Aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly. But the bumblebee doesn't know this, so it goes on flying anyway. –Mary Kay Ash

"What was it like?"

The words tumbled out of my mouth without bothering to bypass my brain, and I had to resist the urge to slap a hand over my mouth. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Mr. Summers' chin jerked up at the sound of my voice, but his eyes stayed tightly closed. He tensed for half a second, but relaxed when he identified my voice. With the ease of someone who'd been doing it for a very long time, he slipped the red lens glasses back over the bridge of his nose and, after they were settled, replied.

"What was what like?" He asked in a patient teacher-student type voice. It was kind of funny, really, most of the kids at school didn't know that underneath the calm façade he showed us in class, he had a whole different personality. I'd seen it as he gave orders on the jet on the way back from Liberty Island. It had been—

"Rogue?" He prompted, interrupting my thoughts when I didn't answer him right away.

Well crap. I wanted to smack myself. Since arriving at Professor Xavier's, I've learned that there's a strict don't-ask-don't-tell policy among mutants. We all have a story, and if someone wants to share it with you, they will. But you don't press for it. Period. Breaking the rules was starting to become a habit of mine. Maybe I could keep them straight if someone took the time to write them down for me.

I stifled the sudden impulse to growl and decided in this case retreat was the better part of valor. Right now it probably wasn't a good idea for me to be around Mr. Summers. Too bad I hadn't thought of that before I opened my mouth in the first place. "I—it was nothing. I was mostly just talking to myself."

I couldn't see his eyes, but from the tilt of Mr. Summers' head, I was pretty sure the look he was shooting me was skeptical, at best. "Did your self answer?"

Before I could stop myself, I gave him a dirty look and said, "Yeah. My self says you're a dick." This time, I did slap my hand over my mouth, horrified. "Oh my God! Mr. Summers, I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

He laughed. "We're not in class. You can call me Scott, or Cyclops if you prefer." He scooted over and patted the bench beside him. "Still working the Wolverine out of your system, huh?"

I managed to keep from sniffing as I sat down on the bench. He was wearing too much cologne, and I literally had to bite down on my tongue to keep from commenting on it. Once the urge passed, though, I shot him a rueful smile. It wasn't his fault that the characteristics I'd picked up when I meshed with Logan on the Statue of Liberty seemed to give me the uncontrollable urge to poke the bear where he was concerned.

"Sorry," I said ruefully.

"Hey, it could be worse. I helped Jean get you to the lab for an exam after the time in his room, and half way there you bit me."

If my eyes got any wider, they'd pop right out of my head. "That was you? I'm so sorry, Mr. Summers! I was still kind of out of it, and—"

He just waved off the apology. "No hard feelings. It wasn't your fault."

Right. Not my fault. I shook my head a little and tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I couldn't quite meet his eyes when I answered. "That's what people keep telling me, but I'm still sorry."

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Scott's voice, less companionable, more protective. Guess he had three personalities—fearless leader, concerned teacher, and big brother. "Rogue, is everything alright?"

"Sure. Peachy," I said with a bright—if forced—smile. Jovial. I was going for jovial. And maybe a little carefree, even.

Scott snorted lightly. "You aren't planning a future in acting, are you?"

I decided my best bet was to ignore him and went with that, but Scott apparently had other ideas. He nudged my shoulder with his, again with the big brother vibe.

"Are you—missing Wolverine?" He finally asked, sounding uncomfortable.

Ok. That was enough of that. I turned my head and stared hared into the lenses of his sunglasses to make sure I had his undivided attention, and then I very deliberately rolled my eyes. Yes, the entire world knew I had a crush on Logan. And yes, the entire world knew I hadn't wanted him to leave. But unlike the entire rest of the world, I knew for a fact he was coming back. And for right now, that was enough.

Scott got the message and held up his hands defensively. "Ok, not Logan. Something else?" He paused. "What were you talking about when you walked up? And don't give me that crap about talking to yourself."

I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks. Where Scott was concerned, Logan had no qualms saying exactly what was on his mind, and that's what had made me blurt out the question. But the subject, thinking of it, wondering about it, that had been all me. I started to open my mouth and tell him it was nothing, but the thing was, I really did want to know.

