Thank you for reading and reviewing, chibi Nataly, anon, Goofn1 and amberkittie!

This chapter brings in something we've been dying to do since the beginning of the series, oh so long ago. But no spoilers, read on to see what it is.

We were really tempted to make this two chapters because not only is it long enough, but there's a perfect cliffhanger point perfectly in the middle of the chapter (it's really quite obvious-- take a guess as to which line it is!). But we decided to go with the full chapter as is. Hopefully it works better this way than splitting it would have.

Chapter 21. Ulterior Motives.

She had done this to him.

She had done this to him. Realization struck full force, truly and clearly for the first time. She didn't know what she had allowed herself to become. Taking a step backwards she stared in frozen horror at the teen that had given up all hope, and had subjected himself to a life without will, a life she was to control.

And this, she had forced upon him.

In the face of the full force of this knowledge, all she could do was flee.

And she did, turning into a raven and flying away.

Hearing the hasty flap of wings, Lance looked up, but Mystique was already out of sight. She had not said anything, merely left. He didn't know what to make of it, but he could not bear thinking about it, for fear it meant a refusal. His shoulder shook as tears fell onto the concrete ground, but he didn't let himself linger. It would be the worst case scenario if someone were to walk in on this scene. If chances were below low now, it would be far past extinct should he be the reason Mystique was found out earlier than her wishes. And he would never be able to keep everyone else out of this then.

Shakily, he pushed off the dirty floor; he hated his body for betraying the state of his mind, but the trembling he could not stop. He headed into the nearest bathroom, and after allowing himself a small sigh of relief at making sure it was empty, he locked the door. Turning on the faucet, he gathered the falling water with shaky hands, not caring that his gloves got wet, and splashed his face with it. Twice he repeated the act, but then the tears threatened to fall again, and he put his head under the water directly, letting the cold permeate his hair and drip down his neck and over his trembling shoulders.

Scott was, at this point, wondering if Lance had even indeed gone this way. The hour had passed and they had gathered to discover that Lance had wandered off sometime early in the hour and could not to be found. He couldn't blame the other teen for wanting to escape from Pietro, and Kitty's insistence of shopping 'extravagantly', as Pietro had guessed, but that could be the result of his own dislike of trying on clothes that weren't his style. Then again, Scott highly doubted that Lance would have enjoyed the dressing up games, though he had done some earlier in the day for Kitty's sake. This debate was quickly put on hold however, when he spotted Lance stepping out of the bathroom. Or, at least, he was pretty certain it was Lance. His motions weren't as usual, there seemed to be a certain lacking element that Scott couldn't quite place a hand on; and his hair looked a little darker than usual... no, it looked... wait, it didn't just look wet, it was wet.

"Lance!"

He immediately turned around, and Scott wasn't sure if that was tenseness he spotted.

"Where have you been?"

"Oh... I was just looking around, and then I got lost..."

"Okay. We were beginning to get worried. What happened to your hair? Why's it all wet?"

"I...got hot. I think the mall's being cheap with the air conditioning."

"It's the third week of January, Lance. I don't think they'd turn on the cool air now."

"Well, I mean they've got the heat on too high...you know what I mean."

Scott wasn't sure what was wrong, but he was sure something was wrong. Lance seemed obviously distracted, not even making full eye contact as they spoke. Scott just couldn't place what was wrong yet.

"Listen, I'm feeling kind of tired... can you drop me off and come back? You can tell everyone I left early after you get back."

"Oh. Sure, I guess I could do that... are you feeling sick?"

"No, just a little tired. And I don't think I need any new dressing tips from our resident experts."

The darker brunette managed a small smile, but even through his crimson sunglasses Scott could see that it wasn't wholly genuine. Taking it as Lance's way of hiding his fatigue, Scott nodded.
"Sure. Let's go before someone catches us and makes you try on more things," he joked.

Lance grinned, but it left his face with hardly any time to be seen.

The car ride was more or less silent. Lance didn't make any conversation, and, guessing that it was the result of his tiredness, Scott didn't either. As the car pulled up to the front door, Lance gave Scott a slight smile, getting out.

"Thanks Summers."

"You're welcome. And am I Summers again?"

"Oh... um, habit I guess. You'd better get back before everyone gets worried."

"Yeah. See you in a bit, Lance."

Lance gave a faint nod as the other teen drove off, then turned around and headed inside. Quickly he moved towards his room, but his hopes of reaching it without running into anyone on the way died out as Hank turned the corner.

