This story draws from several of the X-men cartoons, and the movie but as the movie and Wolverine and the X-Men are the main sources it is billed as a crossover between the two. All comments and criticism are welcome but please keep all criticism constructive!

Disclaimer: The X-Men are the property of Marvel which is the property of Disney…I only own Cheyenne and her immediate friends and family.

8 Years Ago

"You sure you're alright, sweetie? You look awful pale." Henry Jackson inquired as he pulled to a stop in front of the eastern side of the campus.

"It's just a headache, Dad, and I have an algebra test today. I don't want to miss it." She'd heard tales that Ms. Rogers' make-up tests were insanely hard. A friendly cellist had told her that she would rather go through food-poisoning again than have to take one of Ms. Rogers' make-up tests. The spinster, cat-lady of a math teacher subscribed to the policy that students who were absent on the day of the test were missing on purpose in order to get more study time or to get inside information off of their fellow students. Cheyenne had decided then and there that she would never allow herself to be subjected to algebraic torture. Better to take the test sick than to fail. Math was not Cheyenne Jackson's favorite subject and the tests regularly assigned by Ms. Rogers were hard enough as it was. The sound of rap music pierced violently through her cranium and she visibly winced.

"Honey?" Cheyenne's father asked in concern as his fourteen year old slung her backpack over her shoulders and slid out of the truck. "Want me to pick you up after your test?"

"It could get better." The volume of the music increased and she looked around for the noise polluter to give them a death glare. "I'll call you if it's still bad after the test." She tromped around to the driver's side of the red Ford and kissed her father on the cheek through the open window. "Love ya, Daddy."

"Love you too, baby. Good luck on the test and feel better!"

"Will do." The teenager shot her father a grin despite the splitting pain in her skull and walked towards the Fine Arts building, following the path she took every morning. She focused on the pavement beneath her feet. Everything was just so loud, even the soft whisper of her sneakers hitting the pavement seemed to echo in her ears. 'This has to be a migraine.' She thought, grimacing as a senior boy slammed his car door and locked his automobile with the accompaniment of a high-pitched beep nearby. 'Migraines make you really noise sensitive, I think. Must be a migraine.' She determined, opening the door and shutting it carefully behind her. It disturbed her a little bit that she could hear the whirr of the air conditioner so clearly as she walked past the choir and art rooms to one of the largest rooms in the building. The room probably took up a good quarter of the one-story building and was identical to the room occupied by the band next door. Instrument lockers around old-fashioned soundproof walls insulated the room on the left and right sides.

The building could really do with new sound-proofing, but it was doubtful it would be getting it anytime soon. Fine Arts tended to take a backseat to Athletics when funds were allocated in most schools and this sentiment held true in the relatively small community of Brontsam, Texas. Cheyenne, despite a casual love of sports from growing up watching them with her father, was irritated by the unjust budget distribution even before she became a member of the orchestra. Injustice was injustice.

It was twenty minutes until the bell and several people were already in their seats and chatting, a few were uncased and warming up. She walked straight through the door to the edge of the semi-circle and the rather beaten looking upright piano resting behind the violin sections. Mr. Greene had known her mother when she had taught at Brontsam High School and had been delighted to learn from Henry Jackson when he'd taken his car in for an oil change the year before that Cheyenne was as skilled a pianist as her mother. Personable mechanic that he was, Henry Jackson had acted as the catalyst leading to his daughter signing up for orchestra for her freshman year of high school.

Cheyenne loved being in the orchestra. Her highly competitive nature had steered her away from being anything other than a spectator of organized sports at an early age. The pain of losing and the sense of failure it brought were simply too much for her. She had found her niche in orchestra. It was a cooperative endeavor at which she couldn't 'lose' and it nurtured her love of music.

The freshman dropped her backpack and sank down onto the piano bench, feeling weak. All the noise reverberated in her ears and it smelled like someone had shattered their rosin right next to the piano. 'Can rosin go bad?' She thought dimly, looking around for a sticky, dusty white mess. 'It shouldn't smell this…strong.'

