Down-Home Charm Photo Album Songbank Fan-Fiction History Books Fan Art Miscellania Links
Fan-Fiction >
Post-Claremont >
"The Archetype Association"

The Archetype Association

Author's Notes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49


"All right, Archetype," Xavier asked ten minutes later, "just how did you know you were fighting robots?"

His reply was a cold smile. "Maybe I didn't."

"I don't buy that," Logan cut in. "Obviously, if you wanted to kill any of us, you could've done it days ago. You were proving a point."

Archetype's face took on a sheepish expression. "Not really. I was irritated more than anything else. I had been preparing myself for days to use my abilities to alter the psychological perceptions of my opponents. My initial attacks were designed to simply tag each of you so that I could keep track of where you were."

"And when you did that," Ororo said, "you found out that your opponents were mechanical. How did you do it? Our androids are based on SHIELD technology. They're the most state-of-the-art products on the planet."

"I don't doubt that they are," Archetype replied, "but as good as they are, they're still not alive."

"You can tell whether or not something's alive?" Henry asked him.

"Yes. I had a good idea that they weren't alive before I made my attack. The strikes simply confirmed what I already knew." He became thoughtful for a moment. "Remember what I told you about seeing things at many levels at once?"

"Yes," Ororo replied. "I do much the same thing myself. I perceive the natural forces which comprise the weather as patterns of energy."

"Really?" Archetype replied, one eyebrow going up. "We might want to compare notes later. In any case, I can look at a person and 'see' certain things about them. I see them not as a person, but as a pattern of energy. I can get a general idea of their mental state and physical condition. When I looked at you - or rather, your duplicates - in the Danger Room, I didn't see anything. At that point, I realized that none of you were real. I therefore felt justified in using some extreme measures."

"'Extreme'?!" Scott said in a rather sarcastic voice. "If those had been real people, it would have been a massacre!"

"But they weren't real people," Archetype replied calmly, "and I knew that when I did it. If they had been real people, I would have used non-lethal, and probably non-violent, means of resolving the conflict."

"Such as?" Hank prompted him.

Archetype brooded for a moment. "Can I have a volunteer?"

Rogue shrugged. "Sure. I'll bite. How do you want to do this?"

"Let's make it a simple game of endurance. Last one on their feet - or in the air, in your case - wins."

"Okay. Hank, can you set us up an environment?"

"Any preferences?"

She thought about it for a moment. "How about Wundagore?"

Henry nodded. "No problem. Head on down. It'll be ready by the time you get down there."

They both went down in the elevator. As they descended, Archetype spoke up. "Just how much punishment can you take, Miss Rogue?" he asked, with a touch of concern in his voice.

"Do your worst," she replied. "If I can take a punch from the Juggernaut, than I can handle anything that you can dish out."

He nodded as the doors opened and they stepped out into a frozen ruin. "Impressive," he noted, turning around as he surveyed the stark, crumbling walls of what was once the base of operations for Magneto. "Does ten paces of distance seem fair to you?"

"Fair enough," she replied. As she started walking off the distance, she told him over her shoulder, "Don't worry, I'll be pulling my punches."

"I would prefer if you didn't do that."

"Oh? Why?" she asked him, turning around. He stood there before her, a shadow on the snow.

"Because I'm not," he told her.

And disappeared.

Uh oh, she thought.

Better get airborne. She floated about a meter above the ground. After a moment of looking at her options, she decided to back up against a sheer rock formation, which would allow her to see him from any direction.

She waited there for about a minute, with no sign on him. After a while, she began to get nervous. She knew he was watching her (which, in other circumstances, she decided, would not be an unpleasant experience), but she didn't know where he was. After a while longer, she decided that it might be best to draw him out so she could take him on her terms.

"All right," she said loudly, "when are you gonna..."

She never got a chance to finish the sentence. She felt something grab her from behind and jerk her back. There was a moment of blackness, and she suddenly saw the ground coming up fast.

She was able to stop her momentum, but only barely. She floated about a foot above the ground, still facing the snow. "You're gonna have to do better than..." Again she was interrupted by the shock of feeling a foot kick her in the rear.


She got up quickly, sputtering through a face full of snow. She looked wildly around her. "Where are you, you... you Yankee!"

