X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
(with apologies to Steve Zink and
Marvel Comics)
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 4: Increase your bust in just 30 seconds!
"Wake up, sleepyhead."
"What? Where am I?"
I sat bolt upright in bed, wondering why my voice sounded so
strange. Suddenly there was movement and I noticed my hand swelling, becoming
larger and rougher looking. I looked down at my chest in time to see the front
of my nightgown falling flat, as my chest shifted into the pectorals of a
masculine chest.
"Rats…" I muttered, belatedly noticing that my
voice had grown deeper. I felt the buzzing begin in my head.
"Geez, Rogue, if that happened to me, I would've, like,
screamed my head off and cussed up a blue streak. And all you can say is
'rats'?"
I groaned and collapsed back in the bed. My head was pounding.
I *never* got hangovers. And now the buzzing was back, and I was being forced
to listen to this air-headed *morning person*. Surely they'd forgive me if I
killed her.
"I'm sick," I told her reasonably. "Don't
wake me up for at least two more hours."
"But it's time for breakfast."
"Then call me for lunch."
"Rogue! I can't believe it! Even when you're some
stupid *guy* you're still exactly the same. Whatever, I'm out of here."
*****
"You running? Okay, one, two, three: ROGUE! Lunch
time!" It was a chorus of female voices calling me.
"I'm up! I'm up!"
Once again I noticed the odd quality to my voice. Just
after I sat up, I felt myself both growing and shrinking. I held my hand up in
wonder, watching it change into a man's hand. Once again I had the feeling of
rats or snakes squirming around me. Only now I realized that it wasn't
something in the bed moving against my body – it was my body moving against the
bed as my form shifted.
I looked around at Kitty's room. "How'd I get here? I
was staying with Ororo." I realized I was wearing a gauzy negligee, which
I'm sure looked none too flattering on my fifty-year old body. Then I noticed
that I was being watched by Kitty, Jean, Ororo, and Moira. And they were
filming me.
"What do you think you're doing?" I yelled at
them. I started to pull the sheet up before realizing that I had nothing to
cover, and that my abilities provided an easier answer. Thinking for a moment,
I dissolved the negligee, converting it into the khaki shirt and pants from
yesterday. I'd think of another outfit when I was more awake.
I hadn't practiced with shirts and pants yet, but I did a
serviceable job. I felt them form around me. A moment later, there was the
feeling of movement next to my skin and I knew that underclothes had come into
existence as well, despite the fact that I hadn't consciously created
anything. That little aspect of my power left me more than a bit disturbed.
Decently clad once more, I climbed out of bed. My head
still felt the after-effects of my binge, but it seemed to be down to a
manageable throb by now.
"I think it's time to turn your little camera
off," I said. "Frankly, that's a damn rude stunt to pull on someone
who's recovering from a hangover. And that's another point. I shouldn't even
*have* a hangover. I never get drunk. Blast it, I'm used to drinking
*whiskey*! A couple of cups of *cider* should have been nothing."
"Well," Moira said, "someone did spike it
with Everclear. But obviously Dr. Trautwein had a much better tolerance for
alcohol than Rogue does."
I collapsed back on the bed, sitting and holding my head
while I moaned to myself. Part of me wanted to cry, but men don't cry.
*Except,* I thought, *I'm obviously not a man. I only think I'm one. I saw
who I was last night. They all saw.* And then I realized the worst part of
all: *Kurt!* I groaned again.
"So," Moira asked, "who are you?"
"Dr. Gerard Trautwein," I growled back at her.
"And don't say it! I know that I'm in Rogue's body. And somehow, I seem
to have both Mystique's power as well as my own ability."
"Too bad you missed the breakfast conversation
then." Moira spoke with the gleeful cheer that some people like to
inflict on people with hangovers. "Kitty figured it out." She
looked pointedly toward the bubbly adolescent.
"It all fits, you know? I guess I kind of thought that
she used, like, I don't know, some sort of illusion? Cause she changes so
fast, Mystique, I mean, and turns into like, a complete duplicate. And she did
Wolverine once, and even had these claws – how could a shapeshifter do that?
