X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 20: Angel out in the field
"Iss too damn early," I mumbled, slurping my third
cup of coffee.
"You should have considered that before deciding to
remain out for three hours beyond your curfew. In any case, you are woefully
in need of training and I see no reason to delay that."
"I thought curfew went out with the Schutzstaffel,"
I muttered under my breath, but Charles chose not to hear me.
"I must say," he continued, "I was quite
surprised to see how quickly you're adapting. After less than twenty-four
hours in female guise, you're already going on dates."
"It wasn't a date! I was Kitty's chaperone! And by
the way, I suggest you insist that she have a chaperone from now on, otherwise
she's liable to end up way over her head."
"Hmm, yes, I'll take that under advisement. You're
assuming that I *will* allow her more dates, particularly with a member of the
Brotherhood. She managed to slip that little detail past me."
"Don't try to control them too tightly, Charles,"
I warned. "If you grip too hard, you'll force them to defy you."
He smiled. "Spoken with the voice of experience, eh,
Rogue?"
He certainly knew how to get under my collar. "Dammit,
I'm not Rogue! Yes, yes, I'm in her *body*, but I'm not *her*." That
started me on another track, though. "It's been a week and half now.
Doesn't my old body show any signs of rousing from the coma? There's got to be
some way to siphon off some of Rogue's real memories."
Charles shook his head sadly. "No. Dr. Trautwein's
condition continues to slowly fade. It isn't particularly surprising, given
his age. The kidnapping wasn't gentle, and our use of stimulants did nothing
to help him along. But beyond that, the last time he was awake the
Rogue-pattern in his mind seemed adamantly opposed to returning to her own
body."
I'd been giving this a lot of thought over the last two
weeks. "Yes, and I fully understand why, now. It was partially trauma
over learning that Mystique was her mother, partially fury and sorrow over
learning that Kurt was her brother," in fact, it still hurt to say that, "and
rage over discovering that she'd been manipulated her entire life. She'd
rather die than give Mystique a chance at life."
Charles steepled his fingers and gazed at me. "Then I
don't see how the situation has changed."
"You're a telepath – perhaps the most powerful on the
planet. You helped fade the unwanted memories I had of…the attack. Could you
use similar techniques to transfer selected memories *into* this brain?
Transfer some of Rogue's memories over, by hand, as it were?"
"Hmmm, while carefully leaving Mystique's memories
behind? That might be possible. But if so, you'll have to learn how to work
with telepathy: how to resist it, and how to assist it."
"Whatever it takes," I said.
"Then let's begin that phase of your training. Open
your mind to me."
I tried not to resist, but some things that are much worse
than being naked. When you're naked people are only staring at your body. But
suddenly, I felt thoughts and images begin to stir, seemingly of their own
accord. Everything you dread, everything your ashamed of, everything you fear
– having that exposed is far worse than being naked. And I knew that with the
slightest effort I could shift-and-hold, blocking Charles' telepathy. But
somehow he had manipulated me again – could he really be so clever? – and I
knew that if I was to have any hope of getting Rogue, or even part of her, back
into her own body, then I would have to relax. More than relaxing, I would
have to learn, and I would have to trust Charles. Trust him to see my deepest,
most shameful secrets.
It wasn't hard work. It was hell.
*****
Everyone looked at me during breakfast. I'd worn my X-men
uniform to the Professor's training session. Well, my own modified version,
with scale-cloth and wooden wrist cuffs and the like. I guess I wasn't sure
what his training would include, so I'd wanted to be prepared. I wish it *had*
been just a physical regimen.
"I don't think that outfit's going to go over too well
at school, kid," Logan told me.
"Don't call me 'kid'! I'm older than you are."
"In your dreams, girl. The real you is only fifteen,
and she's still got a bit of growing up to do."
In a huff, I swallowed down the rest of my orange juice and
stormed upstairs to change. On the way, I passed Evan, who was chugging down
another glass of milk. "Try the O.J.," I told him, in passing. "Fortified
with calcium. It's got more than milk." I swear, the kid's got a one
track mind. Or maybe he just really likes milk.
Of course, I could have snapped my fingers and materialized
a new outfit, but somehow, I felt this new dream of a body deserved to be
dressed by hand. As a perverted old man, I could certainly appreciate it. "The
girl" also appreciated it. What remnants of Rogue survived in my
subconscious got a real kick out of the perfect figure, big boobs, and flawless
face of Angel's form. She wanted to spend her time admiring herself in the
mirror – or listening to the boys fall over themselves trying to impress her.
I suspected that many of those boys were the same ones who ignored Rogue. In
fact, now that I considered those issues, 'Rogue' (or rather, Jackie disguised
as Rogue) was in almost all of my classes. And the same boys that fawned over
me as Angel really *did* ignore her. I should have been incensed, but part of
me was too busy reveling in the attention to support a more rational reaction.
This same line of thought had plenty of guilt and fear mixed
in, today. I knew these secret perversions of mine would be at the top of my
mind in Charles' training, tomorrow morning. He would be there in my mind,
watching as I slid my fingers over my taut, perfect skin. He would know how
much I enjoyed it, despite my surface protests. He would see the depths of my perversion,
as I reveled in the fine young body of this adolescent girl.
Even so, I couldn't stop. Or perhaps, I *wouldn't* stop
myself. I knew it was wrong. If Rogue ever knew of the liberties, the
staring, the touching I had performed on her body – she would know that I had
violated her body and privacy far worse than Charles had ever violated my mind.
