Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters

Saturday

Xavier himself answered the doorbell and smiled, pleased but unsurprised, to see Alison there. "You knew I'd come, didn't you?"

"I confess I did count upon your scientific curiosity," he admitted. "I was just about to take some tea. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd love to," she smiled in return. "Is there toast?"

He smiled again. "I believe we can accommodate you there. Sean, fetch Ororo, if you would."

"Sure, Professor," a student smiled. Suddenly he wasn't there any more.

"He did not teleport," Xavier chuckled at her surprised look. "He has a talent for making himself invisible...and a habit of doing it whenever he has opportunity. Part of his education and training here is teaching him to control his impulsive nature."

Wryly she filled in the blanks. "Not going too well, is it?"

His pained expression was all Alison needed. If nothing else, she suspected amusedly, taking this job would be even more unpredictable than my counselling work. Professor, you might just have got me.

After tea and toast, served by a beautiful and striking woman (her clearly African origin, vivid blue eyes and snow-white hair were a study in contrasts, and she seemed ageless), he guided her on a tour of the grounds, explaining the history of the Institute (including Stryker's attack) and the talents of each student she saw. Several greeted the Professor politely, and smiled at his guest.

One, a large, well-built young man, astounded her by changing briefly into metal. "Privet, tovarishch," he called merrily. She could at least recognise Russian, if not understand it. Wow - obviously mutants are everywhere, not just in the States. I thought at first it was a local phenomenon; clearly I was wrong. The more the Professor explained, the more intrigued she became.

Though admittedly, the less things made sense.

A young woman with auburn hair - auburn except for an extraordinary streak of white, like a skunk - greeted her politely in a soft Southern accent. "Hi. Y'all comin' to the Institute, might I ask?"

"I would certainly hope so," he smiled. "Alison, this is Marie, also known as Rogue. Marie, this is Dr. Alison McEwan. I hope to retain her services as a counsellor. At present she is taking a tour which will hopefully help her make up her mind." He looked impish. "Though I suspect she has made it up already."

"You, uh, mentioned mental shielding at one point," Alison said ruefully. "Might need it." He chuckled, as did Marie.

"Well, I hope you decide to join us," Marie smiled.

Alison was delighted. "With such a friendly reception, I'm more than halfway inclined. As you know, Professor," she added pointedly, at which he chuckled again.

"Hey, Marie," a young man called from the porch, "like a game of doubles on the pool table? Sarah's getting too full of herself again with Brad."

"Sure, Bobby, be right there," Marie replied pleasantly, and smiled at Alison again. "'scuse me, ma'am. Nice to meet you." As she headed off the young man took a Coke and breathed on it - and Alison was startled to see the Coke was now ice-cold. Marie smiled her thanks at him as she took it and went inside.

"So that's Marie," Alison mused. "Clearly a Southern belle of the old school. Hmm. Did she have the treatment?"

"Actually, no," Xavier revealed. "She did go to a clinic with that intention, but changed her mind, as is of course a lady's prerogative."

"And, of course, in accordance with U.S. law," Alison agreed, and Xavier nodded.

Mutant Clinic, downtown, Union Square

As the X-Men are preparing to meet Magneto and Dark Phoenix

"You do understand," the counsellor told Marie, "that this is a one-off. It's not as if you can do it and then undo it later, okay? This is why the U.S. Government has insisted that it be restricted to adults, so they can make their own choice, of their own free will."

"So there ain't no forcin' people?" Rogue asked softly.

"Not here in the States, certainly," the counsellor smiled. "It's a life-changing decision. While I fully understand the desire to fit in, as doubtless you don't right now, you still need to think carefully what losing your power might mean. A mutant's parents might mean well, but in the end it's the mutant who's getting it, not them, so the decision, by direct Presidential order, must be made by the person receiving the treatment. May I ask, purely in confidence and out of scientific curiosity, what your power is?"

"You...won't tell?"

"As God is my witness, honey, no-one but me will ever know," the counsellor swore solemnly.

In her time with the X-Men Rogue had known people of all kinds, good an' bad, and she'd learned to judge between 'em. This woman, she knew, meant every word. She could be trusted.

"Okay," Rogue whispered. "When I touch people's skin, or when they touch mine...somethin' awful happens. It's like I...drain 'em. Their memories, their energy, become mine. If it's a mutant, I can do what they do, for a little while. Saved my life a coupla times," she recalled. Twice she'd desperately needed healing, and Logan had aided Rogue both times. She wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't actually died the second time, after the energies of Magneto's infernal machine had ravaged her body and mind. She'd never known such pain, and hoped she never would again.

