Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is even sweeter. Rogue/Pyro (Takes place after the X-Men: The Last Sand. Alternate Universe, most definitely.)

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men

Rating: T, for now, probably M in later chapters.

Unholy Matrimony

"No! I won't do it! There's no way in hell y' can make me!"

Massive, polished oak wood double doors burst open, scattering students straining to listen in on the heated debate taking place within the school library—young mutants fearful of mankind's hatred ran here and there. A hot tempered young woman with a striking countenance, mesmerizing doe eyes fringed with dark lashes, and soft pale skin stormed down the hall way. Her chestnut brown hair blew wildly behind her as her pace quickened.

"Rogue!" The boom of Professor Xavier's voice echoing out of the grand room—a rare thing to be heard in the mansion—sent the smaller children racing upstairs to their rooms in fright. "We are not done here."

She halted in step, glancing over her shoulder, her snow-white locks—a delightful parting gift from Magneto's ruse to use her to power his death machine—adorning her ruddy cheeks. She glared viciously, eyes glittering with contempt. "Y' pulled me out class for this! Y' must be losin' y' mind."

"This discussion is far from over," Professor Xavier said, simply, motioning his chair toward her.

"Oh, I think it is!"

A sharp turn and she was gone, out of sight, and hopefully far from the Professor's outrageous means to accept a proposition that had been laid out for the X-Men.

Wincing, Xavier gradually withdrew into the library where formal members of the X-Men team waited. Jean and Scott sat on a sofa loveseat, fingers entwined. Storm had barely moved from her post beside a large ceiling high window; her expression bleak, blues eyes tinged with fear. Secretary Hank McCoy was not too far away, while Logan reclined against a bookshelf stack with first edition novels and poems. His eyes were deeply rooted on two individuals; one person in particular.

"You certainly know how to pick them Charles," Magneto chuckled, emerging out a shadowy corner, moving casually about the study, smiling at his old friend with Mystique in tow. Like a blue serpent, she coiled around him, thrusting her lithe form against his physique. "But she does have spirit."

"Eric," Xavier let out a long, tired breath. "I don't like what you're insinuating any more than the others do. But if what you're saying is true, the X-Men have to show that we too share some allegiance to other mutant communities."

"Let's hope this arrangement works," quipped Magneto, "but I don't know if it will be enough to sway my brothers from striking against you."

"This is bull!"

Xavier wheeled his chair around, frowning at the feral man who'd remain silent through the entire conversation. "Logan, you have to understand—"

"Understand what Charles!" Logan swaggered away from the shelf, eyes black, hands clenching and unclenching as he stalked to Magneto. "He waged a war we had to freakin' stop, now he comes in here spouting this crap—actin' like he has our best interest at heart and we're supposed to like freakin' swallow it."

"He's right Professor. This is against everything you taught us," cried Storm. "We've barely escaped with our lives after Alcatraz Island, not to mention narrowly losing two of our own, and now this."

Hank came to his feet, "If Washington gets wind of this little 'arrangement', in fear, the Senate may be prompted to resurrect the Mutant Registration Act."

"There are some tough choices to consider," Xavier began, "but we can handle anything Washington throws in our direction, not a full scale attack from vengeful mutants that have deemed us as traitors."

Logan growled, "Traitors! Charles if anybody is a traitor it's that freakin' cockroach! He tried to kill Rogue now he expects us to step aside while he—"

"She's not for me Wolverine," Magneto said casually, his mouth curling into a cunning smile. "Yet I must say the young Rogue is not without a measure of charm."

Snarling, Logan broke into a run, claws bared, ready to strike at Magneto and tear him to pieces. With the slightest raise of his hand, the powerful mutant held him a bay, like a puppet dangled on a string. "The cure has done more than weakened me as you can see—now. I'm twice as powerful as before," he flexed his fingers out, nailing Logan into the wood bookshelf. "Don't make me pluck the remarkable metal out of your flesh."

"Let him go!" Scott bellowed a hand on his shades ready to wrench them off his face.

"I—I can fight m—my own battles," grunted Logan.

Scott smirked and angled his head, "Yeah, you're doing just fine."

"Enough of this!" Xavier turned his eyes to Magneto, "Eric, release him, now!"

"As you wish."

