Summary: A day in the life of the X-Trees begins with...a bang. Meanwhile, Dazzler's big concert looms on the horizon and promises to be a banger.

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Cypress Xavier has made a name for himself, finding Trees with the X-Variant and offering them sanctuary at his grove. There, they are encouraged to embrace their differences and hone their powers. They are not the pariahs of society in his grove; they are friends, equals, family. They are welcomed and they are seen. But with so many inexperienced Variant saplings growing in one grove, accidents are bound to happen and today proves to be no different.

An explosion rocks the southern quadrant of the grove as the Danger Jungle, an area made up of vine and outfitted with inorganic alien tech to recreate battle simulations, erupts into flames. Sparks arch into the sky like mini-fireworks. From the grove's mansion, a tall, elegant X-Tree storms toward the eruption. Long branches of white blossoms hang on either side of her trunk, framing a beautifully carved face. She is alert, her eyes white, branch-arms outstretched as she calls forth the rain. The once blue sky becomes clouded over as nature bends to the will of Ororo Munroe - Stormbranch - current leader of the X-Trees and Headmistress of the Grove.

As the rain pelts the ground, extinguishing the flames in quiet hisses, another tree emerges from the mansion. She is a spindly, spritely elm, her branches a tangle of curls that graze the small of her back. The tips of her nails are painted pink, and she follows behind Stormbranch at an easy gait, her leaves decidedly unruffled by what has just transpired. Alison Blaire, aka Dazzler, knows when a situation is under control, and with Stormbranch in charge, and Log-an, a begrudgingly yet proficient teacher leading the saplings, there is nothing to fear. There was nothing the two of them couldn't handle and that was part of the reason why Dazzler loved them both.

Most of the fire has been extinguished as Stormbranch and Dazzler approach. The flames are little more than embers, the ground a red that is slowly dying out. A steam cloud fills the air and obstructs their vision, but through the haze they make out two figures. One on their back being forcefully dragged behind the other. The other, they identify immediately by the twin upper pine branches spiking toward the sky. Dazzler overhears him swearing; she chuckles. Ororo is less amused. She intertwines her delicate arm-branches across her chest, settling them just below the X carved in her bosom.

In a matter of seconds, Wolvergreen cuts through the steam, Pyro, a young sapling whose variant ability allows him to create fire, speared on the end of one of Wolvergreen's adamantium needles. He's purposely avoided stabbing any of Pyro's vital areas, and has instead, pierced only his canopy, destroying a small portion of his ginger leaves. Pyro is pouting, his face and trunk smeared with soot. His roots muddy as he continues to be dragged forward.

Wolvergreen, a grumpy Canadian evergreen, stalks forward, scowling. Bits of him are scorched black – most noticeably the bark along his branch-arms, and a gnarly circle around the knot below his chin. The areas there still burn like they are engulfed but Stormbranch can see his regeneration factor at work – healthy tender wood begins to thread itself back together. It takes only seconds before Wolvergreen is his normal, complete self, depositing a defeated and ashamed Pyro at Stormbranch and Dazzler's roots.

"Wolvergreen," Stormbranch begins, her hawkish gaze and downturned mouth aimed at the older, gnarled tree; she wields her words like blunted weapons, felt and heard, yet not painful, "you must be patient with the saplings."

"Patient my ass," Wolvergreen replies.

It is this policy of his, of using as few words as possible to convey a point, that gets him in trouble with Ororo, but as it is his nature, Ororo deals with it the best she can.
Wolvergreen shifts on his roots before rustling around in his branches. He secures an unlit cigar from god knows where, bends over, and lights the tip off one of the still smoldering leaves stuck in Pyro's canopy.

Stormbranch, considering him a lost cause, for now, turns her gaze on the young X-sapling. "Pyro." Her voice is as steady and strong as the ground. There is a depth of wisdom when she speaks that can cause even the most petulant student to stand with rapt attention. Pyro is no exception. "Tell me what happened in there."

