Chapter One: Sometime to Return

It had been two years since Bobby Drake had been back to the sprawling mansion in Westchester. Two years since he had left his friends-the people he had considered to be his second family-to care for his ailing father in Long Island, a man he had stopped talking to when he was only sixteen years old. While he was able to close the distance between them, his mind always went back to this place.

He stared at the familiar wrought iron gates that separated his black Volkswagen Jetta from his former home. Suddenly, he felt apprehensive. What kind of reaction was his homecoming going to elicit? Welcoming arms or hostile stares? He almost thought about turning his car around and driving away. Then he stopped himself, snorting.

This is ridiculous. I was an adult when I left with things to care of. Anyone would understand why I had to go and why I couldn't come back. Well, at least, not right away. He pulled out the remote control for the gates from his glove compartment. As they drew open, he felt as if they were somehow greeting him back from a long absence.

He parked his car in front of the garage. Throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder, he peered around the manicured grounds. In spite of how large the property was, he instantly felt at home. He smiled to himself as he made his way to the front door. Much to his surprise, his key still opened the foreboding oak door with brass lion's head knocker.

As he entered the foyer, a mixture of familiar scents greeted his nostrils. They were faint, but he knew them all too well. The fragrance from Ororo's rose garden, the spicy musk from Cuban cigars Bishop favored, motor oil from Scott's second loves in the garage, the sweetness of the peppermints the Professor kept in his study for the younger students. Thinking about the latter made Bobby realize he was quite hungry after his road trip. Apparently, a bag of Combos and black coffee from the local convenience store didn't go as far as he thought they would.

The kitchen was still warm from Cook's famous ginger snaps, which she would bake daily before dinner. While the portly Englishwoman was nowhere in sight, her cookies sat atop wire racks on the counters for cooling. He glanced sideways to see if anyone was around. Many times, he had experienced slaps in the back of the head from Jean, Ororo, or Betsy for his attempted thievery. When he noticed no one was around to stop him, he pounced on the sweets, devouring two in his watering mouth.

Ahh.This is what I really missed, he thought, popping another cookie into his mouth. I wonder what's for dinner?

"Hi, Bobby."

Bobby turned around, swallowing. His eyes took in the girl he had first met when she was thirteen. She was seventeen now, but somehow she appeared older than that. There were no lines to her face, just a certain wariness that emanated. The short, spiky black hair now tumbled down her shoulders, streaked with midnight blue. As she sauntered towards him, he noticed she was taller and slimmer. Even her once child-like face had matured as well. However, this did not diminish the exquisiteness of her features. Instead, the years had only served to enhance them, particularly her eyes. Despite the time that had passed, those eyes remained that striking shade of sapphire blue. Her clothes also reflected her sense of maturity. Gone were the pink sunglasses and bright yellow raincoat with matching gloves. Instead, she wore a pair of faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and a navy, zip-up cardigan. Her trademark roller blades were now replaced with quieter sandals.

Bobby quickly cracked a smile to greet her. "Hey there, Jubes," he drawled, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Long time, no see. You look.Great." He was about to say beautiful, but recovered. Still, he could feel the beginnings of a blush creep across his cheeks. Confused, he briefly turned away from her. For some reason, it felt strange and wrong to say something like that to her.

Jubilee smiled, not noticing his discomfort. "Thanks," she replied, "School's kept me tied up. Since the academy closed, everyone here's determined to make sure I don't fall behind. Especially, Dr. McCoy." She shuddered at the thought of the chemistry homework that still awaited her attention.

"Yeah, Hank never loses his enthusiasm for passing on knowledge," Bobby mused with a laugh. He could almost picture his old friend pontificating about the finer points of learning for the sake of learning.

"Tell me about it. He's already put together my summer reading list, and it's only November!" She held up a copy of 'The Stranger' by Albert Camus to emphasize her point.

Then her grin faded as she asked, "So, what have you been up to?" From the serious tone she used, he could tell that someone had told her why he had left. At the time, she had been in Massachusetts with Emma and Sean, and was not around to see him leave.

Bobby simply shrugged, his eyes lowered. He did not want to see what he thought was pity from those old-soul eyes. "Just went home to take care of my dad," he replied nonchalantly. "Started working as an accountant again with this firm in Manhattan, but the pressure of being a big-shot got to me so I'm here." He tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a rough bark.

She watched his attempt to cover his feelings with empathy. Hank often said that Bobby's great defense mechanism was his use of humor. This was no exception. Clearly, the two years he had spent with his father, a man he had been estranged from for some time, had some effect on him. However, he seemed reluctant to say how much.

Instead of prodding him for more information as Jean or Ororo would, Jubilee decided to respect his need for privacy-at least for a little while. "Well, I'm glad you're back. Things were really boring without you. I mean, nobody here has a sense of humor," she told him, reaching into the refrigerator for some milk. She then retrieved two glasses from the cupboard and proceeded to serve. "You're here to stay, right?"