Magneto swished his hand and Logan crashed to the floor in a heap. Sweat streaming down his face he plucked himself up, snarling, breathing heavily as he popped his neck in place. "This ain't over bub," he howled, pointing his claws at Magneto. "I got you once, and I'll get you again."

"You will try," Magneto mocked. Chest heaving, Wolverine marched out the study. "Now that the circus has left shall we get down to business?"

Xavier sighed, "We need time Eric to discuss this further with Rogue."

"You're actually considering this," cried Jean.

"What choice do we have Jean," Xavier replied sadly. "It appears the Brotherhood finally has us between a rock and a hard place."

"I'll give you two days to think it over," Magneto said, flipping this cape over his arm as he headed to the door.

"Two days, Eric," Xavier said, alarmed. "I need more time. Rogue might not be so persuasive."

"Forces are moving against you and you're precious students Charles," implied Magneto. "I don't know if my words would sway these mutants not to follow through in their aggression. Two days, maybe less, it all falls in Rogue's hands. Use that powerful brain of yours to convince her otherwise."

Confounded, Xavier stared at the man he once trusted and respected. "Why are you doing this Eric?"

"I told you a long time ago Charles, don't get in my way."

"You unimaginable bastard," hissed Storm.

"Yes, my dear," Magneto grinned, "I am a bastard, but a brilliant one." Tipping his hand in a salute, he walked away with Mystique.

"Professor," Storm said whirling around to face her mentor and dear friend, "we can't let this happen. We can't do this to Rogue. We'll fight if it comes down to it."

"The last time Magneto gathered forces together you barely survived. I cannot risk you all facing a full fledge war with mutants more powerful than before they violently received the cure—some are now more powerful you."

"And what about Jean," Storm suggested, "The Phoenix—"

"No!" Xavier hollered. "We are not going to open that Pandora's Box again."

"Professor, I could—" Jean said, coming forward.

"Out of the question," Xavier said sternly, looking her way. "We cannot take that risk, Jean, not after every that's happened and the lives lost. Loved ones are thirsting for blood, your blood. No, we just have to appear to submit to this little game Magneto is playing, whilst I try to figure a way out of this ordeal. Nevertheless, knowing Eric he'll use Mystique to leak information to Washington about our possible alliance to rouse their suspicion and fears—force our hand."

"Magneto would never do that," Scott said.

"I know the man, Scott," Xavier said warily, "and Eric will do just about anything to get his own way. In the meantime, Storm find Rogue see if you can talk to her."

"I think Logan might be one step ahead of me."

"Yes, yes he is," he replied, his mind telepathically scouring the mansion, locating him and Rogue and the fact that the pair had just climbed into her midnight blue Jaguar.

Pyro despised the cold above all other things. He hated the creepy sensation his skin developed as the hairs on his skin rose. He hated the spasms that raced up and down his spine and the need to quickly seek warmth. It sickened him to the core that after many weeks, he still wasn't able to shake off Bobby's touch. It was eerie how his body reacted vilely to slightest to change in temper, and how his fingers still felt like little popsicles.

Conjuring flames helped. Oh, mother did they help. It helped alleviate his hunger for destruction, but did not curve his appetite for revenge. But soon, there would be retribution, and he was going to take pleasure in every minute of it.

He turned off the water, reached for a towel, and started to furiously dry his hair. Then, he stood back and overlooked himself in the bathroom mirror. He smirked at the dark strands that made up the wealth of hair on his head. It had grown in the weeks that followed after Alcatraz. Although, he hated his hair being longer—made him look like the boy he once was, instead of the man he was now—he was going have to look pretty in order for his plan to succeed.

Pyro cocked his head back as he heard the roar of a helicopter flying overhead. He acknowledged several other mutants taking refuge at the Magneto's fortress as he left his quarters and headed outside. The island base had become a haven for mutants and was a good distant twelve miles from the shore of Maine.

It was mid-February and terribly cold. He was greeted by a gust of wind kicked up by the helicopter's rotors.

He hung the towel on his head, narrowing his eyes as the engine was killed and Mystique and Eric emerged out the dense fog covering the island. Mystique walked straight by him, not stopping to give him a momentary glance. Pyro didn't care. It wasn't her report he was seeking.

"So," he asked Magneto, "what's going on? Are Rogue and I getting married?"

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