Disclaimer: The X-Men do not, I repeat, do not belong to me. They are the property of Marvel Comics.
This little piece of Fan-fiction is written without their permission, but I gave them their Honour and Glory, so hunting me down will not help much...
All the settings in this F/F is fictional, so if you really find a place called Crescent Park, do not blame me! I do not even life in the US!
Bottom line, this is a story about the beloved Rogue, in one heckuva jam, so....
If you feel that it is only right to have my head ripped off, (most probably what you would want to do) or even if you just want to compliment my story (if that if ever possible), PLEASE mail me at lomas@kimberley.co.za
P.S.
To The Ladies Vicki & Caroline
Guys, thank you for giving me the inspiration to start writing. I may not be any good, but thank you anyway...

The Homecoming
by Lomas

Part 3

A very battered Rogue sat huddled in a cold little corner of the warehouse complex in which she was being held captive. A fresh murmur of pain escaped her lips as every possible joint and muscle in her body protested, screaming against the thoughts of being used...

Rogue determinably bit back the pain that she was experiencing, and willed herself upright. Her ankles and knees cracked savagely in protest at her actions, but she ignored them.

Once Rogue was upright, she took a few moments to get her sense of balance under her command.

She walked forward, cautiously, first testing one leg and then the other to see if it was strong enough to support her full body weight.

Once she was satisfied that she could depend upon her legs, she raked a gloved hand through her auburn hair, and groaned.

At least you're still alive and kicking, girl, she hotly reprimanded herself, so get of your butt and do somethin'. Feeling sorry for yourself aint' gonna help much...

Rogue glanced around the warehouse, intently scanning the room for windows, ventilation shafts, anything that she would be able to use with her escape.

The only opening she saw was that of the ceiling fan rotors, but she immediately discarded that idea. The ceiling was way too high for her to reach, and the heavy rotors would easily hack her to pieces.

It would've been a sinch with mah powers, but Ah guess am on mah own this time.

She walked around the inside the warehouse, probing the walls with exploring fingertips, looking for anything that would give her an exit. The fact that Rogue saw no visible door did not mean she was going to give up that easily.

She found nothing. All she felt was the cold stone, wet and slimy, but she found nothing that would suggest a door of any kind.

As her eyes got more accustomed to the dark light, she noted that although the building had been used as a warehouse once before, via the few old crates that were scattered about, it was now effectively turned into a prison. Her prison.

All of the customary warehouse exits and entrances were barricaded shut with brick walls, and all of the windows were filled up. As she squinted up into one of the ceiling fan ventilation shafts, she noticed that even the back of the inlet was criss-crossed with barb wire.

Even the garage door entrance to the warehouse has been replaced by a heavy wall of solid steel, which shined with a dull refection.

She was trapped here, and she knew it.

She was so intent on the studying of her surroundings, that Rogue almost did not notice the little blinking red light flashing around her neck.

The light was produced by a heavy, ugly, black collar which was clasped tightly around her neck. She was filled with distaste at the sight of it, for it must be the cause of her powers being gone. She glared at the collar darkly as she tried to yank it of her neck, but her hands immediately fell away from her neck when a bolt of high voltage electricity danced down her arms into her shoulder blades.

Rogue gasped at the residues of pain that tormented her already savaged body, but the sensation passed.

Rogue felt like screaming in frustration at being so helpless, something she was definitely not used to, but she held it back, knowing that it would get her nowhere.

Compressing her lips in grim determination, Rogue was sure that there had to be something that she had missed, so she started exploring the walls with her fingertips once more...

She was suddenly totally blinded as the steel wall suddenly and silently slid back into itself, flooding the room with a blinding light.

Rogue covered her eyes with a hand in an effort to see, but it was futile, for the light felt like the sun exploding, barely five feet away from her.

Rogue slowly backed away from the light, squinting, in an vain effort in trying to see. She saw the shape of a man, or something that resembled one, walk away form the light, towards her.

Half-blind, Rogue could not say what the shape was for sure.

The light closed away, sheathing Rogue and her shadowy visitor in the thick darkness once again, but not that it mattered to Rogue, for she was basically totally blinded by the light.

