Disclaimer: I won't have your rules. They're all mine. Enough said.

Author's Note: I think this is it.






Space and Privacy Part Four




Here's the thing: I never did finish that stupid report. At least, not on time. 'Course, you probably don't remember that, mainly because you probably don't care. But there was this thing I had to write for History class, this crappy little thing that I didn't even want to do in the first place. You can't even blame me though. I got a little distracted because of IT (that's how I refer to it now; IT. if you haven't got a clue what IT is, I'm not explaining again. Sorry).

The paper did get finished, though it may have been a teensy bit late (like, try 3 days) Anyway, it went a little something like this (it's about Russia or some junk):



"Catherine the Great was this ruler who lived a really long time ago over in Russia. She really supported the Arts, like dancing and stuff, and made her country really cultured. But all her people were really hungry and poor, only she didn't know. It's not like she didn't notice or anything, it's just her advisors wouldn't tell her. It's kinda like the deal with that French lady who got beheaded, and said, 'Let them eat cake'. Only Cathy didn't know they were starving in the first place (more about that later). The only reason they called her 'great' was of all the good things she did for culture and stuff..."



Trust me, it doesn't get much better. Oh, and the teach didn't much appreciate my lack of, uh, research, either. He's on this big 'homework' kick...I kind of failed.

No big deal, really. I fail things all the time. It's a part of life. Deal with it, move on.

Unfortunately, I can't say the Professor agrees with my flawless philosophy. I was planning on you know, NOT letting him find out. As I said before, this wasn't exactly a one time thing. He'd flip the wig he didn't have if he found out.

I overlooked the fact the guy is a friggin' TELEPATH.

So he didn't ground me. What was the good, he reasoned out loud, when I never seemed to learn anything either way? Instead, he said to me, "Jubilee, I think that the problem is you need to work on your discipline..." Blah, blah, blah. Bottom line is, I got stuck with the chores. Oh, but that doesn't sound so bad, right?

Obviously, you've never lived in a house with ten people at one time. Messy, sloppy, terrible people. And I'd be damned if I wasn't one of them!

Luckily, I got off pretty easy. The Prof. Handed me a list, which, though it looked long,, was filled with short stuff.



Dust: while a pain in the ass, not so hard. A child could do it (and I was sooo not a child)

Sweep front hall, kitchen, parlour...it goes on and on and on: easy. A little sneezy, but easy. (heh, that rhymed)

Empty all the wastebaskets and take out trash: Oh, hell. Do you have any idea how much garbage we make in one week? Save that one for last.

Take inventory of kitchen cupboards: Oh I just KNOW he did that one just to spite me.



It took me all afternoon to stock up everything in that stupid cupboard. Fifteen minutes, combined, on the dusting and sweeping, and three hours to take everything out, write it down, and put it back. Not to mention the stuff I had to throw out (I found a jar of marmalade I think was older than Wolvie). But, I succeeded!

Mind you, I was more than a little pissed when I remembered I still had to empty all those trashcans. Everybody was out back, eating their lovely barbecued food. Yes, barbecue! We like, never get to barbecue. I swear, the old guy is out to get me. Or, just really, really piss me off.

By the time I had actually gotten to the second floor, I had counted fourteen baskets I had emptied. That's just plain ridiculous. Okay, so maybe at this point I was in a very unforgiving mood but really! Fourteen, people! One floor! Is anyone else noticing a slight overkill?

Remy's room, fifteen. 'Ro's room, sixteen. Jean and Scott's (codenames Priss and Spanky, don't ask), seventeen and eighteen. Hall, nineteen. Add three more, for the other rooms and an oddly placed one near the stairs (can anyone say NEAT FREAK?) and figured it was downhill from here, baby. Just one more: Logan's room.

Goody! How much junk can a ghost make in one week, anyway? I was beginning to doubt he even existed anymore. He never showed up at meals, never watched TV (which really had me worried, since I, personally, can go no longer than a day), and never tried to talk to anybody. Not even me! Right now, he was probably off doing something on his own, or being drunk. Normally, I wouldn't be too worried, since all of this wasn't exactly uh, unusual. Yeah, I should be more concerned if he started to take up tap dancing, or dressed in pink. But you see, I KNEW.