"Aw," she heard behind her in a taunting voice, "don't tell me I went and got you mad."

She spun around, finding Archetype not ten feet in front of her, sitting on a rock. "Come on," he continued, "I heard you people were supposed to be good." He stood up, hands outstretched. "You've got to be able to do better than that. Tell you what," he said, "I'll even turn around," doing so.

Rogue refused to get angry the way Ororo had. Don't lose your temper. He uses that against you. Keep calm. She hovered about six inches in the air, and tried to tackle him. Before she reached him, however, there was a flash of light, and she found herself heading straight towards the boulder, which she shattered with her impact.

"Oooh," Logan said, "that's gotta hurt."

For the next forty minutes, Rogue wore herself out chasing Archetype all over the Danger Room. He would occasionally send her straight into a rock, causing a fair amount of damage to the surrounding landscape in the process. Xavier and Logan, who watched from the observation booth (Scott had left several minutes earlier, saying that he didn't appreciate the kinds of games Archetype played), looked at one another.

"He's just going to keep dodging her until she drops," Xavier said.

Logan shook his head. "I'm not so sure. I think he's planning something."

A few minutes later, Rogue stood panting as Archetype stopped teleporting about the room. "Hold still, damn you," she told him.

"And let you turn me into chunky salsa? I don't think so." Then he sighed. "I think we've both had enough, anyway. It's time to finish this up."

Xavier and Logan had trouble determining just what happened next. For about five seconds, Rogue appeared as if she would if she were being illuminated by a strobe light: flickering away, then returning in a heartbeat. When her form stabilized again, she dropped to the ground, limp as a rag doll.

Archetype walked over to her fallen form and gently, almost tenderly, picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He then looked up at Xavier.

"Stick a fork in her," he said. "She's done."

A few minutes later, Rogue awoke to find Jean standing over her. "Rogue, are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said groggily, "I'm fine. What happened?"

"That's what I wanna know," she heard Logan say from behind her. She turned around to see him pinning Archetype to the wall, his right hand extending a claw on either side of his neck. Archetype, however, seemed totally undisturbed.

"Miss Rogue," he said politely, "would you be so kind as to inform this gentleman that you have come to no harm?"

"I'm fine, Wolvie, really," she assured Logan. "Let him loose." Logan seemed disbelieving, but he retracted his claws and released Archetype, who dusted himself off.

"As I was in the middle of saying," he said as if picking up where he left off, "what I did was teleport Rogue back and forth to the same place several times in a very short duration. A single teleport leaves a person somewhat disoriented. Multiple teleports have a cumulative effect, and are manifested as extreme fatigue. This effect, however, is temporary, and there is no lasting aftereffect. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Rogue said, yawning. "what do I do now?"

He shrugged. "I'd advise taking a nap. The others, however, might want to give you a physical first."

Rogue looked at Xavier. "Well, Professor? Should I have Hank give me a once-over?"

Xavier shook his head. "I don't think it'll be necessary right now. He can look at you after you get up. Go get some rest."

"I'll take your shift for tonight," Logan informed her. "Take the night off."

She nodded and got up unsteadily. Archetype looked at Xavier. "All those transitions tired me out as well. Mind if I hit the sack, too?"

"One question before you do," Xavier replied. "How did you make all those dimensional transitions so quickly?"

"I dilated my time sense, the same way I did when Mister Worthington startled me awake."

"You seem to be under the impression that we've been comparing notes on you."

"Why shouldn't I? Pooling and coordinating your intelligence would be the most effective way of learning about me." He yawned again. "I could really use that nap, Xavier."

"All right. We'll hold off on the debriefing until tomorrow. Hank and I will probably be up most of the night trying to figure out just what happened here, anyway. You're both off duty until then. Go get some sleep." Rogue and Archetype both nodded weakly and clomped out of the room.

"Apparently, what he just did took a toll on him," Henry said . "He's hiding it well, but he's about to drop."

"Any idea why?" Logan asked.

"He told us himself before, remember? Without sufficient preparation, using some of his abilities drains his life energy. He told me that a brief nap tends to take the edge off that, provided he gets it in time."

