"-and this is where Rogue and Clarice study." Annie pointed out the patch of grass conscientiously. "And that branch up there is where I study."

Creed looked up. The branch was just above eye level on him. "Kinda low, ain't it?"

"If I go any higher, it's too far to climb down when I want more candy," Annie explained.

"Oh." He'd already shown the main classroom (which was full of plants and windows, and had seemed rather nice), the science lab, (which had made him twitchy and nervous) and a scrupulously tidy room full of stuffed toys where she and Clarice slept.

Clarice was hopping along beside him, having to skip to keep up with his long strides. She had little pigtails, just like Annies.

Creed was vaguely, uncomfortably aware that she was very cute.

Annie was pointing to a wrought-iron bench, painted dark green. "And that's the bench I lift up sometimes," she said proudly. "It's really heavy, but I can do it, wanna see?"

"Okay," Creed said uncertainly.

Annie scampered over and hoisted the massive bench... which probably weighed about as much as an average human male... above her head. "See? See?" She said proudly. "I can lift it with Clarice sitting on it, too, only it makes her seasick."

Clarice nodded shamefacedly. "I threw up on Doctor Grey," she said meekly.

Creed snickered, and patted Clarice's head with one massive hand. "Good girl."

Annie giggled, putting the bench down. Clarice blushed. "I got some on Mr Logan, too," she said hopefully.

Creed grinned, ruffling her hair. "I could get ta like her," he told Annie.

Annie grinned back at him. "I thought you might."

Clarice looked pleased, rubbing up against his hand like a kitten. Annie did the same thing, and Creed found himself scritching the hollow at the base of her skull, very gently, before he'd really thought about it. "Anything else I should see?"

Annie nodded. "I have a garden," she said proudly. "A little bitty one. But there's some stuff coming up now, wanna see?'

Creed nodded, and followed her over to the tiny plot, with its carefully tended little green shoots.

"That's fennel," Annie said, pointing to a tiny, feathery plant. "And that's dill, and that's marjoram, and that's rosemary, and that's oregano, and that little one there is mint." She grinned. "I wanted to plant catnip, but Mr Summers said that if Pete's not allowed grow pot, I'm not allowed have drugs in my garden either."

Creed just barely turned a giggle into a manly chuckle. He could just see the poker-spined kid explaining to Annie why she couldn't have mind-altering substances in the school herb-garden. "I see...."

"But they smell nice." Annie leaned over and sniffed. "Try it."

Creed and Clarice both sniffed obediently. The herbs were pleasantly aromatic, and Creed sniffed again, enjoying the scent. "Not bad."

Anne nodded. "I like it here," she said softly. "They're nice. But I like being your cub, too."

Creed nodded, letting his lips curve in a tiny, genuine smile. "It's not bad," he said noncommitally.

Annie nodded. "Clarice'll be good at it," she promised, golden eyes going slit-pupiled the way they often did when she was thoughtful. "You'll see."

Creed nodded. "We'll see."

* * *

Bobby poked John in the back. "What's up?" he asked irritably. "Move already. I can't reach the jello until you move, and I like jello, so just pick up your foot, movie it forward, and-"

John pointed.

Bobby looked, and nearly dropped his tray.

A huge, lionlike man was standing in the doorway, looking around. He stood the way Mr Logan stood, tense, braced, ready for action, as if expecting an attack at any moment. His eyes were the same, too, though much darker... roving around the room, checking for exits, checking for potential danger.

Bobby thought, a little dazedly, that no cloaked figure wielding a scythe and breathing the cold of the grave could look more like Eeath than this man did, just standing there.

Then he moved, looking down beside him, and Bobby saw Annie standing beside the man, looking up at him with her innocent, affectionate smile. Bobby blinked. This was Sabretooth? The rabid supervillain who'd supposedly been 'tamed' by his daughter's soft, clawed little touch? Tamed his ass, Bobby thought, rolling his eyes just a little. That..... being.... wasn't tamed, he'd just stopped to think about it for a moment.

