Author's Notes: Holy mother of god. Please allow me to begin by apologizing, from the bottom of my wretched and unworthy heart, for having taken so dreadfully long with this update. Between midterms, family stuff, computer issues, school, work and everything in between it's been hell trying to get any time to work on this story. I'd never in my most paranoid moments thought I'd go a month without updating 'Some Weird Sin' because goodness knows I love writing it, but unfortunately circumstances prevented me from doing so. I'm horribly sorry for the wait, and I thank all of you for your patience, you've been completely amazing and I can't thank you enough for it. Between your fantastic reviews and your tolerance of my increasingly lame updating gaps I don't even know how to begin showing you guys how truly grateful I am. This said, I suppose the only thing I really could do was write a longer chapter (only eighteen pages, sadly, but I hope it's worth it regardless), so I hope it soothes the bite a bit. Again, thanks to all of you who read and review, you guys seriously mean the world to me and I can't thank you enough for your patience and your kindness. You guys truly make writing this a pleasure.

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Marvel/FOX remain thus. Ya rly.

"I got a reason to turn my head and look the other way,
Its heaven and hell here, which one will I live today?

Are you happy now with all the choices you've made?
Are there times in life when you know you should've stayed?
Did you compromise and then realize the price was too much to pay?
Winners and losers, which one will you be today?"
-Social Distortion, 'Winners and Losers'

Chapter 16- "Time For Heroes"

Hello World. My name is Adrian Mills and I'm a teenage mutant runaway. I could have attached a "turtle" to that somewhere along the line, but fuck me if that isn't just too corny. On the off-hand chance that you were in any way tuned into my life and vacated your viewing apparatus for a few moments, allow me to fill you in on whatever you may have missed, namely my estranged family calling me from the sunnier part of the Pacific coast of the United States. My father, to be precise. Also known as the quasi-intolerant first generation Irish American I fled from after my brilliant little episode back at my old high school in L.A. The one with the swim team. And no, it wasn't a porno.

We didn't get much of a chance to talk it out then, the occasion really didn't have that sort of quality family time feel to it, I was too busy fearing for my life and trying to grasp some sort of half-assed understanding of my startling new capabilities. In short I was scared shitless, so I jumped to a few conclusions, packed a bag and skedaddled as fast as my legs could carry me. Two weeks later, and on the run from the Los Angeles Police Department, I hitched a ride across country with a Canadian citizen of questionable repute to Westchester, New York where I currently attend a school for the genetically evolved. It's been nearly a month since I've had any contact with the man whose gene sample actually caused my mutation, and I have to keep refreshing myself with all of this because right now I'm so unnerved that I can barely hold the receiver to my ear without dropping it. I almost wish Bobby were here to hold my hand like the last time I spoke to anyone over the telephone, because I could really use a Hark!-The-Herald-Angels-Sing! smile right about now. But there's no such luck to be had by those damned by consequence, and thus do I stew in my own juices. It's high time I lay in the grave I dug; I suppose this is fate's idea of a pleasant reminder. Color me unamused.

There's been a pause that's stretched a good twenty seconds on the line, and I'm praying that the call has disconnected, that it's dead and I won't ever have to deal with it again. This situation is too awkward, too raw, and let's just face it, I'm a big fucking coward and really I don't want to get the proverbial belting from my father. Maybe if I just click my heels and wish as hard as I can things will be better and I won't be having this nonexistent conversation.

Fat chance. Fate just delivered the first bitch-slap of what I can only assume is of many to come. "Aren't you gonna say somethin' for yerself, child?" The man sounds strained and irritated, I wince, mentally cursing myself.

"What do you want me to tell you, Dad? That I'm sorry? Apologies won't even begin to repair whatever damage I may have done, I'm not going to be facetious about it." I sigh, suddenly feeling far more weary than anyone at a mere seventeen years of age rightly should.

"And yer damn right about that, lass! D'ye have any fokin' idea how worried yer mother and I were? We'd nearly given up on ye for dead, and we would 'ave, were it not for that daft friend of yers! If her mother hadn't found out she was talkin' to ye and made 'er confess it, I don't know what we'd 'ave bloody done."

So that's how it happened, Mrs. Moore dropped some eaves and took matters into her own hands. The knowledge of this infuriated me somewhat, but I'd rest far easier knowing that it hadn't been my friend who had sold me out. That was, of course, assuming my own father didn't murder me via telephone. In the back of my mind I realized that there was probably an email sitting in my inbox from Maggie with some sort of warning about this, and I kicked myself for not having checked it in the last few days. "I didn't think you guys would want me any more, after what I'd done. I… I know your views on mutants aren't completely favorable and when the principal called you, you nearly went ballistic. I figured that I'd be doing you both a favor by leaving."

The line went silent again and I heard my father take a deep breath. It startled me to hear that he sounded almost as tired as I was. "Adrian, lass, we'd never throw ye out. Not for somethin' like that. Ye can't help what ye are, n' like it or not, I've got myself t' thank for that. We're just worried about ye, yer mother 'n I, we've been worried sick since the day ye left. We don' even know where the fok ye' are."

I swallowed, guilt overpowering me. "I- I'm in Westchester, Dad. In New York. There's a school here for people like me, a really good one, with a top-notch curriculum. They've been helping me learn to control my gifts." I chuckled. "I don't blow holes through gymnasiums anymore unless it's by my own volition."

"An' what about the money, lass? Where's all that comin' from t' pay for yer education?" He was taking this all remarkably well, so much so that his subdued tone nearly made me light-headed. I shook myself into action, rubbing at the sudden irritation that afflicted my eyes.

"I'm on scholarship, it's all free, including room and board. I," I paused, trying to word myself properly, knowing that this next part could ruin everything. "I want to stay here, Dad. The people here, they treat me well, they don't act like I'm a freak or vandalize my property; they're just like I am. I have friends here, really good ones. I feel like… I feel like I'm home."

Those damning words must have hit their mark because I hear him sigh again and I flinch inwardly, knowing I've hurt him. Quickly I tell him that I'm sorry, but he brushes it off with the grace and experience of an entire hereditary line's learned disappointment. So is the way of the modern Irish. "Enough, child, ye' needn't be apologizin' for that. The last week or so ye' were livin' here wasn't exactly kind t' ye, I know. And yer mother an' I 'ave been givin' this a lot o' thought, a lot o' thought indeed."

