A Bit of Air

Posted on Wed Jul 29th, 2026 @ 3:28am by Maeve MacKenna & Cain Cross

5,873 words; about a 29 minute read

Mission: Episode 8: Shadows Over Avalon
Location: X-Mansion - Rear Terrace
Timeline: March 20, 1992 - Evening

Dinner at Xavier’s rarely ended all at once.

The younger students disappeared first, shepherded towards homework, baths, and whatever counted as bedtime in a mansion full of mutants. The older lot lingered around the tables, stealing the last rolls and stretching conversations until someone reminded them that the dishes did not wash themselves. Gradually, the noise thinned until only the scrape of chairs and the clatter from the kitchen remained.

Outside, the March evening had turned cold. Warm light spilled from the tall dining-room windows across the rear terrace, fading over stone steps and lawns that vanished into darkness beyond the gardens. Somewhere inside, someone had put music on too loudly, though the walls reduced it to little more than bass and the occasional muffled chorus.

Maeve came through the terrace doors with her arms folded tightly across herself, having neglected to bring a coat for what she had claimed would only be a minute. She had wanted the air. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Cain was there too.

She slowed near the doorway, watching him for a second before wandering over. He somehow looked even larger away from the crowded dining room, broad shoulders outlined against the light from the windows.

“You didn’t get lost, then,” she said. “That’s better than most manage their first night.”

Maeve stopped a few feet away and leaned back against the stone balustrade, immediately regretting it when the cold came through her clothes.

“This where you come to decide whether you’ve joined a school or a very posh cult?” A grin tugged briefly at her mouth. “Took me about a week.”

"You gotta have somewhere to be to get lost," Cain said. His dark eyes courted the moonlit estate. He was as out of place as a fish beside his bowl. He didn't look at Maeve - the sound of his thoughts still lingered too loud. Dirt. He smelled dirt in her. Dirt and red hots candy. He liked it.

"What you decide after your first week?"

Maeve gave a small huff of laughter, eyes still on the dark lawn.

“Figured if it was a cult, it was one with hot dinners and clean sheets. Seemed a fair enough trade at the time.”

A few loose pebbles stirred along the top of the balustrade beside her hand. One lifted, then another, turning slowly around her fingers while she watched the grounds disappear into the night. She did not seem to notice she was doing it.

“Didn’t trust any of them, mind. Thought they were all a bit too nice.” She caught one of the stones against her palm and glanced sideways at him. “I trust them a bit better now.”

Cain noticed the moving stones. He'd never really been around another mutant before. It was strange to have other special people around. He watched her hands until he spoke, at which point he looked into her eyes. There was no smile there on his face, but he didn't seem unhappy either.

"You too nice too." he said and licked his lips. There was almost a grin on them. "Think I would get caught if I blaze on the roof?"

Maeve’s eyebrows lifted.

“Too nice?” she repeated, sounding faintly suspicious of the accusation.

The pebble circling her fingers dropped neatly into her palm when he mentioned the roof. Maeve looked up towards the dark line of it, then back at him.

“Blaze what?” she asked. “And how exactly are you plannin’ on gettin’ up there? You’ve been here five minutes. Setting fire to the roof might be a bit much for your first night.”

The chuckle came easy and smooth with all the rhythm of a song. He shook his head.

"Blaze...like." he lifted his thumb and pointer finger to his lips in a motion that suggested smoking. "Or yall don't do that over here in white people country?"

The smile lingered as he stepped around her and down the nearby stairs onto the stone. The chill didn't bother him. He had his own source of heat.

Maeve stared at the gesture for a second, then rolled her eyes.

“We call it havin’ a smoke. Or gettin’ stoned, if you’re after bein’ dramatic.” She pushed away from the balustrade. “And I’m Irish. Different white people country entirely.”

She watched him head down the steps with that grin still hanging about him, like he thought he’d said something clever. A pebble skipped from the terrace rail into her palm before she followed.

“You’ve been here one dinner and you’re already lookin’ for somewhere to get high,” she said, catching up. “Tryin’ very hard to make an impression, aren’t you?”