Bobby was taken aback from the soft, almost imploring tone in the young girl's voice. He could see years of pain and abandonment in those blue eyes. He knew she had experienced her own share of loss during her brief lifetime. There was the death of her parents. Then Logan, the man she had considered her surrogate father, left the mansion to conduct some soul-searching and severing all contact with everyone, including the Professor. Those two losses combined had been rough on her. He remembered overhearing Scott comforting the young girl right after Logan left. Her tears and her unanswered pleas for him to come back were heartbreaking to anyone who heard them.

He was surprised to find that his absence was almost comparable. It wasn't that they did not get along-quite the contrary. When he was living at the mansion, they were partners in crime as far as pranks and wisecracks were concerned. But since he was older than her (by seven years), they really did not spend all that much time together. While she was at the academy, he was often involved in saving the world. Then there was Logan. When he was still living at the house, he kept a tight rein on his little prot‚g‚, evidently wary of other men and their possible influence on her.

Suddenly, he felt strange about the rush of feelings he was experiencing. It was a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he could not quite put his finger on. He knew they were intense, which made him quite uncomfortable at that moment. What is the matter with me?

Bobby managed a weak smile, trying not to meet the sapphire gaze of the young girl. "Are you saying you missed me, Jubes?" he asked, his tone rather teasing. "If you did, I can put you on the mailing list for my fan club. I'm sure you could easily be president."

Her solemn expression became light. She grinned and retorted, "Then that would make me the only member."

"That was harsh," he commented, running a hand through his sandy hair. He was relieved that there was some levity between them now. It was almost the way things used to be.

"Sorry, but the truth hurts." She peered down at her watch and finished her glass of milk. "I should get going. I'm supposed to help Jean with dinner tonight." After they got married, Scott and Jean asked the Professor to construct a house on the grounds so that they could be close by, but have their privacy. Just before Bobby left to care for his father, Jubilee moved in with them, to get away from the memories of Logan.

"What's for dinner?" Bobby inquired; still hungry even after the cookies he had inhaled. He was half-hoping for an invitation.

"Not cookies," a familiar voice informed him.

He turned around to see the smiling face of his good friend, Jean Grey, who was standing in the doorway. She was as striking as ever. Her thick, red hair was pulled into a sensible ponytail, which brought attention to her swan-like neck. Her green eyes sparkled while she took him in. Always a conservative but stylish dresser, she wore a light pink blouse and a black, A-line, wool skirt with black heels. As she walked across the room toward him, he noticed that she was graceful as ever. It was no wonder the males around the mansion vied for her attention.

She pulled him into a friendly hug, the scent of her lilac perfume tickling his nose. "Welcome home," she whispered. Then she drew back to get a better look at him. She could sense something was bothering from the fact that he wasn't wearing his trademark grin. Even without doing a scan of his mind, she knew he had been through a great deal during his time with his father. While no one in the mansion had any idea how sick the elder Mr. Drake was, Jean could tell that the thought of almost losing his father was too much for Bobby. Peering into his face now, she wasn't sure if that was what was the only thing troubling him.

"Hey, Jeannie," he greeted. "It's great to see you. You look beautiful as ever."

She laughed. "Always laying the charm." To Jubilee, she said, "You should watch out for that."

Jubilee smiled, then shrugged. "Please, it's Bobby," she replied jokingly, rinsing her glass and placing it in the dishwasher. "Do you want me to start dinner? I think I can handle the lasagna."

"Why don't we have dinner here? Bobby's home and we can ask Cook to do something special. Do you want to ask her?"

"Sure." As she began to walk out of the kitchen, she paused at the doorway, turning to Bobby. "I'll see you around," she said, her voice soft. The younger, brash Jubilee would never have used that tone of voice.

"Definitely."

Jean followed his stare to the now empty doorframe. "She grew up."

"Yeah. She turned out alright." Alright was an understatement.

"She certainly did. It's a miracle, especially after what she's been through," Jean mused, referring to the many losses in the young girl's life, as well as her brief imprisonment at the hands of Bastion. "Some people have this inner resiliency."

"It also helps to have supportive people around her, like you and Scott." Bobby pointed out quietly. He witnessed first-hand the couple's efforts to help her after she had returned from those months with Bastion. It had been Scott and Jean, not Logan, who made sure the girl received the medical and psychological care necessary for her recovery. While Logan wanted to seek retribution and immediately set out to find Bastion and the others, Scott and Jean created a safe home with them for the girl. They were the ones to realize that she needed to feel protected and loved, rather than revenge for what had been done.

Jean smiled, leaning against the counter. "We did what we could. She was the one who did most of the work to get herself back together." She then changed the subject. "So, how are you, Bobby Drake?"

"Me? I was hoping that you would have me over at the house for dinner."

"That could be arranged. But you didn't really answer my question."

"Are you reading my mind?" He was suddenly defensive and surprised. Usually, Jean did not like probing without the other person's consent unless it was absolutely necessary.

She shook her head emphatically. "No, I didn't have to do that. It's just that I can tell from the way you're acting. You seem tense."

Inwardly, he sighed with relief. "I have been on the road for several hours. It's been a long day for me."

"Is that all?" After growing up together, Jean knew when Bobby was trying to be evasive. Weak humor and lame excuses were the usual defenses he used to avoid talking. It was trademark Drake. "Bobby."

