Welcome

[Pete Wisdom]

Rogue grimaced and glanced at Pete for a plan. "Can they shoot through y'r shield thingamabob?"

"It'll boil bullets, darts, and beanbags, but bugger knows what it'll do to beams, if anything," he called back as they continued their charge towards the car. They dodged from side to side, using every scrap of cover to avoid the torrent of as-yet nonlethal rounds from behind them as best they could. And it doesnt' do sod all about gettin' shot in the back, neither.

"We mustn't wreck the motor, we can nick it and get the hell out of here! Jump over and we'll put these bastards down!" Getting there will be the tricky part, twenty yards to go and those sods will be opening fire any time now. True to form, the hunkered down mibbies crouched behind the fender and boot of the sedan shouted out their defiance. "Stop right there! We've got you surrounded! You can't escape!" They opened up, bolo-guns firing entangling cords and the white-yellow lance of an inhibitor beam stabbing out.

Neither mutant seemed particularly intersted in stopping. Escaping, though, that was still a great idea. Pete leapt for the bonnet of the car, sliding across the hood like Bo Duke from a long-ago television series right into hand-to-hand combat with a surprised Black Suit. "Does your mother sew?" inquired Pete, snarling out a gutter-fighter's favourite phrase. "Well, have her stitch this!" His head cracked down, forehead impacting with the operatives's nose as his comrades turned to assist their stricken compatriot.

[Rogue]

Pull y'rself together, gal.

Another round of bullets tore across Rogue's back, shredding her leather jacket further but bouncing off harmlessly from her skin. They were almost at the car when the inhibitor gun fired again and she had to dodge to the side. Pete slid over the hood of the car, Rogue could hear him snarl something to the attackers. Her hands hit the roof of the car and she flipped over in a move perfected on hundreds of gymnastic practices.

She landed squarely on her feet, crouched down and swept immediately the nearest suit's feet from under him. He fell to his side away from her and she followed, rolling over her shoulder and letting her heavy boot collide onto his solar plexus. The man wheezed, all air knocked out of him and she had time to get upright again and deliver a soft blow to the side of his head to knock him out. They were just mundane humans, despite their arsenal. If she wasn't careful, she would accidentally tore them to pieces.

Pete had broken the nose of another operative, the blood dark and glistening in the pale light. Rogue had taken out one of the men going to help their comrade, but one was still left. As well as the man with the inhibitor gun. Rogue decided that Pete could take care of himself and spun around to pounce at the man with the gun. They'd have to hurry if they wanted this done before the others could join in on the fray, with more inhibitor guns.

[Pete Wisdom]

Pete had broken the nose of another operative, the blood dark and glistening in the pale light.

The two men grappled for a moment, spatters of red dotting Pete’s shirt from the blood dripping from his opponent’s nose. Wisdom grunted in pain as the man in black’s fist lanced into his side, feeling the unpleasant crunch of a rib giving way under the blow. A quick motion of his arm didn’t reveal the splitting pain of a break, so probably just a crack. The dull ache began to spread through his chest, and he snarled in anger.

The shock of the head butt left the other man at a disadvantage, and the MI5 agent followed up his underhanded assault with something else below the belt – literally, as he unleashed a terrible knee to the balls that left the man in black screaming in a foetal huddle on the tarmac of the road.

[Rogue]

The inhibitor gun was a long rifle type of weapon, all shiny metal and complex parts with wires connecting cylinders to the barrel. Luckily to the mutants it was not that fast to spin it around and aim accurately. The man holding the gun was cursing and spinning when his targets suddenly jumped over the car and started wrecking havoc among his comrades. The woman in black leather turned to face him, her teeth bared and green eyes blazing. His hands shook and he fired reflexively, the bolt missing her head by several feet.

Rogue snorted and with two quick steps she was almost at the gunman, the man getting his aim better and the lowering to point at her chest. She raised her hand to swipe the gun away and possibly pummel the man with it.

Wait. Stop.

It's inhibitor gun. If I ain't got my powers... I could have a life. I could have ever'thin I've wanted.

I could have Remy.

The indecision gripped her and her hand wavered. Would it be so bad, just to be a normal woman? To be able to touch and hug and kiss. To feel his naked body wrapped around hers when falling asleep. All the things I've longed for, I could get. Just do nothin'.

Time seemed to be slowing down, the movement of the barrel, the nervous twitch of his finger waiting for the right aim, the curl of his lips when he thought he got her. And she with her raised hand, streetlight reflecting from her leather glove, her eyes gone wide and unseeing, all the fight disappeared from her.

Somewhere, someone was laughing.

