Well, if you're interested where I got my inspiration for 'it' - PS, 'it' was the kiss - check on Youtube under 'the nanny a kiss is just a kiss part 2'.

Now, here's the next chapter, hope you all haven't died from suspense. Though you might from this chapter.

Chapter 35

Vincent flipped through his many, many sketches of the Thief girl, trying very, very, hard not to think about today's incident. So she had kissed him – she had done it to make a point.

But he couldn't help but ask himself many very confusing questions. Had she used her powers on him? Had she awakened these strange feelings in him? Would she have done the same thing if James had challenged her? Did she do this to everyone?

Damn male hormones!

"You look like you got somethin' on your mind," Bishop said from where he was reading the sports section of the newspaper.

"I's not'in'."

"Really?" mused the big man. "That why you didn't say two words at dinner, couldn't remember how much James owes you, and jumped when Noelle brushed against you?"

At that moment, Vincent decided he truly hated perceptive adults. They thought they knew everything – granted they usually knew a lot more than he did… he cut off that thought before it could go any farther. He grunted at Bishop and went back to going through the sketches.

Okay, this was not helping him. Staring at drawings of the girl who had so efficiently screwed with him was not a good way to get her out of his head, but the deadline for the art competition was sneaking up as Miss Fiennes was so sweetly reminding him. March 14th was getting closer by leaps and bounds and he hadn't even started painting.

Less than one month!

Yeah, yeah, this was safer to think about than…

The scenery around him dissolved and he was suddenly watching someone sprint across a rickety, rotten looking wooden roof with a gang of bigger figures running after him.

No, no it wasn't a him. It was a her. It was the Thief girl, but younger and slenderer than she was now. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and was running like hell.

Vincent recognized the tall gangly blond kid at the head of the pack chasing her. It was him…a younger him.

He watched as the mini-Thief froze as an ominous creak and crack sounded from under her feet. Then the portion of the roof she was standing on simply folded in and she fell, a short sharp scream escaping her. Even as she was plummeting, he found that his view of the event had abruptly changed – he was now falling with her, so close he could see the utter panic on her face, then the oddest look of calm – even of boredom – and finally an expression of outright shock as she stopped falling.

His heart stuttered – this was how her flight powers had manifested!

Before he could see anything more he found himself flat on his back gasping as though he had been the one falling through the air.

"Vincent? Kid? You okay?"

Bishop was shakily pushing himself to his feet from where he had fallen out of his chair.

"Not dead," Vincent groaned in answer. "Wha' da hell was dat?"

"You tell me, that kid chasing mini-Noelle was you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, well, da's a long story-"

Professor Xavier's voice thundered out. Everyone! To my –

And then he saw clear as crystal a group of men forcing an emaciated Sofya Rasputin onto an examining table. They were saying things, but his hearing was muffled – like he had stuffed them with cotton – and laughing with cruel looks on their faces as they strapped her down.

One of them took out the biggest knife he had ever seen – it looked a bowie knife – and sliced into Sofya's arm. She screamed silently, but the knife made no impression in her skin.

For almost ten minutes Vincent stood there watching as the bastards kept trying to make her bleed to no avail. Sofy's mutant ability made her skin literally unbreakable and her bones and muscles completely invulnerable – but she could still feel each and every injury as it was given. Indestructibly painful.

Then he was out on the floor again before he was catapulted into another scene. Sarah was chained, struggling and awake, to a table as a team of white clad scientist-looking guys gathered around her and cut into her arms. Her mouth opened in a shriek and she writhed as they sliced deeper and spread the skin away from the wound until they reached her two bone claws.

But wait a second. Sarah had three claws – the same as Logan – it was Miss Laura who had two… Miss Laura who looked just like her daughter.

Oh no – that couldn't be…

Now they were pulling the bone claws from her arms – ignoring her obviously terrible cries – yanking callously.

No – now he was watching a small blonde tugging her mother's arm as the tall woman tried to go out of the door. She didn't want her mother to go, but the woman spoke quietly to her, kissed her on the cheek and left.

