As this is an AU of Earth-616 (the main Marvel universe from comics), I should note a few differences. Majorly, Logan never lost his adamantium to Magneto; "House of M" has not happened so Logan has not regained his memories. And there's really no grand unrequited love between Logan and Jean. It's not in an effort to cast Jean poorly, or to be a whiny fangirl screaming "LOGAN CAN ONLY LOVE MY OFC!", but because it always read awkwardly to me and made Logan seem like a simpering fool. I maintain their loving friendship, but that's all it is.

One last thing: If you'd like a real-life representation of what Teva looks like, please check out Lzzy Hale of Halestorm.

~text~ denotes telepathic speech

Title from a birthday card my husband got me once. Full quote is "Love isn't found only in the falling."

They say that money can't buy happiness, but in large quantities and coupled with alcohol, it can drown out a lot of pain, at least for a time. The one thing it can't do is protect you from being hated.

Teva Lawson had learned to fill the void inside from being different from others. It wasn't the color of her hair or her skin, her nationality or her religion, that set her apart, what would make people fear and hate her if they knew her secret, and she was one of the lucky ones. It wasn't obvious that she was a mutant.

At 14, right after Christmas in her third year of secondary, she'd woken up one day with a blistering headache that kept her in bed for the better part of three days. When it had finally let up she found that being around large groups of people triggered further headaches and suddenly she could feel emotions from others, almost as strongly as she felt her own, and she could project her emotions onto others. It was a terrifying discovery but one she kept to herself.

There had already been whispered accounts of other children manifesting strange abilities, though at that point the word 'mutant' hadn't become common vernacular, at least not in Perth, Scotland. With time she was able to control it, keep it from controlling her, and she made it all the way through secondary with good marks.

Her mutant ability fueled her musical talent. She'd been writing lyrics in notebooks ever since she was a child, started putting them to music the moment she got her hands on a piano or a guitar. It wasn't until a gentleman approached her at an open mic night at a pub to ask her about representing her that she realized she'd been using her empathy unconsciously; he told her no one's voice had ever hit him so powerfully, made him see and feel things so strongly. He knew of an all-female band that was looking for a lead vocalist and he thought she'd be a great fit. She was barely 19.

Antiheroine got a record deal within months of forming, though Teva knew it wasn't just on the merits of her voice. Her bandmates were just as good as she was with their respective instruments, and between her and Jessica, the bassist, they had enough good songs to hit platinum in the first week the album was out. They couldn't turn on any rock station without hearing themselves at least once an hour. There was a flurry of interviews and appearances on late night television shows, which marked the first time Teva ever set foot in the United States, and soon enough they were touring the world.

Teva hadn't felt conflicted about leaving home. She'd never been close to her parents and if anything they'd been somewhat abusive, her mother suffering from borderline personality disorder and her father brow-beaten to the point of silence. Her mother had congratulated her on her success but had never supported her in school or her musical endeavors even after she attained fame. She'd made it clear from a very early point that Teva was on her own. It left her feeling somewhat empty that there was no one to be proud of her, no one to call home to when she was lonely.

The few friends she'd had in Perth had slowly drifted away as most of them went to Uni or took jobs that didn't afford them the same luxuries she had acquired, and it was difficult to keep in contact with them due to her frenetic schedule.

A decade later the group was multi-platinum with six albums, the latest, How Deep it Goes, just shy of three million copies sold. The job was stressful even with their success, squabbles with the record company over taking the band in a new direction, arguments about appeasing a retail conglomerate that wouldn't sell their albums unedited for language, and hours on a plane or a tour bus led to frayed nerves and shouting matches between bandmates. Whoever had said that being a rock star was the ultimate in coolness had never actually been one.

It was the Deep tour that marked the beginning of the end for Teva, not that she knew it at the time. She was drinking most nights now, not enough to black out but enough to get numb, enough to drown out the feelings and thoughts of everyone around her and help her ignore how damn lonely she was. She'd never gotten particularly close to any of the other girls except Jessica, and while the others partied it up she was usually in her room with her guitar and a notebook, getting down every little drop that flowed out of her.

They were in New York City, a town she'd loved the first time she set foot in it. It seemed big enough, noisy enough, that she could get lost there and the thought didn't frighten her; she loved it so much she bought a penthouse there. Three sold out shows, one right after the other, she was amazed her voice didn't give out on the last one.

Part of her wanted to beg off the meet-and-greet backstage, thinking that surely anyone who wanted to meet her badly enough would have been there the first night, but tonight it was a group of teenagers from some nearby boarding school, an institute for the 'gifted' or something. She wasn't a complete jerk so she figured she'd drop in, make an appearance, sign some autographs and answer a few questions before she begged off and spent some time with a bottle of Jamesons.

The two chaperones for the group were having the devil of a time keeping the young ones contained, all of them obviously hopped up on caffeine and hormones. She remembered being like that and felt herself soften a little; if she'd been able to meet an idol at their age she'd be bouncing off the walls, too.

