X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 12: Girl half
I realized that I hadn't been doing the flex/relax exercise
through class, I'd just been sitting in 'relaxed' form. And my body did feel
relaxed…*completely* relaxed. I couldn't feel any buzzing or tension at all.
Not even for my face and throat. I reached for my new abilities – the power to
change my body with a thought. There was nothing there at all. It was as if I'd
been dreaming the whole thing.
In one sense, this was great. I realized that my
omnipresent headache had vanished sometime during class. There was no buzzing,
and I felt great. I was also showing curves that I hadn't possessed when I'd
walked into this classroom. What about my face? Did I still look like "Jerry"
or was I wearing Rogue's face?
I carefully wrote out a note. Kurt was closer to the front
of the class, but 'Rogue' was sitting in back, like me. I wrote a note and
then folded it up and flicked it toward her:
[ HOW DOES MY FACE LOOK? ]
She looked over at me in annoyance. I pointed to the note.
She read it and shrugged. I mimed writing. She finally got the idea and sent
me a note.
[ WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? ]
[ DOES MY FACE LOOK OKAY? ]
[ YES! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? ]
[ FORGET IT. NEVER MIND. ]
So I was stuck in the shape I'd changed into. Face and
larynx matching "Jerry," and everything else matched Rogue's body.
And if Jackie was right, I'd be stuck like this for *days*. At least there was
a chance at concealing what had happened. Based on Jackie's fashion advice, I
was wearing a long, heavily concealing trench coat. If I kept that draped
around me, and sort of 'wrapped things up' maybe no one would notice.
For the past two days, I'd been creating a sort of padded
cummerbund. A wide band of cloth padding that wrapped my middle and gave me a
straighter shape, concealing the narrower waist that Rogue's body had. A sort
of reverse corset. Unfortunately, that didn't account for how much her hips
stuck out. The best I could do there was to pad things out a bit more, hoping
that any "fat" would conceal the new width of hip.
More… well, I can't honestly say I was troubled by it. More
*apparent* were the truly gigantic breasts I now sported. I had it on best
authority that Rogue was a "B", which was supposed to be "only
average" or even "small" as some of the guys judged things. From
this side of the bosom, they felt huge. I had barely become the… it was hard
to admit, particularly to myself… the *proud* possessor of a pair of double-A
pubescent breasts. The mixed wonder and terror of that first foray into
girlhood was something that still had me reeling. But this – I simply could
not cope with an actual female body. My mind seized up and shut down. The
only possible reaction was to hide it, conceal it, bury my shame and
humiliation behind clothing so that no one would know.
Honestly, I didn't care so much that others knew. What
mattered most was that *I* knew.
So I created a wide elastic band around my chest, stretched
tight. I followed it with another band, and another and another. That was
pretty uncomfortable, so I undid them, added a layer of soft cotton over my
sensitive chest regions, and then re-created the elastic bands.
The bell rang and everyone got up. 'Rogue,' the damn
body-thief, went to get Kurt and then they both came back for me. I had stood,
and I did my best to move smoothly, rather than stumbling along like a clumsy
adolescent.
Kurt, the oblivious goof-ball, didn't seem to notice a
thing. Jackie, or rather, 'Rogue,' gave me the eye and tried to figure out
what was going on.
"Are you shorter?" she asked.
"You tell me," I muttered back.
Kurt was finally catching on. "You *are*! You're
shorter than me now!"
"Look, BRO," I couldn't help putting a little
uncomfortable emphasis on that last word, "can we keep the volume down
here?"
"You're stuck, aren't you?" Jackie asked.
"I'll talk about it *in private*, okay?"
The both nodded. As we walked to the ever-surprising
European history class, Jackie kept whispering to me under her breath, being
deliberately obscure in case someone overheard.
"Ah don't get it. Ah thought you'd…stay…however you
were. The height doesn't make sense. Especially since you can't consciously
control…it." When I didn't respond, she looked at me suspiciously. "You
*can*, can't you!"
I finally gave up and nodded. "Just a little. Back
and forth, you know?"
"Between every-day and unchanged?"
"Uh huh." I told her. "Sort of like tensing
and relaxing a muscle. It helps with the cuts and bruises I've been picking up
in all the workouts that Logan's been giving me."
"Oh! Ah get it. So you were 'relaxed' – mostly – and
got caught by surprise, didn't you?"
I nodded reluctantly. "And now you know everything."
Kurt's eyebrows were doing a cute little dance of
confusion. "Nien. I don't understand *anything*! Vhat are you two
talking about?"
"Well," Jackie started, "uh, how 'relaxed'
were you?"
I rolled my eyes and gave in. I rubbed my throat in what I
hoped was an inconspicuous fashion. "Here, down. Totally, if you get my
drift."
Her eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Uh huh."
