Summary: Rogue and Bobby get their uniforms. A missing scene from X2.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Bryan Singer, Marvel, Fox, and not me. I’m just borrowing them because it bothered me that we didn’t see this onscreen.
Author’s Notes: Many thanks to kate and Philateley (even though I didn’t use your suggestion for the ending *g*). Thanks as always to Macha for the editing and putting up with the whining.
When Marie was ten, she went with her Momma and Daddy to her cousin’s high school graduation. She watched, fascinated, as Leila walked across the stage to get her diploma, her tassel swinging back and forth. At the family party afterward, Marie sat next to Leila on the swing in the back yard, swatting at mosquitoes and memorizing everything the older girl said. Leila explained how many bobby pins she’d gone through trying to get her hair to look right for the ceremony and she complained about how hot the blue polyester was in the early summer heat. She told Marie that she’d been about to die while the valedictorian droned on about moving forward and embracing the future. Leila laughed when Marie asked to try on the mortarboard. “Careful,” she’d said, “It will give you hat hair like you wouldn’t believe.”
Marie took it inside and stood in the foyer of her aunt’s house, gazing into the large round mirror. She placed the mortarboard carefully on her head, trying unsuccessfully to find a position where the cap looked like it fit correctly. She stood there, moving the tassel from one side to the other, thinking about all the power in the little piece of string. One moment her cousin had been a kid– a high school student– and then she’d moved the tassel to the other side and she was a graduate. She was an adult and no one could tell her what to do. She had freedom.
Marie’s momma’s voice carried into the house, calling her to come get a burger, and Marie ran down the hall and back outside. When she handed the mortarboard back to Leila, Marie decided that when *she* graduated, she’d never complain about the polyester or the hat hair.
Of course, for Rogue there was no graduation ceremony with polyester robes and relatives crammed into bleachers. The Professor wanted them all to have normal lives — or as close to normal as possible when you couldn’t be touched or you set things on fire — but their graduation had been a bit more low-key than what she remembered from Leila’s. No hollering and cheering while they walked across the stage and certainly no smoky barbecue afterward with cousins playing freeze tag on the front lawn.
Instead, the entire school gathered together, and Scott handed out diplomas to the eldest students. Marie wore not a blue polyester gown, but a simple black dress. And gloves. Always gloves.
She’d stifled a laugh as she and Jubilee exchanged an eye roll when the professor made his speech. It wasn’t as if he needed a special occasion to speak at length on the Role of Mutants in Society. But she smiled warmly when he congratulated her and carefully shook her hand. Marie giggled with Jubilee and John at the party afterward when Bobby froze the punch and she promised Jean they’d help chaperone the next day’s field trip to the museum, ignoring John and Bobby’s desperate attempts to get her to say no. Jean laughed and told them that waving their arms frantically behind her back would be more effective if she weren’t a telepath.
But later that evening Rogue took off her gloves and sat in front of the mirror, looking for something different. She wondered if she’d feel any different if she’d had the mortarboard and tassel. She didn’t really know what being an adult is supposed to feel like, but she suspected this wasn’t it. But then, she sure didn’t consider herself a kid anymore– she hadn’t in years. She wondered when things would change.
——-
The flight back from Alkali Lake was eerily silent, the steady murmur of Kurt’s prayers the only sound. For once the younger kids didn’t utter a word– not even Jubilee, which might have been amusing under any other circumstance.
They all seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Scott, as if by ignoring his grief they could pretend that he was still just a teacher and a leader. They didn’t want to see him human and weak, but Rogue stole a glance anyway. He was cradling his head in his hands and the defeated slump of his shoulders made her ache for him.
Logan had taken the seat next to Storm and occasionally Rogue heard them speaking softly, voices pitched too low to carry to the back of the plane. The professor looked as if he were too wrapped up in his own thoughts to be paying attention, but then Rogue heard him tell Logan that it was time– whatever that meant.
