Summary: A story in response to a question I raised in my fic "Realizations." What would have happened if Magneto had asked Rogue to power his machine in X1? Obviously an AU of the first movie. Not at all necessary to read my previous fic to follow this one (although I encourage you to do so, wink wink nudge nudge).
Note: I shouldn't be starting another WIP, but I am. I promise to try to update this one faithfully. If it has enough interest, I hope to be able to extend it through all three movies. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with X-Men.
Chapter 1
Magneto did not immediately look up when Mystique viciously slammed the door to his office, so she added a furious growl for good measure. Curious as he was to know what had his second-in-command in such a state, the dignified leader of the Brotherhood nevertheless refused to reward such behavior with the response she was searching for, and continued to peruse the papers in front of him for several long minutes before he at last raised his stern gaze to observe the fuming mutant.
"I take it from your behavior that there is something you wish to speak to me about, Raven?" he inquired mildly, his slate grey eyes flashing at her disturbance of his private sanctum.
"I just got back from talking to those -- those -- " apparently, only one word was suitable for expressing the extent of her disgust " -- humans," she spat, her yellow eyes narrowed in such anger that Magneto was momentarily alarmed.
"You didn't kill them, Raven?" he demanded, standing abruptly and glaring down at her. "You know that we can't afford to tip our hand too soon."
"I'm not an idiot, Erik. I wanted to kill them, but I knew that they'd get their comeuppance in the end," she said with a savage grin.
"What did they do that made you so angry?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"The same thing all humans do," Mystique growled. "Sneer down their noses at us, call us the inferior ones when they should be nothing more than the dirt beneath our feet."
"That still doesn't explain the extent of your fury, my dear," Magneto replied, examining her intently.
She shook her head and seemed to deflate in front of him, some of her anger escaping as she sighed. She sank into one of the chairs in front of his desk. "This girl, their daughter, Marie...she had such promise. Top of her class in everything, always compassionate, that rare breed who would have been a friend to mutants even if she hadn't been one -- if we lived in the world as it should be, she might have become a great leader among mutants. Instead, her 'loving' family finds out that she has powers they can never hope to comprehend and she is thrown out onto the street like so much garbage."
"I see," Magneto said quietly. "Her story reminded you of her own."
Mystique spread her palms, examining their hue critically. "You know that I have never regretted being a mutant, at least not since I met you," she said slowly, the expression on her face revealing a vulnerability he was not used to seeing there. "But you can't really understand what it's like not being able to blend in as one of them except by becoming something you weren't meant to be. You -- you could live as a human all your days without using your powers and nobody would ever be the wiser. For Marie and me, that was never an option. In my natural form -- " she gestured to her lithe, unclothed, blue body " -- I stick out like a sore thumb. Marie can wear all the layers she wants, but sooner or later she'll accidentally touch someone, and when she does she'll be shunned again."
"Raven," he began carefully, disliking the look of empathy she had on her face, although he was also intrigued by these expressions of empathy from his usually heartless second, "you do remember what we need her for, don't you? You're not having second thoughts, are you?"
Her fragile expression hardened at his inquiry. "Don't be a fool, Erik," she hissed angrily, although who she was angry with perhaps even she did not know. "I know what's at stake, what we need her for. She'll die to ensure that the next person like her who comes along will have the chances she should have had, so that people like us will never want to fit in with everyone else. I envy her her martyrdom, her gift. I only hope I can die for as glorious a cause as she will."
Magneto's handsome face was intent as he examined her carefully, looking for any signs of doubt or uncertainty in her face. Finding none, he nodded in satisfaction. "Then tell me what you have learned, and let us help her on the way to achieving that martyrdom."
Rogue sighed and stared moodily into her glass of water, focusing on the way the glass and its liquid distorted her face. If she tilted her head this way, her face looked unnaturally wide and grotesque. That way, and it was too long and thin. And either way it's still a damned mutant looking back at me, she groused inwardly. She had been on the road for a couple of weeks now, making her way north on that trip she'd always promised herself she'd take, and she was only a couple hours' drive from Laughlin City. This trip was supposed to be her way of escaping from home, from the strict confines of her parents' expectations and the strict cultural rules that dictated her every movement at school and at church. This trip was supposed to have been about finding herself.
As it turned out, she felt as if her finding herself was what had forced her to go on the trip many months earlier than she had planned. Suddenly goody two-shoes Marie had turned into "dangerous mutant Rogue," and despite the way that her parents had reacted, despite the fact that she had sent her boyfriend at the time into a three week long coma, a part of her was glad of it. That's not to say that she hadn't loved her life before her mutancy kicked in -- she had, but she had also chafed at the many restrictions in her life, at the feeling of weakness in the face of the larger powers of society and God.
Now, though...now she was her own woman, a mutant doomed to be despised for her power and who would probably never be able to touch anyone ever again. A mutant who could hurt people with her power, but who could also use her power to learn things and to empathize with people in a way she never could before. It was a liberating, conflicting feeling, and more often than not led to musings that reeked of depression.
She shifted slightly in her chair as she felt someone take the seat next to her, not looking up from her glass. She was well aware that she wasn't old enough to be legally allowed into a bar, but this part of the country seemed to have some particularly shady drinking establishments, and she had quickly learned that the people who frequented them could be quite unsavory.
"This is no place for a young woman traveling alone," the man who had just sat down remarked casually, his English perfect and clipped and with the barest undertone of some foreign accent.
