Alma was remembering.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's and Valentine's Day had come and gone, and the first anniversary of her rescue was not far away. Now she sat cross-legged on her bed, thinking over the many milestones that lay behind her, contemplating a variety of satisfying achievements and discouraging failures, triumphs and victories, disappointments and problems.

Gambit's cooking lessons had been a joy and a delight, and one of her most gratifying successes. Despite the Cajun's gourmet preferences, he started her with a solid grounding in basic cooking: preparing vegetables, baking bread, even making coffee. "You may not like coffee, p'tite, but Wolverine do. Way t' a man's heart is t'roo his stummick." She learned responsibility by cleaning up her messes -- Gambit was a martinet about cleanliness -- and several spoiled dishes showed her why following recipes meant following directions to the letter. Once she had proved she could handle simple recipes, she moved on to more complex ones, finally "graduating" with a jambalaya that earned her Gambit's undying gratitude.

Her flute playing had improved steadily. Toots and whistles turned into enjoyable music, scales gave way to more difficult pieces, and the X-Men found excuses to linger outside her door as she practiced. (Though they all enjoyed music, and several had good singing voices, it was rare to have a musician in residence.) Alma's lessons also forced her to become more independent, since Chris couldn't always come to the mansion. Alma learned about bus schedules, carrying money, and the perils of public transit. Riding the bus to and from Chris' home also taught her that not everyone lived in sleazy motel rooms or beautiful mansions, and brought her in contact with people from all walks of life. Her peculiar upbringing had the unexpected benefit of leaving her relatively free of prejudice and homophobia; she was merely curious, not shocked, the first time she saw two gay men holding hands at the bus stop.

She had found the public library, and was now the proud owner of her very own library card (she had been astonished to find that Professor Xavier did not own every book ever printed). She'd learned to read and write Spanish, making her effectively trilingual, and had recently begun a course in first aid. She'd made her first non-mutant friend -- Martha, Chris' teenage daughter -- and since Jubilee liked Martha too, the three spent many afternoons at the mall or giggling together over the latest fashion magazines. She'd discovered that she could shape liquids as well as solids, though it took enormous effort, and the shape disappeared as soon as she removed her hand. She had even experienced her first snowfall -- and, an hour later, her first snowball fight. Her most significant achievement, however, was her conquest of fear.

Her nightmares had dwindled dramatically in both number and intensity after the incident in the Danger Room. Logan had taken her to the zoo again shortly thereafter; this time they saw everything including the caged areas at her request, and Alma had not had any bad dreams afterward. Her sleep had become even more peaceful after Professor Xavier received the news that the Cruel One had been sentenced to ten years in prison. "Seems appropriate," Wolverine had commented. "He gave her ten years o' hell, so now he gets ten years o' hell. Cons don't like guys that beat up little girls."

Of course, Alma had not succeeded in all her endeavors, and there had been other setbacks and frustrations as well. As Professor Xavier had pointed out, humans make mistakes, and she made her share. Despite her quick reflexes, learning to drive was proving to be unusually difficult. Her colorblindness made traffic lights hard to distinguish, and oncoming headlights and reflections off windshields were blindingly painful. She'd flunked her driving test twice, and it would be several months before she could try again.

Xavier's efforts to establish her identity were at a standstill, mired in a frustrating mass of red tape. Alma had finally allowed the Professor to probe her mind as part of his effort to find her family, but the results had been disappointing. She'd been taken from them too young to remember any real names, only "mama" and "papa". Xavier's interviews with the Cruel One were equally fruitless, for Owens had never known the name of the small town in Mexico where he'd found her, and the only name he'd ever had for her parents was "them dumb Mexes".

One major success had had numerous side effects, some helpful, some not. Dr. Stephanie Kwan, a gynecologist and one of Hank's many medical colleagues, had given Alma a thorough physical exam and pronounced her "fourteen, close to fifteen," and had signed a legal affidavit to that effect. Dental exams had corroborated this finding, so Alma had an official age at last. Since they didn't know her date of birth, she'd had the unusual privilege of choosing a birthday, and instantly picked March ninth, the date of her rescue. *Is day my life begin again,* she explained. *What is more right?* Dr. Kwan prescribed some hormone treatments which greatly relieved much of Alma's menstrual discomfort. She also reinforced Hank's warning that Alma must never risk pregnancy. "Your body has been permanently affected by the malnutrition of your childhood. If you were to become pregnant, you'd almost certainly miscarry; even if you didn't, neither you nor the baby would survive childbirth. For now, stay celibate. In a year or so, when your body has finished maturing, I'd strongly recommend getting your tubes tied or some other form of permanent sterilization. In your case, no birth control method is effective enough."

