Even after the fight was over, even after the woman’s screams had faded into strangled sobs, even after the smell of burning flesh was replaced with the faint acrid stench of melted circuits—the room wasn’t quiet.

Because silence didn’t mean absence of noise.

It meant tension.

It meant anger simmering beneath the surface, a storm ready to break.

And in the center of it stood Alamo.

He looked down at the still-smoking flash drive in his gloved palm.

The little, fragile piece of data that held the fate of thousands of mutants—the piece of data their enemies had planned to use as a weapon.

And without a second thought, without waiting for input, without permission or discussion, he destroyed it.

The blue flames surged in his grip, eating away at the plastic and metal in seconds, leaving nothing but ash.

Gone.

Just like that.

Cyclops took a sharp step forward.

"Alamo, it's good. You can hand it over—"

But Alamo didn't let him finish.

His red-glowing gaze snapped up, cutting Scott off mid-sentence.

His voice, cold and razor-sharp, cut through the air like a blade.

"Ya ain't my boss, Cyclops."

Scott’s jaw tightened, but he didn't move.

Alamo turned his back without hesitation, his boots echoing against the floor as he walked toward the exit.

"I don't follow yer orders. I ain't an X-Man."

The finality in his words hung there, a weight that filled the room as he pushed the door open and stepped out.

AND THEN HE WAS GONE. THE MOMENT THE DOOR SWUNG SHUT, ROGUE WAS ON CYCLOPS IN A SECOND.

She stormed up to him, her voice dripping with fury, her gloves clenching into fists.

"How could ya, Cyclops!?"

Her Southern accent thickened with every syllable, her green eyes burning with anger.

Scott met her glare, keeping his posture rigid, his tone even.

"I was buying time, Rogue."

"Ah don't believe ya."

Her voice was low, almost a growl.

Her chest heaved, her breath coming fast as she shook her head, disgusted.

"Neither does he."

The X-Men, the Avengers, even the security guards—they all watched.

But no one intervened.

Because no one could disagree.

Cyclops narrowed his eyes behind the visor.

"He isn't one of us."

That was all he said.

And it was enough.

Rogue took a step closer, her voice shaking, not from fear—but from the sheer frustration, the weight of betrayal.

"He's a mutant, Cyclops."

She didn't yell it.

She didn't have to.

Because the words hit harder than any scream could.

"Not a damn pawn ya can use."

Her words slammed into him like a punch, but Scott didn't flinch.

"I was not going to let him die."

His tone was sharp, clipped, controlled.

But Rogue wasn't having it.

"But ya were willin' to let him think ya would."

That stopped him. Scott exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening even further.

"The safety of the team comes first."

That was his answer.

That was his defense.

That was why he did what he did.

And Rogue laughed.

It wasn’t amused.

It wasn’t happy.

It was a sharp, humorless sound, one that dripped with disbelief.

"The team? The team, Scott?"

Her voice cracked, the frustration boiling over.

She stepped forward again, her gloves trembling at her sides.

"He ain't just some stranger—he's someone who stuck his neck out fer us! He’s a mutant like us! And ya threw him under the bus!"

Jean Grey stepped forward, her expression pained, as if she wanted to say something—

But she didn't.

No one did.

Because Rogue was right.

Cyclops held his ground, but his silence spoke louder than words.

"He ain't the Brotherhood."

Rogue’s voice was quieter now, but somehow it hit even harder.

Cyclops took a slow breath.

"I made a call."

His voice was measured, but there was something else in it.

Something faint.

Something uncertain.

"I made the best choice for everyone involved."

"Ya made a choice fer him."

Her voice was like a whipcrack, sharp and stinging.

"But ya never gave him a choice."

She turned away before he could answer, her expression hard, unreadable.

"Ah'll go talk ta him."

Scott didn't stop her.

Jean took a tentative step forward.

"Rogue..."

She didn't look back.

"This better not happen again."

Her voice was firm.

She didn't need to yell.

Her words held all the weight they needed.

Scott exhaled through his nose, his stance rigid.

"You have my word."

Rogue paused at the doorway.

She turned her head just slightly, her voice low, tired, sharp as a blade.

"Ah hope yer word is worth a damn."

And then she left.

Cyclops stood in place, his fists clenched, his jaw tight.

No one spoke.

Because there was nothing left to say.

