The line between moral and immoral had always been mutable. It remained in focus, but was subject to change—evolving and devolving as the time passed to better suit the beliefs of society. Though, what one was willing to accept and willing to change were two different animals. People like Scott Summers and Charles Xavier were willing to accept the threats they faced, but refused to do what was necessary to truly change that reality.

Getting her hands dirty never bothered Cassandra as much as it should have. She'd learned to accept the threats to her rights, her family, her very life. And she was more than willing to shift the line and insight change. It was that willingness that truly made her dangerous in the eyes of most of the X-Men. Who was to say she wouldn't some day think as radically as Magneto and kill thousands of people?

However, she was no loose canon. Not as they believed her to be, that is. Even for Cassandra, there were limits. She understood the difference between hurting Stark, and hurting innocent men and women simply doing their best to earn a paycheck, to provide for their families. So, she took the time to raise her hand, palm flat to the wind as she searched for energy signals within the facility.

The building was rather large—it had to be, in order to construct the enormous machines. Although, despite its size, the only energy inside was generated from the conveyor belts and metallic assembly lines. She could feel it all. Sparks from welders bounced as they touched the floor, metal arms lifted heavy pieces from one belt to the next, the inner mechanics of it all working tirelessly to complete its automated designations.

"It's empty," Cassandra shook her head, letting her hand fall into her lap as she remained crouched. Her other hand pressed into the outer wall of another warehouse as she twisted on the balls of her feet to see the teammate behind her. "Not even...a janitor."

Lori's features were coiled with worry and anxiety, her hand clamped a little too hard over Cassandra's shoulder. "Do you even have enough energy to do this?"

"Are you kidding? There's...enough energy...in there to...blow half of...L.A.," Cassandra replied, before swallowing hard. Her throat had not quite begun getting better yet. It was still sore, aching and burning at the back, and the cuts stung beneath their bandages. The pain forced her worn vocal chords and slightly swollen windpipe to sound as though she were perpetually out of breath and needed to cough.

The idea that Cassandra was too weakened for something like this was not a far-fetched one. However, she was prepared for this moment of exertion—and the energy she would be using was not entirely her own. It was a devious thought, to turn Stark's creation against him, and it fed a bitter beast in the pit of her stomach. Lori sighed nervously, but nodded. "Just keep it contained. Stay on message."

Cassandra returned the nod before turning on her feet, once again perched to see around the corner of the wall. As she outstretched her hand, palm facing the warehouse, Lori's grip on her shoulder was like a kind of tether. A reminder. Keep it contained. The words bounced around inside her head, heat surging through the nerves in her fingers. Her skin began to spark, lavender wisps sizzling, as she focused on the energy inside the warehouse.

Blowing up a building this way was easy. All she would have to do was cause one machine to combust. Maybe one more for good measure. Then, it was a chain reaction that engulfed the rest of the warehouse, setting the insides ablaze. Fire would engulf the building and feast on it until it was nothing but ash—or, at least, until first responders arrived to douse whatever was left.

So, that's what she did. Energy surged inside the gears of the conveyor belts and the metal cracked. The motor burst and set fire as the joints of the arms popped and sizzled, whirring before breaking apart. She singled out the energy of all the sentinels' parts and ignited them. Each piece was overwhelmed, shattering apart in small explosions, and the loud pops could be heard from outside.

Lori jolted, startled by the sudden sound, but she maintained her grip on Cassandra—if anything, it tightened. The sounds of the explosions reached them in waves, one after the other. Then, fire and spark and shrapnel was thrusted through the metal roof. Flames gushed up in a fan, smoke tangling in with it all, as the ear-piercing boom caused Cassandra to blink in a flinch. Though, it was the only reaction that would come from her.

She could feel the unrest—the flames crawled, crackled, and whipped their way across the warehouse, dangerously close to fuel sources and even more flammable materials. It was enough, she knew. Arguably, much more than that. But there was a bitterness in her veins, an unparalleled anger that urged her to continue, begged her for more of the fire, more of the chaos, more damage. It wanted nothing less than a heap of ashes to smile down at triumphantly, promising a bounty of fulfillment and pride upon completion.

