;_; God, this took so long to write. For some reason I wanted certain
scenes to fit into the next bit, so they took me forever! Also, I was
listening to a lot of Deftones and Dir En Grey during this, so it might be
a little more violent and harsh than I wanted.
Ah, well. My story. :d
^_^ Feeeeeeeeeeedback?
Onwards!
Copping A Feeling
Chapter Four
[bird's eye view]
The newswoman blankly smiled at the camera and shuffled papers on her desk.
"And now for local matters. There have been no suspects identified as of late in the mystery of the local football captain's injuries. Despite the youth's insistence that the burns suffered were merely an electrical accident, physicians are not convinced that extensive nerve damage could be caused by, as the youth claims, free wires in Shop. Police are requesting that anyone-"
Kurt groaned and lifted the remote to the television, preparing to flip the channel to something a little more interesting. Of course, interesting was merely in the eye of the discriminate beholder, one who vastly preferred the animated high jinks of ReBoot to a dreary monologue of county woes and political plots. At least, to this particular blue furred beholder.
"And *zat* takes care of you!" He bared fangs at the television in a pointy grin and kicked his legs over the end, completely prepared to waste an evening in front of the television. The mutant was not to be disappointed as Matrix and AndrAIa appeared on the screen.
The sprite batted her eyes and rested a slender hand gently on a green one's shoulder, chastising. "Oh, Matrix, you shouldn't be so jealous!"
Matrix, at least, had the sense to be ashamed. His thickly muscled shoulders slumped as he slung Gun away and reached out a hand to cover the other sprite's with his own.
"I-I'm sorry, AndrAIa, I don't know what came over me."
Kurt's tail flicked in amusement, the spade pat-patting on the carpet beside him. God, AndrAIa was a babe. And why did that stupid green oaf have to be so disrespectful towards her?! Kurt bared his teeth again at the television, completely blotting from his mind the presence of an irritating reality, one where *he* couldn't have the girl that *he* wanted.
Damn, Matrix, then, to Silicon Heaven, or wherever the Hell game sprites went.
As footsteps sounded briefly outside the door, he guiltily flicked the television back to the news, not sure exactly *why* he was so hesitant. Rogue stuck her head through the doorway to regard the German sprawled out across the long couch, and he almost thought he could see a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Damn her, too, then. he thought as his long toes twitched involuntarily.
"Ach, Rogue. I didn't know you had returned from ze art seminar."
She had been missing a week, thus absent from Kenneth's dramatic entrance and the mystery of Tom's hand fried like a Hawaiian shish-kabob, supposedly after he had laid a hold of a few bare wires in the Electronics lab at Bayville High. Kurt Wagner found it somewhat difficult to conjure sympathy for the meat-head of a boy. He was a real jewel, in his opinion.
He turned off the TV. "So you know about Mr. Cranky-Pants?"
The girl sauntered across the floor towards the couch, and, getting there, unceremoniously dumped his long blue feet off the side to provide herself with some space on the cushions. "Who?" she asked, and rolled brown eyes as Kurt simply plopped the feet up into her lap. "You mean the new kid? He's not cranky."
Kurt suddenly found something fascinating in the couch's upholstry, and picked at it with a claw.
". . .Not *that* cranky."
Just brilliant, this little piece of fuzz that kept him from looking Rogue in the eyes.
Rogue exploded. "He could be worse! What if he were Logan-cranky?"
Wagner scratched his head ruefully, finally conceding defeat, and rolled back over so they could look face to face. "Vell, . . vell, ja." One couldn't beat that logic. Wolverine was the only mutant that even Kurt's titanium cheerfulness and joking behavior bent before. Shredded, more likely, by a pair of adamanium retractable claws. He sweatdropped.
"Hah." She said, triumphant, and picked the remote from his hand. "My turn to watch." The news magically sprung to life on the television again, and the two teens fell silent, lost in it's flickering light.
Just another night in the Institute
*
The next morning, the entire kitchen was surprised as Kenneth rolled around, groggy and bleary. He stumbled through the kitchen, fully dressed in(what else?) the same clothes as yesterday and the day before and every *other* day they had seen him, including the day he was rescued, and he scrubbed a hand over his face.
The collection of mutants stared in mute shock at the creature they had previously never seen before eight o' clock of any kind of a.m.
"Coffee," he gargled, and leaned his elbows on the marble countertop. Kitty, who had been dumping a portion of eggs onto the plate of an equally stunned Jean, dropped her spatula to vacate the contents on the floor. The spell broke with the sudden ecstatic urgency of a dam breaking freezing, glacier-cold spring water onto a helpless, quaint mountain village, and the normal chatter started up all over again. Forced. They *would*, dammit, show Ken he was welcome here.
Scott, with his granola and undone homework spread out in glorious array before him.
Logan, glowering with his sausages and morning paper
Kurt, with his triple bowl of Frosted Flakes, chattering happily to anyone who paid long enough attention to recognize his existence.
Evan, slurping a mold-colored shake of a bizarre variety, gear already on and helmet dangling from his belt loop.
