X-Men Fanfiction

BONDING

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The last few weeks of training were particularly challenging. The team continued to struggle with a fundamental lack of trust, an essential ingredient for fostering effective collaboration. This hesitation was understandable; building trust is a gradual process, especially within the unique group that Rogue had assembled. Each individual brought their own experiences and backgrounds, creating a complex dynamic. As anticipation grew for their first mission, Ororo had arranged for them to gather in the conference room—a pivotal moment that could catalyze forging connections. With any luck, this meeting would help cultivate the trust necessary to enhance their teamwork.

As the team piled into the furnished conference room, finally, Ororo stood. Her eyes were somber while her white hair lay down her back in a regal braid. 

As the last of the attendees settled into their designated seats, each marked with their name on the back, Ororo took a deep breath and began to speak. 

“Earlier this morning, at approximately eight o’clock, the San Francisco Police Department received an alarming report from a family who had recently moved into the newly developed housing complex on Juniper Street in the heart of Mutant Town.” She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words sink in before continuing. “Tragically, a young girl named Gwen Harrow was discovered dead in her bed when her mother went to wake her for school. This shocking event has raised immediate concerns within the community.”

The room went silent. 

Cases involving kids are always tough. 

The neighbor's daughter, Lydia Moss, is missing.” Ororo continued. “We don’t know if she ran away, was taken, or worse.” 

“Has telepathy been ruled out as a possible cause of death?” Emma asked, leaning into her chair, tapping a finger on the black table. 

“Quick scans show no psychic manipulation. But the police didn’t have a telepath on site with them.” Ororo answered. 

Her gaze fell on Rogue, “The team is to investigate. The patrol team will remain here in case of any escalation. Any questions?”

Rogue shook her head and got her team out the door, ready to earn their keep. 

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As she rode toward the crime scene, the weight of her badge felt both a burden and a badge of honor in her hand. Her thumb traced the intricate design of the City of San Francisco seal, its polished surface gleaming in the light, and the bold X-Men insignia that was etched into the metal. Back in Bayville, the idea of joining the force would elicit laughter and skepticism, as if they were chasing a fantasy. But here, in this bustling city, the mayor was a steadfast ally, always asking, "What do you need?" and promptly delivering support that made her feel like they were making a real difference. The van came to a halt. 

Glancing out the window, Rogue observed the flashing red and blue sirens casting a surreal glow over the neighboring houses, turning their familiar façades into a kaleidoscope of colors. When the van came to a halt, she sprang from the passenger seat, the cool evening air nipping at her skin. With a quick tug, she shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her black varsity jacket. Around her neck hung her badge, glinting in the erratic strobe light, a constant reminder of her role and responsibilities. 

Close behind, Wanda moved with a practiced ease, her vigilant eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger or disturbance. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the distant chatter of officers mingled with the wailing sirens.

A detective with tired eyes and a loosened tie approached them. “I’m guessing you’re the mutant task force?” he stretched his hand out for her, “Detective Mills.”

Rogue shook his dried hands. 

She retracted her hand swiftly, a wave of discomfort washing over her at the thought of making contact with someone without gloves. Even after a year of mastering her abilities, the notion still felt unsettling. She slipped her hands into the warm embrace of her jacket pockets, feeling the fabric offer a sense of comfort. “Rogue,” she said, her voice steady but edged with urgency, “We’re here to offer our assistance wherever possible. If it’s not too much to ask, Ah’d like the opportunity to examine the victim.”

Detective Mills nodded, walking the team toward the crowded house. She ignored the stares and the whispers when she entered the quiet home. Too quiet. Grief hasn’t settled into the tidy home. 

“Lyla, Rowan, and Malakai, walk the perimeter for anythin’ odd. X and Quicksilver walk through the house. The rest of yah, follow me up to the bedroom.” 

Rogue stood at the foot of the staircase, her heart heavy as she watched her team fragment into smaller groups, each person tackling their assigned task. With a steadying breath, she followed the detective up the worn, creaking stairs that groaned beneath their weight. He pushed open the farthest bedroom door, revealing a scene that seemed at odds with the chaos outside. 

Gwen Harrow lay peacefully in her bed. Yet, the tranquility of the moment was starkly contrasted by the vivid and fresh bruises marring the girl’s knuckles. 

