6

Bob should have known that Cammy would lead him here.

He stumbled on a plane made soft and malleable by magma, with a frail crust of hardened, black rock floating on top of the angry red sea like pond scum.

“Why are you here, Imperfect One? I thought I told you never to return here!” A voice boomed, as he struggled to keep his footing on the loose rock.

The realm of Angra Mainyu. Fuck! Cammy was calling in all his chits. “Point me after Camaxtli and I’m on my way,” he said, deciding to become semi-corporeal so he didn’t have to worry about getting charred by lava.

Angra Mainyu - Angie - currently looked like the widest humanoid in existence, his shoulders as broad as an outhouse door. But the entirety of his face was hidden by a mask of intricately carved gold, that ended in two sharp wings that curved around the side of his head, highlighting the crimson feathers growing out of his scalp. His eyes showed through slits in the masks, bubbling pools of magma, and he didn’t exist from
the waist down - he’d made himself partially intangible, to better pass through his realm of seething heat.

And this realm was all boiling lava and jagged black atolls of stone, that rose from the violent red sea like daggers attempting to pierce the heart of the scalding yellow sun up above. It was not the classic Human version of Hell, but it was close enough for rock and roll. All it needed were souls in endless torment.

But nothing lived here without Angie’s permission, and he hated people, in torment or not. He also hated most gods, with few exceptions - and Cammy was one of those. Destructive gods just seemed to band together - until they get it into their heads to destroy one another, which didn’t happen as much as you would think. They were
usually evenly matched … but who matched up to Angie?

To the Zoroastrians, he was the personification and creator of evil, the god of darkness and destroyer of all that was good; basically Satan. But since Satan was a rather generic term for about a dozen different hell gods, it wasn’t applicable here. He wasn’t a hell god at all - he was just a god who really, really liked to break stuff, and was terribly good at it. Didn’t matter what it was - inanimate objects, people, worlds, universes, gods. He was created simply to smash stuff, and he loved his job.

“Are you the one that hurt him?!” Angie roared, sounding like an avalanche.

“This is a fight between us,” he warned. “Stay out of it.”

A geyser of lava erupted in front of him, knocking him back on his semi-corporeal ass, and singeing his hair. “You want to find Camaxtli, you go through me first!”  He proclaimed, as wonderfully bombastic as a half man in the campiest mask this side of
a gay pride parade could be.

Oh, wonderful.  Bob had a feeling this was really going to hurt in the morning.

***

Logan was surprised that he was so tired, but he couldn’t remember the last time he'd actually got some sleep. Okay, he'd been drugged or maybe knocked out by a spell - how could you tell? - but did that really count?  It probably wasn’t restful.

Bob wasn’t back, and his attempt to get a hold of Xia didn’t pan out.  So what else did he have to do but fret about what Leonie’s relationship to Static - or him - might be?

But right off the bat it was a complete bust.  He laid down on his bed and heard everything going on in the school (the kids outside, the ones inside and down the hall, the ones watching t.v. all the way down in the lounge), until he made a conscious effort to block it all out.  Sometimes it was hard not to listen.

It was a hell of a coincidence, wasn’t it?  First Blaster Boy shows up - and disappears again - and now a potential clone (or daughter, or something there wasn’t a technical name for) shows up, just in time for him to find her.  It could have been random chance, and certainly his luck sucked like an airplane toilet, but it seemed like too much, too far a reach. There was something going on here … what he couldn’t even begin to fathom, but something.

He was still trying to tie the loose, unconnected threads together when he drifted off....

He didn’t realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up in the garden.

Logan sat up, wondering if he’d been sleepwalking (sleep rampaging?), when he noticed the sky was a streaked red and orange, like flames. “Jean?” He asked, wondering if it was her or Camaxtli.  What was he saying? They were pretty much inseparable, weren’t they? But had he finally violated the sanctity of her “happy place”?  Oh fuck, why not?  He was the colossal dick of all dick gods, and that was saying something.

