Author Notes:
First off, the author does not condone any action taken during this story, even if there is a possibility she or one of her friends and/or family might have tried something like this themselves. Thanks to Sare for the beta.

*****

Only one person would dare open his door without knocking (besides Bobby) and sound that cheerful when she did it.

"Johnny? Whatcha doin'?"

Oooh. Good question. St. John was currently breathing. He thought that was pretty good, all things considered. That he still could, that is. Ten minutes before, it had been a serious issues of consideration. But now it was happening more regularly, and with less pain, so that had to be a good thing.

Well, conditionally a good thing. Breathing meant he was alive. Alive meant he had no excuse not to go to class tomorrow. Class tomorrow meant he would be going through this again. Fuck.

"Johnny?"

"Go 'way, Rogue."

Her boyfriend--okay, so not her boyfriend, but close enough--Logan was doing it on purpose, he knew it. He was taking a fiendish delight in torturing them, in watching them suffer.

Opening one eye, he regarded the relatively bouncy young woman standing at the door. Hated her. Hated everyone right now, but hated her because she was closest and therefore convenient. She'd showered and the long dark hair was still wet, twisted up on top of her head, but was in jeans and a t-shirt, a loose flannel pulled over to cover her arms, sleeves rolled a little to show the black leather gloves, her trademark. Suspiciously, he looked at the shirt.

"Is that Logan's?" he asked. She frowned, glancing down as if she'd forgotten, then shrugged.

"Yeah. He let me use his shower, so I grabbed it before I left. I gotta do laundry, outta long sleeve shirts." She paused, frowning a little. "Shit, Johnny baby, you crawl outta the shower to die or somethin'? You look like crap."

St. John let his eyes narrow.

"If I had more energy, I'd light you on fire."

She snickered and skipped across the room, dropping on top of him despite the bare skin of his chest and the towel, the only thing he was wearing. She'd seen him naked before. She'd fucking laughed at him naked before. Uh-huh, Roguey baby, I remember that. Straddling neatly, she braced a gloved hand on either side of his head.

"I need some help, sugar."

Rogue playful was something new in his experience--good mood, yes, but flushed, a little giggly, a little bouncy--no. Never seen that. Was weird. Kind of creepy.

"Anythin' for you, babe. Whatcha got in mind?"

Rogue was endlessly creative--not quite at Jubilee's level of sheer mayhem, but up there when it came to finding ways to get around the conduct code. She was cool like that--now that Logan was back, she was slowly moving into public more--early on, St. John had noted Rogue's avoidance of the teachers and the rest of the students. Even understood it, especially after that little trek into isolation. With Logan home, however, she was more and more willing to be seen, and he found that oddly comforting. And couldn't hate Logan, damn it, if he gave her that kind of security.

Fuck. There went his righteous rage. With a sigh, he finally relaxed into the bed, folding his arms behind his head and Rogue shifted her gloved hands to rest beside his chest.

"Remy and Kitty wanna do a little--er, creative work at the mall," Rogue answered. "Bobby's unconscious on the couch and Jubes don't wanna get involved since she got caught swiping that candy downtown and Jeanie tore strips outta her for that. So they asked us to run interference."

St. John thought about that.

"Where's he thinkin' of this time?"

"Jewelry store." A pause. "I think he's gettin' somethin' for Jubes. He was askin' me what her favorite stone is and all that."

Whoa. That was upgrading. St. John began to sit up and Rogue adjusted her position in response. And his body, despite its exhaustion, was waking up to the face that she was positioned *really* well right now and her eyebrows both jumped as she glanced down, grin widening.

"Hoo-ha, Johnny sugar, glad you're so happy to see me. You gonna play or stay?"

"I'm in. I gotta do some shoppin' anyway." Easily, she slid off his lap, stepping back and pulling absently at her sleeves so the rolls began to cover her hands. "Doncha worry. It's been rainin' anyway, I'll get my gloves--God knows, your boyfriend almost broke my fucking hand in that little session with grips today. And you have extra sessions, doncha?"

Rogue flushed at the reference to Logan.

"One, he ain't my boyfriend, so mind outta the gutter, sugar. Second--only in combat twice a week."

St. John threw the towel over the hamper and ducked into his dresser.

"Then what the hell do you do those other three days?"

Unaccountably, Rogue was silent, and St. John pulled on his boxers and turned around to look at her. She was flushing, and damn, that was interesting.

"Meditation," she said reluctantly.

"Meditation wouldn't make you look like that," he observed, rummaging with one hand for a clean t-shirt. "Roguey--"

"Hey, I can have a private life, you know!" Wow, even her voice seemed to flush and St. John pulled on the t-shirt and hunted for his jeans. Behind him, he heard Rogue start checking under his bed for his shoes. Probably to hide her face.

"And that meditation must be interesting if you classify it under your private life. Babe, we all do that stuff. What makes it so different that you turn that particular color?"

Getting the jeans on, he turned to see Rogue, now all the colors of a sunset, holding both his boots. Grabbing some socks from the floor, he sat down to pull them on, getting something of a kick out of the look on Rogue's face.

