Note: ~< >~ indicates telepathic conversation

Two people sat in the darkened study, one holding a crystal glass of brandy and the other a can of beer. The silence was deep, but not uncomfortable.

Charles was the first to break the companionable stillness.

“I noticed that you didn’t say much to the others about your meeting with our young guests other than that they were not robots, and you think it‘s likely that Buffy and Scott are related. What do you think of them?”

“That Willow is a quiet one, but I think she could probably live up to the rep red-heads have if you got her riled, Chuck. Little spitfire could grow up to be a right nasty wildcat. The way she zapped at Scott when he started teasing her about her boyfriend and groupies was good.”

“I do find it, um, coincidental that her boyfriend is coming to New York to try and talk to people in the recording industry just as they are visiting us.”

Logan snorted. “Nothing ‘coincidental’ about it. If he’s actually coming to talk to anyone, I’d be damn stunned. Probably coming to make sure that we don’t try anything on his lady. Or back-up to whatever they think is going down.”

“It is possible that that he’s merely taking advantage of Willow’s presence here to be with his girlfriend in a city like New York without parental supervision.”

“Umm.”

“You don’t think so.”

“Nope.“’ Logan took another drink of his beer.

Charles raised an eyebrow at Logan, opened his mouth to ask why, before changing the question. “And Buffy?”

“I already asked the kid to look up something on her computers for me. If it fits, I’ll show it to everybody at tomorrow’s little get together. Can tell you that I looked at her and thought ‘The girl’s a warrior‘. And I ain’t talking about a fighter like Jeannie, or Scott, or ‘Roro; people who fight because they have to. I’m talking about like me. Someone who has the need to hit and punch and maybe kill built right into their bones. She knew what I was without me saying a thing; the same way that I knew ‘bout her. Moved like a predator, and had a challenge for me pretty much screaming from her eyes. And, once it was all settled, she changed. Her body language went back to teenage airhead with not a care in the world. I don’t know if I can explain it to you, Chuck, but not many people can change their body language like that.”

Logan tilted his head and drained the can. Charles watched him without seeing.

“So, what’s bugging you?”

Logan’s voice recalled Charles back with a start.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“You went all ‘internal’ on me. What’re you thinking about that’s got you by the b - “

“Logan!”

Charles’ shocked indignation drained from him at the amusement on his friend’s face. Of all of his many students, this was the only one who had insisted on being treated differently from his other ‘children‘. It may have had something to do with the fact that Logan, contrary to appearances, was older than Xavier by some years.

Charles rubbed his eyes as weariness seemed to settle into his bones.

“All that, the information you received on Buffy, was interpreted in only the few moments after you were introduced. Correct?”

“Basically, yup.”

“How?” Charles’ bewilderment was clear enough for Logan to suddenly understand what was wrong. It was confirmed as Charles continued. “How can you tell that? What are the signs that allow you to see that? Jean is determined not to be dependent on her telepathy and Scott is letting her see them and his reactions to them through his eyes - a tighter bond than they usually share - to teach her. I believed that my studies of humanity had allowed me to understand something of human nature, but I find that I am severely disadvantaged at reading these children. And I don‘t have the faintest idea of where to begin at rectifying the problem. How can something so - - complex, and complete, as what you are describing be understood in an instant without telepathy?”

“Well, I ain’t letting you look through my eyes like that, I can tell you. Beside, it wouldn’t help you if you did. What I see - - it’s instincts, Chuck. My abilities - hell, everything about me - goes back to my instincts. Including whether I control them, or they control me. Everything I know is filtered through my senses and my instincts. You’re a thinking kinda man, Chuck, because your ability IS thought. And you ain’t a warrior, to see it either. It’s your strength. All the X-Men follow you ‘cause of your dream of peace between mutants and mankind. That ain’t something that I could have ever come up with, just like you ain’t gonna see what I saw in the girl. It’s just the way it is. Don’t let it get to you.”

Logan stood and stretched and Charles thought on his words.

“Well, I’m gonna hit the hay. And if we’re gonna have two teenagers running around here tomorrow, you better, too.”

As Charles took that advice, he found himself thinking, once again, that, for all that Logan claimed to be a simple man, he was remarkably complex.

Not far away, the fabric of reality rippled in the smallest of ways before settling down to it’s new pattern.

Ororo and Willow shuddered in their sleep. Kitty, ensconced in front of her computers, glanced around uneasily and pulled on her cardigan. Buffy, still awake, fought the urge to check her weapons.

*************

Buffy was NOT happy. No nightmares should equal sleep. Lots of nice, comfy sleep. It should not equal lying awake feeling like thousands of insects were crawling all over her.

Buffy’s eyes snapped open as her frustration reached its limit. Silently she dressed, listening closely to Willow’s even breathing. Upon reaching the door, she stopped and returned to the dresser to grab a few things. Stopping at the bathroom long enough to brush her teeth and put her hair in a pony tail, she then returned her bag of toiletries to outside their room and took off.

She began some quick stretches once she reached the outdoors. With her eyes closed as she bent and moved in the odd before dawn light, she realized she could still feel - - something.

Stupid Slayer sense, was her resigned thought as she straightened. She stood, eyes closed and body relaxed, as she reached with that peculiar part of her that made her uncomfortable. The fact that she was stronger, faster, and just physically different than other humans was something that she secretly enjoyed. The fact that she was also mentally different was not something she liked to think about.

As the light breeze passed her, she FELT the direction the wrongness was coming from. Opening her eyes, she started off at a light jog in that direction.

Vaguely, she noticed that some of the trees and other green stuff were different from what she was used to; although, she didn’t really know what made them different and didn’t really care as long as the branches still worked for dusting vamps. She was a city girl, born and bred, and liked malls better than trees any day. Plus, the creepy feeling was making it difficult to concentrate on anything but it.

Suddenly, the creepiness factor flared and goose bumps broke out all over her body. She kept running until it eased. It didn’t take long.

Stopping, she turned and headed back, her head down as she watched the ground. Once she located the center of the nastiness, she started kicking the leaves and moss-like ground covering. The first small piece of moss came up like a reverse of those rolled-up pieces of grass people lay down on new lawns. A half glance of regret at her nails was all she allowed before she began using her fingers to get under the dirty, green stuff and pull up large chunks. It peeled up in a way that Buffy didn’t think was likely natural. Slowly, what was underneath was revealed.

The flat white rock was carved with symbols that appeared to shimmer like a heat haze before Buffy’s eyes. They seemed to crawl and twist out of the corners of her eyes, but the runes stayed as solid and firm as, well, the rock they were carved out of when she stared at them hard. It was when she unfocused her eyes that they seemed to move; so much so that the moss’s roots that still clung to them gave the impression that they were wiggling, like worms on the sidewalk. (Or maggots on a corpse, the gross part of her mind whispered.) She didn’t know who had carved them or how long they had been there. She wasn’t even certain if it really was rock, because there was one thing she did know, with every fibre of Knowing in the part of her that she disliked.

It was growing.

*********************

A few comments:

Thanks to everyone who reviews: I really appreciate it. Plus, whilst I did manage to get this chapter out quickly, please remember I had part of it written already. But, hopefully, my dry spell is over.

To King Henry the V, Well you SHOULD laugh when I said I was trying to do research on New York (Info overload on a GRAND scale). I tried, gave up, tried again, gave up, tried once more, and just decided that I wouldn’t show much of what happens in New York. I didn’t want to anyway. Really.

To gidgetgirl, thank you for the well-thought out comments. I don’t know if I’ll do any better with Buffy and crew’s characterizations, but I am trying. I am glad you like my Oz. Now if I can just keep him like that . . .