*Note* This is the third in my "Unexpected Kinship" series. It follows "Everything Changes" and "Smoke and Mirrors." It refers to things that happened in those stories. You can read it alone, but some things will make more sense if you've read the others first. Especially since it sets up the basis for Rogue and Scott talking at all *g*

Canon note: Again this basically follows the movie -- with one exception. I did pick and choose a bit about Scott's background from the comics. Here, yes his parents died when he was young. And he did have a little brother who was adopted shortly thereafter. However, no mention is made of Sinister or what happened to Alex or anything related to those story arcs. :-)

Thanks: This is all Phoenix Fire's fault. I just want to say that right up front ;-) She tossed the bunny and demanded that I write it. :-) And thanks to Kristi for the beta :)

Disclaimer: yeah, right, like Scott's mine. I wish. *g* Last time I looked, neither he nor any of those herein belonged to me. They go to (at least) Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Sighing, I toss and turn in my bed. Not being able to sleep is annoying. Looking at the ceiling, I admit that at least this time it's not nightmares -- my own, Logan's or any of the others I've touched -- that's causing it. It's nothing so easy to explain, just a case of insomnia. Annoying as it is, it beats the nightmares.

The other girls in the room are all sleeping, so there's no one even to talk to. Considering how quiet the mansion is it's a safe bet that everyone is asleep. Even Logan is quiet. I can always hear when he has nightmares, though I'm more careful if I try to shake him out of one now. That was one lesson I only needed to be taught once.

Closing my eyes, I try to will myself to sleep. It doesn't take a genius to know that never works. So instead, I turn over again, this time curling up on my side. Five minutes later I'm still staring at the walls. I sit up, finally admitting I'm getting nowhere.

What is there to do in the middle of the night? If I was still back home, I'd go downstairs and watch television. I tried that once when I had only been here a few weeks. It wasn't ten minutes before Ororo walked down the main staircase. I still wonder how she was the one to find me -- not the Professor or Jean.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed I sit up and rub my eyes. My biology book is sitting on the floor by my bed, and for a moment I consider trying to read the next assignment. Grinning, I rule out that idea. Two a.m. is not the time for homework no matter how much I want to fall asleep.

I stand and tiptoe across the room, making sure I don't wake any of the others. Pulling the door open quietly, I slip through and tug it closed behind me. As soon as I'm in the empty hallway, I glance around -- no one in sight.

Walking toward the staircase, I think about where I can go. Something to drink sounds pretty good. Maybe even some of the cookies I know Jubilee has hidden in one of the cabinets.

A plan in mind, I smile and jog down the stairs, careful to be quiet. The kitchen is between the living room and the dining room, but at least it's close to the stairs. Like I thought, the downstairs is empty, too.

It only takes a minute to get into the kitchen and start rummaging around. I don't bother with the lights and I find the cookies and a glass easily enough. Then I turn my attention to the refrigerator.

As I close the refrigerator, I hear a voice in the neighboring room. Clutching the milk carton in my hand I freeze - eyes wide, I don't even breathe. Jubilee's cookies and the glass I was about to fill are forgotten.

I didn't mean to stumble onto a conversation, really I didn't. Why would someone want to have a conversation in a dark dining room anyway?

This isn't the first time I've snuck downstairs for something to drink. Usually on nights when the nightmares start again and I can't get back to sleep I'll do it. Always before, the downstairs was deserted. That's why I never expected anyone to be in the darkened dining room.

I can only hear one person, but I assume there are at least two people there. From where I'm standing, I can't quite make out the words, but I recognize Jean's voice.

For a second I'm worried that I'm going to get in trouble. Not that I figure I would get in a lot of trouble for raiding the kitchen, mind you. Still, it's the instinct they drill into you when you're little -- be good, stay out of trouble. Can I help it if trouble seems to find me?

I put the milk on the kitchen table and move over near the door. My curiosity is getting the better of me. Not that this is a surprise. My mom always said I was too curious for my own good. A familiar pang of loss starts to burn in my chest at the memory.

Thankfully I'm distracted from it when I finally make out what they're saying. Suddenly I doubt they're going to notice me. Jean may be a telepath, but I'm pretty sure she's distracted enough to miss me.

"No, I'm sorry." Jean sounds tired, but not because it's late -- she sounds weary. As if they've been talking for a very long time.