He watched her face become drawn with concern for him. She had always played the role of the dutiful, older sister when they were growing up, making sure he was he was fine and that he was adjusting to his gifts. Whenever Scott or Warren would attempt to leave him out of their activities (they were older and found his sense of humor immature), she would make an extra effort to include him. Staring back into the face of his loyal friend, he knew he could no longer keep up his fa‡ade of normalcy.

Bobby walked over to the kitchen table, motioning for Jean to join him and take a seat. When she did so, he said, "My dad's doing better."

"Bobby, that's wonderful news." Jean paused, noticing that her friend did not share her enthusiasm. "But?"

"We were getting along well, but the whole mutant thing was always in the way. He was always so scared at first, thinking that Creed and his goons were going to come back to finish him. It seemed worse when I was home. He didn't want anyone we knew to know that I was home with him and my mom. He was afraid that they were aware of what I am. With strangers, he was more than happy to introduce me as his son, provided I didn't show off my powers."

His gray eyes became bitter as he continued to speak. "It was as if I didn't belong at home, with my family. I went to the city and got a job, tried to be as normal as I could for him. I even stopped calling here to give Scott and the Professor updates. Somehow, it wasn't enough. I was miserable. There were many times I wanted to say, 'Screw it' and leave. But I couldn't leave my mom completely alone. It would have been too much for her, so I stayed and endured being the shame of the family for the next two years.

"The only thing that kept me sane was thinking about this place. You know, eventually coming back here." He swallowed hard, his boyish features edgier than they had ever been. "I didn't realize until I was gone that this was and still is home for me. I guess I never appreciated the family I had here until I left."

Jean put a sympathetic hand on his arm. "I think we all feel that way sometimes about things in life," she told him quietly.

He nodded. "It's just that when I was with my folks, I felt guilty about wanting to come back here. I should have focused mentally on my dad, but I kept thinking about you guys here and what I was missing. When he had finally recovered, it was as if I could not get away fast enough."

As she listened to him, she could understand his ambivalence about saying anything. He was clearly torn about what had happened. It also sounded as if he was disappointed about not healing his strained relationship with his father. She knew when Bobby was getting ready to leave the mansion, he was looking forward to making up for lost time and getting close to him again.

He shrugged. "Well, at least I got an invite for Christmas dinner from my dad. Maybe he's coming around."

Jean bit her lower lip, wanting to take some of the pain her friend was experiencing away. Unfortunately, that was not one of her gifts. "I'm sorry things didn't work out the way you wanted them to," she said finally, voice filled with empathy. "But I can say for all of us that we're happy to have you back. You were missed, Bobby Drake." She offered an encouraging smile.

"Thanks, Jeannie." That wasn't so bad, he thought, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders slightly. He had forgotten how talking to Jean always had made him feel better, no matter the situation. Had she not chosen to remain at the mansion, she could have been a successful therapist.

Bobby peered around. "Who else is here?" he asked, changing the subject.

Jean followed his lead, forgetting about her suspicions about something else being on his mind. "Scott's at the house with Jubilee. The Professor is in Washington, DC, presenting at a conference on mutant rights. I think Hank and Bishop are probably in the lab, working on something for the Professor. Ororo and Warren went into town with some of the children to shop for school supplies. Kitty, Neal, and Kurt took another group of the children on the grounds for a nature hike. Betsy is England, visiting her brother. Rogue is probably around here with Joseph."

Bobby whistled. "Full house. Just like the old days."

"Yeah, but I like it." Coming from a close family, Jean always loved having the mansion full. Like Bobby, she considered many of the occupants to members of her second family.

He noticed there were two notable omissions from her list of current occupants. "No word from Logan or Remy?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," Jean replied sadly, clasping her hands together. "The Professor and I have tried searching for them. Logan's in Canada, but he hasn't contacted any of us, except for Jubilee. He'll send the occasional postcard, wishing her well and nothing else. She used to think they were indicative of him coming back soon. Now, she doesn't get her hopes up anymore."

Bobby could tell from the way Jean was talking that unlike her husband, she wanted to gruff Canadian back at the mansion. While their attraction to one another was limited to light flirtation (at least from Jean's end), there was still a bond between them. Aside from Jubilee, Logan considered Jean to be someone he could trust and confide in. For her part, she admired his sense of honor despite his violent streak. She was also able to find a tender side to him, one that would protect all he loved at any cost. Bobby found the latter hard to believe since he found himself threatened by those adamantium claws more than once.

Jean continued, sighing heavily. "And Remy.I don't know. We tried to look, but nothing. It's been five years and either he's gone forever or he simply does not want to be found. Ororo and Jubilee wanted to continue the search, but Scott and the Professor decided it would be best not to bother. Their sources weren't able to come up with anything, so they did not see why Ororo and Jubilee should risk their own lives to look."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Bobby said. He himself did not care for the sweet-talking Cajun, but no one deserved the fate he endured-being left in the middle of Antarctica to fend for himself for a crime he had committed unknowingly and in the past. What made it worse was that the person he had loved for some time was the one who dispensed with that punishment. However, since Bobby and Rogue were close friends, he felt obligated initially to side with her.

