The Face of a Friend

Title: The Face of a Friend
Summary: The dogs weren't John's only way to detect the metal.
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in X-Men, they belong to Marvel, etc. The characters of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles belong to Fox, etc. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.

Saturn wanted: A Rogue/Cameron fic. Friendship or otherwise although I think we all know what I would prefer even though it doesn't make a lick of sense. :) I went the friendship route.

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The dogs were the first indicator that something was wrong. They didn’t bark which wasn’t abnormal, but they didn’t rush to her side. Allison spoiled them rotten with attention, but today they didn’t approach her. Dallas whined in the back of his throat, cocking his head to the side in frustration.

Rogue glanced up from the worn journal in her hands. She inhaled and caught a faint scent of Allison mixed with others. It made sense, camps forced everyone into tight quarters; there was no separation, not enough room to breathe your own air. Rogue knew all about it. She fought the urge to rub at the hideous black mark on her too pale skin.

With a frown, Rogue closed the frayed leather and tucked the journal into her bag. She rose to her feet, graceful despite the torture she’d been put through. Erik and Logan grumbled in her head, both sharing the same thought about Allison and her behavior. Torture could break a person, Erik knew that, but that didn’t seem to be the case. She was acting like Allison, but just a little off, even down to the way she moved.

“Hey Al,” Rogue called out as she stepped closer to the younger girl.

Allison turned to face her, her head tilting to the side as she studied Rogue.

“Hey,” she replied and offered Rogue a small smile. It wasn’t their normal exchange and it worried Rogue. Had the metal broken her beyond repair?

Rogue reached out, her bare fingers reaching for Allison’s covered arm, but Allison reached out instead, slipping her hand into Rogue’s. Rogue jerked, trying to pull her fingers back before her mutation kicked in, but it wasn’t fast enough. It should have started; the flow of Allison’s memories and most importantly her life force, to Rogue should have been painful and unavoidable. But it didn’t.

Rogue’s stomach turned at the realization. She was holding hands with metal, metal hiding behind the flesh of a friend.

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