"Impression on who?" he asked, making a confused expression which retained its humor. "Either I'm impressive or I'm not, Baby. I aint worried about that. I just want to be..havin' a smoke."

His tone and accent mimicked hers as much as he could. It wasn't even close.

"Nobody else is doin some other stupid shit on the roof to get caught by, right? I don't think my momma could take me gettin expelled on the first day."

Maeve looked up towards the roofline, squinting into the dark as though she might find someone already halfway through doing something stupid.

“No,” she said after a moment. “Looks like you’d have the roof and the bad decisions all to yourself.”

Her eyes dropped back to him, lingering there a touch longer than they needed to. The corner of her mouth lifted.

“Unless you’re askin’ for company.”

She stepped down beside him, bumping her shoulder lightly against his arm as she passed.

“And that accent was awful, by the way. Keep that up and I might let you get caught.”

Cain knew a few things very well. Flirting was one of them. He popped bottles with nines by the train tracks and serious gangsters taught him about game. He wasn't sure it would translate to mansion estates though. He popped his tongue with attitude like an inconvenienced man.

"You can come, I guess. You might be a better accent coach than that funny ass leprechaun on the Lucky Charms commercials."

His dropped his jacket to the pavement and his fingers pulled at the bottom of his long-sleeve shirt. He lifted, unveiling torso, chest, and arm until the fabric cleared his hair. He was strong with black tattoos of flame climbing up his arms from his wrist and covering his chest.

"If you aint to scared."

Maeve made a face at him. “I’m a damn sight better than that little gobshite.”

Then the shirt came off.

The pebble above her fingers dropped against the paving with a quiet click. Maeve’s eyes followed the black flames winding over his arms and across his chest before she remembered there was a face attached and dragged her gaze back up. She did not blush exactly, but the cold had stopped bothering her.

“Scared?” Her mouth curved as she stepped closer. “Cain, I’ve seen vampires, demons, and Americans try to make tea. You’ll have to do better than takin’ your top off.”

She looked up towards the roof, then back over all that bare muscle with considerably less hurry this time. “Though I’m startin’ to think this climb was only half your plan.”

Then ink became more as black feathers pushed out his black jeans and the black wings broke forth like a shadow looming. He extended them in a show, a sixteen foot wingspan, complete with a flourish of skill. His eyes became like midnight or deep wells of ink. His voice was two.

"It aint the shirt that would scare you."

Maeve stopped.

Every pebble around her hand dropped at once, clicking across the stone between them as the wings opened into the night. Her gaze travelled from the black feathers to the impossible width of them, then back to his eyes, darkened until there seemed to be no end to them at all.

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

For once, Maeve MacKenna had no smart remark waiting. No laugh to hide behind. No sharp little answer to make herself feel less caught. She only stood there staring up at him, cheeks warm despite the cold, the challenge she had been ready to throw back entirely forgotten.

After a long second, she closed her mouth.

Then opened it again.

Still nothing.

"See? You need to blaze too." His chuckle had layers of sound. He stepped forward toward her several steps, wondering if she would run or freeze. "We need to get up there before somebody else comes out."

He offered an arm. An invitation for a lift.

"You in or out, Maeve?"

Maeve looked at the arm he offered, then up at him again.

There were still no clever words. Not proper ones.

She stepped forward before she could think herself out of it and curled one hand around his forearm. The feathers shifted close enough that she felt the air move against her face, carrying warmth where there should only have been March cold.

“I’m in,” she said, quieter than she meant to.

Then, finding a little of herself again, she tightened her grip and added, “But if you drop me, I’ll bury you in the lawn.”

"What if I just drop you for fun and catch you before you turn into a pancake or whatever the fuck the Irish call ‘em?" he asked, and his arm curled around her middle, pressing at her waist enough to hold her in place and adding a layer of intense, warm contact. "We can't go straight up there. More likely somebody sees and runs their mouth."