"It's--he does it different than the Professor," she said finally.

"What, are we talkin' the kama sutra of meditation here?"

"Fuck you, Johnny." God, soon she'd be the color of a tomato and he automatically checked the neckline of her shirt. She shifted until she was sitting, and he could see the smile tugging at her mouth. "He--um--fuck, Johnny, he's not exactly--" she stopped again, head going down, and John pulled on his left boot and stared at her. "No clothes. None at all."

Whoa. That was some imagery. St. John took a minute, trying to get a picture of that lodged firmly in his head for later enjoyment. Jubes was gonna want to wire the room to get some images like that. Glancing down, he saw Rogue was smiling.

"You too?"

"Nah. Well, I could--but--" she stopped, tilting her head slightly--the flush was receding a little. "He's hard to read, ya know? Me naked, him naked, that's like asking for trouble. It's not like I can throw myself at him, because really, that could cause some serious injuries, but God, wouldn't it be tempting? And anyway, it's not me he wants."

It actually took several seconds for the sense of her words to penetrate, and St. John already had his second boot on before he realized what she said. Stomping his foot in, he stood up, pulling on his gloves and extending her a hand to pull her to her feet.

"Whatdya mean?" He couldn't imagine anyone *not* wanting Rogue. Beautiful, elegant, great body--shit. But she didn't seem very fazed by the idea, casually going to the door as he grabbed his wallet and the keys to his bike.

"Jeanie. He still wants her. I gotta wait." Casually, she opened the door, turning around, and he saw her smile--natural, very much herself. Which was odd.

"Okay, I get the idea--hey, do I need my jacket?"

"Nope."

"Okay, I get that you don't feel threatened--"

"She's ten years older than me, Johnny. Trust me, I can wait." That smile again, that always made St. John wonder what the hell was going on behind her eyes.

"Okay." Make it simple--Rogue liked simple. Walking out the door, St. John flipped the lock and considered the girl beside him, absently sliding an arm around her shoulders. "What's our job?"

"Fire alarm on second floor--Remy said you got quite a talent for it, sugar." Easily, she lifted her hand to her shoulder, linking her fingers through his--comfort-touch. She only did that with people she trusted. "After, we get to shop." She gave him a speculating look. "You know, you and Bobby are really close to not speaking at all. I'm gonna ask the age-old question of what is it about the words 'talk to each other' that translates in the male mind as 'never talk at all if you can help it'?"

"I'm getting relationship advice from the girl who has no problem with Logan drooling over Dr. Grey."

"Oh." She paused briefly, checking her gloves, then they continued to the stairs. "I have problems with it, but it'd be like having problems with the sun rising. In theory, I could wish they'd just fuck and get it over with; in practice, I hope she keeps her legs shut except for Scooter. That whole 'unavailable' mystique would clear up pretty quick--they wouldn't get along in a relationship at all. Jean needs stability badly and he can't give her the kind she needs."

"Where'd you pick up that psychobabble?" he asked curiously as they got to the bottom. He could hear Bobby snoring over the volume of the television and grinned a little. So did Rogue, who giggled softly and waved at Jubilee, who barely lifted her head from Bobby's stomach to wave back before flipping through the channels.

"Logan's head. Well, some deduction, anyway." She shook her head. "It's useful if you want someone to carry around a carbon-copy of them in your mind. Saves me a few mistakes."

"Except for the telling him part."

Rogue shrugged.

"It's been five days, he's been okay with it. And I couldn't be sure. We takin' your bike?"

Getting into the garage, he found the helmets, throwing one to Rogue, who fastened her hair quickly before unclipping the chin strap. After a few minutes, he turned around, watching her straddle the bike, helmet perched on the top of her head. Very cute.

"I get why you didn't tell him about Remy. Made sense, it's all good, I like Remy pretty well, ya know? That's not the problem. But he's gotta know about that room, babe, and what happened in there. You didn't flip out because of the absorption--you flipped when they started putting restraints on you."

A pause, and he couldn't see her face.

"I was dangerous, Johnny. They didn't have a choice."

"Fuck a choice! Jean Grey's a telekinetic--all she had to do was get you outside where you had space. The grounds of the school are big, just monitor you until you could handle it. Locking you up was the worst possible thing--even Dr. McCoy thought so." He took her shoulders, turning her until he could see her eyes. "Roguey, I've never lied to you. You gotta tell him about it so he'll know."

"It's over."

"Not when you're still dreaming 'bout it."

"I can take care of myself, Johnny-boy. Doncha worry, 'kay?'

She shook her head, pulling the helmet down, and St. John sighed, knowing Jubes had already tried to get her to see reason. No hope, Rogue just wasn't in a reasonable mood. Sighing to himself, he pulled on his own helmet and got on in front of her, feeling her arms lock around his waist.

"Ready?"

"Yeah. Remy 'n Kittycat'll meet us at the entrance. Drive, boyo."

* * * * *

It was much later that St. John would think that they probably could have handled it better. Sitting quietly in front of the mall, the four of them waited patiently under the eyes of no less than eight security guards.