[Pete Wisdom]

Wham. Pete's shoulder drove into the man's side as he tackled the gun-wielding agent. Moments before, he'd stared uncomprehendingly as the American woman slowed and stopped right in front of the black-suit with the levelled inhibitor gun. If she gets shot by that, she'll be out of the fight for an hour or two! What the fuck is she doing?

The agent slammed against the metal of the car, the butt of the gun smashing the rear passenger window and there was a crunch of either bits of the car or bits of the agent or both getting bent out of shape as he and Pete fell to the ground in a tangle of bodies. Wisdom scrabbled to get up again, swearing at the agony the shock of the shoulder-charge had transmitted to his injured ribs and turned to face the immobile Rogue.

"What the hell was that? He had you bang to rights, and you just stood there? What's the matter with you, woman?" he raged, as he yanked the front passenger door open and stuck his head into the car, where the driver was struggling to remove a pistol from a shoulder holster.

Red blades blossomed to life, curving like impossibly long claws from Pete's fingers. "Get out, and leave the sodding keys in the ignition, or I will do horrible things to you. On purpose." Pete's face was contorted with a reasonable impression of hideous, insane mutant glee, and the agent decided discretion was the better part of valour and bailed out. He looked to Rogue, shaking her shoulder and motioning to the passenger side. "Get in the bloody car!"

[Rogue]

Then the moment was gone, a body brushed past her, knocking her out of her daze and the man off his feet. The tempting barrel whisked away, Rogue gasped, like she'd been holding her breath for a long time, her heart hammering in her chest. What. What was that there?

Dimly she was aware of Pete yanking the door open and leaning inside, then turning to shake her shoulder. "Get in the bloody car!" Right. The battle. She nodded to him and obeyed, quickly climbing into the car, the bewilderment still overwhelming her. Ah was goin' to let me get shot. Ah was goin' to let me get shot. Ah was goin' to let me get shot. Shot.

Her face felt numb, and her thoughts were sluggish still. She had felt this enormous temptation that no longer made sense and was left weak in its wake. How could she froze in a battle like that? Had she become a liability? Maybe Pete was right and she should leave the X-men. If she'd clamp in a battle with them, she could get someone killed. She could get Remy killed. Her hands were in tight fists and pressed tight against her chest. What is wrong with me?

[Pete Wisdom]

Pete rushed around the front of the car, not inclined to try duplicating Rogue's feat of handflipping over the roof. Filled with relief as he saw the X-Woman climbing in, he leaped over the sprawled body of the bailed-out former driver and threw himself into the driver's seat. Unfortunatly, what started as a controlled leap ended in an uncontrolled sprawl as the buckshot-filled nylon bag of a beanbag round slammed into his shoulder blade.

His head cracked against the doorframe of the car and for a moment or two he saw stars, his vision closing in on tunnels of blackness. "Argh! Fuck!" Heaving himself into the driver's seat he slammed the car door and, despite the fact that everything was still blurry, stamped his foot down on the accelerator. The black sedan tore off down the street, fishtailing wildly before the tires gripped properly and followed by shouts and no small number of bullets.

Soon they'd lost pursit, because the enemy's vans were back in the other side-street, but Pete kept silent, driving grimly for several minutes at dangerous speeds until he pulled the car into a layby by the edge of the river some distance away. The tyres smoked as the car skidded to a halt. He'd ignored the parking lines. And probably wasn't going to put any money in the meter, either.

Maybe this thing has some sort of tracking crap on it? We've got a few minutes, anyway.

Breathing quickly, letting some of the tension bleed out of him, he looked across at Rogue, his expression half-furious, half-incredulous. "What the sodding hell were you doing back there?" He threw the door of the car open and clambered out, waiting for Rogue to do the same. "Well? I thought you X-Men could fight anything? You were about to get yourself bloody shot!"

[Rogue]

The silence of the drive was welcome to Rogue, but despite her best efforts the despair sunk its claws deeper into her. She had failed, and spectacularly so. She had stop trying. Possibly risking someone else's life as well, and for what? For a shot at normal life? Is that what she was becoming, willing to sacrifice others for her own benefit? Was she becoming her mother? No!

Rogue huddled tighter in her seat, not paying any attention where they were going, nor to the dangerous speed and tight corners. Finally the car screeched to a stop and Pete turned to look at her. "What the sodding hell were you doing back there?" Rogue didn't answer, nor indicated in any way that she had heard even if her eyes were open and staring ahead. She didn't move when Pete got out of the car, just feeling the overwhelming lethargy and uselessness of it all. She was finished, she was done for. The show must go on without her.

