Rhiannon had to work hard to control her emotions as she walked out of the school and onto the cold grounds; she wouldn't admit it, but she had felt tempted for only the second time in her life to tell someone about her night terrors. She'd had to run before the words escaped.
Sucking in great gulps of chilly air as she tried to calm down, she found her feet unconsciously taking her toward the stone courtyard where she'd first watched Pyro practice. It was time to exercise her powers again – though the nightmare had left her rattled, she'd also seen more of it than she ever had, and she was shaking with the combined fear and anticipation of examining the new details.
She sat down cross-legged on the stone, wrapping her arms tightly around herself to ward off the chill and wishing she hadn't stormed off without a coat. She knew she was missing breakfast, but she couldn't bear the idea of being around people just now – she'd pester the kitchen staff for a snack later. Closing her eyes, Rhiannon pushed her mind into the relaxation state the Professor had taught her, and piece by piece began to build the scene of her nightmare around her.
It wouldn't have looked like a nightmare to anyone else; a pretty woman in her early forties sat curled on a leather couch, reading a newspaper and paying no attention to the glowing television screen in front of her. On the floor between the couch and the entertainment center, a little girl sat playing with a pair of dolls, dressing and undressing them in an endless fashion show. When Rhiannon was certain she had every detail in place, down to the steaming coffee cup on the end table, she faced the woman and steeled herself to relive the nightmare.
Slowly, out of the darkness behind the couch, the figure of a man materialized. Goggled, gloved, and dressed in black, he made no sound as he moved cautiously to stand behind the woman on the couch. Rhiannon felt the tears start then, saw the scene give a flicker, and forced the emotions down until the illusion steadied once more. Separate your emotions from your abilities, she told herself mentally, the thought taking on the voice of the Professor who had so often repeated it. Before her, the black-clad man raised one hand – a hand that clutched a vicious-looking knife.
It happened in a matter of seconds: in one swift movement the man stepped forward, clutched the woman's hair, and slit her throat so hard that the slice nearly severed her head from her neck. The child beside Rhiannon looked up and opened her mouth in a silent scream, then vanished with a faint glimmer. The man, visibly startled, tore off his goggle mask and looked wildly around the room. Rhiannon let out a small sob.
The man had no face.
Unable to keep up the illusion any longer, Rhiannon let it drop and allowed the full force of her emotions to take over. She bent double as she cried, her face pressed against her knees, shaking with her determination not to grieve aloud.
It wasn't fair, damn it. It wasn't fair! Why could she never recall his face? She curled up, cheek pressed against the stone of the courtyard, and waited for the tears to subside.
* * * * * * * *
John had skipped class after breakfast, gone to his room and stretched out on the bed as he tried to think. It wasn't easy; emotions and thoughts were so tangled he could barely tell which was which, and he hadn't had all that much practice untying such mental knots. But his worry for Rhiannon and Nisse's quiet words had made him willing to try.
He focused on what Nisse had said – "We had to learn to trust that she knows when she can handle it." Trust was not something Saint John Allerdyce took lightly, not after the life he'd led. Between a family who hated him, schoolmates who tormented him, and a society that publicly shunned those of his kind, the only trustworthy people John had ever known were right here at Mutant High. And even they were few and far between.
So the question was, could he learn to trust Rhiannon? She was his girlfriend; that implied a certain amount of trust to begin with, trust that she wouldn't break his heart. But the problem was that he hadn't really given her his heart at all. He'd given her only the appearance of it – the kisses, the flirty words, the hugs and the holding hands. He'd given her nothing of himself; or at least nothing he hadn't already given to someone else. Hell, she didn't even know his full name was Saint John.
On the other hand, how could anyone expect him to trust her? He'd only known her for three weeks! Yet he realized, even as he thought it, that nobody did expect him to trust her. There might be people who hoped he would – Bobby and Rogue, definitely, and probably Nisse, and certainly Rhiannon herself. But none of them expected him to. The realization was startling.
He wondered, as he turned over onto his stomach and wrapped his arms around a pillow, whether Rhiannon trusted him. He was surprised to find he really didn't know the answer. She said she did, and most of him believed her, but then why did she refuse to tell him what was going on with her? Her paradoxical attitude had his head spinning. He growled softly to himself in frustration.
Changing tack, he thought about the people he did trust. Why did he trust them? He trusted Bobby because… well… Bobby was Bobby. He shook his head; unless he could come up with a better reason than that, he was never going to get anywhere. So why exactly did he trust Bobby?
Because Bobby had proven time and time again that he would do anything for John, even up to taking punishments for him. He always reamed John for it later, of course, but he took the punishments themselves without complaint. He didn't expected John to return the favor, he just did it because John was his friend. John trusted that Bobby would always be there for him.
And Rogue… Rogue he trusted because she knew secrets about him, knew personal private things, and had kept them to herself. She'd never let them slip, either accidentally or on purpose, and she'd never used the knowledge as a bargaining chip to manipulate him the way his stepfather had always done.
So how did all this apply to Rhiannon? She hadn't taken punishments for him – but she had taken punishments with him so he wouldn't have to do them alone. Didn't that count for the same thing? And she didn't know many secrets, but she knew about the Christmas tree incident, and thus far hadn't told anyone; that made two reasons to trust her.
But it was so hard…
*Mister Allerdyce.*
John jumped when the voice echoed in his head, but he recognized it immediately as the Professor's. "Yeah?" he said aloud. He guessed what was coming – he should have known better than to stay in the school while he was skipping class.
*Please come see me in my office.*
Sighing, John slid off the bed and trudged down the stairs toward a lecture.
