Staggering out the door with toast in their hands and the box of food from Oz's mom under one arm.  Boxes.  Nate has one too.  Sealers of soup and sandwiches and a lot of fruit and other sundries.

Oz doesn't see his dad, but he thinks maybe they said what they needed to  last night.

His mom hugs him for a long time.  Little growl before she lets go to remind him exactly how old he is, and where he stands in the family structure.  Only child.  Youngest family member.  Another hug when he's most of the way to the van and thought he was out of reach.

Afterward, she comes around and hugs Nate.  Pulls him down, but his arms wrap around her without prompting.  Rocks him back and forth a bit. Bites him with blunt, forceful human teeth before he straightens, at the juncture of neck and shoulder, just above the mark Oz made himself. Enough to make Nate arch a bit, for Oz to send something along the lines of *don't even think about it* down the link.  Gets a psychic version of the finger in return, but Nate only ducks his head to her, holds still, and flashes her a grin when she lets him go.

Oz glares.

The inside of the van's subtly different from the last time they were in it. t's been decently packed, but it smells slightly musty, like it hasn't been driven for a long time.  The air freshener drops off the mirror as soon as they slam the doors.

Nate reaches down between the seats and finds a very small, very strange  doll and props it up on the dash.

*Nate, um, what is that?*

*You tell me, culture-boy.*

Oz looks at it.  Draws a blank.

Nate sighs.  *It's the *I Feel Sick* doll.*

More blankness.

*I Feel Sick as in the girl version of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac comics?*

*You are a very strange boy, Nate.*

*Huh.  Maybe they don't exist in this universe.  Anyway.  The doll is all-seeing and evil.*

*I'm getting out here.*

Nate puts the doll back in the glove compartment.  *You're no fun, Oz.*

*I'm lots of fun.*

Warmth back.  Little grin from Nate.  And Oz gets to think about how good exactly it feels to have that body next to him when he wakes up. The little noises Nate makes in his sleep and the *youngness* of him.

Sunnydale gives.  Not into desert, and Oz wonders if he's wary of that for any particular reason, but into highway north.  Vague thoughts of the wetter northern world.  Oz takes off his shoes and lets his bare foot rest against the gas.  Rubs the other one absently against the carpet. Sees Nate kick his own shoes off and push the chest strap of the seatbelt behind him. Humming something that might be "I Will Follow" and tapping his fingers against the window glass.

Grey California morning.  A few cars on the highway, but not that many once they're through rush hour.  Two hours north and west until he can see the ocean, bask in it in spite of its being vaguely in the wrong direction from Westchester.  They'll get there eventually.

The van's motor makes an oddly vocal noise of protest the next time he tries to run up a hill at sixty.  Oz ignores it.  Stares at the road.  Eventually says, "Tell me about Madelyne?"

*It's complicated.*

*Try me.*

Roll of grey-blue eyes.  Nate says out loud, "Madelyne Pryor, clone of Jean Grey, married Scott Summers after Jean Grey's first death."  He sounds like a historical record, just a bit of sarcasm in his voice to take the edge off it. Mental image of the family as its own insanely complex epic. "Mother of Christopher, later christened Nathan Christopher Charles."  He sighs. "Scott left her. Took Nathan and went back to Jean. They call her 'Phoenix' for a reason."

"Bet she took that well."

"She tried to sacrifice Nathan to the Lords of Hell.  You might wanna be careful.  My family's into vengeance."

"Ouch."

"Jean killed her. Maddie. And Scott and Jean raised Nathan, here and in his very own post-apocalyptic future."

Nate chews on his thumbnail for a while.  "And I don't think anybody thought too much about it until I showed up.  Because I was kinda like hamburger at that point, and I summoned -- I thought I summoned -- her to help me.

"Oz, I didn't *know* she was my mother.  Genetically.  She was just young and pretty and scared..."

"Um, Nate, tell me this isn't going where I think it's going."

Nate.  Blushes.

Oh *shit*.

Then grins.

"No.  It didn't.  Not quite, anyway -- we did figure it out.  And she didn't leave me."

"I'm hearing an 'except.'"

"I don't know if it was always the same Maddie, but the one I had at the end wasn't her.  She was another Jean, like from another earth.  And she wanted me as a weapon.  She killed the original shaman-Nate.

"And I killed her."

Oz flinches.

"She'd killed dozens of Nate Greys.  Fried them and tried to use their powers.  She tortured people.  She killed her version of Forge."

Oz nods.  Nate's very, very quiet for a while.  Mostly he stares out the window at the mess of Americana sprawled along these particular miles of road.

Well, now he knows more about Nate. He knew there wouldn't be a lot of happy things to learn, but. But. Family. He no longer wishes there had been more time for Nate to heal before they met, but that's more selfishness than anything else. He *likes* Nate, above and beyond loving him, above and beyond being really happy to be free.

And that's something. Freedom. He hadn't wanted to be a werewolf, but he'd adapted the best he could at the time. Locking himself up three days a month, every month, like clockwork. Trying to save Veruca from being hunted down by a pissed-off Slayer by offering her his fate. On display for whoever draws the short straw. Wolfsitter with a big tranquilizer gun.

She'd understood more about it than he did at the time. The wolf in him had chosen a mate, and this was how it was going to be.  Only... Oz never really looked at it that way. The wolf in him had become him, and so it became necessary to bury the wolf. He could've used some time to reflect on his choices, though he probably wouldn't have used it for anything but focusing on Willow.

Wonders if Willow ever really knew how far he would've gone for her. Wonders if she wouldn't have run away as fast as she could if she *had* known.

Love as biological imperative, obsession only when viewed through human eyes. The mate is the *mate*, then and forever, and God, he'd been so *blind*.

Oz doesn't have that luxury anymore, if he ever did. If he's going to survive, he's going to have to *know* himself, and if he's going to know himself, he has to. Accept.

*If it helps, I'm okay with you being occasionally scary in terms of our  relationship.*

*It does, actually, but I don't *want* to scare you.*

*It's part of who you are, Oz.*

*Yeah, but it kinda goes against large amounts of my personal philosophy.*

*When faced with cognitive dissonance, always go with what works the best.*

*But I don't want to bite you. I'm kind of attached to non-wolf Nate, if you  hadn't noticed.*

*There's this thing where I could actually probably stop you*

Oz isn't so sure.  There's a gap between what Nate's capable of and what he does.  Like being an accident-prone athlete.

But it's also not Nate's problem to deal with.  So Oz just drives instead of answering.  Accepts Nate's feet into his lap when they stretch out in his direction and rubs one absently.  Thumb between the pads, stroking and finding reflexes and working them gently.  Works his hand down until he hits Nate's prostate reflex and rubs that for a while, just because.  Happy little moans and gasps from Nate, enough to make Oz wonder what kind of reaction he could get if he gave this his full attention.

*You want to?  God right there yeah*

*Believe it or not, if we did every time one of us thought of it, we might be thirty or forty by the time we get to Westchester.*

Nate sticks his tongue out.  The van flicks its speedometer up to 140, then down to 10, without changing actual velocity.  The radio refuses to give them anything but static.

Nate slaps the dash.  "What's *with* you this morning?"  Not addressed to  Oz.

The van's speed gives altogether.  They spend a long time gradually coasting down to zero.  Oz pulls them over to the side of the road and stares hard at the wheel.  The van sighs a bit and dies.

"No gas?"

"We have gas."

"What, then?"

"Hang on," Nate says.  He takes his feet back and slides them into his  shoes.  Gets out.

He walks around and crouches in front of the van, stares at it hard. There's a kind of grinding sound across the link.  It goes on for a long time, until Oz gets bored and withdraws.

For a while he watches traffic.  Thinks about license plate bingo, and air pollution, and the school bus he rode before he got old enough to drive, or hitch a ride to school with friends.  Silent greyness of the mornings and the chaos of afternoons.  Him and Devon in one of the back seats when they were about fourteen, elbowing each other and eventually groping a bit, and the day Devon suddenly grabbed him around the waist and flipped him down, making his feet sort of trail out the end underneath Devon's.  Wolf whistles from the other teenagers and a couple of sarcastic offers to join in.

Just fooling around, really.  And just something about school bus atmosphere and adolescence that meant they had to make at least a performance, if not a fact, of the classic school-bus-fuck.

Nate stands up and bangs his forehead several times against the hood.

*?*

*Van's upset.*

*Hmm. I probably shouldn't have tried to push her so hard.*

*Oh, there's nothing wrong with Van physically. Though she is pissed at  you.*

*Damn.*

*And me.*

*Nate, I'm feeling vaguely like I'm in the belly of the beast here, should we be backing away slowly right about now? I've seen Christine.*

*Christine?*

*Evil car. That's pretty much the plot.*

*Well, Van's not evil, per se. She's just a little depressed.*

*We should take her back to House, maybe.*

*Well, *yeah*, but she doesn't want to go, Oz.*

*Hunh. What does she want?*

*Cookies.*

*Can she eat cookies?*

*See, this is what I asked her, Oz, but then she started crying. And screaming. And cursing. All at once. It's really pretty disturbing.*

*We really need to get her back to House, Nate.*

*Against her will?*

*Well, I don't know if she's really in the best frame of mind to be making  her own decisions right now.*

*You have a point. Okay, this is probably going to be uncomfortable --*

*Then I'm going to get *out* of the van now.*

And he would, except the door abruptly locks him in.

*Nate...*

*Er. Van doesn't want to be alone.*

*Van's trying to *eat* me, Nate!*

*Wow, you shouted.*

**Nate*!*

*Right, okay, gimme a second... okay, *now*!*

The door unlocks and sort of... shudders. Oz hits the ground running, only to hear Van make a *noise*. A really bad, unhappy kind of noise. And then the ignition starts and the world lurches somewhere that would be left if left had any meaning and they're in House's kitchen.

Which is trembling.

*Why is the house trembling?*

*It's. Well, it's a little upset.*

*We need to leave now, Nate. I can't stress how much we need to leave.*

*Right, we're moving...*

And then they're in a city, on a sidewalk, and people are looking at them weird, but neither the buildings nor the cars seem to be paying attention. Improvement. Yes.

Oz nods to the people who stare the longest and steadies himself on his feet. Inhales. Exhaust, more exhaust, and way too many people. It doesn't feel like the West Coast.

*We're in New York.*

*Cool. Which one?*

*Mine. Well, my second New York.*

*This is the one with your family?*

*Yeah. But I thought we could hang out here for a while.*

*Sounds good to me. Do I wanna know why House was upset?*

*He said we'd mistreated Van.*

*Ah. Ah. Can we go sit down on something non-sentient, Nate?*

*Yes.*

The stoop Nate points him toward is a bit grubby.  About eight steps up to the nearest door.  Not really horrible, not like he expects to find a body if he looks hard in some of the recesses, but still.  And it's cold.  Winter, he realizes.  A lot of miles north of where they left from.  He started out with no socks and his sweater off, and now suddenly he's freezing.