But I guess it wasn't an illusion, because she changed into a bird once, and
flew away. And beside, we've seen you, now, and your body really *is*
changing." I assumed her rambling was going somewhere. I was actually
more involved with trying to figure out how long Kitty would be able to talk
without taking a breath. "So anyway, if she changes into a bird, where do
her clothes go? And if you think about it, every times she changes, her
clothes change too. I mean, whenever she morphs into her Mystique-shape, you
know, with the dress and boots and little skulls, what happens to her old
clothes? And where do the new clothes come from? So that's when I figured out
that Mystique had the clothes-changing ability all along, she just didn't tell
anyone, cause like, she's really into keeping secrets and stuff. But if you
practiced, I bet you could do claws like Wolverine and all sorts of wicked
stuff! I'd be willing to help you out, if you could like, help me out with my
uniform, okay?"
I couldn't help smiling at her antics. She had just
performed a cogent analysis of Mystique's powers and suggested several valuable
training ideas, but couched in speech that would have served admirably for the
dumb blonde of the stereotypes.
I nodded to Kitty. "I'd be happy to. But first: who
put me in your room, and who dressed me in that…that…frilly *thing*?"
"I'm afraid you did that on your own, dear," Ororo
said. "Once you saw yourself in the mirror, you teleported away. We were
searching the house and about to start on the grounds when Kitty found you
under the covers of your own bed, fast asleep. You were already dressed like
that. I guess we'll have to let you sleep in here from now on, since you
obviously feel an affinity for your old room."
"Yeah," Kitty said. "It still kind of weirds
me out, but I guess it's even worse for you, huh Rogue? And at least you don't
look like a geezer any more. If I have to have a guy in my room, at least he's
young, except I know you aren't really a guy, so I guess it's okay."
My fuzzy brain was working its way through her ramblings and
run-ons when it stumbled over the implications in the rest of her sentence.
"What a minute – how old do I look today?"
"Well this morning you were, I think, in your thirties,
right? And now you look like you're in your early twenties."
I pulled myself the rest of the way out of bed and staggered
down the hallway. I checked in the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, I now
appeared to have the same face I'd worn in my twenties. I hadn't seen that
face since Truman was president.
So long as I was in the bathroom, I decided to take care of
business. I unzipped my trousers, only to discover…flowered cotton panties?
How did those get there? I pulled them off to look at them. One of the
advantages of my new powers were that I didn't have to step out of underwear, I
could just pull it off and help the fabric "flow" around my body. So
I pulled them straight off, without removing my pants.
Hmmm. Definitely your basic cotton panty. White, with a
flower pattern, and a little pink flower sewn into the front of the waistband.
Probably suitable for any girl from six to sixty, only these were in my exact
size. But panties were never cut with a man's anatomy in mind. I was
surprised that I hadn't felt more uncomfortable in them. My privates had to be
all bunched up in these damned things. Scowling, I concentrated and
"vanished" them. Then, after finishing my business, I tried to
materialize a pair of simple cotton briefs – men's briefs, that is. I pulled
down my pants and looked at the results – not bad. I think the design was
slightly off; I probably needed to study a real pair to get it exactly right.
As I studied them in the mirror, my briefs suddenly blurred
and flowed like water. Moments later, I was wearing flowered cotton panties
again.
*What the hell?* I concentrated – back to briefs. Then,
watching, I tried to feel what was in my own mind. There – I could feel the
power activating by itself, and the briefs flowed back into panties.
A part of my own mind was determined to be wearing female
undergarments. *No,* I realized, *Not my mind, it's the girl's. Something of
her remains, and it's determined to wear proper clothes, even if I'm in a male
shape.* Thinking it over, I was surprised she hadn't put us in a bra, too –
and with that sudden suspicion, I pulled up my shirt.