John reached back to nudge him gently. "That's not a man," he breathed, so softly that not even Xavier, let alone Creed or Logan, could have heard it over the chatter. "That's testosterone with feet."

Bobby nodded. "You realize that both of us together, in our whole lives, are never gonna make as much macho as that guy does in one week," he breathed back. "I feel inadequate just looking."

"Me too." John grinned. "Go on, make ice in his underpants."

Bobby wavered, tempted for one long moment. Then the dark eyes met his for a brief moment, and he shuddered. "No thanks. I'm too young to die," he said softly.

Creed released the boy's wide, half-intimidated, half-fascinated blue gaze and looked down at Annie again. "You eat here every night?" he rumbled.

She nodded, tapping her ear with one clawed finger. "I shift a little tiny bit," she explained. "Bring my hearing down a few notches, so it's not so loud."

Creed frowned, shaking his head. "Shouldn't do that," he said firmly. "Gotta get so you can handle loud noises."

Annie wrinkled her nose as she tugged him over to a half-empty table. "But it hurts my ears," she complained.

"You just gotta get used to it," he said, tapping the top of her head gently. Well, gently by his standards, although a less sturdy child than Annie might well have wobbled a bit on her feet.

Annie sighed. "Oh, okay....." she said resignedly. "You sit here. Me and Clarice will get you a tray."

Creed nodded reluctantly, sitting down in the slightly too-small chair. He didn't really like the crowd, but he'd be damned if he'd let any of them know about it.

"Hi."

He grunted, unsure of what to say. Obviously he shouldn't start a fight here, but he didn't think the kid'd respond well to 'hi, how are you, how about those Mets'. Or whatever. Creed only liked hockey.

"I just wanted to let you know that we're even. Kinda. I guess." She looked down at her tray. "I mean, you did put me in that machine thing..."

Creed shifted a little awkwardly. He did sort of feel a little bad about that.

"But you did let me take your powers so I wouldn't die when I got shot. So. Even, I think." She looked at him from under the white lock Annie said the machine had given her. "Annie says you promised not to do it again."

He lifted one shoulder in a brief shrug. "Ain't workin' for Mags no more," he said briefly.

"Good." She applied herself to her food, apparently satisfied.

Creed blinked. She wasn't gonna guilt trip him? No tearful accusations of doing nasty things to her innocent little self? She didn't want to *talk* about it?

He liked that.

Then she looked up, giving him a pained look. "One thing, though...." she said, with the air of someone making a point.

He tried not to roll his eyes. Here it came.

"If you ever, EVER again give Annie coffee and doughnuts for breakfast and then drop her off here, I'm going to tie your nuts in a bow behind your head," she said calmly. "And then Scott's going to dry-roast them. We clear?"

Creed blinked. He grinned. "Bad?"

"Did you see page three of her list?"

"Not yet...." He pulled out the list and flipped to page three.

167. No racing airplanes in the Blackbird.
168. No racing airplanes WITHOUT the Blackbird.
169. No borrowing Pietro's powers ever again.
170. Don't bite the postman.
171. Don't play 'Ferocious Ninja Death Warrior in the Land of the Infidel' ever again.
172. Ms Monroe is not an infidel.
173. No running around the house screaming incoherently at any time between ten at night and seven in the morning.
174. No calling the prison to taunt Magneto.
175. No making pointed comments about the presumed nature of the relationship between Magneto and the Professor.

Creed shuddered at 175 and stopped reading. He didn't read all that fast, so Annie and Clarice were already on their way back, Clarice holding one tray, Annie balancing one in each hand. "Hi!" she chirped at Marie. "Are you still mad?"

Marie smiled and shook her head. "As long as he promises never to feed you coffee and iced doughnuts again..."

Creed nodded. "No coffee and iced doughnuts," he said firmly. "And when did you bite the postman?"

Annie looked sheepish, which is a neat trick for a feline. "I was trying out Rahne's powers," she explained, pushing a massively overladen tray in front of him, and sitting down behind another one. "She's a werewolf, and I was running, and sniffing, and suddenly there was this guy in a blue uniform and it was sort of instinctive."