And even so, I didn't stop myself. Angel's body needed to
be pampered, and I needed to feel and see myself getting dressed. It was a
sensual experience that I couldn't deprive myself of. Evaporating the X-men
uniform, I condensed the day's clothes on the bed beside me. First, the
foundation. My favorite high-cut lace panties, done in a 'nude' flesh tone. I
pulled them up my legs and on, making sure to smooth the material with my
hands, ensuring no wrinkles or creases. I stroked a long-nailed hand up my
body, from leg, past waist, up to my trim, flat belly. I brought shivers on
myself, and definitely felt my nipples firming up. Which brought me to the
next item: my bra. It was a sheer front-clasp with virtually no lace, devoted
instead to smooth, seamless perfection. I shrugged each arm into it, then
brought it around front to gather my breasts into it. That is one of the
fascinating things about being female: the love/hate relationships we have with
bras. No one wants straps cutting into her shoulders or around her sides and
back. At the same time, feeling your breasts cupped in those perfectly shaped
pockets, feeling yourself held tight, knowing that without this bra you'd be
jiggling like jello at a seismologists' convention – this wonderful feeling is
what keeps us in love with our bras. I carefully scooped each breast into a
pocket then pulled the bra closed, sliding the closure shut in front. I pulled
out the front and reached my fingers into each cup, adjusting the fit so that
it didn't pull or pinch. And after that, the feeling was simply great. The
support and security and comfort – frankly, I don't know how women ever managed
in ancient times.
With my 'foundation' in place (lingerie, that is, not
makeup), I pulled on a plain white scoopneck T, and shimmied into a pair of extremely
tight jeans. A sheepskin jacket and a pair of my favorite suede ankle boots
(this time in black) completed the look. As always, I left just an inch of
skin between shirt and pants. It gave the boys something to look at (unless
their eyes were focused higher, that is). Today's look was the "is she
wearing a bra or not?" look. The sheer white T-shirt helped, since it was
tight enough to expose every bump and contour inside.
I practiced putting on the blush and "pink whisper"
lip gloss Kitty had given me. It was still my only color. I definitely needed
to go shopping this weekend. Then I was done, and I strutted out. I felt
great, and thought I probably looked pretty good, too.
*****
"Are they for real?" bimbo one asked. "Did
you really have a date with Dukes? Fred the Spread?"
"We heard from, like, Janice that you were hanging on
his arm in the mall and like he was kissing you and everything!"
I was under swarm-attack by a bevy of bimbos. Well, perhaps
I misjudged them, but the flock of gossiping girls had surrounded me from the
moment I entered school. The rest of the team headed off to their various
classes, even Kitty (the little traitor). That left me alone to answer the
questions.
"Okay, settle down. I'll give you the scoop." Obediently
they backed off. "Yes, I did go out with Freddy last night –"
"Ooo! She called him Freddy!"
"—but I'm not sure I'd call it a real date. It was
more of a double-date thing, chaperoning for a younger friend."
"Oh, right. We heard that part too. The little
freshman. Pryde or something – on a date with a senior."
"Yes." I tried to regain my narrative. "And
yes, I guess I did kiss Freddy, but it isn't what it sounded like."
"You KISSED Fred the Spread?" "Was he any
good?" "I heard *everyone* kissed him!"
Back when I was a professor, no one used to interrupt. I
valiantly attempted to push ahead. "So here's what happened. There was a
crowd of these sports jocks. We saw them in the mall? And they were making
fun of Freddy. They even implied that he had *paid* me to go out with him! I
was so insulted! So I set up a little arm-wrestling match. See, Freddy's
pretty damn strong. That's why he's so big, you know? It's mostly muscle.
And all us girls agreed that whoever won the arm-wrestling match, we'd all give
him a kiss."
"Oh my God!" "You mean, like, Janice kissed
him too?" "Was it gross?"
"Well," I said shrugging. "It's not like I've
kissed all that many boys. It was supposed to be just a peck on the cheek, but
he turned his head at the last second, and I got him on the lips. The other
girls all got him on the cheek. Still, he wasn't bad." Not that I had
any other experience kissing boys. Or planned to gain any, in the immediate
future.
Having pulled the main details out of me, the girls
reluctantly let me head toward class. Behind, I heard them busily
manufacturing new embellishments.
"I heard that Freddy is, like, this Olympic athlete,
and he's in the witness protection plan…"
"What? That's stupid. Anyway, I heard that he's a
rodeo star, and he used to wrestle against monster trucks."
"And you said my rumor was stupid? How can you wrestle
a truck?"
I wondered how it would get turned around by the end of the
day.
*****
I was dropping some books at my locker when a huge hand
settled on my shoulder. I was halfway afraid that Freddy was about to become
too familiar. Jean had warned me about that.
It wasn't Freddy. I was looking into the sneering face of
Mark Taylor. He squeezed a little harder.
"Ow! That hurts!" Not exactly my best starting
position, but I was suddenly realizing that there was no one else in the
hallway.
He leaned forward and spoke directly into my face. "Listen
up, you little cunt." Using his grip on my shoulder, he slammed me back
into the wall.
I was stunned. This was the sort of physical conflict I'd
been training for, but I think his words hit me harder than the physical blow.
Is that how he saw me? Who I was to him? I was suddenly feeling insanely
vulnerable, in a way that I'd never felt before. Less that a week ago, someone
had tried to murder me. I could deal with that. But this assault was
different.