Emma, focused, strode past the detective. She placed her delicate fingers on Gwen's temple, her eyes narrowing as she delved into the depths of the girl's mind, searching for any lingering remnants of fear or memory. 

Wanda, leaning against a black spray-painted dresser that had seen better days, crossed her arms tightly as she observed Emma's work with keen interest. 

Meanwhile, Rogue found herself drawn to Gambit, who roamed the room with an effortless grace, his fingers skimming the spines of books and notebooks, as if the answers to their questions lay hidden within the pages. Despite the heavy weight of death that lingered in the corners, she couldn't help but admire the way he moved, absorbed in the search amid the shadows of the dimly lit room.

Emma’s voice snapped Rogue out of her trance and back to reality. “She knew someone was watching her. I can’t get a face.”

“It’s okay.” Rogue saif when Gambit stepped up to the bed, squinting. He pointed at her left. 

“You see this?” He asked, directing his question to the detective.

Mills shook his head and wrote a note to have the photographer take a picture of Gwen’s wrist. 

“This symbol is from a mutant-only nightclub in Vegas.”

Vegas?! How in the hell did this girl get from Vegas back to her bed in San Francisco in a day? 

Rubbing her temples, Rogue sighed. “Alright, well, we have a startin’ point and where to look. We got another house to look at.”

In the living room, X-23 came up to her, saying that something was amiss about the house. Everything was accounted for. There wasn’t a stranger's smell. So, the family knows the killer. Or, Gwen knows the killer. 

Outside, officers followed Lyla down the sidewalk as she tracked footprints while Rowan found bike scuff marks leading to a house a few doors down from the Harrows’ residence.

“Is that the house of the girl who’s missing?” Rogue asked the detective when he stepped next to her. 

He squinted with a nod, “Yes.”

“Then, let’s go.”

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Lydia’s room was a chaotic canvas of youthful energy, even messier than Gwen's. Exercise equipment lay haphazardly stacked against the wall, a testament to her sporadic fitness enthusiasm. A large, colorful map of downtown, dotted with notes and pins, was tacked above her cluttered desk, hinting at her adventurous spirit and plans for exploration. By the bedroom door, several packed bags leaned precariously, ready for an impromptu getaway. When Gambit entered the room, his gaze was immediately drawn to the trash bin beside the entrance. With gloved hands, he rummaged through the discarded items and triumphantly pulled out a smartphone, its screen cracked and SIM card missing.

Rogue told Lyla to join her and the others as they moved cautiously up the creaking staircase. With her heightened senses, Lyla was a valuable asset, far surpassing the combined instincts of the group. Without wasting any time, she sprang into action, carefully inspecting every surface around her. She leaned close to the window, peering through the grime to catch any signs of movement outside. Then, with a keen eye for detail, she lowered herself to examine the floorboards, her fingers brushing over the wood to detect any irregularities or hidden secrets that might lie beneath. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as everyone watched her methodically investigate the dimly lit space.

On the floor, Lyla glanced up at Rogue adn Emma. “She was movin’ fast.”

“Like she was runnin’?” Rogue asked, wondering if she could rule out a kidnapping. 

Before Lyla could confirm or deny, her pupils narrowed to slits. Rising from the floor, she hovered a hand over the windowsill. “Someone else was here.” 

The room held its breath. 

“Two people. Female, who was Lydia. The other was male. Expensive cologne. Leather. And he smokes cigars.”

Lyla’s frown deepened. “Chemicals, artificial. Someone tried scrubbing her scent.”

Okay, so Lyldia could have run; the scene presented here was manipulated to make it seem she ran to get them off the trail. 

“Based on what yer sensin’ Lyla, do yah think she went willingly?” 

Lyla sighed, “Her last steps in the room were shaky. Possibly injured or drugged, but whatever the chemicals are wafting in the air is throwing me off.”

Rogue sighed, “Arlight, there’s not much else we can really do from here. When we get back home, Ah’ll talk to Logan about patrolling to see if his team can find Lydia. While Lyla, Gambit, Emma, Wanda, and Ah are headed to Vegas.”

“I think I can get us in.” Gambit mentioned leaning on the doorway to the bedroom. “I knew people.”

Rogue rolled her eyes, “Fine. If yah can get us in before we get there, that’ll be great.”

