Chapter Six : Doubts

Kitty woke up at nine in the morning to sunlight streaming through the windows and immediately wished she hadn't. Everything, every inch of her body, internal and external, ached in ways that even Logan's training hadn't coaxed out. Her stomach was cramping and her mouth was parched. Her eyes and lips felt equally dry, and she ran her tongue over her teeth to try and chase away the scuzzy feeling that coated them. Her muscles ached, and her ankles felt particularly sore. She didn't want to move. She needed sleep.

Except... when had they gotten back to the Plaza? She couldn't remember much of the previous night, nothing definitive after her third shot, which Emma had insisted on pouring her. There were a few flashes - she could remember strobe lights, something about cologne, and a few shadowy figures getting knocked around - but little else. She vaguely recalled feelings of desperation and being thrown over someone's shoulders, but not whose, and bookshelves. What the hell had happened?

"Good morning, Kit,," Emma said languidly, walking into the room and stretching her arms over her head. "Feeling better?"

Not really, she wanted to say. But she didn't want to seem immature, to make Emma feel like the night had been a mistake. She was sure that she'd had fun, she just couldn't remember it happening. Instead, she replied with, "Yeah. I think I just need a little water."

Emma laughed. "Oh, don't worry about hurting my feelings. Trust me, the first few wild nights take some time to get used to." She winked, and handed Kitty some Advil and water.

"What happened?" Kitty asked, gratefully gulping down both the pills and the water. It felt more refreshing than anything she'd ever drank, and she slowly squirmed up to a sitting position.

"Oh, nothing major. Seb and I-"

"Seb?"

"I see she's awake," said a very male voice. A tall, strapping, totally hot, omigod it wasn't fair that she was wearing her pyjamas, guy walked in, , throwing on a dress shirt and buttoning it up. Kitty couldn't stop the blush from spreading over her face as se pulled the thick duvet up to her chin.

"Um, hi?" she squeaked. "Are you... Seb?"

"The one and only. Emma and I here, we had to help you out after a little altercation last night."

"What? No way."

"Some guys just get way too grabby," Emma intoned, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. "So Seb and I decided to scare him off."

"Oh." That would explain her residual feelings of anxiety, but not the rest of it. Maybe she'd hallucinated the strange room. "Is that why..." she trailed off, too embarrassed to finish her thought. Seb had clearly spent the night.

"I'm here just in case that loser decided to follow you girls back. I think we've all heard horror stories about guys who won't take no for an answer."

Kitty accepted the story, if only because she couldn't recall enough information that could possibly contradict it. Maybe that was why her body hurt so much. She doubted, however, that their safety was the only reason Seb had offered to see them back to the hotel - the grins that he and Emma exchanged seemed to suggest that something else had happened, which only served to make her feel even more uncomfortable than earlier. Had they hooked up while she was still awake? It wasn't like she could remember, anyway - but that would just be so incredibly awkward

"I think I'm going to take a shower before we head down to breakfast," Emma said, stretching long arms over her head. "You should, too. You'll feel so much better."

Kitty nodded in agreement. The hot water would be a much-welcomed addition to her morning. It would help defog her brain, soothe those muscles, and help her get rid of the overwhelming grogginess that made her still feel so tired.

Emma left the room with Seb two steps behind her. His rear view was as nice as the front, and Kitty watched him walk away with a giggle. When the coast was clear and the door to her room closed behind him, she attempted getting out of bed for the first time. Swinging her legs to the side was excruciating. Her hips were tight. She took a deep breath, flung off the covers, and touched her sore feet to the floor. As she stood, the pain shooting through her legs was incredible. She looked down.

She'd worn normal pumps last night. She could remember her outfit, if nothing else.

So why were there bloody scratches running around her ankles?

She could barely muster the energy to get dressed after twenty minutes under gloriously hot water and surprisingly fantastic hotel toiletries. She pulled on the thick terry robe and belted it around her waist before hazarding a glance in the foggy mirror. Kitty looked better after the shower, but only marginally. She still had bags under her eyes, and her lips and eyelids were still swollen from the water retention that alcoholic dehydration had brought on. Still, she felt less grimy, and her muscles less tense than earlier. She figured that her body would start to recover relatively quickly. If she could survive Logan's training, she could survive anything.

