The mention of his name soured the contents of her stomach with a rapid boil, blood rushing faster through her limbs as she breathed deeper, harder to cope with a wave of anger. It crashed over her head like gasoline thrust onto flickering ashes. "When did he get here?" she clenched her jaw, forcing the words out.

"Just pulled up."

He gestured toward the building with a tip of his head, and Cassandra nodded before turning on her heels and marching to the closest entrance. Logan was quick to follow. Though he thought she should know and take part in greeting him at the door, an altercation was the last thing Logan wanted. They passed through the open doors into one of the lounge rooms and continued to the doorway at the other end, the one that let out into the main hall.

The closer they got to the front door, the more crowding was evident. Students pooled in groups just within the foyer to catch a glimpse at what had gotten the adults so worked up. It was exciting but in a terrifying way. Scott and Warren stood at the door, talking quietly when Cassandra and Logan arrived. Storm entered the room with the professor only a moment later.

None of them knew just what to prepare for. Did he have violent intentions? Was this simply a 'friendly' house call, since he knew Cassandra? They knew, at the very least, being prepared for the worst was the smartest move. "Alright, everyone, back to your classes," Storm turned to shoo away the kids in the room, earning a wave of mixed boos from across the groups. "You all know what to do."

Slowly, the children began to funnel out through either end of the hall, dispersing back to the classrooms they'd fled to get a look at whatever action might take place. As Storm ushered them out, Cassandra continued straight to the front door. Scott turned quickly and held up his hands in an attempt to stop her. "Wait, Cass, I'm not-"

Purple smoke sparked into existence in her place as her form disappeared within the cloud and his shoulders dropped. "When are you gonna learn that doesn't work?" Warren questioned Scott, an eyebrow raised. Scott tilted his head, eyes narrowing behind his dark glasses as a heavy sigh escaped him. Logan, however, didn't bother stopping to chat either.

He continued through, shoving past Scott to reach the doors. When Cassandra materialized, she was walking into the driveway, fingers curled into fists at her sides. Feet from her was parked a dark Acura with the top down, the shine of the paint sharp enough to blind. Tony sat in the driver's seat, index finger and thumb carefully holding his sunglasses down his nose, as he looked up at the building.

Then, they were on Cassandra. "Ah, you," he was quick to push the glasses back up and reached for the driver's side door, fingers wrapped around the handle. But just as he'd pushed it open two inches, Cassandra's palms forced the door back in.

"Turn the key and get the fuck out of here," she lowered her voice, tone stern as she looked down at him through the dark shades. "I won't tell you again."

"You're not the least bit curious why I'm here?" he questioned, eyebrows popping up above the glasses with a dry kind of sarcasm.

She deadpanned. "No."

Logan came to stand feet behind her, observing close enough to intervene but far enough to allow independence. Tony looked to him with a faux-disgruntled expression. "I don't know how you guys expect to do business with a doorman like this," he quipped. "Have you tried changing the batteries?"

Cassandra sent a pulse of energy through her palms, the electricity jolting into the vehicle. Lavender traveled all the way to the engine, the car screaming to life with a heavy rev, headlights beaming with a momentary flash. Tony startled slightly and the sight sent an ungodly rush of adrenaline to her chest. "Worry about your own battery," she sneered.

"That's enough, Cassandra," Charles' voice caused her head to turn, her eyes finding him where he sat in his wheelchair beside Logan. He was gentle in tone despite the warning of his features. Then, his gaze shifted to Tony. "Why don't you come inside? We have much to discuss."

"Finally, some hospitality."

Cassandra glared down at Tony as she pushed off the car and took steps back from it, but he didn't pay any mind. Instead, he exited his vehicle and closed the driver's side door behind him, before taking steps toward the professor. Logan instinctively moved, stepping away to stand near Cassandra. As Scott, Warren, and Storm watched from the door, they knew by the body language of all involved to prepare for hostility.

The professor was far too eager to lead Tony to the front door, straight into their home—and it earned angry expressions of confusion from Cassandra and Logan. Clearly, there was information missing. Charles knew something, yet again, that he was not inclined to share with the class. "The fuck is he doing?" Cassandra spoke quietly, beneath a heavy breath.

