Author Notes:
I just feel slashy today. Dedicated to Nacey for introing the pairing well enough for me to get a feel for it and partially in response to Shade's challenge to write something that isn't L/R. No actual wildlife was injured in this story and the author herself has never tried to hunt deer by hand, though she's thinking now she'd like to try it. Just for the hell of it.

Thanks to the incomparable Sare for the beta.

* * * * *

St. John woke up to find someone on top of him--not normally something he objected to. The best mornings of his life had begun that way. Unfortunately, it wasn't Bobby--warm skin when his groping hand encountered a bare shoulder and a warm breast--mmm, not bad a as second choice. And even more unfortunately, he was too tired to really enjoy it no matter who it was or what he was feeling up. Opening his eyes wearily, he stared up into Kitty's face. The room was still dark, so only the faint light from Bobby's nightlight made it possible to see who it was at all.

And it wasn't morning. Shit.

"Hey," he said and yawned. "What's up?"

"We can't find Rogue."

That wasn't something he considered necessarily a bad thing--when Rogue didn't want to be found, it was usually a pretty good idea to leave her be. He'd participated in one, count 'em, one, search for the untouchable one (and that against his better judgement) and regretted the experience heartily, not least because Bobby had been all coos and sighs and remarkably besotted Summers'-like behavior. Rogue's reaction to being found hadn't been particularly pleasant either, so he supposed he could be forgiven for rolling and dumping Kitty on the floor. She sprawled on the rug in surprise and he got a glimpse of red underwear before she struggled back up. Nice addition to his fantasy life, that.

"Nope. No way in hell. Shit, leave the girl be, okay? She wants time alone, let her have it." At which time he curled back up and tried to return to a dream involving himself, Bobby, and an endless amount of whipped cream. Maybe Kitty could cameo in her those panties--they looked like a g-string, if he didn't miss his guess, and St. John considered himself an expert on women's underwear.

Kitty, nothing if not persistent, got back up on her knees by the bed and placed a hand on either side of his head, prying his eyes open with her thumbs. Cute girl, always concerned for others, and he really liked her, but the thought of lighting her nightgown on fire so he could go back to sleep was becoming increasingly tempting. He rubbed his palms against the blanket and sighed softly.

He'd never get away with it. Shit.

"The problem is, she was acting sort of weird this afternoon. All--" a flitter of fingers in the air now that she wasn't using her hands to keep St. John awake. "Kept acting like she smelled something--"

St. John sat straight up, almost hitting his head against Kitty's bent one.

"Like she smelled something? Like what? Like something unpleasant or like she was lookin' for somethin'?"

Kitty frowned--smart girl too, she was following the train of his thoughts pretty well.

"She's not mutated like that--"

St. John was off the bed and grabbed his robe off the chair before Kitty had time to finish the sentence, jumping onto Bobby's bed and shaking him awake without a real thought of how Bobby would react. Which is why he was suddenly pressed under a cool, barely-dressed Bobby and a tongue tracing the line of his teeth.

Oh fuck, that was good, and it had to happen now. He heard Kitty's soft gasp from far away, but she sounded more intrigued than anything, and damn, he *really* needed to ask her exactly what she and Jubes were up anyway, if anything. Another time. Pressing both hands to Bobby's shoulders, he somehow managed to get some leverage and flipped them both over.

Bobby smiled a little fatuously and a hand slid down his back and across his ass--this was incredibly unfair.

"Bobby. Rogue's runnin' again."

At which point Bobby sat straight up and it was inevitable--they hit heads pretty hard. St. John almost toppled backward, grabbed Bobby for balance, and rubbed his head distractedly after the impact, already knowing he was gonna have a hell of a headache. "Fuck, Bobby, that hurt!"

"Where is she?" Bobby asked--he wasn't really awake yet, obviously, and St. John got back on the floor, more or less aware that future mishaps could be avoided with distance. With a sigh, he pulled his robe on and hunted under Bobby's bed for both their shoes.

"Look, if we knew where she was, we wouldn't say missing, 'kay?" Ah, found 'em. Throwing Bobby's Nikes out on the rug, St. John dug a little deeper and found his Adidas. Above him he felt the bed shift and pulled out quickly, as Bobby grabbed for his shoes and dropped on the floor to put them on. With another sigh, he found Bobby's robe and dropped it at his side.

"Okay, Kitty, what was happenin' when you last saw her?" St. John asked patiently. Kitty still seemed to be recovering from the eyeful she'd gotten--he didn't blame her, his body was two degrees above the norm and was awfully unhappy that the proceedings had been interrupted--but on the upside, he now knew he could jump on Bobby while the former was asleep and expect quite a welcome, so it evened out there. He could almost thank Rogue.

If they could even find her. Shit.

"Kitty?" he said sharply, and she shook her head, getting to her feet and giving Bobby a speculative look before finally answering.

"Before dinner--said she wasn't hungry or somethin', kept jerking around like--what do you think is wrong?"