Jean and Rogue, each with a bowl of yogurt to replace the lost eggs, staring out the window.
Finally, Kitty who sat opposite Kurt and gnawed absently at a breakfast bar as the elf prattled on. It was completely normal chaos, everyone avoiding a certain fact that glared.
Finally, Jean spoke as the voice of the collective group, expressing what they all, quietly, burned to know. "Kenneth," She paused to let him look up. He blinked twice. She took it as a positive sign. "Kenneth, if you. . . if you need money for, for basic supplies. . . "
*Clothes!* they screamed silently as one. No one raised their head, and even Logan rattled his paper defensively.
"We're sure the Professor would be more than happy to provide you with them." She finished off lamely as she saw the blank look in the boy's eyes. It took a moment for him to piece it together, but it crystallized into a hard sparkle of understanding. His face cracked.
"My clothes!" He couldn't decide if this was hurtful or funny! Kenneth cackled quietly and added another tablespoon of sweeter to the cup he had acquired.
*Well, duh.* the room responded, though no one answered.
Jean swirled the yogurt with her spoon carefully, as if the fate of Ken and the strawberry flavoring were intertwined somehow. "About your clothes. . . " She failed utterly. Something deep within Jean stopped her from voicing any offensive concern. Her desire to prove diplomatic was an overriding command, even at the expense of curiosity.
"You don't stink." Said Evan bluntly, putting a timely end to the hook of indistinct tension they were skewering slowly on. The blonde smiled painfully.
"Uh, thanks?"
"No, man. You *don't* *stink*. After, like, a week with the same clothes and no washing. You ain't rank. 'Scool."
Jean interjected quickly to Kenneth who looked on in slight bewilderment, still desperate to re-establish social skills at the head of this conversation. "What he means is-"
"What I mean is he don't stink!" Retorted Evan, going head to head with the terminally tactful Jean, who glared back with the ferocity of Scott's laser beams.
"You *mean* he don't-I mean, he *doesn't*-change his clothes! You don't just tell people that they-"
Kenneth dropped his empty cup into the sink with a loud clatter, and the two jerked their heads to gaze at him in surprise. "I don't stink. Evan, you're right. Jean, I won't explode if you ask me why. The reason is I burn off any foreign matter, dirt, while I sleep. If I wear other clothes, they'll catch on fire or melt. The only clothes I have to wear are what's on my back right now. Buying me other stuff is a waste of money." It was the longest speech anyone present had heard the blonde, quiet mutant utter. Kurt strangled the urge to clap as Rogue raised an eyebrow.
*Ah,* the room responded. *That solves everything*. One again, the room reverted to its normal state of pre-school pandemonium as people finished whatever breakfast they had been consuming and scattered throughout the mansion.
"Have you seen my lip gloss?" Yelled Kitty from the outer hall.
"What about my Biology?" Bellowed Scott in return. "I *can't* find it *anywhere!*"
Logan exhaled noisily in annoyance in the emptied kitchen where only Kenneth, Rogue and he remained. Some idiot of a teenager had gripped the wrong leads in the lab at school and toasted his hand almost up to the elbow. Stupid teenagers. Ought to put them all in cages until common sense caught up with puberty and they didn't *do* dumb things that could cripple them for life.
He snarled, and flung the newspaper back onto the tabletop. "Idiot punks."
Kenneth looked up in alarm, but Rogue shook her head, motioning for silence. They quietly watched in attendance as the older mutant muttered oaths about cheese-brained half-pints and stalked off, fists clenched by his side. Kenneth swirled the remains of his second cup of coffee in the bottom of the mug, not meeting the girl's eyes as he spoke.
"Is it. . . .something we did?"
He didn't *think* that he had done anything wrong, unless Logan simply didn't like him. It had been known to happen, from time to time, the pre- judging of one human being by another, and Kenneth wasn't closed to the possibility. Perhaps, even, it was something he could fix, it he was going to be sharing the same roof with him for the next foreseeable future.
Once again, Rogue shook her head in the negative. "Logan is always grumpy. We're not quite sure why. He won't bite, though. Uh," she paused, several events leaping to the fore of her mind. "Not usually, anyway." Kenneth paled slightly. "It's probably just something he read in the paper."
He relaxed and nodded his head in agreement. "Isn't that enough to make anyone go spastic?" Very faintly, she could see, he was grinning, and trying not to let it show. Rogue opened her mouth to tell him to smile more often, when he quickly wiped his mouth with his hand, smearing the expression into a blank, expressionless slate. Puzzled, she stood up and dropped her spoon back into the bowl.
"Yeah, totally." Time for school anyway. "Maybe I'll see you at lunch." Unlikely. The school was a juggernaut of a building, and the chances of either touch-aversioned mutant bumping into each other in the confusion of the hallways was slimmer than the chances of her sitting down with the cheerleading team for a serious discussion on facial toners.
In other words, about nil.
Kenneth, though, nodded and continued swirling his mug, staring down into it into the depths. "Maybe."
Weird.
