now. St. John tol' me that ya used ta just creep aroun' alone like a big shadow or sumthin'. All alone. Even worse than not talkin'."

He tilts his face, watching her.

"But who could ya talk ta? Magneto an' Sabertooth? Yeah, rahgt. Lahk havin' the biggest school bullies bein' yer best pals."

He points at his face, then raises his chin, indicating that she should do the same. She does, and Piotr returns to drawing.

"Who else? Pietro? He's lahk a ghost o' himself now. Ya'd hardly ever see 'im if he even did get off his high horse an' talk ta ya."

He lifts his pencil, and considers the drawing. He looks up and sighs, lifting his chin again and pointing.

"Sorry." Rogue shifts her face again. "Then there's Remy. Ah don' trust 'im as far as ah can throw 'im, that one. Ah guess ya don' really lahk 'im either. Ah don' think he's too bad, on the inside, but still..."

He appears to be ignoring her prattling steadily, just sketching.

"Ah really don' know why ya an' St. John didn't make friends earlier. Maybe ya were just too shy."

He looks up, sighs, and points again. She lifts her chin.

"An' now who ya got? Evan an' Freddy? They're nahce guys, usu'lly, but they've changed. They're keepin' ta themselves now. It's lahk ah don' even know 'em any more."

He points again. She lifts her chin, but only half-way.

"Mr. McCoy too...he belongs ta whatever's outside now."

A point. This time, it goes ignored.

"Ah'm not even mahself. If ah ever get back, they won't know me."

Piotr sighs and shakes his head.

"Like THIS," he says in a voice thick with accent, and lifts his chin.

"Oh, okay."

Rogue starts to do as she's told, then freezes. Slowly, she turns to look at him.

"EXCUSE me??"

His wide eyes match hers.

"Der'mo," he mutters.

* * *

Author's Notes

I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry about the length of time between updates. Frankly, I'm rather embarrassed by it, especially since at the beginning I was updating every other day. But some of you will find that when you have to write a whole bunch of papers for classes, writing for fun just isn't so fun anymore. But I will NOT give up! I'll try to write at least a little every week from now on, so something more can be accomplished here. To reward those of you still with me, I used this chapter to get to the mystery of silent Piotr - sort of. (At the end, he says something like "Shit" by the way.) Maybe the little cliffhanger will inspire me to keep going, and quickly. Thanks to all of you who've been bothering me for this! My New Years Resolution is to do better with this, I promise!