Kurt was starting to look a little vexed. "Vill you
PLEASE tell me vhat you're talking about?"
Jackie hung on his arm like a shameless flirt and whispered
into his ear. After a moment his eyes went wide, and then he looked me over,
head-to-toe.
"Uh…I don't think I can tell," he said, "if
that helps. That trenchcoat hides a lot.
"Thanks, I think."
He dropped his voice to a whisper. "But why vould you
be stuck?"
"It's *personal*," I whispered. "Only
temporary – just a day or two." Or three.
He kept giving me the eye as we sat in the back of class. I
might have found it flattering if he wasn't looking at me like I was some kind
of freak.
Fortunately, class started soon after that. The teacher
took the beginning of class to explain that "There was no 'Captain Hogan'"
and that "No, Stalag 13 wasn't an escape-proof POW camp." I
scratched my head, trying to figure out where some of these kids got their
ideas about history.
Soon, our 'teacher' took the opportunity to segue smoothly
into a droning lecture about the magnificent rapport and cooperation between
Generals Eisenhower and Montgomery. I took that as my cue to drop into an
introspective sulk. Or perhaps it was a more complex mood. Parts of my mind
were terrified, parts were insanely resentful, and an insistent voice deep
within me was singing in joy.
It was hard to ignore the fact that I was currently
ovulating. Right at this very moment, an egg was breaking out of one of my
ovaries. Soon it would drift down my fallopian tube toward my uterus. If,
somehow, a man's sperm got inside me, I would become pregnant. I would be
stuck in this shape (or one that grew gradually rounder) as the new life grew
inside me. Then, at last, the baby would emerge, coming out through my….
It just didn't work. I was a *man*. Men didn't get
pregnant. The didn't have all that plumbing inside them. I placed my hand
over my belly, seeing if I could feel those alien organs inside me.
Part of me was terrified. It was hard to ignore the two
lumps on my chest, squeezed tight through the elastic bindings. Every breath
reminded me of the alien shape I wore. These were different from the delicate
young blossoms that I'd had this morning. There was something amazing about
growing small young breasts. Something scary and amazing and flattering and
frightening. I knew those young swellings were *me*, and I was struggling to
come to terms with what I was gradually becoming. But this – the whole body –
it was too much. I felt grotesque and misshapen. I knew I'd be trapped this
way for days, but I couldn't accept it, so I settled on an easy approach.
Denial.
Perhaps this body was female. It might even be fertile at
the moment, but it wasn't *me*. It wasn't *my* body. It was just a shell that
I was temporarily trapped in. I had known, intellectually, for over a week
that the body I was trapped in was technically female. A girl's body that was
currently ready and eager to reproduce.
Wait a minute. Eager?
There was that part way down that was happy about all of
this. It was the part that I've been thinking of as "the girl."
Perhaps it was the rightful remnants or whatever remained of the real Rogue,
still living down within me. But I could feel her, and she was pleased as
punch to be finally back in her proper shape. She was a bit upset about the
ugly male face and the fact that she couldn't wear something pretty.
(Actually, she wanted to wear something sexy, shocking, rebellious, and
disturbing.) She'd been forcing us to wear properly delicate undergarments –
there was no way that she was going to wear a bunch of scratchy, ugly,
uncomfortable, rough, MALE underclothes next to *her* delicate skin. But right
now she was happy. She had finally gotten a good part of what she had wanted.
She was willing to lay low and enjoy the sensations for the moment.
But she'd want more, soon. She wanted to look at boys and
she wanted them to look at her. She wanted a girlfriend to talk all of these
things over with. She wanted clothes, and dancing, and flirting, and a normal
life for a normal girl.
I don't mean to imply that I had any sort of
multiple-personality disorder. I didn't feel as if there was *actually* a
separate person inside me, or a different soul, or any such thing. It's
just…there were these impulses. I felt wishes, desires, desperate longings. I
knew they didn't come from me – they *couldn't* be coming from me. I had lived
with myself for nearly a century. I knew quite well who I was and what I
wanted. I had never once wanted to dress in a halter and short skirt and strut
my stuff past a line of drooling boys. I had never once wanted to wear a
really silky nightgown while I shared secrets with my girlfriends. And I had
certainly never laid awake at night wonder what my first kiss would be like,
and who the boy might be. In well over eighty years of life, I had never had
impulses like those. So if those impulses were in my head *now*, then they
couldn't be coming from me, could they?
There was another alternative that was even more
disturbing. I could barely allow myself to think it; my heart seemed to seize
up in my chest whenever the idea came up. But it seemed like the merest
possibility. As hard as I tried to forget it, I remembered Kurt's words to me.