Anyway, Rogue had school. The darkly-clothed teen spun out the door and sprinted down the hallway towards where Scott and the others were preparing to drive this morning. Kenneth, finally, remained alone in the kitchen. After a moment, he abruptly tilted back his head and swallowed the remainder of coffee. It was still near-boiling, and anyone else couldn't possibly have even held it inside their mouth. Temperature didn't matter to Ken in the least. Glacial, molten-lava, his body stayed at a constant flesh- searing blaze that had never changed in sickness, health or in sleep.
His expression changed, however, as his eyes lit a spark of curiosity as to what caused Logan to discard the paper so callously. Gripping a fork in one hand, Ken stalked around the table, and began to flip through the sections of the newspaper. He skipped the Entertainment and the Sports pages. Logan didn't strike him as either a serious baseball or Garfield fan.
International, then.
Nothing. Standard wars, standard fights, standard trade disagreements. Kenneth couldn't find anything desperately thrilling there.
The young mutant turned the entire paper over awkwardly in the silence, papers rustling loudly, to local matters. What had Logan muttered as he left?
_"Cheese-brained punks."_
"Ah," the boy said, realization dawning as a familiar article came into view. _Local Teen Burned In Lab Mishap_. It hadn't been a mishap, it had been Kenneth defending his life! Couldn't he get in trouble for this again, just like with the police officers before. Just like before he hadn't wanted to hurt Tom, but his hand was forced into action.
He smiled grimly at his own pun and leaned down to the article.
His lips moved as his passive eyes scanned the sheet in front of him as he intoned. ". . . Culprits sought. Police action will ensue."
Police action will ensue the murder of young Kei Scott, found burnt in his family home by his father returning home from work. Culprits sought are suspected to be genetic mutants, police actions will ensue.
The paper blackened at the corners and started to curl inwards, like a beetle trying to defend delicate organs from the searing heat of the sun. Kenneth's breath hissed through his perfect, square teeth, eyes narrowed to slits as he forcibly took a hold of his heart beat.
Slow down.
His breath began to cool, and the paper stopped its motions.
No one will blame you here.
No one would have blamed him then, either.
Slow down!
Or what? So they can hurt you again? Stick you in a cage and see what makes you tick, Kenny-boy? Do you need some more straightening out?
It was like his father was bent over him again, and hissing words into his ear, driving his point home with all the subtlety of a knife thrust. With an audible gasp the boy stumbled back from the table, hands clenching at his temples and eyes squeezing shut. "I. . .didn't mean it!" Nothing answered him but the harsh breathing originating from a fusion-hot point somewhere deep within his chest. The linolium warped in the sudden onslaught of voracious, consuming heat. "It wasn't me!" It hadn't been him! He wouldn't be caught again! The boy ripped himself away from the counter and forced his feet to stand by the table, and gazed down on the fateful words. Not again.
It was utterly dream-like the way his hand freed itself from the fist it had formed and his clean, bare skin, so pale, so delicate looking, rested over the article. He hesitated only a moment before smoke billowed around his ears and caused his eyes to sting.
He needed the sting.
Kenneth leaned forward and traced his fingertips ever so lightly over the text, obliterating it from existence, destroying the hated link between him and the week before. He had never, ever wanted to hurt anyone. Ever.
*
"Dammit, hurry up, then!"
"I'm sorry already, jeeze!" Rogue cried as she dropped from the jeep and started to dash towards the mansion for her forgotten history homework. Now, everyone could be late because of her and that stupid, stupid project! "Too bad we can't just port like Kurt." That would have simplified everything a great deal.
Come to think of it, why couldn't have Kurt just ported into the mansion himself to get it? "Ngggh!" She groaned as she heaved the massive front door open and sprinted for the living room. As she returned, Rogue sniffed lightly and smelled. . . smoke? Her quick footsteps slowed and changed gradually into a padding, silent stalk as she vectored her way to the origin. Voices. No, a single voice. Ken's?
As she peeped her head around the doorframe, her eyes widened abruptly. Kenneth stood over the morning paper, his eyes a pair of mere knife slits, his mouth a bloodless, tight slash and bare skin touching the paper. It was crumbling to ash, just as the linolium swirled in the heat. Should she say something?
Yes. Ask what was wrong. What was so disturbing in that newspaper, anyway?
Abruptly, just as she readied herself to meet him, he turned away and stalked from the opposite door. He left the entire mess behind him. Rogue sneaked to the platform and looked down, frowning as she saw nearly the entire thing was illegible. One part remained, though, so she bent over it for a closer examination.
_. . . Teen Burned in Lab Mishap._
Returning footsteps. Not sure of what all this meant, Rogue stepped back and out the door. Something. . .something was up. She just wasn't sure what, and how it was connected.
*
Spencer grunted as Aarik's thickly muscled thigh crushed against his diaphragm and forced the air to exit his lungs. The boy's throat burned as he collapsed onto the street as stomach acid clawed up his esophagus. He hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself by being sick right here and now.