"You're new here, so you still have to learn. The
varsity runs this school, get it? We do whatever we want, whenever we want to
do it. That means if I say you put out for me, you do it. Understand, you
fucking little cunt? And you never EVER make one of us look bad, or else you're
going to regret it."
Then, while his right hand held my shoulder pinned to the
wall, he left hand reached over and grabbed my breast – hard. It was all I
could do not to scream.
Looking back on things later, I came up with a million
things I could have done. Hell, I had super powers. With a single thought, I
could have removed the cloth over my shoulder. Once my skin was touching his
(repulsive as that thought is) he would have been unconscious and at my mercy.
Or I could have used my control of cloth to tie his legs together and bind his
arms. Or I could have used an arm block to knock his hand away. Or I could
have run, or screamed, or anything.
Instead, I stood there in total shock as he groped me,
thinking that I was about to be raped. I was still a virgin (and a man!) but
he was going to rip me open and kill my heart and I was suddenly faced with a
fate worse than death. I'd fought in foxholes in World War II, I'd seen
prisoner-of-war camps, but I'd never felt terror like I knew that moment,
helpless in a school hallway. I was totally frozen in terror as he pulled and
squeezed on my right breast, leaving wounds and bruises on both my flesh and my
mind.
And then he gave me one last shove and walked away.
"Maybe later, bitch."
I was too scared to do anything but sink to the floor. I
felt my bladder give way, but I didn't care. I couldn't move.
*****
The pounding came again.
"No, I heard crying. I'm going to look over the top."
Pause. "Shit! It's that new girl – the blonde! Hey, are you okay in
there?"
I looked up, almost in a panic to see some older brunette
looking at me from over the top of the stall.
"Stay out!" I yelled, but there was a bit too much
panic in it. "I mean, just leave me alone, okay? It's nothing I can't
deal with."
"You sure, girl? You're a mess."
"Just some really bad cramps," I lied. "I'll
be out in a minute."
"Okay, if you're sure."
Gathering together some shreds of self control, I evaporated
the mess of urine and tears on my skin and clothes. I waited until the girls
cleared out, then slipped out myself. It was between classes and I don't think
anyone spotted me as I made my way quietly through the hall and out the door.
Outside the school, I was able to find a spot behind the bushes hidden from
sight. With relief, I shifted back into my normal body and regular clothes.
They were looking for Angel, not Rogue.
There was more to it than that, though. I felt different,
*thought* different, when I was Rogue. Angel was…too vulnerable. Rogue was
tough. She didn't have to let anyone get too close, she didn't have to worry
about taking hard knocks. She always got them anyway, so there was no
problem. She was ready for it.
I don't mean to sound schizophrenic. Perhaps it was a side
effect of the shifting power. But as Angel, I had felt nothing but
vulnerable. Now, back in my proper body, I just felt angry. Well, scared and
angry, but it was better than feeling like a god-damned victim.
I made my way to the lakeside trail and shifted my shoes
into better running shoes, while giving myself some better sweats. Then I
started pounding the pavement, heading for the mansion.
*****
"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" Logan
asked, without too much surprise.
"I need training," I told him. "Now. Four
assailants, non-mutant, Scott's height, athletic, mesomorphic build. Their
goal, murder or worse. I want to train until I can stop them."
Raised eyebrows was all the reaction he gave me. "What
are you looking to get out of this? Survival? Eliminating your opponent?"
I clenched my jaw. "Let's start with surviving a
killing attack and I'll see where I can go if I can get that under control."
He nodded. "Okay. Want some coaching, or do you want
to start wild, to let your frustration out?"
My jaw was clenching hard enough to crack teeth. "Let's
start it wild, then we can work from there."
"Your funeral, kid."
*****
God, I hurt. At least I'd managed to take down two of them
and scar the other two. On the other hand, once I started slashing and
cutting, they had taken off the kid gloves.
"Stop the simulation." The last thug froze, his
hands slowly tightening around my neck. The holograms vanished, and the robot
mannequins stepped back toward the walls. Logan strode out. "Pretty
brutal. You aren't going to be doing any more training until you heal up a
bit."
I turned on him. "Dammit, I need –"
He was reaching toward me, offering his hand. He wasn't
wearing a glove. Was he--?
I glanced at the hand, then at his face. "Logan…?"
"Hey, you managed with the half-pint."
"What do you mean?"
"Back before your, uh, accident. You managed to tap
into her pretty light. Just enough to pull some dance steps out of her. Maybe
it was 'cause she volunteered, maybe 'cause you figured out how to put on a
light touch. Either way, I figure you could use some healin'."
I knew the incident he was talking about. Rogue had talked
about it extensively with me. That had had eventually lead to my volunteering
to allowing her to drain me, and she had managed to slightly improve her skill
at the 'selective drain.' That is, *Rogue* had claimed some improvement. I
had no idea how she did it. From my point of view, everything she did was a
variation on the barely-touch / just-an-instant theme. In fact, the whole
thing brought me face-to-face with being on the wrong side of the mirror. *I*
was the one who volunteered, *she* was the one who drained. For me to be
absorbing powers or memories – it was wrong. This was something the girl did.
This was something that only Rogue could do.
My glove seemed to flow off my hand, moving of its own
accord. My hand seemed to reach out.
I couldn't do this. The…intimacy. I couldn't deal with
it. Not after this morning. I didn't want to touch someone. Not like this.