Logan shook his head. "I don't know. Whatever it is, I don't like it."

She opened her mouth to reply, to agree wholeheartedly. Then, she saw it. Her eyes narrowed, squinting against the sun to see as Tony held out his car keys to Scott. Visibly confused and slightly caught off guard, Scott slowly took the keys, holding them there away from his body in a pause while Tony continued to talk. With the way his finger briefly pointed toward the glasses, there was no doubt it was a quip of some kind about them.

Tony continued into the building, following behind the professor. Scott's head turned as he looked to Cassandra and Logan. His shrug, the slight shake of his head accompanying it, was easy to read. What the fuck was that? Rage rekindled within Cassandra, and she inhaled a deep breath before taking steps forward. "No," she shook her head adamantly, approaching Scott quickly. "We're not doing this."

Her fingers plucked the keys from Scott's hand, still holding them away from himself as though they might be diseased, and she carried them into the school with her. Tony and Charles had not gotten far. They were down the hall, three yards from the office door. Charles was speaking when Cassandra caught up to them, but she didn't pay much attention before winding back her arm. "Hey!" with that, she threw the keys.

They barreled through the air. There was a hollow smack, a brief clatter of metal, as they collided with the back of Tony's head. He cursed, muscles jolting, and whirled on his feet as a hand shot up to the area of impact. Charles turned around his wheelchair to see, but he already knew—he sensed it a second before it happened. Though, he couldn't quite comprehend it fast enough.

"We're not a fucking staff," Cassandra shouted, despite the somewhat short distance from her mouth to Tony's ears. She'd disregarded any concern the children might hear. This was something they needed to witness—they needed to know that this kind of blatant disrespect was not allowed. Not here, not anywhere. It was not only okay to be angry, to demand respect or vacancy, but it was encouraged. "You think you can come in here, throw your money and status around, and we'll jump like carnival monkeys? We're human beings. Treat us like it, or get the fuck out."

Tony's eye roll was slow, as exaggerated as the groaning sound he made while bending down and retrieving his keys from the wood floor. Charles, in most ways, bit his tongue. This was to be expected and then some. However, his intention was to seize an opportunity. With Tony Stark here, he could attempt to make a sort of alliance, to talk him out of siding with anti-mutant organizations. Though, the organization in question here was the United States government.

Stark Industries had received funding from the government since its creation. Howard Stark intended for his son to move out of weaponry when he came of age and took control of the company, but there was too much money to be made in war. Even now, the government's claws were still sunk so deep within its flesh, there was a strong chance Charles was only opening mutants up to more oppression by entertaining him. It was entirely possible this was staged, as well.

A ploy for information under the guise of cooperation. It wouldn't be the first time. Either way, Charles was determined to try, to do what he believed was the best course of action given their current circumstances. So, he spoke firmly, "Cassandra, this is not the time. I ask that you withhold your grievances until the end of our meeting. In the meantime, I'm sure Lori could use a hand with the children."

Tony was smug as he gave a closed-mouthed smile, before turning on his heels to continue into Charles' office. Charles followed him inside without another word, Cassandra's heated glare staring holes into the shine of his bald head. The door shut after them both. A thick silence hung between all who remained, tension visible in every confused, angered face. "What the hell was that?" Storm questioned, to no one in particular.

She looked to Scott, Warren, and Logan, but all were just as confused—but, most of all, shocked by the way Charles had responded. Tony Stark showing up out of the blue was jarring enough. Adding Charles' attitude was like throwing a pet goldfish into the county lake. However, Logan's eyes moved to Cassandra and stayed there, observing her body language from a vague side-profile in an attempt to gauge her emotional state. Although it wasn't very conducive, he still tried.

"You okay, kid?" he finally asked, after a moment.

The answer was, clearly and plainly, no. She was angry, she was hurt, she was confused, and felt utterly betrayed. This situation was a slap of a palm to the calm water she'd retained while living here, sending all the uneasy and volatile emotions she'd started with up into her face in sporadic droplets and lashes. It was gasoline to an incendiary thought—I never should've come here. It was a bitter kind of why did I ever expect anything else?