Tom stood up and away from the prone boy as his cronies did their work, setting about bruising without breaking the skin. Gloves, the redhead growled as they advanced on Spencer. Don't forget your friggin' gloves. He felt a sense of triumph and power now that had been missing since that bizarre fruit had hurt his hand somehow. It felt nice, then. Why Spencer? Why not? He had been their off and on target for bloodless beatings ever since the year had begun.
"Alright, that's enough!" he called, and raised his hand. Aarik and the other boy, Bryan, reluctantly backed off Spencer's form. Bryan cracked his knuckles loudly.
"We done, Tom?"
Tom shook his head in answer. "Not nearly." Looking at Spencer now, the brain, the smart little shit that was so goddamned *smug* about his perfect grades and his pretty girlfriend laying groaning on the cold fall pavement gave Tom a warm, cozy feeling.
*See?* He thought, memories darting back to the lithe Ken who =somehow= scattered him and his boys. *Fuckin' little prick.* Each time they harassed and tortured, Tom could see Kenneth in their faces, each cry of pain was Kenneth begging him for mercy. He was paying Ken back in spades, you see, humiliation for humiliation. He flexed and clenched his bandaged hand as he advanced on Spencer.
Spencer blearily raised his head as Tom's thick foot appeared in front of it. What had he done? It had been weeks since the last time. His fingers curled and scratched at the cement ineffectually. They were bigger, they were stronger and they hated him. Tears iced their way down his cheeks to mix with a few specks of blood. Tom's boys, apparently, had been a little too enthusiastic. The foot moved to where Spencer's glasses lay clutched in his hand and rested gently on top of it.
*Oh, God, no, no the glasses!* screamed Spencer silently.
*A hand for a friggin' hand, Kenneth!* roared Tom.
He began to step down. A keening whine of pain slipped from between Spencer's clenched teeth, more tears flowing freely as the pressure increased and metal and glass began to bend. When it shattered, he just hoped that was when they might let him go to limp home. He would treat his hand and pick out the flecks of glass, tell his mom everything was fine.
Spencer couldn't tell her about this.
*Mom couldn't handle it.*
Not since dad died.
Spencer was the only man in the house. He had to take care of his mom. He had to take the pain, like a man. He had to be strong.
Tom grinned down at the boy who said nothing as the glasses began to shatter into his flesh, and tears streamed down his face.
How pathetic! He was crying like a baby! You would never see that from Tom, no sir!
"Excuse me,"
The same familiar voice. Tom abandoned his victim and spun around to see Kenneth standing a few feet away, gloved hand resting gently on the trunk of a tree and the ever-present laptop under his arm. He looked politely concerned. Tom looked like he had just seen a chair dance the Macarena. Fear is a poison plant that stems from rage, and Tom wasted no time in following it down to the root.
"K-Kenneth!" Abruptly, his injured hand began to throb as the blonde carefully stepped off the stone bench and onto the walkway behind the school, where all five of them were. Five? Tom's head whipped from one side to the other. Aarik and Bryan were nowhere to be seen.
Ken smiled and spread his hand. "So you see, we're all alone here."
Tom's knees gave way with the suddenness of a viper's strike.
*
Unbeknownst to Kenneth and Tom, they had an audience. Spencer slowly began to push himself to his hands and knees, and curled his bloody hand to his belly where it stained his white shirt a vibrant, primal red. He didn't know who this weirdo was, but he wasn't going to argue with luck. Still shaking like a blade of grass in the wind, Spencer grabbed his satchel and hauled it onto his shoulder until he was stopped by that same gentle voice.
"You weren't bothering my friend here, were you, Tom?"
Friend? Spencer had never seen that punk before in his life. Ignoring the conversation, he began to stagger upright 'til he heard the answer.
"N-No!"
That stopped him cold. No? What a liar! The lanky pretty-boy had just walked in him getting his shit re-arranged, and he would believe Tom?!
Kenneth smiled faintly, and waved his hand vaguely to the autumn trees. "Good. You know how I hate you to be a *bully*, Tom. You know that, don't you?"
Tom nodded, head flapping back and forth like a puppet, and Spencer slowed down to watch in amazement.
"I love the trees, don't you?" He continued, not waiting for an answer. "They look like they're. . . on fire." Another smile. "Anyway, please don't bother my friend here again, Tom. I wouldn't like it. Understand?"
More mindless agreement.
"And walk him home. I don't want to *think* about the kind of people on the streets. Go." Tom turned and began to scramble for the scattered papers and books he had knocked himself from Spencer's grasp. Spencer couldn't believe this was happening. He just nodded faintly and stumbled home, supported by the strong arm of his attacker.
Kenneth's calm, stone eyes of brown-on-green pierced into his back.
*
"Holy shit," breathed Rogue, and pulled back the branch she hid behind. It was obvious now. Kenneth had burned Tom and attempted to hide his own guilt this morning. He wasn't hot, he was *cold*. That was serious mafioso work the teen was pulling off. For what? Protection? Money? Power? She stepped out from her hiding place and snatched a stone from the ground littered with leaves.
"KENNETH!"
And hauled back her arm and threw with all her strength. Kenneth jerked and turned around. It landed a metre to the right.