Opening the door separating her room from the bathroom, Kitty was blasted with cool air. She hadn't realized exactly how hot the water had been. She'd been too busy trying to piece together the previous night from what little flashes went through her mind. Maybe she could ask Jean to fish around, see what she could come up with, but decided against it. Jean would definitely disapprove of the club idea - and if Logan or the Professor found out? She'd be grounded for life. No, she'd do this on her own.

Today wasn't going to be a day for fashion, she decided looking at her still-full shopping bags from yesterday afternoon. Instead, she fished around in her suitcase and pulled out a pair of jeans, flats, a white tee shirt, and her favourite pink cardigan. Her wet hair got pulled back into a bun fastened with a matching pink elastic, and she threw on the Star of David necklace that Jean had given her last Christmas. She looked in the full-length mirror. Passable. A pair of sunglasses, and she could walk around without anybody noticing she was hungover.

She cut through the sitting room of their suite only to be arrested by the sight of Seb and Emma emerging from Emma's room. They'd both clearly showered. Together. Awkward, she thought, standing by the coffee table in mortification. She had no clue what the etiquette was for this kind of thing.

Emma seemed to pick up on it quickly -was the look on her face really that obvious?- and flashed her a reassuring look. "Shall we head to breakfast, then?" she asked brightly. Her blonde hair was piled into a wet, but stylish, bun, and she had managed to dress with some effort. Seb was still shaking the water out of his slightly shaggy hair, and had tried to repurpose the previous night's outfit. They looked like something out of a Calvin Klein ad.

Life wasn't fair.

"I was thinking we'd visit some friends of mine in the Upper East Side," Emma said over fluffy scrambled egg whites. "Then swing over to the Met, do a little more shopping - there are some to-die for boutiques, and we should really go to Tiffany's, for the full experience -"

The sight of her buttered toast was doing nothing to settle Kitty's stomach. It sank deeper and deeper into her chair as Emma listed their itinerary for the day. At least the orange juice was helping. Dr. McCoy's lectures on replacing electrolytes in the body had been good for something.

"Um," Kitty started, trying to focus, "I kinda..." Oh no, not her stomach, not now- "I kinda... want to stay back," she blurted out, heaving for breath. Her fingers were tight around her fork, and she saw the maitre d' shot her a disapproving glare from across the dining room.

Emma looked disappointed, and that made Kitty feel worse than ever. She gave her a baleful look, and all Kitty could do was think over and over again about how sorry she was, how stupid she was for punking out, how she shouldn't have drank so much. She would have vocalized her thoughts, but she didn't trust herself not to throw up.

A touch on the arm. Kitty jolted her head up, mortified to realize that she had nearly fallen asleep in her dish. Emma withdrew her delicate fingers from her forearm and smiled with surprising understanding.

"It's okay, Kitty," she said, leaning forward. "I'm sorry about last night. I was just trying to show you a good time. If you want to stay back today, we'll lie low, maybe head home early if you don't want to stay the night."

Kitty nodded weakly, but with gratitude. "I'd like that, I think. I mean, I've had, like, so much fun with you, it's just that, like, I guess I'm not used to partying that late, and, like-"

She was interrupted by Seb's arrival at the table, holding a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne in one hand. His hair was dry now, and he looked even more devilish in the daylight streaming through the windows. Kitty picked up her glass of juice and took a swig. Don't barf don't barf, don't barf...

"I return, ladies, bearing gifts," he announced, expertly uncorking the bottle. "I think we should all have a toast in order to celebrate Miss Katherine Pryde's first night out on the town." He poured some into her orange juice and grinned charmingly before preparing a glass for Emma and himself. He raised his, winked, and the three clinked their glasses together in a toast. Kitty tried not to meet his eye and made to set her glass back down on the table.

"Oh come on now, Kitty," he admonished, as Emma looked on in amusement. "You can't refuse a toast in your name!"

She raised her glass to her lips, feeling the sweet, fizzy, thick liquid jar against her tongue.

And then felt it spill onto the floor as the rest of her breakfast followed suit.

"I think we should check on her," Seb suggested, running a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyes.

"Right now?" Emma pouted. She rolled onto his chest. "But I thought we were just getting started."

"We were just getting started an hour ago."

"She said she wanted to stay back here. I need something to entertain me- and you're very entertaining." She ran her nails down his neck. "I can't spend all day babysitting."

"She could always join us," Seb suggested, with a short, deep, laugh. "Or watch."

"Tempting though the idea is, I don't think she'd be up to it."