"I was just—" I trailed off, not sure exactly what to say. When words didn't magically formulate, Scott spoke softly, encouraging me.

"Rogue, I'm your teacher. On Liberty Island, you handled yourself well. So I'd like to think that at some point I'll also be your teammate. And if you need to talk, I'm a good listener."

I licked my lips nervously and considered the offer. If I didn't ask now, I probably wouldn't get another chance. I was pretty sure he was a good guy, in spite of the animosity with Logan, but Mr. Summers wasn't always this approachable. Staring hard at my gloved hands, I took the plunge and continued, voice low. "I just wondered what it was like when you got your glasses and goggles. When you learned to control it."

I didn't have to clarify which "it" I was talking about. The difference between a "dangerous" mutant and a "safe" mutant is, I think, control. Some people might argue that there's no such thing as a safe mutant, but the way I see it, safe mutants can control their gifts. Dangerous mutants, on the other hand, might accidentally send a building crashing down on a crowd of people. Or they might put a boy who did nothing wrong but kiss them into a coma for three weeks.

There was a long pause, and then Scott sighed and put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched a little and had to fight not to check and make sure my clothing hadn't shifted and left skin exposed that he might brush against. I forced myself not to, but it was hard.

"Rogue—," he started, his tone heavy with pity. Pity that I didn't want.

"No," I interrupted. "You don't have to feel sorry for me. I'm not asking for that. I just—want to know. What was it like to have control over it? To go from not being able to stop to—" I broke off suddenly, not willing or able to continue. He knew what I meant, anyway. He could either answer or not.

There was a long pause, and then, finally. "It was—a miracle."

I squeezed my eyes closed and gripped my hands tight enough to crack the bones in my knuckles. They ached a little, another holdover from Logan. Without looking up, I nodded.

"That's what I thought, but it's—good—to know for sure." I drew in a deep breath and stood. "Hey, I'd better head back. Dr. Grey makes you sing if you're late for her class."

I told him I didn't want it, but the sympathy was still written on his face. He really was a good guy. "Rogue, if you need some time—"

I stopped him with a nonchalant wave. "No worries. I'm fine. Just curious."

He looked troubled for a second as he watched me, but finally his face smoothed out, and he nodded, going back to a teacherish smile that was proof enough for me I'd managed to convince him that everything was alright in my world.

Maybe the acting thing wasn't so far out of my reach, after all.

* * *

I'd been lying about having to get to Dr. Grey's class, but the Logan still running around in my subconscious knew that mentioning her was the best way to distract Mr. Summers, and even though I appreciated the honest answer he gave me, I hadn't wanted to talk about it anymore.

Mission accomplished.

I took a deep breath as I walked under a stand of big maples on the school grounds, enjoying their unique, crisp scent. It had been nearly two weeks since The Incident, as my brain had taken to thinking of it, and my sense of smell was finally fading. Maybe because I'd touched him twice or maybe because I'd been in contact with him for so long, the Loganisms I'd picked up were taking a really long time to fade.

I didn't mind, though. It sort of made me feel like he was still here. Reflexively, I reached up and touched the dog tags hanging around my neck through the cloth of my shirt. When he'd first given them to me, they'd pulled up and met my fingers anytime I raised my hands. A holdover from my contact with Magneto. At this point, though, all I had left of that was a faint tingling under my skin when I got close to them. I might even have imagined it—I couldn't tell for sure.

It was quiet, peaceful. Leaves rustled around me, and a few yards away I could hear a small animal, maybe a woodchuck, burrowing into the grassy weeds that grew away from the path. My sensitized ears told me I was completely alone, but I looked around three times just to make sure. Slipping the fingers of my right hand under the arm band of the tight glove that came half way to my left shoulder, I peeled off the cloth sheath, carefully folded it, and put it in my pocket.

Then I held up my hand.

It's funny, ever since that day in my room with David I'd taken to staring at my hands. They never looked any different. The polish colors of my nails changed sometimes, although usually I went with a simple French manicure. Pale skin, long fingers, neatly tapered, well-cared for nails. They didn't look like bad hands. They didn't look evil or wrong.

I reached up and stroked the skin of my cheek. I'd been doing that ever since that day, too. My skin was soft and smooth. A little cold today from the wind blowing in my face, but touching it, you'd never guess it was deadly.