A few things St. John knew about Rogue that maybe other people didn't--when she started channeling someone, it was a little difficult for her to stop. After two workouts with her, she'd finally sat down and explained--in her very odd, Rogue way--that the whole channeling thing did wonders for her fighting skills, but tended to wake up some of the personality traits of the person she called. By some, she explained, she meant the ones that perhaps weren't quite so pleasant.

Like maybe some temper or a penchant for cigars or a bone-deep hatred of underwear (please God, let that be Logan, because St. John did not need images of a briefless Magneto dancing in his head). Small things that she was only now learning to incorporate into her psyche and remind her body that no, it didn't have a metal skeleton, so wearing a seatbelt really was necessary and punching through a wall, while de-stressing and loads of fun, would send her to Jean for bandages and a cast. Which had happened awhile back and the salutary experience had apparently taught her that keeping control of her personalities was really a requirement for simple physical survival. And to keep clear of Jean's lab and eternal quest for knowledge.

That was the deliberate stuff, though. More rarely, and St. John remembered this from earlier days around her, her own personality would be submerged temporarily beneath one of the others. Wolverine was the strongest and therefore most likely to dominate her. Wolverine was the one that liked to run, and Wolverine was the one who liked to hunt, and Wolverine was the one that didn't like company.

So--Rogue sniffing the air from--shit, did Kitty say before dinner?--and it being--wow, three in the morning--that couldn't be a good sign at all. That was almost nine hours under the influence, and St. John just didn't think that this could possibly turn out well.

"Should we wake up Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey?" asked Kitty quietly while Bobby swore over a shoelace that refused to unknot itself and St. John pushed his hands away and patiently did it himself. Bobby tended to react badly to personal stress.

"No." Oh no--St. John knew some basic facts about the legendary Wolverine; he didn't care for Mr. Summers and he had the hots for Dr. Grey. Now, it would be fun, in theory, to see Rogue hitting on Dr. Grey--but the risks were a little too much. And in any case, this wasn't something for the adults to handle. They were Rogue's friends--they played with her and worked with her and took care of her after nightmares and were her family on a day to day basis. So really, Dr. Grey and Mr. Summers had no business in this at all. And another trip to the lab--St. John wouldn't wish that sort of scientific third degree on his worse enemy. "We'll take care of it. Where's Jubes?"

"She's going through Rogue's room." A pause, and Kitty wrung her hands distractedly while St. John finished tying Bobby's shoes and got to his feet, pulling the younger boy up with one hand. "See if there's anything--"

"Okay. Is Remy up?"

It was disturbing--they were all looking at him as if he knew what the fuck he was talking about. Which he didn't--words were pouring out and not quite checking in at his head. Wow, he'd been listening to Mr. Summers way too much.

"No. I'll get him," Kitty whispered. "I'll meet you in Rogue's room." She scurried out, brushing tears away, and St. John watched Bobby absently pull on his robe, knowing Bobby was itching to just start a room by room search and fuck waking anyone else up.

"Bobby-boy--hey, look at me." A pause and the wide blue eyes met his. Fuck. Fuck by five and ten and a big group of numbers--this little infatuation was getting really old really fast. Well, this wasn't the time to worry about it--they had a Rogue on the loose channeling a Wolverine who was famous for putting his claws through people he didn't care for. That Rogue didn't have claws was a moot point--Wolverine struck him as a resourceful guy just by reputation. Taking the broad shoulders between his hands, he shook him gently. "Everything's gonna be fine. We'll find her."

* * * * *

Rogue's room was painfully neat. St. John had never actually seen her room before, and it took a second to realize that someone actually lived in it--no socks on the floor, no shoes scattered in an messy arc around the bed, the bed so perfectly made there was a vaguely hospitaly feeling about it. The floor was buffed to a shine that told him more about her state of mind than anything Kitty or Jubes had said while he walked around and Bobby did his quiet-panic routine by the door and Remy smoked a cigarette and looked worried.

Not helping. Jubes was the only one vaguely useful and was currently going through the closet.

"Her cloak is still here. All her shoes but her work boots." Jubilee ducked back out--she really would be great at reconnaissance--their resident thief was doing a pacing thing now and the definition of useless.

Hmm...working boots, translated to boots with a good traction on rough terrain. She hadn't worn them today--it wasn't her week for yardwork. No cloak, which meant it wasn't a Rogue-running-away episode of some sort. She'd be outside, probably the wooded area. St. John tucked his robe on a little tighter.

"Okay. Let's split. Remy, you and Jubes check the garden and the soccer field." Might as well give them time to bond in the dark--with any luck, they'd maybe notice that fighting was a good form of foreplay. "Bobby, you and Kitty take the west side of the house--stables, garage, tennis courts, the whole thing. Look everywhere. I'll check the woods and the lake. We'll meet in the garden in--" he checked his watch--"thirty minutes. If we don't find her--"

But St. John, who knew he'd find her, wasn't worried about that hanging statement, and nodded to his troops--how fucking depressing, despite his best efforts he was learning something from Mr. Summers--and they took off for their respective locations.

