Lullaby

Two weeks later...

Mr. Schulz wasn't a telepath, but he was an empath. He couldn't read thoughts or create shields. All he could do was read emotions - which was why Xavier had been training him off-and-on for the past two years to be a counselor for the X-men. He was far from being an expert or proffessional, but with time and experience, he would be. When the Professor had requested Mr. Schulz to interview Rooter, he jumped at the chance to prove he was ready..

Now the ugly mutant sat before him, looking like a cornered, rabid fox, and Mr. Schulz began to question his ability in counseling.

"Do you have a birth name?" Mr. Schulz asked, leaning back on his leather chair, trying to keep his anxiety down, his memo pad shaking in his hand.

Rooter sat in front of him, back stiff, on the puffy and soft leather couch. "Rooter is my birth name, pretty." He answered honestly, not entirely sure this 'counseling session' would make him feel any better. So far, he was feeling antsy, insecure, and under total scrutiny. Apparently, so did the counselor. He certainly didn't feel this badly coming in.

"Surely you have a last name?"

"No. Myvern people don't have last names."

"Ah, I see. Is Myvern the name of the -"

"Underground city. It's a lot like the morlock tunnels here. Though I hear the residents are nicer than the shit-faced assholes we have back home." Really, what was he doing here? How was talking about Myvern supposed to help him? It felt more like an interrogation chamber than a counseling session.

The Professor had urged him to see a counselor when he displayed questionable and downright odd behavior. He only agreed because Xavier was kind enough to let him stay at the Mansion for so long, and the Professor helped him find a nice job in a dark storage room, checking inventory items. One more paycheck and he would have enough saved up to rent his own apartment.

"How long were you living in the city?"

"Most of my childhood."

"When did you go to the Prison?"

"When I was fourteen."

"Why were you sent there?"

"I stole things."

"Ah. They sent you to prison for petty thievery?"

"When you steal little shiny things from Lord Balsan's room? Hell yes, pretty." It was Lord Balsan's golden seal that he stole - the golden seal was his coat of arms, only with slight differences. It was created for his son then - a son that was, as the rumor had it, not of his blood. The son was only four months in the womb when Lady Yvanka had miscarried. The seal was shoved into the back of his intricately-designed desk, forgotten.

Rooter was looking for other items when he found the seal, and found it to be far more expensive than his intended target. With a thief's grace, he stole the seal and headed through the Palace's many secret passageways.

He didn't know guards made a routine sweep through the passageways to deter thieves like him. He supposed that all the other times he had slipped in and out of the palace successfully was by sheer luck alone.

He was caught, beaten and wounded, and dragged into the prison. He was drugged up. A doctor implanted an inhibitor chip that suppressed mutant powers into his chest. The inhibitor also suspended all mental thoughts - effectively keeping telepaths out. Then he was sent to work in the quarry until he starved to death.

"How old are you now?"

The only reason he knew his age was because he marked the walls the amount of days he was in his cell. Simple mathematics told him he had been there for a total of five years. "I'm Nineteen."

---
Massechusetts Academy...

Incu. He wasn't born with that name. He was born Alek Ysadrovich from Russia, a cute little boy with good grades and was friends with everyone.

That is, until his mutant traits manifested. He had developed scales, a forked tongue, a tail, fangs, and talons. He looked like an incubus - which guaranteed a solitary, lonely life. No one wanted to be around him, frightening in appearance as he was.

Lonely as he was goring up, he had fallen into depression and decided to kill himself on night by jumping off a bridge. He had been hanging off the rails, almost ready to let go, when Caid showed up.

Caid was a lowly grunt then, an ugly mutant just as he was. It was Caid who had convinced him his life wasn't worthless. That his life could have meaning. That his life could serve a bigger purpose than to be just another corpse for the mortician.

It was Caid who lead him down to the underground city where he was welcome, where other equally ugly mutants lived, and he was given a new name - Incu, short for Incubus.

Now, ten years later, Incu was a Guard in Lord Balsan's prison, had an ugly wife and two ugly children - a family he provided for and loved unconditionally. Caid had given him a new identity and a new life. He owed his everything to the man, so he was honored when he heard that he had been chosen to help carry out ex-warden Caid's plan.

