Chapter Ten

Rogue was awake at 7:30 a.m. when Logan and Scott did their best to skulk down the main hall to the Professor's office. Truth be told, she had been awake since roughly 3:30 in the morning when Logan's scream ripped the night wide open; the scream of a wild animal in pain, of a widowed lover, of a man, and it woke something inside of her as much as her body. She shivered and she trembled and her mind reeled as her skin tingled. Inside her, the Wolverine howled, as if in answer; Bobby and Pyro cowered; David faded a shade paler; Erik flinched; and Marie gasped.

A beast like that is unpredictable, my dear. Wild animals cannot be trusted. He only cares about himself.

And how are you any different, bub?

Rogue scrambled to get out of bed, but her feet tangled in the sheets, and she landed on her elbow and her knee, swearing. The scream replayed again in her mind; it knotted the pit of her stomach and weakened her knees. A vision of Logan appeared in her mind: teeth bared, shoulders broad and hard, claws out, feet spread. She shivered again.

Please tell me you do not find that ridiculous abomination attractive. For god's sake, he's a failed experiment.

Rogue giggled, weakly, uncertain, and she then clamped a hand over her mouth and stopped. The Wolverine in her head had gone into hiding, like he always did when she thought of the real thing in a certain way, but she could not help it, could not stifle this heat in her chest. She had always admired him – his character, his rakish grin, that look he gave her with the eyebrow, even that gravelly purr of his – but she had never been here before, never wondered exactly what those muscles would feel like, straining above her.

Stop that at once, child.

"I am not a child," Marie warned.

You are neither his chit. Look, he's gone blushing back into his hole. He doesn't want you, my child.

"No one does," she muttered. No one would ever want her.

Now, now. You cannot blame them for that. You could kill a man with a kiss. There is no sense in imagining anything beyond that.

Rogue nodded and then she giggled hysterically again that she was nodding her head while having a conversation with a squatter living inside it.

Don't call me that. It sounds ill-bred.

She started crying. He was right. She would never know what it was like, never even have a good kiss let alone know a man. She would never have a lover, a husband, a child. She would be alone for the rest of her life, like a flame in the room, a presence they might appreciate but could never touch lest they burn up.

It doesn't mean we don't love you, Rogue. We all love you, came Bobby's quiet voice, but Erik's was louder and it paved over Bobby's like a four-lane highway over a dirt road: She doesn't want pity, you fool. It isn't good enough, is it, Rogue? It isn't enough. You want more.

She stilled. She held back a sob.

That's right, my dear. Control yourself; that's exactly what I am speaking of.

"I've been trying," she whispered.

These things don't happen overnight. Do you think I could manipulate metal perfectly on my first attempt? Don't be naïve. Learning is a process. It takes time. You have already made some impressive bounds.

"But I couldn't control it. The fire that hit Pyro—"

Nevermind that impulsive brat. His gift is wild because he is – was. Mine is not so unstable. You were in control when you crafted that flower with your mind.

"You helped. That was a fluke."

That attitude will get you nowhere. Are you going to be a quitter? Are you going to run at the first sign of complications, like the Wolverine? You are better than that.

The Wolverine did not resurface, but she knew it was some hybrid of his voice and her own that growled: "You tried to kill me. I don't have to listen to you."

No, by all means, listen to that rabid animal, or to that silly boyfriend of yours, or to that wildcard who you treated to his own deadly medicine. Don't listen to me. I'm just an old man who believes in a brighter future.

"You're not the good guy."

Black and white, my dear. Lines. The world is not really put together that way, you know. I would have let you die, yes, not because I was afraid of you or what you can do, but because it would have been for something. It would have meant something. Sixty or seventy years from now, if this war doesn't kill you, if you manage to die of old age – alone – will you be able to say that your death means anything? That you were part of something? Or will you just be the girl afraid to reach out and touch anything? So afraid of herself that she's nothing more than a background drop on the stage, not even a prop, and certainly not a player.

"What if I can't? What if it's a pointless effort?"

Then I will be ashamed to have taken up lodging in such a pathetic mind. There is nothing in this world that isn't worth trying for if you truly want it.

"I am not your toy. I remain in control."

My dear, this will always be your mind. You are ultimately the one in charge, here.

Rogue took a deep breath. So what now, she thought, looking at the red digital clock letters.

There is no time like the present.

