Author's Notes: First allow me to apologize for the horrific delay that has prevented me from getting this chapter up as expediently as possible. Technical errors combined with hectic work schedules and the beginning of the Fall semester have not been kind, but onward we prevail with fifteen new pages! So much so that this story, this fanciful little work of mine, has reached well over it's hundredth page in total. Good lord, I don't know what to do with myself. A hundred pages, can you imagine it? I've never written so much on anything in my entire life, please pardon my incredulity and glee. As always, my deepest thanks goes out to the reviewers, who have been unspeakably kind, supportive and helpful to me in their words. To Grenade Jumper (a FOB fan, I see?) and Katy (and a Libs fan, fantastic!) I offer my most gracious appreciation, as I could not respond back to them directly. However, should any of you wish to obtain any of the songs I mention within this story, such as Katy did (please, I beg you, pardon the pun) feel free to contact me. At this point, I've gone on far enough with my babbling. Be consoled, John returns in this chapter and there is resolution. Well, sort of. Reviews, as always, are cherished. Thank you and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own naught save my own lovely, deviant character. Marvel and FOX have this and I should hope they keep it in their own, capable hands a while longer yet.

"Now I have managed to be the one
To be the victim without the gun."
-Silverchair, 'Do You Feel The Same'

Chapter 12- "I Disappear"

It's close to noon when I awaken late the next morning, light filtering in through the open drapes to extend out across the expanse of the room. They let me sleep in, understanding my fatigue better than I myself did, perfect roommates that they are. I sit up gingerly, stretching while I listen to the pops of joints in my back and neck. It takes me a few moments to fully recollect the disastrous train wreck of events that was yesterday, but soon enough they return to ravage my mind in its sleep-numbed state. Much to my chagrin, of course. So long as I don't find any withered bodies still tucked in their beds I'm fine with it all, for the moment. Jesus Christ, I freeze-dried a forest. Well, I was half-way there anyway, I'm not Bobby.

Standing gingerly on the cool, hardwood floor I pad towards the bathroom and turn the water on in the shower. My stomach feels queer, hungry yet slightly off-set. I suppose I should come to expect it if the previous day ever repeats itself, though I'm quite close to declaring that I'd rather have my own arm torn out of its socket than ever having that fantastic little episode happen again. I ignore the faint ache of my ribs as I shrug my clothing off, stepping behind the curtain and into the spray. Twenty minutes of standing in there, staring off into space as the soothing water runs over my body and five minutes of actually cleaning myself and I'm out in the empty room, toweling dry. It's a level of privacy I haven't had since I arrived here and I rather missed it. This isn't to say that I'm a nudist in training or anything of that sort, but I'm a fairly private person and I enjoy my time to myself, when it can be attained. I pull on my undergarments, zipping up a pair of blue jeans and a shirt I got at the last Strokes show, ironically attended with Maggie less than a week before I nearly drowned the swim team. I can still see Julian Casablancas grinning like a cherubic madman at the front of the stage as I slip my feet into my shoes, lacing them and throwing my hair up into a precarious clip. I hesitate at the door, knowing what awaits me when I step outside the safe confines of my room, but it's time to face the music; I can't hide in here forever. With a sigh, I turn the handle and step out into the world.

Its lunch time right now, the halls deserted as people show their favoritism for food over loitering and I'm relieved at the lack of people, the people I can feel, like a soft tug pulling incessantly at the back of my mind. The hair on the nape of my neck bristles as I pick through all the scenarios of the strange looks, the whispers and sneers I'm likely to receive the moment I step into the cafeteria. Less than twenty feet away from the door, though, salvation comes in the form of something tall, gorgeous and Russian, complete with sandwiches, drinks and a bag of chips. If Kitty didn't swoon over Piotr so goddamn much, I'd have kissed him on the spot. Instead, though, I take the food he hands me and we make our way out into the garden, finding a shady bench to sit beneath, overlooking a basketball game between some of the younger students. All is quiet for the first few minutes as we sit, calmly enjoying our meals and the soft breeze toying with the hair on our heads. Piotr speaks first, wiping his mouth carefully with a napkin before his voice finds its way up and out of that little masterpiece of sculpture that they call "lips" on most of us dreary mortals.

"Are you feeling well?" It's a simple, almost obligatory question and I answer it in kind, though goodness knows I don't mind it.

"I'm all right, I guess. I've been better." A shrug, something else to illustrate the tranquil atmosphere surrounding us.

He nods, his gaze returning from the students to focus on me. "I heard about what happened yesterday, Adrian. I'm sorry."

I snort, taking a sip out of the bottle of water he procured for me. "You and everybody else. Fuck, Piotr, I don't know what I'm going to do; everyone must think I'm a complete psychopath."

"A little bit," he too shrugs, acknowledging what I already have in the bright, pre-summer sunshine. A chill of something nervous twists in my stomach and I put my sandwich down on its wrapper.

"Do you think I'm crazy? For losing control like that?"

He chuckles softly. "No, Adrian, I do not. Everyone does that from time to time, why should you be any different?"

"For a start, most people don't instantly dehydrate a fucking forest when they're really upset. It's not like I've even done anything like that before either, it just, well, it happened." Its fairly ineloquent, but concerning the subject matter and the fact that I woke up less than an hour ago, it's really the best I can do under the circumstances. I glance down to the blades of grass beneath us and he's silent for a moment before venturing forward.

