Rogue was a vastly different person then she had been a year ago. Then, she fought tooth and nail to be allowed to return to freedom. Without any success, of course. She'd changed over the last six months, no longer did she fight. Not for her freedom, anyway. Now she fought because she enjoyed it. Long weeks had passed since she'd been given a little freedom, and she ate that up like it was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted.

Her hands were no longer bound, forced to touch those he brought to her, now she relished in it, to see what she could take. How much she could take. She'd do anything to keep that freedom. However, she'd only tried to touch Sinister once. She'd regretted it instantly. She'd never tried again. The memory of the searing pain was enough to deter her from it. As was the week of punishment.

Her dark green eyes took in everything, she wanted to know how she could be the most useful to him. And her chance was coming up after months of him working on the God of Mischief, finally, she thought, she could prove herself worthy of more trust. But then he escaped and her hopes were dashed.

And the next evening was spent sulking in her rooms, stretched out on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next.

---

Nathaniel Essex was a cold and calculating man. Science was his religion, and when it came to genetic mutations, he was a veritable god of the field. His work had no moral constraints. Pure science was beyond morality. There was no end goal, only to explore the never-ending limits of genetic manipulation. It was, and always would be, a quest for pure scientific discovery...and he had all the time in the world to unravel every enigma.

His wife had called him "Sinister" as she died, such a long time ago. It was a mantle that he now wore with confidence when dealing with various governments and military projects. It took many, many years to prove his theories. It took time to explore every specimen, to put pieces together, or to pull them apart. It was more than work for him; it was a pleasure.

He left the guards outside the door of his prized test subject, the young woman who had far exceeded his genetic expectations. So much information was gleaned from testing her limits, through trying to improve her. It had been a monumental mistake to touch him, a mistake she painfully learned. It was painful for him to feel his life being drained by a vampiric touch, with only his genetic modifications able to save him from injury or lasting effects.

But after the recent escape of an alien test subject, it was time for a true test of obedience. To set this fascinating creature free and see what she could truly do.

He entered the room, looking at the woman with the same interest an entomologist would have if they found a new insect to add to their collection. As though she was a creature to be organized and classified, given a name befitting them for the catalogs.

"Rogue." His voice was calm and collected, with a fading British accent. It was the sort of calm of a person accustomed to not accepting - or allowing - resistance of any kind. "I have a project for you. I want you to find our lost alien and bring it back to me."

---

She was upright before the last half of her name was finished. Rogue had learned that it was best to give him her full attention as quickly as possible. At first she'd hated being looked at like an interesting new bug, it had made her skin crawl and her very soul shudder. Now? Now she almost felt approval in that look. Like she had worth.

Rogue's eyes brightened, she'd truly felt upset that she hadn't gotten to play with the alien that had been brought here. Her chance had slipped through her fingers and she'd hated it.

"Of course ah'll find him." Her drawl stubbornly hanging on all these months. She looked almost excited to be going free to try to find this man. She already was trying to think of how to find him, and which of the limited powers she'd permanently stolen would be useful.

"When do ah leave?" The need to make him happy with her skills foremost on her mind.

---

"Soon, if you survive. I've alerted security to another potential escapee. Two in one month. You can imagine how upsetting that is to them."

The aptly named Mister Sinister stepped aside, letting the guards into the room. They held their rifles in both hands as though ready for action. As they closed in, the 'doctor' took out an aged pocket watch from his suit pocket, an old Vacheron Constantin, still ticking away after years of meticulous care.

"Give her two days of convincing punishment, gentlemen," he ordered. "I suggest using the butt of your rifles for two minutes. We shall reconvene in two hours for another round. It's more convincing if the bruises are layered."

He didn't bother to look up from the watch as the guards descended, idly fiddling with a knob as they raised the stocks of their rifles to strike. "When we are finished, our Rogue will make her escape. Inform your peers to do all in your power to stop her."

"Yes, sir," one of the guards said, a little too enthusiastically.

---

She didn’t get time to express how tragic it was that two people escaped in one month. Nor did she get time to really react to the fact this was going to suck no matter how she looked at it. “Oh, ah’ll survive.” she drawled out as she turned to face the guards, noting which one was all too enthusiastic for the beating he was going to dish out.

Rogue held grudges. And he? He was going to be on her shit list for when she got to fight back. For now, the beating was taken with a gritted jaw, and as few grunts of pain as she could manage. She wasn’t sure how long that was going to be, but she was going to try.

