Hmmm…forgot to do the disclaimer…

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THE X-MEN!!!! OR X-MEN EVO, FOR THAT

MATTER!!!

That said…

Note: The first sentence in French means "Good morning and well met, Jean." The prayer at the end of this chapter is Latin; it's the Lord's Prayer. I don't include this outright in the fic, but Nicole's mother was a linguist, and Nicole is fluent in French, something I am not. I do know a few phrases, and it is a beautiful language, one I would love to be fluent in. I hope to learn it one day. I'm working on it. Anyways, enjoy, and bear with me on the few parts with different languages. In the end it makes it more interesting.

Chapter Two- Discovering Old Wounds

Jean saw Nicole round the corner, cheeks flushed, breath still ragged as if she had been running from something like her life depended on it. She saw how the girl looked like she hadn't bothered to brush her short chestnut hair, how the bags under her eyes looked deeper and how there was a drag in her voice as she answered the greetings of others, how she seemed so distracted. As the younger girl neared her, Jean smiled at her, trying to catch her gaze. Nicole was one of the few humans that had never had a problem her mutants, and had more of a problem with the anger against them. She was always closed in, and more than once Jean had wondered if she should prod the girl's mind, find what the girl was hiding, but then reminded herself it was probably nothing, and that she should let Nicole have privacy.

Jean waved as the girl looked up, her somewhat shy smile beginning to show, a smile she only showed to few people and at rare times. Jean had yet to see a true smile, one that didn't hold lingering sadness, and the way her dark green eyes brought the smile down into what could only resemble a contortion, the painted on mask of someone who locked her thoughts away. Jean shook these thoughts away silently as Nicole approached her, apparently unaware that she was wearing the same shirt that she wore the day before.

"Bonjour et le puits se sont réunis, Jean." Nicole said in a small voice, her accent flawless. French was a language she knew Nicole had perfected, and seemed to prefer, though English was her native tongue.

"I thought we agreed no French in the morning?" Jean said with a small laugh in her voice as she watched the girl smile sheepishly.

"I'm sorry. I had my mind on other things…" The girl's distracted look was returning, and an almost hurt look in her eyes, a closed look, one of locked doors, her eyes barriers and closed windows. Suddenly they snapped to attention, back to Jean, expression blank, always blank and calm, collected. "I have to get to class. I'll see you later, Jean."

The redhead watched her friend disappear in the flood of students, her mind filled with the chaos of wonder again, on the brink of worry…and realizing it was at least fifteen minutes before time for homeroom, that class was still a far gaze off…She didn't know what to make of it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And you sit and that hard desk, listening to pointless mumbling over the intercom as your classmates chatter too loudly for you to take. Their pointless talk confusing you, when you are used to sudden sound, and the quiet of solitude, not the constant mummers and whispers and shouts and yells…and all the movement, the constant running, screaming, scrambling for books and pens and paper, shuffling through text books and looking for a point, shouting out preferences in the lunchroom, and you can barely stand it…it makes you want to hide. But where to hide? Where?

The day crawls by, slow and steady and so unpredictable. You long for a system, a sense of order away from the unruly riot of your fellow students and the monotony of your teachers' lectures, which you take in only half listening, because you need something to sound the same besides this feeling of insecurity, the feeling to find the dark space and sink into that sanctuary. You need for the day to be assigned and scheduled, you need for each breath to be timed, each word fore planned. You need a routine, and you need an escape all at once, and you need to scream…you need to scream so loudly it crushes your lungs and your black blood pours out of you, leaving only what's left, what's clean and pure.

But you are bleeding, though no scream comes out. A circle of blood stains your shirt, unseen by the others, any others who might have stared, masked by your jacket. The flow of blood has stopped, leaving trails of the crimson liquid down your arms, the source from the bruise, that horrible place where he had…but, no, don't remember that. Don't think about that. You've seen worse than this.

And as you try to wash away the blood, wash away the memory of how it got there, of how he always seemed to leave a scar on you in some way, this time by his hand, by the ring that he wore, by the force of his fury…what did you ever do to deserve this?

