X-Men: Dark Mirror by Marjorie M. Liu

her straitjacket, she scooted closer to Patty, studying the slack face for anything familiar, some ghost of her friend. With Scott and Kurt it had been easy; their mannerisms and odd little idiosyncrasies were just as clearly identifiable as the faces they had been born with.
    But there was nothing special about Patty. Unconsciousness could be blamed, perhaps, but what if it was more than that? Perhaps not all of them had been transferred to new bodies. If their team had been attacked— and it certainly seemed that way, with a clearly definable loser—was it possible that Jean and Logan had escaped?
    If anyone could, it would be those two. Rogue hoped so. She leaned a little closer for a better look.
    Without warning. Patty transformed from a marsh- mallow to a viper, flinging herself at Rogue with teeth flashing: a little doll gone rabid. Rogue gasped, rolling backward, barely snatching her foot away before Patty latched on to it with her mouth.
    Right. Not Jean.
    "Logan!" Rogue hissed, clipping the side of Pattys face with her heel. It had to be him. No matter what he looked like, no one else in the world could pull off that combination of animal crazy, hateful rage. Logan was one of a kind.
    Patty went very still. She lay on her stomach, chin pressed against the floor, blue eyes keen and sharp on Rogue's face.
    "Who are you?" she asked, and the voice was low, rough. Not the kind of voice a woman like Patty would have. No.
    "Two guesses, sugah," Rogue said.
    Patty blinked, and in that moment Rogue stopped thinking of her as a "she." It was Logan, breasts and all.
    "Rogue?" he said, and when she smiled, he closed his eyes. "What the hell is going on?"
    "Jean got tired of your PMS jokes."
     
    "Rogue"
     
    "I don't know. Really, Logan. I found Scott and Kurt, but Jean is still missing. Although, now that I know who you're supposed to be, I have a good idea where ... or, um, who ... she's in. Our bodies are gone. I don't know where or why."
    "We're in that mental hospital, right? Jesus Christ. I can't smell anything."
    "We're human now," Rogue said quietly, remembering the feel of that man's head in her hands.
    "Try not act so happy about it, darlin'. And why are you in here with me?"
    "Oh, Logan. I... I killed a man."
    "Great," he said. "You're screwed."

 
     
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters

    5
     
    The next time Jean opened her eyes, she found that nothing had changed. She was still restrained, still in the white room, and still mind-dead. She was almost glad for everything but the latter.
    She tried to move and pain soared through her head. Just more of the same. She was right back where she had started, with nothing to show but an even worse headache and the certain knowledge that breaking people's kneecaps in this place was not going to get her anywhere. Time to gather information and strategize.
    Her first instinct—basic, like breathing—was to reach out with her mind and simply steal the information she needed. She suffered a quick reminder of how impossible that was, and had to bite down on her tongue to keep from swearing. She was not going to rest here helpless. She refused. There were other ways to use her mind and not all of them relied on being a mutant. It was something Jean was beginning to realize she had forgotten.
    She pressed her face into the floor to give herself better leverage as she rolled to her knees. Dreadlocks fell around her face, and she remembered she was a man. Which might have been more distressing if she was free, but at the moment, she did not have time to indulge herself in thinking about it. Much.
    Fighting the urge to vomit, Jean carefully stood. She had to lean against the wall for several minutes; she desperately wanted to lie down again, but was afraid if she did, there would be no getting up. Despair and fatigue were a dangerous combination, and she teetered close to suffering from both.
    She heard someone out in the hall and steeled herself for another bad encounter. The