Once upon a time, my mother used to press her cheek against mine when she hugged me. I hadn't touched anyone in the three weeks my first boyfriend stayed in a coma, but the day we found out he was going to be ok, I got so excited, I tried to hug Mama. I wouldn't have let my skin touch hers. I would have been careful. But when I moved toward her, she'd shied away from me.

It's funny—I have a lot of painful memories swirling in my brain right now, things that are way worse, but that one still hurts me the most. I left that night after they fell asleep. Sometimes, I don't know why I bothered to wait. I guess I wanted to be able to pretend, at least to myself, that they would have tried to stop me.

I let my fingertips trail along the side of my neck as I lowered my hand. For just a few seconds, I imagined it was someone else, someone with calluses on his hands because he never protected his skin with gloves and knuckles that always looked just a tiny bit raw in spite of the healing. I closed my eyes and gave myself just a few seconds to be wistful, to be sad.

When I opened them, I'd locked the emotion away in the back of my mind. I straightened my shoulders.

"Enough," I said to no one in particular.

I'd come out here today for a reason. Since The Incident, I'd had a lot on my mind. Everyone knew what happened when I touched someone, but I don't think anyone realized the extent of what happened.

Right now, I knew more about Logan than he knew about himself. I also knew a whole lot about Magneto, and as a result, about Charles Xavier. Now I had to decide what to do with that knowledge. The distant sound of laughter broke into my thoughts, and I hastily fumbled my glove back onto my hand and arm. I still had a few minutes before they got to me, but there was no point in taking chances.

I glanced up at the sky. It was time for me to go, anyway. I had an appointment with Professor Xavier, and I didn't want to be late.

* * *

I'd only been in the Professor's office twice, but Logan had been there several times. He didn't understand why, but he felt relaxed there, safe. The emotion bled through to me. That, combined with the peace and affection—love, maybe, or as close as he knew how—I had for Charles left from Magneto, made it feel like a weight I didn't even know I'd been carrying lifted from my shoulders as I walked in the door. It was more than a little disconcerting. If I hadn't had so much on my mind, I might have had trouble fighting off a wave of sleepiness.

I hadn't been sleeping well lately. Nightmares will do that to a girl. Thinking of those helped me center my mind on my reason for coming here today. As I closed the door, Professor Xavier looked up from a notepad he was writing on and offered me a grandfatherly smile.

"Rogue, right on time. I was so pleased when you asked to speak with me." More tension left my shoulders at the sound of his voice, and I wondered for a second if the Professor was doing something to my mind to make me relax. He chuckled lightly. "Sorry, but no. Although I suppose I could if you'd like me to."

I glanced up in surprise.

"I'm not intentionally reading your thoughts, Rogue, but that one was particularly loud. Sometimes it's hard to block everything out."

I nodded in understanding. It wasn't quite the same thing, but two weeks with Logan's hearing had taught me that sometimes it really was hard to block things out, even if you didn't want to hear them.

"Now then, not that it isn't a delight just to chat with you, I gathered that you arranged this visit with a specific purpose in mind," he changed the subject abruptly and wheeled forward, coming to my side of the large mahogany desk. He gestured to one of the deep leather chairs and indicated that I should sit.

I was happy to oblige. My legs were shaking.

"Actually, I did have something I wanted to talk to you about. I—how much do you know about my mutation?"

The Professor frowned slightly as he chose his words. "We know it's tied to your skin, that on contact you absorb the life force and characteristics of those you touch."

I nodded. "That's right, but it goes a little further than that." I paused, searching for the right words. "I also get their memories, their thoughts. It's kind of like—a floodgate, maybe—opens up in my mind and then everything they are just starts pouring in, and however much has time to get in my brain before the touching stops is what I have."

The Professor looked a little surprised and a lot curious. "Fascinating. That's much like what I feel when I join a mind to mine completely. It means there's a component of telepathy to your gift. We could—"

I cleared my throat lightly and the Professor broke off, sending me a sheepish smile. "My apologies. Plenty of time for that later. Now, where were you?"

I flashed a smile back to tell him it was fine, but sobered as I tried to recall exactly what I'd wanted to say. I'd spent a lot of time coming up with just the right words, and I didn't want to mess this up just because I was nervous.

