Evolution One Half

by Shudder

Chapter 18. With the adults away, the kids can play! Mistakes and confrontations, dueling Queens and deadly games. Jean suffers withdrawl and Kasumi gets a surprising offer. Mistakes weave unexpected victories. And a girl sticks her tongue up her nose.

14. Chapter 14

Evolution 1/2

---

Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma 1/2 or X-Men: Evolution. I would like to borrow Storm, however, so I can jumpstart spring; 84 inches of snow is just too damn much, even for Wisconsin...

Special thanks and cookies to my new pre-readers, JamesAxelrad, simonmountney, GrizzlyBiscuit and lightningjoebobjackson. Give 'em all a big round of applause, they did a great job.

---

Chapter Fourteen

---

A beautiful young woman with long brown hair walked determinedly down the busy sidewalk, the office workers and housewives parting before her like the Red Sea. The cold, 'don't-fuck-with-me' expression on her pretty face was enough to do this, but the giant gleaming spatula strapped to her back - which many people on the street had seen used with deadly effectiveness - no doubt helped create this effect as well.

"Is that...?"

"Oh crap, it is!"

"Oh God no!"

"They're coming back! There go our property values again!"

"Yes! Kimishima Construction will be out of debt once again!"

"Where's the Chinese girl? I miss the Chinese girl..."

Ukyo Kuonji ignored both the looks and whispers of the people around her, her mind completely focused on reaching her destination. She was not in a good mood, and had not been in a good mood for several months now. Her fiancée had up and left her for a second time, and so she had been forced to close up her beloved restaurant and go on the road again to track him down. She'd paid Nabiki a hefty sum for information on Ranma's whereabouts, and had been given a list of places he might be.

And he hadn't been at any of them. Not a single damn one. None of the people at said places had ever even heard of him.

The only consolation from her expensive and fruitless trip around Japan was that Shampoo had dropped out of the race. Ukyo had been with the Amazons when they were looking for Ranma at the Masaki shrine in Okayama; the okonomiyaki chef didn't know what decrepit crone had written the Amazon marriage laws however many thousand years ago, but they should have included a 'dumb luck' clause. Ukyo had heard about how Ranma had defeated the purple-tressed Amazon via indirect knockout and thus became engaged to her, but what had happened with that Masaki kid was just plain stupid.

Shampoo had been running towards a boy they had thought was Ranma that was working in a field of carrots, ready to give her trademark 'glomp-n-grope' greeting. She had only been a few yards away from him when a tiny rabbit-cat thing had popped out of nowhere. Shampoo had been overwhelmed by the cuteness of the creature, tripped over a gardening tool hidden among the carrots, and slammed face-first into the pole section of the hoe the boy had been using.

Cologne had ruled it as a legitimate defeat, as the boy - Tenchi - had knocked her out with what was technically a weapon, even if they hadn't actually been fighting. Even more surprising to Ukyo was that the Amazon Matriarch had deemed the victory to be more legitimate than Ranma's, as Ranma had not actually been holding the weapon that had knocked Shampoo out. Ukyo wasn't sure that logic really made sense, personally, but who was she to dispute an Amazon matriarch on her own laws?

Shampoo had then squealed in joy and enthusiastically proceeded to give Tenchi the Kiss of Marriage. By then, the other occupants of the household - several very beautiful young women - had come out to see what was going on.

Ukyo had no idea what had come of the whole situation, deeming it necessary for her continued safety to get the hell out of there when a cyan-haired girl started throwing around energy blasts.

What followed was a journey that seemed to cover every remote corner of the island nation. About halfway through the list, Ukyo began to suspect that Nabiki had suckered her out of a good 50,000 yen. Three-fourths of the way through, Ukyo was certain of it.

Which is what brought her back to Tokyo; tired, pissed off, and making her way through a throng of everyday citizens in a last attempt to find her wayward fiancé.

Walking straight through the door of the Shinkasa Dojo, Ukyo could have cared less that she was interrupting a class. The brown-haired chef walked through the group of students - it looked to be an intermediate Kempo class, from the moves the students were displaying - to the young man stoically observing at the front.

"Ryo," Ukyo said, her tone implying he would be very sorry if he tried to impede her in any way. "Where is your brother?"

The man's stoic expression melted away into a broad smile when he noticed the girl talking to him; Ukyo rolled her eyes. Ryo had had a stupid little crush on her for years now, to the point that whenever she was around, his personality did a complete 180º turn. He became shy and stuttering, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he attempted to answer her simple question.

"H-he's in... um, he's in his... uh, I m-mean, uh, J-Jiro-kun is ov-over in..." After what she thought was a very long two minutes of stammering, Ukyo's foot tapping against the wooden floor in impatience with an increasingly loud 'thunk-Thunk-THUNK', Ryo gave up trying to speak. Dropping his head in a show of unparalleled embarrassment, he lifted an arm and pointed to the door on the back wall that led into his twin's office.

"Thank you," Ukyo said through gritted teeth. Normally, she would have stayed and flirted with the boy a little for her own amusement. She'd never date him, especially not with his being nearly seven years older than her, but the fact that he wasn't Tsubasa gave him a considerable amount of appeal. In her present mood, however, flirting was the last thing she felt like doing. Without even giving the older martial artist a second look, Ukyo went in the direction indicated, opened the door and walking straight in.

"...now they're all over the place? Well, that's not good, is it? Hard to find them when they're all spread out like that."

Inside the office was a man identical in appearance to Ryo, with the exception of a thinner build and a small scar over his left eye. He was leaning back in a large, plush red leather office chair behind a large oak desk, a cell phone held up to his ear. Noticing he had a visitor, Jiro held up his index finger to indicate he'd be only a minute longer. Ukyo held back a sigh, leaning up against the closed door while she waited for him to finish; unlike his brother, Jiro wouldn't let her get away with a deliberate show of impatience.

"And what about the west wings? Did you find any spiders there?"

Ukyo gave up trying to figure out what the phone call was about, and instead focused her mental energy on not tearing her hair out as she was forced to wait.

"You did? How many? Just one? And it's green?" Jiro continued, tapping a finger against his chin. "Well, stay out of the area, and I'll call in an exterminator. Don't wanna take any risks after all, it could be dangerous." He went silent for a few minutes as the voice on the other end spoke. "Yes, I'll pick some up on my way home. Okay. Okay, I will. Alright. Love ya, g'bye."

Closing the phone, Jiro set it down on his desk and sighed. "I'm sorry about that, Kuonji-san," he said pleasantly. "My girlfriend had something shipped from South America, and it seems a few spiders managed to get inside the crate... but that's not important to you, is it? What can I help you with?"

Walking straight up to his desk, Ukyo thrust a hand into her tunic and pulled out a large wad of bills. Slamming it down on the desk, she turned a harsh glare at the man. "There," she spat out, "3,000,000 yen. Now tell me where my fiancé is."

"Ah, yes," Jiro said, his ever-present smirk growing slightly wider as he took the money. "I saw you on Iron Chef the other night; a truly inspiring victory, I must admit. I would have placed a wager upon your victory, but Ryo-kun refused to bet against you."

"Where. Is. Ranma?" Ukyo growled, leaning in menacingly.

Jiro seemed completely unconcerned with the display, focused as he was on counting his money. Setting it down after confirming it was all there, he opened the uppermost drawer of his desk and pulled out an envelope, handing it over to the irate chef.

Snatching it out of his hands, Ukyo tore it open and read the single sheet of paper inside. "The United States." Ukyo said slowly, her eyes peeking over the edge of the page at the smiling face of Jiro Shinkasa. "The United States? That's all you can tell me, 'the fucking United States'!?"

"That's as accurate a location that three million yen will get you," Jiro said calmly. "If you want me to narrow it down further, it'll cost you."

Crushing the sheet in her hand as she boiled with rage, Ukyo forced herself to calm down enough to make herself understandable. "That was every last yen I had," she said slowly, "Why are you suddenly charging me, anyway? You didn't charge me anything more than a year ago when I was trying to find Ranma the first time!"

"Yes, and then the 'vengeance' you trained ten long years for was waylaid by a simple trite compliment."

Ukyo couldn't help herself as a low growl rose in her throat.

"The first one will always be free, Kuonji-san," Jiro said, crossing his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. "The second one will always cost you, and the third one..." he trailed off.

Ukyo grimaced. "The third one will be paid with a favour." she finished for him. "Fine, I agree. Just tell me what I want to know."

"New York." Jiro replied.

Ukyo waited for him to elaborate. "New York State, or New York City?" She asked when she realized he wasn't going to.

"I'd try the second one first, and then expand outward into the first. I can't give you anything more accurate than that, Kuonji-san," Jiro told her. His gaze suddenly turned deadly serious and for the first time she could ever remember, his ever-present smirk deserted his face. His voice carrying an edge sharper than any of her spatulas, he continued, "You owe me one favour, to be called in at any time for any reason. When it is called, you will drop everything, no matter how important, and attend to what I ask of you. You will not like the results if you do not follow these conditions. Understand?"

Ukyo blinked several times, the cold fear suddenly rising within her completely dousing the burning rage she had been working up; he had never spoken to her - or anyone ele, as far as she knew - in such a way in all the time she had known him, but she could feel the truth in his words. He would follow through on that promise. Nodding slowly, she turned around and left the office, barely acknowledging the farewell Jiro sent after her and not even noticing Ryo's stammered good-bye.

She had a location. A mirthless grin cam across Ukyo's face as she made her way back to her restaurant; she'd have to open it for a few weeks to earn the money needed to get to New York, but that wouldn't be too much of a problem. She'd waited for ten years to get her revenge the first time, and he'd placated her with a simple compliment.

She wouldn't be fooled by that again.

---

Snapping awake at exactly 5:30, Tessa sprung from her cot and landed in a crouch on the balls of her feet, a pair of knives appearing at the ready between her fingers. Immediately scanning the room for any potential threats, and detecting none, she eased ever so slightly and slipped the knives back into her sleeves.

It was a reflexive action, one honed through years of awakening in the presence of actual dangers and threats to her life. Tessa knew she could probably change it so she didn't awaken in such a violent way, but felt no need to; the only people that had ever been bothered by it were the ones who tried to kill her in her sleep, and the very few lovers she had taken in the past. Besides, one never knew when such a reflex would come in handy.

Giving her neck a small crack and ignoring the protestations of her sore muscles, Tessa began her morning routine by grabbing her towel, slipping on her sunglass to check for any messages, reviewing the previous night's fight with one part of her mind and playing a mental game of sudoku with another. Stepping out of her room, she gave the man sleeping on her couch a glare; she had hoped he would be gone by now. Resisting the temptation to kick him awake and throw him through the window, Tessa stepped into the apartment's small bathroom.

Draping her towel over the door handle, Tessa glanced down and scowled; that bastard had left the toilet seat up. Adding it to the growing mental list of 'Reasons to Hate Remy,' the ebony-tressed woman twisted the shower knob and hoped the landlord had fixed the water heater. After several seconds of ugly sputtering, the tarnished shower nozzle released an angry torrent of ice-cold water. Within a few seconds, steam began to waft from the quickly heating water.

Nodding in satisfaction, Tessa disrobed, her black silk pajamas - one of the few luxuries she allowed herself to have - pooling at her feet, and stepped into the water.

Allowing herself a brief moment to enjoy the warmth of the water as it cascaded and battered her pale skin, Tessa located the plain white bar of soap and began washing. The dirt and grass stains and dried blood that had remained on her from the previous night put up a half-hearted struggle before giving way to the simple cleansing agent.

As she went through the motions of personal hygiene, a section of her mind continued to review the fight with Darkholme's spawn; she had succeeded in forcing the truth onto him, albeit through a distorted outlook. She had told him the absolute truth about his powers, but skewed the effects that they had on his body and skill as a martial artist. Tessa knew from his reactions that the seeds of doubt had been planted, but if and when they would bloom she was unsure.

The pale woman winced as she accidentally pressed against a particularly nasty blue-and-purple bruise. Setting down the soap, she grabbed the light blue bottle of shampoo and squirted some into her hand.

Running her fingers through her wet locks as she applied the hair care product to her scalp, Tessa found herself faced with the quandary of what to do next. She was still recovering from the first fight - and would be for a few days more - so striking again soon wasn't a viable option. Waiting too long, on the other hand, might allow him the time to come to terms with what she had told him.

After a few more seconds of high-speed analysis, she was able to determine that there were a few logical courses she could take from this point on. None had a particularly high probability of success, however, especially with the added factors she'd been able to observe the previous night. Her mind continued to race through the various possibilities, checking and double-checking every variable, but coming to no certain conclusions.

Rinsing her hair thoroughly, Tessa turned off the water and stepped out, an involuntary shiver running through her at the sudden change in temperature. Wrapping her towel around herself and picking her nightclothes up off the floor with her toes, the raven-haired mutant exited the bathroom.

There was a factor Tessa knew she was not seeing, something that despite her constant analysis and observation, she had failed to properly take into account. The scenarios she had developed were not much different than the ones she had devised before last night's encounter, yet now they had a much smaller probability of success. Why was this?

She spared a moment to glare again at the man on her sofa before stepping into the bedroom. Dressing herself in an outfit far more casual than the kind she had been wearing lately - a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt, - Tessa set a portion of her mind towards figuring out the next move she would make. Stepping out once again in the living room, the woman focused her current attention on the matter she could deal with.

"Get up," Tessa snarled, giving the occupant of the couch a kick in the side. Her eyes darted in the direction of his bo staff when he didn't respond. She gave him a second kick.

"s'not mor'ng 'et," The response came, muffled heavily by the couch the speaker's face was pressed against.

"It's 5:45." Her fingers twitched towards the man's bo staff.

