Rogue

Getting any real privacy in the Institute? Next to impossible. Sure, she didn't have a roommate. But she did have occupied rooms on either side of hers, and Scott's situation wasn't any better. Getting everyone out of the house for long enough? Not plausible at all. They'd tried. Then, after hearing the X-Men discuss rebuilding the Institute, she was pretty sure they'd both had the same realization.

There were bunkers.

So, Rogue had taken over one of those out-of-use bedrooms with her supplies. Some of it felt kind of stupid now that she actually had it and was setting it up. Like the six-CD stereo. But there was supposed to be music, right? Besides, there was a remote. If it got annoying, they could kill it. Everything else was some version of necessary.

The biggest concern was not making prolonged skin-to-skin contact. Which was, almost laughably, solved by safe sex. Basic mechanics? Condom took care of it. She'd also bought a bottle of liquid lubricant. Just in case either the condom or either set of gloves needed a little coaxing.

The body? Required her to get a little creative. Which was why she'd told Scott to show up after everyone was settling in for the night but before he dressed for bed. She'd come down here a bit earlier to change her clothes.

Her normal gloves had been replaced by silk ones, and she had a box on the table with a pair for him, too. She felt almost self-conscious with how much skin she was showing -- almost her whole legs were bare. She just wore boxers made for a girl. Her top half was more covered. A high-necked, sleeveless shirt that hugged her figure pretty damn well was the bottom layer. She wanted to make sure, even if it couldn't be to skin, he had as much access to her neck as he wanted. Over that, she wore a thigh-length silk kimono with full sleeves -- black with gold stitching.

And, of course, once she'd gotten dressed and inspected herself in the mirror, the teenage insecurities set in. Because there were a hundred. What if this was too much? What if she looked like she was trying way too hard? What if Scott had changed his mind? (Okay, given how he kissed her when they had time to get revved up or hadn't quite cooled down from training, she doubted that, but it didn't stop the worry from buzzing around in her head.) What if the precautions didn't work? What if she wound up hurting him?

With a groan of frustration all for her, she threw herself back onto the bed she had been sitting at the end of, waiting for him. It was completely undignified, probably quite unattractive, and more than a little petulant. But she was sure she'd hear him coming long before he opened the cracked door. So if she wanted to glare at the ceiling, she could. And she did.

Which, in its own way, brought a stab of guilt. Because while she was shopping for supplies to have sex with her boyfriend, Apocalypse had been preparing to end the world. And he had help. All the older mutants they'd assumed were dead? Were, instead, guardians to protect Apocalypse and his work. Their training? Had intensified. They no longer had to get her close to Apocalypse... They had to hold off Storm, Mystique, Magneto, and Professor Xavier. All under the sway of Apocalypse. The odds of them all dying? Were off the charts. It would, honestly, take a miracle to save any of them.

But... The weird thing was? She actually believed in that miracle. That it might at least exist, even if they didn't get it. Mostly because there was no chance if they gave up. Better to die trying to save the world than live knowing they'd surrendered.

"Nope," she muttered to herself, sitting up briefly only to throw herself back on the bed, letting out a huff. "Ain' thinkin' 'bout that." She could be selfish. Take one night and let it be all about her and Scott. It might be their only chance. "In the mornin'? Sure. But not t'night."

"You're all welcome here for as long or short a time as you'd like."

It wasn't what Rogue had expected to hear, honestly. Not as she'd stood in front of Professor Charles Xavier, trying to be humble but stubborn enough in her pride that she wouldn't entirely capitulate. Yet, he hadn't asked her to at all. He'd looked at her for what she was: an Acolyte without a mentor. And a broken, tired girl who'd been used too many times.

Mystique was a statue.

Rogue couldn't even have pretended to care. The woman deserved it for teaming up with Mesmero to control her. They'd taken over her mind and used her to to break into the Institute to collect powers, attack her own team, and tap the Brotherhood. Then, she'd been led to Tibet to awaken Apocalypse.

Magneto had tried to lead a charge against the risen mutant, but it had ended in his death. Gambit had disappeared back to New Orleans... or maybe to Europe or anywhere the Thieves' and Assassins' Guilds wouldn't find him. Pyro went his merry-psychotic way. Colossus had stayed with her, gone with her to the Brotherhood.

Sure, none of them had been happy to see her, but they also knew that her plan was their best chance. Once Lance had promised his support, the others had fallen in line, too. Together, the ragtag group had gone to the Institute.

If they didn't stand together, they'd die separately.

After a good night's sleep (Xavier, it seemed, felt all of them needed rest -- he'd even given his students the day off from training), Rogue was awake. She still felt exhausted, but Magneto had told her she'd probably need to rest for awhile before she was back up to speed. He'd seen the damage the mind control and draining from Apocalypse had done to her. It was still written on her face.

She'd waited. Listened to the others argue and laugh and actually sound like normal teenagers while the majority of the students and newcomers ate breakfast. She didn't want to deal with all of them. She blamed herself for the rise of Apocalypse -- and the death of Magneto. She could only assume they thought just as bad or worse about her.

This... Well. This was probably the death knell of her strange relationship with Scott.

They'd managed. Not perfectly. There'd been bickering, differences in opinions, and the slight frustration on both their parts that her powers presented. Still, they always managed. A bit of talking, a bit of time apart, a few texts to test the waters with half apologies. They found a pattern and balance they could live with, even following very different ideologies.

But this? The rise of Apocalypse? With her as the key that unlocked his final tomb?

She wouldn't forgive herself; she didn't expect him to.

Now that it sounded like everyone was out of the kitchen, Rogue slipped in. She needed something to eat. A bowl of cereal, a piece of fruit, just something small. Then, well, then she'd figure out what to do next. Maybe hide away in her room most of the day. Or maybe she'd do what she knew she needed to. The Brotherhood couldn't follow a leader who wasn't visible. She had to be seen among the X-Men, her head still high.

She'd lost everything else -- their respect was all she had left. Her position as the person they would look to in this battle. Because it was sure to be a fight none of them would forget.