Author's Notes: And the plot thickens! I hope this chapter finds all of you well, and again I apologize for the delay. I've made some adjustments, so hopefully I'll have a bit more time on my hands to write this (I know I said something similar during my last update, but after giving one of two of my jobs the axe, I think it's safe to say that I can actually back this up. I hope.). As always, your reviews mean the world to me, they truly keep me going, prompting me with more initiative than I have time (obviously). But, as I stated previously, I'm hoping that will change. Regardless, you all have my thanks for reading and taking the time to allow me to glimpse your thoughts. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter (are we really at number fifteen? I'm amazed.) and your reviews are beyond appreciated. Seriously.

Disclaimer: Adrian, her family and other Los Angeles counterparts are my own. That said, the others belong to Marvel/FOX, and I'm happy to keep it that way.

"Your loaded smiles, pretty just desserts,
Wish it all for you so much it never hurts.
You have soul machine, stone at me.

All your mental armor drags me down,
We can't breathe when you come around.
All your mental armor drags me down,
Nothing hurts like your mouth."
-Bush, 'Mouth'.

Chapter 15- "John The Revelator"

"You told them you were practicing CPR!" Jubilee shrieked at breakfast the next morning. She was laughing so hard she had to be restrained from falling into her cereal and I tried frantically to hush her before more of the school's populace found out what had happened the night before.

"Holy shit, Adrian, I've gotta hand it to you, chica, that's the best I've heard in a long time. Oh god, can you imagine the looks on their faces?" She started giggling again and I smacked my forehead, noting just how hopeless the situation was. I don't even know how the story had gotten out to her, John hadn't come downstairs yet and the Professor and Storm didn't really look the type to feed into the school's gossip circuit. I almost smacked my head again, realizing I'd called my mentor by her ridiculous X-name.

"Obviously they didn't buy it," Kitty smirked as I nodded. "Still, that was a great improv. job."

"Ah can't believe ya'll finally did it. Bobby and Ah were starting t' think one of ya' was asexual or somethin'," Rogue grinned at her boyfriend, who nodded, happily munching on a piece of toast.

"Wait- what? You can't be serious, I thought you guys-" I paused, looking around the table. Kitty wouldn't meet my eyes. "You sneaky little- you were all waiting for this to happen, weren't you?" I couldn't believe it, this entire time they'd known about it all along, even when I'd been totally oblivious to my own feelings. Piotr nodded, confirming my thoughts.

"I am sorry, Adrian, but it is true. Please forgive us, we meant you no harm. We would like to see you and St. John happy," he smiled softly, and my indignation lessened. They really were some of the best people I'd ever met, and I felt an overwhelming sense of something choke off whatever response I was likely to give. Instead I merely nodded and smiled back, trying to fend off the overpowering emotion.

"So, did you guys get detention?" Jubilee had recovered her senses enough to continue in her pursuit of knowledge and I shook my head.

"No, thank god. Can you imagine explaining that to Summers when he asks us why we're there to clean his room the second time in a month? 'Oh yeah, the Professor totally caught St. John and I making out by the pool, you should've been there!'" I mimicked, much to the amusement of those gathered.

"But he's a good kisser, am I right?" the Chinese girl waggled her eyebrows and I almost choked on my juice. "Aha! See, I told you!"

I tried my best to hide myself behind a hand, the 180 of last night still having an unreal quality to it, even despite the experiences I'd had. After all, not every evening begins with wanting to topple cities with a massive tidal wave only to turn into a grand outing and a good time, which results in one getting rather thoroughly snogged by an individual one may or may not have fancied since they'd first arrived at the school. Jesus, I really was in trouble.

"So…" I veered off, trying to change the subject. "Anyone heard from Logan yet? I'd imagine that he'd be back by now."

An uncomfortable silence hit the table, Rogue and Jubilee exchanging a glance. Kitty cleared her throat. "Well, that's just the thing, isn't it? I was walking down the hall earlier this morning and I heard Professor Summers and Professor Xavier talking-"

"You mean you were snooping," Jubilee corrected, smirking.

"And- I most certainly was not snooping! Hush, let me finish. Anyway, they were talking about how Logan should have been back last night… but I mean it is Logan, though, right? He's probably just sleeping off a hangover somewhere."

I met Rogue's gaze from across the table and the worry hidden in those eyes was obvious. What with the Friends of Humanity's presence having been revealed to the world at large there had been a sort of gnawing anxiety spreading in the corners of our minds, lurking in the shadows, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. "You don't think-"

"Morning," came a grunt from above us. My eyes snapped up and I saw John take the available seat beside me, a tray of food in hand. With a bored expression he surveyed the table. "What're you geeks freaking out about? Wait, let me guess, the big, bad Logan is M.I.A. and you're all shitting your pants, am I right? Please, he's the Wolverine for fuck's sake; he's probably out disemboweling as we speak."

Bobby, the thought no doubt having gone straight to his head, pushed his food away with a grimace. "Good morning to you too, John. Thanks for that."

His roommate gave him a smug look before eating a spoonful of cereal. "No problem, Icebox. I aim to please."