"So, what are we going to do?" This is one of those crucial points in one's adolescence that you read about in books, that you cringe at during a movie and I'm literally on the edge of my seat with nerves, trying to predict just where this is going to go and how bad the fallout will be when we land. There's an insistent voice chanting at the back of my head, telling me that they're going to force me to come back, that they'll lock me up for the rest of my life or send me off to a fate worse than death in a laboratory. But there's another softer utterance, something far more calm and composed, that tells me not to give up, that the die's not yet been cast, that, impossible as it may seem, there is still hope. I'm not nearly as startled as I should be when I realize that it's Logan's and silently, I give thanks to my Knight in Denim Armor. Chops bless, amen.

"We want t' come out an' see ye, lass, just like any normal parent would." I nearly choke on my own tongue as he continues. "I talked to yer headmaster earlier an' he told me about yer school, what yer learnin' an' all the good it'll do ye. All the good it has done ye. He doesn't seem too bloody terrible o'er the phone, for an Englishman 'n all that."

I blink several times in rapid succession, pinching myself to be sure that I'm still lucid. "You… I can stay? You're not going to turn me in?"

"Of course ye can! What in the bloody fokin' 'ell do ye take me for, eh lass? Do I look like goddamn R.I.C. material to ye? For the love o' Jaysus, me own fokin' daughter with talk like that, 's bloody disgraceful. 'S enough t' drive a man t' drink!" And suddenly everything is as it was, the same reprimands, the curses, the irritable disbelief, I nearly wept for thanks of it. I'd never been so happy to be wrong in all my life, delighting in my own idiocy and foolishness. My utopic livelihood was preserved with the sanction of those more qualified than myself and I was free to exist as I saw fit. For the first time since my mutation had surfaced I felt a huge weight- or, rather, the huge weight- had been lifted from my shoulders and god help me if I didn't feel like brand spankin' new. I thanked him profusely for the next half a minute, babbling my appreciation out so incoherently he must have thought I was on the verge of a psychotic episode and stopped me.

"Easy there, Adrian, settle down now. Yer mother an' I will be flyin' out t' see ye on Friday, can ye keep hold o' yerself 'til then?"

He seemed a bit more relaxed now himself and I obliged him. "Oh course I can, Dad. I'm your daughter, after all, aren't I?"

"'S what makes me bloody worry about ye, lass. Now I'm gonna have one hell o' a phone bill, 'n yer mother's not gonna be too happy about it. We'll see ye at the end o' the week, ye hear? Take care, love, and the blessings o' God upon ye."

I almost rolled my eyes at the notion that I had a cereal box character for a father, but I bade him a fond farewell all the same, asking that he pass my regards along to my mother, who was doubtless still at work. A click at the other end of the receiver a few seconds later signified the end of the conversation and I held the phone a moment longer in my hand before putting it back in it's cradle, my brain still processing the multitude of thoughts and emotions that had been brought up in the last twenty minutes. In retrospect, it seemed almost too short a time to have so dire a conversation, but it had been less than a half an hour since I'd come into the Professor's office, regardless of how puzzling that may have been, and it seemed as though everything had come full circle, the note of completion ringing full and true in the lighted places of my mind. I sensed another body of water behind me and, my spirits having been lifted, turned to address it.

"I assume that the conversation with your father went well?" Professor Xavier's kind eyes twinkled as he smiled at me and I nodded, at a sudden loss for words. I regained my senses a few seconds later and spoke.

"He's letting me stay. He'll be coming to tour the school this upcoming Friday." How strange the words seemed coming from my mouth, as I'd thought them to be an unattainable reality for so long. Silently I praised Mrs. Moore for her boldness and knew that an email to Maggie was in high order this evening after I'd had time to sort everything out. "I can hardly believe it, Professor. I don't even know where to begin, knowing how lucky I am. I mean, everything's not completely settled, the finer workings have yet to be ironed out and I doubt things will ever be peaches and cream, but it's still something, and that's more than I'd ever thought possible."

"You will be amazed at what can happen when you trust to hope, Adrian, and I am glad for you. I will meet with your parents when they arrive so that I might assure them that you are in the best of hands here at this institute."

"Thank you Professor, that would be fantastic. I…" I couldn't even begin to express my gratitude to the man, his stature stretching so much higher than the immaculate gentleman in the wheelchair before me. Unable to speak anymore, I stood and hugged him instead, trusting for my actions to speak louder than the words I'd lost, choked within my own throat. As he patted my back and released me, I heard his voice, comforting and tranquil within my head.

"Welcome home, my dear pupil. And let it be known that above all, you are accepted."

I never did make it to lunch that lazy Sunday. I went into the library and checked my email on an available computer, replying to Maggie's belated warning with a brief summary of the conversation that had gone on between my father and I, as well as a synopsis of what had occurred over the last few days at the mansion, including the weird phenomenon that was my relationship with John, and Logan's mystifying and concerning disappearance. Finishing in under an hour I returned to the dormitory, blissfully empty, in order to devote some much needed attentions to my studies, reveling in the time alone to work myself out as I saw fit. I was still a bit out of sorts emotionally as a result of my earlier phone conversation, but it was for the better, of that I was certain. Laying out Piotr's notes for Dr. Grey's class on my desk, I grabbed my CD player and put my headphones on, intent upon copying them so that they could be returned as soon as possible. I was a good quarter of the way through about ten minutes later, but then "The Hand That Feeds" came on and I completely lost myself, forsaking my homework and dancing to the wonder that is Trent Reznor.

Ten minutes after that one would have expected me to be at least half way through my work, considering the pace I'd kept up before, but at that point I was valiantly ignoring the papers upon my desk and the familiar dull ache in my ribs, moving along to the music in my ears, grateful for my good fortune and for good music alike. Closing my eyes and enjoying my peace I sang along with the sounds pouring into my ears.

"My life,
You electrify my life.
Let's conspire to re-ignite,
All the souls that would die just to feel alive.

But I'll never let you go
If you promise not to fade away,
Never fade away.

Our hopes and expectations,
Black holes and rev-"

"My, my, Mills, you sure are hard at work. All that song and dance will be getting you top marks in Dr. Grey's class for sure." The moment I heard it I ripped the headphones off, nearly tripping over myself as I whirled about with a scowl. I turned the player off, setting it on the desk.

"What the fuck do you want, Allerdyce?"

He looked amused in an almost detached sense, hands casually in his pockets as he surveyed our room before those whirlpool blue eyes of his rested on me. "You can't dance for shit."

