Teva kept walking in a daze into the rec room across the hall from the kitchen. "Mom is dead?" she repeated, sinking onto the couch. "When?"

"Just this past Tuesday," James Lawson replied. His voice was slightly tinny, likely because of the long distance. "I debated whether or no tae call ye, Teva, as I ken the two o' ye had your differences."

"How -- how did it happen?" She could feel herself shaking, looked down at her free hand to see it tremble before she curled it into a fist. "I did'nae ken she was ill." Her accent was broadening even further than usual at the sound of his voice and the cadence of her childhood. A sharp pang of homesickness hit her despite the fact that she was already home.

He sighed. "It came on sudden-like, end-stage renal failure. In the hospital just last week for tests, they admitted her, and just as quickly she was gone. I wanted ye tae know, lass, in case ye wanted tae travel in for the funeral in two days."

"Da, I ..." She bit her lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, the pain giving her something else to focus on. "I dinnae think I'll be doing that, Da. We said our good-byes years ago and I dinnae care tae open up old wounds just tae see that she's gone. I learned a long time ago that I never had much of a mother tae begin with."

There was a silence on the other end for a moment before he spoke again. "And I did'nae make sure that ye had much of a father, either, and I'm that sorry. It's one o' the things I regret most." He paused. "Aye, I understand. And I'll ask ye how you're doing, as it's been tae long since we've spoken."

Teva leaned back against the couch, slouching down until her head rested against the back. "Um, I'm well, actually. I'm a teacher, now, at a school for... for people like me. And I met a man here, Logan, we're tae be married." She hadn't meant to tell him that, had long ago accepted that he wasn't a part of her life of his own volition, had never been there for her when she'd been a child and desperately in need of at least one parent who wouldn't throw heavy objects or curse at her for nothing. "I'm verrae happy here, happier than I ever thought I could be."

"Happier than ye were when ye left Perth and joined your band?"

"Aye, much. I'm who I really am, here, and there is'nae anyone who looks down on me for it."

"Your man, does he treat ye right?"

Despite herself, she gave a small smile and looked at her left hand and the newly-placed ring. "Aye. We've had our share of squabbles but he's a good man, honorable and honest, and he does'nae leave me wondering where I stand with him."

"Is he a teacher, too?"

"Aye. Most of the adults here are, though it is'nae a requirement for living here. We all contribute where we can."

He was silent again for long enough that she checked to see if they'd gotten disconnected.

"No, no, I was just thinking. I saw on the telly, a while back, about these superheroes in New York. The X-Men, I think they were called, taking care of some evil creature."

She remembered that, the day the X-Men had been called out to take care of a monster that the Mole Man, self-proclaimed king of the underground, had unearthed in the middle of Times Square. It had been her first official mission and she'd been terrified.

"And you're wondering if I ken anything about that." It was more a statement than a question.

"I suppose there could be other mutants involved." She knew the tone of his voice, the one he used when he was searching for information without wanting to come right out and ask.

"Does it matter, Da?" she asked.

"Aye, it matters."

"I do ken." She sighed. "And I'll answer your next question before ye even ask it: yes, I'm one of them. And no, I dinnae intend tae stop anytime soon."

"As much as I'd like tae argue with ye, Teva, I ken it'd be a losing battle. Ye always were headstrong and stubborn as a mule. All I'll ask is that ye be careful, I dinnae care tae lose ye before I'm gone as well."

She picked at lint on the couch and felt relief that there wouldn't be an argument over it. "Are ye doing well, Da? Physically and financially, I mean."

"Hale and hearty as ever, lass, us Lawsons always live tae see a century o' life. And as for money, I'll tell ye the same thing I always tell ye: you're not tae worry."

"Dinnae waste your breath, Da." As soon as she'd had enough money she'd sent some back, hoping to ease the burden of her parents' one-income household, more to help her father than her mother. As a bricklayer he'd made decent money but they'd only ever been barely comfortable, sometimes having to scrape by when there was little work to be had. Why she'd cared she didn't know. "Did she suffer much, before she passed?"

"A bit, aye. She was'nae verrae lucid the last couple of days, between the pain and the medication they had her on. She asked for ye, more than once."

