Sean glanced up as Fern stormed into the room. He watched her slam the door and rake her hands through her hair and huff before he benignly greeted, "Everything okay, Fe?"

The grey mutant jumped and spun around. The boy was sitting casually on her bed, one long leg kicked out on it and his back pressed against her headboard, with her black little stuffed dog pressed to his chest. It was the latter she focused on.

"That's mine!"

"I bought it!" Sean pulled the dog closer with a crooked grin. It was then he noticed the black splotches on her baggy t-shirt and he was quick to stand. Tossing the dog aside, he reached for her. "What happened?!"

"I'm fine!" Fern stumbled back from him. The action stopped him in his tracks, but his features remained tight and concerned. At the sincerity in his expression, the young woman swallowed and rubbed the blocky wet glands on her forearm. "Training went bad."

He frowned as she passed by him, making sure to keep a wide berth before she darted into the bathroom. Before he could get a word out, she had slammed the door shut. A bit annoyed with the brush off, Sean followed her. Or at least tried to; he winced as his chest bumped off the door and he glared down at the handle as he rattled it. "Come on, Fern, open up!"

"No! Go to bed!"

"You go to bed!" The redhead snapped at her. Knocking lightly on the locked door, he sighed and softened his voice, "Come on, Fe, it can't be that bad. Let me in."

The young woman's reply was a bit less hysterical, but still firm. "No. I'm fine. Just...just go to bed."

"Alright." Sean nodded to himself and stepped back.

Inside the bathroom, Fern couldn't look away from the mirror. Or rather, from the reflection of her side, where the patch of her scales gave away to scarred grey flesh. Clawed fingers prodded it. The skin, if it could be called skin, it was more scar tissue, felt queer. Unnatural. She could still remember when they took it, holding her down and using a scalpel to peel the skin back until they could see the white of her bottom rib and then cut it off with a pair of scissors like she was some kind of morbid craft project. There had been no anesthesia, but there had been plenty of blood. She could still see it on their hands as they passed their instruments back and forth and spoke idly above her. They spoke of what could be done about her, could be done with her, but none of them paid Fern any attention. No one had been holding her hand. Hands which had been restrained. Like she was the dangerous one. She had been only five and she could still hear her own screaming, but no one had cared. After that their procedures only got more invasive.

Her gaze drifted to the thin, barely visible scars on her stomach. The doctors had been careful to cut along the seams of her scales to make them less obvious, but they were still noticeable. The thicker lines between the small plates that didn't lay quite so perfectly. Still, they weren't nearly as prominent as they would have been if she had skin, and that was a small blessing.

The membrane flickered over her eyes as a bit more poison oozed down her throat. Hands shaking, she steadied them on the sink with a heaving sigh. Head down, she rolled on the balls of her feet a moment.

Her mind drifted back to the farmhouse Josie had raised her in. To how the lake smelt in the summer and how Bruno's steady panting were the only noise inside the large house at night. She thought of her mother's perfume and her husky, comforting voice and felt the adrenaline wane. Her mind continued to drift; from the people she had met to the boy outside the door and how concerned Sean had been. His freckled features not quite panicked, not quite accusing, but almost. Like he was angry on her behalf about something she didn't totally understand.

Strangely enough, even when faced with her at her worst, Sean didn't seem disgusted by her. He didn't shy away from her weird, unruly body. He looked her in the face and reached for her like an idiot with absolutely no self-preservation instincts. With a hoarse chuckle, Fern pushed back from the sink.

Spinning on the ball of her right foot, she used the left to kick the handle of her tub. Hot water gushed from the faucet. After plugging the drain, and dumping a hefty dose of laundry detergent in, the young woman stripped out of her soiled work out clothes. The black ooze made the material cling to her, but the resurgence of adrenaline had been enough to keep it from sticking too tightly to her scales. With a hum, she picked up her cotton shirt as she stepped into the tub. Sinking down into the hot water, her large eyes fluttered as the poison began to dissipate. The dark sludge pulled away from her scales, settling to the white porcelain in thin black dregs.

Rubbing the thin material of her shirt between the setae of her fingers, Fern sighed. It was so strange that such a...not quite innocuous, but certainly simple liquid could cause so much trouble. A scowl lined her angular features and she threw it across the room. The wet cotton hit the wall with a splat before crumbling to the tile floor. With a deep breath, the mutant squeezed her eyes shut and slipped under the water.

