A/N: I'm back sooner than I thought. Much appreciation for those who followed, faved, and reviewed. On with the show.

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Upstairs on the second floor of the teacher's wing, the door to the fifth room opened quietly, a head poking out to check both ends of the hallway. Coast clear, the intruder made their escape, waving a hand over the knob locking the door. Mission accomplished.

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Little twigs and pine needles found refuge in her mane of hair. Dirt and other debris stained the back of her dress, and her lips were puffy and bee swollen. Ororo Munroe crept inside the mansion in a drowsy and dreamy-like state, hips swaying with a bit more exaggeration than usual. She tip-toed her way through the house and made it to the staircase without encountering anyone. Ororo didn't know what time it was. Late. Way past midnight. She and Logan had been insatiable. Anytime either one of them said they should stop their arms tightened around one another, mouths seeking out new places to kiss, nibble, suck, hands feverishly groping and rubbing. She hadn't had fun like that since she was a teenager learning the ways of American courting.

Ororo got one foot on the step before a throat cleared.

"Sneaking in past curfew, are we?"

Caught, Ororo swung her attention to the figure that stepped out of the muted light of the hallway. "I haven't had a curfew since I was seventeen."

"Which, judging by your rumpled appearance, you're reenacting those days. Who were you with, missy?"

"A very charismatic chipmunk."

A pale fist curled to block her forming smile. But she couldn't exactly contain her mirth in her green-eyed gaze. A knowing gaze that gave Ororo the third degree better than any spoken word could.

"We have standards here, you know? Lead by example and all that. What if I had been a student catching you sneaking into the house after letting a boy get to…wow seriously third base?"

"Oh, shut up, Jean. Like you and Scott don't sneak off to fornicate in his car. And don't forget that one time in the Prof—,"

"Hey, hey, hey we're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Let's stay on topic," Jean stepped up to the bannister resting her elbows on it. "I won't ask for details because you're kind of projecting those at the moment"—Ororo frowned to cover her embarrassment—"I just hope he was respectful and not pushy."

"If anyone can be judged as being pushy I'd have to stand trial. You could say I initiated it."

Jean's eyes stretched as wide as saucers. "Really?"

"You don't have to say it like that," Ororo huffed.

"I'm surprised because he's been here less than a month."

Blue eyes narrowed. "Is that a judging tone I hear?"

Jean lifted up her hands. "I'm not judging."

"Right."

"I'm happy for you."

"Of course," Ororo started to ascend the stairs. Jean joined her, looping their arms together, and before long they were racing to her room giggling like schoolgirls.

Jean flounced on Ororo's big fluffy bed, and stared through the skylight above. Only a few stars were visible, the rest hidden under cloud coverage. She sighed wistfully and flipped on her stomach where she watched her friend kick off her pumps and untie the knot of her dress, the two halves falling open.

Whatever transpired between Ororo and a certain cantankerous mutant, Jean hadn't anticipated it would happen so soon. Ororo took a long time before committing or even making a move. Yet that was the thing about attraction. It could simmer for years waiting for the right moment to manifest in a public showing of its existence, be denied and suppressed, or burst spontaneously uncaring of who stood in its blast zone. Jean had caught the way Wolverine watched Ororo that day in the kitchen as everyone prepared dinner. He did his best to disguise his interest but…Jean had sensed something more than just physical attraction. Hunger. Want. Need. The surprising thing…Wolverine hadn't been alone in that department.

Despite Jean's desire to gossip and coo over the possibility of a romantic entanglement, or maybe even a short dirty filthy fling, she felt the need to be pragmatic. Wolverine was operating on full cylinders at the moment, but what would happen if that no longer became the case? Storm was hands down the most beautiful woman she knew outside of her mother, but that didn't mean the men she became involved with treated her well or believed in her ability to love them; Forge being the former, and Hank being the latter. What category would Wolverine fall under?

"I can hear you thinking, Jean. Say your piece. You're happy but you're cautious because of the state we found Lo—Wolverine in." Ororo cleared her throat. She almost said his real name, the one he acknowledged, anyways, and no one else was privy to that info at the moment.

"There is that. But there's also the matter that Wolverine doesn't seem like the sticking around type."

Shucking her dirty dress into the laundry basket, Ororo searched through her drawers for a clean nightgown. "Maybe not but I should let that stop me from exploring what could be, however brief it might end up being?"