"Tell me something I don't know, Prometheus, or get the fuck out. I can't even recall you knocking," I had my hands on my hips in that classic display, exhibiting with my body what my attitude spoke in volumes; thinly veiled hostility. I still hadn't forgiven him for the shit he'd pulled earlier in the afternoon and I wasn't about to sweep it all under the rug due to the lighter mood I'd been favoring before Cocky, Smirking & Co. had come swaggering into my dormitory. I raised an eyebrow, expectant.

"I did knock, but whatever Euro trash you were listening to must have stopped you from hearing it. And we've gone over this ground before, Mills; if you're going with lame nicknames, it's Pyro."

"It could be Pricilla for all I care and I'd still be pissed with you. Now fuck off, I've got work to do." I hadn't budged, and neither had he. I stood my ground as he came towards me, eye contact unwavering.

He stopped a few inches in front of me, enough to invade my personal space but not nearly enough to warrant a step backward. I remained stationary as he spoke. "Yeah, you sure had your nose to the grindstone. What is it, sweetheart? Still upset about earlier? Can't take the heat, Mills? You can dish out all of that opinionated bullshit but you can't back it up-"

"That is not what I'm upset about, you self righteous bastard," I pointed a finger at him and poked him in the chest with it. "What really got me was your untowardly physical behavior. I don't know if you've ever had broken ribs, Allerdyce, but they fucking hurt. And to have you prodding at them just to make some crude point about my assault before I came here is just beyond cruel, it's fucking sick. Friends don't do that to each other, John, and if you're going to be in here longer than the next ten seconds, you'd better be offering me an apology."

We look at one another so hard I almost feel as though I'm trapped in a time-warp back to some time in the mid-1990's, back to that episode of Pete & Pete where the brothers had their infamous staring contest. That's John and I right now, save for the fact that we lack the obvious freckles and the red hair, eyes locked, neither person caving even as he, defiant, opens his mouth to speak, taking another step closer. Were it not for my adamant resolve, my anger at the situation, I surely would have balked.

He takes my finger, still pointing at his chest, takes my hand in his own, and speaks. "I'm sorry for hurting you. You're right, it was pretty low of me and I was a shit for doing it. But Adrian," he squeezes my hand, not enough to hurt, but enough to warrant my attention. I glance downward, obliging. "I'm not sorry about what I said."

Only in a perfect world. "I don't expect you to be, John. Your views are your own and I'm not going to begrudge you that, it'd be unfair of me. I hope there won't ever be a 'next time' for this conversation." The last is a warning, something we can both understand. I've drawn a line and the consequence for over-stepping it is to be shot on sight, because when it comes down to it I really don't like getting screwed with, and I'm not about to allow it to happen lightly. These are terms John can understand and he nods, accepting them. I almost feel as though I've drawn out a social contract of sorts, putting a marker with a "Do Not Pass" sign upon it. It'll tempt him, now that it's plain to the eye, but he'll respect it, and for his own sake, I hope he does. I'm not fond of the idea of enforcing it, but rest assured it'll be something more than his toilet overflowing if he does. I don't have time to put up with this childish bullshit.

"So… we're all right?" The question is asked with a hint of condescendence that is so utterly John I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, sure, we're fine."

"Good, because I really didn't want to have to watch my back every time I went to wash my hands. That mutation of yours is pretty fucking pesky, Mills. I've gotta hand it to you." His thumb is rubbing patterns over the back of my hand and I'm struggling to maintain my concentration on whatever it is he's saying. Sometimes I wonder if he knows the effect he has over me. The answer, whatever it may be, is a terrifying aspect to behold.

"How surprisingly humanitarian and good-willed of you, John. Should we be expecting any unexpected trips to volunteer at the veteran's home as well?" My god, those eyes of his! I have to fight to keep my head above water. Who would have thought that as a hydrokinetic I'd be the one drowning? That it would be me, Adrian Mills, hopelessly lost in all that blue?

"Not quite, Mills, but-"

His words are smothered as I lean forward, kissing him abruptly. After only an instant I'm floundering, but John, that kid was born to hit the ground running, taking the carriage by its proverbial reins and steering it into his own familiar territories. Suddenly it's as though we're back outside again, with the brick siding scraping impatiently against my back; hands roaming, bodies air-tight against one another, and my god, its perfect. More startling is the notion- nay, the undeniable fact- that it is I who made the first move this time. I have cast the first stone be it out of purity or damnation, and I now lead this chaotic mass of limbs and hot, heavy breaths. Rather, it would be disorganized were it not so obscenely wonderful, were it not for the fact that in spite of everything that he did earlier, everything he said, I find myself forgiving him with every kiss, every sigh, every blessed movement of that saintly body of his. Adamant resolve my ass, I don't know how I managed to convince myself that everything this boy did failed to turn me into human putty, but I was totally full of shit. We pull apart briefly and I open my eyes, surprised when I can barely see him before me.

My dorm room is filled with fog. Thick, dense pea soup fog. This is the stuff you would see people eat slices of in old Scooby Doo episodes, it's so substantial. "John…?"

I can hear him laughing; still feel his hands at my waist. If I squint really hard, I can even see his face grinning in front of me. I wish it weren't so steamy in here, that I might be able to view it more clearly, because right now I'm under the startling opinion that even Renoir's most beloved paintings were nothing near this awe-inspiring. Suddenly I want to sing him Radiohead's 'High and Dry' and beg him never to leave my side, because in the few years I've been alive on this earth, nothing has ever made me feel this indescribably enraptured. But now is not the time for such fanciful things and I know it, together we disengage and go to open the windows, letting the heavy air pour out into the sunshine.

Several minutes later and we're still standing there, the room clear and silent, listening to the birds outside my window. We're close enough to touch but I can't seem to make myself move, I can't break the spell the hazy air wrought within me and I feel almost doomed by the severity of it. A moment later I blink and he's gone, walking to the door.

"Where are you going?" There's an almost desperate tone to my voice and I wonder where it's come from, how it came to be. I'm embarrassed by it, the notion that he might have heard it too dire to consider under the circumstances, the knowledge of our tentative friendship still omnipresent in my mind. Yet he stops and turns toward me, heeding my words.

"You've got some work you were doing, I interrupted you." It's a simple explanation, an honest one that fits, but it still doesn't stop me from wishing he'd stay. I clamp down on the sensation, burying it.

"All right, I'll see you at supper, then." I can be nonchalant too, apparently, and he nods, turning the handle and opening the door. I face the window again, pondering the rapid beats of my heart with some apprehension as I entertain the notion of just how much he may have grown on me. The evidence is damning and I scowl out at the clear blue sky.