There's no snow, but that's a temporary thing.  The sky's so grey that there aren't any shadows, and the air's sharp.  And for a minute or two all he can do is shiver, until Nate wraps something around his shoulders and hugs him a minute.  Oz ducks his head down and.  Leather.  Satin-lined, heavy,  body-warm.  Long.  Smells like Nate all over.

He looks over.  Nate's wrapped in an aged blue coat that smells just enough like down for Oz to be able to identify it.  Ratty sheepskin around the pushed-back hood.  Grey hoodie showing from underneath, and layers of soft clothes underneath.  Flannel shirt tails just showing.  Very soft gloves, rough-palmed from wear.

*Sorry.  I forget, sometimes.  About the cold. Want shoes?*

*They'd help.*

And there are boots beside him, complete with thick wool socks that are looking something like Heaven right about now. Wonderful.

Oz puts them on and revels in the warm.  The coat around him smells so *good*.  Wants to rub his face into it.

Nate strips off his gloves, picks up Oz's hands and chafes them between his. 

Blows on Oz's fingers.  A passing boy about their age gives them a profoundly dirty look, and Nate spares a hand to give him the finger. Keeps rubbing until Oz has full circulation again.

"You wanna walk?"

"Sure."

So.  Headed vaguely uptown, Oz thinks.  He's been to New York exactly once before in his life, and he was tiny then.  Not nearly enough to let him orient himself in Manhattan.  But following Nate's easy.  He walks with the kind of determination that Oz associates with New Yorkers.

Lots of delis.  Theatres here and there.  Bars that are locked up for the morning.  Little places selling all the universe's variations of *stuff*.  Cafe where Nate drags him in and buys him coffee and rubs a foot gently against his calf under the table.

*See, next time I need you to explain to me that you're this susceptible to cold *before* we jump.*

Oz nods.  Nate feeds him a jelly doughnut, and licks the extra sugar off his  fingers, after.

Outside again, and he's a bit more together.  More awake, less hung up on Oz-eating vehicles and Oz-is-cold.  Misses his sheepskin jacket, the one he lost when they took him in the desert, but Nate's coat feels so *good*. Long, heavy.  It almost brushes his heels.  Not the first time he's hated being short.

*It looks good.*

Oz snaps around and stares back for a second.  Stops walking. Nate takes six more steps before he notices.

*What?*

Oz points.  Half-underground music shop, with vinyl propped up in the window.  Velvet Underground.  And it's only a reflex, part of that period in his life when he and Devon free-ranged through every non-mall-based music store in southern California, dragging home vinyl and nursing an old record player through its last life to listen.

Vague, insistent, *Want.*

Nate's looking at him a bit crooked.  "Um."

*?*

"No, it's like.  You shop.  There's money in the coat.  I just need to be outside for a bit."

Oz thinks about staying.  Just experiencing the Nate-closeness.  Keep walking.  It isn't like he's even got a *place* for anything he'd acquire.

Nate leans in and kisses his forehead.  Then his lips.  "Go.  I'm just gonna be out here staring at the sky or something.  It'll be good for me."

Something like satisfaction coming through the link, and Oz takes a moment to study Nate. Gets a suspiciously innocent look in return and decides not to question. Tiny little hole-in-the-wall music shops have their own siren call.

Down the swaybacked stairs and in, immediately hit by a wall of sound that gradually translates to Hole. Courtney Love doing a cover of "Pale Blue Eyes" and Oz lets a larger part of his brain listen to it. Part of the whole Velvet Underground theme that drew him in, after all. And it's kind of an interesting interpretation. A lot more rage.

Which, if he thinks about it, really does fit the lyrics more than Lou Reed's vaguely stoned rendition. Cool. Though he thinks it might make his ears bleed if he were to listen to it on repeat.

Drifts through the cramped aisles on autopilot, registering the shameless predominance of vinyl with a kind of helpless approval. Maybe they can go buy a record player at some point, do their part for cultural revival. It would suit his adopted persona, whether or not he still does.

The proprietor sort of resolves himself briefly from the general gloomy before settling back into it with a brief nod. Anya would probably beat him if he were her employee. Only once, though, because Xander would be there to explain that whole assault concept.

Something like a surprise to realize that he'd like to go back to Sunnydale  someday, especially with the Nate Grey travel plan. Step in, step out, get  eaten by a van along the way. Maybe without the being eaten part and whoa.

Suddenly, he's officially impressed.

Magma. French prog rock. French *concept* rock. Or what happens when musicians think way too much, and then record. Devon's older sister Danielle had deigned to let them listen to the album once, just once, before packing it away with the loving care of the true obsessive. Devon fell asleep. Oz was left with the impression of... interesting.

Definitely interesting. Epically interesting in precisely that way where you can't come up with anything intelligent to say and Danielle banishes you from her presence forever. Well. Interesting.

Oz decides to buy it, if only to see if Nate will be able to come up with  anything to say.

Watches, fascinated, as the guy behind the counter manages the entire transaction without moving more than just his left arm, and heads back out into the street.

To find Nate...

Who's sitting on the stoop with his chin in his hands, listening to a girl wearing tights and muffled in about six layers of flannel whose eyeliner's smeared itself across most of her face. Crying.  Hanging onto Nate's folded  hands.

"Love sucks, Nate."

He shakes his head.  "Naw, it's good.  I swear to god.  Codependency is bad, though."

She glares at him, but she doesn't let go.  Nate reaches out a gloved finger  and pushes her hair out of her face.

"Seriously.  He drinks, you cry.  You decide to give him money, he drinks.   You don't even *like* him."  Nate pulls her in suddenly and hugs her.  "Meg, he's got things he needs to deal with, right?  And he can't do that as long as you two keep doing this.  Leave.  Because you wanna take care of him."

She rubs at her eyes with the back of a hand.  "What if he dies?"

"His choice."

*You're pretty determinist for somebody with the power of a god.*

*I *am* determinist.  It's Cable who thinks we're fated to be fucked.*

*So what is this?*

*Nate Grey, Sidewalk Guru.  I used to do this pretty much whenever I was in New York.*

*Um, OK.  Why?*

*I don't know.  People ask me stuff.  A lot of people about her age know who I am, at least a bit.*

"Nate, I don't want him to die."

"I know.  And I'm gonna be mean for a second and tell you that he's way more likely to die if you stay. 'cause you guys don't change, and he just sinks."

She hugs Nate hard.  Pushes back and rubs again at her eye makeup. Moment where she looks like someone's beaten her.  And then she picks up her bag and goes.

*That was... pretty cool, actually.*

"Nate, please."  Someone.  People crouching all around him.

*Was it always like this?*

*Yeah.  But it happens more since I became Shaman.*  He gets up.  "Guys, I'm really cold."

Looks over at Oz, who's wrapped the coat as tightly around himself as he can and hunkered down to watch.  Sneakers just showing.  Warmth between them.

"Who's he?"

"My boyfriend."

A few giggles.  A couple of mutters.  A group-think blast of something-or-other.  One, "Oh man he's a cutie!  Can I have him?"

"No."  *Oz, I just got declared the advice-giving gay best friend of every  woman in New York. My rep is *gone*.*

Oz nods.  Waits until at least a few people back off before sliding in closer.  Brush-whisper of the leather and satin around him.  The coat still smells like Nate. It's really a very nice coat.

*Forge got it for me... this abandoned mall outside of what was left of Chicago. No one really looted for style, you know?*

*Gotcha.*

And they walk like that for a while, centre of a little crowd that thins very, very slowly. Nate occasionally pulling startlingly personal facts out of the crowdmind and expounding on them. Generally good, stable advice, which isn't as surprising as it should be. Nate's lifestyle is his own, and, well, Oz's now. No one else's.

*Just us*

And after a while, it is.

Half-forgotten alleyway in what must be the Village, if only because it's both quieter and more crowded. Anonymously stylish, rife with too many scents to concentrate on, just like any city, Oz supposes.

Slow, easy kisses. Cold lips, warm tongue. Breath steaming between and around them. Oz leaned comfortably against old brick and tilting his head up for it. Kiss after kiss, Nate *giving* with them, promising things Oz can't quite hear. It's good, really good to bury his hands in Nate's hair. Muss it up and make the kisses deeper.

Something sweet and solid about it, Nate's body pressed to his own. One thigh between his own. Not nudging so much as spreading him, opening Oz to the city and Nate itself.

*'s probably my home here, sort of. I don't know. Your mouth...*

Nate sucking on his lower lip, biting a little before sweeping in with his  tongue again, again.

*God, don't stop*

Kissing until Oz's ears are numb and he's just hard enough. Comfortable, easy arousal. No tease, just Nate, and all of those physical promises. They'll make love again soon.

Oz shifts his hands to Nate's shoulders, squeezes as they break away, lips  parted and wet. Rapidly chilling in the cold. Moves his hands into Nate's  own and just holds there, foreheads together.

Breathing.

And moving. Oz is getting better at registering the little moves through  astral plane and various realities. Something less like teleportation than  walking slightly different paths. There's probably a Zen for it in this  world.

Outside a bar, and very definitely outside the city. Noticeably colder here  for the lack of crowding. Quieter, but not really. The East Coast, Oz has noticed, has an entirely different idea of what constitutes a suburb. Oz slips his arms around Nate's waist and just holds him. Waits for information.

*Harry's. Pretty much the X-Men bar of choice. Not too many entertainment options in Westchester. Thought we could hang out.*

*Cool.*

Inside and it's dark, and it's wood, but there are signs for a whole lot of imported beers. A classic of the suburb clash of aesthetics. Nate sets the jukebox to something low and quietly country while Oz orders them sodas.

Meeting up in the middle of the floor and Nate just slips his arms around him. Dancing, just like that. Slow and lazy in grey-dark afternoon, completely ignoring whatever culture the bar has of its own.

*They don't mind. They've seen weirder.*

*'kay*

Nate floats the sodas over to a table so Oz can hold him back and they sway for a while. Vaguely humming *closer* over the link and Nate kissing the side of Oz's neck every few turns. Its own kind of meditation to be here like this, safe like Oz hasn't felt in much too long. Not *just* because of Nate, but he's a part of it. Each their own little gods, completing a universe.