"Ah." Creed smiled reminiscently. It was a sight to make strong men tremble, and superheroes reach for their spandex. "I 'member the first time I saw a blue uniform after I lost my memory...."

Annie looked interested. "Did anyone ever find the bits?"

Creed shook his head. "Nah, didn't kill 'im. Still too groggy," he explained. "He tried to grab, I bit him, and then he ran away while I was trying to get the bits of arm and uniform out of my teeth."

"Ah." Annie nodded. "Polyester can be tricky."

Marie was watching them both with a sort of horrified fascination. Clarice was eating her peas. Creed had to give her that, she was a well-behaved little kid. Maybe she'd teach Annie something. "Leather's best, fer preference," he agreed absently. "Or velvet. Never bite someone wearin' silk, though."

"Why not?" Annie asked curiously.

"Because it's...." Creed found himself on the recieving end of a cold, red glare. "Nothin' I should be tellin' you here."

"Aww...." Annie sighed and stuffed half a potato into her mouth. "Wiwoo 'ell 'e aher?"

"Sure." He poked around in his tray, and decided to start with the steak.

Clarice looked up at him. "Mr Creed?"

"M?" he said, mouth full.

"Can I come and visit next weekend?" she asked shyly. "With Annie?"

"Annie's grounded," he pointed out.

"I won't be by next weekend," Annie said confidently. "By then they'll be dying to get rid of me."

Marie nodded, looking like she was trying not to laugh. "Especially if you do that thing again."

Annie rolled her eyes. "I promised, didn't I?"

Creed looked up. "What thing?"

"We can't tell you," Marie said, before Annie could do more than open her mouth. "Classified X-Men stuff."

Creed raised an eyebrow. "Annie, you doin' classified X-Men stuff?" he rumbled, sounding more than a little annoyed.

Annie looked up at the ceiling. "In a broad, wandering-where-I-shouldn't-be-wandering-and-cutting-bits-out-of-uniforms-I'm-not-supposed-to-touch sort of way...."

"Oh." He chuckled. "Sure, Clarice. You can come too."

* * *

"I don't mind," Creed said brightly. It wasn't in his nature to speak brightly, or even cheerfully, but it was flustering Cyclops so badly that he felt it was worth the effort.

"Yes... well... I appreciate that, but.... well..." Scott desperately tried to think of a diplomatic way of saying 'It's one thing with Annie, who I know can defend herself against things much worse than you, but Clarice is just a cute, clingy, nervous little girl and I really don't feel comfortable letting her go off with you. Um. Because you're evil, and so forth.'. He couldn't.

"I won't lead 'em into evil ways," Creed promised seriously. He hadn't had this much fun in years.

Scott ran out of words entirely, and had to sit down rather suddenly. He hoped it looked like he was just sitting down at his desk to be businesslike, but it probably didn't.

Creed examined the desk. It was kind of messy, covered in papers and books and pens and useful odds and ends, like bits of string and leftover eraser ends. One of the books looked familiar, and he picked it up.

'Managing Your Active Child', the title read, in big, encouraging blue letters. There was a little cartoon of a small blonde child smashing a potplant with one hand and hanging from the chandelier with the other. 'A helpful and encouraging guide to dealing with the problems of having a hyperactive child' said smaller letters at the bottom. Creed opened it. Several sections had been painstakingly underlined.

He noticed, with some amusement, that most of them were the same ones *he'd* underlined in his own copy.

Creed was not one of nature's scholars... it took him a long time to read anything more complicated than the sports page, and he had to sound out a lot of the words and use his finger to trace along the line... but after two weekends with Annie, he'd gone out to buy a selection of books on parenting, because anyone who spent any time at all with Annie tended to develop a deep and urgent desire for some sort of operating manual. Preferably one that told you where the 'off' switch was.

