Something Beyond Seeing

by MizzMarvel

Since a couple people have asked about it, I'm starting an update email list. If you want to know when this fic (or any of my other ones) are updated, give me your email address and I'll put you on it.

Chapter Six: Some Kind of Normalcy

In the middle of the night, Rogue will find herself sitting up in bed gasping, her lungs burning and her face hot. A nightmare, a recurring nightmare. It must be. What other cause can there be? But no matter how long she thinks on it, she never remember her dream.

She's gotten quite used to not remembering.

***

Rogue has been up and about in the house for over a week now and the realness of the situation has sunken in. She can get up in the morning and not be surprised by her surroundings, not wonder why she can't hear Kitty breathing in the other bed. She shares a noiseless breakfast every morning with the Russian and laughs with St. John in the afternoon and evening. Every once in a while, she'll look out her window and see Evan, Fred, and Remy lounging on the grass talking or running around playing some game.

"Why are ya always out in the yard?" she asks Mr. McCoy early one evening.

"I'm restless, I suppose." He points past the trees to a dark brown post standing stuck in the ground. "Do you see that post? Well, that's the limit to as far as we can travel. There are a bunch of them, circling the premises. Going past them means meeting up with the force field, which is..." His face carries a grim smile, remembering. "No fun at all. And no use. I just need space to move around, run and jump. It's the Beast in me."

She understands what he says completely, though perhaps in a different way than he means. This old house on Genosha is a far cry from the Mansion or even the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House, places where she could come and go as she pleased, within reason. She could go to school or just out somewhere else and pretend for a while, play at a faux normalcy. Here, her housemates and the collar on her throat are constant reminders of her inherent strangeness.

As the sun is going down, she imagines she can see a faint glimmer of the sea.

***

Magneto, Sabertooth, and Pietro are always downstairs, working on some mysterious project. Once or twice, as she's walking down a hall, she feels a sudden breeze and knows it is Quicksilver, speeding past and avoiding her. She wonders what they're planning and asks St. John what he knows about it.

"I don't know much of ANYTHING," he admits, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know how he found us, even. He was just standin' on the porch one day, sayin' he knew all about me and my powers, how my dealing with 'em in secret was hurtin' my parents. The next thing I knew, I was with him an' Sabertooth an' Gambit an' the Russian, learnin' how to fight an' control these powers."

"So yer just here 'cause he said ya should?"

He ponders this for a moment before answering, "No. No, I honestly believe that he's right, to some extent at least. I think the deal with mutants is gonna be that either we attain great power quick or we get none at all. Personally, I'd MUCH rather be part of the former. I mean, look at the track record humanity's had with different people so far. It's not very good. And, well, I know you don't agree with Magneto at all, an' that's all right. But when I'm a high-ranking official in Magneto's all-mutant, all-powerful regime, I'll make sure you're not punished as harshly as the rest of Xavier's team."

She bursts out laughing. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, I'll set somethin' up for ya. You can be my scullery maid, maybe."

"Well, when all ya guys're imprisoned for terrorism, ah'll come by an' visit ya. Ah'll bring a cake."

"Okay. Just remember, I like cream cheese frosting."

"Ah'll make note of it."

***

She sits on the lawn with the boys, the Russian excluded, naturally. They toss a small purple ball from person-to-person, making a casual game of it. St. John is with them, but won't participate, keeping his head down and playing with the individual blades of grass, only making sarcastic comments; he's there strictly for moral support, for Rogue.

"Ya from de South, girl?" Remy asks her as he passes the ball to Fred.

"Brilliant deduction," St. John mutters under his breath so only Rogue can hear. "Since the accents of the American South and Manchester, England are so similar and all."

She suppresses a grin and answers, "Yeah. Mississippi."

"Dat close ta Nawlins."

"Sure. Ah've been there."

"Mebbe ya see me."

"Ah don't think so."

"What, you didn't?" St. John mutters again. "Isn't Gambit in the tourist handbooks, under the listing Cajun Casanova?"

Remy scowls and turns to him for a second. "Ya say somethin', homme?"

