Two more chapters of this story, and then guess where we end up. Right back at the beginning of the whole series! On to it.

Life Happens chapter eleven: The End of A Good Thing

One week before finals. Everything was going great. Morgana was enjoying her new life at college. She had gone home a couple times to see her family. She truly missed them, and the letters started coming and going more frequently now. She had not told them she had gotten drunk, or now had a tattoo. She and Jason had gotten close. He had even given her his high school state football ring. Things were looking up. Except...her plants were dying.

She had occasionally used her powers to grow the few plants in her room that she had brought from home. Now that she was alone in the apartment, she felt safe enough to use her powers and heal them completely.

"There you go, little ones," she said to the plants. "We can't have you dying on us, can we. I have very few things left of home." A creak behind her caused her to turn around.

"Morg, what on earth are you doing?" Rhonde asked surprised, and staring at the out-stretched arm of her friend. The plant continued to grow.

"Rhon, Rhon, it's not what you think," Morgana tried.

"You're on of those...those genefreaks?" Morgana tried again to move closer and explain. "No. Stay away from me. Get out. Take your things and get out." About this time Jason had walked in. "Careful, Jason. She's a mutant. Look what she did to those plants."

"Morg?" He looked, pleading with his eyes. "Are you?"

"A mutant?" she questioned. "I don't know. I have my gifts. Grandfather Chief told me I was blessed by the spirits."

"If you have "gifts" you're a mutant," Rhonde said bitterly.

"Jason, please. I am who I am. My gifts are apart of me. Can either of you accept that?" She was stunned by the way her friends had changed from open-mindedness to prejudice. He looked down then to her.

"I don't think I can."

Everything inside her went numb. Her lip started to quiver. Bravely, she said, "I'll pack my things and leave. If that's what you want." They just stood there. She began throwing her things in her bags. The hides and other items she brought from home were packed and in no time she had her bags by the door and was packing some of the food for her trip. Everything was ready. No trace of her remained in the apartment. Rhonde and Jason stood near the door, waiting.

She opened the door, started through with her bags but stopped and faced them. To Rhonde she said, "Rhon, when I first came here I had no clues of this life. You thought me about this life and the things in it, how to deal with it. You accepted a young naive Native American who had never stepped foot in a big city. You were the first to got me to a party. First to get me drunk. I will never forget you." She turned and looked at Jason.

"Jason, you made me feel...wonderful. Alive. You were honestly interested in my life and took time to learn my ways. I was starting to see a future for us, but..." She took the ring off and started to hand it to him. He wouldn't even hold out his hand to take it. She slid it back on her finger and retrieved her bags. Her eyes were sad. "I guess this is it." Without goodbyes she walked out of the apartment, and out of her dream.

Six months later.

The sun had rose, the last of the fog was clearing. The bridge shone a bright red against a brighter blue no longer blurred by the fog. The cooing of doves could be heard from the open window of the tiny apartment. The sound of a running showering nearly out the sweet noise.

After the scene in the apartment back in Boston, she had wondered aimlessly, searching for somewhere to go. She couldn't go home, not yet. She felt she had failed her tribe and wanted to make it up to them somehow. Eventually, thanks to the use of her gifts, as she still called them, she ended up in San Francisco.

Here she had found a nice little apartment she could afford with her cashiering job at a Quicky Mart until she found something more permanent. Small though, it was enough for her. Her things remained packed, just in case she needed to run again. A month after getting set up, she applied and got a job as a museum tour guide, and that helped pay the rent and left some for the other necessities of life. And with her knowledge of history, she easily moved to head the other tour guides in this museum. It made her happy. To an extent. She had no friends, no one to talk to outside of work. 'No friends, no way of anyone finding out,' she had convinced herself to believe.

