DISCLAIMER:
Pryde and Wisdom, the X-Men and Excalibur all are trademarks of Marvel Comics. DV8 and other Image characters all are trademarks of Wildstorm Studios/Image Comics. John Constantine and any other Hellblazer- and BoM- related characters all are trademarks of DC/Vertigo Comics. This story is an unauthorized work done purely for my personal enjoyment, and is not intended to infringe on any of their rights in or profits from these characters. But this story is copyright to me.

WARNING:
THERE IS EXPLICIT SEX IN THIS SECTION. I marked this clearly in the individual section header. The sex is graphic, but all loving and consensual (and not that much worse than a typical romance novel). If reading sex scenes like that would offend you, please don't read this.

If you want to comment, send email to <luba@lubakmetyk.net>

Part 7 Reconciliation

It was dusk when Logan finally got back to Westchester, a beautiful warm summer night with bright pinpricks of stars scattered across a deep blue sky, clear now after that afternoon's unpredicted thunderstorm. He chose to walk slowly around the elegant, spacious grounds from the large garage complex in the rear of the main mansion, rather than take a shorter route back, letting the raucous hectic mood of the city drain out of him.

He'd left Harry's late that morning debating with himself whether he should return to the mansion, to see how Kitty and Peter both were doing after all their recent upsets, but he'd decided to drive down into New York instead, to visit the local office of Landau, Luckman and Lake and chivvy the normally unflappable staff there into a veritable frenzy of paperwork establishing several trust funds from his own vast, vague holdings. The long hours of legalistic minutiae had exhausted him more than any battle ever could. Now, walking into the mansion, Logan thought again about going to find Kitty but headed toward the kitchen first.

He'd just grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator and dropped into a chair at the table to drain the bottle in a few thirsty swallows when Psylocke came in, casually elegant in a black silk top over formfitting designer jeans. "Yo, Bets." Logan threw her an enquiring look -- had she been scanning for him, was she looking for him specifically?

Gesturing him to remain seated when he began to stand up, Betsy nodded at him in greeting and confirmation. "Do you want another beer?" At his grunted assent, she brought him another bottle, silently setting a glass down next to it, and seated herself. "Any news on Pete?"

"We talked some, him an' me an' Dom. He ain't mad anymore but he was still gonna go make his fortune 'fore comin' back. He took off with this old buddy of his he called from Harry's. They were gonna go play Indiana Jones an' raid some cult temple th' other guy knew." Logan gave Betsy a hard stare when she guilelessly sipped her own mineral water directly from its elegant designer plastic bottle, then shrugged and grinned, sedately pouring his second beer into the glass she'd so pointedly provided. "So, he ain't shown up back here yet? How's Kitty?"

"No sign of Pete or any word from him -- that I know of, at least. And Kitty is driving everybody crazy, which I assume means she doesn't know where he is, either." As Logan sprawled comfortably in his chair, she went on, "Storm went to see her right after you did, to comfort her for that ruffian walking out on her, in Ororo's own tactful words. Kitty did not take that well, according to Domino. Several of us spent most of the day just trying to keep the two of them apart so things don't get even worse. Are you going to see Kitty now? Shall I check where she is?"

"Nah... but thanks. I'll go see her, o' course, but I wanna talk ta Charlie a bit first." He saw Betsy raise an eyebrow in obvious curiosity, although she was too well-mannered to push. "Pete was right about most things -- we got us several of our people in damn uncomfortable situations moneywise. I went over ta LLL today, ta set up some trusts f'r Kitty and Jubilee. Shoulda done it long ago." He got up to fetch himself another beer, and prowled around the kitchen restlessly. "I shoulda paid more attention, I shoulda noticed Chuck ain't done anything. I don' wanna brag, I'd rather keep my private business private, but I ain't gonna keep them trusts secret. An' I wanta tell Charlie ta do the same f'r any o' the others that need it, an' I figure if I tell him what I did f'r Kitty an' Jubilee, and that I'm gonna tell the others, that should pressure him inta actin', or he'll look pretty bad."

"That could be just a tad risky, you know... trying to shame the Professor into doing something he may not wish to do, for reasons of his own." Her deep violet eyes were very wide and still, staring at him.

"Yeah, so?" He shrugged off her concern even as he was warmed by it. "Thing is, d'ya think it'll work?"

Betsy nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Yes, I must admit that sounds quite a workable scheme -- the trusts themselves, telling the Professor first, then publicizing the whole thing to the team. Do you think that will solve Kitty's current problem with Pete and money? Does Pete know?"

"I doubt it'd help, right now. Yeah, the fool kid knows -- it came up while we was talkin'. An' it mighta helped if I'd done this way back when, so it was really Kitty's money by now, he woulda probably took it ok then. After this mornin', blamed stubborn jackass feels like he's gotta prove himself, an' get his own. But he did end up agreein' this was a good idea -- in fact, he insisted on th' right ta contribute if 'n' when he could." Logan circled the kitchen once more, then came and sat down at the table again, falling silent as he thought back on that afternoon.

Kitty's trust had been relatively easy. She was an adult now, and he intended to treat her that way (even if some others didn't grant her that respect), and give her full control of the transferred assets after only a brief orientation period -- although he certainly intended to recommend to her that she keep LLL on as her investment managers, and that she consult Wisdom and others for more detailed advice. But his purpose was to both guarantee and encourage her own independence and, despite anguished pleas from the local LLL lawyer about retaining himself as the controlling trust officer, Logan had stipulated the trust be written with no hidden strings attached. However, although the ultimate disposition of the funds would be up to Kitty, he'd named Pete as provisional beneficiary in the unlikely event of something happening to Kitty before she made her own arrangements -- after all, he was sure that's what Kitty would do herself.

He hadn't been trying to shield, and Betsy had followed his thoughts easily, as much from the fleeting but eloquent expressions flashing across his craggy countenance as from actually reading his mind. "You mentioned establishing trusts for both Kitty and Jubilee a moment ago, I believe? That was also quite a good move on your part -- I doubt Jubilee will ever lose all traces of jealousy over your prior relationship with Kitty." She held up a slim hand, long mauve nails glinting in the overhead light, to silence Logan's automatic protest. "Yes, yes... of course, we all know your feelings for both those girls are different but equally strong. But still, not triggering Jubilee's insecurities unnecessarily is all to the good." Betsy smiled, a bit impishly. "Unless by some mischance you were sufficiently foolish to name Kitty as her guardian in Jubilee's trust?"

Logan snorted at the image of the endless squabbling that would have ensured. "Nah, Banshee, o' course... an' Emma an' Jeannie both, jointly, if Sean ain't around..." He fell silent, remembering how hard it had been to come to that decision at LLL earlier that afternoon.

He had had no problem naming Banshee as primary guardian, but the meticulous lawyer wanted a "just-in-case" alternative for every possible eventuality. It had taken quite a bit of soul searching and weighing of possible alternatives before Logan had decided to name Emma Frost and Jean Grey as joint backup guardians. Emma had Jubilee now, and she knew money, but Logan couldn't quite trust her enough to name her to act alone. Jean cared deeply for Jubilee, Logan had seen that clearly back when Illyana had died and Jean had comforted the grieving young girl. She might know little or nothing about money, but she'd always put Jubilee first and she'd help keep Emma honest. However, Logan couldn't avoid the nagging concern that, if he had named Jean sole guardian, somehow Scott or the Professor would convince her to turn everything over to the X-Men, that such a move would be for Jubilee's good. With Emma involved, he knew he needn't worry about that particular scenario.

Logan sighed gustily, then went on, a bit awkwardly, "Look, Bets, it ain't that I don't trust ya or nothin' like that, it's just..." His gruff voice trailed away again, as he searched for words to explain his choices.

"It's just that Jubilee has never quite trusted me, ever since that first moment we met when I was still an assassin under the Hand's control." Betsy provided the justification in a calm, level tone. "It's all right, Logan, truly. I approve wholeheartedly of your choices. Banshee loves those children, with all the love he couldn't give Theresa while she was their age. And Emma will guard Jubilee's assets as fiercely as I could, while Jean will give her the maternal care she still needs so desperately, no matter how grown up she pretends to be, as I could not."

"'s not just Jubilee, Bets. I had ta get Amiko settled, too, after Yukio screwed things up by leavin' her with stupid greedy foster folks. I did think of ya, maybe I shoulda asked ya, but..." Logan didn't say any more, he just let his mental shields relax, a silent invitation.

The last trust had been the hardest. Amiko wasn't his protegee or sidekick like Kitty and Jubilee had been, she was just a little girl Logan had rescued from a destroyed building in Tokyo. But Logan's promise to her dying mother to care for her as his own bound him as tightly as any more conventional relationship could. While Mariko had lived, it had been easy -- Mariko had raised and loved Amiko as Logan's child, as her own. But Mariko was gone, and Amiko was still a child. He couldn't transplant her to the States to keep her with him, she wouldn't be safe and he wanted her to grow up in Japan, knowing her own people and culture. Rosie Chang would have been the perfect choice as guardian, but he doubted she would consider leaving Madripoor since her retirement from LLL. Yukio might be his friend, but she'd proven herself an unreliable guardian, a mistake he didn't intend to repeat. Given Amiko's relation with Mariko, he might have expected Clan Yashida to take care of her as a matter of honor, but Logan couldn't bring himself to trust the current clan head, Keniuchio Harada, that far -- they'd fought too many times in the past. The Silver Samurai should respect clan obligation enough that Amiko wouldn't be hurt deliberately or left in want, but he had no personal ties to the little girl and might find it convenient to simply warehouse her somewhere and forget her. Shirohana, Pale Flower, Obuyan of the Double Jade Clan, was a recent acquaintance and still a bit of an unknown, but she seemed his best possible choice in Japan. Her actions attempting to avenge her father's death at Logan's hands had shown a strong sense of honor. However, just as with Emma and Jean, Logan covered his bet by naming Tyger Tiger and Zoe Culloden as auditing guardians. With luck, they'd keep Shirohana in line.

Psylocke got up to fetch him some leftovers for a snack, an unspoken goodwill gesture. "You don't want Amiko to get mixed up with the X-Men, and I can certainly understand that. You wish your ward to have something resembling a normal life, a normal childhood, which Kitty and Jubilee both missed out on. And, even though you said Shirohana is a mutant of some kind, she seems to function quite well in her society -- where mutants are respected, because Shiro is respected -- as we do not, are not, here. Did you think I wouldn't understand, and agree?"

Heaving a sigh of heartfelt relief that her feelings didn't seem to be hurt, Logan changed the subject briskly, asking with a grin, "So what all didya do with Kitty an' 'Ro today, anyway?"