Guilt leapt up and gripped her throat, still fresh after so many years. Guilt that she couldn't be enough for her mother, couldn't be good enough so that her mother wouldn't be so disappointed, wouldn't worry so much or want to kill herself bi-monthly. "She -- what did ye tell her?"

James cleared his throat. "I told her ye were on your way. At the end she seemed tae think ye were there." His voice hitched, the most emotion she'd ever heard from him. "She said she was sorry, Teva."

It squeezed, the guilt did, and made it hard to breathe. Teva tilted her head back and sought the calm Logan had helped her find, and it was then she realized she'd shut the link off completely. If he wasn't already coming to find her, he'd be thinking of doing it soon, wondering why she'd shut him out after getting a phone call. "I wish she'd said that before I left home," she replied. "Does'nae do me a lot of good, now, when I cannae speak tae her."

"Ye could have called or visited, Teva."

Now anger bubbled up to take the guilt away. "Aye, and gotten a lecture for it on how I was a disappointment. I gave up hoping tae reconcile with her when I was a wee lass, Da, when I realized I could'nae even have friends because my mother was an abusive drunk. I could'nae even count on you tae shelter me and give me comfort because ye were too busy catering tae her every whim and hoping she would'nae come down on ye instead o' making sure your child was'nae a target." Her breath came short now and a headache began to pound a tattoo in her temple, precursor to a migraine.

"You're right." The admission did almost nothing to allay her anger, almost made it worse coming too little, too late. "I was'nae the father I should have been tae ye."

"No, ye were'nae." Unconsciously she dug her short nails into her palm, seeking clarity in the pain. "I'm sorry she's gone, Da, for your sake, but nothing has changed. I've a family here, one that's never said an unkind word tae me that I did'nae deserve. I've found my home."

A silence grew between them for several long beats, neither one sure what to say. James finally spoke.

"I've two trunks here, of your things. Shall I send them tae ye?"

She had to take a few breaths to get herself back under control. "Aye, I'd appreciate that. Just send them tae Xavier's Institute and I'll reimburse ye for shipping. I need tae go, Da."

"Alright then. Take care o' yourself, lass."

"I will." She hung up then, carefully set the phone down on the coffee table with shaking hands, and got up. For a moment she hesitated, not sure what to do, before deciding she didn't want to cry where any of the mansion's residents could walk by. She left the rec room and took the stairs down to the adult's wing, all but running by the time she hit the hallway to get into her room as the need to fall completely apart chased her down and claimed her.

Teva collapsed on the bed, curling into a ball facing away from the door and hugging Logan's pillow to her as the tears came. So rarely did she cry that her sobs were painful, made her throat burn and want to close up, her head throb even more painfully. Pain and rage boiled in her gut. But she couldn't stop, couldn't do anything but try to empty herself of the grief she felt, not over the death of her mother but over nearly two decades of knowing she was alone. Over the loss of a childhood she'd never had.

She didn't hear the door open and close, didn't notice the bed shift, didn't notice anything until strong arms pulled her into an embrace and rocked her. She abandoned the pillow and burrowed into her fiancé's body, listened to the nonsense he murmured as he rocked her, words in Japanese she only half-understood.

"Let me in, baby," he said, pressing against their link. He could only nudge, couldn't open it himself not being a telepath. "Don't take it all on yourself."

With some effort she opened the door and felt him on both planes, surrounding her completely with his love and his protection. Instead of calming her it made her cry harder for the fact he was there and wasn't going to leave her, wasn't going to let her be hurt by anyone else. She'd found shelter in him she'd never thought she could have.

"Oh, sweetheart." Logan rubbed her back and held her tighter, pushed as much comfort as he could across the link and finally, gradually, she began to calm.

The crying jag left her feeling hollow, like someone had reached into her body and scooped out her insides leaving nothing behind except an echoing vastness. She remained in the shelter of his arms a few more moments before easing away. "I need tae wash my face," she said quietly, asking him to let her go. He obliged and she slipped into the bathroom, turning on cold water to splash on her face, and in the mirror she could see her skin gone blotchy and red, eyelashes clumped together from tears. A few drinks of water calmed her throat but her head was still pounding, the entire right side of her head now taken over by the headache, so she swallowed three Excedrin before going back into the bedroom.

