It would be tempting to say Kurt was bored out of his wits, but he honestly wasn't. He wasn't one of those people who needed something in his hands or someone to talk to or something deep to think about to keep himself amused. A misshapen blade of grass straggling beneath a stone had an interest of its own, an interest that didn't need to be analyzed or quantified. An unbranded female mutant with an irritated set to her jaw had an interest of its own as well, and she didn't have to be actually doing anything to keep his attention.

Kurt had long learned the value of peripheral vision in observation. People tended to get uncomfortable when he stared at them, although heaven knew they stared at him enough. His peripheral vision was particularly good--it helped not to have strongly defined pupils. So he crouched, face jutting forward, and watched the girl out of the corner of his eye because she was there to be watched.

The sun had only dipped a hand's breadth further toward the horizon when Rogue awoke with a loud enough gasp that Kurt forgot the girl entirely and shot forward like a startled dog. His sister was already sitting up and staring at him with those angry grey eyes of hers, ignoring Jean's "You all right?" entirely. The edges of her eyelids quivered and she sighed with such a tremor that Kurt was momentarily unsure that this was the person he'd grown up with at all.

"He's closed himself off."

"What?" Jean asked, too eager. Pathetic.

Rogue's gaze burned harder into him, almost as if she had heard his thoughts. "Scott's awake and he's in me and . . . he knows. He won't talk or respond or--he's closed himself off in a corner of my mind and he won't come out."

"Well, can you blame him?" Kurt asked as evenly as he could manage.

Rogue's eyes flashed and she made a sound in her throat that . . . was not a threat. There was a glistening against her cheekbones that worried him. It was Jean that glared at him as if he were evil incarnate. It was Rogue who was breaking down. "No," she said huskily and wiped quickly at her eyes, the muscles in her face clenching. Good. Back straight, strength to the forefront. It's all right to feel pain, but never show weakness. Keep going, pummel me if you have to. Show Jean who's boss. Show her who made the sacrifice.

"Rogue," Jean ventured, "Does he seem to be okay?"

"Okay?" Rogue spat, rising abruptly to her feet. Kurt jumped to one side cautiously--for his own safety, and for a better view. Don't overdo it.

"Besides that, Rogue. Please." Love triangles, spit on them. Don't tell her any more than you have to. He's beyond her reach now, but beyond yours, too.

Rogue huffed out her breath a couple of times before answering. "He seems to be . . . there, although his precense is . . . less than mine. But that might change, once he . . . gets used to . . . oh . . ."

Don't break down!

"Were you able to talk to him at all? Before . . . "

"Yeah." She swallowed hard, twice. "Yeah."

"What did he say?"

Although he didn't want her to tell Jean, Kurt found himself leaning ever so slightly forward anyway.

"He . . . showed me. I think he thought he ws dead. He told me about his past, mainly."

"His past?" Something ugly ran over Jean's face, as fleeting as a shadow.

"I don't want to talk about it. Maybe he will . . . later. But I won't tell you."

Kurt sat back on his hanches and gnawed on a fingernail, seemingly nonchalant. Good. Don't tell her anything. Not yours to tell. She'll have to back off, now.

"All right. You're okay?"

"I'll be okay."

"Good. I think it's time I talked to our new . . . . friend." Jean turned away from Rogue and toward the girl and Kurt scrambled back to all fours and flanked her, his pace just a titch slower than hers. Her expression had turned frankly menacing.

Jean stopped in front of the girl, arms akimbo and Kurt skidded to a stop to the right of her, closer to the girl than to their new self-proclaimed leader.

"Who are you?"

The girl swallowed, but smiled so brilliantly Kurt was rather impressed, even as he half wondered if she was insane. "Kitty Pride. Nice to meet you on such a beautiful . . ."

"Who do you work for?"

"We-ell, Magneto. Heard of him?"

Ah.

Jean's mouth actually gaped open for a glorious moment before she got hold of herself again. "Magneto? What are you doing out here?"

"Spying! A-and, you're from Kelly's forces, I can tell. How is old Kelly?"

Well, she certainly has gumption . . .

"How does Magneto feel about incoming mutants?" Jean asked, rapid-fire. Annoyed, are we? He chanced a glance over his shoulder to ascertain that Rogue was indeed hovering close by.

