Most philosophers are agreed that it is the minor trials of everyday life that pose the greatest challenge to a tranquil mind.

Parents’ Weekend traditionally brought a lot of those, and Ororo Munroe was beginning to experience a slight strain on her spiritual welfare – if Miss Pryde had even drawn up a computer programme to organise accommodation, why was it then that Mr and Mrs Ho appeared to be sharing a single room with Miss Souminnen AND Mr Chobalnigov?

And could Miss Lee please refrain from exercising her skills with fireworks, as they tended to incinerate the paper decoration?

And would young Artie please yet again take a rake and obliterate the single track of human feet that plainly showed across the baroque flowerbed, straight from the garage? That the owner of those boots would understand why he should take the long way round was probably too much to ask.

This year, it was worse than usual. Apart from the great personal loss she and all others had suffered with Jean’s death, the X-men were not of a sufficiently great number to be able to dispense with a single member. Besides, his lady’s passing to the next world had severely unsettled Scott – usually a pillar of strength, his demeanour now clearly mirrored the disorder into which his life had been thrown. From a diplomatic point of view, he was beginning to be almost as much of a hazard around visitors as Logan.

It had not been possible to keep the attack on the Mansion out of the news. The enquiries on security and on the present state of the school would require careful navigation in very troubled waters.

The Professor remained aloof to earthly questions (such as where to organise a banquet if half the school was still in disrepair). And that meant that she, Ororo, was left with most of the practical aspects of all events. Kurt helped where he could, but he was new to the Mansion. And whether she was better off with Logan’s assistance or without, she had yet to decide.

The burden was beginning to take its toll, even on her usually composed state of mind. She was looking forward to the reception for all guests this evening with great apprehension.

~Logan ~

He felt like running. Like charging straight through the wall and into the woods and never stopping until he got to the far side of Utikuma Lake. The urge to jump up and move was so strong at times, it felt like the adamantium coating to his skull was all that kept the explosion on the inside. He tried to alleviate the pressure with exercise, tried to work himself into the relief of an exhaustion his body wouldn’t allow him.

For a while now, he had lived and trained and fought with the crowd and it wasn't all bad.

So why was it that it suffocated him.

Why did he feel so... leashed.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried his damnedest. He had, if ungraciously, bowed to the million stupid rules of this place that tried to turn all these kids into super-bloody-heroes-to-be. (To most of the rules, anyway. Keeping whiskey in his room did not count, as his room was out of bounds. If any of the kids got in there - through the door OR the walls or in any other goddamn way - intoxication would be the least of their problems.)

With difficulty, he had borne being told off for smoking in the house. There wasn’t any danger that Smoking Could Seriously Damage His Health, thank you very much for pointing it out. Repeatedly. By the kids, too. That was before he had asked if health classes also covered major surgery, or would they like him to give an introduction?

He was okay with the kids, though. Not being the didactic type, he dealt with them as no-nonsense as he did with everyone else - and oddly, they seemed to appreciate that. Actual teaching needed patience, though, and this was not a good time for it.

Other than that, he saw himself as a guest. He owed the Professor. He toed the line. Hated it. Kept trying.

When Bobby’s parents finally came to have a look at the school and the people to whom they had entrusted their eldest son, he had scraped together what courtesy he could find for someone daft enough not to notice a mutation as strong as the Iceboy’s.

What little he had learned about his past at Alkali Lake had done nothing to put his mind at ease. “If memory serves me right, you had volunteered for the project. People don't change, Wolverine. You were an animal then and you're an animal now. I just gave you claws.”

The insults that hurt most are the ones you suspect to be true.

And Jean’s death... No, he wasn’t even gonna look at that memory. He wasn’t. Just keep the hell moving, or it’s gonna kill you.

But god! her words had pierced him deep and true that night in the camp. He desperately wanted to stick around for once, as if proving that he could would somehow ease the grief.

Now, fighting against your own nature is the hardest battle of all, and while he tried his best to live up to what he saw as his obligation - keeping the kids and the school safe - his frustration about not being able to follow the trail into his past before the scent grew cold, the nagging of Ororo and Scott about discipline and restraint and civilized behaviour, and the dreams of old and recent pain all clawed at his soul until the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him and even the sight of the fence round the school grounds made him gasp for breath.

~Rogue~

If you hide somewhere to look at people in private moments, it's called spying. It is not a nice thing to do, not at all. It is not only impolite, it’s also indecent. If it amounts to stalking, it can even be classed as criminal.

But it wasn't spying, what she did. Not really. It was just watching. Her new roommate, Jubilation, did people-watching for a favourite pastime, didn’t she? She did it for fun; it couldn't be that bad.

But there was the catch. This was not fun. And it wasn't really people-watching either, because that was something you did when you sat somewhere outside in a public place and watched folk going past.

And what she did was observing, quiet-like, from the background. You learned a lot more about people if you didn't attract the spotlight the moment you appeared. That was easy enough; she wasn't the extrovert type. She didn't actually have to hide for observations, and that's why she was sure it wasn't spying.
Almost.

Besides the spying question sat another. Was it cheating to discuss a person behind their back? Perhaps a little unfair, certainly not good manners, but would it be a betrayal of friendship?