"Where to begin..." Betsy gave a deliberate, melodramatic sigh. "Domino and I both sparred with Kitty for about an hour each -- just traditional martial arts matches, not anything elaborate in the Danger Room." She smiled at Logan suddenly, brilliantly. "She's really very good, you know. And I thought I could detect quite a few traces of your influence." Logan smiled back and gave her a little mock bow of thanks. "But I would bet she has more than enough pent-up frustration to go a few more rounds with you tonight if you'd like. What else, now... Sam asked her to recommend computer equipment that might be usable on a farm, that his family might benefit from and be comfortable with. That was a truly wonderful inspiration on his part. Kitty dragged him off to one of our computers and searched the Net for several hours for ideas like handheld GPS receivers with auxiliary programs suitable for entering crop yields, irrigation data and fertilizer amounts, and mapping land use efficiency, while pestering Sam with all kinds of detailed questions about how the farm worked now. Except for Tabitha pouting, that worked out much better than Bobby asking her about accounting and book-keeping programs, since Drake couldn't quite manage to pretend he was interested in the question or the answer himself." As Logan chuckled at that, Betsy went on, "But Henry absolutely refused to cooperate, when we asked him to deliberately erase some of his data and ask Kitty's help in restoring it. He acted as if we had suggested he commit heresy or something equally despicable." Her lips curved up in a smile at Logan's hearty belly-laugh.

When he'd caught his breath, he grinned back at her over his shoulder while going to get out yet another beer and fetching her another bottle of her mineral water. "So, what didya come up with f'r 'Ro, darlin'?"

"Domino threw Cable into the breach." She nodded solemnly at Logan's whistle of surprise. "Domino must have quite a high opinion of your Pete, if she would... sacrifice... Nathan that way for him." Her lush lips once again curled up in a reminiscent smile. "She knew that no one else had a prayer of getting Ororo away from Kitty. First, he had to go down to the MedLab with her, to apologize to Peter for last night's debacle. Then Nate asked Storm to help him run a surprise training exercise, her against X-Force. That, unfortunately, wasn't exactly an unmitigated success -- Storm was so irritated she demolished all of X-Force singlehandedly in about five minutes. Now Siryn's mad, Tabitha and Roberto and Shatterstar are *all* sulking, and Caliban's feelings are hurt." By now, Logan was shaking with laughter, almost sorry he'd been away. Betsy's smile widened as she spun her improbable but true tale. "Rogue tried to interest her in a new landscaping project, offering to play bulldozer and stump-puller if there were any areas Ororo wanted to change or improve on the grounds. I'm almost glad Storm put her off -- I was quite terrified we might all end up buried in a mudslide or a flood. Then Remy got her away for a few hours, by asking her to help him select a perfect, surprise gift for Rogue for the special occasion he'd forgotten until the last minute."

"And what special occasion is that?" Logan managed to choke that out over his guffaws.

"None." He'd half-expected that answer. "It was actually Rogue's idea, to make up that little shopping emergency. And it worked, and she got a lovely antique cameo brooch and matching earrings out of it."

"Sounds ta me like everyone was in on it." He shook his head in mute admiration.

"Almost. Siryn kept X-Force in the danger room, running their fight with Storm over and over, trying to find some successful counterstrategy. Meggan slept most of the day -- thank goodness, she was exhausted, poor dear -- and Rahne and Amanda took turns sitting with her while Kurt and Douglock visited with Peter in the MedLab. Warren and Brian locked themselves away in the game room to play billiards. Bishop just stalked around silently, scowling as usual. Jean and Scott stayed down at the boathouse, having a... private discussion of their own, according to Nathan."

"An' Charlie? What's he been up ta, an' where is he now? I wanna talk ta him." Logan pushed himself back from the table and stood up, a bit reluctantly.

"The Professor checked on Peter earlier, and talked to Hank, then he buried himself in his office for the rest of the day." Watching him take his little cluster of empty beer bottles to the trash, Betsy sent out a delicate tendril of thought. "He should be there still... Oops..." Her delicate blush clashed with a slightly wicked smile. "He's... taking a comfort break in the attached facilities."

After holding open the door for Betsy, Logan followed her out of the kitchen. He'd just turned to head down the hall toward Xavier's office when the mansion's security system began sounding its alarm.

Mixed in with the klaxon's blare, an artificial voice announced an intruder on the front drive. Betsy and Logan both rushed for the entrance door, although Bishop managed to get outside ahead of them. As more and more X-Men, X-Force and Excalibur came blasting, 'porting, flying, leaping and running out of various doors and windows of the spacious residence and into the front yard, the giant black man levelled his bazooka-sized plasma cannon at the two bright, blinding spots of light approaching, as he began to shout his own warning. "We're being attacked by..."

Bishop cut off his cry in mid-stream when he couldn't figure out what to call the interloper, and it was airborne Meggan's bell-like tones that rose high and clear above the hubbub to finish his aborted identification. "Oh, look, Brian, Betsy, Kitty, everyone... it's a London cab. I didn't know you had them in the States, too. I like them, they're so big and comfy... And isn't that Lockheed playing hood ornament? He's so cute..."

By now the team telepaths had identified one known mindprint within the noticably decrepit vehicle chugging and wheezing its way up the main driveway and Cable silenced the raucous alarm telekinetically. Lockheed launched himself off the bonnet to fly into Kitty's arms while the elderly black auto drew up to stop at the front steps, and the doors opened to let three men out into the sudden silence.

Pete Wisdom was unmistakable, even if his unruly hair and ratty old trenchcoat over torn trousers were all more grey than their usual black, covered with dirt and cobwebs, as were his face and hands and shirt as well. But his grimy face was twisted in a self-satisfied smirk and his scruffy figure moved with a definite hint of a swagger as he climbed out and straightened up to stand next to the cab's open rear door. Only Kitty saw the brief flash of trepidation in the blue eyes which went straight to her slight form in the midst of the throng, and only she noted the faint tremor of fatigue in his wiry frame, in the instant it took her to thrust a protesting Lockheed into Amanda's hands and phase through the crowd to throw her arms around him as she pressed every inch of her body against him tightly, heedless of the dingy filth covering him.

His own arms came up to return her embrace with reassuring strength, belying that hint of exhaustion. Kitty could feel Pete's silent sigh of relief at her unhesitating welcome both in the faint breeze stirring her hair and in the sudden rise and fall of his chest, right before their mouths found each other, oblivious to their mostly cheering audience.

While Kitty and Pete were engrossed in each other, Logan had easily recognized the slightly less filthy blond man who'd gotten out the other side of the back seat clutching a lumpy brown parcel in his arms as the Englishman he'd met just that morning. Not sure whether the telepaths would be able to get much of a reading on him, Wolverine gestured to his still-wary teammates to stand down just as Nightcrawler asked, somewhat hesitantly, "Herr... Constantine, is it not? We met once in London, when you... eliminated that demon for us."

"I fixed that demon for me, mate, cos it were wrecking London an' all my favorite pubs, not for you lot." John carefully set his bundle down on the cab's roof, to free his hands to pull out and light up a cigarette. "An' speaking of sodding pubs, Dani's going t' be right pissed I left her stranded at the frigging party a bloody long time ago. So how's about you save the snogging for later, Pete, an' let's unload so me an' Chas can get back t' our own old ladies -- although I got me a hunch they ain't going t' be waiting on us with bleeding open arms, more like with rolling pins."

Even in the spotty lighting, everyone could easily see the pained wince on the third man's face at that last comment as the tall, swarthy, heavy-set driver walked over quickly to jerk open the boot, grumbling to himself, "Me ol' woman makes me answer th' soddin' phone an' I tell 'im I'm knackered, done fer th' night but, no, get dressed, Chas me ol' mate, an' go out an' drive off south on the bleedin' A1 'e says, an' take the third left... Follow the bloody plonker's directions an' I'm drivin' into a goddamn bloody sunrise in th' middle o' th' night an' I end up in some friggin' hellhole slum, pick up a load o' stupid rubbish it'll take me all soddin' day t' get the ol' cab clean again, an' drive 'im an' that other barmy pisshead wanker back 'ere... wherever the fuckin' hell 'ere is..." After one quick look around, he seemed oblivious to the peculiarities of the crowd surrounding his cab, ignoring blue fur and everything else out of the ordinary -- except that he kept sneaking brief glances at Warren.

Wisdom released Kitty reluctantly with a final quick hug and kiss, and leaned back inside the cab to haul out what seemed to be an old, torn gunny sack, just as filthy as Pete and John themselves. Kitty had just grabbed a corner of the awkwardly-shaped bag to help drag it out of the car onto the drive when Rogue pushed them both aside gently. "Hey, y'all, lemme help." The skunk-haired beauty easily hefted the heavy sack over one shoulder, then bent to reach inside and pull out another bag which she tucked under her arm, still with no sign of any strain. Turning toward the mansion, she asked with an exaggerated Southern drawl, "C'mon, now, ain't none o' ya big strong hunks gonna help?"

"Of course they will!" Meggan pulled a protesting Braddock forward. The delicate blonde elemental grabbed another bag from the passenger front seat and thrust it at her fiance, who tried to recoil from the dirty gunny sack but clutched at it reflexively and let out an anguished "Oof!" when it caught him square in the stomach. Meggan then effortlessly picked up the other bag lying on the cab front floor and led Brian inside in Rogue's wake, trailed by a few of the fascinated onlookers.

"Hey, I can make an ice slide and we could just put all that stuff on it," Bobby Drake offered eagerly.

"And then some poor sucker gets stuck cleaning up all that melting slush from the hallway carpet? I *don't* think so, Popsicle..." Tabitha was still in more than a bit of a snit, but quite a few of the audience nodded in agreement with her point anyway.

Responding to Domino's pointed look, Cable moved around to the open boot with a frazzled sigh, wondering grumpily whether this day would ever end. Lifting out yet another heavy sack, ignoring Storm's disapproving glare while he glanced around to see who else was available, he issued preemptory orders. "DaCosta, Proudstar, take these other two bags..."

Jimmy came forward immediately but Sunspot hung back, resenting being drafted for what he considered menial labor. Before Cable could reiterate his irritated demand or Domino or Siryn second it, Caliban pushed forward. "Caliban will help friend kittypryde and little stinkeyman, friend Nathan." The giant Morlock tracker snatched at the sack Warpath held loosely. The worn burlap of the old bag caught on the cab's rusty boot and tore open, spilling a scintillating cascade of jewels to lie shining on the gravel.

As Caliban began apologizing tearfully, and Kitty and Siryn hurried to reassure him, Gambit went to one knee, ignoring the sharp bite of the gravel as he reached out a hand to lift an elaborate emerald-and-diamond necklace. "Magnifique," he murmured reverently, and it wasn't clear if the master thief was referring to the beauty of that individual piece or the magnitude of the entire haul, sacks and sacks filled with such gems.

"Better watch them sticky fingers, Gumbo," Logan growled warningly.