I can hear the other person move -- from the sound of it, over toward the large panel windows. "Why, Jean? What's changed?" Scott's the second person, I realize. He sounds... almost normal, but not quite. There's an edge to his voice I've never heard before.

Ever since he talked to me when my parents' letter arrived I've started noticing a different side to him. One thing I've found is that his voice is an easy way to figure out his mood. Hearing him now, I don't like what I'm hearing. Logan tells me to trust my instincts. My instincts say he doesn't like whatever this is either.

She sighs, but no other sound follows. Again I hold my breath - part of me wanting to be anywhere but where I am. The rest is wishing I could actually see what was happening. The line between eavesdropping and spying is a small one. Might as well go for broke, you could say. I'm sure its what Logan would say, at least.

"Nothing's changed, Scott. Maybe that's the point. Nothing ever changes." She sounds resigned, there's acceptance in her voice. "I just can't do this anymore."

He doesn't answer right away and I don't even risk blinking. I almost don't hear his response. I've never heard him speak so softly, and the sound barely carries to where I'm shamelessly hanging on every word.

"Why?"

It echoes in my head. I'm wondering the same thing, I have to admit. If I was confused when I first stumbled onto this conversation, I'm hopelessly lost now. That does it. I want to see what's happening even if a part of me can't believe I'm doing it. I look around, wondering where else I could hide.

My gaze lands on a small closet across the hall from the dining room doorway. Maybe if I'm lucky I can stand just inside it and see. I don't waste enough time to second-guess the idea. Seconds later I'm standing in the dark little closet with a limited view into the opposite room.

I can't see Jean, but I can see Scott. He is standing by the window, so my guess was right earlier. Even though his back is to me, I can tell he has his arms crossed in front of him. He's looking out into the night, but he's standing so straight it looks painful.

I barely have time to think before I hear Jean moving, her heels echoing on the hard wood floor. A moment later I can see her, too. She walks until she's standing beside Scott at the window. Instead of looking outside, she turns sideways to face him, but he doesn't turn.

"We've been us for so long, and it's been wonderful." She sounds almost wistful and stops talking, closing her eyes. I wish I could see her expression, but I can only make out her profile in the moonlight.

"I need to be me again. Just me for a while. I need a change." I can't help but understand that. We all need a change now and then, but I still don't understand why she's going about it like this. "Something less... routine, I guess." I blink. Did I just hear her right?

He turns to face her, and for the first time I can see his face as well. "Routine." Before she can comment, he actually smiles. Even from so far away I can tell it isn't a happy smile. Jean flinches, although she covers it well enough that I can barely tell -- I think his reaction surprised her. "Are you sure you don't mean controlled?"

There's that tone again, the edge. I've seen Logan in a fight and I know that I wouldn't ever want to be on the wrong side of him. Listening to Scott, I realize he's one I wouldn't want to cross either. Logan gets mad. Scott stays calm. They both can scare the wits out of you.

She shakes her head, finally glancing out the window and away from his face. "No, Scott." I wish I could place the tone of her voice, I can't read her as easily as Scott. Frustration maybe? She looks almost as miserable as I'm almost positive Scott is.

"No?" He tilts his head to the side, looking as if he's misunderstood. Then he laughs, but it's humorless and echoes harshly in the dark. I feel a shiver run down my back because of it. "Would cold be the word you're looking for then?"

She flinches at his words, his voice sounds almost dead, brittle. I start chewing on my lip, waiting for her to answer. My eyes widen when I realize she isn't saying anything. After a few more moments I have the sinking feeling she's not going to say anything, either.

Instead she's just looking at him. Jean blinks quickly and looking closer I can see tears standing in her eyes. I think she's pleading with him to understand -- I wonder if she really understands herself. He can't be right, can he? Jean wouldn't do something like that, confused or not.

The silence grows until Scott drops his arms to his sides. "I thought so." The brittle edge is gone, but he's whispering. I can't say that I like it any better. It's the closest I've heard to defeat in his voice.

They're both quiet after that and my thoughts start running a mile a minute. What in the world is going on? This conversation makes no sense at all. Did I miss something important before I stumbled into it? Then again, what could that possibly have been?

Besides the fact I thought they were happy -- that Jean was happy -- Jean's a telepath. She's also someone I've respected since I first met her. If nothing else than for keeping Scott and Logan from their verbal sparring matches. They may have been funny once, but they were really getting annoying after a while.