If you got something from a person, you owed the same: Trust, friendship, loyalty. It was different with love, you couldn't command that, but the rest was just a matter of fairness. So - if you saw a friend in trouble, you helped as best you could and didn't ask questions. Only, she didn’t even understand what was wrong with him these days, let alone what she could do to make him feel better. Would she have to ask someone about it?

He clearly wasn’t doing too well. The sessions with the Professor had done a great deal to stop the different people in her head from roaming through her mind, but you needed no weird mental presence to see that Logan was getting edgier every day. The pain that had settled in his eyes with the death of Dr. Grey seemed to be replaced by a positively haunted look, and he moved more aggressively than usual.

He also appeared to have taken to living in the gym. When he had first found her there, shortly after they had arrived at the Mansion, he had looked at the bikes that went nowhere and all the metal that wouldn’t fight back with open scorn. “You wanna get fit, go running, kid. Chop wood. Climb trees. Those gadgets are for geeks as want to show off.” Now, he was spending hours in the windowless room, and his body and mind alike seemed to go through the same routines every day.

Rogue hung around as often as she could - inconspicuously, she hoped. Perhaps her presence would help a little? Last night though, she had sat over her homework till late, then played a round of pool with Bobby and Pyro. When she had gone down later, he had already left, but the punching ball had hung in shreds, claw marks all too obvious. It had scared her for him, and she had quietly removed the remains and put up a spare one. He got enough bad press as it was.

"Hello, Earth to Rogue, do you read me?"

Oops. The younger girl had obviously tried to get her attention for a while. This Jubilation was certainly a spotlight person, and anywhere in her company was most emphatically not the place for privately watching anything or anyone, no matter how you would classify it. Rogue decidedly called her attention to heel.

Not soon enough, though. Jubilation was already scanning the lawn, curious to see what was arresting the attention of the quiet girl she roomed with of late. Her face darkened at the sight of Skewer-Yer-All pacing up and down the garden walk.

She had a great assortment of unpleasant experiences with all sorts of people, and she knew trouble when she saw it. And this guy was, with a capital T. TROUBLE, even.

It wasn’t just his arrogance - Jubes had never felt inclined to bow to that. But every person she had met so far had a weak spot somewhere, one that allowed her to cajole or bribe or even bully them just a little into compliance (with the exception of the Professor, who ranked somewhere up there among the gods and chocolate vendors and was due respectful veneration).

Only with the Wolverine, she couldn’t find the buttons to push - didn’t even know where to start looking. He was weird. And he was dangerous. There did not seem to be an awful lot that kept him from very seriously harming his fellow creatures. Did he even see them all as such? If she was honest with herself, he scared her.
Now wasn’t it lucky that honesty with herself ranked even below maths lessons on her list of favourite pastimes?

“Come on, we have to get ready for dinner!”

She couldn’t quite fathom this Rogue yet, but had decided that she might like her. Rogue had treated her with a courtesy she hadn't experienced in a long time, and she felt a girl like that deserved better friends than this piece of hairy driftwood.

Rogue complied with a smile and did her best to concentrate on hairstyle questions. They would have to look their best tonight. She was to guide visitors through the Mansion. It had come as a surprise to be included among the senior students who took on host roles – serving in the crowded halls or at the bar, constantly bumping into other people, was certainly out of the question for her. She had kept in the background when they were asked to volunteer, but then Ms Munroe had suggested her doing duty at the information desk. There would be other students, as well, to help with questions regarding the facilities of the school, but the teacher had assigned her what looked like a PR role. “I would like someone with diplomatic skills to reassure parents while not giving away any confidential information.”

Diplomatic skills? She didn’t know about that, now. Rogue would have thought it ungrateful in the extreme not to help out in any way she could, but the thought of having to give information that, with one wrong word, might actually jeopardize the school made her terribly nervous.

Bobby had tried his best to be comforting, but he had trouble of his own. His parents had arrived earlier that day. It was the first time he had talked to them after his rather tumultuous departure when herself, Pyro and Logan had sought shelter in the Drakes’ home. She hadn’t heard yet how it had gone, only a rather alarming remark from Pyro: “Yeah, they’re here, and guess who was the first person they ran across. The ‘Arts teacher’.”

The Arts...?
Oh, NO!

He had smirked at her horror, but had reassured her. “It went okay; no shish kebab for dinner.” Pyro’s brand of reassurance was somewhat deficient. And what this boy would regard as having gone “okay” she had shuddered to think.

Then a straight run to the Professor, before she had time to become shy about it, to tell him that there might be questions about a new member of staff. Her anxiety had evaporated in the amused smile that had greeted the revelation. “Arts? Well, I suppose it makes sense. What else would account for a buckle of that size and taste?”

The picture that had later appeared on the staff’s bulletin board looked almost unremarkable. Someone had done a really good job with the photoshop programme.

“What’re you wearing tonight?”

Jubilation’s voice broke again into her thoughts. The girl’s side of the room had exploded into more shades of yellow than Rogue had ever seen in her life, and she felt a little helpless in the face of her own scarcely stocked wardrobe. “Ah don’t know really. Ah’d thought about this one, only it’s got short sleeves.” Which had been fine in town the other day, with long opera gloves, but tonight she was feeling a little more nervous about her skin again.