It was an hour before she would get out of the tub and another forty minutes before she left the bathroom. Josie had taught her to always clean up after herself (at least when it came to Fern's admittedly dangerous...secretions) and the grey girl figured with the sheer lack of boundaries in the mansion, she should probably stick to that habit. So she washed the tub out, scrubbed it, got back in the tub to rinse off all the grime she had got on her from cleaning said tub, rinsed the tub out again and brushed her teeth before going to bed.

Or at least, starting to go to bed. Fern blinked and pulled the towel tighter around her torso at the sight of the redheaded boy sprawled out on her bed. Sean was snoring steadily on his stomach on the far side on the mattress. A quick glance confirmed that his arm hung over the side and the grey girl inwardly wondered what she should do with him. She could kick him out and have to deal with another one of his annoying do you want to talk about it speeches, or she could let him sleep, but that would mean giving up her bed.

Mulling over her options, Fern kept her towel tight to her lithe body as she dressed. She kept a stern, distrustful eye on him throughout the process, but the boy stayed oblivious. Once clothed in a pair of baggy sweats, the young woman huffed. She was too exhausted to fight for room in her own bed, but the idea of having another candid chat about feelings kind of made her want to smother him. Grabbing a couple pillows, she pushed Sean as close to the edge of the bed as he could get without falling off before she lined the pillows up against his sleeping form. She then crawled into bed.

With the barrier firmly between them, the two slept peacefully through the night. It was the redhead who woke first, to a stranger's voice in his head.

"Sean," Charles greeted him with a hint of amusement. "If you're done wasting the light, I believe we're ready to start your next training exercises."

"I'm up," the young man grumbled, Irish accent thick from sleep as he rolled onto his back. His eyes fluttered closed a moment, but a brisk "now, Sean" got him moving.

"Fuckin' buzzkill."

"I heard that."

Sean glared at the empty space above the bed. His gaze shifted from the white ceiling to Fern. Her back was to him, her shoulder length black hair spread out limply on the pillow under her head. She was completely covered, all the way to her wrists and ankles, but her feet were bare. Sean couldn't see her hands, but he took a moment to enjoy the subtle curve over her waist to the flair of her hip and blushed a touch.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He had meant to wait up for her, to talk about what got her so rattled, but it had been a long day and sleep had gotten the better of him. The redhead eyed the pillow barrier with a hint of sadness, but merely leaned over it to press a quick kiss to the back of her head before he left to get ready for the day.

Fern slept well into the morning, until like Sean before her, Charles took the initiative to wake her. He had been a bit weary to, after realizing just how much the secretions seemed to take out of her, but it was time for the day to begin. He called her down to the bunker and after a brief argument about breakfast (she was against, but he was insistent), the young brunette found herself standing in the middle of a bomb shelter with a banana in hand, staring up at a thick rope that extended down from the ceiling.

The young woman pursed her lips at it before looking to her mentor. "It's a rope."

"I'm aware of that." Charles took hold of it with a nod. "I want you to climb it."

Scales shimmering with amusement, Fern stared at him while she peeled her banana. "Uh, okay. You know climbing is kind of my thing, right?"

"Yes, I know." The man visibly resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ignoring this, the grey skinned mutant took a bite of her breakfast and looked up to the ceiling where the rope was secured as Charles continued, "Which is why I want you to leave your gloves and sneakers on while you do it."

Fern frowned. Still chewing, she asked why.

"I've noticed during your strength training that you use your setae more than your muscles." He pointed to her fingers as she wiggled them at him. "It's impressive, but not exactly helpful."

The grey mutant curled her fingers into her palm and tucked them defensively to her chest. "Don't knock my babies."

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. "Yes, well, I believe your babies are hindering you from actually gaining muscle mass. I don't think it's intentional, it's clearly just a natural reaction, but you need to work on yourself."

"You need to work on that attitude."

"You have an exceptional amount of strength in your legs, but you need to focus on your arms and chest," The Professor told her as she began to tug on the rope with one hand. As she took the last bite of her banana, Fern tossed the peel to him and began to swing idly on her heels, letting the rope hold her weight. Charles inhaled deeply, but a quick glance in her mind confirmed she was still listening.

Fern hopped onto it and swung. It reminded her of the tire swing Josie had put up when she had first moved in with her. Feet firm on the knot at the base, she leaned backwards until her spine was fully arched and flipped her feet up above her head. Crossing her legs, she scowled as her shoulder length black hair fell in her face. "So basically you want me to climb the rope."

"That's right."