She nodded. "People come and go. That's a fact of life." Her green eyes were affectionate as they peered at Bobby. "Sometimes, if you're lucky enough, they come back."
 

Chapter Two: The World Has Turned and Left Me Here

Late summer turned into early fall in Westchester several weeks later. Scott Summers leaned against the windowsill, his second cup of coffee in hand. He was an early riser by nature, often leaving Jean to sleep in. As usual, he was drinking it just the way he liked it-black with plenty of sugar. Behind his ruby-quartz sunglasses, his eyes watched over the serenity of the grounds in front of his farm-style, white clapboard house. Fallen leaves of varying shades of orange, yellow, and red were strewn across the manicured lawn, providing a crisp contrast to the scenery. The sun shone brightly against the clear, blue sky during the morning hours. Yes, this was definitely his favorite time of year.

He was in the midst of contemplating taking Jean and Jubilee out for a hayride later that week when Jubilee sauntered into the living room. Scott was surprised since she was the antithesis to him when it came to sleeping habits, even loathing the idea of rising early. She greeted him with a small smile, carrying a dog-eared copy of 'Antigone' with her.

"You realize it's only eight-thirty," he teased, watching her head to the coat closet. He almost thought about checking her forehead to see if she was sick. "Where are you off to that you had to get up so early?"

She pulled a brown corduroy jacket over her olive-green, crew-neck sweater and low-riding cargo pants. "Very funny," she retorted lightly and then proceeded to explain. "This was on my reading list, but Dr. McCoy's copy is missing the last five pages and I have a report to work on that's due in two days. The Professor said I could borrow his copy, but that I would have to pick it up around breakfast since he's teaching physics."

Then her blue eyes sparkled mischievously. "Cook is also making strawberry pancakes and I want first dibs before Dr. McCoy and Drake get there." Both were notoriously for the bottomless pits otherwise known as their stomachs.

Scott grinned and then finished the rest of his coffee. "Then you'd better run over right now. Those two don't show mercy when it comes to strawberry pancakes."

She studied the chiseled features of the man she now considered her father figure. When Logan was still at the mansion, he would make sure she rarely spent any time with Scott. He was very clear that he did not like the man. He often talked about how stiff and bossy the man was and gave him nicknames that he often used to his face, such as 'One-Eye'. According to him, there was no one more uptight in the world than Mr. Scott Summers. At the time, Jubilee thought it was just her Wolvie being funny. There were even times when she believed what she was hearing.

After Logan left, however, Jubilee discovered that while Scott was rigid and authoritative, he only acted that way because he felt responsible for the well-being and safety of everyone around him. She also observed his carefree side. Granted, he only showed this to herself and Jean when they were at home together. But still, who knew that Scott Summers was secretly addicted to reality television? Last year, he and Jubilee had their own 'Survivor' finale part at the house while Jean was away at a conference. She was also surprised to find out that while he could never compete with Drake as a stand-up comedian, Scott did have a dry wit that was all his own. Since then, the two of them would exchange good-natured barbs back and forth.

If you only got to know him, you'd see he's a good man and that you two might have more in common than you think, she wanted to say to Logan now. Her hand gripped the knob of the front door as she asked, "Would you like to come?"

Scott shook his head. "No, but thanks. As soon as Jean gets up, we're going to head to the mall to buy a new VCR." He raised a brow at the teenager, who suddenly blushed.

Jubilee smiled sheepishly. She was trying to tape her favorite soap opera last week and fired a spark into the machine on accident. As a result, the VCR was rendered useless. "Sorry about that again. I guess I should pay attention when setting the timer, huh?"

"Obviously," he agreed, reaching over to pat her shoulder. "We'll probably be back by early afternoon. Do you have your keys in case we're not around?"

She nodded, opening the door to leave. "In my pocket," she informed him proudly. When she first moved in with Scott and Jean, she misplaced her keys almost every other week. Scott had suggested to have them surgically grafted into her hand should she lose them again. Jubilee learned quickly to keep track of the house keys after that.

"Okay, then. Well, we'll see you later."

"See ya, Scott." She paused in the doorway and without thinking; she darted to him and gave him a brief hug. Then she pulled away and left the house, not saying another word.

Scott stared after her, a mixture of astonishment and fondness seeping across his face. From the window, he watched her walk across the lawn in order to reach the mansion. Then he remembered that he had forgotten to ask Jubilee about the hayride. He opened the front door to call out to her. He stopped himself when he saw something familiar on his doorstep. Kneeling down, Scott made a closer inspection.

There was a cigar, surrounded by fresh ash, lying on the doorstep. It appeared as if the owner had furiously stomped it out, leaving black soot marks on the concrete. Scott's mouth set itself in a grim line. He knew all too well who had been here.

Ororo Munroe placed her hands on her slim waist, surveying the scene before her. She was in her private sanctuary, otherwise known as her greenhouse. Unlike Scott and Jean, she had chosen to remain at the main house with the others. While she enjoyed the company of her friends and the children, there were times she yearned for some quiet time. This was it. Every morning before breakfast, she checked on her "lovelies", as she called them to see how they did during the night, if they needed water or fertilizer, or simply needed to be pruned. She was pleased to see that all of her plants, particularly the new lilies she had just purchased, were doing well.