*'s nice*

Nate rubs his back and keeps them moving while the song changes.  Same easy quiet about it. And Oz is just faintly aware that nobody's even looking at them.  Just warmth and quiet.  A few people talking in the back.  Warm, close Nate.

And then Alpha.  Right up his spine, making all his hair stand up.  Making  him stiffen.

Nate's hand in his hair, smoothing him down.  *Shh.  I know.  It's okay.   Really, I promise.*

And the universe reasserts itself.  Quiet and Nate's touch and the music. Alpha watching them, but quietly, like a Pack leader content to let the young ones play themselves out.

Only comes over next time the music breaks.  Not quite touching. Tobacco  smoke and exterior cold, leather and denim and male.  Oz's brain supplies *Wolverine*.

"Nate."

"Hey, Logan."

Sleepy, almost careless.  Just a hint of uneasiness across the link that Oz  queries wordlessly.

*Logan's psi-zero.  I can't read him.*

*He smells friendly.*

Soft delight.  *OK.  Thanks.*

"You taking better care of your boy now?"

Nate shrugs. Oz nods without really pulling his head up from Nate's chest, the wolf's need to acknowledge the Alpha rapidly getting sublimated under the attachment to his mate.

*You guys have a lot of Alpha types around, don't you?*

*Yeah, kinda. I think the Professor likes to keep things interesting. He's a  weird one.*

A moment to continue under Logan's steady regard, and Oz wonders what they look like, clinging to each other. Hard not to look for hostile reactions, even knowing there won't be any. Other things to worry about, right.

"Your name's Oz, right, kid?"

"Yeah."

Considering look. "Jeannie's been complaining about deer getting to the rose bushes. I was thinking it was about time we get some venison for dinner. Feel up for a hunt tomorrow?"

And that sounds... absolutely wonderful. Oz nods, lets some of his grin show. Logan answers it with his own and claps him on the shoulder with a hand that feels like it weighs about seventy pounds before heading over to the bar.

Attention back to Nate, who's still a little wary.

*Psi-zero is like finding someone with... with no scent, I guess?*

Which *is* actually pretty disturbing. *Got it. He's okay. Smelled pleased.*

*I think they've been kinda short on non-evil feral types lately, Oz.*

*Making friends is so much easier when you can just sniff asses and go about your life.*

*If he sniffs your ass I'll take him to the astral plane and leave him there.*

Oz nods and goes back into their sway. Still pretty conflicted about that  kind of reaction. Part of him thinking it's the only way to do things, the  rest moderately worried. But it's good to belong.

*Mine.*

*Mine.*

Wariness fading over the link until they get almost back to the hum. The bar is starting to fill up, though, and it's not quite the same.

*Harry's wondering when and if he should card us and ask us to leave.*

*Hey, I'm legal.*

*I'm not. I could tell him I was...*

*Would Logan let you get away with it?*

*Probably not. Dinnertime anyway. Food.*

Which reminds Oz that his Mom's soup is very far away and trapped in an  unstable vehicle. *Food would be good.*

*Wanna go to the mansion?*

*Is the alternative rescuing our food from Van?*

*Yeah.*

*Mansion sounds good.*

He unwraps himself from Nate.  Not totally happy about that.  The closeness was nice.  Or, well, not *nice*.  Essential.  Possessed and warm and meditative, claiming in a public space.  The way part of him wants to stay with Nate all the time.

Nate finds their coats, hands Oz his drinks, takes a token sip of his. Leaves a tip for Harry on the table with the mostly untouched glasses.  Shoves his hands into his pockets and pushes the door open with his shoulder.

Outside, it's blueing into dark.  Smokey half-light in the parking lot. Warm human smells vivid in the cold.  Big footprints almost totally shadowed that he identifies as Logan's.  Nate wraps an arm around his chest

*Hang on*

and slips them through to the mansion's walk.  There are big shapes all over the place, mostly headed inside.  New definition of 'big', really.  Like two or three of him.  Some of them not even muffled against the cold.

Low, long machine-growl that makes Oz think of Van's anger, but when he turns it's Logan on the sort of impressively-detailed Harley that you expect a guy with that much body hair to own. No helmet.

*He heals*

Logan sort of nods at them, enough of an invitation that Oz follows him.   Nate behind him, shadow-close and tangibly warm.

Logan doesn't say anything, but he goes in through a garage-to-house door that's a lot less obtrusive than throwing the main doors open.  Warm inside, and people like a school crowd in a mix of spandex and street clothes, mostly converging on food-smells.

And before he's quite ready, he's in a kitchen.  Huge like a restaurant's,  over-crowded but friendly, and everyone's looking at him.

The word that springs to mind is *pantheon.*  Like Olympus, if Classical gods took turns doing the cooking.  Colours and elements and glittering scents and personalities that stand out like fire. Human, but *amplified* to the nth degree.  Japanese woman like a shadow sliding through, brushing across his mind before Nate's crackling brilliance snaps down.  Man in the corner like the brimstone-edge of a match, fire and on fire.  Red hair, red eyes.

So *many* of them.

Nate's presence behind him is vaguely shell-shocked.

*I'm sorry, Oz.  I didn't think they'd *all* be here.*

And out loud, "I was just.  I was looking for Jean."

Several people take breaths to answer, and while they're doing it Marrow wanders in and cuffs Oz upside the head in what he thinks might be a friendly way.  She looks like a mistake that wandered up to the gods' feasting hall.  Everyone gives her a lot of room.

She spears an apple with a wrist spur and begins to eat it that way, eyes gleaming at Oz, asking him to share the joke. Oz smiles at her, no teeth. It seems best.

She grins back. "You're looking better, runt. See you hunted down alterno-Cable. Cool."

*If I could've just been a *little* taller...*

More people entering the kitchen at all times and no one leaving, suggesting impending critical mass. *Maybe you should introduce me Nate...*

*Oh! Yeah, okay...*

"Um, everyone, this is Oz. We're dating. Oz, that's Marrow, who you already met, I guess, and the redhead back there is Gambit, and the smiling guy is Sam, hi Sam, and that's Betsy over there..." *the one who tried to scan you. She's another psi, the one who's dating Warren*

*Got it.*

"And..."

"I'm Rogue. Welcome, sugah. You keepin' Nate outta trouble?"

"Well, no, actually, but I'm trying."

Sudden appearance of a huge blue, furry hand coming from behind him. Turns to find the big, blue guy. Who smells... animal, but not. Surface animal, not really connected to the moon in any way. "Greetings, Oz. Welcome to our almost entirely fit-for-public-consumption home. I'm Henry. Try not to be overwhelmed, we're all quite angsty and troubled."

"Um. Thanks, Henry. Great moves with the football."

"Ah, thank you. I do find the sportsman's battle quite exhilirating."

*The scary thing is that he really thinks like that. I think he's the least scanned person in the house, just because none of the psis want to carry a dictionary around.*

Nate glances around.  "Um.  Who else?  That's Bobby behind Henry. Storm by the window." *Do *not* let Bobby hand you anything.  Just don't.*  "With the tail is Kurt."

Kurt bows.  He's blue.  His tail swirls in a way that makes Oz think it's probably prehensile or something.

*Nate, who's the girl back behind Gambit?*

Nate looks.  *She's a new one on me, actually.*  Mental splash of noise while he scans.  And something disturbingly like laughter.  He glances over at Nate and sees him fighting not to collapse.

*Nate?*

*Oh god.*

**What*?*

*It's Jake.  Courier.  He's a shapeshifter.  Except that he's.  He's stuck.  Oh god.*

Oz turns his head and sees Gambit's fire-eyes watching them.  Whispering to the woman.

Low, barely-female sigh.  "Never mind.  I'm Courier."  Blue eyes, black hair.  Somewhere between fuck-me bombshell and man-hating lesbian.  Oz thinks *Joan Cusack* and tries to leave it at that.

Oz works on looking not-disturbed.  "Hey."

Little smile from her, and he decides that all he's seeing is somebody who's really not comfortable in their own skin.  Nate's a bit calmer.  *Oh cool.*

*What?*

He doesn't get to find out.  "Nate?"  Jean.  In the doorway with her arms full of papers.  Laundry over one arm.

"Oh hi, Jean."

"Can you come with me for a sec?"

"Sure."  Hand in the small of Oz's back guiding him.  Nate's shaking, just barely but it's there. Loudness of the grouped minds, maybe.

Just out into the half-dark of the hall.  It's huge, actually -- stairs going up and it's two storeys high.  More of a foyer, enough to prove that this really is a mansion.  Somebody's ode to old money.

Jean has time to put down most of what she's carrying before Nate wraps himself around her. She's slightly wide-eyed at this sudden armful of boy. And Oz can smell what he can't actually read.  Shock, puzzlement, automatic mother-instincts kicking in so that she hugs him back. 

And eventually pushes him out to arm's length and looks at him.  "Hi, you. Something wrong?"

Nate steps back and leans against the wall.  "They're loud.  Betsy's nosy."

It's almost a whine. Jean gives him a tart flash of her eyebrows.  "People who live in glass houses..."

Nate nods from behind closed eyes and tilts his head back.

Oz cocks his head.  *Why's it worse than the city?*

*In the city, mostly people aren't paying attention to me particularly.  New York's good that way. It's like being invisible just being there.  They still think, but not *at* me, you know?*

*Yeah.*  Reaches out and rubs a hand along Nate's collar.  He's hot.  Still in all the layers of his clothes. Oz is grateful that the coat he's wearing unbuttons.

"You guys want something, or are you just visiting?"

Nate pulls himself together.  "Visiting.  Came to say hi and bug Scott."

"You're not going to play any tricks on him are you?"

Nate reels like he's been struck, flying back through the air several feet and clutching his chest. "Jean! How could you think such a thing?"

Jean seems distinctly non-plussed, but smells amused.

*I think this fits in with her whole Nate-please-be-a-kid thing, Oz.*

*Makes sense.*

"Riiiiiight. Dare I ask what you two have been up to?"

"We went to Oz's dimension and went on a road trip and got tattoos and visited his parents."

"... tattoos?"

Oz figures this for his cue and tugs up his pants leg.

"Oh, my, that's... interesting. DNA?"

Nate's grinning unrepentantly. Being his straight man is the absolute easiest thing in the world. "It's my DNA, Jean. And here, look --" Nate shows off his wolf, which is still a bit swollen and peeling a bit.

"We decided to make snap decisions that would affect us for the rest of our lives."

"That's... nice..." Jean shakes herself out of it and takes a deep breath.   "Your room is still empty, Nate. Does Oz need..." Shakes again and focuses  on Oz.

Oz smiles. Just a bit.

"Do you need your own room, or...?"

"Nate's will be fine, ma'am."