The first time Logan's memories poured into me, it made me feel uncomfortable, like I was spying or doing something wrong. As I thought about it, I made a decision, a commitment to myself. Whatever I found out about people touching them, I was going to be very careful about. I wasn't going to share it with anyone unless it was an absolute necessity. I wasn't going to give away their secrets or talk about their feelings. I don't know why, but making that decision had made me feel less like an intruder, less like I was—violating—the person I touched.

I had to make the Professor understand without telling him too much.

"After Magneto touched me, I learned a lot about his past," I spoke carefully, but at my words an odd look passed over the professor's face. Well crap. I didn't want to make him think—

"Rogue, my friendship with Eric was, and is, a very complex part of my life. We disagree on some very important things now, but that doesn't change the past—"

I cut him off with an emphatic shake of my head. "I'm not—you don't have to—Christ," I finally growled, my inability to explain that I'd tried really hard not to look too closely at memories I'd taken that should never have been anything but private bringing my inner Logan to the surface.

Luckily, either the growl or my stammering managed to get the message across, because the Professor relaxed into his chair again. "Ah. I'm sorry for interrupting, Rogue. Please continue." I thought I saw a hint of a flush creep up his cheeks, but I couldn't be sure.

I nodded, grateful, and went back to the difficult task of picking out the right words to use. Hard to believe easy conversation was something I used to take for granted. Thank you, mutant gene. "One of the things I learned from Eric was that, if anyone was going to be able to help me control my mutation it would be you. You have resources and experience that—" I broke off, not sure if I was coming close to the disclosure line in the sand I'd drawn.

Apparently not affected by the stilted way I spoke, Professor Xavier was rubbing his chin, a frown marring his brow. "Rogue, I do have certain resources at my disposal—"

"And experience," I interrupted. "You've worked with a lot of mutants to teach them to control their abilities. You designed Scott's glasses and visor."

This time, the Professor acquiesced gently. "That's true, Rogue, but designing a visor is quite a different—"

"You helped Mystique learn how to control her shape shifting."

The words came out in a rush, and I wanted to cringe when I heard the childish tone of hopefulness in my voice. When Magneto's memories came pouring into me, I'd been shocked by some of the things he'd seen in his life. A tiny part of me even understood why he hated humans so much. Of all of his memories, though, the ones that fascinated me the most were his recollections of how he and Professor Xavier had helped Mystique learn to control her mutation.

It was kind of hard for me to wrap my mind around. The Mystique I'd seen had changed so seamlessly, had such a grasp on her abilities, I couldn't imagine her the way she was in Magneto's memories. Through his mind, I saw her as the child she had been. Totally at the mercy of her gift, she unwillingly changed at random times. If someone with hair that caught her attention walked by, she might all of the sudden realize that her hair had changed to mimic it. And it might take her minutes, hours, of effort to change back.

Without fail, though, whenever she was touched she changed in an instant to look like the person who was touching her. It was a completely involuntary reaction. She was a chameleon. And when the touch ended, she changed back to herself. Just. Like. That.

Until Magneto and Professor Xavier helped her, that is.

I met the Professor's troubled gaze defiantly. "If you can help her control her skin, maybe you can help me control mine the same way."

Silence stretched in response to that statement, and I waited, determined not to break it. I knew without a doubt it was the Logan in me that helped me wait him out. Finally, Professor Xavier sighed and spoke.

"Rogue, you must understand, I'd do anything to help you—"

"But?" I didn't need to be psychic to hear the "but" in that statement.

"When you saw Erik's memories, were you able to see exactly how we helped Mystique? Why she's so loyal to him, perhaps?" His voice was curious, not judgmental or disgusted, but I felt a wave of shame all the same. I knew what he was really asking. And I knew why.

Unable to meet his eyes, I looked down. I had seen. And I knew what the Professor was trying to tell me. The first thing they'd done for Mystique was a large battery of tests to make sure there was nothing biological about her mutation that made it uncontrollable. I wasn't worried about that. I'd deal with the pain and scrutiny that came with the testing, and live with whatever the results were.

If it turned out that I had a chance for control, though, that's where the tricky part came in—the part Professor Xavier didn't think would work. The Professor had helped somewhat by guiding Mystique's mind, helping her focus, but the thing that had finally taught her perfect control over her ability had been hours and hours of practice with Erik.