However, Lori's words still floated through her mind, softly fluttering around her thoughts. Keep it contained. They were sensible words, words of reason—words she should listen to. A bit hesitant, she retracted her hand and relinquished control of the energy within the warehouse. "That should do it," Cassandra nodded a bit, almost to herself, and tossed her gaze over her shoulder. "Ready to go?"

Lori nodded quickly. "Before I start regretting everything."


It was hard not to be angered—no, enraged—by Cassandra's choice of action. Logan paced in a fury along the long hallways of the mansion's first floor as he waited for her return. He'd gone to her room to check on her once more for good measure, despite being there for most of the early morning, and her brothers explained her absence. She'd gone to look for someone.

So, naturally, Logan went to find the one person she might be looking for. Bobby. Though he did put up a decent face at first, Bobby cracked like old clay and divulged the details of her secret mission. She'd left the mansion to wreak havoc on a Stark Industries warehouse somewhere in California. It was not a surprise that she wanted it kept secret. After all, most of the X-Men would've told her to stay put. Insisted that they go instead.

Even understanding her reasoning, the mission was morally reprehensible at best, and the possible danger was more than worrisome. How could she get up after nearly being strangled to death and leave to blow up a warehouse? Bobby explained that Lori had gone with her for cover, to keep them both safe—but it didn't relieve the knot in his stomach like it should have.

So, he paced as he huffed, preparing a vicious reprimand, a firm questioning for her return. After all he'd confessed to her, he didn't expect her to keep him in the loop of whatever she had planned moving forward. Though, this felt like much more than that. Something like this could potentially come back on all mutants negatively if it was found out who was to blame for the damage.

But, then—his feet stopped. A faint thumping touched his ears. She had returned. Logan was quick to turn on his heels and march swiftly to the elevator. As the doors sealed shut, it felt as though he'd been locked in a coffin with his anger, his concern. It was stifling, suffocating, and it only tightened his chest once the doors reopened. In truth, he held no malice against her, nor did he blame her for wanting some kind of justice, some revenge.

That's exactly what he would want, and he knew he would follow through with it. But it was not Logan, it was Cassandra. She could not heal like he could. She wasn't all but bullet proof. If something were to happen to her, she would never return, and the terror of that knowledge was what propelled him as he continued into the silver hall, taking a left to find his way to the dressing room.

Cassandra had reappeared where she'd come from, Lori right beside her, still holding on tightly. Lori only peeled her fingers away once she was firmly on the grounds of their base. Even then, she was hesitant, careful in letting go. "Cassandra," Logan's voice bellowed into the small room from the hall.

"Do you want me to stay?" Lori asked, looking quickly to Cassandra.

But Cassandra shook her head and exhaled a heavy breath. "Get changed and go find Max. I'm sure he misses you."

"Are you sure-"

"What the hell were you thinkin', kid?" Logan appeared in the doorway, his words like a knife through Lori's sentence. She didn't hesitate to leave, then, with her change of clothes in hand. Lori had seen him in a rage many more times than she would like—and it was the last thing she wanted to deal with today.

Cassandra waited as Lori skirted quickly around Logan, disappearing into the hallway after exiting the room. "It had to be done," she answered finally, her voice matching her features as they sank with tiredness. "Something did."

"And it had to be you? You could've killed yourself, in the state you're in."

"I'm not stupid—I didn't create anything, I just redirected what was already there," Cassandra argued. Though, she wasn't quite arguing as she could've been. Her voice was relatively normal, despite the newly added hostility, and she felt no need to raise it. She was tired. After everything, she was simply tired.

Logan exhaled a deep breath through his nose as a bull preparing to chase a matador, and then he was moving forward, walking closer. Cassandra took a careful step back—but she was held still as his arms engulfed her, pulling her against his chest in an effort to reassure himself. She was okay. She was safe. The action caused Cassandra to pause for a quiet moment.

In the past, she wouldn't have hesitated to return the hug—she most likely would've been the one to initiate it. Now, her chest swirled with uncertain emotions and she was frozen, paralyzed by it as her throat began to burn. "I'm alright," she spoke quietly, as if timid.

He sighed. "I know. I know."