Foolishly, Cassandra had genuinely attempted to heal, to mend the bridges that had been burned or withered with age, only for Charles to placate Tony Stark while telling her to—once again—sit down and shut up. It was the shade of anger that dug deep into sadness, rooting itself into your throat until you can't breathe, until your cheeks are red and streaming with every heartache you've ever harbored.

Though, she was done shedding tears for Charles Xavier. She swallowed the urge to cry, instead, and balled her fists. "John was right. This place is a fucking noose."

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Storm tried to find a positive place to stand. "There has to be."

Cassandra turned enough to face the others then, "There is—Charles is, and always has been, complicit. Come on. Don't tell me none of you have noticed it. Every time there's an incident involving mutants, Charles' first command is for us to hide. To keep our heads down, to play nice, to do whatever we have to in order to make normal people happy so they won't kill us. It's always our fault."

"You really think going around killing anyone that gives us a dirty look is going to help?" Storm tilted her head.

"Why is that your first defense?" Cassandra questioned, raising her voice as she turned to face them all fully. "If some asshole somewhere calls me a freak, tells me to leave a business, spits at me, or tries to arrest me for existing—I have every goddamn right to defend myself. It doesn't have to be lethal. But I'm not going to smile and be polite to those people, and no one here should be forced to either. I mean- what even is this place if not a dumpster for parents to throw their mutant kids so they can keep going to church and having neighborhood barbecues?"

Storm crossed her arms. "This place saved your life."

"And nearly ended it. Multiple times. So, what does that say, hm?"

The rhetorical question was flippant, laced with venom as it was slung at Storm. It was only then that Bobby, Romeo at his side, Kitty and Jubilee behind, arrived at the sitting room doors. They were open to the hall, allowing visual and audible access to the current debate—but the group had heard all it needed to in order to form an opinion, and take a side.

"Did anyone even try to find my father, or did you just take me in and figure you'd fuck me up yourselves?" Cassandra continued, glancing between Storm and Scott now. "You think this orphanage circus is helping people? You tell other people's kids that they're responsible for every act of aggression they face in their lives. That if they get hurt, it's because of them—not the disgustingly vile, hateful society we live in. What the fuck about that is helpful, Storm? We all wanna know."

Cassandra gave a wide gesture of her arm, drawing attention to the others watching the argument outside the hall. God only knew what Bobby went through living at the mansion during his teen years, struggling with his feelings for Rogue while watching his best friend slip away with no way to stop it. Then, coming to terms with his sexuality all on his own. He and Romeo had been dating for almost a year and he only started bringing him around two months ago.

Kitty had always fought to find where she fit in, what her purpose was, struggling to navigate the turbulent and diverse dynamics within the mansion. She, too, found it hard to dissect her sexuality for a season—and, in some ways, she was still going through it. There seemed to be a never ending list when it came to Jubilee. Being Asian on top of being a mutant was a deadly combination, only worsening as the prejudice within society changed.

Jubilee had always taken an extra hit when told to turn the other cheek. Now that it was being said aloud, she felt a kind of secondhand validation. It had been Cassandra, all those years ago, that encouraged her to speak up. To fight back, to refuse to tolerate treatment she didn't deserve. So, it only felt appropriate to do so today. "Maybe the school does serve as a safe haven for us," she started, aiming her words at the other adults. "But the people in charge need a reality check. It's a toxic environment. No question. Step up or step aside."

"You want to run the school?" Scott questioned, genuinely taken aback.

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe it is time for new leadership? And, not just up here."

It was the last sentence that earned a head tilt, a risen brow from Logan. He wasn't quite sure if he should be offended or impressed by the declaration. Then again, he never was interested in being a leader. When push came to shove, he could give one hell of a motivational speech—but his instinct had always been to walk alone, and it always would be. Scott was surprised at his own reaction to the words.

He'd expected himself to be angered by that kind of statement. Instead, Scott was calm, letting the sentiment soak in a moment before speaking ahead of his common sense. What had New York City done to him? It felt like his priorities had truly shifted, rotating far enough to put his family and his relationships with them above his pride, and that truly was not a bad thing. It was simply unexpected.

Resting his hands on his hips, Scott adjusted his position with an exhale. "Okay. Clearly, we need to have a discussion," he addressed them all with a sweeping glance. "We'll have a meeting once this Stark business blows over, alright? I can't promise results, but-"

"Baby steps," Bobby finished.

