Slavery10

Slavery, Deliverance and Faith: Part 10
by Dyce

This final part of Slavery, Deliverance and Faith is
dedicated to Jenny, Annie's biggest fan, for whose
birthday the ending was rushed through. ^-^ Happy
Birthday, Jenny! I hope you like how it ends!

Creed shifted slightly, leaning back in his seat. The
one here at the back of the plane was wide enough even
for him, if a bit short. Annie was beside him, her
head resting against his shoulder. The pain in her
hand was upsetting her, and he was surprised at how
much it bothered him too. Pain should be quick, soon
over, not lingering like this - at least, not for her.
He was used to it, but Annie had never felt anything
like it before.

For such a tiny kid, Clarice was heavy. He wasn't sure
how she'd ended up on his lap, but he didn't entirely
object. She wasn't really all *that* heavy, and
something about having a little warm thing curled up
against his stomach was... nice. She'd actually gone
to sleep, little fingers fisted in his furs.

He cautiously savoured the feeling of it, one leaning
on his chest, the other against his side. They were
warm and soft, both much too young to trigger any sort
of physical interest, but... nice. He wasn't used to
nice, wasn't entirely comfortable with it, but he
didn't really want it to stop, either.

To distract himself from the warm fuzzy feelings, he
looked around the rest of the plane. Across from him,
Logan was sitting with his arm around Marie, wearing
the same startled, soppy expression that kept trying
to molest Creed's face. Two rows in front of him,
behind One-eye and ostentatiously far away from
everyone else, was the little snot who claimed to be
Logan's kid. Creed believed it. The big, lanky kid
was the only person who'd ever annoyed him as much and
as fast as the runt. On the other side, the two boys
were huddled together.

That was... odd. He hadn't felt any sort of connection
with the blonde boy the way he had with Annie. Maybe
the physical resemblance was just a coincidence. Or
maybe the kid was too old. Annie was still a little
girl, but this one had to be at least seventeen, a bit
on the short side still, but with the long, stringy
look of someone just coming out of the last big growth
spurt. The other one, the scrawny pretty-boy, was
still shorter, but if Creed was any judge he'd wind up
somewhere above six foot.

He stuck like a burr to the other one, and Creed was
glad he had Xavier to palm them both off on. He'd
seen trauma like this before, and as far as he was
concerned, Xavier could have them both as a gift.

Clarice's breath was ruffling the fur under his chin.
His mind wandered fairly comprehensively at that
point.

* * *

Scott brought the plane down in one of his personal
best landings.

This, he thought, was his day. It was perfect.
Everything had gone so right it was scary. He'd not
only scooped the little lost smelly animals and the
kids up without a hitch, he'd also - oh, such bliss! -
completely, utterly, and totally emasculated Logan.

That thought was going to keep him warm and happy for
many days to come. He coasted through the landing,
the lowering of the plane into the underground hangar,
and letting people know they were home in a fuzzy glow
of satisfaction. He'd unmanned the hairball. Stolen
his thunder, rained on his parade, completely ruined
his rescue. Mmm. Happy.

*Scott, that's not nice,* Jean's voice said
reprovingly in his mind.

Scott grinned. *Oh, like you didn't feel the exact
same way that time when your shoes matched your purse
perfectly and you ran into that blonde from your old
school who was wearing-*

*Yes, well,* she sent hastily. *Get all the kids over
to the Medlab. And stop irritating Logan.*

*Spoil my fun,* Scott returned good-humouredly. The
whole exchange had taken place in the moment or two it
had taken for the plane to settle. "Okay, everyone
out."

They shuffled down the gangway, the boys looking
around them curiously. Marie and Annie both stuck
like glue to their protectors, and Clarice was still
dozing, snuggled into one of Creed's big arm.

Scott smiled at Ororo as she came to meet them. "Hey.
For those of you who don't know her, this is Ororo.
She's a teacher here." He tried for a reassuring smile
at the boys. "We're going to take you up to the
Medlab now, and-"

"No!" The youngest boy... about fourteen, by the look
of him... shook his head frantically. "No labs!"

Scott frowned, opening his mouth... and then he closed
it again. "Okay," he said gently. "Listen... Jonny,
right? If it'll make you more comfortable, Ororo will
take you and your friend up to one of the spare rooms.
You can rest there, and one of the doctors will come
to you."