"Can't you plant the idea in her head?"

"Misusing my powers already, are we, Sebastian?"

"I would hardly call that misuse. More like an act of charity. Or a gift, a thank you, for saving you both last night."

"As I recall, I was getting dirt under my nails, while you wasted your time getting your ass kicked."

"Must you be so deprecating?"

"Always." She kissed his lips, then moved to nibble the junction between his neck and shoulder. "But at least it got you charged up for later."

"Keep biting my neck," he flirted back, "And I'll be charged up for now."

The noise was the worst of it, Kitty decided, gripping the edge of the cold porcelain. She could deal with them having sex if they weren't so vocal. And if they stopped moving the furniture. And making the walls shake.

It wasn't that she was a prude -she wiped her mouth with a thick terry towel, then sat with her back to the bathtub - Kitty never thought that she'd actually be married a virgin. It was unrealistic, considering the rising average age of marriage, her desire to get a college education, and yes, being an X-Men. Those mitigating factors meant that she probably wouldn't put a ring on it until she was in her late twenties - or even later.

For a highschooler with a sex drive, that was way too long to wait for. It wasn't that she hadn't had the chance before. She and Lance hadn't been totally innocent when their relationship was in the "on" stage-hands had wandered before - but she'd never felt totally ready to move on. And she regretted it now, hearing Emma and Seb go at it with the intent to break noise laws.

Why hadn't she ever tried it before? Lance had never really brought it up openly -maybe he was too much of a gentleman? The thought made her laugh. But she hadn't brought it up either, and the fact was, being a virgin made her feel awkward, way younger than she actually was, and it was weird. Like, she knew that she was older than some of the other mutants back home, had more experience when it came to training, but she also knew that Roberto had a ton of girlfriends back home, so she felt even younger than he was. She couldn't be the only one in the Institute. Rogue... well, Rogue was a special case, so she didn't count. Jean and Scott - okay, she doubted that they'd done anything. Scott was cute, but he seemed like he'd be waaaay too nervous. Kurt... She wondered about Kurt and Amanda for a minute. Had they? Weird to think of it. Maybe he hadn't, because of his mutation.

Great. SO. She was the only totally able-bodied, relatively normal, sex-driven teenager of the old recruits who could feasibly have sex, and she wasn't. Now she felt like she had a responsibility to do it.

Another moan through the wall, the sound of squeaking bed frames, and another wave of acid rushing up her throat. Kitty leaned her head over the toilet as quickly as she could and squeezed her eyes shut as her body wracked.

Okay. Definitely not today.

Emma raised her head out from under the sheets with a wicked grin that quickly turned wistful. "So I guess this is going to be it, then?" she said quietly. "Until I get back in the city again."

"Are you always this negative?"

"I'm being realistic. The sex is great, but you're going back to college."

"In the city. This city. Where are you going?"

She ignored the question.

"You could visit the Institute. I'm sure we'd be the first to make the Professor create an overnight-visitors policy."

"I'll have to take you up on that, Emma." Seb ran his hand over her back, rested it on her shoulder. "You're explosive. And you should consider my offer from last night."

"Not now," she insisted. "Not yet. I have something to do first. It might take a while; hopefully not. But rest assured, I'll be joining. Eventually."

"When are you going to tell me what this top-secret mission is?"

"When you tease it out of me," she shot back as he flipped her onto her back. "Starting... now."

"We got a red-light, pornographic dance fight, systematic, honey-" Emma flipped between stations on the radio as she expertly handled her Maserati. "-three bodies found in the posh Boston mansion at one this morning- sunny skies for the next three days, with the humidex in the-" There didn't seem to be anything on that Emma could agree with, and so the radio was replaced with a CD of instrumental tracks from an orchestra that she had seen live. Thrice.

"So..." Kitty started slowly, clutching the paper bag in her hands, "Are you and Seb... dating now?" She stared out the window, watching the horizon as they drove down the interstate, noting how the trees seemed to blur into indistinct shapes. It was four in the afternoon; they had left a little earlier, after a late lunch in some French restaurant whose name Kitty wasn't able to pronounce. Apparently Sebastian knew the chef personally, and their meal had been fantastic. It would have been even better if Kitty's stomach hadn't forbidden her from eating anything with garlic butter.

