Living in a dorm had its advantages, as Michael had rapidly found out, but it also held its fair share of drawbacks. Especially if one of your roommates was an empath! Tonight was going to be a bad night. Why? Michael didn’t really know. He hadn’t over exerted himself, hadn’t suddenly decided to climb the stairs a hundred times just for the hell of it or hobble twenty times round the school grounds. Even the dreaded physiotherapy hadn’t been any worse than usual though that he had to admit wasn’t saying much, yet somehow, when the sun had hardly disappeared from the sky, here was the pain refusing to stay locked up in the chains that the morphine held it in, gnawing at his bones with its relentless teeth till he knew he had to take it somewhere private and deal with it. Before the others noticed. Before Scott’s myriad eyes clouded with the reflection of it.

So he had smiled and stretched and told them he was heading off for a lie down with a good book. Which wasn’t really all that far from the truth! It just wasn’t as pleasant as it sounded. The book was there all right and it was a good one, Gatsby’s sullied American dream now replaced by Hemmingway’s vision of war. It just wasn’t working its magic that was all. But then the young Scot hadn’t really expected it too. Not when everything else had failed. The steaming hot shower! The oh so careful massage, the smell of liniment still heavy in the air where he had rubbed it into the damaged muscles as if trying to reach the amalgam of metal and bone that lay beneath them and mould them into some kind of painless whole. *Sure! Like that was ever going to happen!*

Now Michael lay on his bed, his eyes closed but as far from sleep as he had ever been and tried to let the pain wash over him, tried to rise above it, tried everything he could to stop from reaching for the blessed syringe that reposed in the bedside cabinet waiting for him to use it and simply injecting the drug into his veins as he had done so many times before. *Not yet.* he told himself desperately. *There’s still ….oh god!* He looked at the clock and groaned. It couldn’t still be that early could it? There couldn’t really be so many hours separating him from his next prescribed injection.

It was a slippery slope he was on and both he and the doctor were well aware of it. The morphine was there, a necessary evil, letting him function, giving him a certain quality of life but it came with a heavy price and one that would only get heavier if he started upping the dosage. No, that was something that was only done in cases of real emergency, not just incipient misery like this. Though that was getting harder to believe by the minute.

So it was time for the second solution, the one people wondered that he didn’t use more often, not realising that in its own way, especially at times like this, it could be as addictive as any drug. Still it was his power, his gift, wonderful and liberating, to use as he saw fit, whether it was to train in the danger room, to fight with the team or simply to get away for a while from the burden of his own damaged body. As he was going to now! Assuming his astral form was as easy as stepping through a door, the freedom from pain instantaneous as he floated gently and invisibly up to the ceiling, turning then to look down at the discarded husk that was his physical form with a sadness that he tried hard never to show before his friends.

Once again Michael gave thanks for the fact that he had been born a mutant, knowing the hell his life would have been if he didn’t have this escape he could turn to when things overwhelmed him. As long as he had Hood he couldn’t ever really touch bottom. Though sometimes he had to admit he came pretty close! Now, however, that the world was no longer reduced to one shaking breath after another, there was the possibility of actually doing something with the rest of the time that lay between and the next intake of drugs that would bring him sleep, though hanging out with the other team members was still not really an option. They would take one look at him as Hood and know that something was wrong and that was a can of worms he had worked too hard to keep closed. *I could just wander* he thought *Out of sight out of mind. As long as I keep well away from the girls showers that is!*

If he had had substance he would have smiled. As it was he contented himself with drifting out of the apartment and into the institute corridors the hated stairs no longer the obstacle they presented to his crutches, merely another element of décor to be admired or dismissed as the fancy took him. Yet even though the freedom that spirit moving gave him was almost intoxicating, there was still all element about it here in the Institute that made him feel a little guilty as if somehow he was spying on those around him passing as he did unnoticed and insubstantial to their eyes.

Besides there was a restlessness in him that this phantom form couldn’t fully satisfy, a need for movement and the physical play of muscle and sinew that only a fully manifested Hood could give him. *Sooo where to go* he wondered. The danger room was a possibility but he had to remember that the energy expended in Hood’s activities would be transformed into Michael’s fatigue once he reintegrated his body. So maybe something a little less taxing?