And then was a lifting and a great movement of feathered wings so that wind shot down and the ground melted away beneath them. As they shot into the sky like a missile, he drew her toward his middle. It was easier to fly with balance. Up and up into the night sky, his jacket pressed against her pressed against him. The mansion faded away behind them, and the wind chilled and wrinkled their skin.

“We call them pancakes too, smartarse.”

The rest of it vanished into the sudden roar of wings and air.

Maeve grabbed at him on instinct when the ground dropped away, one arm tightening around his middle as the mansion fell beneath them. For a breath she pressed close without thinking, held hard against warmth and muscle while the cold tore at her hair and clothes. Her stomach turned over, then seemed to stay somewhere far below.

It should have frightened her more than it did.

Instead, a laugh broke out of her, startled and bright, carried off almost at once by the wind. The feeling tugged loose a memory she had not asked for: another pair of arms, amber eyes beneath a night sky. It hurt, quick and clean, but Maeve did not pull away. She let the ache pass through her and kept looking down.

The estate spread beneath them in silver and shadow, the mansion suddenly small enough to fit inside her hand. Maeve leaned closer to Cain so he might hear her over the rush of air.

“All right,” she admitted, grinning despite herself. “This is class.”

“This is what?” He asked as his wings ceased their flapping and they soared away on momentum. They slowed as did the wind in their faces. He turned slowly, setting the tiny mansion in his gaze. Then they fell from the sky like lightning, wind like fire in their faces.

Maeve blinked at him.

“Class. It means brilliant. Amazin’. It means this is bloody—”

They dropped.

The rest tore out of her as a scream.

Her arms locked around Cain as the night rushed past them and the mansion came hurtling up from below. Her stomach stayed somewhere in the sky, but the scream broke apart into wild, breathless laughter before they were halfway down. There was fear in it, surely, but the bright kind. The sort that made every part of her feel awake.

Maeve pressed closer, hair streaming behind her, laughing too hard to care that he had frightened the life out of her.

“You absolute mad bastard!” she shouted into the wind, grinning so wide it hurt.

They came out of their eagle dive with raised wing catching the air like a parachute. The force of the deceleration felt like it drove them back, and Cain's arms remained tight around her. With easy flaps, they gradually descended to the rooftop above the dorm windows where no one could look out and spot them. Then with controlled flaps, their feet touched down on the roof.

"Woah, I think she likes it," Cain said smoothly, his voice converging into one again as his eyes went from ink black to natural dark brown. His wings retracted and disappeared again and he was left standing before her, his arms still around her. "I normally let at least a few hours pass between when I meet a girl and I let her take me for a ride."

He let go of her and started folding his shirt and jacket. Neatly placing them in a pile, he fished out a blunt, brown and tightly rolled and sat down beside where she stood.

Maeve stayed standing for a few seconds after he let go.

The roof gave them a view the grounds never did. The mansion lights glowed warm below, windows scattered gold across the dark stone while the lawns rolled away silver beneath the moon. From up here, Xavier’s looked quieter. Smaller. Almost normal, if you ignored the half-naked boy with wings and the girl who had just screamed her lungs out over Westchester.

She lowered herself beside Cain, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, and looked at the blunt between his fingers.

“Hey… before you hand me that,” she said, softer this time.

Maeve drew one knee up and rested her arm across it, a small, almost embarrassed smile tugging at her mouth.

“I’ve never actually smoked one before.” She glanced sideways at him, a little sheepish now. “Where I’m from—tiny island off the west coast of Ireland—everyone knows what you did before you’ve finished doin’ it. And after I left…” Her gaze drifted back out over the moonlit grounds. “Wasn’t exactly out havin’ fun, was I?”

She let out a quiet breath, then nudged his arm lightly with hers, the gesture more playful than defensive.

“So… maybe go easy on me, yeah?”

Cain grinned. The joint was comfortably between his fingers, unlit. His eyes were on Maeve. He shook his head and chuckled.

“Girl, you had be thinkin’ you’re the campus fuck-up. Now you tellin’ me I’m about to take ya weed virginity? Serious?” He shook his head again, a flame licking up from a finger to toast the end of the blunt slowly. “You gon get my black ass kicked out.”