From what I've heard it sounds like she's bored, I guess. And Scott's remark about cold... if anyone should think to look past the surface, it's her. Right? I have trouble seeing the person I've grown to know ending a relationship because of that. But isn't the proof right in front of me?

Hearing nothing but silence and remembering what was just said, I'm suddenly not so sure of anything about these two. I thought I had finally figured out the important things about the people at the school, but this conversation... it's throwing me a lot of curve balls.

Being here has taught me a lot about really looking at people. I'm not so quick to only see a violent temper or a wheelchair. Scott went out of his way to make sure I knew I wasn't alone when my parents rejected me. That's the day I realized how wrong I had been about him specifically -- how wrong a lot of people were about him.

My mind wraps back around to one thing. Now it's Jean that thinks he's cold. I would groan if I thought they wouldn't hear me. I'm so confused, and I really don't like being confused. I'm starting to wish I'd never talked myself into coming downstairs.

I'm not sure how long everything is perfectly still before Jean takes a step toward Scott and places her hand on his arm. He doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. If it were possible to see his eyes, I'd bet he hadn't blinked either. Isn't this the wrong time to be showing how in control he can be? Seems to me like he should remind her about the rest of him -- the part that she's apparently forgetting.

Finally, she breaks the silence, speaking in a hushed voice. "I just need some space." Hearing the plea in her voice I think she's trying to make him believe her. I'm just not convinced it's going to work.

"I don't doubt you need something." He moves his arm from her grasp and takes a step back. I crane my neck to see more, because he's over far enough I can just barely see him. "But I doubt space is it."

I know he's talking about Logan. It's not the biggest leap to make. I suddenly think back to when I first told Logan about Scott and I talking. My plea that he not try to take Jean from Scott.

Jean surprises me, though. "Scott, this isn't about Logan." Her refusal hangs in the air when Scott doesn't reply.

Maybe it isn't about Logan. I can't help but want to give her some benefit of the doubt even while she's confusing the hell out of me. However, I know the chances of Logan just letting this pass aren't the greatest. Even remembering his promise.

He and Scott have built a begrudging respect recently, which surprised me at first. Even still, I doubt it's enough to stop Logan if he thinks he has a chance with Jean. Me, I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't do it just to piss Scott off, but I can't help but think the end result would be the same.

Not that Scott would let it show. He's too good at not showing what he's feeling. It may be part of the duty he told me about before, but it's too easy of a fallback. As if I need proof, he's doing it right now. How can Jean not see that, or feel it? I'm starting to wonder if being telepathic is of any use whatsoever.

I don't know how much time has past, but they still aren't talking. The endless silence is starting to creep me out. Scott is still looking out the window, and Jean is either staring at him or over his shoulder, from this angle it's hard to tell. Either way, I wish one of them would say something.

"I'll sleep in one of the extra rooms tonight." I groan before I can catch myself. Okay, so I wish he had said anything but that.

Jean nods in quiet agreement. Suddenly I want to scream, this is the most frustrating conversation I've ever spied on. Reconsidering my last thought I realize that's not a fact I should share -- now or later. That being said, screaming is out of the question.

A long moment later Jean turns and walks toward the door. I panic for a moment, trying to sink deeper back into the shadows. I close my eyes and hope that she's too preoccupied to realize I'm here. My luck must hold, because seconds later I can hear her heels tapping as she climbs the stairs.

Moving back toward the front of the closet, I look to see if Scott is about to leave the dining room too. I would rather not get caught now because I literally walked right into him.

To my surprise he hasn't moved to follow her. In fact, he hasn't moved at all.

I don't know what to do, and because of it I'm frozen in place. It would probably be fairly easy to get back into the kitchen, clean up my mess and then go back to bed. But something is keeping me here.

So instead of leaving, as would probably be best, I continue watching Scott. He, however, has yet to move. It's weird. I expected some kind of reaction, even if I'm not sure what. Anything but this perfect stillness.

When something does finally change, it happens so slowly I'm not even positive I'm seeing it. I squint, just to be sure and realize I was right. His shoulders are shaking, hunching forward the slightest bit. Even though I've started to see him in a different light these past few months, I still can't believe my eyes.

Suddenly the shaking stops and his head jerks up. He glances over his shoulder as if worried someone might see his slip in control. Even though I know he can't see me, I still duck back into the closet. I hold my breath until apparently he's sure he's alone and turns back around to face the window.

