Dear Internet: It's here. Don't hate me for how long it took. Hate the rest of the internet and emulators of old Japanese RPG's for taking up my spare time.

Scrambled to his feet to find sleeping clothes, a clean towel. The boy used his coat as a blanket, rather than move the bed.

A towel came out of his own room, a pair of loose workout pants to serve as sleeping clothes. He'd borrow some training clothes from the lower levels for the boy in the morning, the clothes he had arrived in were torn, wet and stained. Made a note to make his way down once he was sure Gambit was asleep comfortably. Make Hank run the samples, find him clothes, try to unravel all this irritation. Let some steam off in the Danger Room while he was at it.

Knocked on the door he had put the boy behind. No answer, so he pushed it open. Kid was sitting in the window, legs hung down three stories, a cigarette lit perched between his fingers.

"Kid?"

"Mm-Hmm?"

"Get back in. Gonna' fall."

"No I ain'."

He grabbed the back of the kid's faded black shirt, yanked him back into the room deliberately. The kid's footing was good, he didn't even stumble, fell smooth back into the room, leaning against Logan for support. He was warm, smelled of cigarettes and spice. Logan knew he should stop thinking of the Cajun as a kid, he wasn't. It didn't matter how young he was, he had grown up either way. Logan knew he understood, he had grown up pretty fast. You never did for the right reasons. He wrapped his arms around the boy, guiding him into the room, and he moved with Logan, at ease, it seemed, in his arms. He didn't let go, at least, remained, soft and willing and he knew he shouldn't have those thoughts but he was there, enticing.

"Clean yourself up, swamp rat." Better than thinking of him as a kid.

He took the towel, sauntered into the bathroom like he knew he was being watched. Damnable creature was aware of the effect he had on others. Logan let a low growl take him and pushed out of the room, never mind waiting until he was asleep.

Pushed the door to Hank's lab open, he knew old Blue would still be awake and working, he wondered if the doctor bothered sleeping anymore, or if he had evolved past it. He was bent over a computer screen, mumbling to himself, a box of sugared breakfast cereal spilled out over the desk. Thinking, he shoved the dry clumps into his mouth, forming words with no sound.

"Blue?"

"Oh. Logan."

"You run the kid's samples yet?"

"Not without his consent. I do have some honor. Why are you so concerned?"

"You haven't noticed?"

"He does seem to have some sort of draw on you."

"Yeah. Kid's got somethin' to him, mutation or somethin'." He leaned against the wall, chewing on the end of a cigar to calm his nerves.

"When he wakes in the morning, we'll run a test of his power, provided he doesn't run, of course. I'm trying to run him through our databases, but no one seems to know this boy exists. I want to know what he could do."

"So do I," Logan grumbled, "Think he got that charm on Red, too. Reminds me, what do you see when you look at him?"

Hank laughed, "Tall, thin, red hair and red on black eyes. Underfed, twitchy, scared, were you worried you were seeing things?"

"For a minute." Logan pocketed the cigar. "Gonna' find him some warm clothes f'r tomorrow. Make him show us what he can do."

He grumbled out of the lab with no answers, hating the concept of trust, and knowing he wouldn't have run the samples either. Swamp Rat was allowed his secrets, unless they proved dangerous. He found some training clothes, things they would give the students the first time they came to the Danger Room, things he thought would fit the kid, loose black pants and a long sleeved shirt of the same color, he didn't presume to pick things he thought would fit the boy's style, if he had any. Practicality had seemed to dominate what he wore when he arrived. He dropped the clothes on a bench and called down a training dummy, shredding it and leaving the remains for Scott's early morning training. Pissing the Fearless Leader off always seemed to calm his nerves, and between the mess and the stray, Scott wasn't going to have a good morning.

He left the clothes on the bed that Gambit had burrowed into, sound asleep, quiet sounds escaping indulgent lips and his fingers curled as if he wanted something to hold on to. Logan let his hand move through the boy's hair, over his shoulder, tucking him into the bed, and shutting himself out of the room before that hypnotic charm got the better of him.

His own dreams were filled with the spice and the music of a long forgotten visit to New Orleans.