The halls of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters were abuzz with life—mutants of all ages rushing to classes, laughing in the courtyards, training in the lower levels. It was a world Mystique had always seen from the outside, observing as an intruder, never a part of it. But today, she wasn't Mystique.
She was Crystal Frost.
The name was ridiculous. She knew it. The moment she had chosen it, she had nearly laughed at herself. But after months of dealing with the Sunglasses Conspiracy, where men across the world had been acting increasingly strange, she had decided to take a different approach. Normally, she would infiltrate Xavier's as Bobby Drake, the Iceman, but something about disguising herself as a man lately had felt... wrong. Unsettling.
The men of the world had become unhinged, spouting nonsense, behaving in bizarre ways, and more importantly, becoming less and less useful to her cause.
So she had changed tactics.
Enter Crystal Frost, a confident, easygoing, effortlessly cool Icewoman, whose only connection to Iceman was the absurd name. She found it amusing to lean into the joke, letting it become a meme of sorts in casual conversation. When students raised an eyebrow at her name, she would just grin and say, "It's a brand."
And with that, she had secured a spot at Xavier's.
Her mission was simple—find Rogue, get close to her, and influence her away from Xavier's ideology. Magneto believed Rogue had potential, and with the right push, she could be swayed to the Brotherhood.
But the moment Mystique laid eyes on her, she knew things were going to be... complicated.
Mystique, as Crystal Frost, leaned casually against the doorframe of the student lounge, her arms crossed, her cool, relaxed persona in place. Rogue sat on the couch, absorbed in a book, her dark auburn hair cascading over one shoulder, the white streak framing her face like an elegant contrast of shadow and light.
She was stunning.
Mystique had expected Rogue to be strong, useful, powerful. But she hadn't expected to be so immediately drawn to her.
She smirked, making her presence known. "That must be one hell of a book if it's keeping you from noticing me standing here."
Rogue's head snapped up, her green eyes wide, caught between surprise and curiosity.
"Oh—uh—sorry, I didn't see you there," Rogue said, shifting in her seat. Her Southern accent was thick, a charming contrast to her normally stoic and introverted demeanor.
Mystique sauntered over and dropped onto the couch beside her, close enough to see the faint blush creeping up Rogue's neck.
"I'm Crystal," she said smoothly, offering her hand. "Crystal Frost."
Rogue blinked at her. "Like... Icewoman?"
Mystique grinned. "You've heard of me already?"
Rogue bit her lip, amused. "Mostly just people making fun of the name."
"Good. That means it's working."
Rogue huffed a soft laugh. "You chose to name yourself after... what, a chilly gemstone?"
Mystique smirked. "It's a brand."
That made Rogue laugh, a real laugh this time, and something in Mystique thrilled at the sound of it.
She had come here with a mission. But this—this was already far more fun.
Over the next few days, Mystique embedded herself into Rogue's daily routine.
She sat next to her in classes, partnered with her during training sessions, and always found reasons to be near her.
And Rogue... didn't seem to mind.
If anything, Rogue relaxed around her faster than Mystique had anticipated. She had expected resistance, caution—but instead, she found Rogue opening up in ways she didn't seem to do with many others.
"I don't really... fit in here," Rogue admitted one afternoon as they walked along the courtyard. The autumn wind tugged at her hair, but she didn't seem to mind.
Mystique tilted her head. "You? Not fitting in? That's hard to believe."
Rogue scoffed. "You wouldn't get it. People are nice, sure, but they don't understand what it's like not being able to touch anyone."
Mystique, for once, didn't have to fake her response.
She did understand.
Better than most.
She leaned against a nearby railing, watching Rogue with quiet curiosity. "Do you think you'd fit in better somewhere else?"
Rogue hesitated.
Mystique saw the doubt in her eyes—the uncertainty, the sense of longing for something more.
This was where she was supposed to push. This was the moment she had been trained for.
But...
She didn't.
Instead, she smirked and nudged Rogue's shoulder playfully. "I say screw fitting in. We're mutants. We're not meant to blend in."
Rogue blinked, surprised by the answer. Then she smiled—a soft, genuine smile.
"Yeah," she murmured. "Maybe you're right."
Mystique didn't miss the way Rogue's fingers twitched, like she wanted to reach out but knew she couldn't.
For the first time, Mystique found herself wishing she could fix that for her.
In the Danger Room, Mystique—as Crystal Frost—stood at Rogue's side, watching as she battled against a holographic enemy.
Rogue was powerful.
Strong.
But what impressed Mystique most wasn't her strength—it was her resilience.
Every time she was knocked down, she got back up. Faster, stronger, more determined.
Mystique didn't interfere.
She didn't have to.
Instead, she called out encouragement, smirking whenever Rogue pushed past her own limits.
And Rogue responded to it.
Whenever she looked back, her gaze lingered.
Whenever she smiled, it was shy but growing bolder.
Mystique had come here to manipulate her.
Instead, she found herself admiring her.
And it was becoming harder and harder to ignore.
One evening, as she lay in her dorm, Mystique found herself staring at the ceiling.
This was supposed to be an infiltration.
A mission.
But Rogue wasn't a mark.
She wasn't someone to be used and discarded.
She was...
She was someone Mystique actually liked.
She thought about the Brotherhood. Magneto. His endless war. His vision for mutant supremacy.
And for the first time...
It felt wrong.
With Rogue, she felt safe.
With Rogue, she felt free.
And that scared her more than anything else.
Late one night, Rogue and Mystique sat outside on the steps of the school, a mug of hot cocoa in Rogue's hands.
"I like having you around," Rogue admitted, voice quiet but earnest.
Mystique—Crystal—smirked. "Yeah?"
Rogue nodded. "I dunno. You make things... easier."
Mystique hesitated before responding. "You make things... different."
Rogue tilted her head. "Good different?"
Mystique's smirk softened. "Yeah. Good different."
The air between them shifted.
For a brief moment, Mystique almost reached out—almost let herself believe this was something she could have.
Then Rogue sighed, looking out at the horizon.
"Promise me you'll stay?"
Mystique didn't answer right away.
For the first time in a long, long while...
She wanted to bur would fate let her?
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