----------------------------------------

The air in Houston was thick—not just with the evening heat, but with something heavier, something unspoken. The kind of weight that clung to a person’s chest long after the battle was done.

Alamo stood at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the city breathe in the aftermath of everything that had happened. His boots were stained with blood—not his own, but blood nonetheless. The dull ache in his chest, the phantom feeling of that inhibitor device stealing his very essence, still gnawed at the back of his mind.

He had almost died today.

And not in some grand, heroic sacrifice. Not in some noble last stand.

He was just a man. Powerless. Fragile. Weak.

For the first time in over a decade, he felt human again—and he hated it.

He exhaled, heavy and tired, his arms crossed tight over his chest. The thought of leaving crossed his mind, walking away from it all, before that familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Duncan!”

His back stiffened at the sound of her voice.

Rogue.

He turned slightly, not quite meeting her eyes, but enough to acknowledge her.

“What? Rogue?”

She was right there. Close, but not too close. Her green eyes were searching him, scanning his face beneath the mask, like she was looking for something—something she wasn’t sure she would find.

“Ya can’t go…”

The words hung there between them, unsteady and raw.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that he could go wherever the hell he damn well pleased. That he wasn’t an X-Man, that he didn’t take orders from her, or Summers, or anyone else. But something in her voice stopped him.

It wasn’t commanding. It wasn’t demanding.

It was pleading.

“…I’ll.”

It wasn’t a full protest, because he wasn’t sure what he was going to say next.

Rogue stepped closer, her gloved hands flexing at her sides like she was trying to ground herself before speaking.

“Look, Ah’m sorry fer what Cyclops tried to pull,” she said, voice firm, but her tone held something else—guilt, maybe. Regret. “But we wouldn’t let ya die… Ah wouldn’t let ya die.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose.

He believed her.

But that didn’t mean it made things any better.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the lingering frustration clinging to his skin.

“I appreciate that,” he said, quieter than he meant to. His voice was steady, but inside, he was still reeling.

“Ah understand if ya’re mad.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I am.” He looked up at her, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dimming light. “I truly am.”

There was a beat of silence.

She didn’t flinch.

He took a slow breath, forced himself to untangle the knot in his chest, before he spoke again.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“I think y’all X-Men prided yerselves on protectin’ mutants…” His voice was quieter, but there was a sharp edge to it, like a blade just barely being kept in its sheath.

Rogue’s expression didn’t change. She stood her ground, her shoulders squared, but there was something softer behind her eyes.

“We do,” she said, firm but not defensive. “Look, he says he was tryin’ to buy time… Ah ain’t sure we can believe that.” She looked at him, eyes locking onto his. “But please… Ah wouldn’t let ya die, Duncan.”

That shouldn’t have meant as much as it did.

But it did.

He sighed, pressing a hand to the back of his neck.

“It’s just that…”

He hesitated.

Rogue tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

He thought long and hard about whether or not to say it.

The words were there, sitting heavy in his chest, but letting them out felt like giving away something personal, something private.

But he was tired.

And maybe he just wanted someone to understand.

He swallowed dryly, his throat tightening before he forced the words out.

“…I felt terrible. Really did.”

Rogue’s expression shifted, her body language softening just slightly.

“Ah understand that,” she said gently. “Ah’m so sorry ya had to go through that.”

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, it is what it is…” His voice trailed off, but then he exhaled sharply through his nose, closing his eyes for a second. “…But… I never thought I’d die. Not this soon. Not this…”

His jaw tightened.

“…Pathetically.”

Rogue’s eyes widened just a bit.

“It wasn’t pathetic, Duncan.”

There was conviction in her voice, unwavering and solid. “Ya were tryin’ to protect people.”

But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what was eating at him.

He wasn’t just thinking about today.

He was thinking about everything.

His failed career. His parents almost dying because of his enemies. His fight against Trask, Carraro, the FoH— what had it amounted to?

Nothing.

He was still chasing ghosts.

Still losing.

Still trying to prove to himself that he was worth a damn.

And today, when that inhibitor was slapped on his chest, and he felt his powers drain away like water down a drain—

He wasn’t.

His throat felt tight. He didn’t tell her that part.

But maybe she already knew.

“…I didn’t want to die,” he admitted quietly. “At least, not yet.”