Then the girl was staring at a destroyed car sitting in a lot and then she was standing in a cold white room with a slender man as a hospital orderly quietly pulled a sheet over the woman's head. It was now that Vincent recognized the little girl. It was Bridget.

The world dissolved and he was standing in a huge cathedral, looking on as his mother strode along in a wedding dress, her arm possessively looped through the arm of an intensely unhappy looking man. A tall man with unmistakable demonic eyes – red irises on black sclera. And then his mother was all in black tearing through the family home, her mascara running.

His heart twisted. This must have been his mother's wedding and when his uncle, father, or grandfather had been murdered.

At last the sight of Belladonna melted away and he was left on Bourbon Street as his mother stumbled out of a bar, her arms wrapped around a shadowed man even taller than Gambit had been. Whoever it was – he supposed his father – was dressed in red and had his mouth pressed against his mother's…

And then that was gone and he was watching as a hard eyed woman thrust a younger version of the little girl Allison into a dark basement, her mouth forming the words "Monster!".

Then he watched as a little person made of fire came tearing through a market place, people in Middle Eastern garb screaming and hurling rocks after her.

The Japanese Sayuri trying to saw her raven wings off with a kitchen knife –

A younger James was showing a woman with his blue eyes a fistful of dancing flames –

The Thief boy swinging his leg over his gorgeous red motorcycle –

What he was pretty sure to be WWII Normandy D-Day –

And then it was over.

All over.

Everyone, came the Professor's voice after a few tense minutes. Report to the dining room immediately.

By the time he and Bishop had made it to the dining room, most of the others were already there, each looking very shaken.

Monica sat beside James Allerdyce, leaning her head on his shoulder, and as a testament to his exhaustion, the Brit didn't even seem to notice. The Thief boy came in with an arm around a deathly pale Sofy who wouldn't stop rubbing her arms. Miss Laura was sitting very still, her son Adam in her lap and her husband and daughter flanking her with their arms over her shoulders. Logan had a muscle twitching in his jaw. When the Thief girl showed up with her brood, Fatima made a beeline to her adopted brother and clambered in his lap. Allison just stood very still by the Thief, tears trickling steadily down her face.

Professor Xavier was sitting very still and serious at the head of the dining room table, surrounded by the teachers, some of the older students, and a very shaken Bridget.

"You all noticed Bridget's newest power, I presume?"

"And what power is that?" Alexei asked. "Was she the one to make us see all those… things?"

"You all know that my power is to see things?" Bridget said quietly from where she was hunched over in her chair. "Now it has evolved in such a way that it is now possible for me to project my visions to others." She bowed her head. "My sincerest apologies, I did not foresee it being so terrible for all of you."

No one said anything.

"I had my first vision when I was eleven. I saw my mother was going to be in a car crash and that she would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. When I told her, she didn't believe me. She left and that afternoon her car was hit by a drunk – her chest was crushed and she died almost instantly. It wasn't long after that that I realized that blatantly telling others of my knowledge worsened the events that would befall them.

"Since then, I have been careful to speak only in riddles of what I know. But now… I was wrong… my visions were to be in March… I did not foresee this…" Her voice shook and slow tears began to make their way down her cheeks.

"It is quite alright, Bridget," the Professor said kindly. "Why don't you go and lie down?"

"I cannot before saying this," the Swiss girl looked up and gave them each a piercing look. "From here the tides will turn deadly. Blood calls to blood, even blood hidden by the red and the insanity and the lies and manipulation. Truth will be shown and I will be there to confirm what is already deeply known. The Mardi Gras awaits. Do not neglect the school carnival."

With those highly confusing words, she nodded to each of them, with a murmured, "Je vais monter te tout à demain, Vincent Boudreaux. S'il vous plait, ne fais pas quelque chose bête." And then she left the room.

"What did she say?" Jayden Daniels asked.

"She was talkin' ta Vincent," the Thief girl said. "Don' worreh 'bout it."

