X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 21: Identity problems
"Christ, babe," the man moaned from the floor,
still curled around his crotch, "wasn't that a bit of an
overreaction? It was just a harmless
kiss."
"Sorry," I said, not feeling very sorry. "I've just had a pretty nasty rape
threat. You walked in at the wrong
time."
The inner door opened to reveal Charles, slowly pushed
forward by Ororo. "Agent
Dugan. What brings you by, and what
seems to be the trouble?"
The man was struggling to his feet. "I was just looking up my fiancée. I seem to have picked the wrong girl, and
she let me know it."
"Yes, well, allow me to introduce my newest
student. This is Angel
Quinn." He turned to me. "Angel, this is Agent Jack Dugan, of
the…FBI."
Dugan still seemed a bit woozy. "I didn't hear anything about a new student. And where the hell is Rogue? If Jackie *looks* like Rogue, then the real
Rogue must be…" he looked at me in inquiry.
I was extremely suspicious.
The fellow had arrived out of the blue and seemed to know far more than
he had any right to know. FBI? Charles had seemed slightly hesitant about
that. And Dugan's red hair, pug nose,
and square jaw seemed reminiscent of something. I didn't think I'd met him, but he seemed familiar somehow. For some reason I was thinking of a cigar and
bowler hat.
Keeping my 'buzz' going, I took his hand, trying to head him
off before he probed more into my background.
I tried to remember (belatedly) that Angel was a nice girl. "Sorry for the rude introduction, Mr.
Dugan, but a girl can't be too careful, you know."
It suddenly hit me.
Dugan! Of course. And everything else fell into place,
too. "How's 'Dum Dum'? Still working with Nick?"
"Yeah, he –"
He groaned and slapped an oversized hand over his face. "Crap.
Sucker punched twice, and by the same girl. Grandpa would have my hide."
Now I turned to glare at Charles. "So, Charles. Care
to explain why S.H.I.E.L.D. is so well informed about our personal lives?"
To give him credit, he didn't even blink. "As American citizens it behooves us to
help defend our country. That may sound
trite, given that it matches popular sentiment in an era of terrorist threats,
but I have always believed that. Each
of us has a responsibility to defend and protect our country."
Trust Charles to turn everything into a lecture. Had I been this pedantic before I'd retired?
"But as mutants, we have an even greater
responsibility. SHIELD is, of course,
the embodiment of secrecy and discretion.
I have kept them appraised of the abilities of each mutant that I have
encountered, but I most certain have not 'informed them of your personal
lives.'" He frowned at me for a
moment. "I'm a bit surprised at
you, Rogue. Surely, with access to Dr.
Trautwein's memories, you know what kind of organization SHIELD is. Their integrity is unquestioned. I have worked with them, I know that Dr.
Trautwein has, and several other members of this group have worked with SHIELD
either on individual missions or longer tours of duty." His eyes flicked briefly toward Logan, who
had quietly stepped into the room.
"That was a while ago.
These days, I stay far away from anything to do with the
government," Logans said.
Dugan was watching me closely, soaking in each piece of
background that Charles dropped.
Wonderful. I glared at him. "That's real nice, but I think Mr.
Dugan was about to tell us the reason for his little visit."
Dugan shrugged and snaked an arm around 'Rogue's'
waist. "Hey, I'm just stopping by
to see my fiancée. I know you guys are
still kids and all, but do I really need to spell it out for you? I mean, no one's *that* naïve."
He pulled her in close.
Holding onto the little body-thief.
Rubbing his hands over her body – my body – he brought her in for a deep
kiss. It was too much. I mean, I *wasn't* Rogue. I knew that. But somehow, the body that Jackie was wearing seemed like *my*
body. In some crazy way, it was like he
was grabbing me, rubbing his hands over my back and shoulders and waist. Kissing me.
Sticking his tongue down *my* throat.
I think everyone else felt the same way. They weren't used to seeing shy, untouchable
little Rogue getting pawed by some big Irish brute. They stared, trying to reconcile their knowledge of Rogue and the
image of the body-thief playing make-out in front of us.
But I was the only one who felt physically threatened. God damn it, I was the one he'd first
accosted. It was my body he was holding
now! If I hadn't stopped him, he'd be
doing those things to me!
My stomach was a strange mix of nausea, revulsion, and
something that I couldn't explain.
Without another word, I turned and fled the room.