Rogue’s face softened. “Ya won’t, sugah.”

He inhaled slowly. “It’s just that…”

He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers as if expecting the plasma to flicker out again.

“It’s so weird to be… so… fragile.” His words were slow, deliberate. “It’s hard to be powerless. It’s been a decade… more than one since I felt this… normal. Human.”

His eyes flickered up to hers. “Maybe that’s what we’re afraid of, Rogue.”

She tilted her head. “What?”

His gaze darkened, voice quieter.

“Bein’ human.”

She was quiet for a second, then shook her head.

“Ya were strong, even without powers.” She took a slow step closer. “Ya stood up, didn’t let her bully ya. That defiance… it is strength.”

He scoffed lightly, looking away. “I’m not so sure.”

“Ah am.”

Her tone was final.

And for a moment, he believed her.

She smirked, just a little, shifting on her feet.

“And thanks fer takin’ that damn thing off me, Rogue.” Alamo said.

She hesitated. Just for a second.

Then she exhaled. “It’s… it’s fine, Duncan.”

She looked at him. And then she said it.

“And… Ah reckon ya can call me Anna Marie.”

His brows raised slightly behind the mask.

“After Ah just went ‘round callin’ ya by yer first name,” she added with a small smirk.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Not like my name is a secret, Anna Marie.”

“No, it ain’t.”

For a moment, they just stood there.

Two mutants. Two people. Two souls who had been alone for a long, long time.

The sun dipped lower behind them.

And Duncan Nenni, for the first time in a while, didn’t feel so damn cold.

Then a hand reached Rogue’s shoulder—Captain America. He stood there under the dimming sun of Houston, his blue eyes sharp and attentive, even after the presence of wrinkles around them. It gave Captain America an air of experience no other Avenger had.

“Rogue.” He said, his voice warm but still steely.

“Cap.” Rogue turned back, her green eyes locking on Steve's blues.

“Can I have him for a moment?” Captain asked, his tone composed with barely a hint of any amusement.

“Ahem... it ain’t like he’s mine or anything’. So yeah, ahem, sure.” She smirked, flushing slightly.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Ah’ll just go back to the team. Don’t fly off, cowboy.” She turned her gaze to Alamo, pointing a finger and narrowing her eyes.

“Sure, sure.” Alamo nodded back, his voice a little warmer.

Captain America crossed his arms, his stance firm, unwavering. He ignored any lingering awkwardness, focusing entirely on Alamo, who met his gaze without flinching.

“Thank ya fer comin’, Cap,” Alamo said after a beat, adjusting the brim of his black cattleman hat.

“Listen, Alamo. I have to thank you for helping the Avengers fight the X-Cutioner and the League.”

Alamo’s masked face tilted slightly. “League… League of what exactly?”

“We’re still working on finding out their full identity,” Steve admitted. “But they’re organized. And dangerous.”

Alamo gave a small nod, arms crossed beneath his coat. “Well, I’m glad to be of assistance, Cap.”

“I’d like to make you aware that the Avengers don’t leave people behind. That includes you. I believe the X-Men feel the same way.”

Alamo let out a humorless chuckle. “Didn’t seem like the intention fer most of ‘em.”

Captain America exhaled slowly. “Cyclops makes tough calls. He has to. But he learns from his mistakes. I’ve fought alongside the X-Men before. They trust their leader. That doesn’t mean they never question him.”

Alamo’s fingers drummed against his arm. “I get that, Cap. I do. Ain’t no leader perfect. But bein’ used as bait for a pen drive? That ain’t sittin’ right with me.”

“Reasonable,” Steve agreed. “But try to see his side. Cyclops cares about his people. He takes a utilitarian approach—sometimes it means making sacrifices for the greater good.”

Alamo scoffed, shaking his head. “I reckon I understand that. I lean utilitarian myself. Maybe a bit consequentialist. But there’s a line.” He adjusted his gloves, tilting his head. “A little deontology here and there... I'm still figurin' out as a go.”

Steve’s expression softened slightly. “I’m not here to engage in a philosophical debate, Alamo. I just wanted to make sure you understood the bigger picture.”

“Sorry, Cap.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure others would love to discuss it. What concerns me is the safety of the American public. And in that regard, you’ve been of immense help.”

Alamo’s stance shifted slightly. “I’m sorry fer what me and the Americop have caused, sir. I didn’t mean to stir the flames of revolution… I see myself more of a reformist.”