"What about Rogue's *soul*?" he'd said. "I'll
tell you what I think: her soul is right where it's always been." And
then he tapped my chest, just over my heart. "Memories change, but the
soul is the same. Her soul has the same hopes and feelings, she's still the
same girl inside. No matter what the outside looks like. No matter what she
thinks inside her head."
What if he were right? That would mean that "the girl,"
as I've been calling her, is the only thing that's real. Everything else about
me, my memories, opinions, and patterns of behavior – those are all illusion.
I am no more a man than I am a real person. If he was right, then in reality,
I was Rogue. It's just that the poor girl is under the delusion that she's an
octogenarian male. Perhaps someday she'll wake up, and the illusion will vanish.
That's exactly what terrifies me. So I do my best to
pretend that I *don't* secretly revel in the return of my own body and my
proper shape.
*****
I approached the men's restroom with trepidation. Obviously
I wasn't going to be standing up to do my business. Fortunately no one was in
there as I slipped into the farthest stall.
Heart thumping, I let down my pants, then pulled down the
lace-trimmed satin panties. Unlike the case when I'd been a man, there was
actually nothing to see, standing there and looking down. It seemed somewhat
anticlimactic. As a man, I knew full well how much attention was devoted to a
woman's private area – thinking, watching the curves of the girls, imagining,
and eventually seeing and touching. And here, as a woman (ersatz though I
might be) looking down at my own private area, I saw…nothing. That is, there
was the curve of my waist and hips, the downy mound, but no visible organs or
sex parts. As a man, I was used to looking down and seeing just about
everything.
I sat, and finally I could see my own privates (well, part),
even if I had to lean *way* over to do it.
My male mind was fascinated, peering at the organs that had
sucked up so much thought and attention throughout my life. I delicately
touched the thick outer lips, realizing that, yes, this was my own flesh. I
was inhabiting the body, feeling that touch. I might have continued the
exploration, but for two things.
First, the female voice inside me was rather put off by this
whole self-examination. She considered us to be rather ugly down there and
didn't like to dwell on it. The second thing was that I *really* had to go.
So, I tried to sit in a natural position (hard to do when
you're bent over to see how it works), then I relaxed to release the full flow,
and let go.
The spray came from inside the folds of my inner lips. I
had imagined that a thick, coherent stream would shoot straight down into the
bowl. Actually, I shot down and *forward*. And with the flaps of my own flesh
in the way, there was no stream, there was a splattering, fanned-out spray. I
coated the toilet seat, my panties, pants, socks, shoes…everything.
I continued spraying, in stunned and mortified horror,
before my brain started thinking again. Rocking forward so that my hips
pivoted, I directed the spray more downward. And pulling the pressure back
kept the spray less wild. Even so it was messy.
Fortunately, I was still alone. I felt out with my powers
and evaporated the moisture from my clothes and from the toilet and floor. My
legs and…other parts…I handled the old-fashioned way. I wiped off my legs with
toilet paper, and then blotted my privates dry. There was a lot more to blot
than just the tip of a penis. I wasn't sure how deeply I wanted to clean
myself. Should I just pat off the surface moisture, or dig down into my folds
and scour out all the drops that hid in my various creases and crevices? I
opted for some firm pats toward the front (which seemed to conceal some very
interesting little lumps) and a bit of a wipe farther back. That's when I
noticed the opening at the back of my slit. It was clenched tightly closed,
but I had no doubt as to what it was. The thing was – it was leaking. I
looked at the tissue, which seemed to have something like nasal mucous on it.
What the hell was that? Was I leaking? And if so, was it normal, or something
serious? Was it because I'd kept myself in guy-shape for so long? More than a
little worried, I pulled up my panties and fastened my pants, properly
arranging all my clothes.
When I finally stepped out of the stall and looked at myself
in the mirror, I was pale. I washed my hands, then washed my face off, too. I
had to put up with this for two more days? I wasn't sure I could handle it.
*****
"No, you go on, Kurt. 'Rogue' and I will join you in a
second. I just have to talk to her alone for a second."
He shrugged and then ambled on, heading happily toward what
the cafeteria falsely calls "pizza."
I found an empty classroom and dragged Jackie inside.
"Well, what's up?"
"I, uh, I was in the bathroom…"
"Good for you!" She patted me on the shoulder. "Ah
always *knew* you were housetrained!"
"Shut up! This is serious! Maybe." She waited
for me to gather the nerve. "I'm…leaking. From, you know, down *there*?
That spot?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You mean like spotting?
Little drops of red or brown on your panties? Some girls do that when they
ovulate."
Really? Another disgusting thing I didn't want to know
about. "No, it looks more like what you'd expect to come out of your
nose."
"Oh, cervical mucous. Yeah. It'll change thickness,
quantity, and texture, depending on where you are in your cycle."
"You mean – I'll have to put up with this all the time?"
"All the time? No. At various parts of your cycle?