Rogue pushed herself up from the floor, straightened the covers, pulling them neatly over the bed. She dressed and sat in the green armchair in her corner and there she closed her eyes and looked into the eyes of Erik. He smiled politely and held out a bare hand. Rogue took it.

Hours later, it was the sound of four booted feet on the hall, and the sound of Logan's and Scott's hushed voices as they passed her door that brought her back into the present. She was stiff from sitting in that chair, but she was not tired, despite her interrupted sleep. She was – if she had to put the sensation in words – rudely awake. Every object in the room came to her in sharper focus. Every sound was clearer and louder. She felt like she had come out of hibernation, rested and revived. She was ravenous.

Down in the kitchen, she was relieved to find herself alone. The students had probably filled the dining room, but the X-Men preferred the quiet and the atmosphere of eating with the few other adults. Bobby and Kitty often alternated between the dining room and the kitchen, wanting to catch up with their other friends, but Rogue stayed in the kitchen; she saw her classmates enough in class.

She had just settled down with a plate of eggs and sausage when Storm walked in, smiling broadly at Rogue. Rogue forced a smile back, quieting Erik's sarcastic comments about the woman's limp.

"Good morning, Rogue. Thank you again for yesterday. I think you've really helped to make Nell feel welcome."

Rogue nodded. She liked Nell. She had spent most of the day yesterday playing goodwill ambassador, showing Nell around the mansion, keeping her company at lunch and dinner, acquainting her with others. And she enjoyed it. She had felt good being useful in that capacity. Even before their hard talk, she had felt at ease with her, knew deep down that this one was not afraid of her, just like Logan. Logan, however, had kept a suspiciously low profile yesterday. In all their wanderings around the mansion and its grounds, only once did they see Logan, out running the perimeter of the property, a flash on the horizon. He was clearly avoiding one of them.

"It was fun," Rogue agreed. "I hope she stays."

"We can always use another ally."

That was not what Rogue had meant, but she said nothing.

"Maybe you can convince her to stay," Storm said with a smile. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and leaned over the counter, looking at Rogue. "You seem to have a talent for that."

"That wasn't me before. Logan stayed for Jean. You know that."

Storm looked like she had been slapped. Her eyes widened and she straightened, her elbow nearly knocking her glass over. Her mouth opened.

Rogue simply stared back. What was the harm in honesty?

"Is that what you think?" Storm managed to get out.

"I said it."

Storm crossed her arms, searching Rogue with angry eyes. "That's a load of crap and you know it. What's going on in there?"

If people did not stop asking her that, she might be tempted to tell them. "I'm not saying he doesn't care about me, but he stayed for Jean."

Storm sneered and it turned her pretty face a shade of fearsome. Her posture changed and that hip came out at its ever haughty angle. "Then why is he still here, Rogue?"

Rogue shrugged, but the Wolverine was slowly waking up inside her, crawling back out of his little cave, and he was not happy. Rogue cursed herself inside. She had been giving Erik too much of her ear; he had never liked the Wolverine, did not give the man the credit he deserved. She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, trying to push back the influence of the old man. When she felt a little more room in her head, she looked back at Storm.

"You're right. But don't assume it's me either. Maybe it was at first, but he's gotten attached to y'all. He'd never admit it, you know."

"We've gotten attached to both of you," Storm said, and relaxed slightly, but there was still a questioning gleam in her eye when it rested on Rogue. She nodded and finished her orange juice. "Hurry up and finish your breakfast. We've both got to be in class soon."

Rogue nodded and watched Storm go, obviously ill at ease but trying to cover it. Rogue had several classes that day, including Storm's history class, and she had to acknowledge gratefully that Storm had never brought up the embarrassing incident weeks ago which Bobby had finally revealed to her – maybe Logan was too chagrined himself. At any rate, Storm let people be. If she poked her nose where it did not belong, it was her way of reaching out, of trying to help. Rogue had always liked her and she mentally kicked Erik for being such a cad to her.

Interestingly enough, Erik had said nothing about Nell. Maybe he was feeling her out, like the Wolverine, who if he had his way – Rogue was certain – would be feeling up the new mutant as well. She chuckled, ignoring Erik's distaste over this truth, and finished her breakfast. She would see Logan that afternoon for training and then she was going to ask him where he had come sneaking back in from in the early morning, and what he thought of Nell. In the mean time, she had math class with Scott, and since he had been content to leave his five-o'clock shadow on a regular basis, she thought he might serve her little hormone rush just as well for the time being. She felt Erik cringe at this and she laughed. After all, she could not kill anyone in her daydreams.

