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Rogue let her emerald eyes roam from left to right across the darkened street and clenched her hands into tight fists. She and the rest of her team had been in the area for close to an hour and still no sign of their target. The steam generated by New York's subway system rose from the street grating to cover the ground with a thin layer, highlighted by the occasional working streetlight. Combined with the hallowed-out husks of cars that had fallen prey to nimble car-parts thieves, there was a certain noir aesthetic that permeated the air, one that Rogue certainly would have stopped to admire if not for the pressing concern of Sabertooth, who had holed up somewhere in the area with several other mutants on the lam a month ago, terrorizing everyone and anyone in sight ever since. At first, it had been small-time vandalism, barely worth a mention in any newspaper, but today was different. Earlier, the team had learned that a family reported missing earlier that week had in fact been kidnaped by Sabertooth. Ever since Magneto's Acolytes had dissolved, all going their separate ways, Sabertooth had found work selling his services to the highest bidder.

Rogue was snapped out of her musing by a quick flash of movement ducking into an alley to her right. The flickering street lamp gave out less light than a cell phone, so any attempts to peer into the deep darkness beyond the high brick walls that flanked the opening like sentry guards were quickly dashed.

Ah couldn't have absorbed a mutant with night vision, now could Ah? Rogue thought, cursing her bad luck. Not in the last ten or so minutes, anaway. Letting out a defeated sigh, the southern mutant ran to the nearest shelled car and ducked down low to the ground, working on the assumption that whoever ran into the alley had senses heightened beyond normal human range.

Figuas they'd send in me ta do battle with the big furball. She thought, mentally cursing Scott Summers with every blue word she could muster. Probably somewhere fused ta Jean by the mouth.

Rogue quickly leaned out to scan the area, then returned to her hiding place. She could see no one nor any further movement, so she made the decision to move. She rolled underneath the car and rapidly pulled her lithe body onto the curb and behind a foul-smelling trash can. Quietly breathing through her mouth in a vain attempt to avoid the stench of fetid garbage, she counted to ten in her head before darting out from behind the can and crouching in the entrance to the alleyway, hugging the leftmost wall.

Where are ya, ya overgrown house pet? Where's that stinkin' hide a yers? She hoped Kitty and Kurt were having better luck getting the hostages out.

If the situation was not so dire, Rogue might have let her thoughts turn to her low opinion of most of the other X-Men, and their in turn low opinion of her. Most of the students, save for Kitty and Kurt, went out of their way to avoid running into the southern goth. Then there was former Acolyte Remy Lebeau, who had the exact opposite problem. She couldn't get five minutes respite from him. However, given the situation, her thoughts were focused squarely on how she was going to take down Sabertooth, who had the distinct advantages of being seven feet tall, well over four hundred pounds, and having razor sharp talons.

Rogue quickly ruled out a frontal assault.

She stared down the alley with a studied ferocity in her eyes, combing the darkness for the most minute signs of life, when she suddenly felt an attack on her lower back that emanated with such a white-hot intensity that Rogue was certain she had been shot. When she bent her arm back to touch the wound, however, she was shocked to discover that there was none. The fervent attack that she felt was in fact coming from within her own being. The pain contained such venom that she bit her bottom lip until it bled just to keep from screaming. She let her shoulder fall into the weathered brick of the wall and clenched her eyes shut, wishing desperately that the pain would fade.

Anaplace but here. Gawd, I'm nuthin' more than a sittin' duck! Rogue thought as the tears pooled in the corners of her heavily made-up eyes. She began to sweat profusely, even with the autumn chill of the Bronx floating through the air. The perspiration flowed from her pores as easily as water from an upturned bucket, soaking her two-toned hair and plastering her already skintight uniform even closer to her skin. Mentally, Rogue cursed her nearly infallible ability to attract only the worst of luck Here she was, trailing a mutant who was behaviorally one minute step above a rabid hyena in heat, and she was curled up in an alleyway next to a pile of newspaper, helpless to any foe that pleased to advance upon her. All of a sudden, above her, a mechanically androgynous voice echoed with pronunciation and clarity virtually unknown by all but the most dedicated of linguistics researchers.

Hostage one rescued. Hostage two rescued. Hostage three rescued. Objectives for mutant signatures Nightcrawler and Shadowcat complete. Rogue bitterly envied her two friends, probably both in the control room by the time the first rescued hostage was announced. She only hoped that Scott, their clueless leader, could somehow discern that she was in absolutely no condition to complete any sort of objective. Of course, she'd put down hard-earned money for the Statue of Liberty before she bet on Scott to make any sort of sensible decision. Team loyalty before personal interests was what he had taken to saying during each meeting. She had hoped it wouldn't take the corpse of an X-man before he'd pull that giant stick out of his ass, but she had long ago decided that she was more than willing to pull out all the stops in the unceasing quest to pop the giant delusional ego balloon that was Scott Summers. Laying there in a puddle of her own sweat, too frozen with pain to even move, however, she made a vow to at least put that goal oh hiatus if he would only remove from this danger room inferno.