Yes, I was wearing a plain cotton training bra, a match to
the panties. No frills, no lace, but it was clear what the garment was. Oddly
enough, the slight tension around my chest was vaguely comforting. It seemed
to me that ever since I had awoken after the incident, my nipples had been a
little too sensitive. The protection of the training bra would help protect
then and soften the rather unmasculine protuberance. I suppose that's what I
felt, looking at the inappropriate garment. It made me feel more…protected, I
suppose. Somehow, I felt safer with it on.
I shook my head internally. It wasn't as if I could remove
it anyway. As soon as I did, I was sure that it would just rematerialize. I
would have to wear shirts and pants that were thick enough to hide the lines of
my inappropriate undergarments.
I ran a hand over my face – I still didn't need to shave. I
was feeling a little rushed for a shower, so I simply looked over my body in my
mind's eye and vanished the dirt, oil, and other residues from the previous
day's activities.
Somewhat better prepared, I steeled myself to face the
world. So far, this day had *not* been a good one.
There was a pile of sandwiches on the table, but everyone
was in watching the TV.
Somewhat irritated that they hadn't
waited for me, I grabbed a sandwich and looked for a cup of coffee. There was
none; apparently these people only drank coffee for breakfast, and nobody had
told them that breakfast wasn't defined by the hour of the morning, but by when
you woke up. And I had just woken up.
The laughter from the TV room
brought me wandering in that direction, idly nibbling on a sandwich.
"One more time," I
heard Evan calling.
"Okay," Kitty said.
"Hang on."
I ventured in just in time to
see her press a button and stand back. As the picture cleared, the scene was
of Kitty's bedroom. I suddenly had a sinking feeling.
The camera was focused on a
quilt-covered lump in one of the beds. "Rogue! Lunch time!" came
the familiar chorus of voices.
The girl in bed suddenly sat up
as if she'd had a spring attached to her. "I'm up! I'm up!" It was
obviously Rogue. From the white patch of hair in her otherwise brown mop, to
the expression on her face (simultaneously irritated and confused) – everything
there was Rogue. One strap of her nightgown was dangling down onto her arm,
displaying a bit more of one bony shoulder than was proper.
Suddenly, she started to change. Her features flowed and
altered and a few seconds later, *she* was a *he*. A man who looked just like
me. He was looking at his hand, amazing at the alteration of flesh. He looked
in confusion at the camera. "How'd I get here? I was staying with
Ororo." Then he seemed to realize that he was still wearing a negligee.
Now that changed too, flowing like water, shifting to a tan khaki shirt.
"What do you think you're doing?" He yelled at the camera.
The audience gave a nervous chuckle and made a few other
incredulous remarks.
"Amazing. It's not quite as smooth as Mystique did it,
but she's had decades more practice."
"Way cool," Kurt said, "but isn't Rogue going
to be upset vhen she finds out you're showing us?"
Evan finally glanced toward the back of the room and spotted
me. "Uh oh."
I turned and walked back to the kitchen. I might have
expected the kids to show this level of immaturity, but Moira? Ororo?
Charles? At least Logan hadn't been present. I'm sure he would have loved to
participate in my humiliation.
I spent a few minutes cussing in the kitchen. I'd found the
coffee machine, and realized that I had absolutely no idea how to operate the
complicated and specialized device. I had seen biochemical purification
experiments that looked less complicated than this coffee machine. When had
the old reliable percolator gone out of style?
In my irritation, I realized that wood was a dead biological
material that I could mentally manipulate. Not quickly or easily, but I
*could* alter it. It was the handprints that I was melting into the
butcher-block counter that tipped me off. Hastily I concentrated, trying to
restore the original structure.
"Rogue," Charles' too-smooth voice began its
weaselly sell-job behind me, "you need to know that none of that was
intended in cruelty. We need solid, unavoidable proof that you *are* Rogue.
Proof that you can't deny. That was the purpose of the tape. That, and to let
everyone know beyond the shadow of a doubt, who you really are, despite who you
*think* you are."
I spun on him, advancing shamelessly on the wheelchair-bound
figure. "You know," my voice started out quiet, dangerous, "for
a man with all these great powers of telepathy, you have a pretty stinking
narrow view of the world, Charles. I don't know what it's going to take to
convince you, but," I couldn't help be shout this next part, "I AM
NOT ROGUE!"