I've barely had time to move back toward the closet door when the slightest noise reaches my ears. Not a sniffle, not a sob -- something in between. Like even when he's alone he doesn't want to let go of what he's feeling. Finally, the emotion wins. When it does, I know that I'm witnessing something very, very rare.

His shoulders are shaking even worse, and he's wrapped his arms around his chest again. It's like he's trying to pull himself into as little space as possible -- not an easy feat when you're as tall as Scott is.

The muffled sounds are growing more common, and he drops his head so that his chin is resting on his chest. His gasping breath is harsh in the darkness. I can see a little of his face, enough to realize his mouth is clenched, twisted almost to the point of pain. He's trying desperately to hold onto whatever control he has, but it's only making the shaking worse.

Part of me wishes he would give into what he's feeling and the tears that go with it. I can tell that his face is dry. If there were tears I would be able to see the moonlight on them. Suddenly I'm struck by a thought. The nature of his powers, his energy... Can Scott cry? Is it even possible for him to shed tears?

Watching the desperation before me, my own eyes begin to tear up. This slow agony is tearing me apart. I try to blink it away because I can't see otherwise. I'm compelled by the knowledge that the last thing I want to do is let him out of my sight.

Funny thing is, I don't even think twice about it. I know he wouldn't want me to see, or like that I know, but I can't leave him alone. He found me when I needed someone, and even if he hates me for it later, I need to repay the favor.

When he suddenly drops to his knees, I jump. Fighting to control my breathing, I close my eyes for a moment. When I open them, he's kneeling next to the window. Arms wrapped around himself in a mock hug, his forehead is pressed against the wall. It's... shocking is the only word that comes to mind, to see him like this.

It's painful watching someone hurt so badly, and my eyes burn with fresh tears. Is this how Logan felt with me in the train station, or Scott when he found me on the bench? Maybe it's how I would have felt after I kissed David if I hadn't been so scared. Is this what it feels like to watch someone you care about hurting?

It's almost a surprise when he takes his glasses off. I've never seen him without them. In the split second before he wipes his free hand across his face, I realize that there aren't any tears there. He rubs his eyes briefly as if they hurt before putting the glasses back on. I never imagined seeing him cry, but seeing that he can't... I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

His muffled sobs are getting louder, echoing oddly as he tries in vain to quiet them. Suddenly he manages a deep breath around the shallow gasps and sits up straight. I'm rooted to the spot as he looks around and stands. I realize I have no idea how long I've been standing here when I see how stiffly he's carrying himself -- as if he's twisted into knots both inside and out.

His jaw is clenched so tight his teeth have to hurt, and after leaning on the wall for a moment, he walks away from it. I curse when I realize he's walking out of my line of sight. That was definitely not part of the plan. I barely have time to try and think about what to do when he leaves the dining room.

I gasp, taking a step back and not daring to breathe. This espionage stuff is more repetitive than I would have thought. Watch, hide, repeat.

When he's past the doorway, I lean out just enough to watch where he's going. Since he's not walking toward the staircase, it's a safe bet he's not going to bed quite yet.

I hesitate for a moment, trying to decide if I should follow him. If I do, I'm more likely to get caught. It would be wiser to go to bed. But when have I ever been one to do the smart thing? Not tonight, that's for sure.

Leaving my hiding place, I walk down the hall behind Scott. I can't see him, but I can hear him in the arboretum. For some reason I'm not surprised by his choice to go there. I am, however, stuck on where to go myself. If I go into the arboretum he'll see me.

I wonder what time it is and if this night is ever going to end. I even go as far as to wish I'm really in bed asleep, dreaming everything. No such luck. Standing just outside the doorway, I listen, trying to hear him. I begin to think maybe he's gone around into the recreation room when I finally hear something. It sounds like his breath hitching in his throat.

I lean against the wall and take a deep breath, my eyes closed. Once again I'm stuck being able to hear, but not see. I can't think of anywhere else to hide, but I have to do something. Just standing here, listening, is killing me.

Before I have time to think I walk through the doorway into the arboretum. It's actually light in here compared to the closet and hallway. The moon is really bright, and is streaming through the many windows that line the room.

My eyes take a second to adjust, and in that time I see Scott sitting on a love seat tucked into the far corner. The arboretum doubles as the main classroom, but it still has some furniture here and there, for those who want to come here to relax.