"Oh, and Mills?" I turn, startled, unaware of his continued presence. "The next time you're going to dance around like that, at least make it worth my while and do it in your underwear."

With that trademark smirk and a mischievous wink the door shuts and I'm left there, gaping in wide eyed indignation. The nerve of him! Only he could be so tactless, after a moment like that, he goes and spoils it by-

I resist the urge to chase after him and cause him bodily harm against my better judgment, seating myself at my desk again and resuming my work, sans music. With a flourish of determination I finish in record time and gather the borrowed papers, intent upon returning them to Piotr and not under any circumstances thinking about the louse known as St. John Allerdyce.

Some things are easier said than done.

It's not been more than an hour yet and already my thoughts have wavered a little past what many would consider good and pure. I sigh, shaking my head as I go down the hallway to the other wing reserved for the dormitories of the resident boy folk. Reaching a somewhat familiar door, I raise a hand and knock gently upon the hardwood. With any luck, I'll catch the Jolly Russian Giant in some state of unabashed undress and have a coronary. Perving aside, though, I wait dutifully after I receive a response, notes in hand, humming to myself. The door opens a moment later and I have to hide my disappointment at the amount of clothing worn by my friend, because honestly, any young man with a body like that should be in as little as possibly as often as possible, to quote my darling Kitty Pryde. He smiles softly as I return the notes to him, thanking him for his kindness.

"You are welcome, Adrian. Is everything all right? You look pensive." That artist's eye again, so damnably perceptive and discerning. I laugh a little more than necessary and pick at the hem of my shirt.

"Of course, Piotr! Everything is absolutely, positively, without a doubt fantastic! Sunshine, rainbows and kittens. Perfect. Why?"

"Nothing particularly. Although I did pass by your room with Jubilee and Kitty earlier in the afternoon and I saw something quite strange. Do you happen to own one of those fog machines?" I've never once in my life seen my beloved Michelangelo sculpture smirk, but I can say with the utmost sincerity that I almost melted into a puddle of goo and drained through the floorboards right then and there before the magnitude of what he'd said hit me.

"You… you and Kitty, and JUBILEE!? Oh fuck! Where is she?" The gossip hound had no doubt put two and two together in the most incriminating fashion possible and I shudder to think what the rest of the school now has running through their minds concerning my private affairs.

"The last I saw her she was sitting with Bobby and Rogue outside. They appeared to be having a rather interesting conversation," he went over to his desk, putting his papers upon the surface.

"Thanks Piotr, I'll see you later," I shut the door and bolted down the hall, various scenarios running through my mind in the most unseemly manner. So this was what it was like living at a boarding school, having everyone else know everything about you, sifting through your dirty laundry, god it was insane! And I had thought normal high school was a drag, oh naivety. Leaping down the stairs and ignoring the slight, jarring pains to my ribs, I sped outside as normally as possible, avoiding running headlong into Professor Munroe only by her own grace, giving her a sheepish grin as I raced outside toward the giggling trio seated on a nearby bench.

"It- er, it wasn't what you guys think. Honestly," I babbled, earning a few looks from them before they burst into laughter. Quite beyond embarrassed, I stood there, hands stuffed into my pockets until Rogue managed to regain her composure.

"Oh Adrian, ya' poor thing. We know it wasn't, it's just, well-"

"The fog," Bobby grinned.

"You guys really get steamy when the temperatures rise, huh?" Jubilee snickered and I put my hands over my face.

"Goddamnit. It's, I just-"

"Oh, chica, that's not all you. Trust me. Your little fire-starter there has just as much to do with it as you do. You see, despite what many might think we three have quite a firm grasp on what it is to have powers and be romantically involved with others. The last guy I had nearly wet himself when I accidentally set the fireworks off one afternoon, it was priceless."

"Yeah. I accidentally turned into ice one time when Rogue kissed me and her tongue got stuck to me for the better part of fifteen minutes. Good to know your control is better," he grinned at her, and she laughed.

Jubilee looked like the Cheshire cat at this point. "I actually have photographic evidence of that one too. I put it on all my Christmas cards."

"Jubes! Those'd better be th' ones ya' gave to Piotr, Kitty 'n John, 'cause if anyone else has 'em yer in a whole world o' trouble."

"But of course, my darling Southern Belle! You needn't fear, no one else saw them. I think. Anyway, it's totally cool, I mean, it completely cemented the fact that the both of you are in a long-standing and loving relationship, and that you're both very much in, er, icy love with one another."

"'Icy love'? Jubes, just what in th' hell is that s'possed to mean?" Rogue looked at her friend, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The other girl giggled nervously. "Well, you see-"

Before Jubilee could finish digging herself out of her calamity, though, we were startled into a sudden and abrupt silence. Bobby grabbed his head, as if struck by something and Jubilee was temporarily hushed by the magnitude of what was occurring.

"Students! Please return to your dormitories at once! This is not a drill and it is of the utmost importance that you do so presently."

Professor Xavier's telepathy sounded like a megaphone ringing in my skull, I'd never heard him "speak" so loudly before. There was an urgency in his voice that shocked me, and in the pit of my stomach I feared the worst, a creeping dread making its way up my spine. Shaking my head to clear my senses I made eye contact with Rogue and swallowed loudly, the look in her eyes spoke in volumes; something like this had never happened before. Pushing the nervous tension that threatened to overcome me down into the back of my mind, I took Jubilee's hand and raced towards the door.

"We have to make sure the younger students get inside!" Bobby called, halting the lot of us by the entrance. I nodded. Such is the responsibility of age.

"Don't worry about it, I'll make sure there's no one left." Concentrating I sought out other bodies of water, closing in on those few within human vessels. A group of children playing tag quickly raced by and I felt nothing anymore, save for my friends beside me. But off around the other side of the house, there was something there, something faint, virtually intangible and I was almost positive it wasn't a student. I shook it off. "Everyone's gone in, let's go."

Jubilee shut the door and bolted it behind us before we began our race through the empty halls towards the dormitories. We passed Dr. Grey and Professor Summers, both hurrying by as fast as they could allow towards the door and the world beyond, grim determination painted upon their features. Even without seeing Summers' eyes the hard set of his jaw relayed his thoughts quite convincingly and I pitied whatever fool thought to block him. We continued on our way, separating only at the juncture between living quarters.

"Is he going to be okay?" I asked Rogue after Bobby sped off to his room, eyeing him with some concern. She nodded, urging me forward.