In the deep recesses of the darkened pathway beyond, she was vaguely aware of a growling and rumbling gradually approaching, but in her suddenly weakened state, she was powerless to mount even the most slipshod of defenses. The sounds she heard were faint, as though they were coming in from a great distance. Even the ragged draws of her own breathes sounded far away, as though someone was playing them through a radio at the softest possible volume. The acrid sweat continued to flow from every part of her poisonous skin in a flood, seemingly taking her energy and sanity with every new drop the condensed into the air. Rogue was huddled into the fetal position at this point, too delirious from the toxic mixture of her ever-rising body temperature and the paralyzing pain that constituted her lower back too react to any form of outside stimulus. Deep within her own brain, to which she was temporarily prisoner with all the other psyches she had absorbed, Rogue could only imagine how she looked to the outside world. The Great Untouchable lying helpless, exposed to even the attacks of a lone feather. She had taken down the most powerful mutant entity known to exist, yet her greatest enemy continuously proved to be the simple foe of her own mortal flesh and blood. In the background, far beyond her own thoughts, Rogue could scarcely make out the noise of her approaching antagonist getting ever closer, and the sounds of her own breathing becoming even more shallow and raspy, if such a feat were even possible. As her consciousness faded into nothing, her last thoughts drifted towards the one obstacle she could never overcome, that of her own prison that existed simply by her living.

Kinda fittin' that it'd be what caused ma death. Rogue thought reminiscently with equal parts resent and irony as the outside world faded into obscurity.

The hulking form appeared in the door way, stymieing even the faintest shards of light from entering the inky blackness beyond. The darkness extended onward for an eternity for an instant, only to be shattered by the blue paw coated in coarse blue fur of Dr. Henry McCoy, resident physician for the entire student and adult body that made up Xavier's grounds. Dr. McCoy walked over to the row of hospital beds that had been set up in the room adjoining the main infirmary, leading behind him a group of three men. Approaching one of the only two occupied beds of the ten that lined the walls and grasping the medical cipboard from the foot of the bed, Dr. McCoy began to address to his small but attentive entourage, speak with an eloquence and clarity that belied his mammoth six-foot height and four hundred pound frame.

"I am afraid I must be the messenger of both good and terrible news, my dear fellows. The good news is that I was able to isolate and treat our dear Rogue's UTI with little fuss. I have her on a simple intravenous Codine drip currently in order to ease her discomfort, and when she awakens I can prescribe her Trimethroprim, which will clear up the kidney infection."

"Do you have any idea as to the cause of it, or to why it hit so suddenly?" Professor Xavier asked in a faint British accent that seemed almost stereotypical for someone of his wealth. Despite being in a wheelchair due to paraplegia and displaying signs of age that placed him well beyond the years of anyone else in the room, it was obvious to even the most casual of observers that Xavier held a calm control over the entire conversation.

"It's not altogether unusual, although I will confess that it is not common either. I believe her body's immune system simply fought the infection on it's own until the bacteria became too strong, which is when she felt the onset of pain. As for the cause, there are two very common food-bourne bacteria that are the usual culprits, Escherichia coli and Staphylococcus saprophyticus." Dr. McCoy glanced up from the medical charts and graphs that made up so much of his life to make eye contact with his small audience. Almost immediately, it was apparent to him that of the three pairs of eyes upon him, only one understood what Hank had just said.

"Quit with the fancy speak, is Stripes gonna get better or not?" Logan asked the question with the same aggression and tenacity that accompanied nearly every sentence that left his mouth. Along with his hirsute facial features and readiness to extend the foot-long claws that had been surgically implanted in the webs of his hand over the most insignificant of infractions, he intimidated most, if not all of the younger students at the institute. The older students and adults, all of whom had been in close enough proximity with Logan for years, had simply gotten used to his outwardly abrasive personality and accepted it as another part of daily living.

"I'm as certain of it as the great Heracles was when he went to dip his arrows in the Hydra's blood." When greeted by a look on Logan's face that roughly read of mild distemper combined with extreme impatience and slight confusion, Hank decided to reword his previous statement. "The antibiotics I'm going to prescribe Rogue should take effect within three days, however I would recommend she remain on bedrest for at least a week."

"And den de belle femme be back to normal?" While Remy Lebeau's slouched posture would seem to indicate a lackadaisical attitude towards the entire situation, the normal confidence that was contained his Cajun-accented voice was missing, replaced by a notable amount of worry.

"Barring any complications in her condition, I would say so."

"Hey, when I took her out of the Danger Room, Rogue smelled like a damned locker room. Was that serious or anything?" Logan attempted to coat this question in the same amount of enigmatic menace as what usually came out of his mouth, but the true nature of his concern still shone through the cracks in the facade.

"Not at all, my friend. A fever is a very common symptom of most UTIs, especially those in which the kidneys are under attack." Hank explained as he replaced the clipboard to it's original resting spot.

"Dere any chance o us gettin dis?"

"None whatsoever, Mr. Lebeau. A UTI is in no way an airborne virus." Hank paused, then continued. "Oh before I forget, Scott 's jaw is healing nicely, Logan." Remy arched an eyebrow, to which Logan 's face exhibited a mixture of amusement and disinterest, both emotions seemingly waging a quiet war for dominance.

