by Mara

Summary: Jean finds that train rides are good places to think deep thoughts.

CONTINUITY: X2 didn’t happen, okay?
NOTES: This is based on a Challenge in a Can from
http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/: Jean/bittersweet/jewelry. Tremendous thanks
are due to Domenika, Naomi K., and Victoria P., all of whom provided assistance
on New York commuter trains to this Washington-area commuter. This story was
written in October 2002, but abandoned nearly completed. Minisinoo and Ozchick
tried to convince me to finish and post in February 2004. Thanks to both of them
for helpful suggestions I’m sure they’ve forgotten about!

* * * * *

The hiss of the rattling heaters almost drowned out the other sounds of the
train, but Jean could faintly hear the clickety-clack of wheels and it soothed
her. As she stared out the window, half her mind watched the passing scenery:
industrial parks, gray and dreary; aluminum-sided houses, almost painfully neat
in their identical rows; rows of trees, planted to beautify the train tracks.

Around her, people heading out of New York City into upstate napped, read,
chattered on cell phones, and looked out the window. It was the usual assortment
for a commuter train off-peak, commuters in suits and ties rummaging through
briefcases, and occasional tourists or one-timers using the train to get in and
out of the city without driving. The tourists clutched their paper tickets,
while commuters tucked their monthly passes away.

The train whistle blew several long blasts and Jean glanced down at the papers
in her lap. She’d brought the seniors’ biology exams along on her trip,
intending to grade them, but she was distracted by the world outside the window
and the press of her own thoughts. Her meeting with other doctors working with
mutants had gone well, and that’s where her mind drifted.

“Did your husband give that to you?”

Jean looked up, startled by the words from the stranger next to her. “Excuse
me?”

The Metro North train was surprisingly full for mid-afternoon, so Jean could
hardly have complained when an elderly woman sat in the aisle seat of the three-
seater. Now, the woman smiled at the confusion on Jean’s face. “Sorry to
interrupt your thinking, dear. The necklace is so lovely, though, I was just
wondering if your husband gave it to you.”

Jean looked down at the charm on a silver chain with which she’d been fiddling
and let it slide through her fingers. A bird caught in flight, wings
outstretched, it was a piece of jewelry she loved, but rarely wore. Why had she
put it on this morning? “Yes, my husband did give it to me. Several years ago,
before we married.”

“You were thinking about him.” It wasn’t a question.

Jean reached out with her mind, paranoia making her wonder if this was a
telepath, a trap of some sort, hidden in the guise of an old woman in a tidy
green polyester pantsuit.

Apparently unaware of Jean’s test, the woman continued. “I’m sure that’s just
how I look when I think about my husband Arthur, God rest his soul.”

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured automatically. The woman didn’t seem to be a
telepath, just perceptive.

“Thank you, dear. He died five years ago, so I’ve had some time to get over it.”
But the woman blinked a few times, pushing back tears before smiling at Jean
again. “But I do still miss him.”

“I understand.”

“I hope you were thinking good thoughts about your husband. So many unhappy
marriages these days, I find it upsetting.”

Jean picked the charm off her chest and looked at it again. “I wouldn’t say we
have an unhappy marriage, it’s just…difficult. We both have so many
responsibilities.”

The woman patted her hairsprayed coiffure and leaned her head to one side as she
regarded Jean. “Responsibilities.”

Jean felt her face flush. Why did she feel a need to justify herself to this
stranger? She frowned and glanced back at the papers in her lap.

The woman seemed once again to sense her thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to
interrogate you. You just looked as if you were worrying about something, and it
might help to talk.”

Sighing, Jean relaxed. Not everything is a threat, she told herself, and not
everyone you meet is a supervillain. “You’re right, I suppose I was worrying a
bit.”

“If you’d like to talk about it, I’ve ‘been around the block a few times,’ as my
son says. Perhaps I could give you some advice.”

“It’s a complicated situation.”

“Aren’t situations involving other people always complicated?”

“I suppose so.” Jean laughed, and leaned back in her seat, freed somehow by the
anonymity of the train. Outside, the air was chill and damp, and numerous mutant
problems awaited her, but for now, she was just a woman on a train with marriage
problems and someone willing to listen. It was almost as if they were outside of
time and space.

“So what *is* the trouble, then?”

“Too many things to do, not enough hours in the day.” Jean held the bird charm
in her hand, sliding it back and forth, reminded of the day Scott gave it to
her. “I feel as though we’re moving apart.”

“It doesn’t take a great deal of time to keep your marriage alive.” Jean looked
up at the woman, who was looking at her diamond ring with a fond smile. “Arthur
and I ate breakfast together every morning for 42 years. Sometimes that
breakfast consisted solely of a piece of toast and some juice, but we only
missed breakfast if he was out of town.”

Jean chuckled at the thought of her and Scott facing each other over a breakfast
table, surrounded by arguing children and teachers discussing lesson plans.
“That sounds lovely, but it’s not entirely practical for us. By the time I get
to breakfast, Scott is already…,” shooting robots in the Danger Room,
“exercising. And then our teaching schedules and other duties keep us separate.”

“It doesn’t have to be as formal as breakfast. When was the last time you told
him you loved him?”

Jean had to think about it. Of course, Scott could feel her emotions to some
extent through their psilink, but she couldn’t say that, and she suspected that
wasn’t quite the same thing.

“You’d be surprised how helpful it is to look him in the eye and say you love
him. Men need constant reminders of these things.”

“I’ll try that.” Jean looked down at the bird again. “I know I like it when he
says it.”

She could see Scott’s hands holding the necklace and wearing a cockeyed grin.
“I’m not sure why,” the Scott in her memory said, “but the bird reminds me of
you, so I had to buy it. I love you, Jean.”

Two blasts on the train whistle reminded her where she was; the memory faded and
Jean let the bird drop back onto her chest.

“It’s important,” the woman said, leaning forward in her seat. “You never know
how long you’ll keep your husband, so be certain that if the Lord takes him,
you’re ready.”

Jean had a sudden vision of Magneto pinning Scott to the wall inside the Statue
of Liberty. “It could happen at any time.”

“Life is dangerous.”

“And considering that we’re school teachers, ours are considerably more
dangerous than one might expect.” Jean managed a smile.

A few seats ahead of them, a mother and child argued over a piece of candy, both
obviously exhausted from a day of sightseeing. Jean was tall enough to see the
look on the woman’s face as she tried to explain the necessity of dinner before
dessert.

“Do you have children?”

Jean looked back. She’d momentarily forgotten the old woman, who was regarding
her now with some amusement.

“No, not yet. Well, unless you count our students. The school is residential, so
we’re in loco parentis for some very…troubled students.” Jean sighed, reminded
that the matter of Rogue’s mutation still had yet to be solved, and she’d
promised to do some extra tutoring for Jubilee, who was having trouble in
chemistry. Not to mention the necessity to keep Angelo and Jono busy and out of
trouble. So much to do and so little energy.

“That’s difficult work, working with troubled youngsters. I was lucky enough to
be blessed with wonderful children. Although,” she smiled a mischievous smile,
“my youngest could be quite a handful. The mouth he had on him!”

“We have a few of those as well.” Jean chuckled, reminded of the time she caught
Logan and Bobby having an awkward conversation about why *Logan* could use
certain words, and Bobby couldn’t.

“It sounds as though the students are very important to you.”

“Oh, they are. No matter how difficult they can be, our jobs are so important.
It wasn’t what I planned to do, perhaps, but now I couldn’t leave. And Scott
feels the same, I know.”

“But is it more important than your marriage?”

“They’re not comparable.” Jean frowned.

“But they do compete.”

“I suppose so. And Scott wants me to avoid certain…” she paused, searching for
safe words, “activities. He worries so much, that sometimes he tries to coddle
me.”

“Because he loves you.”

“Yes, but…when I left this morning we fought over it. He says I’m being too
stubborn, doing things I don’t have to just to prove something.”

“Is he right?”

“Sometimes.” Jean managed a wan smile. “But not all the time. I do what’s
necessary to get the job done. He’s just taken so much on himself, he feels
responsible for the whole world and it maddens me to see him like that. So we
fight.”

“But you’re wearing the necklace he gave you,” the woman said, pointing.

Jean realized her hand had crept up to hold it again. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I
suppose I was thinking about how happy we were when he gave it to me.”

“Your school is residential, you said?”

Jean nodded.

“Then perhaps you haven’t considered that you owe it to your students to work on
your marriage.” The woman smiled.

“I’m not following you.”

“As teachers, you’re role models to your students, and it’s your responsibility
to give them the best model for their future life that you can. Show them that
work is more important than a spouse and that is the lesson they will take with
them.”

Jean stared down at her hands. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Mamaroneck,” the conductor called over the loudspeaker.

The woman glanced out the window. “This is my stop.”

There was a squeal and a shiver as the train slowed down and made its way along
the outdoor platform.

The woman stood up in her seat, but didn’t enter the aisle. She turned back long
enough to say, “Good luck, Dr. Grey.”

Jean froze. “How…”

“My grandson and I saw you on television last year when you testified before
that congressional committee. My grandson loves C-SPAN.”

Jean was speechless.

The woman looked past Jean, her expression worlds away. “I remember when blacks
went to separate schools. I was born not long before Hitler killed the Jews. You
do very important work, Dr. Grey. But remember what I said: Your marriage is as
important as that job.”

“I’ll remember.”

The train shuddered to a stop and the woman made her way out of the train onto
the platform, late afternoon sunlight slanting across the tracks. Still dazed,
Jean watched the woman–whose name she’d never learned–walk down the platform.
With a slight jerk, the train pulled away, taking her back home, back to her
husband.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Often both sides of an argument seem clear-cut to the participants.

CONTINUITY/SPOILERS: X3 spoilers ahoy! Be aware, however, that in my
version of X3, the Phoenix storyline *didn’t* happen.

NOTES: This story is MsCongeniality’s fault, for giving me the idea
while we were discussing the multitude of scenes missing from X3.
Thanks to Minisinoo and Xandri for betareading.

* * * * *

It was fortunate, Warren thought, that he was no stranger to boarding
school living. Otherwise, he’d be at a total loss as to how to take
care of himself in the chaos of the Xavier School for Gifted
Youngsters.

Visions of frying pans and fires danced in his head as he meandered
around, watching and listening to the students who gathered in hallways
and bedrooms and common spaces to discuss the weird goings-on. One
teacher had apparently died recently, another was so depressed that he
was never around, and the headmaster seemed to *know* this Magneto who
was threatening everyone.

Warren rather liked the hullabaloo because it kept his mind off his
*own* woes, and right now, that could only be a good thing. And the
anonymity of just being ‘Warren,’ not the scion of the Worthington
fortune, was refreshing.

He’d managed to scrape up something to eat, and found other necessities
of life, and now was looking in wonder at the variety of mutations
around him.

Due to his ‘position’ once his wings had appeared, he’d been pretty
isolated. He’d had a few agemates with little mutations they’d
successfully hidden from their parents: Dylan, who could project a
small beam of light no bigger than a flashlight, and Sonia, who could
lift things like feathers or paper with her mind.

