PART 8

Bobby Drake leans across the doorway to Rogue's room, smirking. Behind him, Hank regards Rogue congenially. She tosses the hair from her shoulder and eyes her two companions with a steely, if amused, gaze.

"Let me see if ah got this straight. Ya want me to change into mah pajamas, put on this blindfold, and let the two o' you lead me Lord knows where? No offense, boys, but ah don't think so."

"Suit yourself."

"That's it? No argument? No pathetic attempts at persuasion?"

"My dear Rogue, far be it from me to debate the positive influence this excursion would produce when you are clearly determined to pursue other activities. Of course, you do realize that the social event which Robert and I have gone to such lengths to arrange for your benefit would meet several of Jean's requirements for the group interaction phase of your therapy?"

"Meanin' ah don't have a prayer of bein' on active status unless ah agree."

Bobby chuckles.

"Gold star for you, Roguie!"

Moments later, after changing into peach-colored pajamas and allowing herself to be blindfolded, Bobby and Hank carefully guide her downstairs to the living room. At the last step, her foot catches.

"Oh!"

"Gotcha, darlin'."

She feels Logan's strong arms lift her over the last step and set her down. She frowns, puzzled by the feel of his kimono beneath her fingers. She starts to remove the blindfold. Logan's hands catch hers, stopping her.

"Not yet, Rogue."

His palms rest lightly against the small of her back, guiding her forward. Plastic. Cold plastic beneath her feet. She hesitates. To her right, she hears Bobby cackle gleefully a moment before he gently tugs her wrist.

"What am I s'posed to do now?"

"Get down on your hands and knees."

"'Scuse me?!"

"It is all right, child."

Ororo reaches up from somewhere below. Rogue feels the hands of her teammates ease her onto the floor. She's curious by how precisely they position her hands and feet. Wonders about all the plastic beneath her.

"Jeanie?"

Jean's laughter-filled voice comes from Rogue's left shoulder.

"I'm right here, hon."

"All ah gotta say, sugah, is ah'd better be gettin' serious interaction points for this one! What on earth -- ?!"

She feels a body bend over hers and tenses. Somebody's ankle slides against her hand.

"Let me get that for you."

Scott unties the blindfold, revealing Rogue, intertwined with several other X-Men, across a sheet of plastic marked with red, blue, green and yellow circles. Bobby, holding a spin card, winks at her.

"That's right, Rogue! You've made it to the semi-finals of the Midnight Mutant Madness Twister Tournament! But I should warn you, my Mississippi mudfly, you face some fierce competition. Who will walk away with the grand prize? Will it be our fearless leader, Scott Summers? Doubt it. The beautiful yet incredibly nimble Ororo? Perhaps our newcomer will defy the odds and deliver the upset of the century!"

Rogue glances around the room. Sleeping bags line one wall. "Friday the Thirteenth" flickers across the large screen tv. She sees tapes for "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes", "Plan 9 From Outer Space" and "The Thing" on the console. Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start The Fire" blares from the stereo. Bowls of munchies and bottles of pop complete the scene.

"A slumber party? Y'all are crazy!"

Hank glances up from her feet.

"Ah, but it just may be a lunatic you're looking for."

"Right foot green!"

The situation devolves into an energetic scramble.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"Move your elbow!"

"Ow!"

"What is the grand prize?"

"Scott's 'Collected Works of the Three Stooges'."

"What?! I never agreed to that!"

"Left hand yellow!"

"Heads up, sugah, ah'm comin' over!"

"Right hand yellow!"

"Oops!"

"Losing my balance -- "

"Apologies, Ororo, I did not intend to grab your shoulder."

"Henry, that was not my shoulder."

"Left foot yellow!"

"Bobby Drake, you are makin' that up!"

"Are you admitting defeat?"

"Just spin the card!"

Bobby flicks the spinner, watches, then cracks a wide grin.

"Well?"

"Right foot yellow."

"What?!"

"There's no way."

"Uhm, if ya could just move -- yeah, ah think ah can -- WHOAH!"

Rogue's sudden loss of balance sends everyone crashing to the floor in a fit of laughter.

"Or maybe ah can't."

The evening wears on, and even though Rogue finds herself caught up in the mood, still, her thoughts turn to the one X-man whose presence is noticeably lacking. Remy LeBeau. Gambit.

"Is there anything we haven't done?"

"Rogue, this is your night, any ideas?"

"Only one thing ah can think of -- s'mores."

"S'mores?"

"'Roro, ya haven't lived until ya try 'em."

"How fortunate, then, that I anticipated your cravings and procured the necessary supplies. Will you do the honor?"

"Mah pleasure, Hank. Back in a minute!"

Rogue leaves, grabbing a handful of empy glasses on her way into the kitchen.

>>Jean, what do you think?<<

>>This was good for her. She really has been enjoying herself. Now that she's more relaxed, I'll try to push her a little harder in our next therapy session. Maybe I can finally get through to her.<<

Continued in Chapter 9

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