Chapter 28: The Twenty-Dollar Truce
If life was an RPG, I'd currently be looking for the "Save and Quit" button. Or maybe just a "Load Previous Checkpoint" before I let a girl with power-draining hands touch my soul.
"We aren't talking about it," I said, my voice echoing in the hollow metal of the ventilation shaft like a gavel hitting a block of ice.
"Leon, sugar, you can't just 'not talk' about your soul lookin' like a high-security vault in a madman's basement!" Rogue's voice was right behind me, muffled by the cramped space and the smell of dust bunnies that had probably been there since the school was built in the seventies.
"I told you, Rogue. I'm a person. Not a project. Not a clock. If Xavier sent you here to 'ground' me, then do your job. But don't go diggin' through my trash. Some things are meant to stay buried."
"I didn't go diggin'!" she snapped back, stepping into my personal space. "It just happened! When I touch someone, I take their strength, sure. But I also take a piece of who they are. And honey, who *you* are is... it's scary. Not 'monster' scary," she added quickly, seeing me flinch. "But 'how-is-this-possible' scary."
"Welcome to my life," I muttered.
I scrambled faster, my sneakers squeaking against the aluminum. "Maybe you just saw a very vivid episode of a sci-fi drama I was thinking about. I have a very active imagination. It's a gift."
"Imagination don't taste like ozone and old blood, Leon! I felt your memories! I felt the cold!"
I stopped abruptly, my knees digging into the metal. I turned my head just enough to see her white-streaked hair illuminated by a sliver of light from a nearby vent. "And I felt yours, Anna Marie. I felt the boy in Mississippi. I felt the fear of never being able to touch someone without them dyin'. We both saw things we weren't supposed to. So how about we call it a draw and go back to pretending I'm just a normal kid who occasionally glitches through his mattress?"
"It ain't a draw when one of us is a walkin' time bomb!" she hissed, her gloved hand catching my ankle to keep me from moving.
"That man—he wasn't just a memory. It felt like he was still *there*, watchin' the rerun of your life."
"Great. I have a stalker. I'm not the first. Can we add it to the 'Reasons Leon Needs Therapy' list? It's currently three volumes long."
I kicked my leg free accidentally punching open the nearest vent cover. It clattered to the floor of a dark room with a heavy *thud*. I dropped down like a fly, landing with a stumble that sent me crashing into a stack of chairs. Just my luck.
Rogue landed a second later, silent as a ghost, her boots hitting the floor without a sound. She stood there, arms crossed, the green leather of her jacket creaking in the silence.
"You're deflectin' with jokes again. It's exhaustin'."
"It's a survival mechanism! If I stop joking, I start screaming, and I've already done enough screaming for one semester."
"Leon—"
"I mean it, Rogue. My life is already a 4K disaster movie. I don't need a handler who's also a psychic archeologist. You want to ground my energy? Fine. You want to be my life coach? Buy a whistle and get in line behind MJ, Gwen, Roxy and Liz."
Before she could hit me with another Southern-fried truth bomb, the door to the room creaked open.
A flashlight beam cut through the dark, hitting me square in the eyes. I squinted, raising a hand to block the glare.
"What in the hell...?"
It was Mr. Henderson, the janitor. He was a man who looked like he'd been carved out of a piece of old beef jerky and washed in floor stripper.
He was currently staring at the gaping hole in his ceiling, the shattered vent cover, and the two teenagers standing in a room that was supposed to be locked an hour ago.
"Williams?" Henderson growled, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender. "And... who's the biker chick?"
"Mr. Henderson! My favorite custodian! My captain of cleanliness!" I threw my arms out, stepping in front of Rogue with a smile that I knew looked about as natural as a three-dollar bill. "I can explain everything."
Henderson looked at the ceiling. "Part of the vent is gone, Walter. There's a human-shaped dent in the ductwork."
"Right. See. The thing is... we were conducting an unsanctioned, structural integrity test," I started, the bullshit flowing out of my mouth with the speed of light. "You see, the school board is very concerned about the weight-bearing capacity of the HVAC system during a localized earthquake. We volunteered—as patriots—to test the *mumble* *mumble* *cough* of the air filters."
Henderson stared at me. He looked at the ceiling. Then back at me. "You fell through the roof while lookin' for a place to make out, didn't you?"
"Make out?!" I recoiled. "Sir, I am shocked. Appalled. This is a professional handler-client relationship! We were... chasing a rogue squirrel. A very large, very athletic squirrel. It had a gun, Mr Henderson. A gun."
"A squirrel with a gun," Henderson repeated flatly. "That's a two-week suspension and a report to the Principal."
"Wait, wait! Let's be reasonable! What if I told you the squirrel was actually a shape-shifting mutant and we just saved the institution?"
(a/n: Hmmm, sounds familiar. )
"I'm callin' the Principal." Henderson reached for his radio.
I panicked. My ear started to buzz. "No, no, don't do that! I'll buff the hallways! I'll... I'll clean the gum under the cafeteria tables for a month!"
"Make it two months, and I might forget I saw your face," Henderson said, eyes narrowing. "But the girl has to go."
"Oh, you wicked devil-"
"Hey!" Rogue stepped forward, finally losing her patience. "Now hold on just a minute, sugar."