As he climbed to his feet, still feeling a little muzzy, he suddenly realized he would rather deal with Camaxtli than Jean, considering what went on last time.

“Logan,” she said, her voice causing his gut to twist in anxiety. “Something’s wrong.”

More fucking with him, huh?  Sure, why not?  He turned to face her.  She was standing beside a hedgerow - in fact, it looked like she was leaning on it.  It was a trap, another kind of trick, he knew it, and yet he played his part all the same. “What?  What is it?”  
He went to her, held out a hand to help her, then hesitated, as if he didn’t know how.

She took his arm, though, fingers digging in tight as if she was hanging on to him for dear life, and then she did lean against him heavily, almost making him stumble.  She wasn’t kidding.  He visually scanned her for injuries, then wondered what the hell he was doing - this was a mindscape, and it didn’t work like that - and he tried to steady her on her feet.  She looked normal, but a little pale, and maybe the fire in her eyes wasn’t so bright. “Jeannie, what’s wrong?” He asked, mentally kicking himself for being played as
a sucker so easily.

But she really did look confused when she glanced at him; lost and human. “I - I’m not really sure. It’s like …” As she struggled for words, she seemed to regain some strength, stood up straighter, removed her fingernails from his arm. “There’s never been a mental transition like this that’s taken so much out of me.  It’s like I almost couldn’t do it. Usually, it’s as easy and instinctive as breathing.”

Could what Bob was doing to Camaxtli - whatever he was doing to Camaxtli - be hurting Jean too?  Oh fuck, what if Camaxtli’s death meant Jean’s death too?

Her eyes searched his, brows drawing down in puzzlement, and he belatedly realized she was picking up his thoughts.  Shit, he really was tired. “Jean-”

“He really isn’t dead, is he?”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she meant Camaxtli. “No, he’s not.  Bob is …
..I think he’s trying to save you, to get rid of Camaxtli, but … I don’t know what the fuck’s going on exactly.  Do I ever?”

He was still holding on to her arms, and he could feel her skin getting warmer. Her color was looking a little better too; she was recovering from whatever that blip was.  But obviously it had shocked her, scared her badly, and he wondered if it was just a momentary thing, or the first sign of an inevitable decline. “I’m not sure what’s going
on either.  I’m trying to remember … what was the last thing I did?”

“I hope you’re not asking me.”

“No, I -” She paused again, but her look was wholly internal; he might as well have not been here. “Why can’t I remember?”

“Maybe there’s somethin’ he doesn’t want you to remember.” That was a better option than the other possibility - that she was so rarely in control of herself that there was nothing to remember; Camaxtli was in the driver’s seat.

(If it was actually her - how did he know?)

Her gaze was like a spotlight when it turned on him, bright and questing. “When was the last time we met, Logan?”

He felt stupid, but he couldn’t help it. “I ain’t sure, darlin’.  I couldn’t always tell when it was you or Camaxtli.  He fucks with your head pretty good.”

“I don’t care.  When was the last time you met with him or me?”

He looked away to avoid those fiery eyes. The garden was starting to look better, more green in the reddish tinged light, and the sky seemed more alive. “Jean, I had a confrontation with him not too long ago. That’s when Bob stepped in and started bitch slapping him.”

“A confrontation?”

“It wasn’t anything,” he told her, then looked around, as if trying to orient himself in this new landscape.  The mansion was gone - why had he never noticed that before? There was nothing but more greenery, acres of trees and flowering plants, an explosion of twisting vines with purple and red flowers as livid as wounds against bark and stems brown and green.  On the one hand, it was somewhat beautiful, but on the other there was something inherently eerie in its construction; it gave a sense of not only being out of control, but perhaps completely beyond it. The physical representation of a mind starting to lose its own moorings.

“Why are you avoiding this?” Her voice had taken on a sharp edge.