By now, Scott had moved up behind Xavier. He had one hand
on the wheelchair, and another at his glasses. The message was clear:
"Don't mess with the Professor."
"Yes, I accept that I'm probably in Rogue's *body*.
And somehow, Mystique's powers are in here too. It's my mind inside her body, while
her mind is God-knows-where. Don't you get it, Charles? Your student is still
missing! You've found the *body*, but you've misplaced the most important
part! I expected more from someone who is supposed to be such a great
telepath!" I looked in desperation toward Scott, Jean, and the rest of
his students. "What if this happened to you? What if Mystique and her
friends stole your mind, your *soul*, and trapped it somewhere? And they
slipped one of their lackies into the empty shell of your body. Wouldn't you
want your so-called *friends* to look for you? Don't you care about anything
beyond the tawdry flesh? Why aren't you still searching for Rogue? She's
never been in more trouble! Don't you care? How do you think she's going to
feel, when she finds out that instead of searching for her, you spent your time
watching peep shows of her body? What a *wonderful* bunch of friends! I'm
sure she'll feel *so* grateful that she chose to throw her lot in with the
'good' side."
"This is, like, so creepy." It was Kitty, of
course. "That's just the tone Rogue would have used. Not the words, or
vocabulary, or accent, but that's the way she would have laid into us. So who
are you really? Rogue, or Dr. Trautwein? Or maybe a little of both?"
I held my fury in check. She didn't deserve it.
"I am a *man.* An *old* man." I tapped my
skull. "It's my mind in here. I accept that this *isn't* my body. I
think you can understand my initial confusion. I don't know how my mind got
here, and I assure you, I can find no trace of Rogue in here," aside from
a persistent impulse that keeps altering my underwear, "but we have to
find her and put her back where she belongs."
"And what," Charles asked, "happens to you
when we do that?"
I clenched my jaw. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I
probably face oblivion," I said. "If I can judge from only a
sentence, I'm still inside my original body. That means that the me in
here," I tapped my chest, "is probably just some sort of copy. Once
the real Rogue is found, I go away. And I doubt that there's a convenient
receptacle waiting for me. That means that I'll just have to go."
"That simple?" Charles asked.
"That simple," I confirmed. All the while, a part
of me was gibbering in terror. I'm not a religious man, but if there was
anything like a soul, I suspect that mine was still happily ensconced in my
original body. This copy of me was perhaps nothing more than an illusion. An
illusion that would soon be done away with. I faced an extinction more absolute
and I had ever imagined, about to be erased like a chalk drawing, with nothing
to even mark my brief existence. Maybe that rude video tape would be my most
lasting legacy.
"Well, I can't fault your courage," Charles
grudgingly admitted. "Your judgment may be another matter. If you had
any suggestion on how we might begin searching for the mind that properly
belongs in that body, I'd be working on it –"
"But you haven't thought to ask me, have you?" I
interrupted, snidely. "Because as a matter of fact, I *do* have an idea.
At some point, Mystique broke into my lab. *I* don't know what happened after
that, but big things happened after the break-in, and it left Rogue with
Mystique's power and my mind. It probably involves my apparatus, among other
things. Somewhere in that sequence, 'I' – and I mean the older version this
time – I went to Rogue's apartment. Somewhere in there, I – that is,
'I-in-Rogue's-body' – woke up in the lab, and took a cab here to your mansion.
Right after that, old-I was kidnapped from Rogue's apartment by Blob and
Quicksilver." I took a breath. "There are too many questions. What
happened? How did Rogue-I get Mystique's powers? Where *is* Mystique? Why
did old-I go to the apartment? And one person can probably answer all of these
questions: Me. That is, the original me. Has he been asleep for a day? It's
time to wake me up and question me."
Dr. McTaggart stepped forward shaking her head. "Dr.
Trautwein is both old and frail. You should know that better than any of us.
The recent manhandling has left him hovering on the edge of a coma. Forcing
him awake could be the injury that pushed him over that edge. He might slip
into a sleep that would continue to slide downhill until he died.