It was a bitter disappointment for Alma. Like most young women in love, she'd harbored romantic notions of giving her beloved a child. Though Logan told her repeatedly that she was far more important to him than a dozen children, it was still a source of deep depression for her. Furthermore, this news meant that their no-sex agreement would have to stay in force for some time to come. Rogue's mutant absorbing power had made her all too familiar with sexual frustration; since misery loves company, Rogue and Alma often found themselves turning to each other for comfort, understanding and support. Rogue also had lots of practical advice garnered from her own unwelcome experience. "Ya gotta find othuh ways t'show yo' love," she suggested. "Lil' things, like usin' yo' powuhs t'mend his clothes. Learn a piece o' flute music he likes, surprise him with one o' his favorite dishes, or leave a note on his pillow that says 'Ah love you'."

*Logan does things like that for me, like bring me flowers or make me cup of tea.*

"Nevuh expected ol' tough-as-nails Wolverine t'be fetchin' flowuhs. Least he ain't too macho t'show he cares." Rogue sighed heavily, envy putting a hint of bitterness in her voice. "You lucky you c'n kiss him 'n' touch him, sugah. Whut Ah'd give …"

*I wish is some way I can help, Rogue. But sometimes can-touch make it worse, not better. We want each other so much, but not fair to him and me if we kiss, get excited and then must stop when we both want more.*

"Some gals think it's fun t'tease a guy like that, git him all riled up an' then say No. This is diff'rent. Ah don’t think any of us would sic the law on you 'n' Logan if you wuz t'break yo' agreement. All that's stoppin' ya is personal integrity."

*But keeping promise is important. I've learned to trust all of you; you need to know you can trust me, and I need to know I can trust me.*

So Alma sat, remembering, and thinking about trust, for now the biggest trial she'd faced so far was upon her, a trial which would force her to use and test everything she'd learned this strange and wonderful year: her first solo in the Danger Room.

"Shadow? You in there, sugah?" Lost in thought, Alma started at Rogue's voice and the knock on her door, then collected herself and gave her "come-in" whistle. She started again when not just Rogue, but Jean, Storm, and Jubilee all came in as well, each in costume and each carrying a package.

"Feeling a little nervous?" Jean asked, smiling sympathetically. "We all were, our first time. I still get nervous, even though I've been in there dozens of times."

"Bein' nervous keeps ya from gettin' ovuhconfident," Rogue added. "It ain't called the Danger Room fo' nuthin'."

Jubilee looked at the leotard, tights and gym shoes Alma was dressed in, which she always wore for her gymnastic sessions. "Is that whatcha plan on wearin', Shadow?" she inquired.

*Yes. What else I wear?*

Storm's eyes twinkled as she offered the package she was holding. "Well, now that you are ready for your first solo, it is time for you to have a proper costume like the rest of us."

Shadow's jaw dropped. *A costume? A real X-Man costume of my very own? You mean it?*

"'Course we mean it, sugah," Rogue chuckled. "Ah'd be happy t'lend ya one o' mine, but it'd fit you like socks on a roostuh!" Alma collapsed on her bed, convulsed with silent giggles at the mental image Rogue's phrase produced. The others laughed too, and the humor dissolved much of Alma's nervousness.

"C'mon, Shadow, try it on! I'm dying ta see!" Jubilee begged, bouncing with excitement.

Storm's box held a body suit of some soft, strange fabric. *Not cloth,* Alma signed, feeling it.

"No, it's a new kind of Kevlar plastic," Jean explained. "It's as light and soft and flexible as cloth, but it's extremely tough. It's not as strong as Gambit's body armor, but it'll give you some protection from plasma bursts and stun rays. Some. Not all."

Shadow nodded, then tried it on. It was like a leotard in cut, with T-shirt-length sleeves and legs that reached halfway down her thighs. It clung like spray paint, revealing and enhancing every line and curve of her figure, and she found herself blushing a little as she posed in front of the mirror. "Hoo-whee!" Rogue exclaimed. "The fellas are gonna love seein' you in that!"

*So light, I feel like I wear nothing!* Alma signed in amazement.

"The word 'gymnastics' comes from the Greek term for 'naked'," Storm reminded her. "This costume will allow you complete freedom of movement. Also, since it is so light, you can wear it beneath your street clothes without discomfort, or without anyone noticing."

"See that little loop inside the neckline?" Jean pointed out. "That's for your whistle. We knew you wouldn't want to take it off, so that loop will keep it from flying around and maybe hitting you in the face in the middle of a somersault."

"And your arms 'n' legs are bare so's you c'n shape things even when your hands are busy doin' somethin' else!" Jubilee noted.

No one mentioned the fact that it also concealed all her scars …

The main color was charcoal gray, with subtle hints of deep crimson, forest green and midnight blue. "Kinda like camouflage," Jubilee said. "You can blend inta the background 'n' hide in the shadows, just like your nickname!" There were darker, trimlike bands on the cuffs of both sleeves and legs, and Shadow noticed that they felt a little different.

"Another type of plastic," Jean explained. "The bands look like decoration, but they come off, like this. You can shape them into a hammer, a knife, or just about any small tool or weapon you might need."