"What caused you to become so anguished? Things like that aren't really an everyday occurrence from what I can grasp; it takes a lot to really get to someone like that." He knows he's treading onto the thin ice territory, but he's willing to take the plunge into the frigid waters regardless. His bravery is something to be commended, to hell with my reluctance, and I sigh. I haven't even told my roommates about the telephone conversation that occurred yesterday, but within seconds the words are bubbling over my lips and trickling down my chin like the juices of a ripe pear and he just sits there, holding my gaze in his own steely irises listening intently to every damning sentence. I tell him everything, about the phone call, about running like a madwoman into the woods, about falling into the stream, loosing my mind. I convey to him the horror of my deed, of blacking out and awaking to Logan and awakening again to the sterile silence of the sick bay. I conveniently leave out the bit about my newfound ability to be able to feel the water in people, though. I mean, seriously, Piotr grew up in Soviet Russia, he can deal with some pretty tough, weird shit, but I have to draw the line somewhere. For the time being, at least.

He hears it all, impassive, blank like the canvases he paints upon until I finish and the juices have dried on the corners of my mouth. I sit there, breathing heavily, trying to calm myself as I anticipate the judgment to be brought upon me by his person. I haven't even divulged this much to Logan, I gave him the Cliff Notes, annotated fucking guide to the "When Shit Went Down In The Forest" story of yesterday and I just prattled it all out to Piotr in a matter of five minutes. Jesus, if I had a dollar for every time I blabbed out all of my personal, walled up shit here at Mutant High I'd probably be pretty decently wealthy by the next month or so. It unnerves me a little to realize that I probably won't be stopping any time soon either, depending upon the reactions of the people I'm conversing with. It's all been good feedback, so I can't really stop myself from continuing on with my cathartic experiences, even though rational may advise me otherwise. Maggie was the only person I had ever trusted this much, but with her so far away and the harsh reality of the predicament I'd unwittingly thrust upon her, I don't have that luxury any longer. Christ, I'm selling out so fast I don't even know what to do with myself; here's for going to the big-time, mainstream act, kids. Hook me up with a bad, over-produced single to get played forty times every hour on the radio and we're set.

"You'll want to bring this up with the Professor today, or whoever is training you," he says after a moment. "It will be the best way for you to find out how to better control yourself. You're by no means a walking atom bomb, but any mutant above a level three without the knowledge as to how they might restrain themselves is a threat. I'm not saying this to frighten you or to make you upset but it is the truth, and as your friend I feel the responsibility to tell you, for yourself and the sake of those around you."

I nod in understanding. He's right; just as Logan was yesterday, and I give him credit for actually having the balls to deliver it in so frank a manner. I've an inkling that my roommates might have been more kind had I imparted this grave information upon them, but kindness is not what I need right now, I can't have people pussyfooting around me when I have something like this locked away within my veins. Storm will get an earful tonight when we meet for our training session, of this I am certain. One thought still clamors about in my mind, though, and knowing that Piotr's clued in about all of this, I see no harm in voicing it.

"So, what the hell do I say to Maggie? I was supposed to call her back yesterday but, well, you know the story, I really couldn't. I know my leaving probably brought up a whole shitload of abandonment issues with her, and I really couldn't bear dragging her down after everything that's happened, but how do I tell her all of this stuff? Not to be a total asshole, Piotr, but it was hard enough telling you."

He takes another bite of his sandwich, finishing it thoughtfully before swallowing. "You'll tell her just as you always have. You're best friends, comrades. This shouldn't change it any more than if one of you had told the other you were bisexual or considering converting to another religion; if you're truly as close as you claim to be, she'll accept you for who and what you are, without protest."

Again, I pity whoever sees my darling David at a glance and thinks that he's nothing more than a big, hulking chunk of muscle. Goddamn, he's good.

"Piotr," I smile, "I don't know what the hell I'd do without you. Thanks, I can't tell you how much you listening helped me out, it really means a lot."

He smiles, one of those rare, genuine things. "Don't thank me. It's what we do here for friends; I know you'd do the same."

And he's right; I'd do it in a heartbeat. Rogue could accidentally touch someone or Jubilee could inadvertently spark Professor Summers in the butt or Bobby could flash-freeze the room in a moment of embarrassment or Kitty could phase through the door while I'm taking a shower, Christ, St. John could light his notes on fire and ask me for help (an extremely unlikely scenario, I know) and I'd do it without question. Right now Piotr could sock me in the face and he'd have instantaneous forgiveness, assuming I woke up sometime this month in order to give it to him, of course. All I can do is just nod, grinning like an idiot and revel in my good fortune. This strange feeling has set in. It's almost as though, after seventeen years of searching, I may have finally come home. Piotr doesn't have sole custody over the generation of this sensation, but the overwhelming feeling of acceptance that Xavier's school exudes is truly a force to be reckoned with, and I'd be a fool to question it.

"I take it you'll be returning to classes tomorrow then?" he asks, balling up his trash and crushing it sublimely in his fist. It makes me positively giddy to know that my beloved, living Michelangelo statue could be his own recycling plant if he really wanted to be.

"I suppose so. Calling Mags is a bit of a priority now, even though shit like this always goes over better when said in person. Still, you do the best you can, right? Although, with this situation in particular, my best is fucking ridiculously deplorable."

He shakes his head. "You shoot yourself down too much, Adrian. You cannot always take full responsibility for the things you have no control over, even when they end up hurting the ones you love the most." Something haunted briefly crosses over that chiseled face of his and I nod in understanding. Even the Jolly Russian Giant has seen his fair share of turmoil, another innocent checked off the growing list at the mansion.

