A/N: The storm has passed with only minimal damage to my area. Thank you all for your support!
Kevin walked into the dining room, his slippers tapping on the carpet. He was having trouble sleeping, but his father wasn't in his room. He was getting too big to go running to his parents whenever he had a nightmare anyway.
Feeling tired, and more than a little defeated, he stumbled into the dining room. No one was there, and he clambered onto one of the chairs. Kevin laid his head on the table, his fingers splayed out on the wood.
It had been good to see his mother again, but he could feel his stomach roiling in protest. It was unfair, and so very selfish, but he felt like the visit shouldn't have happened. She was supposed to be home where he could help her, where his father could help her. She wasn't kidnapped, and she didn't work for the CIA anymore, so she shouldn't have to be far away.
He closed his eyes, the rage building up in him. He didn't want to be angry: he'd had such a good time with his mother, with his friends. But it wasn't supposed to end. Kevin shouldn't have to leave his own mother and the feelings of joy and love that made up his little brother. It wasn't fair, and he hated it.
Kevin pressed his cheek further against the table. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to yell and scream, but at who? His mother, who couldn't help being sick? His baby brother, who he wanted to badly it hurt? His father, who loved him unconditionally and wanted the best?
Angry tears pressed out of his eyes, dripping onto his hands and the table. The last time he'd sat there had been his birthday. It had been the most crowded one he'd attended. Kevin had always been timid around other kids. So many of them were stupid, even if they were nice sometimes. He'd never felt like he quite belonged.
But he belonged with Laura, Sam, Xi'an and Megan. He belonged with everyone else at the school, with his friend Peter who had teased him that day, and he'd felt like he was special. Special and loved, with something glowing and awesome in the future.
The wood of the table felt grainy beneath his fingers. It was almost like it was shifting, turning. Kevin buried his face into the wood, a breathing pillow. It was like laying on the beach, if the sand moved.
He opened his eyes and saw a box in front of him. It was familiar, and Kevin swallowed at the sight. Almost out of compulsion, he ripped off the paper, opened up the box. There was tissue paper inside, and he pulled it away.
A crisp baseball shirt was inside, along with a cap, bat, glove and ball. Kevin stifled a scream, pushing himself away from the table. The box collapsed back into the table, sand scattering everywhere before it was swallowed up by the wood.
He ran from the room, his heart pounding, knowing he wasn't going to sleep that night.
It was difficult to concentrate on doing anything. Movement was difficult in a way it had never been before. Every time Kayla reached out her fingers would jerk and twitch, fighting her. Sudden movements made her nauseous, and she was freezing.
She didn't even know where she was, everything said. She remembered a hotel room, a boy with silver hair whose hand she'd nearly cleaved in half. She wanted to ask Logan if he knew the boy, if he was alright. Her vocal chords were rusty from disuse though, and her throat still hurt so badly.
And she was cold. Why had they been in the river? She hadn't had the strength to ask at the time, although she'd wanted to. All she remembered was the pull of the rope around her neck, frightened that Mystique was actually going to kill her. If she had to be left behind, that was one thing. But she hadn't come so far to be killed by her allies.
Logan laid her down on a cot, her body wrapped securely in his jacket. Other people were there, talking, asking questions. Logan kept brushing them off irritably, and she wanted to tell him to calm down, that she was fine.
She pushed herself up and, immediately, a wave of nausea swallowed her. Kayla dropped back down, her hands clutching her stomach. Every motion gave her an intense vertigo. Her fingers and toes were still twitching, spasms shaking her in unusual ways.
After five months of not being in control, it seemed like her brain and limbs weren't in sync. They didn't understand that one needed the other. Kayla wanted to scream at that, because Essex shouldn't have an easier time of making her move than she did.
Logan sat down next to her, pulling her sopping hair away from her face.
"Don't worry darlin," he said, "You're gonna be fine. We've got ya now."
She swallowed, trying to breathe as deep as she could to calm her body. A sudden burst movement caught her eye as the young man she'd seen earlier sat up, his eyes shining. He had a silly grin on his face, and she breathed out, because she hadn't managed to kill him.
"Great!" he said, "Laura's mom isn't all murdery anymore!"
Her face flushed, both with embarrassment and a tinge of excitement. Laura, the little girl she'd glimpsed in Logan's arms. She wasn't here, was she? While Kayla wanted to see her, touch her face, she hoped Logan knew better than to bring her into the hornet's nest.
"Calm down Peter."
She looked as Erik Lensherr, Magneto, whatever he was calling himself these days, sat down next to the boy. She'd heard that Logan was working with him, and she'd hoped the rumors weren't true, that Logan wouldn't be desperate enough to work with the man who even her mother thought was volatile.
Apparently not.