She glared at him as she moved passed him, back and forth. "With gloves that give me zero traction?"

He smirked at her. "Mhm."

"So basically, you just want to make me look like an idiot for a couple hours while you get your jollies?"

Charles shook his head. Folding the banana peel up, he wrinkled his nose at its slimy insides as he explained, "Oh, no. I won't be supervising. I told Hank I would help him with some of the soldering his suits require."

Fern shrugged. The news didn't exactly break her heart. "At least I won't have any witnesses to my humiliation."

"Speaking of, he thinks he has a prototype ready for you," Charles pulled a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket and offered them to her. "You just need to have a fitting."

"Great," the girl grumbled. She flipped casually off the rope and landed gracefully on her feet. Plucking the gloves from his grasp, she slid them on and nodded to the ceiling. "So I guess I'll just climb the rope and go play dress up?"

"Sounds like a solid plan of action to me."

A thought struck her and Fern tilted her head. "Who's helping you? Train, I mean."

Charles chuckled and shook his head. "I've had my abilities under control for quite some time."

"But will you be able to weaponize them? Should the need arise?" She mocked his British accent back at him with a sharp toothed smile.

His bright eyes sparkled with mirth, but his lips pressed into a thin line. "You need to stop doing that."

"What? Being supportive?" She didn't want to see Charles end up a smear on the pavement like Blake or disintegrated into dust like Darwin.

The man saw her concern and offered her shoulder a reassuring squeeze- and also wiped a bit of banana residue on it. "While I appreciate the sentiment, there's really no need to worry yourself. I'm quite capable of using my mutation aggressively."

"Oh yeah?" The girl sneered jovially. "Prove it."

When Fern came to, she was sprawled out of the ground at his feet. There was no pain, but it was jarring and her skin spasmed with surprise as she nodded. "Alright, good job, I guess."

"So glad I have your approval." Charles smirked and helped her to stand. Her black sneakers scraped on the concrete floor, but she got her balance back easily enough. His expression softened, just a touch around the eyes. "And you?"

The girl continued wiping the dirt, or rather ash, from her medium gray sweats. Alex had really done a number on this place, she thought absently. "What about me?"

"Clearly you're able to call upon… traumatic memories in order to activate your glands." He frowned as her movements slowed. "Will you be able to have such focus in a stressful environment?"

Fern let out a scoff of laughter. "Get me stressed enough, they'll do it themselves."

Charles hummed with a nod. "Yes, well… Enjoy your work out."

She shook her head as he passed by her. "Thanks, enjoy being pretentious."

"I will thanks." He spun on his heel as he reached the doorway. He held the banana peel up. "And please, spare me your thanks for disposing of your trash for you."

"Thanks!" She called after him, but he had already left.

Her big blue eyes narrowed on the open door, but the mutant made no move to close it. Instead, she looked back up at the rope. It was attached to a beam on the ceiling. It had to be easily fifty feet high. Unenthused, the girl jumped, grabbed the rope and promptly slid down it.

"God damn it," she muttered.

It was going to be a long day.

And it was. It was excruciatingly long and after about three hours of trying and failing to climb the stupid thing, Fern had decided it was time to cheat. She didn't take her gloves off, or her shoes, but she did remove her outer layers. Her sweatshirt didn't give her much leverage, but losing her pants did. The scales on her inner thighs clung to the rope, giving the grey mutant just enough grip to help her get up the rope.

Too consumed with finally completing her task, she didn't notice when a man slipped into the room.

Erik smirked at the sight of her lithe form, wriggling half-naked above him, before he picked up the young woman's sweats. Slipping them into the crook of his elbow, he took a step back from the rope. Voice rich with amusement, he called up to her, "Lovely form, Ailey!"

The girl jerked and she squeaked as she nearly lost her grip. Her gaze whipped from the ceiling (only a few feet from her reach) to Erik. Features darkening, Fern slackened her grip and slowly slid down the rope.

"What're you doing here?" She asked, pulling off her gloves absently.

He offered her a glib smirk. Blue eyes approving and voice a bit thick, he dropped his gaze to her coltish legs and watched her scales twist with rage. "Just enjoying the view."

She glanced down at her white jockeys and scowled. Embarrassment flickered over her skin, but her expression stayed tight. Fern went to grab her sweatpants from him, but he held them just out of her reach. Anxiety blossomed in and on her chest and she instinctively dropped to a more aggressive stance. As her scales shimmered, her shoulders hunched, sharp nails out and her knees bent. Jaw tight and teeth bared, Fern's gaze drifted behind him toward the door. It was too far away to get to without incapacitating the man, something she really didn't want to do. No matter how tempting it was to wipe that smug smirk off the man's lips.