She was about to change the pot for one of her ferns when she saw Jubilee walking by. The young girl waved to her before continuing her pace towards the mansion. Ororo smiled, tucking a locking of silvery-white hair behind her ear. Like Jean, she had taken on the role of a second mother to the young girl, especially after she had returned home from her ordeal. Ororo had spent many hours with the recovering Jubilee, helping her with her physical therapy and teaching her how to meditate. Despite the fact that Jubilee had moved out of the mansion, the two continued to spend time together to talk. It was wonderful to see that the child had made so much progress.

Like Scott, Ororo was furious when Logan left to "go find himself", as the Professor put it. She was aware of what kind of role the self-professed loner and cynic had in the girl's life. He was her father figure, her hero. The two spent a great deal of time together, whether it was on assignments or for travel. His protectiveness, while overbearing at times, had made the young girl feel loved and cared for. When he departed, Jubilee became despondent and consequently blamed herself for being a burden on him. Ororo remembered the many afternoons she had spent, comforting a sobbing Jubilee over Logan's absence.

The weather goddess's features became alert when she felt someone else's presence in the greenhouse with her. The person's gaze was practically searing a hole into her back. She could already sense that the person was not hostile, so she kept her own defenses at bay as she turned around.

Her facial expression quickly switched from surprise to wariness. "You're home," she finally said flatly.

"That's a welcome?"

"You're lucky you're not being tossed around in hurricane winds."

Even though he had been away for a couple of years, Logan's physical appearance failed to reflect any aging process. To Ororo, he looked pretty much the same as he did before leaving. His thick, dark hair was still shaped into those two trademark points on either side of his head. Thick sideburns framed his face, accentuating the perpetual five-o'clock shadow he sported. While he was not as tall as Warren or Piotr, Logan was still a foreboding presence physically. She could tell that he had kept some sort of exercise regimen during his time away from the mansion. His body maintained the same sleek, muscular tone she and the other women had admired during Danger Room sessions when he first arrived. Wearing a weathered leather jacket over a red flannel shirt, gray T-shirt, and dark jeans with boots, Logan continued to project the image of the resident rebel.

Ororo was able to notice something amiss in her former teammate. He looked even more bitter than usual. He finally paused in his steps and leaned against one of the tables where she kept her African violets. At first, he was unable to meet her gaze, keeping his green eyes on the ground. Then his head snapped up, green eyes narrowed.

"Guess I deserve that one," he finally said, meeting the stare of the weather goddess. She was as striking as ever, her long, white hair rippling down to her waist, providing a contrast against her clear, coffee-colored skin. The flame-patterned, fitted dress she wore showed off her small, lithe figure. As usual, she wore very little make-up, which only serve to highlight her exotic features.

She decided not to respond to that. Instead, she asked, "Where have you been?"

"Back to Alberta for a little bit to sort things out in my head," he replied, grimacing. "Wanted to see if I could find out more about what happened to me all those years ago. I thought if I did, then those nightmares would stop."

"Were you able to find anything?" Her tone became softer.

Logan shrugged. "Just more loose ends and questions." He wasn't in the mood to say anything more than that. The leads the Professor had come up with did lead Logan to a military facility in Canada. Unfortunately, the complex appeared to have been abandoned for some time. He had searched in vain for records-anything that would have pieced together those missing years of his life. Apparently, someone had prepared for such an event. Any documented records of what transpired there were nowhere to be found.

Frustrated and bitter with being thwarted in his search for the truth, Logan retreated to the wilderness of Alberta. There, he spent the following years in solitude, getting in touch with his surroundings to make peace with his inner demons. Just as he tried before, there was no escaping the nightmares, the fragmented memories that would suddenly appear, and the sense of helplessness he felt from not knowing his past. While he contemplated returning to the mansion during his time away, he was not sure if it would have done much good. His yearning for finding out more about those missing years would have been an impediment to focusing on missions and on teaching the children.

Yet, there was something that was always calling him back. It was not the Professor using his telepathy. Rather, it was a combination of things. He was beginning to miss going out on missions with the others, taking out his pent-up aggressions physically. While he refused to admit it, he also longed to be affiliated with the group again, as much as some of them (One-Eyed, Popsicle, and the Cajun) grated on his nerves.

There was also Jean-beautiful, intelligent, kind, and empathetic Jean. Despite the fact she married Scott, Logan still felt just as strongly about her as he did the first time they met. She had been another reason he had left the mansion so abruptly. Watching her and One-Eyed play happy couple was almost too much for him to stomach. He hated himself for being in love with someone could never return his feelings. He hated himself even more for not taking initiative to convince her otherwise. His honor and his love for her restrained him from sharing the intensity of his feelings.

While he was away, Logan had his share of female companionship. There were countless redheads he had met on the road and taken back to his cabin. None of the women could ever come close to replacing what he wanted most back in Westchester. So, he tried to make do with what he had and forced his mind to create his fantasy. Still, it was not good enough. Intertwined with the dreams of the missing years of his life were ones that centered on Jean. In them, she returned his love freely. These dreams were so intense that he had to convince himself they were only that once he awoke alone.