"No," Jean sat up on her knees. "You're a young, hot-blooded woman. You can sow your wild oats too. But I also know you're extremely sensitive, Ororo. You don't like anyone to know it and you consider it a weakness because of your powers, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. I want you to have fun but not at the expense of your heart."

"I appreciate the concern, Jean, I do," Ororo faced her sister from another mister standing before her in her lacy undergarments. "I know what I'm doing. I have no plans to get attached to Wolverine."

"So you're gonna use him for sex?" Jean smiled saucily.

Ororo nibbled the inside of her cheek, "If sex happens, it happens. Right now I'm more interested in making a friend than having a warm body in my bed."

"So diplomatic," Jean mumbled under her breath. If she wasn't with Scott she wouldn't have wasted a second doing a reverse cowgirl on Wolverine by now. "I just have one more question."

"What?"

"How was it really? Did his claws come out?" A slightly wild and unhinged gleam came into Jean's eyes that kind of unnerved Ororo for a second.

Unconsciously she moistened her oil deprived lips, sinking back into the memory of kissing a man that parents across the globe warned their daughters about. Logan was far more sensual than she would have given him credit for. She cleared her throat, feeling her twat reacting to her memories.

"By the far the best I've kissed and I'm leaving it at that."

"Wow," Jean breathed wistfully. "If Bets was here she'd ask you to record the next time you two bump lips."

"Probably." Shaking her head, Ororo padded into her bathroom, "Don't you have a flight to catch early—well, later this morning? Shouldn't you be getting to bed?"

"I can sleep on the flight, and you're very terrible at changing the subject."

"I don't need to exercise tact with you because you hardly exercise any with me."

"I'm very tactful," Jean sniffed.

"Ha. Don't make me pull receipts on you, chick."

Laughing, Jean stretched her arms above her head and climbed off the bed. It was late and she did have a long flight to California. "Fine. I'll leave you to your beautification and reminiscing."

"I do have a question for you," Ororo shuffled to the threshold and pressed her shoulder into the doorjamb. "Do you really believe the child you're going to see…you buy that one of her multiple personalities is that of a mutant?"

Jean sighed, "I'm not an expert on disassociative identity disorder although I've been reading up on it. Fascinating stuff. If one of her alleged personalities is a mutant…I'm just afraid of the negative connotation this could place on mutantkind. It would take nothing more than a handful of zealots getting hold of her story, who'd be ready to say mutation is a side effect of a mental illness. They'll use anything and anyone to vilify and discredit us. But we won't know anything conclusive until we talk to her. What about you? What's your opinion on this?"

"It's interesting. The mind is a complicated and complex puzzle I don't think anyone will ever discover the fullness of its uniqueness. Whether she is a mutant, I'll leave that up to you, Hank, and the Prof to quantify. If she needs help…I hope she'll receive the right kind of help."

"Yeah…," Jean yawned and blushed sheepishly. "Well goodnight, 'Ro."

"G'night, Jean."

Under the showerhead, Ororo's lids fluttered closed. Scenes came unadulterated and uncensored.

"You betta leave while I still have half a mind to let you go." Logan had rumbled and kissed the top of her breast.

"Hmm," her moan echoed off the tiled walls of the shower. She blindly reached for her loofah and body gel, squeezing a quarter size of lilac and vanilla scented product into her sponge. She lathered her body, mind still drifting.

Where she washed it conjured a memory. Her arms…way he caressed them. Her stomach…the feel of his abs pressed against her own. Her neck where he had bitten down hard enough to leave a mark. That stinging pain she had felt down to her wet pussy.

Logan had been…rough but gentle. Demanding and perhaps even a little submissive. There had been a moment where she was on top and pinned his arms above his head. She couldn't help but compare him to others from her past. He hadn't been playful like that one drunken kiss she shared with Remy. Or reverent, practically worshipful like Hank. And he didn't deny her like his kisses were made of diamonds, therefore, making them rare like Shinobi had. Logan had kissed her like the world was ending and this would be his last chance to get close to anybody. He had fallen into that beautiful medium that satisfied and left you screaming for more.

"If you want to continue this you know where to find me."

Ugh, she groaned and smacked her head against the tile. She shouldn't have relinquished control of the ball, bouncing it into his court. If he accepted her invitation, great. If not she'd live.

Ororo really hoped he'd accept.