So she remained alone. No dating left time for other options. No friends, meant no commitments. If she couldn't be a lawyer and get her land back, she would at least use her powers to stop others from losing what was rightfully theirs. That was what had caused the aches and pains in her arms she hoped the hot water would soothe. At first, the activities of fighting thugs had been physically brutal on her with not using her powers. Soon, she began to rely on them more, and she began to have a better control of them.

The pain that ran through her body now was the effect of the fog and a very slick roof. The fog, at first, had been a great cover, but when it had become too hard to see a foot in front of her, her left foot had missed its step, and she had landed on her back on the ground two floors below where she had just been. Standing had been a trouble when she learned her ankle had snapped during the fall. Thanks to her healing factor, which she had relied more on these days of fighting crime, she hadn't had to see the doctor or go to the emergency room, and she had been able to make it home on her on steam.

This morning, though it still hurt, it felt more like a bad sprain. 'Guess I hurt it worse than I thought,' she had thought to herself seeing a hint of purple on the tanned skin. Quickly, she dressed in work clothes and threw on a pair of white nurse-style shoes. "Eight hours strait in heels with this ankle, no way. If they don't like it they can lump it," she said as she climbed down the stairs and entered a cab waiting for her. A fifteen minute drive later, she paid the fair and walked into the big museum. Normally, she would have just walked the distance on a nice day like today, but her ankle hurt too much this morning.

"Hi, Sam," she greeted the man behind the desk, then noticed him staring at her foot. "Hurt my ankle last night. Couldn't see through the fog and stepped wrong." She turned so he could view the ankle. At twenty-nine, ten years her senior, Sam Ellington was the head security guard of the Museum of Historical Arts and was known to notice everything.

"Jeez, Miss Wolf," he said grimacing. "That doesn't look too good."

"Didn't feel too good either," she said signing in and retrieving her clipboard from him.

"Long shift today?" he asked, his dark eyes shining out from his dark skin.

"Eight hours, no break."

"Lunch?" She shook her head. "I'll send you some lunch in your office. And a bag of ice."

"Thank you, Sam. You're the greatest," she said walking away from him into the heart of the museum. If she had made one friend since coming here, it would be Sam.

Later that day at lunch time, Morgana returned to her office for a quick lunch. The office was small, like her apartment, practically an emptied closet she used to store records with one chair that looked past it glory, file cabinets along two walls, and a small desk stuffed in the corner along the third wall. The door filled most of the fourth wall. Poor Sam could barely fit in the small space. But there sat on her desk a nice meat sandwich, bottled water, and large bag of ice. He knew she didn't believe in modern medicine, but had left a bottle of Aspirin anyway. The way her ankle looked now, it would take the rest of the day to heal. She took the Aspirin, reminding herself to thank him for being so stubborn. A quick meal, ice on her ankle and soon she was back amongst the patrons.

While on a tour through an ancient Egyptian exhibit, Morgana glanced someone vaguely familiar. She thought and thought to find where he fit into her past. 'That's it.' The memory became clear. He had been the guy, Jackson Hooper, who had ran into her the day she had enrolled in college. She fought to keep those memories from returning. He was in San Francisco. In her museum. Interesting. She continued on, hoping she would see him again.

That night, after the museum had closed, she went out on her nightly rounds. Her ankle had quit hurting for the most part, but was still a little sore so she used the wind that was present to transport herself, gliding where she waned to go. After checking all of the usual hot spot, stopping a purse snatcher, and secretly rescuing a cat out of a tree before the fire department had to be called, she headed to her museum.

She liked to go there when she didn't have to work. When no body else was present. She wondered through the halls, stopping at her favorites. Something didn't seem right tonight. She didn't feel alone. There were other presences here. She began searching, following the tingling in the pit of her stomach. The same feeling she got when a criminal was about.

When Morgana reached the south wing, nothing had been harmed. Now she turned the corner to the painting hall. Even though the entire building was dark, she could find her was as though it were noon. In the corner she heard rustling. Gliding over, she hovered near the ceiling in the shadows and watched in shock. Someone had gotten past all their high security and was trying to steal from them.

