Howdy! As you can see, I'm still alive, and still within my two week limit. I think. I'm going to blame my almost lateness on band. Had band camp this week. Kinda. Three days. But I got sunburned. That wasn't fun. But now I'm all dark. I'm rambling, I apologize.

Also: You guys! I love you guys. Your reviews are awesome. They make me all happy inside. I'll try to make sure I keep putting stuff on here worthy of your awesome reviews.

Anywho, I'm pretty sure this one is at least a little longer than the last one. Maybe just like, fifty or a hundred words. I dunno. Too lazy to actually see. Let's just say it is longer. And not just this huge A/N, but the actual story. Also, as an I'm-Sorry-I'm-Almost-Late-With-This-Chapter present, the majority of this chap is Logan-Hawthorne interaction. The beginning is kinda iffy, but after that, I had a lot of fun writing it. So if the characters seem a bit OOC, sorry, but not really, because it was fun. I know. I'm a horrible writer.

...

What are you doing? Start reading already.


Ororo Munroe is not worried. Nope. Not at all.

Okay, that's a lie. She's about to tear her hair out in frustration. She glances around the bookstore, hoping to catch sight of a dark haired girl with a scarred cheek. Jean had wanted to check to see if it had the latest book in a series she's reading, and Hawthorne had decided to wander off. After both women had told her not to. Ororo takes a breath to keep from doing something embarrassing.

Honestly, how do you lose someone in a bookstore? Of all places. At least the mall would have made a bit more sense. But no. A bookstore!

"Hey, Oreo."

Ororo whirls around so fast she's surprised she didn't give herself whiplash. Standing there is one mutant girl called Hawthorne, complete with scarred cheek.

"Where have you been?" Ororo demands. "I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes!" The girl arches an eyebrow before holding up a cup and bringing a straw to her lips. Ororo stares at the Frappuccino for a second before bringing her hand to her face.

"Jean is not going to be happy," she mutters.

"Wanna drink?' Hawthorne offers, holding the cup out. The Weather Goddess looks down at the girl before giving a small smile.

"No, thank you." Hawthorne shrugs before drinking more.

"Your loss. These things are amazing." She pauses. "When are we getting out of here? I'm bored."

"Once we find Jean."

Hawthorne crinkles her nose. "Last I saw, she was looking at the old books. Like Shakespeare and that crap." She shakes her head. "Shakespeare's stupid."

"Why do you say that?" Ororo asks the girl as they start in the direction of the classic literature. The girl gives her a flat look before clearing her throat.

"'To be or not to be,'" Hawthorne starts. "'That is the question.'"

The girl rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Seriously, if you're gonna kill yourself, just do it already. I don't want to sit around listening to you whine all the time."

Ororo doesn't say anything. Just makes a mental note to talk to the Professor when she has a chance.


Logan does not hide. It isn't how he works. He might go work on his truck without letting anyone know where he is, but that doesn't mean he's hiding. So the kids are getting on his nerves, asking about what that brat Boots did to him with the flower. And that traitor Jean showing everyone with her freaky mind powers isn't helping. He needs his alone time. He deserves his alone time.

The mutant is (hiding) in the garage, doing a touch up on his truck. The old thing has been feeling a bit sluggish ever since he picked up Boots.

"Damn brat," he mutters, wiping his hands clean on a dirty towel. It doesn't really help. Even though he's pretty sure the kid didn't do anything, it doesn't stop him from blaming her. He made a mental note the night before to keep away from that girl. She's Trouble, capital T. He didn't trust her. Not until she gets her memory back. Not until he figures out why she has such wild eyes.

Call him a hypocrite. He doesn't give a damn.

And no. He isn't throwing a tantrum.

Soft footsteps fall on the driveway outside and Logan lets out a low growl without looking up. No one else would have heard the footsteps, but no one else had his sensitive hearing. And no one else would have caught the scent of the intruder like he did. One of the perks of being feral.

Everyone in the school had their own brand of scent. Jean is sweet. Storm has a bit of spice to her. Everyone has a natural scent to them. Not this one. This one smells artificial. He didn't really notice it at first. There is some naturalness to it, but then he picked something else up. Almost like a chemical. It stings his nose and makes him want to sneeze.

The footsteps stop right at the open garage door and he could hear how the person shifts a bit nervously. He almost feels bad.