I bit the inside of my cheek thoughtfully, trying not to be too terribly awkward in the presence of this worrisome piece of information, as well as the fact that St. John was, insofar as I could see, blatantly ignoring me. I contemplated leaving the table, going off to some small, reclusive space where I might be alone to think of the ramifications of this, but the abrupt nature of my departure would be too likely to arise suspicion. If yesterday evening's little P.D.A. spectacle didn't mean anything to him, I refused to be seen as the more emotional side of the story.

"Adrian? Hello? Earth to Adrian Mills?" Bobby waved a hand in front of my eyes and I blinked, snapping backward. Looking down on my plate I realized belatedly that I'd dumped half the salt shaker on my eggs. Cheeks flushing, I gave a somewhat forced chuckle.

"Sorry, spacing out. Forgive me, Professor Summers' test is weighing upon me a bit more than I anticipated, I'll see you guys later." So much for my abrupt departure. I caught Piotr's eye as I stood, making to leave, and saw the concern there. He knew, he always did. I'd probably get a nice sit-down and a chat later, but right now I had too much on my mind, too many unexpected emotions clamoring to get to the surface, and such things are best endured alone. Placing my tray in the according space, I left the dining hall without another word and went outside, blinking in the faint sunshine that greeted me. It wasn't completely over-cast today, sunshine and clouds adorning the endless blue of the sky.

Without much thought, my motions of a purely involuntary nature, I strode over to the gardens, sitting on the edge of one of the fountains, gazing into the rippling, bubbling water it held. In an instant it became smooth and placid, my mind moving to usurp the natural laws of cause and effect and I sat there for a long while, eyes staring down, my mind a clutter of thought and ricocheting notions, not all of them pleasant. Logan was supposedly behind schedule, leaving for a lot of nasty, disagreeable explanations as to what had caused his lack in punctuality and John was, well, John was a grey area. Both of them were in some strange, unknown that made me scowl, for entirely separate reasons, of course.

I don't know what I'd expected from John. After the teachers had found us the situation had become somewhat awkward and we'd walked to our rooms in silence without much more than a fleeting look in farewell. What did I expect from such an unexpected, frenzied act? He was probably just happy to be alive; he would have played tonsil-hockey with Bobby if he had been the one to wake him up, at this rate. Not that the idea wasn't strangely appealing, but I doubted Rogue would approve as wholly as I did, enigmatic as she could be. And yet… god help me, regardless of how much I tried to suppress it, I couldn't help but wish that it had been genuine, that the kiss, regardless of how sudden it had been, how literally out of the blue John's actions had been after he regained consciousness, that they were sincere. Earnest. Honest. Frank. Open. Goodness only knew that I had been, and it was an admission that struck me to the very core.

A fear seemed to lace through me as I realized that this small scrap of knowledge could ruin everything, and I hated myself for it. All of the joking, the fights, the candid attitudes and remarks, the drinking, the fucking sincerity, it could all be shot to hell in one fell moment if something moved out of line, if two plus two failed to equal four, but five. What troubled me the most was that I'd come to rely on all of that just as I had Kitty's giggles or Bobby's smile, and that if I lost it, the stability I had here at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters as I knew it would be shattered.

"Adrian, the water is over-flowing into the lawn, Professor Munroe might not appreciate the ground becoming unsupportive," a voice spoke from behind me.

Sure enough I'd overflowed the goddamn fountain and I relinquished my control of the liquid to the normal components that kept the thing going, mainly the drain. Looking up, I gave my darling David, the demi-god that is Piotr Rasputin, a small smile. "Thanks for the head's up. I'm sure she's irritated with me as is after my little stunt last night."

"Hardly. This is a boarding school, after all. There are always…" he searches for the word, a somewhat wry expression upon his face. "Tensions."

I give him a good-natured smirk. "And I'm sure a handsome fellow like you would know all about those, hm?"

He doesn't blush, but rubs the back of his neck almost sheepishly. "A bit, yes. Catja is, well, I've liked her for quite a long time."

"She seems rather fond of you too. Trust me on that, on the off-hand chance that yesterday evening wasn't proof enough," I stand and we both look out over the grounds together.

"I know she does," he says after a moment and I glance up to see a small smile grace his features. "Indeed, now I know."

"You two are perfect for each other, and I mean that. You'll do well, learn, and help one another to grow as people. I'm happy for you." I smile up at him.

"Likewise."

At this my expression falters and I frown, rooting around in my pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Finding one, I waste no time in lighting it up and taking a pull. "I wish there were more to it, Piotr, but it doesn't appear that there really is anything between St. John and I."

The taller boy gives me a look. "And you've based this upon…?"

I sigh, flicking ash off the glowing tip of my cigarette. "Come on, after this morning? He didn't even try to piss me off, there was nothing there, he just ignored me. And he's said more to me on other nightly departures then he did after we went back to our rooms yesterday evening. I just… I think it's just a one time thing."

Silence greeted me for a few moments as he seemed to consider my words. Then he spoke. "Has it occurred to you that the timing as of thus may have been off?"

"Huh?" I blow out a smoke ring, watching as the breeze erases it from my view. "What do you mean? John is bad timing, they're synonymous. I don't see why the last twenty-four hours should make much of a difference."

Piotr shrugs. "Perhaps he is trying this time."