The plan was, of course, to wait until Jubilee gave birth. They would then take the child back to its rightful mother - Lady Yvanka - by any means neccesary. If the plan worked, he would be given special honors. The offer was too tempting to pass by - and he owed Caid his life.

ex-warden Caid had warned Incu of the possibility that she may try to abort Yvanka's child - and if she did, he would have to intervene. He had another guard watching the two abortion clinics in Massechusetts, to make sure she didn't. If she showed up there, they would take her away.

Incu watched the window he knew belonged to the Pretty named Jubilee sleepily, his gun nestled under his elbow. It was cold nights such as these that made him miss his wife terribly.

He had been stationed to this very spot in case the Pretty decided to sneak out her window and wander off (something she did quite often, apparently). He was stationed to be her bodyguard, appointed by ex-Warden Caid himself.

He saw Jubilee rise out of her bed, and he winced, trying to see her more clearly from so far away. She was walking about the room, probably clothing herself. He leaned back against the tree, continuing his silent vigil over her.

---

"She thought our sex was mediocre?" Monet said, not believing a word of it. "As if she would know what sex was like?"

Paige made an indescribable expression of shock. "I didn't give you permission to read my thoughts! And don't you dare do anything to hurt Jubilee any more than you have already! Psi-blasting her was a terrible thing to do!"

Monet brushed her long, ink-black hair. "That blast was an accident. And I wouldn't dream of approaching Jubilee on a topic she knows nothing about. Furthermore, I can't help it if your thoughts are so loud that any telepath in the area could hear you."

"Any telepath? You mean White Queen-"

"-Already knows about me and Everett, yes. So long as we use protection, she couldn't care less, really." She said, flipping her long hair behind her. "Though I do wonder." She said, tapping the handle of her brush on her supple lips. "Why Jubilee would conlude that Everett and I were mediocre. She has no business thinking about Everett and I in that manner. That's quite an insult." What was that Jubilee had told her once? Mess with her a second time and she would be playing for keeps? Perhaps it is time to clean the air between me and the ex-mallrat, she thought wickedly.

---
The Next day...

Angelo Espinosa hated talking on the phone. It was his firm belief that the phone was of the devil, so he let it ring off the hook. By the tenth ring, he finally answered. "Yeah?" He answered ina dull, uninterested voice.

"Hey, is the pretty there?" To Angelo, he sounded like an absolute punk.

"Who?"

"Pretty! Is she there?"

"Pretty?"

"Jubilee, dammit!"

"Oh! Si, si." He covered his hand over the phone and shouted. "Jubecita! Phone!" He put the phone back to his ear. "She'll be coming down. Who is this?"

"Tell her it's Rooter."

Angelo didn't recognize the name. He knew the name of every X-man, past and present, and Rooter didn't sound like one. Besides, what kind of a name was 'rooter' anyway? It sounded like a nick-name for a plumber. Angelo stayed silent. He heard the punk on the other end sigh.

"I met her in prison. Can I speak to her now?"

"Jubecita!" Angelo shouted again, then sighed himself. He was going to have to go all the way to her room to get her. "Uno momento." He said to Rooter as he made his way to Jubilee's room.

---

Jubilee had gone over every article of clothing she had, looking for something to wear. It was night time, and her extra-small sized pajamas no longer fit her. She didn't want to sleep naked because it was too cold, but the only thing she could wear comfortably was her sweatpants. "Why am I putting this off," She asked herself, looking down at her stomach.

She knew full well that she was simply too scared to abort the baby. Twice she had made an appointment, and both times she had skipped it. She had made a third appointment, and that was two days away.

She glanced over at her mirror. One more week and she would start her fourth month. And she had a more noticeable bulge already.

Clothed, she looked a little pudgy to any onlooker. But naked, standing in front of the mirror that hung off her door, she looked pregnant. She put her hand on her stomach and pressed gently, as if it would disappear when she did. It didn't disappear. She let out a whimper.

The door swung open, much to her surprise. "Jubecita, you have someone on th-" His eyes widened, first that she was naked, and second that there was a noticeable round of her stomach just below her navel.

Jubilee jumped back, surprised, grabbing a shirt from the floor to cover herself. "Get out!" She shouted, paffing him in the eyes gently, with the direct intent of temporarily blinding him with her fireworks' brilliance.

He covered his eyes instinctively, dropping the phone and cursing in Spanish. He left quickly. Jubilee grabbed the phone and slammed the door, her heart pounding in her chest. How could she have forgotten to lock her door?! And why didn't he bother to knock first? He knew she slept in on sundays! He should have knocked. He deserved her paff.

