Sue Penkivech : You know I was considering not having Warren get caught. But where's the fun in that? ;) Besides, it didn't make any sense, that Warren could keep all that a secret from a telepath. Glad you liked it. :-D Oh you did get the reference! Cool. Well a little bit of both actually. Most of Warrens' story is from the comic (some of it I got from an X-Factor issue.) Agent Fred Duncan did work with Xavier but I never read a comic where he worked with the boys. Well since you asked so nicely. ;)  

smeg1: Well…that was what Warren thought. Who he is will be answered in this chapter, though it's still canon.

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 "You can't sleep there, Scotty. There's no room down there, except under the bed. An' I doubt the rats wanna share."

"Whoever sleeps on the floor is going to get stepped on." I added, silent hoping I won't be 'volunteered' again.

The lanky haired boy nodded curtly as he scanned the vicinity. It was a habit of Scotts' to observe the area for possible threats or escape routes. This time he seemed to be considering his options for the sleeping arrangements.

"Warren, do you sleep with your wings out?" He asked unexpectedly.

"Yeah, I do. Why?"

"That means you'd take up the most space…" Scott murmured more to himself than to me. I still huffed indignantly as Bobby snickered. "Since neither of us take up much room…," he addressed the kid, "why don't we share the bottom bunk and let Warren take the top?" 

Bobby considered this option before shrugging and claiming he didn't care. He sat on the bottom bunk to give Scott and me some room to change.

Slowly Scott turned his back to us to face the corner of the cramped room. Gingerly he placed both hands on either side of his head to remove his glasses. His eyes were shut painfully tight when he fished into his pocket for something. On closer inspection I could tell the object was a pair of scarlet goggles. I had never given much thought to the level of caution Scott Summers had to live with. The risk he took with daily rituals like simply changing his clothes or having to keep others at arm length. My mutation was a cakewalk in comparison.

Not wanting to be found gaping like a fish I turned to see Bobby watching with a curious expression. Shrugging I unbuttoned my shirt and draped it over the side of the bed. I revealed my twisted harness, grunting as one of the straps cut into me as I undid another strap.

"Do you need help Warren?"

"I don't need help, Slim." I replied stubbornly. After many failed attempts my struggles creased as I unhooked the last restraint. "Uhh…now that's better." I groaned, flexing my strained wings as far as the restricted space would allow. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Bobby staring at me. Like with Scott he seemed fascinated with my restraints. I guess it was odd for him to see the lengths we took to blend in. It was much easier for him to change forms back and forth. No harnesses, no special shades or overcoats for him. Bobby Drake was passable. Maybe that was one of the reasons I was always ended up fighting with him. He had something Scott and I would never have: a shot at normality.

"What are you staring at Frosty?" I snapped. The little snowman flushed faintly at being caught. He shrugged and muttered something I didn't a catch. "What?"

"Leave him alone--"

"I just asked if it hurt." Bobby murmured.

"Oh. Sorry…" I mumbled back. I'm not use to being pitied much less apologizing. Still it was a humbling moment to realize how much I was overreacting to someone who was only being sympathetic. We finished dressing in silence, both of them ignoring the fact that I hadn't answered Bobbys' inquiry. I used the lower bunk as a step to reach the top, slipping under the blankets I had brought.

"Good night."

" 'Night."  I didn't respond to them, I was too busy scolding myself. What was wrong with me, why did I always have to push people away? Maybe because you know they won't like you, I thought. Shut the hell up, I silently replied. It was then I realized that it might not be the best idea to start arguing with myself. It was a sure sign of my exhausted mind working over time. If I kept it up I would never get to sleep.

"Stop it, Bobby." Scotts' muffled voice cuts in.

"Wha?"

"Moving around," Scott supplied, "your foot keeps stirring all over."

"What? Umm…Slim…my feet aren't moving…"

"Yes they are; you keep hitting the wall."

"I haven't moved an inch…"

"Oh yeah? Then what's this--"

"Squeak!" Both of them yelped at the tiny noise, and by the sound of it someone landed hard on the floor.

"Son of a--" Bobby hissed.

"Ahh!"

"Scott are you okay?!" I called out to him.

"Uhh…well I…ahh! It's in my pants!"

"Oh--what?" I asked unsure I had heard right.