Clinical trials, yes, but also private ones.

Flashes came back to me of Mystique with Magneto, holding hands for hours while she concentrated on not changing. Magneto surprising her with touches and encouraging her when she backslid and accidentally changed. The two of them making love, watching her face as she fought not to change in spite of the fact that she was losing control of her body. I hadn't been able to tell exactly how long it took from Magneto's memories, but I knew it was months, at least. It easily could have been years of practice, though.

Anyone who tried to practice with me for even a few seconds, even one touch, would definitely end up in the infirmary, and they could end up dead. The Professor was watching me closely, and a second later, I heard his voice in my mind.

"Then you did see," his mind whispered. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," I admitted aloud, looking up at him. "But I think—well—I think Logan could, would, be—ok. His healing ability—"

The Professor drew back in surprise, and censure was clear in his tone when he addressed me, using his regular voice this time. "You must know how painful the times he's touched you have been. Rogue, I'm surprised that you would even—"

"It wouldn't be helping only me," I interrupted in a rush, desperate to make the Professor understand that I wasn't being entirely selfish. "I—it—could help Logan, too."

He frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I think I can help him find out more about his past. I think I can get to things in his subconscious he doesn't even know are there. You must know how important that is to him." And I could take away some of the nightmares, I added to myself, making sure to keep that thought as quiet as I could. That was part of my gift I didn't want to share with anyone.

"It would be his choice, though," I continued resolutely. "I wouldn't pressure him, and I think if I was trying to control it and you were helping—well—I don't think it would be quite the same as when it just happened accidentally."

"You don't think, or you hope it won't?" It was a fair question, and one the Professor asked gently, if resolutely. As much as I wanted to lie, I didn't. I'd been expecting it and forced myself to be honest.

"I hope it won't, but we'd know after one time, I guess." I admitted. "If it hurts him, though, I mean more than—well—we'll stop. No questions asked."

"And who'll be the judge of how much hurt is too much, Rogue? You know as well as I do—better, perhaps—that Logan feels very protective of you. If he thinks there's a way he can help you, I'd wager he'd willingly put himself through quite a lot to do so."

I nodded. "Any of us, and of the three of us, can stop it at any time. I think that's the best way."

I held his gaze willing him to see into my mind and realize that I'd thought this through. He studied me intensely; eyes that when I came in the room had been patriarchal and open now sharp, delving. I could feel him looking in my mind. The Logan in me, and the echo of Magneto, wanted to shut him out, but I didn't. I let him look. I'd made all my arguments and said all I could to convince him. I felt like a criminal waiting for the jury to pass judgment. Silence stretched into eternity before the Professor finally delivered his verdict.

"I'll have to give this some serious thought, Rogue. We'll revisit the idea once Logan returns, but this isn't a decision to be made lightly by anyone." I tried not to let my disappointment show. I'd tried to keep myself from hoping for a yes, but I hadn't managed it. Before I could thank him for at least agreeing to consider the idea, he continued. "For now, we'll go ahead and begin the testing. It might be a moot point, but—" he warned.

My head jerked up of it's own volition, and I felt a smile start to spread across my face. It still wasn't exactly the ringing yes I'd wanted to hear, but if he was going to take the first step, it meant he at least thought there was a good chance it would work. If he decided to let me do it, that is. Impulsively, I stood up and raced across the room, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him—exuberant but still careful. He was surprised for a second, but then chuckled and hugged me back.

"I didn't say yes," he warned.

"I know, but you didn't say no, either."

There was a twinkle in his eye. "True. Now, don't you have a chemistry class to get to?"

I glanced at the clock. Crap! If I didn't get my butt in gear, I was going to have to sing. I thanked the Professor again and listened as he told me that he'd make the arrangements for necessary testing to begin. The conversation drew to a close, and I walked toward the door. My hand was on the knob when his voice stopped me.

"Rogue?"

I turned slightly. "Yes, Professor?"

"Two things I wonder if you've considered—first, have you thought of how Logan would feel if he knew just how open his mind is to you when you touch him? The privacy of a mind is, perhaps more important a thing than you understand. And second, when you touch someone, you take on a portion of his or her personality. What might happen if you take on too much of someone else?"