"Should we expect the police to come and make enquiries about your new-found wealth, Mr. Wisdom?" Xavier interrupted. He had arrived later than the others, and had been watching from the top of the entry stairs.

Before Pete could reply or Kitty could protest, John crushed out his cigarette stub and drawled, "Nah, no bloody peelers looking for us, mate. A few pissed-off priests o' death, mebbe some kamikaze thuggees or a few minor demons, 's all. But don't you worry, I'm keeping all the good stuff with the real nasty curses on it for meself."

"So, like your fellow compatriot Robin Hood, you justify theft on the grounds that you take from the evil wealthy to benefit the deserving poor, namely yourselves?" Storm's lip curled in a supercilious sneer, to mask her raging disappointment. She'd been composing paeans of thanksgiving to her goddess that Wisdom was gone, convincing herself that her Kitten would come to accept that fact and need her own well-intentioned comfort soon, and here the ruffian was, not only back again, but apparently defectively cloned in washed-out shades of tan instead of black and white.

"No' like us, eh, Stormy?" LeBeau threw her a dirty look from where he sat in the driveway running his fingers through the scattered gemwork. "When we was t'ieves t'geder..."

Glancing over at Wisdom quickly, Constantine turned to the tall regal figure, with no hint of discomfiture at the static electricity snapping sparks off the end of Storm's flowing white mane. "I'd say they were more like wealthy evil, myself, but I ain't justifying nothing to nobody."

"I remember the X-Men taking over Magneto's island base soon after I joined, Ororo -- and everything inside, lock, stock and barrel -- and nobody objected or yelled 'thief!' then," Kitty riposted immediately. She'd noticed Pete and John exchanging that glance, and figured there was more to the story than the obvious. She wasn't concerned, she knew Pete would tell her everything eventually, in decent privacy.

But, in that brief silent exchange, the two informal partners had agreed not to mention the deal they'd cut with the local slum dwellers, with their spokeman the old monk, actually, leaving them all the heavier, less valuable silver -- which the Hindu holy man had assured them would be less suspicious and easier to dispose of -- in return for their old rice sacks and their help carrying the loaded bags out of the subterranean cavern to Chas' vehicle. Pete had worried about possible retribution by the cult, but the monk had promised that he'd have everyone dispersed to relatives in distant villages within a day, where they'd be guaranteed a warm welcome given the rich goods they were bringing their new neighbors. But Pete was apparently the only one worried. The monk and his ragtag congregation had seemed to have utmost confidence in the elaborate mass of gibberish John had inscribed and chanted around the temple, that he'd sworn would keep the surviving cult members off anyone's trail -- although the locals had refused to enter first the building and then the tunnel until Constantine had taken what they considered appropriate precautions.

Filing away Pete's and John's momentary abstraction for future consideration also, Domino spoke up immediately after Kitty. "And we didn't exactly reimburse Arcade when X-Force took over Murderworld to use as our base, Storm," she pointed out coolly. "It wasn't my best idea ever, true, but Nate didn't object from ethical or moral considerations, only because of Arcade's boobytraps..."

Logan decided that, after his unofficial day off, it was his turn to try to make Storm keep the peace. "'Sides, 'Ro, didn'cha tell me once that th' first time ya ran inta ol' Charlie was when ya tried ta pick his pocket, back when ya were the best li'l thief in Cairo?"

Jean sent all the participants in that little verbal sniping round a firm "Behave!" mentally, then telekinetically gathered up the scattered jewels and went inside with a glittering cloud surrounding her, tailed by a solemn giant pale Morlock gingerly cradling the partially filled, torn sack Theresa had carefully rewrapped for him and arranged in his arms with a soothing, "Hush now, Caliban. See, carry it jist like tha', an' there willna be more spills."

As Betsy watched that whole exchange, silently, in rapt fascination, head swivelling from speaker to speaker as if following the volleys in a tennis match, Warren decided he was getting really fed up with the last man's constant silent scrutiny. "What are you staring at? You've never seen blue skin and wings before?" he snapped.

Chas jumped, then yelped as he accidentally slammed the cab boot shut on his thumb. "Seen a bloody lot stranger than you, mate, some o' John's friggin' weirdo friends," he blustered around the injured digit he was sucking in a futile attempt to ease the pain. "I were just wonderin', see..."

"Wondering what?" Betsy forestalled her lover's irritated response, sensing there'd been nothing malicious in the newcomer's interest.

"Whether you was any relation t' this pisshead angel named Gabriel, wot with them wings an' all..." Her purple hair didn't faze Chas at all, he actually found it easier on his eyes than Rich's peacock blue punk cut or Michelle's fluorescent lime green tresses.

"I don't think so." But Worthington sounded a bit mollified at such a reasonable explanation. "They call me Angel too, but that's just a code name. I'm a mutant, not a real angel, and I don't have any relatives with wings that I know of. Why? This Gabriel you know has wings too?" Now he was curious; he didn't know of many other winged flyers.

Looking over his shoulder furtively to be sure Constantine couldn't hear him, Chas muttered sotto voce, "Well, now, see, ol' ConJob there, 'e don't get along right well with that soddin' holy-holy crowd upstairs. Even if you ain't a real live angel, you might not want t' turn yer back on 'im, 'specially not when he's got a friggin' chainsaw near t' hand..." Ignoring the stunned looks on Warren's and Betsy's face, he walked around to shut the open doors of the cab, passing Constantine still leaning on the cab, and got into the driver's seat himself to wait for his friend impatiently, stonewalling the quick spate of followup questions.

John, of course, hadn't missed that exchange, but he elected not to say anything. Instead, ignoring the remaining crowd, he straightened up and nodded at Wisdom, "Right, mate. We'll be off, then."

Scowling, Pete left Kitty's side and headed for the cab. "Not so bloody fast. You empty out yer pockets first, an' lemme check the coat, too. An', Dom, you search the cab fer me..." His target tried putting on a patently innocent and injured look, which his younger countryman ignored with the ease of long acquaintance. "I know you, you wankin' pisshead, an' I know there's good reason some o' the pub crowd call you ConJob. The deal was, you get the magic goodies an' I get the rest. You got all yer scrolls an' them bloody magic stones -- so empty the pockets, mate."

Sighing, Constantine reached into his trousers pockets and pulled out several handfuls of jewelry, handing the bright baubles over into Logan's outstretched hands without any further protest, except for a petulant, "That's the bloody thanks we get? I figured poor ol' Chas here deserves a tip, like, was all..."

"I'll settle up with poor ol' Chas meself, later." Wisdom patted him down professionally while the blond man held his arms out theatrically, not looking guilty even after Pete fished out a few more rings which the older Englishman had somehow overlooked. "Right, give over the coat now."

The tan trenchcoat made into a bundle was still sitting on the roof of the cab. John lifted it down and handed it over, slowly, reluctantly. Pete dropped down to sit on the driveway, ignoring the gravel, and started pulling at the sleeves tied around to hold the impromtu parcel intact. "Oy!" Constantine dropped down to sit next to his suspicious partner. "Them old scrolls are delicate, mate." He yanked his precious bundle away and began undoing it himself, gently, until he had the coat spread out on the ground between them. Wisdom didn't apologize, but accepted the rebuke and slowed down, his long fingers sifting delicately through the books and scrolls, carefully avoiding the sharp edges of the sacrificial knives, occasionally pausing to pluck out more elaborate gemwork from the folds of the coat lining and toss his finds onto the gravel at his side.

When he stopped, and pushed the coat and its remaining contents at its scowling owner, the mesmerized Gambit suddenly came to life. "Merde! Are you blind, homme?"

The Cajun thief reached out towards the two enormous rubies left among the aged literature, only to have his hand slapped away viciously by a now highly irritated Constantine. Regardless of their own frequent disagreements with their often insubordinate and rebellious teammate, Bishop growled and moved forward menacingly, and Cyclops also stepped forward automatically, frowning, only to be brought up short by Amanda porting in front of them exclaiming, "Don't! Don't anybody touch those! I can feel the dark magic there, just lurking..."

Nightcrawler had ported next to Amanda as soon as he registered her move, and unexpected inhalation of his characteristic brimstone stench slowed the two X-Men down, giving Wisdom a chance to growl, "Yeah. That were our deal, John gets t' keep all th' magic crap, an' them Flames o' Whatever-'e-Called-It are friggin' magic, I saw that fer meself."

Kitty reached out her hand to help pull her prodigal lover back to his feet, groaning, while Constantine carefully rewrapped his acquisitions and hauled himself up standing with a hand on the nearby cab door. "Ok, mate? *Now* are we done?" All he got was a negligent wave from Wisdom, who had wrapped his other arm around Kitty and was muttering into her ear.

As soon as Rahne and Douglock had finished collecting all the loose jewelry scattered around the driveway, the old black cab started up with a fart of sooty-black smoke and wheezed away down the driveway.

"I will go open the front gate for them, and disable the alarms."

Bishop was in the door before Wisdom could lift his head to call out, "Don't bother. That plonker can get in an' out o' anywhere he wants, no matter what you do." While the security fanatic sputtered, the Englishman pulled Kitty inside, their remaining audience following closely behind.

While most of the mansion's regular inhabitants joined the overseas visitors clustering around the mounds of glittering baubles being unpacked from their deceptively grungy sacks, Betsy came up to Jean, her delicate touch on her teammate's arm accompanied by an equally feather-light touch on her mind. "May I have a few moments of your time, please?"

The spectacular redhead glanced around. Seeing everyone's attention rivetted on Wisdom's recent acquisitions, she let the other woman steer her to a quiet corner of the large room. "Of course. What is it, Betsy? Something wrong with Peter, or is this about Pete -- or Ororo?"

"To the best of my knowledge, Peter is fine, and still resting. Hank is with him, and would let us know if there were a problem. This is about him and Pete, yes, but not about Storm's obduracy or Pete's ingenious -- if rather disingenuous -- solution to his money woes. I was wondering..." Psylocke paused then, at an uncharacteristic loss for words, then visibly steeling herself went on bluntly, "...if you perhaps had seen anything in Peter's mind during your scans of him today that would explain Kitty's comment last night, about being afraid Peter would go after Pete again?" She had just asked her fellow telepath to violate all the ethics Xavier harped on so constantly, and her words flowed more smoothly once she'd gotten past that hurdle. "I detected quite a large amount of suppressed rage and resentment and self-pity in his psyche, that did not appear to be related to that psychic harpy's taking advantage of him last night, but I was too busy trying to reverse all the damage to investigate further, especially with Meggan in the linkage."

Jean squirmed, visibly, her eyes flying first to her husband and then over to the Professor, as if seeking their guidance. She chose her words carefully, knowing Betsy would sense if she were telling the truth. "No, I didn't notice anything like that while I was scanning Peter after we got back last night, but I wasn't looking for anything like that, either. You know we don't go arbitrarily burrowing through people's minds. I was just supposed to verify you and Meggan had succeeded..."