The books hadn't been a lot of help, although he *had* learned a few things about 'normal' American parents. They all said, and the media said, and the film industry said, and everybody KNEW, that what a parent wanted was a plucky, scrappy, intelligent, sporty kid with boundless energy and roguish charm. Creed, being lucky enough to actually have one, had only taken a few weeks to decide that what everybody *really* wanted was a quiet, well behaved, rather stupid child that did what it was told and didn't make trouble.

Since Annie had been grounded, he'd spent a bit of time with both of them - mostly because it ticked the X-Geeks off - and he'd gotten to know Clarice a bit better. Clarice was a very quite, very well behaved child, who did what she was told and didn't make any trouble, and while she wasn't precisely stupid, she certainly didn't have Annie's ferocious intellectual curiosity about everything in the entire universe. She was, in fact, rather shy and nervous, which weren't traits Creed usually approved of; but after a few months with Annie, he was seeing their good points.

Besides, Annie might have all the patience of an injured weasel and the tact of a red leather miniskirt, but she WAS a considerate child, insofar as this was possible for someone as sensitive as a brick. If something upset Clarice, then Annie didn't do it anymore.

He grinned, dropping the book back on the boy's desk and giving him an almost sympathetic look. "This one's no good," he said ruefully. "I already tried all of chapters three through seven."

Scott blinked, invisibly, and opened his mouth. He closed it again. He suddenly looked rather wistful. "Really? You're sure?"

Creed nodded, absently shoving his hair out of his eyes. He'd taken to bathing and wearing less conspicuous clothes lately, on the reasoning that if he went around in bare feet and wolf furs while he had Annie with him, he'd have the Child Welfare on his back in seconds. His hair was still long and shaggy, though. "There's this other book.... uh... 'How Not To Let Your Child Make You Crazy'. That one's better."

"Does it have anything that works on Annie?" Scott asked hopefully, abandoning what remained of his dignity. He loved Annie, he truly did, she was a very... special child. Exhaustingly so, sometimes.

"No, but it'll make ya feel better about failing." Creed sighed. He was obviously going to have to be reasonable in order to get what he wanted. He hoped he remembered how. "Look... I've always brought Annie back safe an' sound on Monday, ain't I? Why can't I take Clarrie too?"

"Because... Annie can look normal, and so can you, mostly, if you're careful, but Clarice is... well.... unmistakeably a mutant." Scott sighed. "It's just too dangerous for-"

Creed snorted. "Dangerous? You implyin' that I can't protect one bitty little kid?"

"Well..."

"Look, Summers..." Creed gritted his teeth and struggled to be polite. "Clarrie keeps Annie calmed down, okay? If I have her along, Annie don't go.... well....climbing the outsides o' buildings and such."

"Oh." Scott blinked. He thought about it for a moment. "Get them both back in time for class on Monday, then."

Creed blinked. "Just like that?"

Scott, even with his opaque glasses on, managed to convey an eyeroll. "It give ME heart-palpitations when she does those things. If there's a way to keep her from doing them, then I'm in favour of it on principle."

"Oh." Creed would admit, very quietly, to himself, that seeing Annie swinging by one hand from the top of a telephone pole had given *him* something of a start, too.

"But don't fill them up with junk, and don't buy them any dangerous toys, and don't forget that Clarice has to have a nightlight." Scott said hastily, in an attempt to reassert his authority. "And please try to convince Annie not to pierce her nose."

Creed blinked. "Pierce her nose?"

"She thinks it looks cool," Scott explained resignedly.

"Yeah, well, she can think again." Creed growled quietly. When you had a healing factor, piercings never healed right, and the constant low-level pain could play havoc with the reflexes after a while. "Definitely no piercings."

The boy smiled. "Good. We're in agreement, then."

There was a long pause.

They exchanged a rather horrified look

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

"Deal."

* * *

He was cold.

That wasn't unusual. He curled up tighter, spine curving easily into a posture impossible for a normal human, tucking himself into a tight ball. Cold or not, this wasn't such a bad time. He was still tired and sore from the last round of tests, which meant that it would be a while before they started another series. They didn't start starving him until right before the new testing series, so they'd feed him soon. No testing, food to eat.... he'd learned to look forward to times like this.