Jonny kept a careful distance, but the other one...
Kyle?... gave Scott what was either a grateful smile
or a death threat. With those teeth it was hard to
tell. "We'll be there," he agreed, and the two of
them headed off, like pale, skinny ducklings trailing
after Ororo. They'd be fine. Ororo knew how to
handle the more sensitive or traumatized kids - she'd
had rough patches in her own life, and empathy
sometimes worked better than sympathy.

Logan led the way to the Medlab, and Scott let him
have it. He was trying to reassert his dominance,
yes, but he was also genuinely concerned about Marie.
Even Creed looked a little worried, presumably about
Annie.

The third boy, Geordi, trailed along behind them,
still maintaining a careful distance. Interestingly,
Scott was getting the feeling that his aversion to the
others wasn't a rejection of them as mutants. Judging
by his body language, the boy was frightened and
intimidated... and angry about something. The way
some people, especially teenaged boys, coped with
feeling that way was acting like obnoxious little
monsters, and that tied with how the boy was behaving.
Scott found himself empathising a little. Ororo knew
what it was like to be frightened and traumatized -
Scott Summers knew what it was like to cover fear with
an attitude the size of a small moon. He'd been
seventeen not all THAT long ago.

"Scott." They'd reached the Medlab, and Jean smiled
at him as he followed Geordi inside. Her forehead
furrowed a little, and she looked past him. "I
thought you said there were three new students."

"There are. The other two will have to be treated in
their room." He held up a hand before she could
protest. "I know it's not standard procedure, but I
think bringing them here would do more harm than
good." He tilted his head ever so slightly towards
Logan.

Jean understood, as he'd known she would. She'd
picked up the edges of Logan's dreams often enough to
know why the Medlab could be intimidating. "Of
course," she agreed. "We'll check on Marie and Annie
first, then I'll go up and-"

"Hank should go," Annie piped up. It was only then
that Scott realized how quiet she'd been while Hank
sat her on an examination bed and began unwrapping her
hand.

Then he realized what she'd said, and he frowned.
"Hank? Under the circumstances, I assumed that... a
female doctor would be better," he finished lamely.
Jean and Hank's eyes widened a little. Geordi
blinked. None of the others seemed to be surprised.

Annie shook her head. "She looks too normal," she
explained. "Jonny twitches away from Logan and Marie
and Geordi, but not me or Clarice or Dad or Kyle."
She looked a little sad. "The scientists woulda been
human. He's less likely to be scared by a big fuzzy
teddybear than someone who looks normal."

It made a nasty kind of sense, and Hank nodded. "I
will do my humble best not to cause either of them any
further alarm," he rumbled, putting aside the
makeshift bandage. He examined Annie's hand gently.
"I suspect several of the bones are broken," he
continued. "This will take some time." He gave Scott
a meaningful look.

Scott took the hint. "Creed, Logan," he said firmly.
"We're in the way. Professor Xavier is waiting for a
report, and you look to be in better shape than any of
the kids." He took the time while Creed was putting
Clarice down on another of the beds and gently
disentangling her fingers from his wolf-furs to look
over at Jean. *Is it all right to leave the boy here?
He doesn't look hurt, but he's got an attitude worse
than mine was when I got here... probably for the same
reasons.*

*Poor kid,* Jean thought back with a sympathetic taste
to her mental voice. *He's not showing it, but he's
about one more scare from having hysterics right here.
Hank and I'll keep an eye on him.*

Scott nodded, and firmly herded the other two men out
of the room. It was a mark of how stressful the last
few days had been that they let him do it.

* * *

Geordi's fingers dug into the edges of the bench.
God. He didn't know what was going on, he didn't know
who most of these people were, and he wanted to go
home. He wanted to go home a week ago. Back to Aunt
Loren and Uncle Bart, to his cousins, to his home in
Vancouver with his own room and his own clothes and
all the other things that made it home.

Better yet, to be back in Denver, with his mother.
No, don't think about that. Can't deal with that
right now.

"Hello?" The pretty redhead was smiling a
professionally friendly smile at him. She'd just
finished patching up the pretty girl with the
skunk-hair, and he was evidently next on her list.
"I'm Doctor Jean Grey."

"Geordi Logan," he said, looking down at his knees.
He didn't want sympathetic smiles right now. "And
don't even think about saying 'Wow, you look different
without your VISOR'."