She put her ear to the phone and answered. "Yes?"

"Let me guess, bad timing?"

"It was," she said, pacing her room, nervous. Angelo saw her. He probably knew now. She would have to talk to him, have to make sure he didn't tell anybody. What if Emma picked up on his thoughts and found out?

"I can call back later." He sounded disappointed.

"No! you already have me on the phone, dude." She said, biting her thumbnail. Angelo had enough discretion not to babble to anyone, didn't he? He was her friend, right? He wouldn't hurt her intentionally by spreading the news ... right?

"I need your advice."

"Woa, wait, wait, wait. You're asking me? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Rooter had more experience in life than she did and he was older - she never imagined her prison-hardened friend would ever need her advice on anything.

"That pretty-boy Logan is avoiding me! You've known him longer, ya know why he's acting so funny all of the sudden?"

Jubilee struggled to dress herself. She then sat on her bed. "Beats me, I don't know. Did something happen?"

"Well, not really. Except I did tell him my age on accident."

"Your age? I don't think that would bother him ... er, how old are you, anyway?" She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Nineteen."

Jubilee almost dropped the phone. "Did you say Nineteen?! Dude! You can't be!"

"There! Now you're reacting to it! What's the matter with my age?"

"Nothing's the matter! Except I thought you were older. Way older." She turned the phone to her other ear as she fought to pull on her sweatpants single-handedly. "Come to think of it, that might be why he's avoiding you. He tried to avoid me a few times because of that same reason. He likes to protect younger people from himself."

"It's driving me shit-faced. How'd you get him to stop?"

"I just slap him." She explained, effectively pulling her sweatpants over her bulge and was now working on her puffy sweatshirt. She paused in the mirror one more time, looking at her bulge in dismay. It had been almost unnoticeable when she had begun her third month. It was as if she had doubled in size over three weeks.

"Thanks, pretty!" He said, and the phone went dead.

Jubilee dropped the phone on the bed, then frowned at her reflection. Two days. Just two days to go, then this nightmare would be over. And this time she wasn't going to run away.

---

It had taken Angelo Espinosa some time for his eyes to heal from Jubilee's blinding fireworks show - and just about the same amount of time to digest what he saw.

He wasn't an expert on pregnancy - he wasn't a midwife, and he didn't devote much time on such matters and didn't mind keeping it that way. But he couldn't exactly ignore Jubilee's condition, either. From his knowledge, she hadn't told anyone she was expecting, and that led him to two possible conclusions. One was that she had been careless in her romantic relationships and was going to abort it, or two, she had been raped while she was in the prison, and was going to abort it.

Jubilee didn't come off as someone who would be so reckless. So it had to be the latter. The timing would be right. But Wolverine and the ugly mutant - Rooter, was it? - had been there. Did they know? The more he thought about, the more it made sense that at least Wolverine hadn't. If he did know, he would have been the first to drag Jubilee to a clinic. Unless she wanted to keep it - but if she did, then why was she hiding her condition from everyone?

He smacked his fist into his open hand, biting his lower lip. He wanted to eviscerate whoever did that to her. Bring the man who did this down, Barrio style. Make him pay. But he didn't know who it was, and he didn't want to risk approaching Jubilee for the sake of keeping his eyesight. He sat on his bed, helpless and angry and thirsting for revenge.

All he could do was wait until Jubilee came forward - she had to sooner or later - or aborted the baby.

---

At the Mansion...

When Rooter told Wolverine how old he was - a simple slip of the tongue during normal conversation - Wolverine felt as if he had been socked in the chest. If he was ninteen years old (he was just a baby!) then he was in prison when he was fourteen. Wolverine was surprised to say the least - Rooter looked anything but nineteen.

Rooter's response was that of disinterest. The people of Myvern cared very little about age or words or any of that so-called nonsense - actions were all that mattered. He had snuck into the Palace and had stolen from Lord Balsan - That was life in Prison.

No one ever cared about his age or how old he was when he went to prison - there were simply too many things to worry about, such as staying alive. Over the years, Rooter's body had been damaged and worn to the point that people couldn't recognize his age or even dare to estimate. And no one in the prison cared about how many birthdays a person had. It simply wasn't in Myvern's culture to care.

But Wolverine had cared, even though he didn't say anything. Rooter was still a teenager, not much older than Jubilee. The five years in the prison and working in the quarry had given Rooter the appearance of someone much older. Wolverine had automatically assumed Rooter was thirty or fourty. Nineteen was unimagineable.