Jubilation just scowled at the plain dress in open contempt. “Oh, come on, we’re not going to a funeral!”

No. The short commemorative service for Dr. Grey had been a few weeks ago. Not long enough, though. Jubilation thought of it the moment she closed her mouth again and bit her lip. “I mean... look, you could use a bit of colour, you know? You could borrow one of mine; let’s have a look!”

Umm... ‘Elegance and Propriety’ had been Ms Munroe’s key terms when briefing for those on duty tonight had touched upon dress code. “Ah think they would probably not fit me, you see. Mah hips are wider.”

How stupid; she really should have thought about what to wear earlier. Very unlike her. Jubilation, only half-dressed in pants and a bra and with her hair still wet from the shower, clambered over to her side and rummaged through the drawers.

“That all you got? Chica, you got to go shopping soon. Just leave it to me now!”

She dragged out everything, chose the only tight skirt and a sleeveless top before she could be stopped ("No! That has to go UNDER a blouse; Ah can’t...”) and bounded out of the room, trailing a long piece of transparent cloth she had extracted from one of her own drawers. The colour was... unsurprising.

“Siryn, can you help me sew this quickly? - Oh, she’s under the shower?” Vigorous banging on a door. “Siryn, hurry up, we have to get Rogue an outfit!”

If only this girl was more quiet. And would wear at least a bathrobe on a mixed corridor. And would THINK OF CLOSING THE DOOR WHEN HER ROOMATE WASN’T DECENTLY DRESSED!

Rogue sank on her bed. She felt exhausted before the evening had even started.

~Logan~

He had managed to avoid most of the staff for the past couple days, but now the place was teeming with visitors. Chuck had asked him to monitor security measures. Made sense, but was incompatible with keeping out of the way of people.

There were just too many folks around. You bumped into them in every hall and corridor as they toured the premises. (“This is staff only, man, can’t you read the feckin’ sign.”)
You stumbled over them in the garden, having tea and admiring the bloody flowerbeds. (‘Ro kept an eye on them there, and he gave both her and the greenery a wide berth. Admonitions regarding proper visitor treatment wasn’t what he needed right now.)
You ran into them on the usually deserted tower (“Lady, lean over all yer want, but when yer falling, make sure to scream, will ya, so’s the kids below get warned.”) and you trod on them on the way to the gym. Which was, as he had found to his intense annoyance, open for public inspection along with the other facilities. He’d had to physically remove two young guys this morning to work out without an audience.

Quiet, civilised voices everywhere, careful words, fake smiles; it nearly drove him nuts.

He kept an eye on the CCTV, patrolled the corridors and checked with John, who monitored the mobile phone calls of visitors. Chuck could talk about privacy all he wanted - security went first in *his* book, at least when it was other folks’ privacy they were talking about. No need for anyone else to know. *This* kid would keep his mouth shut all right.


~Rogue~

She would be forever grateful to Siryn – whatever had been Jubilation’s original idea, it was certainly owed to Theresa's sense of taste that the result of the sewing session looked unusual, but wearable.

The surprised and admiring glance of Bobby and his smile warmed her through, almost let her pretend she was wearing long sleeves and gloves purely for fashion reasons, almost let her forget that she would never show *her* parents around the Mansion. Almost enough to make her feel like she fitted in.

She drew a deep breath as she moved through the first lot of incoming visitors to the reception desk. Showtime.


~Logan~

The open door to the surgery caught him off guard. They had never used it again since. There was someone there now, a figure in white bowed over a tray with medical instruments. The sight and the smell of the room hit him like a punch in the guts. He nearly doubled over in pain, clutched at the door jamb. The woman looked up, too young, too short, too dark. A student. Startled, uncertain.

“Get outta there!”
“But I’ve got duty...”
“Get the fuck OUTTA THERE!”

She squeezed past him and fled, and for moments he just stood, breathed in gasps, head thrown back in agony.

“Logan, would you please exercise some restraint in front of the visitors. Your lack of...”

‘Ro. He felt caught, exposed, whirled round, fist punching into the wall beside the woman. Plaster fell, a few cracks showed. The fleeting pain across his knuckles brought him round.

Fuck. No need to tell him that was unacceptable. He didn’t actually WANT to be a public nuisance; he just couldn’t stand all this anymore and what was HE doing in “polite company” anyway.

A deep breath and then walk along the corridor, stiffly, trying not to break into a run and attract more attention, the kind that might make him actually attack someone, eyes on the open door at the end, out and across to the garage, just get away for a spell.


~Rogue~

She had completed her third round without major problems and was surprised to find that she could do this. Remaining pleasant in the face of awkward questions wasn’t all that hard, and the politer she was, the more difficult it seemed for even the most belligerent donors to not smile back at her. She was settling nicely into her routine when she suddenly caught Logan’s name in a murmured conversation. It was quite enough even for her to silence all qualms about eavesdropping.

“... certainly no less fierce in suffering than he is in fighting.”

Rogue was good at picking up undertones: there seemed more apprehension than sympathy in Ms Munroe's voice.

“I do not think he poses a direct threat to anyone within the Mansion, nor without. It will be better to just let him be for the moment. If he is not back by tomorrow...” That was the Professor.