She looked puzzled. "Uh... okay." Obviously not a
Star Trek fan. Good. "Are you injured at all,
Geordi?"

"No," he said rather bitterly. He'd frozen. That
obnoxious little girl had taken down nearly a dozen
guards and he'd just been standing there unable to
move a muscle. He'd never been so humiliated.

"Good." The redhead nodded, giving him another warm
smile. "Now, Annie told me that all of you were given
some sort of drug to inhibit your mutant powers. I'm
going to need to take a blood-sample from you for
testing, all right?"

Oh, great. He hated needles. But he would rather die
right here, right now, than show himself up as any
more of a wuss than he already had. "Sure." He
shrugged out of the top of his coverall thing, letting
it hang around his waist, and held out one arm.
"Here." The redhead nodded, and Geordi felt a little
better. Slightly less totally emasculated, anyway.

"So... I take it that you know you're a mutant?" she
said, doing something with needles and cotton-balls.
Geordi was determinedly not looking, in case he threw
up and died of embarrassment right there.

"Yeah. Always have." He opened his mouth
illustratively. "The werewolf dentistry was a big
hint. Especially when I was five."

"I can imagine." She was smiling again. He couldn't
see it, since he was staring determinedly at the
opposite wall, but he could hear it in her voice.
"And that doesn't bother you?"

He snorted. "Lady, I'm an orphaned black kid with a
dorky name living in Canada, the land beloved by the
Snow Gods. You think I don't have bigger problems
than wacky teeth?"

"I guess that makes sense." She dabbed at his arm
with something cold. "Is there someone we should be
calling, Geordi? A guardian or something?"

"My aunt and uncle," he said, wincing a little as the
needle dug into his arm. "I'll call them. They've
gotta be going out of their minds by now."

"Probably. I'll show you where the phone is as soon
as we're done here, okay?" The redhead leaned over
his arm, watching the little plastic thing fill up
with blood. Over her shoulder, he saw the blue furry
one... who would have been intimidating if Geordi
hadn't had a giant Cookie Monster doll when he was
very small... pick up a bag and amble out the door,
presumably to check on the other two guys. The
obnoxious blonde kid was curling up for a nap, and the
little pink one was already out like a light.
"Listen, Geordi... I'm impressed by how well you're
coping, but your heart is still going a mile a minute.
Try to take some slow, deep breaths, okay?" She
whipped the needle out and pressed a cotton ball
against his arm, giving him another warm smile.
"You're safe here," she promised. "This place is a
refuge for people in trouble."

Geordi nodded slowly. "Maybe," he said noncomittally.
Only an idiot went around trusting every pretty
redhead who said hey, dude, you're safe! He'd wait and
see.

* * *

Professor Xavier sighed, leaning back in his chair.
God. This was like interviewing Bobby and John.
Logan and Creed were parked in the chairs in front of
Xavier's desk, ankles on knees, arms draped casually
over the backs of their chairs, eyes fixed firmly on
his left ear. The picture of casual defiance could
only have been improved if they'd been chewing gum.

"Let me get this straight," he said patiently. "Upon
the disappearance of the girls, you took it upon
yourselves to steal a jeep from the school, and drive
to Oregon."

They both nodded.

"Where you left it."

They both nodded.

Xavier sighed. "All right. I'll accept for now that
it was probably necessary. Then you, and I quote,
'went to where the compound was'. How long, exactly,
did that take?"

Logan shrugged. "Three days. Give or take."

Creed nodded. "Give or take," he agreed.

Xavier resisted an urge to roll his eyes. "And then
you... ah... 'rescued the kids then came out and
Cyclops was there'. Is that right."

"Yep," said Creed.

"Yep," said Logan.

Xavier gave them the long, stern, slightly sorrowful
look that usually worked on the students. "Could you
perhaps give me a little more detail? What the
compound was being used for? Where inside the
compound the youngsters were? How much fighting was
involved?"

"Nope," said Logan.

"Nope," Said Creed.

In twenty years John and Bobby were going to be
exactly like this. Xavier made a mental note to hand
the reins of power over to Scott before that happened.
"Very well, I suppose. I suggest that you go eat
and... ah... freshen up a little." He gave the blood,
mud, and grass stains all over the two men a
disapproving look.