I give a cynical chuckle. "I'll believe that when I see it, no offense. St. John looks after St. John, and there's no way around it. He… you can tell he hasn't had an easy life, so it makes sense, but it's not something I think I can really put up with in a relationship of any sort. Granted we're still young, very much so, but I need reciprocation, depth and mutuality in order to feel validated within something like this. If last night- god, I love how I'm talking about it like it was some huge event- was just something nice for John to wake up to, then that's all it'll ever be. I'm not going to get screwed up over him." There, I said it, got my two cents in without interruption and to an unbiased party who actually gives a shit. Not that there are many people here who don't, but still, the meaning isn't lost, not in this mutant biosphere. Piotr regards me for a moment before speaking.

"The only way you can be sure of his intentions is to go and speak to him. He may tell you he likes you, and if so then go and be happy with him. There is also the chance that he may spurn your attentions and, as you have said, write it off. Either way you will have an answer and you can move on from there. St. John is many things, Adrian, but he's always honest, especially with himself."

I sigh, nodding. "Don't I know it. The fucker burnt my hair off because he didn't like the way it looked, for chrissakes." I laugh, taking another pull from the filter. "I don't want to stalk him down about it though, I'll bring it up later, or something." Despite my words, though, I was pretty sure just how obvious it was that I did want an answer, and I blew out a long stream of smoke contemplatively. Good god, I fucking hate waiting games.

We stand there a little while longer before Jubilee and Kitty come to collect us, begging for a game of foosball. I know it's the perfect opportunity for Kitty and Piotr to spend some time in close quarters without drawing too much attention, and I agree, putting my cigarette out on the way in. Jubilee and I share a conspiratorial look and in the back of my mind I hope that the stories of Piotr lifting the table up as an advantage aren't true. I hum softly as we walk through the halls to the rec. room, nearly bumping straight into a rather large, ungainly figure as I lose my focus. Looking up I see Freddy, the Blob, and we share an unfriendly glance. I've got something tall, dark and Russian behind me, though, so Freddy makes it quick and waddles off. My expression of distaste, though, lingers.

"That kid really pisses me off," I muttered as we continued onward. Jubilee made a face.

"Yeah, he's kind of a total loser. Don't worry about him though, he's just a douche bag with no brains. The only time you may have a problem with him is if you're standing in front of him in the lunch line in the cafeteria and you're not moving fast enough. He once mistook one of the younger students for a hot dog." I grimaced and we both laughed it off, walking into the rec. room and over to the empty foosball table. We took one side whilst Kitty and Piotr claimed the other, readying ourselves for the battle to come. Kitty was just about to put the ball into the proverbial court when I heard someone call my name and I turned, annoyed at the interruption. Seeing who had gotten my attention, though, I quickly excused myself and left the table, going to the doorway.

"Yes, Professor?"

Charles Xavier, for the second time in less than twelve hours, sat in his wheelchair just outside the doorway. Smiling at me, he spoke. "Good morning, Adrian. I'm sorry to disturb you from your game, but I was wondering if I might have a word?"

You could hardly say no to a man like Professor Xavier. I inclined my head respectfully. "Of course, sir."

"Excellent. Perhaps you might accompany me on a brief walk. I won't take up too much of your time, I merely had a few questions I wished to ask you."

I nodded and walked beside the motorized wheelchair in silence, turning round a corner and going down another hallway. Once the trickle of students in the corridors had lessened considerably the Professor spoke.

"So, Adrian, I trust you're feeling well?"

Small talk, I can do this. "Yes, sir, thank you. And yourself?"

He smiled up at me kindly. "I am well, thank you, though my mind is somewhat troubled." He stopped at a dead end, the bay window jutting from the wall and out into the sunshine and warm spring breeze. "Logan spoke with you before he left, yes?"

I frowned, nodding as he gazed outside. "Yes, he did. Why?"

Looking out the window, Charles Xavier now did indeed look a bit troubled. "Would you mind if I asked you what the two of you discussed?"

Something's wrong, I can feel it. He's grasping at straws, looking in all the hard places for something placed in obvious view, searching for his glasses in vain when they're right on his nose. I chew my lip. "He came in to see how I was doing after my brief stint in the infirmary. He, well," I pause, not really wanting to go into detail about the nightmare, knowing with a damning sort of sensation that the Professor is probably more than well aware of it at this point. "I had a bit of a spaz and then we exchanged pleasantries. I told him to stay safe and come home soon."

"He didn't say where he was going?" Xavier's eyes tracked a group of students playing flag football outside and I shook my head.

"No, he just told me that he'd be leaving because you were, as he put it, sending him on an assignment." I stopped. "Professor Xavier, is Logan all right?"

The older man smiled up at me comfortingly. "Of course he is. He's just a bit behind schedule with a rendezvous I'd arranged for him, though I'm sure he has his reasons. I thought perhaps he might have mentioned something to you. I'm sorry if I've caused you to worry, Adrian, I just thought I'd speak with you for a moment just in case, as you were the last person he conversed with before his departure."