Rueful grin. "I thought it might. Just for the record, there *is* a private bathroom attached."

Nate snickers, subsides at a glare.

"Did you torture your parents this way, Oz?"

"On the whole, I think it was maybe worse."

"Well. That's... fair. Yes, fair is the word I will use to describe it. Now, if you two will excuse me...?"

Oz nods. Nate waves, cheerfully.

"Oh, and Nate? Love the blond. Reminds me of your brother..."

Which is, wow. Direct hit.

*I think she was lying, Nate.*

*Jean *lied*?*

*You were asking for it.*

*I kinda was, hunh?*

*Yep. Food?*

*Food.*

Which isn't as easy as it should be, but as long as Nate's treating it like a video game military mission, at least it's fun.  Dodge the monsters, retrieve your supplies, establish a base camp. Hamburgers, actually, and ones that smell like they've been barbequed in spite of the cold.

*You try cooking for this many people.  You should see how much protein it takes to keep those guys in the field.*

Oz contemplates various ones of them devouring raw meat.

*You're not as far off as you think.*

Nate's room is quite obviously *Nate's*, but it's still a bit sterile.  Like a guest room with a long-term guest.  There are some extra clothes in the closet, and some books on the night table. Odds and ends like shaving stuff

*Christmas present from Scott.  He tries.*

and a small box of some of the better Goth gear Oz has ever seen.  The leather looks like it's been hand-stitched.  Makeup in a plastic bag in the cardboard corner.  Eyeliner that Oz thinks he might do a variety of interesting things to see Nate wear.

Knock in the door.  They're camped on the floor with plates of food and pop cans, talking and rummaging through the couple of boxes.  Jean sticks her head in.

"Carrots."

The bowl of carrot sticks floats over to them.  Nate wrinkles his nose at her.

"I made Scott eat them, and I made Nathan eat them, and you have to eat them too."

And goes.  Oz eats one of the carrot sticks.  Nate ignores them.  Oz feeds him one.

*Did you wanna go out?*

*In a few.  I'm working on rebuilding my shields.  I need different ones from the kind I had in the city.  Eyes closed, chewing.

Quiet enough that eventually Oz gets up and goes to the window.  They're three floors up, high enough to see the bare outlines of the woods.  It's dark, but they block out part of the sky.  Not old growth like he's seen in northern California and Oregon and Washington, but big.  Living things in them.  Thinks about hunting, and forest smell. He opens the window and sticks his head out, breathes for a few minutes.

Brush of Nate's lips on the back of his neck.

*Did you want to go down?  They're thinking about us.*

*You okay?*

*I think so.  And I mean, we came here so you could meet these guys.*

It's a strange, strange building.  Something like a haunted mansion, or a very expensive hospital. Lots of glossy wood, nice wallpaper but a lot of wear.  Faint handprints and layers and layers of scents, like a school, and there's nothing out where it can get knocked down.

Servants' stairs.  Pause on a landing that gives them a sudden view of the grounds through its window, long kiss with Oz boosted up onto the window seat.  Not totally happy to be left with his feet dangling, but Nate's touches are all careful.  It's not his home, not really, but they're the same touches Oz used with Nate the first time in the basement.  *My space.  My boy.*  Soft lips against his neck.

One door into the kitchen.  Dishes, wreckage, raidable fridge.  Oz finds yoghurt, something he didn't like until Willow taught him to eat it.  And odd that the thought doesn't hurt quite as much as he expected. More like... origins, where this need or that one came from.

Another door into the basement.  Carpeted, but still not as cold as it should be.

*Keep a secret?*

*Sure.*

*There are three or four more levels under this.  Holding the superhero stuff.*

Image of glass-doored cases holding uniforms, armour, elaborate weapons.  Everything silver-clean and echoing.  Luminous maps of the world.

Oz nods.  It makes his skin prickle.  Enough like the Initiative labs that he'll be happy if no one ever invites him down there.

*I don't go either.  I'm not on any of the teams.  I'm just family.*

Steers him around a corner and into the rec room that God built.  Thrift shop furniture and extra pillows and people curled up watching TV.  Like the common room from Oz's university dorm, but with less booze and more popcorn, and a pile of old board games in the corner.

"Don't let them convince you to play Twister, either."

Out loud, and Oz wonders how much of it's a genuine warning and how much is just letting the various bodies know they're there.

"S'not so bad, you just gotta remember not to play strip-Twister with  anybody who bends in more directions than you do."

'Remembah.'  Southern to the point of hillbilly, but not female.  Glittering blue eyes and messy hair and somebody watching them over the back of the couch.  From the kitchen.

"Sam."

What Nate's wearing isn't quite a smile.  Maybe half of one.  Crackle of energy along their link that gets Oz's attention without actually letting him know what he should be paying attention *to*.

*Sam. Um. He's kinda the first person I had sex with.*

Pure distress over the link. Something like anger, sadness, and humiliation all at once, and when Sam comes over he smells apologetic.

Sudden wash of jealousy and rage and Oz slips his hand into Nate's own and squeezes before thinking. And Sam is... tall, blond, and a weirdly accessible kind of perfect. Oz can see the attraction more than he wants to.

*welcome to my world, Oz*

*Mine*

*Yeah, yours.*

"So..." Sam scrubs a hand through his hair. Blushes. Oz doesn't need to be psychic to know what he's thinking. Whatever he did --

*He fucked me but he wanted Cable*

**Fuck**

*And they're fucking now.*

*God, Nate, that's so fucking *harsh*...*

Rueful amusement over the link. *Yeah, well, I'm almost over it.*

Oz works on his I'm-a-generally-nice-person-ness and puts his hand out. "Good to meet you, Sam."

Sam smells almost embarrassingly grateful. Belly up and ready to surrender to anything. If he had a tail it'd be wagging frantically.

*Sam's the nicest one here, really, Oz. Never wants to hurt anyone. It'd be  easier if he were an asshole...*

*How do you want to deal with this?*

*I don't know, I just kinda want to *deal*. Have dealt. Past-tense.*

*Right.*

"So, Sam... I'm kinda new to this dimension. What counts as safe, non-threatening conversation here?"

"Um... where you from? I'm from Kentucky, but ah guess that's pretty obvious, hunh?" Blood to the surface in a blush.

Weird human reaction. Blood the ultimate draw. Urge to get closer and be warmed against it, urge to attack, assert dominance. Maybe not so weird.

"I'm from..." The Hellmouth. No, not quite ready to go there. "Um. Sunnydale. Little town in my California."

"Cool. Are you just visiting, or do you plan to stay for a while?"

"I think Nate and I are just roaming. He's got that dimension walking thing. It's really prettycool."

"Yeah, ah heard about those new powers of yours, Nate. Wow... are they... you know. Treatin' you okay?"

Nate squeezes Oz's hand, and they're either both remembering the conversation in the Black Forest or reminding themselves. "I. Well, it got pretty weird for a while. Oz is helping me deal."

"Yeah, I know what it's like ta suddenly have *way* more power than you can deal with alone and man. Can I say ah'm sorry? 'cause ah am, Nate. I figure you and Oz are real close... tattoos and all. Hell. Can ah just fall through the floor now?"

*Yes, you can fall through straight to *hell* I hate you you were so nice  and it wasn't me wasn't me --*

*Nate, Nate, easy. I'm here.*

*Oz, god, it *hurt*...*

*I know --*

"Nate, ah'm so --"

Oz reaches out to squeeze Sam's arm. "Sam. Um. We kinda have an audience?" Nods to the rest of the room.

"Heck. I mean *damn* I mean. I'm just gonna go. You wanna talk... yell. Ah. You can find me, Nate. Oz, ah'm sorry..."

And Sam goes and suddenly everyone in the room is very, very focused on the television.

Oz rubs Nate's hand with his thumb.

*That went well, I'd say.* Nate shaky over the link.

*No bloodshed, only moderate on the scale of mortifyingly embarrassing... Nate?"

*Yeah?*

*You still want him?*

*I wanna burn him to ash... but yeah. He's attractive. I don't know, maybe it's genetic. Cable sure didn't turn him down. Fucker. You ever...*

Sensation of being *searched*, and Oz remembers Willow crawling into his lap and knowing -- *knowing* -- she was only thinking of Xander. *Would it maybe be enough next time if I just say 'I understand,' Nate?*

*Erk. Sorry. Hell. I thought I could handle this --*

*You can. Just... maybe remember that you have a built-in escape route  complete with desert island companion?*

*Mm. Sex. Beach.*

*Sand.*

*You're, like, the Anti-Fun, Oz.*

*I'm gonna start thinking really loudly about C++ if you don't stop.* Realization that they're just standing there, grinning at each other and holding hands. Cool.

*Wanna hear something scary?*

*Do I have a choice?*

*No. We're the healthiest couple here.*

*Wow. That's. Are you sure?*

*Sam's all fucked up over Nathan, except he also wants this girl Tabitha, and Cable's practically married to Domino, and Rogue's been in love with Gambit for years, only she can't touch anyone without draining their life force, and Gambit has the hots for Jackie, who's really a guy and kind of straight, too, except that her *body* wants Gambit and Jean and Scott keep dying and coming back to life and Bobby is gay and doesn't want to admit it and --*

*Let's go have some healthy sex.*

*Done.*

And they're in Nate's room, and Oz has just enough time to wonder if a few tapestries would help the place out before the air around him decides to throw him to the bed.

The ceiling could maybe use a mural --

*Now you're just teasing*

Nate standing on the air above him, straddling Oz's waist and grinning down at him.

*Wanna bring the house down, Oz.*

*Gonna make me scream?*

No answer but the invisible hands on his jeans, his boots, his shirts. Pushed and pulled and prodded naked.

*Well, that was weird.*

*Effective, though.*

*Not true.  You still have a lot of clothes on.*

Nate grins at him.  And disappears his clothes, piece by piece.  Moment where he expects to see some kind of frightening spandex costume revealed.

*Remind me to tell you about Spider-Man sometime.*

*Nate, if you tell me you fucked Spider-Man, I'm leaving.*

*You know Spider-Man?*

*Saturday morning cartoons.*

Nate pauses with his shirt off and his boots still on.  The boots are a new thing, and Oz is still at least mildly in love with them.  Very old, very scuffed, and very much the black Docs he wanted as a kid.  From this angle he can see they lace a long way up Nate's legs under his jeans.

*Oz, are you telling my that my universe is on *TV* in yours?*

Oz grins at him.

*Make me scream loud enough to scare your parents and I'll sing you the Spider-Man song.*

Nate covers his face with his hands.