They smirked nastily at him and slouched out. Xavier
automatically cocked an ear for bickering to start
outside his door. Four days together, and the two of
them had the body-language of the kind of
lifelong-buddies that made life hell for authority
figures everywhere. He brightened a little. If he was
lucky, he'd be there to watch when the two of them
realized what was going on.

*Jean?* he sent, when he was sure they were gone.
*How are you doing?*

*This is definitely Logan's kid,* she sent back with a
hint of amusement. *He's got a serious attitude
problem which is covering up a basically good kid
underneath, and he keeps thinking of me as 'the
redhead'.*

Xavier couldn't help smiling a little. *Does he have
any family? Parents? Someone we should contact?*

*Yes and no,* she replied, mental voice tinged with
sadness. *His mother died a couple of years ago,
apparently. He lives with an aunt and uncle...
presumably on his mother's side. I took him to the
phone-room just a few minutes ago.* The phone-room
was a small, comfortable room with one or two chairs
and a phone... and a closeable door. Students needed
permission to use it, but they liked having somewhere
where they could talk to family and friends in
private.

*Good.* He paused for a moment. *Did you pick up
anything we should know about?* he asked delicately.
Jean had been examining the boy, and sometimes when
she touched someone little flashes of what they were
thinking and feeling passed to her.

*I sensed that he has a relatively happy home life,*
she responded after a moment. *He misses his mother a
great deal, but he's fond of his aunt and uncle, and
he was anxious to let them know that he was all right.
He also told me that he's known he was a mutant for
some time, and I think the family knows as well.*

*Good,* Xavier said again, relaxing a little. It was
a terrible but unavoidable fact that many of the
students at the school had been rescued not from
howling mobs or evil mutant masterminds, but their own
families. *Do you have any guesses as to whether
he'll go back, or want to stay here?*

Jean didn't respond for some time, and when she did,
her mental voice was troubled. *I don't know if he
can go back, Professor, even if he wants to. He has a
healing factor just like Logan's. From what Annie's
told us since she came here, I think that makes him a
prime target. For everyone. He might be putting his
family in danger even by being in contact with them.*

* * *

Annie bounced on her bed a few times... carefully, so
as not to break the bedstead again... then flopped
back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm glad we're
back." She waved her cast aimlessly. She could
already feel the bones starting to knit back together.
The drug must have been given to them in their food,
she figured, given how fast it was wearing off once
they'd had a decent meal and twelve hours clear of the
facility. Another few hours and they should all be
back to normal.

"Me too," Clarice agreed, curling up on her bed. "I
like it here. Only I wish your Dad could stay here
with us."

"Me too." Annie paused and thought about it. "Only
not really, because him and Mr Summers would make each
other crazy. Er."

Clarice nodded in agreement. So did Marie, who was
sitting on the end of Clarice's bed. "God, yes," the
latter agreed. "Can you imagine the two of them
spending more than ten minutes talking each other?
There'd be a warp in the spacetime continuum, or
something."

"Or someone's head would implode," Annie agreed.
"Hey, maybe-"

"We are NOT locking them up together to see if the
spacetime continuum warps," Marie said with weary
firmness.

"Aww. Okay." Annie nibbled thoughtfully on the tip of
one of her curls. "Do you think we're gonna stay
here?"

Marie and Clarice both blinked at her. "Why wouldn't
we?" Clarice asked uncertainly.

"'Cause Marie got picked up from here," Annie
explained, as if it should have been obvious. "The
den's been compromised." She heaved a little sigh.
"Dad's probably gonna relocate us. That's what
felines do, you know. Wolverine might move you too,
Marie, just in case."

"He might, I guess," Marie said doubtfully.

Annie nodded sagely. They didn't believe her now, but
she knew. Instincts were instincts. There was a rap
on the door, and she sat up. "Did you bring us a
present?" she called hopefully. A lot of people had
brought candy and small plastic toys as a 'glad you're
back' gift.

"Annie!" Marie hissed.

"Oh, okay, okay... you can come in even if you didn't
bring us a present!" Annie called. For some reason,
Marie frowned on asking for presents.

There probably wasn't one anyway, since it was her dad
who stuck his head around the door. "Like you need
any more stuff," he said disapprovingly, looking
around the room. "Get some sleep. We're gonna stick
around for a while."

Marie and Clarice both looked smug. Annie ignored
them. "What've you got behind your back?" she asked
curiously. He was obviously hiding something.