Pyro's branches quiver. He rubs his branch-fingers together so hard some of his bark flakes off. Stormbranch sees his conflict and senses his hesitation. She leans over him, a kindly smile on her face. It is not a false smile to placate the sapling, but one of genuine concern. "There is no judgment in the Grove," she adds.

"I'm judging the kid," Wolvergreen says, his voice gruff behind puffs on his cigar. Ash falls to the ground.

"We've all made mistakes," Stormbranch rebukes, her tone level, though there is an edge to her words now, "You know this as well as any of us Log-an."

At this, the grumpy evergreen's branches stiffen. He looks miffed, as though he'd been caught in a high-speed gale. The tip of his cigar dips, his lips parting ever so slightly. Stormbranch is remiss to use Log-an's past against him; as she is no less guilty than he is. And she has seen his pain and how it haunts him; how on nights when they lie together, he sneaks out of bed to watch the sunrise frigid and alone with his thoughts. But she also knows they should not condemn others for the things they themselves have done, or committed, for that very line of thinking is what has set Variants on the fringes of society. Normal Trees see the part of themselves they hate reflected in the Variants, and since they cannot live with hating themselves, they hate others.

Watching as Log-an's expression whittles into a hard line of self-loathing that will steal him from her bed again this night and while feeling the warmth of Dazzler's palm on her shoulder, Ororo hopes to soften the blow her words imparted. "Here in Xavier's Grove," she says, "Variants are not conduits for our own self-hatred, Log-an, but rather a place of persevering forgiveness."

Wolvergreen shrugs, his pine needles rustling. "Sure, ya keep tellin' yourselves that if it makes it easier for ya to sleep at night."

At this, Dazzler's face falls. She reaches out for Log-an but he rebuffs her attempted contact.

Compassion swims to the surface of Stormbranch's eyes. "It does, Log-an. One day, you ought to try it." Wolvergreen swallows hard as though a knot has settled at the back of his throat. He doesn't speak; he just smokes, a forlorn look in his eyes as he gazes east at the rising sun. "Pyro—"

"The Jungle showed me..." Pyro clenches his fingers into fists. His russet-colored eyes swim with tears he is too proud to shed. "It showed me the incident from last Spring." There is a swell of sadness in his words Stormbranch cannot pretend to go unnoticed. "With my parents and my sister," he gulps, "when I—when I—" he directs his gaze downward, searching for his next words among the delicate blades of grass, "when she—"

Stormbranch rests a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Those memories haunt your nightmares. You need not give them more power over you by saying them out loud." She gives a brief glance at Log-an. "At least, not until you're ready to confront them."

Pyro nods as Stormbranch helps him to his feet. The fire put out, Stormbranch recalls the rain. As quickly as it came, it is gone. The clouds break overhead. The sky is clear blue, and sunshine reigns supreme in the grove. "Let us head back. I'm sure you could use a break," she says, gently goading Pyro forward. He stumbles on legs that have let to regain their sturdiness but manages to lumber toward the mansion.

The X-mansion is a large dome of flowering vines. A door of intertwining branches separates as she approaches. Inside, a waterfall cascades into a poll at the center of the room. The dome is partially open, flooding the great space with light. A few Variants sit around the pool, chatting and studying their textbooks. One blinks from this room into another before blinking back with a bag of potato chips in their hands, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's. Another is manipulating the water, raising it into the air, and making it swirl like a dancer on the main stage. This show delights the younger saplings who have not yet been given permission to use their gifts beyond the classroom. Pyro joins the group, nestling himself beside one of the newer saplings, the trauma of his past no longer shading his features.

This scene, no matter how many seasons Stormbranch witnesses it, never stops being a marvel. The saplings brought to the Grove had endured so much – hatred, consternation, persecution. Legislation passed in their states that infringed upon their right to exist. Beyond the Grove, they were believed to be less than because their appearance had threatened the norm.
But if hatred and prejudice was the norm, then society needed to change.

