Author's Notes: I had expected to have this out weeks ago, and I both apologize profusely for the delay and thank all of you for your patience. Now that the elements are once again in my favor (or so I hope) I'll hopefully have things under a bit more control, giving me a little more time to work on this. Much thanks again to all of you who have reviewed, I cannot even begin to thank you for your support and, hopefully, with this chapter you'll be rewarded. Consider it a pleasant interlude, if you will. I hope you enjoy it, and reviews are appreciated to the utmost. Thanks again, you guys are fantastic.

Disclaimer: I OWN EVARYTHING LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!11!111!1one!eleventy! J/K MARVEL PWNS ME.

"I am with you, now I've got to explain
Things that have changed in such a permanent way.
Life seems unreal, can we go back to your place?
You drink too much, makes me drink just the same."
-The Strokes, 'Alone Together'

Chapter 14- "This Boy"

The night had a hollow tinge to it, tainted by the events broadcasted earlier on CNN and it was so obvious I could have slapped myself. The tension within the mansion was so tangible, so visibly apparent that the proverbial cut of the knife wasn't even necessary. Irritated as a result of the stress we all underwent as a price, I stalked about the place, silently bemoaning the reality that my store of cigarettes was waning and that despite the fact that I was in desperate need of a good stroll out of the grounds, I probably wasn't going to get it. Moods like this beg for destruction, a chance to unleash oneself in a merciless and unrelenting fashion upon something and all I needed was a little push to set me over the edge.

A thought came to mind and I laughed into the empty corridor before me; so this is what it was to be John or Logan, to have that trapped, caged sense constantly haunting your every waking move. I couldn't bear it, I had to get out, I had to do something. I turned and walked calmly back downstairs, past the cafeteria and into large room housing the pool. During times like these John would be torching everything he could get his hands on and Logan would be sniffing around for an easy bar fight, searching for something to break. But me? Fuck, all I wanted was to get away from reality for a little while and wash it all away. Striding to the edge of the pool, I kicked off my shoes and dove in without a second thought, my clothing weighing me to the bottom almost instantaneously, the air rushing out of me and fleeing to the top in a frenzy of bubbles.

Before my mutation surfaced, the weeks preceding my arrival at that innocuous, grand house on Greymalkin Lane, sitting at the bottom of a pool like this would have terrified me, and rightly so; the very notion of drowning was something that had always perturbed me, and as a result I'd been a little hesitant with swimming as a child. Now, though, I hadn't a care in the world. I barely had to think of it before literal tubes of air made their way down to me, connecting the surface air above with my nose so that I might breathe beneath the world. It was all so simple, so effortlessly easy down here, I stretched back on the floor my arms splayed out at my sides as the gentle currents ebbed and flowed around me, gently pulling at hair and clothing. This, I realized, was peace. Down here there was no anger, no blind terror, no looming threats. Nothing. The muffled expanse of the water surrounding me was all that mattered and I felt the apprehension that had engulfed me earlier ebbing away.

We'd stayed outside a bit longer together, in the silence and that wind that was uncharacteristically cool for a late April such as this. Professor Munroe, despite her composure, was still bound like any other mere mortal to her emotions, though I'd heard some students whispering of her previous position before Xavier had found her and talked her into a teaching position. My movements slowed significantly by the water, I shook my head, wondering who on earth would give up the chance to be a Goddess for a bunch of stupid kids. But I knew her well enough from my training sessions by now to understand how much this meant to her, preparing the world for a tomorrow that might never come if today was ruined by the ignorant, swarming masses of humanity sided against us once and for all. She was a smart woman, and Storm understood that even Goddesses had to do grunt work sometimes. Oddly enough, she didn't seem to mind it much, something I, as her student and quasi-apprentice, was grateful for. I sighed, slipping into a semi-conscious state as the world above fell away amidst a haze of blue.

I'm not sure how long I remained there at the bottom of the pool, but after what seemed like minutes later I became acutely aware of another significantly smaller body of water standing at the edge of the pool. Not wanting to frighten anyone into thinking I'd drowned myself, because god knows I've got enough shit spreading about me right now without any attempted suicide stories, I allowed myself to float gently up to the top, the water pushing me up until I stood easily on the surface. Dripping wet, I blinked the water from my eyes and set a hand on my hip. "Yes?"

"That has gotta be one o' the niftiest little tricks Ah've evah seen," Rogue grinned at me from the ledge of the pool. "What're ya' up to?"

I shrugged. "Fuck all, to be honest. I just wanted to get away from everything for a moment; I was getting sort of cagey. Why, anything going on?"

"Well," Rogue drew the word out, her fantastic Mississippi accent giving it a velvety tone. "Kitty put in a request to Dr. Grey yesterday night and she's willin' to take us over to the mall to see a movie. You wanna come?"

Holy fuck, they were letting us out. "Of course I do! Just let me-" In my excitement I lost grip of concentration and the surface gave way beneath me. I fell in with a splash and, irritated, brought myself back up a few feet closer to my friend, who was laughing helplessly by the time I had come back. "I'm still getting the hang of it, obviously."

"It's all right. C'mon, let's get ya' outta that wet stuff 'n into somethin' a bit less, well, Jubes can explain it to ya'." She offered me her gloved hand and I took it, stepping easily from the water onto the landing and picking up my shoes.

"I can just zap myself dry if I need to get dry, I mean-" Rogue shook her head.

"Nah, they wanna go out all dolled up, Ah think, lookin' classy 'n all that. It's not nearly eight o'clock yet 'n Ah think we were gonna go grab somethin' to eat before hand. Ya' all right with that?"