But here a young boy casually sped down the hallway an inch off the
ground while a girl in a bright yellow jacket chased after him,
projecting sparklers from her fingers. One of the teachers apparently
controlled the weather and there was the guy who was blue and furry. It
was hard to take in.

Glancing at his watch, he turned down another hallway, looking for
Rogue’s room. He’d managed pretty well on his own, but he had a few
questions and Ms. Munroe had promised that Rogue would help him.

Approaching the door, he noted how most of the woodwork glowed with age
to match the exterior of the mansion. But there were so many patches
and repairs, something most people who hadn’t grown up in a similar
environment would notice. Why were–

Oh.

Warren felt stupid. A school for mutants probably *did* need more
repairs than the average pile of stones.

He knocked on Rogue’s door, noting a section of floor that had been
replaced. There was no answer and he was about to turn away, when he
was certain he heard a sound. With a slight frown, he knocked again.
“Rogue, are you there?”

Another silence and then, “Uh, Warren?”

“Yeah. Are you busy?” He used his most plaintive tone, the one that
always made his governesses give him another cookie.

It apparently worked just as well on mutant teenage girls, as a moment
later the door opened a bit. Rogue looked like she wanted to slip out
into the hallway, but Warren stood his ground, smiling at her.

The look she gave him said she wasn’t fooled, but she stepped back,
opening the door to let him step in and shutting it quickly behind him.

His eyebrows shot up when he realized her room was almost as bare as
his, because most things were packed into a box in the corner or the
suitcase on the bed. “Going somewhere?”

She turned away and continued stuffing a pile of scarves into the
suitcase. “Looks like it.”

Warren swallowed, fighting unexpected panic at being abandoned by
practically the only person he’d yet spoken to at length. But he was a
Worthington, no matter what that name meant right now, and he wouldn’t
show his fear here. Bad enough he’d– “Is this the best time to take
off?”

Her chin went up at his tone and she faced him. “I’ve got someplace I
need to be.”

Warren’s heart felt like it stopped. She couldn’t mean what he thought
she meant. “I hope you’re not thinking of getting the cure.”

“And what if I am?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

What he’d gone through to get here and she– “You’re going to run out
and let them neuter you? How could you?” He was nearly shouting.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she lashed back. “What do you care?
Pretty boy, you don’t *kill* people just by touching them. It’s easy
for you.” She ripped off a glove and stepped toward him, hand bare.

Warren stood his ground. “You think it’s easy for me?” He shrugged off
the heavy shirt that was his constant companion, let his wings touch
the walls to either side. For an instant he felt claustrophobic, unable
to stretch any further. “How am I supposed to pass like this? But I
can’t give them up, they’re a part of me.”

“Well, if killing anyone I touch is part of me, I’m ready to rip it
out.” Rogue glared, shaking her head. “Nobody’s being forced to do
this.”

“Yes, they are! My father was going to force me!”

“But–”

“My name is Warren *Worthington*. As in Worthington Industries. You may
have heard of my father’s company.” Warren pulled his wings in,
wrapping them around his body for comfort.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

Warren’s knees were weak and he sat down on the bed. “He…when he told
me about it, he said he did it all for me. They strapped me to this
thing, and the doctor had the needle…I changed my mind, but they
weren’t going to let me go.”

“Warren, I–”

“I jumped through the window and flew away,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting down at the other end of the bed. He
noticed how she simultaneously tried to get close to comfort him, while
staying as far away as possible.

“It’s not your fault my father’s a jerk,” he said, looking down at the
tips of his wings.

“No, I mean I’m sorry for saying it was easy for you. I ought to know
better. It ain’t easy for any of us.” She slipped her glove back on and
twisted her hands in her lap.

Warren closed his eyes, thinking of the years when his father tried to
hide him, then when he tried to find clothes to hide the wings.

“Warren?”

He started. He’d almost forgotten where he was. “Huh?”

“Your dad, he oughtn’t have done that. But…I’m not sorry about the
cure.”

Warren didn’t trust himself to speak.

“My first boyfriend? He, we kissed, and I nearly killed him. I screamed
and screamed and my mama and daddy were afraid of me all the time and
the doctors too. I still feel him in my head sometimes.” Rogue’s hands
were clenched so hard, her knuckles were probably white under the
gloves. “Everybody I’ve touched since this happened to me–they’re all
in there at least a little.”

“Oh.” Warren shivered. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t talk about it much. And you’re new.” She looked up at him
through a fall of dark hair and a white streak. “I need this, Warren. I
could kill someone and not even mean it. Someday I will if I don’t do
this.”

“Can’t they teach you how to control it? Turn it on and off?”

She shook her head. “They’ve tried. The Professor, he still thinks we
can figure it out. Maybe if…”

Warren waited, but she didn’t seem to remember he was there. “If what?”

Rogue looked at him, expression even more bleak. “If Dr. Grey weren’t
dead. She died when, well, she died saving us from being drowned.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rogue looked down at her hands again. “So am I.”

She looked up again, studying his wings. He twitched once, but the way
she looked wasn’t anything like the way his father looked at them or
the doctors. She looked a little intrigued, actually. “Can I help you?”
he asked after a moment.

Rogue blushed. “I was just wondering what it feels like.”

“To have wings?”

“To fly.”

Warren closed his eyes and remembered wind sliding off his back,
freedom, the rush, like the world’s best roller coaster he never had to
get off. “It’s amazing.”

“And that’s why you don’t want the cure.” It wasn’t a question.

“I sort of did, at first. I guess.” Warren couldn’t quite remember when
the subject of an *actual* cure had first come up, since his father had
been obsessed with the subject since his wings had appeared. “It meant
so much to him and I…” He shrugged.

Rogue nodded as if she understood and Warren realized she probably did.
Absently, he ran his fingers along the flight feathers on both wings,
making sure they were undamaged.

“Your feathers are pretty,” she said, voice soft.

“Thank you.” Warren stroked the primaries. “When I was on that table–
god, this is so stupid.”

She smiled. “I promise I won’t think you’re stupid.”

Staring at the bland institutional carpeting, Warren focused on a
frayed spot just inside the doorway. “They started to strap me down and
it suddenly occurred to me that this meant I would lose my wings. How
dumb is that? My dad’s been talking about a cure for years and I didn’t
really think about it.” Closing his eyes, he remembered the pain and
fear in his father’s eyes when he broke free of the restraints.

“And then, when you thought about it?”

“The whole night before, I tried to imagine being without them, and it
was like,” he flexed his wings, searching for the right words, “like
allowing someone to cut off your perfectly good hands or feet. I
freaked.” His heart raced at the memory.

“Hey, Warren,” Rogue said, making an abortive movement to touch him,
“it’s okay, you’re safe here.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitated and he wondered what she was remembering. “Yes,” she said
finally and there was certainty in her eyes.

Warren nodded, choosing to believe her, although he didn’t know why.

“Do you hate your dad?” Rogue asked.

“I–” He stopped to think about it. “I’m not sure. I’m angry. I did
hate him, at the time. But now…I don’t know.”

She wrapped her arms across her stomach. “I don’t think you should.
Trying to force you was wrong, but he was trying to help.”

Wanting to argue, Warren pressed his lips together and let her finish.

“My parents, they just wanted me back the way I was,” she said. “They’d
have done anything to fix what was wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“I know.” She hugged herself harder. “But your dad didn’t see that.”

Warren didn’t want to agree. But it was true. His father just didn’t
understand and he’d never tried to make him understand. He’d always
kind of figured that eventually his father would stop being so upset by
the wings.

“Warren?”

“I’m okay. I…you’re right. I’m sure he thought he was doing the right
thing.” His voice sounded oddly rusty to his own ears.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Rogue looked worried about him. “I need to
leave soon before Ms. Munroe or Bobby–he’s my boyfriend–realizes
where I’m going.”

Warren nodded. “I’ll be fine. So, I can’t change your mind?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t want anyone
else’s memories in my head.”

“Then,” he took a deep breath and sat up straight, “I’ll wish you good
luck and I hope that the cure makes your life better.”

Her smile was lovely. “Thank you. I hope you…enjoy your wings. And
I’ll see you when I get back, ‘kay?”

“Maybe I’ll take you flying.” Warren managed a fairly creditable smile
for her and standing, he began the process of rebinding his wings.

“Warren,” she said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to do that, y’hear?” She pointed at the harness. “Not
at the mansion.”

“Oh!” He froze, uncertain what to do. “I’ve never…” He held his shirt
in one hand.

“When I get back, I’ll help you alter your shirts to accommodate the
wings,” she said. “I’m a pretty good seamstress.”

Warren closed his eyes against an excess of emotion. “I’d like that,”
he said. “For now, maybe I’ll go flying.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “An involuntary return to the point of departure is, without doubt, the
most disturbing of all journeys.”

“An involuntary return to the point of departure is, without doubt, the most
disturbing of all journeys.”
– Iain Sinclair, “Riverside Opportunities”

Marie decided that snuggling on the couch was the best thing *ever*. Not that
she’d say that to anyone, because it’d probably get turned into a dirty joke or
something. But in the privacy of her own mind, she relished the ability to rub
her cheek against Bobby’s neck and tuck his arm more firmly around her.

Well, there was also the little matter of the voices in her head fading quickly
until all she retained was an odd fondness for Canadian beer. And that was no
small matter most of the time, but just now, it was subsumed by the pleasures of
touch.

Bobby absently stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb as he debated some
arcane sports question with Angelo. Marie was content to rest there and let them
argue while the words washed over her.

A couple of the younger kids were playing a board game and Kitty and Jubes were
watching TV, so apparently they’d finally found something they could agree on.
Marie heard a laugh track and spared a moment to be glad the sound was on low,
because she loathed sitcoms.

Eyes drifting shut, she let everything wash over her, glad to be home, glad to
have everyone friendly again. The few days she’d been gone getting the cure had
been hell, and the reaction when she got back…well, that was better forgotten.

Her peaceful half-sleep was disturbed by some hubbub on the other side of the
room. If she had to get up to referee the younger kids’ game, she thought with a
mental growl, somebody was going to hear about it.

“Rogue! Rogue!” That was Kitty, and she sounded *panicked*.

Marie sat up abruptly, ready to launch herself at whatever supervillain was
threatening her friends. Bobby turned, face scrunched adorably in confusion.
“What the–” he began.

Kitty and Jubes were staring at the TV, jaws hanging down and so still they
looked like they were watching the apocalypse. “Get over here!” Kitty yelled,
not turning her head.

Shaking off the last of her sleepiness, Marie grabbed Bobby’s hand and dragged
him over to see what had them so het up. Around them, everyone else in earshot
followed, several students even leaning in through the doorway.

The phrase ‘Special Report’ scrolled across the screen and a grim blond
newscaster read his teleprompter in a voice of doom.