"M'rning don' c'me 'til ten," the man countered, shifting his position slightly in an effort to gain more comfort.

Her fingers closed around the staff. "Here," she growled through clenched teeth. "Morning starts when I say it starts."

"Make me som' breakf'st, mebbe I get up so'ner."

Tessa's eye twitched and she raised the staff above her head.

---

Rogue let out a low groan as she felt the light of the rising sun trying to force her eyes open. Reaching down to pull the covers over her head, she was confused when her fingers found only her pants. Had she kicked the sheets off in the night? Groaning again, she let her eyes open into thin slits, wincing as the sharp sunlight pierced the sensitive orbs. Sitting up and pulling her arms back into a stretch, she realized she was lying on a cold, hard surface instead of a warm, soft bed.

Sleepiness fell from her like a discarded cloak as she realized where she was, and the events of the previous night flashed through her mind. Looking down, she could see the boy she had fallen asleep next to the night before (absently noting that technically, it was the first time they'd slept together), she saw he was gone. Casting her gaze around the Institute's rooftop, she was easily able to determine he was no longer up here with her.

Going to the edge, she looked out over the backyard, where the younger student's morning training session should be going on. Sure enough, on the grass behind the school were ten figures, eight of which were following the motions of the ninth while the tenth looked on. She couldn't see them too clearly, but she'd know that pigtail anywhere.

Looking down at the ground, a slightly more pressing concern arose; someone had apparently moved the ladder she'd used the previous night, so how the hell was she supposed to get down?

Rogue sighed after a few moments thought. Looked like no other options but to either call for help or climb down, and she damn sure wasn't going to cry for help...

Grabbing a tight hold of the edge, Rogue pulled herself over it and swung around the side. Glancing down, she saw a balcony about ten feet below her. Letting go from the edge, she landed easily in a crouch on both feet with a minimum of discomfort. Making a mental note to 'thank' Ranma for teaching her that, she quickly debated whether to try that again and land on the grass below, or risk waking someone up by going through the room she was currently outside of.

Deciding the effort she had just gone through to get off the roof had granted her the right to take the easy way out, she opened the balcony door and walked straight through the room. She didn't bother to try and find out who's it was, or if anyone was actually inside. If they caught her, they caught her.

A minute later, Rogue was walking across the yard to the training session that was going on. She smirked as she saw the younger students struggling to do push-ups; Ranma had barely started them on actual physical combat, intending to break them in with rigorous workout sessions before subjecting them to his teaching methods. This of course meant that the older student's martial arts training had been rescheduled; now taking place after school. That suited Rogue just fine; it was much easier going through his workouts with the promise of sleep afterwards.

"Ranma," She said softly as she stepped up next to him; the pigtailed boy spared her a quick look and a small smile before turning his gaze back to the younger students.

Rogue stood next to him silently for a few minutes, watching as Rahne shouted for the group to switch to sit-ups. There was much grumbling among them, but they did as they were ordered; Rogue had no doubt they were planning revenge on both her sort-of boyfriend and his teaching assistant as soon as they were skilled enough. She and the older students had been planning the same thing since the training started, and had finally realized only a few days ago that that reaction had been Ranma's purpose since the very beginning.

"Yer doin' a great job, Rahne," Ranma said softly as the lycanthrope approached him, still keeping one eye on her students. "I think they're really beginnin' ta hate ya durin' trainin'."

"Aye," Rahne replied, a touch of what sounded like nervousness in her voice; Rogue guessed she still wasn't used to the idea of being put in charge. "But are ye sure it's necessary?"

"First rule of Saotome Martial Arts Instruction," Ranma said, as if quoting from an ancient and revered manuscript, "Make 'em hate ya; yer students will be motivated ta improve by their desire ta kick yer ass."

"But," Rogue put in, "what happens when they get good 'nough ta actually kick yer ass?"

Ranma smirked, an expression Rogue was thrilled to see return to his face. "Second rule of Saotome Martial Arts Instruction," he replied, "If the student becomes good enough ta think they can kick yer ass, stop goin' easy on 'em and begin the advanced lessons."

"Still," Rahne said, looking out across the yard at the sweating and groaning kids. "I'm not sure if I feel right 'bout puttin' 'em through alla this."

"That's fine," Ranma told her, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a small squeeze. "You can be a little nicer to 'em if ya want - it's only me they really havta hate. Now," he removed his hand from her shoulder and pointed toward one of the students. "It looks like Jubilee has decided to take a little breather. Go and see if ya can 'motivate' her a little."

Rahne nodded and shifted into her red-wolf form, running over to Jubilee. The exhausted girl eeped loudly when she discovered a wolf behind her, growling menacingly.

Ranma grinned as he watched Jubilee hurriedly resume her sit-ups, and then grinned wider when she shot him a glare, sparing Rahne from her ire. They knew by now that Rahne's orders came from him, and were directing their anger towards the proper person.

"Ah think she has a crush ya," Rogue teased, slipping her arms into his and turning him towards her.

"Jubilee?" Ranma asked incredulously, "Hell no, she hates me."

"Not her," Rogue shook her head, "Rahne. Ah think she's got herself a little bit o' hero worship for her sensei."

"Yer crazy," Ranma told her, another grin blossoming on his face. Rogue fought back a blush at the sight of it; she knew she had it bad for him, but he didn't need to know that. "She's just a student."

"Ranma," she said, all teasing gone from her voice. She was reluctant to turn the conversation away from where it looked to be leading, but this was an issue that needed to be addressed. "Can we talk?"

"'Bout what?" The pigtailed boy answered, his tone getting gaining a note of suspicion.

"'Bout last night," She said, ignoring his annoyed look as he realized what she wanted to talk about. She didn't care if it bothered him; he needed to talk about it. "Are yah feelin'... y'know... alright?"

"I feel fine," he stated, his eyes darting away as he spoke. Rogue had known him long enough to know that this was an obvious sign that he was lying.

"No yer not," she insisted, "It's botherin' ya, Ah can tell."

"Nothin' is botherin' me!" The pigtailed boy insisted angrily, his eyes still turned towards the training; Rahne had started nipping anyone who happened to slow down. "FIVE MINUTES!" He yelled out, "If ya don't finish whatcha were given, yer runnin' twice as many miles after school!" He felt a burst of sadistic pleasure as they all started moving nearly twice as fast; he understood now what his father had gotten out of this.

"Ranma," Rogue said, grabbing him by the chin and turning his head towards hers. Meeting his gaze, she repeated herself. "Ah can tell what Sage said last night is botherin' ya. Ya need ta talk ta someone 'bout it; ya can't just hold it in."

Ranma just stared at her, his hard gaze softening slightly. "Later," he mumbled begrudgingly, "I need more time ta think 'bout it."

"Ahright," Rogue agreed, her hand releasing his chin and sliding around to the back of his neck, where it was joined by the other. "Now... didja realize that technically, last night was the first time we ever slept t'gether?" She gave him a sly and sultry smile, and was soon rewarded with a blush crossing over his face and adorable stammering as he attempted to respond.

---

"I hate him I hate him I HATE HIM!" Akane seethed, slamming her fist on the table to accentuate each declaration of hatred. The table shook violently with each strike, causing her two friends to grab for their drinks in an effort to keep them from becoming airborne.

Yuka sighed in resignation as she sat back against the back of the booth. "I knew the happier attitude was too good to last," She whispered to Sayuri. Next to her the other girl nodded, watching their ranting friend with concern and no small amount of apprehension. The three girls were currently sitting in a small cafe, waiting for the arrival of the fourth member of their group. School had let out only an hour earlier, and Akane was still fuming from a second incident involving the new boy in school.

Despite what Shiro had said upon their first meeting, he had once again joined in - or as Akane had angrily deemed it, interferred - in the morning fight. What's more, upon finishing the last of the Horde o' Hentai, the boy had proceeded to taunt Akane with the fact that he'd taken down more of them than she had - he could even prove it, as apparently he had attached a 'Knocked out by Shiro' note on each one.

"I swear," Akane growled, not noticing the brief conversation between her two companions. "I swear, if he interferes one more time, I'm going to make that arrogant bastard join the rest of those jerks on the ground!"

"How much longer do you think she's gonna be at this?" Sayuri whispered to Yuka.

"Until Betsy gets here, I'd say."

"British girl better hurry up then," Sayuri muttered. After thinking for a moment, she added, "One thousand yen says she got lost again."

"No bet," Yuka replied, sipping at her root beer and keeping an eye on their ranting friend. "The odds are too much in your favour on that one."

"Damn," Sayuri cursed; that would have been an easy thousand yen. "Well then, one thousand yen says she-"

"Sayuri-chan," Yuka cut in, "If you wanna borrow a thousand yen, just ask."

"It's more fun when I win it," the other girl admitted.

"I mean it!" The youngest Tendo declared. "That stupid, arrogant BOY is gonna get it, and I'm gonna be the one who gives it to him!" She let out and evil chuckle. "Oh yes... I'm gonna give it to him, and give it to him good..."

Both of her friends shared a glance and saw that the other was trying in vain to keep from laughing. At that moment, both Sayuri and Yuka failed in this effort and exploded into raucous giggling and chortling. Akane stared at them for a moment, wondering what they were laughing about. A second later, her face erupted into a dark red blush as she realized how her words could have been interpreted.

"I didn't mean it like that!" She declared hurriedly; her words fell on deaf ears, however, and the giggling turned into full-blown laughter.

"Okay," A new voice interrupted, the precise Japanese it spoke laced with an obvious British accent. "It appears as if I have missed something quite hilarious."

All three girls turned to see the fourth and newest member of their little group had arrived. She was a Caucasian girl of average height, slightly taller than her three friends. She had bright, expressive blue eyes and long, sleek purple hair that reached to the bottom of her shoulderblades - she claimed the colour was natural, but everyone knew she dyed it. In her hair was a light pink, plastic barrette that held her bangs to the side. Her figure was one that inspired a small amount of jealousy in her friends, and she wore a pair of fashionable low-cut jeans and a tight halter top that showed it off.

"H-hey Betsy," Sayuri managed to gasp out through her laughter. Taking a deep breath, she made an attempt to calm herself. Before she could say antyhing, however, she caught a glimpse of Akane's face and lost it a second time.

"I said something," Akane explained to Betsy, giving both of their other friends a quick glare. "And these two took it completely out of context just because it happened to accidentally sound slightly perverted-"

"SLIGHTLY perverted?" Yuka interrupted, "Akane-chan, you practically announced your intention to give Shiro the best night of his life!"

Betsy directed a raised eyebrow at Akane. "Really now," she commented. "And here I was convinced you hated the boy."

"I do hate him!" Akane declared, crushing her empty cup in her fist. "It was a slip of the tongue, nothing more!"

"Yeah, you wanna slip him the tongue," Sayuri teased, bringing forth another round of giggles from Yuka. Akane humphed and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

"I don't blame you, Akane-chan," Betsy told the girl. "That boy is simply delicious. Easily on par with your ex-fiancé, if you ask me."

"You want the jerk, you can have him," Akane muttered angrily.

"I might take you up on that," Betsy said with a grin. "He is simply scrumptious, if you ask me."

"Can we drop the subject of Shiro Yoshida?" Akane asked, standing up from the table. "C'mon, Betsy-chan is here now, so lets get to the movie. I want to get my mind off that infuriating jerk for a few hours."

"Oh, fine," Sayuri agreed, sliding out of her seat and throwing her empty cup into a nearby trash receptacle. "We can talk about your crush on Shiro later."

"I do not have a crush on him!"

"She denies it like she denied her feelings for Ranma-kun," Yuka commented to Sayuri, acting oblivious to her friend's anger - she and Sayuri knew they were among the few Akane wouldn't direct her rage towards, and took advantage of that as often as they could. "It must be love."

"Oh, shut up," Akane muttered as the group headed for the door. "The boy is nothing but a pain in the ass, and Betsy-chan is welcome to him for all I care."

"Better go for it, Bets," Sayuri whispered to the purple-tressed Brit. "Before Akane-chan changes her mind and decides she want him."

"Oh, I plan to," Betsy smirked, fingering the butterfly barrette in her hair as a faint blush tinged her cheeks. "You saw him during gym class the other day, right?" she shivered at the memory. "That boy has the bloody cutest butt I have ever seen. Akane-chan doesn't know what she's missing out on."

"I can hear you, you know," Akane said drily, causing Sayuri and Betsy to giggle. Deciding they had teased their friend enough - for the moment, - the conversation shifted to other topics as the four made their way to the theatre.

---

"So... where is room B14?" Ranma asked, looking down at his schedule.

"It's on the lower level," Scott replied as he pulled into the school parking lot. Grumbling upon seeing that someone had taken his usual space, he pulled into the empty one right next to it. "You just take the stairs by the cafeteria down, and you can't miss it."

"Great," Ranma replied, casting an eye towards the burned-out husk of the school gymnasium. "So no one remembers that?"

"Nope," Kitty answered as she stepped out of the car. "Professor Xavier managed to totally alter the memories of everybody there. They all think it was the fireworks that did it."

"Everyone except for Principal Kelly," Scott added. "The prof wasn't able to finish the job before he blacked out, so we should be careful not to let Kelly hear anything that might jog his memory."

"Right," Ranma said, wishing now that he hadn't asked the question; thinking about the fire made him think about the fight that caused it, and the things that Sage woman had said to him. He did not want to think about that right now. "Well... time ta go ta a class I never signed up for and have no interest in whatsoever..."

"Cheer up, bruder," Kurt said, throwing an arm around Ranma's shoulder as the group walked up the steps of the school. "Art classes are not so bad. You vill get the chance to see vhat a different Art is like."