"I have to admire his strategy," Xavier noted. "He doesn't have the physical strength to take down Rogue in combat, so he whittled down her strength gradually, then used those multiple teleports as a final blow - all without causing her any physical harm."

"Would that work against someone like Juggernaut?" Logan asked.

Xavier thought about it. "Against Cain? It just might be the only non-psionic attack that would work... provided that Archetype is capable of teleporting someone of his size. We should test that in a future training session... as well as the possibility of his tracking another teleporter, such as Kurt. We'll talk about it after dinner."

Rogue and Archetype, meanwhile, had staggered into the elevator, and were on their way back up to the mansion itself. "I'd like to apologize, Rogue," he informed her.

"About what?"

"I was a bit more... aggressive in that session than was warranted. There were alternatives to what I did to you, but I didn't think them through."

"Don't worry about it. We all tend to get pretty down-and-dirty when we're in the Danger Room. We have to be. Anybody we fight isn't going to pull any punches, and we have to be prepared for that."

Archetype bit his lip, an expression which Rogue thought rather cute. "Still," he said, "I'd like to make it up to you." He paused again, looking uncertain, a pose which did not suit him. "I'm going to an art exhibition at a gallery in Greenwich Village tonight. There's going to be an informal party where guests meet with the curators and artists. I was planning on eating afterwards." He paused again. "Would you be interested in joining me?"

She smiled. "I'd love to. What time were you planning on leaving?"

"That would depend on how you want to get there. It'll probably take us about an hour if we drive, but I can teleport us there instantly."

"I think I've had enough teleportation for one day. Can you do that distance compression again?"

He shook his head. "The more developed the area, the more difficult it gets. New York City would be almost impossible."

"Why don't we travel my way, then? We'll fly."

He tilted his head slightly, considering it, then nodded. "All right. How long would it take you to get there?"

"About half an hour if I'm carrying someone. I could go faster, but it wouldn't be very comfortable for you."

"Why don't we leave at about seven-fifteen, then?" he suggested. "That should leave us some margin for error."

"All right. What's the dress code?"

"Dress shirt and tie for me. It'll be an artsy-type crowd. You could get away with almost anything. I'd suggest something you could wear at a nice restaurant."

"No problem. I'll knock on your door at seven."

He smiled. "Uh uh. I'm the one who's supposed to knock. Your job is to stagger me with your beauty when you open the door. It's in the rules, someplace."

Rogue smacked her head. "Oh, that's right. That's right up there with the one that says you're paying for the whole thing, right?"

He shrugged. "I'm the multibillionaire. I thought that went without saying. See you at seven, then?" he asked her as the elevator doors opened.

"Wouldn't miss it."

After informing Xavier via intercom that she and Archetype would be off the grounds for part of the evening, Rogue flopped into bed, and slept until five forty-five. She then took a shower, styled her hair, and decided on an Indian print broomstick skirt over black leggings, coupled with a white blouse, a blue paisley vest, black high heels, and a cameo pin. Not bad, girl, she told her reflection. She then put on her makeup, deciding on green eye shadow and deep red lipstick, applied a dab of her favorite perfume, then grabbed her purse and packed a hairbrush, the makeup, a small mirror, and a bit of money to cover emergencies. She then put on her best pair of black gloves. Looking at her watch, she saw that she had about three minutes to spare. She checked herself one more time, then sat on her bed and waited.

Two minutes later, there was a knock on her door. She got up, took a deep breath, then opened it.

Archetype stood there, wearing a charcoal jacket with black pants and a white shirt. His only concessions towards color were a vest which had a zig-zag pattern of blue and red stripes, and a bolo tie which had a lapis lazuli bird on the catch. His hat hung on the cane in his left hand. He slowly looked her up and down. "That is a lovely outfit, Miss Rogue," he said softly.

Rogue couldn't help blushing slightly. "Thanks," she said. "I don't get a chance to dress up often."

"Then I will inform you that the effect is stunning." He crooked an elbow out to her. "Shall we be on our way?" Smiling, she linked her arm with his, and they descended the stairs to the foyer.

When they reached the first floor, they noticed Warren talking on the phone. "My," he said, looking up, "don't we look distinguished." Archetype bowed slightly to him as he walked by. "See you two later," he called as they went out the door.