"I told him to get her outta there. Next time I think red eye'll listen to me."

"Dis Cajun owes you a drink, homme." Upon hearing that statement, the amusement clearly won out.

"Logan, I would like to discuss that matter with you further in my office after this. Preferably before you and Mr. Lebeau go out drinking."

"Sure thing, Chuck." Turning his head back to Remy, Logan grinned. "Remember your wallet, Gumbo. I like the good stuff."

"Dat ain't gonna be a problem, Wolvie." Remy used the rare opportunity to use his favorite nickname to Logan's face. Logan's countenance changed for a split second to that of a man about to commit vicious homicide, then reverted just as quickly.

I'll kill him after he pays for the drinks.

"Wha...?" A weak voice echoing through the disinfected air of the medical wing, distracting the primary attention of all from their petty squabbles. Rogue was a far cry from her usual appearance of the well-dressed and immaculately made-up goth. Her make was non-existant, leaving her looking even more pale than usual, almost to the point of translucent.

"Rogue, you're awake. How are you feeling?" Hank quickly moved the side of Rogue's bed, examining the computerized vital signs displayed on the computer monitor amchored to the wall.

"Ghtem herd aqwCufe." The concerned audience that encircled her stared in obvious confusion.

"Quoi, Chere?"

"Puht nder, Ghtem herd aqwCufe," Came Rogue's garbled reply. Confusing looks met with confusing looks as all four of the men in the room stared at Rogue in disbelief, while Rogue stared right back with the same look plastered firmly across her features. Hank pulled out a thin flashlight and, slipping on a specially designed medical glove, delicately held Rogue's eyelids open, checking her pupils.

"Hmm, your pupils aren't dilated. Rogue, can you hear what you're saying? Please just nod." Rogue nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Do you realize you're speaking nonsense?" This time, Rogue froze for several seconds, as though in a trance, before slowly shaking her head from side to side.

"Hank, what's wrong with her?" Charles asked as he leaned forward in his chair, concern etched into his face as though done by an accomplished sculptor.

Hank stared at Rogue, entranced. "I do not know, Professor." Hank used his lengthy arms to quickly snatch up Rogue's chart and let his eyes roam over every printed word and number. His concentration was soon shattered, however, by an audible yelp from Rogue as she began tearing at the mattress with a furious rage, tearing at the white sheets after hurling her pillow with all her strength, narrowly missing Logan. The four onlookers stood in dumbstruck awe, unsure of how to react to the sudden and violent mood swing. They were even more unprepared when Rogue unexpectedly stopped her heated attack on the bed linens and arched her back to a seemingly inhuman and torturous degree, then began to convulse as her back straightened and returned the rest of her body to the bed below.

"She's seizing! Quick, hold her down!" Showing great aptitude for thinking on their feet, Both Remy and Logan used some of the larger pieces of the sheet as a barrier between Rogue and her mutation. Running over to a stainless steel medicine cabinet and quickly producing a menacing hypodermic needle, Hank used his agility to move back to the distressed young girl and quickly injected the clear liquid into the bulging vein of Rogue's arm. It's effect was almost immediate, calming the young girl's muscles into an anxious sleep.

"Hank, is there any improvement in her condition?" Two weeks after her collapse in the danger room, Rogue's condition was no less a mystery. Both Xavier and McCoy had utilized every available resource the expanse of the mansion had to offer, all to no avail.

"Nothing seems to be having any positive effect on her condition. She simply continues to suffer as her own body turns against her in a whole new way." Xavier sighed and turned his wheelchair toward the wide floor-to-ceiling window the stood in the wall behind his rich mahogany desk. Cradling his head in his hand, he began to speak.

"Hank, I believe this condition may not be treatable...at least in this surrounding."

"I fear you may be right., Charles."

"In addition to Rogue's own safety, which is absolutely of the essence, I have happened to notice a adverse effect on several of the students, beginning with Kitty and Remy. Both have exhibited very severe depression ever since Rogue's episode in the lab. Even Logan hasn't been his usual self. We need to get Rogue to a hospital, and soon."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Charles, but I don't think any hospital in the area will be able to treat this any better than we have been able to." Hank thought for a split-second, then added grimly, " Nor do I believe they would be overly willing to."

"I must sadly admit that you make a valid point. However, you must know someone from your medical school days that owes you some sort of favor."

Hank studied the floor beneath his feet for a very long time, the silence crushing the two men. Then, as a lightbulb went off inside his mind, Hank regained eye contact with the professor.

"You know, there is one doctor I know who specializes in challenging diseases. He's very difficult to get a hold of, and his personality is caustically abrasive, but this problem seems right up his alley."

"Do you know where he is now?" Xavier asked hopefully.

"He's currently working in New Jersey."

"Say no more, Hank. I'll have Scott ready the van."

Author's Note: Number One, I don't own X-Men Evolution, or House. I'm simply a bored college student. Please let me know what you liked or disliked about this by reviewing. The next chapter will involve House more directly, and I hope to have it posted within a week, however, with July fourth, I can make no promises. Also, If you particularly enjoyed this, I have two other stories of FF. Again, thank you for reading, and please review!