Wolverine didn't mean to treat Rooter any differently. He didn't even notice he was doing it until he stomped down the mansion's stairs and punched him in the face.

"Damn it, pretty! I'm sick of this babying crap!"

Wolverine put a hand to his chin, surprised. The punch had made his teeth collide with his cheek, causing a cut. Blood pooled in his mouth. "What brought this on?"

Rooter stared at Wolverine in complete shock. What brought this on? How dare he ask a question like that as if he didn't know? "Shit, you used to drink me under the table! We used to bar brawl at Auger inn like no ones fuckin' business! Now ya know my age so you're henning me and it makes me sick, you hear me? I'm a man and I don't need you to breastfeed me!"

Across the room, someone laughed. He gave him a low growl in warning. "Come on, Rooter, ya know I can't take a minor to Auger Inn! It ain't legal!"

Rooter cracked a smile - it was a knowing smile, as if saying I know you from the inside out and you're full of shit. It brought a chill down Wolverine's spine to see it. "Come on, that ain't the reason why ya cut me off. Since when did the law stop you from doin' anything you wanted to do? Let's be frank before this hurts our friendship. Why ya avoidin' me, pretty? Jealous of my rugged good looks? Afraid I'll attract all the girls and you'll be left to your own vices?"

Wolverine swallowed the blood in his mouth, his cheek healing over quickly. He grinned crookedly, thankful for Rooter's sense of humor. It was so easy to forget how young he was... "Not hardly, ugly. Ya wanna know why I cut ya off? 'Cause yer nineteen. You may not think so, but ya are a baby. Ya aint got much of a childhood left on ya. I don't want you wasting what little ya have left on me. Ya should be goin' out and havin' fun with others your age."

"That's it? Yer avoiding me out of some sick surface-world-forged sense of moral obligation?" He laughed. "I lost my childhood long before I went to prison. Sorry to burst that shitty ego of yours, but no amount of avoiding from you is gonna bring that back. And what's this about me not being old enough to bar brawl at Auger's?" He spread his arms wide. "We're all babies here, Logan, even you."

What Rooter meant, of course, was that he and everyone else, including the X-men, were too young to experience the horrors that the world had to offer. And yet they did anyway, almost every day. Wolverine frowned. Damn him, he was right - and It took an old soul to recognize that fact. He would be a fool to not see that old soul in Rooter.

"All right. I'll stop avoidin' ya. But I don't lead a particularly peaceful life. Just make sure you want what yer gonna get."

---
Massechusetts Academy
Later that night

Jubilee was sleeping. She rolled over, mumbling, her eyes skimming back and forth underneath her lids, deep in sleep.

Why did you hide it from me?" An Lee bent down to her daughter's level, brown eyes meeting baby blue.

"I didn't want you to find it." Jubilation explained, sliding off her panda bear chair in agony and plopping onto the floor. She hated being put on the spot like this. Why couldn't mommy just let her play with her toys and leave her alone?

"Why?"

"You would get mad at me."

"I would have noticed sooner or later. Don't you see? Hiding things isn't good, either."

"It's not?"

"No. Hiding things is bad."

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't fix the things that are broken." She picked up Jubilation then, unable to help herself. Her daughter was small and round and pudgy, and her expression was that of misery. She rested her daughter on her hip. "Would you like it if I broke your doll house daddy bought you and didn't tell you? And hid it from you? Would hiding the dollhouse make it all better if it was broken?"

Jubilation shook her head. "Uh-uh." She sniffed. "You're not mad at me?"

"No, just sad. But next time something happens, don't hide it and keep secrets. You have to tell me."

"You won't hate me? Even if I do something bad?"

"Of course not! I'll understand." She tapped Jubilation on her little button nose. "Even if you do something bad. I love you very, very much, and it was very brave of you to come forward." Mother hugged daughter tightly, so tightly that it may as well have transcended the boundaries of time...

Jubilee awoke violently, the embrace of her mother still fresh on her small frame, leaving her skin tingling from the familiar sensation. The hair on the back of her neck rose in response and goosflesh rippled agross her skin.

She could still smell the ivory soap her mother used, thin and old in the air, stagnant, but still there just the same, like a ghost. She curled her blankets around her to ward off the chill in the air that came from the open window. It was still night - she guessed it was about midnight. "Stop haunting me, mom." She said simply, and laid her head back on her pillow.