"I'm ready for that," I asserted. "Believe
me, I've had years to come to terms with my failing health. If there's a
chance that I could help clear up this mess, I'd want to do it." I gave a
somewhat bitter grin. "As the best moral authority with responsibility
over Dr. Trautwein, I *insist* that you wake me so that I can help answer these
questions. Rogue's very soul may be hanging in the balance."
Dr. McTaggart looked down. "I…I'll think about
it."
At that moment, we all heard the front door bang closed. A
moment later, Logan joined us, leading the most beautiful woman I have ever had
the opportunity to meet. I think I started hating her immediately. She was
dressed in an extremely expensive crème blouse with a black leather blazer and
miniskirt combo. Her lips were very full and blood red, her hair was
raven-black and very, very full. Her figure was stunning. Her legs were
sheathed in glimmering hose that seemed to whisper seductively every time she
took a step. There was nothing overtly unprofessional about her, but her
entire appearance seemed designed to hit you over the head with massive sex
appeal. Perhaps she hoped that the men would be so busy gaping that she could
take advantage of them, and that women would be intimidated by her assets. I
must admit, there *is* something that makes one pause when confronted with a
gravity-defying D-cup. I felt at a distinct disadvantage in my wrinkled
khakis, even if I had just dropped 60 years from my apparent age.
Unfortunately for her, she hadn't counted on the 'mad enough to storm the
bunkers in Berlin' contingent.
"Everyone," Logan said, "this is Jacob Gavin,
otherwise known as 'Courier.' Jake, you should recognize most everyone from my
description. That," he gestured toward me, "is Rogue."
'Jake' held her hand out to me, knuckles up, as a woman
would. I moved it minutely upward in greeting, but made no move to bring it to
my lips.
"Ms. Gavin," I said, inclining my head toward
her. "I was told that you were a man," I said bluntly.
"Dr. Trautwein," she returned, "I was told
that you would be much older, but that you were a teenaged girl."
We smiled tightly at one another.
"You must have already heard the explanation for my
situation," I said. "I'm sure Logan's ride from the airport was filled
with endlessly amusing tidbits."
"He filled me in. 'Amusing' is not the word I'd
use."
"Well, you really must peruse our video library
then." From the corner of my eye, I caught some well-deserved wincing.
"But I believe you were about to explain your own situation?"
Her perfect lips thinned. "No, but I guess it might
help. I suppose it *is* appropriate. As you were told, my name is Jacob
Gavin. Like Mystique, I am a shapeshifter. That is where the similarity
ends. Mystique can change her form almost instantly, with clothing and
garments to match. But her change is limited entirely to *shape*."
I frowned. "I thought that was the point.
'Shapeshifter' – shape. What are you saying?"
'Jake' paused briefly to fan herself with her slim purse.
"Well, if you insist on launching into things right away…perhaps we could
move to a more comfortable setting. And perhaps I could get a little something
to drink?"
Before I knew what was happening, it seemed as if all the
other men were falling over themselves to accommodate her. Kurt – the scum –
was taking her order and teleporting away, Scott was taking her arm and leading
her into another room. I hid my smile as I noticed both Jean and Kitty
scowling at that. Evan was at her other side, offering some service – I didn't
catch the details. Even Logan and Charles seemed to be deferring to her
comfort. As the circus swept away from us, I glanced at Ororo and Moira. Like
me, they'd been caught flatfooted by the whirlwind.
"Has everyone lost their minds?" I asked.
"Not everyone," Ororo said, "just –"
"Those idiots," Moira interrupted.
I stomped after the idiots. In the living room, Kitty was
cueing up THE tape. As least I got her to show a brief look of shame as I
entered the room. I walked over to her and decided to let her off the hook.
She was just a kid, after all, and a pretty decent one, at that.
"Geez," she said, "I'm, like, *really* sorry
–"
"It's okay," I told her quietly. "I
understand, and it's probably necessary. Keep it around, don't let anyone
erase it. It's blasted embarrassing, but I also understand the need. But
don't let any of the rest of the crew know I told you that. Make 'em think
that I took it out on you. They deserve to squirm a bit."