Now that she was the idol she thought it odd how nervous some people were around her, like somehow being a celebrity made her different or special. One girl practically gushed, stammering out how much Teva was an inspiration to her and having her autograph every album and a few posters as well.

"Next time I take them out, I will not let them drink so much soda beforehand." The white haired African woman with them smiled at Teva, extending a hand. A soft accent colored her words, made her seem even more exotic. "I very much enjoyed the concert, Ms. Lawson. One of my students practically begged me to listen to your first album and while hard rock isn't usually my first choice, your music is remarkably beautiful."

Teva smiled, shaking her hand. "Thanks, I appreciate that. A lot of people dismiss it as 'noise' though I admit sometimes that's all it sounds like to me, too." A t-shirt was thrust into her face and another giggling girl was talking up a storm.

Finally the throng seemed sated and she turned to the buffet table, her stomach growling impetuously. She had a hard time eating before a performance, her nerves hanging by a thread and making her feel nauseated, but afterwards she was ravenous. She began filling a plate with strawberries and tiny sandwiches along with a double chocolate chip muffin the size of her fist, and she snagged an insulated mug for tea to soothe her throat. Something made her glance up while waiting for her tea to steep, and she found herself looking at the other school chaperone.

Her first impression of him was that he wasn't the most attractive man in the world, if one were to base attractiveness solely on looks. His brow was slightly pronounced with his dark eyes set deep so that they would be shadowed even without the cowboy hat he wore. His face was craggy and lined like he'd seen a lot of life and it'd kicked him while he was down more than once. If she had to guess she'd say he was in his 40s.

Teva had never been one to be attracted to conventionally handsome people, though. In this man's eyes she saw sharp intelligence, a constant watchfulness that marked him as a protector. He stood balanced on the balls of his feet as if he expected the need for quick action.

He was stocky as hell, broad shouldered with a thickly-muscled chest that tapered down to his waist like a goddamned Dorito, and he was just as ripped below the amusingly-large maple leaf belt buckle. His faded blue jeans and black t-shirt fit him like a second skin and she felt her eyes drifting downwards before she caught herself.

Muscles shifted along his forearm as he reached up to scratch his forehead, tilting the hat back a touch as he did so. He looked like he could handle himself in a fight, among other things, for all he was as short as she was, maybe even a touch shorter when she wasn't wearing sky-high heels.

He had a strong jaw that was almost obscured by the wild sideburns he wore long, and they added to the animalistic aspect. She wondered what his hair looked like beneath the cowboy hat, all she could tell was that it was black as coal.

It was his emotions that pulled the whole package together. Teva could read wariness and distrust with an undercurrent of anger. Something even more primal simmered below that. She understood that he didn't just look wild, he was wild, yet there was something else in him, too, that softened that hard edge. You couldn't pick up on it by looking at him, though.

Only a few moments had passed, 20 seconds at most, but it was enough to catch his attention. He turned those dark, all-seeing eyes on her, one heavy eyebrow arching up, and it was then she realized he'd been aware of her gaze the whole time.

She felt a flicker of lust lick up her spine and she averted her eyes, but not before she caught the smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, faigh muin," she cursed in Gaelic. For all she had regular offers of sex she'd never taken anyone up on it, and she'd been single for almost a year now after a serious thing with the guitarist from a group they'd been touring with.

When she looked up again he was standing closer. "How long you been playin'?" he asked. "Guitar, I mean." His voice was deep, rough, sounding almost like he didn't use it very often.

"Since I was a wee girl, I taught myself alongside piano." She shrugged, popping one of the mini sandwiches in her mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing. "Fifteen years, give or take." She gestured with her chin in the direction of the kids. "How'd you get roped into bringing them here?"

He snorted. "Still tryin' to figure that one out myself. You play my kinda music but spendin' time with those kids ain't my idea o' fun. Rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon."

Teva snickered. "So you liked the concert, then?"

"Yeah, I liked it fine." He glanced over at the students. "Didn't much like havin' to keep one of the couples separated, though. Like weasels in heat."

She was glad she wasn't currently swallowing anything or she'd have choked. "Kids are like that, I'm sure you were at one point." She looked him in the eye, pleased that he didn't look away despite the darkness that swam behind the brown orbs. It was hard to imagine him as a teenager, he had a feeling of age to him, of having seen things most people hadn't and would never want to.

"Can't say that I ever was." The answer seemed weighted, as if he mourned the death of childhood. Something she could kind of relate to. "You write all those songs?"

"Mmm, most of them. Jess helps me write some," Teva replied, adding a generous amount of honey to her tea before taking a quick sip. "If it's hard and fast with depressing lyrics, chances are I wrote it." She saw him smile, a slight curve of his lips, and it actually reached his eyes. "You got a name, stranger?"

"Logan."

"Teva." On a whim she stuck out her hand, smiling back when his rough, warm hand touched hers. It was callused on the palm and the fleshy parts of the fingers, different from hers where the calluses were on her fingertips from years of guitar abuse. She tightened her shields and breathed a little easier when they held strong. "So what was the name of your school?"

