Disclaimer: I don't own a thing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend... (Born for Bad Luck song by Brownie McGhee)

Chapter 1: "Call it Stormy Monday"

They call it stormy Moday, but Tuesday's just as bad They call it stormy Moday, but Tuesday's just as bad Wednesday's worse, and Thursday's also sad... (Call it Stormy Monday song by: T-Bone Walker)

Notes: This is a working title. I just wanted to know how well this would be received, or even if it would be at all. Tell me what you think. It's a little short, but it's only the beginning so give me some feedback.

All she could think was that her coffee was gone and her blueberry muffin was ruined. The fact that the building she had been idly walking next to had exploded in a ball of flames seemed obsolete. Her coffee flew out of her hand and splattered across the pavement, the cup was smashed against building across the street. Her muffin was in the air. She caught sight of it flying, and wondered how far it would go before everything rushed back into the real world with lightening speed. Her back smashed against a parked car knocking her breath out, and banging her head against the glass window. She slid to the ground, her head swimming and her entire body aching.


Rogue knew she should be saying that, maybe, god, who was that. She shook her head trying to clear it, but all it did was make her vision worse and the ache in her body intensified.

"Maw muffin," she mumbled slowly her eyes searching the blur of color for her lost breakfast.

"There was nobody here! The damn street was abandoned, shit!"

There was somebody standing in front of her. It must be the man talking to her. She couldn't see his face, but maybe he'd seen her coffee. "Double tall, mocha chino, hot." She mumbled as the man blurred into two people and then back to one again.

"You're really out of it aren't you."

Somebody was picking her up. She wondered idly if she was flying again. She liked to fly, Warren used to take her to fly. Was it Warren holding her. She narrowed her eyes but nothing cooperated.

"I've got you Marie."

Rogue wanted to struggle when the man said her real name. Nobody knew it, nobody. Her limbs were too heavy and her eyes, she blinked, she was tired. Just as blankness rushed over her she saw a wall of fire.

Rogue felt like she'd just been through twelve danger room sessions in a row. She didn't remember even having a danger room practice. She groaned her hand flying to her head. It was bandaged. That explained the splitting headache and her lack of memory. The bigger question was where was she. Her focus slowly came as eyes adjusted to the room and she forced herself into a sitting position. She wasn't at the mansion, this wasn't her apartment. She'd never been here before. It was a small. She was on the fold out couch in the middle of the living room. There was a kitchen directly in front of her to her left was a pile of clothes and there were only two doors. There was no other furniture beside the couch and a table in the kitchen surrounded by three chairs.

She assumed one of the doors was the exit the other the bathroom, or maybe another room, but she doubted it. The clothes were male. So whoever the place belong to was a guy. She racked her brain for who it could be, but came up blank each time.

"So you're up."

Rogue whipped toward the voice immediately regretting the action at a splitting pain ran through her head. "Gawd it hurts."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Rogue cracked on eye opened. She knew that voice. She knew it, but he was dead. He was taller, his hair longer his face more chiseled at the jaw but it was. He was smoking his other hand playing with his lighter. Bobby had killed him three year ago at Alcatraz. St. John died for the wrong cause. He wasn't supposed to still be alive.

"Ah thought you were dead."

He snorted and smirked, so John. "Die on that rock, I don't think so. Everybody was always underestimating me."

"But," she paused she didn't know how to say it without sounding cruel. "Bobby, he, he told me..."

"That he killed me?" John didn't sound as bitter as she thought he would. "He tried." He held up his hand three of the fingers on his right hand, the hand he'd used to make fire birds and horses made of flames dance were blackened like charcoal. "Frost bite. The bastard froze my flame and damn near took my arm off in the process. Never did like Xavier's but I can saw one thing for them, made Bobby strong as hell. I should have stayed for at least that."

Rogue stared unable to pull her eyes from it. It must have hurt. He had deserved it, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

"Quit you're sympathy, they don't hurt. Ever seen Mr. Deeds? You can crush them with a hammer if you want. I won't feel a thing." He curled his fingers into a fist and shoved it in his pocket.

John, John was alive and she was in his apartment. "Why am Ah here? What happened?"