Maeve’s embarrassed smile turned crooked.

“I never said I wasn’t the campus fuck-up,” she replied. “Only said I’d never smoked.”

Her eyes followed the flame as it caught at the end of the blunt. She had done things far worse than this, though none of them belonged on a rooftop beneath the moon with a boy she had met over shepherd’s pie.

“I’ve done worse than smoke a bit of weed, trust me,” she added lightly, though there was something quieter beneath it.

“And don’t call it that,” she added, giving him a shove with her shoulder. “Christ alive.”

Maeve looked back towards him, amusement warming her face.

“You’ll be grand. They’ve been tryin’ to straighten me out for two years and I’m still here.”

"Seems like you're gettin' worse to me," he said before putting the paper between his lips and sucking in slowly. The fire from his finger died out and smoke billowed past his face when he released his lungs. "I say you twirlin' rocks earlier. What can you do, move things with your mind?"

He passed the blunt to her, taking her hand in his and placing it between her fingers.

"Suck it in nice and slow and hold it in your lungs for a few seconds. Just watch it. It's gone burn hard as hell."

Maeve looked down at the blunt resting between her fingers, then back towards the loose slate beneath their feet.

“Not with me mind, no. It’s the earth.” One of the small chips of stone beside her knee lifted and turned slowly in the air. “Stone, soil, sand. Anything that came from the ground, mostly. I can feel where it is too, even when I can’t see it.”

The slate settled neatly back into place.

“Comes in handy when I want to make a point,” she added, the corner of her mouth lifting.

Maeve studied the glowing end of the blunt with considerably more suspicion than she had shown Cain’s wings. Then she brought it to her lips and drew in carefully, following his instructions.

She lasted perhaps two seconds.

The smoke caught hard in her throat. Maeve turned away, coughing into the crook of her arm while her eyes watered, one hand hurriedly passing the blunt back before she dropped it over the edge of the roof.

“Jesus Christ,” she managed hoarsely between coughs. “People do that for fun?”

When she finally looked back at him, red-eyed and still fighting for breath, she was laughing despite herself.

“Not a word.”

“You get used to it,” he said with a laugh. It was no worse than he’d expected it to be and his hand found her back, tapping lightly in a futile effort to help her through the pain. When she laughed, he took it back between his own lips again. The tip lit up and smoke rolls from between his lips. “Just wait a few seconds. You’ll want some more.”

The cool wind of the night dang a soft, whisky song. His eyes looked from star to star as his mind opened like a dark flower.

“So what else can you do with it? Can you earthquakes or, I don’t know, fuck up somebody’s driveway if they piss you off?” He asked with smoke in his voice, his eyes focusing differently, his fingers outstretched to her again with the blunt between them.

His hand against her back caught Maeve by surprise, but she did not pull away. The light taps did little for the coughing itself, though the warmth of his palm helped more than she wanted to admit. Her breathing gradually settled, each breath coming easier until the burning in her throat faded to a rough tickle.

“Earthquakes?” she repeated, still a little hoarse. “Not proper ones. Not yet.”

A few chips of slate shifted beside her boot, clicking together before lifting into the air.

“I can make the ground shake. Deep tremors, if I put enough into it. Split soil, crack stone, raise walls out of the ground.” She watched the slate turn slowly around her fingers. “Or hold one up if it’s about to come down. Clear a road, shore up a building, pull someone out if they’re buried.”

Her mouth tilted slightly.

“Suppose it depends whether I’m helpin’ or whether someone’s been an arsehole.”

The stones settled neatly back into place.

“But aye, I could absolutely fuck up a driveway. Wouldn’t even be difficult.”

Maeve accepted the blunt again with less suspicion this time. She took a slower, shallower pull and moved it away before the smoke could claw too far down.

She held it for a second, then breathed out carefully into the night.

There was still a cough, but only one, quickly smothered against the back of her hand. Maeve passed the blunt back with a small, satisfied smile.