“You’re not responsible for how people react to what you say or do. But you are responsible for your own actions.”

“True.”

Captain America took a step closer, his voice lowering slightly. “That woman back there—she was vile. But violence begets violence.”

Alamo’s jaw tensed. “I understand, that’s why I didn’t kill her.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “But you tortured her.”

“Hardly torture, sir,” Alamo said flatly. “And hardly undeservin’.”

Steve didn’t break eye contact. “I understand. But don’t start taking pride in that. Trust me. I’ve seen what happens when you do.”

Alamo was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “I’d rather not have to fight at all, Cap. But here I am. Burnin’ hands and watchin’ people die.” His voice was lower now, almost distant. “I got dragged into this… partially by my own damn self.”

Captain America’s expression remained steady. “You feel it’s your duty to protect mutantkind?”

“No. Not in some grand Magneto-or-Xavier way. It’s bigger than that. Freedom for all. No matter who or what you are.”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly. “And what would that look like?”

Alamo adjusted his coat. “I do my thing, you do yers. Long as ya ain’t hurtin’ anybody, then it ain’t bad.”

“The world’s more complicated than that, son.”

Alamo chuckled lightly, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah, I know. That’s just the benchmark. The perfect world. I don’t believe in utopias. But I believe we can be better. Freer than we are now.”

Captain America nodded slowly. “Progress has been made. And it’ll keep being made.”

Alamo crossed his arms, but Captain America continued.

“There will be more time to talk in the future, Alamo. As of right now, we'll take the League into SHIELD custody. And we'll be in touch.”

“I appreciate that, Cap. It is a real honor to work with you, sir, and the Avengers.”

“You fought well. It was a pleasure to fight alongside you, soldier.”

“I ain’t a soldier, sir. But I understand the sentiment. My parents will be very happy with this.”

“Send your parents my regards.”

“I most definitely will.”

The Avengers walked out from the building.

In the distance, Rogue could see Iron Man approaching Alamo rather enthusiastically.

Then Jean, Jubilee, and Storm approached her.

“Is he—”

“He’s fine, Jubes. Kinda.”

“Man, it sucks to almost die… I’d feel like shit. Well, I do when that almost happens. But losin’ your powers? That sucks ass.”

Rogue thought about it for a moment, putting herself in his place.

“He didn’t cave.”

“No, instead he called her a bitch. Pretty ballsy, not gonna lie. Kinda hot if you ask me.” Jubilee popped the gum bubble on her lips. "Metal too, burnin' hands and all. Gets all gal all hot and bothered." She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Jesus, Jubes. Get yer mind outta the gutter.” She shook her head, half amused with the whole deameanor from the younger mutant.

"What? Just sayin'."

Then Cyclops approached the team.

“You talked to him?”

“Ah did.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll talk to him.”

“Ah ain’t sure that’s a good idea." Rogue advised against it, in her head she knew how Alamo felt and Scott talking to him so soon would only stoke fires both men didn't want to have.

“I need to.” Cyclops' voice was final, his expression steely.

“Dang it.”

Cyclops made his way to Alamo and Iron Man, the X-Men following close behind, overhearing their conversation.

“Think about that spot, cowboy. Stark could use a good macro econ guy. You know, I’m a genius, but I’m still just one person.”

“I’ll give consideration to it, Mr. Stark.”

“Avengers, we're done here. Cyclops, we’ll talk soon. For now, we must return to New York. We have important matters to attend there.”

“See you, Captain.”

Cyclops waved back at Steve, who saluted him. The tension grew thicker as the Avengers made their departure. Now, only the X-Men and the Alamo remained. There was a sense of bitterness from Duncan towards Scott—his more relaxed body language around Captain America immediately faded. His posture straightened, his glowing red eyes intensified behind the sleek chrome mask that reflected Scott’s image back at him. His arms crossed again, his jaw tightening behind the metal piece over his face. The way the red eyes flickered beneath his mask gave him an almost spectral appearance, like a specter looming in the aftermath of battle, all under the shadow of his black cowboy hat.

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the click of his boots against the cold floor the only sound between them.

“Cyclops,” he said, his tone dry and blunt, carrying the weight of disappointment.

