Note: Sorry about this one being so long, but I tried and tried to break it up into two separate chapters without destroying the flow of it, and I couldn't.

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Monet carefully inspected the thick metallic blue wall that was in place around every trained telepath's mind. As long hours of practice with the White Queen taught her, only a psi of unimaginable talent would be able to completely seal off their minds from those who wished to pry into them. That meant there had to be at least one crack in Jono's defenses. She just needed to find it.

Walking slowly and trailing her hand along the wall that seemed more like it was surrounding the borders of ancient Rome than a teenage boy's thoughts, Monet allowed herself a moment to wonder what she had gotten herself into. She wasn't afraid, per se. Not yet, anyway. If Emma found out, as she undoubtedly would, that her two telepathic students were currently engaged in a game of cat and mouse, she would have both of their heads hanging on the wall of her office.

Monet cringed at the image just as she came across a small but workable crack in the wall she was beginning to think was impenetrable after all. A few well placed blows to it and the crack widened enough for her to slip through. She immediately wished she hadn't.

The blunt end of a psychic blade came down hard on her back. She cried out and fell forward onto the floor that wasn't a floor, face down and mind racing frantically. She had never before been engaged in battle on the Astral Plane, as she had always relied on her strength and infinite intelligence to keep things from ever getting that far.

She rolled onto her back to see an unnatural light providing the only illumination in the almost blinding darkness. It shined on a tall, thin figure in silver and black psionic armor that glinted brightly in the light. A pointed helmet shielded her attacker's head and prevented her from getting a clear look at his face, but Monet only needed to take one look at those maniacal brown eyes to see who it was.

"Get out."

Monet would have snorted at the irony of the situation if she wasn't currently scrambling to her feet to dodge another blow that was aimed at her. The time she would expect Jono to use his telepathic speech, he chose to speak in what his true voice would sound like if it was still capable of being used. She wished he would go back to his usual way of communicating; his real voice was softer and warmer than the psionic speech, and still it managed to carry a level of contempt that Monet wasn't even sure hers could.

Once her mind registered what was happening, she sprang to her feet with catlike reflexes, surprised to find all of her powers had been stripped on the Plane save for her telepathy, which immediately presented her at a disadvantage. She had always assumed Jono to be the inferior telepath of the team, but watching him wield the blade in his hands that flickered with the flames of the same energy that kept him alive, she regretfully saw that she had been wrong.

Her own psionic armor was formed as she saw her teammate wasn't going to make this at all easy on her. It was dark red and yellow to match her uniform, and the curves of the metal moved easily against her, mirroring her muscles. She only wished she had any idea as to how to defend herself against the slightly psychotic mutant that stood before her.

"Get out," he repeated, holding the sword out to prevent Monet from making a sudden charge at him. "I warned yer once, Monet."

"I only want to help."

"Don't care. I don't want yer charity," Jono pointed out coldly, eyes narrowing behind the helmet. "Now get out."

"No."

Jono, of all the responses he had been expecting, was not anticipating that one. As it was, he took a moment to recover from the initial surprise of the statement. It was enough to give Monet a split second to catch him off balance. She wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but a sword of her own formed in her grip, and she used it to her benefit. She dove at Jono, and had it not been for his quick thinking in managing to bring up his own weapon, he would have been dealt a mental blow that probably would have kept him unconscious for days.

"Yer....attackin' the wrong one, gel," Jono breathed out in between counters of Monet's moves. "I'm not as ... incompetent as Frost may think."

"So I see." Monet sighed quietly as she found every one of her blows deflected and serving to do nothing but tire herself and add to Jono's anger. "I don't want to hurt you, Jonothon."

"Don't worry about it." Jono hit Monet's blade with enough force to send it clattering against the floor several feet away. He held his own against her throat, daring her to make another move towards him. His left hand reached around to undo the buckles and clasps that held his helmet in place. It fell to the ground noisily, revealing a face that had been completely reformed. Apparently, Monet saw, it took much less concentration to keep himself whole on the Astral Plane than it did in reality, though why he would go to the trouble of doing so when he was so adamantly against anyone invading his mind was beyond her.

"Go, Monet."