His voice vibrated through his chest, the warmth of the embrace starting to reach her, and for a moment Cassandra gave in. It felt comfortable. Her arms reached up, palms resting gently against the sides of his shoulders. Logan knew he should let go, step back as not to push her away further, but he couldn't. His instinct was to keep her there. To hold on as long as he possibly could and keep her where it was safe, to shield her from whatever danger might come for them next.

Cassandra stood still and waited in the quiet, unable to gather the strength needed for full words. Though, it didn't last long at all. Scott stepped into the doorway and immediately cleared his throat, no patience left for pleasantries. "You're wanted in the professor's office," he said, his voice firm to hide his current disdain. "Now."

Cassandra stepped back instinctively, wriggling out of Logan's hold, and the Wolverine turned to face his teammate with a scowl settled into his hardened features. "Can't you fuck off for five goddamn minutes?" he all but growled, tone rhetorical amongst its venom.

Scott huffed a quiet, humorless chuckle. "We've had enough people fucking off for one day, Logan."

He turned and left the room without another word. Cassandra rolled her eyes as she turned away to unzip her suit, pulling her arms from the sleeves before grabbing her sweater. Logan sighed heavily as he continued to face the exit—away from her. "I would've killed him by now if I didn't know the professor would melt my brain for tryin'."

"Knock yourself out," Cassandra mumbled, head popping through the hole of her sweater. "It would grow back."

"Yeah. Except memories don't, remember?"

Her hands slowed but she kept moving as her thoughts drifted away—taking the organ in the left side of her chest with them. Arms slid into sleeves, legs into jeans, as she dressed numbly. Nothing was quite so light-hearted anymore. Somewhere within, she cared for Logan. But her mind was still so jarred. It was hard to act as though it hadn't affected her and, even though Logan didn't expect her to, she expected it from herself.

However, it'd been a long time since she'd been able to fulfill her own expectations. So long that she questioned the reasoning for creating new ones at all. Even still, she did want to move on from the conversation, to resolve it somehow. Though, the one person who could help her, she couldn't bring herself to ask. After all, she was about to get a stern talking to from him. "Sure would be easier." The words slipped past her lips as she folded the leather, placing it on a shelf.

Logan's head instinctively turned, eyes finding her face as his brows knitted. It was true. He, of all people, knew just how easy it was to not remember. Though, in forgetting the bad, he forgot the good—and that was something he couldn't risk happening again. Cassandra didn't know the untreatable pain of forgetting and remembering it all, only the constant ache of knowing it all now. "Sounds like it would," he exhaled, turning to face her. "But it's a band-aid on a bullet wound. You're still bleedin'—you just think it helps."

"Well, maybe...maybe I need a band-aid? Maybe a band-aid...is all I have? I could really...use a band-aid, Logan."

Cassandra walked by him without another word, without a pause for response. She simply left the room. Logan stood in a moment of silence after her departure, hands resting on his hips as he sighed heavily. There were not words he could offer her that she would appreciate, nothing he could do to ease the pain she felt—he was utterly useless. Though, even if he did somehow respond, Cassandra didn't know what she would do.

She took the elevator to the main floor of the mansion. It gave her an extra few moments to reign herself in, swallow the burn in the back of her throat, and prepare herself for what was surely to come. Then, she was headed to the professor's office. Her feet carried her along, fingernails digging into her palms through the ends of her sleeves. The reasoning for this call to the principal's office was more than obvious. Understandably, she would be questioned on her actions.

Though, what she could truly anticipate was hostility. Regardless of what she'd done, that's always what she had received from the adults, and it hadn't changed as she'd aged. Bobby stood outside the closed door of the office as Cassandra approached. A pang of guilt hit his chest as he noticed her arrival. "I'm sorry, I tried to keep it quiet-" he pushed off the wall, stepping toward her, but she stopped him.

"They were gonna find out...either way," she interrupted, as she came to stand in front of him. Shrugging, she added, "I'm going home...after this. I don't...care what happens."

"You don't have to go, you know."

With a closed-mouthed smile, bittersweetly quirked to the left, she nodded. "Yeah, I do. You're about to hear why."

She stepped around him to reach the door. It swung open with a soft whine of its hinges, and she entered the office with Bobby following close behind. Charles sat in his chair behind the desk, Storm sat in one of the chairs in front of it, while Scott and Lori stood on opposite sides of the room. Peter, Kitty, and Jubilee stood beside Lori in an anxious huddle, all feeling the stress of the meeting as if each had been called instead.