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Back home, Rogue walked purposefully down the dimly lit hall toward the strategy room, her boots echoing softly against the cool, polished floor. Inside, Logan glanced up from his seat, his intense gaze cutting through the shadows like a knife. The multiple screens lining the far wall flickered with images of various locations, each one updating with the latest intel. She stepped beside him. 

In the field, Kitty and Amara Aquilla scoured the bustling pier districts, urgently searching for Lydia Moss. Meanwhile, Kurt and Bobby darted across rooftops, teleporting expertly to gain strategic vantage points, their silhouettes outlined against the dusky sky. Sunspot, known as Roberto DaCosta, joined forces with Sam Guthrie—Cannonball—to navigate through the town, their presence serving to calm the anxious townsfolk.

“Trail ain’t too cold,” Logan said, pointing to one of the screens displaying a map. “Jubilee listened to the police scanner. There’s chatter about a girl getting smuggled outta town, could be headed to Vegas.”

Rogue snapped her head to look at him, “Vegas?!”

“Mutant Networks says there’s a private nightclub out there. Big money. Lots of secrets. This could be kidnapping. Blackmail. Or something worse.”

Rogue pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine pulsing at the base of her forehead. 

“Why are ya interested in Vegas?” Logan asked. 

“Our deceased girl, Gwen, had a stamp on her wrist from the nightclub yah mentioned. Remy is on the phone, talkin’ to someone who can get us in and talk with the owner.”

Logan crossed his strong arms over his broad chest. “It’s Remy now? Not Cajun? Not Gambit?” 

She huffed. “Look Ah know yer upset Ah didn’t talk to yah about him joinin’ the team–”

He turned to step in front of her. Logan wanted her to look him in the eye. “He kidnapped you, Stripes! Dragged ya down to New Orleans when ya were vulnerable! And now, ya want him on the team? What happens when he betrays us?”

“He’s on the team, Logan. Deal with it. And if he betrays us, or anyone Ah chose, Ah will deal with it as the team leader. Ah’ll let yah know when we touch down in Vegas.” Rogue gave him one last glare adn then marched out of the room with an annoyed and tired sigh. 

Bringing Re–Gambit onto the team felt like a high-stakes gamble, a calculated risk that left many uncertain. The same could be said about X-23, who bore the heavy weight of past traumas and the lingering effects of HYDRA's conditioning. Then there was Wanda, her own struggles adding to the team's volatility. And Emma Frost—a wild card in her own right—could switch allegiances at a moment’s notice, her icy demeanor masking layers of complexity. Yet despite the inherent risks, Storm stood firm in her belief, willing to embrace these uncertainties to champion her vision for Xavier’s enduring legacy.

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Remy sat on the ledge of the statued waterfall at the center of the property’s driveway. He studied his phone, then dialed one of the few contacts. It rang a few times before someone picked up on the other end.

“Remy! Boyo, long time no talk!” came the familiar Australian voice. 

“Hey, Johnny. You still in Vegas?”

“Depends on who’s askin’.”

“There’s a situation,” Remy started. A bit hesitant about how much he could or would say. John is many things, but he cares. Sometimes. “There were two teenage girls. One dead. One missing. The dead girl, Gwen–” He tried to make it personal, “--Had a stamp on her wrist from club Vulcan.”

Pyro fell silent—a rarity for him.

Then he let out a slow and low whistle, “Mate…that ain’ an easy party place to get into. That sort of info don’ come cheap.” he paused as if thinking, “Although…I might be able to get yo’ into the owner’s birthday bash. Private. VIP only.”

Remy’s brow raised, sitting up straight. “For free?”

“Not exactly.”

Of course, Gambit sighed to himself. “What’s the price?”

The phone snapped to life with pure mischievous glee: “A date with the Scarlet Witch.”

Remy nearly dropped his phone in the water behind him. “You can’t be serious, mon ami, she can fold you in half like a pretzel.”

“That’s part of the charm that I admire,” John said. “You once said friendship was valuable. So, set it up, Cajun or no party access for you.”

Remy hesitated. Unsure how Rogue and Wanda would take the news. “Deal. But if Wanda tries to kill me, I’m bringing yo’ down with me, and your sunglasses will be on my corpse.”

“I’ll send the invites now.” Pyro laughed. “The dress code is sin. Or don’t show.”

The phone line went dead. 