Certainly Logan - Wolverine - had almost died, giving her his healing power in an utterly selfless gesture, knowing full well that prolonged contact with her might kill him. She would always be grateful to him.

She hadn't enjoyed having his fierce temper or his savage outlook, she mused wryly, but she and her friends knew from past experience that it was just for a little while, thankfully. She and they got through it.

"That's amazing," the counsellor breathed. "Can you...control it?"

"No," Rogue murmured. "That's why I'm lookin' to get it cured. I don't wanna hurt anyone. The first boy I ever kissed...I put him in the hospital for three weeks, in a coma. I was just kissin' him," she pleaded. "I...I didn't mean it."

"I do understand," the counsellor said gently. "Or at least, being an ordinary human and not to patronise you in any way, I can try." God, she couldn't help thinking with sympathy, poor kid. Her very first kiss, and it puts the guy in a coma. Must've been horrible for her, such a terrible shock. No wonder she's down as a runaway.

For such she was; the routine computer check had positively ID'd her, showing she was born as Anna Marie D'Ancanto of Caldecott County, Mississippi. Following an undisclosed incident - now at least I know what that was - she had absconded from home at the tender age of 15. No-one, including her frantic father and aunt, ever knew what had happened to her or where she might have gone...until now.

"Sounds as if it could be useful sometimes," the counsellor opined mildly.

"Sometimes," Rogue conceded. "But mostly...it hurts people. I wanna be able to shake someone's hand. To kiss 'em. Maybe even," she blushed, "make love with 'em, someday. This cure might just be the answer I been lookin' for."

"Off the record, it's somewhat inaccurate to call it a ‛cure', as there's nothing really wrong with mutants," the counsellor observed. "I don't agree that they're diseased as such. They're just different people, that's all."

"A few can fit in just fine," Rogue murmured, recalling Kitty and Ororo. "But some...can't. I can't."

"Some of them, it's true, do look different. But people would've said once that I was, being a Negro," Phyllis Spencer smiled. "Same principle, pretty much." She cleared her throat. "So the law states that we both have to be sure before you receive the treatment: is this right for you, Marie? Is this what you want? Please remember: this is permanent. It cannot be undone."

But Rogue had lived with this power - this curse - for long enough. She could go home, explain things to her folks. Maybe even make it up with Cody. She had never, ever wanted to hurt him. She'd always wished she could explain. Wasn't her fault. She hoped he'd understand that.

"Please...do it," she requested softly. "Make me human. Been thinkin' about this thing ever since it was announced. I've heard arguments for an' against. But for me, it ain't no debate."

"Okay, honey," Phyllis nodded, though Xavier might have told her: Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

Then there were consent forms to sign, all of which were concerned above all not just with her consent, but with her informed consent. The gist of 'em was: ‛At all stages, sir or madam, this is your choice, and yours alone. By order of the President of the United States, not even your parents are allowed to decide. Only you.' Gotta give 'em credit for leavin' it up to the mutant, she thought approvingly. But it's my right to be free of this thing. Phyllis said so.

Then she remembered the thrill it could bring her. The feeling of power, of freedom. An' who said she'd never learn to control it? Professor Xavier was a wise, kind man, and so smart, and he'd said it was probably impossible.

But, she knew, probably wasn't definitely. As Captain Jean-Luc Picard (who, oddly, looked and sounded rather like the Professor) had said at least once, "Things are only impossible until they're not!"

As Phyllis prepared to inject her, resting the tip of the needle against the skin of Rogue's arm, she said gently, "Last chance, honey. After this, there's no going back."

She remembered the discussion she'd had with Bobby before she left for the clinic. Remembered, too, that Logan hadn't even tried to stop her. While he was convinced the cure was a bad idea and certainly he'd never take it himself (apart from the fact that he'd probably die if he did), he knew that it could help mutants with extreme and/or dangerous powers.

Like her.

Rogue also remembered all the fights with the X-Men, as one of them. She'd really felt like part of somethin'. Somethin' greater than herself, beyond herself.

And now...she was gonna throw it all away. Stop being an X-Man.