Cheyenne grimaced again as the noise level in the building increased, signaling the return of the marching band from their morning practice on the football field. Trying her level best to ignore the relentless pounding in her skull, she trained her eyes on the doorway and watched the members of the band walk past and some orchestra members enter. A flash of sandy red caught her eye as one of the violinists who'd been sitting practicing walked to the doorway. A surge of happiness brought a smile to her face as the sophomore boy stopped a member of the band walking by with a snare drum slung in front of him. The drummer had hair a few shades darker than his older brother so it was more of a flaming red and bright blue eyes.

To her embarrassment, the member of the drum line noticed her smiling at him and to her joy, he smiled back. One minute Cheyenne was looking at them then all of a sudden she was listening to them. With perfect clarity she heard the snare drummer ask his older brother who she was. Then it wasn't just their conversation in her ears, but everyone in the room's. She could hear the first chair violist arguing with her stand partner, a flutist telling a joke as she walked by the doorway, the sounds of paper rubbing against paper as a boy rifled through his music and the tumblers of a lock as someone opened their locker. She covered her ears in vain. It wasn't just hearing them. She could smell everything - sweat, cologne, perfume, rosin, shampoo, soap, or worse a lack thereof. A cry of anguish left her lips as she toppled off her seat, overcome by the information her senses were providing her with. Tears of pain escaped her shut eyes as she lay motionless on the cold tile of the floor, willing it all to go away. The sounds, the smells - it was all too much.

'Just stop. Please stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop!'

She whimpered as a voice sounded above her. The body attached to the voice smelled like sweat, Old Spice and band uniforms. Her lower lip quivered as warm hands grasped her face.

"Are you okay? Shh, shh, it's alright." The owner of the warm hands told her soothingly.

"What happened?"

"She just fell off the bench?"

"Is she okay?"

"Somebody get Mr. Greene!"

There was a circle of people around her now. She could hear their hushed whispers and the combination of their individual scents rushed her nose.

"My head…" Cheyenne groaned. The voices, smells and sounds were colliding in her brain in a painful mash of information. To make matters worse, there was now a smarting, aching pressure in her upper back which she hazily attributed to hitting the floor.

"She hit her head." The hands on her face lightly began to massage her temples. "Did someone get a teacher?"

There was a murmur of affirmatives from the crowd.

Another groan came from Cheyenne. 'It only takes one person to answer a question.'

"Just focus on my voice." The guy holding onto her coached her. His tone was soothing, but Cheyenne detected the under-current of panic.

'He thinks I'm going to pass out.' The thought scared her. She had gleaned enough from movies, books and the news to know that passing out when something was wrong with your head wasn't a good idea. There had been a story on the news once about a woman who passed out with a severe migraine and woke up with amnesia. Frightened, Cheyenne Jackson did as the owner of the hands was bidding her and focused on his voice and the feel of his slightly sweaty hands on her face.

The frantic beating of her heart slowed gradually to normal as the voices except for the one whispering to her faded to a buzz and the smells dissipated from her nose. Warily she cracked open an eyelid, expecting her headache to pounce. It didn't. She opened her other eye and sighed in relief. Her headache was gone.

"You okay?"

Cheyenne's eyes focused on the face above her. She smiled up at the bright blue eyes. "Yeah, thanks. Migraine headache, I think…thanks for talking me out of it."

The red-headed snare drummer smiled widely down at her. "Anytime."

Cheyenne Jackson blushed as he helped her to her feet. The dimples from his smile were causing butterflies to flit about merrily in her stomach.

Present Day

"Cheyenne, they're here!" Her father announced, rapping lightly on the bathroom door.

"Be ready in just a minute!" She hollered back. Puckering her lips she lightly applied a layer of lip gloss, smacking her lips together to evenly distribute the cherry scented and flavored substance. Cherry was a flavor the twenty-two year old could take or leave, but her boyfriend loved it. Casting a quick glance in the mirror, she tossed the lip gloss tube in her purse and emerged from the bathroom.