"WHAT did you call me?" St. John's voice is suddenly high-pitched and loud.

"He called ya 'homme'," Rogue says gently, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It means 'man."

"Well, jeez," he murmurs, concentrating on the grass again.

"So ANYWAY," Remy says. "Ya like it here, chere?" He scoots a little closer to Rogue.

"It's all right," she answers, and moves away a bit.

"Hey Evan, pass ME the ball," St. John says with a strained smile.

"But it's Rogue's turn!" Evan answers, slightly taken aback by the proposal to break the unspoken rules.

"Pass it to me. I want in."

Evan shrugs and tosses it to him. St. John then throws it to Rogue, who throws it to Remy, and so forth.

The Cajun leans in closer to Rogue again. "An' ya havin' fun?" He's practically purring.

"Um, yeah," she replies, looking away. "As much as possible, anyway."

"Want Remy ta make it more fun?" He raises an eyebrow and grins again.

At that instant, the hard blue ball smacks Remy directly in the face. His eyes widen in surprise and he clamps his hands over his nose, which begins to bleed. He faces St. John and shouts:

"He, he do dat on purpose!!" His face is red with rage.

St. John throws his hands up helplessly. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Rem! I was trying to pass it to Rogue. Maybe you shouldn't've been so close." There is an edge to his last words.

Remy jumps up and screams, pointing a finger at the other boy, "Aw, you gon' get it for dis!" He stalks off to the house, still holding his nose, with Evan and Fred following.

"Ah guess the game's over," Rogue remarks. St. John nods in agreement.

***

That night she wakes up sweating again, and leans her cheek on the coolness of the empty wall against her bed. It takes a while to catch her breath, and tears comes to her eyes. She wants to sigh, but it would hurt too much. Sweating, she leans over to the window and opens it, letting the salty breeze from the ocean drift in.

Downstairs in garden, she sees, stands the lone figure of Pietro, staring up forlornly at her window.

Chapter Seven: Frustration

If he weren't my friend, Rogue thinks, I'd say he was absolutely nuts. She pushes away the threatening and persistent concept that, in fact, he may no longer BE her friend.

Pietro squints up at the window and, apparently spotting her looking down on him, his face brightens. He beckons her to quickly go downstairs to him, mouthing come here, come here. She shakes her head stubbornly, unwilling to brave the outside in place that she's still a stranger to. He sighs heavily and is suddenly gone. Seconds later, there's a soft knock at the door.

She stares at the door, blinking, before she says quietly, "Come in."

And he does so, first peeking in the top of his head and the his face, then his neck and shoulders and the rest of him in a slinky movement that reminds her of a snake. Trying to avoid making any noise, he shuffles over to her bed and stands by it awkwardly, hands on his hips. Rogue sits up all the way and pulls her blanket closer, attempting to make the act look casual and lack motive. But Pietro notices, and winces.

"Rogue," he says. "You don't...you don't have to worry about me, okay?" His eyes loom large in his thin face, hurt. "I wouldn't..."

"Ah know," Rogue breaks in. "Ah...it's an instinct thing."

He nods. "I guess that makes sense. In this context, anyway." He stares at her for a moment before going on, "Your hair looks longer."

She reaches up and pulls it a little, trying to measure its length by touch. "Really?"

"Yeah." Pietro smiles weakly. "Maybe we should call you Rapunzel." He crosses his arms in front of him and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't really been around. I've been helping, uh, my father..."

"With what?"

He sighs again. "You KNOW I can't tell you that..."

"Hmmm." She looks away.

"Don't do that to me, Rogue!" He sounds like he's pleading. "Please."

"Do what?" She knows she's being difficult and cold, but she doesn't really know what else to do. Assure him that's it's okay with her that they're being held captive in this house? Jump up and give him a big hug? Talk about the good old days in the Brotherhood? Besides, she FEELS cold and difficult, just thinking about his role in her situation.

"Dammit!" His voice is as loud as possible without threatening to disturb anyone else. "Sometimes you act just like Jean and Kitty and Tabitha, just like all the other girls! But you're NOT! You're different from them, you're better, so ACT like it. Talk to me and let me talk to you."