Rogue busied herself with trying to blink the flashiness of residue light out of her eyes, when her shadowy visitor spoke.

The sound of the voice chilled Rogue her to the bone. It was a voice Rogue never hoped to hear, for it was the voice of her worst nightmare, given life, for it was the voice of a Past she hated, a Past she was trying to forget

It was the voice of Asgard...

The enormous SR-71 Blackbird cut through the sky like a black knife, splitting the blue heavens asunder with the sonic backlash that it produced.

At the helm of the craft was the X-Man known as Cyclops, Xavier's second-in-command. To those that knew him, he was known as Scott Summers.

The beautiful redheaded woman that accompanied him was the X-Woman known as Phoenix, a.k.a Mrs. Scott Summers. They were not alone, accompanied by Ororo Munroe, the Wind-Rider better known as Storm for her abilities to bend the Heavens to her will.

They were returning from Muir Island, after being sent there by Professor Xavier to represent the X-Men in a meeting between Excaliber (under the current leadership of former X-Man Nightcrawler), X-Factor (under the current leadership of Forge) and X-Force (under the leadership of the time-travelling Mercenary known as Cable).

The meeting was held to pool the four groups' information on current happenings, especially violent anti-mutant activists who were causing quite a stir in Europe lately. The violence was escalating, and tension was at a breaking point. All of the mutant groups were worried, as the relationship between mutants and man was touch and go at the best of times. They all had to do what they could do keep the bomb from going off, but things were going downhill, fast.

The Blackbird cruised along at a speed of about 0.9 Mach with fixed coordinates for Salem Centre, NY, logged into it's central computers, so there was nothing that the X-Men could do but patiently wait, whilst the Blackbird's engines roared dully in the background..

Thanks to the special gravitational aid pods that Doctor Henry McCoy designed, the occupants of the Blackbird could move around freely, without having to worry about any G-Force resistance that was generated.

"I hope that these new outbreaks can be resolved peacefully, without any power crazed mutant stepping to the fore, trying to subjugate humanity under the rulership of homo-superior once again. The last thing we need right now is another Magneto on our hands," a worried Jean said, airing her thoughts.

"The same goes for some mad group of idiots wanting eradicate all of mutantkind," Scott added. "No matter what we do, we will always be hated." His head drooped with exhaustion. He was in a foul mood, and the strain that he felt was showing.

"Hey now, we have been through tough times before. We'll make it -- trust me, love." Jean answered softly as she stood behind Scott and began kneading down the knotted muscles at the back of his neck and shoulder blades. Cyclops let a soft murmur of appreciation escape from his lips.

"How can you be sure, Jean? How can we be sure of anything, these days?"

"I know because I feel it in my gut, love, and my gut feeling has not let my down yet." She said it with so much conviction and trust in her voice that Scott could not help smile.

"O really, Jean?" Scott quipped, his mood already starting to break.

It was not Jean, but Storm, who answered him. "A woman's intuition should never be discarded lightly, Scott, for it is that that gives us the edge we have above men," Ororo chimed in, her voice overloaded with mock seriousness.

The comment caught Scott so completely of guard that he forgot all about his worries, and burst out laughing, relieving the coiled-up tension inside his body.

Storm and Jean joined him, only too happy to hear him laugh once more.

Jean snuck Ororo a glance of gratitude that spoke volumes, for Scott was not the only one who needed the release. They all did.

"And don't you ever forget that, buster," Jean finished smoothly, sending Scott into a fresh bout of laughter.

They were sill laughing, when the on board comm-link bleeped to life, yet Jean needed no comm-link, for the psychic pain that came from Xavier tore through her, forcing her to her knees with it immensity

"Jean!" Ororo cried as she rushed to her friend's side, catching her lightly in her outstretched arms. "What is it dear? What is wrong?"

"It's Rogue, Ororo," Jean answered in a faint, little voice. "Rogue is gone."

Logan drove his jeep from the High Court of New York, with Jubilee at his side. He was dressed in civvies along with Jubilee, but right now, none of that mattered very much, for both of them were fuming in anger.