Go away, go away…the door opens and you chant your little spell, not turning to look at whoever may have entered, hoping they may have heard your plea for solitude, for only the sound of the faucet running and only your sunken, sullen reflection for company.

The resounding footsteps of whoever entered don't leave, they linger, and you can feel the eyes of the person on you, staring, watching you. Though you don't want to see who has seen you, the real you, your mind frantic for an explanation, anything to explain away the bruises and the blood, you turn and see her, her calm gray eyes and red hair, staring at you, boring into you. Torn between anger and sadness, you stare back, your mind a blank, for this wasn't supposed to happen…though you hurt, she wasn't supposed to see. Though you scream, no one was ever supposed to hear.

And now the scars and screams are out in the open, for everyone to view. Your shield's been broken, your defenses are down.

Nothing will ever be okay again.

Do something, you idiot. Get out of there.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean looked in horror at the rough paper towel in Nicole's hand, wet and dripping, then looked to the bruise blooded and fresh, not more than a day old…not even half a day old…and Nicole just looked back, her eyes full of the same horror.

The girl's brown hair wafted as she turned, throwing the paper towel in the nearest waste bin, pulling on her jacket with a determination to ignore the situation, to brush it off and throw it away, just as she had just thrown that wet paper towel away. The attitude radiated off Nicole; Jean could see it in her eyes, in the way her jaws were set.

"Hey, Jean. I'll see you later. I have to go back to class." Nicole said in a short, flat, monotone dialogue, her voice still not above its normal tone of barely above a whisper. She swung open the heavy bathroom door as Jean came to her senses, trying to catch up with Nicole as she walked at swiftly down the hall, brushing past people idling in the halls.

"Nicole, wait!" Jean called after her friend, watching as the girl ran out the door just as the bell for the end of school sounded, trying to catch up, and trying just to talk to her…

Nicole was gone, swept away with the others, dodging and weaving through the crowd and trying her best to get away, just get away…and as Jean realized all this, struck with the sudden rampage of thoughts from the battered girl, she shook her head softly. How was she ever going to fix this?

She felt Scott come up behind her, his arm making its way across her waist, holding her in a quick embrace. His smile evaporated when he saw her fallen face, the emotion in his eyes masked by his sunglasses as always.

"Jean, what's wrong?"

She shrugged, looking away, in the direction she knew Nicole had taken; her thoughts were elsewhere. "Nothing. It's nothing." But she wasn't so sure.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now that they know, now that she's seen, what will you do? Little Aya Nicole...little bird, what will you do? Say your prayers and fall asleep, fall into a lie and drown in its depths.

Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sancificetur nomen tuum...

Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by Thy name...

Do you remember? Every night by your bedside, that singsong little Latin rhyme, saying a prayer to the one in heaven above, saying it with your mother, so gentle and kind, and praying that you both could escape while you said that old verse...

Adventiat regnum tuum fiat voluntas tua sicut in caelo et in terra...

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven...

Do you remember wondering on that cold day in February, that horrible, icy, rainy day, what his will was now? And why it had been his will for that horrible thing to happen? Do you remember wondering where to go from there? Do you remember what it is to wish you could forget?

Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie...

Give us this day our daily bread...

Saving up money from every job you can manage to hold, trying to have enough for both of you to eat. Trying to survive...and find the supply of daily bread...a burden laid on you at such a young age, just now fifteen, and now the burden is discovered. Little Nicole, what will you do?

Et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus notris...

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us...

Can you ever forgive him, your debtor, and your trespasser? Has he done too much to ever be able to merit forgiveness? Can you ever find a way to escape his grasp? What was your trespass, your great debt? Are you held as the one who owes the penance for your mother's blood? For the bloodshed of the world?

Et ne nos inducas in temptationem, sed libera nos a malo...

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...

"Please Lord, deliver me from this evil"...is that what you said to yourself in all those dark corners for years on end? Is that what you whispered in the back of your mind during all the drunken rages?

And now that you're coming home again, say that prayer again and again. The Lord just might hear you this time, and he might deliver you...there was no deliverance for your mother. He couldn't save her. Maybe you can't be saved either, but a prayer can't hurt...a prayer can't hurt...

Sed libera nos a malo...