"Now look at my package!" Jubilee urged. Inside was a pair of black calf-high boots, with bands at the tops which were the same dark gray as the ones on her suit. "Soft enough ta letcha move quiet as a mouse, but hard enough ta protect your feet fer karate kicks or runnin' over rough ground. And those stripes on top are another set of tool-bands." The package also held a length of gauzy silver-gray fabric. Shadow felt it.

*This isn't cloth either. Plastic again?*

"Bingo! You wear it 'round your hips, like a sash," Jubilee instructed, helping Shadow adjust it. "You c'n shape it inta a bo-stick or a rope or even fuse it with your tool-bands if ya need t'make somethin' bigger, like a ladder."

Shadow suddenly grinned. *Jubilee, remember first time we went shopping at mall and my pants keep falling down? Now my hips big enough to hold this up!* Both girls were consumed with giggles while the older women rolled their eyes and sighed.

[Still, it's a good sign,] Jean thought. [Alma's recovered emotionally so much now that she can laugh about an incident that caused her hysterics back then!] "That's enough, you two," she said aloud. "Let's get the rest of these packages open before Professor Xavier comes looking for us. Rogue, what do you have for our newest X-Man?"

Rogue's package contained a pair of wrist braces which matched the boots. Although they fitted as perfectly as everything else, they were longer and heavier than the ones Shadow usually wore. "There's a surprise inside," Rogue told her. "See them two lil' bumps there on the edge o' the right one? Hold yo' arm out, push the right one 'n' see whut happens!" Alma did so, and a hidden seam opened down the back. Two metal arms sprang out and swept apart, stretching a cord taut between them to form a hand crossbow. Pressing the right-hand button a second time caused the weapon to fold back up again. Reopening the bow, Alma tugged at the string and found it was too heavy for her to pull back. "No problem, sugah," Rogue said with a wink. "Just push the othuh button!" She pressed it, and a hook popped up and slid back, cocking the bow for her. "Ta fire it, just squeeze yo' fist." Rogue explained. "That only works when the bow's open, so's ya c'n swing around or punch stuff without worryin'. Now look inside!"

In the recess which concealed the bow were a dozen gleaming darts. Five had needle-sharp points and bold stripes on their shafts, and five had thicker shafts and blunt points. The last two were miniature broadheads, their edges honed razor-sharp. "The thick ones explode on impact," Jean told her. "They don't have much charge, but once you get used to handling this, we'll increase the blast power. You must be careful handling the striped ones. They're tranquilizer darts, and if you prick your finger on the point they'll put you to sleep. So remember, stripes equal sleep."

There was also a button on the left bracer; pressing it, Shadow found a concealed compartment containing two dozen more darts and a spare bowstring. *This is wonderful!* she signed, delighted with the compact elegance of the entire array. *If you not know, you not-can tell it's there!*

"That's the idea, just like your tool-bands 'n' sash," said Jubilee. "It gives ya a secret advantage. You'll hafta give Wolverine 'n' Beast a big thank-you fer this, they've been workin' on it fer weeks!"

*Hank and Logan make this? For me?*

"We have all been working on various aspects," Storm told her with a hug. "Professor Xavier came up with the overall concept. We ladies designed the body suit, though the tool-bands were Gambit's idea. Wolverine designed the bracers and crossbow; he and Henry built it and made the darts as well."

"And Hank and Scott are responsible for this," Jean cut in, offering her package. "It's been finished for over a month, but they decided to wait until now so that your costume would be all one big surprise." Shadow opened the box, and the dark-lensed visor inside made her catch her breath. She was even more breathless when she tried it on; fortunately, this did not affect her hands.

*My eyes! My eyes don't hurt at all! They never feel so good! And fits so good I almost not feel! How they make fit so-very good?*

Jubilee giggled. "'Member the time you 'n' Beast made a mold of your face in a board? He used that ta make a modelin' cast!"

"The lenses are plastic, not glass, an' Beast says they won't bust no mattuh whut," Rogue declared. "An' they adjust themselves lickety-split whenevuh the light level changes." Suddenly they all jumped as the intercom beeped and crackled. Professor Xavier's voice interrupted:

~"Ladies, I hate to be a spoilsport, but Shadow has an appointment in the Danger Room, and there are other friends waiting to admire her …"~

*Please ask him wait just one minute,* Shadow insisted, then gave each of them a hug. *Thank you all so-very much, for costume, for all you give me and teach me, and most all for your friendship. Everything I do, every day and all my life, I owe to you.*

"Thank you, Shadow," Jean replied. "You may not realize it, but you've given us as much as we've given you: your courage, your trust, your love, and your determination to learn and grow and succeed."

"We had better go, my friends," Storm advised, then added with a rare flash of humor, "The voice of authority has spoken."