The first concern was something that worried me, too, but the second one I didn't quite get. "I don't under—"

His voice cut me off, explaining. "Is it possible that you could lose yourself if you touch too much, too often?"

All at once I understood what he was getting at, and I felt a chill skitter down my spine. I'd never thought of that, and I didn't have an answer for him. He must have realized I was at a loss, because he continued. "Just some things for you to bear in mind, before you make a rash decision. As I said, there is much to think about, for all of us."

I finally nodded and left the room, my excitement dashed into a distant memory at the Professor's words.

* * *

I made it to Dr. Grey's class and slid into my seat about 12 seconds before the final bell rang. My thoughts were jumbled, and chemistry was at the very bottom of my mental priority list, but I forced myself to focus. I felt a nudge against my shoulder and swiveled my head. Bobby was looking at me, eyes filled with mischief.

"Cutting it close," he whispered.

I forced myself to flash him a smile in return and tried not to feel guilty about being glad that Dr. Grey chose that moment to stand up and get our attention. I just didn't feel like talking today. It was a lecture day, not lab, and I was grateful for that, too. As long as I looked like I was concentrating, I could tune out what was going on around me and think about what I wanted. I could always copy Bobby's notes later.

Keeping my hand moving to look like I was writing, I studied Dr. Grey. It was funny, I didn't really want to like her, but I couldn't all the way dislike her either. Part of me was jealous of Logan's feelings for her, but it was a small part. Seeing from the inside how he thought of her made worrying about Logan's attraction to Dr. Grey seem sort of—unimportant. He was physically attracted to her. He liked her. He respected her. He was even a little intimidated by her brain, although I was pretty sure he wouldn't like me knowing that little gem. But his emotions weren't really engaged. Logan wanted to sleep with Jean Grey, but he cared about me.

Ok, so it was in a vaguely paternal kind of way, but in the very back of his mind, behind massive emotional walls, he wished I were older. I don't know why, but that was enough to make me willing to just relax and let things play out how they would, nursing my not-at-all-secret crush in the privacy of my mind.

Thinking about Logan brought his personality to the front of my brain, and all at once I felt an nearly uncontrollable desire for a cigar and a beer. I wondered for half a second what Dr. Grey would do if I lit up in her classroom, and couldn't quite suppress a strangled half snort.

Bobby swiveled his head and looked at me, the corners of his mouth turned up in the suggestion of a smile.

"What?" he whispered under his breath.

Instead of answering, I shook my head and rolled my eyes a little. Sometimes it's good to be a girl. It's pretty much a universal truth that boys aren't going to understand us all the time, so the majority of them will chalk weird behavior up to our auras of mystery and don't ask questions. Bobby was definitely part of the majority.

He didn't press me, and we both turned our attention back to Dr. Grey.

Class drug on, and I let the monotony of the subject fill my mind. I knew I was going to have to deal with the questions the Professor had raised at some point, but right now, I just needed a break. Careful to keep up the pretense of writing, I let my mind wander.

Professor Xavier liked to call our mutations gifts, but in my case I was pretty sure it was mostly a curse. There was one definite benefit to it, though. You know how when you daydream your mind sometimes picks a random memory? Well, in my case my subconscious had quite a repertoire from which to choose. I never really had a problem identifying which memories, reactions, whatever, are mine and which ones are a result of contact with someone else, but sometimes it takes me a minute to figure out exactly whose memory I'm looking into if I'm not concentrating on any one in particular.

This time I was pretty sure the memory belonged to Magneto. The kitchen was shabby but warm, and I could smell something potato-y cooking in the background. It was cozy, happy. There were candles on a side board, and—

"Rogue, hey, Rogue."

Reality intruded, and I realized that all around me kids were standing up, packing their backpacks. Bobby was on his feet beside me, looking down, clearly amused. I felt a blush steal up my cheeks.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"No worries," he replied with an open smile. "You were a million miles away."

I shrugged. "Nah, more like a few thousand."

He laughed. "Whatever. You are the strangest girl." It wasn't said with any animosity, but I flinched on the inside anyway. Before I could think of something to say next, he was reaching down, picking up my books for me. "So me and John and a couple of the other guys have the basketball court reserved this afternoon. Want to come watch?"