Scott, standing firm, met his gaze. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders evident. “Alamo, I’m sorry. I had no plans to let you die, but it might have sounded like it.”

“Might’ve?” Alamo’s tone was sharp, accusatory.

Scott’s lips pressed into a thin line before he nodded. “It did, and for that, me and my team are sorry.”

Alamo looked back at the X-Men behind Scott, reading their faces. Jean’s concern, Rogue’s frustration, Jubilee’s conflicted expression. His body language relaxed slightly, but only just.

“I understand,” he said after a pause, his voice lower but still edged. “I don’t care if ya had been buyin’ time or if ya think it was needed. I understand it. Ya protect yer own. No time fer outsiders.”

Scott shook his head. “That is not what I said or thought. Our mission is to protect the innocent, safeguard mutantkind, fight for coexistence.”

Alamo let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “It’s fine, really. I reckon... a pen drive that couldn’t possibly have a copy somewhere was worth a mutant life.”

Scott’s expression hardened. “Don’t be disingenuous. It wasn’t a decision that was easy to make, so much so I didn’t take it.”

“Which is fair,” Alamo admitted. “But I didn’t appreciate the hesitation is all.”

Scott took a breath, steadying himself. “The X-Men stand for something bigger than ourselves. We have responsibilities, not just to ourselves.”

Alamo tilted his head. “Ya think that’s what I’m about? Myself only?”

“You seem to be against teams,” Scott countered.

“I’m against yer team. Not even against what ya do... it’s just... too idealistic.”

Scott’s gaze sharpened. “And you think you’re not idealistic, in the slightest?”

“I ain’t recruitin’, ain’t I?” Alamo shot back.

“What we fight for is important, it matters. We have a family, and we have a duty. If you thought beyond yourself, you’d know,” Scott pressed.

Alamo’s fists clenched for a brief second before he forced them to relax. “There he goes. It didn’t take long fer ya to put me on the spot again. I’m startin’ to think it wasn’t a hard decision at all—it was rather an easy one.”

The tension rose again, thick like an approaching storm. Both men stared each other down, almost the same height—Alamo only an inch taller. The flickering red glow of his mask made Scott’s reflection in it look ghostly, distorted.

“Alamo.” Rogue said, not far behind Scott, almost like a call to restrain.

“I’m just sayin’,” Alamo muttered, voice low.

“You don’t like us,” Scott said. It wasn’t a question.

“As people?” Alamo shook his head slightly. “I have nothin’ against y’all. I even like y’all—some at least, not all. As a team? I have disagreements. Don’t mean I oppose yer work or anythin’.”

“You know, one day... when you realize there’s something bigger than yourself, you might be worthy of the X-Men. We’d be happy to have you.”

Alamo narrowed his eyes slightly. “Ya’re suggestin’ I ain’t worthy?”

“I think you are. You just can’t see it yet.”

Alamo exhaled, shaking his head. “Look, I respect yer ideals and even yer goals. But don’t mean everyone has to be sucked into Xavier’s army.”

Scott’s voice was quieter, but still firm. “Not everything is about him. And not everything is about you. Think of others for once.”

Alamo sighed, deep and measured, his arms finally dropping from his chest.

“Lone mutants don’t do as much as they do with family. And liberty isn’t everything.”

Alamo looked up at the dark sky outside, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders.

“Neither is coexistence,” he said, his voice distant.

There was a long uncomfortable silence between the two mutants, before Alamo looked at the group behind Cyclops and then up to the sky.

"I’ll see y’all, eventually. X-Men, Rogue.” His tone was warmer, respectful even, a far cry from his colder disagreement with Scott Summers.

Then he snapped his head back at Cyclops.

"Just remember Cyclops, not all of us are fightin' fer old men's dreams... some of us have dreams of our own."

Without another word, he took to the skies in a blue blur, disappearing in an instant.

“Dang it, Scott. Ya didn’t have to antagonize him.” Rogue crossed her arms.

“He pushed us too far."

Jean moved to his side, planting a gentle hand over his shoulder.

"He's bitter, but he respect us, I can sense it. He will understand eventually. Let go of his prejudices."

"Ah don't think it's prejudice, he... he just thinks differently." Rogue added.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure we haven't heard the end of it, yet." Cyclops added.

"Ain't that right" Rogue smirked as she looked to the faint blue trace up in the dusk sky.