Eight. Wow. Recalcitrant mutants rated watching. He didn't blame them.

"We're gonna get fried," Kitty whispered. Remy began to say something, and her fist instantly connected with his stomach. St. John winced in sympathy. "You don't say a fucking word. You're fault we're in this mess."

It was only half Remy's fault--put aside the whole stealing part, Kitty had been the one to move too fast and trip the alarm. Fuck.

St. John glanced up at the guards, then quickly back down. Against him, between him and Kitty, Rogue shifted a little, fiddling with her gloves, long hair loose--in public, her hair was always down, the only real shield for her face unless she took to wearing a mask or something. Which frankly, in St. John's opinion, would be some sort of crime.

"Who'd they call?" she whispered. Picked at her gloves. Shifted her feet nervously.

"Don't know. Whoever picked up the fucking phone." God, it could be Mr. Summers or Dr. Grey or Ms. Munroe or--oh, he wouldn't think about that. God wasn't that cruel.

"Hey kids."

Oh, it could be that bad, and Rogue twisted around, eyes going wide and very dark very fast. Logan and Dr. Grey--Dr. Grey, who was with the head of mall security and carrying cash. At a nod from the head guy, security warily moved away, eyes on them, and St. John stumbled to his feet, grabbing Rogue by the arm and pulling her up with him, since really, she didn't seem like she wanted to move too much. She looked at him, then at Logan, who looked so utterly expressionless that St. John didn't even want to know what was going on in his mind.

Mutely, all four of them followed Logan to the car. Stuffed themselves in the backseat while Logan took Remy's keys and St. John's, handing them over to Dr. Grey, who would doubtless use Kitty's car to drop off the bike. Logan gave a glance at Rogue as she got in, and she hesitated, then slowly, so slowly, circled the car and got in the front seat.

St. John figured this was one of those times that she was less afraid of close human contact than the alternative.

"Logan--" Got to give her points for courage.

"Don't even try. Get in, sit down, and shut up."

Shoulders went straight and her head went up--but she ducked in and pulled her seatbelt on, picking at the edges of her gloves. Logan got in, started the car, pausing for a minute.

"Value at five thousand, Gumbo. That's grand theft. You were anyone else, you and cat girl there would have your asses in jail. Along with these two idiots who agreed to run cover in such a half-assed way."

Not one of them dared to comment. Beside him, St. John felt Kitty wince, head down. Probably not so much at the thought of jail--she'd been in juvie more than once before coming here--but St. John suspected the failure was really grating on her pride.

"What was the plan?"

What an odd question. Even odder when Rogue shifted to answer it--not that any of the denizens of the backseat could get a word out.

"Kitty does the case. Johnny and I go in to look at the choice. We leave, Remy waits for the fire alarm. Kitty phases through and gets the lock, Remy makes the switch. Piece of cake."

She made it sound like a military maneuver.

"Uh-huh. What went wrong?"

"Kitty missed one of the alarms and it went off."

"Motion sensor." Startled, Remy lifted his head. "You're fast, kid, but you shoulda disabled that first time in."

There was silence again, and Logan sighed.

"I'm a lousy thief--don't like the trade particularly." A pause. "You gonna pull something like this, you do it right. Housebreaking isn't jewelry-store class. You open your mouth and say you've pulled off better back in New Orleans, Gumbo, I'll tell you, this place knows all about mutants. They got security here that's better than you are." Another pause, and they were pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

St. John wasn't sure if he'd ever heard such a surreal lecture in his life.

"You aren't mad." Rogue sounded faintly shocked.

"Oh, darlin', I'm mad. That kind of stunt lands you in jail. And trust me, you don't wanna see me when I have to bail four kids who should know a hell of a lot better--or be a hell of a lot more careful--outta jail." He hit his blinker, glancing both ways before turning onto the road headed for the Mansion.

"Are they gonna press charges?"

"Nope. Xavier's on the phone now, doin' some mighty fast talkin' to keep you four outta there." Logan gave Rogue a look and St. John could swear she almost sank into her seat. "Don't worry though--I'm sure Chuck has somethin' in mind for you to do to work off this."

Ooh. That didn't sound good. Rogue was staring out the window, and St. John felt Kitty shift beside him. Remy looked like he wanted a cigarette badly.

"And you got a nice lecture comin' from Jeanie and Scooter, kiddos. Should be fun." A pause. "They think I'm not keepin' you busy enough." Thoughtful amusement.

Rogue spun in the seat so fast her hair went flying. St. John shut his eyes and his muscles immediately began to ache.

"We're busy. We're very busy, Logan. You have no idea how busy. And tiring. And good for us or something like that."

"Not if you have time to put this together, kiddo." He gave her a glance, then back to the road. Logan was thoroughly enjoying this, no question--and St. John, unnerved as he was, had to admit it was a massive improvement over what Mr. Summers would have subjected them to. Or rather, would be subjecting them to once they got back. "Sit back and just relax. I'm sure Chuck will think of something to keep you occupied for the rest of the summer."

Oh fuck. St. John didn't even want to think about what that could mean.