She couldn't stay at the Institute, even though she knew Ororo was planning to enrol human kids and thus she'd be welcome. She would lose Kitty, Logan, Peter...Bobby.

It was a lot to give up, for sure.

"Can I...change my mind?" she asked in a small voice.

Phyllis gave her the most compassionate smile she could. "Of course you can, honey. From start to finish, this is your choice."

Her choice. She'd never really had a choice. Runnin' away from home, hitchin' all the way to Laughlin City, only to find it was anythin' but what she'd expected, takin' up with Logan, arrivin' at the Institute, where everyone had been so kind to her...

She could choose. For the first time since Cody, she could really choose.

So she did.

"No," she decided. "Please don't. I...I can't."

Phyllis chuckled. "I had a feeling you weren't all that sure. Maybe I am a mutant," she kidded, and Rogue smiled at the joke. "So I have to ask, by law, one final time. Not to annoy you, Marie, but as required by U.S. law, okay?"

Marie nodded. "Sure, I get it. Go ahead an' ask, Phyllis," she allowed politely.

"Do you want the treatment to render you permanently human, or not? I am required by law to advise you that despite what some mutants have feared, the choice is yours and yours alone. I am not permitted to advise you for or against, nor is anyone else, because arguments exist for both choices, regardless of the nature of your mutation. You are free to decide yea or nay, and I must and will abide by your decision. I have the treatment right here, and you are free to ask for it or not. It's up to you, Marie. I cannot and will not press you either way."

"Thank you. I...do not wanna do it. But can I change my mind back again an' take it later? Even knowin' there ain't no way back?"

"Absolutely," Phyllis nodded. "That's your legal right, too, at any time. Even if it weren't, Mr. Worthington is determined that every mutant be given a free choice in the matter, and that's how all his counsellors were instructed. Off the record, again, that's what drove his son away - the lad's a mutant himself, but he refused the treatment."

"Angel," Rogue nodded, "I...I know him. He's cute. Has wings."

Phyllis raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You know him?"

Rogue nodded. "Seen him flyin' a coupla times. 's a beautiful sight, it truly is."

Phyllis looked keenly at her. "You're...one of the X-Men, aren't you?"

For the first time, Marie - Rogue - was proud to affirm, "Yes, I am."

"An X-Man saved my brother's life once," Phyllis confided quietly. "A flying piece of débris was about to hit him, a young girl came up out of the ground and touched him - and somehow the piece just...passed straight through him. He wasn't hurt at all. I couldn't believe it."

"Yeah, that'd be Shadowcat," Rogue nodded again. "Kitty Pryde's her real name, she's from Deerfield, Illinois. She can make herself an' anythin' or anyone she touches not solid, an' she's a whiz with computers. She can get 'em to sit up an' beg, or roll over an' play dead."

"So that's it," Phyllis marvelled, and gave her a warm smile. "We'll keep your records on file, just in case you do change your mind. Good luck, Marie."

"Rogue," the younger woman with the skunk stripe corrected. "The name's Rogue. An' thank you kindly, ma'am. I bid you a very good day." She paused. "I...I'd kinda like to kiss your cheek, but...well."

Phyllis chuckled. "It's the thought that counts. Take care, Rogue. Oh, and by the way: while you're with the X-Men...keep kickin' ass!"

Rogue grinned, sure now that she'd made the right choice. "I surely will, ma'am!"

With that she turned, pulled her long sleeve back down and left.

She could change her mind any time. The clinic - and Phyllis - would still be there, she knew.

Maybe someday.

"She didn't take it? How strange," Alison mused. "Her choice, of course, and good for her. But she still has the problem with touching, so what can she do instead?"

"Marie retains the hope that she might somehow gain control over her ability, or that Andrea Bell, our new doctor, might find an answer," Xavier went on. "It is one of several things she's researching. In addition," he added wryly, "to practising her telekinesis."

"There have been studies about that, too, and again nothing was scientifically proven," Alison remarked, fascinated. "But she can actually do it? Move objects just with her mind?"

"Oh, yes. I am sure Andrea will be happy to demonstrate. She is a mutant who is well-adjusted to her powers - she is also highly intuitive, and came to the Institute rather than being sought by myself. She has fitted in very well, getting along famously with everyone."

"Yeah, she's nice," a passing female student commented. "Hi, I'm Sarah Nesbit."

"Dr. Alison McEwan," Alison responded, shaking her hand. "If I accept the Professor's offer, which I probably will, I'll be counselling the students, especially the newbies."