Logan had flopped backwards onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge, and he sat up as she came out. "C'mere," he said, holding his hand out to her.

She came to him, sat down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"So yer mother passed away," he said, making it a statement rather than a question. "I'm guessin' yer more angry than sad about it."

"I came as close tae hate with her as I ever did without crossing that line," Teva replied. "And I'm angry that my Da could'nae even call me when she went into the hospital. Annoyed that I dinnae even ken what kind of difference that might have made, I doubt I would have flown out tae see her, but ... I did'nae get the choice."

"He took it from ya."

"Aye." She stroked his hair bound back behind his neck, the shoulder-length mass thick and silky against her fingers. When she'd manifested her empathy she'd stopped touching people, finding that it was harder to shut things out when skin contacted skin; only when she'd come to Xavier's and learned control had it stopped being a problem, and Logan had slowly taught her that touch was something to look forward to. For a man who relied on his enhanced senses he was amazingly tactile and apparently that trait had transferred over their link.

Teva sighed. "And suddenly it all came back, the loneliness of growing up an only child, the fear of coming home from school thinking I'd find my mother had finally killed herself, the utter lack of a normal childhood. I could hear her voice telling me how much she hated me, how I was'nae good enough, feel the way she used tae pinch me or slap me when I did'nae do exactly as she wished." Her fingers brushed over scars long since faded and the thought drew Logan's attention to them.

"That looks like a burn mark," he said, his voice carrying a growl that spoke of righteous anger.

She looked down at the thin mark on the inside of her forearm, remembered when it was fresh and painful, now just a pale mark that stood out against paler skin. "I left the iron on by accident."

"Jesus." He cradled her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby, that ain't no way to grow up."

"I sometimes feel like I have nothing tae complain about, knowing what ye went through as a lad."

"Hey." He touched her chin to make her lift her head and look at him. He was a little angry with her, she felt. "I don't ever wanna hear ya say that or think that again, ya hear me? Ya been through hell, Tev, we both have, ain't a contest on who had it worse."

She breathed out through her nose, made a reply out of the sound.

"I'm serious."

"I ken, Logan." She laid her head back down and took in his scent, let smoke and leather and masculinity ground her in the moment, push back the lingering dread. It would remain, waiting, but at least for now she could ignore it. "It took me years tae break free of the torment and the guilt that I was in the wrong, but like I said, it all came flooding back like I only just escaped yesterday."

"Why'd ya shut me out?" he asked.

"I did'nae do it intentionally," she said, sitting up and slightly away from him. When she reached up to run her fingers through her hair she found it tangled so she got up and took her hairbrush from the dresser, a silver-backed antique she'd inherited from her grandmother Mary. "I still have a habit of shutting down when I get stressed, when I get a shock, it's one of the reasons I turned tae alcohol."

"Ya ain't ever alone with me." Logan held out his hand again, this time for the hairbrush which she gladly gave him. It still surprised her sometimes how much he enjoyed doing this for her, yet another intimacy between them. "I can feel how much ya want a drink right now." He gathered her hair in his hand and began brushing from the bottom, working the tangles out there before moving further up. "And how much yer head hurts. Close yer eyes, baby, lemme help ya."

Without hesitation she did as he asked, expecting him to massage her head and neck but not for him to use the link as well. Their astral forms entwined as he pushed calm and love to her, filled her up and pushed out the bad with good, and then he focused on the headache. She could see it in her mind as a black mass that pulsed and twisted with her heartbeat, growing steadily stronger even with the medication she'd taken.

Teva felt him physically touch her head with his hands, rubbing his fingers gently on her temples, down around and under her ears until he was massaging just behind them. The mass continued to pulse but became smaller, gradually, until finally it disappeared and she felt much better.

"What'd ye do?" she asked, rolling her head to stretch her neck when he let her go.

"Pulled it into myself, my healin' factor works better than yours. Felt it for about five seconds an' then it died."

She turned and pressed a kiss to his mouth, closing her eyes and focusing on the feel of him, the rasp of his stubble against her chin, the softer touch of his long sideburns a tickle against her palm. If she'd had his talent of drawing she'd have been able to sketch him without error, the lines worn into his face at eyes and mouth, the ever-present frown between his eyes, his heavy brow and the set of his jaw. Dark brown eyes with a ring of gold that could only be seen up close, betraying nothing without trust, and she could remember when they'd given away nothing to her, when she'd wanted so badly to get inside his head just to know what he was thinking.