Before she could do anything to stop this thief, a group of seven came in, startling the one in the corner. He tried to flee, but was jumped. They beat him before taking something from him. From her place she watched as everything happened so fast. She looked him over quickly before letting out after the other seven. Quickly, and skillfully she took them down, tying them up with strong limbs and leaving them on the front steps.

When she returned, the first had moved, and she followed a small trail of blood, cleaning as she went. Catching up to him on the street next to the museum's side, she used a large maple on the sidewalk to contain him. He was still dazed when she flew over to him, and had strangled to the point of turning himself upside down. When she got closer she noticed who he was.

"You!" she screamed indignantly. "I saw you earlier today. Here. In the museum."

He blinked. "Have we meet before?" his unaccented voice asked.

"If you mean the time six years ago when you nearly ran me over in college and never said sorry, then yes!" she bit off. He remembered back.

"That was you?" he questioned looking her over as much as he could. "What are you doing here? As a museum tour guide no less?"

"That's not important," she stated crossing her arms over her chest. "Why are you stealing from my museum?"

"I don't see your name on it..." he tried, but realized he'd never gotten her name.

"Morgana. Which you would have known if you had stopped and apologized like most normal people do," she barked at him. "What are you doing here?" She lowered herself to the ground so that they were face to face, but left him upside down with the limbs wrapped around him.

"Don't be so naive, Morgana. I am a thief. That's what I do." He looked at her. "Could you let me down now? Blood rushing to the head and all. Doesn't feel too good." So she held out her hand and indicated for the limb to twist, which it did, bringing him up right too fast.

"You're a thief. I have to turn you in. Just like the others. Of course you know that, seeing as how you were in law school." He didn't like the look on her face at that moment. Then she saw the trickle of blood on his arm and her face softened. "You're bleeding. Guess they did quiet a number on you." She released him a little, but only enough to get at his arm. She rolled the sleeve up, exposing the knife wound on his well conditioned forearm. "This may sting a little. I've never tried on another human before." She held out her hand over his arm. The wound slowly started healing. "There may be a scar, but oh, well. That should keep you from bleeding out." She looked up and he was just staring at her.

"You're a mutant," he said calmly, placing the palm of his free arm against her cheek, then pulled it away. A bright blue string of electricity shot from his thumb to his pinky and to the other three digits. "So am I," he said in a deep, enthralling voice. Completely taken by him, another mutant, she lost part of her hold and he was able to slip out.

"Who are you?" she breathed, uncertain. "You're not the same man I met before."

"The name's Alex Quinn now, but most call me Short Circuit." He was now standing in front of her. "Appears we've both changed since that day in the hallway. Me to the thief you see before you, and you...A crime fighter at night and museum tour guide by day." He smiled, and it was positively hypnotic. "What do you go by now, so that I might not ruin you public face."

"Nature," she answered just staring up at him. He had ran away before she had ever made it to class. And now here he stood, name and personality changed. Something told her, though, that this was the real man compared to the angry student she had glimpsed in college.

"Well, Nature, my native princess, I must say this has been a pleasant ending to an unpleasant evening. Even though I didn't get my prize, I'm afraid I have to go." Their eyes were locked, their lips close.

"Will I see you again?" she asked without thinking. He leaned down, kissing her softly.

"I'm afraid not, sweet." He let go of her hand, and left. She was breathless, paralyzed for a moment. Then felt something in her hand. She opened it. A small ceramic charm the shape of a leaf lay in her palm. Then it hit her. He had used his charm and their brief past to get away.

"That...that..." She couldn't find the words. "Seven out of eight isn't too bad for one night. But I'll get him." She went to a phone booth down the way to place a call. "I swear on Ravenhold's head I'll get him." She watched from a building across the street's rooftop as the police gathered the men into their van. Another night's job done.

End chapter 11. 12 coming, and it's short.