"Sarah is a skilled student," Xavier noted, "with good control of her powers."

"Can I ask what you can do?" Alison inquired.

Sarah grinned. "Sure. I tend to be popular at barbecues and on camping trips - I'm a firestarter, shades of Stephen King. An ex-student, St. John Allerdyce, had something similar, but he couldn't create the fire from scratch, only direct it. I can." She nodded at a pile of leaves - which caught fire. "I can put it out, too," she added, and did so.

"You could have a great career as a fireman," Alison observed. "They'd need time to get used to you, but...wow."

"First time was at a barbecue," Sarah reminisced. "I wished the steak could be a bit more well-done - and suddenly the grille really fired up. Burnt to a crisp," she chuckled. "Oops. Luckily everyone thought it was an accident, but somehow I knew it was me. But thanks to the Professor, who visited and invited me to the school, I'm learning control now. Last time we went on a camping trip, the matches got wet...but I soon dealt with that. Ooh, the s'mores were delicious." She smiled again. "Catch you later." She wandered off.

"It's amazing," Alison marvelled to Xavier. "I mean, I've read about mutants on the Net, but of course that calls for a very large pinch of salt." She shook her head. "Except that for once the stories aren't exaggerated. I've seen a man change into metal, I saw a young man freeze a Coke just by breathing on it, Sarah started a fire without even touching the leaves, that boy over there can fly...incredible, all of it."

"Indeed," Xavier agreed. "However, if one wished to take the art of flying beyond simple levitation..." he pointed to the sky. Alison looked, and saw...

What is that? she wondered curiously. It was far too large to be a bird, and it didn't look like a microlight...

Then she realised what it was, and gasped in amazement.

It was a man.

A man with wings.

Actual wings!

"I do not believe this," she whispered incredulously. "Just when I thought this place couldn't get any weirder...or more wonderful...!" she enthused. "Angels and ministers of grace, defend us..."

"Hamlet, act one, scene four," Xavier chuckled. "The quote is somewhat apposite, as he has inadvertently become the focus of at least two religions and his codename is in fact 'Angel'. But he is a man, taken for all in all...he is Warren Worthington the Third, in fact."

"Those wings are just gorgeous," Alison breathed. "They're real, aren't they - I mean, he's actually flying, not just gliding...and they're part of him, not just something he's strapped on..."

"Just so," Xavier nodded solemnly. "Since time immemorial, Mankind has envied the freedom of the skies enjoyed by birds, and sought to emulate them. Only in the last century were we able to accomplish it, and then only with the aid of machines and," he chuckled, "a great deal of trial and error. Now...now comes a man who, merely by being born, has achieved the dream of the ages...the power of living flight."

"He's totally hot, too, but don't tell Peter I said so!" a new voice chirped. Alison started as she saw the voice's owner, a very pretty and very young girl, with an accent that could not have originated anywhere but Illinois or maybe Chicago, had leaned out of the wall...!

Xavier gave a long-suffering sigh. "The number of times I have asked that young lady not to do that..."

Kitty, for such it was, poked her head out again. "Sorry, Prof -" She caught his admonishing look and finished hurriedly, "- essor! Say, have you seen Lockheed?"

"No, I -"

There was an abrupt, narrow blast of flame, and Alison yelped as an errant falling leaf was suddenly incinerated in midair with pinpoint accuracy.

"- have, yes," he finished wryly as Lockheed flew past; Kitty emerged from the wall and gave chase.

"W - what the hell was that?!"

"That was Lockheed," Xavier told her amusedly. "Despite appearances he's very friendly."

"A - pet dragon?" Alison numbly returned. "A...purple...pet dragon...o - kaaay..."

Xavier chuckled. "Lockheed is not a pet so much as an associate. His relationship with Kitty -"

"Oh, that's Kitty?"

"Yes, indeed, one Kitty Pryde - his relationship with her is, how shall I put it, complex to say the least. Indeed, there are times she feels as if she is his pet. He is in fact an alien, from a planet called Broodworld which suffered an inexplicable total existence failure."

"Okay, I've just decided something," Alison stated briskly. "I've decided to totally stop asking you for explanations of stuff going on here, Professor...because the more you explain," she moaned plaintively, "the less sense it makes!"

He laughed heartily. "Welcome to my world, Alison!"

And then came the final and biggest shock of the day.