And it all started here, with the saplings. Getting them to embrace their gifts, getting them to see themselves in a new light. Eventually, that change would ripple outward until it affected all corners of the world. That was what Cypress Xavier taught her to believe.

Wolvergreen believed it a foolish sentiment that could never exist in the real-world. That wars were won with bigger armies, better guns. But fires burn indiscriminately; it wouldn't just be the Variants that suffered, but the world.

As Stormbranch ambles up a flight of curved stairs toward her study, she hopes Log-an is wrong. But she cannot shake the dread that's settled at her core for when has the world shown itself to not be bloodthirsty?

Back outside, Wolvergreen stalks the Danger Jungle assessing the damage. Swears intermittently take to the air, mixing with the caws of nearby crows. Dazzler walks beside him, a persistent jaunt to her step. With his needles retracted, she finds it easier to reach for him. She does so now, her long, elegant limbs closing the gap between them, her fingers tracing down the length of his forearm. She's so much more at ease when he allows her to get near him.

"Log-an—" she begins, as he plucks a nest of charred vines from the ground and grumbles.

"Don't, Ali-cat." He discards the vines and moves on to the partially organic supercomputer that generates all the Danger Jungle's simulations. Parts of it are scorched, but on the whole, it is unscathed. Base functions, at least, appear to be operational. Without Hank around, it'd be a pain in the ass to fix, but he'd be able to whip up something.

Dazzler frowns. Log-an can sense the change in her demeanor. He smells it with every subsequent inhale. Beneath the scent of smoke and cinder, a trace of her distinct musk, emboldened by her apprehension. But Dazzler never gives voice to her worries; she masks them beneath smiles and a bubbly exterior. That's why she's one of the world's best performers, and why he never can figure out what in the hell she's thinking. "I'm gonna get going soon," she says, her voice chipper, despite the hard angles of her face.

Log-an grunts as he continues to strut around the ruins of the Danger Jungle. He knows he should look at her, but instinct wins out over logic. Instead, he looks everywhere except at her.
What was he afraid of? Chiding? Dazzler would never. No, that part of their relationship was strictly a him-Stormbranch component. Ali-cat stayed out of most of their tiffs, leaving them to meander slowly to compromise and resolution, despite her love for the both of them. Log-an was afraid of her disappointment. Wolvergreen didn't need heightened senses to know his rebuff of her touch had hurt her; she was a caring tree, who dazzled audiences with her Variant powers, but who captured their hearts with her kindness. Log-an shouldn't have run from her, shirked her touch, but when an animal feels cornered, what other option do they have?

"You know, Las Vegas," Dazzler continues, plucking a pink flower from an outcropping of stone overrun with moss. She hefts it delicately to her nose and breathes in the calming scent. It's reminiscent of the first thaw, that transition from winter to spring, and the hope such renewal brings. No matter how frozen something maybe, that something will someday melt. She carries a hope deep inside herself the same can be said of Log-an's heart. "That's the big time."

Log-an snorts. "You've performed to sold-out venues all over the world, kid." He winces at labeling her the same thing he labels his pupils. Kid. Alison wasn't a kid by any stretch of the imagination. She'd been around for twenty-seven years, had proven herself time and again as an X-Tree; hell, she'd even traveled through space, but he needs to cut through the tension somehow. The atmosphere is stifling.

Dazzler bristles at the use of this word as well. Her canopy flutters, the edges of her golden leaves rolling inward. There is no sound aside from Log-an's shuffling roots as he traverses the grounds. As the conversation stalls, Log-an removes a fallen tree trunk blocking one of the Danger Jungle's rear exits. Dazzler follows him with her eyes, though she remains rooted to the spot.

It's only when Log-an tosses the trunk aside and dares to give her a sideways glance that Dazzler manages to dislodge the words from her throat and speak them. "You planning on coming, or what?" she asks, fiddling her thumbs in front of herself. Nervous energy was so different from what she usually poured forth into the world Log-an wondered why she'd put up with him for as long as she had.