I realize how distracted he is when he doesn't instantly notice me standing there. Clenching my hands into fists, I steel my reserve. It's now or never, and no matter how much he may want to be alone... I don't have the heart to do it.

I keep my gaze steady on what I can see of his face as I walk toward him. What surprises me the most is that I'm almost to the seat before he sees me. When he looks up and meets my gaze I fight the urge to duck back and instead take another step forward. For an instant shock registers on his face, his mouth opening and closing again.

He sits up straighter and clears his throat. Taking a deep breath I sit down beside him. As I said, it's now or never.

"Are you okay?" As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret them. Of course he's not okay. Why do you always ask someone who's upset if they're okay?

I grimace, trying to think of something to say that makes more sense but he beats me to it. "What are you doing up, Rogue? It's late." His voice sounds calm, but I see one of the muscles along his jaw quiver.

Shaking my head, I look at him -- really look at him. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is sticking in all different directions. Any other time it'd be comical to see it so messed up.

"I couldn't sleep." I know he's distracting me, but I refuse to let him. "So I went downstairs to get something to drink from the kitchen."

I watch as he sits perfectly still, realization dawning on his face and his eyes going wide. I can tell even without seeing them because his eyebrows suddenly appear over the rim his glasses. "You..." He stops, coughing quietly. "What did you hear?" He's trying desperately to hold onto something, anything. I can see tremors running through his arms.

I lower my eyes for a moment, but look up before answering him. "Not all of it, but enough." I can't believe how normal my voice sounds. I glance away, blinking tears out of my eyes. "More than enough."

"I'm sorry." He looks away as he whispers the words.

Shaking my head I wait for him to look at me again before asking, "Why are you sorry?" The man has his heart broken and he apologizes to the person that eavesdrops on the conversation. Is he always so much more concerned about others than himself? I blink away more tears when I realize that, yes, from what I've seen of him, he is. It's part of being a good leader. "Don't be sorry." The entire conversation doesn't rise above a whisper.

He shakes his head, and I somehow I know he's not listening to me. "You should be in bed." Suddenly I want to growl -- thanks to Logan, I'm sure. At the same time I want to shake him senseless. Anything to break him out of his shell -- it's not healthy, I know it.

"So should you." Again he looks surprised and I almost smile. More seriously, I add, "When I was upset you talked to me, helped me work through it." I pause, knowing that I could very well be pushing my luck.

He shakes his head. I swear the only reaction I'm getting from him is when he shakes his head. I fight down the urge to roll my eyes and take a deep breath. Still determined, I give it another try. "Please? Let me try and return the favor? You look like you could use it."

Scott is quiet for so long after that, his face expressionless, that I'm sure I've lost him. The last thing I want to do is give up, but I'm beginning to wonder what I can do if he won't let me try. Does he have to be so stubborn?

"There's nothing to say really." When his hushed voice breaks the silence I blink, unsure if I actually heard it even though I saw his lips move. I hear as much as see him swallow nervously. He won't meet my eyes all of a sudden, and I think he's embarrassed. "Ah," he says, clearing his throat. "Things change, I suppose."

"Not that much." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Eyes wide, I close my mouth with a loud snap. I can't believe I just said that.

I don't believe the smile that turns the corner of his mouth, either. "Some might beg to differ with you on that, Rogue." Some, he says -- Jean, he means. He sits up straighter, stretching his shoulders. "Besides, it's late and as your teacher, it's not my place to dump my problems on you."

This time I do growl and I see one of his eyebrows arch up behind the glasses. Fine, I can be as stubborn as he can. "I don't want you to 'dump your problems on me.' I just want you to talk to me." He doesn't look convinced, so I play my only trump card. "Do you ever talk to anyone when something bothers you? Because I don't believe for a minute that nothing ever does."

I pause, hoping my words are making a dent. Judging by the look on his face, I'm not sure. Lowering my voice, I continue. "You told me that when I'm upset I should talk to someone who understands -- that being here gives me that chance." I take a deep breath, glad to see the smile is gone from his face. Maybe that means he's taking me seriously.

"Well, I'm here now. I know what happened, and even though I've never lived through it, I want to help you. You've helped me with everything from my parents to mechanics. Why won't you let me return the favor?" I have never wanted to read someone's eyes more in my life than in the moment of silence that follows my outburst.