He blushed. He actually blushed. Annie would have
been prepared to swear he didn't know how. "I...
uh... went back and picked up some of our stuff.
Found this." Awkwardly, he held out a fluffy,
simpering pink bear.

Marie blinked.

Annie blinked.

"MISS PINKY!" Clarice squealed, making a dive for the
toy. "She's alive!"

"Well, no, not really, but she's in one piece," Annie
observed. "I guess my goldfish wasn't, huh?"

"Nope. All puffed up and disintigrating," her father
confirmed.

Annie shrugged philosophically. "Oh, well. He wasn't
any fun anyway."

Clarice left off hugging her bear for a minute to hug
Creed, who coughed and looked monumentally
embarrassed. Marie kindly pretended not to notice,
staring thoughtfully out the window. Annie giggled.
"Thank you," Clarice said, giving him another hug
before going back to her bed to carefully arrange Miss
Pinky on her pillow.

"Ahem.. yeah, well... uh... I'll see ya at dinner,"
Creed stammered, and fled.

Annie and Marie both collapsed into hysterical
giggles.

* * *

Hank closed his little black bag - which Jean had
bought for him as a
congratulations-you're-now-a-doctor present - and gave
the two boys what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He
got a couple of small smiles back, and relaxed a
little. "Aside from malnutrition and lack of
exercise, you both seem to be in reasonably good
health," he said kindly. "Given time, you will be
completely physically recovered from your ordeal."

They both nodded. They reminded Hank almost absurdly
of the time right after Bobby had arrived. Bobby had
been twelve years old and physically and emotionally
shattered. He'd refused to talk to anyone, or even
look at them, until Hank had appeared. Less than a
day later, Hank had all but had a siamese twin. Bobby
had followed him everywhere, clinging childishly to
his hand, speaking only to him and refusing to let
anyone else come near him. Hank had fed him, tended
his injuries, and let Bobby sleep on a camp-bed in
Hank's bedroom. It had taken months of affection and
reassurance, but eventually Bobby had stopped
clinging, although they were still very close.

Jonny reminded him of Bobby, with the way he clung to
Kyle, often holding onto his hand or his arm,
trembling every time Kyle went out of his sight. Jean
wouldn't approve. She hadn't approved of Bobby's near
obsessive behaviour, either, but Hank had argued that
the boy needed security more than independence at that
time. He'd been proved right, too... when Bobby
started feeling secure and protected, he'd gradually
let go of his dependence on Hank. Jonny would too, he
thought, given time. So he didn't say anything, just
smiled reassuringly at both of them. "I know I can
count on you to make sure Jonny eats and rests," he
told Kyle. The older boy nodded solemnly, patting
Jonny's thin hand as it clutched at his arm. "And
Jonny, you make sure Kyle looks after himself. You're
both going to need to eat, rest, and maybe have a
little exercise. If you like, I'll show you around
the estate tomorrow."

"Okay," Jonny said shyly. It was the first time he'd
spoken, and Hank took that for a good sign. He also
discovered for the first time that the boy was
British.

"Do either of you have families whom you wish to
contact?" he asked tentatively. This was always a
sticky question. "You are under no obligations to do
so, of course, if you don't wish to. If you do, just
let me know and I'll make the necessary arrangements."
He paused for a moment. Since neither of them said
anything, he plowed ahead. "I've brought some clothes
that might fit you," he offered, pointing to the pile
of 'Xavier Institute' grey sweats, along with some
t-shirts and underwear. "Not precisely the epitome of
sartorial splendour, but better than the
prison-uniforms you are currently wearing. More
clothes will be provided for you tomorrow. Do you
have any questions?"

"Are the girls okay?" Kyle asked. Jonny nodded and
looked inquiringly at Hank.

Hank smiled. "I assure you, the young ladies are
perfectly well. Annie's hand has been set, and
Marie's graze stitched. You will see all three of
them at dinner, which I will come and get you for."
He stood up, giving them another of his kindliest
smiles. "I suspect you would both like some time to
change your garments and... think things over?"

They nodded, and Jonny dredged up another small smile.
"Thanks."

"My pleasure, my boy, I assure you." He risked giving
the boy a very gentle pat on the shoulder. "I will
return in approximately two hours."