Remy sighed and shoved his android into his pocket. “Rogue is gonna kill me, then Wanda’s going to raise me from the dead and kill me again.”

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The luxurious Vegas suite offered a breathtaking view of the vibrant chaos of the strip below, its neon lights flickering like a thousand fireflies in the night. As Rogue took in the scene from the floor-to-ceiling windows, she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her; Emma outdid herself, and now Rogue felt an undeniable sense of obligation to return the favor. She turned away from the mesmerizing view to survey her team, each member sprawled comfortably on the elegant couch.

“Pyro reached out and said the invitations are valid until 2. We get in and find any hints of foul play, and we get out.”

Her eyes narrowed, sensing something’s off when she looked at Remy. “What?”

“Right…there’s somethin’ y’all should know befor ewe get dressed,” Remy said, avoiding eye contact with Wanda. 

Odd, Rogue thought to herself. 

“In exchange for the invitations…John—Pyro, wants a date—” His dark eyes flicked over to Wanda, ashamed. “--With Wanda. A heavy silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy. Lyla shattered it with a fit of hysterical laughter that echoed off the walls. Malakai, with an exasperated sigh, tried to swat her arm in a futile attempt to quiet her, but her laughter only grew more vibrant. 

Wanda erupted from the couch, her fingers crackling with energy, a violent storm brewing within her. “OUT OF ALL THE—” she seethed, her voice a blend of fury and disbelief. 

Remy leaped onto the coffee table, his reflexes as quick and agile as a cat's, narrowly avoiding Wanda's wrath. 

Emma watched the chaos unfold with a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips, unable to mask her delight.

“In my defense, I did warn him.” Remy tried explaining. “But without him we wouldn’t be goin’ in.”

Wanda pointed a finger at him. “You set me up with Pyro. As of yesterday, he worked for my father. Are you insane?”

Rogue stepped forward, “Please tell me, Gambit, yah didn’t actually set her up with him.”

“...I did.” 

Malakai whistled. 

Emma’s grin grew. “Bold.”

Lyla shook her head, “It’s suicidal.”

Remy shrugged, too afraid to get down from the table. “I think it’s sweet.”

Wanda glared harder, “Fine. Whatever it takes to find this vulnerable girl. But he better not think tonight is the date.”

Seeing as she backed away from him, Remy stepped off the table. “I will make sure to relay that to him.”

“Right, with that out of the way, meet back here in an hour. We need as much time as possible to find this girl or a clue connecting to her.” The room dispersed. Remy practically ran to his room to avoid Wanda’s wrath. 

Rogue walked over to her, “How do yah feel about this?”

Wnda shrugged, “Never been on a decent date since high school. I doubt it will change with Pyro.”

“What if it does?” 

She and Wanda exchanged a look before laughing in unison. 

“Yeah, right. We gotta do what we gotta do to help this kid and the others like her.” Wanda smiled at Rogue. “I promise I’ll be okay. Go and get ready.”

Rogue watched her, thinking, what if. What if Pyro ends up being the guy for her? She thought about it a bit more then chuckled. What on earth is she thinking? Pyro is not a thinker. 

Later, Rogue finished fastening her throwing knives to the thigh of her sleek black outfit, deliberately avoiding the high slit that could compromise her stealth. With a sense of satisfaction in her work, she turned to retrieve her matching silk gloves, which lay elegantly draped over the kitchen counter. As she reached for them, she caught Remy’s intense gaze fixed upon her, admiration shimmering in his eyes.

Heat crept into her cheeks at the depths of his glance, and she quickly averted her eyes. “What?” she asked, feigning nonchalance.

Gathering her composure, she mustered the courage to meet his gaze again, only to wish she hadn’t. He stood there like a dark temptation, clad in form-fitting black leather pants that hugged his frame just right and a black long-sleeve mesh shirt that hinted at the chiseled muscles beneath. 

“Invitations are ready, and so is the car,” Remy announced, his voice cutting through the moment and breaking her from the spell he had cast.

She nodded and turned toward the others, making their way over to her. “We are going to split up when we get there. Lyla, Malakai, and Wanda walk through the house to see if yah can get anything on the girl. Emma, Gambit, and Ah are gonna talk to the owner of Club Vulcan.” Her eyes narrowed, “Tonight. We find this girl even if we have to flip tables to do it.”