A chorus of wolf-whistles greeted her as she walked into the entry-way.

"Lookin' good chica!" Angela Rodriguez exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her best friend.

"You look pretty great yourself!" Cheyenne grinned, hugging the twenty-three year old back. Angela was the same age as her boyfriend Allen Malloy, the older brother of Cheyenne's boyfriend Jack.

"How typical. My beautiful girlfriend gets all the attention and no one appreciates how well-groomed we are." Allen Malloy commented to the blonde boy standing next to him.

"Harsh, man, harsh." Dan Evans agreed, shaking his shaggy blonde head. Dan was a sturdy, mellow sort of guy who had wielded the bass drum in the high school marching band alongside Jack in the drum line. His friendly, easy-going, "big puppy dog" demeanor had, in addition to the fact that his family owned a bakery, earned him the nickname Mr. Muffins. "I put on a clean shirt and everything." He tugged on his black t-shirt demonstratively.

Henry Jackson nodded sagely. "Always the man's job to look good in the background."

Allen Malloy chuckled. "So true."

"Mr. Muffins! Allen!" Cheyenne exclaimed, moving forward to hug her friends.

"Groomed?" Angela nudged her boyfriend playfully. "What are you? A horse?"

"He may as well be, carting your shopping bags around and looking good in the background like a pretty pony." Dan remarked teasingly, releasing Cheyenne from a bear hug.

"I am so mistreated." Allen agreed as his girlfriend laughingly planted a kiss on his cheek, looking anything but.

"Well, I'm all ready. Time to get this show on the road!"

Mr. Jackson pulled his daughter in for a hug and kissed the top of her head. "Y'all be safe. You're driving, Allen?"

"Yes, sir. All part of the evil genius' plan."

"Muahahaha!" Cheyenne cackled, mimicking the stereotypical evil villain laugh and rubbing her hands together.

Mr. Jackson trailed behind them, shaking his head at their antics as they walked out the door and piled into Allen's beat-up black SUV, waving good-bye as they headed an hour east to Austin.

Today was Jack Malloy's birthday and Cheyenne had been planning a surprise party for him for months. The scheme had been carefully orchestrated and the stage set. Allen had left their shared apartment that morning because 'Angela had gotten into a bad wreck' and though she wasn't hurt she 'needed him'. With an eye for authenticity, Angela had called her boyfriend that morning heaving theatrical sobs just loud enough for Jack to hear. Dan had called Jack at the beginning of the week to tell him he wouldn't be able to get off of work that night and Cheyenne had called him the night before pretending to be sick.

She could hardly contain her excitement, anticipating Jack's pleasure at the surprise party they were going to spring on him. Mr. and Mrs. Malloy weren't celebrating his birthday until he drove home next week because Mr. Malloy genuinely had to work so Jack would truly think he was going to spend his birthday alone.

Dan laughed at Cheyenne as she eagerly released the buckle of her seatbelt the minute Allen pulled into the parking lot of the solid old apartment building. "Excited much?"

A grin was the only reply the surprise party planner offered as she hopped out of the car.

"Duh, she is!" Angela replied, climbing out of the front seat. "Jack hasn't been home since…what? Spring break?"

"Yeah." Cheyenne smoothed out the sundress she wore. "It'll be nice to talk without the aid of a computer or telephone."

"Yeah. Talk. That's why you broke out the cherry lip gloss." Angela teased, playfully tugging on a lock of her friend's dark brown hair.

Allen joined the group congregating at the back of his SUV, bearing a large red bow similar to what you would find on the fake 'presents', otherwise known as jauntily wrapped cardboard boxes, that malls are so fond of using as holiday decorations.

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow. "I hate to tell you this Allen, but your bow is missing a birthday gift."