Defeated, Monet started to walk away, back to the crack in the wall, when she turned to see Jono standing with his back to her, head down as if he was contemplating the sword in his hand, the flames of it dying as his anger dissipated. "You know, Jonothon, you need help. I'm sure that I am not the first to tell you this, but it is still a true statement. Unlike how others may have meant it, I only mean that you need help to work through whatever it is that's troubling you."

Jono turned at the remark; it was about as heartfelt as Monet was ever going to get, and it had still been insulting. He was too tired to care, however, and he bowed his head in quiet acknowledgment. "I know." It was the last thing he said before his presence winked out and Monet could no longer see him. However powerful Jono may have thought himself to be on the Astral Plane, his own mind was a different matter, as he had left a virtual trail to follow.

Monet was led down the dark corridors by a guide consisting of pained memories and distracted thoughts. They stopped cold outside a closed door, and it suddenly occurred to Monet that she had been walking through a mental representation of her teammate's home. As she expected, the door opened up to reveal a bedroom, a single lamp on in the corner and providing enough of a contrast to the hallway in which she stood that she was forced to blink several times before she could see properly.

Walking into the room, she wasn't at all surprised at what she found. It seemed like the quintessential teenager's room with clothes and CDs scattered across the floor, with enough space cleared out to leave a walkway from the door to the bed, and another one from the door to the closet. Against the left wall was a bed with a rumpled blanket across it, and on top of that sat Jono. The armor was gone, replaced by a pair of jeans that looked to have seen better days and a black sweatshirt with red writing on the sleeves that Monet couldn't see in the dim light of the room.

"So this was your bedroom." It was more of a comment than a question, but Jono nodded nonetheless. "It looks very..." A list of things raced through her mind of what she could say to encourage her teammate. Nice? Interesting? Original? "Messy." That was good.

Jono snorted, letting his head fall back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. "It's funny, in a way. Not in a 'ha ha' way, just weird. I used to 'ate this place. I'd do anything to keep from comin' back 'ere. Now it's kinda like . . . I dunno. Kinda like a safe haven, as corny as that sounds. I come 'ere t'think sometimes."

Monet was tempted to brush off the chair at the desk, then decided against it. She wasn't sure what that was hanging over it, so she figured it was best to leave well enough alone. "And to lock yourself away to present a false image of yourself to the world."

Jono snorted, a strange sound to Monet, who had never heard anything but the monotone psionic speech. "That's funny, too, innit? That yer the only one who even noticed. I think everyone else just assumed I finally lost me mind."

"You have too much control over yourself to ever go insane," Monet noted, looking around the room while her companion spoke.

"I figured puttin' up the act would make everyone leave me alone and keep from guessin' I was 'iding out 'ere. It worked fer a while." Jono shrugged, sinking back into the comfort provided by his heavy sweatshirt. "But why were you the only one who knew wot was goin' on?"

"I am certain Ms. Frost knew all along. Why she didn't do anything about it is anyone's guess." She paused, turning her gaze back upon Jono. "I have evidently found where you've been while you have been acting so odd in reality, but I've yet to see why."

Jono looked down at his hands. "I felt me father die. I didn't just...know it. I felt it."

"How?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's some weird telepathic thing, but I develop some sort of mental link with people I'm really close to. Even though I never was real close to me parents, I ... I had one with 'em. An' I felt Dad die a few days ago." Jono grew quiet and subdued, eyes closing tightly. "And I don't know 'ow ta handle it."

"I know it is hard for you to speak of your feelings with others, but you should have told someone before you decided to lock yourself away in your mind," Monet chastised, making Jono regret not having forcefully blocked her from his head in the first place. "And though you or others may not see it, I do care for my fellow students, including you. You intrigue me, Jonothon."

Jono snorted, wrapping his long, thin arms tighter around himself. "Glad I'm a bleedin' paradox, M. Really."

Monet ignored him. "I reluctantly admit that you are still very much a mystery to me. You are a plethora of emotions, Jono, and in my limited personal dealing with you in the past, I always thought you to waste all of it on your own pain." She stopped to take a breath, pushing a stray hair from her face. "But I see now that I wasn't entirely correct in my assumption. We are quite alike in some respects, Jonothon, in that we both care very much for our friends, despite the fact we are often incapable of showing it. I suspect the same of you."