Silent, I inclined my head again, a strange mixture of feelings and possibilities, of scenarios and lingering whispers coming to the forefront of my mind. Was Logan really all right? And if so, why was he late, his work sounded important. The implication of my having been the last person in contact with him made me feel elated, privileged, but it also cut me down at the knees when I was able to do naught for it all regardless, other than remain blissfully ignorant of the details. I can never win. Seeing that our little chat was over, I excused myself and returned to the outdoors, scowling despite the pleasant weather. Pulling another cigarette from my pack, I held it between my lips and stood buy the side of the mansion in the shade, thinking. I went to place my rather crumpled pack back into my pocket when it was conveniently plucked from my grasp. I sighed.

"John, stop fucking around, I'm not in the mood."

A small, cupped flame was my response and, in my irritation I accidentally lit my cigarette backwards, which inspired a whole fantastic and memorable slew of curses fit to scar some of the younger students playing a few feet away for the rest of their adolescence as I stomped the thing out under my heel. Calmly, evenly, I was presented with another cigarette, this one with its tip already burning, and my pack was handed back to me. Only then did I risk glancing upward, looking up into those other flames housed within spheres of deep blue. Flames burning beneath the sea.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Always tactful, John stands before me, full lips in a half smirk, almost subdued, nothing but burning embers and baking coals, biding his time, though for what I wasn't certain. I gave a half-hearted shrug, taking a drag.

"I'm worried about Logan. I had a chat with the Professor and he sort of let on that something went awry with his mission and that he doesn't know where he is."

John looked at me like I'd just slapped his grandmother. "You're worried about the Wolverine? Are you serious? I thought we covered this shit at breakfast."

"Well I… maybe I am," I grumbled, trying not to let his look get to me. Christ almighty, he acted like I was suggesting we throw the nearby students into lion pens (on second thought, scratch that, he'd probably think that was entertainment). Expecting a scathing reply I was surprised when I got laughter as my response.

"God Adrian, you're such a fucking girl sometimes. I almost forget that about you, the way you carry on, gnashing your teeth. 'Almost' being the operative word." He stopped, a familiar, albeit somewhat unsettling, look upon his face. The Intense Stare of St. John Allerdyce. I recalled it from the first time we'd gone up to the roof drinking together and backed into the wall despite myself, blowing a smoke ring in his face.

Bonfires under the ocean. Suddenly there he was, taking up my air space, my air, crushing our mouths together. My cigarette fell from my fingertips, forgotten in an instant as I reached out to him, wrapping my arms around his midsection, pulling him closer. There was something almost needy in this kiss, something desperate, and I wanted to take and take and take and take until there was nothing left of him. A hand on my hip, the other beside my face, pinning me to the brick siding of the mansion, the soft caress of his thumb on the little sliver of skin that had appeared as a result of my shirt riding up, caught on the rough wall behind us, teeth and tongue, those perfect lips, and when I heard him sigh I knew it was absolute.

Like two pieces of a child's puzzle set we molded into one another, thighs between thighs, hands grabbing, holding, feeling, squeezing. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as he dragged a hand across my belly and I heard him moan softly as I raked my short nails down his back in retort. We pulled apart for a moment, catching our breath, noting the flushed faces and the dilated pupils with smirks of triumph. Somewhere behind him I heard a giggle and in a flash he whirled about, now standing beside me as we faced the small audience we'd acquired as a result of our somewhat public display.

Part of me was irritated; knowing that news of our liaison would be around the school in seconds, but the other part latched onto a small, whispering voice of opportunity before John even had a chance to whip out his lighter. Testing that weight in the back of my mind, I spoke. "Enjoy the show?"

Less than a second later all the sprinklers in the yard turned on, sending everyone inside screaming and soaking as the jets of cold water shot out at them from all sides. Thoroughly amused with myself, though my own dry state of being was sacrificed, I cackled wildly. John, however, appeared less than pleased.

"Goddamnit. Adrian, was that really necessary?" There was a glimmer of mischief in those eyes, though, and I'd have been a fool not to see it.

"Shut up John, you know you liked it." Willing myself once again, the sprinklers turned off. "Now hold still and I'll dry you, unless…" I stopped, taking another look at him. It was right about then that I decided it was completely illegal for someone to look that fucking good. Water droplets clung to his lashes in the most unearthly way while his clothes hugged close, forcing me to keep my eyes chest level lest I have an aneurism. But even then, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I have to fight the urge to drool. When our eyes met again I swallowed, knowing the mirrored expressions for what they were as a blatant and honest form of eloquence through clear sincerity. My cheeks burned again and I closed my eyes, concentrating on drying our clothing and not on the fact that I'd never seen a seventeen year old boy leer so obviously. And seductively. And-

My eyes snapped open, heart pounding as the small terror that I might have gone to far came back to mind and I recalled the forest. But John stood where he had been before beside me, perfectly dry and unharmed and I gave a small sigh in relief. Ever-present was the fear of losing control and I did well to adhere to my limitations with this secondary aspect of my mutation. Professor Munroe and I had tested it to some small extent on a common garden weed, watching as it shriveled up and died instantaneously and, for that last lesson, that had been it. It had taken more of my strength not to kill everything else in the garden than it did making tidal waves in the pool. A completely different sort of control, with more stress to boot.

"I-" I stop then forge ahead before I can stop the words sputtering out of my mouth, lips red and puffy from kissing. "I'm sorry about yesterday. Er, last night I mean. The part where I almost drowned you. I shouldn't have pushed myself so hard so early on in the game."