As the door closed, Cassandra stood near the center of the office, and Bobby moved to join his friends near the window. "You know why you're here," Charles spoke first, with a small nod of his head.

Cassandra stared at him blankly, arms loosely folded over her chest. "How many...actually believe...it was unnecessary?"

"I'm afraid this isn't as simple as it may seem," Charles replied. "Your actions today were reckless, destructive, and have put all of us here at risk. The apathy you display toward what you've done today is only one problem on a very long list."

"What do you want? An apology? You're not getting one," she shook her head.

It was then that Logan pushed through the door, entering the office. The entrance drew the eyes of some, but those in charge were unphased, remaining focused on the task at hand. He closed the door behind him and stood there. Listening. Watching. Waiting. Though he didn't announce himself, Cassandra assumed he'd finally caught up from the basement.

"Expressing some kind of remorse would be a start—but, Cassandra, this is only a sign of a much larger issue that needs to be addressed," Charles continued, calmly, but with a tone of seriousness Cassandra found almost laughable.

"Oh. Here we are. The part where...you tell me I'm fucked up. Where you take...no responsibility...whatsoever," Cassandra let her arms fall to her sides, anger bubbling up in the pit of her gut beginning to warm her chest.

Scott scoffed. "Why would Charles take responsibility for your actions?"

"You arrogant prick," she shook her head, meeting his gaze with her own only for a moment. Then, she was looking at Charles again, taking a step toward the desk. "You really need me...to tell you? You've made it very clear how...dangerous I was since the moment...I got here. You pressured me. Made me terrified of myself. Then, abandoned me when I needed you. And now you wanna come at me with that 'this is a problem' bullshit? You wanna air this out right now, in front of everyone?"

Cassandra's eyes were white hot, boring into the professor's as her tone turned venomous. Anger had turned to rage, the heat coursing quickly through her veins with a jolt of adrenaline, forcing her lungs to work much faster than they were capable after being choked. But she held her ground regardless, forcing it down with a hard swallow as Charles remained silent. He stared up at her defiantly—though, his features were sympathetic. No, apologetic.

She stood a foot behind the chairs at the front of his desk, fingers curling into fists. "I lost my mother. I lost all contact with my brothers for years. I was a grieving child, and you gave me nothing. Then, the word's out I have other powers, and you told me I shouldn't use them. Even in the fucking danger room. Rogue kills people she touches, yet you give her gloves and tell her she's special. I show you who I really am and you tell me to sit down and keep it to myself."

The silence was thick, tangible as her words hung between them all. Cassandra's lungs burned, her throat dry and raw, threatening to turn her voice hoarse. But she was too angry to stop herself. Too enraged to calm down. Charles sat back in his chair as he swallowed thickly. She was telling the truth, he knew. And he could see now just how it all must look.

Yes, Cassandra was different. She was powerful, and her unchecked emotions would certainly get her into trouble—but the only way any of them knew how to handle her, was to push for a kind of abstinence. Teaching her to rely on other skills. Other abilities. However, she had not yet explained it all, and Charles could sense the unrest within her. It irradiated the room, anger and resentment and hurt coming off her in waves.

"Be happy, calm down, stop crying—I was unallowed to feel, Charles. And when I pulled away, you pushed me harder. I was on a fucking leash," Cassandra's voice was risen, capable of full sentences only through rage strong enough to dilute the pain it caused. "When Jean died? The only one who actually gave a shit was Logan. Where the fuck were the rest of you? Where were you, Scott? I agreed with Magneto on one fucking issue, and each and every one of you shunned me. I'd lost you all long before I came back here. So, tell me again what a big problem this is."

Charles's eyes fell to the wood of his desk. Everyone else in the room seemed to have the same idea—all eyes on the floor, the wall, the ceiling. Anywhere but at each other. Trying to keep Cassandra's emotions stable was handled poorly, though done with good intentions. However, the other accusations? They couldn't be so easily explained or excused. Scott's chest tightened with conviction and guilt, his mind racing back to one singular moment. The moment he began looking at her with malice to avoid looking at his own pain.