Wolverine, his pulse was beating too fast. His hands throbbed despite how many times he flexed his fingers. He could still taste her on his mouth, his tongue, could smell her all over him. It was an hour later and his body had not cooled down. The walk through the forest had done fuck all to release the pent up sexual tension that had him violently hard. Grimacing, he nearly dug his canines into his lips. Maybe the taste of blood would lessen the flow to his crotch, but he seriously doubted it would help. Nothing would help apart from scaling the side of the mansion like he was King fucking Kong, and claiming Storm as his mate.

That brought him up short. The word mate. Mating he was fine with. Mate. That meant commitment and breeding and protecting. Stabbing his fingers through his blue-black hair, Wolverine patted his pockets looking for his lighter and what was left of his stogie.

He laughed mirthlessly once locating it, and jamming the nub of cigar between his teeth. Smoking would mount to being a minor distraction. He had sent Ro off, sent her away from him because it had felt too good being between her thighs as they rolled around on the ground, kissing and necking like a pair of horny teenagers. But God that woman can kiss, he thought gruffly and inhaled woodsy smoke into his lungs. He was a simple man in terms of what it took to arouse him. A nice pair of tits, curvy legs, hips, squeezable ass, a pretty smile, hair he could wrap around his fist, that was all he needed to get off. Sometimes he took a little work to get primed and ready, but mostly that's when his bad days were really bad and he was too consumed with ghosts to get lost in the moment. Tonight he had been buzzing from the second he caught a hint of Ro's fragrance on the air. Things escalated when she pursued him into the woods, appearing above him in lightning goddess mode daring him to give in.

Who could resist that?!

And the offer she made…he nearly mauled her right then and there.

Wolverine walked until he decided it was safe enough to go back. She should be in bed. Asleep on soft sheets, hair fanned out on cushiony pillows, snoring softly. Even that image was enough to have him jogging to the institute in haste.

The faster he ran the more his base self was emerging. The self he could barely keep a leash on tight enough. So he slapped himself. A loud crack of an open palm meeting his grizzled cheek. The pain was immediate and there had been an explosion of white light across his field of vision. It stunned Wolverine for a second but it did little to stop him from running as fast as he could, pushing his muscles to their breaking point.

He was being stupid, he knew this. She was too good for him, it was true. But living the kind of life he did, he had to carve out some semblance of normalcy, and it was normal for a virile guy like him to want to have sex with a fucking showstopper like Ro.

Keen and sharp hazel eyes narrowed on the structure taking shape about a hundred yards out. There were no lights on from the posterior side of the institute. His gaze shot up to the third story. With some quick and agile maneuvering he could make it without falling and breaking the pavement below.

He did just that.

He vaulted her balcony like a feral Romeo, ears twitching at the sound of her gasp because he hadn't exactly been quiet. The French doors parted ushering out a gust of her natural perfume that automatically made his mouth water and bulge grow bigger in his pants. She had taken a bath not too long ago according to his nose and the fact she was dressed in a simple nightgown of pale pink silk that stopped a few inches above her knee, held in place by very thin straps. Sound rumbled deep in his chest. He imagined running his hands along those supple brown thighs, pictured one disappearing up her gown, a lone finger petting her clit.

"You came."

"I did." Logan stepped forward, herding her in the direction of her bed while unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

Her mouth, a reservoir at first sight of him was turning into a desert. Logan shrugged his shoulders out of his shirt and let it drop to the floor revealing those well-muscled arms, barrel chest, and abs so defined they seemed fake.

"Look," she stopped him from coming any closer by pressing her hand on his chest. The muscles responded to her touch, contracting and flexing. Ororo released as steady a breath as she could muster. "We shared a moment and it was…the best damn moment I've had in a really long time, but that doesn't mean…"

"I just want to go to sleep."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Is that a euphemism?"

Chuckling lowly, Logan brushed a strand of hair off her shoulder, felt goosebumps rise at his touch. "I'm a practical man, maybe even old fashioned underneath my bark. I'd never force a woman to do anything with me she ain't wanna do, but," he wrapped both arms around her, ears twitching at the sound of her soft gasp, dick hardening at her closeness, "do you really want to sleep alone?"

Ororo swallowed thickly. Her womb grew heavy, nipples budding into tight peaks that poked shamelessly through the flimsy fabric of her nightgown. Logan's masculine scent tinged with sweat and the outside air made her lick her lips, practically tasting the salt on his skin. He was so warm. Warmer than the average man. The idea he merely wanted to sleep, she couldn't lie. It baffled her. Sharing a bed to sleep seemed far more intimate than having sex, yet Ororo couldn't remember the last time she spooned with anyone the whole night.