Now, all she had to do was think of him and he was there, an open book before her that she never tired of flipping through.

"Thank you," she whispered when they parted. "I'm sorry I did'nae let y'ken what was going on. I should'nae have done that."

"But it's somethin' you'll work on?"

"Aye."

"Then no apology needed." With his hands still cradling her face he kissed her forehead. "Think yer up to goin' back to the party? I won't press ya if ya ain't."

Part of her wanted nothing more than to hole up in their room, change into pajamas and crawl under the covers, avoiding people until the sun came up again. As a girl she would have done just that, because there'd been no one else to go to, no one to worry about her, no family to take into consideration. No one would have cared. But now, she didn't find the prospect of going back a daunting one; waiting for her were people that loved her, as she'd told her father, people who'd support her and listen if she needed a shoulder or an ear.

"Aye, just let me braid my hair."

No one mentioned her disappearance when she reemerged, they merely pulled her back into the flow of things, made their compassion known in their own subtle ways. Just being surrounded by them, combined with Logan's presence, went miles towards helping her recover her balance.

Remy caught her at one point and danced with her, the radio station having been changed to oldies so that now Billie Holiday sang "You Go to My Head."

"I confess I dinnae really ken how to dance aside from shaking my arse," Teva told him.

"Ah, but Remy know how. Ya just follow his lead, neh?" He put her hands in the proper place and led her in a slow, measured dance, the epitome of grace and elegance.

It was hard not to watch her feet because she was afraid of stumbling, but she just stumbled more when she paid attention to where her feet were going. "Ah, bugger," she said when she tripped.

"Eyes up here." Remy grinned down at her, the red irises of his eyes flaring in the dark. "It can' be dat hard to look at Remy's handsome face, truly?"

Teva laughed softly. "What's true is that I feel like Ginger Rogers' younger, clumsier sister, while you could give Fred Astaire lessons."

Remy was touched by the comparison but was too smooth to blush, merely dipping his head in acceptance. "Well, Remy'll teach ya some moves, so ya can dance wit' ya husband."

"Logan kens how to dance." She hadn't known that until that moment, picking it up from her mate across the yard talking to Rogue and Hank. He was keeping an eye and mind on her even here. "Which should'nae surprise me, considering everything else he kens. He can take apart any gun in moments and kens more forms of dance than I could even name."

"Lot o' mystery in de little man," Remy agreed. "Do y'all have a special song?"

"He would'nae think so," Teva said. "Are you familiar with Anggun?"

"Oui, Remy quite fond o' her music."

She blushed a little. "'Snow on the Sahara.'"

He touched her chin and tipped her face back up. "Why ya blush like dat, chere?"

"Sentimentality is'nae something I'm completely comfortable with, Remy." With her mind off her feet she was moving smoothly, gracefully, as Billie segued into The Four Tops' "Reach Out I'll Be There." Her adopted big brother knew about her childhood, knew that she hadn't taken much with her when she'd left her home in Scotland and never looked back; the less she viewed as important, the less she stood to lose.

"Dat's somet'ing you an' Logan have in common, den. He don' hang onta much 'less it's somet'ing extra important."

Teva nodded, still following his lead. "Like the Yashida honor sword."

The roguish Cajun smiled. "An' de guitar pick he keep in his wallet."

"What?"

He laughed at her astonishment. "Oh, girl, ya didn' know?" He threw his head back and laughed again. "Ma belle, y'see Remy's point exactement. He been carryin' dat pick aroun' since y'all first started dating. Remy only know 'cause it fell out one day."

A smile spread across her face and she ignored Logan's query as to its origin. "I lose so many picks I did'nae even realize one was missing. And it's easy enough to keep hidden." She shook her head ruefully. "I will'nae say anything to him about it, certainly not that you ken."

"It would be a kindness, Teva. Remy don' want de Wolverine --"

He was cut off by a telepathic order from Scott via Emma: ~X-Men in the hangar in 15, we've got a situation. I'll explain enroute.~

"Just how I wanted to end my evening," Teva groused as she and Remy jogged back towards the mansion with the others.