"Back already? I thought I heard a car pull up."

"J-just me. I, I was feeling a bit tired, so I thought I'd leave early..." Lance looked away from the curious gaze, heading for his room at a quickened pace. "I'm just going to go to my room."

"All right; come see me if you feel sick," Hank couldn't help the worried and somewhat confused glance, but let the teen go.

//Hank, could you come to my office? I've just received a worrying phone call—something has happened, but I do not wish to alarm everyone, so it would be best if we talked now. I've asked Logan to meet the students back when they return.//

//I'll be right there, Professor.//

Closing the door firmly, he locked it before rushing to grab his duffel bag, throwing his few clothes in. After zipping it up, Lance stared at it for a second, hesitating. Moving to the desk he had come to regard as his own, he took a piece of paper and a pen, scrawling out a line before dropping both back onto the desk. He hesitated for a second, his hand reaching into his pocket, fingers brushing over the metallic tip of the key he had come to carry around always, though he had never made use of it since the first and last time. He forced the memory to fade and picked out the motorcycle key, slowly placing it on top of the piece of paper.

He had no choice.

He turned away from the desk and the items lying on top of it, instead turning to the window on the other side of the room. He did not want to risk running into Hank again, or worse, Professor Xavier, or worst, Logan. He opened the window.

Another second of hesitation, then he was outside.

And leaving the second place he had ever considered his home... and what he expected would be the last.

He found his hand shaking once more as he reached for the knob on the door of the building that had been his first real home in his entire life.

Trying to calm his breathing—he was panting, not as much from running the entire way over as from apprehension, anticipating the worst. He allowed himself just one extra second before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

He swallowed hard before even attempting the faint call.

"M-Mystique..?"

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs as he closed the door behind him, but didn't dare look up. That is, not until he heard the voice. An unfamiliar, unanticipated voice with an unexpected question.

Not that it meant the speaker wasn't angry.

"Who are you?!"

He stared, wondering if Mystique was playing some game with him, but quickly decided, at her narrowing glare, to go with it, whatever it was.

"L-Lance. Lance Alvers..."

When her threatening glare did not loosen up, he wondered if he should have answered with his codename. After all, it was the name Mystique used, his mutant name, his mutant identity. Though, now that he wasn't using his powers anymore... well, no, with Mystique he'd be using them again, regardless of the dangers that Hank had told him about.

"Avalanche..." he added, his voice rapidly losing what little strength it had when she stalked forward, rage radiating from her.

"If you were supposed to go with her, you're too late."

"W-what?"

"Mystique. If you were supposed to go with her, you're too late. She already left."

"Sh-she left? Y-You..."

"I saw her leave, yes. She just left! And without me! Just left me here!"

Lance was speechless. He was completely lost as to how to react. He couldn't think of one good reaction to this alien situation.

"I-I...I'm going to put my stuff up in my room..."

"Wait."

He froze.

"You live here?"

"Um... yes..."

"So she didn't leave just me," she murmured. "Just you?"

He had no idea how to answer that. He cautiously studied her expression, hoping for some sign as to what answer she wanted from him, but found none. Instead, she seemed to be getting angrier at his prolonged gaze. He quickly looked away.

"...just me." He said with a shaky voice at last, bracing for a violent reaction. But none came.

"I see... Mystique... Before she left...she said..." suddenly, her voice was quiet, and Lance wasn't sure if he was supposed to go upstairs now, or not.

"She said... she said my brother lives in this town. I'm not sure if he lives here or not... it didn't look like there was anyone here, except me and Mystique, since Agatha left yesterday... Do... do you know my brother?"

"I-I don't know," he stammered, taken off guard by the sudden change in behavior, from raging anger to an almost timid need for answers.

He thought she looked...sad, and lonely, when she turned away, but she did not say anything more, and he dared not ask for fear that she would turn to enraged shouts once more... if not more.

Instead he took the break from the questioning as permission to go to his room, and hastily climbed up the stairs and into the familiar room. Despite the situation, seeing his room managed to make him feel more at ease. His hand customarily went to the doorknob to close it, but at realizing the lack of audibility that would create, he left it open- while he would've much preferred to have at least that barrier of defense in between him and Mystique—who seemed to be extra…moody today, if not plain strange—he didn't want to accidentally 'ignore' anything Mystique might order by not hearing it. As he looked around, he noted, with a little pain, the lack of his few books and photos- the corner they had occupied on his desk was now bare; he guessed Mystique hadn't liked the messiness. In fact, his entire desk was empty, save a couple sheets of paper.

