Title: Close, but No Dice
Author: RedKaddict
Category: X-Men: The Movie
Rating: K+ (may go up)
Warnings: AU, technically X-over
Genre: Drama, Mystery
Summary: Ace of Spades has been running from his dark past almost as long as Logan has. The difference is, he actually remembers it. All of it. After living on the streets for over a hundred years, with the help of his seemingly lucky streak, he's been taken in by Professor Xavier in an attempt to unlock the secrets of his past and help him cope with the change that never seems to affect him. Sequel of sorts to What Time Can't Change.
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, not a one of them (sadly). What's even more sad is the fact that I don't even own Spades. *gasp* I know, right? I do own the name, though. And apparently I have a monopoly on this idea. So there! :P
Note: I'm gonna make this short, since my author's notes have been notoriously long lately. GAH! Okay, this is FINALLY the follow-up story to my oneshot, What Time Can't Change. You don't have to have read that one to get this one in the slightest, because I plan on reiterating everything that happened. Also, this is (as you may have noticed) technically a crossover. But I'm not listing it as such, because really I just took a character from something else and used him as the inspiration for Spades. Therefore, if you have absolutely no clue who he is or where he came from, then you're as in the dark as the other characters and we can all just pretend that I actually own Tony Higgins. Won't that be fun? :)

Chapter 1

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Spades rolled over and slapped the alarm clock with an irritated groan. This was most certainly not how he liked to start his mornings. Although, in his currently hazed state of mind, he was having difficulty remembering the last time he woke up in a bed. Or, more specifically, the last time he woke up in a house. With a family. The thought, if nothing else, brought a small smile to his face.

One that was quickly doused when he heard pounding on the door. A man's voice was shouting on the other side. "Piotr? Anthony? Breakfast."

Spades gave another groan and rolled onto his side, watching his roommate shift his pillows around and go back to sleep. He was thinking of doing the same when another voice sounded at the door. It was Bobby this time. "Pete? Tony? Come on, there ain't gonna be anything left if you don't hurry!" The first voice – now muffled, as it was coming from further down the hall – could be heard correcting him, and then Bobby's annoyed "Yes, Mr. Summers." He sighed, and Spades was pretty sure he was rolling his eyes. "There won't be anything left," Bobby corrected himself. "So hurry up!"

Mumbling something incoherent – in what Spades could only guess was Russian – Piotr Rasputin pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched. When he caught sight of Spades watching him, he chuckled. "Morning, Short Stuff," he yawned.

"Yeah, yeah," Spades muttered, too groggy to come up with a more smart-alec response so early in the morning. He rolled unceremoniously to the floor and pulled himself up to his full height, trying to stretch and rub his eyes at the same time. It was a rather comical display. He glanced down at the muscular man, who was once again rolled up in his comforter and trying to doze. "Hey, look," he smirked, his full-blown Brooklyn coming out strong. "I'm taller'n you."

Peter grinned and smacked him with a pillow. "You wish, nuovo scolaro."

This was met by a decidedly odd look. "If ya gonna insult me in my own language," Spades said pointedly, "at least learn ta pronounce it right."

At this, Peter pretended to look hurt. "I thought I was!"

"You's definitely workin' on it. But no dice." He couldn't help but smile to himself as he made his way out the door and down the hall. Most people – those who didn't have the pleasure of knowing Peter Rasputin personally – would be scared half to death just talking to such a big guy, let alone insulting his Italian. Spades had picked up pretty quickly that the guy was really nothing but a big teddy bear. Why on earth they'd thought to have him, probably the shortest kid at the school, room with someone as big as Peter was beyond him.

Not that he was complaining in the least. After all, it'd been quite some time since someone had taken him in. Living on the streets was tough. Even if you'd been doing it for as long as he had. He slipped into the boys' dorm bathroom and stood in front of one of the sinks, splashing cold water on his face. Unfortunately he hadn't seen who else was there, and when he reached for a towel, he slipped and fell, nearly smacking his head on the sink beside him.

Nearly. Luckily, he didn't.

A nasally laugh sounded from somewhere above him as he lay sprawled out on the tile floor, his face still covered in soapy water. Quire, he thought distastefully. He pushed himself up quickly, trying to wipe the suds away from his eyes so he could see. "Ya mind maybe passin' me da towel ya got dere?" he asked slowly, his voice a little strained. It wasn't that he was afraid of Quentin. He just really didn't want to get kicked out for getting in a fight with a younger boy.

A much younger boy.

Quentin laughed, but remained at his perch on the cabinet he'd been standing on, waving the towel like a flag over Spades' head. "One of these days, Shorty," he laughed. "One of these days, your luck's gonna run out." He grabbed Spades roughly by the hair and shoved him back, sending him once more sprawling on the floor.

"That's enough, Quentin."

Startled, the boy jumped down from the cabinet, tossing the towel down in front of him. "We were just having some fun, Logan," he shrugged. "Right, Tony?"

Spades didn't answer as Quentin slipped out the door, heading off to the cafeteria. Humiliated, he sat up and started wiping soap off his face. "You alright?" Logan asked, kneeling down next to him.

"Fine," he muttered in reply, pulling himself to his feet and tossing the offending scrap of cloth onto the cabinet. "Ain't what it used ta be…"

"What's that?"

"Nuttin'." Spades gave a sigh and picked at his hair, trying to smooth it into something resembling presentable.

Logan shook his head. "How come you just let him push you around like that?"

"What'm I s'posed ta do?" Spades snapped. "Beat 'im up fer it?"

"You could try tellin' people the truth."

"Yeah? An' what good'll dat do me?"

"I don't know," Logan admitted, after a slight pause. "Maybe knowing what you've gone through will… I don't know, make them respect you more?"

"I ain't lookin' fer nobody's respect." Spades had given up on his hair and was now leaning over the sink, shoulders slumped. "Just lookin' fer a place ta stay fer a while."

"You're looking for a place to belong. We all are." This caused Spades to glance up, locking eyes with Logan for a moment. A small grin spread on his face. "Come on," Logan said after a moment. "You'll miss breakfast."

As they exited the bathroom, they met Storm coming down the hall toward them, on her way to the cafeteria. "Good morning, boys," she greeted with a warm smile. Falling into step beside them, she gave slight chuckle. "Here," she said, a motherly tone lacing her voice as she touched Spades on the shoulder to bring him to a halt. "Let's see if we can do something with this mess." A sheepish, lopsided grin tugged the corner of his mouth up as she ran her long fingers through his thick, dark hair, smoothing a few errant curls.

Then she noticed his rumpled clothing. "You slept in your clothes again?" The sheepish look became even more so as he ducked his head. "Spades, you do know you own more than one set of clothes now, right?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "I's still getting' used ta dat."

"Hey, cut the kid a break," Logan said good-naturedly. "Street life's tough on a guy his size, right Race?" Storm shot him a puzzled look, to which he quickly corrected himself. "Ace. I meant Ace."

She smiled as the three continued on down the hall. "Ace of Spades," she mused. "How did you earn a name like that?"

With a small grin that almost seemed forced, Spades sighed. "Ain't dat a story…"

A/N: Next chapter: Tony spills... well, something. With this heat wave affecting my ability to think, it'll most likely be orange juice or something along those lines... Anyway, please review. It would be greatly appreciated.