The aura of silent disappointment that surrounded the professor as he internally debated our fate cut deeper than any knife could. We sat there, in various states of inebriation, looking anywhere, at anything, rather than at the professor. I stared at my intertwined fingers resting in my lap, shoulders tense, waiting for the scolding. Actually, I would prefer he yell at us than have us sit here, swallowing and choking on the thick disappointment in the air.

Jubes was squished onto the same single-seat chair as me, whatever was in her system seemed to be slowly wearing off, but her head was heavy on my shoulder. Logan's presence was so strong behind me, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, that I had no idea how I didn't notice it immediately when I was in here last.

The Professor let out a long-suffering sigh, which, I vaguely mused, was probably exactly how he felt, continuously running a school for children and teenagers, some of whom he had to deal with all the time, like when they broke the rules he set up that were for their own good. Like now. "I'm very disappointed in all of you. What you did was wrong. We have rules for a reason. Besides that, none of you are old enough to go to a club yet."

Jeez, I felt crappy. Guilt and shame roiled in my gut. I wanted to apologise but I also didn't want it to seem fake, like I was only apologising to minimise punishment, or something, so I remained silent.

"It's late now, you all have classes in the morning still, but I will be calling you to see me throughout the day to discuss what the consequences of your actions will be. Just one last thing before you all go. You are seniors of this school and even in training to be X-Men and Women. You are supposed to set an example for the younger grades. They look up to all of you. Some of them even want to be like you. What kind of example does this set? What kind of role models are you when you sneak out and go to a club, get drunk, get in a fight and need someone to come and get you? Think about it. Now, go to bed." He said in a grave voice, a slight frown over his eyebrows. And I didn't think I could feel worse. I winced at his words. He was right, of course he was right.

I heaved Jubes up with me, not at all envying her. She was going to have a terrible day tomorrow. They all were. I herded Kitty, Rogue and Jubes up to our room, feeling ridiculously like a mother hen, watching to make sure they weren't going to fall or face-plant on the stairs. I got them in bed, Rogue putting up a bit of a fight, muttering that she wasn't tired even as her eyes seemed to seal shut. I placated her, eventually coaxing her to sleep before getting into bed myself. I stared at the ceiling for a while, sleep evading me. Logan's scent clung to my skin, driving me insane and making it impossible for me to relax. I tossed and turned for an hour. At four thirty in the morning, when my body still refused to sleep and with the sky turning a dark grey I sat up and walked to the window, opening it. It was dark still but with the promise of dawn not far off. I grabbed my sketch pad and the small case that held my sketching pencils.

Getting up on the ledge, I concentrated on the air, feeling it waiting for my command, and slowly stepped out. I hovered in the air and a breath of relief left my lungs. I'd never tried diving out like that. Once, I'd managed to float above the ground before I panicked and fell back down. I floated just outside the window the air feeling considerably more humid and warm than just a few hours ago, sticky against my skin as a storm brewed.

I carefully manipulated the air currents around my body, pushing me towards the woods, the trees and the potential of quiet and tranquillity. There was something so…peaceful about the woods that made me feel so at home, so relaxed.

Flying was amazing and not for the first time I understood how Professor Monroe and Professor Warren felt when they took to the sky almost every night. It was so free, so liberating to have no constraints, nothing pulling you down and keeping you grounded. At this time of the morning, the air felt cleaner, fresher and it was intoxicating, making me want to fly up higher and higher. That probably wasn't the best idea seeing as my ability to fly only came from my connection to the element air and the higher you go up, the less oxygen there is.

The woods were quiet and I went further, pass the trees that marked where I usually sat, further where the trees became denser. The smell of nature got stronger and I gently sat down on one of the thick branches of an oak tree. It was quiet. The tension from my shoulders slowly left and I leant against the back of the tree, the rough bark scratching at the exposed skin of my legs and shoulders as I waited for enough light to spill over the horizon to be able to see my sketch pad properly. I closed my eyes and felt more at peace. If I concentrated enough, I could feel the thrum of life, the pulsating energy of all the living creatures and vegetation of the woods, blurring into a thumping under my skin, soft enough with a sort of rhythm that almost made it a lullaby. The hard bark of the tree did what my mattress couldn't: make me comfortable enough to make me sleepy. My eyes slowly closed but I wouldn't let myself sleep in case I fell out of the tree.