Jubilee. The girl he considered his prot‚g‚e and his daughter; the girl he swore to protect and take care of. Logan had wanted to tell her that he was going away to keep her safe. He felt he had failed her when she was kidnapped and tortured by Bastion. Blaming himself for what had happened, he had tried to find the bastard and his minions to make them for they did to her. In his own mind, he believed that tearing those animals apart could make up for his inability to protect her. When he finally reached Bastion's base of operations, he was disheartened to find it had been destroyed before he arrived. As he stood over the ashes of the complex, he could not keep himself from thinking he had failed the girl.

It was following that incident his nightmares became more intense and frequent. He was seeking help from the Professor during private sessions, but even with that, they were still pervasive. Soon, it got to the point where they were affecting his functioning while he was awake. He was irritable and tense, more so than usual. During a Danger Room session with Hank, he experienced visual hallucinations and delusions that he was being hunted by other people who wanted to hurt him. Had it not been for Jean and Rogue, he would have torn his friend and teammate into pieces.

Ororo crossed her arms over her chest, studying the bitterness etched into the man's face. As usual, he was being his laconic self. While she was no telepath, she could sense something was bothering him. Was it guilt for leaving the child? Was it his unrequited love for Jean? Did he need help from the Professor? She wanted to ask these questions, but was not sure how her teammate would react. She decided to start with a general inquiry.

"So what brings you back?"

He raised a brow at her. If she were Scott or Warren, he would not have hesitated to unsheathe his claws. "Got bored of the country," he replied gruffly. He could already tell from her frown that she knew he was lying. Inwardly, he sighed. Ororo would not stop prying until she got the answers she wanted. He considered backtracking out of the greenhouse, but figured that she would summon a windstorm to keep him with her.

"Guess everyone's doing fine without me," he finally said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. He wasn't sure if he was referring to the happy Mrs. Summers or the young girl who had moved on without him.

Ororo was not going to give him her sympathy-at least, not yet. "What makes you say that?"

He did not answer her question. Instead, he asked, "Any chance Jeannie's having marital problems?"

The weather goddess was uncertain as to whether or not Logan was joking. He did not smile, but there was a great deal of sarcasm in his voice. She always thought he continued to carry a torch for her.

"No, Scott and Jean are quite happy together. He's a good husband to her."

"Jean isn't the one he's playing house with. Looks like he wants to play Daddy Dearest with the kid." Logan snorted.

Ororo raised a perfectly tweezed brow at him. She was aware of Logan's animosity and jealousy towards her old friend. However, she only thought these involved romantic feelings toward Jean Grey. She never expected he would be just as hostile about Jubilee.

She sniffed indignantly. "He's been a great source of support. Given what the child has been through, I would think you would commend him for that."

Logan winced. While he realized she had a point, the scene that unfolded before him this morning was too much for him. He had come to the Summers' house in the hopes of seeing Jean. Wanting to surprise her, he had parked his Harley in the garage and walked to the home. He paused in front of the door to peer inside. Instead of the redhead, he saw Jubilee, grown up and quite beautiful, talking with One-Eyed. He could not hear what they were saying, but he was hoping she was giving the tight-ass a smart line or two. However, his hopes were dashed when she quickly reached over and hugged the other man. Shocked and bewildered, Logan dashed to the other side of the house when he heard her open the door.

Again, he knew that Ororo was right. The child deserved to have some stability in her life. As much as he hated to admit it, Scott Summers was the perfect person to provide that and loving support. There was even a small part of Logan that was pleased that the man he disliked so strongly was looking after Jubilee. Still, he could not help but feel somewhat slighted that he was replaced so easily. He wanted to believe that he was the only one who received those bright smiles and warm hugs from the young girl.

Ororo could sense he was upset. Despite how savage and wild many thought he was, there was a tender side to him that he rarely revealed. She often observed this whenever he was around the child. The road trips, the inside-jokes, the glances of adoration from her all testified to the bond the two had shared.

"Logan, she misses you a great deal." She paused for a moment and then asked, "Does she know you're here?"

"No, not yet. The only person who probably knows is Chuck." He had not called or checked in personally with the Professor, but was sure the powerful psychic could detect he was here.

"Then what are you waiting for you? I'm sure Jubilee will be very happy to see you."

"She doesn't need me anymore, Storm. I'm aware of that now." The scene of his Jubilee throwing her arms around that nerd with the sunglasses made him spat in disgust.

"There's no one who could ever take your place. Not in her eyes, at least. I mean, you two are very close."

"Were close," he corrected, his face grim.

"That's ridiculous, Logan. I'm sure she would say the same."

He grunted in response, slumping his shoulder slightly. "I wouldn't blame her if she felt differently." He remembered how she had begged him to stay those many years ago. It took all the strength he had that day to turn away her tearful face so that he could leave.

The corners of Ororo's mouth lifted into a gentle smile. "Children are very forgiving; Jubilee, most of all. While Bastion did a great deal of harm towards her, she has learned to move on with her life and let go of her anger and rage. What makes what you did any more different and damaging?"