"Any warnings for me before liftoff?" Archetype asked her.

"Just hang onto your hat," she said, picking him up.

"Is there some link between mutations and bad puns that I'm unaware of?"

"I don't understand the question."

"Never mind."

"Tell me if I'm going too fast for you," she advised him, and took off. Once they reached what she considered a suitable altitude, she headed in the general direction of New York City. Archetype, for his part, looked at the surrounding countryside.

"Mind if I ask you a question?" she queried.

"What, like I'm going to say no at this height? What is it?"

"What do we call you besides Archetype?"

"You can call me Will, though I'll answer to Liam."


"It's Gaelic for William."

"Oh. What will they be calling you at this party?"

"Probably Mr. Riley. I've been showing up at art exhibits in New York for the past six months. I wanted to establish a network of people in the city who could attest to my identity if I ran into any problems with the X-Men."

"What sort of problems?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, if you choose not to accept me as a member, I'm shit out of luck, aren't I? I wanted something to fall back on in that event. I'm hoping it doesn't become necessary, though."

So do I, thought Rogue. She remained silent until they came close to the Greenwich Village area. "Should we land anywhere in particular?" she asked him.

He looked around. "How about that dark area over there?"

"Okay." They settled to earth in an area where the streetlights were in disrepair.

"Let's see," he said, putting on his hat and glasses, "now just where are we?" He walked to the nearest corner, came back. "It's about fifteen minutes walk thataway," he told her, gesturing with his cane.

"That's not another club you're carrying, is it?" she asked.

"What? Oh, the cane. No, this one is a sword cane." He held his right arm out for her again. She linked arms with her again and they started walking.

"You're right handed, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Why do you have me stand on your right, then?"

"Because the street's on my left."

"I don't understand."

"The general rule is that a gentleman is the one closer to the street, so he can be the one to take the majority of any dirt that may splash up from the street. It's a tradition that dates back from the days of horse-drawn carriages."

"Oh. I never knew there was a reason."

"That's what comes of being a history major."

"I thought you had a chef's degree."

"I have a bachelors in history, too."

She nodded. "Where will we be eating?"

"It's a surprise. We make a left here."

She was silent for a few minutes. "Why did you decide to leave Ireland?" she asked suddenly.

He didn't answer for several moments. "I'm often torn between love and disgust for Ireland. I can't stay there for very long."


"Ireland has been divided for eight hundred years over the subject of religion. As a result, Ireland is now so rabidly Catholic that hardly any dissent is tolerated. Imagine an entire country run like a Catholic school in the 1950s. I think that both Ireland and Northern Ireland would have been better off if both countries had established secular states after the revolution, rather than making their respective faiths part and parcel of the governments. Well, enough rambling. Here we are."

"Here" was a three-story brownstone, from which soft music could be heard. "Should I call myself anything in particular?" she asked him.

"Nah. There are enough eccentrics here that a beautiful young woman who calls herself Rogue won't be looked at twice... except for the obvious reasons." Rogue found herself blushing again.

They walked in to find a small group of about twenty people talking idly. Paintings and sculptures lined the walls of the room. A small table, stocked with cheese, crackers, and a collapsible bag of white wine, stood in one corner.

"Will this be too crowded for you?" she asked him quietly.

"Actually, this is about right for me," he replied. "The noise level is just where I like it, too." He scanned the perimeter of the room. "Shall we go look at the pretty pictures?" She giggled and followed him.

Rogue didn't know much about art, but she did know that she didn't have a clue of what most of the stuff she was looking at was. "Do you have any idea what this is supposed to be?" she asked him, looking at one particular sculpture that defied description.

Archetype looked closely at the tag on the wall. "Criticism Number 7," he said. "Looks more like Mental Constipation Number Nineteen." Rogue had to stifle her laughter.

The upper floor held some works that they both found more accessible. "Oh, this one's gorgeous," she exclaimed, gazing at a small bronze sculpture of a stag which carried a lithe, naked woman whose hair flowed back behind her.

Archetype looked at the tag. "It ought to be, considering what she's charging for it. I have to admit, though, it's a very nice piece. I'll be right back," he said, and walked off into the crowd. He returned a few minutes later. "I thought so," he said.

"Thought what?"