*****
"I don't care WHAT you do with your boyfriend!" I
screeched. "Go ahead and hump him
on the kitchen table if you feel like it!
Just don't do it with MY god-dammed body! And you're supposed to be a GUY!
How the hell can you do that with another man? How can he do that with you?
It's just sick!"
Okay, possibly, just possibly, I was over-reacting. Usually our before-bed gossip sessions went
a little more peacefully. And the way
Kitty was hiding, all curled up behind her pillow, wasn't encouraging. As soon as Jean had entered the room, she'd
suddenly remembered something she had to take care of 'right away.' I guess that telepathy comes in handy
sometimes. But dammit, there are some
things you just don't DO.
"Oh, this is too much."
Every word, every expression the body-thief made was enough
to enrage me. Why couldn't she have the
common courtesy to use her OWN body? I
remembered it quite well, the top-heavy tramp.
"I get it!" she yammered on. "You're having a problem with
homophobia, aren't you?"
"ME?" I hollered.
"It's no business of MINE if all the men I run into are
faggots! I'm tolerant. So long as they don't try to involve me in
their perversions, I'm perfectly happy."
"Oh, sure. And
what makes you think than any of the boys you've met have…alternate
tastes?"
"What, you mean ignoring you and your randy
boyfriend? How about all the other men
in this place? I've seen the way they
look at me."
She smirked at me, using my own face. "Riiiight," she drawled. "I don't know if you've checked your
mirror lately, but I wouldn't exactly describe you as 'buff.' In fact, you've made yourself into such a
perfect fucktoy that I'm surprised that ANY of the boys in school can stand up
straight around you. In fact, now that
we get into the whole homosexual angle, how do you explain YOUR choice to walk
around in bra and panties? Or do you
just like the feel of skirts?"
I felt my entire face go hot. For a moment, I could barely speak. "You think I WANTED this?
Professor X and Dr. McTaggart forced me into it! I didn't have any choice! Not like SOME people here."
"Oh, and that certainly explains the extra effort for
the long legs, the supermodel figure, and the perfect face. And what's with the balloons? Those things have to be at least
D-cups!"
That hurt, particularly since it was completely
accurate. "I did research. Perhaps you've heard of it? I merely chose an amalgam of appropriate
teenaged images. This body and face are
nothing you don't see in advertisements every day."
"You think those girls are REAL? They're all products of implants and plastic
surgery! They don't jiggle around the
classroom like some piece of naïve jailbait!"
By force of will I kept myself from growing claws. Through gritted teeth, I gave one last
attempt to make her see the truth.
"I told you, I didn't have a choice. And if I had to be a girl, I sure as hell wasn't going to be the
ugliest girl in school!"
"What the HELL are you talking about?"
"It's easy for you, isn't it?" I tried to sneer the line. "I've seen your real body. You have NO business complaining about Angel
Quinn! Gawd, talk about
supermodels. But imagine if you had to
spend your whole life in Rogue's body!
Doesn't sound like such a fun vacation anymore, does it?"
"What?" she turned to look into the mirror, glancing
briefly at the Rogue-face she wore.
"What have you been smoking?
What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing, if you don't mind looking like a freak!"
"Uh, Rogue?"
Kitty was venturing a tentative entry into the yelling. She seemed to be talking to me, not the
fake-Rogue. "The makeup is *your*
idea. You can change that look whenever
you feel like it."
"Huh?"
Were they all being deliberately dense?
"The makeup is the only good part!
It hides her ugly face. Look at
her! Scrawny. No curves, just bones. I've seen better bodies on scarecrows. And that STUPID hair.
It's not like she can do anything good with it. Unless she shaves the front off, she's
always going to look like some sort of bride-of-Frankenstein skunk-head. And top it all off with a face that
apparently not even a mother could love!
A chin that would look fine on somebody's ass, and a face with all the
graceful lines of a ex-boxer."
But I was just getting started. "Not like that's bad enough, but Ah have to share a house
with the best looking girls in the whole god-dammed SCHOOL! There's Miss Perfect, former cheerleader,
sports star, and probably homecoming queen.
Or you!" I faced Kitty and
couldn't bring myself to yell.
Involuntarily I lowered my voice.
"Probably the cutest freshman around. Ah think every male in the mansion probably has a secret crush on
you."
I found my energy petering out. Was it my imagination, or did my voice pick up a tiny touch of a
drawl when I got mad?
"Surrounded by y'all, what good is it being a
freak-face? That's why Ah made up Angel
Quinn."
