My list of things I want to avoid if at all possible is pretty simple. Don't lose a limb. Avoid Jean's cooking if at all possible. Try not to freak everyone out. Lately, I've added no more waking up in a stupid, puny, fragile human body.

However, I am now forced to say that the top item of that list is no more awkward meetings with people who have no idea who you are but who you remember very, very well.

Jean understood, sort of. (She explained that, beyond what I was screaming from my thoughts, I was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. I wondered when my head became a one-way transit unit. Jean snickered behind her hand, making me blush. Again.)

Miss Ororo did not. Nor did Scott. In fact, the scrawny, uptight teenager I remembered had nothing in common with the absolute tightwad I was now facing interrogation under except for the glasses and the stick that was permanently wedged up his ass.

I appreciated Jean's quick effort to try and fill them in, but Miss Ororo simply gave me an unreadable stare before gliding out of the room. My throat ached, and my heart was pounding a thousand miles a minute. It felt like someone had replaced my insides with hungry snakes, and thrown a juicy rat down for good measure.

"So. How, exactly, did Jean pick you up again?" Scott asked, his voice cold. I swallowed thickly. A loose thread from the hem of my shirt held my attention, especially since I couldn't stand looking into those red lenses and sensing no camaraderie as I had so long ago. A tap on the desk jerked me from my thoughts and I half-raised my hand, expecting winds to be cupped in my waiting palm but getting nothing.

Replace snakes with rabid weasels.

"I waited after class for her," I said truthfully. As I had, the past three times he'd asked. "We chatted a bit. She thought it was a good idea to bring me here to see someone." I could feign polite disinterest with the best of them. "You're a bit more of a dick than I expected," I added as an afterthought.

Scott's brows pinched together. He opened his mouth to give me a lecture - it was kind of his thing back where I came from, who am I to expect anything less here? - when Jean stepped through the door, one hand on the wooden paneling of the wall.

"We don't tolerate that kind of language or backtalk, Loki," she said firmly, moving to sling an arm around Scott. The casual affection made me want to simultaneously cheer and barf. Because how long had I (and others) tried to convince them both that they were stupidly in love with each other and just needed to go make out somewhere? And now this.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I slouched down further in my seat, ignoring the cramp that was growing in the palm of my right hand.

Scott turned to face Jean, mouth set. "He's not a mutant," he said finally. "Not as far as I can tell."

Ouch. Did that ever sting.

"You don't look much like one yourself," I shot back. "Just like an asshole with shitty sunglasses."

"Loki knows us," Jean interrupted, adding mental pressure to her glare, making me wince. "He grew up with us. Or, rather, different versions of us."

Scott scoffed. "Please don't get started on that whole alternate universe thing," he groaned, splaying one hand on the dark wood of the desk and bringing the other up to rub the bridge of his nose. Had they had this conversation before? I was baffled.

"How do you explain it, then?" Jean snapped. "You should have seen the images he was broadcasting. He knew my face! He lived here! What other evidence do you need, Scott? He may not be a mutant, but this is his home!" She slammed her hand down in front of him, making me jump and almost topple out of my chair.

"Jean."

My head swung around, locating the source of the new voice almost instantly.

"This is the young man you wanted me to see?" the calm, low voice continued. My heart lurched. My knuckles popped loudly, and only then did I realize I had the seat back in a fearsome grip. I let go, flexing my fingers, biting my lip. Images flashed through my mind's eye. Could he see them? All the times we sat and talked? When he pulled me out of school for private tutoring? When he comforted me after losing my arm?

Xavier gave me a once-over, touching his temple for a brief second before scooting over to the adult side of the desk.

When did this become a principal's meeting? I wondered sourly. Didn't help I had trigger-finger reflexes, and people here just thing it's the bee's frickin' knees to pop out of nowhere.

"Loki," Xavier said gently. "Please. Jean is rarely up in arms over new arrivals as she has been with you. Will you explain your circumstances for us?"

I paused only long enough to give Scott the mental finger before launching into a quick, concise explanation of how my life was screwed over.

I'll spare you the boring details. Suffice to say, when my fifteen minutes of fame were over, I was emotionally wiped, Scott was staring at me like I had grown a second head, Jean was giving me a Mom Look, and Xavier was pondering the grain in his desk, hands clasped in his lap.

My stomach roiled. I wondered if I was going to puke. It would be just my luck, wouldn't it?

"How are you adjusting to this?" Xavier asked abruptly. "It must be very difficult for you right now."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Math is difficult. Dealing with bigots is difficult. This? This is like the place Satan dismissed for being too harsh.

My crazy hilarity halted mid-snort as my stomach decided to rebel. Guess the nervousness finally got to me. I clapped my hand over my mouth, frantically making 'help me!' eyeballs towards the trash can. As much as they looked at me like I was insane for not using my perfectly nice and new arm, Jean finally had mercy on me and grabbed it.

I promptly expelled the contents of my gut into that unfortunate plastic bag. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The shouting started about .01 seconds after that.

Jean pulled me into the air, running out of the office with me bobbing behind her. I cracked one eye open, wiping my mouth, hardly daring to hope at what I would see.

Blood.

Well geez, no wonder they panicked.

"Jean," I rasped. We were in an elevator now. Darn me for closing my eyes! I missed the impromptu tour.

"Hush, Loki, it's gonna be just fine. I've got some training in this, and we have a fully stocked medical bay in the basement." She pressed two buttons together and we dropped at an alarming rate, the whir of the elevator engine making my teeth rattle in my head.