"She good though?" asked Peter, "We can take her home? Can we? Please, please, please-"
"Peter," Erik said sharply.
Peter laid back and sulked, his expression petulant. Kayla stared until she felt Logan's fingers on her cheek.
"Don't mind the kid," he said, "He's high on morphine."
"And how's she?" asked Mystique, her hands clutched tightly to her chest, "Good enough to head on the road?"
"No," Logan said, his voice inches away from a growl.
Kayla tried to push herself up again. This time, she managed to move to her side. It still made her nauseous, but she had to look this woman in the eye. Logan moved toward her, concerned. It was sweet, but she didn't need his help.
"The boy, at the school," Kayla said, her voice halting, "Those months ago...did I kill him?"
Mystique's face hardened, and Kayla swallowed. She tried to push herself up even further, and this time she did need Logan to support her.
"I need to know," she said, "I just...I didn't-"
"My son is still undergoing physical therapy," Mystique said coldly, "He hasn't been doing any teleporting for a while, I can tell you that much."
"But he's alive?" asked Kayla.
"Kurt is A-Okay!" Peter shouted.
"Mags, could ya shut the damn kid up?" snapped Logan.
"Unlikely," Erik snapped back.
"Remind me never to let him near morphine again," said Logan.
"Joke's on you! That shit ran out ten minutes ago!" Peter laughed.
His hand started shaking.
"...can I have some more?"
Kayla let herself slump then, sliding comfortably into Logan's embrace. The boy was alive. While he wouldn't have been be the only murder she'd committed on Essex's orders since he collared her, he would've been the youngest. The image of his startled, pained eyes followed her to sleep too many nights.
She jerked her arms closer to herself, shivering. It still wasn't good, the way she had to move, but it was something. She'd get better as time went by, would no longer be a stranger in her own body. Kayla was looking forward to that.
Already she could feel her nerve endings sparking and cooling. Now that the numbness from the river was disappearing, she could truly feel Logan's skin against hers. It was causing a pleasurable prickling along her bones, familiar and happy.
She slipped her hands underneath the jacket and held herself. It was the first time she'd done that in months. Essex usually had her stand at attention or move stiffly. When she slept, she did so laying down on the bunk and closing her eyes. There was no tossing and turning, no bunching up of the blanket.
As she hugged herself, her hand ran over her shoulder. It had been left bare from the black tank top she wore. She felt a small bump there, and she frowned. It was almost as though something was hard under her skin. Had she gotten bruised there?
Kayla shrugged off the sleeve of the jacket looked over at her shoulder. At first she didn't see anything but, the longer she looked, the more she could see a slight discoloration. It was a tiny scar, no bigger than half a dime. It had healed well, but it was still there.
She ran her fingers over it again, trying to remember where it had come from. It wasn't her only scar. Even with Logan's healing factor injected into her she'd never been able to heal perfectly or quickly. It was why his brother's claw marks were still visible on her face and neck, her stomach.
And she could remember them all. The kinds of wounds that left marks were always the deepest, the ones that had nearly killed her. If she'd gotten this injury in battle, she would've remembered it. And then there was the bump underneath it. It almost felt circular.
A shard of panic sliced through her head. No. When would he have time? But it wasn't a risk she could take. She looked around for something, anything she could use. Her utility belt wasn't that far away, and she saw her spare knife in its holster.
Gathering her strength and concentration, Kayla lunged for it. She almost threw herself out of Logan's arms. He looked at her, his hands around her waist and eyes surprised as she grabbed the knife.
Immediately, she shoved it into her shoulder. A broken scream warbled through her lips as the knife burrowed through her flesh.
"Kayla!"
He grabbed at her, but she moved, peeling away skin and tissue. The pain brought tears to her eyes and stunted her breath. Her hand kept jerking involuntarily, making the knife go back and forth, blood flicking everywhere.
Logan's hand closed around hers, yanking the knife away and tossing it across the room.
"Kayla!" he said again.
"There's something there!" she screamed, "I can feel it!"
His hand closed over her shoulder, to stop the bleeding, she thought. But when he did, she saw his face change. His fingers suddenly moved into the wound, and she took a deep breath, trying to balance her pain.
Something came out, almost with a sucking sound. Logan pulled his hand away, a small disk with a blinking light in his palm.
"What the hell is that?" Erik demanded.
"It's a goddamn tracer," muttered Logan.
He turned his head suddenly, nostrils flaring. His hands grabbed Kayla's arms roughly, jerking her toward him.
"Everyone down!" he yelled.
Kayla found herself dropping to the floor, Logan's arms around her, protecting her head. Their eyes met for a minute, his expression one of a desperate protectiveness, with something dark rising inside. He rolled with her under the bed, his body covering hers as the windows shattered beneath a hail of gunfire.