Shadow's female teammates escorted her to the Danger Room, where her male teammates were waiting, also in costume. Even Xavier wore his "working clothes" instead of his usual business suit. All greeted her with an enthusiastic round of applause and admiring looks. "Tres magnifique!" Gambit proclaimed, with a wolf-whistle that made her blush clear to her collarbones. When the clamor quieted, Professor Xavier opened the door to the Danger Room, then moved his chair into the doorway and spoke:

"Shadow, you've been in here before, to train and practice with your teammates, so I don't need to remind you that this is serious. I do want to remind you that there is no 'success' or 'failure' in the Danger Room. Yes, it is a test of your skills and abilities, but you do not 'flunk' or 'pass' this particular test. If you don't 'perform' well, today or on any other day, it doesn't mean that you are no longer an X-Man. It simply means you need to hone your skills further or practice certain aspects more." He paused a moment, then continued, his face and voice softer. "Alma my dear, are you absolutely sure you want to do this, and that you are doing it for the right reasons? I don't want you to think that you must impress us, or repay us for saving your life. We will not think any less of you if you change your mind and decide not to be an X-Man. This mansion is your home, no matter what, and you are and always will be our friend. Whether or not you are an X-Man, whatever happens in here, we will always love you and care about you."

"That goes double fer me, querida," Wolverine broke in. "X-Man or not, yer still my girl."

Shadow hesitated only a moment before she answered; she had thought long and hard for many days, and Wolverine's words only reaffirmed what she'd already decided. *Professor, Logan, all of you -- although you knew I was mutant when you save me, that wasn't why you did it. You didn't save me to make me X-Man, either. You saved me because you care, because you want better world, world where others not get hurt like me. I'm not doing this to repay you for my life. Nothing I ever do can ever repay. I'm doing this because like you, I want world where people who are different can be different without fear. I know what ignorance and cruelty and injustice can do; I have scars for proof. But I'm just one person, and I not-can do much to change world all alone. For now, best way for me to change things is to work together with others like me -- with you. And best way to do that is to face Danger Room alone, to prove to myself and to all of you that I am X-Man.*

There was only a brief pause, then Beast spoke softly: "Even I cannot find a fitting reply to such eloquence. Shall we proceed to the Observation Booth?" Offering an arm to Storm, he led the way to the stairs while the rest of the X-Men trailed along. Wolverine waited until only he and Shadow were left, then gathered her into his arms and kissed her, quick and hard.

"Ya don't need t'worry about makin' me proud o' you, darlin'," he said softly, his voice even huskier than usual. "I already am. Just do yer best, okay? I'll be up there rootin' fer ya." He gave her a quick squeeze. "Man, you feel good. Grow up soon, darlin'." He grinned and winked at her, then released her and loped over to the stairs, pausing to wave to her. "Remember everythin' we've taught ya, querida. And expect the unexpected." She heard his feet thud up the stairs as she turned, squared her shoulders, swallowed the lump in her throat, then strode resolutely into the Danger Room.

Shadow could not prevent the quiver in the pit of her stomach as the door slid shut behind her. From a hidden speaker came the Professor's voice: ~"Shadow, do you see that box on the ceiling?"~ A beam of light illuminated a structure about a foot square. ~"Inside that box is an envelope; your assignment is to get it out. First, although damaging the box is allowed, you must not damage the envelope. Second, you are required to reach the box without shaping handholds in the walls. Do you understand?"~ She held up her fist with the thumb sticking up. ~"Very well. Good luck."~

The lights dimmed, then went out, leaving the room utterly dark. This didn't leave her blind; Shadow used her "infra-vision" to scan walls and ceiling for heat sources. There were several, including the box itself. [Caramba,] she thought. [If the box is too hot, I can't shape it open. And I can't use a blast dart, that'd blow up the envelope. But I'll worry about that later, the first problem is figuring out how to get up there.] She held still as she considered options. Movement might trigger an attack, and though attacks were certain to come during this exercise, there was certainly no point in provoking one unnecessarily. A faint metallic click to her left warned her, and she dropped to the floor and rolled as something whizzed over her head. The lights flashed on again, blindingly bright, accompanied by an explosion that left her ears ringing. She continued to roll until she bumped into the wall, then shaped part of the floor into a protective barrier. She shook her head and blinked away the purple spots before her eyes, then cautiously peeked over the edge of her barrier. A metal tentacle writhed about two feet off the floor, groping around as if searching for something. Shadow had tangled with that tentacle before; it would seize and squeeze anything it touched. It was guided by body heat as well, and she knew she couldn't hide from it very long. Ducking back behind her barrier, she opened her crossbow, cocked it, and loaded an explosive dart. [Wish I'd had a chance to practice with this new bow,] she thought as she rose to her knees, aimed for the spot where the tentacle protruded from the wall, and squeezed her fist. To her delight, it worked perfectly. The dart flew straight and true, and the flash and noise of its explosion was followed by a burst of sparks as the severed tentacle fell to the floor, thrashed a moment, and lay still.

{"Good shot," Gambit commented as he and the rest of the team watched from the Observation Booth. "Y' teach her good, mon ami."