"I don't care 'bout 'a different Art'," Ranma grumbled. "This has gotta be some kinda prank someone is pullin' on me," he added, giving his half-brother a suspicious look out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, how could I have pulled off something like that?" Kurt asked defensively, though he was silently wishing he'd had the idea and the means to do such a thing. "It was probably the same person who impersonated you on the phone vith Melinda and set up that date."

Ranma and Kurt both failed to notice the quickly smothered expression of amusement that crossed over Scott's face, as well as his barely-restrained laughter.

"Anyvay," Kurt continued, discretely slipping a 'Kick Me' sign on Ranma's back as he removed his arm. "Try and have some fun in your new class before they manage to fix your schedule. You might find something you enjoy, ya?"

"I doubt it," Ranma muttered, not realizing he was repeating the words he'd spoken in the principal's office the previous day. Pulling the sign off his back and grinning momentarily at Kurt's upset expression, Ranma gave the rest of his housemates a wave as he and Rogue split off from them.

"Stalking me again?" He teased her, crumpling up the 'Kick Me' sign and tossing it into a garbage can thirty feet away. A large man passing by in a white lab coat and glasses blinked at the sight, eying the boy who's thrown it with a look of consideration before going about his way. Ranma didn't notice, as Rogue's elbow had found its way into his gut.

"Mah locker is down by the Art Department," Rogue said, removing her elbow. "Ah think by now Ah'm over the whole 'stalkin' the cute boy' phase." She paused as a sly grin came over her face. "Although the view from behind would be worth it," she added, giving him a light smack on the ass to drive the point home. Rogue laughed at his yelp of surprise, and then let out a yelp of her own when a purple blur appeared in front of her.

"Goooooood morning!" Risty greeted them with bright eyes and a wide, sparkling smile.

Ranma blinked several times, then darted his eyes around the hallway. "Where the hell did ya come from, Ris?"

"A pleasure to see you as well, Ranma," the British girl replied, sticking out her tongue. "Does he always extend such fabulous greetings to pretty young ladies?" She stage whispered to Rogue, who snickered in response.

"Do ya always pop out outta nowhere like that?" Ranma countered.

"Constantly!" Risty answered, giving him a superior smirk. "I'll have you know I can be incredibly sneaky when I want to be." She fell into step with her two companions as they started walking again, heading down the small stairway

"Did you guys see that explosion last night?" She continued talking, her excitement growing as she recalled the event. "Oh my god, it was brilliant! That firework went all 'whoooosh'-" she shot her arm out forward, "-and then 'zcweeEEEEeach'-" the same hand suddenly made several wide arcs, forcing Rogue and Ranma to duck and weave out of it's path, "-and then finally 'fsssssh-shooooSHKABOOOOOM!'" Risty's hand impacted against the other one, and both appendages were thrust into the air, pantomiming said large explosion.

"Uh, yeah," Rogue said after a moment as they stepped through the doors and into the art department. "We were both there."

"Wasn't it great?" Risty asked again. "I mean, sure it blows that the gymnasium is gone, but the explosion was cool enough to make up for the loss! Right, Ranma?" She glanced over at the pigtailed boy when he failed to respond. "Ranma?"

Ranma barely noticed the British girl speaking to him, his mind focused on taking in his first glimpse of an area of the school he'd never seen. It looked much the same as the rest of the building; grey-tiled floor, dull white walls with rows of bluish-grey lockers lining them, broken up only by doorways to the various classrooms. There were a few off-colour paint stains on the floor, and the walls above the lockers were decorated with paintings. At the far end of the short hallway was a display case featuring various sculptures in a variety of mediums.

"Ooooh," Risty trilled, remembering the boy's schedule. "That's right. It's the first day of your new, unexpected classes in the artistic field, isn't it?"

"Unh," Ranma grunted, his expression twisting into one of displeasure.

"Risty?" Rogue said softly. "Could ya give us a few minutes please?"

Risty mock sighed. "I suppose I can give you two time to whisper sweet nothings to each other. Still have plenty of time before the bell rings, but don't waste it all, got it?" She wagged a finger at the two in mock-seriousness for a moment, then spun around on one heel and headed down to the end of the lockers, locating her own after a few minutes of searching.

Rogue watched for a moment before finding her own locker, and then made certain Risty was out of earshot before speaking again.

"Ya know," Rogue said as she spun the dial to input the combination. "Ya might wanna look at these classes as an opportunity."

"Hmmm..." Ranma thought for a moment, a smile slowly crossing over his face. "Ya know... ya might be right."

"Ah might?" Rogue asked, nearly dropping her books in surprise. She had expected a resistance similar to what he had given Kurt; did she mean that much to him that he was willing to-

"Yeah," Ranma exclaimed excitedly. "It IS a great opportunity! I'll finally be able ta catch up on sleep!"

-completely misinterpret what she was suggesting. Shutting her locker, Rogue rolled her eyes. "That ain't what Ah meant, Ranma."

"It wasn't?"

"No," She said with a shake of her head. "It's a great opportunity ta expand yer horizons, or however ya wanna put it." She poked him in the chest with her free hand. "Remember, ah said ah was gonna help ya find somethin' besides martial arts ta be interested in. Why not give this class a shot? Ya ain't got nothin' ta lose, an'... an' it might get yer mind offa what happened last night..."

Not giving him a chance to refute her, Rogue gave him a kiss on the cheek and ran off to rejoin Risty, calling out a quick "Have fun!" over her shoulder.

---

Emma's eyes widened as she stepped out of her cousin's car. "What the hell happened to the gymnasium?"

"Do you not remember?" Melinda asked her cousin, giving her an incredulous look. "We were there, Emma! Some idiot made a mistake with the fireworks at the game, and one of hit the gym. The whole thing went up in flames."

"No," Emma said slowly, a look of worry washing over her perfect features. "I... don't remember that. I don't remember anything..."

"How could you not?"

"I don't know..." Emma replied, still staring at the charred remains of the school's athletics facility. She thought hard, trying to remember seeing a fire during the previous night's soccer game, but all she found was a complete blank. The last thing Emma remembered was reading a book and wishing fervently that things would get more interesting. "I don't remember anything..." she realized, worry now entering her tone as well.

"Very weird," Melinda commented as they walked into the school. "You were not injured at all; nobody was, so I do not know why you could be having any kind of memory loss."

"I never have any kind of memory loss," Emma fretted, her eyes remaining on the burned building as long as they could. "You know I have a near-photographic memory!"

"Of course I do," the other blonde said with a nod. "Same as me; it is practically a Frost family trait." She thought for a moment as they turned down the hall towards their lockers. "It could be some kinda amnesia, or maybe it scared you more than you thought and you repressed the memory?"

"Maybe," Emma said, trying in vain to recall anything about the previous night. Her eyes widened briefly as one thing came back to her. "I remember a pair of... red eyes?"

"Red eyes?" Melinda questioned as they opened their adjacent lockers. "Who the hell has red eyes, and why would you remember that over anything else?" She paused, then amended the statement. "Although, I suppose a pair of red eyes would be odd enough to remember even if you could not recall anything else..."

"I have no idea why I remember that," Emma admitted, the previous exaltation of finally remembering something now replaced with confusion over what that something was. Why did she remember a pair of red eyes? She didn't even remember a pair of them, now that she thought on it; just a single red eye, and a feeling of gratefulness and adoration beyond any she had ever felt.

"Something is not right..." The gorgeous blonde muttered to herself as she slammed her locker shut. "And I don't like it."

"Well," Melinda said as she looked up at the clock. "We gotta sort this out later. The bell is gonna ring in a little while, and I do not wanna be late for class. See ya at lunch, 'k Em?" Opening her bag quickly and giving the contents a quick inspection, she nodded and ran off down the hall.

Emma nodded absently, her feet moving independent of her mind as she made her way to her first class. Something was going on, she just knew it, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

---

His mind echoing Rogue's parting words, Ranma almost walked right past room B14 without even realizing it. Catching himself at the last second, Ranma stood outside the doorway for a few seconds, as if debating whether or not to actually go in. Taking a deep breath, he begrudgingly decided that skipping wouldn't help the situation in the least and crossed the threshold.

The inside of the room was very different from the other classrooms in the school; it was bigger, for one thing, with one entire section of the room devoted to storage space and standing easels, some with completed or half-completed paintings and drawings upon them. The other side of the room contained around a dozen tables, each large enough for two people to sit at comfortably, arranged in a semi-circle facing a raised platform next to the wall, upon which was a tall object concealed by a long white sheet. Along the upper part of the wall across from the doorway were several small, rectangular windows providing an eye-level view of the ground outside. Along each wall, where there was space, were cabinets of various sizes, which Ranma assumed held art supplies. Each side of the room held a pair of sinks, all of which looks very messy from years of accumulated paint stains.

"You seem lost," A clear, casual voice interrupted his examination.

Ranma looked over to the side to see a man in his late twenties with long blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail relaxing at an inconspicuously-placed desk directly to the right of the doorway. His feet were propped up on the desk, and his eyes - behind a pair of wire-frame glasses - were focused on the sketchpad in his lap. There was a black smudge on his cheek, as well as several more on his plain white t-shirt and ratty blue jeans.

"Are you lost?" The man - whom Ranma guessed to be the instructor - asked, glancing up from his sketchpad and meeting Ranma's eyes for a brief second before returning them to his drawing.

"Hehe," Ranma laughed nervously, rubbing the base of his pigtail, "No more than usual."

The man laughed. "A joker," he said, nodding approvingly, "I like that. So, have you come here for directions, or are you just lost in the metaphorical sense?"

"Well," Ranma took a moment to decipher what the man was saying. "I'm in the right place physically. Are you the teacher here?"

"For lack of a better term," The man replied, swinging his legs off his desk and standing up, offering a hand with charcoal-covered fingertips. "Nice to make your confused acquaintance," he greeted as Ranma shook the proffered appendage, "The school wants me to introduce myself as 'Mr. Peterson', but I prefer that people just call me Dante."

"Ranma Saotome," The pigtailed boy introduced himself.

"Well, Ranma," Dante said, "In what way, if not physically, are you lost then?"

"It's kinda funny," Ranma said, pulling his schedule out of his pocket, "but I never signed up for this class. There was some kinda mistake, an' I got three Advanced Art classes every mornin' now."

Taking a glance at the schedule, Dante raised an eyebrow. "That's very odd..." he muttered softly. "And, if the scheduling department is anything like when I went here, then it's not likely you'll be able to get it fixed any time soon. Or, to be more accurate, at all, and I'd put money on that."

"I ain't never taken an art class before," Ranma admitted, "So I really got no clue what ta do here."

"Hmmm..." The teacher rubbed his stubbled chin with his fingertips, leaving more charcoal smears on the skin after he pulled them away. "Well, all three of these are advanced classes, as you know, which means you shouldn't have even been able to get mistakenly placed in them, as, by your own admission, you haven't completed the prerequisite courses."

"Normally," Dante continued, handing the schedule back to Ranma, "In this kind of situation, I'd have you bumped down to one of the lower-level art courses - unfortunately, those are all full up."

"I don't really wanna be in any art class," Ranma muttered, which caused the art teacher to raise his eyebrow again.

"And why is that?"

"'Cause I ain't got no interest in it."

"Are you sure?" Dante questioned, a mischievous smirk drifting onto his face. "Have you ever given it a chance?"

"Well, no..." Ranma admitted. "But I ain't never had no desire to give it a chance. Like I said, I got no interest in it."

"Then what do you have an interest in?"

"The Art," Ranma responded automatically, his voice confident. That confidence dropped a moment later when he was reminded of what Sage had told him. He violently repressed those thoughts, not feeling like dealing with them at present.

Dante stared at him blankly for a moment. "I'm wondering if we have some kind of misunderstanding," he said slowly. "You just told me you have no interest in art."

Ranma blinked, wondering how the man had misinterpreted him. "Oh!" he exclaimed, smacking himself in the forehead as it hit him. "Sorry 'bout that. I meant martial arts."

"Ah," Dante nodded in understanding, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he processed the information. "Well... then that's not much of a stretch, really. The art you are interested in and the art in which you are not are actually more similar than you think."

"... I don't follow," Ranma said, confusion evident.

"Think of it this way," Dante began. Before he could continue, however, a yellow and purple streak appeared out of nowhere and collided with him, nearly bowling the man over with the force.

"Dante!" A familiar voice cried out ecstatically. "I missed you so much! How was your summer? Did you get my postcard?"

The tall man blinked, a slow, affectionate smile crossing over his face as he realized who had hit him. "Melinda," he greeted, awkwardly returning the hug. "I've been well. You?"

"Great!" The blonde exclaimed, pulling away and looking slightly embarrassed for having ambushed her teacher. "I wanna show you all the pieces I finished over the summer!" She excitedly held up a black, ring-bound sketchbook.

Off to the side, Ranma rose in eyebrow; he hadn't known Melinda was into this kind of stuff. In all the time they'd talked, she'd never mentioned a thing about it. Or maybe she had, he realized, and he just hadn't been paying attention; he knew he had a tendency to tune her out when she started rambling.

Melinda blinked several times when she saw there was someone else in the room, and then blushed deeply when she realized who it was. She couldn't believe she had let Ranma see her glomping onto another man; she fought back the urge to latch onto him as well.

"Ranma!" She smiled, and then tilted her head questioningly. "What the heck are you doing here?"

"That's what we were just discussing," Dante answered her. "It appears as if your friend Ranma has a little schedule mix-up, placing him in all three of my Advanced Art courses."

"Three?" Melinda asked, her questioning gaze now turned towards the teacher. "I thought you were only teaching Drawing and Painting this year."

"Lorelei eloped with Dr. Varnsen three days ago," Dante said with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "So they're having me take over her Sculpture class until they get back."