Pride kept his mouth shut, jaw tight, shoulders tensed, but the guilt turned his stomach sour, softening his eyes behind the red lenses of his glasses. The silence from all in the room only cemented Cassandra's convictions. She straightened her shoulders and forced her fingers to loosen, knuckles aching from the strength keeping them bent. No reply she could receive would repair this damage. Not today.

Charles was well aware of that fact. But, still, he looked up, meeting her gaze with features weighed heavily with regrets and sorrow. "I sensed your power when you first arrived. I did my best to help you control it, but I never intended to cause you pain—and, for that, I am truly sorry. You've always been a bit of a porcupine. I never knew when to get closer and when to keep my distance. But I've always thought of you as a-"

"I don't care anymore, Charles. Your words mean nothing to me," Cassandra shook her head, stepping back from the desk. "I'm taking my brothers home and then what I do with what I know...will be my business."

"And, the warehouse?" Scott inquired of the incident calmly, stoically.

Cassandra paused to eye him for a moment. After everything he'd heard, he still couldn't simply let her leave. He wanted the final word. No, needed it—something to regain his innocence amongst the dirty waters of the conversation as someone only worried about the effect on the rest of the mutants. He needed that shield, to protect himself from the raging guilt.

"I bought you time—fucking use it."

Her voice was wearing thin, crackling and rumbling like a fire, and it burned the walls of her throat all the same. It couldn't take much more, she knew. So, she turned on her heels and exited the office—and no one dared speak another word until she was gone. Though, the interaction, getting those words off her chest, didn't make her feel any lighter. If anything, the vocal acknowledgment left her with only another dull ache.

Another lump in her throat to swallow. Another mixture of sorrow and guilt to sort and store away. There was no easy way for her mind to process the events of the last forty-eight hours and, at this point, she'd given up trying. All she needed to know now was that it hurt, and she needed to distance herself from it. Maybe then the pain would stop? Maybe if she went far enough, for long enough, she would feel better this time? Maybe someday she could come back and explain it all and make amends—but that was not today. And that was okay.

It didn't have to be today, or tomorrow, a week from now, or a month down the road. She whispered those words to herself as she walked away numbly from the office, wringing her hands as she held them against her chest. For a moment, she thought about what she might look like to the young eyes wandering up at her as they passed. But that didn't matter either, did it?

The silence within Charles's office did not last as long as he'd hoped. There was too much to digest, too much to consider, to be focusing on nursing Scott's damaged ego. He only sighed in response to the words being exchanged. "Does she not realize how serious this is?" Scott questioned, glancing around the room. "What happens when Stark starts investigating this?"

"We won't be on the security footage. I kept us hidden the whole time," Lori replied. She fought to keep from rolling her eyes at his words. Did he genuinely think she was so unintelligent? Of course she would hide them. After all, it would be the only reason to bring her along in the first place.

Peter's arm around her shoulders was the only thing holding her back, reminding her to stay calm despite the rush of disdain for how the situation was handled. "We know, honey. But I think it is important to consider infrared scanning. If they can't find a culprit—who's to say they won't try it and discover you both were there?" Storm tried to be rational, twisting in her chair to see them all.

Scott nodded, vindicated. "Exactly."

"Then we handle it. That's what we do," Logan's voice was low from the back of the room. Anger, frustration, irritation, rage—a swirl of these things lingered beneath the surface of his tone, reined in in an attempt to stay calm. "Doesn't anyone see a problem with what just happened, right in front of us?"

Logan's eyes shifted to Charles, and the professor stiffened as a pang of guilt smacked him square between the eyes. Yes, he did. He saw many problems. Though, the biggest of them all, was that no one knew how to fix any of them. How to properly repair what had been done. Charles had made a promise to Cassandra when she was a teenager, that he would never read her mind without permission.

He'd kept that promise no matter how many times he got curious, or thought it might be easier to take a peek, but he was beginning to wonder just how he could keep it now. How could he fix what he couldn't see? "I've tried for many years to break through her hard exterior, Logan. If anything, it appears she only hardened it," Charles spoke reservedly.

Scott shrugged, shaking his head. "Maybe she just needed more training-?"