Dropping his duffle bag on the bed, he walked over to the desk to get the pieces of paper organized, lest he put Mystique in a bad mood by leaving the mess there. But as his hand reached to pick them up, he recognized handwriting that was not his. Hoping that he hadn't bothered anything of Mystique's, he read the contents haltingly.

Avalanche...Lance.
I did not want to admit it.
It is my greatest shame and my worst sin. But I cannot change the past. I am sorry for all I have done, for my hand in your pain as well as the pains of the other boys. I do not expect you to forgive me, or to understand what led me to those sins. I have done a lot of wrong in my life, but for betraying the trust you four once risked giving me, I have repeated wrongs that haunt me still, and will until the end.
My hatred and need for vengeance has turned me into something terrible, and for making you four—especially you, Avalanche—Lance—the sacrifice to this thirst I have reared for violence, I am sorry. I will never be able to make up for what I have done to you, but rather than face this, I have decided to leave, lest I return to my vicious ways. I realize on many levels that this is taking the weak, coward's way out, and you know of my hatred of weakness, but it is all I can do. I know that, while in the beginning, I could lay some claim to this, I no longer have that privilege, but I hope that you will forgive me for calling you four my boys this one last time.

Please believe me.

I am sorry.

Mystique.

His eyes darted across the page another time, and another, but the words did not change. No matter how many times he checked, the letter remained the same. Next to the sheet was a set of papers, paper-clipped together, and if Lance wasn't hallucinating, which he wasn't so sure of anymore, he could swear that was a deed and other related documents. The last thing on the desk was an envelope.

For a long moment he didn't dare touch it, but with shaky hands he finally picked it up. And immediately put it down, after opening it and seeing hundred dollar bills. Many hundred dollar bills. A thick bundle of hundred dollar bills.

Clearly, this was not meant for him.

He must be hallucinating.

He must be.

Gathering it all up, he carefully placed it on one side of the desk. It was not for him. He must be hallucinating. He was probably just in shock over Mystique's return. He must be hallucinating. He had to be imagining things. This could not be real.

He sat down on the bed, stunned still, and was just about to give up on all efforts to understand the past fifteen minutes, when footsteps neared, and through the doorway, she appeared.

Only, now, Lance wasn't sure who she was after all.

"My brother..." she started, and Lance was surprised to hear her voice as shaky as his had been minutes ago.

"My brother... his name is Pietro. Pietro Maximoff."

As the group filed in through the front door, Logan was sure to check that they had only things that had been on the list; after Bobby and Sam's 'rival Jubilee's fireworks' week, it had become almost routine for him to keep an eye- and a nose- out for any unannounced purchases.

While he did not find any such purchases, he did note the lack of one earthquake-inducing teen.

"Where's Shakedown?"

"Lance left early," Pietro answered. "He should be around resting. He said he was tired."

"He came back by himself?"

"Scott dropped him off, and then came back," Roberto nodded.

"He's probably in our room, yo," Todd suggested.

"I hope he's not tired from shopping and trying on clothes. I don't think we did that much." Kitty had a worried look, but Logan noted that it wasn't anything too serious that Half-Pint was worried about, so there must not have been any major incidents or the likes.

"I'll check on him," Tabby stated, but before she could head over, Logan cut in.

"No, I'll check on him. You kids need to get to dinner."

"But-"

Logan cut off any argument Pietro could produce.

"And after dinner is a Danger Room session. You should go get some food now so you don't have to do the session right after your meals."

Taking his last line with a new sense of warning, they all filed into the dining room. They couldn't help glancing back down the hall, but the current situation of deducing what awaited them after dinner in the Danger Room, and wondering even more if they wanted to know, distracted them. In any case, if Lance was resting, which was likely, he probably would not want to be bothered. Or maybe he was even already eating in the dining room and Logan just hadn't known.

Logan headed down the hall with a small chuckle at the teens' quick response. But as he neared the dorm halls, an unexpected, odd feeling crept over him, and he quickened his steps without quite knowing why. He grabbed the doorknob with more haste than usual, but it didn't open.

Locked.

"Hey Shakedown, open up."

No answer.

Logan briefly wondered if he was sleeping, but doubted that he wouldn't be able to hear, even in his sleep. He knew for a fact that Lance did not sleep deeply.