"'Course he is, now get inside before we get into trouble!" When we reached the door to our room Kitty threw it open, ushering us inside before closing it and repeating Jubilee's previous actions. I looked to the window, the sunshine of the day momentarily betraying the dire situation at the school. I imagined it would change as soon as anything drastic happened, Professor Munroe would see to that, but it was something I hoped wouldn't be necessary. Perhaps the Professor had merely been testing us, maybe there was nothing to be worried about after all.

"Did you guys see anything outside? What's going on?" The Midwestern girl looked almost frightened, the present lack of information alarming her just as greatly as it did the rest of us.

"Yer answer's as good as ours," Rogue shook her head. "We were just sittin' outside when-"

"There was something else out there," I blurted in belated realization. "Around the other side of the mansion. It was human, I think, or humanoid. Whatever it was though, its water signature was really weak."

Jubilee looked confused. "What do you mean, 'water signature'? Weak?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don't really know how to explain this properly. Everyone has water within their body, meaning that I can usually sense their presence as a result of it. Like right now, I can feel the three of you, almost as though you're a river or a stream, it's sort of hard to convey. Regardless, when I checked for students outside earlier I felt something, or someone, on the other side of the campus. It was almost as though… I've never felt it before, but the water within them was so reduced they might have been close to death."

Rogue looked up at me, horrified. "Lo-"

"I'm going to check it out," Kitty spoke resolutely, running to the door.

"Wait! Kitty, what are you doing? It's not safe!" Jubilee reached for her friend, hand phasing through the other girl as she ran through the wood in our door and out into the hall. "Shit, that girl is going to be in so much trouble when the Professor finds out. I mean, the guy's the world's best telepath and we're under lock-down, she's so busted."

There was a minute or so of tense silence before anyone spoke again. "Ah have th' awful feelin' that it's not Kitty we outta be worryin' about," Rogue's voice was low as she stood by the window, biting her lip nervously.

My gaze upon the door snapped over to her, a sort of dawning comprehension coming upon me. "What do you mean?"

"Ah mean that-"

Rogue stopped and I almost choked when I saw Kitty reappear through the solid mass of the door. Truly, it would take quite a long time before I got used to seeing such a feat. Jubilee, ever inquisitive, grabbed her arm.

"Kitty, what's going on? What did you see, chica?"

Kitty looked up at us, her face whiter than any sheet, eyes the size of horrified tea saucers. "Oh my god. You guys, it's horrible, it's so horrible-"

"Kitty, spit it out, what'd ya' see?" Rogue stood before her roommate, the pinnacle of composure as I fought to keep myself breathing evenly.

She shut her eyes tightly, warding off whatever images her psyche forced upon her in cruel recollection. It was so quiet in the room I could hear the morning doves out on a telephone wire somewhere outside, their mournful calls coming so clear I might have thought they were on my shoulder. "It's… its Professor Logan."

"What do you mean? What happened to him?" Jubilee put an arm around her. I wanted to throw up.

The other girl shook her head violently. "I can't, it was-"

"Katherine Pryde, ya' took the risk o' goin' out there, now tell us what ya' saw!" Rogue's voice rose, the forceful nature of her attitude snapping Kitty's head up.

"He… he, oh my god, Rogue, they had him up on a cross."

I froze. "He was crucified?" Her response seemed muffled, the affirmative answer swallowed up by the loud, buzzing sound emanating from the back of my mind. Logan, the Wolverine, my Knight in Denim Armor, my invincible protector; it had been him that I'd felt dying out there while we'd all scurried inside at the Professor's behest. The man with an skeleton covered in the most powerful metal on earth, with a healing factor so extreme his own age was indiscernible, and his assailants had very nearly killed him. Logan, the man who had protected me and smuggled me out of my desperate situation in Los Angeles, suffering through my immaturity and bringing me to the only place I could better myself. When he'd been outside in his hour of need I'd done nothing to aid him. It was unforgivable.

"Adrian! Hey, snap outta it!" Rogue's gloved hands shook my shoulders lightly and my attention veered back into the present, out of my introspection.

"What? Oh, shit." Water was seeping into the room from the lavatory, spilling out of the bathtub in bucket-loads. I stopped the liquid quickly enough with my mind, forcing it back into the pipes and down the drain, off of the hardwood floors and glossy tiles. When everything was dry I turned back to them. "I'm sorry. I sort of, I just- shit, I don't know how to deal with this."

"That makes about all of us," Jubilee slumped down on the edge of her bed. "Who the hell can take out the Wolverine anyway? He's one of the most dangerous people out there!"

"The most dangerous, actually, according to government sources," Kitty interjected. "Look, regardless of whatever happens, we can't let this get to us, we can't let this break this apart and tear us down because that's exactly what the people who did this are looking for. They expect us to crumble."

"Yer right, they were lookin' to make 'n example an' that's exactly what they did. Make no mistake, the Professor'll tell everyone about this at dinner, but he's also gonna tell us to stick together, an' that's what we hafta do. For a lotta us it's all we've got."

I looked up at Rogue. "Do you think he'll be all right? You don't think they-" I couldn't continue. The very thought of anything having happened to that man felt like a knife in my chest, an ache worse than anything my ribs could conjure up. It was like Maggie all over again, and it was eating me alive.

She shook her head. "He'll be fine, o' that Ah'm sure. A buncha racists an' religious fanatics couldn't take Logan out if they had the entire United States Army backin' 'em."

Jubilee frowned. "So how'd they manage to get him to play everyone's favorite martyr so easily?"

"He's smart, 'n he's definitely good at what he does, but even Logan can get taken by surprise. Trust me, Ah'd know from experience," she fingered a white lock of hair with a wry expression.

"Apparently these sick fucks wanted to be sure that we know God hates mutants, in the tackiest way possible. Fantastic." I shook my head, trying not to betray the small terror that was growing within me. I had to see him, had to make sure that he was all right. After all that he'd done for me I hadn't even noticed that it had been him out there, I didn't even sense the water in the people who had put him there, the damnable hands of those so unworthy as to touch him, to maim a man they couldn't hope to hold a candle to in comparison. Maggie, my god, it really was like Maggie all over again. It took me everything I had not to explode the sink. Shaking my head in disgust, I spoke, sarcasm dripping from my words. "These jackasses are really cryptic, they're something right out of a Law & Order episode with all this symbolism. They really must fancy themselves to be a bunch of wiseasses, pulling a stunt like that, that's for sure. God help me if I ever get my hands on them."