When the Blackbird landed, Scott was the first one off. He carefully carried the professor down the ramp while the others followed at a distance. Rogue was relieved to see some of the purpose return to Scott’s stride and she thought that he must want something to do that would take his mind off Jean, if only for a moment.
They stood in the hangar, waiting for someone to take charge. Storm and Logan exchanged a long glance, but before Rogue could figure out its meaning, Storm announced that it was time to start cleaning up and to find Kurt a room. With that, she turned and walked out of the hanger, Kurt and the children trailing dutifully after her. Bobby grabbed Rogue’s gloved fingers and they started to follow along, stopping when Logan touched Rogue’s shoulder.
“You two,” he growled. “Come with me.”
Rogue glanced at Bobby, who gazed wistfully after Storm’s group. Logan stalked out of the hanger and down the hall, not sparing them a glance as they scurried to catch up.
Logan turned the corner and headed down yet another gleaming corridor. The recessed lighting gave the shiny metal walls and eerie look, and hell if they didn’t all look the same. Rogue wondered if Logan’s sense of direction was as finely honed as his other senses. If Logan wasn’t going to explain where they were going or how to get back, maybe she’d need to leave a trail of bread crumbs, since her experience with the lower levels was limited to waiting in the med bay while Logan was comatose.
Bobby tugged on her sleeve, his eyebrows raised in question. Rogue just shrugged and hurried along, trying to keep up with Logan. He may have taken up residence in her head, but that didn’t mean she had any idea what he was planning.
Logan veered to the left and into the large room at the end of the hallway. It had the stark look the rest of the lower levels, but the walls were lined with closet doors and display cases. Logan crossed to the closets and Rogue saw his jaw clench as he passed the glass case where Jean’s uniform was usually displayed. The empty glass served as a sharp reminder that putting on the leather wasn’t an opportunity to dress-up and play superhero — it was real.
Logan jerked the closet door open with a force that would have pulled any normal door off its hinges. Rogue figured that the professor had reinforced the doors to withstand any number of powerful mutations. Logan ignored the pile of sweatpants and t-shirts, reaching for the top shelf and the stack of three neatly folded black leather uniforms. He took the top two down, handing one to Rogue and the other to Bobby.
“Get suited up,” he ordered, ignoring their bewildered expressions. “We leave for the White House in half an hour.” With that he slammed the closet door shut and disappeared down the hall.
Rogue looked over at Bobby and almost laughed at how wide his eyes were.
“So, what does this mean?” he asked. “Are we X-Men now?”
“Well, I doubt they’re bringing us along on this mission so that I can fly the plane again. I guess we’re X-Men,” she said, wondering if her voice sounded as uncertain as she felt. “Or maybe this is a one-time thing.”
“You don’t know?”
“Bobby, why would I know? You were standing right here too. We both got the same uninformative initiation speech from Logan.”
“Yeah, but…” Bobby paused, choosing his words carefully. “You’ve got him in there–” he gestured vaguely toward her head. “Can’t he tell you what’s going on?”
Rogue rolled her eyes and wondered if Bobby thought that absorbing someone’s personality meant that she had a permanent telepathic link with them. “It’s not like that. I can’t see what’s in his head *now.*”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Logan barely knows me. Plus I’ve seen what he can do when he’s pissed off, and I don’t really want to take any chances. He’s not going to gut *you,* Rogue.” As soon as the words left his mouth, she could tell he’d remembered the night Logan had stabbed her. His mouth opened soundlessly, and she knew he was going to fumble around, trying to apologize. She’d rather face Logan on a rampage than have a conversation with Bobby about her first night at the Mansion, so she cut him off before he could start down that path.
“Maybe not. I’ll go see.” And with that she turned and headed out the way Logan had gone, hoping that she could find the elevator and get out of the lower levels. She took several wrong turns and kept having to double back, cursing Logan for leaving them alone in the maze of passages.
Rogue tracked him down to a bench in the garden, smoking a cigar and staring at a large oak tree in the distance. He didn’t even look her way when she sat down next to him. She set the heavy uniform next to her on the bench and followed his gaze to the tree, trying to figure out what made it so fascinating for him.