He was just dozing off when he heard a scuffle and a pathetic whimpering noise, followed by a sharp clang. Puzzled, he lifted his head. A grille of bars had appeared in the middle of his cell, halving the already small space. What the....

A scrawny bundle of grey cloth and wild dark hair was shoved into the other half of the cell. Ah. So this was why there was more than one door. He had wondered.

The bundle whimpered, curling up in a corner as if it was trying to hide. The cell's original occupant sniffed and scowled, growling a little. Not only was the bundle fresh from a series of tests... he could smell the chemicals... by the scent of him, he'd also been on the receiving end of what some of the guards called 'fun'.

There were two guards in the newly opened doorway, and another one... one of the scientists? Not one he knew. This one was short, with grey hair and a frustrated expression. "You!" he snapped, pointing at the original occupant of the cell. "You see him?" The finger snapped round to point at the whimpering bundle.

The cell's owner nodded, uncurling himself and creeping over to the bars for a closer look. Pale skin on the thin hands, nothing showing of the face but brown eyes so reddened that they looked bloody, thick dark hair with a few bald patches shaved into it. For the electrodes - the cell's occupant had similar bald patches in his own lank blonde hair.

"You're to keep an eye on him," the scientist instructed. "Don't let him do himself an injury and..." he gave the guards a malevolent look. "Don't let anyone else try anything either. I've already had one round of tests ruined, I won't stand for it again. Just... do what you always do."

The cell's occupant nodded. He'd neutered two guards and killed a third before they'd gotten the idea that it wasn't a good idea to try 'fun' with him. The scientists had approved, since the 'fun' messed up some of their tests. He supposed the bundle couldn't take care of itself the way he could, so he was supposed to guard it. That was fine by him. Guarding was a nice easy job. "Guard?" he inquired, voice rusty with disuse.

"Guard, yes. Guard that." The scientist nodded approvingly. "Good boy." They left, closing the door, and after a moment the grille slid back up into the ceiling.

* * *

~rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr~

There was a rumbling noise coming from the den.

~rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr~

Logan frowned, ambling into the den, looking around for the noise. It sounded like a very quiet motor, or a baby thunderstorm, or....

Annie was sprawled on the couch, having her luxuriant blonde curls fussed with by Marie and Kitty. Clarice was draped over her legs, filing a ripped claw on one of Annie's sturdy little hands.

Annie, eyes closed, was purring blissfully at all the attention. "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr........"

Logan smiled ruefully. The blonde girl looked utterly absurd, sprawled out like a dozy lion and purring like a kitten, but he was quite sure she didn't care at all. She was being groomed, and enjoying it. He couldn't blame her... there was nothing like having your hair brushed to foster the sort of drowsy contentment that he was much too macho to admit to liking.

Hmp.

"Having fun?"

"Yup," Annie said sleepily, leaving off purring for a moment. "'s nice, having your hair brushed."

"And you've got gorgeous hair," Kitty sighed enviously. "I wish I was blonde...."

"It'd look fake on you," Marie said, shaking her head. "Trust me, you'd go completely sallow with blonde hair. Stick with the dark brown and the peaches and cream complexion."

Kitty made a pleased noise, and Clarice looked up. "Brown looks good on you," she said seriously. "Like me and purple. I'd look silly if my hair was yellow or brown."

Annie made an agreeable little purr. "Right. I'm th' only one fair enough to pull off the cute blonde curls." She opened one eye thoughtfully. "I wish I had brown eyes like Kitty's, though. The yellow just looks snakey."

Logan made tracks immediately. Once teenage girls got into the hair-and-eyes-gosh-I-wish-I-had talk, there was no reasoning with them.

He slipped through the kitchens onto the tiny corner of porch that led off them, and caught Scott in mid-illicit beer. Logan's beer, as it happened "Drinkin', one eye? Jeannie forget t' starch yer tighty-whities this morning?"