She had that dream again, about the time she had broken a vase and hid it on the eve of her fifth birthday, afraid to face the consequences of telling her parents. But a broken vase was hard to hide for such a little girl - and it was found by the maid under the sofa. Her mother had confronted her about it. Jubilee had been so scared then, but she admitted to breaking the vase, and instead of being spanked or grounded, she recieved loving words and a warm hug. It wasn't her mother's usual way of discipline - which was why it always stuck in her mind as one of her more special memories.

"Why are you back? I haven't dreamed about you in like, forever." She said to her mother, as if she were still in the room. She was almost afraid of speaking to her - afraid that it may somehow summon her ghost. She swallowed, getting no response. A part of her was thankful for the silence. Another part was disappointed. "What do you want to tell me, anyway?"

More silence, and it didn't come as a surprise. Jubilee wasn't a mutant who could summon the dead like that. But even if she could, her mother wouldn't have responded to that question anyway - because she had already said what she wanted.

---

Angelo was awakened by a soft tapping at his window. He rubbed his eyes and peeked through the blinds. It was raining, making the window glass foggy. He opened the window, and Jubilee squeezed throough, making a puddle on his carpet. "Chica?"

"It's freezing out there!" She hugged herself, rubbing her arms. "I have to talk to you."

"I'd say." He folded his arms.

"I'm sorry I paffed you. Forgive?"

"Si. Forgiven. You want to tell me what the hell happened to you?"

"I think you already know." She let out a fake laugh, one full of nervousness.

"Not the details, no." He said, raising an eyebrow. He could tell she was scared, because she was bouncing in place. He took her forarm and led her to his computer chair.

She sat down, then took in a deep breath. "Please, please don't tell anyone." She looked up at him with her big blue doe eyes. They always worked on Wolverine, and it seemed to work on Angelo just as easily.

"I won't tell anyone. But if you think you can keep that a secret for very long, you've gone loco."

"I have an appointment in two days." She said, biting her lip. "To take care of it."

Angelo handed her a towel. "Dry off. You shouldn't be wet."

She ran the towel through her hair and across her face. It smelled like Angelo's calogne, strong in her nose. She then let it fall to the floor once she was dry. "You're probably wondering who the father is, huh." She said, knowing that Angelo would make a remark about murder. Angelo nodded, sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at her. "It's Wolverine."

His eyebrows reached his hairline. He wasn't even sure he heard Jubilee right. Wolverine was the last persn he would have suspected - he was like a father to Jubilee! Never in a million years did he think Wolverine would ever touch her in that manner - he was honorable, or at least Angelo had thought he was. Within an instant, all respect for the man crumbled away. "I'll kill him." He was going to kill that pervert for hurting Jubilee.

"No you won't! It's not his fault!"

"Yes it is, Jubilee!" Since when was the rape of a woman not the man's fault?

"No." She said, her voice falling into a whisper. "It's not. You don't know what happened."

"Enlighten me, Jubecita, por favor."

She slapped her hands together, then rubbed them together, then fiddled with her fingers, fighting away her tears. She looked up at the cieling. Wolverine had promised her he wouldn't tell anyone - and now she was breaking her part of the mutual pact of silence. She knew he would understand ... but it still felt wrong.

"We, uh, we were caught trespassing," she looked down at her sneakers now. "We were beat up, drugged up, and somewhere along the way we ended up with an inhibitor implanted in our skin and shipped off to prison."

She looked up at Angelo, who listened intently, filing everything she said to his memory. She hoped and prayed that after she finished her story, he wouldn't go after Wolverine. If he did, she would have to stop him, and she didn't feel like paffing anyone else for a very long time.

"They threw us in a cell," she sniffed, making a fake laugh, trying to make light of the grim topic unsuccessfully. "There was this corpse in the water there, almost all skeleton. Kinda gives you an idea of what our caretakers were like, huh?"

Angelo pulled out a cigarette and was going to light it, then remembered Jubilee was present, then thought better of it.

He had given up al hope of Jubilee sharing her experience in the prison - everyone at Generation X and even the X-men had given up . . . and now here she was, spilling her story. To him, no less. He put his cigarette behind his ear and coughed, nodding. Dammit, he needed a smoke. Badly.