Emma glanced over, looked at her through oversized Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses before bringing her gaze back to the smoothly paved road ahead of them. The asphalt looked like it was shimmering in the heat. "God no, " she laughed airily. "Wouldn't work with the distance. Besides, he's an ass. Incredibly full of himself. Gorgeous, great for a good time, but I wouldn't call him long term, not now. Besides, I'm eighteen. There are far too many men out there to sample for me to be tied down."

Kitty was silent for a minute. "How old-?" She couldn't finish her sentence, feeling so embarrassed that she even advanced the topic. Were they even close enough to discuss this? She hadn't even known Emma for that long, and omigod, what if she, like, got mad-

"Sixteen," Emma replied. Her lips curled up in a smile. "Pity it wasn't sooner. It's fantastic."

Sixteen. A bit younger than she was. And Emma had wanted to start even earlier. Kitty again felt woefully young.

"Got any other questions I can answer?" Emma asked. "I've had a lot of experience, so I'm probably helpful."

"Who was he? I mean, your first, like, um, partner?" Her cheeks flamed.

"Doesn't matter, really. He was older, much more experienced, and incredibly well-off. He knew what he was doing."

"How much older?"

Emma tapped the steering wheel for a moment. "Huh. I think he was in his first couple of years of college? Maybe twenty. Son of one of my dad's business partners."

"Twenty? But isn't that illegal?"

"Only if someone finds out. Trust me, it was entirely consensual. Next question."

"Did it hurt?"

"Not if you warm up first."

And so the conversation continued, through a gas stop, two coffee breaks, and multiple radio and CD changes over the course of the hour it took them to get back to Bayville. It grew more comfortable by the second, and soon Kitty grew bolder with each question she asked, and each answer she received, Suddenly, she didn't seem quite so hopeless after all.

Hell, if Emma's advice had any legs, it means that all balls -the pun was entirely unintentional- were in her court.

They returned to the mansion by five thirty, having been delayed by traffic once they hit the city. Kitty was glad to be back, and yearned to pass out face first on her bed, but knew that she had to face the other students first. The first was Rogue, walking through the hallway as she struggled to drag in her suitcases and purchases.

"You're back early," Rogue remarked, adding dryly, "You look like shit. What's the matter? Five-hundred thread count sheets too harsh on yer skin?" Her sarcasm, though usually well-received, wasn't needed.

"Nah," Kitty replied, "Tired. Did a lot of stuff." She tried to hedge the other girl's pointed look.

"With the amount of shopping we got done," Emma said breezily, dropping an enormous leather luggage on the floor," we had to leave today. Or else it wouldn't have fit into my car." As if to prove her point, she dangled her Hermes bag from two fingers.

"Too bad. I hope you don't expect any help bringing those in," Rogue said pointedly, looking at Kitty with a tiny smile. "Logan's worked us hard since you've been gone. He's in a worse mood than normal. I'd lie low at dinner" With that, she turned and walked up the stairs stiffly, as if the muscles of her legs were unable to bend.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Emma remarked with a sly grin.

"I suppose your trip went well?" the Professor asked over his salad and roast. Emma stared him straight in the eye as she answered.

"It wasn't bad. But New York in the dog days of summer isn't the most exciting place to be. Muggy, air thick with pollution, and people are far too hot to do anything of interest, Including showering." Her answer seemed to placate the Professor, who returned to his conversation with Storm about the sorry state of the roses out front.

"You okay, Half-Pint?" Logan growled, looking at Kitty with barely-veiled suspicion. "Your looking a little... green."

Emma shot Kitty a glance, but true to form, the younger teen didn't betray. "Just carsick," she said with false cheeriness. "You know, the heat, the car, the smell of gas. It just, like, adds up."

"Funny. You do just fine in the X-Jet."

"Maybe it was, like, lunch, too. You know, had a lot. Maybe something was weird with it."

"Huh." Logan turned his gaze to Emma, who returned it with cold indifference. "You don't seem sick. How was your lunch?"

"I ate light," she replied, "I've got to keep my girlish figure. Be a shame if I let myself go, don't you agree?" She winked at him and tilted her head coquettishly.

Logan snarled in clear agitation.

"Now, try and focus on the recesses of my mind, Jean," came the Professors muffled voice from the other side of the heavy door. Emma's ear was pressed against the wood as she strained to hear what he was saying. Some days were better than others when it came to distinguishing his words; this evening was one of those. She took mental notes as he continued speaking, tucking away his advice into her brain.