"Yeah, I know. It doesn't stop it from sucking, though. I just, I don't even know anymore. I'm so guilty for so many different offenses towards those I really cared for that I don't even know how to begin redeeming myself. My family, my best friend, I just worked off of assumptions and bailed. It didn't really help when they had the cops out hunting after me, either."

"And that is when Logan found you, yes?"

I incline my head, another acknowledgement. "Sort of. I was on the run and he pulled me out of a tough fix. And here I am, schooling myself in a mutant utopia I don't even know how to begin paying my penance for. It's really surreal, but I'm coming to terms with it."

"Aren't we all," he said softly, a sort of enigmatic admission I would have frowned at, had he not stood, excusing himself to return to classes. I bade him farewell and watched him leave, sipping on the water bottle he'd left me and pondering over my next order of business on this sunny, perfect day. The telephone in the lobby flashed through my mind, earning a barely suppressed shudder for all it was worth. Lifting myself off the wooden bench I made my way back inside and went to it, a beacon amongst the throng of students and teachers returning from lunch. The latter party gave me no queer looks or admonishing expressions as I sat purposefully in that stately, high-backed chair, lifting the receiver and dialing in that number I knew better than my own date of birth. They understood and allotted me my space, the chance to get my shit together so that I might be allowed to better devote time to my future here at the institute. The students, however, had glances that ranged from awkward confusion to full-on hostility. Biting the inside of my cheek, I willed composure upon myself as I tried with the utmost concentration to block out the swirling masses of water that remained in my minds' eye, even when I'd closed my gaze to their bodies. The last thing these kids needed was a repeat performance complete with human participants, and its right about now, nervous perspiration starting to bead at my hairline, that I curse myself for not owning a cell phone, something that might allow me to roam freely, conversing without the prying eyes of others.

It's Bobby, of all people, who comes to stand at my side while I hold the receiver to my ear. Bobby, the cheery, All-American Golden Boy, deflecting the attention away from me in ways I know with every fiber of my being that I don't merit. I barely give this kid the time of day; of all the students here at the mansion Bobby and I have powers that are the most similar, the most inherently useful to one another, and yet all I've ever done is judge him and snicker quietly to myself. And Bobby, well shit, all darling Robert Drake has ever done is try to be my friend.

I'm such an asshole.

The phone is ringing, trying desperately to connect to Maggie some three thousand miles away, and yet all I can think of at the moment is that I should be telling Bobby to go to class, that he doesn't deserve a tardy note on my account, that I don't fucking deserve his kindness. For god's sake, I blew him off yesterday morning to call Maggie the first time around. And yet, before I can get anything out he just smiles that glowing smile of his and resumes his honor guard like I'm the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. To have someone like Bobby reach out to me, well fuck, I feel blessed. Truly. This isn't to demean the other's attempts, because they all hold high places in my mind, but of all the people I'd managed to build up prejudices about within my first few days at Xavier's, it was the Dynamic Duo, roommate pair extraordinaire, Fire and Ice combo that Rogue seemed to have wrapped around her dainty, gloved finger. But we all know how those go, the initial misconceptions bashed upon the proverbial rocks of truth and good god, my tanker the H.M.S. Bullshit just collided with the great, rocky shores of Sincerity and leaked its Flushed Red Cheeks of Embarrassment all over the place. Classy.

"Don't worry, if you want me to leave when you get through I'll head off, I just wanted to be sure you were doing all right here, after yesterday," he says quietly while the line continues to ring. There's a note of guilt in his tone and I find myself frowning up at him.

"Bobby, you don't blame yourself for yesterday, do you?"

He manages to look supremely awkward for a moment, blushing slightly and rubbing the back of his neck in a way that is so firmly adorable I'd probably hug him under less tenuous circumstances. "A little. I mean, if I'd just checked up on you after breakfast or something, you did jet out of there pretty fast-"

I shake my head. "There's nothing you could have done. Regardless if you'd been there or not, her words, the events afterward would have come to pass. Please, don't blame yourself, I couldn't bear it. It was my fuck-up."

Bobby regards me for a moment and I hope he understand just how genuine I am with him. Bobby could have put on a cape and fucking tap-danced his way around the mansion and all of the nasty effects of yesterday still would have gone down according to schedule. After a moment he nods and I feel my unease lessen significantly. Without warning, the line on the other end picks up.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end is hazy with sleep and, cursing I remember the time difference. "Mags, its' me."

The voice perks a bit, though just barely. "Oh, yeah, hey." This certainly isn't what I expected.

"Am I calling you at a bad time?" My voice is tentative, not wanting to cause any great upset to my friend, though when I hear her snort derisively on the other line, my mood begins to change.

"Not really, though it would have been pretty fucking cool if you'd actually stuck to your promise yesterday and called me back then." For fuck's sake of all the stupid, insignificant bullshit-

Bobby raises an eyebrow, silently asking both if I want him to scram and if everything is all right. I shake my head, another simultaneous answer, and grind my teeth. "Look, Maggie, the reason I didn't call you back wasn't to be a dick, it was because some really scary shit happened yesterday and for a good portion of it I was stuck unconscious inside an infirmary. If that's really a fucking huge deal to you then give me a head's up and I'll call back when you're in a better mood."

The other line grows quiet and immediately I can tell that I've caused a change. "I… I'm sorry, Adrian. Are you all right? What happened?"

I roll my eyes, exasperated. Best friend or not, Maggie can be obscenely dense sometimes when it comes to the opinions and feelings of others, she has a hard time empathizing. "It's nothing, don't worry about it. And before you start protesting-" I cut her off before she can do me the same courtesy- "I'll email it all to you later, all right? There are some things I just don't want said over the phone. Suffice to say that my genetics have upped the ante, yeah?"