Keyword: Almost.

"Go away," he says gruffly without even looking up. There's a scoff.

"You can't seriously still be mad at me, Claws," Hawthorne says flatly. "It's called a prank. Get a sense of humor, will you?" Logan let out a growl. The girl doesn't seem to notice, seeing as to how she walks into the garage. "Whatcha doing?"

"What part of 'Go away' do ya not understand?" he growls.

"The part where you didn't ask nicely. Manners are key to all relationships," the girl says simply, unfazed by how rude the feral is being. "Again, whatcha doing?"

"And here I thought people knew when they ain't wanted," Logan mutters, not answering the girl. Boots is quiet for just a split second. It's a split second too long.

"Gawd, what the fuck crawled up your ass and died?" she snaps, and to Logan's—inconvenient—shock, he hears a genuinely hurt tone in her voice. He sighs. Damn. Now he has to apologize or Storm will shoot him with lightning faster than he can heal. That or Jean will throw him in the middle of a freeway. He looks up and turns around. And freezes.

Hawthorne stands in front of him, her chin raised slightly with pride. She wears a Batman tank top, and Logan's eyes fall on her shoulders, and the skin just below her neck. And his stomach twists.

Sure, he saw some of her scars when Jean showed both him and Storm, but the picture was a little fuzzy. He saw when she showed Chuck the slash on her side, and that one pissed him off too. And the uncomfortably familiar claw marks on her arm are always visible when she wears short sleeves. But it isn't the scars that are making him react.

It's the bones.

They poke out, looking like they could rip through the pale skin that's stretched over them. Her shoulders are sharp, and her collarbones look like they'll break if they're so much as poked. It doesn't help that she has her hands on her hips, making the bones stick out even more.

Damn.

He looks at her for another second before turning back to his truck and closing the hood.

"Get in the truck."

"You get in the—wait, what?" Logan glances back at Boots and gives an amused smirk at her confused expression.

"Get in the truck," he repeats, going to the key rack and grabbing his keys.

"Why?" she asks suspiciously. "You aren't going to murder me, are you? Because I'm pretty sure I can take you," she says haughtily. Logan rolls his eyes.

"Jus' get in, Boots. We're goin' to the store."

"But I already went shopping!" Boots exclaims, throwing her head back. Despite her annoyance, she starts for the passenger side of the truck. "Where do you think I got these clothes?"

Logan looks at the girl as she gets in the truck. She is wearing new clothes. And a new, clean pair of bright blue high top converse.

"Jean?" he asks. Boots nods.

"Ginger's psycho! She says I can't wear my boots all the time anymore." She smirks. "So I got these." She holds up her foot to Logan's face and he pushes it away.

"Damn brat." She grins.

"So you aren't mad at me anymore?"

"Oh, I'm still mad. I jus' don't feel like killin' ya yet." He starts the truck right as he hears an amused voice in his head.

Logan, where are you going?

Logan lets out a growl, too low for Boots to catch it. Chuck knows where he's going, he just wants to hear Logan say—er, think—it.

Takin' the brat to the store, he grumbles. Chuck must approve, because he doesn't say anything else. Logan glances down at Hawthorne as he puts the truck in drive.

"Seatbelt, Boots," he warns.

"You aren't wearing one," she challenges. Logan huffs in annoyance.

"I can't die."

"Are you saying you'll try to kill me with your psycho driving?" she demands. Logan glares at her as he pulls out to the drive way and starts what he feels will be a very long drive to the store.

"Jus' put on your damn seatbelt," he grumbles.

"You put on yours and then we'll see about mine," she says smugly. Logan fights the urge to slam his head against the wheel before he puts on his seatbelt. Boots smirks before putting on her own. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Logan mutters incoherently about demon brats before sighing tiredly.

Call him a hypocrite. He doesn't give a damn.


"Why are we here?" I ask, not even bothering to hide the whine in my voice. Claws just shakes his head before dropping a small bag of potatoes into the cart he's forcing me to push around. If he's going to make me go grocery shopping with him, the jerk can at least push his own cart. "Doesn't who ever cook the food at the school usually do this crap?" I demand. "And why did you make me come along? I know I annoy you. Why subject yourself to this?"

