"Logan," Storm called as she launched herself into the hallway after him.

"Hmm?" he replied, not paying her much attention.

"You need to be friendly to Leah. I don't think she's a hundred percent comfortable here yet." He shrugged and continued to walk.

"She's gorgeous." Storm felt her jealousy surface and the clouds outside got darker. Logan, thankfully, didn't notice. "But then again, so are you," he added as an afterthought. The clouds lightened slightly and the rain stopped. He took a deep breath and stopped outside the door to his room, and turned to Storm.

"Storm... I know I've been keeping you at a distance, but-" She placed her finger on his lips.

"I know," she said quietly. "It's alright. I'm just glad to have you back." She smiled gratefully at him and lowered her finger. He clasped her hand in both of his and smiled. She leaned forward, knowing that she had finally gained the courage to tell him how she felt, but he had let go and turned into his room. With a final smile at her, he closed the door.

She smiled inwardly at herself and her foolishness. She couldn't tell Logan. She could never tell him. It would only present trouble and awkwardness. She stepped into the director's office. It was the most comfortable place on Earth to her. Xavier's presence was still thick in the air, and at times she almost believed she could hear him. She talked to him like he was standing right in front of her.

"Professor," she said quietly, "I'm lost. I don't know what to do." Her hands slid along the back of his chair. "I need your guidance. Please hear me." But, of course, there was no answer. She let herself fall into his chair. Her hands came up to run through her hair yet again, like they always did when she was nervous. She stood up again, feeling awkward in his seat for the first time. She shook her head at her own dreams. He's not coming back, she told herself firmly. With a final nod at the portrait of Xavier on the wall, she slipped out of the office and made her way to her room.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Rogue sat on her bed with Bobby next to her. She was playing with her fingers, and Bobby was looking at her with concern in his eyes.

"Rogue..." he said slowly, "tell me. You said you had something to tell me." Her eyes came up to meet his and he searched her face for any clues. She was scared to tell, and he was scared with her. She finally took a deep breath, and grabbed his bare hands with hers.

"You know how I'm not a mutant anymore?" she said slowly, choosing her words very carefully. He nodded, still keeping his eyes on her face. She closed her eyes and concentrated. He gasped as he felt a bit of his power and energy draining from him. She let go. He gasped again and examined his hand. She lifted her finger and froze the doorknob in place. "I'm still a mutant. I still have my powers." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "But... I can control it."

Bobby felt in shock at her news. It took him a couple moments to react. But then, he laughed and grabbed her hands. Changing his mind, he let go and took her in his arms. She didn't know what to make of it, but she hugged him back and laughed along with him.

"Rogue... you can be a member of the X-Team again! You can take small doses of our powers, and we can still touch." He pulled away, and leaned down to kiss her. She laughed and ducked out of the way, tickling his ribs. "Hey!" he yelled, still laughing, and chased her around the room. He finally tackled her, and they collapsed in a heap on the bed. They were both still laughing, but soon the laughter died down. She brought her bare hand up to stroke his face.

"I was so terrified I was going to screw up," she said quietly, outlining the contours around his lips and eyes.

"I know," he said quietly. "But you didn't, and you won't. I love you, Rogue." She smiled up at him.

"I love you too, Bobby."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Good morning, Charles."

He stirred slightly at the sound of his name. But it wasn't his limbs that were stirring. They didn't feel right.

"Hello," he said slowly, testing his voice. It was still the same. The thick accent and the deep tones were still there. But there was still something about his body that felt wrong. He wiggled his fingers, and finally opened his eyes. The bright florescent bulbs burned them, but he kept them open, blinking a few times.

"Oh Charles!" the voice cried. He finally recognized it.

"Moira?" he whispered, hearing the voice of his doctor. He heard a laugh thick with tears, and felt a small feminine hand clasp his. He grabbed it back.

"Oh God. You're... you're alive! And awake! Oh... Charles." She laughed again, the happy tears lingering in her voice again. He forced himself to lift his hand in front of his eyes. It had dark hair on it. "I wasn't sure it was going to work," she added.

"Where..." he started, glancing at the hand. "My body?" he said slowly.

"We had to transfer your consciousness, Charles," she said slowly. "This is the body of a twenty-five year old man who died suddenly in a car accident. It was loss of blood. We replenished his, well, your supply and transplanted your consciousness into his body." He felt the hospital bed began to tilt upwards and pull him into a sitting position. The next thing to cross his mind was his mental powers. Had they come with his consciousness? He looked at Moira, and made an effort to delve into her brain. He nearly laughed as he felt it work. She had been worrying about him for weeks, taking care of him night and day without fail, only taking a few hours off now and then to sleep.

"Moira, I can see you've been hard at work." She blushed after realizing he had been inside her. "I thank you for it." He dove deeper, and she began to play around with some hospital tools. She knew he had to figure out what had happened to him, but that didn't stop her embarrassment.

Jean had blown him to bits. His body had been shattered like glass, as well as his mind. But someone had tapped into Cerebro, Moira didn't know who, and gathered the bits of his consciousness together where they could be transplanted into another body. Then another thought came to him. His legs. He had been stuck in that wheelchair for so long. He whipped the thin sheet off his legs and wiggled his toes. They moved. He nearly laughed in delight. Moira smiled at him.

"How can I ever thank you?" He said intensely.

"Just get all the way better, Professor. The school has missed you."