He turned away from the weather goddess. "I left her alone. I should have never done that. I promised to take care of her."

"But you're back now. If you talk to her and tell her why you've been gone, she'll understand. Trust me. I've spent quite a bit of time with her." She began to edge closer to the tormented soul in her greenhouse.

Logan was not convinced. "I really hurt her," he said softly, his eyes on the ground. "She deserves better than me. You know, someone who doesn't run, who isn't a danger to her and other people." He stopped short of saying that Scott Summers would fit the bill.

The white-haired woman with the smooth, toffee-colored complexion placed a slim hand on his shoulder. Ororo was surprised that he would allow her to touch him so easily. He almost always flinched when other people besides Jean or Jubilee would do so. She peered into his lost eyes with her calm ones. In her most serene tone, the weather goddess replied, "You are that person, Logan."
 

Chapter Three: Come Together

The later afternoon found Bobby Drake and his old friend, Dr. Hank McCoy, together in the doorway of the main living room of the mansion. While Bobby was the active prankster, the good doctor was usually nearby to enjoy the humorous outcome. Sometimes, Hank would even help his young friend, which seemed to fly in the face of the fa‡ade he projected as the mature, highbrow scientist.

The two had passed by one of the recreation rooms after teaching classes (for Bobby, it was Algebra; for Hank, photography and chemistry--separate) that day when they saw two figures curled up on the couch in front of the television. Upon closer inspection, the individuals were identified as Bishop and Lockheed. Both were sound asleep. Exchanging mischievous looks, Bobby and Hank immediately knew what they had to do. The two friends were trying not to giggle as they snapped a picture of the brawny time traveler and small, pink dragon curled up together like two puppies.

"This is gonna be great," said Bobby eagerly, but keeping his voice low as not to disturb the much larger and stronger Bishop. "It's going in the photo album with that picture of Sam Guthrie when he bent over and his ass crack was showing, and the one where Kurt put a straw up his nose when he thought no one was looking."

"What about the one where Scott fell asleep on the Blackbird and drool was running out the corner of his mouth?" Hank asked, furrowing his blue, furry brows.

"Oh yeah, that was great! And what about the one where Gambit was checking out his own butt in the mirror?"

Hank laughed. "Now that was priceless! The best one was that one of you when you thought no one was looking and you put that mop on your head so you could pretend you had dreadlocks." He suddenly realized Bobby wasn't laughing. "Oops, I guess I forgot to tell you about that one."

"No problem," Bobby replied. "I have video of you singing Anne Murray songs in the shower."

"All right, I won't show anyone that picture of you."

The two friends were grinning as they left. They walked into the living room, which had recently been redecorated by Betsy. The theme in this space definitely reflected the Englishwoman's tastes. There was a palette of muted jewel tones-teal and amethyst, plum and garnet, loden and amber-colored mohair plaids and velvet paisleys, fringed tattersalls and Harris tweeds, borrowed from her favorite hacking jackets and warmest carriage blankets. A selection of oversized photography books was stacked on a side table, while a leather ottoman was used as a resting place holding a tray set with a teapot and two cups on antique saucers. Timeworn velvets, faded damasks and vintage leathers, which took their cues from the walls' antique patina to create a well-worn setting, accented the room's well-worn plank floors. Located in the room were a well-worn leather sofa and corduroy chairs with pillows of shearing, mohair, and luxe touches of coyote, taken from her country home. Across the generous library table crowned with an abundant spray of pussy willows, was a clubby sofa in a tone-on-tone loden stripe mixes tweedy pillows with a glamorous coyote throw. The room was finished off by the curves of intimately scaled leather chairs, emphasized by nailhead trim.

While the room complimented the other main rooms in the house, Bobby was still impressed that the Professor even agreed to allow Betsy to go through with it. He remembered the time he had proposed putting up his 'Animal House' and 'Blues Brothers' movie posters up in the recreation room. Immediately, he began to experience a sharp, piercing headache. No doubt the Professor had something to do with it.

Hank wanted to find the most recent issue of 'American Photo' magazine. He was going to use one of the articles in his next photography lecture. There had been an interesting portfolio by the late Herb Ritz, which made use of sienna-colored tints to celebrity portraits.

Meanwhile, Bobby waited for his friend to finish his search by the French windows. The young man stared out at the vast backyard of the property, which was cluttered with leaves in varying shades of red, gold, and orange. Brightly shining overhead was the autumn sun, contrasting against the crisp, blue sky. He admired the picturesque landscape before him. There was nothing better than fall in Westchester. He then thought about asking a group of people from the mansion as to whether they were interested in going on a hayride through the town. It had been a yearly tradition with him, Hank, and Rogue before he left to care for his father.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw flowing raven hair with midnight blue streaks. He recognized the tresses belonging to Jubilee, who was strolling through the backyard away from the mansion, but not towards the home she shared with Scott and Jean. Instead, she seemed to be venturing in the direction of the lake nearby. She looked lost in her own thoughts, unaware that she was being watched. While the expression on her face was one of thoughtfulness, it was quite enigmatic at the same time.

