Disclaimer: The X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics, and they do not belong to me. I am only using them in this little story that I am writing, without their permission.
Although the characters belong to Marvel, they respond as I see fit, so do not match the information with the comics, for everything is completely a work of fiction...
Be warned, all haters of Rogue, this is a story with her taking centre stage...
Also. this is my first try at the writing of F/F, so the input of you, the Reader, will be deemed very welcome. I can therefore be reached at lomas@kimberley.co.za
Thank you very much for reading....

The Homecoming
by Lomas

Part 1

Inside the shadowy recesses of the room, all was silent, nothing moved. The room was windowless and dark, with the scattish beams of light that the ceiling fans let through, the only source of light.

The room was cold and musty, and only the debris of old fires, made by desperate beggars, betrayed the fact that the room had been graced by the touch of humanity before...

At first glance it would appear that the room was empty, with only scattered pieces of old burnt-out boarding lying around on the on the cold, wet floor.

This room only housed the dark shadows of the night, or so it would seem, for in the farthest right-hand corner, the shadow line was broken by the non-moving form of something that lay huddled together, drawn together in a tight little ball...

Closer inspection would reveal this to be the body of a woman and only the dangerously unsteady movement of her chest, along with her desperate rasping breaths betrayed the fact that life still held home within her...

She lay on nothing else but the cold concrete floor, with nothing to prevent the cold from stealing into her bones, further draining the life out of her...

She did not stir, and it seemed that she had been left to her fate, waiting for the cold hand of Death to claim her.

She looked a sorry state, for her uniform, which was adorned with a yellow and green motive, was torn and tattered, whilst about five paces from her, lay what appeared to be the tattered remains of a leather jacket. Her auburn red hair, which was lined with a noticeable white streak that ran through the whole of the auburn, was dishevelled and matted with her lifeblood...

Her lovely face was marred by a ugly purple bruise which was starting to develop along her jaw line and the fair skin of her cheeks were slashed with very faint scrapes. Her bottom lip was split, and from the right corner her mouth, traces of dried blood could be seen, creeping down her chin, over and down her throat. Her right temple was adorned with a ugly raw gash, and the blood from the wound seeped into her hair....

Even in this state that she was in, her stunning beauty was still evident.

The high, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, the fair skin, which showed no sign of being tainted with old age. The elegant straight nose, her perfect jaw line, and her sensual, red lips, which was the hidden desire of many a man...

The woman uncurled and rolled over, until she lay flat on her back, drawing the musty air which was her only link to life, in short, shuddering little gasps. It was cold in the room where she lay, and on the floor it was colder still. Her breath escaped her bruised and torn lips with small wisps of vapour, whilst the whole of her perfect body shuddered involuntarily. Her survival was balanced on a knife's edge, and only she was to decide in what direction the scales were to fall...

To those that know her, she is called Rogue, a ex-criminal who once banded with the Brotherhood of Evil, now a valuable member of the X-Men, formed by the dreams of Charles Xavier.

Being a team is what the X-Men was all about, always watching out for one another, covering each other's backs, but for Rogue, this was not to be.

Now, she was all alone, with no one to watch her back, keeping her safe when she needed it most. She got herself stuck in jams before, lots of times, but this time she was hurting, real bad, within a inch of her life.

Her past, The Brotherhood, has finally caught up with her, and by the looks of her, it hit her hard, real hard.

Rogue, the lone wanderer, has finally come home...

Slowly Rogue tried opening her eyes, wincing at the sharp pain on the right side of her temple and over the whole of her body. All she could see at first was a very hazy image, which consisted of nothing much but darkness, so she slowly let her eye lids fall shut once more, as all of her nerves in her body registered one thing and one thing only: pure pain.

It hurt her to breathe, and she felt as if a dozen boxers used her for a punching bag.

Every muscle in her body screamed at her, and the back of her head beat with a dull throbbing ache.

Darn, it hurts even t'try thinkin'. What the hell happened t'me? she questioned herself, not yet daring to move.

Drawing in a deep breath that felt like the fires of Hell itself, Rogue painfully parted her long lashes to get nothing but a blurred focusing of the world above her, as once before.

Forcing her emerald green eyes to focus, Rogue stared up at the dark ceiling of the room in which she lay. Her eyes still spotted nothing, except small splutterings of weak light, but she could not be sure.

Knowing there was nothing else that she could do, she willed her aching neck muscles to lug her head from side to side.

She looked along the cold floor, which appeared to be something like concrete, but she could not discern much, for the light in the shadowy room was very bad, and not conducive to clear vision.

So much for seeing what's all about me, Rogue thought darkly as she just lay there, labouring for breath. Her mouth was filled with the coppery taste of blood, and this surprised her...but she was not sure why, not yet anyway.

Ain't feelin' too hot, she thought glumly as she chuckled dryly to herself, but stopped immediately at the amount of pain it produced.

Rogue knew she was hurt all right, but her mind was still slowly working away at why this bothered her so much..

Then, her survival instincts took over, and Rogue gingerly set about the task of finding out how well whomever hurt her, did so...

Slowly she commanded her brain to slowly shut out the pain, and concentrate on more important things.

She slowly started by flexing her fingers and the muscles in her arms. She bit down hard on her teeth for the pain that it caused her, but at least nothing seemed to have been broken.

Gently she started rolling her neck on her shoulders, and although it hurt, the result was the same.

So far so good, girl. Whoever did this is gonna pay!

And so she continued onward.

Nothin' seems to be broken, but everything is hurtin', Rogue thought as she moved her feet about.

She slowly sat up, ignoring her protesting stomach muscles.

Once up, Rogue felt a bit light-headed, and she had to push her hands to the floor for support, breathing deeply while she waited for the sensation to pass..

As she waited, she looked around herself once more, as her eyes got accustomed to the light.

She seemed to be in what first appeared to be an old abandoned warehouse building. There seemed to be no visible windows, so the only light that saved the place from total darkness came through the ventilation fans that were mounted high up in the roof of the room.

As Rogue's sense of dizziness passed, she once again noticed the coppery taste of blood that was in her mouth. It started nauseating her, so she spat out the moisture in her mouth unceremoniously next to her.

Not very ladylike, but right now, I don't give a shit, she thought darkly as she glared at the barely visible moisture beside her.

Very carefully Rogue touched her fingers gently to the right side of her throbbing temple with her right hand, and it came away sticky with a substance Rogue could not immediately identify.

She slowly touched her gloved fingertips to her tongue, and tasted blood...

Blood! I aint supposed t'be bleedin', but it's mine, all right. What the hell happened t'me, and where the heck are my powers?

Rogue was stunned, as it finally dawned upon her that she was without any of her powers.

Ah'm as vulnerable as a weak l'ill kitten, she thought in the roaring silence.

Her face twisted with the thought.

And as if the realisation that she was powerless jolted her tired brain, the memories came crashing back into her brain in a violent torrent of memories...

Continued in Chapter 2

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