I'm starting to get nervous when he finally licks his lips and speaks in an uneven voice. "It would seem you have me at a disadvantage, don't you?" Sighing, I rub my hand across my face. "Talking about... Things like this. It's not something I do easily, Rogue."

"I understand." And really I do, after running away from home I felt the same way. "But it gets easier with practice, I promise." I even manage to smile over the last two words.

Either what I've said or the smile does something, because his shoulders slump just a bit and some of the tension seems to fall away. "Is this a case of the student teaching the teacher?"

I shake my head. "No, the teacher knows his lessons pretty well." Considering my one and only discussion with Logan regarding Scott, I add, "Besides, this place is different. Not just teachers and students, you know? It's more somehow." I smile, hoping to break some of the tension. "And teacher or friend, I think he just needs reminded of one particular lesson he taught me, not so long ago."

Scott glances over at me, looking surprised at my statement. I bite back a sigh, unable to keep from wishing he would trust easier. "Right." His voice drops low, and he lays his head on the back of the couch. His defenses aren't gone by any means, but neither does he look like he's going to bolt at any moment. "I can't say I'm surprised really."

That catches my attention. "What? Why?"

He slouches -- actually slouches -- one more first and my head is going to explode. He laces his hands together on his chest and shrugs. I think he means for it to look relaxed, but he looks anything but. "People change. You grow up and grow apart." Scott stares at the ceiling, refusing to look over at me. "Jean and I were together for a long time. Maybe we just grew apart."

Scott's rationalizing and it's driving me insane. "I don't think so."

At that, he does look at me. "Oh really?" I fight a wince at his sarcastic tone.

"Call it following my instincts."

Again he almost smiles and I wonder if he will have told me anything by dawn. "That sounds like something Logan would say."

"Probably because he did." I try to smile, but give up. "Either way, it's true. And you're very good at avoiding the issue."

When Scott laughs my first instinct is to be annoyed. "I have a lot of practice at it, you see." He stops laughing suddenly and sighs.

Looking at me, almost hesitantly, he continues. "After we lost our parents, my little brother was adopted." There's a long pause and he stares into space as if he's seeing the events he's talking about. Then he shakes his head as if clearing the images away. "There wasn't anyone else." His voice is flat, merely stating fact, not betraying any emotion.

Can he just turn off what he's feeling? I get my answer when a tremor runs through him. No, it would appear that he can't. His voice shakes the slightest bit when he finishes. "I was on my own, and I learned that it was easier to deal with people if you didn't let them inside."

Where'd all that come from? I certainly wasn't expecting the sudden -- revealing -- turn in conversation. Not after the game of cat and mouse we've been playing. But suddenly a lot of little things make a lot more sense. If he's been hiding since he was little... I think I'd have been crying in the dark a long time ago.

"You have a little brother?" I manage to ask the question with a level voice, barely. I want to ignore the flinch I see along the side of his face, but I can't. I want to make it better but I don't know how. And either way, I've learned more about his past in ten seconds than I ever thought I would.

He doesn't reply to my question, but eventually he nods. As I consider my options, I watch his jaw tighten again and he takes an unsteady breath. The last thing I wanted to do was bring something up from so long ago.

I don't blink, for fear the moisture that's gathered in my eyes will fall. "I'm sorry." He shrugs and I almost laugh, almost but not quite. "I know, don't be." At my deadpan comment, he smiles, but it's a faint smile. As if showing too much real emotion will cause him to lose what control he has left.

I consider my next move. Scott's finally talking to me, might as well take the opportunity to get back to the heart of the matter. "Did you let anyone here inside? Family doesn't have to be blood, you know. You and Logan... All of you helped me to realize that when I didn't think I had a family."

Running a hand through my hair, I think of someone. "What about the Professor? You said he was there for you." I pause, knowing the mention of the next person will hurt him, but I have to ask. "Or Jean?"

"I tried." His voice is suddenly rough, and I'm almost certain if he could cry he would be blinking back tears. I want to reach over and touch him, but I'm worried he'd close off again. "The Professor was like a father when I first arrived. I had been without one for a long time and suddenly here's this person -- someone to listen. I think he understood why..."

When he pauses, taking a deep breath, I know he's fighting against the emotions and trying to steady himself. "I think he understood why I never really did talk about what was bothering me very much. It was worse after the two months that I had to keep my eyes closed. There was a wall between me and the world."