With a menacing snikt sound, three long, gleaming blades appeared before her eyes. She screamed in bone-deep terror.

"Logan!" Xavier rapped sharply.

Alison became aware of a compact, very solid-looking man behind her. His scowl looked somehow permanent, as if he never wore any other expression. He held -

No, not held. The blades were...coming out of his hand.

"Who's this?" the man growled. "Thought I smelled someone new."

"This is the young lady I mentioned," Xavier explained, "Dr. Alison McEwan."

The blades retracted (?) into his hand with an equally menacing snakt sound. "Oh, yeah - the shrink. Got it. Just wanted to let you know I'm goin' for a beer. Be back later."

"Before seven, please," Xavier requested. "I've scheduled an unannounced fire drill for 6:58."

The man grinned. "I'll be here." He started to move off - then he did something that vividly reminded Alison of something she'd seen on safari, a lioness flehming. But humans couldn't do that, she knew, Jacobson's organ was vestigial in people...but not in this guy, she suddenly understood. His grin changed to something more like a smile, and he said to her in a surprisingly soft voice, "You smell good." With that, he left.

Alison made her way unsteadily to a bench and sat down. She was shaking all over and amazed she hadn't wet herself. Paradoxically, as usual with things and/or people scaring her, she was not a little wet, but she restrained the desire to touch her own breasts, knowing her nipples would be hard. She hoped Xavier couldn't tell and/or didn't know about her...tendencies.

"A first encounter with Logan can be...unsettling," he told her gently. "But he's quite harmless to anyone who poses no threat to him or those he cares about."

"I can readily guess what he's like with people who do pose a threat," she returned shakily. "Professor, I don't need telepathy, or psychology qualifications, to tell you: that man...is...dangerous." She was as certain of that as she was of her own name. As her studies and personal experience had taught her, some people tended to attempt to conceal their inner selves...and some, like Logan, did not.

Some would metaphorically shout 'Here I am, ain't I a badass' - but not Logan. He didn't need to shout. Being a badass was as fundamental a part of him as his arms or legs; it was the very core of him.

Xavier didn't reply at first. When he did, his tone was sombre. "You have, I take it, immediately - and correctly - categorised him as being a ruthless killer when the situation calls for it. That is unfortunately true as far as it goes, but it is a gross oversimplification; there are hidden depths and subtleties in Logan's nature which are far from readily apparent to the casual onlooker. Contrary to what too many people believe - even Logan himself - he is not merely an animal.

"He is as capable of the finer, higher emotions as you or I...it is simply that he generally chooses not to express them. Essentially he is at war with himself - the beast he freely admits he is, in conflict with the civilised man he wishes and sincerely tries to be."

"Like the rest of us," Alison noted, calmer now, "except that he takes it to the extreme." She shivered anew. "The only way I'd ever want to meet him in a dark alley at night is if I knew he was there to protect me."

"You are far from alone in that regard," Xavier nodded. "I'm afraid you may find it difficult to earn his trust; he is generally sceptical of medical professionals." He snorted. "Hardly surprising, given what was done to him. He was the subject of a military experiment," he elaborated, "to coat his skeleton with an indestructible alloy called adamantium and turn him into a super-soldier.

"The claws you saw were an inadvertent by-product; he actually possesses natural claws of bone, which extend from his hands - during the infusion procedure the claws were also coated in the alloy, with the result he displayed. Those are the sharpest blades in the world, capable of cutting through literally anything."

"How was the alloy applied?" she asked, fascinated and repulsed in equal measure. "Not through surgery, I guess." She hesitated. "Surely not...they couldn't have used molten metal, surely...!"

"They did," Xavier told her grimly. "Except through extremely powerful magnetic fields, adamantium cannot be worked unless it is molten."

"Dear God in Heaven," Alison whispered, horrified. "How...how could anyone stand that?!"

"He possesses an uncharted and quite phenomenal healing ability. My X-Men and I have seen him sustain wounds which would be fatal to anyone else, human or mutant...and heal in minutes or less without even a scar. He was in a prison camp in Nagasaki when the A-Bomb was dropped; he was down a well, but still suffered 100% burns...yet he healed within a minute."

"Incredible," Alison shook her head...and then it hit her. "Wait...Nagasaki, when they dropped the A-Bomb? Professor, that was in 1945, he'd have to be an old man!"