It wasn't long before dawn encroached and I flipped to a blank page, choosing one of the lead pencils with a softer tone. My fingers itched to draw something, anything but they just hovered above the page as I stared at it. With some much life around me, it wasn't that I was lacking imagination or inspiration. It was that what I wanted to draw wasn't appropriate. In my mind's eye I could see the hard line strokes of his jaw, the gentle shading under his eyes, making him look tired, the creases around his eyes that made him look worn almost. It wasn't appropriate but I wanted to draw him.

Biting my lip, I flipped to a page at the back and set my fingers to work. They moved across the page almost like they had a mind of their own, adding a darker shade here, or another line there. The number of lines I added was limited though, as real life had no lines, only a gradual change in tone. Slowly, his face formed on my page. Wearing his jacket had really made his scent cling to me and every time I smelt it I could picture his face perfectly, the lines of his silhouette clear in my mind as he glared at the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. Or maybe I wasn't actually smelling him, but a memory of his woodsy, male trace.

I lost myself in the sketch. It was one of the few things that could completely relax me. I loved sketching but I sucked at painting. No matter how hard I tried, the paint just wouldn't mix the way I wanted, the picture never turning out how I wanted it to. I switched to a darker pencil to do his eyes, using my fingers to smudge a bit here and there. My critical eyes swept over the picture, always finding something that wasn't quite right.

I was so absorbed in my sketch that I didn't feel the presence of someone jogging along the hardly-even-there path. You'd only see that path if you knew it was there in the first place.

"What are you doin'," a rough voice growled up at me.

I let out a small scream, jumping up, the sketch pad and pencils slipping from my fingers and falling out of the tree. My abrupt leap made me lose my footing and I fell off the branch. At the last second my fingers grasped the branch and I hung there, breathing heavily.

"Fuck," Logan growled out and I had to laugh, it came out breathless.

"You scared the crap out of me," I said, attempting to loosen my fingers as they gripped the branch in a vice death grip. My heart hammered against my chest.

"Jesus, hang on, I'll get ya down, just hold on," his voice gruff and I heard bushes rustling as he attempted to get to the tree when all the undergrowth was in his way. I looked down, the shorter strands of my curly hair tumbling down my front as well.

"It's okay," I told him and he looked up. I grinned then let go. I hovered in the air before slowly floating down to the ground. My bare feet hit the soft, spongy grass.

He cleared his throat, "Oh." He looked slightly dazed and then he shook his head, "What are ya doin' out here?"

I glanced around, "Well, I was sketching before you gave me heart attack and cut ten years off my lifespan," I told him, spotting the pencils and sketchbook. I went to pick them up at the same time Logan did. He got to the sketchbook first.

"Sorry," he muttered. I froze, staring at the sketchbook which had fallen open to a page. He flipped it over and looked at it, his eyebrows rising in surprise. Please, for the love of God, don't let that be the drawing of him. Please, oh God, please. My cheeks flamed.

He flipped another page and I groaned, closing my eyes. "These…are amazin'," he said, his voice sounding gruff and uncomfortable, like he'd never given anyone praise before and didn't know if he was doing it right. My eyes snapped open and I managed to blush harder.

"They're nothing special," I muttered, holding out a hand for the book, hopefully before he flipped to his drawing. He handed it back and I picked up the pencils. "What are you doing out here so early?"

He shrugged, looking over my shoulder, "Couldn't sleep."

"Me either," I said distantly, looking at his eyes. The lines around his eyes had hardened and his shoulders were tense. He almost looked…haunted. It was vaguely familiar, his posture, the way he wouldn't meet my eyes. And then I realised. "Do you often have nightmares?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could think better of it.

His eyes flickered down to mine and momentary surprise graced his features. He said nothing and I looked at my feet, "Sorry. You don't have to tell me."

He said nothing and then I looked up a small 'oh' forming on my lips. I grabbed his muscular arm, dragging him behind me. After a silent moment of trudging along the barely-there path he shrugged his arm out of my grasp, "Where're we goin'?" he grumped at me.

"It's just up here," I said, walking along, my eyes searching for the familiar tree with the gnarled and twisted branches. When I spotted it I walked over, then past it, off the path. A few seconds of walking and we came to a small, miniscule clearing about I meter in diameter.