I shrugged as we walked through the halls, my wet feet slapping lightly against the hardwood floor. "I guess it's all right. I'm not really into dress wear, but something tells me Jubilee and Kitty already have something planned out, so I'd do better not to argue with them." The look Rogue gave me confirmed my suspicions and I chuckled. "Who else is coming?"

"The boys, of course. They've got th' same instructions we do. Which, by the way, is to be ready promptly at eight down 'n the foyer so that Professor Summers 'n Dr. Grey can drive us all over for dinner."

I raised an eyebrow at her as we neared our door. "I have to be ready by eight? Isn't that in a few minutes? Good god, how long was I down there; it felt like years passed above."

"Ya' were gone fer about an hour or so, not too long. Were ya' under there the entire time?" I nodded and she let out a soft curse. "Damn, Adrian. If it'd been anybody but me that'd found ya' they'd 've thought ya'd killed ya'self."

I laughed. "Oddly enough, I considered that." Kitty's head popped through the door and, god help me, I really did almost die.

"Come on, you two, you can chatter all you like while we get ready," taking us by the hands she pulled us through the door. "Now Adrian, do that awesome little anti-water thing you're so good at and put on the stuff Jubes has for you, we don't want to be late or the boys will never let us live it down."

"You really got on their asses about being there at eight, didn't you?" I smiled, closing my eyes and focusing my thoughts until I opened them again, my clothes and skin pleasantly devoid of water.

"Oh god, like you wouldn't believe," Jubilee handed me some of the things she and Kitty had picked out for me on our shopping spree. "Even Piotr looked like he wanted to hit something."

Kitty looked up from her hand mirror, horrified. "Did he really?"

"Goodness no! It was just a, uh, figure of speech," Jubilee practically tore my shirt off of me, trying to help me get ready and avoiding Kitty's gaze all the while.

"Jubes, Ah think Adrian can dress herself, she's a big girl," Rogue called from within the bathroom, applying a lovely shade of scarlet to her lips. Fuck, this was ridiculous, I felt like I was getting ready to go to the prom. The Chinese girl gave me a sheepish look, laughing.

"Don't worry about it. We're roommates, if one of us hasn't seen someone half naked, there's a problem here." I pulled on the shirt she'd handed me, a plain hounds' tooth pattern adorning it in black and white and made a face at the skirt she dangled from a finger. "Do I really have to?"

"Kitty's orders, chica. If you don't, she'll scratch you." I took the offending garment and stripped my jeans off, still a bit damp despite myself. Pulling on the black fabric, I was pleased to note that it was at least longer than what my friend was wearing. Mini-skirts would have felt too lengthy around it. And of course, in typical Jubilee fashion, the damn thing was the color of a highlighter. I suppressed the urge to grab some sunglasses and turned my attention to the girl in the pony tail. "Is this better?"

Looking up from the sandals she was slipping onto her feet, Kitty nodded. "Much. Do these make my feet look big?"

"Fer gawd's sake, Kitty, if yer feet 'r big we're all giants. Ya' have the tiniest feet in th' whole mid-West, stop yer worryin'," Rogue came out of the bathroom looking very much the sultry Southern I imagined she'd grow up to be. The air of assurance that surrounded her was something to be jealous of, and I almost was, as I by-passed her to get into the bathroom and brush my hair out. I didn't look ridiculous, but I wasn't nearly at the state the others were in this stage in the game. Almost as if she read my mind, Rogue came back into the lavatory, carrying a small bag.

"Since Ah don't think ya' want to look like a road-way sign, I'm gonna fix ya' up a bit before Jubes catches hold o' ya'," she set her bag down on the sink and went to work. By the time she'd finished a little while later, I knew we were cutting it close and I thanked her, slipping into a pair of flats.

"It's no problem, sugah. And try to use some eyeliner sometime, it really makes yer eyes stand out." Awkward with the compliments I merely smiled in response and grabbed the purse that had been laid out on my bed, stuffing money and some other nick-knacks into it before we ran out the door, Jubilee nearly tripping over the banister of the stairs as we raced down them as gracefully- or gracelessly- as possible.

"Be here at eight, huh?" Bobby grinned knowingly at the lot of us as we skidded into the front room. "You guys got on our asses about it so much we were sure to be here by ten of."

Kitty looked somewhat guilty but gave a pretty smile anyway and Piotr, always the gentleman, offered her his arm. Bobby and Rogue paired up and John, Jubilee and I, the only three who weren't involved in some sort of quasi-romantic shindig, glanced at one another.

"Well, we can at least take console in the fact that we'd be a pretty hot threesome," the yellow-clad girl waggled her eyebrows and I laughed despite myself.

"Sure thing, Jubes. Now I know what to say if all my future plans fail and I'm living out my life as a cheap call-girl on the lower-east-side. Thank you." My attentions turned to the door, though, as Dr. Grey and Professor Summers came through, looking quite well for themselves indeed. He must have been escorting her out for the evening, because I'll be damned if he didn't look in the least bit pleased with himself, dressed in a smart looking suit and tie. Dr. Grey appeared not to have pulled any stops either, I can safely say that I would have kissed her if given the opportunity, she was so beautiful. Sweet Jesus, the things people manage to hide underneath a lab coat. The boys seemed to approve and, without any great finale we all piled into the SUV Summers had parked in the driveway, reflecting up at the starless sky.