*Congratulations. It took you a week, but you've managed to freak me out.*

Watching is sort of interesting.  Nate's curled up, but he's not touching the ground. Hovering about four feet above Oz with his knees pulled under him and his shoulders hunched.

*You coming down?*

*No.  Oh god.*

*Nate, the only thing I know of that overlaps from your universe to my TV set is Spider-Man, and it could just be one of those coincidences.  Like the fact that there are always five or six people with the same name as the president.*

Nate peers down at him from between his fingers.

*C'mere, okay?*

Nate drops onto the bed.  Half on his side and looking at Oz with the faintest edge of horror.  Oz pulls Nate's head in and kisses him.

Makes the kiss last a long time.  While he rubs from Nate's shoulder down to his hip, traces along the waist of his jeans, and gets them unbuttoned. Kisses him several times on his lower belly. Scoots down and pushes Nate's jeans leg up to his knee and starts unlacing the boots.  Pale shins above the leather, and the laces are double-knotted and vaguely damp. Tight, and for a minute it's a war of Oz's naked body against Nate's overdeveloped Goth fashion sense.

They give, and the boot comes off.  The second one's easier.  And then, finally, he has naked, now-laughing Nate to press himself against.  Lick him.  Kiss him gently and lean across his chest.  Oz grins down at him with the smile that he knows shows his incisors like they're fangs.  It's threatening, but he means it to be.  Loves the shiver it gets him.  Gasp and Nate's fingers in his hair, pulling him down and locking their mouths.

Wonderful warm-smelling body under him.  Fierce hug and a brush of Nate's mind that makes Oz growl.  Climb onto him and straddle his waist and kiss him fairly seriously.  Just a breath of telekinesis to keep his full weight off, and it's worth remembering that Nate isn't *that* much bigger  than he is.  Both of them elfin in this world of giants.

*you think Sinister could have designed me for height, too...*

*it wouldn't be as easy to kiss you  open wider*

Nate does, with a gasp and arch. Closer now, thinnest cushion of air between and it's good to be naked, good to thrust his tongue in deep and fuck Nate that way. Mess up his hair and get their lips swollen, wet, fleeting memories of some Learning Channel special on sex, how lipstick is designed to remind people of other, wetter lips.

None of that here, and none of that necessary. Arousal without specific purpose, free form and needy-hot. Moving together, cock to cock and Oz has to break the kiss to moan and Nate latches onto his throat. Bites so hard that shock comes before pain, but when the pain hits Oz shifts to wolf briefly, just enough to claw open the sheets and the mattress beneath.

Flips them so that Nate's on top, still sucking at the bite and growling a little. Nate's hands raking up and down his sides, grinding against him steadily and god, both of them so quick to hunger.

This is what it's all supposed to be, Oz thinks. Two people, one need to *join*, crawl under each other's skins and live there for a while.

Nate licking him now, stripe like a razor across his throat and then down to his chest. Biting his nipples hard and holding Oz down with the telekinesis.

*instant bondage gear -- now portable!*

Nate snickering against his chest before using his power to spread Oz's legs almost to the point of pain, spread-eagled and helpless and

*yeah gonna make you scream Oz gonna   oh *fuck* the bath --*

Ankles free just long enough for Nate to bend his legs up and dive between. Nate licking his balls and sucking them in one at a time, and Oz can't think enough to protest, can barely think enough to breathe.

*whatever happened to foreplay?*

*you mind?*

*Fuck no*

*then shut up and take it*

Tongue on his cleft, mobile and ruthless, licking around the hole over and over until he's begging and bucking up toward Nate's face, stubble brushing and scraping him and Oz needs to get a hold, needs to get his hands on Nate's head and *hold* him there, hold him still, hold him steady, anything --

*No*

Pushing in when Oz gasps, arms wrapped around his thighs, Nate's fingers digging into sensitive skin and keeping Oz *spread* for it. Pure tongue-fucking

*taste you all over   you're mine*

*Nate oh Christ oh fuck*

*out loud say it out loud wanna hear you*

Opens his mouth on a moan, loud and low and long and Nate sending across the link how hard he is, how much he wants it, need on need until Oz isn't sure if it's his own cock that's leaking, if it's his own belly getting wet with it. Straining against invisible rope and sinking back and back into his own head until there's nothing left but the need for exactly this.

Held in place and used, taken for nothing but the sex, the pleasure --

"oh *GOD* --"

*love hearing you Oz  love your voice love the sound love the feel love that I can make you yell*

He's so *slick*.  Nate's tongue in him like liquid brightness, working him and opening him and knocking out whatever use of his eyes and his brain he had left.  *In* him, fast and determined, not just aware of his ass and how good it feels but this need too, to open, make all of himself available on his skin.

"Nate, please --"

Grin and shift of teeth against him and Nate pulls back.  Mouths his balls a bit roughly, hard enough to make him squirm and beg, and then just this warmth of Nate touching him all over. Eases his legs down for a second. Pets him with one hand and searches with the other in the near-dark.  The light pouring in from outside must be coming from the downstairs windows, from the moon, from reflection off grass that's covered with frost.  This world is so *cold*.

Soft, wet sound and Nate comes back.  Water on his lips, close and easy to kiss, bottle in his hand.  Oz is loose for the moment.  Aching and still wanting and Nate beside him's this warm, welcome presence.  Close darkness that he can almost believe is underground.  Nate against him, sliding in and pulling Oz's leg up on his hip, side by side and kissing and tugging gently at his hair.  Down the back of his neck, down his spine, finger-stroke that draws shivers from him every time it reaches a new vertebra.  Down to his ass, touching him where he's open, moment of awayness and then *slick* in him.  Fingers in his ass and Nate's tongue in his mouth and this body-warmth that he isn't going to be able to refuse.

*Wish I could fuck you like this.*

*I don't think--*

*Yeah.  Just love feeling you all along me.*  Bites Nate's cheek, careful not to break the skin but pushing in hard with the blunt parts of his teeth. 

Just that extra threat.  His Nate.  The moon brushing his shoulder electric, and he's almost up to crawling up onto Nate, side-by-sideness loved better only for this easy ability to kiss.

God Nate's *mouth*...

*Gonna fuck you Oz  mine  beautiful  fuck want everyone to be jealous*

Extra finger tracing the rim of him, god he *wants* this, he was complaning about *foreplay*?

Nate flips him under, holds him down with the weight of his hips. Pleasure of that cock against his.  Both hands cupping his face, kissing him, telekinesis pushing his legs wide and up.  Nate's hips lift, let him angle, come down again low and steady and *hard* against him. Enough invisible force to hold his knees up, little enough to let him hook his ankles in towards Nate's back.  Not quite around his waist, not flexible enough for that, but just *holding* him.

*god love you Oz*

Hand between them, rubbing Oz's thighs, his balls, thumb against his hole for a minute, just barely inside, and then Nate's cock *pushes* against him.  Braced and easing him open and then just *in*, stretch of it making him moan.  Open-mouthed and giving his lungs over to it, vocal as he can be while Nate works his hips in, pushes deeper.

Not quite all the way in, but as far as they can get like this, and Nate keeps brushing kisses across his mouth, soft and warm and wet.  Pulls back every time Oz tries to open to him.  Kisses him on his cheeks and forehead.

*Nate don't you fucking tease me*

*heh   told you I was a brat*

Glittering blue eyes almost too close to focus on.  Minute of brightness before they soften.  Little lines around them, expressiveness that he hasn't noticed before.

*no, I don't mean that   just -- trust me?*

*yeah*

Shift of the cock inside him, startling after the easy comfort of earlier. Long out-in thrust that he has to spread too far to take.  Rubs against him, whole body *on* him, in him, hanging onto him.  Kisses that Nate gives him like water.  Slow breathing and gentleness and

*really mine aren't you?*

Nate fierce above him, pushing back and up and Oz can feel him gathering his knees under him. Little extra strain of it and Nate's soft, apologetic rub on his belly.

And this brush of telekinesis like hands, almost warm.  Under his shoulders, under his back. Lifting him enough for him to catch Nate's arms, for Nate to push back onto his knees and then *lift* him and oh god *deep* when Oz's whole weight suddenly pushes him down into Nate's lap.  Mirror of what they did before, suddenly upright and wrapped around each other, getting Oz's knees under him.

Struggling to make it work, laughing softly and this wonderful, shallow kiss when they've finally got it right.

Oz takes it slow as he can, just feeling Nate and wondering at how the strangest things can become addictive. This friction that would make their sex lives hell if Oz didn't heal as fast as he does. Easy pain and burn of the fuck, like fingernails pulling at his insides, skin hot and slick with sweat, nerve endings firing and firing at every touch.

Wonderful to be rough with each other this slowly, the constant stream of yes and please over the link, games of control and power balance shifting with every stroke until Oz's thighs are trembling, until Nate's hips are jerking short, ragged thrusts. Just holding it on that edge as long as they can, teeth gritted and grunting. Purely male and raw as anything Oz needs.

Finally falling into a near brutal kiss, Oz barely remembering to check his bites and Nate not bothering to check his own, lips and tongue and teeth clacking and biting his chin and Nate holding him dead still and fucking up into him *hard*. Making his eyes roll back in his head, sobbing out moans with every thrust. Nate in and in and *in*, babbling fuckdrunk at him and pounding Oz into a new shape.

So good so good so fucking good and muscle-straining deep, burn and fatigue of it just making it hotter, air thick as honey and fuck ragged-sharp. On and on until Oz can't help but shake free and thrust back, mindless to the pain in his thighs, to everything but this, right here, the two of them and that endless hunger.

Nate bends Oz back.  Arches him over an arm, stretching every inch of his skin tight.  Bends himself and lays his mouth against Oz's nipple and sucks at it.  Pulling it up into a shape, making it hard and aching and somehow he's still fucking Oz.  Closes his teeth on it and bites *hard*, brilliant, almost blinding pain slams in and up and the link's so open and Oz can't possibly not scream.

Screaming.

Raw throat completing the ache in him, still wanting and just *howling* at the hurt/wanting/pleasure of this.  Make the whole house hear them, let everyone know exactly what Nate does to him.  Sharp release of Nate's teeth and Nate's tongue slides over the aching point twice, making long strings of pleasure that slide right down to wrap around his cock.

"Come for me, Oz."

*Nate...*

"Come on, come for me, let me hear you, god you're so good to me so kind to me I love you so much."  Lips on his and one little shift of their hips and Nate's cock's hitting Oz's prostate.  Hand and belly rubbing his cock and their mouths together and he's yowling, animal sounds of pleasure and wanting while Nate fucks him right over, holds him on there and works up desperately, bites his shoulder and follows him.  Wet hot flare in his body and he's so *tight* around it, aching and wanting and shaking he's so tired.