"Just *wait* 'til the Professor finds out what a viper you are!"
. . . fini chapter four.
Ah, well. My story. :d
^_^ Feeeeeeeeeeedback?
Onwards!
Copping A Feeling
Chapter Four
[bird's eye view]
The newswoman blankly smiled at the camera and shuffled papers on her desk.
"And now for local matters. There have been no suspects identified as of late in the mystery of the local football captain's injuries. Despite the youth's insistence that the burns suffered were merely an electrical accident, physicians are not convinced that extensive nerve damage could be caused by, as the youth claims, free wires in Shop. Police are requesting that anyone-"
Kurt groaned and lifted the remote to the television, preparing to flip the channel to something a little more interesting. Of course, interesting was merely in the eye of the discriminate beholder, one who vastly preferred the animated high jinks of ReBoot to a dreary monologue of county woes and political plots. At least, to this particular blue furred beholder.
"And *zat* takes care of you!" He bared fangs at the television in a pointy grin and kicked his legs over the end, completely prepared to waste an evening in front of the television. The mutant was not to be disappointed as Matrix and AndrAIa appeared on the screen.
The sprite batted her eyes and rested a slender hand gently on a green one's shoulder, chastising. "Oh, Matrix, you shouldn't be so jealous!"
Matrix, at least, had the sense to be ashamed. His thickly muscled shoulders slumped as he slung Gun away and reached out a hand to cover the other sprite's with his own.
"I-I'm sorry, AndrAIa, I don't know what came over me."
Kurt's tail flicked in amusement, the spade pat-patting on the carpet beside him. God, AndrAIa was a babe. And why did that stupid green oaf have to be so disrespectful towards her?! Kurt bared his teeth again at the television, completely blotting from his mind the presence of an irritating reality, one where *he* couldn't have the girl that *he* wanted.
Damn, Matrix, then, to Silicon Heaven, or wherever the Hell game sprites went.
As footsteps sounded briefly outside the door, he guiltily flicked the television back to the news, not sure exactly *why* he was so hesitant. Rogue stuck her head through the doorway to regard the German sprawled out across the long couch, and he almost thought he could see a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Damn her, too, then. he thought as his long toes twitched involuntarily.
"Ach, Rogue. I didn't know you had returned from ze art seminar."
She had been missing a week, thus absent from Kenneth's dramatic entrance and the mystery of Tom's hand fried like a Hawaiian shish-kabob, supposedly after he had laid a hold of a few bare wires in the Electronics lab at Bayville High. Kurt Wagner found it somewhat difficult to conjure sympathy for the meat-head of a boy. He was a real jewel, in his opinion.
He turned off the TV. "So you know about Mr. Cranky-Pants?"
The girl sauntered across the floor towards the couch, and, getting there, unceremoniously dumped his long blue feet off the side to provide herself with some space on the cushions. "Who?" she asked, and rolled brown eyes as Kurt simply plopped the feet up into her lap. "You mean the new kid? He's not cranky."
Kurt suddenly found something fascinating in the couch's upholstry, and picked at it with a claw.
". . .Not *that* cranky."
Just brilliant, this little piece of fuzz that kept him from looking Rogue in the eyes.
Rogue exploded. "He could be worse! What if he were Logan-cranky?"
Wagner scratched his head ruefully, finally conceding defeat, and rolled back over so they could look face to face. "Vell, . . vell, ja." One couldn't beat that logic. Wolverine was the only mutant that even Kurt's titanium cheerfulness and joking behavior bent before. Shredded, more likely, by a pair of adamanium retractable claws. He sweatdropped.
"Hah." She said, triumphant, and picked the remote from his hand. "My turn to watch." The news magically sprung to life on the television again, and the two teens fell silent, lost in it's flickering light.
Just another night in the Institute
*
The next morning, the entire kitchen was surprised as Kenneth rolled around, groggy and bleary. He stumbled through the kitchen, fully dressed in(what else?) the same clothes as yesterday and the day before and every *other* day they had seen him, including the day he was rescued, and he scrubbed a hand over his face.
The collection of mutants stared in mute shock at the creature they had previously never seen before eight o' clock of any kind of a.m.
"Coffee," he gargled, and leaned his elbows on the marble countertop. Kitty, who had been dumping a portion of eggs onto the plate of an equally stunned Jean, dropped her spatula to vacate the contents on the floor. The spell broke with the sudden ecstatic urgency of a dam breaking freezing, glacier-cold spring water onto a helpless, quaint mountain village, and the normal chatter started up all over again. Forced. They *would*, dammit, show Ken he was welcome here.
Scott, with his granola and undone homework spread out in glorious array before him.
Logan, glowering with his sausages and morning paper
Kurt, with his triple bowl of Frosted Flakes, chattering happily to anyone who paid long enough attention to recognize his existence.
Evan, slurping a mold-colored shake of a bizarre variety, gear already on and helmet dangling from his belt loop.
Jean and Rogue, each with a bowl of yogurt to replace the lost eggs, staring out the window.
