Summary: I end as quietly as I began. In which it is time for children to become adults and fires to be started in the rain.
Author Notes: It was fun wasn't it? This entire series was written to "Kiss the Rain" by Billy Meyers and "Higher" by Creed. I have NO idea why, but there it is. I'm not even sure I like the songs, but I always had to listen to them first.
Disclaimer: Not mine, though in general, St. John isn't really used by many other people, even the owners--couldn't Marvel give the rest of us time shares?

Thanks to: Dear God. Just a sec....

<in one breath> Sare Liz, Andariel, Beth, Nacey, Diebin, Ann, Victoria P, Jamie, Susan K, jengrrrl, swampfoetus, Minisinoo, Kylie, Natalie, Ally, Wendy, Matt, Molly, Misty, Kevin, Colleen, Stella, Matt, Jaguarita, Siale, Eros, Kassie, Sascha, Donna M, Crystal, Annika, PsychoBabble, Freddie, Mara, Amy Beth, Sorciere, Yvette, and Lateo. Thirty two stories, six months, and dear GOD a massive word count later, it was *only* through feedback that I ever considered this a viable story premise and the only thing I've ever written that I've loved every second of. My thanks, my appreciation, and all my gratitude you stuck with it this long. Thank you.

Would anyone believe I started crying during editing?

St. John watched as the other kids began to stack the wood, the scraps of the pruned trees piled in the center of the area he'd burned out a few days before to make it safe for tonight. He didn't have to assist and caught a resentful glare from Jubilee, but as Scott had told all of them, St. John needed to center himself first. He was going to get to play tonight, and while St. John didn't think he needed that extra hour of meditation and relaxation, if it kept him from further yard work, well, who was he to go against the judgement of the fearless leader anyway?

Stretching his fingers, he checked out the blisters from the mass pruning that still spread red-purple across his palms--and why was it that Xavier couldn't get a good gardening crew to do yard maintenance? Oh no, the mutant anklebiters had the job. Yes, it built muscle, and oh yes, it taught them the value of hard work--but really, pruning trees? Combat built muscle and was practical at that. When on earth was he going to run into a Brotherhood tree-maker type mutant? That was St. John's question. And it had yet to be answered to his satisfaction.

"Johnny."

He didn't turn at the sound of the voice at his shoulder--even at the light scent of Old Spice cologne he knew Bobby had gotten for Christmas from Dr. Grey. Slowly, the presence settled beside him on the ground--large, cool, comforting. It could have been anytime in their shared life, anytime in their childhood together, anytime in the world. He shut his eyes briefly, letting himself lean against the larger boy, taking in the familiarity of him so close, even the arm around his shoulders and the cool hand brushing against his temples.

"You ready?"

"Better believe it, Drake," St. John answered softly. The dying sun lit his eyelids blood red and the day was already cooling off. "You get lost on your way out here or did you detour to the kitchen for a snack?"

"Dr. Grey threw me out," Bobby admitted, and St. John turned his head a little so he caught the edges of Bobby's grin with half-open eyes. "Something about not spoiling my appetite."

St. John snorted at the thought of anything spoiling Bobby's appetite. Bobby ate like food was never going to appear again. Sort of scary during visits to the local buffets.

"You okay, Johnny?" Long cool fingers stroked along his hair, then hovered above his skin, not quite sure what to do. He'd taught Bobby that, how to be uncertain, and he didn't like knowing that.

There were a wealth of questions in that one statement that St. John just wasn't sure how to answer yet, but he tilted his head back a little more and felt the brush of Bobby's lips across his mouth.

"Yeah. I'm okay." At least for now, at least for tonight, he'd forget the rest of it, forget Carol and secrets and the lies he hadn't tried to use yet. Summer-blue eyes kindled and Bobby grinned--a real grin, that St. John hadn't seen in a long time. Too long.

His hands were already warming, prepping himself for his first sanctioned controlled outdoor fire. He'd been preparing for this with Scott during extra training sessions, his final tests as an X-Man. Logan had cleared him for combat, he'd been refitted for a new uniform, and downstairs, there was a glass case with his name on it.

Graduation.

At their high school graduation, they'd all gotten their diplomas and gotten drunk in Jubilee's room--twenty of them, throwing up in the toilet and generally enjoying the fact that they'd managed it, when odds had said they'd end up dead or in some sort of government custody by the age of eighteen.

This was different.

This was their graduation from safety, for those who had chosen to go on to become X-Men. He, Rogue, Remy, Bobby, Jubilee, and Kitty, had successfully completed their combat training, had successfully completed their first mission, and had successfully completed the advanced control class that Scott had given them for their mutations in the last few weeks. They were as ready as they'd ever be--moreso than their leaders had been when they'd begun.