John stood there, a measured look etched upon his features. After a brief silence he spoke. "You got any other feet you wanna put in your mouth?"

Confused, I swore. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He took a step closer to me, fingering the bangs he'd so thoughtfully burned for me, the heathen Saint sculpting me in his image. "I'm fine now, aren't I? So stop apologizing. It happened a while ago."

"'A while ago'? Are you mentally challenged? It was barely a day ago and I'm not used to putting people I care about at risk."

"With people like us, it happens. Not much you can do about it, sweetheart." John must have won a gold star for diplomacy as a child, kicking up offensive and sensitive subject matters like a bull-elephant on a rampage through the glass wear department at Macys. Despite it all I don't get uppity when he adds the endearment.

"Maggie," I murmured, suddenly feeling so much older than I actually was, even with the elation brought by the events that took place a few minutes ago.

"Hm? Oh yeah, your friend. The one you paper-milled through the forest for." I'm sorely tempted to cause him bodily harm for being so light about it but I catch myself, noting the clear skies, the sunshine, and the warm breeze. It's too fair a day to be so ill-tempered, I realize, and my spirits lighten, despite the dark subject matter.

"Indeed, my flaming friend. Why make a scene if you're not going to go all out with it?" I grinned, concentrating for another moment until I too was dry again. "Everyone has to have an 'it's my party and I'll cry if I want to' moment sometime, I can only imagine when yours will be."

"The day my fucking Zippo runs out of fluid, which will be tomorrow if I don't run to the store." Suddenly he was in motion, striding off confidently towards the edge of the grounds without another word of explanation. Taken aback at the sudden change of events- part of me was still stuck in the "Weren't we just making out?" phase- I called after him.

"What are you doing? Don't you have to ask for permission before you go off gallivanting across half of Westchester?"

He barely turned his head to respond. "Do you always follow the rules, Mills?"

So less than five minutes after having his tongue down my throat and we were back to last names and thinly veiled challenges. Charming. Running to catch up with him, I gave him a cool look. "No, Allerdyce, I do not."

He kept his eyes focused on the trees bordering the back of the school. "Never said anything about you coming with me."

I let out a snort. "Well then, I guess it's a fucking pity that I'm almost out of cigarettes, isn't it?" It was more of a statement than a question at this point, the tone inviting little room for argument. Let him try and stop me. If John really wanted to pull this wannabe loner bullshit he could do it on someone else's time; and if he'd cared about it that much to begin with he wouldn't have bothered bringing it up. I shook my head, trying to reason with myself exactly why I was attracted to a boy who had more hidden meanings and ulterior motives than most teenage girls did. It was, needless to say, baffling.

We cleared the school grounds in less than two minutes, neither telepathic messages nor lightening bolts impeding us as we made our way down the road towards our destination. It occurred to me that perhaps the staff was a little more lax on the weekends with trips to the convenience store and the nearby eateries, but I've always found that it's better to be safe than sorry. Oak trees line the street and we skirt along the edge of the muddy ditch along the side of the road, walking on sunshine filtered through a lofty green. Dandelions cluster about aimlessly like gossipy old women at a quilting bee and I find myself oddly contented with this arraignment, the two of us walking along in silence on what is assuredly a most lovely spring day. It's pleasant, the quiet companionship, and it keeps until John's footing slips and he finds himself nearly ankle deep in mud just a hundred feet away from the entrance to the little quickie mart. Wrenching his foot out, the shoe still stuck in the depths of New York's cheeky little version of quicksand, John swore vehemently in a manner that was neither saintly nor pure as his name might have led some to believe.

"Mother fucking sonofabitch!" He teetered for a bit on one leg until I grabbed his arm, lending him my support. "Fucking asshole stole my shoe!"

Any random passer-by might have thought that someone had literally ambushed John and run off with his right trainer, but his eyes were narrowed at the earth below, angry at his somewhat disempowered state. While he was quite intent upon retrieving said shoe, he was not by any means excited about getting himself dirty or in any way damp again, something I found to be quite funny as I chuckled to myself at his predicament, an exceedingly mature move on my part, I know. His glare now focused upon me, those lips turned downward in what I can only describe as a sensuous pout. Needless to say, I gave in.

"For fuck's sake," reaching down with one hand, while I maintained my grip on the boy beside me, I managed to shuck his shoe free from the mud with no small effort, holding up the dirtied tennis shoe for his inspection. "Look, if you just wear it until we get our shit taken care of I'll pull a wash-n-dry the moment we're out of sight, all right?"

He made a face. "Why the hell can't you do it now? I can see something crawling in it."

I rolled my eyes. "That might have been an option if you hadn't made such a fuss about it. The elderly couple who walked in looked as though you'd done a couple of 'Heil Hitler's' in front of them when you started going off." I looked at him with an expression of mock concern. "Are you going to be all right? Should I call an ambulance so that we can sort out the beetle in your sneaker?"

Wrenching himself from my grip, John scowled as he put his dirtied shoe back on and, without another word, stalked through the small parking lot and into the little mini-mart. I suppose he might have appeared to be a lot more menacing on any other occasion, but the vulgar squelching noise that his shoe emitted each time he stepped down on it was so hysterical I had no choice but to laugh at him again, earning a crude gesture for whatever it was worth.