"Ah'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be. Don't be sorry."

"Are YOU sorry?"

Pietro hesitates, then answers simply, "He's my father."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have." He shrugs. "This isn't going like I wanted. I need to get some sleep anyway..."

Pietro's not standing there anymore.

So much for us being able to talk to each other, she thinks.

***

In the morning, Rogue catches the Russian sneaking looks at her as they eat. It's not the first time, either. Every once in a while, from the corner of her eye, she'll find him stealing quick glances at her from over his cereal bowl. Then when she lifts her head, his face turns red and he ducks, shoving another mouthful of food into his mouth.

At first, it bothered her. It bothered her very, very much. She thought briefly of telling St. John about it, but immediately vetoed that idea; he freaks out enough just dealing with Gambit. He doesn't need to feel like he should protect her from another guy, this one a couple times bigger than he is. So she's kept it to herself.

Rogue's still a bit worried by his benign attention, though he hasn't tried to do anything past looking. The Russian, for the most part, ignores everyone, including her. She knows that his room is downstairs, like those of all the boys other than St. John, across from where Fred and Evan sleep, and stays there for most of every day. She wonders sometimes what he does there, if he misses talking to people whenever he wants, and smiling. He hardly ever smiles.

But of course, neither does she.

***

That afternoon, around lunch time, when she walks into the kitchen, she's surprised to find Remy there. Luckily for St. John, his nose hadn't been broken, but is still slightly swollen. He runs his fingers across it gently, wincing at the tenderness, but when he sees her enter he drops his hand and grins.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey." Rogue walks past him without a second look and opens the refrigerator, considering her meal options.

"Ya tell ya frien' he better stay 'way," he tells her, voice a little more hardened than she's heard before.

She doesn't look at him when she answers, "Ah can't tell him what ta do." She pulls her choice out of the fridge and walks over to the microwave.

"Den he jus' better KNOW." Remy walks over and stands next to her. "Ah think he jealous."

She snorts. "Jealous? Of what?"

"Me." He leans forward, closer to her, and winks. "'Cause he never gon' win ya. Don' have the looks."

Rogue would very much like to tell him how right he is and yet how completely wrong at the same time. She can picture his wide-eyed surprise, mouth slack. Maybe then he'd leave and just let her make lunch. But of course not; she could never do that to St. John.

"Ah think he's nice-lookin'," she answers innocently. "He's tall."

Remy rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. "Dat all he got. Not like Remy." He grins again.

"Huh," she answers, trying to passively end the conversation.

"Ah think we'd make a good team."

"Hmmm."

"C'mon," he says, voice irritated and louder. "Talk ta me!" He sounds like Pietro earlier, only she KNOWS Pietro, knows he means no harm. Remy grabs her by the wrist and pulls her to him, eyes narrowed.

"Don't touch me!" she cries, like so many times before, but now it has nothing to with her powers absorbing his.

He doesn't let go, and he's stronger than her. "Then talk ta me!" he hisses.

"Izvinite," a voice says from the kitchen door.

They both turn quickly and find the Russian there, standing so tall and disapproving. He stares at Remy menacingly. Gambit drops her wrist and simply stomps out the door, brushing past the other boy.

"Styervo," the Russian mutters as he watches him go.

Rogue takes her wrist in her other hand and rubs it, tears threatening. Since the moment she manifested them, she'd resented her powers; they kept her so distant from the rest of the world. But now she yearns for them, for whatever protection she can have from whatever dangers that present themselves.

Still shaken, she looks up at the Russian and murmurs, "Thanks."

He nods slowly, as if he understands (and he might), and heads to the cereal cabinet.

Finding herself no longer hungry, Rogue hurriedly leaves the room and goes up the stairs.

She realizes that she had never heard the Russian speak before.

**Author's Note:

The next chapter will be up soon, once I figure out what'll happen in it. Jeez, this is getting harder...Oh, by the way, the Russian Piotr said translates as: "Excuse me" and "Bastard." A million thanks go out to Krystal, who sent me a few links dealing with Russian