Working with Rogue required careful management. Every interaction had to account for her power—gloves always on, distance maintained, flinching at proximity.
It was heartbreaking.
We started in a training room, separated by a table.
"Your power works through skin contact," I began, reviewing SHIELD files and Xavier's notes. "You absorb memories, abilities, life force—everything that makes someone who they are. The longer the contact, the more you take."
"Ah know what my power does," she said tersely.
"But do you know how it works mentally?" I leaned forward. "Your absorption isn't just physical—it's a mental process. Your mind reaches out and pulls in other consciousnesses. If we can teach your mind to stay contained, to not reach out automatically..."
"You think Ah can learn to control it."
"I think it's worth trying. I need to enter your mind—not to control, but to observe. To see what happens when your power activates. Can you accept that?"
She looked skeptical but nodded slowly.
I reached out gently, touching her consciousness. What I found was fascinating and tragic—Rogue's mind was like a fortress with all gates permanently open. Her consciousness constantly leaked outward, reflexively seeking connections.
"I see it," I said quietly. "Your mind reaches out constantly. It's not under conscious control at all—it's like breathing."
"Can you fix it?"
"I can teach you awareness. First step—you need to feel when your mind reaches out so you can learn to pull it back." I focused, creating a mental construct to let her sense her own telepathic emanations. "This will feel strange."
I pushed the construct into her mind carefully. Rogue gasped, eyes going wide.
"Oh God. Ah can feel it. It's like Ah'm constantly trying to grab onto everyone around me."
"Exactly. Now that you're aware, we can work on control. It won't be fast or easy, but every skill can be learned with practice."
We worked for three hours that first session. By the end, Rogue could sense when her power tried to activate, even if she couldn't stop it yet.
Over two weeks, we trained daily. Rogue practiced the mental exercises for hours. Slowly—painfully slowly—she began gaining control. First pulling her consciousness back when she felt it reaching. Then holding it steady, contained within her own mind.
The breakthrough came on day sixteen.
"Try touching my hand," I said, extending it across the table.
"Are you crazy? Ah could—"
"Trust me. I'm maintaining strong shields. If your power activates, I'll feel it immediately and we'll break contact. Just try. Quickly."
She hesitated, then reached out with one bare finger and touched my hand.
Nothing happened.
Rogue's eyes went wide. She touched me again, more firmly. Still nothing—no absorption, no power drain. Her control was holding.
"Oh my God," she whispered. Then she started crying. Great wracking sobs that shook her body.
I stood and moved around the table, and for the first time in her adult life, Rogue felt another person hug her without fear.
She clung to me desperately, crying into my shoulder. "Thank you," she kept saying. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
When she finally pulled back, her face was blotchy and tear-streaked, but she was smiling genuinely.
"This is just the first step," I cautioned. "Your control is fragile. High emotions or stress could make you lose it. You'll need continued practice."
"Ah don't care. Even if Ah can only control it for minutes at a time, that's more than Ah've had in years." She looked at me with wonder. "How can Ah ever repay you?"
"Help me stop Emma. That's all I ask."
"Done." Her expression hardened. "That bitch tried to manipulate me. Now Ah'm going to help you bring her down."
---
The plan was simple in concept: Rogue would reach out to Emma, claiming she'd changed her mind and would trade information for the promised cure. We'd monitor the meeting, track Emma afterward, and locate her base.
What I didn't expect was Emma agreeing to meet in person.
"She wants face-to-face," Rogue reported. "Tomorrow night, Manhattan restaurant. She wants to ensure Ah'm not being coerced."
"She's testing you," I said. "Probably planning to scan your mind. Can you shield yourself?"
"Not well enough to fool Emma Frost."
"Then we'll give her truth she can believe. I'll place a false memory—one where we had a falling out, where you decided to work with Emma from anger rather than cooperation. It'll be surface level, easy for her to find. She'll think she discovered your real motivation."
"Will it work?"
"Against a lesser telepath, definitely. Against Emma... it's our best shot."
I spent the next day carefully constructing the false memory, making it detailed and emotionally resonant. Rogue would remember me refusing to continue training unless she helped trap Emma, would remember feeling used and manipulated, would remember deciding to betray me.
It wasn't perfect, but it was convincing.
The night of the meeting, we had surveillance positioned around the restaurant—Felicia on overwatch with her sniper rifle (tranq rounds, but Emma didn't need to know that), Maya and Elektra ready to follow Emma when she left, Jessica coordinating with SHIELD backup two blocks away.
Through remote cameras, I watched Rogue enter, Emma greet her with false warmth, and them sit for what looked like civilized dinner.
Through my mental link with Rogue, I felt Emma's telepathic probe—subtle, professional, searching. She found the false memory I'd planted and seemed satisfied, pulling back without digging deeper.
They talked for an hour. Emma showed Rogue technical schematics for the promised control device, explaining how it would work. She even offered to install it that night at her "facility."
Rogue agreed.
They left together in Emma's car, Maya and Elektra following. I tracked them via GPS, watching as they drove to... Westchester?
"That doesn't make sense," Felicia said, studying the route. "Why would Emma have a facility so close to Xavier's school?"
"Unless she wants to be close," I realized. "Close enough to observe, manipulate. Maybe close enough to strike when ready."
They pulled into an abandoned research facility—the kind used for mutant experimentation decades ago. Now it was Emma's base, hidden in plain sight.
"Teams in position," Jessica reported. "Awaiting your order."
I hesitated. This felt too easy. Emma was too smart to be lured into such an obvious trap.
Unless she wanted us to find her.
"Hold position," I commanded. "Something's not right."
Inside the facility, through Rogue's eyes via mental link, I watched Emma lead her to a medical bay. The control device was there, ready for installation.
"This will hurt," Emma warned. "But only for a moment. Then you'll have the control you've always wanted."
She activated the device—and Rogue screamed.
Not from pain. From rage.
The device wasn't meant to help control her absorption. It was meant to remove control entirely, turning her power into a weapon that would activate constantly, uncontrollably.
Emma had lied.
"I'm sorry, dear," Emma said coldly. "But I needed a weapon. Once I've enhanced your power beyond any hope of control, you'll be too dangerous for the X-Men to keep. They'll have to lock you up or worse. Either way, you'll be my proof that telepaths are the superior mutants—that we alone can help or harm as we choose."
Through our link, I felt Rogue's fury and betrayal. But I also felt something else—the mental discipline I'd taught her activating, fighting the device's influence.
"Emma made a mistake," I told my team. "She underestimated what Rogue learned. Teams, move in now. We're getting her out."
But as we moved toward the facility, alarms blared. Emma had known we were coming.
And she'd prepared accordingly.