Betsy interrupted her, a bit sharply. "Let me rephrase my question, then -- do you know anything, from any source, that would explain Kitty's comment and concern?" Watching those green eyes shift away, listening to the awkward silence while she waited for a reply, Betsy nodded to herself. "Look, Jean, I am not a tabloid reporter snooping for some juicy gossip. I have felt a very strong bond to Kitty ever since one of my first duties on this team was holding her mind together after the Morlock massacre left her discorporate. You must realize, no telepath could come to know her that well and not care for her deeply. And I happen to like her Pete -- he's refreshingly honest and realistic," with a fleeting, wicked smile, "and cute and sexy." While Jean struggled to stifle her laughter, Betsy sobered again. "But even leaving aside my concern for Kitty and Pete -- Jean, my brother is on that team, too. My brother, whom I love dearly, and Meggan, whom I consider a sister, are both on the same team that Peter has joined. If there is some concern about Peter and his behavior, I want to know, and I want Brian and Meggan to know."

Listening to that heartfelt appeal, Jean suddenly made up her mind. "What I know I can't tell you, because it's something Kurt told Scott in confidence. I believe Kitty and Pete have also agreed not to talk about it, either -- in fact, the whole team agreed to that, apparently. But Brian and Meggan do know, you don't need to worry about that, and if you want to know more I suggest you ask them."

"Thank you, Jean. I will." The transformed Englishwoman laid her hand on her erstwhile rival's arm lightly, again, this time in silent gratitude, understanding more than just the simple words.

While the two telepaths huddled in their corner, Amanda marched up to Kitty and Pete where they stood arm-in-arm watching the others exclaiming over Wisdom's assorted loot. She was trailed by a drooping Nightcrawler, sporting a distinctly sheepish look on his face.

"Kurt has something to say to you, Kitty, Pete." The young sorceress glared at her blue-furred boyfriend, grabbing him by the arm to pull him forward. "Ok, Kurt -- you're on."

"Err... umm... yes..." His gaze flickered wildly over Wisdom's smugness, Kitty's puzzlement and Amanda's righteous indignation, then he straightened up, took a deep breath, and said, very formally, "I wish to apologize to you, Herr Wisdom... err, Pete, and to you also, Katzchen, for any contribution to your... imbroglio this morning which could be traced to my oversight in not discussing our team's financial arrangements with you immediately upon your joining us. I can only plead that my negligence was not by any means intended to be malicious, but was merely self-serving convenience. It is an awkward subject even at the best of times, as you yourselves may have recently discovered." Wagner winced then, as Amanda jabbed him in the ribs, but continued gamely, "Initially, I expected the subject to come up naturally, in regular conversation; later, I quite simply did not think about the matter at all. After all, you must admit we are seldom in situations requiring money. Nevertheless, it was my responsibility to induct you into our team arrangements, and my fault I failed to do so. But, please, make no mistake about this, I do -- we all do -- indeed consider you a full member of the team."

Amanda smiled at her lover proudly. "See, Fuzzy, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Kurt ignored her, his bright yellow eyes watching the other couple's reactions, especially the expressive brown eyes of one of his oldest and dearest friends.

They looked at each other, and Wisdom nodded to Kitty to speak first. "You didn't cause our fight this morning, fuzzy elf, I did that all by myself. And I didn't ever really believe you'd do anything on purpose to get rid of Pete," adding with a sly grin, "especially since you should be smart enough to know I'd leave with him." But she couldn't ignore Kurt's handsome apology or hold out against his woebegone expression. "I'm sorry, too, that I got mad, and that I blamed you."

"Yeah, no hard feelin's, mate." Wisdom didn't mind that Wagner's apology had been directed as much or more toward Kitty and Amanda as to himself. He would have forgiven anybody anything that led to Kitty's spontaneous declaration of unconditional loyalty. "In fact..." he walked over to the closest pile of riches and, grabbing a hefty double handful, came back to dump his load into a stupefied Nightcrawler's three-fingered hands, "'ere, our contribution to team expenses like, right?"

It was Kitty's turn now to beam at her lover proudly, while Amanda laughed and wrapped an arm around her dumbfounded cavalier to hug him tightly. "He got you good, Kurt." She picked up a heavy gold armband shaped into a tightly coiled king cobra and held it up to the light, watching the glittery reflections run up and down its sinuous curves.

Pete glanced over at Kitty, raising his eyebrows enquiringly, and at her nod said, "Have it, Sefton, or anythin' else wot you like." As the voluptuous strawberry-blonde stewardess released her boyfriend to rush over and dig into the nearest pile with a delighted squeal, Wisdom waved an arm, raising his voice to be heard throughout the spacious room. "You help yerselves too, ladies, anybody wot wants."

Few women could resist the lure of glittering gold and gemstones, and the X-women proved no exception. Rogue joined Amanda with an equally loud exclamation of pleasure, and Jean wasn't far behind her. Betsy followed more decorously, pulling Meggan along with her, but soon they were also happily rooting through the masses of jewelry, holding up individual items to the light and asking each other's advice.

"I'm impressed, Pete. That's pretty generous of you, when you hardly know most of my friends, and some of them haven't made a very good first impression," Kitty murmured to him.

"Nah," Pete smirked down at her. "Most o' th' ladies been fine -- except fer the mother-in-law from hell, o' course. But it's worth it, just to see the looks on them wankers." He glanced around, drinking in the sour expressions on Scott's and Warren's and Brian's faces. Then he spotted Rahne hanging back shyly. His voice softened noticeably as he called, "Hey, wolf-lassie, you got t' dig somethin' out fer the madwoman o' Muir an' yerself too -- mebbe somethin' matchin'?"

As Betsy and Meggan waved Rahne to join them, Pete was rewarded with a hug and a wet kiss on the ear as Kitty murmured to him dulcetly, "You big bad faker, Wisdom. You're just a sweetie pie at heart."

Twisting away to hide his flush of embarassment, Pete noticed Domino propped up against the wall, viewing the laughing, undignified scrabble sardonically, and grinned at her. "Dom, c'mon, don't be a soddin' grouch. If you don't want any feminine fluff, you can go peddle yer pick an' buy yerself a new gun, right?" Wisdom's smirk widened as Cable and Logan both started coughing and choking, as did Siryn and Proudstar.

The enigmatic ex-mercenary slid her eyes sideways, to where Siryn and Tabitha were hanging back, staring at the other women enviously, then glanced at her old friend to see if he'd gotten the hint. Wisdom gave her a hard look in return, then called, "Hey, Irish, join in -- I don't want you sayin' the bloody English never gave you sods nothin' but the friggin' RUC an' the bleedin' Provos."

He ignored Domino's and Cable's fierce frowns and Theresa's surprise, glaring back at Tabitha, shrugging off her hurt look and Kitty's frantic tugs at him with a muttered "No way in hell, Pryde, after the stunt she pulled on us a few day back." Pete had always made a firm rule to never forget a favor and never forgive a bad turn, and now that meant especially not anything involving Kitty.

Tabitha bit her lip, hard, then pushed her teammate forward. "Go on, Terry, find something extra-special and super-expensive." Even that bit of class didn't soften Wisdom, who stoically watched as the punk blonde turned away into Sam's sheltering arms, while Bobby daCosta and Jimmy hovered over their teammate protectively.

Trying to escape the uncomfortable confrontation, but not willing to criticize her lover in public -- and certainly not in front of Xavier or Storm -- Kitty moved away, ostensibly to help Rahne select something for the absent Moira. Deprived of her restraining influence and supportive embrace, Pete turned to stare at Storm. "What's eatin' you, yer divine goddess-ship? Waitin' fer a bleedin' special invite, like?"

Ororo drew herself up, crossing her arms across her chest, sneering, "No, thank you. My respect and my approval are not for sale, and I have given up my thieving days -- unlike some here..."

LeBeau winced at her vitriolic tone. As an unintended side-effect of her obsession to portray Kitty's lover in the most unsympathetic light possible, she was rejecting the entire basis underlying their special friendship, those long-ago days when an unrepentant master thief had befriended a younger Storm who'd temporarily lost her powers and her memory and was living on the streets off her wits and her thieving skills. "Gambit help y', homme, if y' like. It no' be easy t' unload all o' dis t'rough any official channels, wit'out floodin' de market. But ol' Gambit still have contacts wit' de guild, an' dey help y' move dis loot nice an' slow, an' get de best deals."

"We don't gotta sell it all here, Gumbo. I betcha LLL could dispose of a dam' big chunk, in other times an' places. Ya know, kid, we gotta talk about that an' a couple other things before you guys take off soon."

"I could perhaps help, also. Not with the selling -- at least, not with selling *this* much," Betsy looked around at the incredible treasure trove surrounding her, where she sat on the floor sorting through several choice pieces, "but later, with investment advice both here in the States and back home in Britain, after you have converted some fraction of your newfound wealth to a more liquid form." She ignored both her brother's and her lover's frowns. They had no say in the matter; after all, they both refused to allow her to participate in managing the Worthington or Braddock estates in any way.

Logan drew the younger man aside. "Better take her up on it, kid -- Kitty ain't gonna let ya go ask Emma f'r business advice..." he muttered, careful not to be overheard.

The two men suddenly felt goosebumps rising as a cold breeze came from nowhere. "All of this... 'booty' must be inventoried, at once. We do not wish there to be any possibility for its... 'owner' to later claim that anything went missing while in our residence."

Ororo's crass comment earned several dirty looks, which she loftily ignored. Before Wisdom could come out with a wisecracking reply, Xavier broke his long silence. "I agree with Storm -- a complete inventory is a necessity, lest there be further unpleasantness later. Robert, you are an accountant. That makes you the obvious candidate to prepare such an itemized list, in the appropriate detail that would be suitable for formal submission to outside auditors such as an insurance agency, for example."

"Aw, geez, Prof, that'll take *forever*!" Quailing under Xavier's glacial glare, Iceman modulated his whine slightly. "It'll take me all night! Can't it wait until tomorrow, at least?"

"It won't be that bad, Bobby," Rogue soothed him. "Remy c'n help ya, he can give ya th' descriptions an' pretty close guesses at values." Gambit nodded at that -- he wouldn't mind the excuse to examine every single item, to satisfy his professional curiosity. "An' A'll help ya, too, sugah -- A can help ya write down th' entries once ya show me th' right format. It'll go fast soon 's we get our act t'gether."

"And Bishop will stay, to help you pack things away properly as soon as each piece is inventoried." The involuntary draftee threw a black look at his one-time historic idol, wondering -- not for the first time -- how the X-Men lived up to the legends he'd grown up worshipping.

But, before the volunteer and the volunteered could begin their work, Ororo interrupted yet again. "Pray, explain something to me, Mr. Wisdom. You have allowed everyone else -- well, *almost* everyone else -- to help themselves, but you do not feel obligated to offer Kitty even a single minor piece, as a tangible sign of your supposed undying devotion?"