"It's going to be another rainy night, I wish Ororo would let up already," Professor Summers said to Dr. Grey with a grin, opening her door for her as we piled in as quickly as possible, strapping in seatbelts as well as the tight fit would allow us. I covered my brief surprise at the familiarity with which he spoke of my teacher, as I'd never heard anyone but Professor Xavier speak of her as such, but it was said with a cordiality born of a long-standing friendship, and as a result I shrugged it off. Looking out the window as we drove away, I watched the first drops of rain beginning to plummet down from the heavens, feeling them as keenly with my mind at that instant as if they'd been falling on me, little liquid needles pricking my skin.

The ride to the plaza was brief and uneventful, we were dropped off and told to call when our film had ended and we were ready to return to the school. With a chorus of thanks they departed and we made our way out of the drizzle and into a nearby Italian restaurant, good spirits prevailing despite the weather. Everyone seemed pleased with our professors' collective trust in us, though the only thing John said was that he was happy he wouldn't have to sneak out again, earning an eye-roll from Jubilee and a good-natured laugh from Bobby. The waiter came by and took our drink orders and the lot of us began perusing the menus with great interest, a small mob of hungry teenagers being nothing trivial to contend with. When our server returned our meals were decided and he departed, leaving us with our drinks and a bread basket with which to temporarily sate ourselves.

"What are we seeing tonight, anyway?" I asked, still being clueless as to most of the goings-on of the evening.

"We'll have to decide when we get there, no one could make up their minds earlier," Piotr responded, buttering a piece of bread rather delicately.

Jubilee put up her hands in defense. "Hey, everyone already knows what I wanna see."

"Yeah, and everyone agreed that it was shit," John replied, taking a long draught from his glass of Coke. "This season's Sweet Home Alabama isn't worth-"

"Settle down, ya'll, we'll find somethin' to keep everyone happy with," the muffled "Ah hope" that followed got a snort of laughter from Kitty, who was watching Piotr draw on the back of his paper placemat with great interest. Intrigued, I peeked over her shoulder and almost choked with laughter. As always, the Jolly Russian Giant's little illustrations never failed to amuse, caricatures of Jubilee and John, complete with large, sharp teeth, snarled at one another from opposite sides of a kennel and it was all too perfect a summation of their previous display to go unaccredited. I grinned over at him and started a conversation with Bobby about how lovely his girlfriend looked. Rogue, ever the Southern Belle, colored prettily.

"Ya'll 'r makin' me blush, quit it," she fiddled with the napkin placed daintily upon her lap and I grinned again, sharing a wink with her doting lover. I was thrilled to note that all of us- even Jubilee with her blinding highlighter outfit- looked fantastic, well dressed and in good humor. Considering how poorly the first half of the day had gone, this was quite a pleasant turn-around.

Our food arrived about a half an hour later and we all dug in eagerly, though still in a decent mood. Even John had toned down a bit, offering up a "thanks" when Kitty passed him the parmesan for his pasta. I munched happily on my gnocchi and wondered how long it had been since I'd been in the company of people I was this comfortable around. Maggie and Logan were the only two people that came to mind at the moment and, considering that my emotions were somewhat touchy about both of them at present, I changed tactics and offered Jubilee to try some of my food.

"No thanks, chica, me and my vegetarian mini-pizza over here are doing just fine," she took another bite of it, a satisfied expression on her face.

"You're vegetarian? I had no idea," I munched on another fork-full of delicious potato pasta, wishing fruitlessly that I had a glass of wine to go with so fine a meal. My friend shook her head.

"Hell no, I just like pretending I'm healthy sometimes." The bark of laughter was a catalyst and suddenly, like any great chain reaction, I was laughing too. Such an evening of reprieve had been a long time in coming and it would have been a shame not to properly enjoy it. After we'd finished eating we paid our tab and walked out the door and stood under the awning, rain pouring down around us, much to the group's discontent.

"The theater's all the way at the end, we're going to get totally soaked!" Kitty complained. Leave it to us not have grabbed an umbrella between everyone. Go team awesome.

"Guess we'll just have to run through it," Bobby smiled boyishly, looking as if he might enjoy this far more than he was supposed to under the circumstances. The next wave of movies were bound to start soon, and so it was decided we'd make a run for it to the theater. Jubilee gave us the obligatory countdown and we were off, leaping through puddles and shouting amidst the downpour. Piotr had scooped Kitty up the instant we'd began running and she squealed happily, thrilled to be treated in so lady-like a manner. I glanced back and saw Rogue give Bobby the briefest of kisses (presumably before her mutation kicked in as I didn't see him stagger or, well, die) in the rain and smiled, glad for them. Jubilee, of course, being one ill-fated to resist temptation, sparked St. John in the backside and scampered off faster than either of us could have without the rain coming down in sheets, hindering our movement. The flats I was wearing had filled with water, making a squishy-slap noise as I ran, laughing into the gale. Everything, the feeling of it all, was so perfect I didn't know what to do with myself. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the cobblestone walkway, lifting my face upward to the rain and grinning wildly as water soaked me to the bone.

"Adrian, are you insane? Get over here; you're going to freeze your ass off when we get into the theater!" I heard a few moments later, placing it's origin from either Kitty or Jubilee. I was so caught up in sensation that I'd forgotten where I was for a moment. Recalling myself, I dashed back over to the others with a smile as we queued for our tickets. John looked positively cantankerous, scowling as water dripped off the ends of his hair and down his face. All too easily I was reminded of a large, wet, angry housecat (one very similar to the lovely beast that belonged to Maggie, in fact) and I burst into laughter, earning my fair share of strange looks. I was so drunk on my happiness, high from the liquid joy that bubbled forth from within the wellspring of my mind that I could have given a fuck what everyone else thought. My friends were cheerful, I was exultant, and the night was young. For the first time in a long while I acknowledged how glad I was to be alive.