"Nonsense!" Allen declared, sticking the bow on his brother's girlfriend's head without further ado. Angela produced a piece of computer paper and a roll of tape from her purse. With a flourish she affixed the paper to the collar of her friend's white sundress.

" 'Happy birthday, Jack! Love, Angela, Allen & Dan.' " Cheyenne read aloud, looking down at the note taped to her. "Cute guys, real cute."

Dan grinned. "We thought so."

"The perfect present for Jack." Allen agreed.

"Now, c'mon! Let's go surprise Jack." Angela bubbled happily. "I can't wait to see his reaction."

Laughing and joking, the three friends entered the apartment building with Allen leading the way. Allen furtively stuck his head up the stairwell, avoiding the elevator. He then looked behind him and motioned for his friends to follow.

"Hey 007," Cheyenne addressed Allen as he maneuvered stealthily up the stairs in a stage whisper, "Jack wouldn't use the stairs unless the building was on fire."

"That's why we're using them." Allen replied defensively.

"Yeah." Dan said supportively, looking a little guilty.

Angela giggled. "They don't get the chance to play secret agent much."

"Obviously." Cheyenne remarked with a smile.

"He could decide to use the stairs today." Dan suggested.

Cheyenne snorted, causing Angela's giggles to turn into laughter and sparking Cheyenne to laughter.

"If you giggling girls would remain at the rear of the group." Allen instructed, assuming an air of good-natured indignation.

"Yessir." Angela replied with mock seriousness and Cheyenne saluted.

The group of friends climbed up to the third floor with Allen and Dan in the front "scouting" and the girls behind them, exchanging smiles and stifling giggles as they indulged their friends' boyish inclinations. They spilled out of the stairwell and paused before the door to the apartment as Allen fished out his keys out of his pocket. All of them stood hushed and expectant lest Jack be inside. If he wasn't home then the plan was to decorate the apartment with a few party supplies Allen had hidden away whenever Jack was absent from their shared living area.

Hearing a noise as Allen opened the door, Dan immediately pulled Cheyenne behind him to hide "Jack's present". Cheyenne rolled her eyes at Angela, who was standing next to Allen with an un-obscured view of the doorway. The sudden disappearance of Angela's answering grin and the shocked expression that stole away the happiness from her normally cheerful face was enough to alert Cheyenne that something was amiss.

"What is it?" She stepped out from behind Dan. "What's -" Her voice echoed in silence as she made eye contact with the guilty blue eyes of her boyfriend. Cheyenne's world narrowed down to the vision of her boyfriend lying atop an almost naked blonde woman on the old couch she'd helped him load into Allen's van to bring up here almost four years before. His hand was halted at the waist band of his boxers - all that he wore. Tears pooled unshed behind her eyes and as her self-control wavered a part of her that had been consistently suppressed sprang to life. A shaky breath escaped her as a sensation she'd attributed to chronic migraines affirmed itself in her body. The odor emanating form the two people in the apartment caused a wave of nausea and disgust to well-up in the pit of her stomach. Turning her back on her former boyfriend of six years, not needing super hearing to hear Allen slam the door angrily or Angela shout her name in concern, she sprinted to the stairwell.

Cheyenne hurtled down the stairs, fighting back the tears as she rushed down to the first floor and out the main door of the apartment building into the city. Heedless of the stares of passers-by, Cheyenne kept running until her brain caught up to her unchecked emotions after four blocks and she ducked into a nearby alley with the intent to call Angela.

As she skidded to a stop, the distraught girl tripped over a cardboard box.

"Ouch!" Cheyenne winced, pulling herself into a sitting position to get a good look at her stinging knee. The metallic smell of her own blood, painfully strong in her nose, matched the sight of her skinned-up right knee. Cringing, the young woman reached with shaking hands for the purse slung around her shoulders. 'Why can I smell like this? Am I just in shock?' Finding a Kleenex, Cheyenne pushed those thoughts back and reached for her banged up knee.