"Shakedown! You sleeping in there?"

Still no answer.

Logan didn't know why, but he had a bad feeling about this. Instinct told him something was up, and that the something was not good. His instincts were never wrong.

"Lance!"

No answer. Adamantium claws flew out, and Logan promptly sliced the door knob off. The door swung open at his insistence. And though he had still half expected it, hoped for it, Logan was not met with the annoyed look of the owner of the room. In fact, said owner wasn't even present.

"I'm Wanda," she added, at seeing his stunned expression. "Wanda Maximoff."

"You...you're... Pietro's sister?" Lance had no idea how his dry mouth was pulling off the task of speaking.

"You know him?!"

"I...yeah... he's one of my best friends..."

"Where is he?!"

"I-I- are you really Wanda Maximoff?"

"Yes! Do you want me to prove it?!" her hands started glowing blue, and Lance quickly shook his head. Even if she wasn't Mystique, the girl had a temper that reminded Lance of the shape-shifter, and he wasn't keen on finding out more on that subject.

"I... can... um, take you to him..."

She seemed troubled at that suggestion. Though, with his full knowledge of Pietro's past, Lance could kind of understand.

"If you don't want to do it immediately, you could wait to see him."

She quickly nodded at that.

"You're... alone here, aren't you." He still wasn't quite sure this was real, but as strange as things were, it seemed to be.

"...Except for you."

"Well... truth is, I used to live here. And this is still my home. But I'm living somewhere else right now."

"Oh..." the disappointment she couldn't hide; it didn't seem a comfortable expression on her face, yet by the look in her eyes, Lance could tell she had been let down far too many times to be surprised.

"I'll take you with me, if you want... if you want," he quickly repeated, at seeing her eyes narrow.

"...Why?"

"Um... what?"

"Why? Why would you help me?"

And that was when Lance realized that she was one of them.

"My father locked me up so I wouldn't get in his way. Mystique brought me here so she could have my powers. What do you want me for?"

"Nothing." Lance did not back down at her intensified glare, and set to explaining since she was obviously highly skeptical of his claim and intentions. "Both your father, Magneto, and Mystique wanted me for my powers. But I'm just me now. I don't want to use your powers for war, or for revenge. I just want to help. If you'll let me."

He found the room empty, curtains drawn open, revealing open windows as well. He glanced around for something that would give him a hint and allow him to venture a guess at this situation. The drawers for clothes had been pulled out, and lay empty. His eyes travelled across the room full circle, and then noticed the note on the desk; he pushed the keys off the paper, grabbed it and read it with instinctive urgency.

I'm sorry. I tried.

"Damn kid. What's he up to now..." Logan murmured, tossing the note back down. He walked around the room once, but found nothing to help him. The only thing he knew was that Lance had written that note, and that Lance's clothes were missing. With a growl, he picked up the note again. One sentence, that was all. Not really anything to go by. He shoved the note in his pockets, and headed out the room. This, he would have to inform Charles and Hank about immediately, even if they were presently engaged in urgent talk about the break out at the asylum and who could be involved. But just as he started out, turning towards the door, he heard someone carefully making their way down the hall. And a second later, the footsteps froze, just outside the door—probably at seeing the state of the doorknob. Logan had no trouble making out the shadow of the person.

"Wolv-?"

"What are you up to?"

Lance knew he had guessed correctly when the swift adamantium claws reached the side of his neck.

"New greeting method? I like 'hello' better."

"I told you the last time, if you ever tried to run away again, you'd answer to these."

"Well they didn't ask me a question."

"Don't kid around, Shakedown."

"I went for a walk. Did I break any laws? I only meant to break one or two."

Logan frowned, and the staring contest ensued. It wasn't until Logan's claws sheathed that one looked away—Lance turned to his desk, and noted the lack of a certain piece of paper.

"You took it."

"Took what."

"The... never mind."

"This?" Logan held up the note in question.

Lance didn't answer, but proceeded to toss his duffel bag on the bed. Logan was not deterred. As Lance headed back towards the door, he spoke.

"Shakedown..."

"Sorry, I need to go; I'll talk to you later, Wolverine."

"No." He was not distracted by Lance's hasty exit, and instead took a hold of the teen by the arm to prevent him from leaving. He quickly let go when he saw Lance wince.

"Or, I guess I'll talk to you now." Putting his free hand under the previously ripped shirt sleeve and on the gash underneath that was now threatening to bleed again, Lance stood still.