I can picture her nodding in agreement on the other line as she voices the affirmative. "So, when are you coming home? I miss you."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose at the tingles of an on-setting headache. "I miss you too, Mags. I don't know when I'll be back, I'm not really safe there right now, not until I can get this under control. Even then it'll be impossible to keep a low profile, everyone already knows who I am, what I can do, it's dangerous."

She sounds hurt, her voice growing so soft that I have to strain my ears to hear her properly. "You're just going to leave me here, all alone? Adrian, I thought we were-"

"Don't, Maggie, don't you fucking dare." I can see Bobby jump in the corner of my eye, and I'm thankful the halls have long since cleared at this point, because I'm so angry right now I'm well on the verge of taking the nearest unfriendly face and pummeling it into the floor. "Don't you dare pull that shit with me, Maggie Moore! You know it isn't like that. Jesus, if I weren't some uncontrollable genetic freak none of this would be happening! And you have the gall, the unholy nerve to act like I don't know that? What the hell is wrong with you, Maggie? Where the fuck do you get off-"

"Fuck, Adrian, I'm sorry, all right? It was fucked up, I didn't think about what I was saying. I'm sorry." A quick defense, but I'm still seething. Breathing deep to calm myself, I accept the apology and try to right myself. Looking down at the ground, I see a small puddle of water at my feet and groan with irritation; I wish my mutation came with a built-in mop and bucket.

"Look, don't worry about it. We've both got a lot of shit we have to deal with, none of this is fair to anyone. But you're still my best friend, Mags, and I care about you. I need you to keep in touch with me, email me or something, anything so that I can talk to you and make sure you're all right. I can't deal with bad shit happening to you right now. It fucking kills me to know that, in some shape or form, it's my fault. And I can't do anything to stop it much less actually help you because my folks have the LAPD riding my ass whenever I'm in town. I was lucky I was able to get out of there without having been caught and shipped off to some awful laboratory."

She gasps. "They'd have done that to you! But you're their kid!"

"You know my father, Maggie, he almost passed out when the school called him. I couldn't stay there, I had to get out of town." I'm sure Bobby's pretty uncomfortable right now, this is an extremely personal conversation. I'd be more private about it, but I need a witness, someone to understand the situation a bit more from an observational standpoint. The silent, moral support is always welcome too.

"Oh my god, that's horrible."

"Noted. Hey, Maggie, I've got to run. I'll email you later, though, all right?"

We exchange goodbyes and I hang up the phone wearily, rubbing my eyes briefly before I stand. I look to Bobby after a moment, giving him a small, tired smile. "Thanks."

He gives me that glorious Angels-We-Have-Heard-On-High grin of his, though there's less wattage to it this time, the scant knowledge behind my arrival here proving perhaps to be too great a burden for him. I stop myself; the boy is best friends with St. John Allerdyce and he's dating Rogue, who am I kidding? I'm pleased when he doesn't attempt to console me, but merely allows me to accompany him on the way to his class, our class, the lesson Logan teaches, the one I've presumably been excused for in allowance of a brief recovery period. I too bid him a good afternoon when we reach the elevator and set off toward the Professor's office, hoping that perhaps he has some spare time between classes so that I might be able to explain myself and my actions yesterday. Of course, knowing his fantastic omnipotence, he probably already has a very keen idea. Then again, Helen Keller probably might have known at this rate, were she still living. I pause a moment, hesitant, before I gently rap my fingers upon the fine, polished wood of the door.

"Come in, Adrian." There is no hesitation as I open the door and enter quietly, taking that familiar, proper chair before the Professor's desk where he himself is seated, dignified as always.

"I came to see you about what happened yesterday," I begin simply, not really sure how to start. Going off with, "Sorry for totally killing your forest, I promise I'll pull a Johnny Appleseed and totally fix it" is a bit elementary for my liking. The Professor, true to his kind ways, smiles.

He studies me from across the desk. "Ah, yes. I'm glad to see you appear to have recovered well, though I must say, you did give us a bit of a scare. This second mutation of yours, previously latent, it's a bit more than you expected, yes?"

"Truth be told, sir, I hadn't expected anything. I was upset, hysterical even, but never in my life did I imagine I was capable of something so terrible. When I looked around I felt as though the end of the world had been heralded." I try to keep the shudder in its place at the base of my mind, the memory itself almost too great to bear.

Xavier watches me a moment longer before he leans back and closes his eyes. "Why don't you tell me what happened, Adrian? You needn't go into too great detail if it makes you uncomfortable, but hearing the story behind the surfacing of this more suppressed mutation might aid us in controlling it."

I want to tell him that it won't do any good regardless, that if I've barely got my more primary mutation under wraps, how the hell am I going to manage this one? But I bite my tongue, swallow my comments and pray not to choke. I tell him the story of yesterday. All the while he listens, clear, lucid eyes on me as I relate everything that had happened, leaving nothing unsaid up until the point where Logan had brought me to the medical bay and Dr. Grey had taken me under her wing. It is at my waking discovery that I falter, noticeably so, and I stop.

"Continue, if you'd please," the Professor beseeches quietly, and I sigh, ashamed of myself. I look down at my kneecaps.

"I can sense water, sir. I mean, well, you already knew that, it was one of the first inklings of my mutation. Every time someone flushed the toilet or got a glass of water from the tap I could feel it. But now it's, um, evolved." I say this for lack of a better word, feeling beyond awkward there in that grand office. The Professor doesn't miss a beat.

"Do you mean to say that you can sense it in living organisms now as well?"