Melinda made a face. "Dr. Varnsen? And Lorelei?" Lorelei was a tall, statuesque brunette who doubled as coach for the girl's gymnastics team and could wake up a coma patient with a smile; in contrast, Dr. Varnsen was a disheveled, stork-like physicist with a receding hairline who could put chronic insomniacs to sleep with a five-minute lecture.

The teacher shrugged. "I stopped trying to come up with an explanation when my eyes started to bleed."

The blonde shook her head in disbelief and turned back to the object of her affection. "Whatever. Anyway, Ranma, are you going to stick with the class?" She tried to keep the hopeful tone out of her voice, but a little bit slipped through.

Ranma didn't notice. "I'm trying to get it fixed, actually,"

"We'll have to discuss this later, though," Dante said, glancing up at the clock above the doorway. "The bell will be ringing right about-" The bell sounded, and the three were forced to the side as several students entered the room. "-now. Melinda, since you seem to know Ranma rather well, why don't you sit with him? I hate to impose on you, but could you also help him out a bit if he needs it?"

Melinda was proud of how unenthusiastic she was able to nod her agreement.

"Ranma," He continued, "I'd like to finish our discussion later, but for now just follow Melinda. Do what you can in class today, and if you have any questions, just ask her or me. Hopefully we can get this all figured out and fixed soon, but until then, if you're in my class, BE in my class; does that sound fair?"

"I guess..." Ranma mumbled.

"Come on," Melinda said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards one of the tables. "It will be fun!"

"Right..." Ranma sighed. This was going to be a long three hours.

---

A long, black limousine pulled up to the steps of a large and imposing gray-stone building. It was a very impressive work of architecture; once a Gothic-style cathedral, it had been converted from that original purpose in the mid-seventies when attendance had dwindled into single digits. The stained glass that had once graced the tall, arcing windows had long since been replaced with thick, semi-transparent glass and long iron bars. The once elaborate stone carving that adorned the outside had long since been weathered by the ages, yet still carried a sign of the craftsmanship involved.

The eerie calm that emanated from the former cathedral always unsettled Charles Xavier, no matter how many times he visited. His mind almost made the parallel between the lost purpose of what the building was and the many lost causes that now lurked within, but it was squashed before it could fully form; that was not the right attitude to have when trying to help people.

Giving Logan a smile of thanks as he helped him out of the car and into his wheelchair, he made his way towards the ramp that led to the large wooden doors set deep into the entrance arch.

"I shouldn't be long," He told Logan. The other man nodded and pulled a rolled-up motorcycle magazine out of his back pocket as he leaned back against the car. Seeing he had something to keep him occupied, Xavier turned his gaze back to the building. He had been coming here once a month for over ten years now, and not once had he ever looked forward to it. It wasn't an easy task, and would likely never become easy - but it was necessary.

Composing himself, Xavier pushed forward - figuratively, of course, as his wheelchair was motorized - and made his slow way up the steep ramp. He could have easily called someone from the inside to help him up at a faster pace, but he liked to use the time going up to reflect upon what he had planned.

Reaching the top and entering through the double-doors, Xavier was greeted by a very tall, very muscular black man in a blue guards uniform.

"Mornin', Professor," The guard, tipping his cap forward in greeting, revealing a small wireless receiver in his ear.

"Good morning, Harrison," Xavier greeted in return, giving the man a friendly smile as he took hold of the wheelchair's handles and guided him through the metal detector. "Is she ready?"

"Got here a little early," Harrison replied, holding his hand to the communication device at his ear and listening for a moment, "We're still in the process of movin' the other patients out of the common room before we bring her out." He frowned for a brief second, and then continued. "She backslid a bit the other day; we were takin' her to see one of the docs, and one of the new guys didn't bind her tightly enough. I don't know what happened in the doc's office, but the girl just exploded, and one of her hands was loose enough to twitch her fingers a little."

"Was anyone injured?" Xavier asked with an audible sigh; they'd begun to make so much progress, too. He'd have to find out what had set her off this time.

Harrison shook his head as he pushed his keycard into an electronic reader next to a large steel door. The reader let out a soft buzzing noise and the door clicked open. "Naw, she only managed to break the windows before they were able to restrain her. Still, she's been ranting and raving and practically foamin' at the mouth ever since; we've had to sedate her three times."

"This is very distressing," Xavier said, rubbing his chin as he though about how far this may have set them back. He doubted the girl would tell him what had set her off; not for a few sessions at least, and not until she had calmed down from it significantly.

"Hello Professor."

The softly accented, musical voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Looking in the direction it had originated from, his eyes met with a pair of familiar brown orbs.

The voice belonged to a young Hispanic woman of about twenty-four years, with flowing midnight-black hair reaching down to the small of her back. Her pretty face had an innocent quality to it, with dark chocolate brown eyes that seemed to stare at nothing and everything at the same time. She looked to be around five feet, six inches in height and had skin of faded bronze. A pair of simple white pants covered her legs, ending in a pair of red sneakers on her feet. Her arms and hands were bound tightly to her slender abdomen in a virgin-white strait-jacket, hiding any other physical details beneath it. The garment appeared to be custom-made, with more straps than normal to prevent even the slightest of movements. Oddly, the girl presented no signs of feeling uncomfortable by the restraints, and, unlike others in the institution, seemed to show no desire to have them removed.

"Thaliá..." he said softly, a neutral expression coming over his face. He raised a hand slowly, gesturing for Harrison to stop. "How have you been?"

"I've been very happy," Thaliá said, smiling beatifically. "They let me have a radio! The music helps block out the songs..." her smile faded slightly. "They won't let me have it on at night though, and the songs come back..."

Her face brightened again almost immediately. "Are you here to see Wanda?"

"Yes," Xavier replied, ignoring the phantom pain in his legs, "which means you have to be taken back to your room. I promise, I'll stop by to see you soon, and we can talk further." He would have liked to continue the conversation, but despite her enthusiastic and friendly demeanor, he was one of many who found Thaliá to be very... unsettling.

"Oh, Mr. Harrison," Thaliá spoke as if suddenly remembering, "Are you still coming by for checkers later?"

"Sure am," Harrison replied with a smile. "And this time I ain't gonna let ya win, girl. But you go on back to your room for now, okay?"

"Alright then. Bye-bye, Professor!" Thaliá replied sweetly as she was led away by an attendant, humming an unrecognizable tune to herself.

"Has she been getting her medication?" He asked Harrison quietly once they were on their way again.

The guard shook his head. "Had to quit days ago, Professor," he said. "We had to up the dosage again since last we saw you; we can only give her pills, you know, and her bloodstream will develop up a resistance to anythin' we give her. Got to the point where anythin' more might kill her, so we had to stop."

"I see," Xavier said as he digested the information. Letting the matter drop, the rest of the journey to the isolated meeting room was traveled in silence.

Xavier was left waiting for almost twenty minutes before a pale young woman with chin-length black hair was brought into the room flanked by a trio of attendants and a pair of security personnel. Her arms were strapped as tightly as Thaliá's, rendering her hands and arms completely incapable of motion. Two thick rings on the shoulders of the jacket were attached to a pair of thick poles, allowing two of the attendants to lead her into the room.

"Please," Xavier said, raising a hand in their direction. "There is no need for that."

"Professor-"

"I'm certain she will cause no trouble," He interrupted. "Please, wait outside until we are finished."

Reluctantly, the hospital staff agreed and unhooked the poles. The girl bolted upright, causing the guards to reach for the batons on their belts. Xavier remained calm, returning the girl's cold gaze with a calculating one of his own. She gritted her teeth, anger flowing off her in waves, but made no move to attack or flee. After a few tense moments, the guards and attendants slowly backed out of the door, shutting it with a heavy thud as soon as they were outside.

With the guards gone, the girl slumped to the floor, staring directly at the cold stone beneath her.

"Wanda," he greeted calmly, his hands steepled in front of his face. "How have you been?"

The girl said nothing for several moments, blatantly ignoring the man in front of her. Xavier waited calmly, and finally Wanda spoke her response.

"Fine." The clear, strong voice held nothing but rage.

"That is not what they tell me," Xavier replied. "They said you lashed out several days ago. Would you be willing to tell me why?"

Wanda said nothing, but began visibly trembling, her anger threatening to break through.

"If you tell me, I may be able to help you." Xavier told her. "But I can't do anything if you-"

"They took my pages," She interrupted, her words laced with a barely-restrained fury that momentarily stunned Xavier.

"What are these pages?" He asked after taking a few seconds to collect himself again. "You've spoken of them for years, yet you refuse to let anyone see them or tell anyone what is written on them."

Wanda did not respond, her eyes remaining locked on the grey stone.

Although it went against his ethics, as well as Wanda's personal privacy, he had tried to telepathically find the answer to the mystery a few years ago. Wanda's mental defences were not especially strong, yet anything related to the 'pages' was sealed up tightly and guarded heavily; the amount of force it would take to get through the mental blockades she put up to protect that secret would likely leave the girl a vegetable.

"Is it something you've written?" He guessed, even though he knew her hands were never free enough to allow her to write anything, nor would they ever let her handle anything as sharp as a pen, "Or perhaps a letter written to you?"

"Forget it." Her words dripped venom.

"Please, Wanda," Xavier implored, "I might be able to get them back, but only if you tell me why they are so important." He wasn't sure if that was true, but this was an issue he'd wanted to get to the bottom of for some time now; it seemed to be tied in to the root cause of her anger.

"I SAID FORGET IT!" She screamed, dark hair flying wildly as her head snapped up, her dark eyes boring deep into his. He met her gaze unflinchingly. "It's none of your business! Forget I said it, and start the stupid therapy so I can go back to my goddamn cell."

Xavier frowned, but nodded in agreement and set the matter aside. Hopefully, they could make some progress today, and maybe she would be willing to shed some light on these mysterious 'pages' at a later date.

---

Slumped in her seat and fingers clenched tightly on the edge of her desk, Jean felt a trickle of sweat roll down her forehead as she tried to force the voices out. It was happening again; she was losing control of her powers. They were growing too fast for her to keep up, and the mental exercises and discipline Professor Xavier had taught her years ago weren't working nearly as well as they had then.

Dammit, she needed a null, and she needed one badly. A quick glance up at the clock told her she still had ten minutes until the end of class, and even then another two hours until lunch. Another two hours until she could go find Ranma and get what she so desperately needed from him.

Closing her eyes, Jean attempted the meditation exercises her pigtailed team mate had been showing her. Relaxing her grip on the desk, she took several deep breaths and tried to find her centre.

Slow, deep breaths.

In... and out.

Slow and steady...

In... and out.

'Imagine a place of tranquility, where you feel most at ease.' Ranma's instructions echoed in her memory.

She was on a soccer field, alone, her feet crushing the grass below her as she guided the ball towards the goal. Dodge an imaginary opponent to the left; send the ball past the two coming in the right. Slip past them and gain control of it again. Anticipate the goalie; she would be expecting Jean to come in from the right, so it would be best to -

'-uck, where did I leave my pen? Coulda sworn I put it- '

The thoughts broke through, causing Jean to visibly flinch. She tried to ignore them and return to her meditation, the single voice broke the dam and more began to flow in.

'-wonder what they're serving for lunch today. I think I'll get -'

'-Danny better not be cheating on me, or I swear I'm gonna grab him by the - '

She clenched her teeth, hoping no one was looking at her; she probably looked like a complete mental case right now. Another drip of sweat escaped down her cheek.

'-holy shit, I can totally see down Grey's blouse! Man, has she got a great pair of-'

Jean's eyes snapped open and she spun around, giving the boy behind her a venomous glare. Seeing him flinch under her gaze, she turned back around and sat up straight. Closing her blouse up a few more buttons for good measure, the redhead closed her eyes again and made another attempt. She slowed down her breath, and for a wonder the voices began to fade away as she feinted right, shooting the ball horizontally towards the other side of the field. The goalie fell for it, jumping to intercept the ball that wasn't coming. Catching up to the checkered ball again, stealing it away from an opportunistic opponent, Jean moved a little closer to the goal. Pulling back her foot as the goalie realized what was going on, she aimed quickly and-

"Ms. Grey, are we boring you?"

Her eyes snapped open and a faint blush appeared on her face as she realized everyone was now staring at her. "Uh, n-no, Mr. Keyes," she stammered out, fishing through her mind for some kind of excuse. "I was just, um... absorbing the lecture." She smiled weakly.

Mr. Keyes stared at her dryly. "Then perhaps, Ms. Grey, you could tell us what the topic of discussion is?"

Why did Keyes have to use the royal 'we' all the time? Dammit, now was not the time to get annoyed by his eccentricities. What subject was this again? History! Jean's eyes quickly glanced down at her book, hoping the page she was on was still relevant. "Uh... Japanese propaganda during World War Two?"

Mr. Keyes raised an eyebrow in surprise and gave her a curt but acknowledging nod. "Very good, Ms. Grey. We apologize for singling you out; it appears you were paying attention after all. Now, getting back to the significance of the Iwo Jima Garrison Song..."

Jean sighed in relief, then winced as the voices started coming back. At least her telekinesis wasn't flaring up this time; that would be way too damned difficult to explain. Casting her eyes up towards the clock, she fought back an audible groan. Only three minutes had passed.

This was going to be a long two hours...

---

Rising from her seat, Kasumi gave her exam one final check as she walked towards the front of the room. Satisfied with all of her answers, she placed the thick booklet and answer sheet on the instructor's desk. "Finished, Kawabata-sensei," she said softly so as not to disturb the students still working.

The instructor lifted his head from the lesson plan he was preparing and looked at the answer sheet and test booklet that had been placed on his desk. A moderately attractive man in his early thirties, Minoru Kawabata had only two things in his life - his beautiful wife, currently pregnant with their first child, and his teaching career. The latter wasn't as glamorous as it could have been, but he had no objections. Teaching a high-level Physics course at a regular community college wasn't his dream job, but it did allow him to teach, and provided him with the time he needed to work towards his doctorate, a few courses at a time.