Flowering there were various growing flowers and plants and potted herbs. I searched for what I needed, picking some flowers and handing them to Logan, "This is lavender, it's supposed to help peaceful sleep to come and these are Morning Glory seeds which are supposed to stop nightmares and bring peace and happiness. Put them under your pillow when you go to sleep," I handed small samplings of the two plants before going back to search for the other plants that might be useful, but not before I caught his raised eyebrows. "This is vervain, put it near your bed, not under your pillow to prevent nightmares and these are anise seeds which you should put under your pillow as well. You never know, it might help," I shrug, getting up and brushing the dirt off my knees and hands, though now it was under my fingernails.

Logan crouched down, going to touch a flower with a gathered bunch of flowers at the top, but I stopped him, grabbing his arm, "Don't touch the bulbs, they contain oxalic acid."

"How do you know this stuff?" he asked and I looked away, biting my lip. I should have known he'd ask that, I should have been prepared for it, but like always I felt the squeezing in my gut.

"My brother," I said softly, still not looking at Logan.

"He has nightmares?" Logan asked, following behind me as I stepped over protruding roots, the moist dirt under my bare feet. I used to come here all the time when I first got here that I had the imaginary path memorised; I could find this place in the dark.

"He had. He died," I said, focusing on walking. My gut gave another painful squeeze.

"Hey," Logan grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face him. His black eyes looked straight into mine, not flinching or looking away, and I felt like they were holding me steady, grounding me when I just wanted to get away, to outrun the memory of my brother that twisted my heart. "I'm sorry," genuine sorrow coloured his tone and I suddenly felt like he really was sorry, like he wasn't just saying that. It made me want to tell him about my brother.

"His name is-was Daniel," I said, I could hear my voice waver and I cleared it, mentally scolding myself, telling myself to get a grip, to not break down and cry in front of Logan.

"I had no idea," he said, his voice gentle, but rough still, just like he was trying not to say something insensitive.

"I don't tell people often," I said, tucking my hair behind my ears.

"When did he…?" Logan began, then maybe thought better of it.

"Die? You can ask. Almost three years ago," I kept walking, slower now, but this time I wasn't avoiding Logan's gaze. "My mother was never really the motherly type. She didn't pay much attention to us. He had a gift too and it manifested in him really early; he could talk to animals. He used to talk to our neighbours cat. When mum found out she freaked and started ignoring him, avoiding him. Danny didn't understand, he was so young and his mother was punishing him for something he had no control over. That's where my relationship with my mother started going downhill. I watched over Danny all the time and when he started getting nightmares, I looked for ways to help him. He was only six and he got nightmares almost every night. I put those flowers under his pillow and it seemed to help; he didn't come in to wake me up every night, asking to sleep in my bed. So, I thought maybe they might help you too."

"Did you put them there?" he gestured in the direction of my plants.

I nodded, "When I first came here, I had trouble sleeping."

"How did he die?" Logan asked, quietly, so quiet that I almost didn't hear him. Maybe he was giving me the opportunity to ignore his question, pretend I didn't hear it if I didn't want to talk about it.

"It was my mother's fault. I hate her for that, for being so superficial and supercilious that she couldn't pay enough attention to her own son for longer than a minute. If she had just listened to him, saw him for who he was and not as a 'mutant'. But she can't and she didn't and it's her fault that Danny's not here. I hate her," I breathed. "She was setting up for one of her parties; she was always throwing a party. I think she thought if she seemed sociable enough, caring enough, no one would find out about Danny. I went to a friend's house to study for our Spanish exam. God, all she had to do was watch him, check on him, but she couldn't even do that. He heard the ice cream truck going around, so he went outside and got hit by a car. He was so small and the car was so big. He died on the way to hospital. I blame her and she knows I do. We started fighting a lot and then not long after my power manifested."

"I'm sorry," Logan said again, because really, what else could he do? It's not like he could go back in time and stop the car, stop him from going outside. I didn't realise until then that my eyes were getting glassy. I swiped at them, annoyed at myself. "I didn't mean to make ya cry."

"It's not your fault. Beside," I sniffed. "It was going to happen. The anniversary of his death is in two weeks so I would probably be crying soon anyway."

We walked along in silence and his presence was comforting, he was solid and dependable. Danny's small face swam in my mind and I could the tightening in my stomach getting comfortable as it prepared to hang around for two weeks, like it usually did at this time of the year. After Danny's accident I had shut down to everyone around me, I refused to talk to anyone and my friends had slowly drifted away from me, not hanging around and supporting me, instead choosing to take the easy road out and leave me behind. I didn't resent them for that; we were only fourteen. Death was a lot to ask a fourteen year old to deal with. Every day I got up I felt empty and black. I'd remember that Danny and his toothy grin wasn't around anymore and I'd recede further inside myself, avoiding contact with everyone. Walls built up around me and I was so angry at my mother, if you could even call her that. Eventually, people stopped trying to talk to me.