He still wouldn’t face her. “It’s not important.”

“I think it is.”

“It’s not.”

“Why won’t you even look at me?”

He was starting to feel something in his mind, tendrils of energy like fingers brushing over his frontal lobe, and he spun around to face her, furious and terrified in equal measure. “Stop it!  Wanna know why I won’t say?  ‘Cause you’ll hate me for the rest of your fucking life, Jean!  Let it go!”

But it was too late, and he knew it.  That terrible fire bloomed in her eyes, and suddenly -

- there he was, back on that gray beach again. “Don’t!” He shouted, dropping to his knees in the sand, covering his head with his arms as he tried to block her out, or at least hold the memories in.  But even without Camaxtli in the forefront, she had access to some of his powers, and he still couldn’t fight a god.  “Don’t make me live through this ag-”

But then it was over, just like that.  He opened his eyes, breathing as hard as if he’d just run a marathon, and found himself kneeling in the grass.  He could feel her eyes burning into him before he dared to lift his head and look up.

Her expression seemed torn between horror and fury, and he knew that feeling all too well. “You killed me?” She gasped.

“Not you,” he insisted, still angry at her for the violation, and shaken by the memories themselves.  She could have no idea what it took for him to do that, how he had to will himself to the edge of madness, and fall over it. “Never you. I know it sounds like bullshit right now, but I would never hurt you.  Camaxtli is dead on the higher realms, he has no other place to go; you’re it. When he manifests on the Earth plane with you he will hollow you out, even if he doesn’t mean to.  He’s a god, and that’s what they do to their vessels. You’ll be nothing but his shell, Jean - he’ll kill everything inside you and leave nothing but himself behind.  I killed him, not you.”  He had to close his eyes, swallow back tears that clogged his throat.  It still shook him to the core, and was perhaps worse with the knowledge he might have to do it again.  But he couldn’t think about that now, or he’d completely lose it. “I would die before I hurt you. You have to believe that.”

When he was sure he could, he opened his eyes, and was surprised to find her kneeling
in the grass before him, staring through him with those eyes of fire.  He wanted to look away, but couldn’t; he was impaled. “You-” she said, and her expression was full of wonder. “You were trying to take my place?”

“I’m expendable; I’m harder for them to kill, too.”

He couldn’t read the look in her eerie eyes, and when she took his face in her hands, he had the sudden thought that she was going to snap his neck - one savage twist, and it would be all over.  And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.  It would in fact be poetically ironic if it was Jean that killed him, considering what he had tried to do to her.  He could have fought, but he had no desire to; just let her do whatever she was going to do.  He would deserve it.

But there were tears welling in her eyes, as if mimicking his own. “I can see the truth so easily now,” she said, apropos of nothing.  Then she kissed him.

Logan knew it had to be Camaxtli; it had to be another trick, a lure to spring yet another trap on him.  But her kiss felt so good, as did the tendrils of energy he could feel sneaking into his body.  But they didn’t feel invasive, and seemed to set off no mental tripwires; they were just heat and power.

He didn’t resist her, even as she pushed him back on the grass.  He was wondering what he’d get this time - still beating heart ripped out of his chest?  Guts torn out?  Maybe she’d just rip his head off.

But she never stopped kissing him, and even though he knew this was a set-up like before, his traitorous body was responding to her.  She did feel like Jean, smell like her … but she was her, just … not alone.  She was in his mind again, and he was losing the plot among all the sensations.  Apparently there were as many pluses as minuses when one was involved with a telepath.

He thought he felt her hands on his body, moving up his chest, and he was vaguely aware of his own hands moving up her back, beneath her shirt, when a thrill of pleasure shuddered down his spine.  God, she was so warm, and for some reason he was so cold - it was strangely pleasurable when they merged.  She tasted like power.