How nice. They'd graduated into being allowed to kill. St. John tried not to think of it that way, but he remembered Rogue in the field too vividly to be able to pretend that what they'd be doing is merely swooping in to rescue the helpless from the hands of Bad Guys with nary a scratch before handing over aforesaid Bad Guys to whatever authorities were on hand. Real life would be torn uniforms and blood soaked into their skin and long nights in the infirmary hoping their teammate pulled through. Real life would be at best a stalemate that they could walk away from, and at worst, they wouldn't walk away at all.

There was a streak along the sky--St. John followed it, saw Rogue come down just out of sight, landing with a stumble that brought a smile to his lips. Grabbing at a tree, she pushed her hair back from her face, looking around quickly to see if anyone had seen her, and St. John tore his gaze from her face to look on the piling wood. She wanted her quiet entrance and he wanted her to have it.

She loved to fly. And he loved to watch her, early in the morning, when he knew she thought no one else would see. The first time, when she'd began to float, hands clenched, eyes closed, opening wide as she found her center--utterly amazing to see her face at her realization.

Beside him, he felt Bobby's smile and knew Bobby had seen her too.

"She's getting better."

"Yeah." Watched as she settled herself--she'd always moved gracefully, and sometimes, he'd wondered how she's managed to miss the horrors of adolescent gawkiness, but now it was like watching air move in concert, in perfection. She was approaching from the shadows, not quite ready to become a public figure again--too bad her two best friends were of a different mind, as he heard Jubilee's screech of delight and the mad pelt across the rolling grass, before skidding to an undignified stop and throwing her arms around the other girl.

If Rogue stiffened, he couldn't see it. A hesitation, though, then the gloved arms went around Jubilee's back and he saw Rogue's wicked grin, before her knees bent slightly and the two hovered a foot above the ground.

"You malicious little bitch! You know I get airsick!" Both Jubilee's legs came up, wrapping around Rogue's waist--ah, St. John let *that* pretty picture sink well into his skull for future mulling. "Shit, chica, you rock, okay, you're all that is cool in the world. Now let me down before I throw up all over you?"

Maybe it said something, that Rogue was willing to use her new powers for fun. Slowly, they settled back down on the earth, and St. John noted the faces of the other students as they witnessed that little display--and if he didn't read outright fear, he did read apprehension, nervousness.

Screw them.

He grinned to himself. Sometimes, he had to wonder how on earth they could fear Rogue more than they feared themselves. Standing up, he pulled Bobby to his feet, waiting while the three girls approached.

"Hey," Rogue said softly, looking between them. A pause--and behind the too-familiar green eyes, she was still Rogue, still trying to look like she didn't give a damn what people thought of her, and he shook his head and scooped her up in a tight hug, feeling her hesitation before her arm wrapped back around him. Light and slim, lost weight again, bones fragile beneath the covering of creamy skin and the dark cotton t-shirt she wore. Reluctantly (remembering a certain sketch that he made a rule never to think about if he could help it) he let her go, and Bobby engulfed her in a tight hug that made her grin again, holding him tightly before disengaging herself, and St. John felt something in his throat catch at the look on Bobby's face when his eyes were on Rogue.

"We were hoping you'd come," Bobby murmured, hands lingering on her waist before pulling away. Her head tilted and the soft smile faded from her lips, but not her eyes.

"Ready?" Jubilee asked, flexing her fingers.

"Yeah." He waited as Scott and Jean began to soak some of the lighter fluid into the fire, and Scott lit the match. The children were backing quickly away and Bobby's hand closed over his as St. John took a breath. This wouldn't be his fire--but he could control any fire in his sphere, and he wanted to make this perfect. Centering himself, he watched Scott throw the match, stepping back, and St. John reached out with mind and heart, breathing in at the same time he let his gift free.

Briefly, it fought his control. Mutation was far more than merely an act of nature; it was also a pure act of will. Finding it, taking it, bending it the direction he wished it to go, shutting his eyes briefly before refocusing on the tiny flame, smiling when he felt it move into him, becoming what he wanted. The spark grew, brightening, and he felt the snap that made it his.

There was nothing like it on earth, and he'd never be able to explain that to anyone. It was a kind of pleasure he wondered if they all got when they used their powers, the hot-cool rush that went through his body--and if mutants hated what they were, they couldn't hate that. Couldn't hate the power of it inside them when they used it, when it became theirs in that brief second that was the difference between helplessness and control.

*Pushed* and felt it explode upward, a little too much force, licking the sky with yellow-red tongues, but it made for such a fabulous display that he grinned when people jumped back. And if he got a reprimanding glance from Scott, well, he'd deal with it later. Wrapping his fingers through Bobby's, he held his control--not too hot or the entire pile would be gone too fast, not too cold or it wouldn't burn well at all and he'd have to remake it himself. Bobby beside him, grounding him, feeling the others draw close.