"Oh. Yeah. You're asking the questions, aren't you? Magneto will accept any mutant who wants to join him, thrilled to have them. Especially if you're running from Kelly's forces, man, he's so dead set again Kelly's treatment of . . . "

"That's enough," Jean said with such firmness that the girl stopped, silent as stone, and Kurt winced hard. She didn't have to do that. "I must . . . confer with my people."

"Your people?" Kurt snickered after Jean had managed to coax him and Rogue into a "huddle."

Jean ignored him--she was occasionally able to do that. "All right--you both heard. Do we trust her or not?"

Why do you even bother? You've made up your mind. "Well, what do you think?" he asked out loud, folding his arms. "You've got that . . . thingy. That . . . intuition or what have you. What does that tell you?"

"I want to hear both of your impressions of our visitor first."

There was something about a direct command Kurt couldn't resist. He wasn't precisely submissive or brainless--and even in strict obedience, he could weasel his way out of anything he didn't particularly want to do. But when a creature, even a free thinking and cautious one, is simply not built to lead and when living alone is not an option and when one's personality tends to be a little caustic--it didn't hurt to follow orders when they were given and be at least semi-dependable about it.

Which was why Kurt actually closed his eyes and pressed his misshapen fist against his chin and tried to come up with an "impression." He really did try. He had closed his eyes to block out distractions, which tended to be his bane, and tried very hard not to think about Scott or the implications of going with Magneto. Just the girl, Kitty.

He pretty much drew a blank, except for one "impression" that was probably not safe to share.

He just couldn't resist sharing it.

He opened his eyes. Rogue and Jean were both staring at him expectantly. He shrugged and couldn't keep the grin from spreading over his face. "She's cute."

"Kurt . . . " Rogue growled and her utter revulsive enmity made him angry.

"It's true! Am I capable of lying, sister?"

"Shut up!"

"Guys, guys! Your impressions."

Kurt bit back something nasty and flattened his tone, "She's okay. I think."

Rogue grunted non-commitedly, still glaring at him.

"Does Scott say anything?" Does he need to? Scott would never approve-- it's in the set of his face, that hard-black-and-whiteness, but what can he do about it?

"He's not talking."

"Can you . . . read anything?" She's not you. She won't.

"I'm leaving that alone, Jean," Rogue hissed, her attention finally off him. Thought so.

"All right, all right. So I'm almost absolutely sure she's telling the truth. The question is whether what she believes is the truth is the truth, but this might be our last change." She exhaled slowly, "We haven't been going very quickly and the fact we haven't heard or seen any pursuit doesn't mean there isn't any. Walking in a straight line to who knows where--it'd be safer to be with Magneto, I think, whatever his views."

"And we'd get to raize villages." It was out before he'd thought about it and he knew he'd made a mistake. Rogue took a step forward, drawing herself to her full height, her livid paleness right there and threatening him. Kurt bared his fangs at her reflexively, hurt despite himself. Still so blasted raw about that. Why she cares, I'll never know, why spend so much pain on a burning she might have iniatited herself, given the chance? It's that stupid boy, I'd bet, and his stupid . . . Ah, maybe it's still just the whole Scott thing . . . touchy, like PMS personified. She'd have blown up if I'd suggested Magneto might have a puppy running around his camp. He scooted back, knuckling the ground in their privately recognized ritual of domination . . . and submission, always submission in his case. "Just kidding," he grated. There, you're strong again.

"So we go," Jean whipped out, taking a step back--with that movement effectively dissembling the group. "And we'd better hurry."

She walked over to Kitty and released her, with a mind flick or something. "We'll give you whatever information we have--if you lead us to Magneto."

"Good stuff," Kitty said weakly, then her voice darkened surprisingly, "Um, hey, just out of curiousity, Kelly's not marching this direction at this very moment or anything, is he?"

"We're fugitives . . . of sorts, so maybe part . . . but certainly not the full force."

"Terrific! I always wanted to get hooked up with troublemakers and rebels! You're my new set of heroes! But follow me--and fast."