None of us spoke for a minute.
I heard the bed creak and a little later I felt Kitty's tiny
arms wrap around my shoulders.
"Jeez, Rogue, I never realized. I mean, like, who would guess that YOU felt
insecure about how you look?"
"Yeah," Jackie chimed in. "I had you pegged totally wrong. I thought you weren't even admitting that
you liked guys yet. I had no idea that
you were already jumping into the competition, and using every advantage you
could get. Still, you've got some
SERIOUS gender issues to work out."
I started sputtering, pulling gently away from Kitty's
arms. "What? No, you've got it all wrong! First," I looked at Kitty, trying not
to speak too aggressively, "thanks for the sympathy, but remember, Ah am
NOT Rogue. Ah may happen to be in her
body at the moment, and she may not be the most attractive girl in the world,
but Ah've fixed that, haven't Ah? And
it's not like I'm in denial or anything, since Ah'm not really Rogue. Ah'm just a temporary boarder, sort of. In that case, why shouldn't Ah look
good?"
"Second," I fixed my eye on Jackie, "y'all
have twisted everything around on me.
This discussion isn't supposed to be about me, it's about YOU coming on
to guys wearing someone else's body.
It's tacky. It bothers me. Ah wish you'd quit it."
"Well since you say that you AREN'T Rogue, I don't see
what business it is of yours. Believe
me, I'd love to go back to my own curvy self.
No offense girl, but," she cupped her breasts, hefting them,
"you've still got a little growing up to do, know what I mean?"
"What? You
–"
"Hey, chill.
Remember, you aren't Rogue, right?
So what are you so upset about?"
"Ah—Ah'm like her guardian. Ah have to watch out for her, until she gets her body back."
"Uh huh. Face
it, Kitty and I both know what's really going on. You're jealous."
"WHAT?!"
"Sure."
She grinned at Kitty. "You
see us getting it on with the hot guys and you're starting to get all
frustrated."
"That is a complete lie!"
"Uh huh. I'll
bet what you really want is to feel some guy's hot lips brushing across yours
as he strokes his hand up and down your back.
You want him to trace his fingertips down your throat, toy with your
breasts, stroke down your sides, and give you just one teasing touch
you-know-where."
"NO! That's
disgusting! Another man?" I couldn't believe what she was saying!
"Uh huh. Then
why is your back arched like that? And
why are your legs suddenly spreading open?"
I slammed them together.
It didn't mean a thing. I'd just
been sitting that way.
"You know what *I* think?" she asked, leaning in
close. "I think you're already
noticing boys, in a big way. You want
it, girl, and you're afraid to admit it.
Why, with all those teenaged hormones rushing around your system, you
probably can't help it. I think
*that's* why you're so upset about me 'n' Jack. It's turning you on to watch someone make out with your
body. You wish you were getting some,
and it's driving you nuts."
I flapped my mouth at her a couple of times,
speechlessly. Finally, "That's
just sick! Ah'm a *guy!*"
"Yeah, but Rogue, she's right, you know? At least about, like, the hormones."
"Huh?" I
gave Kitty a hurt look. *Et tu, Brute?*
"Well, I mean, particularly right now. I mean, I'm due Saturday morning, and last
time you were just a day or two behind me."
I didn't get it.
"Due?"
"You know? Your
cycle?"
Understanding, I suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the pit
of my stomach. Like every other girl in
the world, this body would have periods.
I'd known that intellectually, but emotionally it was something far
different. After all, I was a man, just
along for the ride. I hadn't expected
to have to live and behave as if I were really female.
"And you know, or maybe you're about to find out, that
right before your period starts is sometimes when things can be the toughest,
you know? And I'm not just talking
about PMS. I mean, like, everything's
tougher, so that sometimes you just have to cry, right?"
I was doing my best not to react to her statement. Getting weepy for no reason was something
that *girls* did, not men. It was proof
of their status as 'the weaker sex.'
And PMS? Everyone knew that was
a joke to explain why women got into their unexplainable moods. Well, that and a proof of why women would
never be acceptable in the chain of command for a military organization. And now Kitty was trying to tell me that all
this would happen to me? I'd try to let
her down easy, and not shatter too many illusions. But she was about to get a real demonstration that the difference
between women and men wasn't a set of tits and some crotch hardware, it was the
wiring upstairs. And whether or not I
was in Rogue's body, the mental patterns were still mine. I suspected that Kitty would be surprised at
how I weathered the coming unpleasantness.
