Disclaimer:  Not mine, yadda yadda yadda.  No sue.  Me no money have.

Scott Summers shivered, keeping one ear out for his current captors.  He'd been on the streets for years; in that time, he'd learnt a few things, and one of them was that a blind boy was at the bottom of the heap.  He'd made a mistake, speaking up, because usually women were more gentle.  These ones, though, were different.

He shrugged, trying to squeeze back further into the corner of the room.  What else was he going to do?  The last time he'd opened his eyes he'd been fourteen; at least, he was pretty sure he had been.  That time, he'd killed someone.  Since then, he'd accepted his lot in life; thought of it as a kind of punishment.

Betsey, the nice one who gave him food and protected him, had been gone a couple days;  since then, the others had only taken notice of him to kick him or yell at him.  Hence, the corner.  If he stayed still, maybe they wouldn't notice him.

One thing about being blind; it really was true that your other senses got better.  He heard her footsteps long before she entered the room.

"You get what you needed?" 

Scott smiled to hear her voice, replying to Mystique.  "Yes.  Tregorran is a horrible little man, but he seems to know what he is doing."

"One day I'm going to fry him."  The calm voice of the one they called Storm; she scared Scott the most of all.

"Not yet, Sugah.  He's still useful."

"I know that.  When he ceases to be useful, however, I'm going to fry him."

While Storm and Rogue bickered, Betsey's footsteps got nearer.

"I've got a present for you, Puppy."

A present?

Something slid around his head, smooth and cool, covering his eyes.

"I don't know why you're spending good money on the boy." said Storm in the background.

"He could be dangerous, left un-checked." replied Mystique.  "It's much better this way."

Betsey turned him again; he moved unresisting.

"Open your eyes, Puppy."

He shook his head a little; dangerous to disagree, but he couldn't risk hurting someone.

Storm tsked.  "Let me have five minutes with him; I'll beat some obedience into him."

Betsey's soothing hand traced its way down the back of his head.

"Trust me.  Open your eyes."

Everything was red.  The wall and the floor and the table and chairs.  Mystique and Rogue and Storm and Kitten were red.  And Betsey was red; and she was also very beautiful.  Tears crept down his cheeks.  He could see!  He knew better than to stand up or move from his position; so he just leaned against her leg, looked up and said.

"Thank you."

They ate lunch, and she gave him a few pieces of apple from her plate, as he sat by her side – he noticed with pride, that Kitten didn't get any food from Storm.  Obviously she cared for him more than Storm did for Kitten.  And when she wanted to test the other things; like the little remote she had that opened the visor to allow the beams out, he didn't complain.  He didn't even hesitate for a second.

As an expensive piece of artwork shattered into smoking pieces, the Sisterhood cheered.  That night, Scott got to sleep not in the closet, but right in Betsey's room, by her bed.  He even got his own blanket.  He was warmer and better fed then he had been in years; and on top of all that, she had given him his sight back.  He drifted off to sleep easily, safe in the knowledge that he would be taken care of; sure that he would never have to sin again.  Betsey was nice; she'd never try to make him hurt someone with his powers.

Never ever.

Kurt was perching; that was the only word for it; perching on the back of the couch watching Logan write his diary.

Wolverine had kept a diary for a couple hundred years; he didn't mind Kurt watching as there was no way he'd be able to understand it.  The words used were a mixture; quite a bit of French, Mi'kmaq, English, German, Arabic, Hindi, Japanese; the longest bit that was in one language at a time was a paragraph he'd written after Mariko's death; that was all in Japanese; although he'd done half of it in mirror writing.

He valued his privacy very highly, which was why the constant questions these 'X-Men' insisted on bombarding him with were so annoying.

The LeBeau boy was the worst of the lot; although his red-haired girlfriend encouraged him.  The only time he'd really talked to LeBeau was to ask him if he had a sister named Appoline; having thus thoroughly confused him, he ignored any questions the Cajun spouted.

It was a good thing Kurt knew how to keep his mouth shut; he'd told them how he'd met Wolverine, talked a bit about his life before that; but nothing else.  Just as well, he would have hated to have to gut the kid.

As he finished up his entry for the day; the red-head came up, peering over his shoulder.

"Why won't you tell us why you're staying with us?"

Logan slammed the diary shut, and glared at her.

"I already told ya, kid."

She sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

" 'To piss off the White Queen' is not an answer!"

 He smirked.  "No, not really."  Although it's true.  Frost is going to shit a brick when she hears about this.

Realizing she was getting nowhere, the kid flounced off.

They were called into the 'war room' the next morning; there were three new faces; a slender brunette girl, a brown haired boy who sat in the corner whispering with Jubilee, and a blue furred creature who talked like an encyclopedia and seemed to be getting along well with Kurt, which put him in Logan's good books.

The professors explained, mostly for his benefit, the recent activities of the Sisterhood, ending with the suspected murder of Warren Worthington.

His heart leapt in his chest when they mentioned the shapeshifter.

"She calls herself Mystique," droned Eric, "but she also goes by the name Raven Darkholme, as well as several other pseudonyms."

There simply could not be that many shape-shifters going by the name of Raven.  So she was alive, then.

"Her adoptive daughter, Rogue, completes the Sisterhood.  Rouge's powers…"

"Her what?!" yelled Kurt, jumping up from his seat and snatching up the photo.  A string of impressive German curses, along with one or two Arabic terms he must have picked up from Logan, followed.

"What's the matter, kid?"

A tearful, garbled explanation in German followed;  then there was a *bamf*, and sulphur-scented smoke drifted through the room.

As Logan turned to leave, LeBeau's hand caught his arm.

"Hey, whats t' matter wit' 'im?"

He shook the Cajun away.

"The bitch is his mother." he summarized; then he stalked out of the room.

Kurt was on the roof; but hiding from someone with enhanced senses is of little use.

"Hey.  Ya alright, kid?"

A sulky shrug.  "Ja.  Wunderbar."

"Ya gonna sit up here all night?"

"Perhaps."

Wolverine just gave him a look; despite the tears running down his face, Kurt smiled.

"Nein, you're right.  I'd get hungry.  It's just…"

Logan took him in his arms, hushing him, trying to remember the songs Silver Fox had sung to their own children, so long ago.  But he never could sing, so he just rocked the boy.

"Hush, hush.  Gelasu, gwi's."

"What does that mean?" asked Kurt, his tears slowing.

"Nothing important.  Come on, lets feed you."

"As long as it's not deer!"

"Brat.  So what do ya think of this place, then?"

"Not bad.  We staying for a while?"

Logan shrugged and leapt off the roof, landing easily in the soft grass below.  After a second, Kurt joined him.

"For a while, kid.  For a while."

A/N:  Gelasu, gwi's is Mi'kmaq : translation; I love you, boy/son.  I'm writing Logan as a father figure to Kurt, so get your minds out of the gutter! 

Coming up next; more about Storm, Sinister gets into the action, and the X-Men and Sisterhood go head-to-head.