Jono nodded silently, staring at the floor of his old bedroom, feeling his memories start to overcome him. Much to his surprise, however, he felt Monet reach out a telepathic anchor to keep him grounded in his spot and prevent him from sinking into the false comfort his depression and fear offered. He held onto the anchor gratefully, feeling inclined from debt to continue listening to the girl.

"Did you love him?"

"Wot kinda question is that, Monet? O' course I did."

"While I am undeniably powerful, my telepathic abilities have not yet been fully developed. Even with my somewhat limited capabilities, I can still sense that you are holding something back."

Jono bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood that he could not to do in the physical realm. It coated his mouth and provided a distraction while he gathered his thoughts, trying to think of how he could put emotions into words. "I always thought 'e 'ated me for bein' a mutant, y'know? Didn't speak to 'im for weeks 'fore I left 'cause I ... I was scared, really. Scared o' wot 'e might say. So I kept me distance from 'im." He drew in a deep, trembling breath, never looking up from the floor. "I could 'ear 'is thoughts as 'e was dyin'. A lot of 'em were...'e was wonderin' about me. And none of 'is thoughts were angry or even 'alf as bad as I thought they were. I 'ated the man 'cause I honestly thought he 'ated me. An' I feel awful for it."

"Is that all?"

Jono's head snapped up finally, brown eyes glassy with unshed tears and turning angry. "Wot're you talkin' about?*

"If that is all, Jono, I haven't a clue as to why you've decided to seek refuge here," she gestured vaguely to their surroundings, gaze falling disapprovingly on the cluttered corner in which his guitar and amplifier sat. "Did you love him?"

"Yes."

"And did he love you?"

Jono hesitated, resulting in a slight shrug of his thin shoulders. "I...I guess."

"There is no guessing involved. If he did, you would know it. Did he love you?"

Jono returned his gaze to the floor. "I...Yeah."

"Then you have nothing to condemn yourself for," Monet pointed out, still standing there with the look of perfect calm on her face, hands clasped and folded neatly in front of her. "As I said, there are few things in this world that I cannot deduce correctly. One of those things is your personality. I believed you to always be a selfish, self-absorbed individual who would not or could not see past his own problems."

Jono bit his lip again to keep from calling Monet the epitome of hypocrisy.

"But I see now that I was wrong. You wear your heart on your leather sleeve, Jonothon. One need only look to see it."

The Brit gave a bitter snort, looking up only to turn his attention to the window and staring out at the empty nothingness outside the imaginary room. "I ain't got a heart t'wear, M."

"And there are things to which you do not see the answers as well. You are wrong believing that. You have a heart that is more pure than many of those I know who have a solid heart in their chest." Monet stopped herself for a moment to figure out how to put her next statement in the exact context in which she meant it. "Do you plan on staying in your mind forever?"

"As long as I want."

"Your guilt for what happened to Gayle nearly destroyed you, Jonothon." Jono turned his eyes back to Monet, and for the first time she saw the terror and sorrow that many sleepless nights had imprinted upon them. "You allowed yourself to be nearly driven to the point of madness because of your feelings over what happened to her, and now you find yourself in the same position because of your father. The guilt is hidden away from others, tucked carefully behind biting comments and the black depression you constantly project. You tell yourself that you are fine and that the guilt will leave, and yet still it stays, eating away slowly but steadily at you much as the energy that sustains you. Eventually, it will leave you the empty shell you claim to be. Don't let your guilt over something that may or may not have been prevented concerning your father consume you."

Jono leaned back against the wall, comforted faintly by the soft squeaking of the mattress springs. He remained silent until he noticed Monet start to walk away. "Yer not gonna try t'make me leave?"

Monet turned, her discomfort at the situation beginning to show through the calm demeanor she had managed to keep about her. "As you so often point out to all of us, Jono, it is your life and you may do with it what you will. If you plan to live out your remaining days as someone you aren't and keep your true self hidden away in your mind because you are too afraid to deal with your feelings, then it will be of your own choice."

Jono was not given a chance to reply, as Monet's visage faded from the room. He looked out the window again and sought an answer that would magically make his every complication in life disappear. Finding none, he gave a soft sigh and stretched out on the bed, laying his head down on the pillow that had been so often used in another life. A moment of rest would be all he needed. Just a moment.