"Uh oh," Jackie said. "Someone's looking a little too cocky. Hey, this is your first time, isn't
it?"
"So?" I said.
"I'll bet you're thinking it's going to be no big deal,
aren't you? That's what *I* thought,
before I had my first period." She
looked at Kitty. "You know what
this means?"
"Extra Midol?
Reserve time so she can have a hot bath?"
"It means she doesn't know *anything!* We're going to have to teach her
everything!"
Kitty looked confused then made a sudden gagging face. "Ew!
No way am I teaching her how to put a tampon in, that's your job!"
Jackie smirked.
"Let's get *Jean* to do it!"
"Alright, enough fun at my expense. Ah don't mean to belittle you, but Ah think
you'll discover that this is no big deal, and that any *real* man," I
glanced at Jackie "can handle it."
Jackie gave a deadpan look at Kitty. "I think we've just been
insulted."
"Totally."
"How's Rogue's periods? Easy or hard?"
"You're kidding.
Rogue? Totally hard. Like, worse than mine. She bitched that they'd always been like
that. Jean's the one who gets off
light."
Jackie stood up and crossed her arms in a completely perfect
Rogue-pose. She walked right up to me
and poked me in the chest, just happening to impact my left breast with her
index finger. "Okay, here's the
deal, Miss Macho. You say you're a
'real man' under there, who isn't going to be bothered by her period, doesn't
feel the least little wisp of lust or other out-of-control hormones, and could
care less about boys. Is that
right?"
I moved her finger out of the way. I didn't like being put on the spot, of course, but that was
pretty much what I'd been claiming.
Okay, so perhaps I was stretching the truth a little, but it was close
enough. "Yeah, that sounds
accurate."
"Okay, how about we test it with a little man-to-man
wager?"
I was liking this less and less, but how could I back
down? "Okay. What are the stakes?"
"Uh, well, I think I give a pretty good backrub,"
Kitty ventured. "I mean, I only
did it for Rogue once, but she was really bad, and she said it helped a
lot."
"Perfect," Jackie said. "We'll make this a two-parter, one for each of us. For Kitty, you win if you can go your whole
period without ever once asking for a backrub or any help from *any* of
us. I mean, aside from explaining
things and helping you through your first time and all."
I tried to give her a disgusted expression. "Ah *do* have a doctorate in biology,
you know. Ah'm not completely ignorant
on the female menstrual cycle."
"Oh, honey, you just have no clue, do you? You haven't even noticed your speech, have
you? Now, for my part…hmmm." She crossed her arms over her chest and
squinted at me. "Well, I think you
can be honest. Here's my part. I'll set you up on a date with a fairly hot
guy. If, at the end of the evening, you
can honestly say that you felt no attraction for any man, didn't enjoy kissing
him, looking at him, or touching him (in a sexual sense, I mean), then you've
won that part, too."
That sounded easy enough.
"And the stakes?"
"You win and I'll stay away from my boyfriend for as
long as I look like this. I won't flirt
with or kiss a single man. And Kitty
will…?"
"I'll do all your chores for a week?"
I nodded. "And
if Ah lose?"
Kitty had a gleam in her eye. "Mall trip!" she said.
"And you use your powers and make me at least three, no FIVE
complete outfits! Of my choice!"
"Ah only do natural fabrics," I reminded her, not
that there was any chance I'd lose.
"And for me," Jackie said with her own gleam,
"one full night of complete honesty.
Just the three of us. Boys, and
who we like, and what your deepest darkest dreams are. And none of this pretend macho bullshit, I
want the good stuff."
I started to laugh.
She just wanted me to *talk*?
About stuff that I didn't feel anyway?
"I'm serious," she warned.
"Yeah, yeah, okay." I nodded to both of them, and stuck out my hand, like a man. "Deal.
Shake on it?"
Kitty rolled her eyes.
"Deal."
"Deal."
*****
Early the next morning I entered Charles' study and settled
into the overstuffed armchair for another training session. I tried to follow his exercises and
'meditated' to relax my mind. In
theory, this would make it easier for him to get into my thoughts. Of course, I kept having guilty flashes of
the previous night's conversation.
There was no way I wanted him to see any of *that* stuff. So I did my best to calm my thoughts and not
dwell on embarrassing personal moments – which of course brought them to the
very front of my consciousness.