He pressed closer, mouth going to her ear, "Sleep and nothing else, Ro. I ain't a boy scout but I give you my word nothing'll happen you don't want to happen."

"We…shouldn't," Ororo argued weakly.

"We shouldn't have kissed but we did. No point in acting like we can go back."

He was talking sense but she had a concern. "You can sleep beside me with that surging hard-on in your pants?"

Logan barked out a laugh. "Darlin' when you've survived what I've been put through sleeping with a hard cock is the least of my worries." He shook his head her worried expression. "Don't think about that."

"Logan…"

"Ro," he lightly pressed his forehead against hers briefly before nudging his way, nose first along her cheek, sniffing.

It tickled. "What are you doing?"

He grunted, "Am I staying?"

Ororo groaned as her head fell back exposing the length of her neck to Logan who took full advantage sniffing along her throat, occasionally brushing her skin with his curious mouth. Her fingers dug deeper into his chest the second he scraped her shoulder with his teeth.

They were staring at one another again. Hazel meeting blue, hearts pounding, the sound of their breath leaving partially open mouths being the loudest sound.

With a small, imperceptible nod, she gave him permission. Logan kicked off his boots, unbuckled his belt, unfastened and unzipped his jeans, pulled them off revealing muscular thighs that could crack walnuts. Nothing could be done to hide his arousal. His manhood jutted out, making her bite her lip, and look at the whole of him. The full picture, the entire scope.

Logan got into bed first, stretching out that magnificent body. He tucked one arm behind his head and tapped the mattress with the other.

"You getting in?"

"Yeah. I am."

The sand was so thick she swallowed it by the mouthful. She tried to spit it out to no avail. The more she opened her mouth to scream, more sand spilled in, choking her. Tears fell like rivers coating her cheeks; she flailed around or tried to. Her body was pinned. Lightning stabbed the earth, the brightness and closeness of it terrifying her, making her cry harder. She just wanted it to stop. Wanted everything to stop. Booming thunder made the rubble sink further and further on top of her. She was dying. The hand she clasped in her own was cold and stiff with death…mama. Mama's eyes had gone gray; her skin had gone gray and bloated. Mama. Wake up.

"Wake up!"

She fought it. Struggled against the weight pinning her down. She shoved at it the best she could but it just wouldn't…it just wouldn't budge. She had to get out. Had to get free. The sun was fading. Night was coming. Endless night that would devour her, grow and swallow her. No! She couldn't let it have her. Not again. Where are you, Bright Goddess? Don't you care your child is about to be eaten?

"Storm, wake the fuck up!" Wolverine damn near violently shook her awake.

Ororo sprung up in bed, bewildered and groggy covered in sweat. The heel of her hand automatically wiped the tears that clumped her eyelashes together as she looked around her room as if she had no idea where she was. Throat dry and tight, heart beating fast, her head whipped toward the person in bed with her, "Lo…gan? W-what's wrong?"

His nostrils were flared and the crease between his brows was deep enough to insert a finger. Ororo tried not to shrink under his scrutiny. "You were having a nightmare."

Ororo stared pensively for a moment. The balcony doors had been blown open, the duvet was on the floor, and a few lamps were toppled over. She threw her long legs over the edge, and planted her feet on the floor, squinting at the destruction she caused in her sleep. Fuck. It had been a few weeks since her last nightmare. The longest she'd ever gone without having one was six months. They were so frequent Ororo accepted them as part of her life. Having one with an audience present made her withdraw into herself.

"You all right?" Logan's graveled timbre made him sound annoyed when in reality he was far from it. He was the poster child for having a fucked up sleep system due to battling demons in your unconscious state. Being awakened by a thrashing woman who could conjure volts and joules of electricity was not the way he wanted to start his morning. Any morning. Yet the thought of Storm, who seemed to have herself together, struggled with some kind of darkness made him feel oddly closer to her.

Clearing her throat, Ororo rose from the bed. "I'm fine." Her tone said otherwise. "I have an early morning class. You should go."

"Ro…"

"I said I'm fine, Wolverine," she snapped. There was just the tiniest rumble of thunder in the distance. Ororo took a deep breath and quelled the urge to unleash a tropical storm.