John has wiped his shoe off as best as he could on the mat outside the front door and stuck to standing on the bits of dirtied carpet that lay about the cashier's desk in what I can only describe as some sort of latent politeness. It almost unnerved me to an extent before I realized that it was probably just his way of not drawing too much attention to himself. Muddy footprints meant A Talking To from the cashier and something like that could easily escalate into a nasty exchange of words noting the pleasant and charismatic person St. John Allerdyce was renown for being. Silently perusing the handful of small aisles for anything I might find necessary, I kept my distance while he paid for his fuel. Allowing the elderly couple in the shop to approach before me, I stood in line for a few moments, noting John by the door frame from the corner of my eye.

The older folk before me looked positively ancient and the cashier regarded them with a respect that confirmed my suspicions. Small talk came into play and, with a decidedly youthful impatience; I began to wish I hadn't been so polite to them. That is, of course, until the topic of the newspaper came into being, the front page, to be exact. Looking over to near where John stood at the door I could make out the headline of the New York Times, the words "Mutant Agenda" catching my attention faster than anything flashing and neon. My gaze drifted up to John, who looked impassive, though the slight clench of his jaw gave away the effect the nature of article had upon him.

"Going to over-run the entire earth if they have their way, I'm sure we all remember Ellis Island a few years back," the man at the register nodded sagely, taking the paper and the carton of milk the couple had purchased, ringing them up.

"Oh, well, I don't know about that, Rick," the woman chimed in. She sounded like a sweet old lady and looked the part in her sundress and shawl. "They're people just like the rest of us; they deserve to make their way in the world."

"With all due respect, ma'am, if that includes trying to wipe out all the world leaders like a bunch of terrorists, then I'm firmly against it. They should have quarantine up at the very least until the bad ones can be sorted out."

I swallowed audibly, trying to keep my temper down as my gaze flickered from the cooler filled with water bottles nearby- which I so longed to release upon the store clerk- to John, whose previously nonchalant gaze had turned stormy as he fingered his Zippo with an obvious intent. In the back of my mind, I began to wonder if a pack of Camels was worth what was sure to come if this jackass kept running his mouth. Images of flames and burning timbers danced through my mind and I shivered slightly despite the warmth of the day, trying my best not to scowl.

The old man shook his head. "I wouldn't support it, Ricky Allen, I wouldn't support it even if the President himself made it law." And then he did something that almost made me whoop for joy, he shuffled up to the counter and pointed a gnarled, boney hand right in the man's face and shook a crooked finger at him. "I fought in World War II, Ricky, and it was talk like that that started the whole awful thing. Young people like you don't realize it nowadays; you're too wrapped up in the present, the future, and you forget the sins and tragedies of the past. With an attitude like that you'll never learn from it, from the horrors we witnessed. You weren't there when we freed Auschwitz, Allen, you didn't see those people there, what happened to them just because they were 'different'. Human beings murdered, countless thousands of them gassed and burned alive, you never saw the emaciated bodies of their children-"

At this point the cashier backed down, nodding to placate the man as he bagged their groceries in brown paper. "You're right, Mr. Johnson. I'm sorry, I shouldn't speak like that; my father raised me better."

"You're damn right he did, son, and you'd do well to remember it. Have a good day, Ricky." He paid the cashier, who at least had the decency to feign shame for the gentleman, and took his bags, offering his wife his other arm. I admired their companionship, something that radiated from the two of them like a comforting sort of warmth and we smiled at each other as they passed by. John even stood aside for them, giving them a respectful nod I knew in my very marrow to be a rare display of esteem. I approached the counter and asked the man for my cigarettes. He seemed so out of sorts after the exchange that he didn't even ask me for my I.D.

"Old folks sure get opinionated these days, I suppose they've got nothing better to do in between bridge games," he shook his head as I gave him the amount due.

I took my change back and waited for him to retrieve my pack from behind the counter. "He was in the second World War?"

"Yeah, he's got his name on the memorial in the town center and everything if you're really that interested," he was polite, but seemed irritated with having been told off earlier. Not particularly fond of his attitude, nor his views, I decided to grind salt into an open wound, but John beat me to it.

"You should listen to him, you know. He knows what he's talking about. It's a slippery slope, talking about imprisoning people like that," he looked borderline hostile and I knew we had to get out of there quick. He wasn't stupid enough to do anything violent, or so I hoped and prayed, but I rather valued having a corner store in such close range from the school and I wasn't looking forward to being barred from the establishment.

"The wisdom of age, it really is a fascinating thing. And to think that there are so few veterans of his era left today, it really is a shame," I forced a smile, taking the cigarettes from the man's hand before taking John's arm and steering him out the door. "Good afternoon, sir!"

As we walked down the length of the gravel parking lot John's expression darkened. "Fucking ignorant human bastard. I should have toasted his ass, given him something to really remember mutants by. He doesn't know shit."

I shot him a look, pulling out a cigarette as we walked along the road, avoiding the ditch this time. In the back of my mind I recalled my promise about cleaning his shoe and shrugged it off. "Oh, yeah, because hurting him would totally make him empathize with our side of the argument. Way to go, jackass."

"Who said anything about getting him to see our side of the story? If I had it my way he'd just be one less person to worry about."

In the middle of attempting to light my cigarette, I froze. "Excuse me?"