{Wolverine grinned in response. "Damn straight, Cajun. Betcha ten bucks she gets through this without a scratch."

{"Not dis time," Gambit laughed. "Gambit not dat dumb. Now shut up 'n' watch."}

Shadow closed her bow, smoothed away her barrier, and scooted over to the now-defunct tentacle. [Maybe I can shape this into a ladder,] she thought. The sound of footsteps made her look up; two men stood staring at her. One nudged the other with his elbow, then pointed at her.

"Hey, it's one o' those stinkin' muties!"

"She don't look too tough," the other scoffed. "Let's teach her that we don't want her kind around here!" He drew a knife and advanced; the other followed a step behind, brandishing a club. Quickly Shadow shaped off a section of tentacle and formed it into a bo-stick as she bounced to her feet. Although she knew the "men" were actually holograms or robots, they looked real, and she needed to react as though they and their threat were real. The man with the knife thrust it at her; she dodged and whacked his knuckles with her bo-stick. He yelped and dropped the knife. She kicked his kneecap, then whirled to face the other opponent. He swung his club at her; she parried the blow with her staff, rammed one end into his solar plexus, then swept his feet from under him. A tap at the base of his skull knocked him unconscious, and she turned back to the first man, who was clutching his knee and cursing. He bent and snatched for his knife, but Shadow's foot flicked it away. He lunged, trying to grab her, but the move left him vulnerable to a very dirty blow, and the five men watching winced in unison as she stepped in close and slammed her knee into his groin. He turned green and doubled over, groaning; her staff caught him under the chin, and he fell and lay still.

{"Smooth moves!" Jubilee exclaimed.

{"Not bad," Wolverine agreed. "You'll be just as good if ya keep practicin'. But if you ever use that move on me, I'll turn ya over my knee 'n' paddle you."

{She stuck her tongue out at him. "You'll hafta catch me first."

{"You know I'll catch ya, sooner or later. Now shut up 'n' watch."}

Shadow knew her opponents would not stay out of action permanently, and needed to be immobilized. One of them wore a long-sleeved sweatshirt; she shaped off the sleeves, split each one lengthwise, then used the four strips to bind ankles and wrists.

{"Nice touch," Jean murmured. "She's using her head."

{Hank shook his shaggy head. "I fear I must disagree, Jean. She could just have easily used the knife to perform that task. Using her power used up energy needlessly."}

Returning to the tentacle, Shadow tried to pull it, but its smooth surface made it slippery. Undaunted, she shaped grooves into one end before dragging it directly under the ceiling box, then shoved and prodded until it lay wadded together in a tangled heap.

{"What on earth is she doing?" Storm wondered aloud. "She cannot possibly lift it …"

{"Raw material," Cyclops replied. "She'll probably use it to shape something else. That power of hers is incredibly versatile."}

Shadow took a careful look around the room, but all seemed quiet for the moment. The shaping she was planning would take a lot of concentration, so she took the precaution of forming part of the floor into a shield to guard her back before bending to her task. Laying both hands on the piled-up tentacle, she drew a deep breath and focused her will. The heap of dull metal began to glow and stir, then a wrist-thick column began to rise out of the pile, flowing smoothly upward like a metallic version of the legendary Indian rope trick. By the time Shadow paused to catch her breath, the top of the rod was nearly a third of the way to the ceiling. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she looked around again uneasily; the lack of any visible danger seemed ominous. [Better take advantage of the quiet while it lasts,] she thought, and resumed shaping her climbing pole.

{"Professor, why isn't anythin' happening?" Jubilee asked. Xavier started, then looked sheepish.

{"I must confess I was so fascinated by what she's doing that I actually forgot this was a Danger Room exercise. Thank you for bringing me back to reality," he replied, and pressed a button.}

The pole was halfway to the ceiling before Shadow noticed a soft, low-pitched hum. Quickly she ducked behind her barrier, but nothing moved or clicked or whizzed. Carefully she looked around, but nothing stirred; even the two men she'd defeated lay still, making no attempt to free themselves. Then, even as she watched, they shimmered and dissolved into nothingness as the hum grew slightly louder and higher in pitch. [At least I don't have to worry about them any more,] Shadow gloated, and returned to her work. She added several more feet to her pole before the hum's increasing volume began to interfere with her concentration, and she noted with some alarm that the upper end of her rod was vibrating. Annoyed with herself for her slowness, Shadow realized what was happening; although she'd never encountered the "sonic scream" in previous Danger Room exercises, her teammates had warned her about it. The pitch and volume of the sound was rising rapidly, and she had to act quickly before the noise grew incapacitating.