Finally, Kitty who sat opposite Kurt and gnawed absently at a breakfast bar as the elf prattled on. It was completely normal chaos, everyone avoiding a certain fact that glared.
Finally, Jean spoke as the voice of the collective group, expressing what they all, quietly, burned to know. "Kenneth," She paused to let him look up. He blinked twice. She took it as a positive sign. "Kenneth, if you. . . if you need money for, for basic supplies. . . "
*Clothes!* they screamed silently as one. No one raised their head, and even Logan rattled his paper defensively.
"We're sure the Professor would be more than happy to provide you with them." She finished off lamely as she saw the blank look in the boy's eyes. It took a moment for him to piece it together, but it crystallized into a hard sparkle of understanding. His face cracked.
"My clothes!" He couldn't decide if this was hurtful or funny! Kenneth cackled quietly and added another tablespoon of sweeter to the cup he had acquired.
*Well, duh.* the room responded, though no one answered.
Jean swirled the yogurt with her spoon carefully, as if the fate of Ken and the strawberry flavoring were intertwined somehow. "About your clothes. . . " She failed utterly. Something deep within Jean stopped her from voicing any offensive concern. Her desire to prove diplomatic was an overriding command, even at the expense of curiosity.
"You don't stink." Said Evan bluntly, putting a timely end to the hook of indistinct tension they were skewering slowly on. The blonde smiled painfully.
"Uh, thanks?"
"No, man. You *don't* *stink*. After, like, a week with the same clothes and no washing. You ain't rank. 'Scool."
Jean interjected quickly to Kenneth who looked on in slight bewilderment, still desperate to re-establish social skills at the head of this conversation. "What he means is-"
"What I mean is he don't stink!" Retorted Evan, going head to head with the terminally tactful Jean, who glared back with the ferocity of Scott's laser beams.
"You *mean* he don't-I mean, he *doesn't*-change his clothes! You don't just tell people that they-"
Kenneth dropped his empty cup into the sink with a loud clatter, and the two jerked their heads to gaze at him in surprise. "I don't stink. Evan, you're right. Jean, I won't explode if you ask me why. The reason is I burn off any foreign matter, dirt, while I sleep. If I wear other clothes, they'll catch on fire or melt. The only clothes I have to wear are what's on my back right now. Buying me other stuff is a waste of money." It was the longest speech anyone present had heard the blonde, quiet mutant utter. Kurt strangled the urge to clap as Rogue raised an eyebrow.
*Ah,* the room responded. *That solves everything*. One again, the room reverted to its normal state of pre-school pandemonium as people finished whatever breakfast they had been consuming and scattered throughout the mansion.
"Have you seen my lip gloss?" Yelled Kitty from the outer hall.
"What about my Biology?" Bellowed Scott in return. "I *can't* find it *anywhere!*"
Logan exhaled noisily in annoyance in the emptied kitchen where only Kenneth, Rogue and he remained. Some idiot of a teenager had gripped the wrong leads in the lab at school and toasted his hand almost up to the elbow. Stupid teenagers. Ought to put them all in cages until common sense caught up with puberty and they didn't *do* dumb things that could cripple them for life.
He snarled, and flung the newspaper back onto the tabletop. "Idiot punks."
Kenneth looked up in alarm, but Rogue shook her head, motioning for silence. They quietly watched in attendance as the older mutant muttered oaths about cheese-brained half-pints and stalked off, fists clenched by his side. Kenneth swirled the remains of his second cup of coffee in the bottom of the mug, not meeting the girl's eyes as he spoke.
"Is it. . . .something we did?"
He didn't *think* that he had done anything wrong, unless Logan simply didn't like him. It had been known to happen, from time to time, the pre- judging of one human being by another, and Kenneth wasn't closed to the possibility. Perhaps, even, it was something he could fix, it he was going to be sharing the same roof with him for the next foreseeable future.
Once again, Rogue shook her head in the negative. "Logan is always grumpy. We're not quite sure why. He won't bite, though. Uh," she paused, several events leaping to the fore of her mind. "Not usually, anyway." Kenneth paled slightly. "It's probably just something he read in the paper."
He relaxed and nodded his head in agreement. "Isn't that enough to make anyone go spastic?" Very faintly, she could see, he was grinning, and trying not to let it show. Rogue opened her mouth to tell him to smile more often, when he quickly wiped his mouth with his hand, smearing the expression into a blank, expressionless slate. Puzzled, she stood up and dropped her spoon back into the bowl.
"Yeah, totally." Time for school anyway. "Maybe I'll see you at lunch." Unlikely. The school was a juggernaut of a building, and the chances of either touch-aversioned mutant bumping into each other in the confusion of the hallways was slimmer than the chances of her sitting down with the cheerleading team for a serious discussion on facial toners.
In other words, about nil.
Kenneth, though, nodded and continued swirling his mug, staring down into it into the depths. "Maybe."
Weird.