Yes." She reached into her purse and pulled out a pad for me. "That's
what these are for – not just the blood, but all the other stuff that'll be
coming out of you."
I was aghast. "Do *all* women have this…"
"What? Cunt snot? Pussy slobber? Cunny cream? Yeah,
most of them, I think. From time to time. If you're lucky, you'll have a pad
on hand. If you're unlucky, your boyfriend will give you the nickname of 'juicy.'
Sorry, it's a fact of life."
I shook my head, partially in denial and partial in shock at
her vulgarities.
Jackie shrugged. "Yeah, Ah was disgusted when Ah first
found out, too. And Ah even had hints beforehand, if you can believe it. To
think Ah *laughed* at that joke back when Ah was a guy!"
Dreading the answer, I asked, "What joke?"
"Why do girls have legs?"
I shook my head, not understanding. "I don't know.
Why?"
"So they don't leave slug trails."
I thought about it just long enough to get angry.
"Hey, don't blame me! It's a *guy* joke. Go ahead,
tell it to any of the guys you know here at school. Ah'll bet they laugh."
"No thanks!" I also handed her back the pad.
"You're probably going to need that."
I scowled at her, then hitched up my pants. "No, I
only needed to see how it was made. I'll make my own."
"Damn, that's one useful ability. You'll probably
never have to carry tampons either, will you?"
I tried to keep the dread from my face, but she still
laughed at me.
*****
In study hall, I tried to talk to Todd and Freddy, while at
the same time, keeping my distance.
"Hey, I really appreciate getting to know you guys,
but…"
"But what?" Freddy asked, defensively. "You
don't want to be near us any more? We're dragging you down? You're moving up
in the world, and don't want to hang around a couple of out-crowd
troublemakers? Is that it?"
I held my hands up. "That's not it at all!"
Todd jumped in, metaphorically speaking. "Jeez Freddy,
give the guy a chance! You always have to go and lose your temper! Sometimes
I feel like I can't go *anywhere* with you!"
Freddy hung his head. "Sorry," he muttered.
That was harsh. Freddy might have deserved it, but getting
chewed out by *Todd*? Harsh.
"Yeah, well I might have to drop out of school for a
couple of days," I told them. "I'm not sure if I'll be around for a
couple of days, but I just wanted you to know ahead of time. When I'm ready, I'll
be back and I'll look both of you up, okay?"
"What's wrong?" Freddy asked. "Anything we
can help with?"
"Uh, no, definitely not. It's kind of a personal
thing."
"Oh, family, huh?"
"No it's…" I leaned closer and spoke quietly, "it's
a mutant thing, okay?"
"What's the matter?" Todd asked snidely. "You
turning back into a girl?"
Neither of them missed the look of sudden shock on my face.
"Haw, haw," Freddy brayed at me. "It's
true! He is!"
"No way!" Todd said.
"Let me see!" Freddy added.
"What?" I almost yelled it, then had to lower my
voice. "I most certainly *will not* 'let you see.' What do you think I
am?"
"I just wanted to know that you aren't faking it,"
Todd said.
"Yeah, me too."
I hung my head, thinking. Logan and Jackie had both warned
me about the psychological dangers of armor, and they'd both warned me to get
used to thinking about danger, how to spot it and how to get out of the way
before you ever got in trouble. I knew, somehow, that being a girl around
these two meant danger. Somehow, being a girl made me feel immensely more
vulnerable than I'd ever felt as a guy. It was ironic. Armor meant nothing.
It was *gender* that was giving me an appreciation of danger.
But…
Half the students attending this high school seemed to be
able to deal with the terror of being female. And these two had earned my
trust. I mentally re-arranged my clothes to emphasize certain contours, rather
than concealing them. Then I pulled open the trench coat, showing them.
"Holy shit!" Todd said.
"I…didn't really believe you," Freddy said.
I pulled the coat closed again and restored my original
clothing.
"I may take some time off from school," I told
them. "I need to deal with this."
Freddy just nodded, dumbly, but Todd always had to slip in a
quip. "If you decide to re-enroll as a babe," he said, "we'll
be happy to let you keep hanging out with us."
"I'll keep that in mind," I told him.
*****
Dr. McTaggart looked at me in surprise, shortly after I sat
down for our daily session.
"Could you remove your trenchcoat?"
"Is that completely necessary?"
"I believe so, yes."
Without the coat's concealment, my changes were a bit more
obvious.
"Care to explain?"
I looked down at my feet and began to explain about the
training sessions, Jackie's ideas, and how I'd finally learned how to "relax."
Dr. McTaggart looked hurt. Why was it that I never seemed
to catch her in a happy mood?
"And you didn't find this appropriate to mention to me?"
"I was going to. Just… not right away. I'm still
learning."
