Disclaimer: I waver any rights to the X-Men universe, Marvel, or the characters found therein.

Note: For some reason St. John's character has been influenced by Spike (BtVS/A:tS) despite the fact I know he's Australian, rating jump according to the character's persistence in cursing and half-hearted lewdness. Written for the LiveJournal community 100(underscore)situations; prompt 062-Appear. 805 words.

Idle

Okay, so not the best outcome but honestly, how could they expect him to stand by when those tripped-out masked bastards invaded his home? And yeah, it was a school, but he lived there, ate there, even had a mate he thought had his back. Until Ice Man turned into Slush Boy and rounded back to trail the other 'students'. Any one of those mutants, outcasts in civilized society, would have been worth ten of any soldier. Granted, they didn't exactly have the element of surprise and there were some barely over the age of snot-nosed… But hell! Bobby could have at least stayed to fight, right? Yeah. Yeah, he could have. Did he? No, of course not. He'd been lead around the X-Tot Spread in a disgusting lovesick state ever since Kit, who would have been a dab hand at pick pocketing or general thievery but instead turned her uppity nose sky high when he himself ever suggested it, set her sights on his mate. Lead him around by the balls. Quite a painful sight, funny as hell some days and the control she took might have been impressive, but a disgrace all the same.

They should have both been here, trapped in this blasted cell with the unlucky. Fire and ice. They were a team, dammit. Even Kit would have been useful, but no she had to act all morally responsible and dash off to heard kids who should know from the emergency fire drills -and yeah, like he ever believed that- where to go and who to look for. Bobby just had to follow. Some mate he turned out to be; left him in the darkened corridor with nothing but an exasperated look that doubled as an apology. Well fuck that. There were bloody commandos and they weren't getting him.

Yeah, well…

One of the Youngers shifted closer and he managed not to grumble too much about the snot on his jeans at the contact. If he had his lighter and a bit of time he might have been able to melt the steel door or key pad. The only reason he hadn't made for one of his hidden matchbooks was the worrisome thought about the sealed room and proper ventilation. Fingers twitched with inaction and the sneer on his face weakened as he looked down. The kid, shoved at Xavier's before her sixth birthday, had her orange face completely hidden by his knee and let out an alarming sound. The other four Youngers responded and the whole lot of them started to cry again.

Great. What was he going to do with five kids against a bloody army? How was he supposed to get out of here with them? Bobby'd know how to talk 'em out of that idiotic sobbing. Wanker.

He was never having kids.

And just when he thought he might have to give up his sentinel-like position glairing at the door to sit down and cuddle, it opened. It would have been a rather interesting sight too, a barefooted drenched soldier looking like she came right out of one of those programs that had Summer frowning and Logan smirking. Should have been… Might be yet actually, as he wasn't one to push away an interesting plot twist introducing wet, sexy girls in what he still half hopes is a dream, but then there was the gun. A gun and a homicidal look he might have recognized from the bathroom mirror on the particularly bad news days.

Well fine, he was up for a fight. All this inaction was killing him anyway, and if those bastards were foolish enough to only send a soldier-gone-wild with a pea-shooter all the better for him. With a grin and cockily voiced 'bring it' he reached for a match already moved to his sleeve, thumb gleefully dragging across the head; friction, sulpher, malleable heat. Fire.

A midget with red hair and green eyes jumped in front of the soldier and he barely had time to curve the flame around the two. Brat. What did she think she was doing?

"St. John- she's one of us. She's here to rescue us! Come on." The girl Cassidy, he remembers only because accents aren't diverse in the X-Mansion, waves to the no longer crying Youngers and smiles. Smiles. This situation was messed up on a variety of levels. She was acting as if Logan went Wolvereen on their captor's asses.

Absently his fingers trailed over the opened matchbook as he looked at soldier once more. "Muttie, hn?" He didn't get a reaction. Fine, if that's the way this was going to play out. "Well, no sense hanging out in the dungeon kiddies, lets go."

"Go where?"

"I wanna go 'ome."

"Come on, the other's are just out side. You're the last."

Others? Well, that sounded promising.