"Ms. Tendo," he said, taking the answer sheet and looking it over carefully, "You know this exam counts for more than half of your final grade. Are you sure you don't want to spend more time on it, or at least check it over a few times before you hand it in?"

"I did, Kawabata-sensei" Kasumi replied, a smile gracing her features. "Three times."

Minoru blinked, looking down at the answer sheet and up at Kasumi several times. "Three times?" He asked. "I handed out the exam not ten minutes ago..."

"I'm sorry, sensei," She said, misinterpreting the statement, "I would have had it done sooner, but there was a line at the pencil sharpener."

Staring up at his student, Minoru discovered he was having difficulty finding the right words. Turning his gaze back to the answer sheet, he skimmed through all one hundred and fifteen of the filled-in circles. "These are all correct," he mumbled disbelievingly after a few minutes.

Kasumi waited patiently for her teacher to dismiss her, humming softly to herself while bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet; she knew she had all the answers right. It would be impolite to leave without his dismissal, but there was a copy of Algorithmic Foundations of Robotics IV in the school library she'd wanted to take a look at for some time now. She'd have to get there quickly before someone managed to snatch it up before she could.

After going through his student's answer sheet for a third time, Minoru set it down on his desk. He hadn't been that surprised initially when the young woman before him had turned up in his class a few months ago. In the time that had passed since that first day, however, he had been surprised on a regular basis by Kasumi Tendo. She was a regular participant during his lectures, and her assignments were handed in on time, often before they were even due. Her marks were the highest in the class, and from what her other instructors had told him, she was the same in every class she was taking.

But this... this had surpassed everything she'd managed to accomplish by a very wide margin. Looking back up at the smiling girl, he made a decision.

"Ms. Tendo," He said carefully, "Would you be willing to come to my office this Friday. Around, say, five o'clock?"

"Oh my... I suppose I could, Kawabata-sensei," Kasumi said after a moment's thought. "What might this be about?"

"There's someone I'd like you to speak with," Kawabata said, only half of his mind truly on the conversation now. The rest was wondering how he could convince Professor Watanabe he had someone she needed to meet...

---

"You know," Melinda said as she gave Ranma's attempted a drawing a critical eye. "This is pretty damn good for a first attempt at drawing."

"It is?" Ranma asked, looking over the pencil drawing of a feminine mannequin in a toga wearing cowboy boots, a scuba mask and a large rainbow-patterned clown wig. Dante had given them a little warm-up for the first official class of the year, saying he'd wanted to see how much they had improved over the summer. That had been the tall item beneath the large sheet on the platform, and was named Lola; this was apparently an inside joke, as the resulting hilarity among the rest of the class had left Ranma completely lost. Melinda had explained it, through bursts of choked laughter, simply by saying 'You had to have been there'.

"Yeah," The blonde nodded, pointing at various parts of the picture as she spoke. "Your lines are fluid and smooth, your proportions are all... fairly accurate, and you managed to get the entire figure on the sheet without cutting anything off or leaving too much negative space." She paused, biting her lower lip. "On the other hand, there is no texture, the depth is way off, your shading is weak, the light source is hard to determine, and the folds on the clothing look... well, wrong. There is also something else missing, but I can not quite put my finger on it..."

"Feh," Ranma muttered disinterestedly, crossing his arms on the table and resting his head against them. "I was only followin' along with what ya told me; 'sides, it ain't nearly as good as yours." He gestured towards the drawing at her side, which - to his eyes - looked as if it could have been a photograph.

"That is not the point," Melinda said with a sigh. "This is what I have been doing ever since I could hold a pencil. I have experience, and worked very hard to get as good as I am. This is the first time you have ever even tried to draw something, if what you say is true, and the level of skill shown is not what I expected for a first-timer."

"Eh," Ranma grunted uncaringly. A small part of his mind wondered how she would feel if her artistic skill had come from an advanced x-gene, but that train of thought was ruthlessly crushed before it could go any further.

Melinda felt like tearing her hair out at his uncaring attitude. "Do you not get it, Ranma? This is the equivalent of..." she paused for a moment, trying to find a metaphor that might interest him. "This is the equivalent of you giving me a single martial arts lesson, and me suddenly displaying the skills of a third don black belt."

"Dan," The pigtailed boy corrected.

"Whatever," Melinda brushed aside the correction and continued trying to drive the point home. "Do you see what I mean? If you worked a little harder, actually made an effort to try, in a couple of years you could be a truly amazing artist!"

"I keep tellin' ya, I ain't all that interested."

Ranma lifted his head up, looking over the pair of drawings again; his, looking slightly stiff and half-assed, and hers, vibrant with an unseen energy that captured the viewer's attention. "It wasn't as borin' as I thought it would be, but I just can't see myself doin' it."

He looked up at the blonde girl. "Come ta think, I find it kinda hard ta see you as bein' so passionate about this. I mean, ya don't really seem like the artistic type," He paused, taking a rare moment to think and make sure an accidental insult hadn't sneaked in. "How come ya never mentioned anythin' 'bout it?"

Melinda shrugged. "I do not care to advertise myself," Her eyes darted around the room, seeing a few of the students who, like them, were waiting in the room for the next period. "Most of these other guys," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "all they seem to care about is that other people know how skilled they are, that they convey the 'image' of an 'individual' who is only interested in 'expressing themselves' or getting a message across through a surreal painting or whatever their particular little gimmick is.

"I do not care about that," She continued, "They let the artistic image they present to the world be what tells people who or what they are; I prefer to let my work speak for me, and to allow it to show the world what I am."

Ranma blinked. "Huh," he managed to get out, still processing her words. They actually made a lot of sense; she didn't let what people thought about her have anything to do with who she was. Her actions were intended to speak louder than her words.

Damn... who knew Melinda could be so deep?

She'd worked very hard to attain the level of skill she had in her chosen field; despite his attempts to smother that line of thought, he found his mind comparing that to his own situation. She'd gained her level of skill through dedication and a strong desire to improve, and yet she didn't want to flaunt it to the world. She didn't boast about being the best, and didn't seem to care how skilled others thought she was. He'd done the exact opposite - he'd been trained to be the best, and had a tendency to proclaim such as often as possible.

Ranma's face twisted into a brief mask of confusion. Why did he proclaim to be the best at every chance he was given? All it had ever gotten him were more rivals and challenge matches than he knew what to do with. Not to mention the accusations of arrogance - which Ranma was willing to admit he was happily guilty of, that and narcissism. He idly wondered if he should have done as Melinda had, and let his actions speak louder than his words. Let people see his skill and judge it themselves, instead of through infuriating boasts forced down their throats.

There was a meaning in here somewhere, but it was then that the bell sounded, and his introspection was forgotten in favour of a disdainful curiosity over whether he'd prove better at painting than drawing.

---

Jean twitched as the second hand of the clock struck noon, then twitched again as the bell took one second longer than normal to sound. Not even waiting to be dismissed, the redhead bolted from her chair, nearly colliding with her Spanish teacher as she raced out the door.

Recalling vaguely that her friends were planning to meet at the usual table outside for lunch, Jean bypassed her locker and made a beeline for the quad. Reaching the table, Jean sat down and began to wait, her impatience obvious by the arrhythmic rapping of her fingers on the red wooden tabletop and increasingly frequent glances towards the door.

"Hey, Jean, you wann-"

"Not. Now. Duncan," the distraught telepath interrupted. Duncan recognized her tone immediately and knew enough to make himself scarce; must be that time of the month.

Hoping she wasn't twitching too violently now - especially after 'hearing' Duncan's assumption as to the reason behind her curt dismissal - Jean continued to watch the door. Every person that came through it that wasn't the person she wanted to see only increased her anxiety. She briefly acknowledged Scott and Evan joining her at the table, then ignored them again in favour of keeping up her constant vigilance.

Finally, after what seemed like several hours - years, even, - Ranma stepped through the exit and into the quad, Melinda and another blonde Jean didn't know walking along with him. Jean had crossed half the distance to him before she realized she had even gotten out of her seat.

Melinda blinked in confusion as a red blur raced past her and grabbed the boy she had been walking with, leaving her long braid fluttering in its wake. Looking in the direction both blur and boy had disappeared in, Melinda turned to her cousin with a question ready on her tongue. Seeing Emma staring at something else entirely, however, Melinda sighed and shook her head in exasperation; hopefully Ranma would explain what had just happened, whenever he returned from wherever the hell he'd been spirited off to.

Following Emma's gaze, Melinda saw the other students from the Xavier Institute congregating at their usual table. When her rival for the pigtailed boy arrived, she took a deep breath in preparation; taking a quick glance inside her book bag, Melinda nodded to herself and started towards the group. She was unsurprised when Emma followed along with her.

She was very surprised, however, when upon reaching their destination, her cousin immediately took the seat across from Scott Summers, not even noticing as the brown-haired girl she pushed aside squawked in alarm.

"Jeez," Kitty grumbled, scooting over to allow the new girl some extra room. "Like, rude much?" She shot the girl a dirty look when her comment went unacknowledged

"Your sunglasses..." Emma breathed, staring in wonder at the ruby-red shades covering the brown-haired boy's eyes.

"Um... yeah?" Scott replied, raising an eyebrow when the girl failed to elaborate.

"Em?" Melinda poked her cousin in the shoulder. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Emma replied, her eyes still focused on the brown-haired boy's sunglasses.

"Whatever," Melinda sighed. Emma seemed to have found a new fixation, which was a good thing, she supposed; her cousin had been showing entirely too much interest in her Ranma.

Turning to Rogue, who was sitting at the table with her head in her crossed arms, Melinda leaned down to look her in the eye and get her attention. "Rogue," she greeted, trying to make herself sound as polite as she could. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"So talk," Rogue replied, her emerald eyes meeting the other girl's viridian gaze directly and unflinchingly.

The blonde glanced over at the other teenagers at the table, then back at her rival. "In private, please," She said, gesturing with her head towards a less populated area.

Rogue raised an eyebrow, curious as to what this was about despite herself. Rising from her seat, the goth girl nodded without another word and headed in the indicated direction.

Seeing Melinda following after, Evan turned to Kurt. "What do you think that was about?" He asked, poking a straw into his first milk carton of the lunch period.

"For truth, I am actually a little more curious as to vhat this is about," Kurt replied, nodding in the direction of Emma and Scott, the former still staring at the latter, who was enjoying the attention of the beautiful girl across from him, but honestly beginning to feel a little weirded out.

"Your shades," Emma said suddenly, leaning in close, an action which had an added effect of putting an emphasis on her cleavage. She seemed completely unaware of this, as well as the reactions this caused in the few boys at nearby tables lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

"Yeah, my shades," Scott answered, still wondering where she was going with this. "You mentioned them before. Twice now, actually."

"May I," Emma cleared her throat in a dignified manner. "Excuse me, may I see them please?"

"Uh... sorry, but you can't." Scott said with a shake of his head, slipping into the excuse he used whenever questions about his eyewear came up. "I've got an eye condition. My eyes can't handle light that well."

"And why is that?" Emma asked, her curiosity unfeigned. "Epilepsy? Chronic photophobia?"

"Yeah, the second one," Scott replied, "Constant, actually. The photoreceptors in my retinas are extremely oversensitive, and my optic nerves can't handle much excess light."

Evan, Kurt, and Kitty shared a glance; Scott had really built up his cover.

"Why are you so interested in them?" Scott asked, hoping to turn the topic away from why he needed the shades. While he could further back up what he had told her, he knew there had to be a few holes in his cover story, and he didn't want to risk any of them being stepped into.

"The colour," Emma said softly, "That... gorgeous ruby-red tint... it's the exact same one from last night."

"What?" Scott asked, pulling away from her. "What do you mean? Did the light from the firework that caused the gym to burn down have the same shade?"

"I do not remember any fire in the gymnasium," The blonde answered, placing her hands against the table top to push herself closer. Her knees were up on the seat now, and she seemed unconcerned that the entire male population of the quad were now staring directly at her raised posterior. Several boys - and a couple of girls - were slapped by irate significant others. "I don't remember anything from last night, except that colour..."

"Dude, she doesn't remember anything?" Evan whispered to Kurt. "I thought the prof replaced the memories of everyone who was at the game."

"Something must have gone wrong," Kurt replied. "Maybe ve should have Jean let him know, ya?"

"I'm pretty certain it's just a coincidence that the colour of my shades and the colour from your memory are the same," Scott told Emma, leaning back as the girl climbed up onto the table, placing her face directly in front of his, her eyes mere centimetres away from his.

"Please?" Emma said softly, her breath brushing against his face in a manner that made his cheeks redden. "May I please take a look at them, for just a moment?"

"I-" Scott gulped, finding he couldn't lean back any further without falling off out of his seat. "I'm sorry, I have a... a thing about strangers handling my shades."

"My name is Emma," She introduced herself, holding out a hand while maintaining her balance with the other. "Emma Frost. And you are?"

"S-Scott. Scott Summers." He accepted her hand, giving it a friendly shake. He felt a little foolish for latching on to the friendly greeting as if it was a life preserver, but it was the only bit of familiarity in the entirety of the absurd situation he seemed to have stumbled into.

"Well, Scott," Emma said, giving both his name and hand a soft caress that sent shivers down his spine. "We're no longer strangers. Would you still begrudge giving me a closer look?"

"I'm, uh, afraid so," Scott said with an audible gulp. "Hey, um, Emma? Would... would you mind getting off the table? Your knee is crushing my sandwich."