She stiffened at the sound of his voice, not wanting to have to deal with any unpleasantness. The last time she'd been accosted in a bar, she'd left her would-be assailant unconscious in the snow with his thoughts running around uncomfortably in her head. Still, she didn't think that ignoring the man was going to help, so she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his.
Despite herself, she found that she liked what she saw. He was an older gentleman, well past his prime and yet with a vigor to his posture that made him seem younger. His short silver hair was complemented by his intent grey eyes; his features, though weathered with age and care, were handsome and strangely alluring. He was dressed quite differently from the rest of the bar's clientele, in a neatly pressed sweater and pair of slacks. The expression in his eyes was almost kind.
"I can take care of myself," Rogue drawled, her refined Southern accent persisting even in this most unrefined place. Her hands were clasped together under the table, her thick gloves not unseasonably warm in the Northern winter. She slowly drew one off, just in case -- though her instincts about people were usually good, touching them was a sure way to know their intentions.
"I'm sure you can," the man replied, his voice amused. "Still, this is hardly the kind of locale that befits a young lady such as yourself."
She bristled at his tone. "And I suppose you fit in here?" she demanded angrily, her chocolate brown eyes flashing as she looked pointedly at his more distinguished outfit.
His gaze swept around the bar disdainfully. "Here? Hardly," he said. "Under normal circumstances I would refuse to enter such an establishment. No, my dear Marie, I am here because you are here."
She paled at his words and stood abruptly, nearly overturning her stool as she did so. She stepped back from him even as he gracefully stood and faced her, his face expressionless.
"You must have made some kind of mistake," she said unconvincingly, drawing off her other glove and dropping it to the floor so that she had both hands free, then holding both hands in front of her as if to ward off an attack. "My name's Rogue."
He raised an eyebrow. "If you insist," he said. "That name suits you better anyway." He eyed her ungloved hands warily. "If I promise that it is not my intention to harm you this night, will you stop waving those about in that menacing fashion and sit down again? My old bones are a bit creaky in this cold, and I prefer not to stand."
She glared at him, then reluctantly, slowly, sat, never taking her eyes off of his face. "Don't make any sudden movements," she warned. "Don't think I didn't notice you only mentioned not harming me tonight -- and that stuff about your 'old bones' is quite obviously a load of crap, mister."
Rather than become angry at her tone as she had suspected he might, he chuckled a bit. "I can see why Raven liked what she had heard about you," he said, gazing at her in what might be termed admiration. "You do have hidden claws, don't you?"
"Who's Raven?" she demanded. "And how do you know who I am? What do you want with me? And who are you, anyways?"
"Raven, or rather Mystique as she prefers to be known, is my second-in-command. We learned of you through our well-placed network of spies and informants soon after your powers -- " he glanced significantly at her still-bare hands " -- emerged. As to what I want with you...I'll get to that later. And as to your question of who I am, I am Magneto, leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants." He drew himself up proudly and importantly as he said that last bit, watching for her reaction.
He was disappointed. "What kind of name is Magneto?" she asked scornfully.
"What kind of name is Rogue?" he shot back, a little miffed.
She shrugged. "You already know my real name, and, like you said, this one fits me better."
He frowned. This conversation was not going as he'd planned. "Magneto fits me better than my human name, as well," he informed her.
"I find that hard to believe," she said dryly. "No offense, but 'Magneto' sounds like a comic book character or something. What's your real name?"
"Erik Lensherr," he said stiffly, then blinked as if amazed that he'd told her. He shook himself. "That is entirely outside the subject of our conversation, however. What is important is that you and I share something in common."
"Something outside of silly aliases?" she asked, just to see that comically annoyed expression on his dignified face again.
He huffed in exasperation. "Yes," he said shortly. "You see, Rogue, like you, I am a mutant. Like you, I have been shunned because of my powers. Like you, I have suffered because of my powers."
Her expression, which had almost had a playful quality to it as she bantered with him, turned suddenly, completely serious at his words.
"I know that you are on your own now because you think that there is no one out there who will support you, who will offer you a place where you will be accepted, nay, respected because of your powers. You are wrong. You have been blessed with a very special gift, Rogue, and I would see you use that gift as it was meant to be used."
She hesitated. "You're offering me a place in your 'Brotherhood of Mutants'?" she asked.
"Yes."
"How do I know I can trust you?" she demanded. "I don't know anything about you."
"You know my names, which is more than most of the Brotherhood knows about me," he said. "Beyond that...Raven tells me that your gift allows you to absorb some knowledge of the people you touch. She said that you called it a special form of empathy. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Then touch me," he invited, stretching out his bare hand towards her.
A voice in her head was screaming at her to refuse, to hitchhike to Laughlin City and get away from this crazy man who thought she had something to offer to the world. Rogue stomped on the voice that was Marie and grasped his hand. He stiffened and all of the color seemed to drain from his face in the mere seconds that she prolonged the contact. When she let go, he leaned heavily against the bar's counter, gasping for air. The expression on her pretty face was thoughtful as she painstakingly assimilated what she had learned from him, so that at the same time that Magneto regained the strength to stand, Rogue's eyes cleared with the knowledge that she had finally made a firm decision about her own life.
"Will you come with me, Rogue?" he asked, no weakness apparent in his voice although he still looked rather frail.
She looked at him through eyes that burned with a newly-awakened conviction, and she said "Yes."