* * *

"Hey," Logan said awkwardly. Someone had issued the
boy with a room, and some regulation Xavier Institute
grey sweats. There was a whole room full of
sweatsuits somewhere in the building, he remembered,
sized from newborn to Creed-huge, in case kids turned
up with no luggage. Apparently it happened fairly
often.

The boy was sitting on the bed, looking down at his
bare feet. "What do you want?" he muttered, without
looking up.

"T' talk to you." He hadn't been invited, but he came
in anyway, sitting down on the plain but comfortable
chair next to the room's empty book-case. Xavier
furnished the student's rooms well. "Look, kid..."

"I'm not a kid," the boy said in a dull monotone.

"Yeah, you are. And I guess you're my kid." Logan
shrugged, painfully embarrassed but desperate to learn
the truth. "Yer... what? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Nearly eighteen," the boy muttered.

"Right. Did I... what happened?" Logan asked, not
sure how to start. "Did I just disappear, or what?"

"Yeah. That's pretty much it," the boy said bitterly.
"You met Mom, you married Mom, settled down,
everything was great, then I was born, and just after
my first birthday, you vanished off the face of the
earth. No note, nothin'."

Logan nodded slowly, his heart aching for the bitter
hurt in the boy's voice, and his fists clenching at
this new realization of what the Weapon X program had
cost him. "It fits," he said quietly. "Kid...
Geordi... my memories start fifteen years ago. I
don't know who I was before that, don't know anything
about my life... hell, I don't even know my own name."
He shook his head. "Logan, that's all I know. Don't
even know if it's my first or last name."

"Last," the boy muttered, still not looking at him.
"James Owen Logan. How'd you lose your memory?"

Logan was silent for a long moment. James. James
Owen. It... wasn't bad. It felt... well, it wasn't a
perfect fit, but it was okay. "I was... put in a
program," he said slowly. "Pseudo-military. Creed
was in it too, I think, but I ain't sure. I don't
remember much of it anymore. First thing I remember
clearly is wakin' up in the snow, naked except for
some kinda dogtags around my neck, with a big hole
where my memory oughta be."

For the first time, the boy looked him in the eye.
"Yeah. Right," he said, voice heavy with irony. "You
were kidnapped by evil military geniuses so they could
make you into some kinda supersoldier or something.
Where'd they take you, Roswell?"

Logan growled. "I know it sounds farfetched, but it's
the truth," he insisted, holding onto his temper with
both hands. "Ask Xavier. Ask Cyclops, you seemed to
like him." He held up one hand, and, making sure the
kid was watching, popped his claws. "And *this* is
what they did to me."

The boy stared. He didn't look scared... which was
surprising in itself... just stunned.

Logan sighed, retracting the claws and wincing as they
cut through skin and muscle. "Look, kid..."

He didn't get any further. The boy held up one hand -
fist closed, fingers towards him, just like Logan had
done it - and gritted his teeth. A big *something*
erupted out of the back of his hand, ivory-pale and
tinged with blood from the splitting skin, and it took
Logan a minute to realize that the thing was like a
merged-together version of his own claws, a
leaf-shaped blade of bone that extended over the boy's
hand a good six inches, with edges that looked razor
sharp and a wicked, slightly hooked point. Blinking,
he met the boy's eyes again.

"Got 'em in both hands," the boy gritted out, smiling
grimly at his father's stunned expression. "Yours
probably started out bone, too." He retracted the
bone-blade, wincing and pressing the fingers of his
other hand over the four-inch slash across the back of
his broad hand. Blood welled up for a moment, then
the cut began to close. "Popped them for the first
time when I was thirteen," he said in an almost
conversational tone. "Freaked me out like you
wouldn't believe."

"How do you think I felt the first time I saw mine?"
Logan asked, his emotions so twisted and muddled that
he wasn't sure how to feel.

"The same, I guess." Some of the hostility went out of
the boy, and he gave his father a measuring look.
"Lost your memory, huh?"

Logan nodded. "Xavier found the place where it
happened," he confirmed. "I went there. Nothing there
now except a few old buildings and a lot of slash
marks on the wall that fit my claws, so I guess I...
kinda went nuts."

"Don't blame you." The boy stood up, gracing him with
a lopsided smile. "Look, I'm not saying I like you,
okay? But I guess you do have some kinda excuse for
pulling a fast fade. So I'm not gonna keep getting on
your case about it."