Mentally he was trying to distance himself from this, but her skin was so soft, her muscles so taut, her body pressing into him so strongly … it was getting progressively harder to think.  He didn’t want to think anymore, he didn’t want to brace himself for the inevitable evil twist (maybe she’d rip his dick off - now that would be funny), he just wanted to be with her.  Have what they never had in the real world.

And maybe that was the weakness Camaxtli was preying on.

7

Bob hit the ground face first, and since he was now fully corporeal, that really fucking hurt.

He shoved himself up to a sitting position, still tasting energy in his mouth and aching like an open wound, and was a little surprised to feel what seemed like small napped carpet.

But looking around, he confirmed it: he was in an office building.

Beige on brown carpet, white walls of cubicles stretching on into infinity.  The sound of printers and copy machines in use filled his ears, just as the reek of toner filled his nostrils. Overhead florescent lights made everything look harsh and unpleasant, and as he stood up, he saw there were no windows on the outer walls, just corkboards covered with memos.

What kind of sick, twisted hell dimension was this?

“Why are you here?” A voice asked. “Do you have a pass?”

Bob wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and figured he was lucky to still have his hair after a fight with Angie.  He didn’t want to even fight him, he just did it until he could buy some time and get the fuck out of there - gods knew Camaxtli had already scarpered. He turned to face the voice, and was utterly gob smacked to see it was, “Balor?” He exclaimed. You could have knocked him over with a sheep fart.

Balor looked like a paunchy middle manager, complete with thinning brown hair combed over his shiny pate in such a way as to make him look like a pathetic joke.  He wore the khakis and pinstriped white shirt open at the color, his navy tied pulled loose, sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy forearms and a reasonable-quality platinum Timex, and could have walked into any office anywhere and passed - as long as you didn’t look above his neck, or below the crown of his head.

His face was just one gigantic eye.  An eye sealed with duct tape.

Oh, there was a mouth, a tiny horizontal slash between the massive lid and knife sharp chin, but it was hard to see.  Balor was another death god - this one attributed to Celtic mythology - and he killed by simply looking upon things with his single, massive eye, which is why most of the time he covered it or - in a nod to the modern day - taped it down. It wasn’t just that he killed everything he saw, but the eye was his weak point; the only way to kill Balor was to rip out his death eye.  So he was very protective of it. “Bob? That you?” He asked curiously, his voice betraying a slight Irish lilt. “What’re you doing in this neck o’ the woods?”

“I’m chasing Camaxtli.”

“Oh. He’s still alive?”

“Until I catch him.”

“I thought he was stronger than you?”

“I doubled up; I borrowed Itchy’s power.”

“Cammy’s mate?”

“Yep.”

“Was he cool with that?”

“No, he’s dead.”

“Ah.  It happens.”

“Indeed.  Where did Cammy go?”

Balor shrugged his surprisingly slender shoulders. “I dunno. I wasn’t paying any attention.” He held up his hand, and a folder suddenly appeared in it. “Lots of paperwork.”

“Is there another war on?”

“Several, in fact. Death is my business, and business is always fabulous.  It’s a growth industry.”

“Sadly, yeah.  Uh, gotta jet here.”

“Are you sure?  Ya know, what with all the business, I was thinking of outsourcing -”

Bob quickly walked past him, shaking his head, unable to believe that Balor was actually trying to hire him. “Thanks, mate, but ya know I don’t like the death thing.”

“Your loss.”

He paused at the end of the aisle, and glanced back at him. “Hey Bal, you don’t happen
to know what’s wrong with Cammy, do ya?”

“Wrong?  Oh, he’s dyin’. That’s why I asked if he was still alive.  Kinda surprisin’, but the war gods go down hard. ‘Cept Ares, but hey, you were there, I don‘t have to tell ya about that.  He was always a bit of a pouf though, wasn‘t he?  Always blustering and swanning about -”

“Dying?” He knew Balor couldn’t be mistaken; death was his thing, after all.  But while
he knew he'd hit him hard with his and Itchy’s combined energy when he saw him threatening Logan, the blow was not fatal - he could only wish that it was.  But if
Cammy was weakened from something else … “Why is he dying?”