Sitting behind his desk, Charles steeped his fingers and
closed his eyes. A moment later, I felt
thoughts and memories begin to trigger spontaneously, seemingly of their own
accord. Our session had begun.
After a bit of this, Charles began to speak to me. Or rather, I could hear his
"voice" in my head. The other
activity continued while we spoke.
*You're worried.
You're afraid I will see embarrassing details.*
*How can I not be afraid of something like that? The way I'm living inside Rogue's skin…her
body…it's shameful.*
*You continue to speak as if you weren't Rogue,* he 'said.'
*I'm not! I'm Gerard
Trautwein!* I was forced to face the
reality of my unique status once more.
It was something that I avoided thinking of as much as possible. *Okay, I admit it, I am a COPY of Gerard
Trautwein. By myself, I suppose I'm
nothing. Nothing but a set of displaced
memories.*
*Hmmm.* Charles'
tone disagreed with my statement, but instead he seemed to move to a different
topic. *Are you religious?*
The richness of this conversation was difficult to
describe. As he would mention
something, a hundred images and impressions would flash by as I remembered
associations. I thought of holidays,
childhood rituals, desperate moments at the height of war. But my only words were, *Not really.*
*I was raised in a religious school,* came the thought from
Charles. I saw images from his
childhood: buildings, people, classes, time spent in choir, lecturers who had
left strong impressions upon him. *Like
many children raised in a formal religious institution, I found it fashionable
to reject that religion. The
contradictions, flaws, and petty hypocrisies made it impossible to see the
religion itself as the instrument of a perfect God. And then my powers began to develop. With a direct window into the mind of my fellows, I saw how very
human and very flawed they were.* And
for just a moment I felt a flood of impressions that left me staggered. Vile secrets, hidden crimes, and truly
loathsome thoughts that made my own petty weaknesses seemed like the purest
innocence. *If I could look into the
mind of men, how could God do any less?
How could He allow this? How
could He forgive it? How could He have
created such monstrosity and evil, or allow it to come anywhere near His holy
church?*
Questions like those were part of the reason I wasn't
religious myself.
*And so it went for the early part of my adulthood,* Charles
continued. *But as I gained maturity
with my gift, I began to notice subtleties that I'd missed before. I can see thoughts, but I cannot see all of
the mind. Your own powers, for example,
can reach into places that I cannot touch – hidden memories and learned
skills. Touching the thoughts is not
touching the whole mind. And as I began
to accept that, I began to notice a shadowy outline, a ghostly foundation that
supported the structure of the mind.
Not the thoughts, which I could see directly, but something larger,
giving form and shape to those thoughts.*
As Charles 'spoke' to me, I could experience a corner of
what he said. English doesn't have
words to describe the things Charles had sensed. I could see, dimly, that in his work with Jean Grey and other
telepaths, they were slowly evolving a way to think about these ideas. My own mind put this into images. They weren't Charles' images, they were my
own. It was my way to visualize the
concepts that Charles was thinking. And
in this case, I saw a host of metaphors.
A computer, where Charles could directly view the electronic
transactions. But underneath, there was
shadowy hardware that forced those transactions into certain patterns. Or a building, where thoughts were like
people moving and working from office to office. Around them, the shadowy structure of a building imposed form and
organization on the people moving within.
And in the clearest image of all, there was a mind, thinking away in its
own patterns of thought. I saw mind
after mind, each with remarkably different patterns. It became apparent that the patterns were constrained,
somehow. Each mind seemed to think in
its own way. It was like seeing
different shapes of water, standing at a table. The water glasses were invisible, but you realized they had to be
there. Something had to be holding the
water in shape.
Now Charles was no longer using words. Instead, he was communicating with pure
sensory impressions. Again, the best I
can do is to continue with an analogy.
On the table in front of me, there were suddenly two glasses only. I could see the water, but not the
glasses. The water itself was a furious
buzz of thought and idea and memory.
Somehow, I knew that one "glass" was "Rogue," while
the other was "Gerard Trautwein."
Next, something happened. The
glasses were taken away. When they came
back, the "water" that had been "Gerard" was now in the
Rogue-shaped container. And the glass
that had been "Gerard" was now filled with much more, a triple layer
of fluid that sizzled and buzzed at the conflicting layers.
But…as I watched, it became apparent that it was the *glass*
which created identity, rather than the fluid within the glass. As I watched, the Gerard-water in the
Rogue-glass slowly changed. As time
passed, it was moving and sparking less and less like it had initially, and more
and more in patterns that looked like the original Rogue-water. It was as if the container forced certain
currents and activities into its contained fluid – no matter what that fluid
might be like.