Slower, easier kisses and Nate rolls them down, pulls out very gently and eases them both onto their sides.  Keeps kissing him.  Strokes and touches Oz all over.  Back, waist, throat, shape of his ribs.  Line of the thigh Nate pulls up against his side.  Knee and calf and foot, massaging just behind the toes and kissing Oz's shoudler while he does it because it's all he can reach.  Shape of his balls, too sensitive for Oz to be able to do anything but moan while Nate touches them. Thumb just brushing over his asshole, reminding him of exactly how good that felt.

This claiming, but *his* mate.  His.  Oz pulls himself together enough to push Nate onto his back, climb onto him and kiss him.  Giving kisses to him, careful and slow and then down, all over him.  Chest and belly and thighs and feet and hands.  Shoulders.  Curving base of his skull.  Over his heart while he's laughing.

"Heh.  I made you scream."

"Yeah."  Kiss.  "Love you."

New shape of it in his mouth, so surprising that he wonders whether he's  actually said it before.

*You thought it a lot.*

*Yeah.  Huh.  Dangerous.  You really are going to make me non-verbal.*

*Says the guy who screamed the house down.  Should I tell you that you got a lot of people's attention?*

*No.*

He sits up, careful of the ache in his ass and loving it too.  Rests his weight on his hip and leans across Nate.  Looks down at him and traces down the centre-line of his body.

Nate's freakishly well-made as everyone else here -- even Marrow could be a body model if she didn't have all the bones -- and Oz feels... intensely normal. It's kind of frightening, in an okay way.

*Shocking you could be an Olympic sport.*

*People always think I'm unflappable. I flap. I just do it quietly.*

*I like being the only one who can really hear you, all the time.*

*I like it, too.* The not-alone-ness of it. *The bestest stuffed animal in the world. Only not-furry. And with a penis.*

*And testicles.*

*Nipples, even. You'd be a really disturbing stuffed animal.*

*Always making the kids disappear into random universes.*

*Having sex with the other animals in front of the children.*

*Is it beastiality if the other animals aren't actually alive?*

*Necrozoophilia. A whole new kink. Just for you, Nate.* Snickering across the link, laughter all in Oz's mind, contained and his.

*Can I have Jeremiah?*

*No.*

*Why not?*

*Dude, it's *Jeremiah.* Besides, I think he's straight.*

*Close-minded.*

*Nah, just heterosexual. It happens.*

*I've never had sex with a woman.*

*Really? It's kinda nice. Wet and soft. Breasts.*

*Is that permission?*

*No, it's just a description so you'll have some idea of what you're still not gonna get.*

Mock-growl across the link. *Mated. I like that.*

Oz kisses Nate's navel, dips his tongue in for the sweat and his own come. *Good* Stays there for a while, just making little love to Nate there. Kissing and tongue-stroking until Nate pulls him up to lick his face clean. More kisses, holding each other. Maybe gentling each other some. Coming down, slow and easy.

*All the psychics in the house want to check on you. They're worried.*

*They think you'd hurt me?*

*They think I'd be. Careless. I don't have the best reputation.*

*I'm sorry.*

*Don't be. Hell, I did dump you here. Everyone knows. Fuck. I'm not going to do that anymore. You know that, right?*

*I know we're linked, and that you'll let me find you if you need to run.*

*I fell in love with you. Maybe too fast. Before I was even in your dimension, Oz. This peace and acceptance in you. Nothing I'd ever seen...*

"I love you.* Repeating it in his mind until it's just the sound that comes with the feeling. Feeding it to Nate on a loop and kissing a little harder. Close and skin-sensitive to each other. Tangled together. *Let them check on me?*

*Only Jean. She's at least embarrassed.*

*Okay.*

Touch on his mind that's very distinctly blue, almost shading into purple. Like an invisible scent.

*Hi, Jean*

*Oz... um. This is difficult. We're just not really used to... well. And you left so quickly the last time and don't think I can't *hear* you wondering if you should let me just keep talking until I pass out. Nate, you're a terrible influence.*

*Yes'm, I am.*

*Everyone's just a little worried. We've never had. Oh, hell, Oz, are you all right?*

*Yes. Sorry about. Disturbing you. It's Nate's fault.*

*Is not.*

*Is too* And they're both laughing their heads off, silently and not, and Jean slips away with something like a mental pinch. *Nate, we're encouraging our mothers to abuse us.*

*Now I'm picturing Jean biting you.*

*You're a Freudian's wet dream.*

*Am not.*

*Are too times infinity.* Oz can feel the pillow trying to relocate itself to hit him and holds it down with all his weight.

*Oh, you think that'll save you?*

Oz rolls off the bed just quickly enough to avoid being pounced and then it's on. Rolling and smacking at each other and tickling and kissing and then *just* kissing, half-in and half-out of the bathroom, sticking to each other in places and laughing together.

Easing into a slow rub-off right there on the floor that seems to last forever before Nate arches and comes all over Oz's chest and belly, which sets off that weird kind of less intense orgasm that still leaves you feeling like a limp rag.

Soft nuzzle against his ear.

*Bath.*

And yeah, the water's running.  Hooray for hands-free tap-turning powers.   Warm steam all around them and eventually Nate sort of scoots them all the way in and kicks the door shut. Cool tile under his back, wonderful and luxurious in a way that the whole house is, but microcosmic. Soft smell of minerals dissolved in hot water that kicks his brain into thoughts of Roman baths and boys who all look like Nate waiting on him and togas. Nice and warm in here, yeah, he could live in a bedsheet.

Memories of public baths in Europe while he was hitch-hiking, and in India after he'd been riding in the back of a truck all day and he could *feel* the layers of dust hardening.  Tiny house with old, deep stone basins cut into it and fires in the corners, naked and ignored by every other man there, just *scrubbing* himself back to Oz-ness.

*Hot* when Nate scoops him up handlessly and eases him into it.  In behind him, holding Oz against his chest and washing him.  Soft cloth along his legs, over his chest.  Soft breath in his ear while Nate bends him forward and washes his hair.  Lips on the back of his neck and the smell of shampoo sharp, cutting through his nostrils.  Water over him like a shell.

Both of them clean and still touching, and Oz isn't sure he'd make it to bed without the telekinetic support.  Sprawled clean on top of the blankets, refusing to acknowledge the cold outside until he's almost shivering, then pulled in against Nate so that the covers can bury them. Winter universe. He can drift on the sound of Nate's breath and heart, and the sounds of people elsewhere in the house going to bed.

Nate's heart, for a long, long time.

And daylight.  Curtains open and the world beyond them silver.  Rustle at the door, just long enough for him to register that his den's about to become unprivate before there are *people*. Everywhere.

"Up you girl scouts!  Up up up!"

Snowball.  Smashes open on the covers, flecks of ice hitting Oz's nice warm shoulder and causing him to burrow under the covers.  Shifts and rolls into a tighter ball.  Warm and furred, tail over his nose.

"Bobby, your life is *over*."

"Big threat from a boy wearing nothing but a pillow."

Where *is* Nate, anyway?  All alone in this warmth, still Nate-smelling, but he's gone. Somewhere outside the warm-bedness, not actually touching the floor since Oz can't hear his feet, but his voice keeps moving.  Oz burrows deeper, reaches across the link and gets... not exactly anger.  Or yes, anger, but not anger that means Oz needs to come protect him. Just kick-his-ass anger having to do with getting woken up by this infuriating frozen being laughing at him.

He pokes his nose out, eventually.  Crawls on top of the covers and lies quiet behind a barrier of extra blankets, watching.  Nate's still got the pillow, but it's serving mostly as ammunition rather than cover.  Naked Nate.  Bobby-Iceman in jeans and cartoon t-shirt and silver-white hands, cheerfully mocking him.

*Nate...?*

*Little shit thinks it's *funny*.  Gonna *get* him.*

Whump.  Nate on top of Bobby.  Bobby flat on floor.  Moment in which it's quite clear that both of them think they've won.  And a longer one in which Nate clamps Bobby's head between his hands and kisses him.  Hard.

Then gets up and stalks back to bed.

*Hah.  That oughta keep him good and confused for a bit.*

"Naaaate.  Yuck.  Morning breath."

"Fuck off, Bobby."  Nate sprawls on the covers and wraps himself around Oz.  Burrows his face into long fur and slides back into a doze.

Bobby gets up.  Shaky on his feet, smell of him something between flight-fear and arousal. Starts toward the bed, and gets about two steps before Oz raises his head and growls a warning.

Huge eyes in answer.  Bobby reminds him a lot of.  Well, Xander. Different things in the mix, more irritating and he's standing far too close to Oz's mate, but still.

"Um, Nate?"

"Fuck *off*, Bobby."

"There's wildlife in your bed."

"That's Oz."

"Nate, he's a *wolf.*"

"Uh huh.  Next time no snowballs.  Come to think of it, no next time.  Go  away."

More curiosity-scents from the doorway.  Most of their invaders retreated when Nate came stalking Bobby, but they're not gone.  Mostly small, mostly female, a couple pre-adolescent and wordless and somehow linked. 

*Artie and Leech. And Jubes and M and Paige. Jeez, they must have brought the whole Academy up.  Too many people. Next time I'll call first.*

Oz stretches, rubs againt Nate for a minute, shifts back to human form.   Naked and curled up and *glaring* at Bobby.  Who gets a scared, oddly  familiar look but doesn't move.

*You can mess with his head.  It's cool.  Everybody does it.  We keep hoping he'll get a clue.*

Oz lets his eyes shift back to wolf.  Says, "Run."

The kids in the door scatter.  Shimmer of something female and blonde who smells vaguely like Sam.  Giggles and bubble gum and Bobby's not actually running,

*It's a superhero thing.  You always have to get the last word in.*

but he's headed doorward.  Oz growls again.

Logan catches Bobby by the collar and throws him out the door.  Oz decides to be grateful.

"Good. You're up. Hunting time." Logan shows all his teeth in a grin Oz can feel. Suddenly, there's no part of him that isn't awake.

*I should pout right now because I don't get to join in, but I won't. Love  me for my kindness and generosity of spirit.*

*You might as well just stay in bed, because when I get back I'm gonna fuck you through the mattress.*

"Have fun with the vicious killing, guys! I'm just gonna curl up right here..."

"No dice, Nate. Jeannie and One-Eye want a family breakfast. Cable had sense enough to disappear last night."

"Christ, you heroes and your *mornings*."