Kitty leapt into the underbrush with surprising speed and even Kurt, who was hardly inexperienced at taking quite literally to the woods, was hard pressed to follow.

Well, no wonder. She's passing right through all the brambles, blast her.

--------------------------

Not even the most maudlin of poets could ever describe the tundra as "weeping." Let that be reserved for rainforests and riversides and over- cast nights in the hayfields. The tundra does not weep. It softens into life if placed under sustained pressure from the sun, but it does not weep. The clouds were roiling and grey-black, violently dark, lightning flickering blood just under their surface.

But they were dry.

The air was cold and completely still, a sullen calm. Scott sat in the center of it, his hands clasped about his knees. Only the tightness around the bones of those clasping hands betrayed his tension.

Why does this always happen to me? There must be some deep underlying reason. Maybe there's something about my expression--something so frighteningly weak written into my face--something that makes it impossible for people to resist "helping" me. I have to ask for this somehow, because it always happens.

I like this whole idea of taking care of myself, making my own decisions, accepting the consequences. Pretty simple, really. I could have dealt with dying. How do I deal with this?

I should be able to deal with it. I shouldn't have to worry about privacy. I never really had privacy anyway. So this is one notch dropped on the privacy scale, whatever--it's no big deal. Rogue won't pry, I don't think. I can keep to my little corner and . . . meditate or maybe I can have partial access to her senses, have a basic idea of what's going on every once in a while. It'll be all right. I don't even have to worry about my eyes firing off--apparently Rogue doesn't either, so this could possibly be the best time of my life. Yeah. This is going to be all right.

The clouds gathered faster and blacker into an oily pool overhead and the air fizzled, ionized with restrained electricity. It hissed and sparked and stung him and the horizon was rimmed with white branching claws of energy. Oh crap, it is not all right!

You're hurting me! snapped though the wind and the storm abruptly died into a whisper. Scott nearly fainted in the sudden emptiness.

Scott!

Sorry, he chattered out, feeling sick.

I didn't mean to do that.

It's all right. It's your mind. Scott drew himself to his knees, swaying a little. I'm okay.

No, you're not. But Scott . . . it was the only thing we could do.

You could have let me die. I was getting rather curious about the afterlife.

You didn't look all that curious at that moment. We could only react . . . you were screaming . . .

No one's chipper when they've been impaled, Scott said a little sardonically, pressing the his palms against his forehead as the nausea rose in a crippling wave. Man. You feeling all right, Rogue?

How could I be?!

It wasn't your fault, he groaned as the sick pain became stronger, doubling him over. Sorry I mentioned it . . .

Scott! What's going on? The clouds returned, but they were warmer and thicker and very brown, like over-ripe and dripping peach flesh and the tundra underneath his knees melted into torrents of mud. Scott gritted his teeth and slipped, splashing forward into the wet.

Everything cleared . . . it was just him and Rogue again. In an empty landscape that was . . . just nothing.

Rogue shuddered, hissing her breath out. "I'm really sorry, Scott. I can't . . . control my thoughts that well yet."

"They're . . . rather powerful," Scott wheezed. "Very . . . impressive. Think I prefer you here than as a booming voice in the sky. Scared the crap out of me."

"I am sorry. About everything. I . . . didn't think I had a choice. Not when I could save you and . . . "

"Please, don't worry about it." Scott carefully got to his feet, brushing off his shirt although it wasn't dirty--not any more. "It'll work out. Give me a few more hours. I'll try to control myself too. I just . . . yeah, you know."

"It's no way to live," Rogue moaned and the area beyond the sky flickered a little.

"Obviously, it is. It's the way I'm living. Don't worry about it. Please." She turned away. He sighed. "Is everything all right out there, Rogue? You're safe?"

"Yes, we're going somewhere safe," she said distantly.

"That's good." He sat back down, clasping his hands around his knees like he had before. It was a comfortable position, of sorts . . . he tended to gravitate back to it if he didn't make a conscious effort not to. "That . . . that's good."

"I'll let you alone now . . ." She began to fade.

"Ah--wait, Rogue?"

Back. Solid. "What?"

No, that's stupid. "Never mind. Sorry."

She was gone. The clouds slowly began to gather again, but at least they weren't quite so dark, this time.