Suppressing a wild desire to pick up the nearest ring and offer it to Kitty on bended knee, Wisdom shook himself mentally. It would almost be worth it just to see the look on Storm's haughty face if she mistook it as a proposal, but there was too big a chance that Kitty might make the same mistake. Instead, he simply shrugged. "Why bother? Pryde can have any friggin' bit she wants, see, it's 'alf hers anyways..."

"Pete, don't be silly!" Kitty's flustered protest floated out into the dead silence fallen at his words. "You got that for yourself, you took all the risks, you can't just give so much away, to me or to anyone."

"I got all this fer us, not fer me," he snapped back. "Ok, so half of it really belongs t' the bloody flyin' rat. Wot, you think he ain't plannin' t' give you his share, he's goin' t' keep it an' start a dragon hoard in a cave on Muir?"

"Yah!" Everyone jumped at Lockheed's smoky cry of agreement from where he lay curled up in a cozy hollow he'd dug in one of the glittering piles, eerily reminiscent of a miniature purple Smaug.

The crowd began to disperse, slowly. Bobby Drake trudged off to get a laptop to enter his inventory, and Bishop went out to fetch some proper packing material. Rogue gave one more admiring look at the wide, flashy ruby-and-diamond choker she'd selected, and stuffed it into her pocket. She glanced down at Gambit where he sat on the floor, long clever fingers delicately sifting through the spilled contents of one of the gunny sacks, crooning lovingly to each piece in turn. "Ah'll be back in just a minute, sugah. Ah wanna talk ta 'Roro for a li'l bit, first."

She waited for his absent "Sure t'ing, chere" and then walked over to join Storm who was standing ramrod-straight, arms folded across her chest, staring at Kitty and Pete walking out together, his arm around her slim shoulders, her arm snug around his waist. Without turning her head, Ororo snorted derisively, "Look at them, Rogue. Has she no pride left, my poor, deluded Kitten? He argues with her, he demands that she choose between him and her friends, he walks out on her and leaves her crying. And she welcomes him back without a single word of reproach -- all while, at the same time, she refuses to forgive Peter a few momentary lapses."

Rogue shook her head slightly. "Ya know somethin' 'Ro? Ta me, that sounds a whole lot more like what happened between you an' Forge than Kit an' Pete. Just 'cause ya chose ta put th' X-Men first don't mean she's gotta do th' same." The Southern belle ignored the icy glare transferred to herself. She'd known her self-appointed intervention wouldn't be well received, even before she'd started with such a sharp reminder of the other woman's failed relationship, but she couldn't resist the unexpected opening Storm's comment had so conveniently provided. However, her shock approach hadn't broken through Ororo's self-righteous hauteur, so Rogue tried deliberately lightening her tone. "Ah thought ya promised ta try an' give Kit an' Pete a fair shake, just a day or two ago?"

"I foolishly let Logan and Kurt convince me that my concerns were unfounded. But that was before the events of the past few days proved my fears about Kitty -- and Peter also -- being hurt in this situation were quite legitimate." Her lip curled superciliously. "And I certainly have no intention of allowing myself to be bribed to accept his presence in her life, or ours, as others have -- as you so obviously have, for that or some other reason I cannot fathom."

As the room emptied slowly, Betsy glimpsed her brother and Meggan leaving -- even in this crowd of large bodies and magnificent physiques, Brian's blond hair flickered and shone above the others. Wanting to follow up on her earlier conversation with Jean, she started after her vanishing relative, only to be brought up short by her own boyfriend's approach. "Hey, Bets, did you get a chance to ask what on earth that driver was babbling about, angels and chainsaws?"

"No, I didn't. There hasn't exactly been a lot of opportunity yet." Warren slid his arm around her waist and started off toward their own quarters, but Betsy planted her feet. "You go ahead. I want to go talk to Brian and Meggan. And don't wait up for me -- this may take a while."

"Ya didn't exactly welcome me with open arms either, sugah, remember? When Ah first came ta th' X-Men?" Rogue still hadn't forgotten her own first days with the X-Men. It was an interesting question, whether it had been Kitty or Ororo who'd mistrusted her more, although it had been Ororo as leader who'd argued most against her admittance, who'd threatened to quit if Rogue were allowed to stay. Her own long-ago struggle to be accepted had certainly made her more sympathetic to what Wisdom was going through on his first visit. "But Ah figured ya'd gotten over that since then, learned ta be more tolerant, more accepting o' folk wantin' ta turn their lives around. Y'all even took in Mags, for heaven's sake, ta take Xavier's place, an' ya didn't raise this much ruckus 'bout him joinin'."

"Spare me the usual lecture, Rogue," Storm snapped impatiently. "Yes, I know not all the X-Men have always been pure as the driven snow. However, Magnus did stand trial for his past crimes, and was acquitted. Jean may have destroyed an inhabited planet, but that was not truly Jean, that was the Phoenix. Warren was controlled by Apocalypse when he was his Horseman of Death. Psylocke tried to kill Logan and Jubilee, but she'd been brainwashed by the Hand. Lorna and Dazzler were possessed by Malice, and the Goddess alone knows how many times Alex has been subverted by someone or something. Peter attacked us, yes, but only after he had been brainwashed by Arcade, and later taken over by the Shadow King -- as so many others were. But when he was himself, even though he had elected to follow Magneto, he did not fight against us on Avalon, he remained an X-Man at heart and helped us, instead."

The regal team leader had moved closer, her expression hardening, and Rogue first shifted back hastily, then consciously halted her instinctive retreat, shivering at the sudden chill as Storm's icy voice went on, "You have no such convenient excuse for your past actions, Rogue, neither does Remy, and neither does that man. You were not forced to join Mystique's Brotherhood and participate in its activities, Remy was not forced to join the Thieves' Guild and take part in its activities, and Wisdom was not forced to join Black Air and participate in its activities."

"Raven an' Irenie were mah family, Storm, they took me in jus' like ol' LeBeau took Remy in an' the Guild was his family." Rogue bristled in automatic defense of her foster parents and Gambit both. "Jus' like ya said ol' Achmed took ya in as a chil' inta his gang o' street thieves back in Cairo..."

"But Wisdom cannot blame family connections for his career choice." Storm raised her voice slightly to override Rogue's indignant retort, her elegant, long-fingered hand waving away Rogue's reminder of her own past. "The Professor took you in, and Logan -- and even Sabertooth -- to help you control your powers, and yourselves, so that innocent people might not be hurt. Do you see this Wisdom asking for, or accepting, such tutoring? I do not. I assume your own questionable past, and Remy's, allows you to welcome that man as you so apparently do -- but I do not. I also believe your inability to touch anyone causes you to mistake physical involvement, which you so desperately crave for yourself, for true emotion. I do not."

"You're the one can't recognize their feelin's are real, 'Roro. Yeah, maybe mah problems do help me see how happy them two are together, an' just how special that is. Just like Ah thought th' Professor an' y'all were so special, that ya really meant all that preachin' about forgiveness an' second chances." Rogue was fighting hard now to suppress the tears that wanted to flow at the unexpected attack, and managed to hold back all but the merest quiver in her voice. "When y'all took me in from the Brotherhood, ya showed me second chances were for real. An' Ah've tried real hard ta prove Ah deserved that, an' Remy's tried hard, too..."

"Perhaps so," the tall woman shrugged stiffly, careless of the effect of her cutting words. "But I had hoped that the recent fiasco with Creed would have taught us that not everyone is redeemable, but apparently not even that debacle can shake some people's naivete."

Rogue sputtered "Ya can't really compare Pete with Sabertooth?!"

"Why not?" Storm asked, quite clinically. She'd taken advantage of her position as co-leader of the X-Men to get into Cable's files, as well as Excalibur's, and had read up on Pete's career to date. "They are both killers. The only difference I can see is that Wisdom prefers to kill from ambush, from a distance, while Creed prefers the thrill and risk of direct contact. And I fear that he will lead Kitty into his dark ways."

"Kitty ain't a killer, same's Pete ain't a killer." Rogue shook her head in frustration, a poor substitute for shaking the frowning figure in front of her. "Just because either of them could kill if they gotta don't mean they'd enjoy it, which is what makes a real killer. Ah learned that way back when with Momma an' th' Brotherhood. An' that's th' difference between Creed an' Pete -- no way do Ah believe Pete would ever enjoy it, same 's Ah never enjoyed it. They're both of 'em fighters, just like Logan. It was Logan taught Kit everything she knows 'bout fightin' -- so now you're saying you don't trust Logan's teachin'?"

Ororo threw her a condescending look from cold blue eyes. She hadn't trusted Logan's influence or judgement ever since discovering Logan knew Wisdom, and actually seemed to approve of the Englishman. "Logan is a killer too, Rogue, let us not fool ourselves. And Kitty has always had a dark side to her, let us acknowledge that, also. She needs Peter's simple gentleness, his placid innocence, to temper her spirit, to rein in her wildness, not this man encouraging its free release."

Xavier reached the sanctuary of his office with a feeling of relief, then stiffened as he felt a presence waiting for him within. Signalling the door to open, he guided his hoverchair inside, only to stop again and frown at the sight of Logan sitting next to his desk, leaning his chair back precariously on two legs, his feet propped on the edge of Xavier's imported mahogany desk, puffing away on a cigar.

Before the Professor could dismiss him with the reasonable excuse of the late hour, Logan let his chair fall back down onto the floor with a thump easily audible despite the plush carpeting. He waved the cigar at Xavier, ignoring the other man's frown of disapproval, and announced in his usual raspy, grating tones, "I wanna talk ta ya, Chuck -- an' I ain't leavin' 'til I do, an' I ain't waitin' 'til later."

"Why are ya so blamed set on pushin' Petey an' Kit back together? They ain't been a couple f'r a long time. An' Petey may have been the sweet innocent farmboy once, long ago, but he's full 'a problems now, problems it ain't fair ta blame on Kit or expect her ta fix..." Rogue floundered to a halt. It was obvious from the obdurate look on Storm's exotic face that the other woman wasn't really listening.

"Because he needs her. He needs her strength, her support." Storm spoke slowly, simply, as if explaining two+two to a recalcitrant child. "Because we owe it to him, for taking him from his home and his family. Because *I* owe it to him. He lost his sister because I decided we stay in Australia and let the world think us dead. He lost his brother because I did not take better care of the Morlocks. I cannot bring Illyana or Mikhail back to him, but I can get Kitty back for him."

"It ain't Kit's responsibility ta pay f'r your own dumb mistakes, 'Roro," she snapped back. Feeling as if the light bulb had just gone on over her head, then, Rogue blurted out, "'Sides, ya just want 'em back together 'cause Petey wouldn't try 'n' take her away," then wondered if that would make the other woman even more angry.