Rogue sighed, sounding weary enough to gain my attention, managing to partially snap me out of my violent state. "Trust me, sugah, yer not alone. There'll be a time to give 'em hell, but it's not now."

Silence settled over the room as we all resigned ourselves to the fate of waiting, our patience stretched thin as we entertained our own thoughts. Kitty and Jubilee sat beside one another on the latter's bed, being far more social creatures they felt the need to draw comfort from the presence of one another after the devastating news of their teacher's assault. Rogue and I, on the other hand, kept to ourselves, nothing communicated save for the occasional knowing glace, the understanding that this was tearing the both of us to pieces inside. He meant a great deal to us, more so than a lot of other people in the world, and I'd imagine that she shared my feeling of fury, frustration and wrath over the helplessness of the situation.

Ultimately nothing either of us could ever do would avenge our friend and protector, and now that I'd had the benefit of a few minutes quite to cool off, I could see that. Violence would only reaffirm the twisted and maligned beliefs these people had and it was only through tolerance and understanding that anything could really be achieved. Of course, such deeds are far easier said than done, but I suppose that's why Logan fought on the side of Charles Xavier; the man with seemingly inexhaustible funds also had infinite hope in a peaceful coexistence between human and mutant kind. During times like these, though, I found it easier to side with John's more radical and counteractive views, my very blood calling out for vengeance against those who had harmed one of our own.

Realization struck me a moment later and I chuckled dryly despite myself. The mention of John made me recall the last few hours or so before, his distractions and cocky smirk, the banter he played along with so fantastically. I'd told myself I wouldn't think of him under any circumstances due to his smug behavior and apparently I'd done a notable job until the present. I hadn't even thought to check on him when the lock-down had been ordered. I almost felt bad about it, but the knowledge that he'd probably not given me a second thought since the whole wretched ordeal began stopped me quite effectively.

This day couldn't have gotten any worse if God himself shat upon it. How on earth was I supposed to convince my parents that this school was a safe place for me when one of the teachers was found crucified and near death on the fucking front lawn like a damn gazing ball less than a week before their scheduled arrival? The entire thing was one whiney emo song away from being completely irreparable, and I was thankful that no one had thought to leave any Dashboard Confessional playing in the background.

"So, they've made their first move, what's ours?" It was Jubilee who broke the silence, looking to each of us in turn. "I mean, yeah, we're kids, we can't really do anything, but if they can target this school outright-"

"I don't doubt that the Professor and the rest of the teachers are already discussing this, or that they have discussed it many times in the past, Jubes. If they haven't already got a plan, they'll have a damn good one ready and waiting within the hour." Kitty smiled, softly, a brave face in the fading light coming in through the window. "Right now we wait a little longer, and then, when we're told it's all safe, we go downstairs to dinner."

"Sounds like an awesome plan to me, I'm starving." Jubilee became a yellow blur in the corner of my eye as she rubbed her stomach. "I'm too skinny for this, I need food."

"Shut it Jubes, there are people who would kill for your metabolism and you know it," Kitty nudged her friend jokingly.

I nodded, though goodness knows my mind couldn't have been farther away from food at the moment if one put it in a space shuttle and carted it off to Venus. Christ, what a mess. If this were any less severe I would have called it a made-for-TV Lifetime special. But Logan, god, I had to get out of this room before I went bat shit. I was losing my mind, wallowing in all of it. I needed a drink, a good, swift slap in the face, something, anything, and it had to be fast. For this I thank God for Professor Charles Xavier.

"You may all go about business as usual, though you are all to remain indoors for the duration of the evening or until instructed otherwise. Thank you for your cooperation."

Just like that, a mental telegram was sent to the cerebral cortex of every student in the institute, a Get Out of Jail Free Card to the anxiety of lingering in our stuffy rooms and scared, shaky breaths. I closed my eyes for a moment before I stood, centering myself. The last thing I needed to do was break the routine and make an ass out of myself by accidentally creating a lake on the dinner table. With a false sense of strength, I gave a grin to my roommates and held open the door, allowing us a gateway into the now crowded dormitory halls. Rogue was the last to exit, and as she did, she held my gaze for a moment before giving me a nod. I returned her gesture, recognizing it for what I knew it surely stood for; we were Logan's Girls, Rogue and I, and in time, whoever did this to him would have us to answer to. The very idea of it gave me a sense of satisfaction, and I closed the door, following them downstairs with a look of grim determination upon my countenance. Here at Mutant High, we look after our own.

Piotr, Bobby and John joined us at our usual spot amidst the uneasy tittering of the rest of the school, students whispering and sharing their theories. Dr. Grey was absent, as was the Professor, but the rest of the teachers sat at their table with a composure that might have had us all fooled, save for the stiff set of their shoulders and the uncompromising body language they kept around themselves. For the most part we ate in silence, Jubilee and Bobby keeping up the appearance of a normal Sunday evening at the mansion. It was my first and needless to say I found it anything but, and to top it off there was no way I could go dashing up to the professor's table and demand to see my friend right now. I'd have to wait it out, until after dinner, at the very least, and hope to God I could manage to come across well enough to earn their permission. The bureaucracy itself was enough to drive me mad, so much so that I barely registered John, sullenly flicking his lighter to my right. I must have stared at my mashed potatoes a good five minutes before I even realized anyone was talking to me.

"Are you all right?" Piotr, the observant demigod. Though, truth be told, even Ray Charles could have seen how fucking ridiculously introverted I was at the moment. I took a breath and moved my potatoes around on my plate.

"Yeah, fine. Just spaced out."

He looked at me a while longer, I didn't even bother with a half-assed veneer of disinterest with someone as astute as Piotr, it would only have sufficed to insult him. Bobby had an arm around Rogue and I was almost jealous of their closeness in such an instance. Any sort of physical reassurance from anyone at this point would have been more than welcome, but John kept his distance and I made no move to seek it from him. Stalemate. I wasn't even really entitled to it; it's not as if we're even an item, for fuck's sake. I think. Christ, if he really cared, he'd have done something right now that didn't involve flicking the lid of that stupid Zippo on and off. I wanted to slap him.

I spared a side-glance to the adult's table again only to see Professor Summers making his way to the door. Without a word I picked up my tray and followed him, setting my table settings in their allotted places and walking swiftly down the corridor after him. Now was not the time for pleasantries, not when my stomach was in so many intricate knots I could have made pretzel factories envious in their abundance. I bite back my reservations and call out to him.

"Professor Summers?"

He turns, though I get the sensation that he's known I've been after him since he left his table. Expression indiscernible from behind rose-colored glasses, he greets me in his almost militaristic manner. "Adrian, can I help you?"