*I could practice fencing* he thought suddenly, warming to the idea almost immediately. “Then I can set my own pace, unless the target dummy suddenly decides it’s getting feisty that is and lets face it a little extra work in that department wouldn’t hurt.* It sounded like a plan, one he set about putting in motion straight away making his ethereal way down to the gymnasium area, reserved for sword practice swiftly and soundlessly till finally he drifted into the room itself and discovered he wasn’t the only one to have had that idea on this particular evening.

There was a young man practicing with a sabre. No practising wasn’t quite the word that sprung to mind. This was a master at work. Even someone as inexperienced as Michael could see that. The youth’s movements were fluid and so fast that they almost escaped detection. He was a mutant, that much was certain. No ordinary human could move like that, but that took nothing away from the skill he showed nor the beauty of his swordsmanship. Then the stranger stopped, his pale hand pushing the longish hair away from his face the words spoken into the void but falling instead on unseen ears. "Now if only there was someone here to fence." *He’s way out of my league* Michael told himself realistically but the temptation was still there. Not to fence as an, equal that was blatantly absurd but to learn …… *Yes that would be good. If he would consent to teach me that is*

Certainly Michael had only just begun fencing lessons but it seemed that a certain aptitude with the sword came as part and package of his astral form. It was far from being the uncanny ability Hood showed with a bow but it wasn’t negligible either. *And unlike the real me Hood has grace and potential* Michael admitted readily enough. *Anyway it can’t hurt to ask now can it?* Still suddenly materialising out of nowhere wasn’t always the most intelligent way to start off a relationship especially if the guy facing you was armed with a sabre so Michael made sure he was safely on the other side of the closed door before solidifying his astral form, feeling the floor securely once more beneath his leather boots and the reassuring weight of longbow and quiver at his back.

The sword that hung at his leather clad side wasn’t a traditional fencing weapon, the blade thicker and some twenty centimetres shorter than the weapon that the stranger wielded but still closer to sabre than to either foil or rapier and capable of much the same movements. Now it would all depend on whether the other boy decided it was acceptable or not. And there was only one way to find out.

Scant seconds after the stranger had voiced his request Hood stepped into the room, the very figure of an English folk hero suddenly brought to life within the ancient mansion with an incongruous hint of a Scottish accent in his voice as he said “ From the little I just saw I’m nowhere near your level so don’t get your hopes up. But I wouldn’t mind giving it a try. If nothing else I’m sure I’d learn a hell of a lot. Oh and I fight with this.” He drew the medieval short sword from the scabbard at his waist and presented it to the waiting stranger for examination. “And of course I can blunt it for practice. We’d hardly want to draw blood now would we?”

"I do not welcome sleep. The nightmares that plague me have made it my greatest fear." The eyes that met Illidans silver ones were grey and all to human but the look that passed between them was one of sympathy and understanding. Nightmares were something Michael knew all about. Echoes of the accident that had crippled him playing through his mind time and time again. Fevered drug induced visions that his time at the lab had inflicted upon him. And most recently, most terribly the imagined visitations by those demonic entities he had encountered at Harmony market.

Oh yes if he thought he was going to see that everytime he closed his eyes he’d have sworn of sleeping as well. VBut fortunately that wasn’t the case. Whether that was because his mind was coping better with the events of the past days or , as he sometimes suspected because the orb Scott had given him was helping to hold them at bay he neither knew nor cared. As long as they left him in peace he was overwhelmingly grateful. Still he suspected that even those sustained visions of cruelty were nothing compared to the ones a vampire might have. Hamlet said it best after all “To Die to sleep ; to sleep perchance to dream; ay there’s the rub, for in that sleep or death what dreams may come?”

"Perhaps I am being to open and forward, Illidan said breaking Michael’s train of thought. I do not wish to alienate you...I'm just not used to company." Of all the things his companion had been since they met those few short hours ago, dangerous, excited, intense, he had never been unsure of himself. But he was now. Hood could feel him picking his way round this subject, searching for each word "Michael..." The astral mutant waited, letting his newfound fencing instructor take his own time, knowing the simple act of getting changed was being used as a means to steady his thoughts somehow before he went on. And even then it wasn’t enough.

"Ah..." It felt strange, as if their positions had somehow been reversed, changing him into the teacher and Illidan into some kind of awkward student. A role that obviously didn’t sit easily on the vampire. Indeed even his body seemed to rebel against him, its gracious fluid movements transformed to hesitation by the importance of what he was about to say.