"Logan is older even than that," he told her solemnly. "The first war in which he fought, as a young man, was the American Civil War."

"He...he's nearly two hundred years old...?!"

"His healing factor protects him from the ravages of time. He hasn't aged a day since we first met. In almost every sense, he is virtually indestructible. He has fought in, and survived, every war since the Civil War; he was practically unkillable even before the adamantium - he even faced a firing squad once." A wry smile. "They did not miss."

Alison shook her head, picturing it. A man who couldn't die...even if he wanted to...

It must have crossed his mind more than once, she knew, the weight of the long years and memories would be almost unbearable. He must've tried to commit suicide at some stage.

And if he'd fought in so many wars...he must surely have the worst case of PTSD in history...

That thought was her undoing. She could never tolerate the thought of someone in pain without trying to help. Of course she knew now that that urge to help ease another's pain was an outgrowth of the empathic talent she had, but overriding that was her utter conviction that offering such help because and whenever she could was simply the right thing to do.

"Professor, I, uh..."

"...have something to do," he smiled gently. He hadn't read her mind; there was no need. "Though he never attacks without cause, my best advice would be to...be careful."

She nodded, and left.

Dempsey's Bar

Ten minutes later

"Beer," Logan requested brusquely as he sat.

Dempsey merely nodded and plonked a cold one on the bar. "You ever drink anythin' else?"

Logan barely smiled. "I could drink everything you got."

Dempsey started to reply...and stopped. He had the strangest feeling the guy wasn't blowin' smoke. Come to think of it, he'd never seen this guy drunk, even when he'd spent all night at the bar. Least he ain't a mean drunk, Dempsey mused. But there was something about him that stated - or rather shouted - that messing with him, on any level, was a very, very bad idea. It wasn't so much that he was looking for trouble, it was more that he was...ready for it.

Dempsey had seen plenty of guys bigger and meaner-looking than this one...but, he was suddenly sure, none as dangerous.

He was certain he'd given nothing away in reaching ever so slightly for the baseball bat he hid under the counter. But the guy caught his eye and shook his head very, very slightly, somehow saying a lot with that simple, tiny movement:

I'm just here for a quiet beer, bub. Don't bother me, I don't bother you.

Dempsey slowly withdrew his hand from the bat. The guy didn't react, but with twenty years' experience of running a bar and reading people (even ones as tightly locked-up as this guy), Dempsey knew he'd noticed, and relaxed...as much as he ever did.

Abruptly he raised his head and sniffed. He turned on his stool as a chick came in. Hey, she's cute, Dempsey couldn't help thinking. But this pleasant train of thought was derailed as he realised the guy knew her. Story of my life, he groused.

"How'd you find me? Do your, uh, thing?"

Alison barely smiled; she still hadn't gotten over the shock of learning she was a telepath and she couldn't yet use the ability to track someone...nor was she inclined to. She had very firm views on personal privacy. "Nope, just logic - this is the nearest bar to Charles' place."

Logan merely nodded. She couldn't tell if he was impressed or not. God, he was so hard to read; obsidian was more transparent. Nothing about his body language or kinesics made sense.

And then she realised why: he was deliberately blindsiding her with movements he knew were atypical for him. Now she was impressed; disguising your body language was possible but very difficult, though she'd once met a poker player who could do it. He'd learned his own 'tell' - and learned to fake it in order to fool his opponents. The last she'd heard, he was now living it up in Rio - rich and married.

"Okay, I get it," she nodded, "you don't like people trying to read you. Fair enough. I'm sorry I tried." He accepted her apology by relaxing and resuming his normal affect...except, dammit, he was still hard to read, locked up tighter than Fort Knox, NORAD...or Enya.

"What'll it be, little lady?" Dempsey asked brightly.

"It'll be less of the male chauvinist condescension, especially since I'm three inches taller than you and there's nothing 'little' about me, and a double JD on the rocks with a twist of lime," she retorted tartly. "Hold the comments on my cuteness or whatever."

Despite himself, Logan chuckled. He had a feeling he was gonna get to like this sparky little bitch, shrink or not.

"So," Logan said, sipping from the bottle as they sat at a table, "we covered 'how'. Now I want 'why'."

She was as direct, knowing from what little she'd been able to deduce so far that he'd prefer candour. "I want to help you."

"What makes you think I need help?"

"Well, everyone needs help sometime."

"Ain't there a song about that?"