I gulped, realizing what the metaphors meant for me,
personally.
*Do you begin to understand?* Charles thought to me. *When I look at you, telepathically, I see
that you've changed. Good Lord, how
could I not see that? But the
foundation of who you are, that remains the same. Reluctantly, I am being forced to think of that container as 'the
soul.' That part of you has not changed. Memories come and memories go. Whether through mutant ability, stroke, or
other mechanism. Memory is ephemeral. The 'container' is not.*
*But…if that's true…*
*Yes?*
I knew what he wanted.
He wanted me to say that I really *was* Rogue. But it wasn't true! I
knew it wasn't. I might be living in
her body, but I wasn't her!
*You are.*
I had unconsciously pulled my legs up into the chair. My arms were wrapped around my legs, pulling
them tight to my chest.
*Keep your mind open – this is the most crucial element of
your training. If you can force
yourself through this, you will be able to endure as I engrave the Rogue's
basic memories back into your brain.*
I was almost crying with the effort. I very much wanted to close my mind to these
ideas. All it would take was the
tiniest shapeshift – a belly button or earlobe. One tiny shift and that comforting buzz would appear, and my mind
would be locked closed against the terrible things Charles was saying.
Instead, I wept, and forced myself to remain open to him.
*Good girl. Now,
just a few more questions. I want you
to think of Rogue in your mind. Picture
her. What do you see? What do you feel?*
I had seen her body in the mirror not so long ago. Her naked scrawny ass was even more
unattractive than when she was clothed as the black-garbed queen of sulks. Rogue was scrawny. That was the most charitable thing you could say about her. Her hips were okay, I suppose, but she had
nothing up top, she was too skinny, and her arms and legs were shapeless
beanpoles. And her face? You want to talk about fright time, she was
a perfect example. A cleft chin that
made her into a classic butt-face, and angles that made a sulk her most
attractive expression. Hair that was
the color of mud, topped off with a lovely skunk stripe. Worn back, she looked like a skunk, worn
forward she looked like an idiot but at least it covered her face a little. What did I think of Rogue? I mentally prepared myself…
*That will be quite enough, thank you. Dr. Trautwein's report of your
self-assessment actually understated the depths of your insecurity. Remember?
Do you remember what he thought, as he was writing that status report?*
I did. I remembered
noting the girl's serious problem with her self image. She had a good reserve of confidence and
inner strength, but her self image was nothing short of disastrous. In actual fact, she had the graceful frame
of an athlete. Her chin was a
delightful departure from the cookie-cutter sameness that seems to be the case
with many modern beauties, and the (completely natural) streak in her hair
added an intoxicating dash of exotic mystery.
Her main beauty problem was the layer of white powder she insisted on
using to cover her face. That and the
dark lipstick and eyeshadow. Certainly
she hadn't finished developing yet. The
girl was almost obsessed by her bust size, but she was only fifteen. She was clearly blossoming a little after
most of her contemporaries, but when her body finished blooming she would be a
striking beauty.
*You see? That's
what the real Dr. Trautwein thought.*
I shook my head. It
wasn't possible. *I* was the real Dr.
Trautwein. How could my own views have
been so far apart?
*Now, I want you to think about how Dr. Trautwein thought of
Scott Summers.*
I didn't like the way this was heading, not at all. Aloud I said, "You haven't been talking
to Jackie, have you?"
"No, why?"
Why? Because this
was suddenly pressing WAY too close to things we'd been talking about last
night.
"Perhaps it's something in your own mind that is
steering the way this encounter is going.
In any case, I want you to remember.
Don't feel through your current views, but remember Dr. Trautwein's
impression of Scott Summers."
All I could think about was my first impression, when I'd
burst into the mansion afraid that Rogue was about to be killed. Just that he was determined, and wore dark
red glasses. There was no hint of the
rich depths of caring he held hidden inside him, or the strengths, or how he
really needed someone to share his feelings with. There was no hint of the way his lips moved when he talked, or
dreams of –
*I think that's quite enough. I don't intend to intrude any more than I must. Now, lastly, what did Dr. Trautwein think of
Kurt Wagner?*
I didn't want to think about that, but once the idea had
been broached I couldn't help myself.