He shrugged again, gesturing helplessly with ink stained hands. “I don’t know the details, just that he’s on my to-do list.  I’m a big picture kinda guy.  You want the specs, ask Erra, Nechustan, or Dagda; the details are more their department.”

“I will, thanks,” he lied. Actually, once he cornered Cammy, he could ask him, if he’d bother to tell him the truth.

What the fuck was going on here? What had happened to Camaxtli?

***

When Logan woke up, he was so disoriented he reached for Jean.

Of course she wasn’t here. He opened his eyes, and confirmed what his other senses were telling him: he was in his room at the mansion.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes, feeling even more exhausted than when he laid down in the first place.  But he didn’t exactly get much restful sleep, did he?

As he sat up, he wondered if that had actually happened, or if it was just a dream.  Really strange, vivid dream, wasn’t it?  He would swear he could still feel her, her lips brushing his skin, the curve of her hip beneath his hand, the warmth of her flesh …

Wow, he really needed to take a cold shower.

While he cleaned up, he wondered if it was becoming pathological, an attempt to wash away all that stained his “unclean” soul.  It was a thought worth entertaining at the very least; maybe it could be a hobby.

She never did kill him, which made him wonder if Camaxatli was getting more clever. Establish an intimacy between him and “Jean”, and maybe he couldn’t find the inner madness to kill her.  He feared he was right; Logan wasn’t sure he could repeat the act even before they'd slept together.

But … did it count?  It was on the mental plane, so technically it didn’t, and yet it had certainly felt real enough.  But he wondered if it was actually Jean he'd been with, or Camaxtli.  Or did Camaxtli push her, sway her in a certain way?  If he could play with
his senses, he could surely screw with Jean’s mind.

So why didn’t he stop himself?  Why didn’t he stop her if he thought there was any doubts about her motivation?  What a stupid question.  Because he wanted her, that’s why, and he still did.  And that’s why he now suspected, in retrospect, the whole scenario had been engineered.

But damn him, Jean was his weakness, and that bastard knew it.  He was going to work that weakness and exploit it any way he could.  So Logan would have to learn to inure himself to it, or find some way to get over Jean.  Right now, neither seemed within the realm of possibility.

He was getting dressed, wondering how long he'd been asleep, when there was a knock on the door.  Oh god, he so didn’t need to talk to Xavier now.  He pulled up his jeans, and barked, “Yeah, what?”

The door opened, and Rogue poked her head in. “Well howdy to you too, Mister Sunshine.”

He scowled at her, but was secretly glad it was her and not Xavier; now he had more time to bury the memory of him and Jean making love. “What is it?”

She came in uninvited and shut the door, leaning against it as if trying to keep a rampaging horde out.  But she just stared at him for what seemed like a full half minute, then said, “If Brendan knew you were shirtless, and I didn’t call him in here, he’d be so pissed off,” she noted, with a mischievous smile.

He angrily yanked a black t-shirt on over his head, and snapped, “Are you just here to ogle, or do you have a point?”

“Can’t it be both?” She teased, but at the look on his face, she quickly sobered up. “Actually, it’s about Leonie.”

Oh great, problem number two. “What about her?  Has she killed someone?”

“Not yet. The thing is … she’s lyin’, Logan.  Is she in some kinda trouble or something?”

“Lying?  About what?”

“Well … to start off, Bobby has an Aunt in Toronto, so he asked which part of it she was from, and it took her a long time to come up with a name, and when she did scrounge one up, Bobby had never heard of it.  And when Bren asked her how many foster homes she’d been in - ‘cause you know, he’s been bouncin’ around lots of ‘em since his Mom went to prison - she didn’t seem to know. Then she said she’d just been in the one, for as long as she could remember, but Bren thought that was weird, ‘specially since they didn’t adopt her.  But the Canadian foster system could be different, so -”

“Maybe she just doesn’t wanna talk about her past,” he said, sympathizing with her.  But he also knew, combined with what he already suspected about her, this wasn’t good.