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Adrian, he's just a human, a homo sapien, it's not like there aren't more of him."

"Do you have any idea what you're saying? You're just as bad as he is!" I glowered at him. "And you'd take care to recall who you're speaking to, Allerdyce; my family and my best friend are humans."

"Oh please, Mills, spare me the dramatics. There's a fucking war going on out there, and we're the ones getting screwed over. Do you really think the Friends of Humanity give a shit about us? That guy back there is an example of every human being who supports their ideals. If he'd had the day off he'd have probably been out in the city the other day waving a goddamn sign and picketing."

"And it's our responsibility to rise above their level. Damnit, John, what can we even possibly hope to accomplish by fighting these people, by killing them?"

He was on the verge of letting some sarcastic comment fly by, but I stopped him, a hand on his chest, an unlit cigarette dangling from the other. "Look John, my family, all of my father's family, comes from Ireland. Northern Ireland. When I was a little girl my Grandmother told me about the Blacks and Tans, the na Dúchrónaigh, she called them, and how they shot her father dead in the street for fighting for what he believed in. He wanted freedom for Ireland so fucking badly he died for it and left his family beside themselves with poverty. And do you know what his brothers did? After drinking themselves silly for a few nights, they got in with their I.R.A. buddies and they ambushed a troop of the Royal Irish Constabulary and killed six of their men, losing two of their own in the process. And so the fight continues, and still continues to this day. It never stops. An eye for an eye, blood for blood, it's still going on and yet there is no freedom for Ireland, nothing to show for it but fresh graves and mourning widows. People are people, John, be they mutant or otherwise, and to kill in the name of whatever cause is a wrong that can never be justified."

The look on his face is enough to inspire spontaneous human combustion. His eyes have a sort of concentrated distaste to them the likes of which I haven't been on the receiving end for at least forty-eight hours. They still pack quite a punch, I'm vaguely surprised to note that I'd almost forgotten. But above all of the petty anger, the fury at having been out-done, at having been proven wrong, is the awareness that I don't know, that I fail to grasp his past experiences, whatever nameless deeds they include. And there, deep under the waves of blue in those irises, is the understanding that while I don't grasp it now, I will in time.

"Adrian," his tone changes, it becomes more calm, less heated and irate. He steps toward me, placing a hand on each hip and running them gently along the length of my sides. I suppress a gasp as he continues softly. "Do you remember what happened before you came here?"

There's a sharp pain in my ribs as he squeezes gently, though it's more than enough to get the point across. Betrayal surges through me, fury at the notion that he would dare seek to use this against me. I shove him off. "You bastard."

That damnable smirk slides into place, cold and utterly matter-of-fact. I want to slap him. "They gave you a taste of what's to come, Adrian. Humans hate and fear us, and regardless of whatever bullshit the Professor spouts at us day in and day out, they'll always be after us. Don't ever forget that."

He turns from me, walking back up the lawn and toward the mansion. Pausing a moment, he calls to me over his shoulder. "You'll thank me for that later, sweetheart. Trust me."

My restraint falters. "You fucking bastard!" It takes everything, and I do mean everything, I have to keep myself from physically lashing out at him with my power. The sensation is so acute that I can even feel the remnants of the morning dew on the grass, all the water droplets itching at my mind, tempting me to gather them all and hurl them at the back of his unwitting, retreating form. I manage to hold off until he clears the front door before I release my control, swearing profusely as the ball of water propels itself harmlessly into the drive way.

Cursing again as I drop the remains of my crushed and unsalvageable cigarette, I remove another from the pack and light it, drawing deep from it's filter as I make my way to a small, manmade pond nearby, staring into it moodily. John and I have fought before, we've been at odds with each other since my very first hour here at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, but never like this. This was ugly, we hit all the rough nerve endings and we fucking stomped on them, grinding them into the glass and gravel beneath our heels without care. He'd been so cruel, so fucking calculating, and I was beyond livid with the knowledge that he'd known exactly what buttons to push. I wanted to hit something, to break everything in front of me into a thousand tiny pieces and then drown it in the Marinas Trench, which in my incensed state sounded utterly magnificent. God help me, the next time I saw St. John Allerdyce not even Piotr would be able to stop me from pummeling him into the fucking bedrock.

"What'cha up to, chica?" Sweet suffering fuck, do people make it their business here to seek me out constantly throughout the day?

"Fuming, Jubes. What's up?" She doesn't take offense to the fact that I haven't turned to greet or regard her yet, nor is she upset that I'm being so short with her. Worrying my lip with my teeth, I feel a pang of guilt; Jubilee isn't the reason I'm troubled right now, she doesn't deserve this.

"Well," she draws the word out, a knowing tone coloring it and permeating the conversation. "I just ran into an extremely irritable pyromaniac and I was wondering if you'd had anything to do with it. Now that I've talked to you, I can see that you had everything to do with it."

Ripples form on the calm, glassy surface of the pool as a water bug skirts across it. I still the movement. "Really?"

"God, you guys are so… passionate with one another. Wasn't he ravishing you against the wall of the school like, an hour ago?"

I look over at her, a mild expression of scandal upon my features. "'Ravishing' me? You make it sound like a scene from a Harlequin Romance novel, Jubes. Try to give me some credit."