Not to have their thoughts and memories inside me. I was afraid.
"Whatever you want, kid. I'm just offering. You're in
control here. It's just…you looked like you could use the boost."
I tried to control my hyperventilating. Instead, I focused
on my anger. I could do this. I *had* to do this. Not daring to look Logan
in the eye, I let my fingertips drift slowly down until my fingers were barely
touching his.
I felt the power flowing into me, like some kind of thick
syrup. It was incredible. All of a sudden, the world seemed sharper somehow.
I tried to control things, stopping the drain. I couldn't help but get a
little more, bits and pieces of Logan's recent memories and thoughts. I pulled
away as fast as I could.
"Whoa, woozy. You get the stuff, kid?"
My glove was back in place almost before I could blink, and
the buzz was keeping me safely isolated. How had Rogue managed? My God, the
intimacy….
"Hey, Stripes, you okay?"
I looked at him, my eyes a little wild from the
over-stimulus. I had never truly seen before. The visual image wasn't much
different, perhaps a bit crisper somehow. My ears were hearing sounds I'd
never noticed before, the deep thrum of the machinery in the room, a whine from
each of the holographic generators. But the scents and aromas! I felt like I
was swimming in a stew! The most prominent was my own bitch-scent. That's the
only way I can describe it. My musk was undeniably female. I could smell my
own crotch, my armpits, my skin. Somehow I knew what the scents meant, too.
Human, female, young (pubescent), not yet mated, strong essences of both fear
and anger.
But Logan. He was such a MAN. He was reeking of male musk,
sweet, delicious, male musk. It was making my knees weak and my crotch wet. I
could smell myself responding to him.
"'m I getting this crap from you? You still got your
senses?" I realized belatedly that my mouth was forming the words in odd
ways.
"They dimmed a bit, but yeah, they're still there."
He moved politely upwind of me. I hadn't realized it, but even in a room with
ventilator-circulated air, I somehow knew which areas were upwind and downwind.
"I, uh…"
"That's okay, kid. Telepaths aren't the only ones in
this joint that got to learn how to mind their own business."
I could feel the blood rushing to my face. God! With him
upwind of me, he couldn't smell me, but I was swimming in his essences. I knew
what he would *taste* like. And his musk was really getting to me. Somehow I
knew that once we mated, his scent would mark me. His fluids, filling me,
leaking out slowly over the course of days, it would mark me the same way a dog
marks its territory. My crotch would brand me as *his*. And right now, my
instincts were telling me to do it. I could feel my nipples stiffening, my
body becoming receptive. My panties held back most of the scent, but how could
anyone with a nose not understand how my flesh was taunting him, daring him, how
much I wanted to be taken and marked and mated? And when I claimed my mate, I
was going to pick one of the alphas – either Scott or Logan. Right now, my
nose was telling me it was Logan. I desperately wanted to be circling upwind
of him. Just one thought – that's all it would take – and my tights and
panties would be gone. Then I circle around him, waving my skirt and drowning
him in my female aroma. Not showing anything to the eye, nothing that vulgar,
but revealing *everything* to the nose. And once he got scent of me, how ready
I was, how much I wanted him to claim me, I don't think he'd be able to stop.
His nose would be buried right up where I wanted it, and once I had my juices
on his nose and mouth, he wouldn't be able to stop himself, he'd have to take
me right there, and once he'd claimed me and I had his scent in me, I'd have
him for good.
My higher brain was screaming, of course. I'd barely
escaped one testosterone asshole, why was I now courting rape at the hands of
another? Not that it would be rape, since I wanted it soooo bad that I was
practically wetting my panties, but what the hell was I thinking? I was a
MAN! I didn't want this!
And as I stood there, locked in conflict between my higher
and lower urges, the ventilators stopped cycling or something. I could still
feel the air drifting past the skin of my face, but I was no longer able to
smell Logan's musk. I no longer felt the driving need to respond to a prime
male, advertising his availability. I was no longer overwhelmed by animalistic
urges that came from somewhere deep within me.
"You okay, Stripes?"
"I…I need to take a break for a minute," I said,
managing to keep my voice steady.
"Sure. Take yer time."
I headed for the bathroom, locked the door, and lay down on
the floor in a ball and curled up and cried.
Why the hell did I have to be cursed with these stupid
fucking powers? I'd been perfectly happy keeping Logan at a professional
distance. Now… now I'd never ever be able to forget what he'd smelled like, or
what the sweet fragrance of him had done to me. How could I forget the
feelings I'd had, the feelings that no man should ever have? How could I deny
the part of me that still wanted to feel his hands running over my skin? And
all because of these stupid powers that Rogue had.
After a while, I found a way. The tears changed character.
They were no longer tears of fear or desire or denial. They were tears of
anger. No one did this to me, NO ONE. I could get out there and kick butt. I
could train until I dropped, and then train some more. And the next time Mark
Taylor came up to me, I'd fucking castrate the bastard. He wouldn't be leaving
his scent in ANY girl. Intellectually, the connection of the two unrelated
emotional incidents made absolutely no sense. But emotionally, down in my gut,
it came together and made perfect sense.