Those two had no idea I knew. For all their superhero background, they're not the most observant pair on the planet. I can understand Jean; I've always had a sneaking suspicion she paid more attention to her reflection than to most conversations. But Logan, man, I expected better. You'd think you'd notice if someone was watching your every move. But, alas, Wolvie was far too busy watching someone else's every move. Oh, and if you can guess that someone, you're no rocket scientist, sorry.

ANYWAY it's my very last stop, because I'm sick and tired of doing all this cleaning. The professor should thank me for being so good about cleaning his million-year-old pantry. If I were him, I'd give me a twenty to boot. But, you know how it is, me and ol' Chuck aren't always on the same wavelengths.

Now see, Logan's room is new territory. I swear, it's like stepping into a whole other house. Every other place in the house has this normal feel to it (except Hank's-too creepy mad scientist for me). But (insert sigh here) Logan's taken three years to get his room to look lived in. Anything in there is there because he has no where else to put it. Personal touches? Not unless you count jack knives or the three (total) outfits in his closet.

Cautiously I make my way to the tiny trashcan. Hey, a bookshelf, that's new. Whoa, and books. Hey...maybe I should be worried, even though from what I can see of the closet, we haven't got any pink yet. I lean over to grab the first book I see. "Lord of the Flies." Yeah, I was supposed to read that one for Lit. class. Key word: supposed.

I lost my balance while trying to level out on one foot, with one elbow against the bookcase and, my arm trying to clutch the wastebasket. I'm sure no one heard the thud that follow as I fell, the clang as the metal trashcan hit off the bed, and I hope no one heard my profanity-laced battle cry as I saw the entire contents spilled out across the floor.

I attempted to stand up, which was difficult with a trashcan tangled up in your bracelet (stupid Remy- he always teased me about my huge bangles...bracelets, people, bracelets). I threw it across the room, where it clattered into something hanging on the wall. I'm sure Logan would appreciate my redecorating; this would knock off months of trying to get that pile of junk to tumble just right.

Grumbling, I crawled over and began stuffing the stuff into Jubilee's magic sack of crap (my affectionate nickname for my garbage bag of wonders). I picked up a small scrap of paper and unravelled it.

"Ooh, Pearl, 867-5309!" I laughed, wondering what the poor girl had gotten herself into. Well, probably not much, considering her number was thrown way. What a burn, man.

I found a receipt for a pair of boots, a library card, and three separate newspapers. I chucked in another handful of crap before I noticed a little envelope.

"How cute, Wolvie has a girlfriend," I cooed, picking it up and growing increasingly tempted to look at it. It was folded, so I thumbed it open. And actually gasped.

I didn't think people still gasped in this day and age. I mean, I figured actual 'gasping' was reserved for lottery winners and soap opera characters. Nonetheless, I gasped.

Though smudged, and torn, and obviously a little old, there it was scribbled on the front: Jeannie. Holy crap, this was all too familiar. Didn't I tape this back? I wondered frantically as sat rock solid with raised eyebrows. Is this even the same one? Is it my lucky day or what?
No! No, that would be wrong, to open this now. If I resisted once, I could it again, right? Well, no! Because trying something just once is enough for me. Golly I wanted to open this right now and oh my God I just said golly and thank God no one is around to hear me!

I carefully weighed my options, you know, the pros and cons. A pro was that it would very good to know what I failed that paper for. A con is the whole 'privacy' issue. Hmm. Oh well, I thought, hypocrisy suited me just fine!

I heard footsteps down the hall and, without realizing what I was doing, stuffed the envelope into my back pocket. Sure enough, Logan stepped in with a frown and his face (See! I knew I had nothing to worry about! He's back to normal!).

"What are ya doin' in here, kid?"

"Err, I got stuck with chores, and whatnot, I'm...cleaning." I jumped up, after stuffing the remaining mess into my magic sack in a big kind of hurry. "But, I'm done now, so I'll be going!" I practically dove for the door.