It didn't help that my mother moved on faster and easier than me. She didn't even cry at his funeral and it made me hate her even more. Then, one day I woke up, another nightmare ruining a night's sleep. It was about Danny again and I lay in my bed for what seemed like forever, staring at my ceiling as tears slowly leaked out my eyes. But then, I slowly realised that there was no point in being angry all the time; it wouldn't bring him back. Danny hated it when I was angry. He only ever wanted to see people happy. When I was upset, her used to put his hand in mine and I'd feel a bit better. He wouldn't want me to be unhappy, to push people away. I went to school the next day resolving to be more open, to be less dark and angry and recluse. I tried talking to my old friends but it wasn't the same as before and they were uncomfortable around me. Half a month later, Jean and Scott turned up at my door.

The mansion loomed ahead and I headed for my window, Logan following behind me. I levitated myself up to my room and he watched, waiting until I got into my room safely before walking off. I closed the window and turned around in time to see the others stirring, waking up as the alarm beeped.

I went and had a shower, washing away my melancholy with it. My eyes looked less red when I came out and if they noticed, they didn't say anything. But that was probably because they looked like they'd been run over by a truck. A large one. Repeatedly. Their hair was no longer styled and their makeup was smeared all over their faces. Their eyes were red and bloodshot and deep purple bags were visible under their eyes, almost like they'd been punched. They were a mess. Kitty let out a low moan and pulled the covers back over her head and Rogue covered her eyes with her hands, groaning. Jubes, however was the funniest.

She squinted at me, "My head," she groaned, holding a hand against her forehead while letting out a wail. "Chica, chica, my head. Something's wrong with my head!" she panicked.

"Yeah, it's called a hangover," Rogue said, wincing at the sound of her own voice, low as it was.

Kitty groaned from under the covers, "Shut up! Oh, God, my head. Make the ringing stop."

A slow grin worked its way onto my lips. "Well, I feel fine," I said smugly. It wasn't entirely true, what with the ugly gnawing at my gut, but I wanted to rub it in. "A little tired from being woken up at two thirty in the morning," I said pointedly at Jubes, "to come and get your stupid asses, but otherwise I'm good to go."

"I hate you," Jubes said, ignoring the two-thirty comment.

"No you don't. Besides, I saved your ass. Or, Logan did. But I helped and I did a damn good job."

"You did?" she asked weakly, looking at me, or where she thought I was. I was a little more to the right than where she was looking. "Wolvie was there? Damn, I missed the good stuff! Did he get his claws out and shred some people up?" she cried, before wincing and covering her face with her hands.

"No," I said, laughing a little.

"Everybody be quiet. I just need…my head, it's… oh God," Kitty wailed from under the covers.

"If I ever meet the bastard that invented alcohol, I'll kill 'em," Rogue grunted. Then she rethought it, "No, I won't. But I'll hurt them a little."

"You guys need to get up. You still have to go to classes," I told them, looking around for my books.

"God, has the world always been this bright?" Kitty grimaced, her head peeking out from the top of her duvet.

"Believe it or not, today is overcast," I said, spotting my Ancient Rome textbook and shoving it into my book bag.

"No way," Kitty said.

"Mmmhmm," I nodded.

Thea, I'd like to see you before classes, if you wouldn't mind. The professor's voice floated into my head and I couldn't help but wince. Even when angry he could be polite. It made me feel worse.

Okay.

"You know, once you get used to the ringing and the light and the dizziness, it's not so bad" Rogue groaned, slowing working herself into a upright seated position before groaning and flopping back down. "I lied."

"Get up, shower, eat some breakfast if you can stomach it and get to class," I said, walking for the door. "The professor wants to see me."

Three simultaneous groans followed me out the door.

So, what did you think? Like or hate the new development in Thea's past?

You will be pleased to know that I did not fail my exam. I know, you guys were so worried, but worry no more, because I passed with flying colours. Or, at least, with black ink because my blue pen ran out.

Anyway, I have attempted to reply to everyone's reviews. You are all so sweet and your words are so kind! THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! However, if I have missed anyone, I will not be offended if you send me an abusive PM. I promise. I'd deserve it.

LOTRlover, is that your real pen name? Because I want to reply to your lovely reviews, but I don't want to send it to the wrong person.