"She got the idea for this in a dream. These images are right out of the collective unconscious."

"Are they?"

He nodded. "The woman is the Earth Mother, or Great Goddess, and the stag is a symbol of the Horned God. It's right out of Celtic myth. What's that one over there?" he asked, looking at another painting. Rogue followed, her eyes gazing at the stag one last time.

About half an hour later, Archetype asked her if she was getting hungry. She said yes, and started towards the door. "Catch up in a moment," he told her, as he headed back towards the crowd. Rogue just shook her head and headed outside.

Five minutes later, he came out, holding a box in his hands. "What's that?" she asked him.

"A surprise," he informed her. "I'll tell you during dinner. There anywhere you're fond of around here?"

"Not really. I'll eat anything, to be honest. How about you?"

He thought for a minute. "There's a very good coffee shop about five blocks away. They have a good dinner menu, and they're open all night."

"Sounds good to me," she said. "Let's go."

Twenty minutes later, Rogue was tearing into a delicious three bean salad as Archetype munched on lemon chicken. "Want a piece?" he asked her.

"Yes, please." She looked at him. "Why don't you eat very much?"

He smiled. "You're basing your perception on the fabled mutant metabolism. My metabolism is pretty slow, so I have to watch what I eat. Besides, I'm saving my appetite for dessert." He was true to his word, ordering a chocolate peanut butter cheesecake along with a raspberry steamed milk, while Rogue had a cafe au lait with an apple tart.

When they were both finished, Rogue leaned back in her chair. "Okay, what's the surprise?"

"Boy, you're impatient, aren't you?" he said teasingly as he handed her the box. "Open it."

She untied the string and opened the box. Inside, wrapped in a felt cloth, was the stag sculpture she had seen in the gallery. She gasped. "How much did you pay for this thing?"

"It doesn't really matter," he replied. "I'm made of money, Rogue. I couldn't go bankrupt if I tried. The interest on what I have tied up in investments alone makes me a very rich man. If I can use a little bit of my money to help my friends, then where's the harm?"

"But you paid for it," she protested. "You should keep it."

"Tell you what," he said. "Let's compromise. You said that your tailor from hell in the basement of the mansion could duplicate non-living matter, right?"

"Right. We use it to make most of our high-technology equipment."

"Well then, a little bronze statue shouldn't be any problem, should it? When we get back, we'll make a duplicate of this, exact to the tiniest detail. I'll keep the original, and you keep the copy."

"Deal," she said, smiling.

Archetype looked at his watch. "Speaking of the mansion, we should get back there. It's getting late. What do you say to getting back my way?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Fine, then. Check, please!"

Half an hour later, they were in the elevator of the mansion, heading up from the basement, each holding their own statue. As they stepped out onto the residential floor, Rogue turned to Archetype. "I had a great time... Will," she told him. "Should I let the others know that you want to be called that?"

"Why not?" he replied as they walked towards her room. "At least it'll avoid the inevitable degradation of my code name to 'Archie'. And I had a great time, too."

"By the way, why did you drop the 'Miss' earlier tonight?"

"I call professional colleagues by 'Mister' and 'Miss'. I refer to friends by their names."

"But you have to know that Rogue isn't my real name."

"I know that it's not the name you were born with. People have at least three names in their lives, Rogue: the name they're born with, the name they choose for themselves, and the name they earn for themselves. You chose to be called Rogue. Who am I to argue with that? I wasn't born with either the names of Archetype or William Riley. I chose them for myself, so why should I deny you the same right?"

When they reached her door, Rogue froze momentarily. Oh God, what do I do now? He can't expect a goodnight kiss.

Archetype, however, solved the problem for her. He gently took her gloved right hand in his, kissed it gently, and smiled at her. "Sweet dreams, Rogue," he said softly, and walked to his room.

"Mister," she said softly, "you have no idea."


Continued in Chapter 8


Down-Home Charm / Fan-Fiction / Fan Artwork / History Books / Photo Album / Songbank / Miscellania / Links / Updates

Legalese: Rogue, the X-Men, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are Trademarks of Marvel Characters, Inc. and are used without permission. This is an unofficial fansite, and is not sponsored, licensed or approved by Marvel Comics.
Privacy Policy and Submission Guidelines