“–our top story: Reports are trickling in from all over the country of mutant
powers returning to those who received the Worthington Industries cure. In
Denver…”

Marie didn’t hear anything else over the roaring in her ears. The newscasters’
mouth continued to move and Bobby’s hand closed over hers, but her vision
narrowed in on the television like a tunnel, closing in.

Mouth opening a closing a few times, Marie couldn’t find any words. She snatched
her hand out of Bobby’s and backed toward the door, still staring at the
television.

She ran into someone coming in the door and leapt away as if she’d touched a hot
stove.

“Rogue,” Ms. Munroe said softly, brow furrowed, “perhaps you should come speak
to the Professor.”

* * * * *

Bobby tried to take her hand and follow, but Marie shook him off, holding her
chin up through force of will. “I’m fine,” she said, marching after Ms. Munroe.
“I’ll talk to you later.”

Professor Xavier switched off the small radio on a bookshelf as she came in and
rolled his wheelchair around the desk toward her. She took an involuntary step
back.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t wish it,” he said, the mild reproof making her
face flush.

“I know, it’s just…”

He compressed his lips. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, this is a shock to all of us.
Please sit down.”

Marie perched on the edge of a chair, hands twisting in her lap. “Professor, I
need to go. I need to get to my room.” Ms. Munroe reached out to pat her hand
and Marie drew back. “Don’t…don’t touch me.”

Ms. Munroe’s face fell. “Honey, it’s all right–”

“It’s not!” Marie drew back in her chair. “Everything I went through was for
nothing, because it’s all coming back. All the fighting with my friends, the
arguments, were a waste, because I’m going to be a mutant again whether I like
it or not.” Tears dripped down her nose and she dashed them away.

“We don’t know that for certain,” Professor Xavier said, leaning forward.
“Perhaps certain mutations are rejecting the cure, or some batches may have been
faulty.” She knew he was trying to help, but she couldn’t help wondering if he
was pleased by this turn of events.

“Or…” Marie took a deep breath, “the cure is going to fail and we could give
me another dose. Leech is here.”

Professor Xavier gave her a look of such utter disappointment that she had to
turn away. “Yes, James is here. But for you to suggest that we use him in the
same way that Worthington Industries did…He is not a machine or a cow to be
milked.”

“But what if he volunteers?” She worked up the courage to look the Professor in
the eyes.

He exchanged a look with Ms. Munroe that Marie couldn’t read. “We need to think
about this–” Ms. Munroe said.

Professor Xavier held up a hand to stop her. “Dr. McCoy is on his way,” he said.
“I received a call from him just a few moments ago, and he’s arranged to conduct
research here to determine what is happening. We will not make any rash
decisions until he has studied the situation.”

Marie hugged her stomach and tried to remember how to pray.

* * * * *

Bobby found her in her room an hour later, where she was trying very hard not to
cry. “Rogue,” he called, knocking on the door, “are you there?”

“Where do you think I’d be?” she asked, clutching her pillow tighter to her
chest. “Maybe I went dancing?”

“Rogue?” Bobby sounded confused, and she could hear Jubes and someone else
whispering behind him.

Pushing her hands against her eyes, she took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Bobby.
I kind of want to be alone.”

“You said you’d talk to me later. It’s later.” She could imagine him, scowling
at the door in that way that made him look *just* like Mr. Summers, although he
didn’t realize it. More whispers, probably him telling the others to go away.
“C’mon, please?”

She’d have to face him eventually. Moving slowly, she bent to remove a cardboard
box tucked under the dresser. Peeking out of the half-closed lid, there was the
corner of a black scarf. The tears tried to come out again, and she grabbed the
box and ripped it open like pulling off a bandage, grabbing the first scarf and
gloves she found.

“Come in,” she said, her voice shakier than she’d have liked as she put the
gloves and scarf on.

When she turned, Bobby was watching her, looking like a kicked puppy, and she
wanted to throw herself against him and hug him until he stopped looking like
that. Instead she crossed her arms and swallowed her tears.

“It’s go–”

“If you say ‘It’s going to be okay,’ then I won’t be responsible for my
actions,” she said.

He shut his mouth.

Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths before reopening them. “I’m
sorry, Bobby, I’m a little upset.”

“I…” He looked like he’d been about to say ‘I understand,’ before realizing
that was even more dangerous. “I know,” he said finally.

“I don’t think you do, Bobby.” She sank down on the bed, her anger deflating as
reality set in. “I got a look at what it’s like to be normal and I liked it.”

“Rogue,” he stepped forward and grabbed her chin before she could move away, “I
don’t care if you’re normal or not.”

“I know, Bobby. But I do.” She took his hand off her chin and held it in her
gloved hand. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to be able to bump into someone in
the hallway and not worry. To touch you without *killing* you.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

“And maybe it’s not all about you.” She let go of his hand. “I don’t need any
more voices in my head, thank you very much. I don’t need to acquire new powers
and possibly kill someone in the process. I know my powers can be useful, but
they’re too much for me.”

“I’m sorry.” Eyes soulful, he looked down at her. “What can I do to help?”

She started to say ‘Nothing,’ but changed her mind. “Well, it’d help if you’d
come with me. There’s something I’ve gotta do.”

“This isn’t going to get me in trouble with the Professor, is it?”

“Probably not,” she said. “C’mon.”

*****

Bobby followed Marie down the hall, down one set of steps, across the hall past
the dining room, up two flights, and around several corners. She knew he figured
out where they were going early on, but at least he chose to say nothing, just
hovering by her side as they walked, obviously resisting the urge to hold her
hand or put his arm around her shoulders.

As she neared her destination, her steps slowed. There, ahead of her, was a
nondescript wood-paneled door, next to a painting of two ships on the ocean that
she suspected was worth more than her parents’ house.

“Rogue…”

“Here we are,” she said to stop him from talking. She was fairly sure she
wouldn’t be turned down, but…Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

Marie opened the door slowly, mock-scowling at Leech–at Jimmy–as he looked up
from his computer. “Playing that game again?”

“Doing my homework this time, I swear,” he with that sweet smile that briefly
made her forget her worries.

“But you’re still hiding from everyone.” She pointedly looked around the room.
“Classes will start again soon and you’re going to have to face the students
soon.”

“I know.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I’ll deal with it then.”

Marie sighed and motioned to Bobby to come in from where he hovered just outside
the door. “Well, I’ve brought someone with me and I promise he won’t bite.
Jimmy, this is Bobby.”

Bobby stood just inside the door, blinking rather stupidly at her and the larger
than normal student bedroom. “Uh, hi, Jimmy,” he said.

“Hi, Bobby. You can come in. You won’t lose your powers if you don’t get too
close.” Jimmy turned and drew his legs up under him in the chair.

“Come in and sit down, Bobby. It’s okay.”

“I know!” He seemed annoyed at their reassurance. “I just didn’t know that you
knew each other.”

Marie looked at Jimmy, who shrugged. “We had a lot to talk about,” he said.

Marie sank down in the worn leather chair across from Jimmy. “Have you heard?”
she asked.

He nodded. “Mm-hmm. Ms. Munroe told me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“You’re here to ask if they can make the cure again for you.”

His smile hadn’t dimmed a whit and she relaxed. At least he wasn’t angry with
her for asking. She couldn’t take it if this kid who’d become like a little
brother hated her.

“Yeah.” Marie took a deep breath. “I don’t *want* my powers and I can’t spend
the rest of my life sitting in the chair next to you so I don’t hurt someone.”

Bobby stuck his hands in his pockets and gave her a disappointed look, which she
ignored. He’d said his piece and she’d said hers.

Jimmy leaned forward and looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

It felt like a punch to the stomach, and she leaned back. “Not you too! I
thought you, of all people, got it. I thought you understood, I mean, with how
other people have treated *you*.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, looking at her intently. “Because I won’t let
them take my blood if I don’t think you’re sure.”

“Rogue, maybe we should–”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want
to kill someone by accident.”

“So you’re afraid.”

“No!” She breathed in a laugh. “Well, yes, but that’s not all of it. I’m like a
land mine sitting in a field, dangerous but not useful.”

“Rogue, that’s not true. If you’d been there at Alcatraz–”

“Bobby.” Beginning to regret bringing him, Marie turned. “Please…don’t. I
want…I just want to never kill someone.”

Bobby bowed his head and she turned back to Jimmy, who nodded once. “Okay.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thank you.”

The door opened and Bobby jumped like he’d been hit by a cattle prod. The
Professor rolled in, followed by Dr. McCoy, neither of them looking terribly
surprised to see her.

“Rogue, Bobby,” Professor Xavier said, “if we might have some time to speak to
Jimmy…”

“Oh, right.” Marie jumped up. “You’ll let me know…”

“As soon as we know something,” Dr. McCoy said, “I can assure you that you will
be the first to be informed.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, evading Bobby’s hand as they ducked out of the room.

* * * * *

Someone had cleaned out Dr. Grey’s office, Marie noticed as she fidgeted in her
seat. All the little touches that had made it not quite so scary–the photo of
her and Dr. Summers in the woods, the drawing of the mansion Artie made her when
he first arrived–were gone. Now there were just reference books and a computer
and an empty desk chair. And her own thoughts, which weren’t much better.

She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, picked up the textbook she’d been
carrying when she received the summons, put it down.

There were footsteps in the hall and the doorknob turned in what couldn’t
possibly be slow motion. Marie swallowed as Dr. McCoy came into the room.

She knew instantly what he was going to say–for a guy working as a diplomat, he
was remarkably bad at hiding his emotions. His entire body drooped, even the
fur.

“I’m sorry, Ms. D’Ancanto,” he said with a frown, “but if the cure fails, we
cannot give you another dose.”

Her fingers dug into the seat cushion until she could feel the staples holding
it down, and her breathing was sharp and shallow. “Why not?”

Dr. Grey’s decrepit desk chair creaked as Dr. McCoy sank into it, clutching a
fistful of printouts. He stared at them for a long moment before meeting her
eyes. “It would most likely kill you.”

“Most likely?”

He shook his head. “Don’t even consider it, young lady. I would give you a 3
percent chance of survival, perhaps even as much as 4 or 5 percent if you are in
incredibly good health, but no more.”

Closing her eyes, Marie concentrated on her breathing. When she opened her eyes
again, she asked, “Why?”

He understood. “Although I believe we could synthesize the cure here from the
young man upstairs, your body would react to it as if to a deadly disease. In
essence, if the medical reports I’ve received are correct, the bodies of those
whose mutations have returned have rejected the foreign elements of the cure,
destroyed them like an invader. Their bodies have been primed to fight the
cure.”

Marie thought about this for a moment, before something occurred to her. She put
a hand to her mouth. “Somebody’s already tried it, haven’t they?”

Dr. McCoy sighed heavily. “I’m afraid so. Several people around the country
managed to procure a second dose of the cure from the limited stocks still
available. All developed immediate and devastating reactions, so fast and
unpredictable that medical treatment was inefficacious.”

“They died.”

“Yes. All of them.” One of his fists clenched. “I believe that a few people
might survive, if their symptomatic treatment was prompt and aggressive. But
that’s only a theory at this point. I’m very sorry. And I am afraid that these
deaths are only the beginning.”