"I- well, yes. I can feel it in you right now."

Xavier looks pleased. "Fascinating. Adrian, you really do have a remarkable gift. Like young Mister Drake, I'd imagine that with practice you'd be almost limitless."

"I don't want a 'gift' that can do that," I point out the window, toward the ruined patch of forest, forgetting my place momentarily in my anxiety. "If that's a gift then I want a goddamn gift receipt."

While I cover my mouth quickly in shock at my disrespect the Professor chuckles good-naturedly. "If only all things were so simple, Adrian. I know this isn't easy for you, and I certainly wouldn't expect it to be, but there are ways we can teach you to control this as well. These are not impossible tasks, merely challenges of which we must rise to the occasion. You have a strong will, and a loyal sense of being, I don't expect this shall hold you back."

I allow his words to sink in a moment, mulling them over in my mind. I've entrusted the man with my darkest secret to date and, unflinchingly, he offers me support, alternatives and avenues of progress. I recall again why it is I came here for the first time since my earlier telephone conversation with Maggie and am heartened. Quietly, my voice barely above a whisper, I ask, "You really think it won't be completely hopeless?"

He smiles again, that reassuring, fatherly gesture and I can't help but give him a bit of a sheepish one back. "Nothing, Adrian, is ever truly hopeless; you'd do well to remember that. You have your training session with Professor Munroe tonight, yes?" I nod and he goes on. "Good. I'll do my best to inform her, but do talk to her if she has any questions or bits of insight as they're bound to assist you most indelibly. I understand that these bits of your home life, Adrian, your life back west, are hard for you to cope with, but know that there is always someone here who is willing to listen and aid you through it. You're not alone here, and you never will be."

This man could rally legions of catatonic patients to dance a jig, pick up a musket and go charging up to the battle front if he so much as breathed, he really is the most motivating, encouraging individual I've ever met. Even without the telepathy. Feeling more at ease with myself and my predicament, I take my leave of his office and make my way back into the corridor, grinning despite myself from ear to ear. I manage a smirk at a group of passing students and they hurry by, twittering hastily to one another with wide eyes. Classes seem to have been let out, I hadn't even realized how long I was in Professor Xavier's office until someone almost shoulder-checked me into the massive grandfather clock in the foyer. I spin around, glaring at a younger, though significantly larger, boy named Freddy, who went by the apt pseudonym "Blob", and was about to let loose a startling volley of insults when I hear someone call out behind me.

"Hey, asshole, watch where you're walking! It may be a little early for a barbeque, but I can recommend the cook put roast pig on the menu if you keep pushing your luck."

I'd tell them off for fighting my battles for me, but the shock of having my body jostled about so abruptly has done nothing good for my ribs, which now ache in alternating dull and sharp bursts. Turning to address the individual I'm about to bite out a retort when I notice its-

"John?" In my mild disbelief, Blob retreats into the crowd of students, trying to put as much space between him and the pyromaniac as possible. And with good reason too, I might add; John had his lighter out, pilot lit. Glancing about quickly for teachers I speak in a quiet rush. "Put that thing out, will you? If one of the Professor's catches you you're going to be in deep shit and you know it. I wouldn't put it past that moronic tub of lard to have cried about you to someone."

John merely rolls his eyes, flicking the lid up with an audible click of metal against metal and pocketing it. I shake my head forcibly, raising my eyes to the far wall when I realize that I can see the outline of it through his jeans, a hint of something awkward-flavored dusting my cheeks and melting on my tongue. The small painting of historic, upstate New York over John's shoulder is of sudden and great interest to me. "Do you have class now?"

Most of the students have cleared out, going off to their assigned lessons at this point while I'm trying to make out the figure of a small, oil-painted pony against a barn. In response, John raised an eyebrow, a bored, sardonic expression etched onto the youthful face that framed those old, old eyes. I put a hand on my hip, giving him a look in return before walking out the front door. "C'mere."

I'd walked almost halfway across the lawn before I had any indication if he'd actually followed me or not. His presence, of course, was denoted by that incessant clicking of his Zippo and it was all I could do not to turn around and splash him. It was then, oddly enough, that I was taken aback by the realization that I could sense him as well. It really shouldn't have surprised me so, considering that even the Saints were human before their ascensions into heaven, but for someone so distinctly bonded with his mutation- no, his element- it almost seemed strange. And yet there it was, water, life nestled within the towering pyre that was the essence of John. Consider me amazed, perhaps even baffled, but not nearly enough to mention it out loud. We press onward and into the forest in silence.

I'm taking John back to yesterday, our feet the time machine moving us forward, yet ultimately backward the closer we get. Depeche Mode's 'World In My Eyes' comes to mind, though without the perhaps intended innuendo. I'm still unsure as to whether there actually is one or not within that song, as granted, it's no 'Master and Servant', but we're talking Martin L. Gore here, and-

We've arrived.

Nothing, not even dignity, can stop the sharp intake of breath I hear and I want to die when I realize it was me. I can't hear John behind me, he's stopped fidgeting with his lighter and immediately I wonder why I've brought him here. Why John- Prometheus- of all people? What significance did I think this place would have to him that made him so goddamned privileged as to see what was, in symbolic form, my current darkest hour to date? I take a slow, steady deep breath and turn to look over my shoulder, to gaze back at his expression, and I have to stop myself from grinning when I see that even he is aghast. "Kindling." I say softly, for lack of anything else to break the silence.

"You did this?" he asks after a moment, stepping up to stand to my right. I nod.

"Yesterday."