"They made us work in a quarry for hours nonstop, no breaks, no food, no water. Wolvie and I thought we were gonna die. Sometimes at night I'd dream that I died, or Wolvie died, and i'd get all hysteric and stuff."

"Wolvie met Rooter first. Rooter gave us mushrooms ... " She looked back down at her hands. "It wasn't much. But it kept us going. But we were hungry, and thirsty, and tired, and Wolvie would get beaten up sometimes because he'd either do something or say something to piss off the guards." She did laugh then, an honest, jovial sound. "Sometimes I think he did it because he was bored."

"It was like that for almost three months. Work and starve." Her eyes glazed over. It was so easy to bring back the memories of the prison, the wailing prisoners above in the torture chamber, the loud clanks of mining picks against stone, the dirty blanket smell in her cell. The cold, unforgiving stone walls that was her bed, the deep, rumbling breaths of Wolverine as her pillow. The lonely silence deep in the night when everyone else was sleeping.

"The first time I killed someone was in the Quarry. Some bitch named Yvanka gave us food because she thought Wolvie and I were pretty. It made the other prisoners jealous. One prisoner tried to beat me up, and I stabbed him in the foot. He ended up getting shot because of me."

"Yvanka? Why is she a bitch if she fed you?" That didn't make sense. Weren't they starving? Didn't this Yvanka person save their lives by feeding them?

She scowled. "If you should be killing anyone, it's her." She saw his unguarded expression in the dark of his room. He looked surprised. For some odd reason she couldn't place, his reaction made her smile.

"She was the Lady of the city, the Queen I guess. She coulda pardoned us at any time she wanted. Instead she poisoned us. Made us do things we didn't w-" She choked back a sob, closing her eyes, "didn't want to do...Never wanted to do. He's like my ... father ... and she made us ... God, Angelo!" She opened her eyes. They were red, making her blue eyes so much more deep in color in contrast. "Do you have any idea what that's like?"

She hugged herself, wrapped up in the memory. They had felt terrible after - physically and emotionally run down. They couldn't look at each other. Their special bond had been wounded. It had healed, the bond strengthening as it did, but it would always have a scar where Yvanka had left her mark.

"And I don't even know why she did it. What kind of sick person would poison you and make you do .... these things ... to another person? What kind of messed up motive did she have by doing that?" Tears began to fall. "Wolvie and I couldn't even look at each other for a week after that. We were so ... embarassed," she hiccupped, sucking in air through her teeth, "and ashamed."

Angelo was shocked into silence. He had never guessed anything of that nature to have occured. The yearning to slaughter her mentor slid away like ocean water in a receding tide. The roaring desire to reap vengeance remained, though the face had changed from Wolverine to a mysterious woman, the roar withering to a definite whisper.

He had imagined that Jubilee had been raped - but he would have never guessed that they had raped each other - or was it Yvanka who had raped them? It blurred the lines of fault, making in nigh impossible to cast blame on any one person.

On one hand, Wolverine and Jubilee should have controlled themselves. On the other hand, Yvanka had poisoned them with a substance that Angelo knew nothing about. Just how strong was the drug? Was everyone at fault, or no one? Was it all Yvanka? For the people he knew and loved, he would have to assume the drug was too strong for willpower to overcome.

"It made Wolverine crazy. He hid it well," she wiped her eyes, "but he ended up killing a guard. Then Yvanka had him tortured as punishment. I can still hear him screaming sometimes. My nightmares are usually about that night."

In the darkness Angelo crept next to her, kneeling beside her. He placed a comforting hand on hers.

"I th-thought he was dead." Her lower chin quivered. "I thought about all the ways I could kill myself." She sniffed.

"But we escaped. Rooter helped lead us out of the tunnels. I was so sure it was all over, finally," she looked down at her stomach, her puffy sweatshirt hiding her pregnancy. "But it's not!"

"Does Wolverine know?"

She shook her head. "Nobody knows but you. I can't tell him. It hurt him so much after being poisoned. This," she motioned her hand to mean her growing stomach, "would ruin him." In more ways than one, Angelo added silently.

"You said you had an appointment in two days, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"Then in two days, it'll be over." Angelo stood beside her, pulling her to her feet.

He wrapped his arms around her. "I'll help you. If you want me to go with you, I will." Angelo hugged her, and she fell into him hard.

"Oh," she said, feeling as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders temorarily, "thank you," She hugged the mutant known as Skin tightly and fought her tears. "Thank you."

---