When Logan and Scott had arrived at Charles' office, he was expecting them. Logan fished out a cigar and lit up, standing off to one side as Scott informed the Professor of their conclusion. Scott stood up straight. The hesitation was gone from his stance and the hollowness from his voice, at least for the time being. If he could continue like this and not return to being that puffed up, priggish, holier-than-thou nancy boy, Logan might be able to stand the guy for more than a few minutes at a time.

Charles' first question was: "Have you spoken to Surge about this?"

"No," Scott replied.

"Why?" Logan asked.

"She may have heard something important in her time with John. He may have said something that will corroborate this theory." Xavier moved out from behind his desk and rolled between the two of them.

Logan pointed vaguely with his cigar at the door. "Rogue told me that Nell didn't talk to him. She let him think she only spoke German so I don't know how much he wasted trying."

"It is still worth investigating. I agree that your theory is a likely one." He frowned and put his hands in his lap, studying them for a moment before looking up at the bookshelf behind Logan." But I don't believe Magneto would come here. He wouldn't betray me so deeply."

Logan eyed him. "You gonna' let these kids' lives ride on your trust in that maniac?"

Charles watched him for a long time. Logan expected to feel the man in his head or hear him retort with some self-righteous remark, but Xavier seemed to be thinking to himself. After a long silence, he replied, "No."

Logan nodded. Damn right.

"We need to lock down the school," Scott said.

"That is not a decision to be made lightly."

"Yeah, let's talk about it some more," Logan muttered. "Maybe that'll fix it."

Xavier frowned at him. "I do not deny it is a sensible move, but we need to act as a team. I want all of the X-Men here this afternoon, as soon as classes are over. We will discuss this together. After the meeting, I will inform the students of the lockdown."

They had nothing else to say. Scott hurried off to change before class, not wanting to "smell like a dive" in front of his students. Logan did not have any obligations until late afternoon, and even then his training of the mini-X-Men would be interrupted by another damned meeting. At a loss for distractions, he went for a long run and it gave him time to consider recent events.

He could find not fault with Marie's performance on the mission although he wanted to, wanted to find some little mistake that he could exaggerate and use to bench her a bit longer. It was not only his possessiveness, or her youth, but that, as lethal as her mutation could be, she was still more vulnerable than any of the other X-Men; she had to be up close and personal to fight with her power and then when she did use it, she gained another voice to add to the growing schizophrenia in her head. He could not condone it and at the same time, he could not prevent her; she was his but she was not, not his daughter or his sister, just his friend, some girl he picked up despite his better judgment – or possibly because of – who had latched onto him for dear life and comfort and had yet to let go, and now he was sure he could not either. Yeah, she was growing up, ostensibly becoming more adept at taking care of herself, but was she? Or was her mutation becoming more of her weakness the older and more mature she became? He shuddered to think what memories she had of his or Magneto's, of murder and torture and…sex. He was not sure which was plaguing her more, phantom pain that was not hers, or – as she had said in one of her moments of brutal honesty – her hormones. She was after all a teenage girl. He knew well enough what the hormones of teenage boys were like and he hoped to God girls got a fraction of that. Only once – that he could recall – had she looked at him like a woman and not some doe-eyed, crushing schoolgirl. Her innocence was intact but it was rapidly deteriorating thanks to the growing cacophony of voices in her mind.

There again was a circular argument; he could dwell on it for hours and never get anywhere or come up with any solutions or bright lights, so he forced his mind from the topic and moved on. Scott had a way to go, but he was coming back, and Logan was glad for that. He had never liked playing nursemaid and if not for his savage devotion to Jean, he would have abandoned Scooter to his descent into madness right off. But he felt he owed Jean, that her act of self-sacrifice – which was for all of them, not just Scott, not just the children – had cast on him an obligation to ensure that it was not in vain, and if he allowed Scott to break irrevocably or to die because of his own self-pity and absorption, it was a failure and a betrayal. He would not fail Jean again, even if he was only failing her memory.