I stood up, and we joined the throng headed out of the classroom. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Dr. Grey sending me a strange look, but I decided to ignore it. There'd been a couple of days of awkwardness before Bobby and I talked about the Mystique thing, but things went back to normal pretty quickly. The last couple of weeks—really since the day Logan left—he'd been doing more and more boyfriend type things. Carrying my books. Opening doors for me. Pulling me along by the hand. Knocking on my door to get me to go down to breakfast with him. He'd even tagged along and helped with my first kitchen shift.

I wasn't positive, but I thought maybe, possibly, I had a boyfriend. Could you get a boyfriend without knowing about it? Wasn't someone supposed to tell you when that happened? I'd decided to stop worrying about it after a couple of days and just go with it—I had bigger fish to fry, as my Mama always said.

Besides, it was kind of—nice. It made me feel normal for the first time since the day the paramedics hauled my first boyfriend out of my room on a stretcher, anyway. I liked Bobby, and my skin made it so I didn't really have to worry about pesky things like how far I wanted to take things and how fast I wanted to go.

Huh. I guess that's two good things about my mutation. What do you know?

"So? Want to?" Bobby's voice interrupted my thoughts—again.

I smiled up at him, trying to be coy but not sure if I pulled it off or not. "Depends."

His brow furrowed. "On what?"

"Are you shirts or skins?"

A wide smile broke across his face, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, slipping a hand in the back pocket of my jeans. That was a first. "Skins."

"How can I pass up an offer like that?"

He actually whistled as he walked us toward the door.

Yeah. I'd definitely managed to secure myself a boyfriend.

Cool. The ghosts of my inner Logan and inner Magneto both winced at the unintentional pun.

Cool.

Iceman.

Yeesh.

But at least I wasn't thinking about complex moral dilemmas anymore.

* * *

I managed to avoid anything resembling responsible adultness for the entire rest of the day. Not an easy task because reality kept shoving itself in my face.

First there was the message one of the younger kids—she was the office assistant for the day—brought out telling me I had a lab appointment with Dr. Grey and the Professor tomorrow at 9 a.m. Then there were the other girls watching the game, giggling and asking me tentative questions about Logan.

It might be Mutant High, but Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters isn't really all that different from any other high school. There's no such thing as a secret. And there's also no such thing as accurate gossip. Everyone knew something had happened. I'd already been a hot topic after the night in Logan's room, but buzz on me increased like 1,000 times after The Incident. It was—finally—dying down, but it wasn't gone yet.

Bobby was my boyfriend.

I really liked Pyro, too.

And Pitor seemed like a good guy.

The girls—well—not so much. Maybe it's because I've got so many men running around my brain, or maybe it's because after eight months hitchhiking across the country on my own, talking about the embarrassing moments section in "Seventeen" just seems a little—insipid. Embarrassing isn't realizing your tampon string is hanging out of your bikini bottom. Embarrassing is letting a 60-year-old man in Milwaukee squeeze your butt through your pants so he'll give you five bucks to buy tampons. Anyway, I feel much more comfortable hanging out with guys—not because they're any more mature, mind you.

They just don't giggle quite as much.

I guess I'm being a little cynical, though. Even if I couldn't figure out how to relate to them again just yet, some of the girls had been very nice. Jubilee invited me to raid her closet, and Kitty offered to help me get around the blocks installed on my school laptop so I could pirate music.

But yeah, the questions about Logan I was not in the mood to answer.

Sometimes growling is a handy trick.

Like I said, I managed to persevere and avoid introspection. Until now.

Lying in bed in my private—not exactly a line of people knocking down the door to room with the girl with killer skin—room, I quickly ran out of innocuous things to think about and found myself stuck listening to my mind run and instant reply of the Professor's warnings.

Over.

And over.

And over.

Stupid valid points. I'd really thought I had all my soul searching about this finished. Apparently not.

I'm not quite as self-centered as your average 17-year-old, but I'm not the picture of mature, saintly, selflessness, either. It sort of surprised me that the thing I was most worried about was not the could-you-lose-yourself question. Right now what should be driving me crazy was wondering how touching someone again—repeatedly—would affect me.

But no.