NEW RECRUITS

—

Rogue lounged in the newly renovated conference room, her boots resting casually atop a small round table. She gazed out at the breathtaking view of the Golden Gate Bridge, its iconic silhouette framed by a brilliant blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. The sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow across the room. In the corner, she watched Ororo Munroe sit up straight in her folding chair, exuding an air of calm authority. The anticipation of the new conference table and chairs—ordered by Warren and funded by the X-Men’s bank— is expected to arrive in just a few weeks, adding a fresh touch to their gathering space. 

Logan leaned against the wall, watching Wanda put the folders on the table. “This is your meeting, Rogue, you can start us off.”

Rogue took a deep breath, “Yah put me in charge of recruitin’ and findin’ new blood for the depleted X-team.” She opened the top folder labelled Emma Frost.

“She’s powerful and after Jean…” Rogue swallowed the rest of her sentence. No one finished her thought for her. 

Ororo reached for Emma’s folder, her fingers gliding over the smooth surface as she flipped through an array of meticulously organized news clippings that showcased Emma’s remarkable rise to billionaire status before she even hit her thirtieth birthday. Each article highlighted not only her financial achievements but also her exceptional intellect, boasting a flawless 4.0 GPA from the prestigious Massachusetts Academy. It was impressive to note that she graduated with a master’s degree in Business from Brown University. On paper, Emma seemed to embody perfection; however, beneath the accolades and impressive qualifications, an undeniable complexity lingered, hinting at untold stories and struggles.

“--doesn’t work well with others,” Ororo mentioned, flickering her eyes up at Rogue.

Wanda shrugged, “Sounds like a perfect match to me.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Logan offered, “But if she starts anything–”

Rogue smirked, “Yer gonna be nice and apologize?”

“Who’s next?” Logan glared. 

***

                Logan hates New York City. 

                Too many sounds. Too many scents. Too much pollution of all kinds. But today, he took one for the team. Desire his disdain for the city—the things he does for the legacy of Xavier’s dream. 

                When entering the tall glass building, the security guard explained that Ms Frost doesn’t do walk-ins. Logan walked right past him to the elevator. On the 29th floor, he walked out to step right into Frost’s office. 

                She stood by one corner of the windows, arms crossed in an immaculate white suit. Her icy blue eyes watching each step Logan made. 

                “The Wolverine.” Emma tilted her head to the side, “I was expecting you to be taller.”

                Logan smirked with a shrug. 

                Walking past him, she slid into her chair behind her desk. I heard about your student, Jean Grey…I’m sorry.”

                Logan shook his head, “Don’t be.”

                “I should let you know, I don’t do Teams. Especially ones who are looking to replace their prized student and telepath.”

                Spunky, Logan can see why Rogue chose her. “We ain’ lookin’ to fill the void, we need a telepath who ain’ afraid to get their hands dirty.”

                Emma leaned back into her chair, studying him. “Fine. But know, I’m not Jean Grey. I don’t do hope. I do results.”

                “Darlin’, that’s why we need you.”

***

Rogue opened the folder of a familiar face. 

Gambit. 

Logan raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched into his features. His thoughts raced as he considered the implications of this choice. It felt wild to think that Rogue would want him, of all people, on the team. But the facts remained: Gambit was agile, quick, and a face they all recognized. 

“Are you serious?” Logan’s incredulity rang out as he slapped the folder down on the table. “This clown kidnapped you and used you.”

Rogue kept her eyes on the folder, resolute. “We need him. We need unpredictability on the team. And we all know he is a wild card.”

“That can be an issue for us as much as the enemy,” Ororo pointed out, her voice steady and measured. “But I don’t see why we can’t give it a try. We are rebranding after all.”

***

Strom arrived in New Orleans just as night cast its rich, velvety cloak over the city. The air was saturated with the sultry essence of jazz, weaving through the streets like an enchanting melody. The thought of swooping down to the bustling chaos of Bourbon Street ignited a flicker of claustrophobia in her chest. Instead, she chose to perch atop a weathered building, the cool brick beneath her offering a momentary refuge, while her thoughts danced along with the vibrant sounds below as Logan reached out to her.

“Intel says Gambit’s runnin’ a job tonight. With an unexpected guest.”

“Who?” 

“Black Cat.”