Marie nodded.

“But there is still no guarantee that your powers will return,” he said,
obviously trying to look hopeful.

“What do you think, Dr. McCoy?” She held her breath one more time.

He held her gaze, lips compressed. “I think that they will return. But we cannot
predict when, as the timeline appears complicated by numerous factors.”

“That’s what I figured.” She plucked at the scarf that hung across her shoulder.
“Guess I’d better get used to these again.”

“I am sorry. I wish…well, there’s no point in that. But know that I and others
continue to conduct research. I will keep you informed if we make any progress
in understanding what has happened.”

“Thank you.” She stood, swallowing hard.

“Rogue…”

Halfway to the door, she turned.

Sighing, Dr. McCoy shook his head. “Although I chose not to take the cure
myself, I understand your decision. And I would not have wished this for you or
the others under any circumstances.”

Marie gave him a sharp nod, unable to speak. She could feel Dr. McCoy watching
her as she left the room, and as the door shut behind her, she saw him put his
head in his hands.

* * * * *

Marie walked back to her room, feeling like she was walking through a fog. A few
people tried to speak to her, but she just shook her head and kept moving.

She stumbled through the door, nearly tripping over outstretched feet. “Wha–?”

Logan, arms crossed and scowling from his position in her desk chair, said,
“Sorry, I didn’t know when you’d be back.”

“What are you doing here?” She sat on the bed, hoping he’d go away soon so she
could cry in peace.

“I…” He fidgeted. “I heard the news from the Professor. And, uh…”

“Logan?”

“I understand what you’re feeling,” he said in a rush. “Kind of.”

That wasn’t anything like what she’d been expecting and she blinked a few times.

Having gotten that out, Logan relaxed fractionally. “Everybody keeps talking
about gifts, but they don’t get what it’s like for some of us.”

She nodded. “It’s not like I’ve got a receipt and I can return this.” She
plucked at a glove.

“Neither can I.” Logan shrugged. “I was experimented on and I have to live with
that.”

She scooted back against the headboard, drawing her knees to her chest. “Does it
help to know why you have the claws?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Marie sniffed once or twice. “I like my life here, but I, I don’t want to
think that it’s only a matter of time before I kill someone.” The tears she’d
been trying to ignore started to leak out. “Fiddlesticks,” she said, wiping them
away.

“Fiddlesticks?” Logan stared at her.

“My momma would be shocked if she knew how much cursing I did,” Marie said
absently, “so I’m trying to cut back.”

“Okay, but fiddlesticks?” Shaking his head, Logan looked her over. “I dunno,
maybe that shot did something to your brain.”

That made her chuckle even through the tears. “My brain is fine, Logan.
Unfortunately. I *wish* there was something we could fix.”

“If you say so.” He leaned back in the chair and waited for her to get control.

Having him there helped a little. He was pretty much the only mansion resident
who’d never judged her because of her choice to get the cure. That was restful
right now.

“Thank you,” she said eventually.

“Any time, kid.”

*****

In the subsequent days, Marie avoided the evening news and the company of most
of her peers, although Bobby and Kitty and a few others insisted she at least
come out of her room for meals. She couldn’t take the sad looks, the constant
reminders, the daily special bulletins, and the ignorant television commentary.

Dr. McCoy commuted between the UN in Manhattan and Westchester, looking grimmer
with each trip. From the short conversations she had with him, she learned that,
despite warnings, mutants were trying to take the cure again. And he seemed to
take each death personally.

Professor Xavier did his best to look optimistic, but even he could be seen
frowning into his soup upon occasion after looking at her. He and Dr. McCoy both
reminded her regularly that not every mutant was getting their powers back, so
she still had a chance. But neither sounded like they completely believed it,
and she knew they were worried about her, even if Professor Xavier seemed rather
pleased that the cure hadn’t worked for most people.

People kept asking Marie how she felt. They thought she was pushing them away
when she said “Okay,” but she didn’t really have another answer. She didn’t have
the words to describe the mixture of fear and resignation and worry and…so she
told everyone she was okay. It was a good a description as anything.

Classes went on as usual, and eventually people stopped giving Marie funny looks
when she walked down the hall, as if she’d either suck their life or their
mutation out from across the room. (She found it ironic that people were either
afraid of her for *having* her mutation or mad at her for trying to get rid of
it. It just proved that her daddy had been right when he said that sometimes you
just couldn’t win for losing.)

One or two of the younger students could be heard to say that it served her
right for trying to be a flatscan, but after they were assigned to extra self-
defense classes with Logan, that stopped as well.

Warren Worthington came to teach a business class for upper-level students, and
a woman named Elizabeth Braddock arrived from England to teach the classes in
controlling powers. Marie hoped she never had to take that class, as the woman
gave her the willies, studying her like a particularly fascinating bug.

Three weeks after the first news reports, Marie snuggled into her favorite chair
in the mansion’s library, which she liked because it was big enough for her to
draw her legs up under her, with leather arms wide enough she could rest a book
and notebook on them to take notes. It was also in the farthest corner, under a
tiny window most people didn’t realize was there, hidden well enough that nobody
would bother her.

Absently she tugged at her silk gloves, making sure they reached up under her
sleeves, and opened “To Kill a Mockingbird,” looking for the paragraph she
remembered that she was sure would prove her essay’s thesis.

Pen held in her mouth so it wouldn’t roll onto the floor, she flipped through
the book, past the scene where they go to the church, past the fire…

Before she could react, Bobby did exactly what she’d told him not to do just
last week: He swooped in around the pen and kissed her on the cheek.

Like a tractor trailer slamming into her, she was hit by a wave of cold, as her
whole body became attuned to the moisture in the air and instinctively tried to
put up a wall between her and Bobby.

MarieshowyouIloveyou/Nononono/dinnercalculuskiss/pushnopleasedont/cold/pain/fear
/pain/love/hate/sorry/love

It took all her strength, but she pushed Bobby off her and flung herself off the
chair in the other direction, skidding across the ice that now coated the floor
around them. Bobby lay still, but his chest rose once while she was watching, so
he was still alive.

Her breath was caught in her throat, she wanted to scream, but it wouldn’t come,
there was too much, Bobby was there, still there, memories of his classes of the
day, his brother, his elementary school playground, his–

“What–” someone hollered nearby.

“Help,” Marie croaked out.

“Rogue?” Kitty skidded around the corner and nearly fell on the ice. Her eyes
looked like they were going to bug out, but she didn’t pause to ask any stupid
questions, just sank through the floor. “I’ll bring help,” she said as she
disappeared.

Gasping for breath, Marie pulled herself to her knees, desperate to check if
Bobby was okay, but unwilling to get any closer. She pulled her scarf closer
around herself, whimpering once as chunks of ice flaked off it and clattered to
the ground.

Footsteps pounded down the corridor and through the shelves. “Mind the ice,”
Marie heard Kitty holler.

Within moments, a knot of people surrounded Bobby, led by Ms. Munroe.

“Is he okay?” Marie whispered.

Kitty–at the back of the group–turned, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I think so. Dr.
McCoy’s on his way, in any case.” She focused on Marie, face scrunching in
concern. “How are *you*?” she asked, stepping forward.

Marie fell on her ass trying to push away. “Stay back.”

“Rogue, it’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I told him not to. I told him–” That was when it hit her: This
was really it. That last bit of hope that she’d be one of the lucky ones whose
powers didn’t return…gone.

Stumbling to her feet, she said, “I’ve got to get out of here.”

And she ran, as she’d always run from her power. Blindly, she ran through the
halls, automatically avoiding everyone, slamming through the nearest door and
into the woods surrounding the school. Tears blurred her vision as she tripped
and scraped her way deeper and further. Branches and thorns tore at her hated
skin, but she didn’t care, hoping it would all be ripped off.

Her breath was ragged from crying when she finally tripped over a log and was
flung to the ground. Curling into a ball, she rolled against the nearest tree
and cried and cried until she had no more tears left.

Eyes closed, she lay on the ground, wrung out and empty.

It took a long moment before she realized she wasn’t alone. Her eyes flew open,
expecting Bobby or Logan.

“Feeling better?” Mr. Summers asked, handing her a wad of tissues without rising
from his seat on the log she’d tripped over.

Speechless and still numb, she automatically took the tissues, wiping her face
and blowing her nose.

He hadn’t shaved and looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten in a week. He also
didn’t look like he was going to try and lecture her about the wonders of her
gifts, so she relaxed.

Mr. Summers wasn’t even looking at her, instead he stared down at his hands and
occasionally up at the trees, apparently content to sit there silently.

“How’d you find me?” she asked when the silence grew oppressive.

“Professor Xavier,” he said with a lopsided shrug. “His wheelchair doesn’t mix
well with oak trees.”

She almost smiled, distracted by the image of the Professor trying to follow her
through the woods.

He finally looked at her, the vague look he’d had since Alkali Lake replaced
with the teacher she remembered. “I promise,” he said, “that I will never ever
say ‘It’s not that bad’ or ‘You’ll be fine’ or any similar platitude. I may be
the only person here who has a chance of understanding.”

Marie drew her knees up and rested her forehead on them. Mr. Summers couldn’t
ever take off his glasses or he might kill someone. “It’s not the same,” she
argued feebly.

“No, it’s not. And I’m not saying it is.” He sounded stern, like when Bobby and
John had screwed around in class one too many times for his temper. “Pain can’t
be measured and compared in a test tube. Suffering can’t be weighed on a scale.
They…” his voice broke, “just are.”

Rubbing her eyes, Marie remembered her last glimpse of Dr. Grey, just before
she’d left the plane. Face grim and set, she still hadn’t looked like a woman
about to die, nobody had thought…until it was too late.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Summers, who looked like he was
remembering the same thing. His jaw was clenched so hard, she expected his teeth
to break.

“I miss her too,” Marie found herself saying, and she winced.

But Mr. Summers didn’t glare. Instead he sighed, rubbing his temples. “We all
do,” he said. After a pause, he turned to look at her. “She was afraid of her
powers, you know.”

“She was?”

He nodded. “She could tell they were growing, and she didn’t know what would
happen. She had the potential, well, you saw her potential. And she was
frightened of what she might do.”

Marie watched an ant crawl around her foot as she digested that, trying to
imagine the cool and collected teacher she remembered afraid of anything. Then
she thought about having enough power in her body to hold back all the water
from a broken dam, while repairing and lifting a jet full of people. She
shuddered.

“Believe me, Rogue, we will never stop trying to find a way for you to control
your powers. Without Jean,” his voice held, barely, “it will be more difficult,
but we will try.”

Marie felt the tears trying to flow again and she swallowed a few times,
scrubbing at her eyes. “It’s just so hard, I have to worry all the time about
touching someone, hurting someone. Knowing it might never go away.”

“I know.”

Two birds dove through the trees, chirruping madly as they chased each other
around and around. Marie took a deep breath. “What do I do now?”

“Go on.” Mr. Summers shrugged. “What else can you do? Other than run away
again?”