Emma blinked, the words breaking through the spell she hadn't even realized she'd fallen into. Looking down to see that, indeed, her snow-white leather pants were now stained with yellow mustard that had squeezed out Scott's roast beef and ham club, Emma sighed in dismay. Slowly backing away and returning to her seat, Emma lifted her leg up onto the bench with her and examined the stain.

"Oh, son of a bitch," She cursed, the words seeming unnatural when spoken in her refined and cultured voice. "This is not the way to make a first impression..."

"Ouch," Kitty said in sympathy, looking over Emma's shoulder to see the stain for herself. "That is so not going to come out easily."

"I have two dozen extra pairs of them," Emma replied, brushing off the concern. "I apologize, Scott," she continued, turning to the boy. "For both the sandwich and for my rude persistence."

"It's fine," Scott replied, still quite weirded out by the experience.

"No it is not," Emma refuted, her long blonde hair flaring as she shook her head. "I insist that I make amends." She was silent for a moment as she gave Scott a thoughtful look. Leaning forward, she flashed him a killer smile. "That carnival is this Friday night, correct?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Then let me take you," Emma said. "And I will pay for everything."

"Really," Scott insisted. "It's not necess-"

"I won't take no for an answer," Emma interrupted, leaning forward and placing her chin against the back of her upraised hand, a curious gleam in her eyes. "Why, pray tell, do you seem so dead-set against going on a small, insignificant little date with me?"

"I just don-"

"Are you seeing someone?" The blonde questioned, a faint hint of worry entering her voice.

"Well, no," Scott admitted. "But it-"

"Then there is no problem," Emma stated, elegantly rising to her feet. "I look forward to accompanying you to the event on Friday... and hopefully seeing you in the days before then as well. It was a pleasure meeting you, Scott Summers." She turned to the other three at the table, blinking as if suddenly realizing they were there. "I apologize for ignoring you to the exclusion of your friend," she told them. "Hopefully, the next time we meet, we can become properly introduced as well."

Without another word, Emma walked away, leaving four young mutants silent as they attempted to process what had just happened.

"Okay," Scott said dazedly after several minutes. "Someone clue me in as to what just happened."

"Melinda's cousin, a new student and one of the hottest girls in school apparently remembers nothing from last night except the exact colour of your shades," Evan began, setting his empty milk carton down next to two others.

"She then proceeded to get directly into your face and practically beg for you to let her see them," Kurt continued for him.

"Like, then she totally smushed your sandwich," Kitty concluded, "and insisted on taking you to the carnival on Friday, and paying for everything, to make up for all of it."

"Yeah," Scott said, nodding slowly. "That is what happened."

"Dude," Evan said, exchanging a glance with Kurt, "I think he's in shock."

---

Ranma had not been surprised when the red blur that had pulled him into the school's athletic equipment shed turned out to be Jean. He was also unsurprised by the desperate and pained expression she wore, which he had come to correctly identify as a sign that her powers were getting out of control again.

"Lemme guess," He said, cutting her off before she could even begin speaking. "Ya need another null."

"Please?" Jean implored, holding her hands under her chin and putting on her cutest expression; sure, he was technically with Rogue, but what guy - single or not - could resist this look?

His stomach groaned in protest. "Couldn't ya wait 'til I got somethin' ta eat, Red?"

"Nu-uh," Jean said, shaking her head.

"Have ya been tryin' the meditation exercises I showed ya?" Ranma asked, purposely averting his gaze and pretending to be interested in the construction of the tackling dummy.

"I did," Jean replied, moving so that she was again in his line of sight. She pouted when he shifted his gaze again. "T-they only work for a little while, and I can't get deep enough into it to tune out the rest of the world."

"You have ta keep workin' at it, Red," He told her, turning his gaze towards the ceiling when she moved to enter his line of sight again. "It gets easier with practice."

"I've been practicing them for the past three hours!" The girl exclaimed, the sporadic twitching of her left eye now ruining the effect of the expression she was trying to overwhelm him with. "And I'm going to keep practicing, but I can't keep holding it back for long! Please!"

"Will ya at least talk ta the prof 'bout this?" Ranma asked. "And soon, I mean."

"Yeah, I promise," Jean said distractedly, sensing he was about to give in and, at this point, willing to say anything to ensure he did.

"I mean it," Ranma said, "If ya don't, I'm gonna do it for ya."

"NO!" Jean exclaimed, grabbing him by the collar. "I swear, I'll tell him soon, but you promised you wouldn't!"

"Okay then," Ranma sighed; he wasn't sure he had actually promised her that, but it did sound like something he'd do. He had just started forming the null when Jean interrupted him.

"Actually, uh, Ranma..." She said, tapping her fingers together nervously; every so often her eyes darted towards the door, as if to make sure no one was going to suddenly barge in. "I... I was wondering if, um, you had... anything, uh, you know... stronger?"

"Stronger?"

"Yeah, something that, you know, lasts longer, maybe has a little more 'oomph' to it?" Jean clarified, giving him a hopeful look; the mere idea of a stronger null was almost enough to make her salivate.

"I got somethin' I been workin' on," Ranma admitted. "Might take a little longer ta prepare, though..."

"I can wait!" The redhead replied eagerly; the fact that she hadn't been willing to wait for a regular null never once entered her mind.

---

"Ahright," Rogue said, turning to face Melinda. The two girls had made their way to an area of relative privacy, next to the small equipment shed that held the sporting gear for the various outdoor athletics. "Yah wanted ta talk, so talk."

"Rogue," Melinda said, placing stress the name. "I know the two of us have had our... differences in the past."

"That's an understatement," Rogue snorted. She could have said more, but she had noticed the lack of the usual 'nickname'; Melinda was making a point of trying to be civil, so Rogue decided she could as least give her a measure of the same courtesy.

"We have had our differences," the blonde continued, letting the comment slide. "But I want you to know, I do not really hate you."

"That makes me so very happy," The other girl deadpanned. "What is this, yer concession speech?"

"In your dreams, skun - Rogue," Melinda retorted. "I speak merely preamble. The point I am slowly leading to involves the truce we agreed upon."

"What of it?" Rogue asked, idly blowing a streak of white hair out of her face. "Ah've kept up mah end of it."

"As have I," Melinda told her. "What I want to do is extend upon it."

"Non-interference on dates not good enough fer yah?"

"No, it is not," She answered. "Plainly, I think, we both... care more about Ranma than the other probably thought."

Rogue nodded, albeit a little begrudgingly; thinking Melinda was only interesting in Ranma physically made her much easier to dislike. The goth girl wasn't in the habit of lying to herself, though.

"What I want," Melinda continued, "Is for us to be civil towards each other, at least when we happen to be around Ranma. No snipes, jabs, insults, veiled threats or open hostility. Furthermore, no badmouthing each other when one of us is alone with him."

"May Ah ask why ya want these... added conditions?" Rogue asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

"Because," Melinda began, then stopped and took a deep breath. "Here, this should explain it better than I can." She opened up her book bag, pulled out three thin manila folders, and handed them to Rogue. "Keep this to yourself, by the way," She added. "Emma has no idea I am giving you these, and I would like to keep it that way."

Raising an eyebrow, Rogue accepted the files and opened up the first one. Inside were several pages containing information - physical attributes, history, and attempted schemes - about a girl named, oddly enough, 'Shampoo'. A small Polaroid attached with a paperclip showed a beautiful woman with long purple tresses, a mischievous look on her pretty face. The other files contained similar contents, one about a girl named 'Ukyo' and the second about one named 'Akane', the 'scheme sheet' of the latter containing considerably less than the other two girls.

"Are these who Ah think they are?" Rogue asked, paging through the file on 'Akane Tendo'.

Melinda nodded. "Ranma's former fiancées. I purchased the information from Nabiki Tendo, at her offer. It cost me a pretty penny, but it helped me gain valuable insight in to what our mutual interest has gone through with previous suitors."

"I know what you must be thinking," she added, seeing the suspicion and ire growing on Rogue's face, "But I... just wanted to know more about him. You know how hard it is to get him to talk about his life before he came here."

"Yah got a point," Rogue reluctantly agreed. She didn't like the idea of getting information on Ranma behind his back, but on the subject of his past 'relationships' he was incredibly close-mouthed. "What Ah don't get, is why yer sharin' this information with me."

"Because I believe in 'fighting fair,' so to speak." Melinda explained. "But more consequentially, because it is important that neither of us make the same mistakes these three did," She tapped the folders with a finger for emphasis. "It would only hurt both our chances, damage the trust he has in us and people in general and most importantly, hurt him."

Rogue nodded, the other girl's point becoming clear. "It ain't just 'bout us... it's 'bout him too. He sees two of his friends fightin' over him-"

"-and it will remind him of the girls back where he came from," Melinda finished. "And I should not have to stress how different from them we need to be."

"Ahright," Rogue agreed, holding out a gloved hand. "Truce extension accepted." She was pretty certain the other girl had another angle she was trying to play with this, but the southern girl could easily see the logic in Melinda's reasoning.

"Glad to hear it," Melinda replied, taking the hand and giving it firm shake. "Who knows," She said with a smirk, putting the folders back in her book bag and heading back to the table where she had left her cousin, "If we pretend to be friends long enough, we might accidentally start to get along for real."

"Right," Rogue snorted, rolling her eyes as she turned to walk away. "Ah'm sure that's gonna happen."

Turning the corner around the equipment shed, Rogue walked straight into Ranma and Jean exiting the building. Both looked as if they'd just gone through a ten-hour marathon session of the most difficult simulations in the Danger Room - that is to say, incredibly tired and incredibly haggard.

Rogue blinked, taking in their appearance and the fact that they were both coming out of a small, relatively secluded building. Suspicion began to rise in her stomach, but she forced it down, recalling Melinda's words about 'not being like his old fiancées'. She'd give them the benefit of the doubt and a chance to explain themselves; afterwards, she would decide whether or not to hate Jean for - possibly - trying to steal her man.

"Ranma?" She questioned. "Jean? What were the two of ya doin' in there?"

Both of the addressed teens jerked in surprise, not having realized they had company. Jean placed a hand to her heart, breathing in deeply to calm herself down. "Rogue," She greeted, smiling as best she could. "Y-you startled me."

"Surprised me too," Rogue replied. "Ah hate ta repeat mahself, but what were ya doin' in there?"

"One of the gym teachers asked me to put something away for him," Jean replied, quickly coming up with an excuse. That null had been simply divine; it was so much easier thinking clearly now, not to mention it had brought about such a delicious and curiously invigorating sensation. Just thinking about it sent a pleasurable tingle all the way down to her toes. "It was a bit too heavy for me, so I asked Ranma to help."

The excuse sounded made up, but Rogue really had no reason to doubt it; she was pretty certain Ranma wouldn't do anything like that with Jean anyway. Looking past Jean, Rogue could see the pigtailed boy, supporting himself against the shed and looking more beat than Scott after a session with the gophers. "Y'all right there?

"I'm fine," He answered her, flashing a weary grin. The new version of the null seemed to have worked, but left him so drained he thought Gosunkugi could probably knock him out without much effort; he didn't want to use that too often. "That box of weights was heavier than is looked."

"Thanks again for your help, Ranma," Jean said, giving the boy a smile of gratitude.

Ranma picked up the hidden meaning in the words. "Right," he replied, pushing himself off the wall with a grimace. "Next time, though, get someone else ta help ya out, Red." He gave her a flat stare, hoping his own 'secret message' was picked up by the currently-nulled telekinetic.

Jean let out a nervous chuckle. "Well," She said, turning away from the two. "Better go and get some lunch before the bell rings. See ya!"

"So what really happened in there?" Rogue asked once Jean was out of earshot. "Ah know ya weren't takin' anythin' in there, and Ah think Ah know ya well enough ta know ya wouldn't cheat, so it had ta be somethin' else."

"Nah, I wouldn't," Ranma answered, reflexively slipping an arm around her waist. "And I wish I could tell ya... but I promised Red I wouldn't - though she'd better deal with it soon, or I might havta break that vow."

Rogue would have a preferred a more detailed explanation, and knew she would make him give her one eventually, but put it aside for the moment in favour of a more minor concern she had been intending to address. "Ya call her 'Red'," Rogue said, her lips pursing in a mock-pout. "Melinda is 'Mel', Kitty is 'Kit'... when do Ah get an affectionate little nickname?"

"I do have somethin," Ranma replied after a moment, a wicked grin creeping across his face. "But I ain't sure ya would like it,-" he leaned in, whispering the rest into her ear, "-Anna Marie."

The elbow that appeared in his gut was a split-second too late to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. "Quiet!" Rogue hissed, her eyes darting around to make sure no one had been close enough to hear. "Ah told ya nevah ta call me that in public..."

---

"No."

"No?" Emma parroted, giving Nabiki a quizzical look. The brown-haired girl didn't seem to be paying attention, however, her focus instead on the nail file she was currently operating.

"No, Ms. Frost," Nabiki repeated, leaning back against Lance's jeep. The car's owner was sitting on the hood, staring at the stream of students leaving the building. Freddy and Todd were in the car, watching the two girls with half-interested gazes, and Pietro had yet to arrive. "No, iie, non, nyet, ikke, nil, ingen, nein, haud, tidak, nem, ban bu dao, aniyo, det händer inte - should I keep going, or have I lost you already?" She frowned in the direction of her fingertips. "Damn cuticles."

"Why?" Emma asked, inwardly annoyed that she hadn't recognized any of the words after 'haud' - although it hadn't really mattered, since they had all meant the same thing. "You were perfectly willing to sell me and Melinda information on Ranma."

"Ranma-kun is one thing," Nabiki replied, finally looking up and letting Emma's icy gaze wash over her like a cool fall breeze. "I take a certain perverse pleasure in violating his privacy. Scott Summers, on the other hand..." She paused, and then decided to simply say it bluntly. "I won't sell you any information on him."