"Is there any particular reason I've seen you hovering outside the Professor's door every night since you got here?" came a friendly, though wry, voice. The Beast. She hadn't even noticed him coming up the hallway, and her heart jumped in her chest. She whirled around, her long hair streaming behind her as she flashing him a winning smile, the kind that melted hearts everywhere.

"Just trying to screw up some courage," she said, blinking innocently. "I just have some concerns about the training I've had, and I want to bring them up with him. I don't want to make any waves, you see, so it's been difficult for me to say anything."

"You've been doing just fine with it, from what I can see. And you don't strike me as the type to lack courage." He scratched the back of his head with an enormous hand. "Quite the opposite."

"Appearances are very deceiving, Doctor McCoy."

He sighed as they walked down the hall. "If you have any issues with our methods, you could try talking to Logan directly. Or even me, if you find him too intimidating. I realize that he comes off a little..."

"Primitive?"

"Good word, but I was going to say "rough". He's not entirely unreasonable. What's bothering you?"

Shit. She grappled for an idea.

"The uniform," Emma blurted out, sounding relatively collected considering the spur of the moment idea. "I don't think the uniform suits me, and I should be able to wear one of my choosing."

"You're a new recruit, Emma. Regardless of age, you have to wear the default uniform."

"It's not terribly flattering."

"It's a spandex blend. Don't you think that's tight enough?"

"Why, Doctor McCoy, have you been looking?" she asked, widening her eyes and projecting the most innocent airs se could manage. The Beast guffawed, and Emma got an all-too-clear view of surprisingly sharp teeth.

"I can't say that I have, especially since you haven't actually been in uniform since the day you got here." He clamped his hand on her shoulder in a friendly gesture. From anyone else, the comment would have been bitchy. From Doctor McCoy, it was delightfully sarcastic. He was a nice man, she decided, despite his physical image. She could detect no menace from him, and he relaxed her. A smart man, but not condescending.

"How are you doing with the other students?"

His question caught her off guard.

"Not bad. I think we all get along quite well, all things considered."

"Hmm. I seem to notice some tension between you and Jean. Is everything all right?" He fixed her with yellow eyes.

"Perfectly so. We may not see eye to eye, but I assure you, I have the maturity to deal with the situation."

"Still want to talk to the Professor about switching things up?" he asked after a sigh.

"No, I think I'll wait a day. Give it more thought."

Crisis averted.

Nine-thirty, the kitchen. It was blissfully empty, which meant that Scott could have his snack in silence. He needed to escape the overhanging stress of the group for a while. Ever since Kitty had gotten home -and crashed out on her bed immediately after dinner- Jean had been distracted, sad, and depressive. It was self-doubt, he figured. He had known her long enough to recognize the tiny signs of his girlfriend's normally high self-confidence cracking. The silence, the awkward pauses, the thoughts that trailed off, even the tinny bursts of irritation. He'd tried to calm her, and maybe it had an effect - certainly she was able to go to her nightly practise session with the Professor, which was always a good sign.

"Evening, Scott," came a voice from the doorway. He looked up from his protein and ice-cream milkshake -he had to keep the muscle on somehow- to find Emma leaning against the frame in what he assumed was a pyjama set. He assumed, because he couldn't see why anybody would walk around the mansion in what accounted to little more than lingerie. He was thankful that his sunglasses obscured his eyes, because he found it hard to focus on her face, despite the respect he had for women.

Whatever she was wearing on the bottom -he didn't know what the technical term for them was- was like a pair of tiny ruffled shorts. Her top was little more than a bra, lacy, and coming down just enough to cover her ribcage. In the name of modesty, she topped it all off with a sheer thigh-length robe, unbelted. Was she insane?

"Sorry, did I catch you by surprise?" she asked with a smirk before making her way to the table and sitting next to him. He stared wilfully at the top of her head.

"Yeah. Heading to bed?" He sipped his drink.

"No, not for a while. I'm full of energy right now, so unless something wears me out, I won't be sleeping for a while." He tried to ignore the obviously accidental innuendo in her words.

"Maybe you should talk to Logan. His training'll make you drop dead."

"Mmm, not the kind of wearing out I need, but it's better than nothing."

Silence, save for the slurping of his milkshake. Jean had tried his once and hated it. The protein powder made it even thicker than usual, and he had to forgo straws if he hoped to be able to drink it.