"She needed a father!" the rage broke through in Logan's voice, his angered shout eliciting a collective startle as he stepped toward the desk. "Can you not pull your heads out of your asses for one fuckin' minute—either of you? Who did she idolize? Who did she look up to? You! Since neither of you can learn your fuckin' lesson—what you just saw was a broken little girl begging for her father figures to love her enough to step up. And they fuckin' failed her again. This might not be personal to you, but it sure as hell is for her."

It was then that Kitty entered the conversation, drawing all eyes amidst the tension. "Y'know, she acted tough and everyone thought she was a rebel, and that was fun sometimes—but she just wanted you guys to know her well enough to see that wasn't true like the rest of us."


It was all over the evening news, every headline the same—explosion at Stark Industries warehouse. This was to be expected. The media would find out, they would spread the story far and wide through every step, but they would never know a culprit. After all, it was Stark Industries. Tony Stark himself was practically always in the news in some form or another.

"This is fine," she whispered. Then, she reached up a hand, swiping her cheek with the back of it. But it only smeared the water around. "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm...okay."

The words didn't sound right. It didn't sound like her voice—but, in fact, it was. They were her words, her voice spoken, her laptop displaying the breaking news, her bed she remained curled up in. Her anger, her fear, her guilt. It was all so painfully hers. Sniffling hard, she closed the laptop and shoved it off her thighs, instead reaching for the paper on the nightstand.

Her fingers trembled, shaking the paper, as she unfolded it in her lap. Daring herself to read it one more time. Maybe if she did, it would be different? Maybe the words would change? Maybe she would see that she was wrong? But the words were the same as every other time she'd forced herself to pick it up. It hadn't changed—and it never would.

Dearest Cassandra,

I am truly sorry for the hurt this will undoubtedly cause, but it must be done. If I were to be found out while being with you, you would be put in danger. If I stayed and all was well, we could be happy together for a while, but you would grow old hundreds of years before I. I will lose you either way.
It is best that I leave and you continue your life as it was, working with those flowers you adore so much. I truly believe you will be happier. You will be safer. And I will remember you, as you were. If you've made it to the end, I have no doubts that you hate me. Please know that, for as long as my heart beats, it will always beat for you. For however many more thousands of years I live and breathe, I will love only you. I thank you, wholeheartedly, for teaching me what that word truly meant.
-L

A droplet splashed against the end of the letter, soaking into the paper over the L, and Cassandra sat upright. She tossed the paper back onto the nightstand and scrubbed her face—but hot water seared her cheeks, pouring from her eyes, surging up from somewhere deep within her chest. It was painful, the hurt that gripped her throat. Though, a part of her felt foolish for allowing it to hurt at all.

She knew this was coming, didn't she? She knew to expect this. Something always happened to the people she loved and, one way or another, she always ended up without them. This was no surprise. So, why did it feel so terrible? Cassandra stayed in her bed for the rest of the day. There was nothing pushing her out, forcing her to be productive—not even a full bladder or empty stomach was enough to get her moving.

Instead, she simply wallowed in it as a guttural feeling of emptiness covered her like a thick blanket, a warm hand that reached up to embrace her form and pull her deeper inside. Then, a picture before her eyes—Loki's shirt. Her body shook violently but she pushed herself upright and swung her legs off the bed, moving too much too fast not to be dizzied. But she wasn't about to stop.

Cassandra slid off the bed and pattered across the room to her closet. She'd hung it there, not many days before. And, as she pulled open the door, there it was. Hanging in the same place. Snuggled in between two sweaters. She reached up a hand and pulled the button-down from the hanger before closing the closet door once more. It and the letter were all she had now.

In some ways, it was almost laughable how she'd come full circle. Though, now she was truly waiting on someone that would never come, and she had proof. The left of her chest, painfully empty, twinged as she forced her hands through the sleeves and pulled the shirt onto her shoulders. Then, she crawled back onto the sheets of her bed, kicking her feet beneath the wadded comforter. And she lay still. The scent from the fabric wafted up, reaching her nostrils.

She was tempted to take it off. But it was him—a tiny piece, a little reminder, a small comfort. So she kept it, wrapping her arms around herself to cocoon within as the sun set beneath the view of her window.