Logan got out of bed. He knew how it was because he wasn't the nicest person after a nightmare. In fact he had taken a risk sleeping next to Ro. His claws sometimes had an agenda on their own and made an appearance. Grabbing his clothes he said nothing else to her as he left the room.

Head falling, Ororo sucked in air. "Crap."

She ignored the guilt trying to chip away at her for the dismissive way she treated Logan, but she needed space after a nightmare. It wasn't personal. She couldn't dwell. Dwelling never led her anywhere good. And guilt never let you leave its presence for long.

Sighing, she went about her morning routine, washing her face, scrubbing her teeth and dressing. A little concealer to take care of those dark circles and bags under her eyes, mascara, and matte lipstick in a color called Flirt brought out the red undertones of her skin. Ororo felt a modicum better about herself. Grabbing her tablet she was just about to leave when her phone started ringing.

Seeing who was calling, Ororo debated answering but knew if she didn't he would just keep calling until she did. And she couldn't risk him showing up demanding to speak with her. Ororo was not in the right frame of mind to handle the mental gymnastics it would take to explain his presence.

"Shinobi? What do you want?"

"No 'good morning, sexiest man alive'? I'm crushed."

"You'll live. I don't have time to trade lies. What do you want?"

"Ouch…I'm calling as a courtesy because it would appear your new teammate broke into my father's office the other night. I've been tasked with finding out why. Turn him over to me for questioning and we can keep things from becoming…messy."

"No."

"I beg your pardon."

"I'm supposed to go by your word that my teammate broke into your daddy's office? Where's your proof, Shinobi?"

"Like, I said," he bit out, "I called as a courtesy. Don't mistake that for anything else. You want to protect a man you barely even know, guess anyone would call that admirable, but don't hop into this particular ring, Ororo. My father's involved and you know how he is."

"How your father is, is of no concern of mine. You want to question Wolverine? Go right ahead and good luck with that."

Shinobi chuckled then and it wasn't the seductive chuckle he unleased to coerce others to fulfill his whims. It was mean and crude. "You think adamantium claws scare me? I've done my homework."

"You mean dispatched your spies."

"Same difference. You can warn him, if you like, but it won't do a damn bit of good. There's a reason few mutants cross the Shaw's. Sorry your little teammate is about to find that out the hard way."

Click. Dial tone.

Ororo pulled the phone away from her ear barely resisting the urge to fry it with a tiny lightning bolt hoping it could travel through the wires and zap Shinobi.

"Logan what have you done?"

Gym—7:17 a.m.

Wolverine bypassed going to his room and headed straight for the gym digging out a pair of sweat pants from his assigned locker, tossing them on. Tension coiled his body and he needed to exercise his pent up frustration by hitting something. Repeatedly. It should do him some good, and help him forget about this morning's brush off.

Storm on the brain, there was also the issue of his operation. Days were going by and he wasn't getting anywhere with finding that damn energy source for S.H.I.E.L.D. What Wolverine hadn't officially decided was, if he got the Intel Nick needed thus ending his assignment, would he come back to the mansion? There was always going to be corrupt leaders to kill and genocides to thwart but…when was he going to lay down some bona fide roots? He had his cabin, isolated as it was, the money collecting interest in his bank accounts, but since he didn't give a shit about material possessions, and never needed more than he could carry on his back, what was he doing with his life?

"Stop it gotdamnit," he growled at himself. Since when did he take the time to have some real self-introspection? This place was changing him. What had been good enough was starting to lack. He was starting to want more. He was starting…ugh…to want to connect. "See, this is why you fuck women and don't talk to them," he grumbled.

Grunting, Wolverine headed over to the punching bag tossing his towel on a nearby bench. Who could he grease for information about Forge's whereabouts? The Prof, Jean and Storm were out as options. Emma Frost could go digging in personnel files but again he didn't trust that broad who already had one eye on him. The Boy Scout, nah. Wolverine saw a conversation between them ending in blood. What about the girl Rogue? Out of the students she had been the lone one to try to befriend him. Yet he knew if he wanted her help there was going to be an expectation on her end. He had to create an in.

Wolverine scoped the scene for one person in particular. He spotted his mark at the bench press lifting an impressive amount of weight with ease. Her arms pumped a hundred and seventy-five pounds with vigor the first five reps but grew lethargic after a time. He remembered reading in her file that she had some superhuman strength after an encounter touching Juggernaut. How much of that lugging dome head did she still possess?

