AN: School's finally over and since I finally got a few ideas for this story I think I'm going to take a stab at continuing it. So, here's hoping that it goes well.

My stomach was growling by late evening. I hadn't gone down to eat supper, having fallen asleep on my bed while trying to do my homework. Alex Summers, Cyclops' younger brother, was the only other person in the kitchen when I entered. I was intent on raiding the fridge first and foremost; studying the tall, handsome blonde with shy sideways glances was secondary.

It was always strange for me, to be the only kid who truly lived permanently at the mansion. I'd grown up surrounded by adult or nearly-adult men who weren't related to me, and a number of crushes had resulted throughout the years. Bobby Drake was the obvious one, especially since the two of us often carried on an easy banter that was both comfortable and familiar. I've loved him since I was seven years old, and only in the past few years had that crush slowly faded into an emotion more comfortable for me to bear.

Sam Gutherie, or Cannonball, had been next, followed closely by my current obsession with Havok. At the rate I was going, I supposed by the time I went off to college, I'd probably have chased just about every blonde male in the mansion; and hopefully not a single one of them would ever know about it...

I was very secretive about my crushes. Pop had known I liked Bobby for the longest time. Everyone had, not surprisingly, but that had been different, more like puppy love on my part. I'd been too young for it to be a big deal. Yet, as I'd grown older, I'd gotten better at hiding my feelings for guys, keeping them on the down low. Habit of a thief's daughter, I suppose.

Alex's hand brushed mine as he reached for an ice tray in the freezer while I reached for a TV dinner. I hadn't even noticed he'd come up behind me, and I tried to pretend I wasn't phased in the least.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, half laughing, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

Havok smiled grimly at me, taking the tray he was after, and going over to sit down at the table. The guy seemed rather down and out, overly serious even for a Summers. No wonder, up close he looked like he'd gotten into a fight with a meat hook. And lost...

While I was microwaving my meal, I watched him take several ice cubes and put them in a plastic Ziploc bag, wrap the plastic in a paper towel and then smack it onto his left eye. He almost winced against the cold, his entire back tensing before he relaxed into the chill that would reduce the puffiness distorting his nearly-perfect features.

"Have an accident in the danger room?" I asked, attempting to sound casual.

I hoped I mixed in just the right amount of amusement and concern so he wouldn't get the impression I was making fun of him. The last thing I wanted was for him to think of me as a bratty kid who asked too many questions. I didn't know him that well, since he'd only come to stay at the mansion on a semi-permanent basis in the past year or so. That was the other thing about my crushes. They had, on more than one occasion, simply disappeared out of my life without a trace. I'd found in almost every case, it was a particularly difficult thing to recover from.

He turned to look at me over one shoulder with his good eye, casting me a lifeline in the form of a slight smile. "You might say that," he finally responded.

I finished nuking my dinner, then took it over so I could sit across from him while I ate. "So tell me about it," I insisted before taking a bite of my near-cardboard tasting food.

He only shook his head. "You're funny, Sadi. I always thought you'd turn out to be the quiet type. Sometimes I think your dad's a firm believer in the saying 'curiosity killed the cat.'"

I nodded slightly, considering his logic. It was true. To the average man, my dad did appear to be unusually oblivious to all that went on around him. Until you got to know him well, you never realized he simply relied on his own skills of observation to tell him whatever he wanted to know, as opposed to asking questions.

"You'll make a good lawyer someday," I informed Alex when I'd finished chewing.

My off-the-cuff comment snared his full attention, and he laughed, looking slightly confused. "Why do you say that?" he asked, still smiling just a little, in spite of how much it looked like it hurt his face.

I shrugged, replying simply, "Because lawyers are good at changing the topic away from questions they don't want to answer."

Again he laughed. Yet another point scored by me.

"Who told you that?" he asked jokingly.

I shrugged, poking my food absently with my fork. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I informed him. I was probably right about that much. He wouldn't believe me if I told him.

The rest of the time we spent sitting there passed in a semi-comfortable silence. At last Havok decided he needed to go speak with the Professor, but I wasn't sure if he merely said it to excuse himself, or not. I'd never had the Professor or anyone else communicate with me telepathically.

One of my many quirks was an 'unnaturally' guarded mind, similar to my father's. Without Cerebro, psychics were rarely able to detect my presence. And because of that particular talent, I'd walked in on more than my share of heated debates between a psychic and another X-Man or student that anyone else never would've had the opportunity to witness. Hank had yet to discover the reason for the phenomenon, but had explained it to me as a 'normal abnormality.' I just happened to have inherited a mixture of genetics that made me particularly impervious to mutant psychics without actually possessing a mutation of my own. It was the only strength I'd inherited from my father, and even though I couldn't control it, I was grateful for it.

I had a hard time always thinking that I was weaker than everyone around me.