Ohmygod, so finally something seemed to have blown his fuses. She KNEW she shouldn’t have waited, should have talked to him or something.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pang of loss at the thought of Dr. Grey. *She* would have been the one to ask. Full of understanding and gentle strength, the telepathic woman had done so much in helping Rogue settle into life at the Mansion. And she had been the only other person who had not looked at Logan with fear or apprehension or distrust. If for nothing else, Rogue would have liked her for that alone.

No time for deliberations, though, she had to catch him before he left. A short, smiling excuse and then squeeze herself through the throng.

She ran across the main hall {{Drat this skirt and high heels now!}} and through the back door, over the lawn and through a flowerbed in the direction of the garage, tried to suppress a surge of panic {{He wouldn’t, would he? Leave for good without telling me?}}, rounded the corner, thank god! there he was, wheeling out the bike.

“Logan? Logan, wait!”


~Logan~

Oh bugger, she hadn’t witnessed him losing it, had she now. The faint twinge of shame made his voice fiercer than he knew. “GodDAMmit kid, not you as well!” It hurt her, easy to see, but he couldn’t handle that right now. “Go. Just... GO.”

He kicked off the bike and made almost blindly for the gate, {{don’t look back now, just run}}; he’d deal with it later, sure he would.


~Rogue~

She stood for a moment hugging herself and blinking away tears. That had obviously been the wrong thing to do. She forlornly trotted back to the Mansion, all newly found confidence gone.

“Rogue, what happened?”
Bobby gingerly put his arm around her shoulders, careful of the unusually thin material she was wearing. She had weaned herself out of leaning into anyone, but the temptation to let go just once and fall into an embrace was almost overwhelming. She cuddled up to him, as carefully as she could.

It was no good. He tried so hard not to draw away, but ever since that kiss in his parents’ house he tensed at her touch. The tender guilt in his eyes hurt her on his behalf and she pretended she hadn’t noticed and curled up on a bench instead, arms round her knees.
You couldn’t have it all.

“I’m worried about Logan.” It wasn’t what he had expected. “He can look after himself, Rogue.” His always kind attempt to be supportive while totally missing the point made her impatient – her turn to feel guilty. He was her boyfriend, wasn’t he? He had a right to get the chance to understand her.

“You see, Ah’ve got so much. There’s you, and then there’s all the crowd and something new to learn every day. The Professor and Ms Munroe are teaching me to sort through all those people in my head and keep them at the back and it’s beginning to work really well and...”

She clearly wasn’t making a point here, walked a few paces, wrestling with her meaning.

“You see, and he’s got so little of it all. Ah’ve begun to belong here, and he has given me that. Ah wish Ah could return some of it.”

She flopped back down onto the bench somewhat despondently. “Ah'd wish he knew he could rely on me.” Really small voice now. “There’s just fight in his life. Ah wish so much that when he runs, he’d know there’s at least me.” That sounded childish, but she couldn’t put it any better.

“I am sure he won’t run away. He will always be there for you.” Bobby’s gentle voice, kindly comforting, was almost as good as a hug.

Ororo, on her way to see whether Logan had indeed left, just caught the last of Rogue’s words and stopped short. That was a declaration of love if ever she had heard one, though neither of the two kids seemed aware of it. This would need looking into. Nobody could ever be sure about Logan’s intentions, but even if he didn’t do it deliberately, his influence on Rogue went far beyond what was appropriate and beneficial for the girl. She felt she had neglected her duty as a guardian and promised herself to observe her a little more carefully. And perhaps even talk to the Professor about it in a quiet moment.

~Logan~

He had started blindly, just putting a few miles behind him. Something held his heart in a tight grip, sent his blood racing through his veins and pounding in his ears as his body tried to shake off constraints that existed only in his mind.

The wind in his face and the bright afternoon sun eased the pressure a little. He’d find himself a fight and perhaps a quick lay and anything beyond that could wait for a while, so at the next town he parked the bike somewhere out of the way and walked the rest to get a feel for the place, see where the likeliest spots might be.

Saturday evening, kids playing on the street, people doing some weekend shopping, strolling along mainstreet, sitting in cafes, enjoying bloody peace and quiet.

Ororo’s words rankled. A “lack of restraint”, was it? Yeah, right. They didn’t have a fucking clue. Other men might shout, bang the table, but they would hold back from attacking – not out of moral superiority, oh no. The thing to restrain them was the knowledge (and ONLY that knowledge, more often than not) that if they threw a single punch, they were likely to get a good kick in the arse themselves. Himself now, he could kill with a single stroke, and then fight his way out of any attempt to arrest him over it. Wasn’t that he did, not in a brawl, not unless he was cornered, but still.

Other men might dream of running wild once in a while and rein it in, checked by cares for reputation and family and a home. No such aid for him; he had to do it all by himself, always trying not to ask why he should bother.

And all the while people were assailing his senses, so hard to keep out. Cheap perfume, expensive perfume; women with their periods he could smell from three feet away; a whiff of alcohol on the breath of an elderly lady with a poodle; the tinge of hate in a small boy crying as his mother smacked him (“I told you to leave him outside – dogs are dogs and people are people!”); a guy in a business suit, meeting a lady (“Hello, my dear, sorry for being late, there was an urgent call...”), smelling of another women he’d had only moments ago; the sickly smell of drugs on a girl of no more than thirteen, dragged along by her mother – so many secrets he shouldn’t know, didn’t want to know, yet couldn’t avoid knowing.