"So, ever wonder what Jean and the Professor get up to in their training sessions?" Emma asked bluntly, twirling a chunk of long blonde hair around her fingers. Her cold blue eyes were narrowed.

"They're working with her telepathy. There aren't any others here, so it makes sense for her to work with him. He's a master."

"But for hours, late into the night? Seems a bit strange."

"Not really. They both have other responsibilities. Sometimes they fit them into the afternoons or mornings, but it depends when they have the time."

"And totally alone? Nobody bothers them? Something else could be happening."

Scott had a vague idea of what she was insinuating, and he didn't like it.

"Tell me, have you guys fucked yet?"

From any other girl, the word would have sounded caustic and vulgar. Scott found it incredibly weird when women swore. But Emma had a languid way of rolling it off her tongue that made it sound easy, sophisticated, even. Still, her question made him flush.

"No-wait-but-"

"I wonder why, since you guys have been dating so long," she persisted, and Scott felt all the blood in his body rush to his cheeks.

"It's not really any of your concern," he choked out, regaining some of his composure. Emma still looked at him with that smirk, that knowing glint in her eyes, one leg crossed high over the other as she leaned in towards him.

"I'd be a little concerned if I were you, Scott. Girls love men with a little power. I know this all sounds a little suspect, and you probably don't like hearing it, but I'm only looking out for your best interests. Tell me, did she date other boys before you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, one or two. She was with Duncan Matthews for a while." He had forgotten that she wouldn't know who that was and added, "A quarterback" to clarify his answer.

"Hmm. And they broke up?"

"Yeah, right before she started dating me."

"Can I ask why?"

"He was a prick. Then the whole mutant-thing went down, and he wanted to use her and freaked out when she wouldn't."

"So, if the "mutant-thing" hadn't happened, she'd still be dating him."

"No, because he was a jerk. Still is." His thoughts went to the rash of anti-mutant crimes that had taken Bayville by storm.

"But he was obviously a jerk when they were dating, and she was ready to stand by him then," Emma persisted, grazing his forearm with her fingers. "It wasn't a problem before you were forced to go public."

"What's with the pyjama party?" Rogue asked, thankfully walking into the room and interrupting their awkward conversation. Scott had never been more grateful to see her stomp into the room, in full gothic regalia, and fling open the fridge. "Mind if I watch the news?" she asked, after preparing a bowl of cereal. Sugar-laden. Scott didn't understand how she could stand to eat the stuff every night.

She flipped on the screen and Scott stared at it intently, still able to feel Emma's gaze boring into the side of his head.

"Three bodies found at the Frost estate in Boston. Winston Frost, wife Hazel, and son-in-law Steven were declared dead at the grisly scene, apparent victims of a botched burglary. Daughter Adrienne, current CEO of Frost Enterprises, was not home at the time, and returned to find the family home broken into and-"

Scott realized that Emma's breathing had slowed down significantly. He turned his head and saw her staring intently at the television screen, he full lips pressed firmly together. Rogue seemed to be doing at the same thing, and Scott met her eyes as they both looked at their new teammate, whose back seemed to have gone stiff.

"Were they... family?" he started, awkwardly.

"Not at all," Emma snapped back. "A terrible crime, I'm sure, but not one that affects me personally."

"You seem kinda upset," Rogue offered, putting her hand on the other girl's shoulder. Emma flinched away in return. Scott had never seem fury so cold.

"Are you sure you're not -" he hesitated to ask. He wondered if she was going to be okay.

"Look, Scott, Rogue, I appreciate your concern, misguided though it may be." She seemed to be returning to normal, and rose from her chair, bending forward slightly so that Scott couldn't help but get an eyeful of her chest. "But I assure you guys, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about here." She flashed them both a smile, and readied to leave the kitchen when the commotion occurred.

A crash.

The tinkle of glass on the floor.

The crunch of what was left in the pane giving way as somebody flung themselves through it.

And a crowed, "Honey, I'm home!" as a man unfurled from a crouch, standing in the kitchen with two massive swords in his hands. He grinned widely from beneath a mask.

"Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do!"

Author's Note: Happy new year, all! This chapter was delayed, but I've hopefully hmade up for it in length. Grad applications are a life-consuming process. As always, reviews and criticusm are always, always, welcomed! Congrats to Meneldur, who won the Snow Day contest in December, whose prize will be up later this weekend!.