The Professor sent the two of them to monitor the court hearing of Victor Creed, alias Sabretooth, and both of them were displeased at the outcome.

It has been no secret that there has been bad blood between Logan and Creed for years, so Logan had his hands full trying to restrain himself during the hearing. He would have liked nothing better than to sink his andamantium claws into Creed's throat, but he was not going to stoop down to Sabretooth's sick levels.

And when Logan could control himself no longer, he exploded with rage.

"How the Hell can they not stick a psychotic killer like Creed in the slammer?! Are the y fucking nuts?!" he growled, his distaste of the verdict. "How the Hell can you postpone a case like that, with the lame excuse that the sonofabitch needs psychiatric evaluation? Psychiatric evaluation, for cryin' out loud!"

"I hear ya, Wolvie," Jubilee added her own scorching remarks. "That bastard should be swinging right now. Damned if I don't want to take his throat out myself."

"Now ya talking, Lee," Logan growled affectionately as he gave the girl beside him a little hug. "Thanks Lee, I needed that."

"Hey, no sweat, Wolvie," Jubilee beamed up at her stocky companion.

It was then that Xavier's mental voice entered her mind.

~Jubilee, Logan, come quickly. I need you here. Rogue is gone. ~

Then just as suddenly as it come, it left.

Logan barely gave Jubliee a moment to brace herself before he floored the accelerator, sending the jeep hurdling forward in a haze of smoke and rubber.

Professor Xavier was seated in his hover chair in the Control Room, along with Trish Tilby and Hank McCoy, awaiting the arrival of the other members of the X-Men.

Hank was feverishly trying to trace the signals of Rogue's comm-link, but he was having no success in his search, and this was frustrating him to no end. Xavier, on the other hand, was connected to Cerebro, using the apparatus to enhance is psi powers. He sent his mind out, searching for Rogue, gently calling to her.

Even though it was difficult for him to enter her mind, she still possessed a "psychic signature," so to speak, and it was that that he was looking for.

He mind swept the Crescent Park Subway System were she was last heard from, but he found nothing, not even the traces of her thoughts.

His concentration was broken as he heard the Blackbird's engines roar to within earshot.

The plane had landed in the hangar, when Jean spoke to him inside his mind.

~Professor, what is wrong? I felt your pain, and it nearly knocked me out. ~

~I am sorry Jean. All that I can say now is that Rogue is missing. I cannot find her anywhere. Meet me in the Control Room, along with the others. We shall speak more then. ~

The young, lean, sandy-haired man roared down New York Main on his Harley and took the off-road to Salem. He was dressed in faded blue Levi's, black leather boots and a white polar neck, with an old, worn brown trench coat.

He did not wear a motorbike helmet, and the winds played through his hair in a soft caress.

He conveyed the image of recklessness, as well as one of untidiness, with his unshaved chin and the old, worn trench coat. Even so, the ladies went mad for him, and he knew it.

His name was Remy LeBeau, a.k.a Gambit...

As he thundered up the off-road, Remy delighted himself in the soft sun playing across his face, the wind ruffling through his hair. His eyes, two twin coals of fiery red bunt into the solid blackness of night, twinkled with delight as he thundered up the black asphalt.

Dis sure be de life, mon ami, he thought as he soaked up the freedom that he felt.

~Gambit.~ the mind voice of Jean Summers-Grey called out to him, urgent with need.

~What de prob'lem be, Chere?~ he asked mutely, sending his thoughts out to Jean, his facial expression puzzled.

~It is Rogue, Gambit. She is gone.~

The Cajun almost lost control of the monstrous Harley beneath him as the full meaning of Jean's words and the feelings expressed with them struck home.

~Merde! Where she be, Jean?~ Gambit cried out mentally, his mind awashed through with concern for the woman that he loved...

The only woman he ever did love.

There had been playthings before, both he and Rogue knew that, but Rogue was the only one he ever truly loved.

~I do not know, Gambit. We cannot find her telepathically, either. Come to the Mansion. All the others are waiting.~

Then Jean was gone.

Gritting his teeth in anger, Remy gave the Harley it's head, and sped off to the Mansion at breakneck speed...

Continued in Chapter 4

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