An idea sprung to mind. Crossing over to Rogue, Wolverine grabbed the bar and pressed down.

Surprise, fear and anger flushed her face. "What are you doing?!"

"How long have you been benching this weight?"

"What?"

"Am I speaking English? I said how long have you been benching this weight?"

"I-I don't know! Let go of the bar. You're crushing me." Her high-pitched shriek had drawn attention.

"You want to get stronger you need to push yourself. Death ain't gonna let you get a head start to beat it."

"Thanks for the life lesson. Now let go!"

"Make me."

The bar was lowering in increments closer to her chest. He was going to crush her. Rogue's arms began shaking. She fought as valiantly as she could but he was too strong, and her muscles had gone to goo from the number of reps she had already completed. Her last wind had come and gone. Her energy was leaking out through every bead of sweat that pebbled from her pores. She had nothing left.

"You can do this," Wolverine coached lowly.

"How do you know?"

"Because you can't hurt what you're currently touching so you have no reason to hold back."

Rogue blinked.

Murmurs were starting. People were wandering away from their areas converging on them. Wolverine glanced around warning with a single look not to get any damn closer.

Cheeks and the center of her chest flaming red as Jean's hair, Rogue sucked in what would probably mount to being her last breath, cinched the heavy metal bar that was digging into her palms tighter. Pressing her feet deep into the floorboards as she could get, Rogue let out a loud cry and shoved with everything she had.

To everyone's surprise, Wolverine included who went stumbling back a little, the bar went flying up nearly crashing into the ceiling. Girls screamed, guys hollered for Rogue to move but there she remained sprawled out on the bench, panting. At the last second her arms shot up and she caught the bar.

"Whoa," was the general consensus. Applause rent the air.

Rogue dangled somewhere between nirvana and hell as she sat the bar down and blindly took the proffered hand that pulled her upright. A towel and bottle of water was handed to her, "Thanks," she guzzled the water. Two seconds later she sent Wolverine the most ferocious scowl she could conjure. It deepened when he had the nerve to guffaw a little. "You think that was funny? You could have killed me."

Wolverine crossed his arms. "I didn't."

"You could have," she argued petulantly.

"You accomplished something, kid. Focus on that instead of what could have happened to you."

"I'm not a kid."

Wolverine gave her an arch look. Rogue shook her head and wiped her brow.

"Why did you decide that today you wanted to impart some sage life lesson?"

Shrugging, Wolverine turned and headed to the punching bag knowing or at least hoping the frail would follow. She did. "Don't things get a little boring and repetitive around here? Your body is used to the routine. You might occasionally go out on missions, risk your life for total strangers that hate you or mutants who don't understand you…it's good to shake things up. Push yourself."

"Wow, I think that's the most I've ever heard you talk since being here. You feeling okay?"

At that, Wolverine snorted. He folded his body into a fighter's stance, bobbed a little on the balls of his feet. His right arm shot out lightning quick striking the punching bag. The dent that was created from his fist made Rogue wince. She ran through the list of injuries that could result from such a hit: ruptured spleen, broken ribs, perforated liver.

"I feel fine. But I do have a problem."

"Yeah? What's that?"

From the way she lit up though she did what she could to conceal it, Wolverine saw she was pleased he was confiding in her. "You ever heard of a mutant named Forge?"

Roque squinted. Forge was a name often mentioned or referenced but she had never met the mutant who was responsible for building the toys and gadgets the X-Men used. What did Wolverine want with him?"

"Yeah, everyone here has heard of Forge. What about him?"

Wolverine worked the bag for a couple of cadences, replied, "I heard he makes bikes. I want one. Know how I can get in touch with him?"

"There's a general number for him listed in the directory. I don't know if it still works. I heard he stays on the move a lot. Scott or Storm might know how to get in touch with him directly. You should ask one of them."

"I rather not bother them."

"So you rather bother me?"

"Yeah."

Rogue snorted at his bluntness. She opened her mouth to tell him off but was interrupted.

"It's a hundred dollars in it for you if you can get me either a current number or an address."

"A hundred bucks?"

Wolverine glanced at her. Nodded.

"I'll get you both by the end of the day."

"This stays between us." His tone brooked no argument.

Rogue cautiously eased away. "I got it, sugha. Consider my lips sealed."

Main level of Charles Xavier Institute for Higher Learning—2:13 p.m.