“See? Fast learner.”

"You should slow down if you want me to 'take it easy' on you like you said," he said with a chuckle. "Otherwise you won't be able to hide how high you are when Drew sees you walkin' back to your room."

He stared out at nothing, putting the paper between his lips again and pulling slowly.

"Who was that girl who threw that water at me earlier?" he asked, glancing at Maeve to see how she felt. "I almost came across the run and punched her in her fuckin' chest for that, I swear."

Maeve turned her head towards him a little too slowly, then blinked.

“Drew?” she repeated. Realisation wandered across her face and she lifted two fingers in a lazy salute. “Professor Williams. Right. Very respectable.”

The salute dissolved when her arm grew tired of holding itself up. She let it drop across her knee and smiled out at the grounds.

“That was Hayden. Water’s her thing. Movin’ it about, pullin’ it out of places.” Maeve glanced back at him, her expression loose and faintly amused. “Probably wouldn’t punch her in the chest, though. She was bein’ a pain in the arse, but you frightened the life out of half the room.”

Her shoulder rested against his.

“Besides, next time she might use more than a bottle.”

He made a smacking sound with his lips.

“Do I look like I’m scared of that bitch?” He asked, showing his less diplomatic side. He blew out a puff of air. Then her raised his arm in the air and the black tattoos of flame came to life. At first it was just red flame, but soon it was orange, then a jet of white hot fire extended into the sky from his hand as if from a flame thrower, generating enough heat she could feel it on her face. Then it was gone, and he brought his arm back to his side.

“Did I scare you too? Not like you threw a rock at my head.”

Maeve flinched from the sudden heat, turning her face and lifting a hand as white fire split the dark above them. When it vanished, she blinked through the afterglow, then looked at him with a slow, crooked smile.

“Christ, you’re desperate to impress me.”

She reached over and tapped one finger lightly against the black flames on his arm, as though checking they had properly settled.

“You startled me. That’s not the same as bein’ scared.” Her eyes wandered back to his, softer and more amused than sharp. “I’ve seen worse than a handsome lad throwin’ fire about because someone bruised his pride.”

Maeve let her shoulder rest against his again.

“You keep showin’ me all the frightening bits, then askin’ if I’m frightened.” Her smile widened slightly. “Startin’ to think you really need the answer to be no.”

A small chip of slate rose beside her hand and bumped gently against his knee before dropping back to the roof.

“And I didn’t throw a rock because I like your face where it is.”

“If somebody can’t handle the scary shit, I figure they better step off early. No need tryin’ to impress with the best of me,” he said with a lazy conviction in his voice. Still, he noticed she was’t going anywhere. He looked at her and smiled. “I can tell you crazy cause I am and you sittin’ here.”

He offered the blunt to her again with a smooth motion of his arm. It wasn’t insistent. Just an offer.

“Or are you just too tired to run away?” He asked, looking into her eyes to make sure she was alright. “How you feel?”

Maeve gave him a slow, knowing smile.

“I’ve heard that one before. Irish girl must be mad.” She took the blunt from him, her fingers brushing his. “And I can handle the scary shit. You’ll need more than wings and fire to put me off.”

She brought it to her lips and took another careful pull. Better this time. The smoke still caught slightly, but she held it before breathing it out over the roof in a thin stream.

Maeve settled against him again, her shoulder resting comfortably beside his.

“Besides, that can’t be all there is to you.” Her eyes moved over his face, softer now, without their usual guarded hurry. “Big wings, big flames, big frightening act. Be fairly disappointin’ if there was nothin’ underneath it.”

She looked out across the grounds. The mansion lights seemed warmer now, the stars closer, and for once her thoughts were not climbing over one another to reach somewhere worse.

“I feel good,” she admitted. “Quiet, sort of. In here.”

Maeve tapped one finger lightly against her temple, then watched it as though the movement had briefly fascinated her.

“Usually me head never shuts up. Always somethin’ I should be thinkin’ about, or rememberin’, or tryin’ not to remember.” A small smile returned as she offered the blunt back. “Could see why people make a habit of this.”