He thought no one else had taken it quite as hard as her husband and himself. Storm grieved, but she was strong. Unlike him, she did not bear the burden of guilt or uncertainty, the question of whether or not she could have prevented such a tragedy. She missed her best friend, but was gracious enough to accept Jean's decision. She could be too soft at times – most of the time – but it was this acceptance that told him Ororo could be a great leader, could make hard decisions when her back or someone else's was up against the wall. He had meant to check on her, to see how her leg was healing, and in all the upheaval, had simply forgotten.

Nell was responsible for that upheaval, though not of her own actions. She was thrown into the river already flooding, as he had been so many times, and she was fighting the current with a fury. She saved Marie's life – another point against Marie was that she had to be saved – and had eliminated that damned pyromaniac who had gone off to join the folks who left his former friends to drown at Alkali Lake. Logan did not begrudge Nell one inch for that action and had she not done it, he would have.

She was impressive. There was a quiet force about her, a magnetism, that intriguing hint of potency which she let hover around her instead of drawing attention to her own faculty. Logan had found over the years that those who did not try to show off how bad they were could always wipe the floor with the braggarts. That was only one of the qualities he admired of hers; her brevity and ruthless sarcasm were also high marks in her favor. What Marie told him about her coup over Pyro suggested an enticing wiliness as well, but he needed to be sure he had that story straight, and so as he came back within sight of the school, he resigned himself to the truth; it would pay to see what Nell knew.

After a shower, he sniffed her out in the library where she sat with her chin in her hand as she leaned forward, frowning at a computer screen. She looked up as soon as he came near and smiled at him. "Logan."

"How ya' doin'?"

She leaned back and dug her hands in her pockets, nodding at the monitor. Logan came around to see. "I've been catching up on some news. I didn't exactly have cable where I was living."

Her long, sun-bleached hair was braided down her back, but for a few wisps that framed her temples. He was tempted to reach out and tuck them behind her ears. Instead he flicked his eyes at the screen. "You got a minute?"

She laughed, her blue eyes bright and stirring. "I've got forever."

Logan grabbed a chair at random and sat, straddling it, his arms crossed over its back. He faced her fully. "Tell me what happened with Pyro."

Nell seemed surprised, but she did not hesitate. "I left my cabin a little after dawn, planning to visit Seattle. I was on Highway 19 when I noticed a car coming up behind me, an expensive red car of some sort, and then it sped up and a blast of fire hit my jeep. The idiot hit my gas tank. The jeep exploded." She smirked. "The explosion blew his car off the road. I landed in the ditch and woke up in a room full of boxes tied to a chair with rubber gloves on my hands." The expression on her face made it clear exactly what she thought of Pyro's little security measure.

The kid was an idiot. "What did he say?"

She shrugged. "Not much. He wanted me to join the Brotherhood. When I just cursed in him in German, he started talking louder and slower and finally gave up and said Magneto would be there soon and I could talk to him."

"Why you didn't try to escape then?"

"That little wretch blew up my jeep, kidnapped me, tied me to a metal folding chair, and put rubber dish gloves on my hands. He was about as much of a threat to me as a cold. I was waiting for Erik just so I could show him what kind of imbeciles he was trafficking with."

Again, he had to admire a woman like that, but that was not why he came here. "Scott and I – we think maybe he's trying to build up his forces."

Nell nodded. "For years, it was only him and Mystique. The two of them alone are pretty powerful."

They were pains in his ass; that was all. "We've eliminated some of his men."

"Yeah?" Her eyebrows went up and her lips curved. "Good for you. I'd love to take out that blue bitch."

Logan grinned. "Get in line."

"I'd break in line for that wench."

Her eyes were dark with menace. God, she was a pistol. "You really want to take out some of that aggression?"

She met his gaze and the corners of her mouth tweaked upward. "How?"

Damn, that felt like an invitation. He dipped his head forward and hers followed, like she was waiting to hear some terrible secret. "They call it the Danger Room."

Nell raised an eyebrow, but her smile held. There was a positively teasing curve to that mouth.

Logan shot to his feet, an outlet for the tension building in his muscles, and nodded at the door. "Come on. I'll give you a real welcome present."

Without comment, Nell stood and he led her down into the basement. She glanced around curiously, but she had seen all this yesterday when they arrived, and her face did not register real inquiry until they came to the door marked "Danger Room." He could not wipe the smirk off of his face now and she watched him with a curious smile as they walked into the metal-walled room.