"I see." From her expression, she didn't. "Well,
obviously we aren't going to make any progress in your transition, today. On
the good side, though, I'll finally be able to answer any questions about Rogue's
health, and how this has affected a developing young girl."
I felt the bitter-acid taste of fear in my throat. "What
do you mean?"
"I mean, now that I have an opportunity, it's time you
had a decent gynecological exam."
I was up and pressed against the exit door before I even
knew what had happened. "Y-you can't do that!" I don't normally
stutter, but I was *terrified*. "I'm a guy! This is Rogue's body – she
would never forgive EITHER of us. Besides, it wouldn't be valid. And I'm sure
this hasn't harmed her. Weren't you listening? This shift-relax technique
*heals* you. It's a regular balm against any problem. So you don't even
*need* to!"
She shook her head. "Oh, no, you aren't getting out
that easy."
"Please!" I begged her. I mean, I literally
begged her. I was that desperate. "Jackie says the lock lasts for two or
three days. Not today! I've had all I can cope with today. And I'm not
exaggerating, I'm completely serious."
She looked at me and squinted her eyes in evaluation. "You
promise tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," I agreed, already knowing that I'd
hate myself in 24 hours.
*****
"So are you gonna go to school tomorrow?" Kitty
asked.
It was the regular girl-gossip group, with Kitty, Jean,
Jackie, and me, all in our nightgowns, lying on our beds and talking about what
had happened during the day. This was the first time that I'd filled out the
nightgown with the proper shape. In a minor sense I felt a bit more like I
belonged with the other girls, but in a much larger sense I felt like a
complete and utter freak. After putting on the nightgown, I'd grown my hair
out to mid-back length, and I now had it draped forward over my face, hiding
the masculine features that clashed so strongly with my body shape.
"Maybe I could manage school," I said, slowly. "I
haven't been doing gym since the first day, and if I dress right, it's harder
to tell. Especially if I wear the trench coat again."
"Yeah," Kitty said. "It figures that you'd
go Goth, even as a guy."
"It isn't my fault," I protested. "You were
here, remember? The trench coat was Jackie's idea! She claimed it was the
height of fashion."
"And I was right! Of course, the losers in this hick
town may not realize it. It's tough, having tastes that are far beyond those
around you."
"So what's with the hair?" Jean asked. "Are
you afraid of showing your face, Rogue?"
"Yes," I answered. "The only thing worse
than being stuck with this body is having a man's face and voice, on top."
"But, like, how did *that* happen?" From Kitty,
of course. "Isn't this kind of a freaky way to get stuck?"
Freaky was exactly the word for it. I reluctantly explained
to them about shifting, healing, and getting stuck.
"But when did your *hair* change?'
"I…kind of grew that out a couple of minutes ago, so I
could hide my face," I admitted.
"But I thought that, like, you couldn't shapeshift any
more. Not for a day or two."
"Well, yeah, but…"
They all looked at me. "Yeah?"
"Well, it's like you figured out on the first or second
day, Kitty. Part of the whole shapeshifting ability is the control of clothes,
feathers, scales, hair, things like that. My *body* is frozen, but the other
ability is still there."
"That's right! And you promised to help me with my
X-uniform."
"I will," I said, trying not to whine, "but
not today, okay? This hasn't been the best day."
That wasn't enough for Jackie. She had to ride my case. "If
you promised to work with her uniform, why don't you give her that armor of
yours?"
I glared at the body thief, but realized that she probably
couldn't see me through the fall of hair in front of my face. "Give it a
rest, okay Gavin?"
But now Kitty was practically hoping in excitement. "Armor?
A new uniform? Is it, like, way cool? Come on, you can show me! You
*promised*, Rogue!"
I thought, *why the hell not?* It was something I enjoyed
fooling with. Maybe it would help take my mind off my problems. Besides, the
munchkin could use some better protection. I knew I'd probably feel miserable
if she ever got hurt.
"Yeah, I suppose. Only if you can bring me supplies.
I need some scraps of old leather, a couple of rags, and a little bit of
calcium. One of Evan's extra spikes would be more than enough. And bring the
same kind of zippers that you use for your regular costume."
Before Kitty tossed on her robe and tore through the mansion
on her scavenger hunt, I had her hand me her old costume to examine. The
zipper was up the side, which was momentarily surprising. I'd expected it to
be in the back. The material was fairly thick, and had about a quarter inch of
padding and insulation. I suspected it had other properties as well. At some
point I'd probably have to take Logan's advice and combine my work with what
Charles had already done on the costumes. By the time Kitty got back, I
understood the design and colors I'd need.
"Okay, like, here's the stuff. What else do you need?"
"Just strip down," I told her. "All you need
is panties."
"Are you sure I have to do that part? You still have a
guy's voice and, you know, it kind of creeps me out. I don't want you ogling
me or anything."