Erik pretended not to notice. Instead, he took a step closer to her. When she took one back and put a hand between them. The man's gaze fell to her black nails, the points of them catching the light before he took in her mutation once more. He hadn't seen so much of her since their initial meeting at the farmhouse and while she was a touch thin for his tastes, her mutation wasn't to be denied. It was fantastic. Breathtaking, and he shook his head almost mournfully. "You really mustn't hide so much of yourself away. Especially not under such shapeless rags."

"I like shapeless," She growled at him. Holding her hand out, palm up, the young woman demanded, "Now give them back."

"Why don't you try and take them from me?"

"Erik. Give them back." Fern winced at the slight break in her voice. "I won't ask again."

"You shouldn't have asked the first time." The man slipped closer to her and Fern felt fear stab through her. He was a lot bigger than her, no doubt physically stronger and the bunker was a very secluded place. So focused on keeping her adrenaline in check, she didn't notice the step he had taken to close the gap between them until his breath hit her ear. "Take them from me."

Fern flinched and kicked him away. Erik let out a grunt as her foot caught his hip and knocked him to the ground. Sneering, the young woman clenched her hands into fists. "You like 'em so much, why don't you keep 'em?"

As she spun to leave, he moved to stand. "You're no fun at all, you know that, Ailey?" Pain throbbed across his hip, but Erik ignored it as he fell in step with her. He then stepped in front of her, blocking her way out of the bunker. "All that pent up rage and nothing to do with it." His fingers reached out to push her hair back. "I could teach you to transform all that energy into something much more stimulating than meditation."

"You're too close to me. I don't like it. Now I'm going to ask for my pants again and if you don't give them to me, I'm going to leave," She pulled her face away from him before he could touch her. Every instinct told her to bite him, but she didn't want the others to think she couldn't control herself so she repressed it. "And I won't be coming back alone."

He chuckled. It was a dark, hollow sound that made a shiver run up her spine. "Are you going to sick that Irish boyfriend of yours on me?"

Her blue eyes narrowed on him and she shook her head. "I'm going to sick your British one on you."

The man's mouth puckered. Fern held out her hand expectantly and Erik handed over her sweats a bit more roughly than necessary before storming out of the bunker.

The young woman felt her scales spasm as she fell to her knees. Deep, quick breaths made her lungs hurt as she struggled to keep her glands in check. They burned, itching and stinging in a way they never had before, but she resisted the urge to touch them. Touching them would only make it worse. She wasn't sure how she knew that, instinct maybe, but she didn't want to risk tipping the scales and making them gush.

Teeth clenched, Fern slowly got to her feet. It wasn't a steady movement. Her normal grace failed her and she stumbled into her pants and toward the door. The rush of adrenaline wasn't meant to be denied and her body decided if it wasn't going to fight, it was time to run. Too bad most of her strength had been used up not giving Erik the satisfaction of seeing her break. Her gloved hand hit the frame of the bunker's door.

Scowling, Fern squared her shoulders. She cracked her neck, set her jaw and stormed up the stairs to the mansion. Admittedly, some of her bravado faltered when she reached the door. The young woman was angry, but she didn't want to unleash that anger on anyone who didn't deserve it. After peeking inside and making sure the coast was clear, the young woman raced up the stairs to her room.

Once inside, she spun the wooden chair under the door handle and went immediately to her underwear drawer. Shoving aside her jockeys and her a-shirts, the girl faltered at the sight of the familiar ace bandage tucked away in the corner. Lips pursed and skin not quite steady, she shrugged her t-shirt off and began the slow, careful process of binding her chest.

Some time later, after gathering her nerve, Fern made her way to Hank's makeshift little laboratory. She wrinkled her nose at the prospect of spending absolutely any time in it, but at least she knew he wasn't going to proposition her. Hands behind her back, she rocked on her toes in the doorway. "Hey."

The young man glanced up from his notes with a grin. Setting the pencil down, he greeted her brightly, "Fern, good afternoon. How was your session?"

Her skin rolled from black to white before returning to a slate color, but her features stayed surprisingly mellow. "Fine."

The young woman slipped into the room. Vaguely, she wondered how it was he managed to get his hair so short, but pushed that question aside for later. Instead, she leaned over his desk. Her large eyes drifted over his notes with dull curiosity. "Charles said you had some kind of prototype ready for me?"