He's quiet for a minute and I think he's remembering the past. When was the last time he talked to someone about this? "It took a long time to finally remember that it didn't have to be there once I had my sight back. Even then I did my best to forget what had happen and he didn't force me to talk."

I nod, understanding what he means. "It was easier to keep the defenses up, rather than have to deal with the others again." He looks surprised and I smile softly. "I think if it wasn't for Logan I wouldn't be much better."

"I'm glad that you found someone when you needed them." He returns my smile, although it's faint.

It's almost amusing to hear him say he's glad about Logan for anything. Especially knowing Logan's reaction when he found out that Scott and I had sorta become friends while he was gone. Then again, I'd never told Scott about that conversation and I seriously doubt Logan did either.

His explanation pulls me away from the memory. "Things will be easier for you in the long run because of it." I wonder how different Scott would be if he hadn't been alone when he was younger.

"What about Jean?" I somehow know it's unlikely he'll go willingly, but she is at the heart of what's happened. "Were you able to talk to her?"

The half-smile on his face is offset by the quiver in his voice. "Yeah, I did." Scott's voice is rough and low, and I almost don't understand the words. "She's been the only one I could talk to." He sniffs then, wiping a hand roughly across his face. "Or at least I thought I did. Maybe I was wrong."

Hearing this, tears slip free from my own eyes. He looks so lost, confused. Forcing the words past the lump in my throat, I ask, "But now?"

He doesn't miss a beat, as if in this he isn't confused at all, but there's a hint of self-reproach in his tone. "But now she wants something different." Pausing, he swallows. "I suppose I should respect her for that. Knowing what she wants."

But she doesn't know what she wants, I'm almost sure of it. Watching the way she spoke, the way she moved -- even I had doubts. "I think maybe she's just confused, Scott." I use his first name to his face for the first time, ever, I think. "You can work it out."

He seems to sink even further into the couch cushions. "I don't think so, Rogue. She's made up her mind."

"And you don't get a say in it?" There's been a lot tonight that I haven't understood, and it's starting to get on my nerves. Never mind that it's giving me a headache. Taking a deep breath, I force my voice lower before I ask the next question. "Why didn't you fight harder if it's what you want?"

Scott looks at me then, and I know if I could see his eyes I would be pinned in my place. "Because I want what makes her happy." He's so calm it's almost spooky. No one should be so reserved at a time like this. Cry, scream -- anything but just accept it. When he smiles this time it's empty and that much sadder for it. I close my eyes briefly to block out the sight. "And this is what will make her happy."

"Can you be any more self-sacrificing?" The words are out of my mouth before my better judgment can catch them and I think I've surprised myself as much as him. Shaking my head, I go on. "Shouldn't your happiness matter, too?" This time I reach out and lay my hand on his shoulder. I'm more relieved than I should be when he doesn't move away.

"Shouldn't her being happy make me happy?" It's asked matter of fact, but he sounds haunted.

I squeeze his arm. "No." I find myself talking in a whisper still worried I might spook him. "Not when it's making you miserable."

He opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything and closes it. I've got him on that one -- it actually looks like I've out argued him. I don't think Logan's even managed anything more than a stalemate. I feel an odd surge of pride at that.

"Is it really that obvious?" He sounds uncertain, like things are out of his hands -- which for once they are. There are some things even Cyclops can't command.

But how am I supposed to answer? If I hadn't overheard what was said, would I have noticed tomorrow that anything was wrong? Part of me seriously doubts it. Finally, I settle on an answer. "Not if you didn't already know. I'm sure in the morning you'll be able to pretend everything is fine."

I expect him to be relieved, that his facade will probably survive the morning. Instead, it's just one more surprise in a night full of them. "Pretend, yes." He sighs sounding as defeated.

Lowering my gaze to where my hand rests on his arm, I shake my head. "You don't have to pretend anymore." Looking at his face, I shake his arm. "Trust someone. Talk to them."

"That's funny, I thought I was doing that already." The comment catches me off guard and I blink quickly. He's got me there. When I don't reply, the quirk of a grin is back. "One point for me."

It would appear that I've met a master at deflecting conversations. I'm not sure whether to laugh or growl. Instead I drop my hand to the couch and settle on an uneasy smile. "Maybe, but I'm still ahead."

He nods, turning his head to look out across the arboretum. I follow his gaze, and see the flowers almost glowing in the moonlight. "So it would seem."