“You askin’ if there’s something big underneath, right?” Cain asked, a wicked grin on his lips as he watched her, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “I got good news for you. Ain’t a damn thing small over here. Nothin’.”

He knew that wasn’t what she meant, and he knew that she knew that he was aware of that fact. He didn’t profess any inward sensitivity. He didn’t agree or reassured her that there was more depth to him. A thinly veiled comment about his dick size without a smile or wink to even suggest he understood or was playing. He took another pull from the blunt, watching her look at her finger. He was a tougher nut to crack than he seemed but, as he would crudely joke, at least they were big nuts.

“Yeah, you high,” he said, with a chuckle and a bit of a cough as puffs of smoke shot out from between his lips. “That’s what it’s good for, Baby. Sometimes, when you thinkin’ some crazy shit, or got some memories you just can’t get to go away, Mary Jane does the trick.”

Maeve rolled her eyes, but the giggle escaped before she could stop it.

“Aye, I’m sure you tell every girl there’s nothin’ small about you.” She gave him a lazy nudge with her shoulder. “Save the grand claims till there’s evidence, Cain.”

Her gaze dropped to the blunt between his fingers, amusement lingering as smoke curled away into the cold.

“Mary Jane,” she repeated. “Very friendly name for somethin’ that nearly coughed me lungs onto the roof.”

She watched the ember glow for another moment, her smile becoming quieter.

“But she’s not half bad once she stops tryin’ to kill you.” Maeve tapped her temple again, slower this time. “If she can make this place shut up for ten minutes, I might keep her around.”

“Guess that means we both need to find a contact,” he said with a chuckle. He flicked a finger and let the ash fall, letting the feeing of the wind mix with the sudden beauty in the silence. It was nice to find someone to sit with.

“I snuck two on the plane with me but that won’t go too far. Probably need to meet some people in the city. Don’t look like Salem Center has what we lookin’ for.”

The blunt was fown to the end, past the point where most others would have had to give up on in. But Cain held the heat without a problem. He leaned over, his chest sgainst her shoulder, and held it up to her lips for her.

“Last call, Ireland. Enjoy it.”

Maeve looked at the dwindling blunt hovering near her mouth, then at Cain.

“Last call, is it?”

She leaned in and closed her lips around it while he held it, taking the final draw slowly. The closeness did not seem to trouble her nearly as much as it might have half an hour ago. She held the smoke, eyes narrowing with concentration, then breathed it out towards the stars without coughing.

A pleased little smile spread across her face.

“There’ll be someone in Salem Center,” she said. “Place isn’t a bloody convent. And if every teenager there’s suddenly found God, Danbury’s just over the state line. Someone’ll know someone.”

Maeve settled back against his shoulder, watching the last thread of smoke disappear.

“We’ll sort it, Feathers.”

The nickname seemed to amuse her more the longer she considered it. She turned her head towards him, smile loose and bright.

“Aye. That suits you.” Her finger traced lazily towards one of the black flames on his arm without quite touching it. “All wings, heat and terrible ideas.”

Her eyes drifted closed for a moment as the last of the blunt settled warmly through her.

“Not bad terrible ideas, though.”

He burned the rest up in a small blaze between his fingers, watching it as it quickly turned to ash, and then sprinkling the ash onto the ground. He looked over at her and grinned, licking his lips.

“I’m not invitin’ you to my room, chill out,” he said as if she had asked. “You probably got a man sround here anyway.”

He said, pulling himself up to a standing position and standing like a bouncer.

“I unlatched my window so we can climb in through there instead of jumpin’ down.”

Maeve stared up at him for a second, then laughed.

“Christ, Feathers, settle yourself. I never asked to see your room.”

She planted a hand against the roof and pushed herself upright, taking a moment longer than usual to find her balance. Her eyes narrowed at him with lazy amusement.

“And no, I haven’t got a man hidden somewhere in the mansion. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Maeve glanced towards the unlatched window, then back at Cain.