She spent a few days getting roughed up, denied touching anyone with any healing abilities, and then set loose to fight her way out of Genosha. By the time she got to the ocean she felt like she'd run a gauntlet, and in some ways she had. Sinister did nothing in halves so everyone thought she really was trying to escape.

If she hadn't made it out, she wasn't worthy. But made it out she did, and she hit the water at a dead run. Swimming came easy to the Southern girl, and she swam until a passing ship saw her, picking the broken, bloody, and bruised young woman from the water. Patching her up enough she stopped bleeding everywhere, before calling her rescue in.

Which was then picked up back in New York by Friday, who was monitoring the area after the wedding, and rescue operation. Doctor Strange was asked, then, to go get her from the ship. She looked like she hated everyone, bandages around her ribs, arm and leg, blood dried on her hair, one eye swollen and a bruise spreading up the side of her face.

She looked both pitiful and happy to be free.

---

When Strange heard about Genosha, he took the reports very seriously. He was one of the only people capable of helping on short notice, due to his mastery of sorcery. The spell nets he later cast around the island let him quickly locate where to open a portal and retrieve the injured woman as soon as possible.

The portal dropped the unlucky traveler onto a dusty old Victorian sofa, raising a small thin cloud of dust in the dim lamplight.

"Welcome to New York," Doctor Strange said, keeping his guard up. It was the gaze of a medical professional, assessing injuries. "I'm Doctor Strange, and I'm here to help. Can you tell me your name?"

---

The one thing she couldn't prepare for was how she was going to be moved to the City. They'd had no information on just what any plans were going to be. So the portal, and the landing on the couch, had been a surprise.

Rogue had taken, and dished out, a good beating. It took her a minute to get her brain functioning, while he clinically assessed her, she was looking very confused - and taking stock of her surroundings - all neatly tucked under the look of a scared woman.

"Ah'm Rogue, and New York?" Her eyes focused on him, she'd quickly decided that she was not going to play the damsel in distress card, at least not the weepy one. She didn't think that would suit, so she adapted like a good little rogue should. The tone of her voice was wary, pained but wary. Though the fact everything hurt was not faked, though, "Ah might be bleedin' on your couch." She said scrambling to get off it, her ribs screaming in protest and her leg threatening not to bother holding her weight.

---

She was definitely injured, no question about it. That was very real, and the pain etched on her face showed. There was only one person he could think of to get help.

"All right, Rogue. Don't move too much." He stepped forward to help, trying to steady her by beginning to put one arm around her waist. "I'm going to get you to safe place and a doctor. She's the best emergency room surgeon I know. Completely private and confidential."

---

As much as ‘training’ told her to touch the man, she knew it wasn’t time for her to do such a thing to anyone. There was a time and place for that. Right now, she mostly wanted to stop bleeding all over the floor, unfortunately as he stepped forward to try to help she twisted out of the way of his arm.

“You don’t want to do that unless you want to be lying on that pretty floor of yours.” she said as she nearly tripped over her own two feet, which weren’t really cooperating. A silent curse for the people responsible for making this as real as it could be. She didn’t know how to explain, though, “Safer for everyone if you don’t touch or risk touching any skin.” she was, of course, not in clothing conducive to hiding skin from, well, anyone. Torn, ripped, scuffed up - her clothing had been through the wringer too.

---

Stephen watched her for a moment. This was someone who escaped from Genosha, just as Loki did. His ability to feel at all bad for Loki, God of Trouble, was nearly flatlined. But seeing this girl, who escaped from the same island, he felt a stab of remorse.

The cloak removed itself from the doctor's shoulders, fluttering over and wrapping her in a hug. It was good timing, since Stephen was conjuring some leather gloves and putting them on while that happened.

"We'll be careful. It's not the first time that she's dealt with people with powers."

Carefully, he put one arm around her, grateful that he was covered now save for his neck and face. He put the sling ring on over gloved fingers. It was possible to open the portal with one hand, he had seen another master do it before. It took more focus, certainly, but he got the portal open to the Avenger Tower's medical clinic and helped her through.

---

Rogue nearly jumped another five feet when Cloak fluttered over. She'd seen some crazy shit in Genosha but this was new and she didn't move for a second. Not even breathe. There was a second she thought she was going to lose it to panic but she marginally relaxed.