When her gaze met his, the scientist stood. He fixed the bottom of his jacket (inwardly, the young woman wondered why he was even wearing one, between the heat and the informal setting the mansion offered, but didn't ask him, lest she make him uncomfortable) before motioning her over to a metal trunk.

Arching a brow, Fern tilted her head as he held up a yellow and blue train wreck of an outfit. He looked super proud of it and she didn't want to hurt his feelings...but she had to ask, "Uh, Hank, where's the rest of it?"

Cheeks a fiery red, the young man swallowed as she took it from him. As he rubbed the back of his neck, he offered a chuckle. "Well, with your mutation, I thought it would be best to keep as much, um, skin exposed as possible. "

Fern held the outfit against her chest. The long slits up the legs and down the arms were a bit jarring and the idea of wearing it in front of someone like Erik made her skin crawl (and quite literally, her scales).

It was the latter Hank noticed and commented on, "I suppose I could put some mesh inlays, but I didn't want to complicate things." With a hum, she walked past him and into a nearby closet. Hank gaped after her, but followed. Ignoring how she shut the door in his face, he leaned against it. "I wasn't sure how you went about cleaning your clothes after you…"

"Don't say discharge," Fern teased from inside the closet. "It's super creepy when you call it discharge."

"After your mutation activates, then." He smirked and crossed his arms. "Can I see it?"

"Why?"

"To see how it fits! I haven't actually gotten anyone to try theirs on yet."

"Not even Raven? Wait, does Raven even need a suit?" Her voice grew a bit louder, a bit hysterical amusement as she fumbled with the zipper. "Is she even gonna be there when we go after Shaw?"

"I assume, I mean, I'm not sure what exactly she'll be doing, but yes, she's been rather adamant she come along."

Fern peeked the door open. The inside of the closet was pitch black and the lack of light made her blue eyes seem all the more reflective as she warned, "If I come out, you better not laugh at me."

"I won't. I promise."

"Or get any ideas."

Hank squinted at her. "What kind of ideas would I be getting?"

"Any kind. Shut the door, I don't want anyone else to see me like this."

"Like what?" He looked rather concerned, but went to do as she had asked.

At the sound of it being shut, the grey girl stepped out of the closet. Skin flickering with embarrassment, she tugged idly at the bottom of her sleeve. It only ran down the inside of her arm to wrap around her wrist, leaving the outside completely exposed. The legs were much the same, with the inside completely covered and the scutes and glands along her thighs and calves utterly exposed. The zipper was fastened up to her throat, but the belt was undone and the buckle hang limp around her narrow hips.

Hank pursed his lips and walked around her. He tapped his chin. "You need knee pads."

"I can't wear this!"

"Why not? I mean…" He gently pulled the shoulders of her suit back, a bit annoyed with how inaccurate Raven's measurements had been. "I'll need to do some more tailoring-"

Her scales shivered with annoyance.

"But this should be optimal for your mutation."

When he came to a stop in front of her, Fern was frowning. Big eyes narrowed, she looked down at his feet before looking back to his face. "Are you going to be going barefoot?"

The young scientist blinked. "No."

"Why not?" Before he could answer, the grey girl supplied, "Could it be because it's embarrassing to have people gawk at your insecurities?"

Hank regarded her a moment. "I didn't think you cared about what people thought of your skin."

"I don't. Mostly. But that doesn't mean they need to see everything I have to offer."

"Your body is fine. Nobody cares what you look like."

Insulted, Fern reared back. "I know my body's fine, what's that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing! It was a compliment! I just meant no one will think you look bad in the suit."

After a blink, the brunette squinted at him. "What? I know it looks fine, it just feels really impractical." And stupid, she added mentally, but didn't say aloud. "And why is it yellow?!"

"Yellow was the only color available in that fabric."

"Oh, well, that makes sense." Fern kicked a leg back and grabbed her ankle. After stretching and rolling her weight around, she planted it back on the ground and reluctantly nodded. "Fit's good. It just needs a bit more-"

"Fabric?" Hank offered. At her smirk, he went on, "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks." As she stepped back into the closet, she asked, "Hey, Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you get your hair so short?"

"Uh, I cut it?"

"Like, with scissors?"

"Well, I use clippers..." His blue eyes squinted at her. "Why?"

a/n: thanks to the always fantastic Linda Ku for betaing this! Remember, never bind with a tensor bandage. Never.