A/N:  Anyone else see the irony in Emma assigning Jane Austen's Lady Susan?

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Nightcrawler: "Peter, mein freund --"
Colossus: "Da?"
Nightcrawler: "Your foot."
Colossus: "Da?"
Nightcrawler: "Remove it from my spleen."
Uncanny X-Men #367

            Leslie sat sweating in her room, pretending to read Lady Susan.  She glanced longingly at the clock, and, seeing it was only 6:30, willed it to move forward.  She'd been back at Xavier's for three days only, but had already realized her only time of relief came when everyone else was asleep.  She still picked up their emotions, but it was easier to block out.

            Groaning as a particularly strong wave of angst hit her, Leslie threw the book across the room.  "Fuck it, I can't deal with this tonight," she muttered, unnoticed tears running down her face as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her jacket.  She stormed down the hall, ignoring everyone in her path.

            Bursting outside into the fresh air, she briskly walked down one of the many garden paths.  Spring had not yet come to New York, making the dead flower beds an excellent place to go if one wanted to be alone.  Depressing and morbid, but a good place to be alone.

            Leslie sat on one of the cold stone benches, hugging her arms around herself in an attempt to warm up.  Squinting, she cautiously lowered her glasses and was relieved when her eyes didn't stab with pain.  She allowed herself a slight smile as she put the in her pocket.  She ruefully rubbed the bridge of her nose—every pair she'd found pinched.

            She thought about Kurt.  The day they'd come back from New Mexico he and Bobby had left with the away team on some mission or other.  His being so far away felt odd, as if something was missing.  Leslie told herself it was just the stress put on the link, but part of her wondered if it was something else.  Something she'd been trying not to think about.

            She didn't know how she felt any more—hell, she barely knew which emotions were hers and which were other people's!  She was pretty sure she was still scared of Kurt…but he had let her cry…Leslie wished she had something to just hit herself over the head with.  It would be preferable to just sitting here, going over the same things again and again, Kurt and her powers and missing her family.  Anything would be preferable.

            Be careful what you wish for, she thought ironically as she heard voices.  She tried to follow them, freezing when she recognized one as Quentin's.

            Curiosity killed the cat…but, then again, I'm not Kitty!  She tried to move as quietly as possible, creeping along.  She stopped about five yards from them, only a bush hiding her.  She tried to quiet her breathing as she quickly scanned them.  Their emotions were erratic, jumping all over the place, but the prevalent one was a sense of power.  Kick… Leslie mentally groaned.

            "Another flatscan dead!" Quentin crowed, a crazy grin on his face.  "They're finally starting to get that we're serious.  The whole fuckin' town's scared of us now!"

            Leslie thought she was going to be sick.  They killed someone…Before, it was just a page in a comic book.  Before, it was make-believe.

            Now, it was horribly, undeniably real.  And Leslie realized, her stomach twisting, that it was as much her fault as theirs.  She'd known they were killers.   Shaking, she stood up and walked over to them.

            Redneck quickly grabbed her.  "Don't move, or you'll see why they say I have 'magic' hands."

            Fury building in her, she couldn't even reply.

            Quentin sauntered over, Tattoo hanging on him, her hands roaming his body.  "Well, looky here, an eavesdropper."

            "You killed someone!" Leslie managed to choke out, still having difficulty wrapping her mind around the idea.

            Quentin grinned at her.  "Isn't it grand?"

            She struggled against Redneck's grip, but was unable to break free.  "How dare you?" she whispered, tears of fury running down her cheeks.  "What gives you the right?"

            Quentin leaned in, putting his face close to hers.  "Why, Kick does," he said simply, the same insane grin on his face.  He pulled away, walking back over to Tattoo.  "Oh, and don't feel bad about not saying anything, Leslie.  I made sure you wouldn't."

            Her head snapped up. "What?!"

            His grin was getting really annoying.  "Oh, the first night you were here I set up blocks to make sure you wouldn't tell anyone.  Your mind may be blocked to telepaths, but in dreams your fair game.  And let me say, it was easy to do it with you distracted by your nightmare."