She couldn't help but laugh, knowing as she did she'd thereby lost a point in this little game of dominance...or whatever the hell it was. "R.E.M., I think." She sobered. "Everybody does indeed hurt. You're no exception, Logan."

"Still not gettin' 'why'," he responded flatly. "You're scared."

Okay, how does he know that? I thought I was the telepath. "Well, do you blame me? What with those - those damn scimitars in your hands, to say nothing of the air of 'ultimate badass' which I know is not a bluff...! I'd be stupid not to be scared of you!" She sighed. "That's the problem."

He frowned. "What problem?"

"I, uh, have something of a character flaw -" she started to confess.

He laughed briefly. "Whaddya know, a shrink with a character flaw! Hey, that's rich!"

Alison glared at him, offended despite her fear. "Dammit, you ignorant prick, I am not a fucking 'shrink'! I'm a counsellor! Unlike psychoanalysts, who promote 'better living through chemistry' and never actually cure or help their 'clients' - because God forbid they should do themselves out of a meal ticket - I help people! More accurately, I help them to help themselves! I've helped people who everyone else in my profession insisted couldn't be helped! I am proud of what I do, Logan, and who the hell are you to judge me, huh?"

She was surprised to see a penitent expression on his face, but she could see he'd realised he'd gotten her wrong. Then again he's not the first. "Sorry," he quietly returned. "Ain't got much use for doctors."

"I understand," she nodded, and shrugged. "Of course, you don't need them, I get that. But there are other kinds of pain than physical, and it's those I deal with. Charles told me a little about you...such as how old you are." She hesitated. "All the wars you've lived through. I've dealt a lot with PTSD, Logan. I can help, if you'll let me. I can't even begin to understand what it's been like, I know, and I won't patronise you by trying." She looked wry. "I bet you've had quite enough of that." He chuckled in acknowledgement. "But if I can help, I will."

She could tell she'd earned a modicum of respect from him by standing up to him; like most tough guys he had little time for shrinking violets. Then again, nor did she. But she sensed that his 'type' was a woman with useful strength rather than useless coquetry.

Alison knew she was a strong woman.

But there was...pain, just beneath the surface...it was so intense she was getting...a name?!

Jean...

But she didn't dare pry; even if it would've violated his privacy and hence she wasn't inclined to do it anyway, she had an uneasy feeling he'd know if she did...and she had no idea how he'd react. Did mental probing constitute a 'threat' by his lights?

No. She'd stick to observational tools and her years of experience...it'd probably be safer.

They continued having their quiet, civilised drink until 6:40 p.m., then got up and left for the Institute. She did everything proper during the successful fire drill, then met up with Logan again outside his room. She decided again to be candid. "Logan, I'd like to resume our discussion if I may."

"Sure," he nodded, "c'mon in. But mind the beer cans on the floor."

Alison entered with him and noted the position of said cans...and realised exactly why they were there: to warn him should anyone enter unexpectedly. She refrained from disturbing any, since they were precisely placed, and they sat on the couch together. Abruptly she realised what she was feeling: a very strong attraction. He scared the shit out of her...and that was exactly why she wanted to jump his adamantium-coated bones. She decided to admit it.

"Logan, not to put too fine a point on it: my own character flaw, which you'll recall I mentioned, dictates that right now I very, very badly want to fuck you rigid." She drew a deep breath. "And I think you know that, too - and I believe you want to fuck me just as badly."

He didn't hesitate. Instead he reached for her and stroked her cheek. "You're right, on all counts. What's this 'flaw'?"

At 5'9" she was somewhat taller than Logan. She used that to get in his face and ruefully admitted, "I am powerfully attracted to people and things that scare the crap out of me."

That he understood. They kissed passionately, Logan enveloping her in his powerful arms.

When they broke the kiss, she licked her lips sensually. "Mmm, I like that," she purred. "Wanna get rough?"

"Maybe," Logan answered, "if you're in the mood."

He started to stroke her gently, as if he'd been told or he'd learned that women liked that. While she appreciated the polite gesture, though, she was in no mood whatsoever to be gentle. So she growled under her breath - and bit him. "Don't be gentle," she demanded roughly. "I'm a big girl, you won't break me. Honestly, I get bored with all the gentle crap!"

"You like it rough," he comprehended.