"Okay that is new." But, not bad, she decided. She didn't jump away this time when he moved to help her. She hurt enough that she'd almost seen stars and hit the floor with the last one.

---

"Christine?" Stephen called out as they moved through the portal into a high tech medical clinic. It was separate from Dr. Banner's medical lab, where it seemed the resident scientists were trying to find a way to help Steve.

This was an area for immediate treatment of injuries, and he knew that Christine was pulling a shift there. He hoped she wouldn't get angry for showing up with someone else bleeding this time. Last time, Christine was exasperated and worried when he showed up with a chest wound from a space shard, followed by the Ancient One.

"We have a situation," he told her quickly. "A no physical skin contact situation."

It was better to get that warning out of the way.

---

Letting go of everything mentally for a moment, she let herself just be taken care of. Sure. She had no idea who these people were, not really, but she really did hate bleeding everywhere. She looked like she'd been through hell, bruises on bruises (and in some places, on top of more!), but she was alert and looking around while she waited for his friend.

---

The lack of warning was nothing new. Christine was getting pretty used to portals showing up here, there, and everywhere.

What was different was an injured woman with his arms draped over her. Turning her attention from her phone, her eyes widened as she got to her feet. Stephen’s words hung in the air as she motioned for him to set her down on the nearest bed. Getting full gear on didn’t take long -- she was a surgeon after all. It was almost second nature to be fully covered.

“I’m Dr. Christine Palmer,” she informed her patient. The girl looked rough. It was obvious she’d been the brunt of an awful attack. A quick visual scan showed nothing too alarming but until they did some internal checks, Christine couldn’t rule out internal bleeding. “I know this sounds like a stupid question but where exactly does it hurt? I need to know where to focus my attention first. You’re safe here, Stephen won’t let anything happen.”

---

Rogue would have snorted, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. She blinked as she took a breath, pain blossomed across her side. She hated ribs with a passion. She was used to injuries, so she could at least pinpoint them.

Which was truly an alarming skill.

"Ribs first, leg next, face, left arm." She said through gritted teeth. She paused, "move face before leg. I'm bleeding again." As a trickle dripped down her face, over her nose.

There were layers of bruises of varying size, but she'd suffered a decent beating besides that. She took a deep breath to test her ribs herself, the adrenaline from escaping was wearing off and she was regretting being awake for any of this. "Ribs are the worst." She said, bitterly. Her face shifted between pain and fear, there was a lot going on.

---

“Ribs, gotcha. Just so you know, we’re going to have to get you undressed here. Can you stand and change into a gown yourself? I don’t want to have to cut your clothes off. Once that’s taken care of, I can give you some pain meds. I can also send Stephen off if you’d like some privacy as well.”

Christine was no stranger to dealing with people going through traumatic events. She’d had to make the med lab a safe space for many of her friends, and she was fine to do it again. The mystery of this girl though … that was what was most intriguing to her. Christine was nothing but curious.

“What’s your name?”

---

Rogue had no embarrassment, she'd spent the year being stripped of everything that made her her and rebuilt. She wiggled free of both the helpful arm and the overly friendly cloak. She found the thing was actually comforting.

"He's fine. Ah can manage." Both sentences said in one breath as she took a few steps, then let out a hiss of pain. She really wished this whole thing hadn't been so rough. Oh well.

"My clothes would be no real loss." A wry smile, she did look like she'd gone through a fight then an ocean swim in them. It was easy to see she leaned on sarcasm and a sharp tongue - she was coping in a defensive way. "Rogue. The name's Rogue. Might need help getting out of my shirt, actually." Lifting her arm pulled her ribs and sent her closing her eyes.

---

As the woman lifted her arm and made a face, the lower corners of the cape flapped up like a person flailing. It was the sentient clothing equivalent of 'oh no!'

Stephen had also stepped back. Being stubborn as he was, compounded by medical knowledge, he knew when someone was trying to tough out having multiple fractures.

"I'll step away for a moment," he told them both. To Christine, he added as an aside, "Once she's in a gown and laying down on a gurney, I have a question or two."

He nodded to them both and walked out of the staging area, the cloak floating after him. He did pull a curtain closed to give them privacy. He was in earshot, so he could listen for any information about Genosha or who this 'rogue' might be.