“You did.” She turned an accusing glare on him. “Logan told me you left just
before Magneto showed up and attacked Alcatraz.”

He smiled slightly, a twitch of the lips. “I never said I was perfect. And I did
come back. If I promise to stay this time, will you stay?”

She studied him. “Only if you promise to shave. And eat dinner.”

Mr. Summers choked on a real laugh. “I promise.”

Marie nodded. “Then I’ll stay.”

“It’s a deal?” He held out his hand, the set of his jaw saying he knew exactly
what that meant to her.

She hesitated, tugging at her glove several times to make sure the palm hadn’t
gotten ripped in her run before she slowly took his hand. “It’s a deal.”

* * * * *

The TV was blaring American Idol when Marie leaned her head in, and a dozen of
the older students sprawled across the floor heckling. Nobody noticed her, which
gave her a chance to scope things out and tuck her scarf more firmly around her
neck.

Bobby was on the floor, leaning against the corner of the couch, pelting Peter
with popcorn. Although she couldn’t see his face, his laughter was obvious as
Peter tried and tried to ignore him.

She took a deep breath, stilled her hands, and walked rather unsteadily toward
him. Peter noticed her first, smiling at her with obvious approval. She nodded
to him as Kitty looked up from the crossword puzzle she was doing on the floor
at his feet.

Kitty looked briefly startled, but almost immediately grinned broadly and waved
a hand in greeting.

That got everyone else’s attention as Marie came around to the front of the sofa
and conversation came to a halt as she stood next to Bobby. “Hi,” she said,
focusing on keeping her voice even as she looked down at him.

“Hi,” he said. “Come to watch with us?”

She smiled. “Only if you promise not to sing along.”

Jubes snickered. “She’s got a point there, Icepop.”

Bobby threw a handful of popcorn at Jubes and she blew most of the kernels up
with her sparklers. Rogue took another breath and slid down to the floor next to
Bobby. He grabbed her hand and tugged her closer without saying anything.

With the greatest of care, she scooted next to him and put her head on his
shoulder. After a moment of silence, Peter said, “So, explain to me again why
these people are willing to humiliate themselves on national television?”

Jubes and Angelo groaned. “See, it’s like this,” Jubes said. “They think
that…”

Marie chuckled and tuned out the continuing debate, which she’d heard at least
three times. Bobby rubbed her shoulder with his right hand and continued pelting
Peter with popcorn with his left.

Okay, Marie thought, maybe I can do this. She rubbed her cheek against Bobby’s
shirt and he hugged her closer. Even through the layers of clothing, she could
feel the warmth of his body and it was enough. Enough for now.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Northstar and Iceman chat post-Uncanny 415

NOTES: I don’t generally write “between the lines” fics, but this issue so
desperately called for it, I found myself sitting in bed fiercely scribbling
away while my husband waited impatiently to turn out the light. There isn’t any
sexual content here, but if you’re squicked by the idea that one man could be
attracted to another…you probably shouldn’t be reading anything with Northstar
in it. Thanks once again for the beta to Captain Average, in whose debt I will
be for the rest of my life for all his editing help Oh, I borrowed one line
from issue #415.

* * * * *

Against nurse’s orders, Jean-Paul was wandering the grounds of the mansion when
he saw Bobby.

The dark blond hair caught his attention–a stray shaft of mid-morning light
making it gleam–before Jean-Paul saw the rest of the other man leaning against
a tree, not far from the wrought iron pagoda that had been the site of a battle
several days before. He paused, taking this quiet moment to watch him.

Annie was very perceptive to notice his attraction to Bobby, Jean-Paul thought,
it was not the kind of fact he was accustomed to revealing. It was also true,
the X-Man known as Iceman was hardly his usual type, but something about the
insouciant attitude in the face of danger struck a chord. And the package it
came with was most certainly worth looking at, he thought, eyeing the muscles
that shifted under the uniform of the X-Man.

Mon Dieu, he thought, crossing his arms, Robert Drake is a man, yet nearly
everyone treats him like a boy. He was a boy when he came here, but no longer.
Of course, Jean-Paul had to admit that Bobby helped the illusion by always
playing the joker, the fool.

But in this moment–believing himself unobserved–Robert Drake was a man, one
weighed down by cares Jean-Paul wished he could smooth away. Bobby sat on the
ground, his back against the tree, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting in
his palms. For a moment, he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as
if he were laughing…or crying. Jean-Paul took a step forward, but stopped as
Bobby leaned back and pounded his fists once against the tree trunk, staring at
the pagoda in front of him.

His eyes were dry, but his face was resigned and drawn; Jean-Paul felt a pain in
his heart to match Bobby’s, and he found himself walking down the brick-lined
pathway toward the other man.

It didn’t take Bobby long to hear him, and Jean-Paul’s heart sank further as he
watched the mask slip down. The grin that met him was oh-so-adorable, but he
knew it was false.

“Hey, Northstar, I didn’t know Annie was letting you off the leash again.”

“I’m not certain she knows yet,” he admitted, hovering a few feet away in
unaccustomed reticence. Since the explosion and his severe injuries, he’d been
second-guessing himself unusually often.

“Way to go!” Bobby’s grin grew wider. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s a great deal you don’t know about me,” Jean-Paul found himself saying.
He paused and frowned. “That sounded a great deal less cliched in my mind.”

“Hey, ‘sokay, what’s the good of being a superhero if you can’t use a cliché now
and then?” Bobby’s grin was getting strained now. “So, there something I can do
for you?”

Jean-Paul ignored the obvious attempt to get rid of him, looking down at Bobby.
“Are you well?”

“I’m fine. Hey, Annie let me out of her clutches without too much of a fight, so
I’ve gotta be okay, right?”

Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow at the circular logic and, uninvited, sat down next
to Bobby. “What were you thinking about with such concentration?” he asked.

“Huh?” Bobby looked surprised, as if he’d never been asked that before.

“When I approached, you seemed to be thinking thoughts most serious.”

Bobby twitched a little, then tried for his previous grin. “Me? Oh, nothing
much.”

“Of course.” Suddenly annoyed by the whole situation, Jean-Paul gave his most
arrogantly Gallic shrug. “Of course, you Americans always go to the place where
someone has just beaten you into unconsciousness in order to think thoughts of
no consequence.”

Bobby shifted from friendly to angry in an instant, practically spitting out his
words. “What do you care, Mr. French Canadian waltz in here and tell us we’re
losers?”

Well, angry was probably better than indifferent. “I didn’t intend–”

“Bullshit. You loved that Xavier had to beg for your help, that the mighty X-Men
were in such shitty shape that we called you.”

“Again.” Jean-Paul winced as soon as he said it, annoyed to find his usual bad
habits rising to the forefront.

“What?”

“You had to call *again*,” he said, almost apologetically. “I came before when
Jean asked for my help.”

Bobby sneered. “Well, lah-di-fucking-dah, isn’t that special? Do I bow down or
what?”

Jean-Paul looked down at his hands, unsure what to say. He supposed he deserved
this, since he *had* come in with more than his usual boundless arrogance,
pleased in a small way that the X-Men needed his help. And he *had* been

extraordinarily snide and annoying, even for him. But to explain it, the long
history of Alpha Flight and the X-Men, his own feelings on the matter, this was
not possible.

A squirrel ran across the ground nearby, chittering madly, and the two men sat
in silence for a long moment watching it.

“Why are you here?”

The sneer was gone from Bobby’s voice and Jean-Paul looked up. “I am here
because Professor Xavier asked me and the X-Men needed help. Whatever you think
of me, in the end I could not refuse.”

“No.” Bobby shook his head. “I mean, why are you out here right now?”

“I was in need of some time and space to think, so I decided to walk.”

“Out here, where someone had just beaten me into unconsciousness?” Bobby
mimicked his accent.

“Yes.”

The flat reply left Bobby momentarily speechless, and they sat there for a
little while looking at the pagoda, lost in thought. Jean-Paul remembered his
first sight of Bobby being slammed into the ground as he raced toward the
confrontation; his super-speed reduced by injury to what felt like a crawl,
shaking with the fear that he might not get there in time, that someone else
might die on his watch.

“Josette,” Bobby said suddenly, his hands clenched and resting on his knees,
“she…she was using her empathy to control me, you know.”

“I heard her say it.”

“I mean, I don’t normally…and in the hallway…”

“Yes.”

They were silent again for a while, and Jean-Paul fought the urge to put his arm
around Bobby, lean against him, hold him. The other man would certainly not
allow it, not from a gay man, and not from someone he didn’t even seem to like
very much.

Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Bobby staring at the pagoda with a
kind of loathing. Jean-Paul suspected he’d found the root of the problem. “To be
controlled, it is most abhorrent,” he said. “It may be the worst thing that
happens to those of us who join the team, who become a public mutant figure.”

Bobby didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare ahead, one hand straying
to rub the center of his chest. Jean-Paul frowned slightly, wondering at that,
but decided not to push his luck by asking.

“I’m afraid I do not have such an excuse for my behavior,” Jean-Paul said. When
Bobby looked at him in obvious surprise, Jean-Paul found himself flushing a
little–apologies were not something in which he often engaged. “I should not
have been so rude to everyone, when we met at the house in Fort Albany.”

“Yeah, well…we all have bad days.”

“True, but–”

“Look, forget about it. There’s been a good bit of water under the bridge since
then. You were rude, I’ve yelled at you. I’m over it.”

“Yes, water under the bridge.”

A bird twittered on a nearby branch, the same squirrel ran halfway across the
grass, stopping to look at them curiously, and they sat.

“So,” Bobby said diffidently, “I was sorry to hear about the kid you were
carrying back here.”

It was like a punch to the stomach, and it took all Jean-Paul’s returning
strength to say, with equal diffidence, “Peter. His name was Peter.”

“Yeah, Peter. It’s rough when you lose someone you were trying to save.” Bobby
didn’t look at him, just twiddled with a piece of grass next to his boot.

I see his face when I close my eyes, Jean-Paul thought. “Yes, it is.”

“You did your best.”

Not enough, it will never be enough. “The Professor could not stop the
explosions.”

“He told me you stayed with Peter at the end, instead of flying away.”

“Yes.” Peter’s face, bleeding, scared, begging for reassurance he could not
give. ‘I’m going to die this time–aren’t I?’ Jean-Paul closed his eyes
momentarily, then caught onto a distraction. “You spoke of me with the
Professor?”

“He really wants you to stay, and I think he’s worried I’ll annoy you outta
town.”

“I do not think that is likely.”

They sat a little longer, the silence now more companionable than uncomfortable;
in the distance, the sounds of the school started to drift toward them, the
laughing and shouting of the teenage mating dance, a basketball thudding on
pavement, even the unmistakable *bamf* of Kurt in a hurry to get somewhere.

Bobby started to fidget a little, and Jean-Paul sighed to himself at the
approaching end of this interlude. He would likely never get another chance to
speak with Bobby in such a forthright manner, and he was certain Annie would
urge him to tell the other man how he felt, but he knew she was wrong.