I stood up and looked at Rogue's messed-up face in the
mirror. With a thought, I redistributed the substances on my face. Tears
vanished, replaced by pale makeup. A wave of my hand and the embarrassing moisture
(and scents, I hoped) vanished from various spots around my body. I was as
fresh and clean as if I'd had a good shower. And more – I realized that it had
worked. The cuts and bruises were gone from my skin. I had no more pulled
tendons, and the ache in my shoulder was gone. I was ready to go another ten
rounds. I looked in the mirror and finished my face, making it just right. I
traced a finger over each eye, laying down dark streaks, and tracing my index
finger over my lips, I laid down my own personally synthesized lip gloss, black
as night. Satisfied with the mask, I looked at Rogue's face in the mirror and
gave it an arrogant smirk. Then, unlocking the door, I strutted back outside.
Logan was setting things up in the control booth. He gave a
bit of a double-take as I came in. I couldn't help flashing him a bit of a
smirk. One benefit of the show a few minutes ago is that I had a much better
idea of what made him tick now. And dressed as I was, I was definitely
flirting with him, visually. But his exquisite nose was telling him a very
different story. I wasn't radiating "fuck me" signals any more, so
no matter what I looked like, he wasn't going to be drawn to me. At least, I
didn't think so.
"You okay, kid?"
I just gave him the eye. "I've got a name, you know."
"Sure, if you say so. So what's the story, Rogue?"
The name rolled awkwardly off his lips. Despite the fact
that I'd just asked for it, I wasn't sure that I wanted to be called by her
name. But it would do for the moment.
"How am I doing in the training?"
"Fair. Better than I'd expect, given your skill
level. You might do better to concentrate on some specific situations for a
while, if you've got anything in mind."
"Okay…" How much to trust him? Hell, the
demonstration with the nose had just shown that he was tons better at holding
his own council than I'd ever given him credit for. "Okay, here's the
setup: Four football players after me. Their goal: rape. My goal: safety,
not revealing any mutant powers, and vengeance, in that order."
For a moment, there was an expression of pure killing rage
on his face. It was concealed so fast that I almost doubted that I'd seen it.
A small voice in the back of my head whispered that I could have that loyalty
on my side forever, but I firmly squelched the thought. I was *not* interested
in men. Just for safety, though, I made sure to disintegrate any oils and
fluids my skin might have recently emitted.
"Okay," he said, finally. "You ain't got a
chance in hell…not unless you cheat."
I smiled grimly. "Sounds lovely."
"Okay, then let's try a few moves."
*****
We didn't have me up to a guaranteed win (as if there were
any such thing), but I had safety up to about three times in five. I even had
vengeance up to two in five.
"Okay," I puffed. "Time for a change. I,
uh, I need to be able to do this as Angel Quinn."
"Yeah," Logan said from the control room, safely
distant. "So what's the problem?"
"Well, there are, uh, physical differences…." And
there seem to be psychological differences, too. It was a shame this
shapeshifting stuff didn't come with a manual.
"Right. You'll just have to run through the whole
thing again. This time as Angel."
"Okay. Give me a second."
I switched, feeling my body grow, shrink, and change.
Almost unconsciously, my clothes changed at the same time. I almost stumbled
and fell forward. I'd forgotten that, as Angel, I was a little more
top-heavy. Also, something about her felt more vulnerable. I was feeling more
exposed, more helpless, and much less confident. For a moment I thought it
might be the extra skin exposed, but that wasn't it. Something about being
Rogue let me adopt a bit of her attitude. Angel didn't have any attitude –
nothing past "I'm a nice girl." And, stupid as it sounds, somehow
the invented persona seemed to leak into *me* just a little bit, as I stood in
Angel's flesh.
I looked at this morning's outfit with an eye toward
defense. The scoopnet T-shirt and spray-on jeans didn't protect much, but the
sheepskin jacket did have some possibilities. Even better, it provided a nice
matter bank.
"Give me a second to adjust some things, like we talked
about."
"Right."
Mass flowed out of the jacket to make a scale-cloth bustier
for me. My shirt didn't cover my waist, so that had to stay exposed. On the
other hand, I could make a nice set of armor for my extremely exposed boobs.
And by sculpting it so that the rigid breastplate seemed to show some nipple
structure, it still looked almost like I was wearing nothing but the sheer
shirt. I made the T-shirt long sleeved, so I could run the armor under the
sleeves. Same with the jeans. I had figured out how to weave an under-helmet
under my hair, colored and contoured to cling to my scalp and hidden by the mass
of hair. The jacket itself got a little thinner and looser for freedom of
movement. Finally, I had a pair of flesh-colored gloves that had enameled
inlays for greater striking power. I practiced the "armor-up" a
couple of times. It wasn't hard, but it reduced the jacket by about four
pounds.
"Okay," I called, returning to normal. "Run
it."
The Danger Room flickered and changed to an area behind the
school. A hand reached from behind me and grabbed both arms.
"What do we have here?"
I began, armoring up, sliding forward out of the jacket, and
rolling to face my attackers….
*****
Dinner was the usual chaos. Jean levitated the mashed
potatoes toward her end of the table. Kurt popped into position, hanging from
the chandelier to reach all the food. Kitty just reached *through* the
intervening items.
"So, uh, Angel," Scott began, not quite used to my
new name. "We waited to give you a drive home. I didn't hear that you'd
already left."
"Indeed, 'Miss Quinn,'" Xavier said. "The vice
principal informed me that you weren't present for most of your classes today.
I hope this isn't the result of the greater freedoms and liberties I allowed
you yesterday."
I gave them a happy Angel Quinn 'nice girl' smile. "Oh,
not at all," I said pleasantly. "I just had some things I had to
deal with."
Logan stopped eating, but he continued to pretend to chew.