He takes a step forward. Another. Another. He stands before her, squat and square. Spiky, scarred, and hardened. She is soft and wispy and saturated in enough sunlight to make her radiant.
He reaches out for her, noting his gnarled knuckles, as he brushes aside a leaf that had fallen gracefully in front of her face. She is unblemished, her bark without a single splinter. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he says in the gentlest tone he can muster.

She brightens, smiles, and leans in, her lips brushing against his. "Thanks, bub," she says, weaponizing his own catchphrase against him. It finds its target, lambasting him with a dagger of embarrassment. "I know you don't like the music I sing," she continues. "It's not the kind of music that mixes well with lonely whiskey drinking in caves." She chuckles and presses a cheek against his. "But I appreciate your sacrifice."

Log-an doesn't tell her it isn't a sacrifice. That he'd do whatever he could to support the tree standing before him. Both her and Stormbranch and their evolving relationship with one another surrounded him with a warmth he never felt deserving enough for. If he could anything to show them how much they meant to him, he wood. But over the past year, he learned it was easier for himself to kill someone than engage in small acts of kindness. He was a work in progress, as Ororo liked to point out, but so were they all.

Another kiss, this one as tender as Dazzler's touch, snaps him to attention. "I should get going." She nods in the direction of the mansion before turning around. "You know, they hate it when the star is late."

She makes to leave. Log-an resists an urge to grab her branch-arm and hold her steadfastly in his own. He knows if he unbridles this one feeling, there would be no holding back the others. He couldn't keep Ali at his side always; her the constant reminder warmth still existed in the world and that not every time would he get burned by it.

He watches Dazzler go, but then, swiftly shifts his attention elsewhere. Though the Grove is as quiet as it's always been, he can hear the low hum of breathing, smell another's presence. "How long ya plannin' on standing there, kid?"

Wolvergreen narrows his gaze. From the shadows of the nearby tree line, a spritely sapling lumbers up to him. She playfully sticks a tongue out. A lightning bolt-shaped earring dangles from one of her lower branches. In her branch-arms, she cradles a mess of destruction– wires and melted bits of plastic. He frowns knowing all too well what it meant. "What's that make?" He nods to what she carries. "VCR number four?"

"Seven," she responds, shifting from one root to the other. "But that's not what I'm here to talk about."

"You come to bury the evidence?"

"Yup," she says, throwing the VCR to the ground. She shakes her canopy, a neatly cropped set of branches and twigs sporting jet black leaves, and then kicks a pile of them over top of the electronic.
"You guys are sickeningly gross-cute, ya know?" She frowns. "You and Stormbranch and Ali. Like suuuper gross. It's like watching my parents be all lovey-dovey and make-out. No one wants to see trees hundreds of years old be that close."

With a snitk, Log-an's needle claws extend from his hands. It is a threat with no real bite behind it. "No one was askin' you to watch. Besides, we ain't hundreds of years old."

"Well, Ali's not. Stormbranch isn't but she sure sounds like it sometimes, but you—" The youngster shoots him a curious look, head tilted.

"Come here just to chat, or you got something important to say, Jubilee?"

Jubilee, the youngest member of the X-Trees shrugs, the yellow coat she wears with the upturned collar sways with her movement. Glasses too futuristic for Log-an's taste, or understanding of fashion, sit atop her head. She's painted the tips of her fingers the same neon pink as the Dazzler's. They must have been spending more time together. Alison was known to have slumber parties with the kids, her being the 'fun' one among the Grove's instructors. Log-an was the...angry one? The asshole one? The grumpy one? He didn't know what the saplings thought of him, truly. He knew the newer students feared him, had smelled it oozing off them during the initial training bouts, save for two. One of which stood before him now. Jubilee never showed fear. That was part of the reason why he'd taken a liking to her early on.

"You planning on going out before Ali's concert?"