Storm exhaled and took off in flight toward a high-rise museum under renovation. Logan sent her the coordinates. Why is it that nothing she deems simple ends up that way?”

She slipped through the open window, the cool night air whispering against her skin as she settled onto the ledge. Below her, the city buzzed with life, but on the 14th floor, all was calm. Just moments later, Remy and Felicia Hardy glided into the room through another window, their movements fluid and effortless, like shadows weaving through the darkness. 

With the grace of a feline, Felicia navigated the intricate web of laser grids that crisscrossed the space, each step deliberate and precise. She approached a luxurious showcase, its glass gleaming in the dim light, and, with a deft flick of her wrist, pried it open. Meanwhile, Remy charged a playing card with his unique kinetic energy, the card shimmering faintly as he held it. With a subtle flick of his fingers, he sent it soaring to the target, expertly turning off the security system and enveloping them both in a moment of triumphant silence.

Tired of watching them work too well together, Storm shattered the window with a gust of wind. 

With his feline grace, Remy pointed his bo-staff in Ororo’s direction. “Storm, can’t say I expected a visit from royalty.”

“You said you were joining the X-Men after you helped your father get back on his feet,” Ororo hummed. “It’s been a few years.”

Remy walked in front of her, while Felicia kept her distance, unsure if Ororo’s there to arrest her. 

“That’s before. And now, Rogue still hates me.” He shrugged, his expression unbothered as he leaned against the bannister. “CAn’t say I blame her though.”

“That may be, but she did ask for you to join specifically.”

Remy swallowed, “Alright.”

Felicia uncrossed her arms, mouth open in shock, “That’s it? That’s all the convincing you needed?”

Smiling, he pulled his thieving partner into a deep hug, then followed Ororo through the front door out of the museum. 

With a voice full of frustration, Felicia shouted after them, “I am not sharing my profits with you!”

***

Wanda decided to change the subject. She opened the final folder. 

Logan and Storm leaned in closer, eager to discern the identity of the last contender. As Wanda read the name aloud, she found herself intrigued by the mystery it evoked: Malakai Winters, a name wrapped in stories of nobility and danger. She was part of a mutation royal bloodline, an heiress born into the Seattle Assassins’ Guild.

Logan arched a brow, disbelief flashing across his features. 

“You’re surely joking,” Ororo replied, shaking her head in exasperation, “An assassin? As an X-Man?”

Rogue shrugged, her expression unwavering. “Why not? She’s got leadership, combat, stealth, and strategy training. Ah don’t see why she wouldn’t work.”

As Logan picked up the folder, he whistled lowly, impressed despite himself. “Kid’s lethal with twin blades. Mutation, high-speed agility…could dodge bullets in her sleep,” he remarked. 

Ororo sighed, “Very well, we all have our assigned mutant to talk to, let’s get to it.”

***

Rogue lingered outside an opulent mansion, its walls enshrouded in ivory, towering majestically above a cold, silvery lake that mirrored the overcast sky. A soft drizzle pattered against her leather jacket, creating a rhythmic melody that blended with the serene surroundings. As she approached the grand entrance, the rich scent of damp earth filled the air. Two imposing guards, clad in dark uniforms, parted like the curtains of a stage, allowing her to step forward and raise her fist to knock on the intricately carved door.  

Just as she was about to, the doors swung open with Malakai Winters, smiling. Her hazel eyes beamed with joy while she took her duffel bags. “You don’t have to waste your time on trying to give me some speech. I’m in.” She jogged down the porch steps and looked over her shoulder at a confused Rogue. “Are you coming?”

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A couple of days after the recruits had arrived, Storm proposed a meet and greet in the gym. She believed it was more authentic to connect with someone while they were sweating and pushing their limits. As the atmosphere buzzed with energy, Rogue lagged, finally deciding to join the gathering. She pulled on her well-worn Ole’ Miss sweatshirt, the fabric soft and familiar against her skin, and stepped into the weight room. 

“Now that we’re all here, let me introduce everyone,” Storm said and pointed to Gambit first, who leaned against the wall closest to the window, fixing his black leggings under his black shorts. Kurt moved to give him a piece of his mind, but was stopped by Rogue’s firm grip. 

Storm gestured towards Malakai, who was casually perched on a weathered wooden bench beside the squat rack. At the same time, Emma Frost focused intently on adjusting the barbell, her platinum hair catching the fluorescent lights above. “We are going to mix things up today. The New X-Men will select an original X-Man to train alongside them. Any questions?” 

