AN: Well, this is a short chapter, which is almost exactly 50/50 angst and humor.  I've got three scarves left to crochet before X-Day, and since I haven't learned yet how to crochet and type at the same time, that has to take prescedence at the moment.  On with the show.

For you dear, I was born
For you I was raised up
For you I've lived and for you I will die
For you I am dying now
You were my mad little lover
In a world where everybody fucks everybody else over
You who are so far from me
Far from me
So far from me
Way across some cold neurotic sea
Far from me

-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "Far From Me." 

            "The good news is that the foundation and the support structure are completely sound.  Gloria says that the floors are amazingly level for a house that old, especially given the odd seismic activity that seems to happen around here."

            "How long do you think?" 

            "Oh, three days on the outside, this is nothing we can't handle."

            Rogue marched up to the table and grabbed Emma's arm.

            "What are you doing?  Are you nuts?!  Magneto could show up any time!"

            Emma gently removed Rogue's hand and put her arm through Rogue's.

            "Good, you're up, this is Klaus, Klaus, this is Rogue.  Sweetheart, tell me what you think of the blueprints."

            "Emma!  It's not safe-  wow, that's gorgeous.  Is that a balcony?"  Rogue shook her head.  "Wait, Emma-"

            "I ought to be just livid with you, you never told me that the X-Mansion was so bloody stuffy."

            "Hey now, you can see in my head, you knew the score."

            "True," Emma mused, pursing her lips.  "But my jaunt through your memories didn't quite prepare me for the hands on experience.  Forgive me dear, it's just that when you're a telepath, denial strikes you as incredibly foolhardy, and those people have cornered the market."

            "I can understand that.  So, what the hell's going on?"

            Emma lightly smacked her forehead.

            "Sorry.  Do you remember when I said that without serious work from a contractor and some serious lessons in etiquette the Brotherhood was just not for me?"

            "Yeah…"

            "I'm willing to forgo the etiquette lessons.  It's a lovely old building, it just needs a little sprucing up.  Don't mind Klaus' people, they'll be gone before you know it, and I promise you won't miss the leaks in the roof."

            Emma waved to the boys and Wanda.  Wanda raised a hand back, stunned. 

            "She's redoing our house," she said.  "Unbelievable."

            "That chick is psycho," Todd muttered, downing the last of his coffee.  A man in a white coat immediately walked up and refilled it.  "This is so totally disturbing.  Am I still allowed to wipe my own ass?"

            "Not enough money in the world, sir," Mister Coffee replied, freshening all the other mugs and walking off.  Emma strolled over to the group, arm in arm with Rogue.

            "Good morning all, she said."

            "I take it you're moving in?" Pietro asked, sipping his coffee, then spitting it out onto the lawn.  "Jesus, Lance, how can you drink this crap black?"

            "I am, if that's all right with you, of course.  Hence the renovations, which I hope you'll excuse, it was really just a waste of good architecture not to overhaul it."

            "We're fine with you moving in, but are you bringing the army of butlers?" Lance asked.

            "Goodness no.  They only turn up to ease transitions.  In any case, once the renovations are done, I think we should have a nice talk about setting up a stock portfolio."
            "Stock portfolio?" Freddy said, eyebrows shooting up.  Emma nodded, sitting on the porch steps and watching the activity around her.

            "In the few days I spent with the X-Men, I observed a few things.  They are dishonest with each other, each of them is fraught with personal hang ups and psychological problems, about which they are in utter denial.  They're not even that gifted, really, and by and large, they're idiots.  Your team has superior communication skills, a better spectrum of skills, better leadership, and far better bonds.  So what do they have that you don't?"

            "It's way too early to think, Emma," Wanda muttered.

            "All they have that you don't is a couple telepaths and money," Emma replied, smiling at her handiwork.  "I for one will be interested to see how your conflict will play out now that you have both."

            "Fair enough, but I'm not gonna be some lackey for you," Todd said.  "Pietro's our crummy leader, and I'm gonna stick by that."

            "Hey!" Pietro snapped.

            "Oh, Todd, I don't want to lead.  Think of it like a cute little club from grade school.  President," she said, pointing at Pietro, "Vice President," she said pointing at Rogue.  "Senators," she added, smiling at Todd, Freddy, Lance and Wanda.  "The only job I want is treasurer.  I'll follow orders like a good little lamb, just leave the mind-reading and the financial planning to me, and we'll be the only mutant team in town with 401k plans.  Oh look, the caterers are here."

            Logan sat in silence as Ororo flew the Velocity.  No one was supposed to be able to read his mind.  Not even Xavier.  But Emma Frost had flipped through his dreams like the pages of a magazine, and now, there wasn't much left that she didn't know. 

            His instinct was to kill all three of them.  Emma.  Quicksilver.  Rogue.  It was the animal thing to do, chew off the limb in the trap, claw underneath your skin until you dug out the thing that was killing you.  The human thing to do was to dwell on it, savor it, soak in it, let the pain saturate you until it went away all on its own.  Logan wasn't sure what would be the mutant thing to do. 

            While she was living under Xavier's roof, Logan had an outlet for his affection.  He could protect her and keep her safe and understand her better than anyone else in the mansion.  The two loners, trying to work with the team.  He'd taught her how to ride a motorcycle.  She'd saved his ass more than once herself.  He'd thought that there was an unspoken understanding, that she just knew on instinct the way he thought. 

            But then, one day, Rogue had come home talking seven miles a second and cursing the day that Pietro Maximoff was ever born.  Logan thought it was a phase, another prank, another one of the daily dramas that they all had to put up with.  It didn't even occur to him to be threatened by the lanky white haired kid from the Brotherhood.  The boy wasn't even a blip on the radar.  But he was a big blip on Rogue's.   The kid had won her over while he was unconscious, by touching her skin on purpose and hanging out with her in her mind.  It happened so fast that Logan hadn't been tipped off until it was too late.

            Even then, Logan still had her mutation to count on.  She'd looked so beautiful in her dress when he'd been taking pictures of them before the dance.  Jean had told him that this was going to be Rogue and Pietro's first and last date.  Logan had planned to be consoling and kind when Rogue got home, had planned to let her cry on his chest and stroke her hair, because she would never in a million years show that kind of weakness to anyone else.  Instead, he'd spent almost an hour watching the one thing that should've been impossible: Rogue and Quicksilver kissing in the back seat of Summers' car.  When he'd finally ordered her back inside, she was too deliriously happy to notice the look of complete betrayal on his face. 

            After everything went to hell in a handbasket with the Sentinels and the senate hearings, she had distanced herself more and more from all of them, even him.  Logan didn't much mind, since Pietro had vanished from the face of the earth.  She'd gone for a walk and never come back. 

            So, against Xavier's orders, he'd gone to get her.  The last thing he remembered was seeing blood coming out of her mouth and feeling her hands on his face as she stood there with his claws through her heart.  He'd woken up the next day back at the Institute to Summers asking what the fuck was wrong with him.  He ignored the kid's furious tirade about attacking Rogue; all Logan could do was stare at the blood which was still on his claws.  He set to work immediately trying to hate her, and he did, he hated her, he hated Quicksilver, he hated himself, he hated pretty much everything. 

            He couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if he'd been the one to build up an immunity to her touch, but it had never occurred to him to try.  When had he become so… timid?  When had he become so cautious that a punk like Quicksilver could out dare him?

            Well, that was all there was to it.  He'd just have to show Rogue that her scrawny boy-toy wasn't the only one with enough balls to take the risk.  And then she'd know everything he'd been trying to say.