The high-pitched whine of a car alarm heaved her over the edge as she held the tissue to her knee. Cheyenne Mae Jackson became fully cognizant of what had lain dormant within her, for as the obnoxious beeping pierced her keen hearing it acted as a match to the fuse of the maelstrom of emotion roiling inside her. She lost control.

'We've got the place pretty well staked out now so we're going after the info tonight. Gumbo knows his stuff.'

'I'm not surprised to hear it.' Charles Xavier replied, smiling bemusedly. The Thieves Guild's reputation in criminal circles was clearly well-earned and Remy LeBeau certainly hadn't been the least of their number. Remy LeBeau, or Gambit, had not only been skilled at thievery but had enjoyed it and if not for certain distasteful marriage arrangements would probably never have found his way to the X-Men.

'We'll call if there's trouble. Hopefully this'll help us figure out what those slime bags are up to.'

'Hopefully. Good luck, Wolverine.'

'Thanks, Chuck.'

The telepath broke the mental connection and was in the process of lifting the helmet linking him to Cerebro off his head when the wave of pain and anxiety hit him. Securing the device back to his head, Xavier closed his eyes and focused.

'What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I have no clue where I am. My cell phone's dead. I'm a mutant. What'll I do? Can I hide this? Will they just pop out at random? Where did they go? HOW CAN I HIDE THIS? And Jack…'

Charles took a cleansing breath, steadying himself at the onslaught of rapid, panicked thoughts and the brief burst of pain. 'The poor child.' He thought, shaking his head in sympathy as the situation became apparent to him.

'Cheyenne, my name is Charles Xavier and I'm here to help you.' Sensing her distress and eager to prevent adding to her emotional turmoil, he sent her a mental projection of himself connected to Cerebro. 'Have no fear, you haven't gone insane nor are you hearing voices. I'm a mutant, like yourself, with telepathic abilities. The machine you see me connected to acts as an amplifier that allows for long-distance communication.'

'Oh.' Cheyenne replied, blinking as she processed this and feeling soothed by the calm, measured voice. 'Then you're reading my mind? You…know what happened?'

'Yes,' the older man affirmed gently, 'and I apologize for invading your privacy in this manner, but it was necessary in order to help you.'

'That's fine.' Relief welled up in her that at least she wouldn't have to explain the situation.

'I'm going to gather a few people and we will fly down to get you as quickly as we can.'

'You have a plane?'

'I run an organization dedicated to helping all mutants in need and furthering the way for a society where all people can coexist in peace.' Xavier responded, answering the question behind her question. 'The mainstay of our organization is a school for young mutants which emphasizes teaching them how to control their gifts in order to function in society. In fact, I would like to discuss our organization further with you once you're safely home.'

'I'd like that.' Cheyenne thought back, intrigued despite her main focus at the moment - which was to get out of the middle of nowhere.

'You appear to have sufficient shade; do you have any water?'

The young woman fished through the purse that had miraculously stayed slung around her neck. With a sigh of relief she found the plastic water bottle that she'd stashed away that morning in case she got thirsty on the drive-up. 'Yes.'

'Excellent. Would you like me to call your father?'

'That'd be great.' Cheyenne felt a bit of her worry eased, one of her many concerns had been that her father was probably going insane with worry…to say nothing of Angela, Dan and Jack. Poor Angela was probably in hysterics and her father probably had the cops out looking for her. She gave him the number, grateful for him asking rather than rummaging through her brain for it, and added a request. 'Please tell him I'm fine and ask him to call my friends and tell them I'm okay.'

'I will.' The telepath acknowledged. 'We'll be there as quickly as we can. In the mean time, stay hydrated and I want you to try to relax and attempt to extend your wings. I'm bringing along someone who can fly, but it will certainly be easier to get you if you can fly down on your own.'

'I'll try.'

With another word of caution and a promise to get there as speedily as possible, Cheyenne felt the presence of Charles Xavier leave her mind.