"No, Jean, it's-"

Stupid bloody fast elevators. Stupid all-knowing telekinetics. The nausea decided, at that moment, that a demon drop like that was a perfect excuse to show right back up again, and I made a strangled-sounding noise as Jean briskly tugged me along through the now-open doors.

White halls blurred past. It was so clean, and so shiny. I would seriously hate to-

Urk. Nevermind.

"Sorry," I croaked. "I'll clean it up, I swear." Just no more dropping down at sixty miles an hour, please, for the love of that god I don't believe in.

"I'm a little more concerned why you're throwing up blood in the first place," Jean said. She wasn't smiling. Well, neither was I, but at least I knew about this part, right?

"It's my mutation," I said through gritted teeth. "It's gonna happen. Just gotta tough it out."

Oh hell. Is this what I get for winding up in a human body? This will be the third time I've done this. Are you kidding me. This is always the worst part, always always always.

She practically yanked the med bay doors open, grabbing the nearest IV pole and setting me down on a bed as she busied herself with collecting the various instruments of her trade. I immediately made a break for it, because if there's one thing I've done too much of in my old life, it was spending time in the damn med bay.

I made it half-way before she noticed me and locked my legs in place. Cursing, I made face/floor contact.

"Stay in bed," she warned. "I have restraints for a reason."

Seeing as there was a bucket by the bed, I decided for a tactical retreat, half-walking, half-sprinting back for the dreaded bed. I pulled the metal bucket up into my lap, busying myself for a few more seconds as more of my body's blood supply was violently rejected.

"Your mutation, huh?" Jean said over my left shoulder. My heaving did not stop, despite the panic she briefly induced. "Well, I guess it's a reasonable time for it to happen. Ending up here after everything must be very stressful."

Ah, yes, the good ol' stress-induced mutantisms. I hate my life sometimes.

I grumbled into the bucket, but didn't disagree. Much as I wanted my powers back - for ease of mind, I'll have you know - I could do without this part. Or any other part.

If I could just be done puking and get my winds back, we should call it good and be done. Nothing else. Please, please, please, I silently chanted. Don't make me a freak here, too, please.

"Hold still." A prick on my hand. Ah, of course, the IV. I wanted to warn her that wasn't going to last long at all, but again, the rabid weasels got into a particularly thrilling fit of inside-mauling, and I was summarily distracted.

Jean puttered around for another half-hour or so, but when she realized that hovering wasn't making me any less ill, she backed out, pointing out the emergency call button if I really needed her. I waved weakly, still crouched over my blasted bucket. (At least it was swapped with a clean one, and the other taken to presumably be burned.)

Once my stomach had settled well enough, I chose to lie down, exhausted.

This wasn't how I planned things to go. I had imagined a graceful introduction, and an offer to stay, and maybe further discussions on how to get me back where I belong. Instead, I'm in the med bay.

So typical.

I huffed irritably. I should be up, I should be training, I should be trying to find a way back to my Jean and my Scott and my Xavier. I shouldn't-

My tongue poked out between chapped lips. I shouldn't be wondering if I can make this place my home, if...

...well. If the worst turns out to be true, and I'm stuck here. Which, since Xavier doesn't seem to be hiding a universe-hopping pod in the linen closet, seems like a very likely thing.

I fisted my good hand in the thin sheets covering the hospital bed. I could have done it with my off hand, but I didn't. Why not? I asked myself.

It's there. I can, if I want to. I glared at the offending appendage. I could move my fingers. I could learn to have two arms again. It shouldn't be that hard, right?

Move, I thought. Move, stupid fingers. Move!

I was panting with the mental exertion, staring at the dead hand. This body had two arms. I had two arms, now. I could move my fingers, if I wanted, and I do want to, so they would move. Simple as that.

MOVE!

My index finger twitched.

I grinned.

Okay. So plan A is find a way back home. But if, in the likely event that plan A fails, plan B is to try and fit in here. I rolled onto my stomach, shoving my bad arm out of the way, pondering that thought. Is that a plausible goal? Could I fit in here?

Can this become home?

Resolve stilled my fluttering heart. I would make this place home, if I had to, because I wouldn't have a choice otherwise. And if I was anything, it was adaptive. Not to say I didn't have my fair share of issues. Mental trauma like mine isn't healed overnight. But I could try, I think. I could try to start over.

Clean slate. Huh.

The familiar guilt I carried from the very first moment I knew what I was pressed down on me for a moment. I pushed it away, taking a deep breath.

Well. No decisions right now, especially since I'm pretty sure Jean put some knock-out drugs in my saline solution. (Jerk.) But it was something to consider, so consider it I would.

I dropped off into the first dreamless sleep I'd had in half a decade.


A/N: Hiya! I hope everyone had a good weekend! I figured a second chapter would be nice, and since a kind reviewer pointed something important out to me, I've decided to take the story in a slightly different direction. Less moping, coming up! (Of course, Loki still has issues. But, as he said, clean slate, so he'll hopefully start to work through some of those issues and get back to his normal, snarky self.)

This story is set just slightly before the first X-Men movie. Within the next chapter or two, I hope to bring in the plot. Huzzah, plot! And once plot starts, chapters might get a bit longer. I personally prefer long chapters, but sometimes it doesn't work out that way. Ah well. ^^

As always, if you have any comments, please feel free to leave a review! I welcome and enjoy feedback, and I'm willing to make changes to work with any ideas I find too good to resist! So leave a review if you please. Until next time, peace!