{Wolverine clamped his hands over his ears, grinding his teeth in pain. Even inside the glassed-in Observation Booth the increasing sound tortured his sensitive hearing. Xavier's finger hovered over the "Cancel" button, ready to cut off the sound if Shadow collapsed.}

Abandoning her shaping, Shadow raced around the room, touching floor and walls here and there as she searched for the source of the sound, by now a pulsing, metallic howl. She found a spot on one wall where the vibration seemed more concentrated, but there was nothing visibly causing the noise. It was hard to think clearly with the racket filling her head, and the rising pitch made her teeth ache. She tossed her head, trying to shake away the pain and irritation without success. However, the movement made her look up, and she saw one of the "hot spots" she'd noted earlier. Squinting, her "infra-vision" showed her that the spot was brighter now than before, almost glowing, and it was pulsing in rhythm with the sonic vibrations. [That's it! That's where the sound is coming from! I've got to destroy it before this noise drives me loco!] Unfortunately, the spot was well out of reach, and the metallic shriek was disrupting her concentration too much to use her powers. Looking around almost frantically, she saw that although the "men" she'd fought had gone, their weapons remained. Grabbing the knife, she hefted it for a moment, then flung it at the spot. The instant she released it, she knew it was a bad throw. The noise spoiled her aim, and the knife's hilt struck the wall a foot below the spot and clattered to the floor. [Better not try a blast dart,] she thought blearily. [If my aim's that bad, I'd just waste it. ¡Caramba! My ears! I've got to stop this noise!] She drew a slow deep breath, fighting for calmness, forcing her aching head to work, then seized the knife in one hand and her bo-staff in the other. Whipping off her sash, she tied the knife's hilt to one end of the staff, then backed up to the opposite wall. She ran a few steps, then used her staff like a vaulting pole to give her the height and momentum she needed. She turned in mid-flight, aiming herself and her improvised spear towards the pulsating disc. Just before she hit the wall, she thrust the knife into the disc with all her strength; there was a flash, a shower of sparks, and the ear-piercing screech abruptly ceased, leaving the room blessedly silent as Shadow dropped to the floor, panting and clutching her throbbing head.

{Wolverine sprawled in a chair, holding his head. "Anyone got an aspirin?" he groaned. Beast handed him two tablets and a glass of water, and he gulped both gratefully.

{"I'm sorry, Wolverine," Xavier said as he turned back to the control panel. "I should have warned you to bring earplugs. It's time for Stage Four; are you certain you can watch this without losing your temper? If not, you'd better leave now."

{"I promised I wouldn't interfere, Chuck, but I still say it ain't fair, an' if she gets hurt …"

{"I don't want to see her hurt any more than you do, but you know the threat must be real, or the test is pointless."

{"So push the damn button already. Just remember: I'll be watchin' every move, an' if that thing hurts her, I'll hurt you."}

The pain in her head had ebbed to a tolerable ache, but Shadow was tired and shaken. Still, she knew she had to get ready for the next obstacle, or else give up and ask Xavier to cancel the exercise. Not ready to admit defeat, she untied the knife from her bo-staff, retied her sash, then used the staff as a prop to help her to her feet. Staggering to her climbing pole, she leaned on it for support as she exerted her powers. The pole grew another foot in shaky fits and starts before Shadow heard footsteps and turned to face her next threat. To her surprise, Wolverine stood there, staring at her with a strange expression. *Logan dear, why are you here?* she gestured, puzzled. *I thought this is solo!* Her surprise turned to shock and horror as he snarled, extended his claws and slashed at her. Only a wild spring backwards saved her; even so, she caught her heel on a chunk of tentacle and fell hard on her behind. Her mind reeled, muddled by bewilderment and betrayal: [Logan is attacking me! Why? How could he? He promised he'd never use his claws …] There was no more time to think. With a terrifying roar, Wolverine pounced at her, claws at the ready. Shadow had never been afraid of Wolverine before, but she was now, and that fear helped her. Adrenalin gave her new strength and cleared the panic from her brain, kicking it into overdrive. As he came hurtling at her, she thrust her foot upwards into the hollow of his hip, flipping him over her head. He landed with a crash as Shadow scrambled to her feet and faced him. He was on his hands and knees, shaking his head as if dazed, which gave her time to grab her bo-staff and back away. He snarled, leaped up and charged at her again, claws gleaming. All the hours of training and practice paid off as Shadow parried his blows almost mechanically, studying his moves to predict his next attack. Something wasn't quite adding up; there was a wrongness to this fight, a wrongness beyond the pain she felt as the man she loved sought to kill her. Her nose gave her another hint. As they grappled, she caught a whiff of an odd odor, not sweat but something oily. Then something clicked in her head as his claws clanged on her bo-staff. [Logan's claws should cut through this staff like paper, not bounce off! And he should have rolled and bounced up when I threw him, not fall like a sack of potatoes! This isn't Logan!]

The flash of insight renewed her vigor and helped her shift from defense to attack. Her staff whirled in a blur of movement, forcing her opponent to retreat a step at a time as she drove him towards the piled-up tentacle and the protective shield she'd made. [Just a little further … THERE!] Her staff whistled through the air as she swung it viciously at the false Wolverine's head. He dodged to avoid the blow, but in doing so he tripped over the shield, fell hard and lay still, apparently stunned. Even as he fell, Shadow sent her power flowing through her bo-staff, shaping one end into a sharp point. She raised her spear high, preparing to plunge it into her foe's chest -- and froze.