"I will pay triple your usual price," Emma offered, her curiosity now peaked by the other girl's refusal.

"It's not about the money," Nabiki countered, ignoring the looks of surprise on her team mate's faces; even Lance had turned from his Kitty-watching, and was giving her a look as if he'd never seen her before. The offer was tempting, and one part of Nabiki's mind was screaming at her to accept; a larger part however, the one Nabiki tended to listen to, was telling her it would be a very bad idea. "Either accept that I won't sell you the information you want and leave, or make another request I might be more willing to fulfil."

Emma crossed her arms beneath her breasts and gave the mercenary an appraising look; admittedly, the blonde bombshell barely knew Nabiki Tendo, but she had thought she'd gotten a good read on her during their first meeting. This time, however, the girl was acting in an almost complete contradiction of that first impression. Why would she be perfectly willing -eager, even - to sell information on Ranma Saotome, yet refuse completely when it came to Scott Summers? There was only one explanation that made sense...

The corners Emma's lips twitched into a small smirk, causing Nabiki's eyebrow to raise a fraction. "I see," Emma said softly. "So that's how it is, is it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nabiki replied briskly, returning her eyes to the work she was doing on her nails. Oh, she knew damn well what Emma was talking about, but Nabiki wasn't about to confirm nor deny the unspoken accusation and risk giving anything away.

A glittering object suddenly flew in a lazy arc towards her, and the brown-haired girl snatched it out of the air. Looking it over, she saw the profile of George Washington set into the flat side of a silver disk. Nabiki looked up again, her eyes narrowing as she saw the now-departing blonde.

"Payment for services rendered," Emma explained, flashing an amused look over her shoulder at the cyberpath. "The information you provided was worth every penny." She turned her head in time to miss the icy glare sent back at her, and the sight of Nabiki throwing the 'payment' away.

Watching the other woman meet up with her cousin at the latter's white Mini Cooper convertible, Nabiki connected her mind to the school's wireless network. Easily bypassing the - to her perception - slipshod security system, the cyberpath was able to quickly locate Emma Frost's file.

The permanent record didn't give her all the information she wanted on her potential rival, but Nabiki wasn't concerned. The afternoon was still young, and there were very few sources a determined cyberpath could not access.

---

Stepping through the front door of the Institute, Ranma resisted the urge to kick his shoes off at the door - it was both unnecessary, and when sudden training came up, completely impractical.

Ranma dropped his schoolbag on the first chair he came across, weaved his way around a grinning Tabitha and three laughing Jamie's being pursued by a snowball-flinging Bobby covered with blue cotton candy. The pigtailed mutant ignored the younger students and whatever had started this newest spat; he only had to care about what they did during their sessions with him, or when they 'accidentally' attacked him - kind of like what Ray was about to do.

Ranma stopped in his tracks, a bolt of electricity suddenly appearing where he would have been a second later. Looking in the direction the bolt had originated from showed Ray, who was trying - rather unsuccessfully - to look innocent of launching a sneak attack. Shaking his head in disappointment, Ranma continued on his way, ignoring Ray's half-hearted attempts to proclaim his innocence.

'Needs ta work on his accuracy,' Ranma thought to himself. All of the new students with projectile attacks needed major work on actually hitting their targets. But his job was only to instruct them in physical combat, which, at the moment, didn't include weapons; it was up to Jean and Scott to teach them how to effectively use their powers, and apparently they hadn't gotten to target practice yet.

Entering the kitchen, Ranma gave a distracted greeting to Logan, who was sitting at the table, eating a sandwich and reading the paper. Making his way towards the cupboards, he rubbed his palms in anticipation. "Time for the world's most perfect sandwich..."

Seconds later, bread, mustard, lettuce, sliced tomatoes, four different sliced meats and two types of cheese were scattered about the countertop island. On a plate in the centre were the beginnings of a sandwich, and Ranma himself was currently digging through the refrigerator, muttering with an increasing amount of aggravation.

"Dammit," He muttered, pulling his head out of the icebox. "Yo, Logan! Where the hell is the provolone that was in here?"

Logan said nothing as he continued to read his newspaper, raising his own sandwich as his only response.

"Figures," Ranma muttered, closing the fridge door. Returning to the countertop, the pigtailed boy sighed in resignation and finished construction of his own sandwich. Putting away the various ingredients, Ranma grabbed a can of Coke and took a seat at the table across from Logan.

"Ya had ta take the last of that provolone, didn't ya?" He asked the older mutant, giving him a brief glare as he prepared to bite into his slightly-less-than-perfect sandwich.

"'Fraid so," Logan replied, his eyes still locked on the paper. "How ya doin', pigtail?"

"I'm alright," Ranma replied evasively, hoping to steer clear of where this questioning was probably gonna lead. "School was 'bout the same as usual, I guess."

"That ain't exactly what I was talkin' about."

"I don't know what else ya coulda meant."

"Yeah ya do," Logan replied, folding the page over and starting at the top of the other side. "Yer ignorin' what happened last night, aren't ya?"

"What business is it of yours?" Ranma frowned, narrowing his eyes.

"None whatsoever," Logan admitted.

"Then stay out of it, old man," Ranma snapped, giving the older mutant a glare. "It's my problem, and I'll deal with it when I feel like dealin' with it!"

"Don't fly off the handle, pigtail. I only bring it up 'cause it's obvious yer in some kinda funk over it." He finally broke his gaze away from the newspaper, looking Ranma in the eye and cutting off the pigtailed boy before he could respond. "I ain't gonna do anythin' about it. I think the whole thing is bullshit, and yer a moron for lettin' it bug ya like this, but it's somethin' ya gotta get over on yer own."

"So..." Ranma said after a moment, raising an eyebrow. "Ya ain't gonna try and make me talk it out with ya or nothin'?" His tone indicated that that would be a very bad idea.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Logan asked gruffly, shooting the boy an incredulous look. "I just toldja that ya gotta get through it yourself. I'll be honest," He continued, folding the paper in half again. "I thought about tryin' to beat the fact of it inta ya, but there's a small problem with that idea-"

"Aside from the fact that I could kick yer ass easily?" Ranma interrupted.

"Two small problems with that idea," Logan corrected, giving the boy a wry look. "The one ya just mentioned, and because this is something no one but you yourself can help ya get over. I could go on and on, givin' ya plenty of reasons as to why your martial arts skill ain't the result of your power, but ya wouldn't believe me."

"Probably not," Ranma admitted. "Okay, I get what yer sayin', but I ain't completely sure why yer sayin' it, if ya think it won't do any good. Or why ya think I care."

"My point," Logan answered in a slight growl that had more to do with how lame Family Circus was than with any real annoyance with Ranma. "Is that while you have to take the time to figure this out for yerself, don't let it get ya too depressed. You have duties around here, remember, and ya can't let some stupid bad mood get in the way of that.

"It's your job to train these kids in self-defence," Logan continued, driving the point home, "and none of us want ya gettin' all mopey and doin' a half-assed job."

Ranma nodded, processing Logan's words and unfortunately finding little to disagree with.

"You get me?" The Canadian asked.

"Yeah," Ranma answered, finishing off the last of his sandwich. "I get ya."

"Good," Logan said simply. "Just keep what I said in mind. And get over this little mental sulk-fest fast, pigtail - the others might not notice it as easily as I do, but lemme tell ya; the depression thing?" Logan broke off for a moment, shaking his head. "It ain't workin' for ya."

"Right," Ranma snorted. "That all, old man?"

"Pretty much," Logan replied, ignoring the 'old man' comment. Almost as an afterthought, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two envelopes. "Oh, right. Almost forgot," he added, giving the papers a quick glance before handing them to the boy.

"Hmm?" Ranma inquired, taking the envelopes and looking them over. "Ah, right. Last Tuesday of the month... who's the other one for?"

"Rahne," Logan answered, flipping to the last page of the comics section of the paper. "She's outside, I think."

Ranma nodded and said nothing, pocketing both envelopes and heading for the nearest door to the backyard. He almost jumped in surprise a few seconds later when Logan suddenly burst out laughing behind him.

"Bwhahahahahaha!! Oh, Garfield... yer such a lazy kitty..."

Ranma shuddered and quickened his pace.

---

Rahne loved to run.

She loved the feel of all four paws striking against the grass as she developed a steady beat. She loved the sensations caused by the air as it whipped through her copper-tinted fur. She loved the exhilaration of working every muscle in her body as she reached her top speed and the sense of utter peace she felt upon reaching it. And she especially loved how the mansion had a massive backyard - field, really - in which she could enjoy herself.

Even before her mutation had come into effect, Rahne had enjoyed the feeling of losing herself in the exercise. Along with her martial arts, it was a great way to keep in shape and build her confidence. She preferred to meditate while running, the repetitive motion bringing her into a perfect Zen state of mind every time; the lycanthrope felt none of her worries or fears while running, like she was moving far too fast for any of them to catch up with her. It was cathartic in more ways than Rahne could count, but most importantly, it was fun.

Rahne wasn't running for any of those reasons this time; she was simply running for the sake of it. Weaving through the trees on the estate's small forest brought to mind running through the woodlands of her homeland. She sometimes missed Scotland, but she was enjoying herself here at the Institute; she had made many new friends, and was learning at the feet of the most skilled martial artist she had ever encountered.

That wasn't quite accurate, Rahne realized; if wolves could frown, she would have done so at that moment. She was learning how to teach, yes, and was glad to learn such an important skill, but she could tell her mentor had so much more he could teach her about actual combat. So much more she wanted to learn, for the sake of learning - as well as the sake of merely spending time with him. Preferably with his shirt off while he guided her through new forms, watching the sweat glisten as it rolled down his washboard abs while they sparred, feeling his arms wrap-

Rahne let out a yelp as she just managed to avoid running into a tree. 'Mental note,' she told herself, 'no fantasies 'bout Mr. Ranma when yuir in the middle of runnin', girl.'

Blocking out all extraneous thought, Rahne lost herself in the motion and pure feeling of the run. Her consciousness and senses slowly began to expand as she approached the Zen state, feeling herself become one with the world around her. Her mind went clear, and Rahne Sinclair felt an almost orgasmic sensation.

She couldn't feel the fatigue begin to enter into her muscles, although somewhere in her consciousness she knew it had to be happening; she'd been running for quite a while now. Rahne's wolf-body was on autopilot as it took the next turn at a sharp angle, putting her in the right direction to return to the mansion. She would have to stop soon, but she wanted to hold onto this feeling for as long as she could.

Having lost herself completely in the rhythm, Rahne almost didn't notice she was running straight towards her pigtailed pack alpha. Unable to slow down fast enough, the lycanthrope made a sharp turn just in time to avoid him; Ranma seemed undisturbed, watching her calmly as her path now led her towards a large tree.

Her speed having diminished enough at this point, Rahne leapt straight towards the tree. Spinning in mid-air, she flipped the mental 'switch' just as her back paws pressed against the bark. Her form shifted as she launched herself off the tree and into the air - her form elongating and limbs filling out, paws stretching into slim fingers as her coppery fur seemed to suck back into her skin, her muzzle shrinking into a pair of soft pink lips.

These changes were all mostly unnoticeable, of course, as she was making multiple flips and spins as she sailed through the air with ease. Landing a few feet away from Ranma, Rahne gave him a bright smile and bounced briefly on her toes. In human form now, she was dressed in her usual workout clothes - a tight green half-shirt and a pair of form-fitting black bicycle shorts.

"Good afternoon," She greeted, giving him a casual wave.

"Nice aerials," Ranma replied, smiling back. "How was your run?"

"'Twas nice," Rahne answered, holding her hand behind her back and thrusting out her chest. She held back a frown as she cast a quick glance down to her chest, wishing she was more fully developed. "I was 'bout to get a wee bit o' trainin' in."

"Cool," Ranma said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a plain white envelope. "Here, this one's fer you."

Rahne raised an eyebrow as she accepted it. Opening it quickly, she found a single rectangular piece of paper. Her eyes widened as she realized what it was. "I'm gettin' paid?"

"You are my teachin' assistant," Ranma reminded her. "Technically, that makes ya one of the staff here. It ain't much, only slightly more than the allowance the others get for doin' chores 'n stuff, but ya don't gotta clean anythin' to earn it." He gave her a wink. "Jus' don't tell the others, got it?"

"Aye," Rahne replied dazedly as she folded up the check; two hundred dollars wasn't a lot, but it was two hundred bucks more per month that she thought she'd be getting. She was in the process of putting it away when she realized her training outfit had no pockets. Flushing a deep red, she spun around briefly and slipped it into her sports bra. "So," she asked shyly, trying to force her blush to fade. "I was wonderin', Ranma, if maybe ye wanted ta spar with me?"

"Maybe another time," the pigtailed boy answered after a moment's thought. "I have ta give Kurt his private session tonight."

"Well, how 'bout t'morrow?"

"Tomorrow night is Kit's session." Ranma replied. The older students had progressed to the point where group sessions would no longer do them much good individually, and so Ranma had set aside one day of personal training a week for all of them. This provided the benefit of being able to give them each personalized lessons, with the downside of only having them once a week.

Seeing the dejected look on the Scottish girl's face, Ranma sighed. "If ya really wanna," he told her, "There's no session on Friday. We can have a good fight then, kay?"

Rahne's expression brightened immediately, and the young girl couldn't help herself as she launched forward and grabbed him in a tight hug. Releasing him almost immediately, Rahne blushed again and ran away, shifting into her wolf form along the way.

Ranma blinked and rubbed the back of his head in confusion. Was a simple sparring session that much to get excited about?

---

"...and she said that was all she remembered." Scott finished his story of what had occurred at lunch earlier that day.