I could see him watching everything very carefully. Charles steepled his
fingers and began to enter 'stern patriarch' mode.
"Perhaps I haven't been firm enough," Charles
began. "Or perhaps you are thinking that, due to the memories you've
acquired, you no longer need to attend the regular courses at school. You
certainly made that quite clear as Jerry Tratwick. And I had hoped that you would
learn to be more responsible if I allowed you some personal freedoms. Perhaps
that was an error."
Yeah, like you could really stop me if I decided to take
off, old man. But Angel is a nice girl, so I smiled. "Nothing like that,
sir." I thought Angel was the type who would say 'sir' to Charles. "I
just had some personal business I had to handle, and it couldn't wait."
Professor X scowled. He was such a sweetie for not reading
my mind. I couldn't have set him up like this if he'd been peeking. "Since
'Angel' has only existed for 48 hours, I find it hard to see how you could
suddenly have crucial personal business."
"Oh, well," I said around a mouthful of chicken, "it's
pretty simple. See, last night, since I was the new kid in town, Lance offered
to show me around, you know?" Kitty was glaring at me, shaking her head a
little. "It was like a bunch of us, me 'n' Kitty, Lance and Freddy."
Evan didn't get it. "Evil Lance? And he was with
somebody other than the usual three losers?"
I gave him a 'like, duh' look, and said, "Freddy
DUKES? You know? Big guy. Overalls. Ring any bells?"
"Oh, right. Blob."
"So ANYway," I continued, trying my best to speak
like a teenaged girl, "we're, like, all four of us walking through the
mall and we see these jock jerks from the football team, and they start
insulting Lance and mostly Freddy, and I'm all, like, trying to improve mutant
relations and all that so I like sort of suggest a little arm-wrestling between
the main jerk Mark Taylor and Freddy. Of course Freddy creams him and I say it's
all 'cause farm boys work out so much, and all the jock dates thought it was
pretty funny."
"Much as I would like to ameliorate our relations with
members of the Brotherhood, if this leads to you skipping school –"
"Oh, no, I wasn't with Lance or Freddy *today.*"
Logan had surreptitiously moved his chair back from the
table.
Evan was puzzled. "So why weren't you at school?"
"Well, I ran into Mark Taylor in the hall. He was a
bit miffed, I guess you'd say." I wanted to time it just right. Ororo
was just starting to drink her iced tea. "There was no one else around
when he grabbed me, so he molested me and threatened to rape me later."
Logan had things planned pretty well. His extra push back
allowed him to completely avoid the ice tea that Ororo spewed. Jean got caught
again. What I hadn't counted on was Kurt losing his grip on the chandelier and
crashing down into the middle of the table. Which left almost all of us
covered in various parts of dinner.
"Oopsie. Vould it help if I offered to pop out to
McDonald's?"
*****
Kitty was just finishing up her makeup. Not that she needed
any – it helps when you're cute as a button. "So are you sure you're okay
with this?"
I shrugged, pulling on some very tight black jeans. No
dresses for the duration of the crisis – jeans were better protection and would
hide my armor. My top was a fuzzy pink (okay, Kitty suggested it) that just
begged to be touched. Was I dressing too provocatively? I wanted to get
things over sooner, rather than later. I had a denim jacket to match the
jeans. Very casual. Of course, I had mass packets in the panels on my belt
(70's retro), and lining the jacket. I could armor up in less than a second.
I'm not sure how much real different the preparations made, but I don't think I
could have managed without the psychological boost of fretting over my
preparations. Kitty had put her finger on it. I was making myself into a
target, and I was *not* okay with it. But…what else could I do? If I'd
learned anything from the war, it was that you sometimes have to stand up and
face your enemies, no matter what the cost.
"I've been gaming it out with Logan in the Danger Room,"
I told her. "I've got a pretty good shot, I think, and I can fall back on
Rogue's 'touch of unconsciousness' if I need a hole card. If worse comes to
worst, there's no way they could actually manage a … you know. I have this
little problem with skin-to-skin contact, remember?"
"Hold on," Jackie-the-body-thief said. "You've
been touching people right and left. And I notice that you don't change back
at night. So what's the deal?"
"Yeah, well, I'm starting to get a handle on the whole
shapeshifting thing – just a little. I can 'lock', but that doesn't block the
whole soul-sucking thing. For that, I kind of need to consciously shift
something and hold it in place. It requires a conscious effort, but after
weeks of doing 'Jerry,' it's no big deal. But if I dropped it, or if I was
unconscious…"
"I get it," Jackie said. "Unconscious and
you're untouchable."
"Right."
"So you just better hope that they didn't think to
bring condoms."
Would that work? If they had gloves and didn't try to kiss
or anything, and just unzipped their pants…? Basically, they'd have to know
how my powers work and take account of it. Still… I started to shake. I
couldn't stop seeing Mark Taylor in my mind. I knew that if he…used…me like
that, it would probably destroy me. I could scarcely bear thinking about the
situation. Having to actually experience that would break me, I knew it. I'd
rather be dead.
As my knees started to give way, Jackie caught me. "Hey,
you okay? I was just kidding, you know?"
"No Ah am NOT okay! How would you like it if YOU were
the target? This is hard enough, without you giving those god-damned bastards
COACHING!"