"Xavier's Institute for Gifted Children."

"So, what, like super-smart kids?" She watched his face shut down, saw the guarded, protective look that came into his eyes.

"You could say that."

They both glanced away, Teva's gaze going to the teenagers again. She noticed the gloves one girl wore, had thought it was just a fashion statement but now she was thinking differently. One girl gave away their secret, standing by the buffet table and looking around furtively before taking a soda can without ever reaching for it.

Teva looked back at Logan, saw in his eyes that he knew she'd seen. "Mutants," she said quietly, not wanting to alert anyone else in the room, which wasn't too difficult with the noise level. "That's what you mean by 'gifted.'"

"That a problem?" His voice held a soft challenge.

Teva couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. "Why should it be? They cannae help what they are anymore than I can." She cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. "Are you one, too?"

He shrugged powerful shoulders, tipping his cowboy hat lower. "We all are, it's why there's an entire damn school." If he hadn't been watching her so closely he wouldn't have seen the look of naked longing that came into her eyes at his words; she still lived with her secret and risked losing everything she'd worked to achieve. She didn't even bother trying to hide it, she'd always worn her heart on her sleeve.

"Lucky." She said it softly, not meant for him to hear. Slightly louder, she said, "It was nice meeting you." She didn't meet his eyes again as she gathered her food and made her escape.

Logan was quiet as usual on the way home from the concert, but there was a particularly brooding air to his demeanor as he drove the van. He was thinking of his encounter with Teva and why it was still weighing on him.

Part of it was just physical attraction, especially after he'd caught her checking him out appreciatively. He had a thing for redheads after all, always had, and she had auburn hair down to her waist. He'd heard the brogue in her voice and she had the fair Celtic skin to go along with it, almost invisible freckles across her nose and high cheekbones, and eyes the color of the whiskey he preferred, outlined in smoky black. Her slender body was emphasized by snug leather pants and a black shirt that seemed to be made of more straps than solid cloth. He wasn't entirely sure how she managed to move so gracefully on spike heels but he wasn't going to complain about the effect they had on her ass.

She carried herself with a certain amount of confidence that was tempered by wariness, a sense of having seen more than her few years could account for, something he could relate to.

But that wasn't enough to explain why he was still thinking about her. Any number of attractive women caught his eye and were out of his mind in seconds. He kept coming back to the look on her face when she'd realized that he and the rest of the Xavier's crew were mutants.

"You and Ms. Lawson seemed to enjoy talking to one another." Ororo's voice from the passenger seat brought him back to the present.

He glanced at her for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. "She was nice enough, I guess."

The weather goddess smiled. "It is not often that I see you speaking to someone for any length of time, Logan. And we have been friends for long enough that I know when your interest is piqued."

He gave her a little smirk. "She was cute, I'll give her that. Little on the skinny side, though."

Ororo made an amused sound but let it go.

"She knows about us," he said suddenly, his voice pitched for her ears only. "She saw Angie use her TK to grab a soda." He heard Ororo's soft noise of disapproval.

"That is mildly concerning. Did she happen to mention her feelings on mutants?"

"I think she's one of us," he replied, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as they rolled to a stop at a red light. "She said somethin' about the kids not bein' able to help what they are anymore than she could. And she's gonna be screwed if anyone ever finds out what she is."

"She has lived this long, Logan, with her secret. And perhaps her choice of profession will not lead to too much hysteria should it become common knowledge."

Logan snorted derisively. "Don't matter what she does for a livin', 'Ro, mutants are hated all over the damn world. People don't want anything to do with us. Most of 'em would burn us at the stake given half a chance."

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Logan. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders. You shouldn't worry."

He didn't even know why he worried. Maybe it was just one mutant fearing for another, knowing how cruel baselines could be to their kind, especially when there was no solid count on how many mutants actually roamed the planet. He'd heard Xavier and the other big heads speculate that the number was in the millions but still in the minority amongst 'normal' humans. And it wasn't like there weren't other insanely successful mutants who lived in the limelight without their secret being known; the X-Men's very own Angel, Warren Worthington III, had that distinction, and he hid a 16-foot wingspan in a custom-made harness and expensive designer suits.

Logan shrugged off the sense of foreboding he got, chalked it up to his own personal brand of crazy paranoia. It didn't affect him either way what happened to a woman he'd never see again, never speak to again. He had himself and his own people to worry about without adding a stranger to the mix.

He had a strange habit, though, of picking up strays, so to speak. He'd done it with Kitty and then again with Jubilee, somehow managing to find the part of himself that felt compassion and kindness for all he railed against that part of himself. It was something Mariko had seen in him even after she'd also seen his bestial side. Sometimes he wished he could shut that part of himself off to save himself the grief and heartache that inevitably came part and parcel with attachments of the heart, but he knew he wouldn't be human otherwise. And being human was something he very much wanted to remain.

He was more than happy to finally pull into the garage of the school, leaving Ororo to herd the still-hyped, chattering teenagers inside. He wanted a drink and a cigar very badly.