"It's in myyyy paaants!" Scott cried out. The mental image of our lanky, stiff team leader hopping around with a mouse down his pants was too much for me. Unable to help it I laughed, barely perceiving that I wasn't the only one who did so.

"It's not funnnnyyy!" He raged.

"S-sorry Sc—ah ha ha!" Bobby giggled helplessly. Contact from the bottom bunk shook me a bit; I would guess Slim hit his head on the top.

"Damn it!" Yeah, I was right.  "Come on Bobby, help me out here!" Scott hollered.

"What do-*laugh*-you want-*giggle*- me-*snicker*- to do?"

"Get it!"

"Down your pant?" I lost what little control I had left.

"It's on the bed now! Get it Bobby!" Scott ordered.

"But how can--"

"I don't care, just get it!" I smiled at the possibilities this could bring about. I was award for my patience soon enough. "I DIDN'T SAY TO COVER THE BED IN SNOW!"

I don't think any of us got any sleep that night. In the mourning we all groaned as we were summoned by the Professor. Scott muttered darkly about Bobby wetting the bed, and Bobby made 'subtle' references to Scotts' girlish high-pitched squealing.

It was exactly 4:30 when we began our flight lesson in one of the room on the first floor. The three of us tried in vain to retain some memory of our class, but it was a losing battle. Duncan to his credit was a much more patient man than I had expected. Not once had he reprimand us on our lack of recollection. He simply told us to focus and that we would be reviewing this daily anyway. The Prof was no where to be seen but we were told he would return for the courses after breakfast. He must have been sleeping in late while we work, I thought bitterly.

At least we had woken up enough for our next lesson, Target Practice. I had some experience with guns, as I had used one in my solo days. The difference was that I had used a gas gun. All of us were a tad jumpy at the idea of using a real gun; Duncan assured us that it would be alright. I tuned out the others while I was shooting, as Duncan had said, 'you can't let yourself be distracted'. 

My keen eye sight gave me a slight advantage but I soon found my hands to shaky to hold the gun straight. I missed the target three times and hit off center the rest of the time.

"A good effort Warren, keep trying you'll get it soon enough." Duncan assured me.

"Yeah, sure…" I responded dully.

"Nice work Scott, you hit near dead center that time."

"Thank you for saying so, sir."

"There's nothing flattering about the truth, kid." The shooting went on for ages until Duncan cried out.

"Excellent shot! Look at this, boys!" He held up one of our target sheets, several holes ran along the slip but none of them stood out more than the one in the center. I was about to praise Scott on the uncanny aim of his when Duncan chuckled. "Nice shooting Bobby, keep this up and you might break your family record."  Slim and I stared back and forth at the pair of them, completely dumbfounded.

"Family record?" Bobby ventured a little shaken himself.

"Yeah, didn't your father either tell you about his days in the army?"

"No." Bobby replied.

"Yeah, well…George and him were a couple of hotshots back then. Nobody could ever break the Drake brothers' records. "

"You…knew them?"

"Only by reputation--well your uncles' rep. Your father never achieved Georges' fame…" That was last Duncan occasion spoke of Bobbys' family.

We headed off to the breakfast, knowing the worse was to come. With all the things that were current running through my brain I doubted I'd be able to focus enough to survive the rest of the day. I had so many questions but none of them had anything to do with the tasks at hand. Where was Xavier? What were he and Duncan hiding from us? And just who was the kid I've come to know as Bobby?

A/N: In one of the CC issues Xavier is training Kittys' knowledge of the jet. Warren comes in and tells her that he feels her pain because he had to go through the same thing. (I think it's the Christmas one where Kitty has to fights a demon or something.) Warren did have a gas gun but Xavier told him to lose it when he joined. I had the boys training with guns because of arc where all earths' mutant lose their powers. Hank and Bobby were stuck in Genosha in their undies in one issue and fully dressed and firing guns in the next. Which I think implies other training. George Drake was Bobbys' uncle. He died before Bobbys' parents even got married. Originally he died in World War two, hence the comic book reference I had. And I know you guys problemly thought Scott was out of character during the mouse bit but I just wanted to have fun with the fearless leader. I know said I'd have more about what's going on with Xavier but I wrote myself into a corner with that one.