Kitty was at my other side, stroking my hair. "Hey, it's
okay. Now that we know, we'll all be watching out for you, okay? You know
that we're a team. They didn't tell you, but Scott, Jean, the Professor, Logan
– they were all up last night trying to figure out how to keep you safe. You
might have to take a couple of punches, but they aren't going to let anything
really bad happen to you."
The relief flooding into me was so intense that I couldn't
keep myself from crying.
"So don't worry. I mean, I would be totally losing it
if I was in your place, but you've always been the strong one, okay Rogue?"
It felt really good to have her stroking my hair. It was
absurd that she was calling me Rogue. I was an old man, in the body of a
teenaged blonde. By appearance, Rogue was the one holding me on the other
side. But I hugged Kitty hard, and from the feelings inside me, I guessed a
little bit of how Rogue must have felt about Kitty. Some of what Rogue had
confessed to me, eons ago, began to fall into place.
"She loved you," I whispered in Kitty's ear. "I
think she always wanted a family. You were the closest she ever had. Her
little sister, constantly fighting with her. But when it counted, she would
have done anything for you."
Kitty just squeezed me back, not saying anything.
After we had sat like that long enough for it to become
awkward, Jackie pulled us back to reality.
"Well, now that you two have totally messed up your
faces, can we finally get ready?"
I sniffed and blew my nose, looking at my messed-up hair. I
untied the bow at the back and began to rebrush the long mass. I can't believe
that I thought hair down to my butt was a good idea. That was certainly one
part of 'Angel Quinn' that I wouldn't mind saying goodbye to. I tried to
settle myself into Angel's idiotic happy-perky mentality and said to Jackie, "Gee,
you're lucky you didn't mess up your face. It would probably take you forever
to redo that whole vampire look."
She stuck out her tongue at me. "This is *your*
makeup, not mine. Let me know as soon as you're ready to face reality again.
Entertaining as this has been, the vacation's starting to get old. I've got
things I could be doing, you know? Movers and shakers, major deals, that sort
of thing."
"Maybe later," I told her. Then, with almost too
much seriousness for Angel, I said, "Right now, it would just feel like I
was running. I think I have to face this first." There was also the fact
that I wasn't ready yet (ever?) to BE Rogue. That would be giving up on a
whole different battle. I may have agreed to take a female body, but I hadn't
really agreed to *be* a girl. Going back to being Rogue would be like admitting
that Rogue was my 'true' body, and who I really was. Whatever that meant.
It was also starting to be a little too tempting. I had a
lot of issues with the life Rogue seemed to be choosing for herself, but more
and more, I felt myself drawn in the same direction. Even as I grew to hold
less and less respect for the girl, I grew closer to her. And with my mind
that messed up on the subject, I didn't dare take Rogue's shape. Not for very
long. Because I knew that if I did, if I was Rogue for a day or two, I might
discover that I *was* Rogue. And I definitely wasn't ready for that.
I followed the two of them to the bathroom. We'd discovered
that there was room for all three of us to work on our makeup at the same time,
if we stood in the proper spots. Jackie had the most work, of course, with the
whole Goth-face. Kitty and I got by with a little blush, some eyeliner, and a
little color for our lips. I was slowly picking up tips from her, and slowly
picking up the female attitude. It sounded like going out in public without
makeup was like forgetting your bra or something. Well, when in Rome… The lip
gloss did feel nice, though.
*****
Word had gone around at school. Not to everyone, but to
enough people. I felt people just watching me, and not in a good way. It was
like they were afraid they might missing something gruesome. It felt creepy,
having all those eyes following me.
At lunch I thought about joining the X-crew. Freddy and
Lance also waved. But a pretty brunette approached my in the lunch line.
"Hi, I'm Belinda," she said, introducing herself.
"You're Angel, aren't you?"
I nodded, feeling suddenly shy.
"If you aren't doing anything for lunch, you could join
my friends and me." Belinda pointed and a table full of pretty girls
waved to us.
I thought about it. Were these allies? Or maybe they were
just part of the setup. Even so, I wanted to get this over as quickly as
possible. Steeling my determination, I said, "Sure, I'd like that."
As I followed Belinda back, my eyes strayed toward her
backside. She had a way of walking that was pretty sexy. It gave her hips a
bit of sway. Not too much, not exaggerated, but enough that you could watch
her hips tipping as she walked: left right left right. And it did wonderful
things to the shape of her backside. It also had her skirt swishing in its own
matching dance. Back when I'd been a guy, I'm sure the thought would have been
more than stimulating. Now it just had me keeping note, since *I* wanted to be
able to give that same walk.
Belinda introduced me before I sat down. "Everyone,
this is Angel Quinn. Angel, this is Kimberly, Jennifer, Tiff, that's Julie,
Kathy, Sharon, and that's Penny down at the end."
"Love your top!" Sharon gushed. "I wish I
could wear something like that, but pink isn't my color."
"What color gloss is that?"
I was glad I remembered something from Kitty's
instructions. "Pink whisper. Do you think it's any good?"
"Oh, it's great on you. But you're so lucky. With
your complexion, you could go even bolder. I'm so jealous! If I were you,
well, I wouldn't do a Marilyn red, but I'd definitely do something with more
color. You've got it, flaunt it!"
It all sounded like inane chatter, and in one sense it was.
Utterly light and non-threatening conversations about clothes and colors,
makeup and men. But there were sub-currents that I had never understood as an
outsider. This was a class-based society, and the classes were always in
flux. These girls were laying out the rules for belonging to their particular
class, and giving me tips to identify some of the other classes. In
particular, there were the cheerleaders, the jockettes, the nerds, geeks,
rebels, Goths, and the list rolled on and on. Before I knew it, I was being
clued in on the social divides between the various factions of the varsity
football and basketball teams.