Of all the teachers I had to get alone out here, it had to be him. I bite the bullet and open my mouth, hoping I don't accidentally swallow my own tongue in the process. "I need to see Logan. Sir. Please."

Whether he takes into account just how hopelessly awkward my words are, he regards my request for a moment in silence for a moment before responding. He doesn't even question my knowledge, though it flickers across his face for the briefest of instances. "Now really isn't the best time, Adrian."

I take a step toward him, awkward stature gone as the desperation of my situation begins to sink in. "Please, Professor, I don't want to get in the way, I'm not going to make a fuss, I just- I really need to see him, to make sure he's all right. Please."

His words take on a much kinder tone than the one I'm so used to hearing bark out names in the beginning of his lectures. For a moment I feel a brief stab of fear, and he sighs. "I really shouldn't take you down there, as a teacher it would be highly irresponsible of me." He pauses and I feel my stomach begin it's decent towards the soles of my feet, stopping in an abrupt and jarring fashion as he continues. "But as someone who understands the concern of a friend, you can follow me."

I blink, clearly taken aback. I open my mouth to speak and, unsure of what to say, close it quickly, looking up into the red lenses of his glasses. I'm almost sure I can see the outline of his eyes when I incline my head to him in respect, giving him a quiet, humbled word of thanks. He nods back and without another word we make our way to the elevator.

It's a slow, silent ride down in the surprisingly spacious compartment and my stomach protests the slight gravitational strain and confusion. I can feel adrenaline starting to course through my veins, my eyes wide and awake even after the whirlwind day I've experienced thus far, and I want to be sure that my teacher knows he hasn't made a mistake bringing me down here. I never thought I'd see the day, but Professor Scott "I have the Empire State Building half way up my rectum" Summers has just stuck his neck out for me. It would have been so simple for him to tell me to fuck off until the morning, to go haggle with the Professor to see if it was even a wise choice to allow me to visit Logan only a scant few hours after he'd been brought in, but out of the goodness of his heart he's allowed me this one consolation, and I can't even begin to form words expressing just how grateful I am. Under all that ruby quartz and stoicism, Scott Summers really is human after all, more so perhaps than even he would like to believe. It's interesting food for thought and I know better than to underestimate him again.

The doors open and we walk down the hall, footsteps echoing in the sterile expanse of the corridor. I have to fight the urge to break out into a run towards the direction of the hospital wing as I match my professor's long strides to the opposite end of the hall, making a quick left at the second to last door. We pause a moment before entering and I take a breath, mentally preparing myself for whatever horrors I'm about to witness. Less than a second later, Professor Summers opens the door, and we walk in, hearing it close behind us. We walked past the room I'd occupied during my brief stay post-melt-down and toward the more critical area of the medical bay. Despite myself I could barely hear the sounds of the various machines we passed, my heart hammered so loudly I thought for certain that Professor Summers must have heard it and presumed me a coward. His expression remained, though, just as it had on the way down here, and I shook my head, clearing it of my own silly notions; there were far more important things to worry about now, my own dignity notwithstanding.

And then suddenly we were there, standing over his bed, and I brought a hand up to stifle the gasp that escaped my lips. My Knight lay unmoving, vanquished upon the hospital bed, an array of tubes and sensors stuck haphazardly upon his body. Stripped of his Denim Armor, of the attitude he bore upon himself like a helm of valor, he looked almost peaceful, or might have were he not so pale. I sensed the I.V. dripping into him as my eyes roamed his body, taking in the bruises, the cuts and gashes covering him from head to toe, scarlet splashes staining the pure snowy white of gauze and bandage. His breathing was soft, gentle, almost child-like and so very different from the sure and steady breaths I'd so often heard him draw back in the seat of his pick-up. Tentatively I reached forward, lifting one of his mighty hands in both of my own, trying to mimic what he'd done for me those few days ago, faltering when I felt the scab on his palm. Looking down to see the matching red sphere on the other side, that clear point where the nail had gone through, I almost choked.

"Why haven't his wounds healed?" It felt like I'd spoken out of turn during a church service, as though by voicing my question I'd disrupted some holy vigil there in the bowels of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and I winced at how loud I sounded to myself amidst the dead silence of the room. Professor Summers answered me a moment later.

"He was nearly beaten to death. As a result, it's taking his system a bit longer to cope with it. Jean- excuse me, Dr. Grey is running some tests to see if they injected him with anything to slow the process down." Leave it to the cowardly religious fanatics to poison the man, the worthless bastards. I tightened my grip on his hand, clenching my teeth. I wanted to know everything. What had his mission been? Who had attacked him? What were their names? Addresses? Places of business? Who were their families? Who had raised them with such reckless hatred toward their fellow man?

I leaned over him, gently moving a stray lock of that wild hair of his back into its usual place off his forehead. I was momentarily surprised just how soft it was, not at all wiry like I'd expected it to be, and I smiled softly down at his unconscious form. He was worth more to me than all the seas of the world, more than every drop of water I could feel like a soft hum in the back of my mind. I startled, hearing something move and my eyes snapped up to a pair of ruby-quartz glasses.

"You can stay here for a while, if you'd like. If Jean needs her space to work on him, she'll let you know."

Its official, Scott "I have a football with spikes on it lodged in my lower intestine" Summers is my hero. For all the shit I give him, the man really cleans up well. I make a mental note to replace his bottle of Maker's Mark in full.

"Thank you, Professor. I- it really means a lot to me." My eloquence seems to have run off and left me here to flounder awkwardly under my teacher's stern gaze, but even so I can't help but feel slightly ashamed at his kindness. Suffice to say that I definitely owed him. Big time. Pulling shit like this was totally off the books and I knew it. On some level I almost expected him to gloat over it, but instead he gave me what might have passed for a small smile, put his hand on my shoulder but a moment, and exited the room. It was by far one of the most pleasantly surreal experiences of my life. I was almost so happily weirded out that I half-expected Professor Xavier to come back-flipping in through the door with a giant mullet and hot pants. Needless to say, I was quite relieved when the latter failed to occur, and went about the business of getting a chair to sit in, pulling it up beside the bed and taking his hand in mine yet again.