"I thought your power was just limited to over-flowing toilets and causing water glasses to fall on people's pants," he says, surveying the area. It's still completely dry here, save whatever the slight damp of this mornings' fog might have done.

"Apparently you, and myself. Kind of disturbing, isn't it?" I grimace when I see my footprints in the riverbed.

John surveys everything with what he imagines, or hopes I suppose, is an impassive look, though you can read the awe off of him pretty well. Score one for the home team, I may have just gotten old Johnny Boy to take me seriously. He takes a few steps forward, past me, and kneels beside a dry, dead tuft of undergrowth, the thistles, I realize. When he looks back up at me, with that damnable smirk stuck on his face, I almost want to smack him. "You should do this more often. Fuck that kindling bullshit, this is fuel."

I'm too slow to hit the lighter out of his hand before I see the thorny weed go up in smoke.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, put that out Allerdyce, now!" Fucking Christ, one of the professors is going to look out the window, or worse, Logan will smell it, and come running out, detentions in hand. I haven't even been here a week yet, goddamnit, I don't want another evening spent in Summers' ridiculous room for a long while yet. But John, bastard that he is, just looks over at me with a snide grin.

"Please, Mills, don't play stupid with me. It doesn't suit you." The fire has reduced the plant to ash in seconds and he moves it on to another small bush, setting it alight with his will. Fascinated, horrified, I watch helplessly as he continues. "You brought me out here for a reason, and it's pretty simple to figure out; I burn shit. Fire is my deal, sweetheart, and you want this place gone." He looks back at the flames, presently controlled, moving from dead plant to dead plant, leaving soot and ash in his wake. "I'm the man for the job."

Fighting back the stupid bit of fear that creeps up into me, I narrow my eyes at him. "I thought we already discussed this manly business; you didn't make the cut. Now stop fucking around and put that out before I do it for you." I don't have to look down to know my fists are clenched, trying desperately to channel my tension, my apprehension of being reprimanded again by those so generous as to take me in and treat me as one of their own. All the more harrowing, though, is the faint suspicion- no, the acknowledgment- that he's right. Subconsciously or otherwise, there were reasons I brought St. John Allerdyce to this place, and it takes the very heart of me. I have to fight this. "John, please stop."

He takes no heed to the slight pleading tone my voice has taken on without my behest, the blatant usage of his first name, as he shakes his head, a determined note in his response. "Sorry, Mills, no dice."

"I'm not asking," I glower at his back, the shoulders, lean bordering on broad, squared insolently at me. My mind is already gathering up its reserves when I hear him laugh.

"Don't try to be tough with me, Mills. You couldn't stop me if you tried."

I pause. "I don't want to hurt you, even if you are a complete dick."

Another laugh, another dead thing goes up in flames. "Ooo, harsh words, dollface."

Something inside me snaps.

Dollface. The alley. John Doe Psycho Rapist.

Oh god.

"Get the fuck away from me you sick, horrible bastard!" I yell, a blast of water appearing at my beck and call, throwing him forward and extinguishing the flame. Sopping wet, John rises to stand ten feet away, lighter out, eyes narrowed dangerously. I can't stop myself as I back away, a queasy terror stealing over me. My breathing comes in short, uneven spurts and its enough for John to realize that I'm not entirely well.

"Explain yourself." He says shortly, and even in my panic-induced haze I know that this is a chance I'm not likely to get again before he pulls and Emeril and BAM, I'm cooked.

"He called me dollface, in the alley, near the pub, away from the cops, before he tried to-" I'm babbling on the verge of hysteria because somehow, in some irrational, awful way, I'm back in that alleyway in Los Angeles and my hands are clawing at my neck, trying to pry those wretched paws from me so that I might just free myself before he hits me. John gives me my space, lets me fumble backward until my feet get tangled in all of that clumsy underbrush and I fall flat on my back, the wind leaving my lungs in a rush.

When I finally manage to get some control over myself a little while later, John is standing over me, eyeing me carefully, waiting to see if I'll pull anymore unexpected punches. I don't. Instead, I sit there, trying to rein my sanity in, to remind myself of my present reality. The one where John is burning everything, where the world is on fire and I might just survive it if I'm lucky and he remembers me for who I am. A voice of reason? That necessary antithesis? The yin and yang opposite Bobby doesn't fill the role of nearly as much as he used to now that he and Rogue are going steady? I hold my head.

"I'm so sorry, John." It's barely above a whisper, but he seems to hear me well enough because suddenly he's helping me up and it's comforting, for just a moment, to be reminded that it's not going to shit all over again and, despite my current companion's penchant for wanting to burn everything in sight, I'm safe here. The awareness of this only increases my shame, though, and I look to the blackened ground to hide my face, guilt surging upward.

"You're still really screwed up over that, aren't you?" He says after a moment, studying me in my turmoil.

"It isn't obvious?" I mutter, silently damning myself a hundred times over for being so weak, so hopelessly repressed. At this rate I was giving Catholicism a run for its money. "Look, I'm really sorry, all right? I just, you really set me off, and I'm sorry for doing that. It was inexcusable and wrong and just-"

He shrugs. "I don't know, I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in your position."

I tear my eyes off the ground and peer up at him like he's grown a few extra heads. "Are you insane? John, I attacked you."

"No shit, Mills. I'm not excusing it, but I can understand it. I didn't exactly have the easiest time before I got here either," he looks at me evenly, and it's then that I realize that his eyes aren't brown. They're blue.

We're more alike than either of us are willing to admit.