We bought tickets to see some lameass horror remake and went into the ultra-air-conditioned lobby to shiver near the concession stands for a bit- excluding Bobby and Piotr, of course- until our theater was ready. Truth be told, I loathe horror films to the utmost, but I couldn't resist the chance to scare the ever-loving shit out of someone as a result of it and neither, if looks meant anything, could John and Bobby.

Ah, the Dynamic Duo, ever the opposites yet so very much alike. It was eerie to watch them, knowing how much my own relationship with St. John was parallel with it, to an extent. John and I aren't Fire and Ice, I'm not Bobby and there's no way I'd put up the pretense; the kid's an Omega, for chrissake. John and I, we're Fire and Water, and where ice, limited in it's rigid, solid form, might keep steadfast, as a liquid I react; we're at a constant thrust and parry. John and Bobby effectively cancel one another out, but Prometheus and I? Well, I'll be damned if we don't go above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to infuriating one another. In order for one to even consider nullifying the other an excessive force of will is required, and fuck if we're not two of the most stubborn people in the school. It'll make for interesting training sessions once my ribs are done healing, of that I'm certain.

People purchase their assorted snack food and drink necessities and we stride off toward our theater, the normalcy of the evening a breath of fresh air to everyone involved. For but an evening we're average kids out on a Saturday night, a group of friends enjoying their time together in the time-honored, American tradition of going to the cinema. I can't help but grin when I see that we're the first people in the theater and, after a small bit of arguing, we find seats with negligible bickering. Bobby seats himself at one end and Rogue follows him in, accompanied by Kitty, Piotr, John, myself and Jubilee, who insists upon being on the other end of our line telling me that if she finishes the massive soda she'd bought earlier that it'll be an easy run to the restrooms. I chuckle quietly and seat myself, still fairly damp, but contented to relax until the previews started. And they begin soon after, each trailer bringing to us something dull-witted or flashy for our peanut gallery comments, though a few looked surprisingly good. Our whispers echoed in the silence as our feature presentation began to roll onto the screen and Jubilee gave me an exaggerated thumbs-up for effect.

As always with such films, the creepy music begins and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand, though not from the air conditioning blasting around the interior of the theater. Within minutes the first victim is slaughtered and I'm left, though still in the company of my friends, wondering what on earth was wrong with me to so make me agree to this movie? Creepy little dead children wandering around through curses killing unwitting people really wasn't me cup of tea, though I imagined that Kitty was probably the only other person who was really getting creeped out by this in any obvious way. A glance to my left confirmed my beliefs, the smaller girl having almost wrapped herself around her consort's arm, peeking out from behind it when the crescendos had died down and people were no longer screaming. Bobby and Rogue shared their bowl of popcorn, munching on it thoughtfully, and John looked beyond bored. For a moment, I actually thought he'd fallen asleep. I realized my error, though, when he winked at me and I scowled, knowing that he'd seen my irrational and childish fear. Looking straight ahead I watched the plot begin in its desperate, vain attempts to unfurl and whispered to Jubilee.

"This movie is so full of shit, there have already been three major plot holes and it hasn't even chugged on past the first hour," I informed her confidently, seeing her nod out of the corner of my eye.

"Seriously, chica, these Japanese horror remakes are crap. If you wanna really get scared we should totally- Ohmygodwhatthehellwasthat?" the other girl yelped, nearly throwing her beverage on me. I wasn't sure if I should be more wary of Creepy Little Dead Girl or Dr. Pepper at this moment, but the last scene was definitely a little more than unnerving. Our commentary cut short by the executioner's ax, however fictitious it may have been, Jubilee and I were quiet for the remainder of the film. At one point I'd gripped the armrests on either side of me, sinking down into the seat so far as decency would allow in my current attire, my knees blocking most of my view of the screen. This all became null and void, though, when I realized that one of my arm rests had an arm already attached to it and I squawked so loud Bobby choked on his popcorn. John, having thus removed his offending limb, laughed so hard the other people in the theater became annoyed and he quieted when they threatened to call the matron. I didn't have to look to see that he was fingering his lighter through his pocket, annoyed with their arrogance and I glared back at him, once again returning my gaze to the screen.

After nearly two hours the movie let out and we gathered ourselves and proceeded to exit the theater, chattering as to our discontent with the quality of the film. Rogue told us that the acting was deplorable while Piotr insisted that we should expect nothing less from Hollywood swill. All of us agreed that the film was a bit of a waste, but that it had definitely kept up to par with the jumpy scares and surprises.

"The worst part is that you totally know there's going to be a sequel in like, a year," Jubilee tossed her drink into a nearby trash can. A few of us noted the small grin that had crept onto the walking Michelangelo sculpture's face and I laughed, knowing that regardless of how terrible the movie may have been, he'd certainly enjoyed himself. As, I realized, had I. Bobby went over to a nearby pay phone and set about calling Professors Summers to come an retrieve us and the rest of us stood out on the pavement under the faint drizzle, looking up at the sky. There were so many puddles around, it was hard to resist the temptation to splash about in them or cast them to do my bidding, but I held off, noting the groups of people leaving the theater as they went on their way to the parking lot. For the moment I contented myself in brief solitude, staring down at my reflection in one of the shallow pools. Soon another face appeared, to my right, a handsome one, with full, smirking lips and deep, dark eyes. I looked up.

"Enjoy the movie?"

John gave a snort. "It was lame as hell, Mills. Only the chicks were freaking out."