"How'd that happen?" Logan frowned at the wound, not having even noticed it prior to this reaction, a fact that said a lot about his current level of tension and concern.

"...I tripped."

"Is that so."

"Yeah."

"What were you thinking of doing, taking all your things with you and leaving this little note?"

"Nothing."

"Shakedown..."

He cut in. "My name is Lance."

She picked up the last of her clothes, putting them in the bag. She glanced at the clock, wondering how long it would take for him to get back. He had said he would be walking, and had asked her to wait. She wouldn't have minded the walk, but had nodded simply to his suggestion of bringing a car around back to pick her up while she packed. She was in no hurry. In fact, she could do to delay it as much as possible.

She wondered what the papers he had been staring at for so long before he had left were, and why he had been staring so intently at them. She wondered if Mystique had meant for things to go this way from the beginning, for her to leave and for him to take her to Charles Xavier. She doubted it—Mystique had been planning revenge against Magneto, but she had already spoken less than fondly of Charles Xavier as well. Yet Mystique had left, abruptly and without explanation. Just like that. And she had just been talking about getting people back into the house this morning, so it had taken Wanda completely off guard. She felt... she knew she should be angry at Mystique for leaving like that, but anger wasn't the biggest issue at the moment. It felt like she had been abandoned, and it did not agree with her. She felt worse than angry. She was too unsure of her future now to be angry. She felt...lost. And all Mystique had done was merely tell her that Pietro was in Bayville.

Pietro...

She was not going with Lance for any reason other than the fact that she could not remain here alone. Realistically speaking, she simply could not make it alone. This was for survival.

She was not going with him to see him. She wasn't going to see him at all. This was for survival. She hated him.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she glanced at the guitar standing against the stairs, next to her. He had so carefully placed the guitar there, affection for the instrument visible to even her. She wondered why it was so important to him, how a mere possession could bring such fond caution in a person. Then again, maybe that was normal, and she just didn't know because she hadn't had any material possessions in such a long time. She had been locked up for so long... by that monster. And Pietro... Pietro had never tried to rescue... but perhaps he hadn't been able to... no, he had never gone against their father's wishes. He stood against her, just like their so called father. He was just like him. She hated their monster of a father, and she hated Pietro just as much for letting the monster lock her up. She did. He wouldn't have changed. He couldn't have changed. People didn't change. She hated him. She did.

She wasn't going to see him.

She was alone now. She had no where to turn to, no one to rely on. Agatha Harkness had left the day before. Mystique had abandoned her without as much as a coherent explanation, only leaving her with advice to get help from this Avalanche, who apparently would be able to take her to Charles Xavier… who had already visited her before, proving to be less than effective in getting her out of the asylum, which made her question his help now… but at least she did know him. Avalanche—Lance, as he had said—seemed decent and genuine in his efforts to help her, which was a foreign idea in itself. But he had said he was friends with... Pietro. Why did everything go back to Pietro?

...or rather, why did she keep thinking back on Pietro.

…he couldn't have changed.

She wasn't going to see him. Regardless of her presently lost situation, regardless of everything, she was not going to see him.

People didn't change.

She wasn't going to see him.

...not just to see him, anyway.

"Lance Alvers." he repeated. "Avalanche."

Logan hadn't ever really noticed the teen being bothered by his choice of address, but he could tell that right now, the issue mattered.

A lot.

"All right. Lance. Tell me the truth- what were you going to do?"

"...I was going to run off. But I don't have to anymore. Mystique... Mystique came back. But she... Wanda's waiting for me. I need to bring her here so she can meet Professor Xavier and ask if she can live here. Can I tell you everything after that?"

It took him a moment to first accept the straight answer, as he had been expecting more avoidance. Then it took him another second to realise that Lance had just said that Mystique was back. Then the last second at the mention of the name—Wanda.

"Wanda? Magneto's daughter?" The same Wanda that Charles had mentioned about the asylum break out, the same Wanda that Charles had been worried for. So Mystique had been involved.

"Pietro's sister. She's at the Boarding House. I promised to pick her up. Scott and everyone are back right? I'll take Scott's car and-"

He nodded, starting towards the garage. "I'm coming with you."

The statement seemed to first startle, then disappoint the teen. "I'll be back, I swear, Wolverine."

He shook his head, not having meant the misunderstanding.
"I know, Lance. I'm not going because I don't trust you to come back. Charles has been worried about Wanda—he knows her. We'll take the X-van."