"Not now, Logan," Scott said crankily. "I just spent three hours trying to explain the concept of slavery as practiced in early America to Annie, and if I hadn't bribed Marie and Kitty to make her go play hairdresser I'd still be sitting there."

"Oh." Logan forgave the stolen beer immediately. "Sounds like load's o' fun."

"It was the racial predjudice that stumped me," Scott said mournfully. "You know you have to be careful to tell her that it's not a good idea before you go into details.... and I was trying to explain the reasoning behind the belief that white people were better than black people, and of course there WASN'T any reasoning, just blindness and prejudice, and Annie kept trying to tell me how stupid it was and I was trying to tell her that *I* didn't think all this, and then she asked me if it was all in the past now, and...." Scott sighed. "I know it sounds silly, but I hate telling her that there are things like that still in the world. She's so.... innocent, in some ways."

Logan nodded. "And in other ways, she's a psyochotic little shit," he said philosophically. Scott choked on his purloined beer. Logan grinned. "Most kids are."

"Logan, they're not-"

"Wasn't it you who got jello dumped down his pants by an unknown perpetrator yesterday while the entire student body did a distraction?"

Scott paused. Scott nodded. "Good point."

* * *

The cell's original occupant crept cautiously towards the bundle, sniffing at the air. Male, yes, and young... many tests, recently, he could smell the pain and blood and chemicals... and still very frightened. Of him?

"Go away!" the bundle whimpered, scrabbling away into another corner. The cell's occupant sat back on his heels and gazed at it... him... thoughtfully. Yes, afraid of him. It had been a long time since something that wasn't a guard had been afraid of him. Back when he hadn't been in the Facility, when there had been Sky and Trees and People who weren't Guards or Scientists or Subjects.

A very long time ago indeed.

He crept forward, staying low to the ground in what part of him knew was a non-threatening posture. Paws kept under him, didn't want the bundle to think he was going to grab it. He extended his head a little, sniffing a little, and whined softly. Go on, don't be afraid... I won't bite you...

The bundle sobbed, pulling its knees up against itself. It was so small and helpless, so frightened... the cell's occupant felt an unaccustomed urge to look after this little helpless thing, to take care of it. He whined agan, sniffing at the thin hand. "Won't bite," he promised, the words coming hard. He wasn't used to talking any more. "On guard."

The bundle lifted its head, giving him a pathetic look. "What're you?" it sniffled, eyes still leaking tears.

"Subject 11-329476/B," he said proudly. He rememebered his number. Sometimes he forgot it, after the tests, but it always came back to him again.

"I....they s-said I'm 23-234285/K," the bundle gulped. "But 'm bloody not.... 'm a person, not a number..."

11-329476/B cocked his head, looking puzzled. That reminded him of something... before the Facility, he'd been called something else..... something shorter....

"Kyle," he said, after a long pause. "Name's Kyle. Think so." The words were coming easier now.... it was like riding a.... a..... a thing you didn't forget how to ride.

The bundle made a little gulping noise. "Is it?" It sat up, revealing an unexpectedly beautiful face, even all bruised and messy with tears... and an odd metallic contraption clamped to its chest. "I... I'm Jonny Starsmore." He gave Kyle a pitiful look. "How.... how long will we be here?"

Kyle shrugged, shifting a bit closer and... still sleepy... resting his chin on his forepaws. "Been here a long, long time. Don't know."

Jonny started to cry again, thin, hopeless sounds, and Kyle yawned, wriggling around to rest his head on the thin, bare foot. "Food soon," he said hopefully.

Jonny tensed, but didn't pull away from the weight on his feet. Guards didn't go much for feet, Kyle supposed. "Then what?" he said hopelessly.

Kyle shrugged and yawned. "Sleep. Then more food. Time after the tests is the best."

"The guards-"

"Won't come here. Scared of me." Kyle poked the other boy's arm, a little crossly. "Shush. Sleeping." And he curled up again, head pillowed on warm feet, and fell fast asleep.

(end part three)