"Thanks. 'Preciate it," Logan said, and he did.
Standing up in close proximity, he realized all over
again that the boy was at least six inches taller than
he was. Judging by the smug grin, he'd noticed it too.
"Stop smirkin'. We gotta get down t' dinner before
all the good stuff's gone."

* * *

It had been a long week.

A very, very, VERY long week.

Dinner on the first day alone had been an exercise in
the maintenance of sanity. Jonny had been twitchy,
Kyle had snarled at Kitty, Marie had dropped her tray
because of her injured arm and gotten pudding over
half the junior class, Geordi had suffered through a
dozen or so jokes about his name before stuffing a
handful of jello down Bobby's neck and stalking out,
Annie had gotten so overexcited that she'd
accidentally set a table on fire, and Clarice had
burst into tears with delayed shock and had to be put
to bed with a cup of warm milk. And that was without
even taking into account the behaviour of all the
OTHER students...

And then they'd tried to go back to normal. Geordi
had turned out to be academically ahead of every other
student they had... and hadn't hesitated to make it
known. Jonny and Kyle had flatly refused to even go
to classes, and had to be tutored in their room by
Hank. Marie was tense and cranky with the pain of her
arm, Clarice had refused to go anywhere without an
adult, and Annie kept hyping herself up on sugar. And
that had gotten all the other students overexcited...

Ororo sighed, leaning back against a tree and closing
her eyes. She loved working at the school,
interacting with so many vibrantly alive young people,
but sometimes she just wanted some peace. And quiet.
And preferably solitude.

"Hey."

So much for solitude. And peace. She sat up and
opened her eyes to find her field of vision filled
with Sabretooth. "What do you want?" she demanded
ungraciously.

He growled softly. "One o' the brats is howling for
ya," he said ungraciously, plopping himself down
beside another tree. "And won't shut up."

"I do not care," Ororo sighed, leaning back again.
"They can fight it out amongst themselves."

Sabretooth made what might have been an approving
noise. "It'll do 'em good," he agreed, lying back on
the grass and closing his eyes. "Gonna have to learn
to solve their own problems someday."

Ororo permitted herself a small grunt. She personally
subscribed to the
throw-them-out-of-the-nest-to-make-them-fly theory of
adolescent care, but the pampered Ivy League
Mom-and-apple-pie section of the teaching staff
insisted on gentle encouragement. Fine. Let THEM
cope with whatever the current crisis was. Although
finding herself in agreement with Sabretooth was
unsettling, to say the least.

"You don't like me," he said, eyes still closed.

"You are correct. I do not like you at all," she said
flatly, not closing HER eyes for a moment.

"Good. I don't like you either." He cracked an eye
open and looked at her assessingly. "Although yer
smarter than most of the cream-fed halfwits around
here."

Ororo blinked. "Well... thank you."

"No charge." He closed the eye again, the very image
of an enormous, smugly contented housecat who knows
that no matter what anyone else thinks, HE holds the
ultimate power.

Ororo fought down a ferocious desire to kick him in
the groin. "I do not fear you, either."

He grinned, not bothering to open his eyes again.
"Sure you do. But you hide it real good. Most can't
hide it at all."

Ororo seethed, getting to her feet. "I am going back
to the house," she said icily.

"Knock yerself out," he said cheerfully. Then he sat
up, eyes opening. "Someone's coming."

It was Leah, one of the most senior students, running
towards them with her worried face on. Having three
eyes made wrinkling one's forehead a bit
problematical, but Leah managed it. "Ms Monroe!" she
called anxiously. "The Professor wants you back at
the school right away!"

Ororo nodded. "Did he say why?"

Leah shook her head, all three green eyes blinking in
nervous sequence. "No, but Magneto's escaped from
prison, we heard it on the news and- eep!"

Leah's eep was a perfectly natural response to being
knocked into Ororo's arms by Sabretooth, who'd bolted
for the mansion. Ororo blinked. "Now, why on
earth..."

"I heard he worked for Magneto," Leah observed,
getting her feet under her again. "I guess I wouldn't
want to change sides on Magneto then have him get out
of prison and find out about it."

"...No." Ororo sometimes forgot how much the students
knew about the teachers' supposed secrets. "Neither
would I." She frowned after the big man. "I wonder
what he's doing."

(end)