"Well, that was a new experience." The twenty-two year old grimaced at the sound of her voice, which was hoarse from crying and sleep. She remembered Jack - she swallowed and shook her head - the alley, and the car alarm and completely freaking out. The rest was a vague blur of tears and wind streaming through her hair - which was now minus a tie and completely bedraggled, she confirmed by running her hand through her hair and getting it caught on a snarl.

"So then I must've landed here and fallen asleep." Cheyenne continued her thought process out loud, rising and moving back from the mouth of the tiny cavern. After waking from her emotionally-exhausted induced nap, she'd walked toward sunlight to find that: 1.)her sandals were missing and 2.) she was at least forty feet up over-looking an almost sheer cliff face. Then there had been mad rummaging in her purse, which was looking rather worse for the wear, only to come up with a battery dead cell phone.

That was when she'd sunk to her knees and proceeded to have a panic attack. 'Thank goodness that he found me.' Then she shifted uncomfortably - he'd been in her brain. 'He did do it to help me. And he did apologize. At least I didn't have to tell him about…'Cheyenne swallowed and focused on Xavier's last bit of advice determinedly. 'He said to relax. That makes sense since they disappeared while I was sleeping and my back does feel like it's got some kind of pressure built up.'

She dropped her purse, sat down on the ground and awkwardly stretched her hands around to feel her back. The upper-back of her sundress was ripped in the middle, but the outer edges and her bra were intact.

'They must come out right there.' She placed a finger experimentally on her exposed skin. 'Yep, that's where the pressure is. Maybe it's like a flexing a muscle and if I just relax, then tense…'

Whoosh!

"Whoa!" Cheyenne screeched, toppling forward only to be stabilized by her now outstretched wings. She looked over her shoulder hesitantly and let out a breath of awe. They were a deep emerald green and similar in structure to a bat's. They sloped gently up to a small peak tipped with a pointed outer protrusion of the main structural bone. The main bone curved lightly down from the peak to end in another bone spike at the end of the wing. Three smaller bones branched, visible as ridges under the green skin, off of the main bone to end in pointed protrusions along the bottom of the wing.

Experimentally, she moved them around a bit. Then she curiously flapped them backwards. "Oof!" And promptly careened face forwards into the dusty stone floor, moving her arms in front of her face. "Guess I'm stronger than I thought."

Raising herself up on her elbows, Cheyenne received another surprise. A curved spike of bone, similar to the points on her wings, extended from each elbow. Cautiously, she lifted her left elbow and pressed the pad of her right thumb against the point. 'That's handy…and dangerous.'

Pushing herself into a sitting position again, she discovered that she had spikes similar to the ones on her elbows, but shorter, on her heels. "Well, that explains how I lost my sandals." She remarked, with a briefly startled laugh.

Sighing, Cheyenne shifted into a more comfortable position, carefully arranging her legs so she wouldn't accidentally stick herself. She laid her head against the rock wall and smiled as her wings folded over her shoulders like a cape. 'It's just like touching my arm.' She mused as she ran her fingers down the edge of her left wing. It felt a lot like normal skin - only a bit more leathery and a tad bit rougher. 'They're really like an extra set of arms. It's weird…but cool at the same time.'

Contemplatively, her eyes were drawn to the blue of the afternoon sky outside of her little nook. 'I wonder what it's like to fly. It must be sort of like walking since my body was able to do it on auto-pilot, like sleep-walking.'

Cheyenne looked from the sky to the vaguely human-shaped imprint in the dirt-covered stone floor. 'Perhaps I should wait until that person who can fly that Xavier mentioned gets here. Just in case.'

Further thoughts on the practicality of waiting were interrupted by a growling rumble from her midsection. Cheyenne reached for her neglected purse, hoping that she might have something edible stashed in there. She hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast that morning.

The plan had been to spend the day in Austin with Jack then leave after dinner.