[Pete Wisdom]

Pete looked around, straining his senses to catch any sign of pursuit catching up with them. He was reasonably confident that the number of twists, turns, and backstreets he'd taken at high speed would shake anyone trying to follow them, but it wasn't impossible that the car had been fitted with some sort of bug. His shoulder ached fiercely where he'd been hit in the back by the less-lethal round, and he flexed his arm, moving the joint with a grimace. At least the arm's still bloody working.

Nearby, the black waters of the Thames lapped at the concrete embankment, the clouds overhead beginning to release their heavy loads as the rain started falling lightly, sending the yellow beams of the still-running car's headlights refracting into sparkles in the dark evening.

Pete came around to Rogue's side and slammed his fist on the roof of the car, making it ring like a gong, and leaving a dent that he didn't care about. It wasn't his car, after all. He pulled the door open. "Hello? Earth to Stripe-Haired-Goth-Girl?"

Maybe she got hit with some sort of gas weapon? Or she's under mind control, or some bollocks like that. This is just too wierd. "You need to get -out- of the car. Hey!" He shook her shoulder again. "What, you've gone catatonic?"

That would just be perfect. Immobile X-Woman stuck in a car in the middle of London. "Hey!"

[Rogue]

There was a loud thump and her car door was yanked open and replaced with a very angry face of an Englishman, shouting at her with his clipped accent. "Hello? Earth to Stripe-Haired-Goth-Girl?" "You need to get -out- of the car. Hey!" When he didn't get a reply, besides tensing of her back, Pete leaned in and shook by her shoulder. "What, you've gone catatonic?" "Hey!"

A touch on her shoulder, dangerously close to the ripped holes in jacket got a reaction out of her. Rogue twisted her body and slapped his hand away, not particularly gently. "Don't touch me!" At least she climbed out of the car. "Don't touch me." She repeated, more quietly and then looked around them. Another dark, abandoned street somewhere in London. Soft raindrops falling on her hair and face, blurring her makeup even further, and hiding any tears she might be shedding. "Look, I'm... I'm sorry. Ah just... "

Just what? Wanted to be shot? Wanted to be normal?

"Failed."

There was no excuses, no explanations that could change what had happened. Still she tried. "Ah'm so, so lonely... an' " Her words got choked and she shook her head, unable to continue. Her actions didn't make sense to herself either, how could he hope to explain them to this hostile stranger?

[Pete Wisdom]

"Look, I'm... I'm sorry. Ah just... " "Failed."

Pete could hear the misery in Rogue's voice but his natural horribleness hardened him to it, at least to begin with. The fact he'd gotten shot while helping to save the seemingly-useless but super-powered X-Woman helped with that. "You call that failing?" he replied angrily, "a total clusterfuck is what I call that. You took the first guy you fought out no bloody problem at all, then stood there like a melon waiting to get blasted. What, was My Chemical Romance playing some anguished suicide song in your head as you waited to get capped?"

Pete threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly as he argued face to face with the skunk-striped woman. In the background, the wail of sirens started up far away, the Metropolitan Police finally alerted to the repeated gunfire by some unconcerned and uninvolved member of the public who just wanted to get an uninterrupted night's sleep.

"Ah'm so, so lonely... an' " Her words got choked and she shook her head, unable to continue.

Pete winced internally. He knew that feeling, knew it only too well, but, he told himself, he'd never frozen up in combat like that. Inside, he felt a surge of sympathy for his companion, but knew that this wasn't something that a quick pep-talk and a bloody hug was going to deal with. And that's not my style, anyway. Damed Emo Kids. What was wrong with the Punk of the old days? Anarchy in the UK?

His voice was harsh, narrowly avoiding unecessary peril will do that, though he tried to acknowledge her feelings. "Right, you're lonely. Right, you're feeling bad. But that doesn't give you any right to throw your, my, anyone else's sodding life on the line because you decide that the world has become too much for you as a mutant, or whatever the hell you were thinking."

[Rogue]

"You call that failing?" he replied angrily, "a total clusterfuck is what I call that. You took the first guy you fought out no bloody problem at all, then stood there like a melon waiting to get blasted. What, was My Chemical Romance playing some anguished suicide song in your head as you waited to get capped?"

Rogue's mouth twisted at the verbal attack after she had tried to apologize. Still, she tried to argue her case feebly. "Ah'm so, so lonely... an' " Her words got choked and she shook her head, unable to continue. But he was unrelenting. His voice was harsh, narrowly avoiding unnecessary peril will do that. "Right, you're lonely. Right, you're feeling bad. But that doesn't give you any right to throw your, my, anyone else's sodding life on the line because you decide that the world has become too much for you as a mutant, or whatever the hell you were thinking."