She looked at me in surprise, trying to hide a smile. After
a moment, she nodded shyly at me. "Thanks."
I touched her shoulder. "You're okay, squirt."
I sat down opposite 'Jake' as they rolled the tape. It was
less than a minute of total humiliation. I spent the time shifting my glare
between 'Jake', Charles, and Logan (who seemed to enjoy it quite a bit).
Finally: "That bitch!" Gavin shouted out. "I always wondered
how she did the clothes! It was a separate ability all along, wasn't it?"
"Yes," I said. I gestured negligently with a
finger and materialized a blouse like hers, dangling from my finger-tips.
"I'm still practicing, so it helps to have a sample to work from." I
tossed it to her. "I can vanish things away just as easily. It should eventually
save Rogue quite a bundle on her clothing budget."
Gavin opened her mouth, looked at me in puzzlement, then
closed it again.
"So," I said, giving her my warmest shark-smile,
"you were about to explain your 'situation', if I recall."
I finally got an expression from her that was something
other than the confident sex machine. She was starting to look embarrassed.
"Well, I was born Jacob Gavin, jr., quite male. In
early puberty, I suspect most of you know the pattern, my abilities began to appear.
I'm a shapeshifter. I have total control over my cellular structure."
I nodded, actually forgetting my hostility in the
fascination of learning about another mutant. How did this fit into my theory
of the bio-control field? Controlling every cell in your body was more
information than any human brain could handle. It was probably more than *all*
human brains, acting in concert, could handle.
"Excuse me," I interrupted. "You can
individually control each and every cell?"
She nodded. "Every cell. It comes in handy, whenever
I'm ovulating."
I clenched my jaw. Trust her to turn the conversation back
toward sex.
"Yes," I agreed dryly, "built-in birth
control must have been quite a perk when you decided to abandon your manhood
for the softer side of the bed."
"I didn't choose this!" she practically yelled it
at me. "It was an accident!"
We were all silent for a moment.
"It was a horrible accident. I was helping a…friend. We'd
used a time machine to travel back to 1891. We were investigating a doctor,
an…an obstetrician. My so-called friend convinced me to pose as a patient. To
my eternal regret, I agreed. And then –" she choked back a laugh
"—then the doctor *used* me. He was a mutant, too. He locked me in this
form. He stole parts of me. He learned how to duplicate my abilities."
By now, she was holding her head in her hands, and I felt like a first-rate
jerk. "And I was trapped as a woman. You don't know how humiliating that
was."
Then her eyes came up and looked straight into mine.
"I take it back. I guess one of you does."
As we stared at each other, I think I finally came to
understand her. Forced into a role she never wanted, betrayed by her body, her
emotions, trying to deal with things as best she can. Her too-perfect
sex-machine body. It was all just another tool for coping. I nodded back my
understanding. Somehow our eyes carried the communication between us.
*Truce.*
"We eventually got back to the present day – a story in
its own right. I regained control over my powers. But Sinister – uh, the
obstetrician – he'd changed me permanently. I could still control my form, but
my 'natural' form was now female. I even had a woman's genetic code."
"But…if you can completely control your body," I
was speaking politely now, trying to understand, "why would it *matter*
what your 'natural' form was?"
She gave a sad smile and shook her head at me. "Wow,
you've got a *lot* to learn. For me, it takes hours to perform a large
change. But I can change almost completely, even altering my body chemistry –
blood type, hormone levels, things like that. Even with all of that, over the
course of days my body would slowly drift back to my natural form if I didn't
do 'maintenance' each night. More disturbing, I discovered that my psyche had
changed. Who I was, at the most core fundamental level, had become female. I
tried to deny it, but it was true. I now go by 'Jacqueline' or 'Jackie'. I
accept that I am a woman, although I'm still working through the details. I
probably will be for another decade or two."