"Wow," she said plainly. "A big, metal room."

Logan chuckled and left her in the middle of the room. At the control deck, he began pushing buttons. He knew the code for the Liberty Island simulation by heart now.

"Whose ass would love to kick more than anyone else's?" He asked.

"Mystique, the wretched harlot."

"Wish granted. Merry Christmas," he said and the room around them dissolved, changed into the museum lobby of Liberty Island, in commemoration of his first knock-down, drag-out encounter with the skin-changer. In the simulation, Mystique leaned against the reception desk and sneered at Nell.

For fifteen minutes, he watched Nell batter and bruise "Mystique". Nell was not inhibited by the jeans that clung so wonderfully to her lean thighs and tight butt. She pulled her sweater over her head and flung it in a random direction, revealing a thin-strapped, clingy tank top beneath it. Had he thanked the girls who donated clothes to this woman?

Logan pushed a button and the phantom Mystique morphed into Wolverine onto the rumble floor. "What do you think?" it asked Nell.

"Quite the toy," she said breathlessly.

"Mine are better." The claws came out.

For a few more minutes, Logan let Nell brawl, transfixed by the speed of her reactions, the fluidity and the flexibility of her movements. She was like wind on water, and she was grinning like a maniac, until suddenly she stopped, stood up straight and still, and dropped her arms to her sides. "Let's see how adamantium conducts electricity," she warned.

The lights on the control panel blinked and began to fade. The room – the illusion itself shivered. Logan killed the simulation before she drained the power from the whole building. For a moment the room went dark.

Nell cursed as Logan approached her. "Did I do that?"

"No, but you would have if I hadn't cut it." He stopped a few feet away. "You're glowing." The energy formed a faint blue aura surrounding her that was luminescent in a completely different way than Mystique's strange skin. The air itself was shimmering.

Nell looked down. "I can't tell."

"Your eyes are glowing too." He stepped forward slowly, looking her up and down, noticing a faint pulsing where the blue intensified ever so slightly and then dimmed again. He wondered if that were her heart beating. "Does this always happen?"

"I built up too much energy. If I let it go now, the power surge would knock out the school." She swore. "I forgot it wasn't real."

That was his fault. He let her go too long. "No love lost on Mystique, eh?"

"I had the impression she wasn't your best friend either. What'd she do to you?"

"She tricked me," he admitted.

"And you didn't notice her scent?"

"I was distracted." He did not have to explain himself to this stranger, even if they shared an enemy.

"She's talented like that. I wonder if that's how she lured away my Joshua or if he knew exactly who she was from the first time. I'm not sure she needed disguises to win him." She held up a hand, watched the currents web between her fingers. "Who did she use against you?"

Logan turned away, started for the door. He did not need this. What the hell was going on anyway? Why was everyone choosing him for awkward, prying conversations lately? Try to be nice to somebody and they automatically thought you should share your life history.

"Rogue?"

"You don't know anything about me," Logan called back.

"Jean?"

He stopped at the door. Why did she care? Did she not have her own problems to keep her busy? Or was it simply some damned gene that women got and men were immune to, some evolutionary mistake that made them have to talk about everything?

"Erik wanted Rogue. What did Mystique want?" she asked.

Logan was upon her in an instant, bearing down on her, just close enough that the occasional current reached him. He did not flinch. His eyes burned into hers. "What do you want?" he growled.

Nell leaned forward, her eyes wickedly gleaming and her mouth scant inches from his. He felt her breath on his skin when she whispered, "To fight someone worthy."

Her lips were perfect. "You sure about that?" The claws shot out. He raised an eyebrow. Did she have any idea what he was?

Nell reached out and touched a claw, running her finger down its length, watching the electricity spiral up the metal. It did not conduct well. Logan watched her face, took long, shallow breaths. She pricked her finger on the end of his claw and held her hand up to show him the blood. He retracted the claws immediately, but the sight of that drop of blood was not enough to distract him from her face, from her eyes and lips.

Nell stepped back. "I asked for a fight, Logan," she struggled to say.

"I don't want to fight you." He could read people better than some could read books. He had always had the advantage over other men in that he did not have to try to sort through women's mixed signals and flirtations; he could hear Nell's racing heart and her quick, shallow breaths, distinguish between the heat from her current and the rising heat coming off her body. He moved closer.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. The current around her danced more violently. "For god's sake, I'll electrocute you."