It seemed fitting sitting there, watching over him as he doubtlessly had me. I almost felt as if I had a right to be there, as if my presence in the room was justified by something stronger than a normal sort of acquaintance. Logan means much more to me than that, I doubted I could even voice the full extent of my feelings for him they were so garbled. And yet the intensity of it reigned on, the overwhelming sense that I'd always be there for him, at whatever cost. Goodness knows that he's done more than that for me. I haven't met too many folks who can brag that they have a Canadian Knight who took a stomach full of lead for them in the recent past. But it wasn't just that either, it was all the little things he'd done since I'd met him; those things had really sealed it for me. For god's sake, the man had helped me bandage my fucking ribs. If that wasn't the single most awkward thing he could have ever put himself through for my sake, short of me screeching at him to run out at eleven o'clock at night to and buy me tampons, I can't even begin to conceive what is. He's the most honorable man I've ever met, and I'll stick by him to the bitter end if need be.

That in itself was quite a crucial realization for me, and I spent more time than I had any right to pondering its consequences and the actual weight of its meaning. Truth be told, I spent so goddamn long running it all over in my head that I must have fallen asleep, my upper body leaning against the hospital bed, his hand pressed firm against my cheek. I dreamed we were in the truck again, driving through the plains of the Midwest with nothing around us but corn, the stalks stretching out for miles into the sky, the road bearing onward, unending before us. We'd sailed through for hours with nothing but the wind in our hair and an old country station that held bleak promises of Hank Williams Jr. whenever it cared to fade in through the static. It was hours and hours of nothing but silence, one of the few times I hadn't minded it, when I'd become truly comfortable just being with him in that piece of shit truck he drove. He started talking about something; I thought it was Marlboros, because he was going on about something Red. I looked over at him, all different kinds of inquisitive, because really, when the hell did Logan ever smoke anything other than cigars? I shook my head and looked out the window again, marveling at how quickly the landscape had changed to forest. Toto and I had passed Kansas and we were going eighty miles per hour straight on our way to the Promised Land. I heard a woman's chuckle over the radio station and then he coughed. Fucking a', the day that man catches a cold we're all screwed. There are just some things that Nyquil can't cure, and he seems to sense it, reaching across the cab and putting a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently.

"Mills. Hey, kid, wake up."

I snapped into awareness instantly, sitting up so fast my ribs stung in protest. Sucking in a quick hiss of air I looked around quickly, then back down to the hand I'd been holding. I followed it up the length of his arm, eyes tracing to where it attached at his shoulder and then up to his face, my heart leaping into my throat when I noticed his conscious state.

"Logan?"

Leave it to me to say something confident and interesting after another person's near-death experience. He gives me a half grin and I look down at his hand again, marveling at the loss of its previous puncture wound. "I'm right here, kid. It's all right, I'm not goin' anywhere for a while."

It was like something out of a fucking Lifetime movie. All of a sudden there he was, alert and virtually undamaged before my waking eyes, it was the fucking resurrection, the phoenix bursting forth out of the ashes, the continue option at the end of the arcade game of life that no one ever seemed to have the tokens for. But Logan, him and his goddamn chops, he hadn't cashed his chips in yet and I couldn't have been happier. I was do happy, in fact, that I couldn't say another word. I grinned at him like I was the biggest fucking idiot he'd ever met before I promptly burst into tears, gripping his hand like it was some sort of sacred relic, bawling my black little heart out.

"Kid? Mills, Adrian, take it easy, it's all right."

After a while he gave up trying to talk to me, I was past any sort of verbal communication for the next half hour. I'm pretty sure I embarrassed the living hell out of him, but part of me knew that he appreciated it, that someone cared about him this much. He just sat up and held me for a bit, allowing me to convey what I found impossible to speak to him, the gnawing anxiety at his disappearance, the mounting tension, the horror I'd felt at learning of his crucifixion, the guilt I bore like a knife in my heart at not having noticed him there sooner. I sniffled and sobbed until I could sniffle and sob no more, and not once did he let me go, holding me securely until the shudders finally stopped wracking my body and I could breathe normally again.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I'm sorry I didn't feel you out there," I said, my words muffled in his chest. I heard him sigh, I could feel him shake his head.

"Kid, you've gotta take it easy, there was no way you could've known that I was out there in the state I was in. Hell, it was a crapshoot the Professor even sensed me. Stop beatin' yourself up about it, all right? You did good keepin' me company down here."

"You weren't very careful, you know." I give him a half-hearted accusatory look, smiling a little despite myself. He chuckles and I can feel the rumble echo through me.

"I told you I'd try my best, Kid. How the hell'd you get down here, anyway?"

"Professor Summers," I answered dutifully, starting to feel a little guilty about having cried all over patient who had quite literally just gotten out of critical condition. I am such a fucking glorious model citizen.

"Scooter? Well I'll be damned, he is getting soft," My Knight let out a bark of laughter, a sound I knew so well I could have mimicked it, given the chance. After another moment he loosened his hold on me and I sat up, wiping my eyes.

"I should probably go. Rogue will want to know how you're doing, and I'm sure you've got some actual recovering to do that doesn't involve me turning into some total psychopath, carrying on like some silly girl around you. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded, favoring me with another small smile. "You can count on it, kid. I'll see you later." He gave my hand one last squeeze and I departed, footsteps retracing themselves to the elevator in a drunken sort of haze, my body drained after my recent outpouring of emotions. Christ, being a teenager- even a mutant teenager- had to be easier than this. I felt like some pathetic primetime mope-soap fest straight out of anywhere but the OC. But Logan was alive with regenerative capabilities intact, and that was all that really mattered. God only knows what I'd have done if he'd- that doesn't matter now. He's safe, he's awake, hell, he'll probably be kicking ass and taking names again tomorrow in the self-defense class. The man is a legend, and he's damn good at what he does, even if half of that is just growing back various pieces of tissue or appendages.

I sighed, approaching the door to the lift and pressing the button to summon it. I stood there, waiting, feeling weariness settle itself into my bones, burrowing within my marrow, settling between my joints. What a fucking day in the life of Adrian Mills. What a fucking classic example of upheaval and chaos at it's fucking finest. At this point, when all had been said and done, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or throw up. The elevator door opened and I stepped inside, pressing the button to take me back up to the realm of my peers, sighing heavily against the plastic siding. My name is Adrian Mills and I'm a teenage mutant runaway in desperate need of a cigarette and a nice, long shower. Because really, when you've got that much stacked against you, it's the simple things in life that make a difference. I think of Logan again and feel the lift stop, the door opening before me. Running a hand over my face, I step out of the smaller chamber and into the deserted hall, making my way toward the staircase, my shoes echoing well on and into eternity.
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Lyrics from Muse's 'Starlight'.

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