“Though flyin’ a girl onto the roof and leavin’ your bedroom window open is a fairly strange way of proving you’re not invitin’ her in.”

Her smile turned crooked as she stepped past him.

“Come on, then. Before your imagination gets us both expelled.”

Cain walked over to the window he figured was his, being careful not to lose his footing and go sliding off the roof. He looked up, realizing he had forgotten something.

“Ay, grab my shirt and jacket,” he said clearly, then slid his fingers under the window, pulling it up.

“Ladies first. Be careful, damn. Don’t want you fallin’ off.”

Maeve bent to collect his shirt and jacket, bundling both against her chest before making her way towards the window with more care than she would ever admit to needing.

“Chivalry’s not dead, then,” she said, eyeing the open window. “Just mostly confused.”

She glanced down at the drop, then back at Cain.

“And here I thought you’d enjoy catchin’ me again.”

Maeve eased one leg through the window, keeping hold of the frame until her foot found something solid inside. The room beyond was almost completely dark, little more than vague shapes and the pale spill of moonlight behind her.

She climbed the rest of the way in and stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust, his clothes still tucked under one arm.

After a beat, she leaned back towards the window and lowered her voice.

“You are sure this is yours, Cain?”

Her mouth curved in the dark.

“Because breakin’ into some poor bastard’s room half-stoned would be a fairly strong finish to the night.”

The room was bare, the shelves empty, and the only personal belonging so far was a single duffel bag on his lone bed. It was a lonely space, and the fact it wasn’t properly moved into was obvious.

Cain sat down on the bed, looking around with an expression that seemed more desolate than he would likely admit to willingly. There was a sense of solemnity, as of there was something to grieve. He turned his gaze to Maeve and lifted his chin, defiant against those feelings.

“That weed shit was cute, but you better get out of here before you get into some real trouble,” he said. A small smile tempted the corners of his full lips. The flirting was hard and signaled his rough history.

Maeve’s gaze moved around the room while Cain settled onto the bed.

Bare shelves. Bare walls. One duffel bag holding whatever part of his life had followed him here.

She did not comment. Most people arrived at Xavier’s with more history than luggage. Maeve herself had come with neither suitcase nor plan, so she only laid his folded shirt and jacket beside the bag rather than tossing them at him.

When she looked back, she caught the defiance in his face before the flirting covered it.

“Cute, was it?”

Her eyes narrowed with lazy amusement. She stayed where she was for another second, close enough to make it clear she had understood exactly what he meant, but not close enough to give him what he was imagining.

“You’ve a very high opinion of the trouble you’re offerin’, Feathers.”

Maeve’s gaze dipped briefly to his mouth, then returned to his eyes. The corner of hers lifted when she caught herself doing it.

“But you’d only be disappointed if I made things that easy.”

She turned towards the door, checking the handle before glancing back over her shoulder.

“Get some sleep. Preferably without burnin’ the mansion down on your first night.”

Her smile lingered.

“Night, Cain.”

He watched her go, his eyes lingering on parts of her it simply wasn’t proper to look at. There was nothing subtle about their interaction or connection besides the restraint shown. He stepped after her like a predator hunting his prey, but he stopped at the door leaning out at her. His tongue danced smoothly on his lips one more time.

“You get some sleep too. Go get ya rocks off. I hear that’s what you’re good at.”

Maeve had barely made it three steps into the corridor before the floor carried the shift of his weight after her.

She glanced back and found him leaning through the doorway, watching her go. A knowing little smirk touched her mouth as she turned and wandered back the half-step between them.

“Careful, Feathers. Any farther and it’ll start lookin’ like you’re the one havin’ trouble lettin’ me leave.”

At his remark, Maeve laughed softly. She placed her palm against the centre of his chest, light enough to be teasing, and eased him back towards his room.

“I think I’ll keep what I’m good at to myself for now.”

Her hand lingered for a beat before slipping away.

“Wouldn’t want you gettin’ overexcited on your first night.”

Maeve stepped back into the corridor, still smiling as she turned away.

“Night.”

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