How would he deal with that if he had “no restraint”? How would he bear just talking to people, let alone live with them? He had to keep his life simple to get along. The smells of alcohol and smoke in a bar dulled his senses just enough to concentrate on a fight. Fear and aggression were easy enough to recognise, a fight had simple rules, and so did mating, as long as you chose one that knew the game and expected nothing beyond.

If you wanted more’n that though, you were in for trouble. Which was exactly why he was here now.

So, check out a fight location first thing. He glanced down the side streets as he passed, watching out for nightclubs and bars with the flashing neon sign that told those who knew that it was a fightbar. Town like this, it was almost certainly illegal.

He had stopped at a likely street corner, assessing the feel of his surroundings, when he caught a female voice: “... the one with the pointy hair and the jeans jacket, across from Holborn’s...”

To his knowledge, this was his first time around the place, so who...? Turning as inconspicuously as possible: Two women on a front porch, eyeing him up.

“Don’t look now, he’s coming!”
Well-dressed, well-fed, well-groomed; he knew the type.

“Now THAT’S a body – if you sent your Mr. Honey into the gym for a year he wouldn’t get there.”

Bored out of their minds, they’d come into the bars of an evening, to look at the fights and more’n look at the fighters, and the money they bet would’ve kept a man on food and drink for a year. Thought they could buy it all. If he was in the mood, they’d quickly learn you couldn’t lord it everywhere with money.

“Oh yes – I’d really want an animal like that just once.” Laughter.

He WAS in the mood.

Ten feet away now – he gave the one a glance under a quirked brow, saw her eyes widen, the furtive smile telling him the game was on. Her attention snapped away as a tall pale man reached for her hand to kiss it.

“Hello, honey...G’evening, Celine. Had a good day? Hope you did, mine was just terrible. I’ll actually have to go back and work late today.”

She rolled her eyes at the “honey”, her demeanour barely this side of scornful. The almost tangible contempt of the two women obviously didn’t register – time to assess this possible opponent in passing. Of slim build, slow and uncertain moves: not a fighter. Fair enough. Gold ring, so she had bound herself to this guy by the looks of it. Owed him loyalty. What a bitch.

He smirked as he rounded the corner. The blessings of domestic life, eh? Oh yeah, she’d do nicely - tonight he needed someone he could despise.


~*~

She threw a glance across the lawn after she had brought her man to the car and had gotten rid of Celine. He seemed gone. Pity; he had been quite a sight.

What next, then? Feed the cats.

She turned to the shed and let out a shocked gasp – there he leaned beside the open door, eyes travelling over her body. With a little more perception she would have seen the cold rage in him, but she was only aware of his gaze undressing her, and it gave her a thrill of excitement. This wasn’t one of the tame party people she knew, more like the guys Celine picked up occasionally at that fighting place she kept going on about (“And they are gorgeous, I tell you, and so easily impressed with the house and everything, really cute with their ‘Yes, ma’am’, though they *do* need a shower before *and* after...”)

“Well...er...what...” Her voice trailed off as he pushed himself away from the wood and came over to her, much too close, much too...physical, much too MALE.

{{Wow. Quite a sight indeed. This is not really happening, is it? This is more like a film, of the really sleazy sort, but why is he here, and who *is* he anyway, and I just hope Mike won’t come back, he’s always forgetting things, and..}}

His hand was already roughly tracing her breast, her hip, her thigh, giving her what felt like a full-body blush and a weakness in the pit of her stomach.

“So you want me, eh? Just how bad then, tell me.”

{{How does he...he *can’t* have heard us, not across that distance, surely...}} Her heels brought her up to his height, but that didn’t help one bit. {{Oh yes, here’s one that would never ask for sympathy after a bad day at work.}} “Bad enough.”

She actually had to muster courage for the challenging smile that usually worked, and for running her hand across his chest, the sculpted muscles above the massive ornate buckle he wore.

“Hmm.” His hand came away from her throat, catching her on the buttocks.

“Won’t we go inside? That’s much nicer...” Her voice did not quaver like that, normally. And really, he did not seem to be the type to play it “nice”, which was just fine. Oh yes, it was.

He turned her round, his hand never leaving her back, marched her over to the shed. For a moment, the sense of his power and domination left her breathless with desire. Inside, it was cool and shady, and she thought of the blankets they kept in the corner beside the sailing gear. But he gave her no time to turn, and suddenly, much too late, she felt a pang of fear.

{{What did we say there, and how much *did* he hear, and what kind of person could possibly...}}

He steered her over to the workbench; one hand lifting her dress.

{{No underwear; saves time.}}

Two strong warm fingers went straight between her legs and into her. She gasped - that was faster than any she’d had, here or in the boathouse on a garden party. It made her arch, almost painfully, one foot on the spare wheel leaning against the bench.

She heard the clatter of a heavy buckle against the wood, the sound of a zip, and was pushed across the workbench, none too gently.

“No, not like this... you can’t...not this way, NO!” He rammed into her, hard, fast, and she gasped again. “No that isn’t... I... oh GOD, yes...”

The hands on her hips held her down, moved her, roughly enough to hurt, and she felt this wasn’t right, but fear and desire strangely mixed and kept her from breaking free.