"I am worrying about it," Cyclops said in his snooty, asshole leader voice. "Now what did she say?"

"It is illogical to ask such things, Scott," Tessa said from where she was standing with Bishop. "According to Bridget, that has a high probability of worsening the coming situation. If she had wanted everyone to know what was said, she would not have said it in French."

"Sage is right," Xavier said firmly. "Leave it alone, Scott. I suppose you are all going to the Mardi Gras festival tomorrow, aren't you?"

Noelle wrinkled her nose at the pathetic streamers, beads and masks that decorated the booths in the school carnival. This was just sad. Even after hurricanes tore through New Orleans, floats, music, and parties raged all through the night. There was just something about it that the North just couldn't replicate – she guessed it to be the Southern everything.

All of the older students were here, prowling through the rows of carnival games and cheap rides. They were all on edge, watching for whatever it was that Bridget had foreseen.

Bridget who had been sedated after waking up screaming three times last night and was thus asleep at the Institute. Bridget who was not around to point out what had been in her visions.

The Cajun sighed deeply and thought longingly of the warm dark shadows of New Orleans. They were a lovely thought when contrasted to the idiotic frigid gaudiness of Bayville's Mardi Gras carnival – but to be fair, all of the people on the planning committee had been Northerners who had never been in the midst of the madness in a true New Orleans party.

They couldn't know what the real thing was like.

She passed Alexei watching several overweight football players try the strength game, looking rather amused. The Russian could probably throw the entire machine into the air, never mind hit the bell. Then there was Alana at the side show, looking at the bearded lady. As if she couldn't turn herself into creepier and crazier things with barely a thought.

It was really quite amusing to see people try and show off when there were those among them who could outdo them without breaking a sweat.

Going on, she paused in front of a small, local band rocking out on a modest sized stage. They were actually quite good and her head nodded along with the beat. Strobe and rave lights flashed everywhere, lighting the crowds pink and green and blue.

Then there was a moment of solid darkness as the band's song came to its climax only to light up in a blinding array of white light.

Rolling her eyes at this, the young Thief tried to force the purple spots away from her eyes as she fought her way from the flock of people hurrying to scream praises at the musicians. It didn't take very long to extract herself from the chaos, but as soon as she did, she got a nasty feeling that something very problematic was coming.

She shifted her shoulders inside her leather jacket, sauntering over to a nice bit of shadows to pinpoint the source of this unsettling sensation. Her eyes darted around, eyesight exceptionally good even in the dark.

It was getting closer…

Noelle opened her senses to feel what it was.

Wait.

Wasn't that…?

Oh shit, not tonight of all nights!

She whipped around to face Vincent Boudreaux.

Vincent had been prowling around the backs of the stalls giving out food and stupid replications of Mardi Gras beads, games, and fortune tellers, watching out for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing wrong here, except for idiot New Yorkers trying to replicate New Orleans. He growled – damn, how he missed his city!

Still in a nasty mood, he made his way to the blast of music that he could swear was making the air rattle. The beat wasn't too bad and he climbed up a wobbly flight of stairs that led up to a palm reader's little trailer.

Looking out over the teenagers rocking out, he spotted the Thief girl in the crowd, watching the band with a slightly interested expression. The lights suddenly cut out then came back on and he was abruptly looking at her, all lit up from the lights and her cross gleaming gold-white.

And then it clicked.

His heart stuttered to a stop. He couldn't take his eyes away from the cross around her neck, even as she moved away. In his head he kept hearing a little girl's voice saying, D'accord, Ah come an' give it back ta y'!... A bientôt, mon ami…

He saw clear as day the little girl waving goodbye to him from her porch, his cross around her neck… the cross that was now on the Thief girl's neck.

He had given it to that child as a gesture of friendship and thanks – it had seemed right at the time and his mother had said it was a fine gesture for a future Guildmaster – and now this Thief was wearing it openly before him!

Had been wearing it for months – ever since he had come here! Had she known? Did it really mean chickenshit if she had known or not?