She couldn't do it.

She simply could not bring herself to strike a death blow. Even though logic said this was a robot, not really her beloved Wolverine, her eyes and heart told her otherwise. Moreover, there was a deep-seated aversion within her, deeper than gut-level, a reluctance to kill unless it was absolutely necessary, unless there was no other choice. [Well, if I can't kill him -- or it -- I have to keep him off my back until I can get that envelope. Otherwise, the Professor will throw something else at me, something even worse.] Dropping to one knee, Shadow sent her power through her bo-staff, twisting it like string to form a pair of hobbles. She clamped them around the false Wolverine's ankles, then fused the hobbles to the floor.

{"Pay up, swamp rat," Rogue chuckled. "Ah toldja she wouldn't kill that thing." Gambit muttered something unprintable in French and handed her a ten-dollar bill. Wolverine glared at him.

{"Ya oughta know better'n that, Gumbo. Most people just ain't the killin' type."}

An angry roar alerted Shadow, and she jumped back just in time to avoid a swipe from a glittering set of claws. Leaping for her pole, she began to shinny up it as fast as she could, the clang of claws on metal plus infuriated snarls giving her additional incentive. When out of arms' reach, she paused a moment to catch her breath and assess her situation. It didn't look good: the false Wolverine had already hacked one leg free, the energy from her adrenalin surge was fading fast, and her pole was so smooth that she was starting to slide down. [At least that problem's easy to solve,] she thought wearily, then drew a deep breath, gathering energy. She shaped two struts at right angles to the pole, one under each thigh, then sent her power through the pole. It glowed, quivered a moment, then began flowing upward once more, carrying her with it. She was almost to the ceiling when the pole shook violently, breaking her concentration and making her look down in alarm. Her opponent had freed himself and was starting to climb after her. There was only one thing to do. Shadow opened her bow, cocked it, and carefully loaded a sleep dart, biting her lip to control her trembling hand. [Forgive me, mi amor. I know this isn't really you, but forgive me anyway.] At such close range it was impossible to miss, and the dart sank into his shoulder. His roar of pain and outrage died away into a gurgling moan as he slumped, lost his grip and fell to the floor. Shadow nearly fell herself as a wave of dizziness and fatigue engulfed her. [So … tired,] she thought groggily, wrapping her legs more tightly around the pole. Untying her sash, she retied it on the other side of the pole like a lineman's belt, then leaned her forehead against the pole, summoning the remains of her strength.

{"C'mon, darlin'," Wolverine murmured, trying to will strength into her. "C'mon. Yer almost there. Just a little further …"}

At first there was no response, no movement or silvery glow. Then, from somewhere deep within her, she scraped together the dregs of her dignity and pride and stubbornness, the grit and determination which had kept her fighting against the Cruel One's brutality and would not let her give up now -- and the pole moved.

 Slowly at first, then more steadily, the pole grew higher, carrying its passenger upwards as Shadow strained her power to the limit -- and beyond. Only when her head touched the ceiling did she finally stop, dizzy and nauseated, her limbs limp and trembling, her entire body bathed in sweat. The box she had struggled so hard to reach was only a foot away, its outline blurred by a haze of exhaustion. It still gave an infrared glow that warned of heat, but Shadow was too tired to care. Gritting her teeth, she touched it with a fingertip. It was indeed hot, but not hot enough to burn. One last crumb of energy, just enough to melt a hole in one side of the box, and the envelope was hers at last. Snatching it out of the box, she stuffed it into the top of her boot as the world went gray, then faded to black.

 Something around her shoulders.

 Something tugging at her waist.

 And a voice: "Shadow. C'mon, sugah, wake up. It's all ovuh, ya did it. C'mon, open them big eyes 'n' gimme a sign. Please, Alma, wake up!" She knew that voice, but it was so hard to think with the fog filling her head …

 "Give her some oxygen, Rogue."

The tugging at her waist stopped; something covered her nose and mouth, then suddenly her head was clearer and she managed to open her eyes. A blurry face hovered before her, a woman's face surrounded by reddish hair with a white patch and filled with wide green eyes. "Attagirl," Rogue grinned at her. "Now let's get this knot undone so's Ah kin gitcha down 'fore Logan has a hissy-fit."

 "Dammit, Rogue, quit foolin' around up there! Is she okay?"

 "Just plumb tuckered out, Wolverine, don't get yo' britches in a twist!" The knotted sash came loose, an arm slid under her legs, and Shadow felt a vague sensation of movement. Then another face filled her blurred vision, partially covered by a black mask, and other arms were holding her, familiar arms … she was supposed to be afraid of that mask and those arms for some reason, and she batted at them feebly.