It was easy for a woman with a romantic heart to urge him to say something, but
what did she expect him to do? In his considerable experience, men who were
straight–and controlled by Josette or not, Bobby *was* straight–did not take
kindly to declarations of undying affection.

Jean-Paul ached bone-deep–in a place that medicine couldn’t touch–as Bobby
jumped up from the ground and took a few steps away.

“Hey,” Bobby said, pausing and turning to look back at him, “we never did get
that meal I promised, and it’s about lunchtime. You hungry?” The engaging grin
was back, a bit more genuine this time, if Jean-Paul was any judge–and he’d
become a veritable connoisseur of Bobby’s smiles in recent days.

“I do believe I *am* hungry,” Jean-Paul said as he carefully stood, glad he’d
regained an echo of his usual grace.

“C’mon then, or the only thing left’ll be the meatloaf.”

Take what you can get, Jean-Paul told himself as they walked back toward the
mansion. Just take what you can get.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “She has a lot to think about, and her mind won’t stop spinning.”

NOTES: This was written for the “We Invented the Remix…Redux” challenge, in
which I remixed bounce’s “An Impossibility”, which can be found on her site at
her site. As with bounce’s original, this story takes place around New X-Men
126(ish), basically the end of the “Imperial” storyline. Gigantic thanks to the
fantabulous Victoria P. for organizing the challenge.

* * * * *

She should be sleeping.

Jean glares at the clock as it registers 4:59 AM. She’s been awake much of the
night, and now the minutes seem to be passing even more slowly.

She has a lot to think about, and her mind won’t stop spinning. So much has
happened.

She did the impossible a week ago. But then again, she and Scott are X-Men: they
do six impossible things before breakfast…and that’s on a slow day. She should
be used to snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, as well as the other way
around. She should be used to the impossible. After all, just months before, the
man lying next to her died.

A small sigh from Scott catches her attention, and she carefully rolls over to
watch him sleep. She should be ecstatic to see him lying beside her, breathing
and alive, but her ambivalence is a cold knot around her heart, tightening
imperceptibly with every passing day.

He’s back. Except that he’s not. Not really. The figure in bed beside her wears
Scott’s face, laughs his laugh, has the same freckles in places she won’t
describe, makes the same mess when he tries to twirl pasta on his fork–but
somehow it’s not him.

It’s as if he’s only Scott skin deep, and beneath that is cold and emptiness.

Jean knows that she could make it better. The Phoenix energy within her would
make it so easy, she could just reach in and tweak a bit here, twist a little
there, take away all the bad memories and thoughts and everything would seem
right as rain. Except that nobody would ever trust her again, they’d hate her.
Especially Scott.

To distract herself, she reaches out to the other minds in the mansion.

The Professor is walking the halls, astonished and happy to be back in his home
with legs healed and working, but he is crippled by the guilt of the past days’
(could it be only days?) events. The idea that he tried to kill his sister while
they were still in the womb is practically inconceivable, and his mind is
twisting in an attempt to encompass the enormity of his crime.

He doesn’t even realize she is in his mind. Disturbed by this fact and faintly
guilty, she slips away again.

Skipping gently across the minds of several students–one dreaming about sex,
one about her parents’ divorce, and one having a nightmare about missing an
exam–she alights on Emma’s mind. A butterfly touch and she is nearly blown away
by the pain and grief, a hammer blow to her mind.

The blow isn’t even aimed at her, just at the world in general, but Jean reels
back, afraid to get any nearer to Emma as the other woman remembers all the dead
of Genosha.

She pulls away, unwilling to intrude on a grief more profound than hers.

Barnell is half-asleep, in that state where your mind conjures images and
partial dreams. Cassandra Nova looms like a funhouse clown over his head as he
cowers and begs her to stop.

Jean feels tears running down her cheek as the dream Barnell beats Hank over and
over again, until there isn’t an inch of him uninjured. Barnell sobs as he
pounds away, guilty even though he couldn’t have prevented what happened.

Her leap away from Barnell’s guilt sends her plowing into the edges of Xorn’s
mind and she recoils from the power, the inferno that is the only person whose
mental powers rival hers at the moment. The Phoenix stirs in the back of her
mind, restless, eager to challenge Xorn, see who’s stronger, but she pushes it
down.

She draws back into her own mind, saddened by the realization that there isn’t
anyone in the mansion who isn’t hurting, isn’t damaged in one way or another.
Years ago, she learned how to block it out, how to ignore the pain around her,
but those walls are breached and crumbling under the onslaught.

It’s harder tonight than is normal, because a week ago she did the impossible.
She split Xavier’s mind into a thousand, thousand pieces, and stuck them back
together again. It should have been impossible, but she did it. She did it.

She rolls back to face the clock and it ticks away a few more seconds, a few
seconds closer to time for her to get up and move on as if everything were
normal. Closer to pretending everything is fine.

Still sleeping, Scott rolls closer to her.

Jean cries and tries to ignore the feel of a dead man’s breath on her skin.

* * * * *

Remixer’s end notes: I specifically chose to keep bounce’s first and last lines
intact as a frame to my remix, and I hope I kept the spirit of what she was
trying to convey about Jean at this point in her life.

by Mara

Summary: When Wraith is away, the guards of Weapon X will play.

by Mara

Summary: Bobby finds out about Emma and Scott. (This is an AU of New X-Men 139, “Shattered,” the first part to the Murder in the Mansion story line.)

NOTES: This was written for the Remix Redux Challenge and it is a remix of
Cherry Ice’s story “Spent Casings.” You can find the original at
www.doyourthing.org/cherry/xm/casings.htm. I didn’t much like where Morrison
went with New X-Men, so I was pleased to take this opportunity to rewrite a
small part of it.

* * * * *

Emma wondered if Bobby would hit her. It wasn’t likely, really, he was too
fundamentally a “nice” guy, even in these straitened circumstances. She wondered
idly how hard she’d have to push him before he’d do it. And what would happen to
him afterward.

“Are you even listening to me?” he growled, leaning against the wall of her
bedroom.

She inspected her boots for bloodstains. “Yes, I am. You were asking me what the
fuck I was doing.”

“And you weren’t answering.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

There was a long silence and she took the opportunity to check herself in the
mirror. It was one thing to enjoy a good catfight with one’s rival, but to
remain disheveled afterward was severely déclassé.

Of course, Bobby would likely point out that sleeping with a married man was
tacky, but he couldn’t possibly understand how her world worked, could he?

The drop of blood at the corner of her mouth she carefully dabbed away, sensing
Bobby’s reluctant desire as he watched. A small smile graced her lips at her
ability to arouse him even at a time like this. Of course, that was really so
typical of the male mind, wasn’t it? Think of your woman with another man…want
to have sex with your woman.

Not that she was his woman, but in the primitive male mind, she knew that
thought lurked.

“Scott. You’re really–”

“Yes.”

“Scott-fucking-Summers.”

“Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, now can I?” She picked up a silver-backed
brush and began to run it through her hair. It tugged out several clumps,
loosened by her recent altercation, but she hardly noticed. If only it was that
easy–

“Why?”

She considered her reflection for a long moment, watching Bobby’s face in the
mirror. “Because I can,” she said after a while.

He sat down on the bed, looking amusingly like a guppy, mouth gaping and
wheezing a bit. “Because you can? You’re having sex with Scott Summers because
you can.”

“Yes.”

He threw himself backward on the bed, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t
fucking believe it.”

“Such language, darling.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve already done that. In fact, you’d like to do it again. You’d take me
right now, if I’d let you. Up against the wall, so you could prove something.
You want to sit across the table from him this evening and know you had me
screaming.”

He shook his head, not in denial of her statement, but in dismissal of it as
irrelevant. “Why did you start the fight with Jean?”

“I didn’t–”

“Don’t give me that shit. You won. You had him, she didn’t. Why piss off Jean
until she jumped on you? Why whisper those little dirty secrets into her mind
until she lost it? I didn’t know you were that vindictive.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’d already won.”

“Had I?” She put her hair up, patting a few errant strands into place absently.
“What had I won?”

“Scott.”

She turned around, automatically noting his tensed muscles as he sat on her bed.
“What makes you think I wanted Scott?”

His jaw dropped again. “Wha…”

“Do close your mouth, or you’re going to catch flies. My mother always said
that.” Emma went to the closet as she tried to decide whether to change her
outfit. One advantage of wearing so little: There wasn’t much to damage, even in
a fight.

“If you didn’t want Scott…”

“Hmm?” She decided to leave her outfit as it was, just adding her diamond studs.
“Oh, the same reason I started the fight with Jean. Curiosity.”

This time he didn’t even ask, just waited for her to explain, and she bestowed a
smile and laugh on him. He didn’t smile back. “I wanted to see if they could
hurt me, of course. Don’t you see, nothing can hurt me now.”

His blue eyes grew wide and she laughed again. “Nothing can hurt me because
there’s nothing left to hurt.”

Humming, she went back to contemplating her image in the mirror.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: What happens when Scott and Madelyne meet? (Story #3 in the roundrobin)

NOTES/DEDICATION: This is a sequel to Minisinoo’s “The Goose Who Laid the
Golden Egg.” It happens before Dyce’s “What’s Good for the Goose is Good for
the Gander” because Dyce writes faster than I do and I had to spend the evening
at the in-law’s I hope you enjoy this, because I missed my stop on the train
this evening because I was writing it.

**Telepathy**

****************************

I didn’t know where the guards were taking me, and I was pretty damn scared. For
all I knew I was going to come back blue like Hank (Jesus, poor Hank) or half-
dead like Wolverine. ‘Course, I was playing it cool, trying to look unworried. I
doubt I was fooling anyone, but it made me feel a little better. I guess we do
whatever we need to do to survive.

Anyway, I was expecting all kinds of things, torture devices, a mad scientist’s
laboratory, the seventh circle of hell. I was *not* expecting to see Jean.

Goon number one slammed me up against the blue-tiled wall as number two opened
the door and then tossed me in.

“Hello, Scott,” she said as I stood up.

I leaned up against the other side of the door and stared at her. “Jean, what
the hell is going on? You were in your cell with Nightcrawler a minute ago. When
did you have time to change clothing?”

“I’m not Jean.”

I’d been prepared for torture, but this crap was just too much. “What the hell?
Either you’re a shapeshifter or that’s the fastest brainwashing I’ve ever seen,
of course you’re Jean. Now snap out of it and tell me what the hell we’re doing
in…”

Okay, I’ll admit it. I hadn’t looked around the room yet. Obviously a few weeks
with these bozos and a knock on the head had caused all my training to seep out
my ears. But even the horrible things we’d done and seen in those weeks were
*no* excuse for my not noticing I was in a bedroom. With a bed. With fucking
flowered sheets. Great, now I was sounding like Logan.

She looked amused in a sad and strained sort of way. “What we’re doing in my
bedroom? I’m really not Jean, Scott. The faster you understand this, the easier
things will be.”