I eyed him carefully, noting the damp yet still appreciative dress wear he'd chosen for the occasion. "Yes, indeed. Do note, though, that I wasn't the first one holding onto the armrest white-knuckled."

He gave a short laugh. "Are you saying I was scared?"

I shrugged in turn, holding his gaze and giving him a small grin of my own. "I'm saying that it's a possibility. A very likely one, at that. The only people there in that theater who probably didn't jump at least once were Piotr and the old man sleeping in the front row."

"Fiction doesn't scare me, Mills," John looked at me, his smirk gone. There was almost a challenge to his tone, so subtle one would have missed it if they weren't looking for it. Lucky for me I'm so goddamn perceptive.

I cocked an eyebrow, a hand automatically going to my hip. "And what, pray tell, does, John?" The use of a formal, Christian name, it helps to blur the conversation between casual banter and intimate introspective, almost an interrogation but with far less force. It's a dance, a tango, wits pressed together, going through the motions as the band plays along, that sultry sound carrying on into one's very blood, moving us along like puppets to its whim. And yet who is the aggressor? Who leads in this ambiguous shuffle of feet, and who turns away, the blushing maiden? John opens his mouth to answer, a sneer already painted upon his face, when a vehicle pulls up alongside us. Professor Summers and Dr. Grey have arrived to take us home.

We all pile in and Professor Summers has the radio on the classic rock station, which earns a frown in distaste from me as I scrunch into my seat. I can't help but entertain the notion that "Don't Fear the Reaper" is merely a ruse, that when he gets back home to the mansion and settles in that he really puts on the Straight Outta Compton album and I see Dr. Grey giggle in the front seat. Noting that I'm projecting my thoughts, I tone it down a little and look out the window as we drive onward. Conversations soon begin to drown out the radio, for which I shall be eternally thankful, as everyone relays their night, teachers and students listening eagerly to one another in a way that is so much like family I catch myself. To many of the students- and even teachers- Xavier's mansion isn't just a school or a social commune, it's home in the most basic and true sense of the word. Realizing that I've none back in Los Angeles, not after having become a mutant and thusly run out on my kin, it begins to dawn on me that I'm one of them now and I remain quiet for the duration of the trip, lost in my thoughts.

We return to the school and depart the vehicle, thanking our elders for allowing us to go out and have such a good time. Many of us walk in, arms linked, laughing and talking to one another in easy companionship. Only two lone people walk slowly back into the mansion, and for god's sake, weren't we contented just arguing earlier? A soft sigh escaping my lips, I increase my pace, walking past St. John Allerdyce and out into the foyer, that open space where so many paths meet.

"Hey." It's not a shout, by no means something loud to call my attention, but there's a weight it carries and I stop, turning to look over my shoulder.

"Yes, Prometheus?" Back to the nicknames, the safe, chummy words we associate with one another. I've got too much on my mind right now to play games with the flame thrower, I'd rather check my email, see if Mags finally responded. Getting changed into some dry clothes would be nice too, but with the look I'm getting now I have my doubts as to if any of that will be happening within the next twenty minutes.

"Wanna get a drink?" The unspoken reference to Professor Munroe's tequila is discreet, something an eavesdropper of the non-telepathic variety would have a bit of trouble deciphering without seeming completely paranoid; two friends and classmates going to get some juice from the kitchen before bed or retreating to the rec. room, nothing more. But we know better, I know better, and I nod, following him into the room without so much as a word passing between us.

We arrive to an empty space, the counters wiped clean and sparkling from the dinner that took place earlier in the evening and John makes quick work of going up above the refrigerator to the cupboard beyond, sticking nearly half his body into it before he comes out with what he sought. He hands me down the bottle, Patrón, I note, before jumping down beside me, taking it gently from my grasp and hiding it under his arm in that leather jacket of his he probably thinks makes him look oh-so-tough and unapproachable. Wordlessly, without so much as a glance between the two of us, we exit the room.

That's really the thing, isn't it? John tried to act like piss and vinegar, but when it came down to it he wasn't so different from the rest of us. Whether he liked to admit it or not, he still had needs, vital necessities he'd gone far too long without satisfying. Companionship was something he'd been denied before coming to the institute, that much was almost painfully obvious to anyone who knew how to look for it, and we sought to aid him as a collective. Everyone had their vices; Bobby needed to smile all the time, needed for everything to be okay for whatever reason, and we indulged him. Rogue was terrified of becoming close to anyone, physically or otherwise (and with good reason for the former) but we still hugged her and held her hand out of friendship. Piotr missed the sweeping steppes of his homeland and perhaps as a result was prone to bouts of moodiness for which we gave him his space and listened when he had anything to say of it. And Kitty and Jubilee both had abandonment issues in spades where their parents were concerned, when they needed someone to look up to, you can bet your life that we were there to aid them. And me? Shit, I don't even know where to begin. I'll file that under "Let's Not And Say We Did", a project for a rainy day, if you will, where the water runs down the windowpanes in rivulets and gently bathes the earth below.

We all had our vices and our ways of coping with them. Being a mutant as well as being a teenager just adds on to the complications of adolescence, and I'll be damned if we're not all the poster children of it. But keeping tonight in mind, I'd be lying if I said we didn't know how to get along and live our lives regardless of it. Perhaps even as a result of it, in many cases. In spite of it. Further proof to our cause, another hearty laugh at the omnipotent Man pulling all the strings from above. We're evolution within evolution, and there's fuckall you can do to keep us down.