Henderson turned his flashlight on her. He paused. He took in the leather jacket, the white-streaked hair, and the way she filled out those jeans with a certain... Southern authority. His grip on the radio loosened.
Rogue didn't say a word. She just walked up to him, the heels of her boots clicking on the tile. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill, and slid it into the front pocket of his navy-blue jumpsuit with a flick of her wrist that was pure elegance.
"Now, Mr. Henderson," she purred, her drawl thickening until it sounded like warm caramel. "My friend here has a bit of a creative imagination, but I'm sure a gentleman like yourself understands that accidents happen when young folks get... curious.
Why don't we just say the wind blew that vent loose, and you were the hero who fixed it before anyone got hurt?"
She gave him a slow, deliberate wink.
Henderson's entire demeanor shifted.
His shoulders dropped. A crooked, yellowed smile spread across his face. He pocketed the twenty and tucked the radio back into his belt.
"Well... now that I look closer... that vent *does* look like it had some rusted bolts," Henderson said, his voice suddenly smooth. "A real shame. Good thing I caught it. And you're right, missy. A gentleman always looks out for a lady."
I stood there, jaw hanging open. "Are you serious? A twenty? I offered him a month of gum-scraping! I offered him my dignity!"
"Money talks, sugar," Rogue said, turning back to me and grabbing my hoodie. "And a pretty face sings. Now come on, before he remembers he has a conscience."
"This is an outrage!" I yelled as she dragged me toward the exit. "I'm the hero of the bank! My name has weight! I demand satisfaction"
"Your name has a meme, Leon. Now move your feet."
**Time Skip: 3 Hours Later**
The air in the living room was so thick with tension you could have used it as a stepping stone.
I sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at the pattern on the rug like it contained the secrets of the universe.
To my left, Rogue sat with her hands folded in her lap, looking uncharacteristically demure.
And across from us, standing by the fireplace with her arms crossed and a look of absolute, high-voltage suspicion, was Carol.
"So," Carol said, her voice a low hum of impending doom. "You're the 'handler' the school assigned my nephew."
"Anna Marie, ma'am," Rogue said, nodding politely. "But most folks call me Rogue."
Carol squinted. She stepped forward, her eyes glowing with a faint, golden light that made the shadows in the room retreat.
She walked a slow circle around Rogue, like a predator evaluating a new challenger.
"We've met before," Carol said suddenly.
Rogue didn't flinch. "The Triskelion. A few years back. You were flyin' a jet into a hurricane, and I was... well, I was part of a different team back then."
Carol stopped in front of her. "The Brotherhood?"
"Briefly," Rogue admitted, her voice steady. "Before the Professor showed me a better path. I'm an X-Man now, Captain. My job is to make sure Leon doesn't accidentally phase into the core of the earth."
"My nephew isn't a mutant," Carol said, her voice hardening.
"Maybe not," Rogue replied, standing up to meet Carol's gaze. "But he's leakin' energy like a cracked reactor. And since you're busy savin' the world every other Tuesday, the school figured he needed someone who knows how to handle a power that bites."
I cleared my throat, feeling like a ping-pong ball in a match between two goddesses. "Uh, guys? Can we maybe not start a civil war in the living room? I'm hungry. Is there food? Jesse?"
Jesse appeared from the kitchen as if summoned by a dark ritual. "Dinner is served, Master Leon. Roast chicken. And I've prepared a seat for our guest."
The dinner was... an experience.
Carol spent the entire time asking Rogue questions that sounded suspiciously like a S.H.I.E.L.D. interrogation.
"What's your clearance level?"
"How many tons can you lift?"
"If Leon teleports into a wall, can you pull him out without killing him?"
Rogue handled it all with a grace that made me feel like an even bigger idiot. She ate her chicken with gloves on, which drew another sharp look from Carol, but she just smiled. "Safety first, ma'am. Wouldn't want to accidentally absorb the Captain Marvel powers over dessert. Might be too much sugar for one night."
Carol actually chuckled at that. A real, genuine chuckle. The tension didn't disappear, but it shifted from "I might kill you" to "I'm watching you."
After dinner, Rogue stood by the front door, zipping up her jacket.
"Thanks for the hospitality, ma'am. Leon, I'll see you tomorrow morning. Don't go 'teleporting' in your sleep. I don't want to have to find you in the neighbor's bathroom again."
"That was one time!" I shouted from the couch.
She winked at me—the same wink she gave Henderson—and stepped out into the night.
I looked at Carol. She was leaning against the doorframe, watching Rogue walk away.
"She's dangerous, Leon," Carol said quietly.
"I know," I said, thinking of the soul mirror. "But aren't we all."
Carol looked at me, her expression softening into that deep, untamed fear I'd seen before. She reached out and ruffled my hair. "Just... stay in this dimension tonight, okay? For me?"
"Deal," I said.
But as I went upstairs, my skin started to itch. The blue static was back, dancing under my fingernails.
And in the mirror of my room, I didn't see my reflection. I saw the silver man.
*noise* *More noise* he whispered something inaudible.
I smashed the mirror with a hairbrush.
"Go to hell," I muttered.
I didn't sleep. I just watched the ceiling, wondering when the twenty-dollar truce with my own life was going to run out.
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