I slid down slowly to the floor, keeping my eyes carefully on Jean, who’d
obviously gone insane in the minutes since I’d left her. She sat down in an
armchair and ran her fingers through her short red hair. A few pieces drifted
down, as if it had been recently cut.

“You know, maybe he was right. Maybe I could have fooled you into thinking I was
Jean long enough. Maybe not.”

It had taken awhile, but my brain was back in gear. I caught the important
words. “Long enough for what?”

She paused, and my brain ran through the torture options again.

“Long enough for us to have sex and get me pregnant.”

That was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. I sputtered. I hadn’t
actually understood that word until then. “Sex…preg…wha…you…”

“I am *not* Jean. My name is Madelyne Pryor. I think I’m her clone. Don’t ask me
how that happened since Dr. Essex hasn’t told me.” Her tone sharpened on the
last few words, and she winced. That told me this doctor was likely to be
listening in. Or watching. Hell.

It also told me she wasn’t Jean. I’d never seen Jean look like that, so
resigned, even in the worst circumstances. And we’d *been* in the worst
circumstances, and this wasn’t it. Yet.

Then the content of what she’d said sank in. “Her clone? Why the hell am I
supposed to get Jean’s clone pregnant?”

She looked relieved that I finally seemed to believe her. “Dr Essex…well,
let’s just say our baby will be an extraordinarily talented mutant. Maybe more
so than my others. I don’t really know.”

The blows just kept coming. “Others?” I asked, trying to not imagine what the
Weapon X bastards might do with mutant babies.

“Yes.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but was afraid to. Hmm, if she
was really Jean’s clone…

I reached out with my mind, the way the Professor taught me. **Tell me.**

“No!” She yelled, jumping out of the chair and throwing up her hands as if to
ward off my thoughts. I stayed very still, trying not to alarm her further.
“No,” she said again, quieter this time, “I’m not allowed. I get in trouble if
I do that. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She was shaking, just a little. I tried to look as non-threatening as I could.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and slowly moved back to the chair.

“Can we just get on with this?” she asked, as if requesting a routine physical
exam.

“Just like that?” I hadn’t even had time to process everything. Jesus H. Christ,
I’d certainly lusted after Jean’s body, I just thought it would come attached to
her brain.

“If we don’t, Dr. Essex will do it for us,” she said, looking even more unhappy
at that prospect. “That’s uncomfortable. I am most fertile today and tomorrow.”

Damn, it was all so tempting. To have a Jean of my own. Ready and willing to
sleep with me instead of the Wolverine. I wondered if this Essex knew that or if
he’d just gotten lucky.

“Look, Madelyne, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive, because I do, but I
don’t quite know what to do here.” Shit, now I was babbling.

Her look was pitying. “Haven’t you learned? You don’t have much of a choice.
Either we have sex or the samples are taken from us the hard way. That’s it.”

Damn it, there’s always a choice, even if she’d been stuck in this lab so long
she didn’t see it. Oh my god, was she *born* here? Stop thinking about that and
find a way out. Why couldn’t I think of anything? All the plans I’d been
confidently planning and not *one* dealt with the possibility of Jean’s clone
telling me to have sex with her. I hadn’t planned for Armageddon or Ragnarok
either.

Madelyne moved over to the bed. She looked so much like Jean, I couldn’t stand
it.

Slowly, I stood up and walked towards her. I wanted to cry at the hint of fear
in her eyes. I wanted to shout. I wanted to destroy things.

I wanted to wring Dr. Essex’s neck.

I vowed that when we left this place, if we couldn’t take her with us, we would
come back for her as well as her baby. My baby.

I sat carefully on the bed next to her. Her face was blank now. I felt like I
was about to rape her, but what else could I do? If we had to do this, at least
I could try and make it pleasant.

She’s not Jean. I wish to hell I knew who she really was. I wish I had time to
find out.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Scott wants to go find Madelyne and his child, but he’s got to go through Ororo first. (Story #9)

NOTES: This takes place at more or less the same time as Sascha’s “Wild Goose
Chase.” Sorry if this is a bit long, but Scott and Ororo would *not* shut up,
and they refused to think in a linear fashion. Thanks to David Ellis for the
beta and help on Ultimate Ororo. Thanks also to my husband, who patiently put up
with me muttering to myself about this story for most of a three hour car ride.
(“Is Kurt with them?” “What?” “Oh, sorry, nothing…”)

**********************************

I’m not really that fond of deserts, as a rule. They’re either too hot or too
cold, they’re not very visually exciting (especially for someone who only sees
in shades of red), and they’re really, really dry. What can I say? I get thirsty
easily.

However, I was willing to make an exception for one particular stretch of desert
in southern Arizona near the Mexican border. It had some nice saguaros (those
big cacti you always see in cartoons), an abandoned building big enough to fit a
bunch of escaped superhero types, and it was far away from the Weapon X project
and our usual New York haunts.

Everyone needed a rest, and Jean needed to stay put long enough to try and help
the Professor. And I needed everyone to stay put so *I* could take off for a
while.

We’d been in Arizona for a few days, and everyone was gathering in the living
room. Well, everyone but Hank, who was patrolling. That’s when I brought up the
issue that had been plaguing my mind since we’d escaped.

“I’m going after Madelyne,” I said, turning away from the dingy window. The
others stared at me in a mix of dismay, confusion, and anger. Kurt, our new
recruit, was mainly confused. Jean had picked up German pretty easily, but she
was having trouble putting English in his mind.

“No way,” Jean said, stepping out of the bedroom where we kept the Professor.
“We don’t have time for this. We’re running away from an incredibly powerful,
well-armed, and well-connected branch of the government, remember?”

“I know that, and she’s running away from the same people.”

“Which is exactly why you should stay away. If they’ve found her, then they’ll
find us.” Jean’s voice rose and Logan put his arm around her shoulders. She
leaned into him. The small part of me that wasn’t worrying about Madelyne and my
child was surprised to find how little that bothered me.

“If they’ve found her, then I’ll have to get her out again. I wasn’t asking for
help or anyone’s permission, I was telling you. I will not let those bastards
have her *or* my child. End of story.”

Everyone but Logan looked embarrassed to witness our argument. Well, the
Professor just looked unconscious. I ruthlessly smothered my twinge of guilt at
leaving him in this condition. I couldn’t drag them all with me to find
Madelyne, but I had to find her soon.

Jean clenched her fists. “You’re the one that told us to stick together, leader-
boy. Changing your mind? Tired of taking care of us? Worried your new girlfriend
might get rid of your inconvenient baby?”

“That’s enough,” Ororo said, and Jean and I both glared at her. “If you two want
to act like children, take it outside and slap each other silly for all I care.
But if you’re our leaders, then fucking well act like them.”

Damn, I hate when she’s right.

I swallowed my rising anger, reminding myself that Jean had also been through
hell in these past months. We were all scared and on edge, worried about the
Professor and our future.

I eased down from my confrontational posture and sat down, hoping a change in
body language would cool things off. Jean leaned back into Logan’s arms, and
took a few deep meditative breaths. When she looked at me again, I could see
she’d calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” she said to me.

“I’m sorry, too.” I continued with my thoughts. “What I’m saying is, we’re as
safe as we’re going to get for the moment, and this is something I have to do. I
don’t know Madelyne’s exact location or condition, but I owe her the attempt.”

Ororo looked like she wanted to say something, but whatever it was she didn’t
want to say it in public. That was *not* a good sign. She tilted her head
slightly toward the door but I ignored her for the moment. “Look, I’m not
leaving this minute,” I said, “but I wanted to let you know what I’m planning as
soon as possible. I’m not running out on you, and I’ll be back.”

Then I got support from the absolute last place I’d ever expected. “You should
go,” Logan said. He didn’t quite look me in the eye. “If you don’t, you’ll
regret it.” Everyone stared at him. “Believe me, folks, we don’t want any kids
falling back into the hands of Weapon X.”

Silence fell as we all contemplated what Logan must have experienced in his time
there. For him to stick up for me, it had to be pretty bad.

“Thank you, Logan,” I said. Ororo looked impatient, so I wrapped up with, “We’ll
finish this discussion later,” and followed her out the front door, past the
short whip-like cacti Hank said were ocotillos.

She was waiting by the big rock in the yard, looking mysterious and dangerous. I
leaned against the rock and looked up at the setting sun.

“What’s up, ‘Ro? Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t go?” It was getting cold
fast, and my words floated out on puffs of steam.

“Not gonna tell you that, but your reasons for sticking together are as good now
as they were when we escaped. I *was* gonna tell you I think you’re running off
half-cocked here.”

“Jesus, what the hell do you expect me to do! I got everybody out, I got us
here, I’ve waited longer than I wanted already! I can’t do a damn thing for the
Professor except stand around and watch.”

She didn’t react at all, just watched me like I was a rat running through a
maze. “Sure, but I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

My throat closed on a rush of emotion and I walked away, unwilling to let her
see. I’d unburdened myself to her once, on the way to India. That was a mistake.
I was the leader, I couldn’t stick my team-mates with all my problems. That’s
why I couldn’t tell her about Alex.

I could hear her walking behind me. “You need to decide what you want. And what
you can have.”

I stopped and turned, so suddenly she nearly ran me down. “I want my child.”

“Well, duh. But what about Madelyne? What’s she gonna be doing while you’re
playing Daddy?”

Damn it, she was right again. “I don’t know.”

“D’you think you’re gonna settle down with her? Get a house with a picket fence,
and have 2.5 mutant children?” She was up in my face.

“I told you, I don’t know!”

She was calm again. “Well, you’d better figure out some answers.” She took my
arm and dragged me back to the rock to sit on a convenient perch.

I looked up at the darkening sky and thought about Madelyne, a woman I’d only
known for a few hours. Some sort of animal howled in the distance. God, I hate
deserts. Give me the mean streets of a city any time.

I tried to articulate my thoughts. “She was so scared of Essex, and now she’s
out there running away from him. I don’t even know how much she knows about the
outside world, and she’s running. I feel sorry for her. I want to help her, do
what I can. Besides, she’s…” I stopped, unsure if I wanted anyone else to know
what I’d learned. Unsure if this was the right person to tell.

“She’s what?”

Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. “She’s running away with Sabretooth. I
think.”

Ororo gasped and I could hear thunder in the distance. She had one fist shoved
against her mouth. Oh hell, bad choice, Summers. “‘Ro, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t
have said anything. I’m not even completely sure.”

She took a deep breath and seemed to force herself to relax. “Chill, ‘sokay. I
was just surprised. What makes you think she’s with him?”

Someday, Ororo and I were going to talk a little bit more about she’d been
through. Someday soon. I mentally regrouped.

“You know Logan and I have been gathering intelligence as we’ve traveled? I’ve
been keeping an eye out for news of her. Well, there’ve been some sightings up
North of a couple who could be Sabretooth and Madelyne.”

“But if you’ve heard…”

“…then Weapon X might have, too,” I said. “Grim thought, huh? On the bright
side, the kinda people who talk to us aren’t exactly gonna go out of their way
to talk to Weapon X. Besides, we made a hell of a mess on the way out. It’s
gonna take them some time to clean up. But it worries me. Besides being worried
about what the hell she’s doing with Sabretooth.”