"…and with her legs spread like that and such a short
skirt, she was giving them a view straight up!"
"Well it couldn't have been on purpose. Not Jean Gray."
My attention snapped up at that.
"It sure looked deliberate. About the only guy in a
position to see was Duncan Mathews. You know she's been flirting in his
direction for months."
"Wait, hold on!" I said. "You're saying that
Jean deliberate gave Duncan a panty-shot? I can't believe it!"
"Believe it, girl. I was there. She was showing
herself in *all* her glory."
My jaw dropped. "You're serious?"
"At least she was wearing panties. But even so, I saw
enough to tell you that she wasn't wearing no pad. And it was some of them
lace panties, too, so I can tell you that red hair of hers is natural. And
Duncan had a better look than I did. Took his time, too."
"But…Jean?" I still couldn't believe it. Then my
mind focused on the other aspect of things. "Wait a minute – isn't Duncan
Mathews on the football team?"
"ON the team? He's only the star quarterback."
I was getting a bad feeling. Was this related to my
problem? "You wouldn't happen to know if Duncan's close with a guy named
Mark Taylor?"
Belinda leaned forward. "We wondered if you were going
to come out of that shell. Yeah, those two are pretty tight. But I wouldn't
worry about Mathews joining them in anything nasty. Duncan's too smart for
that. Besides, he's got practically everything going for him already, he's too
smart to blow it on a stupid stunt like Taylor's planning."
I gulped. "Then he was serious when he threatened me?"
The girls around the table were suddenly quite, watching
me. Together they nodded. Belinda spoke up again. "That's why we had to
warn you. Most of us here, except for Penny, Jenn, and Tiff, used to be
cheerleaders. We've had to deal with those assholes close up, so we know what's
going on. Each of *us* decided to get out. Duncan isn't the worst – he
practically gets whoever he wants without half trying – but Taylor and his crew
are as bad as it gets. They figure they deserve whatever they take a fancy
to. We've all complained, both to the police and Principal Darkholme, but no
one seems to care."
I suspected that Mystique had been setting up her own
blackmail game, preparing varsity goons against future need. "Okay. So
what's the scoop? Why are you telling me this?"
Penny, on the end, spoke up. "We couldn't let another
girl go through this, could we?"
I felt a blaze of rage. "You mean they really have?
To some other girl?"
Penny dropped her head. "Not all the way. Not yet. I
mean, there were rumors about other schools, before they tranferred. But this
time, we're afraid…."
"Besides," Julie said, "your take-down in the
mall was just *too* funny. We couldn't leave you alone after that. When I
heard about that one, I was rolling! I mean, Taylor's been asking for that for
years. And to take him down with Dukes! That was just too funny!"
"Thanks, I guess." I thought I had figured out
what she was saying. "So what's the plan?"
Belinda shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, I'm not sure
what we can do, other than keeping an eye out for you. We'll try to give you
warning if we hear anything coming down."
"Well," I said, "I do know a little martial
arts."
"Honey, if you plan on stopping a couple of varsity
starters, I hope you know a hell of a lot of martial arts."
*****
The rest of the day was anticlimactic, leaving me a bit of a
nervous wreck. Maybe I was on a hair trigger, maybe he just went over the
line. But as soon as we all walked back into the mansion, I finally felt safe
enough to let my guard down. Naturally, that's when disaster struck.
Hands grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. An
unfamiliar man stared at me lustfully, yelled, "Surprise!" and pulled
me in for a kiss.
To my credit, I was only frozen for a half second. Long
enough to feel my breasts pressed against his hard chest and feel his lips
pressing mine, but fast enough to keep his tongue from getting away with
anything. I remembered to keep my "buzz" going, so he wasn't
drained. Instead, I flowed armor into place, slammed my knee into his groin,
and double-fisted an uppercut just as his chin was on its way down. He was on
the floor before I'd even registered what was going on.
"Shit! Jack!" 'Rogue' rushed forward to minister
to the fallen man. "What did you do to him?"
"What did *I* do?" I yelled. "What the hell
did he think *he* was doing? That sick bastard rapist got what he deserved!"
I noticed all the boys slowly edging away from me, which
suited me just fine right at the moment. I had no interest in aggressive
homosexuals right then.
'Jack' had recovered enough at this point to roll onto his
side and groan.
"He must have thought you were me."
"Uh huh. And I suppose that give him a good excuse to
be accosting random women."
"Well, when your fiancée is a shapeshifter…"
"Fiancée?" My mind wasn't putting the pieces
together yet. "But you're a *guy*!"
Rogue's face scowled at me, but it was Jacqueline Gavin on
the other side of it. Formerly Jacob Gavin. She stared at me for a moment,
then looked down again with a bit of a flush. I couldn't quite interpret the
emotions. Shame? Embarrassment? Something else?
"I *was* a guy, Angel. But that was a long time ago.
I couldn't fight it any more. Of all the people here, you're the only one who
could understand. You fight it as long as you can, but eventually you have to
give in. It'll happen to you, too. Someday you'll have to admit that you're
not just a guy living in a girl's body. You ARE a girl. It happened to me,
Angel. It'll happen to you, too."
Continued in Chapter 21, " Identity problems" appearing NEXT Week!
since 06/17/03