"I see," Xavier murmured, taking it all in. The pair were in the library, at Scott's request for privacy "So Ms. Frost appears to have no memory of the fire or of Sage's attack, but she does not have the memories I attempted to implant either..."

"All she said she remembers is the colour of my shades," Scott repeated.

"I had almost forgotten about the small problem I had encountered in Ms. Frost's mind," Xavier continued, "especially after the debacle in Principal Kelly's. There is nothing to worry about, Scott." He told the boy gently. "Her mental defences were simply too strong, especially after I had already expended so much energy on everyone else. All I could do was erase what happened."

"So there's no chance of her remembering anything else?" Scott asked, although his mind was on another aspect of the event entirely.

"A very, very slim one," The telepathic professor replied. "Apparently, I wasn't quite as thorough as I thought, and she remembered one relatively minor thing."

"Yeah," Scott said, running his fingers through his hair. "And now she's obsessing over that one minor thing, and me."

Xavier chuckled and headed towards the door. "I don't think it's an obsession, Scott. I think perhaps the young lady may simply be using the memory of your shades as an excuse to get to know you better." He shot the boy a wink over his shoulder. "She's quite an attractive young woman, if I remember correctly; perhaps you should take her up on her offer."

"Maybe," Scott agreed, although he knew Xavier was no longer in the room. Emma's offer - as well as Emma herself - was very tempting, and hadn't he been thinking just the other day that maybe it was time to make an attempt to meet someone new?

"She did say she'd pay," He said to himself as he stood up, following the professor out of the library. "So why the hell not?"

---

Perched on the railing of the balcony just outside his room, Ranma stared up at the night sky. He was reminded of the previous night; the sky was as clear and breathtaking as it had been then, and like before, it was threatening to make him drift off into introspection.

Ranma hated introspection, and especially hated how often he'd been doing it lately.

"Hey," A familiar and welcome voice greeted him from behind. Ranma turned his head and smiled in response.

"Hey."

Rogue leaned forward, resting her arms on the railing and placing her chin upon her folded hands. "So?"

"So... what?" Ranma asked, playing dumb.

"Ya had all day ta think 'bout it," Rogue answered softly. "Are ya ready ta talk yet?"

Ranma took a deep breath, considering his answer. In actuality, he'd spent nearly the entire day trying to avoid thinking about it, as if some part of him believed that by ignoring it, it would just go away. The rest of him knew that idea was completely illogical, of course, but agreed to go along with it on the off-chance it might be successful. And it had been, for the most part, except for the errant comments people made during the day that had the effect of forcefully snapping his mind back to the matter of his mutant abilities.

He knew why he'd believed Sage as easily as he had, and it wasn't the logical reasons she had given him, although they had helped. It was the strong feeling in his gut, the purely instinctual feeling that Sage was telling the truth that had convinced him. As such, he hadn't bothered wondering incessantly over whether or not it was true, and had instead focused on what exactly it meant. And he didn't like the conclusions he'd managed to reach.

"I hate my powers," he said finally.

Rogue snorted. "Welcome ta the club."

"I liked 'em so much better when it was just the nullification," Ranma continued, reaching a hand down to softly caress Rogue's cheek. The southern girl smiled, enjoying the contact of his skin against hers. "For obvious reasons. I don't like this new ability, even if it did apparently make me stronger faster than I woulda gotten normally."

"But I don't know what I'm gonna do about this new power," he added, jumping down from the railing and taking the spot right next to the girl, slipping an arm around her waist. Rogue said nothing; merely enjoying both his touch and the fact that he was comfortable enough to be open with her. "I gotta do somethin', I know that, but nothin' is comin' ta mind."

"Sage coulda been lyin'," Rogue offered. "Or even jus' tellin' a partial truth. Maybe yer powers actually have nothin' ta do with yer skill, and it only affects yer body?"

"Maybe," Ranma agreed tentatively.

"So... what are ya gonna do 'bout?" Rogue asked.

"I ain't got no idea," Ranma admitted. "All I can do, 'til I know more, is deal with it. Keep up my trainin' and everyone else's, and maybe some great revelation will occur that explains everythin'." He snorted, showing what he actually thought of that idea.

Rogue snorted as well. "So," she summarized, "Yer gonna deal with it... by not dealin' with it?"

"Not at all," Ranma replied, giving her a grin. "I'm pullin' back and observin' the situation until I got all the facts I need ta make a proper decision."

"And how long is that gonna take ya?"

"Hell if I know," Ranma shrugged. "Sage said she'd be back, so maybe I'll wait fer her ta show up and beat the whole truth outta her."

"Ya got a knack fer plans," Rogue teased, leaning closer into him. "Still, Ah'm glad ta see yer feelin' bettah about it all."

"Like I said," Ranma replied, letting his fingers wander along her side and making her squirm in a very amusing manner. "I ain't good at depression."

"That's the truth," Rogue agreed, laughing as she squirmed to avoid his tickling and letting out a shriek as he started using both hands. Struggling to get away amidst her increasing laughter, Rogue fell to the ground, her leg hooking behind his and bringing him down with her.

Twisting at just the right moment, the southern girl managed to take the dominant position, pinning the boy's wrists against the floor. "Give up?" She asked as he made a half-hearted attempt to escape; she knew he could easily break her hold, but where would the fun be in that?

A loud 'BAMF!' and a puff of smoke announced Kurt's sudden arrival on the banister. In his hands was a large bucket of popcorn, and his tail was twitching excitedly.

"Ranma!" He exclaimed, "Rogue! Ve found the tape of Logan pretending to be on... American... Idol..." He trailed off as he saw the position his half-brother and the girl were in, the latter of whom was levelling a fierce glare in his direction. He let out an embarrassed chuckle and scratched the back of his head. "Sorry 'bout this," he murmured, porting away in another puff of smoke.

---

"Hmmm..." Ryoga muttered to himself as his eyes skimmed over the map in his hands, attempting to take in every detail about it. "Maybe I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque... or was that Madrid? No, weren't any polar bears, had to be Albuquerque."

Standing in a the middle of a crossroads, covered in the dust of the dirt road behind him - not that he could tell which direction he'd come from - Ryoga was forced to admit that maybe he needed some directions. Or maybe a guide dog.

That wasn't a bad idea, Ryoga realized; maybe he should try and find his home and take Shirokuro along with him. Not only would he get less... off-track on occasion, but he would also be a lot less lonely. And the dog could help take care of him, too; with how often the pooch was alone, it had learned to care for itself better than most members of the Hibiki family.

Thinking of Shirokuro made him think of Akane, and of the time she had come over to see the puppies the half-black, half-white dog had given birth to. If only Ranma hadn't shown up and pretended to be his sister. Ryoga fell into a fantasy of what could have happened...

"Oh, Ryoga-kun," Fantasy Akane said, as she played with one of the puppies. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at the bandana-clad boy, adoration shining in her perfect features. "Playing with these adorable puppies with you has caused me to realize how wonderful you really are, and how much of an honourless, perverted, cheating, bread-stealing coward Ranma is." She tittered and sighed, love literally radiating from her.

Fantasy Ryoga grinned widely at Fantasy Akane, lighting up the room with his perfect smile. "Yes, my dear," he agreed, his voice a strong and manly baritone. "And now that I have finally defeated him, while he was in the act of trying to submerge these innocent puppies in Spring of Drowned Harem Slave Girl water from Jusenkyo, we shall never have to worry about him ruining our happiness or stealing our hard-earned and deserved bread ever again."

In the background, a half-dead Fantasy Ranma, looking incredibly weak and apparently going prematurely bald, was sobbing like a little girl from his place in a cage made out of cardboard. "Oh, I wish I was as strong and smart as Ryoga..." he whined piteously, tugging in vain on his cardboard prison. "Then I might be powerful enough to escape. I'm too weak though... I'll never be as good as him."

"Oh Ryoga," Fantasy Akane continued, clutching her hands together under her chin as she stared up at him in utter devotion. Her normal clothes had suddenly changed into a sheer lace teddy, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. "I love you so much; the only way I could love you more is if you were cursed to transform into a little black piglet, just like my sweet, darling P-Chan..."

"My Sweet Akane," Fantasy Ryoga stated proudly, grabbing a nearby jewel-encrusted goblet filled with water. "Prepare yourself... for perfection!" He poured the water onto himself, and was replaced by a disturbingly muscular black piglet.

"Oh, Ryoga-kun!" Fantasy Akane cried out "Are you alright, buddy?"

Ryoga blinked when Akane's sweet, angelic voice suddenly became deep and masculine. Blinking several more times, he realized there was a man standing in front of him, giving him a very strange look. Shaking his head quickly brought Ryoga fully into the real world.

"Sorry," Ryoga apologized, embarrassed at having been caught in a fantasy by someone; at least he hadn't ended up hugging the guy. Last time that happened, he'd been on the run from big hairy bikers for three days. "I kinda spaced out there for a moment."

"It's alright," The other man said dryly. He was a little taller than Ryoga, and almost as solidly built, with a simple white bandana in his hair holding back all but his bangs. He wore a black muscle shirt and a pair of camouflage-patterned combat pants. His hands were covered by a pair of short black gloves with thin metal plates on the fingers, and he wore a pair of large black boots on his feet. The pack he carried with him was almost as large as Ryoga's own, and clued the Lost Boy into the fact that this man was a traveller like him. "I was wondering if I could borrow your map for a moment," The boy concluded.

"Huh?" Ryoga replied intelligently, and then remembered he had been consulting a map before he'd drifted away from reality. "Oh, sure. Maybe you can actually make some use out of it." He handed the map over to the boy, adding. "It hasn't done me any good."

The boy accepted the map silently, looking it over for a few second before turning it right-side up. A few more minutes passed before the boy spoke again. "Here's your problem," he said, pointing to the map as he handed it back. "This is a map of Paraguay."

Ryoga blinked. "This isn't Paraguay?"

"Nope," The boy answered, giving Ryoga an odd look. "This is Japan."

"Oh!" Ryoga exclaimed, dropping his pack on the ground and opening up the main compartment. The other boy eyed the crater it made when it landed, but did not comment on it. "I have a map of Japan in here somewhere," Ryoga said, digging through the contents, numerous maps, atlases and even a globe falling out over the side.

"It's not necessary," The other boy said with a sigh, dropping his own pack to the ground; Ryoga didn't noticed that it made a smaller crater than his own had. "I actually have one of my own." He opened the top and began digging through it.

"Huh?" Ryoga asked, pulling his head out of the pack. "Then why did you need to use mine?"

"Because," the muffled voice answered as it's owner continued digging. "Mine is at the bottom of this bag, and I was hoping to not have to dig it ou-A-HA!" The boy with the white bandana popped out of his bag, holding a map of the Honshu Island triumphantly in his right hand. "Got it!"

"Where are you headed anyway?" Ryoga asked, sitting up and sifting through the large collection of maps surrounding him.

"Nerima," The boy replied, his attention focused entirely on the map he now had opened and in front of him. "Well, it's been fun, but I can't stay and chat. I'm on a bit of a deadline."

"Gotcha," Ryoga answered, shoving a handful of maps into the bag. It'd be nice to go to Nerima again, if only to see Akane, but he knew better than to ask to tag along; he'd only end up getting the both of them lost, not to mention he'd never liked having travelling companions in the first place. The road was his place, and he did not like sharing his time on it with anyone.

"See ya around," The boy called out over his shoulder. Within a few minutes, he had disappeared down the road; the small amount of dust kicked up into the air the only sign of his passage.

Ryoga quietly continued to put his various maps away, keeping the one of Japan out with him; now that he knew again where he was, he could attempt to get back on track. The challenge letter he'd sent Ranma had specified the date of the duel to be within the next month, and he wanted to reach Xavier's as close to within that timeframe as he could. He'd been training hard lately, and was certain he could beat his pigtailed rival in a fair fight.

"What the?" Ryoga's thoughts were put on hold as his hand clasped around cylindrical object. That was odd, he didn't remember having any scrolls with him before. "Huh... that guy musta dropped it..."

Looking it over, he found himself rather unimpressed with the simple white casing the scroll resided in. Shrugging, Ryoga popped it open and removed the item within; maybe it had the guy's name on it or something. Unrolling the scroll, he gave it a quick look over.

"Yama-sen-ken?" He muttered to himself. Looking closer, he started reading. His lips pulled back into a malicious grin as he read the descriptions of the techniques, and a low chuckle rose in his throat as he read the effects.

His mind quickly processed those same results with the addition of the ki reserves his x-gene granted him, and his chuckle broke out into full-blown diabolical laughter.

Oh yes... once he mastered this, Ranma would have no chance in hell.

---

End Chapter Fourteen

---

Author's Notes: Lemme see... not much to say, really. This chapter contained a bit less action than the previous one, and I hesitate to say some might even call it 'filler'. Remember, though, kids, what some see as filler is actually well-disguised storyline progression and character development...

There were a lot of introductions in this chapter, I have just realized...

Yes, that was Ryu Kumon in the last scene - hey, I can't introduce to the Sen Kens without bringing in Ryu, can I? There was originally going to be a fight between him and Ryoga, but I decided I didn't want Ryoga getting his ass kicked again.

Thaliá is a character of my own creation. What she's doing in the mental institute with Wanda and what her connection to Xavier is will be revealed in the future, around the middle of season two. The mention of Wanda's 'pages' was some truly evil foreshadowing on my part, as that mystery won't be revealed until the end of the season. I ask that anyone who has a guess keep it to themselves, for the risk that they might accidentally figure it out and thus ruin the surprise for other people. Although seriously, no one's gonna see this coming.

The next chapter will take place during the episode 'Bada-Bing, Bada-Boom'.

As always, please review - I love reviews, good and bad. If you must criticize, make it constructive. I try to respond to every review I get, but sometimes I miss a few; I apologize to anyone whom I overlook in my responses.