His hands started to shake. The bitch had taken it from the little girl – he could just see her picking through the bodies and snatching the bit of gold from the small, vulnerable limp body – like the Thief she was.

A Thief. Just like his mother had told him – and he had actually started to think that maybe these Thieves might not be so bad! That they might even be actual people!

That she was beautiful.

She was a whore and a target.

To hell with what was going to happen to him. It was time to end this.

No more plans.

Vincent leapt over the railing and landed with absolute silence. He had been letting himself go soft. This was not his home – this could never be his home.

It took little time to find her in the shadows of a nearby booth and he wasted no time in diving on her, throwing up the mental wall he had been practicing against her empathy. She spun around, her emerald-silver eyes gleaming brilliantly in the darkness even as she fell backwards onto the cold, hard ground and threw her legs up. He allowed the momentum of his leap and her legs to carry him through the air. He rolled expertly, managing to twist as he hit the dirt to come up to face her.

The Thief was making no move against him. She looked livid in fact. "Wha' da hell're y' doin', Vincent? Dis ain' da tahme fo' dis! Cain' y' wai-"

"T'ief!" he hissed at her like a curse.

Her hands plunked down onto her hips. "Oui, je le suis. Now wha' da hell is yo' problem?"

He darted forwards, heedless of anything but that he had to at least get the cross off her neck – didn't want her bleeding all over it.

And so they fought and Vincent realized that all of her clever, fierce moves in the Danger Room was nothing compared to what she was showing him right now. He had to be careful; he knew she was trying to get him to injure her just enough to render her invincible.

A bientot, mon ami!

Vincent's hand flashed out and he caught the Thief's wrist and for the first time, he landed her lightly and firmly on her back. Straddling her body and pinning her struggling body on the ground, he could feel her powers mercilessly hacking at his emotions, trying to render him calm, but he was too lost in his fury to lose now.

The image of the little girl's face was flashing in his head and he snapped his uncle's knife into a ready position. On a sudden whim, he used the blade to raise the cross and its chain from her neck.

"Where'd y' get dis?"

Her answer made him choke. "Y' gave it ta moi."

"Quoi?"

"Y' gave it ta une petite fille, oui? 'Bout fahve years old? Big grey-green eyes? She pulled y' outta da canal an' took y' home." She smiled wanly at him. "Am Ah gettin' warmer?"

"Yo' lyin'." He made to stab her.

"Still got mon frère's shoes? If y' gon' take da cross back, c'n Ah have da shoes?"

His hand froze. She was lying. That was what Thieves did!

She could have found out in any number of ways – there were spies everywhere in New Orleans! He was going to end this now –

"That is enough."

And quite suddenly they weren't at the Bayville High School Mardi Gras carnival. They were in the front yard of an old French Quarter style house.

Vincent's mouth fell open and his grip slackened on the Thief. He sat up to stare at the house – this was the little girl's house.

"Wha' da hell're we doin' heah?" the Thief girl murmured.

"I brought you here, Noelle LeBeau," said Bridget Defour, appearing a little ways away. "Vincent Boudreaux, did I not tell you to do nothing stupid? Did I not tell you that I would show and explain everything?

"Now please get up off of Mademoiselle LeBeau and watch."

He didn't move, just watched as the door to the house opened and an older version of the Thief boy – this one equipped with demonic eyes – came out with a familiar little girl.

"It is time you see something very important."

Back at the Xavier Institute, Laura was sniffing at Bridget's empty hospital bed as a cell phone started to ring.

She heard the ringing stop, Bishop answer, and then a loud and ringing roar of "WHAT!"

Well, thought the former HYDRA assassin. That never means anything good.

And the truth shall be revealed!

Don't worry, I am NOT giving up updating for Lent (obviously). I don't have that kind of discipline.

Now REVIEW please!

Je vais monter te tout à demain, Vincent Boudreaux. S'il vous plait, ne fais pas quelque chose bête. – "I will show you everything tomorrow, Vincent Boudreaux. Please, don't do anything stupid."

Oui, je le suis – "Yes, I am"