A quick look about the deserted halls and a brief moment before the door to the attic was opened. John produced a ball of flame from his lighter and we set up and on our way along the old narrow staircase. He didn't hold my hand. The veneer of arrogance and nonchalance he wore wrapped about him like a cloak and I paid it no mind; everyone has their way of dealing with things, who am I to be so high and mighty about it? We crossed the threshold of the attic more quickly this time, opening the window at the far end and stepping out onto the roof almost as though we were pursued by unseen things. Recalling the movie we'd just come from, I shivered and shut the window tightly.

"Cold?" The voice came from beside my ear and I nearly jumped out of my skin, already giddy and nervous from the horror film we'd just seen. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking going to see that trash? In retrospect I felt pretty stupid, knowing that it'd be days before I'd get a decent night's sleep again, all at the behest of my over-active imagination.

I shook my head in response. "No, I'm fine, thanks." The arched brow I turned to face clearly thought otherwise and I ran through the three choices I had for potential warmth. Now that I thought about it, the added chill of the evening wasn't exactly pleasant. Which would it be, fire, liquor or cloth? I heard the cork-stopper pulled from the second option and accepted the bottle from its current possessor, nodding my thanks as I drank deep and gasped from the burn.

"Pity we haven't any lime," I murmured jokingly, a smirk playing across my lips. "It'd be a fucking Mexican fiesta up here."

John gives a noncommittal grunt and takes a swig of the alcohol, no gasp. I look down and see the bottle of whiskey against the wall, still sporting a decent amount of liquor despite our last excursion. Deciding against mixing the two drinks, and probably for the better, I move it aside and sit, instantly regretting it when my backside is met with a small pool of cool rainwater. "Son of a- goddamnit."

Concentrating, I will all of the remaining water off our portion of the roof, thus drying my backside and giving us someplace dry to seat ourselves. Seeing that I've cleared the way for him, John follows suit and seats himself beside me, passing me the bottle. We share the silence for a moment as I take a sip out of the small bottle, looking up at the cloudy sky. Despite the weather, Professor Munroe couldn't have been having too terrible a day if she hadn't taken her tequila with her, so I assumed her mood was changing for the better. Satisfied, I leaned back against the wall, my bare shoulder brushing against the smooth leather of John's coat. Remembering myself, I fruitlessly tugged my skirt down over my legs a bit more, deflating somewhat when it stayed where it was despite my efforts.

John must have noticed my fidgeting. "You look nice."

It was only three words, but they took me aback none the less. Trying to cover my surprise I replied. "So do you, water-logged as you are."

"You too, Mills," he took another drink and settled the bottle between us, not that there was much space. By Christ it was cold up here, the roof is always a better hangout spot when one is clad in pants, a fact I'd take care to recall in the future. For now, though, there's not much I can do other than drink, shiver, and will the chills away. I hear a

familiar click as John flicks his lighter open, and when the light of the flame bathes the area in a gentle, orange glow, I turn to glance up at him.

"I'm not cold enough to warrant being lit on fire, put that away," I look about, almost as if the professors will see the light and come out to get us. A silly fear, I know, and John rolls his eyes at me, pulling off his jacket and holding it out to me. I stare stupidly at it for a moment before he speaks, dumping the garment into my lap.

"Fucking take it, Mills. I'm sick of watching you freeze your ass off, you could have changed, you know."

"Oh, yeah, because that would have been something to explain to the girls, 'I'm just going to freshen up before I go off to meet my drinking buddy, toodles!' Kitty would have had a coronary. Besides, it's not like you gave me an opportunity to," I shrugged the coat on, silently reveling in the warmth, the comforting, musty scent of leather, smoke and something else, something subtle that I couldn't place. It was big enough for me to wrap it halfway around my knees when I tucked them in, and I sat like that with him for a bit longer, listening as he fiddled with his Zippo in the near darkness of the night.

"You could have told me, I would have waited." It came a minute or two later, I'd almost forgotten what we were talking about until he spoke again and I shook my head.

"No, you wouldn't have. You would have come up here anyway because that's what you do. You're St. John Allerdyce, you don't go out of your way for people and you don't put up with anyone else's shit."

John smirked into the night. "If you've got me so well figured out, what's this?" He fingered the end of one of the jacket sleeves and I shrugged.

"The means to an end. You found my shivering to be displeasing, so you ended it. It's as simple as that." Without really thinking about it, I leaned my head on his shoulder. He didn't pull away and I stayed like that, somewhat saddened by the analysis I'd just given, though for what reason I couldn't discern. Perhaps part of me really wanted to think that I'd grown closer to John, that we'd have something more than a capricious friendship upon gossamer wings. I sighed, taking another sip from the tequila bottle. I'd learned that his eyes were blue, not brown, didn't that count for something in this life?

John lit a flame and I watched as it left the lighter, curling into the palm of his hand like a trained beast. My eyes followed it as it moved lazily, hovering in the air, sensuous and warm like the alcohol in my belly and the faint burning in my throat. Against the backdrop of the night sky it was breath-taking. Tilting my head slightly, I looked up at John, saw his eyes reflecting that bright glow and my breath caught in my throat. It's a sight I doubt I'll ever get used to, the rapt, captivated yet wholly empowered expression upon his features.

"It's like that Velvet Underground song, isn't it? 'Heroin, it's my wife, it's my life'." I sang the last part softly and he nodded, extinguishing the flame with a closed fist.

