Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made by this work.

There were places he'd go in the hours between days, places that all had their own rhyme or reason. The Danger Room when he had to let the read bleed from his eyes just so he could see again and not fear popping his claws, the garage when he wanted a smoke and just tinker on a bike or fix an engine. Sometimes he'd head on down to sit with Jones and catch a late night movie marathon when he just needed the kind of companionship of someone who didn't say much, but tonight he was sitting down in the kitchen nursing a Blue and whittling at a piece of wood with a serviceable pocket knife he'd found once in a toolbox.

"Whatcha making?"

He'd heard her walk from the foyer and caught her own unique perfume, wondering just what she was still doing up at such a late hour but figured she'd tell him in her own time. Glancing down to the piece of tree branch he had picked up doing some yard work, he just shrugged and went back at it.

"Figure it'll tell me what it wants ta be in its own time."

He'd heard the same from Pete enough times, that boy sketching away in charcoal about as often as he saw him down in the gym. The answer seemed to satisfy her as she walked on into the kitchen still dressed from her date with Bobby, it was still taking him a while getting used to seeing her throwing off years of habitual layers. Dressed in just a T and jeans, her usually pale skin had been tanned by the summer sun with long days spent outdoors flaunting shorts and a bikini he secretly disapproved of.

"Practice still in the morning?"

Rummaging the cupboards for some cereal, a trip to the fridge found her the milk for her late night snack.

"Just before class."

She was leaning against the counter munching away with the carton handy for a sip. Notching at a knot that wanted to be an eye, the blade slipped and bit his flesh painting the wood red. Wiping his hands clean on his worn old jeans, he started to carve out the red stain wondering if that was what he was doing now at the school, finding a way to wash the blood from his hands.

"Logan?"

Something about her voice had him looking up from his whittling, setting the wood down and folding the blade away before putting it away. She was keeping her eyes to her bowl, a warning sign for sure. Leaning back in his chair and waiting, he caught the reflection of Bobby walking by cast in the reflection of the leaded glass cabinets of the kitchen. He gave a hopeful wave to her, but the set of his shoulders hinted at something that had her in the kitchen eating cereal instead of at his door in an endless game of goodnights shared between them with both wanting to be the one who bid the last one.

"What is it Rogue?"

Marie was something else he was getting used to, but something about her right now had her looking like her namesake so he went with it. Wondering if it was some trouble in paradise, nothing about Drake showed the kind of worry the boy could muster when something was weighing on him. Pushing back on his chair and climbing to his feet, he walked up and took the carton of milk to drain it in one thirsty gulp only to toss it right into the trash. He'd worry about the kids giving him shit about recycling tomorrow, right now he had other things on his mind as he leaned beside her against the counter.

"Teach me to fight."

Looking down at her with an arched eyebrow, he saw the kind of determination in her eyes that told him she wouldn't be swayed. It was a look he was getting used to seeing around the school, like when Drake was stepping up to plate or when Petey had been pushed too far. Kitty never lacked it, always out to get her point across no matter what it took, but Rogue was looking to tell him it was her way or the highway.

"Thought I was already doin' that."

Sure enough he was teaching them all how to operate as a team, getting them all to bring out the best in each other, but they all brought something to the table in the way of their own little gifts as one man had called them. All but Rogue, cured of her curse leaving her just a young woman trying to find a way to fit in at a school full of mutants. Not to say everyone had stayed after everything that had gone down, some parents coming to get their kids while a few of the older ones had headed off to have a go at as normal a life as they could. But most stayed because they had nowhere else to go, just like Rogue.

"I want you to teach me to fight like you used to."

King of the Cage, they'd met one another at some shit hole of a bar out in the arse end of Canada as she tired to make her way to Alaska. He'd made his livelihood back then beating up any who came to challenge him, the matches all rigged without any proof of cheating until someone pulled a shotgun on him and he'd popped his claws. Healing factor and unbreakable bones, most forgot that it still hurt every time. It was just part of the package of being the best, something he put to good use these days.

"It won't be easy."

As her hand found his with her fingers slipping in the places between his knuckles where his claws sliced free of his flesh, there had been a time when she had popped her own born of bone early in their friendship. Most of the kids had their reasons for joining the Juniors with the hopes of becoming X-men, burdens and guilt that drove them to put their lives and limb on the line. But for some it just came down to wanting to prove they always had what it took, cured or not.

"See you in the morning Sugah."

Standing there alone in the kitchen, he listened and envisioned her walking on down through the student dorms well past where the girls and her room were. There was that one squeaky board he just hadn't gotten to fixing yet, counting out the steps until he heard a light knock at a door. The sound of someone shifting on the bed in a hurry met his sharpened senses, the door opening quietly yet still not quietly enough. Sighing heavily and ignoring the rest, soon enough all he heard was the usual ambiance of the school that had become his home.

"See ya in the morning kiddo."

Finishing off his beer and putting the bottle with the rest, he found his piece of wood and pocket knife and figured that was enough for one night. It'd stopped talking to him, maybe in the morning he'd find out just what it wanted to be.

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