'Guess I'm not the only one who had what they really are pop out in plain view today.' Unbidden, the image of Jack's blue eyes full of guilt as he hovered over another girl came to her mind. 'He told me he agreed with me. No denying where he and that girl were headed. He told me he was fine with waiting…I thought we would end up getting married.' The sting of betrayal left her feeling hollow and empty. 'Six years. Almost seven.' She sighed as she pulled a pack of gum out of her purse - it was better than nothing. Then a thought struck her that made her pause with a stick of gum midway out of the pack and turned a bitter spark into full out anger.

'Just how long has he been cheating on me? And was she the only girl he's cheated on me with? And what did he tell her?' Cheyenne savagely pulled out the stick of gum, tore off the wrapper and popped it in her mouth. 'The lying, two-timing, jerk!' She fumed, chewing violently. 'I was a loyal and loving girlfriend for six years. SIX YEARS. I had dinner with his grandparents. I wore cherry lip gloss. I HATE CHERRY FLAVORED ANYTHING! He doesn't like black and white movies. He was late to my college graduation when the rest of his family were on time. That time we were going to see that Egyptian exhibit we ended up at the movies, because that's what he wanted to do. It's never been about 'us'. It's always been all about him.' In anger, Cheyenne rummaged through her purse once again and, tube of cherry lip gloss held triumphantly in hand, rose.

She stalked to the opening and hurled the tube downwards with all her might. "You're a self-absorbed, lying piece of trash Jackson Albert Malloy!" The thick glass tube shattered satisfyingly as the force of her throw, gravity and the rocky ground conspired against it. She crossed her arms. "And I'm better off without you."

A half hour later saw Cheyenne leaning against the rock wall, sipping from her bottle of water and contemplating how being a mutant would affect her life. She was in the middle of indulging herself, and veering from more serious thoughts, with a fantasy of flying her ex-boyfriend to the top of the tallest building in the world - all while he pleaded and cried like a baby - when the whirring of an engine broke her from her thoughts.

Cautiously she edged forward on her knees and peered outside. And blinked. There was a huge black spot forming out of thing air and the roaring of engine noise growing louder, prompting her to cover her sensitive ears, as a shape formed. "Oh. My. That's…wow."

It was a jet. A very fancy, sleek looking jet that was now landing in front of her cave. Cheyenne watched in fascination as a ramp lowered from the belly of the jet. The ramp hit the ground with a dull thud and then wheeling down it in a wheelchair came a familiar bald figure accompanied by two women - one with snowy white hair. Since they seemed to be looking up at her anyway, and recognizing Charles Xavier from the image he'd presented of himself, she stood.

"Mr. Xavier?" She shouted down to them.

The older gentleman raised his hand in reply and nodded to his white-haired companion and addressed her. Cheyenne could hear the murmur of his voice, and, pricking up her ears, was able to make out the last two words - "…please, Storm."

A gust of wind buoyed the woman upwards and she floated in a graceful arc to stand level with Cheyenne on thin air. "Miss Jackson?" The woman had chocolate skin that made a striking contrast to her snowy mane of white hair, which clearly wasn't an indication of her age, as the tendrils blew gently around her face.

"Cheyenne." The younger woman replied, impressed by the queenly woman before her who seemed to be controlling the wind itself.

"Hello, Cheyenne." The dark-skinned woman smiled kindly. "My name is Ororo Munroe, or Storm, if you prefer."

'Storm - it suits her. She smells just like the outdoors after a rainstorm.'

"Do you think you can fly down on your own?" Storm continued.

Cheyenne nodded hesitantly.

"Don't worry, I will be right here. Trust your instincts and you will be fine."

Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne looked over the edge. Biting her lip, she began to flap her wings as Storm moved aside. Then she jumped.

The wind skimmed along her wings and body as she propelled herself downwards. It felt…incredible, perfect. Cheyenne let out a whoop of pure joy and twisted around three hundred and sixty degrees in midair. She slowed down the beating of her wings as she descended to the edge of the jet's ramp, only to stop beating her wings too soon and tumble down to the ground in a heap. But the grin remained on her face.

"That. Was. AWESOME! I FLEW!"