Beside him, he felt Jubilee draw a breath, letting it out slowly.

"Sweet, Johnny."

"Gracias, chica," he answered and felt his mind settle into routine. Bobby was already sitting down and he followed as Jubilee dropped to the blanket.

"So where's Remy?" he asked, and shit if Jubilee didn't flush dark as hell. Now that was interesting--a glance at Kitty brought the smuggest expression he'd ever seen on the girl's face, and that was seriously something to see. Jubilee drew her knees to her chest and gave him a defiant look that barely hid the underlying pleasure.

"He'll be here--went to pick up a few things--"

"Condoms," Kitty offered, deadpan, stretching out on her stomach and resting her head in her arms before smiling sweetly. "Maybe some flavored massage oil too--I noticed the empty mint bottle was in the trash this morning."

Jubilee's eyebrows jumped and she flushed darker.

"Keep going, Kittykat, and I'll get Drake to freeze your underwear again."

From the corner of his eye, St. John saw Rogue smile, but her eyes were looking for something--he followed her gaze, scanning the crowd, noticing for the first time Logan wasn't among the gathered students and faculty. She didn't look upset though--more watchful. No, that wasn't right--

And he found Logan the same moment Rogue did, standing just outside the circle of firelight. Watching them all with that curiously wary expression--apart from the teachers and students, but not quite as separate as he wanted to be. St. John wondered if Logan felt the same pull they all did this night. How Scott and Jean curled up together in their blanket without seeming to notice what they'd consider an inappropriate audience for public displays of affection; Ororo and Hank grinning over the beer they'd brought out and Bobby had iced for them; Piotr with the older former students exchanging stories of nights so much like this one that they'd lived together.

"Rogue." It was Jubilee, one hand reaching across Kitty to rest on Rogue's knee. The other girl smiled, but her eyes were distant. She didn't flinch from the touch either. "You okay?"

"He's leaving tonight." A pause, and the dark hair swung down, hiding her expression. "He'll be back in a few weeks, but he's getting restless." Rogue drew in a breath, the light of the fire trickling across her face as she lifted it, and St. John saw her trace the metal chain around her throat, remembered touching it in that abandoned warehouse, remembered how it had felt beneath his fingers.

"Are you going with him?" His voice was hoarse, and he felt Bobby's fingers tighten in his, at the question he didn't know how to ask.

There was a pause, and then Rogue turned all the way to look at them, and the green eyes were filled with all the light of the fire. He'd never seen her look like that before, never seen her smile with that light inside her, untouched by anything else. Something clicked over in his head and just for a second, for that second, he saw Carol dancing through his mind, grinning at him over a three-legged table in their apartment, holding him in flight as they sped across the city just watching the lights, the wind cool and sharp in their faces.

Carol, who had loved what she could do, loved the power she commanded. She'd always understood the rush of it inside your body, the way it made you feel, the highs of control and the realization of the force of the power in her hands. She'd taught him that, the only thing he'd ever gotten from her worth getting. Looking at Rogue, he saw the same thing written into her body and her face, into the smile stretched forgotten across her face.

Now she knew too.

Her eyes met his, and he felt himself stand up with her, as she turned back toward the fire, pushing her hair back with one gloved hand, her eyes fixed on the lone shape in the shadows that watched her. Stopping inches away from the bonfire, she was outlined in vivid yellow-orange, and he could see Carol against that long ago building.

She stripped her gloves, holding them in one hand briefly, as if making a decision. Then her feet left the ground, and she tossed the worn leather upward and into the fire. St. John focused--and it was hard, hard, hard with a moving object--but he did it, catching them before they touched, incinerating them until there wasn't even ashes left to sprinkle the surface.

The rush of it left him breathless.

Overhead, St. John could see the clouds forming as Ororo called down the rain--the evening bonfire was almost over. The lightest of summer showers began to fall over them, but no one went inside. Not yet.

Rogue's eyes never left Logan's through the edges of the flames and rain as she alighted, and St. John watched her stand perfectly still, too close for anyone else but him to ever approach, invulnerable to the intense heat, rain soaking her hair and her thin shirt clinging to her body as she tilted her head back and smiled. Behind him, he heard Jubilee draw a breath before she lifted her hands and he closed his eyes to let her charges splash his eyelids in the bright, vivid colors they were painting the sky. Bobby's arms went around him, and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, rain trickling down his face.

His fire flared hotter and the rain arched over it in sizzling hot water vapor, vanishing from sight.

"I loved Carol," he whispered into the crackling night, and felt Bobby's breath release in a soft rush of sound, arms tightening around him almost painfully, before he heard Bobby's voice, close by his ear.

"Tell me, Johnny."

The End

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