His hands were digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks, his movements smooth, peculiarly controlled. He was silent throughout, even when he came, and that scared her more than anything else.

She shuddered and kept very quiet, trying to still even her breath when he slid out. The soft sound of a condom being removed {{So he did use one, did he?}} and tossed into the bin by the door with perfect aim, zip, buckle closed; she winced when he leaned back over her, his hand heavy on her neck, his breath close to her ear: “If you want an animal, you gotta BECOME one...honey.”

Only when she heard the door bang did she get up, straightening her dress with shaking hands.

{{Hide that condom first, and take a shower, and I’m sure that’s leaving bruises, I got to hide them from Mike now, and I’ll never be able to wear that dress again.}}

She had never felt so used, so humiliated in her life, but strangely, she could not muster her usual haughty anger.

{{Why didn’t I run, why didn’t I... He would have forced me, he was too strong... though I never really tried, did I, he even asked...but he didn’t make *sure* of what I wanted and I did say no...but I never really tried...
and...
WHAT A STORY I have to tell Celine!}}

~Rogue~

“Ohhh, have you broken up with Bobby?”

Rogue, busy putting away her pen and what was left of the heavy paper she had... “acquired” from the office earlier during the night, threw her a startled glance. What would the wild imagination of this girl lead to this time?

Sharing a room was a whole new experience for Rogue, but she was sure that was not the only reason why she found the other girl a little trying. True, she relaxed more easily now in the presence of other people. She also understood the Professor’s intention of gently forcing her to rely on the tiny hold she seemed to be getting on her mutation. She just doubted Ms Munroe’s wisdom in choosing roommates.

Jubilation had been great and unselfish help earlier, but Rogue valued her privacy highly, and this commodity had certainly become something of a luxury lately.

“What would give you that idea?”

Jubilation pouted at the reaction. “Well, if you are writing love-letters to your tame werewolf...”

“That was just a note to say...” Bewilderment changed to fury. “He’s not a ‘werewolf’, how DARE you! And how CAN you think I’d... ” She knew she spluttered, but really, how completely ABSURD! It left her almost speechless.

Jubilation sat back with a smug expression on her face. Well, well, so that was how you got a rise out of Miss Pleasant Smile? She was being protective about the big bad wolf’s reputation before her own, was she now! How interesting.

But it was not a good sign if a woman didn’t know her Own Heart. The sooner her True Feelings were dragged out and examined under the light of her, Jube’s, superior judgement, the better. It would prepare her to stand up to this brute of a man. Jubes would make sure he would not get away with ANYTHING. Not as far as she herself was concerned (should he ever try), and neither with this Rogue girl who, really, had to be protected from the bad world, she was so sweet.

“Chica, you’ve got a crush on him.”

Oh dear, not even that simple thought had occurred to her. Obviously, it was necessary to spell out details to open her eyes. Jubes counted the points off her raised fingers.

“One, he’s your knight on a ... well, a battered bike, but anyway. Two, he’s the hottest guy on this globe and the next.”

She had no difficulty at all ignoring Rogue’s slightly shocked expression.

“Three, he’s also the most domineering alpha male I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying a lot. And that makes four, you couldn’t deny him ANYthing. VERY dangerous for a girl around a guy, sweetie!”

Rogue stared at her with a frown. “Deny? Why should Ah want to? He’s not even asking for anything.”

This time it was Jube’s turn to roll her eyes to heaven. How could a girl that age be so absurdly innocent? Especially after spending months on the road, as far as she had heard?

“Oh Chica, REALLY. Nothing’s for free in this world, right? And now that he’s no longer got Dr. Grey to occupy his fantasies, who knows? He’s gotten a bit restive lately, hasn’t he?”

Rogue’s face would beat any New Year lantern, her blush was so bright.

“Jubilation Lee, you’ve got a sick mahnd on you, and Ah’m not listening.”

Even the heap of blanket looked hostile as she curled up in her bed, facing the wall. Jubes just shrugged. Ah well, it would just need a little more work to put wisdom into this girl and make her see her danger.


~Logan~

There was still a good bit of night left when he came back, pushing the bike up the driveway, not wanting to alert anyone to his return.

It wasn’t that he felt like hiding – as far as he was concerned, the woman had gotten what she wanted, and so had he. Sort of. He just didn’t want to run into anyone with the smell of that goddamn bitch on him – the two worlds didn’t mix well.

Sure enough, there was still light behind some of the curtains, so it would have to be the back way. A quick climb through ivy brought him on to the garden wall (all this shrubbery round the place was a security risk if ever he’d seen one), and a sure-footed sprint along it to the roof of the adjoining library. A pull-up and he was on the ridge.

He crouched low for a moment to check his surroundings, and also to pull off his boots for better footing. Those slate tiles made some racket when falling off. Especially when they hit the glass roof of the greenhouse right beside. He’d tested that first thing when it began to look like he’d be around here for a while. Had then loosened some of the tiles, memorizing their places. Just because he wanted as many private routes as possible didn’t mean he had to invite the world at large to take the same way.

Another pull-up to the window he had tampered with, then dropping inside and a quick roll into the shadows. Might not be necessary here, but old habits and all that. Everything as quiet as you could expect at this hour in a school with loads of visitors; no smells that shouldn’t be here. This was Rogue’s floor, another very good reason for having a quick entrance and escape if necessary.