Long moments pass in silence, the only thing I can hear is our breathing. Finally I can't take it anymore, I have to know. "What are you going to do?"

"I think..." He stands while he's talking and turns to face me. "That for now it's time for both of us to get some sleep." I can't believe this. My mouth falls open and I stare up at him. "Could it be you're speechless?" Somehow I know any serious conversation is over when he grins at me like that. "At least I've got two points now."

Scott holds out his hand and takes my gloved hand in his own, before pulling me to my feet. "Thanks." I know my voice sounds odd. Being helped to stand isn't the most common thing these days. He nods, and shoves his hands in his pockets. I look away, considering if I should ask what I'm thinking. Then I decide what the hell and ask anyway. "Are you sure there's nothing else?"

He shakes his head, but doesn't look away. "No, Rogue. You've done more than anyone would have expected of you." For the first time tonight, his voice is low and open, there's no hidden edge marking it. It leaves the pain exposed, but finally the tone of his voice doesn't bother me. It's honest.

I nod, not entirely convinced but willing to run with it. "If you think so. But if you need to talk..."

He smiles, and it's as if his entire face lights up. It's disarming to say the least, and such a strange contrast to just a few minutes earlier. "I know how to find you."

"Good." I smile. The repercussions of tonight aren't over by a long run, but somehow it's not as hopeless as before, either. At least now I'm not worried he's going to just bottle it up until he explodes. "Just don't forget that."

Scott turns and tilts his head toward the door telling me it's time to go. I resist the urge to sigh before following him. It looks like I'm going to have an escort upstairs. "Believe me, tonight isn't one I can just forget." He looks shadowed. When he shakes his head it's gone but I know I didn't imagine it. How far he's pushed it behind yet another mask, I have no idea. "For more reasons than one."

Walking down the hall I can only hope that something good does come of all this -- even if Jean doesn't change her mind. Passing the kitchen, I realize that there is one little detail I've forgotten. Ducking into the other room, I grab the milk and pour it down the sink.

I grin sheepishly at Scott as I throw away the now-empty carton and replace the cookies. I really hope there's more milk in the refrigerator, or I'm gonna be toast at breakfast.

As if sensing my thoughts, Scott laughs. It's a relief to hear, even if I know his lightened mood probably won't last past the time he's alone in the extra bedroom. I shake my head, accepting that I'm going to have to leave him to his own devices at some point. "You could claim extenuating circumstances," he suggests.

I can't help it. I start to laugh, too. "Or I could lay low and hope no one suspects me."

He nods, the laughter ending but a smile still on his lips. "Or you could do that. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"Just as well, I haven't told anyone yet about your demented sense of humor. Yet." I start laughing at the shocked look on his face and almost drop the empty glass. "Got ya."

Shaking his head, he's trying not to smile, I can tell. "Just hurry up. If you fall asleep in class tomorrow it won't take the Professor long to figure out why."

Closing the cabinet, I turn around and look at him. Suddenly we're both serious. "Are you going to tell him what happened?"

"I don't think either Jean or I can avoid it." He's leaning against the door jam, but his shoulders have stiffened again. The whisper is back and I fight the shiver that the chilly sound causes. "It's hard to keep secrets around here for very long. Especially secrets like this."

Scott straightens so that he's no longer leaning on the door and the oddest thought comes to mind. Shuffling his feet, hands in his pockets, he looks amazingly like an overgrown little boy all pulled in on himself. Who knew Scott Summers could look like that.

It makes me wonder if anyone ever hugged him when he was little -- tried to let him know everything would be okay. And then I'm moving before I've really thought about what I'm doing. I always sleep with the body stocking the Professor and Jean designed for me under my pajamas, so worries about my powers are distant as I reach up just enough to wrap my arms around his shoulders.

I feel Scott freeze, as if the contact is something he's never had. And I thought I was the one cut off from human touch. Instead of letting go, I hold on tighter until he pulls his hands free and wraps his arms around me.

When I do let go, I know he can see the tears that have filled my eyes. I sniff and wipe them away quickly. "I'm sorry," he whispers, gesturing toward the tears.

Shrugging, I let it slide. Tears are the least of my worries tonight. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does." He pauses and steps back out into the hallway. When I follow, we start walking toward the stairs. Just shy of them, he adds, "But thank you."

I smile. "You're welcome."

End