“And I could understand that,” Rogue agreed. “I wasn’t too eager to either, ya know.  But I don’t think she actually knows, Logan.  She looked like it had never even occurred to her before.”

Memory loss?  Did she have no memories either?  How fucking suspicious was that, if it was true? Could susceptibility to amnesia be congenital?  “Where is she now?” He asked, sitting down and hastily pulling on his boots.

“Piotr was showing her the gym, I think they’re still there.  Apparently she has a buttload of black belts.”

“Really?” Could fighting ability be genetic?  He may have technically been the muscle, but Sloane - from what he’d heard - was hardly a slouch when it came to fighting. “You tell Xavier about this?”

“Naw. I don’t know where he is, and besides, you brought her in.  I thought maybe, ya know, she was your problem to deal with.”

He frowned, but her logic was impeccable.  And how much time had passed, exactly? Maybe Xavier wasn’t even here - maybe he was visiting that mysterious medico “friend” of his.  He stood up and gestured at the door, and they left, Rogue needlessly leading the way to the gym. They were halfway there - and he noticed through the corridor windows that the sun was just starting to set, turning the light a pale golden orange - when he asked, “What do ya think of her?  Leonie?”

“Despite bein’ a liar?” She shrugged. “She kinda reminds me of you.  In the beginnin’, I mean. She doesn’t trust anyone, and she acts like she’s expecting us to attack her with a big net or something.”

Could paranoia be genetic?  Or was that the missing piece of the puzzle?  Did they do the same thing to her that had been done to him? Just the thought of it made his heart skip
a beat, and he was instantly furious on her behalf.  Doing it to him was one thing, but a child … assholes!  Motherfucking, limp dicked assholes!  If they weren’t dead, they’d be soon wishing they were.

Rogue glanced back at him, and must have seen the anger in his eyes, because she asked, “You know what her deal is?”

“Not exactly.  But I think I’m starting to.”

She looked at him questioningly, but they’d already hit the gym, so she had no chance
to ask.

Piotr was standing beside the new heavy bag (maybe this one hung on a more sturdy chain) as Leonie drove a few solid upcuts into the opposite side. “-form,” he was saying, clearly being encouraging.  He looked towards the door, and said, “Hey. Did you know she has-”

Piotr never got to finish that sentence.  While his attention was diverted, he didn’t notice Leonie spin into a back kick that hit the bag high, and sent it smashing back into his face.

Maybe if he'd been armored up he could have ignored it, but he wasn’t, and got knocked back flat on his ass, his bottom lip bleeding from the surprise impact. “Hey!” Logan snapped, even though it was an accident.

“What?” Leonie said.  Her eyes had a slightly wild look to them, as if sparring had given her a major adrenaline rush. “It ain’t my fault he wasn’t paying attention.”

Rogue had gone over to Piotr, and was giving Leonie a rather cold glare. “You okay?” Logan asked him.

He nodded, wiping the back of his hand across his bottom lip, pulling away a streak of blood. “Yeah, fine.  Bruised ego, nothing major.”

“So, you teach self-defense, huh?” Leonie said, and it may have been mocking - her voice was so sharp though, it was almost hard to tell. “Let’s see what you got.”

He glared at her. “You don’t wanna see what I’ve got.”

She danced across the mat lightly, hands raised slightly in an open offense position. “Ah, come on old man, afraid to get your ass beat?”

Rogue barked a sharp, derisive laugh. “Oh yeah.  You’ll succeed where a squadron of armed soldiers failed,” she said witheringly, shooting Leonie a look to match.

But Leonie ignored her, and darted forward, feigning a punch.  Logan easily deflected it with his forearm, turning her fist away so she didn’t hurt herself. “Stop this now,” he demanded, blocking another punch on the left side in a similar manner.