I leaned forward. "I'm sorry, Jackie. I didn't mean
to –"
"Oh, yes you did, and you know it. Maybe you were
right, too. I'm learning how rich the emotional nuances of a woman's world
are. Unlike some of you, I didn't grow up learning how to project the proper
signs and signals. And now I'm discovering that what men think of as
'intricate political fencing' is really about as subtle as a football scrimmage.
It's just taking me a while to learn the rules of a more subtle
interaction."
"I don't know about you," Evan said to Kurt,
"but I think we've just been insulted!"
"Ja, definitely. That one's going to leave a
mark."
Moira finally entered the discussion. "You were saying
something earlier about the difference between Mystique's power and yours. I
think you said something about how she could 'only' change her shape."
"Mmm hmmm." Jackie settled back onto the couch. "We
met about two years ago. We were both trying to infiltrate a certain facility
for an eastern European weapons lab. We'd both disguised ourselves as members
of the staff. Mystique got caught, and in the scuffle I completed my
assignment and managed to get away. I caught up with her two days later, after
unloading my 'package', I might add.
"She'd had a rough time getting away. She'd lost an
eye, and was busy regenerating it. Apparently that required her to go through
a lot of shifts. She admitted that 'stretching herself out' tended to increase
the cellular turnover and regeneration rate, allowing her to recover from even
severe wounds. It took days, though. Whereas if I had taken the same wound,
and survived of course, I could have regenerated in a night.
"But how she was caught was instructive. The lab
sprang a surprise blood test on us. Supposedly to check for drugs, but they
confirmed other details like blood chemistry. Mystique, with her type AB
blood, couldn't possibly have been the person she claimed. Whereas I had gone
the authentic route, blood chemistry and all.
"Normally she could have used her shaping abilities to
compensate. For example, I know that she's passed this type of test before. I
suspect that she would create a small pocket in her arm, and filled it with a
pre-arranged pouch of blood. But she wouldn't confirm any details for me.
Always jealous of her secrets, even in a give-and-take exchange like that.
"I guess I've always been jealous of Mystique's
abilities. That's why I have to belittle them. She can change in an instant,
into *anyone.* I have to keep reminding myself of her limitations."
"And what are those?" I had to admit to a very
large personal interest.
Jackie took a sip of her drink before continuing. "As
I said before, she controls her *shape*. On a somewhat intimate level, if I
want to control, hmmm," she glanced around coyly, "my fertility…I can
simply encase each ovum in a hard shell. Or prevent the eruption of the egg,
although that has more unpleasant consequences. Or I can change the
composition of my uterine lining. All of them work. Mystique could control
her fertility – we swapped notes – she would seal off either her cervix or
fallopian tubes. As I said, a change in *shape*."
Everyone in the audience slowly blinked, as we digested the
images and implications. The boys might not have know all the anatomy being
described, but they knew enough to turn very red as they listened to Jackie
talking about her eggs and uterine lining. It was almost cute, if they hadn't
been such idiots.
"Soooo," Kitty said, trying to understand,
"if you wanted to keep yourself from getting drunk, you could make your
liver bigger or more efficient."
"Exactly," Jackie nodded. "Whereas Mystique
would create a second stomach or something to hold the alcohol and keep most of
it out of her system. That's it exactly. I once copied a fellow that had
hollow fangs and poison sacs. I could duplicate everything. Mystique could
have duplicated all the shapes, but she couldn't have generated her own
poison. She can't generate different organs, she can only rearrange what she's
got."
I saw an immediate flaw in her argument and was about to
mention it aloud, but on looking around and seeing the boys hanging on every word,
I decided to save it for a more private moment with Jackie.
"Okay," I finally said. "What else can you
tell us about Mystique's abilities? It *seems* that Rogue has somehow acquired
them, which means that this body," I thumped my sternum "now
possesses them. So far, they seem to be entirely involuntary."
"Well, Mystique described her ability as 'pulling the
net.' She said it was like an invisible network of energy that controlled
every structure in her body. By mentally pulling on these strings, she could
simply pull herself into a new shape. She compared it to pulling a corset
tight. With me, an evening's concentration is enough to let me alter my
cellular structure. It will then take days or more to drift back to my normal
form. With Mystique, it was like constantly holding a bag of water. As soon
as she relaxed her grip, it would all flow away. When she first learned, she
couldn't hold a form for more than a few minutes without getting a terrible
headache."