Rogue's face hardened, while inside she was getting all the more numb. "If'n y' feel that way, y' could've just let him shoot me. I didn't ask to be saved, did I?" She took a deep breath and stared him in the eyes, her own green stare cold and hateful. Maybe mostly towards herself than Pete, but he got the fall, nonetheless. "For that matter, I didn't ask y' to show up in the first place, an' drag y'r troubles to me. For all I know, they could've been the good guys. From what I've heard y're one right asshole an' an assassin to boot. Butcher anyone lately? Is that why they were after y'?"

[Pete Wisdom]

She took a deep breath and stared him in the eyes, her own green stare cold and hateful. Pete didn't seem intimidated by Rogue's cold stare in the slightest, despite the fact that she could kick him through a brick wall if she so chose. "Didn't ask to be saved," he mocked, "the last bloody wail of the person with no argument. Let you get shot, what a load of balls. I don't want you dead or captured any more than I want that for -me-, neither. Besides, after me? You're the one who's immune to bullets. They were blazing away like mad, and they were near your sodding concert." God, and I thought I was a miserable bastard, this bird would win the all-comers no-gratitude whining award for the entire 20th bloody century.

"From what I've heard y're one right asshole an' an assassin to boot. Butcher anyone lately?" Rogue's stinging words made winces pass across his face, then a quickly stemmed flood of anger, and his response was viperish. "Sounds like I'm the 'asshole'," he parodied her accent a moment before returning to his native tongue, "who is the only one who can be sodding bothered to try to make you see sense after getting shot in the back saving your skinny arse." He stared back at her, fuming. "Sure, you're lonely, some bloke's given you the heave ho," and with a personality like this, no bloody wonder neither, "and everything seems grim, gothic, and angsty. Sure, you can't 'get over it' just by saying the words. Blah blah blah."

He made a snapping motion with his right hand, fingers against his thumb, in the universal motion of someone dismissing someone's statements as so much wasted words. His hand reached for his top pocket, pulled out a battered cigarette from the now nearly-crushed packet, stuffed it in his mouth and lit it with a snap of his fingers to create a miniature flameblade. He blew out a plume of smoke, the red tip of the cigarette hissing as a raindrop found it, but couldn't quite extinguish it. Pete's words dripped scorn and sense mixed together. "But bloody hell, it's not worth dying for. Be a -live- miserable bitch."

[Rogue]

They were staring at each others like two angry bulls, stubborn and furious and neither willing to give an inch. "Sounds like I'm the 'asshole'," he parodied her accent a moment before returning to his native tongue, "who is the only one who can be sodding bothered to try to make you see sense after getting shot in the back saving your skinny arse." In other circumstances, Rogue would've been concerned and felt bad, and later she would be when she remembered this. But now there was no compassion in her heart. "See sense? Y' want to tell me what a fuckin' idiot I am. I know that. I know I screwed up, an' what a 'clusterfuck' I am. I know, alright?"

"Sure, you're lonely, some bloke's given you the heave ho and everything seems grim, gothic, and angsty. Sure, you can't 'get over it' just by saying the words. Blah blah blah." He gestured dismissively with his hand, which made Rogue scowl again. "Oh, fuck y' too. Nobody gives a shit how I am feelin', all y'all are just wantin' me to 'feel better' so I am not messin' things up for all y'all. If only I could be a good girl an' not show what a pisspoor excuse for a human I am. Cain't even touch nobody."

Pete got out yet another cigarette, lit it with his powers and blew smoke in disgusted manner. "But bloody hell, it's not worth dying for. Be a -live- miserable bitch."

"I wasn't tryin' to - " Rogue stopped and glared at him. "That's rich, comin' from y' with y'r cancerstick at hand. Fuck off."

[Pete Wisdom]

He gestured dismissively with his hand, which made Rogue scowl again. "Oh, fuck y' too. Nobody gives a shit how I am feelin', all y'all are just wantin' me to 'feel better' so I am not messin' things up for all y'all. If only I could be a good girl an' not show what a pisspoor excuse for a human I am. Cain't even touch nobody." Rather than being insulted by Rogue's use of extra swearwords, though his scowl didn't get any less, Pete didn't seem to get riled up by the increased assertiveness. The sound of sirens was louder, though there was little chance of the police tracking down the pair after their breakneck race through the narrow streets of the Isle of Dogs.