"Seya later, kid," I heard him say behind me. Which, I'm sure, was followed by, "She gets weirder every day," or something to that effect.

I left my trash bags outside to be picked up and paused in the doorway for a moment. For the last five minutes I had been working on auto-pilot, not really thinking about what I was doing. Now, it was me again. My hand drifted to my back pocket...

"Hello, Jubilation." I whipped my hand away. It was only Ororo.

"Oh, hey, how's it hanging?" I replied, my mind completely somewhere else. She paused, giving me an odd glance, before smiling in that damned serene way she has.

"We're all out back, if you wished to join us."

'Oh yeah, sounds great, be right there," I assured her as she went on her way. I slapped my forehead. Did I actually just ask 'Ro how it was hanging? Honestly, sometimes my coping skills leave much to be desired.
I went outside.

Grabbing a plate and serving myself, I noticed that everybody was already done. With the exception of Bobby, who seemed to be on at least his third helping, as usual. I sat down beside him and Kitty.

"Hey pipsqueak," he greeted between chews. I glared at him. I was only like, two inches shorter than him.

"Hey Jubes, where have you been all day?"

I snapped my attention to Kitty, who was sipping thoughtfully on her Coke. "Chores," I answered. "All day long, I just worked my butt off."

"That's horrible! I mean, you don't have much of a butt to begin with-" Kitty and I both slapped his head at the same time. "Ow! Geez, take a joke, huh?"

"Was it because of that paper?" Kitty asked me, currently ignoring one Robert Drake.

I nodded. "Maybe you should write all my homework from now on," I laughed.

Bobby shook his head solemnly. "I already tried, Jubes, and she can't be bought. Ow, what was that one for?"

"Now I remember why I hate sitting at the lunch table with this guy," Kitty muttered under her breath. Bobby frowned and jumped off the table.

"Well, I can tell when I'm not wanted," he said crisply, walking away.

"Poor guy," I rolled my eyes.

"Don't worry, he's just getting more food."

The envelope was burning a hole in my back pocket. I was so tempted to run up to my room and read it all now. But at that moment Bobby returned, with a little army in tow.

"Hey y'all, who's up for a trip to town?" John did a little dance to inspire us all. Marie just laughed and walked over to our side.

"Forgive me, I put the idea in their heads," Marie whispered to me.

"Well, that sounds okay. C'mon Jubes, let's go." Kitty nudged my side.

I shook my head. "Nah, I got homework..." I started.

"Don't be such a dork. I'll help you with it later. Promise." She grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet.

"Okay, fine," I agreed reluctantly. "We can go."

Bobby held out his hand expectantly, with that stupid grin of his. "Keys, please." I pursed my lips and handed them over, having begun the habit of carrying my keys instead of leaving them where Popsicle knew they were.




As I'm sure you already assumed, I have a pretty hectic, fun filled, busy life (roll your eyes and DIE, bub), and two days passed by before I remembered the sorry-looking letter, sticking out unwisely from my math book. Funny, I never put it there. Then again, I also didn't spend a cool twenty last week on a pair of hoop earrings, so let's just say it was likely I just had a lousy memory.

I slipped unnoticed into the bathroom, cleared a space on the cluttered counter for myself (I always meant to mention this to Kitty, but I never did. After all, half the mess was mine...). My shining example of a roommate was playing tennis this afternoon, if I had heard correctly at breakfast (um, I don't usually listen. As much as I love 'er, she goes on and on and...). I should have the room to myself for at least ten minutes (which is like, a God-sent).

Hmm. What WAS that insistent little humming at the back of my brain? Oh, right. My conscience. Honestly, if I liked her, I'd talk Jean into wiping it clean away for me. I wished it would shut up. For cryin' out loud, I knew it was wrong to peek into other people's private thoughts. That's why I was doin' it!

La la la, look at me! Opening the envelope! Taking the letter out! Snapping it open with a flick of my hand! The little prick in the back of my mind stayed quiet. Wimp.

As I (frantically...hesitantly...etc...use your imagination) scanned over the pages, amazed at how much dirt was in these pages (well, the stuff I could pick out anyways).

