Sych here! Sorry about this... Sketty actually gets you the next chapter so damn fast that I have to make up for her speed by being really slow! Nah, I'm just trying to excuse my knack for procrastination. I hope you like the way this is going! Drop me a line, whine, complain or pick holes in my writing : grooveyflower88hotmail.com

Feedback is fun. Just please don't spam my email account with hideous flames because they will, believe me, be deleted instantly.

My thanks to bluemist418, ironic-humour. Sorry for the loooong wait!

Anyways, on with the story:

Chapter 6

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

She looked at him in mild. "I'm fine," she stressed, "Just a little tired.'

Logan snorted disbelievingly. "Something's wrong, I can tell. Now I don't.." He continued, holding his hand up to stop her flow of protests, ".. I don't insist that you tell me what's happening. But just... tell me if there's something I can do, o.k?"

Storm looked at him for a long time, losing herself in his deep eyes. She glanced away only when he shifted in discomfort. "I'm fine," She repeated quietly, pulling at the waist of her black shirt.

He gazed at her in concern, and she was very aware of his eyes on her. He rolled his shoulders as a sign of confusion and defeat, and then bid her goodnight, walking away with an expression of bewilderment.

Leaning against the doorframe, she watched him go, drinking in every movement he made till he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. Then she was faced with confusion of her own. Scott, now Logan? She had thought they were nice enough guys before, but what was with the sudden craving?

She remembered a phrase she'd seen in a movie once, years ago, "As skittish as a mare on heat." Well, it could explain everything, but she strongly resented describing herself so.

"I think I'm going to take a long, long shower," She muttered. She opened the door with her back still facing it, and turned inwards as it did, leaning on the oak as if about to collapse again.

She grabbed a towel from where it was, folded on a shelf in her wardrobe, and stepped out of her clothes into a silky sky-blue dressing gown. One of the perks of being a teacher at Xavier's School for the Gifted was having a en-suite to yourself. Storm's en-suite was ordered exactly how she liked it, with periwinkle blue candles lining the bath.

The shower was brilliant. The warm water steadily melted away tension in her muscles and for the first time all day, she felt at ease. She stayed in the shower for a long time, savouring the heat and sensation. When she did get out, she wrapped the towel around her lithe body and frowned in mild frustration; she'd forgotten to put the fan on.

She stood in front of the foggy mirror. A distorted and generalised image gazed back at her. It was uncanny how little her reflection looked like her when it was like this. The features were marred, even the colours weren't right. If you turned your head to the left, her hair looked reddish.

She shrugged, and moved as if to wipe the mist away. Her hand touched the reflective glass. It was warmer than she had expected it to be.. as warm as her blood. She began to draw her hand away in shock, her fingers leaving a trail of clear mirror on the frosted surface.

She looked at her hand. Rivulets of blood trickled down her fingers and pooled in her palm. After gazing at it in puzzlement, she glanced back at the mirror, expecting to see a crack or blood trail. She saw her face reflected in the clear part of the mirror.

It seemed to wink sardonically at her, and then things began to get odd. The world darkened, except for the slightly hand-shaped space through which she could see her reflection. The colours whirled through it, changing through fire and ice and molten metal. She thought she saw clouds dashing across, lit bright crimson as a raging fire followed them. Then, as two silhouettes against the furious background, she saw two people standing beside each other; one tall and menacing, the other short, standing bewilderedly to one side.

Her knees contacted the cold lino of the bathroom, and the sensation of coldness ran up through her blood. Gasping for air, she felt the vision leave her, and she found herself clutching to the vanity cupboard for support, her legs seemingly useless. Storm stood, and looked at the mirror. There was no mist.

The warmth of the air indicated that the shower had only just been turned off. A faint 'plink' could be heard as a last drop of water fell from the showerhead. Overhead, a fan whirred contentedly.

She glanced at her hand, and was confused to see it perfectly clear of any blood or scratch. For a long time she stood there, listening to the fan and watching her hand. Then she got dressed as quickly as she could.

She dashed out of her quarters and slid down the banisters. She should have really given herself a detention for this, it was against school policy and obviously dangerous. Nevertheless, she made her way with full speed to Professor Xavier's office.

It was empty.

Storm gave a small scream of irritation. The room glared back at her, obviously unhappy that she would breach their silence. She folded up into a leather chair in front of the familiar wooden desk and prepared to wait.

Bingely-bingely-bleep.

The ring of the pager seemed unnaturally loud, and Storm started at the sound of it. She checked it slowly. It had always been clipped to the inside of her shoe. She figured that she'd take her shoes everywhere. As it was Autumn, she didn't have to worry about what would happen if she wore sandals. Her fingers brushed her thin socks and she imagined them dripping with blood. She pushed the image aside and grabbed her pager. In her mind, blood cascaded into her boots.

The black rectangle was slightly heavier than it should have been, if appearances were any judge. Xavier insisted that all the teachers had one, for how else was anything going to get done, if he was the only one who could guarantee everyone got the message? She checked it, and was unsurprised to see Scott was trying to contact her.

She uncurled from the seat and made her way to the lower levels. The whiteness of the walls sought to sooth her, and the familiarity of the corridors urged her to relax but Storm found she could not be comforted. Anxiety bubbled. A meeting had been called.

The X-Men were sitting in the "Disembarkment Room". She wasn't sure how it had gotten this room; by rights it should have been the 'Briefing Room' or something similar. However, the name had stuck. What the 'Disembarkment Room' described was a small circular room with a table and chairs. The table had many uses; presently it was being used for none.

Scott and Xavier were deep in conversation. Logan sat to one side, clearly eavesdropping. The expression on his face suggested that he didn't like what he was hearing. Kurt sat quietly by himself; with such a look of happy devoutness that Storm was loathe to interrupt him.

She stood in the corner, watching the tense faces. Now would probably not be a good time to bring up her strange sickness. It would only worry and distract them, and they didn't need that if they were about to go off on a mission.

The first mission since Jea-... the first mission since Alkali Lake.

She caught Logan watching her as he listened intently and dropped her own gaze, doing an in-depth study of the back of her hand. Feigning nonchalance she began to inspect her nails.

Her jaw dropped.

They were coated with a wet, crimson liquid. She owned no such nail polish. Storm lifted a fingernail and put it to her tongue. As she had suspected it might, it tasted metallic. Which raised another question; why were her fingernails painted with blood?

xXxXxXx

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!!