"I know. I'm sorry for having taken it so badly." I want to slap myself for being so naïve about it all, for the notion that I'm almost on the verge of tears, but I manage to press my self-loathing into the back of my mind for a bit in order to grasp hold of an idea. "I could dry you, if you liked."

John's eyebrows arch heaven-ward in silent question, that practiced smirk of his, tried and true, coming to rest on the curve of his lips. "You up for all that with your ribs, sweetheart?"

We're back to square one, the secure social statures. We slide comfortably into our well-rehearsed roles, though I'm a bit irritated at the reminder of the pain in my chest. "Fuck off, asshole. I can drain the water off you, sort of like what I did here but without the whole post-apocalyptic scene. You up for it?" There's a challenge in that last bit and he takes the bait without fail.

"Hurry it up, Mills, I don't have eternity for you to figure out which new household appliance you are today."

"Call me Maytag and you'll be begging Bobby for his mom to send you some of his Oil of Olay, Prometheus. And shut up for a second, I don't want to kill you." If only I were joking about that last part. Concentrating, I feel about in the dark of my mind, looking for that switch so that I might cast it upward and shed a little light on everything. Finding it within myself, I flick it tentatively and open my eyes.

John stands before me still, unblemished. I raise an eyebrow in question and he shrugs. "Still sort of damp, but whatever."

"I didn't really want you to become a mummy, jackass," I grumble, though the period of tension between the two of us seems to have passed for the moment. "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?"

Wordlessly he reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a pack of reds, putting two in his mouth and lighting them. Removing one, he hands it to me and I take an eager pull off it, inhaling the calm and exhaling the vestiges of what had previously gripped me. The feeling of tiny fiberglass shards piercing my lungs never felt sweeter. "Thanks."

John blows out a long stream of smoke in acknowledgment and we stand in silence for a while before making our way back toward the mansion. It's nearing five o'clock now and dinner preparations will begin soon enough. I'm surprised to find that I'm absolutely ravenous after having had such a late meal, though sheer, blind terror has been known to bring the munchies before. Crushing our butts out on the gravel walkway near the kitchen, we chuck them into the trash and make our way inside. Part of me almost wished he'd taken my hand, as he had the other evening after our alcohol binge, for the comfort of it, but I was glad he hadn't as I couldn't imagine how I'd explain myself without causing a scandal. Goodness, what a gossipy mess this place was. Then again, I did have the school's very own wireless internet hub of half-truths and hearsay sleeping a few beds down every night, so I couldn't claim to be out of the loop, at least.

We queued up with a few other students outside the door to the dining hall when we got inside, standing a few feet away as was warranted by the looks they gave us. I knew a bit of John's reputation within the school as a hardcore badass, but my own outburst yesterday must have sealed the deal of making me the school's officially least popular student of the week, noting the glances I got. Whatever, I'm not losing any sleep over it.

The doors opens a bit later and we walk in silent, each of us taking what we want to eat and convening at our usual tables, waiting for the others to arrive as we sit in silence. I pick at a piece of bread, trying to ignore the impatient rumbling of my stomach, before I finally see Bobby and Rogue make their way in, followed soon by Jubilee, Piotr and Kitty. With a small smile and a wave I welcome them to the table. John, of course, barely acknowledges them, save to finally dig into his food. I manage not to roll my eyes, saying a quick hello to Rogue, who sits at my other side. "Classes go well today?"

She shrugs, picking up her fork. "Ya know the drill, same ol', same ol'. Professor Summers gave us the date of the final test fer Beowulf next week and he expects us t' study fer it 'til our eyes fall out. Gawd, sometimes Ah wonder if he realizes that we have other classes here too."

"Dr. Grey wanted me to give you your assignments for tomorrow, though it's just a bit of review on chapter twenty-four," Piotr informed me between a bite of chicken. "You can look over my notes later, if you wish. You have all weekend."

I looked up from my food, confused. "It's Friday already?"

"Duh chica! You wonder why we're all so relaxed," Jubilee laughed. "Only a few weeks left too and then the year will be over. I can't wait for summer, even if most of us will be here taking summer classes. And by 'most of us', I mean everyone but Bobby and Kitty."

Bobby appeared to be somewhat sheepish at this. "I can't help it that I'm still on good terms with my folks."

"They accepted you for being a mutant? There's no shame in that, that's fucking fantastic," I took a bite of pasta and his face colored a bit.

"Actually-"

"They don't know," John said, smirking triumphantly.

"They think I'm at a prep school," Bobby looked embarrassed, poking unsuccessfully at an olive. I felt badly for him. At least most of us knew where we stood with our families, even if they'd renounced us or, like Kitty, embraced us for who we were. Granted, she was as rare a case as ever they came, but it was heartening to think that perhaps someday, after humanity became a bit more tolerant, that there would be more like them. I took a sip of water.

"There's no harm in that. You do what you have to, you know? If they're better off believing that you're in boarding school then keep it that way until the time is right to tell them otherwise."

"People've had easier times coming out o' the closet to their bible-beatin' parents back in Mississippi," Rogue shook her head.

"Word, seriously. Even in L.A. people are total dicks about it. You think they'd be more accepting of it, considering that they put up with people like Tom Cruise all the time," Jubilee scoffed.

Piotr chuckled. "That's what you get for having the Terminator as your governor, yes?" Everyone seemed highly amused by this and had a good laugh over it, save Jubilee and I, who were a little over the hilarity of it all. Kitty saved the conversation, though, changing it to what plans everyone had for tomorrow and trying to work out a trip into town, which was always favorable, as we all spent so much time at the school. I was dying to get out, even just for a couple of hours at that stupid mall they had here. I'm used to going into town a lot, seeing shows every other week or so with Maggie, so this is far more domestic than my normal routine and I'm starting to get a bit antsy from it all. I'm hoping that someday they'll actually take us into New York City, though fuck knows if we'll ever be allowed that chance; biospheres don't really travel well, and utopias even less so.