And no, I am not going there, so don't ask me to tell you what was written. Remember the problem about having no privacy? Well, the golden rule applies here. Come on. Even I have limits.

But...I guess I'm not crossing the line if I IMPLY what was scribbled on the page...okay, okay, if you're twisting my arm and all.

Here's the gist of it: he was sorry (for what exactly, I don't know, details are sketchy) and he knew she was sorry too (yeah, I know, but really, it got foggier by the sentence). All this high drama took place during some...weekend, I'm guessing? Geez, I can hardly even pick out these words! Okay, okay, priorities, Jubes! Let's see, blah, blah, blah, some dangerously mushy crap I'd rather not repeat, and...ah, here we go, the last sentence:



Here's hoping I never gotta write something like this again, Red.



It wasn't signed, and only had a scribbly L covering the tiny space left at the page end.

And here I was thinkin' I didn't have a reason to worry about that guy, I thought to myself as I crumbled the paper to a ball and considered flushing it down the toilet. No, that wouldn't work. Clogged drain rises suspicion. The last thing I need when I just intercepted the biggest find in ions.

So I stuff the THING in my jeans pocket (which was totally proving itself in usefulness) and run a hand into my short anyway hair. Professor's words running through my head.

With great power comes great responsibility...

Or, Jubilee's version: with a wicked burn comes one helluva guilt trip.

This all goes back to the primal urge I have to refuse to leave well enough alone. It's too bad I never listened to the stupid cat who got killed when he was too curious. Always seemed to me that he just didn't cover his tracks well enough.

I crept downstairs, practically keelin' over from my hunger. I skipped dinner. The light was off in the kitchen, and it's only ten o'clock. Normally, I'd find this funny, because I live with a buncha grandmas who have to tuck in early. But needless to say, I was a little too preoccupied to think about how lame my friends are.

I grab a Coke out of the fridge (I realize our leftovers suck, so I was pretty much screwed either way) and gulp down half the can. Caffeine is so right.

I hear the roar of a motorcycle getting closer to the house, and wince. I was not in a mood to look at Wolvie now. Funny, you'd think I'd want to fire Q's in his face, but uh-uh. I was gonna be just as lame as the rest of the house and go to bed. I skip out to the closest set of stairs.

"Hey kid," I hear behind me.

I wince before turning around, still on the third stair. "Oh, hey Logan."

He was walking into the kitchen. "Turnin' in so early?"

Reluctantly, I followed him as far as the doorway. "I had a...rough day."

He's at the fridge, probably getting' a beer (as if he hadn't drunk enough the whole night). "Oh yeah?" I can't say it was a real question; more like an uninterested response. To Logan, my rough days consisted of bad hair or a sold out Blink 182 concert. To him, the only person who can REALLY have a bad day is, well, him. He can be pretty full of himself if he puts his mind to it.

"Yeah," I answer back. I step further into the room. "I read the strangest letter today."

He kinda grunted in response. "One of your weird buddies, I spose?"

No, Jubes, don't do it, a voice said inside my head said. Oddly enough, it was the same voice that got me into this whole mess in the first place.

"Um, no. No one you know." I threw my half-full Coke into the trash and tried to hurry up to my room. I slid the note into one of the books lying on my desk (who ever reads books anyway?) and actually went to bed.

Crisis averted.




"Are you sure you didn't unknowingly sacrifice your, like, brain to science, or something?"

I ignored Kitty's whine and shifted so my back faced her. "Yeah, well, we can't all be born child prodigies," I muttered, rolling my eyes for, like, the millionth time that day.

"Excuse me?" Kitty (being the patient, kind, good friend she is) stood up and dropped my books onto the couch. "Look Jubes, I'm not gonna help you if you're moody, got it?"

"Don't be such a whiner, Kitty," I replied, concentrating on finishing the world's smallest paper airplane. "You're the one who promised to help me with this junk."

Kitty nodded, and looked around the empty room. "Yeah well, the first step is to help yourself." She made a little huff and walked out.

Ugh. She had been listening to those self-help tapes again. I knew I shoulda destroyed them when I had the chance.