Wanda decided to pair up with Rogue. As they approached the bench press, ready to get started, Rogue's phone buzzed insistently in her pocket. Recognizing the caller ID, her expression shifted, and her voice dropped to a whisper, “Gotta take this.”

Out into the cool hallway, Rogue answered, “Ah’m busy, mama.”

“I’m not calling to catch up,” Raven responded, cold as ever. “I hear you’re rebuilding the X-Men, thought you’d like some extra muscle.”

“We’re full. And Ah don’t trust yah or SHIELD gift baskets.” Rogue said dismissively. 

Raven’s voice softened, “These recruits aren’t gifts. They’re family. Rowan and Lyla Creed.”

Rogue stumbled some. She hasn’t seen her little sister in, god knows how long. Lyla wasn’t raised with her and Raven. 

“If they stay as agents for SHIELD, they’ll eventually turn into weapons.” 

The line stayed silent so Rogue could think, “Ah, ain’ brinin’ no Creed here without seein’ them in action.” 

“Fine by me. They’re here at the bootcamp.”

Rogue hung up the phone with a decisive click and strode into the weight room, the smell of sweat and determination hanging heavy in the air. She spotted Logan, his broad frame silhouetted against the clanking weights, intently supervising the lifters around him. With a purposeful step, she approached him, her expression serious. “Ah need to talk to yah.”

Logan glanced at her as he shook his head. “No, you don’t. I’ve got great hearing, darlin’. Heard everythin’ already. When do we head out?”

Rogue couldn’t help but appreciate his perceptiveness, even in the midst of his tough exterior. “Now,” she replied firmly.

He nodded. “Alright, I’ll meet you in the hangar bay.” With that, she turned on her heel.

***

                The black bird, after an hour, touched down in the dry heat of Nevada. Home of Area 51. Go figure, mutants would train here. Rogue rolled her eyes, walking down the ramp of the black bird. Red dust blew over her black boots when Mystique, in a deep blue SHIELD uniform, stepped into view. Teh famous SHIELD patch on her shoulder gleamed under the harsh sun of the Nevada desert. 

                “Mystique,” Rogue greeted a bit coldly. She still, ‘til this day, doesn’t trust her. 

                Logan stepped off the jet, tipping his cowboy hat so his eyes didn’t strain from the harsh desert sun. he eyed the trench tunnels, the repellign tower, the recruits running, and sparring cages. “Smells like home.”

                With military precision, Mystique walked them to an elevated platform overlooking an arena. Rogue put on her emerald green-tinted sunglasses and looked down at Rowan Creed in a circular combat pit, barefoot. Her golden hair shimmered down her back in a long braid while her hands lay loose at her sides. 

                Playful, calm in her movements, her eyes tracked all five of her opponents. 

                Rogue and Logan watched her while Mystique watched them.

The first cadet lunged for Rowan. Lazily dodging, she sighed, bored. She tapped him on the shoulder, then tripped him, letting his momentum send him into the sand. 

“She makes her enemies believe they’re in control... then snatches it away,” Mystique explained, her voice steady as the tension in the air thickened. 

Two more opponents charged at Rowan, launching simultaneous punches. With a quick reflex, she ducked just in time, feeling the thud of one fist collide into her shoulder. The brief moment of pain was fleeting, giving her the perfect opportunity to act. She seized their wrists with lightning speed, expertly twisting and using their momentum against them. In a fluid motion, she flung them into the sand, the grains spraying up around them as they landed. 

A confident smile spread across her face, illuminating her determination as she relished the thrill of the fight and thoroughly enjoyed every challenge thrown her way.

“She fights like a fox,” Rogue said, impressed. 

“More like hunt like one.” 

                The fight over, Mystique took them inside the facility. Deep within its cold walls, she opened the door to a viewing gallery. Logan’s nose pointed slightly toward the air. “Blood.” He hummed.

                Raven smirked and opened the blinds to the fight. 

                Lyle Creed, Rogue’s youngest sibling, had wild hair, fists wrapped, sweat glistening. She stood still against a SHIELD mech. No movement from her until the right time, and she tore the piece of machinery down piece by piece. No mercy. At first, Rogue thought it was nothing but animalistic nature, but as she watched closer, she understood. 