Ah, yes, Rogue. He still had to figure out a way of making up to her – shit, he hadn’t meant to lash out like that. She had enough on her plate here; she shouldn’t think she had to tread carefully around him, too.

Not exactly his daily bread‘n butter, though, making excuses. Couldn’t buy her a drink and be done with it. That meant explanations, and what in the name of blazes would you tell a girl there? “I felt rotten hanging around, so I needed a good fuck and it turned out rotten, too?” Geezes. It wasn’t like he actually understood what possessed him, either.

For a moment he stood outside her door, head bowed, eyes closed the better to concentrate. He couldn’t (and didn’t want to) catch the low voices inside, but it sounded like they were okay in there. Good. The smell of freshly washed hair wafted out, shower gel that pretended an acquaintance with strawberries, and some chemical stink he identified as deo – that would be of the girl they called Jubes. The kid had a taste on her like you wouldn’t believe – “tacky” didn’t even come near it.

“Jubilation Lee, you have a sick mahnd on you and Ah’m not listening!”

The exasperated outburst within and the coincidence both pulled him into a reluctant smile. Well, if she could squabble she wasn’t too upset – maybe he wouldn’t have to talk to her at all.

He briefly checked for food in the kitchen – an apple, fair enough – then went on to the room he slept in. A small square of white tucked between door and jamb gleamed in the twilight. He eyed it warily for a second, then caught a faint whiff of Rogue-smell. Huh?
The bedside lamp showed him tidy ornate handwriting:

Dear Logan,

Sorry to have been a nuisance.
I did not mean to trespass.
Hope you had a pleasant evening in the end.

Rogue

He sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m sorry”, so simple. Was that how people normally behaved around each other? Taking care of these small things? And it wasn’t that she had to be afraid of him or wanted to cajole him into anything; she just treated him like she had learnt to treat any friend, innocently and without guile. Expected nothing in return. Readily accepted a responsibility that was his. He’d have to watch out for that, before it became a regular habit with her.

God, he felt stupid, this was no love-letter and him not a teenager. Thing was, here he held literally the only thing he had received from a person willingly and freely given, as far back as he could remember.

This, and Jean’s smile at times.

Something stabbed at his heart.

“Dogs are dogs and people are people.”
This was what made the difference, wasn’t it?

He sat a long time, turning the heavy paper in his hands. Tried to figure out what it was that kept him here, what this empty, pulling feeling was that chilled his soul and made the prospect of running, drifting back north again so damn near unbearable. It was hard, too; he never looked too close inside of him. You never knew if you were gonna like what you found there. Questioning yourself just made you weak.

He got it in the end, put a name to the emotion.

Loneliness. You called it loneliness.

~Rogue~

The dream, when it came, was all her own. No blood, no torture, no claws or wires. Just the garden behind her parents’ house, the sloping lawn down to the river, a table with white cloth, all prepared for her birthday party. Sixth? Seventh? Her mother bringing out a cake: “Marie” in green icing. Candles. Her little sister Michelle with her beloved toy horse.

The guests arriving: family, friends, even a few neighbours. Laughter. Her best dress with lace that she loved, the warm sunshine in the leaves of the sprawling walnut tree. Butterflies playing over the cotton field beyond. A beautiful day.

Something wriggled a little at the back of her mind. She had forgotten something. Something really, really important.

Her daddy, home from work, coming across the lawn. His proud smile saying “that’s my big girl now”. He had promised her riding lessons later this summer, when school was out. And when she was big, he would teach her shooting, as well. They just needed to convince momma. And they would, between the two of them.

She made to race into his arms, but something kept tugging at her mind, slowing her down.

He came nearer, and the world shifted; seemed to revolve around them. All eyes on her.

What WAS it now she had to think of.

He had almost reached her, his smile wide, every detail of his face etched out in lucid clarity. “Hey little one!”...

But the sun was gone now, clouds moving fast, cold wind blowing

... ready to pick her up and swing her round like he always did...

but no, he mustn’t, something terrible would happen

... the whole world turning grey...

“No, daddy, NO!!”

... and then he touched her and she couldn’t stop him, couldn’t scream, could just watch as he fell apart, disintegrated into dust, and the wind blew from *her*, caught everything in its wake, reduced all to swirling ashes - guests, garden, house, everything, blowing it all away like in the pictures she had seen of Hiroshima, and she knew it would also take her, take her last and she would be sucked into nothingness, into the black cold void beneath all things and she tumbled, nothing to cling to, no foothold in the world, it ripped her loose like an old flag and she blew away, whirled, fell...

She woke up, trembling with cold and horror, panicking in the dark, body curled into a tight knot. Just slowly, she saw the moonlight filtering into the room, heard the other girl breathing evenly, felt the sheets around her. She got her breath back and tried to shake off the dream.

Meditation was supposed to help. Breath calmly, concentrate on the image of something that makes you feel good.

So difficult to focus her thoughts. They drifted off, always moving in many layers.

Oh please, Logan wasn’t gone for good, was he?