*I swear, Oz, I'm gonna mindwipe all the bad guys one day just to watch them try to figure out what to do with their lives.*

Oz shifts, reveling in the crack-bone feel of it, something like stretching for the entire body. Licks a stripe up Nate's leg and heads out with Logan. Purple-bruised in ways he can feel without looking, under the fur. No one really seems to be paying much attention to the werewolf in their halls. It's good to still be enough himself inside this change that there's no reason for anyone *to* pay attention.

Hungry. Soft growl of it in his stomach and his eyes wide. Silver-cold air when they come outside, and Logan's growling laughter as Oz twists his head up to catch the animal-scents coming across the lake. Ice-edge to the water in the air, and a glitter that tells him that there's an ice skin at the lake's edges. Crystals catching the light.

Crouches, rubs his paws agaisnt the ground. Human and not-quite-human smells, but cold. Last night's. Dirt under his claws.

Opens his senses fully. Awareness of Logan beside him as Packmate/hunter/alpha, senior male willing to let him run out ahead. Grass crashing and crackling under his paws and the light off the ice cutting through his brain. Air and light and there are *things* in the woods, living and warm and long-legged making them *prey*.

Logan at a distance of a hundred yards, growling in a way that carries. "Get. Down. Now."

Sends him skidding, more at the tone than at the words. Crouches in the brush at the edge of the woods and shifts back to mostly-human. Fast changes, a lot of them, messing with his senses. Pupils too huge so that he has to bring his head down and duck in the shade until they adjust. Not used to daylight, to being wolf in daylight, moon down and the purity of the universe.

He's cold. The ice on the lake isn't breaking up.

Logan lopes over and bends over him for a second, tilting Oz's head up to the light.

"You here with me, kid?"

Oz nods.

"Okay. State you're in, you're probably gonna eat whatever you take down, so try not to knock yourself out. I promised Jeannie we'd bring something back for her."

Warm appreciation on him at Jean's name. Dedication and quiet loyalty.

And crash glitter bang and fire on the ground. The earth caves in slightly and there's Sam in the middle of a new hole.

"Can ah try this one more time?" he asks.

Logan raises an eyebrow and stares back at Sam. Long moments of blue-on-blue, and Oz wonders how strong Sam is, that he doesn't just back down. Wonders how public Sam's history with Nate is, exactly.

Eventually Logan nods and gives them twenty yards. Down by the lake edge, testing the ice with his fingers. Oz *knows* he can still hear them.

Oz looks at Sam. Who's steadier, and smells like he's been out all night. Like high atmosphere.

Sam says, "Thing is, ah've chewed that one over for just about two years, and there's no way around the fact that ah fucked up. And ah don't think he's ever gonna forgive me, you know?"

Oz nods, just once, carefully.

"Ah wanted to ask you, if Nate evah wants to hear it, tell him ah'm sorry,  okay?"

"He knows."

"Ah know he knows. But tell him."

And goes, big shoulders hunching just slightly once he's out of human earshot.

"Guthrie's gonna manage to pave a highway to the mouth of hell," Logan says.

Offers Oz a hand up from his crouch and walks with him into the woods.

Oz tries to reconcile the genuinely good person Sam probably is with Hurter-of-Mate and mainly fails. Even connected to the wolf, open and easy with it, there are things that don't fit. On the other hand, he *did* punch Xander over Willow. On the third paw, he kissed Xander over Willow, too.

Easier to let it be Nate's decision. He'll eventually forgive, in the way of things, and then Oz will be allowed to do his best to like Sam. Different than the two of them in Sunnydale, more complicated in a way Oz wouldn't have been able to believe if he hadn't seen it for himself. In Sunnydale, at least, friendship could be assumed, even if nothing else could. Here, there are only allies.

Not a comfortable place, and if they decide to stay, help out with whatever battles are being fought, there'll have to be some serious adjustments on his part. He wonders if this is anything like a military environment, but that just teases at the edges of half-blocked memories, and Oz doesn't want to go there.

Nose to the ground instead, slow shift back into full wolf. Easier in the forest gloom, though not by much. The world this brightly monochromatic endless field. Something vaguely CGI about the perfection of it, something the wolf would've simply taken as his due.

Logan behind him, letting him set the pace. Endless, looping trails of small prey. Moment to just enjoy it before teasing the most recent, coherent trails out of the rest. Rabbit run heading southeast. Woodchucks and chipmunks and. Deer.

No, saving that.

Shifts enough to speak, and he's really going to have to pick a form and stick with it for a while, because the changes are making for serious vertigo. "Mind if I just hunt down some breakfast before we go after the deer?"

"Fine by me. None of the kids really want to see Thumper on their dinner plates, anyway."

"We can blame Disney for so many things." Sharp grunt of a laugh, clap on  the shoulder.

"Go on, kid. Let's see what you can do."

Shift back and moving. There are trails made by animals and Oz can almost feel them burrowing down, going still and silent. Oz focuses everything he is on scent, has a brief crisis where his body *insists* on going for the deer, old deer, lame and slow -- but he shakes and refocuses.

Southeast in an easy lope, waiting for the myriad tiny scents to flare, give something away. Sense of Logan on his heels, the masking of an extremely heavy tread. Good woodcraft, but Oz was made for this. Dry twigs and crackly leaves almost telegraphing their presence. Almost a game, for all that he hasn't hunted much before.

This could be considered a first time, and he lets his lips peel back in a  smile, low to the ground and *there*.

Streaks right after the flushed rabbit, left left right tree deadfall pounce  *tear*.

Hot salt blood and soft fur against his nose and the *taste* of it, somehow even better in the cold sunshine, a small triumph he allows himself to revel in.

"Not bad, kid. Next?"

He flashes Logan blood-bright teeth.  Moment where Logan's eyes narrow, pure human calculation.  Hands up and out like armour.  Doesn't relax until Oz changes it from a human to an animal smile.

And off, running again, relying on loose-strung bones and tendons to pull him forward, arch around the next tree and the next, so little undergrowth that he can see for miles.  Light feet behind him and Logan a breath he can just barely hear over his own.

Explodes into the next clearing and knocks six deer into flight.  Bright, warm coats and frost edging them.  Cold, it's cold, it feel so *good*.  Long bones flying out in front of him, delicate hoofs, two directions.  Him on one, Logan on the other.  Fast, sharp, left, left, right right right back towards Logan -- he can hear him, cuts *in* next time the deer turns, cuts across its path and takes it *down*.  Teeth in its neck, high as he can reach and jerking his whole weight to bring it down.  Moment of broken neck and breath in which blood pours into his mouth and he's howling with it.

Answering growl from half a mile away.  Echoes off the high ground and comes back to him.

Quiet next to the kill until Logan comes.  Mouth buried in the deer's throat, just taking the warmth in and growling softly every time he smells scavengers coming.

Scream of a kestrel, high up.

Logan comes, finally, with a buck over his shoulder like it's weightless. Bigger than what Oz took down and Oz *knows* his deer masses more than he does.  Flex of huge, pelted shoulders as Logan shifts the carcass and nods.  The body on his shoulder has gouges in it, huge like claws from something prehistoric.  Broken neck, like Oz's.  Oz cocks his head.

Heave of the carcass onto the ground and Logan crouches in front of him. Extends a hand parallel to Oz's face and lets his claws extend.  Glistening-wet silver over bone.  Cyborg over evolutionary killing.

"Gonna let me take that, kid?"

He's not sure for a second.  His kill.  Still warm, steaming in the frozen air.

And in fact Logan lets him drag it for the first hundred yards.  The ground's slick enough from last night's frost that the body moves fairly easily, but it's huge and heavy and eventually when Oz pauses for breath Logan gets an arm around the deer's chest and lifts it onto his other shoulder.

Massive, alien shape walking ahead of Oz in the brilliance of the morning. And he's content to follow for the moment, just occasionally wandering off to catch sounds or ranging out in long loops around Logan's path. Loving his wolf form for the sheer lack of danger in it this morning. Cognitive dissonance of Oz-as-man and Oz-as-wolf, but not overwhelmingly.

Out of the woods, and the silver world's melted.  Bright sunlight reflecting off dead, slick grass, everything gold and grey, naked trees and conifers rising.

Stone and brick of the house part of this delicately landscaped world. Lawn and leaf and wealth and suddenly he feels a little like something out of a bad horror movie. Werewolf on campus, tasty coeds beware.

A man-shape resolves itself by the garage. Tall as everyone else here, and though nowhere near the man-mountain that's Nathan's clone, still someone who'd dwarf Oz in his human form.

Oz moves up beside Logan and looks a question.

Barked laughter in response. "That's One-Eye. Cyclops. Nate's dad, sort of. Damn, don't make me start thinking of the Summers family tree, kid, I'll get a headache."

Which is... well, it's okay. That is, he's reasonably sure it would be okay. If he weren't naked and covered with blood. He isn't especially naked with his fur on, but he can't *talk* like this and somehow he's still walking. Logan smells deeply, deeply amused. Oz does his best to send 'help me' vibes to Logan, who just laughs harder.

Scents the air and can't pick up much from Cyclops beyond male, Nate-kin, and irritated. His eyes, for whatever unfathomable reason, are covered with a large, red-slitted visor.

Logan speaks first. "Patrolling early, Cyke?"

"Just thought I'd step out to meet Nate's... mate."

*Nate, you are dead. So very, very dead.*

Laughter over the link. *God, Oz, I was going to be good, I swear, but Scott was so *paternal*...*

*It's his *job*, Nate!* Oz nods as thoughtfully as he can manage. Moves to clean some of the blood off his muzzle but stops when he realizes he's using his tongue.

*No, no, be yourself! I swear, it'll be okay...*

*You asked for it. Just remember that.* Settles on his haunches and  half-growls a greeting.

"Cyke, Oz. Oz, meet Cyke."

"So, Oz... I understand Nate rescued you from a government facility?"

Logan grunts and turns to Oz, nearly unseating several hundred pounds of dead deer.  "Experimented on you, too? Jeez, kid. You're an X-Man by default."

"Yes. It seems like ours isn't the only dimension with trouble handling  differences."

"Damn, Cyke, ain't it a little early for platitudes?"

Irritation almost stronger than blood in the air.

*Oz, really, just sit back and watch the show.*

*I'm going to let my mother hunt you down like a *dog*, Nate.*

*Hey, I'm innocent. Jean wanted some mother-son time. Oh, and she says Scott's really very sweet.* Snickering in his head like clacking bones and yes, Alpha male showdown, ten o'clock. Oz does his best to be unobtrusive.

"Isn't it a little early for you to start riding me, Logan?"

"Easy boy, you want to set a good first impression on Nate's mate."

"I don't have time for this. Don't you have some wild animals to slaughter?"

"Slaughterin's done, One-Eye. Just cleaning left now, and that don't take too long."