                Logan, arms crossed, leaned on the far wall, whistling. “Kid’s got Creed blood in her for sure.”

                Rogue turned to her mom, “And Mystique’s.” 

                She nodded, standing beside Rogue as she looked at her youngest. “Now you can see why I called.”

Rogue did. 

If SHIELD saw what they witnessed right now, they would use Rowan and Lyla as the facility did with Logan. Or HYDRA with X-23. For a few more minutes, she quietly observed Lyla animatedly engaging with the other cadets before finally exiting the room. Mystique propped the heavy door open, her vivid, iridescent eyes scanning the hall as she waited for Rogue, a sense of urgency in her posture. Once Rogue joined her, they strode purposefully toward the hangar, the oppressive heat of the day stifling any sense of comfort. 

Inside the expansive hangar, a welcome respite from the sweltering outdoors, Lyla and Rowan stood at attention in their fitted all-black fatigues, their expressions sombre and focused.

Rogue approached them, her gaze sharp as she assessed both recruits. “Before we board that jet,” she began, her voice steady but commanding, “do y’all understand who we are? What exactly is our mission?”

Rowan, carefree, shrugged. “Save the world, right?”

Lyla playfully smirked, “Or die tryin’ am Ah rigth?” Rowan gave her a high-five and laughed. 

“Hey, this ain a damn game! Lives are at risk, and if you can’t take that seriously, then you are in no position to be an X-Man.” Logan corrected the,m already acting like they’re on the team. 

Rogue smirked and turned to her mama, “We got this, mama. Promise. They’ll send a postcard.” She gave a mock salute and boarded the X-Jet, ready to get back home. 

—

The original team, including Kurt and Kitty, had settled into their own offices within the newly renovated X-Mansion. In her corner of the expansive building, Rogue was surrounded by the remnants of her new workspace. Her furniture had yet to arrive, leaving her with just a dark, polished wooden desk and a sleek black computer chair. On the floor around her, gun parts lay scattered, glinting softly as she meticulously cleaned them, her fingers deftly maneuvering over each piece.

A soft knock at her door pulled her attention away from her work. “Can Ah help yah?” she inquired, her voice laced with a warm Southern drawl as Logan and Ororo entered the room. 

Ororo, her presence commanding yet gentle, gestured for Rogue to take a seat behind her desk. Without a moment's hesitation, Rogue rose and settled into the chair.

Logan and Ororo navigated the space with care, their movements deliberate as they avoided the delicate array of gun components spread across the floor, each step a dance of respect for her craft.

“Rogue,” Ororo said, her voice steady. “With Scott in Hawaii, trying to cope with his grief, and with Jean’s absence weighing heavily on all of us, Logan and I believe you’re ready to step into the role of a team leader.” 

Rogue blinked in disbelief, her mind racing. “What?” she managed to stammer, her heart pounding as she processed the implications of Ororo’s words. 

Logan nodded, his expression serious but supportive. 

Leadership.

The word loomed over her like a storm cloud, bringing with it a slew of emotions: responsibility, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of fear. As she contemplated leading a team, she knew it wouldn't be about making decisions alone; it would require her to shoulder the burdens of others. If she were to accept this role, she would need a team strong enough to share the weight of those challenges and ready to stand by her side in the face of adversity.   

“Do Ah get to choose the roster?” She asked, her brow raised, nervously. 

                Logan nodded, “And you don’t have to worry about anythin’ here. Yer sole job is to help San Fran PD with mutant-related issues.”

                Rogue paused for a long moment, her brow furrowed in concentration as she contemplated the names swirling in her mind. With a determined sigh, she reached for a pen and began listing everyone she envisioned joining her team. The paper felt sturdy in her hands as she crafted the hopeful roster. Ororo, with her calm demeanor, accepted the list when Rogue handed it over, her eyes scanning the names with a thoughtful expression. Logan leaned in closer.

“Are you sure you can trust some of these people on your team?” he questioned, skepticism lacing his gravelly voice.

“That’s what trainin’ is for,” Rogue replied, her voice steady as she leaned back, feeling the reassuring heft of her chair supporting her. 

A warm smile spread across Ororo's face. “Congratulations. Now, get started as soon as you can.” With that, she and Logan departed, leaving Rogue to reflect in the quiet of the room.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13986793/1/17