Anyway, Rogue had school. The darkly-clothed teen spun out the door and sprinted down the hallway towards where Scott and the others were preparing to drive this morning. Kenneth, finally, remained alone in the kitchen. After a moment, he abruptly tilted back his head and swallowed the remainder of coffee. It was still near-boiling, and anyone else couldn't possibly have even held it inside their mouth. Temperature didn't matter to Ken in the least. Glacial, molten-lava, his body stayed at a constant flesh- searing blaze that had never changed in sickness, health or in sleep.
His expression changed, however, as his eyes lit a spark of curiosity as to what caused Logan to discard the paper so callously. Gripping a fork in one hand, Ken stalked around the table, and began to flip through the sections of the newspaper. He skipped the Entertainment and the Sports pages. Logan didn't strike him as either a serious baseball or Garfield fan.
International, then.
Nothing. Standard wars, standard fights, standard trade disagreements. Kenneth couldn't find anything desperately thrilling there.
The young mutant turned the entire paper over awkwardly in the silence, papers rustling loudly, to local matters. What had Logan muttered as he left?
_"Cheese-brained punks."_
"Ah," the boy said, realization dawning as a familiar article came into view. _Local Teen Burned In Lab Mishap_. It hadn't been a mishap, it had been Kenneth defending his life! Couldn't he get in trouble for this again, just like with the police officers before. Just like before he hadn't wanted to hurt Tom, but his hand was forced into action.
He smiled grimly at his own pun and leaned down to the article.
His lips moved as his passive eyes scanned the sheet in front of him as he intoned. ". . . Culprits sought. Police action will ensue."
Police action will ensue the murder of young Kei Scott, found burnt in his family home by his father returning home from work. Culprits sought are suspected to be genetic mutants, police actions will ensue.
The paper blackened at the corners and started to curl inwards, like a beetle trying to defend delicate organs from the searing heat of the sun. Kenneth's breath hissed through his perfect, square teeth, eyes narrowed to slits as he forcibly took a hold of his heart beat.
Slow down.
His breath began to cool, and the paper stopped its motions.
No one will blame you here.
No one would have blamed him then, either.
Slow down!
Or what? So they can hurt you again? Stick you in a cage and see what makes you tick, Kenny-boy? Do you need some more straightening out?
It was like his father was bent over him again, and hissing words into his ear, driving his point home with all the subtlety of a knife thrust. With an audible gasp the boy stumbled back from the table, hands clenching at his temples and eyes squeezing shut. "I. . .didn't mean it!" Nothing answered him but the harsh breathing originating from a fusion-hot point somewhere deep within his chest. The linolium warped in the sudden onslaught of voracious, consuming heat. "It wasn't me!" It hadn't been him! He wouldn't be caught again! The boy ripped himself away from the counter and forced his feet to stand by the table, and gazed down on the fateful words. Not again.
It was utterly dream-like the way his hand freed itself from the fist it had formed and his clean, bare skin, so pale, so delicate looking, rested over the article. He hesitated only a moment before smoke billowed around his ears and caused his eyes to sting.
He needed the sting.
Kenneth leaned forward and traced his fingertips ever so lightly over the text, obliterating it from existence, destroying the hated link between him and the week before. He had never, ever wanted to hurt anyone. Ever.
*
"Dammit, hurry up, then!"
"I'm sorry already, jeeze!" Rogue cried as she dropped from the jeep and started to dash towards the mansion for her forgotten history homework. Now, everyone could be late because of her and that stupid, stupid project! "Too bad we can't just port like Kurt." That would have simplified everything a great deal.
Come to think of it, why couldn't have Kurt just ported into the mansion himself to get it? "Ngggh!" She groaned as she heaved the massive front door open and sprinted for the living room. As she returned, Rogue sniffed lightly and smelled. . . smoke? Her quick footsteps slowed and changed gradually into a padding, silent stalk as she vectored her way to the origin. Voices. No, a single voice. Ken's?
As she peeped her head around the doorframe, her eyes widened abruptly. Kenneth stood over the morning paper, his eyes a pair of mere knife slits, his mouth a bloodless, tight slash and bare skin touching the paper. It was crumbling to ash, just as the linolium swirled in the heat. Should she say something?
Yes. Ask what was wrong. What was so disturbing in that newspaper, anyway?
Abruptly, just as she readied herself to meet him, he turned away and stalked from the opposite door. He left the entire mess behind him. Rogue sneaked to the platform and looked down, frowning as she saw nearly the entire thing was illegible. One part remained, though, so she bent over it for a closer examination.
_. . . Teen Burned in Lab Mishap._
Returning footsteps. Not sure of what all this meant, Rogue stepped back and out the door. Something. . .something was up. She just wasn't sure what, and how it was connected.
*
Spencer grunted as Aarik's thickly muscled thigh crushed against his diaphragm and forced the air to exit his lungs. The boy's throat burned as he collapsed onto the street as stomach acid clawed up his esophagus. He hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself by being sick right here and now.
Tom stood up and away from the prone boy as his cronies did their work, setting about bruising without breaking the skin. Gloves, the redhead growled as they advanced on Spencer. Don't forget your friggin' gloves. He felt a sense of triumph and power now that had been missing since that bizarre fruit had hurt his hand somehow. It felt nice, then. Why Spencer? Why not? He had been their off and on target for bloodless beatings ever since the year had begun.