 "She still t'ink you a robot tryin' t'kill her, mon ami."

"Hey there, querida, it's me. Look!" The mask came off, revealing the face of Wolverine -- no, not Wolverine. [Logan?] Cautiously, she touched his face, feeling the living warmth of his skin, the scratchy feel of stubbly whiskers; she inhaled, breathing in his familiar scent and sensing the rhythm of his heartbeat against her shoulder. No, this was no killer robot, this was really Logan holding her, her Logan, with eyes full of love and concern, not murderous fury … and suddenly her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him hard and he was kissing her even harder.

"If dat don't wake her up, nuttin' will -- OW!"

"Shut up, Gambit …"

"No need t'kick po' ol' Gambit, jus' teasin'. Don' look so sad, p'tite, it happen like dat f'you someday. Mebbe next mutant we rescue be good-lookin' guy who fall in love wit' you."

"Awwww … ya really think so?"

"'To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die … a time to hate, and a time to love.' Ecclesiastes, Chapter Three. Your time for love will come, Jubilee, trust me."

"Thanks, Beast …"

The kiss ended, but Alma still held Logan close, finding strength and security in the circle of his arms, as she always did. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she saw she was still in the Danger Room; the X-Men were gathered around her, pride and concern filling their faces. Hank offered her a steaming mug and a Power Bar. "A little something to restore your strength, my dear." Her hand shook as she accepted the cup, and Logan helped steady it as she gratefully sipped the tangy sweetness of Constant Comment. The caffeine cleared the last of the fuzz from her thoughts and her vision while the sugar and carbohydrates restored some of her strength. When tea and snack were gone, she set down the mug and turned to Logan.

*Shooting that dart was most hard thing I ever do, dear.*

"Wasn't easy fer me t'hafta watch myself tryin' t'kill ya, either. Believe me, darlin', that wasn't my idea, an' I did my darndest t'talk Chuck out of it."

*You're not mad at me?*

"What's t'be mad about? You did what ya had to. Even if ya really had shot me, I wouldn't be mad. Least not too mad. You did know it wasn't really me, right?" She nodded. "What tipped ya off?"

*Claws not cut through staff. Also it not move like you, and it not smell like you.*

"Smell like me? I thought I was the one with the sensitive sniffer."

She smiled. *My nose not good as you, but I know what you smell like, and it not machine oil.*

He grinned back. "Good fer you. Damn good job, by the way. Tell ya what, querida -- you pick the restaurant, I'll pick up the tab."

"No, Wolverine, we all want to celebrate, so this meal's on me," Xavier broke in with a chuckle. "I can probably afford it better than you can." Wolverine growled at the unwelcome interruption, and Alma turned to the Professor with a scowl worthy of Logan and an angry gleam in her eyes.

*Why, Charles? Why Logan and not one of others? You know how I feel about him …*

"That's exactly why, Shadow. Facing Wolverine in actual combat was far more challenging than facing someone else. I needed to be certain that you were capable of resisting him; it may be necessary for you to do so in the future."

*Logan would never hurt me, Professor. That's one thing that make me see it not him.*

Xavier shook his head. "No, Shadow. I'm not the only telepath on Earth, and we have several enemies capable of taking over another's mind, forcing them to behave against their will."

"He's right, querida, in more ways than one," Logan said softly, holding her close. "Ask Cyc' about the time he hadda use his eyebeams on Jean."

Alma hung her head. *I not think of that. Sorry I say what I said, Professor.*

Xavier smiled. "Under the circumstances, your anger was understandable. By the way, allow me to add my hearty congratulations to Wolverine's. A commendable effort, utilizing a well-balanced mixture of powers, wits and skill, as well as a remarkable amount of tenacity."

*I not-can 'kill' that robot …*

"I would have been surprised and disappointed if you had, although the results might have been different if your opponent had been the Cruel One." Alma's face hardened at the mention of her tormentor. "I won't ask you to forgive him. I'm just pleased that the harshness of your captivity hasn't left you vicious and bitter, my dear. Besides, your objective wasn't to kill your opponents, it was to retrieve that envelope." Alma looked thoughtful as she pulled the envelope from her boot and held it out to Xavier. "Open it," he ordered with a twinkle in his eye.

Logan popped a claw, noting with pleasure and relief that Alma did not flinch when he did so. "Here's a letter opener fer ya, darlin'." She slit the envelope and removed a palm-sized disc marked with a familiar circle-and-cross pattern.

 "Your com badge, and the insignia of an X-Man," Xavier said softly. "Put it on. You've more than earned the right to wear it." Tears filled her eyes, but she smiled as she pinned it to her shoulder. Other smiles greeted her as her fellow X-Men gathered around to add their praise and congratulations.

 The celebration was rudely interrupted by the blare of the alarm klaxon and the mechanical voice of Cerebro announcing: WARNING. INTRUDER ALERT. WARNING. INTRUDER ALERT …