"Yes, you did." Storm agreed with a chuckle, landing behind her with considerably more grace.

"Land, however, yah didn't." The other woman teased in a distinctive southern accent that immediately set Cheyenne at ease, as she offered the fallen girl a gloved hand.

Gratefully, Cheyenne accepted the assistance and scrambled to her feet. The girl was about her age with wavy auburn hair sporting two white streaks that framed her face and bright green eyes.

"Ah'm Rogue. It's nice to meet you."

"Thanks, I'm Cheyenne."

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Cheyenne." Charles Xavier said, a smile gracing his kind face.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Xavier." She replied, walking over to gratefully shake his hand. "Thank you so much for coming to get me! I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't found me."

"Don't let it trouble you, my dear." He patted her hand with his free one before releasing it. "We called your father and he was very relieved to hear you were safe, though doubtless he's anxious to see you."

Cheyenne's stomach picked this moment to loudly voice its emptiness. Blushing, she clutched her stomach as if holding it could silence it.

"You poor thing." Storm sympathized. "You have every reason to be hungry, up in that cave for hours."

"I'm so sorry, my dear. Of course you must be hungry. Rogue was so kind as to pack some food before we left, so you won't have to starve all the way home." Xavier gestured at the jet and began wheeling up the ramp.

"Come on, hun, let's get some food in your belly."

Cheyenne followed Rogue aboard and over to the front row of seats, while Xavier parked his wheelchair facing the seats and Storm walked past them to settle into the pilot's seat, flicking a button to raise the ramp. The jet was small, relatively speaking, but impressive with six rows of seats - two on each side of the aisle. Rogue plopped down in the window seat and flicked open the console between the seats to reveal a small stash of water-bottles and sandwiches. "Would you like PB & J or ham and cheese? Sorry there's not more variety, but Ah only had time for a quick kitchen raid."

"Ham and cheese, please. Don't worry about it, as long as it's food I'm happy."

Rogue picked out a sandwich and looked up to see Cheyenne, still standing, biting her lip and sucking in her stomach. Finally with a soft 'fwish' her wings settled back into her back and the talons on her elbows and heels retracted.

Pleased with herself, Cheyenne sat down and relaxed in the seat, happily taking the sandwich. Only to have her wings and spikes stubbornly pop out again.

"Whoa!" Rogue exclaimed, ducking to avoid being skewered by the spike on the end of her wing.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry!" Cheyenne apologized, red-faced as she tucked her wings around her. "I…err…thought once I got them in then they'd stay that way."

"Control is something that takes time and practice." Xavier said comfortingly. "Gifts can be tricky and frustrating, particularly right after they manifest."

"It's alright, Cheyenne - it happens. Ah'm still workin' on getting control of mah powers myself." Seeing the guilty expression lingering on the other girl's face, Rogue continued. "Ah have poison skin. If Ah touch someone else Ah read their minds and if they're a mutant Ah get their powers for a bit, but if Ah hold on too long Ah can hurt 'em. If you'd hit me then Ah could've just touched you and borrowed however your body deals with havin' sharp objects come out of it."

In the cockpit, Storm turned back to the console - having turned around at Rogue's shriek - and smiled at the controls. Although Rogue had always accepted the limitations of her mutation, the constant attentions of the mansion's resident Cajun had certainly improved her attitude toward her powers and the positive change in mood seemed to be putting her on the right track towards getting control. The explanation just given had lacked all the bitterness, resignation and weary sadness that Storm had come to expect when Rogue talked about her mutation. Storm propelled the jet into take-off.

"So," Cheyenne asked after a few bites of sandwich and minutes of silence as the jet zoomed into the air, "would it be safe to assume from the jet that you rescue people frequently?"

"Among other things." Rogue grinned. "Yah should see the big jet."

"Big jet? Y'all have TWO jets?" Cheyenne queried, eyes wide.

In the cockpit, Storm chuckled.

"I think, my dear," Charles Xavier said with an amused smile, "that an explanation is in order."