"I wish I could."
"And what's *that* supposed to mean?"
I sighed and let my shoulders slump. "I mean, I
*should* be ogling you but…you just don't do it for me. I don't want to talk
about it right now."
"Yeah, whatEVER." She seemed to think about it
for a moment, then pulled off her pajama top and bottom, standing there in just
her panties. "Now what."
I gave her a half-smile. "Now I keep my promise."
I held my hand up close to her skin, keeping within a few inches as I 'pulled'
the construction up the contours of her body. Seeing Kitty like this, passing
my hand over her nubile young body, it was clear how amazingly cute she was. I
felt more and more miserable that the intensely compromising situation was
doing absolutely nothing for me, sexually. I did have a slight enjoyment, but
I suspect it was the camaraderie and companionship that any two girls share
when they play dress-up together. As Kitty and I were doing. Which made me
feel even more miserable.
I could see her shiver as the scale cloth seemed to flow up
her body. It was almost like watching frost move across a cold window pane.
The scale cloth followed the wave of my hand, growing and climbing up her legs
and torso like some sort of living vine, stretching and twining its scaly way
up her body until it engulfed her up to the neck. With the first layer in
place, I passed my hands over again, toughened the weave, hardening the scales
with black enamel, adding the spider-silk underliner. Then I gave Kitty a bit
of a surprise as I formed the bikini armor under the scales, seamless and
invisible from the outside. From the inside, though, I knew she'd be able to
feel it. Particularly when the top hardened up, giving her a bit more support
and shape than she was used to.
"What the?" She looked down. "Hey, I'm
*bigger*! I *like* it!"
Finally I merged in the zipper on the left side, added the
yellow tint for her collar and the lavender streak down her front.
"Way cool!" Kitty said, as she stepped over to the
mirror to examine herself. "It looks like it's made of snakeskin or
something." She tapped slightly on her chest. "Is this piece
solid? I like the, uh, flattery, but it isn't really necessary is it?."
"Purely a functional consideration," I told her. "That's
what the extra armor and padding's for. You have to protect your most
vulnerable areas, after all. If I was doing this for one of the guys, they'd
get a cup. You have to protect yourself, after all."
Kitty unzipped and pulled herself out of the completely
form-fitting outfit. Jean and Jackie both looked like they were about to hit
me up for similar suits.
"Let's talk to Logan or Charles first, okay?"
In the background, Kitty was worming her way back in. "Ugg.
Kind of tight, isn't it? And it takes a bit of squirming to get the boobs in
place. Still, I think I could get used to this." She banged her knuckles
on her belly. "Cool, it's like chainmail or something. You think this
would stop a knife?"
"Definitely," Jackie said. "I already tried
that when Rogue was wearing it. She's still fiddling with making it
bulletproof."
I nodded glumly. "With that model, it'll *stop* the
worst case – a Teflon-coated .44 magnum – but I'm not sure you'd survive.
Something smaller like a .38 should be a pretty hard blow, but survivable."
"Whoa! I am *invincible*!"
"Yeah," I said glumly, "you definitely need
to talk to Logan."
Kitty then pulled the suit off her – without bothering to
unzip it. She just stepped right through it. Then she did the reverse, and
stepped back into the suit, phasing through it limb-by-limb and wriggling until
it fit right. The rest of us just stared at her in shock.
"It's almost stretchy," she said, arching her back
like her feline namesake. "The biggest problem is this stupid zipper.
How 'bout it, Rogue? I don't think I need the zipper. Can you just make it a
solid piece?"
I nodded in stupefaction. Passing my hand up her side, I
peeled the zipper out and resealed the cloth as I went.
"Perfect! That's, like, so much better. But now we
have to do my gloves, and then my boots, too, and I have a couple of ideas
about the design. And if you, like, told me how you'd designed the cloth,
maybe I could help you with the research to make it even better…"
It was a long night, but it did succeed in taking my mind
off my problems.
*****
I did the swirling transformation into my "cloaked
ninja." Logan and Spyke stared at me in surprise. I had to mentally
double-check. Helmet on? Yes. Face covered? Yes. The couldn't see the
weird combination of man-face and girl body. Oh.
"Dude?" Spyke said. "You're a girl!"
"Yeah, we all know that," I responded dryly. "We
found out a couple of days ago, remember?"
"But…" he gestured toward my body "…you've
got…you look…"
"Can we get on with the exercise?"
Logan smirked, then with a grunt he left the room and we
found ourselves on the rooftop again, facing an army of living dead.
"Okay, I've got a plan," I said. "I can make
a rope to the next building. I'll shoot it over with an arrow, and I can stick
it to the wall with glue."
"Better idea, curvy," Spyke said. "Forget
the arrow, I've got better aim with my spines. Can you fix your rope up to one
of these?"