The Asian girl grins, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "I don't know, Adrian; Ronaldo and his beautiful white stallion on the beach are pretty tempting."

I chuckle, the other girl managing to bring out a more pleasant aspect of my current state. Finally, I add, "We were just kissing. Half the school saw it, though, so I set the sprinklers off on them."

Jubilee cackled so hard she accidentally set sparks off, a miniature fireworks show going off before my eyes. "Are you serious? Oh my god, Adrian, that is classic. Absolutely fucking classic. Oh god, why wasn't I there?"

"Too busy reading about Ronaldo and his stallion, I suppose," I grinned, allowing myself to be taken out of my status, my rage abating.

"So, what'd John say to piss you off so badly? You were smoking like my grandma during a mahjong game."

I grimaced, eyes flickering down to the cigarette in my hand. I'd smoked the thing all the way down to the butt, the blackened filter all that remained of my previous tobacco product. Putting the butt back in the pack until I could dispose of it later, I sighed. "He was talking shit about some things he really, really shouldn't have been. And I was kindly reminded once again why I loathe politics."

"Oooh. We were wondering when you'd get exposed to John's views on the average human being. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised he hadn't brought it up earlier, it's something he can get pretty into if you get him riled."

"Yeah, well the store clerk down at the mini-mart did all of that for me," I grumbled, running a hand through my hair. "Jesus, Jubilee, he wanted to kill the man; where does hate like that come from?"

I watched as my friend's expression dampened. "I don't really know a lot about it, but, well, lets just say that John's time before coming to the institute wasn't really the greatest."

"That's pretty fucking obvious," I frowned. Perhaps becoming so angry with John was out of order, after all, he was only acting out the atrocities he'd learned as a child. And yet, my mind argued, he had the opportunity to learn and become something other than the raging hatred within him. I sighed, ideals and absolutes clouding my judgment. It took a lot to alter the views of another person, especially those wrought by a tragic past. While I remained ignorant of the very things that had created the shadow within the holiness of St. John, I understood that these were things that could not be easily abolished. That still did not excuse his cruelness toward me earlier on the lawn, though. My ribs agreed.

"I'm not saying that whatever he did is justified, but he's got his reasons, whatever they are. He's usually pretty vague about his past, Bobby's the only one he's ever really talked to about it, and Piotr might know some things. But yeah, welcome to Mutant High, most of us are pretty fucked up here."

With a majority of the students either orphans or runaways I suddenly felt a pang of guilt, knowing Jubilee to be among the former. "Everyone has their issues, and if they're under the age of twenty five then they're bound to have them in spades. I wish John wasn't such a fucking asshole about his, but whatever. I'll deal with it." Resilience is the key to success.

Jubilee grinned. "That's the spirit! Hey, it's almost lunch time, you wanna go in and grab something to eat? I'm starving."

I nodded in acquiescence, privately relieved at the change of subject as we began to stride up the lawn to the mansions' rather impressive front door. "Sounds fantastic, while we're there I can ask Piotr for his notes for class so that I can copy them down later in the afternoon. You don't think he'll- what the fuck!"

I stopped abruptly, hands on either side of my head as I heard a voice speaking within, addressing me. "Adrian, if you'd be so kind there's a call waiting for you in my office that requires your immediate attention."

The Professor. Sweet Jesus, I'd never get used to it. Jubilee surmised as much, giggling. "I'll leave you to deal with your mental summons, I'll see you at lunch though, all right? Later chica!"

Jubilee departed and I made my way to Professor Xavier's office, wondering who on earth could be calling me here in New York. Maggie was the only person who knew of my staying here and it was with that acknowledgement that a jolt of fear laced through me. I'd given her the number in case of an emergency, was she in trouble? Despite the ache in my ribs I ran the rest of the way to the office and, without much introduction, threw the door open, racing to the large, hard wood desk. The Professor met my eyes briefly before handing me the telephone, his expression blank save for the knowing look in his eyes. Politely, he wheeled himself out from behind his desk and left the room, silent all the while. Once the door had shut I lifted the receiver to my ear.

"Maggie, is that you? Is everything all right?" Panic threatened to overwhelm me. If anything had happened to her I wouldn't be able to get back to her, she'd be hurt just like the last time and there would be nothing I could do to stop it.

"Maggie? Are ye' daft, child? It's yer father, for the luv o' Christ," the voice at the other end of the phone spat out at me, it's somewhat subdued Irish accent flaring out at me in a lilting brogue.

"D-dad? How did you get this number? I don't understand." My heart thumped wildly about in my chest. Holy mother of fuck, my parents had found me, and now they were going to turn me over to the authorities to face the crimes I'd committed back in Los Angeles, the very things that had spurned me into action, forcing me to flee the place I'd lived for all my life. When I'd left they'd had the L.A.P.D. hunting me down, and as a minor I had no choice but to follow their wishes for my "wellbeing"… oh Jesus, I'd finally reached the end of my rope.

"Yer friend, Maggie gave it t' us, Adrian, and rightly so. It's about time we 'ad ourselves a talk."

I swallowed, my previous misgivings about John now the least of my worries as I tried to block out the sound of my own heart hammering away in my ears. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be calm. "All right Dad… lets talk."
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