"Yeah, it really is. Whenever I wield the fire, it's like…" He paused, mulling over the words. "It's addictive, like a drug, but it's also a part of me in ways I can't even hope to describe. It's alive, like me, but it's dangerous and it's- fuck, it's chosen me to control it. Of all people- me- some stupid brat from Jersey with nothing good and nothing going for him, but my god, every time I control it I feel…"

"It's almost like a high, isn't it? Knowing that you can manipulate something so great. I feel the same way with the water, like with the swimming pool, I can make that thing fucking dance, it's, god, can you imagine what it's like to walk on water?" I stopped, catching my breath. I hadn't realized how much it had gotten to me, but now that I thought about it, my power- god help me, I'm even referring to it in those stupid D&D terms- is fucking awesome.

John looked down at me, something almost like amusement in his eyes. "You can actually pull off that Jesus bullshit?"

"What, you don't believe me?" The tequila has made me bold and the tone of my voice is challenging, leaving little room for argument. John's expression, though, disregarding the inner flames dancing merrily in his eyes, states otherwise.

"Not really, no."

I know he's just fucking with me. It's obvious, blatantly so, but that doesn't stop me from standing, offended, my ego slightly bruised and opening the window. I yank him upwards, out to prove myself. "Come on. I'll fucking show you."

"Suit yourself, sweetheart. It's your funeral." He rolls his eyes, re-corking the liquor and hiding it beside the whiskey. Sooner or later this place is going to be its own little mini-bar, a thought that sits rather well with me. But I'm on a rampage right now, currently plowing my way through the attic until strong hands stop me, tone hushed with an amused sort of irritation.

"Shit, Mills, if you wake the whole fucking place up you're not going to be able to show me shit, are you? Stop fucking around and be quiet, I'll lead." Scowling, I allowed him to take me by the hand, his grip a little more firm than the last occasion and he whipped out his Zippo, the flame twinkling merrily against the black backdrop of the attic walls. I shuddered, irrational, stupid fears from the movie that evening almost causing me to run to the stairs, but regardless of how inebriated I was, I kept my pace, walking closer to John to compensate, drawing security from his presence. If he noticed he didn't say anything, so I kept going on assumption, walking with him down the stairs where he quenched the light. We waited in the darkness a brief moment before I'd determined that I sensed no water presences nearby, save what flowed through the pipes and the miniscule tingles in the back of my mind that sufficed as plants.

We opened the door and emerged into the hall, carefully shutting the door and walking back down the corridor. In doing so, I seemed to recall my purpose, and I released his hand abruptly. I had a point to prove, and getting all touchy and tactile about everything wasn't going to help me in the least. He had nice hands though, Poet's Hands, as Maggie would have called them, all long and dexterous, callused; they'd seen work and hard times, with short, neat fingernails and-

Jesus Christ, was I really going on about this? The tequila must have hit me harder than I'd thought. Skirting around the recreational room, I led John down past the cafeteria and into the cavernous room that housed the pool. Without a word I shucked my shoes and his jacket, striding to the edge of the water, my feet balancing upon the precipice. I turned to look back at him standing there with his arms crossed, a bored, expectant look on his face. He's just goading me. I know it, he knows it, but fuck is it getting under my skin. With a purposeful look and an I-told-you-so smirk, I step off the ledge and onto the water.

I don't bother to look back as I waltz myself along its surface, dancing along to a glorious little 6/8 string quartet only my ears are privy to. Despite his earlier remarks, I know that he must be at least a little awe-struck by this development. I stop dancing suddenly, turning about to meet his gaze, smiling. "Come on, I promise I won't let you drown."

It's one of the Ultimates, the few and far between moments where the limits of trust between two people are tested to the utmost. While I know John would rather die than be deemed a coward, I've a pretty good idea that him and deep water really, really don't mix; it comes with his element, much as I can say with complete honesty that I've a moral fear of burning to death. He regards me quietly from afar, the bravado gone, replaced with something far more cautious and wary. A few minutes later I see him take a step back, and for a moment I think he's leaving me, but then I see him pull off his shoes and socks, placing them neatly beside my own pile and walking towards me. He tries desperately to pull off looking confident, but there's an unease to him and I hesitate at where I stand in the center of the enormous pool, almost wanting to go to him in reassurance. And yet I know it can't be, in order for this to have its full effect things must be as they are and so I wait while he stands at the edge, his face a blank slate, save for those eyes of his, the blue always burning.

Gingerly, tentatively, St. John Allerdyce abandons the sure footing of the tiled floor and steps out onto the water. There's a split second where I see the fires flicker in his eyes, where he's completely certain I'll drop him, and it's with such a conviction that I almost do, out of surprise. Yet my will stays true and he stands there for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of the liquid solid beneath him. After a moment he strides out to me and I keep his gaze, my smirk now bared in its full glory with the knowledge of a job well done. "Well?"

"You'd definitely give that bearded dead guy a run for his money," he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. There was a silent "I've seen better" attached to it and I rolled my eyes, taking him by the hand.

"Johnny-boy, you haven't seen anything yet," I grinned, knowing that he probably wanted to throttle me for using the derivative of his name. Lifting a hand I watched him follow it with his eyes, which widened marginally as a liquid version of Piotr Rasputin rose out of the water and stood before us. An instant later I had him doing the Russian Sailor's Dance, much to our amusement, and we were in stitches of laughter, he looked so ridiculous. My concentration on my watery replica failed, though, and my faux-friend sank back into the water just has he'd come, tall and silent, stoic even as he phased out of creation.