I didn’t tell her about the *other* intelligence I’d gathered, about Alex. That
would have to wait. I’d just have to hope that Essex was too busy to go after
him.

“You’d better be more than worried, you’d better be thinking hard about what
you’re gonna do. ‘Cause if you think you’re gonna recruit Sabretooth, think
again.” Ororo practically spat his name.

“If we can take in Logan, why not Sabretooth?”

“It’s not the same,” Ororo said, her voice becoming angry and cold. I could feel
electricity building up around us. “And I didn’t exactly vote Logan into the
club, either. But there’s no way I’m gonna work with that overgrown cat
bastard.”

Well, I was in deep now, and I’d better talk fast if I didn’t want to get fried.

“What if he’s willing to help us take down the Weapon X project for good?”

“Why should he? He was helping those bastards, remember?” Her eyes were white,
and I could hear the thunder again.

“Then why would he be running off with Madelyne?” I said. She stared at me,
uncertain, her eyes shading back to their normal color. Aha, got her. “If
there’s hope for an assassin, a car thief, and an enforcer for the Russian
Mafia, maybe there’s hope for an ‘overgrown cat bastard.’”

“Scott, he…”

“I know.”

“You’re pretty damn good at changing the subject.”

“Yeah.”

“I could of killed you just now. And I might kill Sabretooth if you bring him
here.”

“I know.”

We sat in silence for a while and watched the sun drop lower. The air was so
clear, that even as dusk fell, we could see for miles. We could see the
individual trees on the mountains, the rows of saguaros that stretched all the
way there, and the light falling on the scrub and rocks.

“Is it a beautiful sunset?” I asked.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I’m going to leave in two days.” I tried to sound like a leader again.

Ororo stopped looking at the sunset. “Be careful, Scott.”

“I’m always careful. I was born careful.”

“You’re walking into a potential minefield, and you’re not taking backup,” she
said scornfully. “On what planet is that careful?”

“How do you know I’m not taking backup?”

She didn’t even justify that with an answer. “Just get your ass back here soon.
You may piss me off, but the team needs you. And think about what you’re doing,
or you’re gonna buy us a whole new world of trouble.”

“I will.” I jumped off the rock and headed back into the house to make my plans.
I needed to talk to Logan, he knew Canada a heck of a lot better than I did. And
Jean and I had to discuss where the team would go if they had to leave suddenly.
There was a lot to do before I left. But a little bird told me I had a chance to
find Madelyne and my child, and I wasn’t giving it up for anyone.

by Mara

Summary: Golden Goose Epilogue. After the team returns to Westchester, Logan hits the road to do a little hard thinking.

NOTES: This is one of several epilogues to the Golden Goose Ultimate X-Men
Roundrobin, begun by Minisinoo. Thanks to my hubby, Avi, for help with
motorcycle terminology, and to Wyzeguy for being our Designated Guy. Any
remaining mistakes are entirely mine, for being all girly and stuff ::grin::.

//thoughts//

* * * * *

The light of a full moon made the bucolic Westchester countryside look shadowy
and faintly sinister, an impression not improved by the grumble of a noisy
creature passing through a set of wrought iron gates. After a few moments, the
beast resolved itself into a motorcycle speeding down the open road.

A few deer were startled into flight when the sport bike, a Japanese racer that
Scott especially loved, swooshed by with Logan as rider. He wore no helmet,
enjoying the fierce breeze blowing through his spiky hair. Usually he rode a
Harley cruiser, but tonight he needed the speed, the power, the energy.

//What do they want from me?// Logan thought as he powered the bike up a notch
and hunched further over the handlebars. //I’m not the goddamn X-Mommy. Okay,
it’s kinda my fault they got caught, but I got ‘em out. I’ve paid my dues.//

He rode on through the night, the familiar thrum of the engine between his legs
and the smell of exhaust soothing his ruffled feathers.

//I’m sick of taking care of people and acting like the grownup. Your life
really sucks if you’re depending on the Wolverine to be an adult.//

He leaned into a curve as the road twisted, effortlessly balancing himself just
right.

//Then again, life *has* pretty much sucked. First they got caught, then I broke
‘em out, then it’s running back to the States like fucking homing pigeons, then
chasing Madelyne and Sabretooth, and finally nearly getting our asses kicked by
that damn Essex. Things have been busy.//

The scenery flashed by, but Logan wasn’t looking at much. Fortunately, the road
was empty, because he wasn’t in the mood to slow down.

//At least I got to kill Wraith. That bastard’s never gonna hurt another mutant.
It’s the kill I feel best about. Won’t catch me moping around for putting that
rabid dog out of its misery.//

Unconsciously flexing his hands on the handlebars, Logan roared into a wind as
he rode, a feral moment unwitnessed by anything other than a startled rabbit.

He settled back down to riding. //And Jeannie and Madelyne did a damn good job
on Essex. I would’ve liked to see if his healing ability could handle his head
being removed from his body, but leaving him a drooling idiot is a pretty close
second.//

//’Course, Jeannie’s still pretty pissed at me for not telling her about
Madelyne, but at least this time I’m not picking glass out of my healing
wounds.//

The image of the feisty redhead floated in front of him as the bike ate up the
road. He remembered the way she’d looked the first time they made love, face
tight with pleasure. The anger mixed with fear he saw in her after the escape
from Weapon X, a look that made him want to gut someone. The ecstasy of the
moment when she and her clone merged into something else, something incredible.

//I don’t know how I feel about her. She’s special. When I saw her lying on the
ground…hell, I’ve never been that pissed about someone else’s safety. I
would’ve done anything to wake her up.//

Logan frowned, then bared his teeth into the wind. //I can’t have anyone who my
other enemies could use against me. The X-geeks’d be better off without me.//

Even as that thought crossed his mind, he cocked his head, sensitive hearing
picking up the sound of another vehicle on the road behind him. //Who the fuck–
//

He vacillated momentarily between speeding up to get away from whoever it was,
and slowing down a little to see who else would be riding out here.

Curiosity finally won out and he slowed down just enough to allow the pursuer to
get closer. It didn’t take long to figure out who the figure hunched over the
brother to the cycle he rode might be. //Damn kid. What the hell is he up to?//

Unwilling to deal with Scott, Logan leaned over the handlebars and accelerated
to a reckless speed. But shortly he remembered that only one person at the
mansion could come close to matching his own ability on the bike. //Damn it, he
still shouldn’t be able to keep up with me. I’m goin’ way past safe, here.//

But as the road twisted and curved, Logan was unable to lose Scott. Anger built
in his chest. //Won’t leave me alone.// The anger leapt through his throat,
emerging in a sound that made his previous roar sound like a kitty in
comparison.

With no warning, and slowing only slightly, he whipped the bike around in a
circle, laughing at the startled expression on Scott’s face he passed through
the cloud of dust and debris from Logan’s maneuver. By the time Scott had
slowed, circled around and returned to the side of the road, Logan had dropped
the kickstand and hopped off the bike.

Scott’s chest heaved with the exertion of the chase, but his face was calm as he
got off his own bike. “You leaving?”

“What do you care? You worried I’m takin’ your bike?” Logan strode toward Scott.

Scott neither moved nor flinched as Logan got up in his face. “I don’t care
about the bike.”

“Then whatcha doin’ here?” Logan wanted him to react, so he started to prowl
around Scott. His nose twitched–the kid was nervous.

Scott refused to turn, continuing to stare straight ahead as he spoke. “You’re a
part of the team, and it concerns me if it looks like you’re leaving. Especially
without letting us know.”

“Maybe I’m just goin’ for a little ride.” Logan circled back to stare into the
red glow behind his glasses, searching for an explanation of the other man’s
presence.

Scott just looked at him, his jaw working as he obviously stifled a few
responses. He turned his head for a moment, then looked back. “Don’t fuck with
me, Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy, you’re not my type.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“What subject?”

Scott took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his mouth. “Are you
leaving the team?”

“Oh, that subject.”

“Yeah, that subject.”

“You gonna beg me to stay?”

“Why should I?”

“‘Cause you pacifist idiots need me, that’s why!”

“Do we?” Scott raised an eyebrow over the top of his glasses.

Logan stalked away, his anger rising again at being baited. He whirled when he
was a few feet away and stared at Scott, who had crossed his arms and was
watching him with apparent interest. “Reverse psychology, kid? You’re starting
to really piss me off. I thought you were smarter than that. I don’t like people
messin’ with my head.”

“I’m not messing with you. I’d never do that. I’m none too fond of it myself.”
Scott’s tone was bitter. “But I’m not letting you leave the team without a
fight.”

“You know, you’re the last person I figured would give a shit if I stayed.”

“It’s not about me, it’s about the team. And it’s about what you need.”

“Me? I don’t need anything.” Logan took a step back, alarmed by the idea.

“You sure? I thought you liked hanging out with folks who treat you as something
more than a living weapon. Who considered you part of the family. Fucked-up
family, maybe, but family nonetheless.”

Logan turned away to stare at the empty road, his mind whirling with the
decision he’d been avoiding. //I’m not a team player. I’m a killer. I don’t
trust Chuck anymore. Lotta good reasons to go.//

He stood still, a predator unsure of which way to jump, whether he was being
offered freedom or captivity. //They’re good kids who’re gonna get killed by
their idealism.//

As Logan was turning back, the silence was broken by the distant sound of a
train, the whistle causing both men to jump slightly. Scott grinned, looking a
little amused by the mutual reaction.

“I’m no do-gooder,” Logan said, scowling at Scott.

Scott didn’t respond directly. “We need better training in self-defense,
probably weapons, too. We need to be ready if we can’t use our powers again.”

“I hate taking orders.”

“You’ll take mine when we’re in the field.”

Scott’s voice was uncompromising and Logan started to grin. //Maybe the kid’ll
be a real leader someday.// “I’m gonna teach you all to kill if you have to,”
Logan said.

“We’ll teach you how not to.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

They stood a few feet apart, moonlight casting odd shadows, the only sound the
hiss and pop of cooling engines. Logan took a deep breath, bringing in the
fading scent of exhaust, the smell of trees, flowers, a nearby raccoon, and the
leader he’d just agreed to follow.

//They need me. I’m still the only one Chuck can’t read reliably, and they need
somebody to keep track of Sabretooth. They may think he’s reformed, but I’m not
gonna let him cause trouble just ’cause this bunch of kids can’t resist a devil
on the side of angels. I mean, they trust *me*, which just goes to show how
hopeless they are.//

//But what the hell. If Xavier’s gonna get ‘em in trouble, I’ll teach ‘em how to
get out of it. And besides, there’s Jeannie. It certainly isn’t gonna be boring
around here.//

Scott swung a leg over his motorcycle, hitched up the kickstand, and slammed the
engine back into gear. Logan did the same, and side-by-side, the two bikes
roared back down the road, leaving the countryside to recover in peace.

–end–