He was glad no one asked why he'd chosen to go alone though.

* * * * *

He had to admit, as he tightened his robe, that the girl was good at living up to her name. Erratic was a word for it--he'd also throw in highly unstable and maybe on the edge of having some serious psychoses. Not her fault--she was the literal definition of a multiple personality disorder and all things taken into account, she was handling it beautifully. He supposed that it really was a credit to her strength of mind that these breaks were so infrequent and tended to be shorter than nine hours--ooh, closing on ten hours.

Better get to it then.

"Rogue?"

Like she'd answer or something. But he paused anyway, thinking for a second, then shutting his eyes briefly, listening to the sounds of the forest--survival training was something he'd actually enjoyed.

"Johnny?"

Fuck, it worked. Who knew? He took the second path--yes, the definite trail of feet and something obviously dragged--or someone--well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. He'd need Remy for that--if she took someone down, they'd need him to get rid of the body. God knew, he'd done it before in his former line of work. Running through the various scenarios, including how to get all their stories straight and their clothes disposed of, it was almost--not quite, but almost--a letdown to see her kneeling beside the badly molested carcass of a deer.

She looked--well, like Rogue. A little pale, shaken, not quite like she'd jump into attack mode at a moment's notice, and that was all to the good as far as he was concerned. He was fast--very fast--but he wasn't in the mood to test himself against the man that had taken down Mystique and actually enjoyed a pitched battle with Sabretooth, even if the man was in Rogue's less-trained body.

"Rogue?" he said cautiously. She shuddered a little, then nodded. There was blood smeared on her face, her hands, into her t-shirt and he knew it had to be congealing in her gloves--that deer had been obviously dead awhile.

And Rogue had just as obviously had a snack on it. Hmm...was a step up from the dumpsters he'd utilized in his misspent youth. He took another step forward, then another, watching for any signs she either did or did not recognize him, disregarding briefly the fact that she was responding to her name. No chances.

"I'm--okay." A breathy hiss and a growl, then she shook her head again and looked up.

"That's good." Briskly, he circled the deer--wow, she'd made some headway, they'd need to remember to make sure she ate regularly and maybe upgrade her diet to more meat--and crouched beside her. She didn't smile, but there was a little relief on her face--probably the fact that Bobby wasn't here trying to baby her. She really hated that. "You feel okay?"

"Yeah. Better."

"Good you got some dinner there--Kitty said you didn't eat."

She grinned a little at that, then her eyes narrowed as she glanced down at the deer. "I'll never understand his thing for raw meat."

"Don't blame you. When he comes back, show him how to cook it--I like venison myself, just on the charbroiled side." Carefully, he pushed her hair back and his hand came away sticky--what, had she rolled in the blood or something?--and wiped his fingers on his robe absently. "We gotta get rid of this."

"Get rid of--" she gave the deer a long look. "I see your point. Doesn't quite look--er--"

"Yeah, well, I'm not a huge fan of risk."

Rogue blinked but nodded warily, standing up and glancing down at her clothes.

"Shit. There's no way--"

"No worries. Strip."

She stared at him in shock, and he grinned a little--this was easier than he'd expected. No feral Rogue, no murder to cover up, no real issues at all except getting her clean and getting back in under--he checked his watch--ten minutes. Piece of cake.

"Strip?" There was a wealth of questions in her voice.

"It's cold, but the lake'll get you clean enough to get back to your room." The carcass was tricky--maybe if they'd given her a little more time, she would have finished more of it off. Oh well. With a glance around the clearing, he debated the possibilities, then ducked down to check and see if she'd used her teeth or--

--thank God, a knife. Just in case his idea didn't pan out as hoped. He pushed it to the side for later retrieval and turned to Rogue.

"Help me pull this to the lake," he instructed, and she nodded shortly. "Path behind you, shouldn't be a problem. We'll throw it in."

"It'll foul the lake!"

"Oh, that. Professor Xavier has it checked out every few months--by the time they find it, it'll be rotted to hell, no evidence. He'll clean it up, it'll all be good. Get moving--we haven't got much time. You gotta get clean first before we toss it--the pier's over some deep water, everything'll be fine."

Time, time, time. Bobby was probably making himself sick and there was a slight chance Jubes and Remy were having a bonding moment in the garden by now--maybe by the roses where the widest bench was. Nah, they'd wait to hear from him to see if he found her. Hefting up his side, he was pleased to see her manage the other half.

"You're pretty useful, Johnny."

"Yeah, that's what all the girls say," he answered. So the night wasn't a complete waste--he could jump Bobby at night and expect good things and he now knew that Rogue should definitely get a heavier protein diet.

All things considered, not a bad night at all.

jenn@igg-tx.net