But Storm just nodded complacently. "Yes, now you understand. Of course I would have no problem sharing my Kitten with Peter, I love them both. But that odious Wisdom wants to take her away, as Raven lured Forge away. And he will slowly erode the high ethics and morals we have all tried so hard to instill in her -- as he is already so obviously doing -- just as Raven did with Forge, leaving the once-honorable Maker now only a government lackey, running a 'team' with the likes of Mystique and Sabertooth on it, a perversion of Xavier's dream for which we have all sacrificed so much. But Peter will bring Kitty back here, to me and to the other X-Men, back where they both belong, where the dream is still kept pure and unsullied. And you should help me bring them back together, since it is your fault that Kitty is in Excalibur now, that she is not here with us where she belongs and that she and Peter are not together."

"How can ya say that?" Rogue sputtered in shock. "What happened ain't ma fault, it ain't anybody's fault, it's just th' way things turned out."

Storm sighed impatiently. "Think, Rogue. If you had not come running to Professor Xavier and the X-Men with your problems after absorbing Carol Danvers, if I had not been hit by Forge's neutralizer by government agents aiming to apprehend you for that attack, I would still have had my powers when the Marauders attacked the Morlocks, and I could have stopped Kitty and Peter being so terribly injured they had to be sent away, to Muir."

Ignoring Rogue's appalled expression, she went on implacably, "After all, whose fault was it that Kitty was hurt so badly during that battle? She almost died, trying to save you from Vertigo. If not for that, Kitty would have stayed with the X-Men, she would have been with us in Dallas, as Peter was, and they would have grown back together naturally over time, especially in the isolation of the Australian outback. But she was left alone to run loose on Muir Island instead, where Kurt and Moira did not take sufficient care to keep her from meeting and following this appalling man who is bent on seducing her away from me, from us, from everything the X-Men stand for."

Satisfied that she'd put a stop to the other woman's ill-considered interference, Storm spun on her heel and stalked away, oblivious to the look of stunned hurt on Rogue's face.

Betsy's abrupt entry into the guestroom, with the briefest hint of a perfunctory knock, was somewhat reminiscent of a British frigate bearing down on a corsair suspected of smuggling. "Brian, I want to talk to you." She caught her brother completely by surprise, and got only a muffled reply emerging from the polo sweater he'd just pulled up over his head.

"Oh, Betsy, I'm glad you're here. I wanted to thank you again, for helping me pick." Meggan was preening happily in front of the bureau mirror, wearing her new necklace, a glittering waterfall of gold filigree with myriad small emeralds and sapphires suspended like frozen droplets against the smooth white background of her equally spectacular cleavage. "And I'll have to thank Pete again tomorrow. Do you think I should thank Kitty, too?"

"That would be nice, yes." Betsy smiled at her, her voice softening automatically as everyone's did talking to the innocent elemental.

"What is it, sis?" Brian finished pulling on a blue-and-purple paisley robe that strained to meet across his massive chest, tying the belt off.

She'd thought carefully about her opening remark. "I just wanted to remind you, and Meggan, that it might be a good idea for you to keep a special watch on Peter after he's released from the Medlab tomorrow morning, especially when he is anywhere near Pete..."

Brian heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, of course. But I didn't need the reminder, you know -- Meggan and I are quite used to watching Colossus' behavior by now, and Moira lectured us both at some considerable length about the need for even greater vigilance while on this visit, just before we left to come here."

"Oh, really? That's such a comfort to hear. Now, would you like to explain to me precisely *why* Peter needs such careful monitoring?"

Despite the exotic Asian face and voice and body, the steely look which his sister fixed on him was so familiar that Braddock was instantly transported back to their nursery days, when she always got all his boyish secrets out of him. His mouth fell open, then. "You tricked me!"

"It's a long story, Betsy," Meggan came up and slipped an arm around her fiance, smiling at her future in-law. "Come on, let's sit down..."

They walked along the hall slowly, with their arms around each other, and Lockheed flapping along lazily overhead. Wisdom let himself lean on Kitty just a little, letting that nonverbal hint of his exhaustion add to his filthy condition in a quite deliberate effort to engage her sympathy. He'd been deeply thrilled -- and highly relieved -- at her enthusiastic welcome and lack of any reproach about either their stupid argument about money that morning or his subsequent departure in search of same, and he'd be just as happy to put off any of the inevitable discussion of his little excursion for another time -- preferably after they'd escaped from this X-madhouse. He kept reassuring himself Kitty was the kindest and most considerate person he'd ever met and, after her unquestioning reception of his return, he was pretty sure she'd let the current truce last until they'd both recovered from this long and grueling day. Holding Kitty close was having its usual magic effect on him regardless of his fatigue, and he began entertaining hopes of softening her up even further by demonstrating to her just how much he'd missed her. But Pete wasn't anywhere near naive enough to think his lovely and loving girlfriend was granting him anything other than a temporary cease-fire.

"Are you sure you're all right, Pete?" Kitty asked anxiously, as they came up to the door of their room and she simply phased them inside. It was either the sixth or the seventh time she'd asked that -- Pete had lost count. "Maybe we should see Dr. McCoy and let him check you over."

"I tol' you, I'm fine, Pryde." Galvanized by the prospect of a visit to the Medlab, he immediately straightened up. "I don't need no overgrown blue fuzzball wot looks like somethin' Wagner hacked up on a bad hair day pokin' around me innards, decidin' they need airin' or fumigatin' or some such friggin' nonsense. I'm just bloody knackered, an' perishin' fer a bleedin' drink an' a long shower -- mebbe with a personal backscrubber. Know anybody wot wants that job?" He grinned at her. "But if yer really worried, love, we could take th' Runner an' sneak ourselves out o' this soddin' bedlam an' back home t' Muir if you want, so our own 'orrible Scots harridan can feel me up..." Moira's attentions, refrigerated or not, would definitely be preferable to staying around Xavier and Storm.

Instead of any of the several obvious rejoinders he was expecting, Kitty glowered at him, "In that case..." She grabbed him by his tie and his shirt-front, ignoring the dirt and cobwebs and other unidentifiable fresh stains, and whirled him around expertly to slam him into the wall by the door, her slim frame pressed against the length of his wiry body to hold him pinned. Then, also ignoring his yelp of pain as his head hit the wall, Kitty yanked down on the stringy black tie wrapped firmly around one small, clenched fist. As soon as his face was in reach, she glued her lips to his, her tongue diving within as soon as he instinctively opened his mouth.

It didn't take Wisdom more than a second to get over his surprise and wrap his arms around her in turn, returning her kiss enthusiastically as he pulled her even closer, rubbing their bodies together suggestively. He felt her hands trapped against his chest, fumbling awkwardly at the small buttons on his shirt; then he felt her mumble a curse into the middle of their kiss as her short fingernails tore one of the buttons loose. Pete chuckled against her mouth, "'t's all right, Pryde, I tol' you once, way back, you could rip off me clothes anytime you want..."

Kitty pulled back just a few inches, to glare at him. "Shut up, you stupid git. Just *shut up*. You're rich now, right? That was the whole frigging stupid point of your whole sodding stupid Indiana-Jones ripoff. So you can afford a whole new bloody stupid shirt." Curling her fingers firmly into both sides of his more grey than white shirt, she yanked her hands apart, hard, sending popping buttons flying all around the room as the frayed shirt tore open. While Pete stood frozen in shock, she stared at his bare chest for a long moment, then shoved her head down to suck and nip at the sweaty skin exposed.

All his exhaustion forgotten in the fire of desire aroused by her uncharacteristic, extreme aggression, Wisdom tangled his hands into her thick chestnut hair and pulled her head back up into another deep kiss, while his hands slid downward to grasp the bottom of her sweatshirt and start pulling it up, and she shifted to tug his shirttails up out of his pants, sliding her arms up under the worn cotton to clutch at his sweat- slick back. Neither of them wanted to break their contact long enough to get undressed and, even if she'd thought about it, Kitty wouldn't have phased their clothes off -- she wasn't in any mood to make things *that* easy for her errant lover.

She was surging forward, rising on tiptoe whenever his hands found her bare skin under her top, and he could feel her hard nipples poking him where she was grinding her aching breasts against his chest through the fabric still between them. Pete continued ravaging her hot, eager mouth while his hands worked her shirt upward gradually every time she squirmed around.

As soon as he got her sweatshirt up to her armpits, Kitty pulled her mouth away from his with a loud gasp, arching her back as she reached up to grasp a double handful of unruly black hair and haul his head downward to her breasts. Wisdom didn't need any other encouragement to bend down and bite at the engorged nipples easily visible through her thin cotton sports bra, then paused to pull the soft stretch fabric up out of the way before finally closing his lips over the straining flesh, hearing Kitty's loud moan of simultaneous satisfaction and demand for more.

After getting his mouth where she so desperately wanted it, Kitty dropped her hands to his waist. It took more than a bit of fumbling in their current position, but she eventually got his belt and fly open, letting his trousers drop down to bunch below his knees. It was Pete's turn to groan now, when she ran her small hands in under his boxers to squeeze his buttocks, leaving one hand there while she slid the other around to curl around his hardening manhood.

Wisdom shifted his lower body back slightly to give her access, still nuzzling at one small firm breast while he started to take off her jeans in turn. Trying to pull them down, he forgot about the trousers still bunched around his ankles, tripped himself and fell to the floor, twisting automatically to cushion her impact as he pulled Kitty down with him to roll around in an awkward knot of limbs and clothes, still busy groping each other's body.

Once down on the thick carpet, Pete finally managed to get Kitty's sweatshirt and bra off, muffling her frustrated protests when neither her mouth nor her hands could reach him while he had her head and arms trapped in the fabris. He tossed the garments aside quickly, to be rewarded both by her arms coming back around him, and by a muffled roar which made them jerk apart in surprise.

They looked to the side and saw the snorting purple dragon sitting crouched near them, Kitty's sweatshirt draped over his back and her bra draped from one outspread wing to his small square snout puffing smoke in time to his growls, while his tail beat an irritated tattoo on the long sleeve trailing behind him.

While Wisdom just lay there laughing hysterically, pointing one shaky finger at his pet nemesis while his other hand clutched at his heaving stomach, Kitty let go of him and rolled over gracefully, automatically phasing out of her sneakers and the jeans still wrapped around her legs. She grabbed her longtime companion tightly, snapping "I'll deal with you later, you little purple rat, running off with that other big dirty rat over there, leaving me behind to worry my head off over the both of you lousy rats..."

She got up, holding the struggling little alien beastie, phasing him through her shirt and bra. Pete just lay back, gasping, trying to stop his guffaws, as he reveled in the view of his slender, beautiful Kitty dressed only in a pair of panties, pert buttocks jiggling slightly within the taut white fabric as she strode over to the door to evict his rival.