“You’d better get suited up,” he said, blowing a smoke ring into the air. “You’ll want a chance to get used to the leather before you try the stairs.”
She studied his face, searching for some clue about what he was thinking. She saw none of the grief or anguish she’d expected, but his attempt at his usual impassive expression was marred by the set of his jaw and his haunted eyes.
“Logan, I’m sorry about Jean.”
“Not your fault. Now go get ready.”
Rogue figured she should leave the subject of Jean alone. She’d talk to him about it later when he was a little less raw.
“What’s with the uniforms?” she asked instead.
The ghost of a grin crossed his face. “I think you’re supposed to be grateful they’re not yellow spandex.”
“No,” she sighed, trying not to laugh at his joke. Was he being difficult on purpose, or was he just being Logan? Sometimes it was hard to tell. “You said we had to wait a couple years.”
He sighed, letting the cigar smoke cloud the air around him. “The professor talked to me about it when I got back. He wanted my opinion before he gave them to you and the other two kids.”
“And you told him no?” she demanded, arching an eyebrow.
“I told him I didn’t think you were ready.”
Rogue stiffened, feeling all the indignation of an eighteen-year-old being told to sit at the kids’ table. “I’ve been training, Logan. We all have. Scott runs us through–”
“Not that,” he said. “God knows what’s in your head thanks to me and Magneto. But you didn’t choose those battles and you’re still so young, Marie. You shouldn’t have to be a superhero until you’re ready.”
“But I am ready.”
“I know. You proved that today.”
She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, inordinately pleased at the compliment. “So this is permanent? It’s not just for today or until we regroup?”
He turned sharply, looking directly at her for the first time since she sat down. He studied her face carefully, and she was sure he was looking for signs of uncertainty, so she tried hard to convey an air of confidence that she wasn’t sure she felt yet. “It’s for good. But if you’ve changed your mind, I can go tell the professor.”
“No!” she exclaimed and she noticed his lips twitch at her vehemence. “I’m ready. I can do this. I *want* to do this.”
He nodded shortly and got to his feet, dropping his cigar on the ground and grinding it out with his boot. He reached out for Rogue’s gloved hand and pulled her to her feet, gently shoving her toward the mansion. “Good. Then go get ready or you’re going to get left behind on your first mission.”
Rogue picked up her uniform from the bench and headed back into the mansion. Her room was quiet without Jubilee and Kitty, who were down the hall with Storm, but she was grateful that she’d have the bathroom to herself for once.
She shut the bathroom door carefully and began peeling off her jacket and Bobby’s mother’s clothes. She splashed some water on her face, wishing she had time to take a shower. After smoothing her hair back into its ponytail, she started on the uniform, pulling the leather pants on and up over her legs. She eased the jacket over her arms, fighting the stiffness of the leather as she zipped up the bodice. Last of all she slid on the gloves, buttoning them at her wrists.
Rogue crossed her room, noting that Logan wasn’t kidding about needing to break in the leather. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, taking in the sight of her new uniform. It fit her like a second skin, but she wasn’t embarrassed to be on display like she imagined she might be. Because it wasn’t the curves of a woman that captured Rogue’s attention, it was the body of a fighter. Leather molded to muscles she’d earned sparring in the Danger Room. A shock of white hair her proudly worn battle scar. Pale, smooth, deadly white skin. She looked down at her gloved hands, flexing them to soften up the leather.
Just then the door swung open and Rogue jumped back, narrowly avoiding being run over by Jubilee. Jubilee took one look at Rogue’s uniform and she skidded to a stop, her eyes opening wide with realization.
“Wow,” she said, her voice awed. “An X-Man, hunh?”
“Yeah,” Rogue blushed.
“Wow,” Jubilee repeated. “Happy graduation, chica!”
“Yeah.” Images from Leila’s graduation flashed through her mind– blue polyester robes and caps and tassels. Rogue looked down at the sleek black leather and grinned. “Thanks.”
Maybe this was better than being normal after all.
THE END.