"So what they got ya studyin' nowadays?" Logan had sauntered into the room and nearly brought my Diet Coke back to haunt me. He picked up the stack of books Kitty had (unfairly) left behind. I think it was my English text.

"Crap," I answered. "I hate school."

"Yeah, well..." he drifted off. I braced myself for a lecture on how important school was for a young mind like myself (yup, even wild rebel Wolverine has his moments. He's totally awful at lectures, trust me).

But instead, he was quiet for a moment. "What is this?"

I turned and half expected him to have found some failing grade. But what he held wasn't an F. It was the letter.

You ever get the feeling that your lungs suddenly took a vacation? Well then, you know how I felt just then. "Wolvie, I-"

"This is mine."

Man, when he had a point, he had a point. "Yes, I know, if you'll let me explain..."

"What the fuck are you- did you read it?" He was standing in the same position, looming over me as I shrank into my chair.

I nodded slowly, "Yes." He's so still, but I can practically see his raging thoughts inside.

"So you went into my room and went through my stuff-"

"No! I didn't. I was cleaning out the trash, and I just sort of - found it." Damn it, it sounded so much better in my head!

"What made you think you could take it!"

"You were going to throw it out anyway." I muttered under my breath, which he, OF COURSE, heard anyway.

"So that makes it okay? Because I threw it away?" I almost wished he would get mad, really mad, and scream and shout and just... react. The way he was now, with just the hint of the rage in his voice, only flecks of what he was thinking and feeling inside. Oh, fuck.

"Well..." Oh, go ahead Jubes, the voice inside my head said (whose fault this was anyway). He's already pissed as hell. Maybe they'll give you a nice funeral. "Better me than someone else."

"What?" I had given up on eye contact a long time ago. I could only imagine the daggers he was throwin' at me now. "And why is that?"

I summoned up all the guts and bravado (again, television saves the day) and turned my head to face him, wishing I had the hindsight to scribble down some version of a will.

"Because. I already knew."

Logan actually eased up a little, actually seemed amused. "Oh? You did, did ya?"

He didn't believe me, I realized. Before I had time to decide whether or not that was a good thing, my inner voice blurted out, "I found it in Jean's room. Picture and all."

I thought that would do the trick. He seemed to believe me now, though was tryin' hard as hell not to show it. "Oh yeah? How much?"

I wasn't sure what he meant. "What?"

He shook his head, as if deciding against what he wanted to know. "I meant, how long?"

I shrugged, inwardly grateful he wasn't yelling. If I was him, I would be. "I dunno, a couple months?"

"Yeah." He sat down on the couch.

"I didn't tell anybody, if that's what you're, ya know, worried-"

"I ain't worried, darlin'. I trust ya." Well, that was nice. Odd, but nice.

"Guess you're kinda mad at her, then?" I asked softly.

"Who?"

"Jean," I replied.

"Nah," he said coolly.

"But she got me into this whole mess! I even failed my paper because..."

"Wait, you failed somethin'?"

I was not in the mood for Wolvie's big brothering right now. "Don't change the subject. God, this is just like you!" I cried, jumping out of my chair and standing in front of him, hands on my hips in my most intimidating pose. Okay, so maybe not so intimidating, but still!

Logan, now nursing an unlit cigar in his mouth, just nodded. "Sit down before ya hurt yerself, kid." He felt around his pocket for a lighter. "And then we'll talk."

"I don't want to sit down, Logan." I threw my hands up angrily. "You always gotta defend her like that?"

"Who, Jean?" I nodded. "I don't. Yer the one babblin', not me."

"Sometimes, I don't think you even mean to. Why? Why do you do this to yourself?"

He looked annoyed. "Look, I don't need some kid tellin' me what-"

I was so tempted to scream out at the top of my little lungs that I WAS NOT a kid anymore. That I had NOT been a kid for a very long time. But I had better things to yell about. "Logan, listen to me. This isn't healthy."

"Excuse me?"

"Your little obsession with Jean," I said quietly, making sure no one was around before going on. "It's almost scary."

"Shut up, okay? Ya don't know what yer talkin' about."