Then like a dam bursting the pressure easer and the words finally made themselves heard. "Michael, I have never been one to make friends with mortals, I've just never lived a lifestyle that allowed it.” Ok was this where Illidan told him that tonight was some sort of freakish never to be repeated experience? Well that was all right. After all he couldn’t really expect someone as talented as Illidan was to waste time on someone like him. He was just thankful for the opportunity he had been given and fully intended to make that clear. He had been prepared for dismissal, kind or cruel depending on the vampires mood. He had however never expected what came next.

“However Dr.McCoy has made it possible for me to eat without feeding off of humans directly, his companion told him starkly meaning I no longer have to kill to survive. There it was. Confirmation of what his mind had somehow been trying to ignore. Telling himself that perhaps the legends were wrong. That creatures like this could perhaps feed without necessarily taking lives. But Illidan had said kill, there was no mistake. Michael couldn’t help but do the maths. Two thousand years! Even if it was just one person a week, hell one a month that still made… Hood had no heart to beat faster but he still felt as if he did. So many gone so that one could live! How did you deal with that? Michael wasn’t sure he could . Not sure at all. And still Illidan wasn’t finished.

“I'd like to start making friends, becoming a part of the Institute,” Hood went very still, hardly believing what he had just heard. And yet it was just as clear as the admission of murder and just as heavy with consequence. but to do that I'll need someone to put in a good word for me with the others. I was hoping, maybe, you would do it for me." He had to be joking didn’t he? What was he supposed to do? Waltz up to his team mates and say 'hi guys this is Illidan he’s a bloodsucking monster but don’t worry he’s stopped killing people so can I invite him to a sleep over? It was surreal. It was impossible….. It was…. maybe the only chance the vampire would ever have to make this crazy reformation actually work. Michael pushed the panic to the back of his mind and tried to think.

He himself was a drug addict. He hadn’t asked to be, he didn’t want to be, but that didn’t change the hard facts that without the morphine he wouldn’t be able to function. He wouldn’t want to live. It was like Illidan and blood. Maybe he too hadn’t wanted to end up this way, dependant on a substance that meant his existence could only be purchased at the expense of others.

*If I had ended up on the streets instead of here, where my drugs are handed to me on a platter what would I have done to get a fix. Stole? Sold myself to anyone crazy enough to want someone like me? Killed?* The truth was he didn’t know. And that put things into perspective. It was all very well to be self righteous when you were on the safe side of the fence. But would he have done any better if he’d been in Illidan’s shoes. Would he even have done as well?

Because, yes there were all those centuries of death and destruction that couldn’t just be set aside. But there was also here and now, a desire to change, the possibility no matter how remote of a different future. And that was what this place was supposed to be about wasn’t it. The hope that you could someday leave the past behind you and attain something better!

Dr McCoy must have realised that if he was helping Illidan, letting him stay at the Institute when Michael knew that the physician would never actively put any of the students in danger. He had looked beyond the reality of what Illidan was and seen potential, just as he had looked past Michael’s crippled legs an seen an X man. Ok so his past wasn’t anywhere as dark as Illidan’s. But then again neither was his power. If the vampire had done great evil in the past why couldn’t he do great good in the future?

It was stupid even to think it was possible. Foolish! Childish! Like believing in fairies! Michael thought with a faint glimmer of a smile. Or that you could rise up out of a wrecked shell of a body and become a warrior. And one thing was certain. If no one gave Illidan a chance then it wasn’t going to happen The next two thousand years would go on just like the previous ones. And that in all ways would be a waste.

"Please?" There was real need in the voice as the vampire looked at him, not burning with unearthly energy as he had before but pale as death and suddenly fragile in a way his undying body never could be. Michaels own eyes were dark his young face serious as he weighed his answer knowing the responsibility such a promise would put him under, wondering if he was strong enough to bear it. Knowing in the end that he couldn’t refuse to do so!

“All right” he said quietly. “Ill do what I can. Though I guess you already know that it might not be so easy.” He didn’t say “because of what you are” He didn’t have too. They were both all too aware of how people could react, even with friendly reassurances on his part. Instead he smiled just a little sadly and said “You don’t keep very sociable hours you know… Ill have to find you some night birds for company!”