            She glared at him.  She hadn't thought she could become any angrier than she already was.  She had been wrong.  "Are you telling me," she said icily, "that you're responsible for my dreams?"

            "Sadly, no.  That, my dear, comes from your own twisted mind.  And what dreams they are!  May I suggest a good psychologist?"

            "May I suggest you stop acting like you're a villain in a bad B-movie?"

            He glared at her.  "Redneck, kill her."

            Glob turned to him, eyes panicked.  "But, Quentin, she's a mutant too!"

            Redneck froze, uncertain, and Radian and Tattoo just watched.

            Quentin glared at him.  "What do you suggest, Glob, that we let her go and tell Xavier?  We can't let her live!"

            Leslie felt Redneck agreeing with Quentin.  Realizing he was actually going to kill her, she instinctively and fearfully reached out with her powers.

            Almost instantaneously, Redneck released his grip on her and collapsed screaming.  Tattoo, Radian, and Glob followed a moment later.

            Quentin stared, horrified, at Leslie, who stood there as if nothing had happened.  The sounds of his friends screams twisted his gut.  "What the hell did you do, Bitch?!"

            Leslie glared at him.  "Pain's an emotion like any other.  Right now, I've stimulated there pain centers as much as I could."

            Quentin nervously backed away from her, trying to find an escape.  "Wh-what are you gonna do?"

            Leslie walked over to him, her face stony.  Waves of pain crashed over her as she felt what she had inflicted, but she ignored them, determined not to stop.  In the back of her mind she wondered that she felt no remorse for doing what she had, only fury. 

            "I told you not to mess with me, Quentin," she said softly, black eyes cold.  To his terror, she grabbed his head, and then ripped into his soul.

            Warren walked blearily into the cafeteria.  They'd returned late from the mission last night, and he'd immediately crashed.  He needed coffee.  Coffee was good.

            Once that objective had been achieved, he looked around the cafeteria and frowned.  Normally, it was loud, full of obnoxious sound, and generally the type of place he like to avoid.  Today, though, it was full of hushed whispers only.

            Something was Wrong.

            Fully awake now, and considering the possibility that the entire skull had been replaced by Skrulls, (Lord knew weirder things had happened) Warren set off to find someone who knew what was going on.

            He found that person in Jean.

            "Jeannie, what the hell's wrong?"

            She looked at him, her face harried.  "Oh, God, Warren, it's nuts!  A group of hysterical students woke the professor up last night and confessed to several killings, all of humans!"

            Angel just stared at her.  "What?!"

            "I know!  They were all in a tears, panicking, and insisting that we take them to jail!  And one of our best students, Quentin Quire, was one of them!"

            "And they just confessed?"

            "Yes!  Oh, Lord, I'm sorry, Warren, but I have calls to make."  With that, Jean hurried off.

            Warren stared after her.  "This place has just gotten even stranger…"

            Kurt's back.  He asked me if anything was wrong.  I told him no.

            I wonder if he knew I was lying.

            It will take some serious therapy before any of the Omega Gang recover.  Killers can't deal with guilt, apparently.  At least, not my kind of guilt.

            I still can't believe how easy it was to use my power.  It was like looking at a shelf and picking out the thing you wanted—I picked out the feeling I needed, and they felt it!   And damn, it hurt me as much as them, but at the same time I felt like a God.  It was a very good feeling.  I can see why Frost likes to use her powers as much as possible.

            It was also addictive, in a way I don't think even the Kick is. I want to do it again, now!   I never realized before now how careful I really have to be.  I hate it.  I want that feeling of being in control again…

            I think Jean may suspect that I did something.  She called me to her office today and asked if there was anything I needed to tell her.  And I know Emma suspects.  She grinned at me when I went into English today.  Didn't make a single smart remark, either.

            I wonder if I should be concerned about that…

Next time:  Angels and Wolverines and Demons, Oh My!