"Will ya shut up for five seconds?" he snaps. I stick my tongue out at him, crinkling my nose at the same time. He grabs the end of the cart and starts pulling it after him as he head to a different section of the store. Despite it being kinda late—like, seven last I checked—the place is pretty busy. I grab the handle and follow so I'm not left behind. I'd rather not give him the satisfaction of being able to tell the whole school that I got lost at a grocery store.

"But why?! I bet you never make little Miss Dixie Chick come with you, and you actually like her!"

Claws takes a breath, no doubt to keep from killing me in public, as he drops a couple ears of corn into a bag, ties it off and drops it in the basket.

"I'm puttin' ya on a diet," he says gruffly. I stop short to glare at him.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"NO!" He shoots me a look. "You're too damn skinny! It's unhealthy," he snaps. I narrow my eyes at him. I'm so killing him in his sleep later. "And if Jean isn't going to enforce it like she's supposed to, then I will."

I stare at him for a second, then down at the stuff in cart. "If you want to get me fat, shouldn't you be piling in junk food?"

"No. There's a right way and a wrong way to do this. I plan on usin' the right way. What ya need is protein. And starchy veggies." He nods to the potatoes. I crinkle my nose at them. "And no watery fruit." He grabs a bag of apples and sets them in the basket. I look at the big box of watermelons longingly. He must notice. "Gain some weight, then we'll talk," he says before pulling the cart away.

"You are an evil man."

"Says the girl that threatens to kill everyone she sees."

"They deserve it."

We stop in front of the meat section. I frown as he starts looking through the steaks.

"Claws?"

"What?"

"You aren't gonna make me eat all this, are you?" I ask as he adds something he obviously approves of into the cart. He glances back at me with a smirk.

"Not all at once, brat," he says. "Let's go get some eggs for your breakfast."

"I don't like eggs! Can't I just get some Cheerios?" I ask. "Oh! Or some Coco Pebbles! I love those!"

"No."

"Do you even have a soul?"

He laughs. He actually laughs, not just a chuckle. It's a deep sound, low and throaty. It's nice.

"Do you?" he counters.

"If I say yes, do I get Coco Pebbles?" I ask hopefully. He shakes his head and I fight the urge to bash my head into the closest wall. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you? You're gonna fatten me up to where I can't run and when I try, I'll have heart attack and you're just gonna sit around and watch and laugh," I accuse him darkly. "Because you have no soul."

"Are ya done?" he asks tiredly.

"Yeah, I think so," I say lamely. Before Claws can say anything, a rather generic ringing goes off. It comes from his pocket. He sighs, fishing the phone out, and gives a small curse when he reads the caller ID.

"Damn," he mutters before flipping the phone open. "Yeah? … Yeah, I'm at the store… Yeah, she's here… Jean—I know—Yes, I got some of those… and that. Jean, I know…" he pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, and looks like he wants to run himself through with his own claws. I can't help but grin. Way to go psycho Ginger. "Jean! I know what I'm doin'! This ain't my first rodeo."

"This ain't my first rodeo?" I repeat before doubling over in laughter. "Hey!" I snap when Claws swats me upside the head. I have a feeling it wasn't nearly as hard as he could have actually hit. He shoots me a glare before turning his attention back to the phone. I roll my eyes before looking around. This place is boring. I rest my head against the handle of the cart and ignore Claws's argument with Ginger. Wonder what they're fighting about.

"Ya alright?" Claws asks after about a minute. I look up at him and give a less than enthusiastic thumbs up. He doesn't have the phone out anymore.

"Peachy. Can we just get out of here already?"

"Couple more things, kid."

My head falls back on the handle. Balls. Totally gonna leave a mark.

"Have I said I hate you today?"

"Not today," Claws says, his voice laced with amusement. "I was actually startin' to get worried."

"Well I fucking hate you." I pick my head up just in time to see Claws smirk.

Freaking jerk.


Man. Banter is so fun to write. Once you get started it just kinda goes off on its own. Oh, and if you see, like, little mistakes-or big ones-feel free to point them out so I can go back and fix them. I looked over it, but who knows, I could have missed stuff.

Stay cool, guys. Drop a review.

Homework for this week: Listen to at least one Woe, Is Me song. I think I fell in love with them. If you aren't into screamo, FameDemise [acoustic] by them is pretty freaking amazing. Look it up.