"Alright, that's enough!" he called, and raised his hand. Aarik and the other boy, Bryan, reluctantly backed off Spencer's form. Bryan cracked his knuckles loudly.
"We done, Tom?"
Tom shook his head in answer. "Not nearly." Looking at Spencer now, the brain, the smart little shit that was so goddamned *smug* about his perfect grades and his pretty girlfriend laying groaning on the cold fall pavement gave Tom a warm, cozy feeling.
*See?* He thought, memories darting back to the lithe Ken who =somehow= scattered him and his boys. *Fuckin' little prick.* Each time they harassed and tortured, Tom could see Kenneth in their faces, each cry of pain was Kenneth begging him for mercy. He was paying Ken back in spades, you see, humiliation for humiliation. He flexed and clenched his bandaged hand as he advanced on Spencer.
Spencer blearily raised his head as Tom's thick foot appeared in front of it. What had he done? It had been weeks since the last time. His fingers curled and scratched at the cement ineffectually. They were bigger, they were stronger and they hated him. Tears iced their way down his cheeks to mix with a few specks of blood. Tom's boys, apparently, had been a little too enthusiastic. The foot moved to where Spencer's glasses lay clutched in his hand and rested gently on top of it.
*Oh, God, no, no the glasses!* screamed Spencer silently.
*A hand for a friggin' hand, Kenneth!* roared Tom.
He began to step down. A keening whine of pain slipped from between Spencer's clenched teeth, more tears flowing freely as the pressure increased and metal and glass began to bend. When it shattered, he just hoped that was when they might let him go to limp home. He would treat his hand and pick out the flecks of glass, tell his mom everything was fine.
Spencer couldn't tell her about this.
*Mom couldn't handle it.*
Not since dad died.
Spencer was the only man in the house. He had to take care of his mom. He had to take the pain, like a man. He had to be strong.
Tom grinned down at the boy who said nothing as the glasses began to shatter into his flesh, and tears streamed down his face.
How pathetic! He was crying like a baby! You would never see that from Tom, no sir!
"Excuse me,"
The same familiar voice. Tom abandoned his victim and spun around to see Kenneth standing a few feet away, gloved hand resting gently on the trunk of a tree and the ever-present laptop under his arm. He looked politely concerned. Tom looked like he had just seen a chair dance the Macarena. Fear is a poison plant that stems from rage, and Tom wasted no time in following it down to the root.
"K-Kenneth!" Abruptly, his injured hand began to throb as the blonde carefully stepped off the stone bench and onto the walkway behind the school, where all five of them were. Five? Tom's head whipped from one side to the other. Aarik and Bryan were nowhere to be seen.
Ken smiled and spread his hand. "So you see, we're all alone here."
Tom's knees gave way with the suddenness of a viper's strike.
*
Unbeknownst to Kenneth and Tom, they had an audience. Spencer slowly began to push himself to his hands and knees, and curled his bloody hand to his belly where it stained his white shirt a vibrant, primal red. He didn't know who this weirdo was, but he wasn't going to argue with luck. Still shaking like a blade of grass in the wind, Spencer grabbed his satchel and hauled it onto his shoulder until he was stopped by that same gentle voice.
"You weren't bothering my friend here, were you, Tom?"
Friend? Spencer had never seen that punk before in his life. Ignoring the conversation, he began to stagger upright 'til he heard the answer.
"N-No!"
That stopped him cold. No? What a liar! The lanky pretty-boy had just walked in him getting his shit re-arranged, and he would believe Tom?!
Kenneth smiled faintly, and waved his hand vaguely to the autumn trees. "Good. You know how I hate you to be a *bully*, Tom. You know that, don't you?"
Tom nodded, head flapping back and forth like a puppet, and Spencer slowed down to watch in amazement.
"I love the trees, don't you?" He continued, not waiting for an answer. "They look like they're. . . on fire." Another smile. "Anyway, please don't bother my friend here again, Tom. I wouldn't like it. Understand?"
More mindless agreement.
"And walk him home. I don't want to *think* about the kind of people on the streets. Go." Tom turned and began to scramble for the scattered papers and books he had knocked himself from Spencer's grasp. Spencer couldn't believe this was happening. He just nodded faintly and stumbled home, supported by the strong arm of his attacker.
Kenneth's calm, stone eyes of brown-on-green pierced into his back.
*
"Holy shit," breathed Rogue, and pulled back the branch she hid behind. It was obvious now. Kenneth had burned Tom and attempted to hide his own guilt this morning. He wasn't hot, he was *cold*. That was serious mafioso work the teen was pulling off. For what? Protection? Money? Power? She stepped out from her hiding place and snatched a stone from the ground littered with leaves.
"KENNETH!"
And hauled back her arm and threw with all her strength. Kenneth jerked and turned around. It landed a metre to the right.
"Just *wait* 'til the Professor finds out what a viper you are!"
. . . fini chapter four.