He grinned. "It wouldn't be the first time."

His large hands grasped her arms and pulled her to him. The blue cocoon enclosed him but the sting was brief and then there was only a tingling and a background hum. He searched those magnificent, incandescent eyes.

There was a darkness in hers. "I don't want you pretending I'm her," Nell said.

Logan let her go, recoiled, narrowed his eyes at the conduit. "You're not her," he muttered. What the hell kind of comment was that? He was tired of games, of Mystique's teasing, of Jean's absence, and here was this woman who was as hardass as he was, as crazy and headstrong; he knew exactly who he wanted. He shook his head. "I know the difference."

The blue was fading, degree by degree. Maybe she was easing it back into the power grid. She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to be anybody's stand-in. I've been somebody's toy too many times."

She was blushing and her hooded eyes seemed rooted to the floor. He would not have any qualms against teaching her ex-boyfriends some manners. "You're pretty young to be so jaded."

Nell laughed, but it was a dark laugh, and he did not like the shadows that formed in her eyes. She came back up to him, raised her hand quickly enough he wondered briefly if he was about to be slapped, but she only held it up in front of him, raising one finger. "Do you see any wound there?"

There was a small bit of dried blood where she had pricked her finger on his claw, but no trace of the source of that blood. Logan leaned back, tried to take in her whole form in one gaze.

She snorted. The disgust was thick in her voice. "Did you think a body could handle this much electricity and still breathe?"

He stared. Only once had he ever met another like him and he had sent her to the grave in a most brutal fashion, the grave he questioned would ever claim him. Deathstryke had been poisoned in the mind by Stryker, had been his enemy through brainwashing and nothing else. He had no chance to ask her what it was like for her, what she had survived, whom she had survived. He killed her to save himself and the others.

Nell was not trying to kill him although her eyes were as sharp as she glared at him as the tips of his claws. There was not a mark on her smooth, freckled skin from Pyro's trouble. All those holes and blackened scorches on her clothes and nothing on her; she did not have a single scar that he could see. How old was she?

"I thought you were smarter than that."

Logan could not think. His mind reeled with the questions he wanted to ask her, but between the fire in her gaze and his own bewilderment, he could not find the words he wanted.

Nell started to walk away, but he could not let her go. He seized her arm and held her. She watched him steadily, the disdain dying but still strong. He could not stop looking at her, scrutinizing her, staring into those eyes that might have seen a fraction or ten times what he had seen. What did you say to someone you had been searching for as long as you could remember?

But she had known. She had known for two days. She had known almost from the moment she saw him and she had held back. He realized now she thought he knew. This anger he understood; it was not so much at his obliviousness as from the condition itself. You lived long enough, outliving those around you, watching them die and not being able to do a damned thing about it, you got angry, it built up inside, and eventually it came out, often where it did not belong. He was all too familiar with that problem.

"I was worried about Rogue," he finally said. It was a concession. It was all he could say to communicate that he had not been himself since the moment they met. He could not tell her how much of his unrest Mystique was responsible for, but Marie he could admit. Nell had already seen his dedication to Marie.

Nell's arm relaxed. She swallowed and looked away. "I can't fault you for that. I know what it's like to care about someone that much. She's a sweetheart."

He let her arm go, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and sighed. "I need to think. All right?"

She nodded. Her face was clear again, soft with understanding. "I have more news to catch up on." She started away.

Logan caught her one last time and he knew he was not imagining the hesitation on her face. He squeezed her wrist gently. "Four o'clock. Xavier's office. It's about Magneto."

"I'll be there," she said. She tugged her wrist and he let her go, watching her walk away, his best chance now at understanding who and what he was. He had left Stryker to die. Marie might have some of his memories, but he would rather let those sleeping dogs lie and hopefully fade out eventually than have her searching through that mess to give him answers. Nell was no tortured girl cracking under the influence of his ragged past. She was a grown woman who had obviously been through her share of suffering – the anger proved that – and who knew, really knew, what it was like. He could ask her what he could not ask Marie, what he would not ask that little girl who was fighting enough of her own demons. With Nell, maybe he could finally face his demons, look at them straight on, claw their eyes out, and be done. With Nell, maybe he look past the demons.

Thanks to those of you I've heard from, I've taken some advice to heart and I hope it shows, but I would love to hear more...