Scott nodded. The statement felt like a conclusion, an oddly satisfying finish to a heated dialogue. He was right. Results were not promised—even still, a step in that direction, a chance to get the ball rolling, was enough to pacify the age-old dissatisfaction for the time being. With it feeling so final, Cassandra glanced once more at the door to the professor's office before starting for the stairs. She excused herself silently from the two groups, her mission of the moment seemingly complete, and instead traveled to the second level.

She'd had enough discord, enough emotional turmoil for a day. For a week. For a lifetime. She'd had enough of this place. Maybe it would improve? Maybe they would all learn to coexist healthily? Maybe this family would function as it should instead of hiding behind the idea itself as an excuse? But, for now, Cassandra needed to excuse herself. However, this time felt much different. She wasn't running away—she was running to something.

It was fueled by all the same things the first escape had been—anger, sadness, fear, a pathological urge to self-isolate—but the decision to leave was warm in her chest. There was a wave of certainty that gently washed over her beaches and cleared the shore, carrying away all the footprints of the day and leaving behind only optimistic, new sand. When she reached her room, she hefted her duffel bag onto the bed.

She hadn't quite unpacked yet. Though, there wasn't much to unpack to start with. She gathered the few shirts and one pair of jeans from within her dresser drawer and carried them to the duffel. "That didn't take long," a male voice floated into the room from the doorway, its accent giving the owner's identity away quickly.

Cassandra turned to look over her shoulder, eyes landing on Kurt's face. His features were curved lightheartedly, but his eyes did not match. Something about the sight caused a sharp twinge in her chest. "I know, right?" she forced a humored huff, words dripping with sarcasm as she turned back to the open duffel bag on the bed. "I'm pretty sure someone just lost a bet somewhere."

"Will you go back to the city?"

Kurt entered the room as he spoke and walked around the end of the bed, before coming to sit on the other side, his legs folded beneath him. Reorganizing her shirts within the duffel, Cassandra shook her head. "There's nothing for me there anymore. I need to find somewhere else."

His eyes didn't leave her face even as hers were anywhere but his. It was always just something he did—he paid close attention to those he spoke to, keeping an eye on mannerisms and inflections, trying to detect hidden meanings. A consequence of not being a native English speaker, Cassandra had supposed. Though, he always paid just a little more attention to her. From the moment they met, he was infatuated.

Though, more than anything, he was curious. She was an enigma, a constant contradiction of emotions and interests. There was no denying she had a temper and her insecurities often got the better of her, but the gold at the bottom of the river was far too entrancing not to jump into the rushing water. So he did, over and over again, until eventually he didn't have to try. She'd shown him compassion when no one else had and he had done the same—and they gravitated together to form a close bond.

She wouldn't say, truthfully, that it had been ruined by romantic interest. There would always be that bond beneath whatever muck was stacked on top. Although, it was forever changed by it. Cassandra could feel his eyes on her, but it was too familiar to feel uncomfortable. "Will you stay with one of your brothers?" he inquired, curious.

"I'm not sure. Barney's only just finished recovering and Clint's only got so much family time before he has to go to work. I feel like, either way, I'd be an imposition."

"You could always...stay here longer."

Her eyes lifted at that. His head tilted as he smiled sheepishly, hopefully despite the knowledge that she was adamant. She wouldn't change her mind, he knew, yet he still felt the urge to try. To make an effort for his own sake, if not for anything else. To show he still cared, that if not one else wanted her around, he did. He always did. Cassandra's stomach sloshed and she stood up straight with a sigh.

"This isn't the place for me. It hasn't been for a long time. I've made some headway, and things are shifting, but I need a little more space," she explained, careful in her choice of words. Then, she chanced a small smile. "You can always visit me, you know."

A soft echo of surprise filled his eyes. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me."

The twinge in her chest returned, deep this time, and she found herself moving around the end of her bed. She dreaded the day she would have to face the hurt she'd caused in her wake since the moment she left. But this conversation needed to be had, just like the other uncomfortable and sometimes painful ones she'd been having since returning to the school.