Instead I was drowning in guilt over the question of Logan's feelings about just how deeply I'd delved into his psyche. Sure I'd picked up a few of his traits, but until I explained the memory thing to the Professor, and in a roundabout way demonstrated it on him by accessing Magneto's memories to help make my case, I'd been the only person who understood the depth of my invasion into Logan's mind.

Of course, I'd told him on the train. But did he REALLY understand? A niggling voice in the back of my head prompted. If you're going to ask him to do this, you HAVE to make sure he really gets how much of himself he'd be opening up to you.

I sighed heavily and pulled at my pajamas. Pants and a shirt, they were sheer and soft and clingy but covered me from neck to feet. Not that anyone would be seeing them anytime soon. One disastrous midnight ramble around the mansion was enough for me, thank you very much. But I loved them anyway. They made me feel deliciously feminine. Sophisticated. I didn't know what Dr. Grey slept in, but I could imagine her wearing something like this.

It would take pulling my fingernails off with hot tongs to get me to admit it, but I'd bought them—and a whole bunch of other frivolous nighttime stuff—with Logan in mind. Not that I expected him to see it yet, mind you, but maybe sometime down the road. I'd relaxed a little about keeping every single inch of my skin covered up since that night on Liberty Island, but my regular clothes were still very conservative.

They had to be—it only took one time wearing a three-quarter length sleeve shirt to the common room to realize that the other kids tended to flinch away if more than an inch or so was left bare between the top of my gloves and the bottom of my shirt. I don't think I'd even realized I was basically an island—the only person sitting on one of the huge sofas—until Bobby came over and sat beside me. He'd handed me a blanket before he did, his voice sweet when he said I looked cold.

Cold. On an 80 degree night.

I'd covered up without arguing, and a few minutes later two more warm bodies piled on the sofa with us.

Logan wouldn't have been afraid, though.

Logan would have sprawled out like he owned the place and dug into my popcorn bowl. Of course, some might argue that Logan had—if not a death wish—at least a serious adrenaline addiction.

Thinking about it, I felt my eyes start to prickle a little. Because it turns out I'm actually just as selfish as anyone else. My memories from Logan left not the slightest doubt about how he'd feel about someone knowing his private, intimate thoughts. That would terrify him the way the possibility of three hours in a coma never would.

If Logan really understood what kind of access to his mind I could get when I touched him, he wouldn't come near me for all the cigars in Cuba.

And even though I hadn't known him long, even though he wasn't even here right now, the idea of him treating me like a pariah was the stuff of my own nightmares.

* * *

Crap. Crap. Crappity-crap.

I tore through the upper level of the mansion, racing toward the elevator that would take me to the med lab. I didn't have even half a second to spare glancing at my watch, but I knew I looked like Hell.

I knew this because when I slammed into a girl with short pink hair, big black eyes, and wings, she'd said, "Whoa. Are you ok? You look awful. Can I—," as I set her back on her feet, apologizing but not really stopping my mad dash for the lab.

I'd tossed an turned until the sky started turning a lighter gray this morning. At some point in the sixes, I must have dropped off to sleep, though, because when my eyes—cemented shut with matter—had pried open, light was streaming in my window. I'd groaned and glanced at the clock, but shot of out bed like I'd been touched by a cattle prod when I realized it was 8:55.

I threw on clothes, not bothering to do any of the traditional things like brush my teeth, touch my hair, or look at what I was wearing, and ran out of the room. No way was I going to be late for this. No way. I didn't know how things would turn out, but at the very least I had to show the Professor I was dead serious about doing whatever I had to do to learn control.

Nothing says dumb kid like not caring enough to be some place on time.

Miracle of miracles, the elevator was actually waiting for me when I got to it. I skidded to a halt three millimeters from slamming into the back wall, and hit the button for the first subbasement. By the time the doors dinged open, I was calm. I was cool. I was collected.

I stepped out and nearly fell into the Professor's lap.

"Blarck!" I yelped unintelligibly, my elbow whacking the arm of his chair. "G—good morning, Professor."

I managed to right myself and meet his laughing eyes.

"Rogue. You're looking—well—this morning."

I reached up, self-conscious, and patted my hair. "Uh—"

The quiet whisk of an air-pressure door saved me from answering. I looked up and met the eyes of my savior—Dr. Grey. She, of course, looked perfect.

Wonderful.