"I don't care if you feel better," Pete lied, blowing smoke out with each puff on his cigarette, "but you can be as miserable as you like without being a total fuckup." Rogue stopped and glared at him. "That's rich, comin' from y' with y'r cancerstick at hand. Fuck off." He tilted his head, blew a smoke-ring. "And if you're seriously comparing risking cancer with standing in front of a sodding inhibitor gun wiggling your bum in anticipation and squealing 'oh, shoot me now', then you can get knotted."

The rain started to get heavier, the wind lessening as the fat droplets fell into slowly-forming puddles on the tarmac of the layby, and splashed into the river close by with the sound of water on water. Pete's hair began to dampen, and plastered itself to his forehead as he flicked up the collar of his raincoat to catch errant drops.

[Rogue]

The sirens were wailing louder, although not seeming to come towards them and so Rogue paid them no attention. The rain dripped down her face, and matted her hair in messy tangles. On her back the wetness was seeping in through the holes in her jacket, which didn't make her feel any better. Problem was, Rogue didn't have any smart retorts to throw at him, no clever quips. Nothing to hurt him back the way he was tearing into her.

If Pete could look any more irritating, she didn't know how. Just standin' there puffin' his goddamn cigarette in the rain like it ain't botherin' him at all, like nothin' bothered him at all. She had been completely wrong about him and Kitty. She and Pete shared nothing. He was just a coarse, awful man and in this moment she hated him with fury. How dared he stand there and tell her these things. He was a bad man.

"Whatever. It's not like y' could get it. Y'd need a heart to understand. If only y'd have ever suffered like I have, y'd know. But y' never will, 'cuz y'd need to actually give a damn about somebody first, an' heaven forbid, love someone."

[Pete Wisdom]

Pete watched as the rain washed Rogue's makeup into streaks that formed small lines on her cheekbones. Standing here, in the sodding rain, with a panda-faced 'superhero' that has more issues than Michael bloody Jackson. Jesus, what a life. The car behind them beeped as the motor cut out after too long idle, the lights staying on but the rumbling grumble of the engine stopping. The noises now were just the splash of the river, the sounds of the city around them, and the argument.

"Whatever. It's not like y' could get it. Y'd need a heart to understand. If only y'd have ever suffered like I have, y'd know. But y' never will, 'cuz y'd need to actually give a damn about somebody first, an' heaven forbid, love someone."

His eyes widened slightly and he leaned back a fraction with the sudden hurt her words provoked, and then narrowed with barely-restrained anger. All the pain of years gone by, all the lives taken, the loves lost, the costs of doing right, all of that surged up inside him. Never given a damn about anyone? Never loved anyone? How dare you? He made one last effort. "Love someone? That's rich. You can't even love yourself," he mocked. Then the anger produced Rogue's words roared up inside him like a flame, burning away the willpower he had left to kept him arguing. His lip curled as his own hurt pain made him lash out with a sneering comment. "But I guess you'll be getting a lot of practise at 'self loving', lonely girl." As soon as he'd said it, he regretted it, but the words were out and could not be taken back.

He looked at her angrily, and snarled out a dismissal. "I'm done trying to help your sorry arse out. Now I've got work to do cleaning up your bloody mess." He took a last drag from his cigarette, then discarded it to the ground, crushing the red-glowing tip under his heel. It hissed briefly as it was extinguished on the damp tarmac. "Piss off back to the States and whine there." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the universal 'on your bike' gesture and turns away from her to walk around to the driver's side of the car, pulling a mobile phone from his pocket with his right hand.

[Rogue]

Maybe anger had been what she had sought. If so, she succeeded. "Love someone? That's rich. You can't even love yourself," [Pete] mocked. It was true, she certainly hadn't loved herself lately, and didn't think she ever would again. It made her stomach clench painfully. Pete took his silence as go ahead for more insults. "But I guess you'll be getting a lot of practise at 'self loving', lonely girl."

Rogue stared at Pete with eyes widen and mouth opened. He hadn't just... He had. The words stung. A lot. Too much. All the more since bar those few happy days with Remy she had never even been intimite with anyone. She flushed with a shame, her words getting strangled in her throat.

"Piss off back to the States and whine there."

Rogue looked like she was about to break down, break down further. Break down completely. Rain hit her in the face, tasting of salt and pain and regret. London was not far enough. To get away from her heartache she'd have to go further, much further. Disappear from the map.

She took flight, soaring into the sky blindly and narrowly missing the corner of the building. She accelerated fast, as fast as she could, feeling the speed was the only way to escape from total melt down. Run.

Run.

Run away.

Don't look back.

[Pete Wisdom]

And with that, the past!thread is done. Thanks to Rogue for exploring all that emo with me over the last several months, and explaining how, even Pete Wisdom can have a positive effect on someone's personality.