Too much needed to be discussed for the time remaining. She knew it was not nearly enough, but she sat on the bed regardless, a few inches from his knees as he shifted to face her atop the comforter. "The way I left was inexcusable. I was in pain and said a lot of hurtful things I didn't mean," she began with a shaky breath. "You didn't deserve that—you, of all people. I'm so sorry."

Again, his head tilted, but it was a kind of droop. A flower wilting. Kurt reached forward and swallowed her hand between both of his, plucking it from her lap. "You are forgiven, Cassandra," he spoke with a gentle kind of sincerity, the kind that gave you the feeling of safety, the shade only received from an embrace.

"You're not angry?"

"I was never angry. I was hurt for you. I only wanted to help. You needed to leave, and it was hard to see you go. But I prayed that you would find healing while you were away, and it gave me comfort. I can see you suffered away as well. Though, you and Scott are talking again. And I heard what happened downstairs. Things are changing for you."

"Someone's been a busy bee," Cassandra swallowed a lump, trying desperately to shift her emotional focus to something lighthearted. "Still eavesdropping, huh?"

Kurt's cheeks flushed an adorable reddish-purple. "It is a bad habit, yes. I'm trying to break it."

Her lips pulled up instinctively, exposing her teeth in a smile. The warmth from his hands was comforting, reassuring, and she relished the feeling of his skin after so long apart. "You've been 'trying' for ten years," she chuckled.

"Well, you know what they say about old habits," he smiled. "Just know that when you're out there in the world, you will always have family here. Despite the troubles you've had here, we do miss you."

Her head tilted absentmindedly. "I miss you guys, too. I promise I'll do a better job of keeping in contact. No more radio silence. And you'll visit me from time to time?"

"Of course, Cassie."

The interaction was overall friendly, comfortable—but there was something strained within it. Cassandra could feel it just beneath the surface of her skin. It caused an itch, irritating for the lack of an obvious source. Though, it did feel like a kind of weight had been lifted from her shoulders once more to have mended another relationship.

However, sitting there so close, her chest constricted, filling with a rapid stream of emotions from the thoughts that ricocheted within the confines of her mind. Feelings surfaced like nautical wreckage—things she couldn't allow herself to dip her toes back into. For now, for a while, or forever. Kicking up that dust only brought on a jab in the left side of her ribs. She couldn't help thinking of Loki, and the afternoon he'd returned to her at the flower shop.

He had shown her his hidden form within the safety of her apartment and the blue of his skin was so pale compared to Kurt's—but blue reminded her of both of them now, both so bittersweetly. The memory was painful but only beneath a surface layer of recalled love and it began to sting. Her features smoothed out as she lost herself in thought for the briefest moment, brought back to reality only by sudden movement.

It startled her eyes into focus as Kurt's head tilted, eyeing her curiously, and she sat up a little straighter. "Where did you run off to?" he inquired.

"Do you ever look back at your life and just...regret everything?"

He nodded slowly. "Sometimes I have regrets. But—if bad things had not happened to me, we would have never met. I would regret that much more."

Cassandra shook her head as she stared at him silently. He'd always been a beacon of optimism and often helped her to see things in a more positive light—at least, enough to calm or reassure her in times of stress. But it never ceased to astonish her, how it seemed to come so easily to him. His answers were always quick, yet somehow so well thought out, and always just right. Though, she wondered how much of it was truly his wit and how much could simply be her attraction to him adding the feeling of comfort the words brought.

Either way, it dampened the ache in her ribs, the insatiable itch of her skin. She swallowed thickly as realization set in, the emotions instead manifesting in a deep set urge that refused to quiet. Cassandra knew the course of her own actions as she surged forward the few inches needed to press her lips against his. She kissed him. She kissed him and it burned, an inglorious mixture of pain and desire, white hot as it coursed through her veins.

Kurt was taken aback by the sudden gesture. He stilled, his muscles tensing in surprise a moment before they slowly relaxed, and he found himself eagerly reciprocating despite the bittersweet nature of it all. All it did was bring back memories that, while thought of fondly from time to time, were tainted with heartache—but he chased it regardless, a kind of nostalgia that shielded his mind from the truth his heart was well aware of. This was not love. Not really. It hadn't been for quite some time. No—this was fool's gold.