"Little bit my fault," John confessed. "The streets were supposed to be abandoned, and I was," he let the corner of his mouth sneak upward, "I was having a little fun."

Rogue narrowed her eyes. "Ya blew up that old building, and caught meh in the explosion!" She started to yell but the force of her own voice drove her back against the couch bed and hand on her head.

"In my defense it was two o'clock."

"Ah'm afraid to ask."

John quirked a brow as he moved into the kitchen and turned on the tap. He filled a glass of water and grabbed a bottle of pills. Rogue closed her eyes trying to avoid his movement. She only opened them when a glass of water tapped her arm. John was sitting at the foot of the bed looking at her. She grimaced and took the water and the Advil.

"I've been watching. I mean I watched this building and that street for like two weeks. Between eight and twelve theres a lot of traffic, mostly people coming from Starbucks."

Rogue bit her tongue to keep from screaming. She tried to tell herself it was only going to make her head hurt worse.

"One and two are pretty empty and two to four is dead, so I figured I picked the right time. You were the only person to walk down that street at two o'clock in five days." He stated and reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"Don't tell me you were blowing that building up for no reason. I know you, you're crazy, but you always have a reason, no matter how twisted."

John inhaled and nodded. He was smiling, and odd cynical smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You knew me, at one time. I wouldn't say you knew me so well anymore."

Rogue watched him flick the ashes on the floor. "So ya killed my coffee, muffin, and nearly meh for kicks?"

"Some jump out of planes, I blow stuff up." He grinned and widened his eyes, "Fire pretty."

"You're demented."

"You've already said that."

"No, Ah said you were twisted, demented is a whole other level."

"Seems like a better one."

Rogue turned away from him unsure of what to say. She wanted to launch into a series of questions, but her head was still pounding. Not to mention she wasn't quite sure she would like the answers. John had already proved himself to be untrustworthy.

"Didn't you get the cure or something?"

Rouge was so surprised by the question that she turned too fast. Sharp pain rushed across my forehead and a wave of nausea settled in her stomach and threatened to empty it. Rogue swallowed, grateful she'd missed breakfast.

"You okay?"

Rogue grimaced, fighting the urge to yell at John again. He'd blown her up and know she was going to throw up. She hated throwing up. She kept her mouth closed for two reasons one she'd already established, at least in her book, that this was all his fault. There was no reason to go there again. Second, she didn't think it would be good for his mattress for her to open her mouth. A sour film covered her throat and filled her mouth with spit. Rogue glanced to the side as the mattress shifted and John jumped to his feet.

"Are you gonna puke?"

Rogue narrowed her eyes and raised her brow, turning her best glare on the firebug, but it was all moot. She felt terrible. Rogue put her hand over her mouth and mumbled under breath.

His reaction was immediate and a little self absorbed. "God, not on my bed!" He shouted.

His voice was like a spike in her ears. He grabbed my Rogue's arm and hauled her to my feet. The abrupt movement was too much. She would have told him that it wasn't helping but she was trying to keep her mouth closed. Pulling her off the bed was the equivalent of hanging her upside down and shaking.

As soon as her socked feet hit the floor she skidded. John released her arm and she fell to her knees. Rogue gasped her hands flying in front of her to break her fall. Her palm hit the cold floor before her face did, but she felt her entire body lurch unnaturally with the movement and she the lost the battle. It hit the floor with a splash, bit of food from the night before settling on the tops of John's shoes. He cried out and jumped backward.

Things were blurring and Rogue wanted to tell him she was sorry, but she couldn't speak. It was too hard to breath and darkness was rushing back on her. She gasped her throat burning with bile. Her eyes watered as she opened and shut them a few tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.

"Rogue, god, Rogue?"

"Dis a little early ta be drunk, non?"

Rogue turned toward the new voice but everything was already too black to make out who it was. Vaguely, she hoped she wouldn't collapse into her own vomit, but with the way everything was already going she was sure she was landing face first.

That's the end, well until the next chapter, but tell me what you think. So there's a little John, Some Rogue, and just cuz I love him some Remy LeBeau coming up.