She didn’t listen.  She smiled, and tried a faster flurry, which was still not connecting. “Wow old man, you’re fast.”

He started moving in, making her back up. “Knock it off, Leonie.  I could hurt you.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, and he could smell it in her sweat; adrenaline and panic.  Was he scaring her, or was it her own inability to control herself? “No one hurts me.”

She made to throw another punch, but quickly spun into a back kick, yet he anticipated the move, seeing how she shifted her weight to her front foot.  He ducked back, letting her heel just miss his face by a half inch, and as she spun back around, he hit her with
a simple leg sweep that sent her sprawling on the mat before she could even bring her second foot down.  He didn’t want to hurt her, healing factor or not, but he hoped she realized he could have done a hell of a lot worse than just take her legs out from under her. “Play time’s over,” he told her. “I think it’s time you and me had a talk.”

She glared up at him, her emerald eyes almost incandescent with hate.  Problems controlling anger - environmental, genetic, or both? “You think I’m playing?” She snarled. She shoved herself off the mat violently, jumping to her feet and moving to attack in one smooth movement.  She was very limber, he had to give her that.

She threw another punch, a blistering one going for his throat (okay, that was good strategy - no matter how tough a person was, the throat was usually a very vulnerable spot, and there were no bones there big enough to break your own knuckles on), but rather than deflect it he stepped aside and slid in behind her, grabbing both her arms before she had time to react, and pinning them to her body in a stifling bear hug. She still struggled, and she was stronger than he would ever have imagined.  Didn’t Static have better than average strength? “Let me the fuck go!”  She shouted, still struggling in vain to pull her arms free from his grasp.  But as strong as she was, he was still stronger.

“Not until you knock this off,” he growled, nearing the limit of his patience. “What is it you’re trying to prove?”

“That I’m better than you group of pathetic freaks,” she snapped, and brought her heel down hard on his instep and smashed the back of her head into his face.

It was a fine strategy that would have worked if he hadn’t had metal on his bones.  It still hurt, especially the smashing down on his foot, and his lip split open like Piotr’s when it got wedged between her skull and his own bottom row of teeth.  But it was Leonie that barked a pained, startled, “Fuck!”

He didn’t just let her go, he shoved her away, and she stumbled.  She managed to keep on her feet, but grabbed the back of her head and stayed bent over for a moment, as if waiting for the room to stop spinning. “I have adamantium laced bones,” he told her angrily. “Do you know how stupid that was? You could have given yourself a concussion!” Although, if circumstances were different, he would have commended her; that was a very good breaking free maneuver when your opponent had your arms pinned from behind.  In fact, it was almost eerie how well trained she was.  She reminded him - just
a little bit - of himself.

Rogue looked at him, and started to ask him something - probably “Are you all right?” judging from her look - but he waved off the question.  As she pointed out earlier, Leonie wasn’t very likely to hurt him.  At least they hadn’t put any adamantium in her.

When Leonie did look up at him again, tears of rage and pain sparkling in her eyes, his lip had already healed over, so she missed seeing what little damage she had managed to do. “You people are weak,” she snarled. “You’re coddled in here.  You have no idea what it’s like in the real world.”

“I wish you knew how ironic it was that you’re saying that to Logan,” Xavier’s clipped, patrician voice said, and they all looked over to see him roll in the open gym doors.  He stopped inside the doorway, coming no further inside, but he had no reason to.  When his eyes settled on Leonie, they were strangely kind. “I think he was right; it’s time for
us to talk.”

Leonie’s hard eyes widened slightly, and Logan had no idea why until she snapped, “Goddamn telepath. Trying to get into my head?” Her green eyes fogged over, as if eclipsed by storm clouds, and Xavier suddenly grunted in pain, grabbing his forehead. “Think again.”

Oh great. They'd just confirmed she had Static’s power as well.