*Curvy?* But with that, we were off on our roof-hopping
escape.
*****
"Not bad," Logan admitted. "I liked the
teamwork. Particularly the big kite shield you whipped up together, when the
zombies started throwing rocks."
"We want to see Scott and Jean run this scenario,"
I said.
"Yeah," Evan added. "We already figured that
Kurt 'n' Kitty could do it with their eyes closed."
Logan gave a tight smile. "Scott and Jean are the
institute's oldest students. They've been training for this for longer than
any of you. I'll admit that their powers don't make this a cakewalk, but I
wouldn't count them out. Summers, in particular, tends to rally in a crisis.
I'd be willing to bet that they'll surprise you."
I saw his position and called. "Tomorrow's Saturday.
Maybe then?"
Logan narrowed his eyes and looked back at me. "Stakes?"
"Call them," I said.
"If I'm right, you do an extra hour of training every
morning next week. If you're right and they blow it, I'll let you sleep in for
the week."
I groaned. "I'll regret this, won't I?"
"Yup."
*****
The day was clear and surprisingly warm, considering that we
still had traces of snow on the ground. School went well and I even devoted a
little attention to my instructors. Perhaps I was slipping. Still, I felt
that I'd achieved a certain level in my training with Logan and Evan, and I hoped
that soon I might join in with the team training exercises. This may seem odd,
considering that I still had so much uncertainty in my life. Who was I? Who
was I going to become? Should I continue my life as a retired researcher or
try to become the teenaged girl whose body I had inherited? Perhaps I should
have been attacking these questions more directly, but instead I was simply
relaxing and trying to come to a balance between my body and mind. And to be
honest, I was enjoying the thought of having friends around me. Issues of age,
culture, and gender would eventually have to be faced, but for now I was
content to take life as it came.
So perhaps I asked a few embarrassing questions in class.
The common man in Italy *did* benefit from Mussolini's fascism, even if he was
given little choice in the matter. I'd been there. I knew. It just galled me
when the instructors relied on such simplistic stereotypes.
I actually enjoyed toying with Todd and Freddy, as they
tried to figure out whether to be repelled or attracted by my mixed-gender
condition.
I even agreed with Kurt when he suggested that we take
advantage of the good weather and bike home. Ororo Monroe was able to bring
our bikes in the van as she picked up Kitty and Jackie (both of whom took the
lazy way home). Scott, as always, stayed to drive Jean home after her
practice. I'm not sure why he bothers, since I don't think she's ever noticed
how he dotes on her.
So the day was going pretty well. Not only was Kurt able to
show me the scenic lakeside bike route, but I finally had some private time to
talk to him.
"So, should I start calling you 'little brother',"
I asked as we pedaled along side-by-side.
"This is too veird," he said. "I'm not used
to having a sister. Learning about my real mother was enough of a shock, but
to find out that she abandoned you too…"
"Yeah, although it helps that I don't have to take it
personally." At his confused look, I added, "Remember, *I* was
raised by two loving parents. I don't know how much of the real Rogue's
bitterness remains." I tried to look within, searching my feelings. "I
think a lot of the emotion is still there, but it's kind of disconnected."
After a minute, he asked, "Who are you? Vhen you look
for your own emotions? Are you Rogue, or are you old Dr. Trautwein?"
"What? A direct question? You're slipping, bro."
I tried it out, calling him brother, seeing how it felt. It hurt a bit. A big
part of me didn't want to be related to him – at least, not as a sibling. But
if I couldn't have anything else, it was kind of comforting to know that we
would always have a bond of blood. All of me could agree on that. Kurt was a
good guy and both Gerard-me and the inner girl agreed that it was good that we
would always be close to him.
"I can't answer that. Who am I? I don't want to, not
today. Why not ask whether I'm our mother? That's partly true, too, isn't
it? Maybe for a while I should just concentrate on *being*, without worrying
about *who* I have to be, okay?"
"Ach, mein schwester is a philosopher. German
philosophers are very dangerous, you know."
"True, but I'm not German, am I?"
"Vell I am German, and Darkholme could be a German
name, so by extension, you could be German too."
"Scheisse!" I swore.
"How did you know that? See, you are turning German
already."
"I only know what I picked up in foxholes, bro."
The nickname got easier with time. "I haven't been in Germany in over
fifty years."
"You should go back to visit." He was finally
showing traces of his familiar smile. "It's really like a whole different
country now. They've redecorated and everything. I could show you around a
bit. I'm sure –"
Without warning, a car careened through the brush that
divided the bike path from the main road. It slammed to a halt across the
trail, completely blocking it off. With less than ten feet of clearance, Kurt
had no way to veer aside. His bike slammed into the side of the car and he
went tumbling over the roof. I don't know how he managed, but his acrobatic
training must have kicked in. I was slightly ahead so I had even less warning,
but I went over the hood instead of the into the side of the car, so maybe I
had it easier.