I practically jumped at that, and everyone stared at me.
Jackie looked up in understanding.
"Headaches?"
"Within a few minutes of waking up."
"Then why don't you go back to Rogue's normal
form?"
I rubbed my temple in frustration. "Sometimes I think
I'd almost be willing to accept that. The real answer is that I have no
control over the change. As soon as I'm conscious," I glanced briefly at
Kurt, "and sober, my form shifts immediately into 'my' shape. I didn't
even realize that I was shifting for the first few days. The only alteration
in that pattern is that I've been slipping into a younger and younger version
of my body."
Jackie nodded. "So this isn't a shape-lock at all.
Not in the traditional sense. Your problem is very different. I'd venture to
say that your problem is psychological, not physical. Seeing that tape, you
have no problem at all changing shape."
"But…" Kurt broke in, both puzzled and worried.
"I've seen her change into something completely different. Mystique, I
mean. She was a bird. She flew away."
"Yes," Jackie agreed. "She can change her
mass quite a bit – I never knew how she managed that particular trick. And I
don't know how she did the feathers, unless they're something like the
clothing."
She glanced at me in question. I thought, concentrating for
a moment, and a feather materialized in my fingers. That probably answered
that.
"But you have to remember," Jackie said,
"that a bird's abilities are based on its form and shape. Most animals
are like that. But dolphins, bats, cobras – these all have organs and
structures that are beyond any simple change in form."
I realized something. "Mystique held her shape as
Principal Darkholme for hours at a time. How did she do that without suffering
from a massive headache?"
"She probably *had* a headache," Evan muttered.
"It would explain her attitude. That lady was *always* on my case."
"I'm sorry," Jackie said, "I never finished.
Mystique told me that she couldn't 'hold' the strands for long without getting
a headache. You remember, I used the corset analogy. But she eventually
learned to 'twist' the energy strands, effectively tying them off in place –
much like tying off a corset once it has been tightened down. In that state,
she could sleep, even get knocked unconscious, without losing her shape. She
said that she always felt a bit of tension whenever she wasn't in her natural
form, but that it was no great strain. She could hold it indefinitely."
I nodded. "That's what I need to learn, then. If I
can figure out how to do this 'tying off' I can finally get rid of these killer
headaches."
"No." "I disagree." Charles and Moira
looked at each other in confusion. Charles gestured for Moira to continue.
"As your doctor, I agree that it's the 'buzzing' you
described which probably triggers the headaches. From what we know, that's
probably the strain of holding Rogue's body in this shape. We know that when
you sleep, you revert to your natural form, and the buzzing vanishes. You also
seem to lose the ability to hold your shape after drinking."
"*I* don't," Jackie stuck in, eager to claim one
more advantage.
"—which also stops the buzzing and eliminates the
headaches."
I nodded. "So far, we all agree. So why shouldn't I
learn how to lock down this shape and save my aching head?"
"Simple," Charles said. "You've already
gained some proficiency with Mystique's abilities over fabric. Why can't you
similarly access the shapeshifting abilities?" He glanced at Moira and
Jackie. "I think we agree that it's a psychological issue. You are
unable to cope with your current 'natural' shape. Until we deal with that,
your mind is devoting all its energy to holding you locked into a shape that
looks like Gerard Trautwein. I don't think you'll be able to effectively
shapechange until you accept your natural form, until that is no longer a
threat to you."
I was suddenly feeling very afraid.
"I agree," Moira said. "I think we need to
gradually transition you back to your natural form. Once we do that, you
should be able to change into any shape you want."
Jackie nodded. "They're right. Believe me, I know how
much the psychology can hold you back. Accepting this is the only way to gain
control over your abilities."
Then Charles dropped his second bombshell.
"The tricky part," he said, "will be managing
the transition while you're attending school."
Continued in Chapter 5, appearing NEXT Sunday!
since 02/16/03