Bishop had assembled a mountain of packing material around the trio cataloguing the glittering piles of Wisdom's recent acquisitions. Once everyone else had stopped offering helpful suggestions and left them alone, they'd quickly evolved a quite efficient system. Gambit would pick up a piece and look it over carefully, then dictate a detailed description in jeweler's jargon to Bobby, including estimated fair-market and black- market values and possible customers. Iceman would enter the information in a customized spreadsheet he'd set up, and Rogue would then pack each piece away in carefully labeled crates while Drake added that information to his inventory. They'd agreed early on that switching off on data entry and packing would be more efficient than keeping two lists.

Even the usually paranoid Bishop knew there was no reason for a guard over the proceedings, and there seemed to be little need for his services otherwise, at least until the crates had to be stored away -- and Rogue was stronger by far than he was, anyway. So he declared his intention of resuming his regular patrol. Of course, to his grumpy disdain, first they needed 'just a few more' things but then, after fetching assorted drinks and munchies, and a *very* large number of assorted CDs (because Bobby had noticed that Rogue seemed oddly subdued, and deliberately started a silly argument with her on what would constitute appropriate background music, with Gambit's nodded approval), he left the trio amiably working away.

The former XSE member found his patrol route taking him past the large guest room assigned Kitty and Pete. He'd considered the new man unprofessional during their first meeting, and a potential risk, but had found his opinion slowly changing. Maybe the reason this Wisdom wasn't a legend in Bishop's own time -- like so many of the others -- wasn't that he was negligible, but that he was intelligent enough to stay out of the public limelight. Domino was the consummate professional, after all, and she seemed to have a high regard for the puny-seeming Englishman, as did Logan. The mission to recover Rasputin he'd organized on the spur of the moment had run smooth as clockwork -- unlike so many of the X-Men's own missions -- and Bishop had learned enough about this past society to know that booty such as he'd returned with today was not easily come by. He wanted to hear a debriefing on that outing just as badly as he wanted to know what had actually happened in the Danger Room the day before -- but he *really* wanted to know how that incredibly archaic vehicle had gotten so close to the mansion without setting off any perimeter alarms.

He was just approaching their door to knock when he caught a brief glimpse of a brown-haired, pale-skinned -- surely not nude? -- feminine figure materializing in the door, right before his vision was cut off by a snarling, snapping, small purple dragon hitting him in the face. As a highly irritated Lockheed clawed at him, trying to find some foothold to launch into flight, Bishop heard an apologetic, "Oops, sorry about that, Bishop, I didn't know you were out here..."

Kitty phased back inside hurriedly, stifling a somewhat hysterical giggle, a crimson flood spreading from her flaming cheeks downward. Pete was still on the floor, sitting up now, trying to pull off his trousers and boxers, struggling to slide a hand under the layers of fabric and get his shoes off so the whole twisted tangle would move. He stopped when he saw her returning, smirking appreciatively at the blush staining her milky white breasts and below. "Wot now?"

All Kitty's pent-up anger and fear from the long day spent waiting for her aggravating man to return resurfaced as soon as she saw his smug leer, washing away any traces of embarassment. Pausing only to strip off her last bit of underwear and toss it aside, she stalked over to him, his own cocky grin wavering a bit when he got a good look at her expression, even while other parts of his were reacting enthusiastically to the sight of the rest of her lithe, slim body coming to stand over him.

She dropped down astride his legs heavily, then lay her hands on his chest, right over the small dark nipples and pushed him back to lie flat on the floor, shifting her weight upward to sit astride his hips, her hands holding his shoulders down. Pete didn't offer any resistance, he just protested weakly, "Just help me get me bloody trousers off first, Kit..."

All he got for that touching little plea was another glare. "Why? So you can run away from me again? Not bloody likely, Wisdom."

Pete had been hard and ready for some time now. Kitty lifted her weight onto her braced arms, mounted herself in one quick fluid motion, and then started moving, her hips rising up and then coming down so hard his breath whooshed out with a low grunt each time, her rhythm matching her words, "Don't you ever... *ever*... leave me behind... like that... again... you bloody wanker... You hear me... bub... We are... a team... Any stupid mess... you get into... you let me... help... understand?"

She fell silent after that, and her tempo began accelerating. He raised his hips to meet each downward thrust, lifting his arms to knead her small firm breasts, fingers tugging at the rosy, hard little nipples, watching her in awe as she rode him. He'd always found Kitty easy to arouse, from their first time together, but he'd never yet seen her in such a state of complete sexual abandon -- her rich hair tossing about wildly, her face flushed, her breasts bouncing -- and he spared a thought to pray to the deity he didn't quite believe in that he would see her like this again, and often. She was overloading him, all his senses and sensations, and Wisdom knew he wouldn't hold back long.

Pete would have liked that incredible ride to last forever, but Kitty went suddenly still, threw her head back, and cried out in release, and his own heaving body couldn't prevent its automatic response.

She collapsed limply downward to lie atop him, and he sluggishly lifted his arms to wrap them around her. For a long time, there was no sound in the room except their gasping breaths.

Kitty eventually lifted her head a little to stare down at her lover, her enormous brown eyes shining with the flickering glint of unshed tears. "I really mean this, Pete. Don't you ever lie to me, don't patronize me, and don't ever go off on a mission without me, to protect me or shield me or for any other reason -- unless I agree. You've always treated me as an equal, competent adult, and I love you for that, much more than I love you for the way you make me feel when we make love. So, don't you ever stop doing that, don't you ever start treating me like a child or a pet."

He would promise her anything she asked, give her anything she asked, when she looked at him like that. Lifting his hands to gently smooth back her tumbled hair from her face, he responded as seriously as her own tone, "Yer right, Pryde. It won't happen ever again, love, I promise." Then he grinned suddenly, weakly. "After all, 'ow many times can a bloke run off t' raid a friggin' temple?"

They lay there a while longer, just resting. But, eventually, Pete began shifting around, and Kitty reached down to phase off the trousers and shoes and underwear still tangled around his ankles. She stood up gracefully and held out an arm to help him struggle upright with a groan, then he reached out to pick her up in his arms and carry her to the bed, where they both fell asleep almost immediately.

Betsy sat in an easy chair, from which she could watch the door to Xavier's office, idly studying the intricate details of an ivory bracelet with tiny amethysts and emeralds inset as flowers and leaves within its delicately-carved branches, less valuable than many of the pieces Wisdom had brought back -- except for the exquisite workmanship. Some distance down the hall, Domino hovered in the shadows, pensively running an opera-length strand of black pearls through her pale hands like rosary beads. The two women, still comparative strangers, waited in oddly companionable silence, only glancing at each other occasionally.

After some time, the door opened, and Logan sauntered out. His nostrils flared out for a brief instant, and then he turned his head from side to side. "Ok, Bets, I know why you're here. An' I 'ppreciate you worryin' about me goin' up against old Chrome-Dome, but I told ya he'd play along. What's your excuse, Neena?"

"I worry about you, too, old man," Domino remarked caustically as she came up to them. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you." She eyed the other woman, cautious as always, but Logan had already settled himself into a chair opposite the exotic telepath. Seeing his hint of a nod, she shrugged -- maybe she should make her feelings clearer to all the X-Men. "Am I the only one around here who's concerned about the weather witch's increasing whackiness? Even if she is shooting herself in the foot, it's still not a good situation."

Logan heaved a gusty sigh. "We ain't all of us blind, Neena darlin'. I thought I'd talked some sense inta 'Ro a few days ago, me an' the fuzzy elf, but that didn't last more 'n a day. Then Petey got himself zapped, an' she's somehow managed ta blame that onta the fool kid, that an' this whole money mess..." He gestured for the former mercenary to take a seat also, but she shook her head, preferring to pace around the room as he continued, "I ain't sure what else ta try."

"I... have my own suspicions why Ororo seems to be so adamantly set against Pete," Betsy said, hesitantly.

The other two waited for her to continue, but she didn't, and the silence deepened until Domino's cool tone broke it. "And you'd prefer not to talk about it in front of me?"

"Not exactly. It's that I think I should talk to Ororo herself, first. I'll try to do so tomorrow. Even if I'm right, it may not help."

Although he didn't advertise the fact, Logan's enhanced senses made him nearly as adept as a telepath in ferreting out others' hidden secrets. "If we're thinkin' the same thing, Bets, I kinda hope you're wrong, but I got me a bad feelin' you might be right. An' if you're right, there may not be anything any of us could do ta fix things anyway. You wanna tackle 'Ro tomorrow, then?"

Betsy winced visibly. "I can assure you, Logan, I do not *want* to. Ororo will certainly take any such conversation as an unwarranted invasion of her privacy. But I feel I owe it to both Kitty and Ororo to try."

Domino was frowning faintly in puzzled irritation at the cryptic conversation and, at the moment, Logan didn't feel like testing how short her fuse might be. He changed the subject adroitly. "So, Bets, you gonna tell me just what your brother and Meggan tol' you 'bout the Russkie and my drinkin' buddy?"

"How--? Oh, I should have realized you'd overhear Jean and me no matter how hard we tried to keep our voices low. But may I use Jean's excuse for myself, please? What Brian told me, he told me in confidence, and I would prefer to respect that. I suggest you ask Kurt -- or Kitty or Pete." It was her turn now to try to change the subject. "So, how did it go with the professor?"

Domino looked at her old friend questioningly and he nodded at her -- he would indeed pursue the matter further -- before he turned back to his teammate. "Just like I told you I expected. First, he tried ta convince me none o' this fuss was necessary. Then when I told him I'd done alla my paperwork already, he tried ta talk me outta tellin' th' others. I betcha after I do he'll probably play Mr. Generosity, an' set up trust funds f'r everybody what needs them -- but I got me a bad feelin' he'll blame Pete for it, he's blaming Pete f'r everything these days, just like 'Ro is."

"Are you really surprised by that, Logan?" A sleek black eyebrow arched inquiringly. "I can't imagine any pair less likely to get along than Professor God and our barmy Brit, with or without young Shadowcat caught in the middle."

"Why do you say that, Domino?" An equally dark eyebrow, this one faintly tinged with purple undertones, arched just as elegantly, as two pairs of cool violet eyes met in equally cautious yet equally curious appraisal, while Logan took it upon himself to reply.

"'Cause Chuck's Great White Father routine is the worst possible approach ta someone like Pete. The kid's always had trouble with male authority figures. Look at who else he's havin' trouble with -- Cyke, Bish, Braddock... Hell, Neena, you musta noticed that before now."

"Oh, dear, I never noticed, in all the years we've known him, how he relates so differently to me and to Nate," Domino drawled in her most sarcastic tone, which made Logan laugh. "But it's more than just that." Her tone was so serious, suddenly, that the other two sat up to listen closely, while the former mercenary paused to search for the right words.