---

Once Stephen was out of sight, Christine gently coaxed Rogue to a sitting position to help her with her shirt. It was slow going but before too long, Christine had a good view of Rogue’s body ...and it wasn’t pretty. Years of practice had her poker face down to a science, and although her brain was calculating the levels of abuse that were behind this, she didn’t show it. Instead, she efficiently covered Rogue with a hospital gown before helping her with her pants.

Before too long, she was setting up an IV, checking vitals, and most importantly, administering a cocktail of pain medications. Tylenol wasn’t going to cut this and setting ribs was painful. “Stephen mentioned this was a ‘no touch’ situation, but obviously left a lot out. Can you explain to me why I can’t touch you? As it stands, I will remain gloved and covered for all this, as per medical standards, but if I need to know something medically about you, now’s the time. Although someone is hovering and wants answers,” she said in a loud voice,”I’m your doctor and I’m not letting anyone do anything until I think you’re ready. And he knows better than to mess with me when I’m in doctor mode.”

---

Rogue gave Stephen a Look that said I'm not trying to tough out multiple fractures, and/or broken in multiple places. Though Cloak got a smile. That was amusing.

Narrator, from the void, she was, in fact, trying to tough out multiple fractures, and she fooled no one.

She watched him go, then let Christine help her get her shirt off. That was an effort and a half and she gave up being tough and grunted in pain. There wasn't a lot of old scars, but there were a couple, layered under the fresh wounds. It was certainly the body of someone who'd endured a lot and either frequently or for a long time.

She managed a smirk, letting her guard down a little, letting the woman see that she was just acting tough (Well, she was tough, but not that tough). The urge to show her why was overwhelming, but she kept a tight rein on her control. Trust that's what she was after. Which meant, the truth. "My skin is," she thought about it, "vampiric in nature. Unless you wanna share thoughts and abilities, touching me is a risky life choice."

---

Vampiric skin? Christine didn’t even know how to unpack that so she did so in her usual sarcastic way. “I know someone that could use this skill. Maybe he’d understand me better then.” And then she gave Rogue a wink, as if in female solidarity.

“But point well taken. Now lie back, and let’s do what we got to do here. I promise to be as gentle as I can be, but it’s going to hurt regardless.” She motioned to the bed and got to work.

Another point in Christine’s favour was how quick and efficient she could be. Humming to herself, she set her mind to the task at hand and it wasn’t too much longer before Rogue was thoroughly cleaned off, bandaged, sutured, and hopefully in a haze of good feelings.

Christine had used the good drugs.

“All done,” she called out, for both Rogue and Stephen’s benefit. “You feeling up for talking? I don’t know why I asked, actually, because Stephen has questions anyways.”

---

Having overheard everything, Stephen pulled back the curtain and walked to Rogue's beside. As he passed Christine, he grumbled, "Your hints get even less subtle as time goes by."

Once he could look down at Rogue, he knew he was going to have to keep some questions down to a minimum. There was something off about her aura, that there was something to her that was marked by this universe. Yet he had no memories of her from the Earth he and Christine had diverged from.

"I'll be brief. Or I'll try to," he began. "I'm a Master of the Mystic Arts. Whatever real world problems you've had, obviously, is something Stark and the others will have to figure out. I need to know if you've had any strange sensations lately. Subtle vibrations, visions, fuzzyness, a feeling that of displacement. Anything."

---

Rogue blinked then laughed at Christine's comment. She was not far off, but rogue wouldn't wish this on anyone either. She was expecting questions.

And a lot of them. So she looked as focused as one could be after being sutured back together, with bones being set and the nice drugs. She was used to fighting through a haze, though, it wasn't like Sinister didn't try to see what she could do under every circumstance.

"Ask whatever questions you have." She was tempted to shrug, but caught it, "Can't say that Ah have." Congrats, Strange, have another puzzle! "What is the date? Ah've been there awhile ah think. None too sure without a date."

---

"August twenty-second, twenty twenty-four," Stephen replied, and he had a very bad feeling about this. To unravel the mystery, it would take some astral consulting and portaling to other mystic beings only barely mentioned in obscure texts. "All right. I'll be blunt. You've got an aura that's familiar to me. An imprint that usually happens after a temporal anomaly. If you had no sense of that displacement happening, then it's possible that you're inadvertently polluting our timeline from another place or time entirely."

The cloak floated nearby and gave a shiver that sent the bottom hem of it flapping around, like this was bad news indeed.