"There should be a summer sale at the Gap soon, we should totally check it out," Kitty grinned at Jubilee, who of course thought the idea was golden. I looked up at Piotr, trying to contain my almost obvious distaste at the idea of spending another hellish few hours shopping with the more giddy half of my room when I saw Logan enter the hall, looking as surly as ever. Rogue, following my gaze, offered an explanation.

"He's been in one of his moods again, bein' all ornery and cranky. He'll snap out of it soon enough, Ah hope. Ah hate it when he gets like that, he scares th' younger students as is."

Bobby frowned. "I thought you liked that about him. You're always going on about what a badass he is."

His girlfriend had the decency the blush slightly. "Considering what Ah've gone through with him, Ah think Ah'm inclined."

John snorted disdainfully. "You make it sound like you've had kids with him."

"Shut up, John, ya already know th' story so quit whinin' on 'bout it." Her accent flared up to twice its normal intensity and I couldn't help but smile at it. Kitty caught it and winked.

"If you think this is bad, wait until she really gets pissed with him, it's awesome."

Jubilee perked up. "We may yet get some action tonight, chicas, lets keep our eyes peeled."

"Like you'll ever get any of that. Please, don't kid yourself." As per usual, John's scathing wit keeps us all on the edge of our seats.

"What, like you will? Just because you're a manwhore doesn't mean you're constantly locked in a closet playing seven- oh, wait, maybe for you it's eight- minutes in heaven, kay?"

Another scoff. "Eight? Jesus Jubilee, I don't even look like Bobby. I know we're roommates, but try not to confuse us, it's a discredit to your self-imposed title of resident Gossip Queen."

"Guys, can we keep it 'claws in' for like, five minutes? If we're going to be asking the teacher's permission to go out tomorrow, we might want to appear at least somewhat civil for a little while," Kitty chastised, ever the planning wizard. I looked up, trying to find Logan again above all of the heads at dinner without avail. I wanted to find him tonight, before I went into my lesson with Professor Munroe, to tell him what I'd told the Professor and apologize for not having done so earlier. I probably owed Dr. Grey the same courtesy, but in my mind, Logan always came first, he'd earned the right. Then again, considering his mood, perhaps he'd already found out and had gotten upset with me for not having been more forthright. Shit. Here at Mutant High, there is no safe middle ground.

Dinner ended without much flare and I went in search of the library again, eager to use the computers in order to reach Maggie via email before my training session in a few hours. I didn't know how long it would take to get this email out, but I had the feeling that I'd be lucky if I made it on time to meet Storm at the pool. God, those X-names really were ridiculous. The day I give myself one will be the day I kick Logan's ass in the boxing ring. This will, obviously, never happen. Ever. Oh god, I'd be pummeled to shit, even imagining the injuries one would sustain from that is painful. I remember him mentioning something about cage fighting while he was up in Canada for a while and I pity all the poor bastards that took up arms against him, thinking they could beat him. He may not be the tallest guy around, but you can see the muscle on him, the feral look about him, and in all honesty, anyone in their right mind might be able to discern the whole attempt as something like suicide. There isn't enough that you could pay me to do that. That and, well, seriously, who the hell tries to smack around the current object of their hero-worship?

Finding a free computer I sit at the chair and open up my email account, pausing a few moments to consider a greeting. "Hello, it's your mutie best friend here, just dropping by to say 'hi'!" sounds a little beyond stupid, so I settle for the bland "Hello Mags" and begin to write it all out for her. Everything pours out, the week spent in L.A. before I'd hitched my ride east, meeting Logan, the stuff on the drive over, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, the people I'd met and befriended, the teachers, my powers, all of it comes out with a faint clickity-clack noise of computer keys and for well over two hours, I'm lost in my recollection. I hit the send button a little before eight, the weight upon my shoulders having lessened significantly in my electronic confession to my friend. I hoped that this would help her understand, that she might be able to grasp my situation a bit more easily now with all of my memories and experiences before her, at her finger tips.

I log out and stand, feeling rejuvenated. Seeing the time I curse, dashing out of the library and racing down the hall towards the large pool room, a scant handful of minutes separating me from a tardy to a lesson I should never, ever be late for. Almost leaping over the head of one of the younger students- it was either that or actually stepping on him, he was so goddamn small- and skirting around the group of kids pouring out of the entrance of the rec. room I made my way down the halls, my blood singing the seconds as I felt their water all coursing through my mind, amassed to one great, swirling river, a truly glorious thing to behold. Perhaps this new power wasn't such a terrible thing after all, I mussed, as I picked my way out around corners, sensing where to run, where to dodge in my way towards my lesson. "With great power comes great responsibility", but by Christ, this was awesome.

I made it into the large, open room with half a minute to spare, skidding to a halt at the doorway and giving Professor Munroe a smile before removing my shoes and socks, setting them beside the steps and coming to stand beside her at the edge of the water. Boy, was she in for a treat. I blinked my eyes and less than an instant later, the water within the pool had vanished. I looked over and had only to see the pride within my mentor's smile to feel the satisfaction sweep over me.

"Well done, Adrian. It appears as though you've finally come to accept your gift. I am pleased for you." It was with those words that she began my tutelage anew and we worked on into the night. I felt the seconds, liquid and malleable, singing through my veins.

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