Teaching three classes almost back-to-back prevented her from scouring the mansion for Logan. The first break she got she sprinted out of her classroom amid slightly befuddled looks from her pupils who had been hoping to talk to her about making up missed assignments. Heels thundering down the glossy wooden floors, Ororo fought through the masses, jotting up to the teacher's wing and knocking brusquely on Logan's door.

"Wolverine?" she jiggled the doorknob. It was an easy enough lock to pick but she rather not violate his privacy. She knocked again, harder. He could have been in the shower.

No answer.

Huffing, Ororo checked the kitchen, the gym, the garage, even the Danger Room. No one had seen him since this morning and no one knew his present whereabouts. He hadn't been outfitted with a comm just yet, and Ororo couldn't help but think that Shinobi had already gotten to him. A sinking feeling seared her stomach. The Professor was gone leaving her ostensibly in charge, which made her responsible for every living soul under this roof.

She had to find him.

Ororo changed direction, headed down the east corridor to Remy's room where she found him lacing up his boots. "We might have to suit up," she began without preamble.

"Why?"

"There could be some trouble brewing with the Hellfire Club."

"What's Emma don' now?"

"Surprisingly it's not her."

"Then who?"

Ororo resisted the urge to wring her hands. She couldn't afford to be evasive but she couldn't tell the full story either. Or rather, she wanted to omit how she came about learning this new development. Gambit was well aware of Shinobi's prurient interest in her, but he didn't know Storm had given in to his interest.

"You remember the other day when Betsy and Wolverine had a night out there?" Gambit nodded. Ororo continued, "I ended up going just in the off chance anything should happen. Well, something did happen. The alarm went off and as soon as it did, Wolverine got Betsy and me out of there. There was a break-in apparently. I don't know if anything was taken or tampered with, but I do know I didn't see Wolverine until he popped up just seconds before the alarm went off. That doesn't mean anything…"

"But the Shaw's think he had something t'do wit it? Maybe he did. Maybe he was doing something on behest of the professor."

"The professor? What could the professor possibly want with the Hellfire Club, and why would he entrust Wolverine to do it? This happened before he was indoctrinated as an X-Man."

"And perhaps it was a test to prove his loyalty," Gambit bounced to his feet once getting both boots laced and tied. "Maybe what he needed retrieved he didn't want his captains compromised. Who knows with Wheels," Remy muttered flippantly although he was being dead serious. He could say he respected the Prof, but when it came to trust that was a bit sketchy. A man as powerful as Xavier being all benevolent, Gambit didn't buy it. Men's hearts wasn't wired that way to be selfless to the point of self-neglect. The man often spoke of control but wouldn't he also strive to control every piece of the chessboard?

"Ask yourself this question, Storm," Gambit fastened his wristwatch. "Why were we sent to Canada to offer sanctuary to the presumed deadliest mutant on the planet? You think the Prof was gonna to neuter hum, cut his claws, and cage him? Non. He wanted Wolverine on his side to dispatch as he saw fit. He can control the carnage that otherwise would have been left behind if Magneto had gotten his hands on him first. But best believe he was gonna to have Wolverine do his biddin' though he'd make it seem like it was his choice. The Professor might provide us with a home and a purpose, but he also uses us, too. Never forget that, chere."

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Ororo mulled over Remy's words. She couldn't refute them to a point. "I'll agree that Charles' decision to bring Wolverine here was…off-putting in the beginning, but I can't agree fully with your assessment of Charles mindlessly using us. He uses those who want to be useful. That's the difference, Remy."

He shrugged in reply, turned to the cheval mirror to finish his primping. "You think the Prof does everything by the book."

"And you think he's always up to something just because he doesn't drink, smoke, or chase after women."

Remy grinned roguishly. "My holy trinity, ma petite. It's easy to believe in something you can see. Harder to believe in what you can't. We don't always know what our benevolent leader is up to, and that's fine. A man gotta have his secrets. But whatever's goin' on with Wolverine, he's a man. Let him handle his own affairs."

"We can't just let him walk into the Hellfire Club without adequate backup. He's one of us now."

"You know that man is his own arsenal, chere. We'd just be gettin' in his way."

"Regardless, we're suiting up. Be ready to go in five."

Alone, Gambit slicked his tongue across his teeth, shook his head. "In one ear and out the other."

A/N: Thank you, guys for reading. Would love to hear your thoughts. Until next time.