"Damn right, you hunk! And you want a woman who's tough enough, woman enough, to take anything you can dish out without wussing out and whining 'not so hard'! You want a woman you can really let go with, show your real passion - show the beast! Well, I can take it, Logan! I was raped once! But I didn't let it tear me apart!

"Instead I did the very last thing the bastard expected: when he pulled that thing out of me, I grabbed it - and I ruptured his balls!" she growled with fierce pride. "He was so damn used to his victims just succumbing to shame or hysterics, he expected me to do the same, except I knew it was just my body, he couldn't touch my soul - not if I didn't let him! Hell, I would've killed him if a couple of guys hadn't come along, figured out what was goin' down and decided to 'help me out'! After he was murdered, I pissed on his grave, Logan!"

"Good for you," he returned, surprised and impressed.

"Yeah, so fuck me like you mean it!" To emphasise this demand, as if he needed the emphasis, she grabbed his stiffening cock through his jeans, her nipples rock-hard and her slit already soaking wet. "Fuck me hard, like the world's ending!"

He did.

To say they both climaxed hard was putting it mildly. In fact she screamed and bit him hard enough to draw blood. God, she thought, he is incredible! I have never been fucked so hard! Even that twat Brad Carlson didn't fuck me as hard, but this time I wanted it! Ooh, I was right - Logan really is a beast! He's exactly what I need!

"Again," she demanded harshly as she came and squirted, as she seldom had, clearly loving it. She spread both her legs and her wet labia in totally unmistakable sexual invitation. "Again! Again!"

"Far be it from me to turn down a lady's request," he joked.

Again she bit him, panting, "Logan, I want you to know something: very often in bed I am anything but a lady! I am a wanton randy bitch who wants fucking hard, and often! I leave my armpits hairy, and my cunt a little hairy, just to capture my sexual scent, which I happen to like! That's why I often change my knickers every other day or even every third day, even after sex - I am a rabid sensualist and fucking proud of it!

"I once picked up on Sherry's daydream; she was picturing the two big black guys with huge cocks who'd had her every way - up her cunt, up her ass, in her mouth - and being the randy filthy slut I freely and proudly admit I am, I fucking loved it! I damn near asked her if she could do it again, but this time with me watching, and maybe even joining in! In bed I am, I swear, a dirty, sweaty slut!" Her voice rose, utterly uncaring of who might be listening. "So I am not asking, I am demanding: fuck me again! DAMMIT, FUCK ME HARD!"

"You got it, bitch," he snarled, and was true to his word, shoving the full length of his hard cock deep into her dripping and receptive cunt. God, she smelled so fucking good - copious female sweat, rampant raging sex hormones and something uniquely and deliciously hers. By the time they were done and she had once again climaxed explosively, she was battered, sweaty, bruised, bleeding - and in utter ecstasy. He had very definitely given her what she'd demanded.

Ooh, now I know, Alison thought in delight, what the French mean by ‛la petite mort', the ‛little death'. I honestly felt as if I was going to die - and I wouldn't have given a fuck if I had...!

She wiggled in sheer delight and held him close, delighting in the raw animal scent of him, actually licking him to get the taste as well. She had never, ever enjoyed sex so much, not even with John Mayhew.

Mmm, I could so get used to this.

Her passion overtook her once more and she breathed, "Again, hunk. Fuck me again."

Logan chuckled. "You gonna bite me again?" he teased.

"Only if you don't," she teased back.

He was somewhat more gentle this time, but in her relaxed state she was enjoying herself way too much to care. Mmm, go for it, she purred to herself, her nipples hard again. She hadn't been so wet since the very first time she'd brought herself off.

Outside, Marie and Kitty were passing Logan's room, and couldn't help overhearing the couple locked in their passion. "Uh-oh, he's at it big time," Marie opined in a low voice.

Kitty giggled softly, picturing vividly what the two were up to. "D'you think she's enjoying it?"

Marie listened briefly, and chuckled, "If the way she's screamin' in ecstasy is any indication, I'd say she's lovin' it!"

Both girls giggled and respected the couple's (non-existent!) privacy by hurrying past...though if both were honest with themselves, their nipples were hard and both were excited.

Go for it, Logan, Marie wished him warmly. Y'all deserve it.

Elsewhere in the mansion, Xavier sensed the raw passion taking place, and smiled gently, wishing them both well - Logan out of long and deep respect for him, and Alison out of professional and personal courtesy. The best of luck to you both, he wished them sincerely, so deep down that not even Alison was aware of it.