Too bad for him, but once I got started I wasn't about to stop. "I do, though! I watch you, and I know what all this is." My hair, which normally behaved, was acting as angry as me. "I swear, it's nothing more than a crush. A little schoolboy crush."

I could tell Logan was really trying to keep his cool. I mean, really trying. "You don't know."

"But I do!" I insisted. "You're so fucking infatuated, you can't see the bad things."

"I'm warnin' ya..."

"I bet you can't even name three things you don't like about her. Not three things."

"Fuck, Jubes, I can name a hundred."

"Try me."

"Okay then." He stood and turned away from me, thinking for a good minute before facing me again.
"I...don't like her handwriting." He stuffed a hand in his pocket. "Too curly. Hard to read."

"Excuse me?? Is that the best you can-"

"Lemme finish, will ya?" He growled. Well, this was more like it. "She gets defensive over practically nothing. She can be real petty, and vicious, and mean. And her skull's as thick as plaster..."

"Yeah," I agreed slowly, carefully making sure I understood what he was saying. "And she is kind of a princess."

After a moment, Logan nodded too. "Well, sure..."

"Have you seen how many types of shampoo that woman has?"

"I wouldn't know..."

"And I'm pretty sure she's addicted to Pepsi-"

"Okay, Jubes, I get it." He coughed out a small laugh. "She's yer favourite person, huh?"

I had to laugh a little too. "Oh, yeah. Like, totally." And he didn't even hear the whole list.

The room, which miraculously have remained empty, 'cept for us two, was quiet for a long time. After a big silence, I spoke up.

"Do you remember what you told me once?" I looked down at my feet. "About how love was the toughest thing a person could live through?"

"Nope."

I went on, ignoring his answer. "You sat right across from me, with that gross Canadian beer you always drink, and said that being in love was the most painful thing in the world. Actually, no, it wasn't that. You said that having someone to love was..." I paused. "She won't leave him, you know."

I figured that might be crossing the line, pushing the limit. I was already pretty lucky I still had all my limbs, considering...

"Yeah." He lit his cigar and turned towards the kitchen. "But I love her." He stepped into the other room, and a moment later, I heard the door that lead to the outside shut with a clatter.

I noticed the letter still crumbled on the floor near the chair where I sat. Which kinda made me feel sad.





Things that I Learned Today
by Jubilation Lee

1. A picture only tells a thousand words. To get the whole story, scam the letter later on.

2. Wolvie has the second worst handwriting I have ever seen. He is a surprisingly good speller.

3. Diet Coke was only invented in 1982.

4. As much as I want to, I am no longer allowed to make faces at Jean behind her back. Logan will probably be watching me now.

5. Some things are worth more than they seem. Unfortunately.


Don't ask me why I don't like Jean; I think we both know the answer to that million dollar question (oh, it has nothing to do with her perfect size two wardrobe, but trust me, that doesn't help). I wanna scream when I think how fucking easy she's had it her whole life. Her whole life. All she has to do is sigh and some guy will come to her rescue. I'm 'spose to take comfort in the fact she'll never know what it's like to be independent, to know the 'true satisfaction that comes from within'.

Right. And that helps. Really.

It's so fun being independent. So much fun not having people really care about how you like your toast. So much freakin' fun to have your birthday ignored because you didn't broadcast it for a week before hand.

Yup, that's me. Lotsa fun over here.

I haven't decided if I care anymore or not. I haven't even decided if I want to decide. Why bother, I guess. I mean, someone's probably just gonna yell at me anyway (although...it might be Jean...I've never seen HER mad...). God, this isn't fair.

But if I get started on what unfair, I'll be yakking for days. Weeks, even. I've been told I talk a lot (I totally don't see it).

Oh, but seriously, keep it quiet about all this, okay? I'm already this total hypocrite for blabbing it in the first place. And besides, I could kick your ass any day.

Well, that's it, I guess. I think I have another paper due. No excuse this time, either. Not that I had one in the first place. Well, that all depends on who you ask, I guess...or don't ask, you got it? Keep quiet. I'm in enough crap as it is.

I'm doing it again, ain't I?



THE END