Before I'd even blinked, I'd armored up. I think I like
that reflex.
My training – what there was of it – took over. I tucked my
arms and head into a ball and tried to roll. That worked well enough that I
didn't break anything. I tried to follow the exercises and roll back onto my
feet. I managed to get up to a foot-and-knee, but was too dizzy and
disoriented to rise any farther.
The car was a beat-up old Chevy with peeling paint and rust
spots. Four doors burst open and four dirty-looking teenagers poured out, each
one brandishing a cheap and ugly pistol.
"That's him," the driver said, pointing to me. "That's
the guy what hit Slick Rick. Let's show him what we think."
Maybe the Danger Room *does* work. All I know is that I was
reacting, even before they were done talking. I was diving behind a tree, and
I saw my teammate do the same. The instant I was out of sight, my clothes
melted into a body-and-head "ninja garb" that was the same silvery
brown as the oak tree I hid behind. In a moment I had claws sprouting from my
gloves and boots and was scooting up the tree like a squirrel.
"You made the mistake of cutting into our profits,"
the driver was saying. "If it was just Slick Rick, we wouldn't care so
much, but you made the whole Upstate Crew look bad. We don't like that, so we
decided to make an example out of you."
I looked to the tree across from me and met Kurt's eyes. He
pointed to the car. The driver and one other were still at the car; the other
two were coming up to flank my tree. I nodded my understanding to Kurt. The
two at the tree were mine, the two at the car were his.
In theory we had a good chance. A gun's a good weapon from
a medium distance – somewhere between eight and twenty feet. Much farther and
the aim drops off; much closer and a trained fighter might hit you before you
can pull the trigger. Kurt was trained; I wasn't. But we both had surprise,
which might give us the first blow.
I waited, watching Kurt and the man moving in below me. I
was feeling nasty and had a sudden inspiration of porcupine quills. With a
puff of smoke Kurt was gone and I leapt.
I didn't make a sound, but my claws were out. An
inch-and-a-half long, they curved out from the tips of my gloves like deadly
razors. The bottoms of my shoes were even worse. They had the quills. Not
exactly porcupine quills, but inch-long needles with barbed tips, designed to
penetrate and break off. I leapt for my target feet first. He saw the
movement and turned to face me, but by then I was on him, jumping down on his
shoulders and arms. As he screamed and crumpled, I tried to bounce to the
side.
Again my lack of training slowed me down. I was just
fortunate that my targets were even worse. The first was now screaming and
grabbing at his shoulders and back. The second froze, giving me time to leap
up, clawing for his face. He brought his arm up and I slashed through flesh.
Before I knew what had happened, his gun had fired, but it was pointed at the
sky. I slashed again, this time connecting with his face. With another scream
he dropped the gun and clutched at his face, sinking to the ground.
As I was turning back to my first target, I heard thumps and
grunts to the side. Kurt was obviously handling his target. But another shot
rang out and I heard an "Ah!" that sounded like Kurt. I looked up in
sudden fear and beheld a sight that has become etched in my memory.
On the near side of the car, one gunman was lying face down,
unmoving. Rendered swiftly unconscious, I suspected. On the far side of the
car was the driver, gun hand thrust forward, a small puff of smoke trailing
from the muzzle of his pistol. On this side, Kurt, still encased by his stupid
disguise field, clasped a hand to his belly. It was impossible to judge the
wound – it was hidden under the hologram. Kurt spun as he fell, a look of
shocked surprise on his face as he collapsed to the ground and closed his eyes.
"NOOOO!"
I was running toward him, heedless of the remaining gunman.
A shot fired, missing. I realized somewhat slowly that it would be a good idea
to dodge, so I began to break up my running a little: left, right, right,
left. Another shot missed and I stared toward the gunman. I'm not sure what
he thought I was, but he looked suddenly afraid. I prepared a double fistful
of needle-barbs for him, just like the ones that had snapped off from my
shoes. Another shot – this one hit. It was like taking one of Logan's harder
punches to the gut. It knocked me sideways and down, scattering and breaking
the knuckle full of needles I'd prepared. But as I rolled back to my feet, I
realized that that's *all* it had done: bruised and winded me. I sprang up and
ran toward the car again, jumping up on the hood as I grew two more handfuls of
needle-barbs. The gunman fired again, unable to miss from point-blank range as
I flew at him, but I was braced better for the hit, too. As my left leg was
wrenched backward, I batted at him with my right hand, covering his face with
tiny porcupine quills.
The pain in my leg made it harder to get to my feet, but he
was in worse shape. I grabbed the gun and limped around to find Kurt.