"Pete is telling everyone the emperor has no clothes." The coleader of X-Force finally walked over to an empty easy chair, and curled herself up in it gracefully. "Not just in his words, but in his basic existence. Xavier has supposedly devoted his life to his dream of humans and mutants coexisting peacefully. He claims that he gathered the X-Men together to fight for that dream. And I don't deny they have fought, and suffered, and sacrificed, for his vision. But, now, he's watching -- they're all watching -- that dream collapse around them."

Domino waited for a challenge, but all she got were reluctant nods of agreement from her small audience. "Meanwhile, along comes this grubby smartass out of nowhere who says -- loudly and rudely -- that he doesn't believe in the dream, it's all a load of bullshit. Well, the kicker is, he doesn't have to buy into it -- Pete already lives it. He's lived his whole life out in normal human society -- *as a mutant* too, not flaunting it but not hiding it -- quite successfully, and he has every intention of continuing to do so. Now, what does that say about Xavier's whole approach to mutant-human relations?"

"I think I see what you mean," Betsy murmured pensively. "Everyone here assumes quite automatically that being a mutant means living with fulltime persecution, ostracism, and sturm und drang. We prate quite sanctimoniously about the need to protect humans, but we speak of them as something 'other' than ourselves, and we protect them from what the Professor considers dangerous knowledge as much as we protect them from actual physical danger, both without their informed consent. We identify ourselves by our costumes and our codenames, until our real selves," she gestured at her own casual garb, "seem only a disguise we assume to sneak out into 'their' world and pretend to be 'one of them' for a little while. I often think that Xavier prefers that all of his X-Men spend their every waking moment being 'Mutants' -- branded with a capital M, whether visibly tattooed on their faces or hidden within their psyches."

Logan jumped in before Domino could respond. "But if ya just walked up and asked Pete what he was, depending on his mood he might say he was just an ordinary bloke, or a bloody spy, or a wanker or pisshead -- but, whatever he'd come up with, I betcha it wouldn't be a mutant. That just ain't number one on his mind."

"But Pete does have the advantage of a completely ordinary appearance, compared to Henry's and Kurt's blue fur, or Warren's blue skin, or even Remy's eyes or Bishop's tattoo or... or Lorna's hair, or my own."

The lithe Oriental figure tucked her feet up under her in unconscious echo of Domino's catlike pose as the other woman gazed at her quizzically, judging how seriously to take that weak rejoinder. "First, most of the X-Men are either just as normal in appearance, like Sam or Bobby Drake, or their peculiarities fall well within the extremes of today's fashions -- green or purple hair isn't that uncommon in the trendy set, neither are crazy tattoos. I go out, white skin, purple eyepatch, and people just assume it's an affected look, an extreme makeup job. Second, while I will admit Nightcrawler has a problem, haven't you noticed that Beast is quite easily accepted by most people when he appears in the outside world?"

"That's cuz he was an Avenger f'r a while," Logan grunted from the depths of his chair, where he'd slid down until he was half-reclined, his legs thrust out and crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest.

"Exactly." Both women threw him fond smiles, like proud teachers with a promising student. "The public doesn't fear the Avengers or the Fantastic Four, even through they have powers as great as the X-Men, and get into battles just as destructive -- and their members may have secret identities, like Thor or Iron Man, or look like monsters, like the Thing, or even be mutants, as were Beast, and Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch. But those teams don't run away and hide between battles. They live at known addresses, they worry public relations issues, they're official or semi-official." Domino paused, thinking about her own words. "Actually, according to that analysis, McCoy's all too infrequent appearances at scientific conferences and his equally rare press interviews probably add to reassuring the public as much as his Avengers status."

"I always thought Chuck was a bit crazy sending Hank out ta fight with th' team. Big brain like him should stay in the lab. Who knows, he could be the first mutant ever t' win the Nobel Prize, 'specially if he an' Moira can come up with a cure f'r Legacy..."

"And that would do more to secure the future for mutants than any battle could and, after all the negative publicity about Legacy spreading to humans, would do more to improve human-mutant relations than defeating any villain," Betsy surreptitiously crossed her fingers, praying that they would find a cure soon, in time for the ascerbic Scotswoman. "But, also according to that analysis, even if funded by the Professor, Hank should be doing his research in the city, in a big university, with a large support staff?"

"Yes, the more visibility, and the wider both his everyday and his collegial contacts, the better in public relations terms." Domino smiled sardonically at the faint surprise on the other woman's face. She often enjoyed demonstrating that being a successful mercenary entailed brains more than simple brawling. "Xavier gathered a small number of mutants together and hid them away here at Westchester, to secretly train them to fight. And that may have been the worst move he could have made, creating human paranoia about mutants rather than diffusing it. After all, who do you fear -- the mutant who appears suddenly from nowhere and blows up your building -- good cause or not -- or the mutant who lives in the apartment down the hall, borrows coffee from you and buys you a drink in return?"

"It ain't appearance that really matters, y' know, it's familiarity. It's natural survival instinct t' fear the unknown. An' that's just what Charlie made the X-Men..." Logan was smiling to himself, pleased at how well these two of his closest friends seemed to be getting along. Pete's presence had had some positive benefit here -- Domino had kept herself aloof from most of the mansion inhabitants for too long.

"I've always wondered why the Professor gathered such a small group of mutants, both the original X-Men and the second group," Betsy mused. "Storm read me a long lecture soon after I first came to Westchester about the X-Men being a select few chosen for their unique strength of character, but I cannot believe there were no others suitable anywhere in the world, considering how far afield the Professor travelled to get some of his recruits and how many mutants we continually encounter."

"A small group of powerful mutants, gathered in hiding and trained in battle, is a strike force, pure and simple. That's what X-Force is, and we've never pretended otherwise. The only thing stupider than Xavier's original scheme was his ex-students' lamebrained tactic of pretending to be mutant exterminators as a way to save mutants -- and don't tell me it was Hodge tricking them, they were still both stupid and naive to fall for his line. As near as I can tell from the records, they might have helped one or two, but I have to wonder how many more were hurt by the paranoia they helped propagate."

Domino got up and started pacing again. She'd always thought better on her feet. "If your Professor had really wanted to improve mutant-human relations, he should have taken much larger numbers of mutants, not just alpha-class mutants but many with minor or even apparently useless powers, and trained them in control and sent them back into the real world, into various normal professions. Not to sink or swim on their own, though -- he could have continued helping them by organizing and funding legal aid, insurance, schooling, medical care for any who ran into trouble, working for fair laws and licensing and policing of mutants and their powers. Right now, the public must think *all* mutants are alpha- or omega-class, and all mutant powers are destructive, because that's all they see. If more people knew a zebra-skinned busdriver whose power was to make seeds sprout or a lawyer with two noses and the power to turn water different colors, mutants might not seem so all-powerful and all-threatening."

"Ya know, Dazz just mighta had the right idea," Logan muttered, pensively. "She never wanted ta be an X-Man, she just wanted ta use her sound-to-light powers ta jazz up her act. An' Kitty tol' me once about this kid she met, his power was ta make solid-light sculptures, fancy holograms. She said she saw one of his pieces, an' it was beautiful..."

"I don't remember a mutant with a power like that in any database I've studied." Domino's tone was slightly accusatory now -- accurate information was her Bible.

"I remember him, from Kitty's memories," Betsy replied. "His name was Larry Bodine, and he was so terrified someone would find out he was a mutant that he killed himself. Kitty took it very hard..."

"Now, somebody like that could have created a great positive image for mutants, especially back before things got so bad -- although Xavier would probably have taken him and taught him to use his powers to fight." The former mercenary made her disdain quite clear; she obviously felt fighting should be left to the professionals. "Hell, from what I've seen, Xavier should have forgotten making Rasputin an X-Man and pushed his painting full-time. Just think about the PR possibilities in that: you've got this big scary mutant who can turn to steel and smash and survive almost anything, but he's really a gorgeous hunk -- even if more than a bit thick -- who just wants to paint nudes and fruit and landscapes in peace..."

A silvery laugh rang out, interrupting. The other two stared at the telepath as she tried to choke back her giggles enough to sputter, "I'm so sorry, it's quite terrible of me, I know, but here we are talking about mutants needing good public relations -- and I suddenly have this most entrancing vision of Ororo as the weather girl on the evening news..."

Logan guffawed loudly at the mental image she sent, Storm in tight sweater and tighter miniskirt, forming a miniature rain cloud and using a pointer and her winds to chivy it around a state map, and even Domino couldn't suppress a wicked grin at the thought. But she sobered up again quickly. "That's not as silly as it seems at first glance. Storm could do wonders with the national weather service -- think about how many lives could be saved just by more accurate forecasting, how much property damage could be minimized or avoided by judicious control of the weather?"

Logan was still having trouble keeping a straight face, but he tried. "The problem with that, darlin', is that all th' blamed idiots out there would just love t' blame her f'r every hurricane and tornado, every dry spell an' every rain squall. She ain't a goddess, even if she likes t' act like one, an' she can't control the weather all over, all the time."

"But addressing that point would just be another natural part of the education process about mutants that's so desperately needed," Betsy shot back. "An open public debate of what she could and couldn't, should and shouldn't, do would do more for mutants than endless battles. After all, the public doesn't blame Thor for all storms, or the Human Torch for all fires. They just appreciate it when a superhuman is available to help."

"And if she were to be associated with some prestigious university's climate research program she'd have scientific colleagues' support. She could help them hone their own knowledge with her instinctive grasp of how weather works, while they could teach her all the best theories about how various facets of weather interact, which would help demonstrate both the extent and the limitations on her powers, and the potential unexpected consequences of manipulating the weather." After all, Domino thought to herself, that was how she used her own doctorate in political science, to identify and evaluate both her targets' strengths and weaknesses and her employers' bluffs, lies and hidden agendas.

"Ain't much time t' think about consequences when you're callin' up a thunderstorm or hurricane or tornado ta fight Mags or the Brood or the Hellfire Club..."

"But you can't ever really beat someplace like the Hellfire Club in pitched battle anyway," Domino objected. "They're too powerful, in the sense of political and social and economic power. They always can make it appear that you X-Men are megalomaniac mutants out on a frenzied rampage. You have to fight them by discovering their secrets and publicizing them, like Pete and the rest of Excalibur did with Black Air."

"So, why do you two stay, if you think the X-Men's approach isn't the right one?" Betsy asked. "I assume Domino is staying because of Cable, naturally..." she ignored the other woman's bridling at that superficial categorization, to get down to her real question, "...but what about you, Logan? Why are you still here? Loyalty to your misguided friends?"

She waited patiently while the grizzled Canadian traded a long look with the aloof ex-mercenary. Eventually, Logan sighed and stood up, extending his hand to help Betsy up from her seat. "We're both of us hangin' around f'r the same reason, darlin' -- somebody's gotta be here t' help pick up the pieces when the shit hits the fan."

Concluded in Epilogue...