Dr. Trautwein had thought nothing of Kurt. They'd never met. He had
no idea of the lithe strength or the perfect shape of his limbs and
extremities. He didn't know the sensual
feel of Kurt's silky soft fur, or the way his smile and laugh made you
feel. Dr. Trautwein certainly wasn't in
lo—I clamped that thought down HARD.
The truth was that to this BODY that I inhabited, Kurt was my god-damned
BROTHER. That thought still filled me
with so much rage and sorrow and honor that I had trouble dealing with it. And none of those feelings had belonged to
Dr. Trautwein. But they definitely
*had* belonged to Rogue. They were what
had driven Rogue into her desperate suicide.
A move that left me dealing with the problems that she had so blithely
abandoned.
Unable to stop myself, I slowly began to cry into the knees
that I still had clutched up against me.
*Yet you are still holding your mind open. Can you still trust me, even after all
that?*
Helplessly, I nodded.
I *had* to do this. I needed for
Rogue to get her memories back in place.
I owed it to her.
*Now, I want you to activate the shapeshifting – whatever it
is that you do. Close your mind.*
With a shudder of release, I pulled my bellybutton a quarter
inch deeper. Instantly, the comforting
buzz was back in the back of my head.
Like a light switch, the invading presence was gone from my mind.
"That was…less than pleasant."
Looking up, I saw that Charles looked as shaken as I
was. He seemed covered in sweat and
barely able to keep his hands from shaking – just as I was.
"Tomorrow you'll begin to learn how to keep a telepath
OUT of your mind. Awake, asleep, and at
any other time. You will also learn to
detect telepathic probing. Compared to
this, those lessons will be simplicity itself."
I shakily rose to my feet, sensing the end of the
lesson. Every muscle in my body seemed
to be trembling.
"Rogue…" the Professor began "…or Angel, if
you prefer in that shape. I want you to
know that I will never speak in anything but the broadest generalities about
what I learn from my students' minds.
But still, you should know that the secret sins and secrets that you're
ashamed of…" He paused and took a
breath. "I have seen into the
minds of many people, both saintly and evil.
The feelings and ideas you are exploring are completely normal for any
adolescent girl – an *innocent* adolescent girl. In that way, you're much like Kitty. A young girl, fearfully peeking at her own budding
sexuality. There is no shame in
it. Nor would there be if you were
attracted to men, women, or both. It is
the desire to harm others, to exploit, dominate, control, it is *those*
impulses which are shameful. And as for
thoughts of sexuality, you and Kitty are far more innocent than the other women
in this building. You two have much in
common. That is part of the reason I've
made you roommates."
His words displayed a knowledge that was more than a little
alarming.
"Professor, you don't…?"
"Peek, telepathically?
No, I don't. And in another few
days, you will be able to detect such probing, as are my other
students." He sighed. "There is a different matter of *shouting*
though. That is often far harder to
ignore. I do my best, for my own
sanity. I suppose we all have our own
burdens to bear."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Calmly, he looked at me and said, "This is a houseful
of healthy, active teenagers. They
live, work, and play in close proximity.
Even after telepathic training such as you are receiving, their minds
virtually radiate their joy, sorrow, and other feelings at times. They run, jump, and are overwhelmed by
intense feelings both sexual and otherwise as they fumble their way through
adolescence. I, on the other hand, am
forever apart. Not merely as a father
figure, but unable to feel or move from the waist down." He looked at me, not with sorrow or envy,
but merely stating a fact. "At
times it would be an enormous temptation to envy someone like Jackie
Gavin. Eternally young, with a perfect
body that she can alter at her whim.
How much should I envy someone like that?"
I had no reply.
"There are two important lessons that I try to impart
on my students. The first is to learn
to enjoy what they have. Their bodies,
their youth, their powers. This must
always be tempered with responsibility, but these gifts should be a joy. The second lesson is to build an inner
strength. What you have today might be
cruelly snatched away at any moment.
Not only should you enjoy it today, but you should have the strength and
courage to move on, if that becomes necessary.
After all, while I may be trapped in this wheelchair, my mind can still
explore realms that you can scarcely imagine.
Handicapped though I am in one way, there are many people who would
still envy me." He had an
expression of calm satisfaction that awed me, just a little.
I left the room feeling like a child. I had memories stretching back eight
decades, yet Charles Xavier made me feel like a child.
I wondered if I would ever understand him.
Continued in Chapter 22, " That long-distance
feeling" appearing NEXT Week!
since 06/27/03