---

“Oh.” she blinked, “Well shit, ah’ve been there almost a year now.” she shuddered at the thought (or, did she?), and ran her fingers through her hair. “A whole year.” she stared off for a moment, trying to think about being there with Him for that long. Wow. That was a mind trip and a half.

“That means nothing to me.” she said bluntly, shaking her head. “Ah don’t know what any of that means so, ah’m afraid ah can’t be a lot of help there? Ah got arrested, and was taken away. And ah’ve been there almost a year.” she said again with a shrug of her shoulders.

Painkillers, woo. She felt nothing about that. She did have to work to keep her mouth shut on some things though, because painkillers. That was almost bad. “Sounds bad though? Maybe?” she looked between the two people.

---

Stephen looked over at Christine for a moment and said very slowly, so everyone present understood, "It means there's further disruption in the spacetime continuum. Possibly an incursion from seperate dimensional planes."

Along with those mystics, he was going to need to consult with Shuri, Stark, and Jane after her honeymoon. There didn't seem to be any instability in this universe, but the rift that connected them to their prime universe was still wide open. It wasn't going away, and now there was the chance that it was roping in other people with a different set of memories.

He glanced at Christine before asking the young woman, "What happened to you on Genosha? Can you tell us who did this to you?"

Which would be helpful, since Loki wasn't saying much at all. Either because of the trauma that had healed due to his alien physiology and magic....or for whatever other reasons that the trickster didn't want to talk about.

---

Rogue wasn't that helpful. She knew enough she could share a few did bits, but, she had her loyalties. And they were not to these people. But she only h tucked herself up a bit, making herself smaller.

"Ah don't know who did this." She knew, his face swam in her head for a moment. The pale skin that showed under the drag marks of her fingers on his face after she'd tried to touch him.

"Ah got hit a lot. Forced to touch people."

---

Stephen was not someone well versed in interrogation. He was a medical professional that took his oath to preserve and protect life very seriously, and a sorcerer that could already tell there were many forces at work here. Some of which were easy to chalk up to the evil that mankind did. Some of this was entirely beyond the bounds of what science could explain.

Still, he had to talk to Stark and he didn't want to leave it as he brought an abused woman from Genosha into the Tower. The security was tight and Friday was always watching, but further details would be nice to have.

"Did you touch the people that did this to you," he asked, not even thinking if that was taking the questioning too far. "Were you able to read any of their thoughts? A name. A corporation. Anything."

---

"And I'm going to stop you right there." Christine stepped in between Stephen and Rogue and gave him a pointed look. "She's tired and has clearly been through a stressful day." The poor girl looked to be almost shrinking, the way she was curling into herself.

" Plus," Christine added quietly, focusing her attention on Stephen, "that's a good morphine drip I have her on. I want her to rest and recover. Can't this wait for tomorrow? There's nowhere safer than here, and I'm still off this week. I'll stay with her, and if I'll let you know if anything comes up, alright?"

Christine flashed a smile at Rogue. "I don't want you to worry about anything. You're in good hands. The best. Better than his, even," she teased.

---

"Ha ha. I guess that's payback for when you showed up with a picnic basket for a pity date," Stephen said to Christine, referencing what happened years before, when his hands were ruined. Before he lashed out at her with words, the only weapon he had left at the time, and before he left to search for a cure in Kamar-taj. He knew that the jibe about hands wasn't anything more than a jibe.

Maybe he deserved it after pushing so hard, but he gave Christine a look like she had better watch her back. Not that she needed too much warning. Her regular shift was working in an emergency room, and that tended to get plenty of bleeding criminals that didn't want to get hauled off by police afterward.

"I'll go talk to Stark." When Rogue wasn't noticing, he looked up toward the ceiling and then back at Christine again. He didn't say anything other than that, since they both knew that Friday would be monitoring and had control of the entire building. Before he left, he muttered to Christine, "Text me when you're off your shift."

Then he left, the cloak settling on his shoulders as he sought Stark out, to let him know about the newest arrival.

---

Rogue let them bicker, content to not answer anything else, especially not that kind of intrusive question. Even she was not immune to the pull of the morphine, so by the time they came to a conclusion, she was halfway to dream land. Well. Likely nightmare land - she couldn't remember a pleasant dream in awhile.

Her final thoughts as she drifted off were how wonderful it was to make progress and she'd only been out a few hours. The tension in her face loosened as she sunk into sleep, she was likely going to regret being alive tomorrow, but she would take comfort in the fact she was already on the right path.