Gets it somewhere in the middle of long, measuring stare number three. Logan wants to *protect* him. Younger pack-mate, approved of in some truly primitive way that makes him warm. Which is really a nice thing, Nate's near breathless laughter aside.

One thing to do.

He shifts, almost nauseatingly fast this time. Getting much too easy, and Oz is positive there's deer in his teeth. It's very, very cold. Puts out his hand to Cyclops, at this point nearly having to reach between him and Logan. "Oz. It's a little easier to communicate this way."

He's not quite sure how he knows Cyclops does a double-take.  He's frighteningly expressionless and oh *god* he's big.  Just... up close you can see it.  Same cheekbones, same set of the shoulders.  Nate has Jean's mouth, Jean's chin, Jean's crackling mischief.

Scott's hands.  Big around his own, long fingers, almost enough to swallow him up to the wrist. Has to remember that he *offered*.

Logan's growling, but Scott just grips his hand.

Logan shifts, off to his right and Oz looks up in time to receive an encouraging nod. "Might as well hack up this deer, maybe get some stimulating conversation."

Oz senses Cyclops stiffen and prepares for the worst, but he relaxes almost  as soon as Logan is gone.

"You'll have to forgive Logan, Oz. I understand he spent a great deal of  time away from other human beings."

"Sure." As non-committal as he can make up. He understands away-from-humans a little more than he wants to.

Cyclops regards him in silence for a long moment before frowning. "Nate  hasn't had the easiest time, Oz."

"I've been getting that."

He gets his hand back.  Resists the urge to curl in on himself.  Naked and bloody and *cold*, facing down his boyfriend's.  Father.  Wow.

"And it's worth saying, I think, that Jean and I do consider him our son."

Oz nods.

"Have you thought about this?"

Unflappable.  Invisibly flapping wildly.  He's *not* going to hit his boyfriend's father, and not just because the man's huge.  There's something... waiting. Behind that blankness there's something he's can almost read.

"I can't speak for your universe, but ours is fragile.  The walls are thinner than they should be. And the romances in the Summers family have a history of ending in bloodshed."  Pause. Studied blankness.  "Nathan -- Cable, not Nate -- lost his first wife in a war.  Jean died.  Maddie died. Alex, my brother, died.  Twice.  Jean and Nathan brought me back from a year I spent with an unpleasant god occupying my body.  They thought I was dead, you understand that?"

Oz nods.

"As a clan, we've ended up bleeding.  And then we get cold.  Nathan frightens me most of the time.  I frighten Jean.

"I don't want that for Nate."

Protective.  Everything about him.  Voice, mouth, body posture.  Looming, yeah, but he's doing it deliberately.

Getting that Nate's the baby of the family.  Weird, hyperactive baby from an alternate dimension, frighteningly powerful and hard to hold, but still the youngest child that Scott and Jean have.

*It could be worse.  If Cable were around you'd be getting this times two.*

*This is really cool, you know.*

*Yeah.  I'm getting odd warm, fuzzy feelings.  I have a new theory that this is why everyone in my family superheroes for a living.*

*Emotional repression?*

*Yeah, more or less.*

Oz nods.  Drops his head just enough to show Cyclops the back of his neck.  Senior male, and he really does get why Cyclops and Logan don't get along.  Two alpha males, one family.

Shivering, almost uncontrollably, waiting for Cyclops to say *anything* so he can go in before he freezes to death.

Or maybe he's supposed to say something. Looks up and tries to read Cyclops' face. "Cyclops --"

"Please, call me Scott."

"Cool, Scott. I get the feeling that something needs to be said here, but  I'm not really at my best when verbal. Um. I love him. We've done enough to know that we can *get* through things." *I've got this cool tattoo... God, this is hard. Willow's parents may or may not have actually *existed*, Nate. This is better, though. Is your dad going to watch me turn blue and fall over?*

*Good question.*

"Scott?" No way to be sure the man is even looking at him still, as opposed to just through him. "I'll never hurt him, if I can help it."

Slow nod. "You'd better get inside. You've got a purple tinge around your lips." Puzzlement, before Oz understands purple as blue plus Cyclops' ever-present red. "Besides, no one's streaked the mansion for a while." Odd, ill-fitting smile, but Oz returns it as best he can.

"Right, let's see how fast I can run. Ah. Talk to you later?"

"I think I'd like that, Oz."

Nods at Scott and takes off, hears him mutter something that sounds a lot like "mate" and then there are people. All kinds of people. Literally. Skidding around a corner and nearly into Rogue, narrowly avoiding a vaguely shell-shocked Bobby, leaping over unidentified children helpfully providing legs to trip over, and up the stairs. Wishing for an all-fours lope, but if he shifts again there's going to be a mess.

More of a mess than he is, and he doesn't dare look behind for fear of  seeing a neat row of bloody footprints. So many bad decisions, so little time to figure out which was which and he nearly skids past the open door to Nate's room, only to be caught and yanked inside and kissed.

*Scott's a little weird since he died.*

*love you*

*ditto*

Door closed behind him and. Floating. Definitely floating to the bathroom,  and yeah, a shower would be a very good idea.

*you look wild Oz   taste wild*

*Or, you know, bloody.*

*Stop ruining the romance.*

Settling together against cool tile, kissing slowly and reacquainting each other with something like normality. Whatever's passing for it this week, anyway.

Warm water and slick skin and Nate tasting vaguely of oranges. Nate tasting him, blood and citrus between them. Slow and easy. Accepted.

Loved.

Light.  Nate wrapped around him and *water*, and bright day through the  window.  Like if Oz wanted to, he could take off.

Fast as he could possibly manage, Nate just barely out in front of him.
 
 
 
 
 

Epilogue.

Oz hadn't needed an explanation of Nate's actions. Victor Creed stank of madness, fear and rage on an endless loop that had raised Oz's hackles even from a distance. Old blood and old pain.

And Nate struck out as Logan leapt, placing a wall between the two of them and then... the closest Oz can come to thinking about it is the image of a huge blackboard, covered in scribbles, cracked in places. Smeared with blood and offal. 

And then... not.

Clean, empty of everything but mild confusion. Scent of nothing but unwashed fur and. Emptiness. Mind-wiped. It had felt right, and even if it was the link, Oz can find no part of himself upset about what Nate did. He'd taken the time to read the files on Creed, after all.

The others at the mansion... it was a mixed reaction, and in the end they parted on a difference of philosophy. This sense of crumbling, all around, and arguments just waiting for their absence. Their return will be welcomed, of course. Just not right now. And Oz can live with that if Nate can live with that, and Nate can.

*Only another adopted dimension* across the link, neither of them mentioning that they both knew it's more than that. They have each other, cliched as it is.

And it was time to check on House.

Same soup-ad ambiance to the kitchen.  There's a new pattern to the floor linoleum. Black-and-white gone, replaced with a mix of terrazzo-and-marble patterns, a few squares of each like it's been pieced together from samples. 

Some of the boxes of tea now live in jars. There are wet raincoats on hooks by the door, dripping down onto the pile of old, greying sneakers.

Nate's behind him.  Arms around his chest, looking around with the curiosity of someone who doesn't believe that this is a figment of his imagination.

There are new hallways.  New doors.  There's a room Oz finds that looks like the study of an eccentric who's devoted his life to dissecting radios. Loose papers and a manual typewriter that Oz is going to have to sit down at eventually.  Read whatever's in that box of pages.

Nate's bedroom still smells like rain.  Sliding windows just that far open, which is its own kind of commentary.  Clothes in the corners and on the single chair.  The leather duster he hasn't seen in months is hanging very carefully in the closet.  Pillows that smell like Nate's hair, the smell coming away on his hands when he touches.

He finds Nate on the other side of glass doors.  Dry-land brightness outside in spite of the rain-smell. Low grassland extends a long way in a few too many directions.  Scrub trees.  Insects that hum like wires.

Trailer settled down in the lee of the trees, secure and messy as Mrs Frisby's house.  There are a couple of bikes propped against it, and something that Nate's brain cheerfully identifies as hemp being cultivated in carefully shaded pots.  Old hydrant-pump behind the trailer.

It doesn't smell dangerous.  Oz walks out.  Huge, open smells, sound of wind rising in the distance.

He walks around behind the metal shell, catches the hydrant's lever handle and pulls it up. Pushes his head under the rush of water that comes. Hitting the hard ground, old layer of concrete under the spout almost eroded.  *Cold*, deep-earth smelling, something from an aquifier a thousand feet down.  Artesian pressure pushing it up and out.

Raises his head afterward and shakes it.  Just the tips of his hair are  still dark, like a photo-negative silverback.

He comes around front again and Nate's crouched beside the sheet-metal steps, pressing his hand against the improvised foundation.  Wood and cinderblock and old tires, and it shouldn't look as sturdy as it does. Thinking that trailers always look like they've been where they are a thousand years, even if they just came yesterday.

Glittering grin that shows all Nate's teeth.

"You wanna come meet Susan?"

Oz blinks.  There's water in his eyes and on the tips of his eyelashes.

*?*

"Susan.  Love child of House and Van."

"They *bred*?"

"Apparently Van started trying to seduce House pretty early on, but House  wanted to wait. Get to know her. Him. Them."

"That's really. Okay, it's odd, Nate, really odd, but it's also sweet." Looks up into the open air. "Susan's really beautiful, guys."

Half-expecting the sun to start talking, or Van to roll in, but the world remains the same, for the most part. Maybe just a little warmer.

Nate nuzzling his cheek, just together in the high grass. *Are we forgiven?*

*House has a list of strict instructions for us to follow whenever we leave with Van. In Van. Whatever. We especially need to make sure to talk to her.*

*I can do that.*

Image of a vague flag, colors and pattern indecipherable, lazy and curling still against a pole despite the high wind.

*Yeah, yeah.   yours.*

*Good.*

Silent for a long while, and Oz just lets himself look at Nate, learn his face again, another layer of growing memories. Ignoring the world shifting behind and all around them.

*I was thinking, Oz.*

*Yeah?*

*Look...*

And he does. Roads in every direction, spiraling out from Susan in a vast abstract sun, and he knows, somehow, that where each road ends some other world begins. Still strange to feel the simplicity of it all, concept to reality in one easy Nate-step, and open to him. Grins. *How does Van feel  about towing a trailer?*

*You know how mothers are about their young, impressionable daughters.*

*It'll be like traveling with a mansion.*

*You should see what House has been doing with Van's engine.*

Remembers Cable's apartment-workshop. *No, I really don't think I should.  Hey, Nate? Wanna go see the multiverse?*

*Yeah. Yeah, I do.*

*Cool.*
 
 

End.

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