"Do one of Summers," he said once he'd gotten his breath and I nodded, putting my mind to the task once again for the desired results. Within moments our English professor stood before us, his stance proud, almost regal, before he began a series of very complex, graceful leaps and twirls, a piece I recalled from seeing The Nutcracker one Christmas during a school field trip. We were both howling with laughter by the time the replica went into splits, throwing itself about extravagantly in an endless array of hilarity. I suppose I could have given the thing a tutu, but that seemed a bit too over the top, even for our current amusement. With a final curtsey, the liquid doppelganger dove into the pool and disappeared amidst our applause and calls of "Bravo!" I wasn't quite drunk yet, but the imbibed effects were definitely present and turning, John and I grinned at one another. It was at this unfortunate moment that my control started to flicker.

There was but a yelp before he went under, the secure surface beneath his feet giving way to the monstrous depth of the swimming pool below. And I suppose it only figured, I realized as I watched him sink like a stone towards the bottom, that St. John didn't know how to swim.

Oh holy hell.

"John!" I leapt in after him without a second thought, my mind racing frantically as I kicked my feet, taking me deeper and deeper until I'd finally reached him where he now lay, still and motionless at the bottom of Professor Xavier's great pool. I didn't have time to think, I barely had the time to create a brief passage of air through the chlorinated water to my mouth, enough for a quick breath, before I hefted his unconscious body in my arms and kicked off the bottom. Even then it was slow going, his jeans weighing us down, the heavy fabric completely saturated. I looked past his shirt cuffs, the fabric flowing in the water, to see our progress. It was only a few more feet until we broke the surface and I spurred us onward, my lungs burning, muscles I'd long since used as a result of my chest injury straining until, finally, our heads cleared the water. Gasping, I willed the water into a wave that deposited us onto the tile at the edge of the pool, where it broke, soaking the floor around us as we landed in an ungainly tangle of limbs.

I was on my feet quickly, straightening him out on his back and kneeling beside him, checking his vital signs. "John?" I took his hand, slapping the top of it in an attempt to shock him into awareness. "John, it's Adrian, can you hear me?" Fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck- he wasn't breathing.

"Think, idiot." My brain railed at me with it's newfound sobriety, panic hazy in my mind. I knew CPR, I'd taken a class when I was a freshman; I still had the certification card in my wallet. After a moments hesitation I pinched his nose shut, lowering my mouth onto his for two short breaths before I began chest compressions. Those lips of his, those full, beautiful testaments to genetics, were red from the force I'd taken them with, glistening from the pool water. This was not the way I'd ever pictured getting to touch them, especially not with my own. I pinched his nose again, breathing air into his lungs, willing with all my might that something would wake him from his state, that the water that filled his lungs might vacate so that I could save him from a fate that was not to be his. And then, suddenly, something miraculous happened.

Just as I pulled away John gave a choked, feeble cough, his eyes snapping open. An instant later, he rolled onto his side, coughing up water in great gouts until I felt all of the offending liquid had left his system. When he'd finished he rolled back over and I caught him gently underneath his head before it smacked down against the floor, hugging him to me despite myself. I'd nearly killed him with my stupidity, and yet all I could do was hold him, telling him over and over again how sorry I was. I'd broken his trust, letting him nearly drown like that, I'd be lucky if he ever spoke to me again at this point. As this dawned on me tears welled in my eyes and I understood that I wasn't ready to lose him yet, that, god help me, I actually liked him.

"Adrian?" The voice croaked out somewhere from my shoulder and I pulled back a bit, looking down at him. His eyes, the embers within them dampened, yet never wholly darkened, looked up at me, hair in wet locks upon my arm, his skin so pale he looked as though Death himself had touched his cheek in passing. Guilty yet entranced, sick with myself but completely struck with his presence, I held him there, transfixed as he in turn held my gaze with those eyes of the most true blue, a hand reaching up to move a damp bit of hair behind my ear. "Adrian, shut up."

And then St. John Allerdyce pulled me down and kissed me. Hard. In the back of my mind, in a place where rational thought still existed, the idea of drowning people more often suddenly had a vast appeal to me. But then reality beckoned, with soft, plush lips and firm, soothing hands and- oh god, that tongue- I responded heartily after recovering from my moment's shock, a hand upon his chest, the other holding myself above him with less than a few inches to spare. He tasted like liquor and chlorine and fire and, shit, it was fantastic.

It was then that I realized that I'd wanted this. I'd wanted this ever since I'd first laid eyes on him the day that I'd arrived, the day that Rogue and I had gone searching for Bobby and all that we'd gotten for our efforts was an awkward, tense standoff and a sample of teenage witticisms. He nipped at my lower lip and I closed the gap between our bodies, ignoring the ache in my chest, those tiny, dull stabbing pains for something else, something that made it all worthwhile, like the feeling of the damp fabric of his shirt bunched in my fist. The air felt warm and humid, and, upon eyeing the room briefly, I noticed steam rising off the nearby pool before he called my attentions back elsewhere. His hand was on my hip, the other tangled in my hair, and I couldn't help but feel as though this were the best thing to have happened since the invention of the wheel. This was perfect, he was perfect, as only saints and flame can be, and-

Someone cleared their throat at the door and a cool breeze cleared the room. My heart leapt into my throat and my cheeks burned crimson as we both stopped, catching our breath and exchanging the briefest of looks before turning to see who had come into the room.

"Children? Is everything… all right?" Professor Charles Xavier stood- well, would have if he weren't wheelchair bound, I'm sure- in the doorway, my mentor and instructor Professor Munroe just behind him, a stern yet somewhat amused expression playing on their faces. Looking down at John, I swallowed, knowing we were caught. He gripped my hand, giving it a brief squeeze before sitting up to address them. That was it, I knew it; I was never going to live this down. I, Adrian Mills, was officially screwed.
-----

Lyrics belong to The Velvet Underground's 'Heroin'.