Log-an snorts. "Wasn't really. Got a bit of a situation around here to deal with." He motions to the remains of the Danger Jungle.

Jubilee eyes the damage as if it is an everyday occurrence. While accidents happened, and sometimes more frequently than they ought to, Jubilee was a constant source of destruction. If it was wire and bolts and ran on electricity, chances were she'd have a hand in it exploding, sooner or later. That's why they were down a coffee maker, a third TV, two Walkmans, and now, apparently, a seventh VCR.

Jubilee stamps a hightop into the ground. Whereas other Trees went bare root, it was the fashion of the day to wear shoes. Jubilee had jumped on the trend as though her life depended on it. Being a teenage Tree, maybe it had. "Where's Rogue and Gambit?"

"Already left for Vegas. Wanted to do some sightseeing before the show."

Jubilee harrumphs and crosses her arms over her trunk. "What about Stormbranch?"

"Busy."

"Hmmm..." She runs a long finger under her rounded chin. "And Kitty's not here. She went to Dori's place."

Suddenly, Log-an feels her eyes on him. The look she flashes him is pleading, begging. He releases a sigh. "What do ya want?"

"Take me to the mall? I want to get a really rad pair of earrings for Ali's show. And maybe a few more jelly bracelets." She shakes one of her canopy branches showing off a dozen or so brightly colored bands. She clasps her hands together in front of herself. "Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

He sighs, as he is in the habit of doing whenever he's around Jubilee. Her excitement is always palpable, her energy exhausting. "Deal." He turns and begins to amble north, toward the X-jet hangar.

"Really?" Jubilee falls in step next to him, her brown eyes wide, the speed at which her eyelashes flutter conveying her surprise. "But you hate malls," she adds, matter-of-factly. "And crowds. Fun in general." She seems lost in thought as she rattles off a long list of Log-ans known dislikes.

Wanting to stem this flood of thought as quickly as possible, Log-an interjects, "But I like whiskey." He raises a mossy eyebrow. "They got that at the mall, don't they?"

Jubilee stops in her tracks, ponders the question for a few seconds, then beams. "Yeah," she nods, "There's got to be at least one liquor store."

"Then that's good enough for me." Log-an continues toward the X-Jet.

Jubilee quickens her pace to catch up. "You've got to be the easiest tree to buy for come Christmas time."

A mound of pearlescent cloud drifts in front of the sun, casting them in momentary shadow. The reprieve from all that direct light is a welcomed one; Log-an feels his sap cooling, his needles less malleable, more solid, formidable. "Don't know about that. Might want to ask Stormbranch and Dazzler."

"Nah." Jubilee reaches up and wraps a small brownish twig around her finger. "Don't need to ask for answers when it's soo obvi."

When the sun returns, they are yards away from the hangar. It, like the rest of the buildings in Charles's Grove, is built from mud and root. Vine and grass. Integrated alien tech borrowed from the Shi'ar, provides an endless energy source along with making the building self-repairing. The Danger Jungle could have prospered from this benefit, but besides Cerebro, it is the oldest thing in the Grove. When Hank was still alive, he'd integrated as much as the Jungle could handle. The self-repairing tech proved too advance for the training grounds system to adopt.
"Oh!" Jubilee pats Log-an's shoulder, rustling his needles, as the vines on the hangar's entrance begin to untangle. "Make sure we pick up some acorns for Kitty. Lockheed needs them."
Lo-gan's brows knit over his annoyed eyes. "Can't she ask her girlfriend for some?"

Jubilee shakes her head no. "Doreen's not some endless nut repository, ya know?" she says, giving him a scowl. "And Kitty's not going to rely on her for everything. Besides, Lockheed's already picked all the neighboring oaks clean."

Log-an grumbles as the massive form of the X-Jet takes shape. "Goddamned squirrel."

Jubilee smiles, knowing his reluctance is all for show. Wolvergreen might hate a lot of things, but he'd endure doing them for the Trees he loved.