Her life was all right during the day. There were people to talk to and things to do, easy to pretend she was one among many. But during the night, it all fell away, and she had to face the bitter hunger for human touch, the pain of loss that came with remembering the places and people of her childhood, her desperate longing for a home, someplace or somebody she belonged to, some shelter to keep her from the cold wind blowing out in the world. She clung to Logan’s promise, replayed it in her mind.

She knew she shouldn’t - she no longer was a child and part of the loneliness came with growing up. And she didn’t want to cling. All the memories in her head confirmed that yes, you were on your own out there. The sooner she resigned herself to it, the better.

But it was hard, and the images of home had taken her back in time, and just now she wanted to be hugged, to be told that everything would be fine in the morning, that someone would take care of it all and tuck her back into bed and promise her a visit of the tree-fairy she and her best friend Valerie knew lived in the walnut-tree.

Her sister and Valerie and granny...

She tried to muffle the sob that formed in her throat.

Jubilation stirred in her sleep. Oh no, don’t wake up! That would bring pity and bright reassuring smiles and a lot of hustle.

Rogue slid out of bed, pulled on her gloves and grabbed her emergency bag. Ever since the attack, a lot of students slept more or less fully clothed, and kept a bag with the bare necessities close at hand. Her experience with travelling lightly had made her a good advisor on that subject.

Gusts of wind swept the trees outside, and long fingers of lightning illuminated the edge of the forest beyond the school grounds. Soon, there would be thunder, and Jubilation would wake up. She left her a short message on the pillow and then moved stealthily outside.

It had to be about three or four in the morning; the corridors were deserted. She padded to the ground level and past the library to the door of the conservatory. No, not even Ms Munroe was up any more. The warm, humid air inside never failed to calm her. Soft petals of a magnolia blossom caressing her bare skin in a sisterly greeting, crumbs of earth clinging to her fingers, a drop of water like a tiny explosion on her palm...

Another deep breath - plants at least thrived under her hands. She snuggled into the old battered sofa at the back of the greenhouse where the tools were kept, drew out a book and started reading by the light of the one bulb. The sound of rain drumming on the glass roof and the warm protected feeling inside finally put her mind to rest and she slept, deep and undisturbed.


~Logan~

The first raindrops splattered against the window, bringing with them the clean, simple smells of the forest and a promise of relief. He put the folded note into his wallet, then stood up and stared outside. Wash off tonight, and start to learn. No need to tie himself down and copy their lives, but at least get to know about their ways. He was a good observer, he’d manage.

He felt the muddied waters of his soul clear. He swung himself over the windowsill, dropped to the ground and started running, lightly, into the woods.

~Epilogue~

It really was not permissible to let go like this and put all creatures for miles around through the unpleasantness of a thunderstorm, but it certainly had done a lot to make her feel much more composed. And it seemed as if at least one other person had benefited from the outburst, Storm thought as she hovered above the forest and noticed the drenched man that emerged from under the trees.
She regarded him with curiosity. So that was what his hair looked in its natural state? She had always though it odd of him to use gel; he didn’t seem the type to spend half an hour in front of a mirror to get his hair done up into those ridiculous peaks. It had never occurred to her he would need the gel to keep his hair DOWN.

And there was Rogue, coming out of the garden, head lifted into the fading rain and early sunlight with a smile. Out with the man, this early in the morning? Storm watched closely as he walked up, but it obviously wasn’t an appointed meeting. He just stood there, waiting for her to open her eyes. The girl started a little. Had she any reason to be afraid of him? Storm couldn’t see his face, tried to read the step he took closer, the hand he reached out. Was it meant comfortingly, or was he making her addicted to his touch? Perhaps; it was such a powerful thing with Rogue.

Storm watched her wrap herself into Logan’s strong, unhesitating hug and felt sudden pity at the sigh the girl heaved. She was starved of human touch, wasn’t she? Settling into the daily routine at the Mansion surely did not mean that toxic skin was less painful to the bearer.

Logan kept an arm round her shoulders in easy familiarity as the two went over to the door. Storm acknowledged defeat in her attempt to fathom this man. So savage at times, yet enough gruff courtesy to open the door for a girl and pick up her scarf.

Sure enough, he would notice the presence of a third person and turned his head. His glance was sharp, assessing, but he never broke contact with the girl.

“Go get yerself somethin’ hot, kiddo. Shower. Food.”

“But Ah still have to read the...”

“Uh-uh. Off yer go. I’ll check on you.”

He gently steered her into the vague direction of the kitchen, and she rolled her eyes. So much like any other teenager. Her smile and greeting confident, not holding back anything. No hint of awkwardness or guilt there, no intimacy beyond what propriety would dictate, and that finally convinced Storm more than anything else. Whatever bonded these two, he did not hold nor seek power over his young protégée. Judging by his slightly relaxed air, as far as one could tell with him, Rogue actually seemed to have some influence over the man, as well.

One of his brows shot up, gaze intent. "I like your concept of restraint."

For once, Ororo decided to ignore the mocking drawl. What had Kurt said the other day? "He is not always seeking a fight. He is just faster than many persons to see a challenge.” That was probably correct, but it seemed almost impossible to be unchallenging around Logan.

"One cannot have it all at all times, I should say."

That earned her half a grin. "So true."

And he walked away without any further indication that he had even noticed her presence. Had she really just thought about “courtesy” in connection with this man?