Bobby suddenly felt the urge to follow the young girl. He turned to Hank and said, "Listen, I'll catch up with you at dinner, OK?"

Hank had found the issue and was now thumbing through it to find his article. His eyes were scanning the table of contents. "That sounds fine, Bobby. I will most certainly save you a seat," he replied absent-mindedly.

"Thanks, Hank." Bobby called over his shoulder and darting out of the house. Jubilee was already several yards ahead of him. She looked as if she were heading to the dock by the lake. This struck him as strange since the canoes, kayaks, and pontoons were primarily kept in the boathouse, which was on the other side of the lake. Despite the scenic, autumnal conditions, it was still too cold to swim in the lake's waters. Curious, Bobby continued to follow her down the stone path to the dock.

Jubilee found her way to the edge of the dock, where she finally sat down. She smiled faintly as she felt the cool breeze brush against her cheeks. There was something that was off today. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Classes were long and boring as usual. The Professor was not in alert mode when there was a mission to be dealt with.

What gave it away that something was amiss? Scott seemed desperate to have a word with her alone after he and Jean got up. It turned out that they decided to skip the mall that day. However, he was sidetracked when he was asked to take a group of children into town for a field trip. Ms. Munroe, who was supposed to go, was uncharacteristically mysterious, informing the Professor and the others that she had some "things" to take care of at the last minute. As for her, Jubilee did not see her all day after passing by the greenhouse, which was strange. Usually, the weather goddess would stop by one of her classes to check up on her. Meanwhile, Jean, like Scott, really wanted to discuss something with her in private, but wanted to find Ororo first. After that, Jubilee did not see Jean for the rest of the day.

I'm either in trouble or I'm getting a car, she mused jokingly, not placing a great deal of stock on the latter. She and Bishop had taken one of the cars around the block when she was trying to get her learner's permit. When they returned to the mansion, he immediately jumped out of the car and kissed the ground. He then grabbed Scott and threatened to pummel him if he was asked to take her out on the road again.

The placid waves of the lake were enough to allow her to clear her head. However, she was not totally relaxed. She could hear the footsteps of someone else on the wooden planks of the dock behind her. Her limbs immediately began to tense in preparation for a confrontation with an intruder. Deep down, she realized that was unlikely. But I used to feel that way at the academy and that's how Bastion got me, she thought. Her hands were now cradling a ball of bright light.

"Hey, kid," a low, husky voice drawled.

Her eyes widened as she dissolved the ball of light back into her body. Slowly with her heart thudding in her ears, she turned around. Only one word escaped from her lips. "Wolvie?"

Logan nodded, amazed as to how the young girl had grown. She was even more beautiful up close, reminding him of past loves. Her short hair she sported when she was a pixyish teenager was now long and flowing down her graceful shoulders. Her taste in clothing seemed to be influenced by Jean, which seemed to be trendy but tamer than her mall rat days. While she looked her age physically, there was something about her that made her older than her years. Those striking blue eyes he had first noticed all those years ago remained sparkling, but were more wary than they used to be. His stomach twisted inside. There was no doubt in his mind that his absence had played a role in that.

The younger Jubilee would have quickly scurried to her feet to greet him with an energetic hug. This older version of the child, instead, sat very still at the edge of dock and studied him thoughtfully. It reminded him of the Professor or Jean and the two had this way of analyzing him with only their eyes. He found it particularly unnerving from the girl he had considered a daughter. Logan quickly yearned for the days before he left. He was unsure as to how to interact with the new, older Jubilee.

"You alright, kid?" he finally asked, realizing there would be no hugs or squeals of enthusiasm over his homecoming today. Maybe she's sick or worse, she hates me.

"You're home," she said quietly, her sapphire eyes still fixated on him. He looked the same-stony eyes, hair shaped into those silly points on both sides of his head, lumberjack wardrobe. There was something different about the Wolverine who stood before her; something she had never seen before in all the years she had known him. He looked uncertain, not as confident as he usually did.

Logan found himself not comfortable under her intense gaze. He decided to take a seat next to her on the dock, allowing his denim-clad legs to swing over the edge with hers. "You don't seem happy to see me," he drawled dryly.

She shrugged, her stare turning to the waters ahead. "I gave up on the idea that you would come back." Her body stiffened involuntarily when he settled next to her.

He grimaced, noting how her words suddenly stung him. His ears picked up on the faint trace of sadness in her voice, which was mixed with a strange, hardened quality. "You must hate me," he mumbled.

"No, I don't hate you. I don't think I could ever hate you."

"But?"

"But, I don't really understand you. I thought I did, but I don't."

"What do you mean? Kid, you're the only one who really gets me in this whole damned place."

"That's not true."

"Why would you think that?"

"If I really knew you, I would understand why you left. I don't."

"Darlin'."

She did not allow him to finish. "When you left that day without telling anyone why, you really hurt me. I was left to come up with reasons why. At first, I thought it was because you didn't want a kid around, bringing you down anymore. Then the reasons weren't important anymore. You were gone and no amount of rationalizing wasn't going to bring you home."

His green eyes widened as he listened to what she was saying. He never realized his absence had affected that much. Equally surprising was the logic sprouting from her at that moment.

She continued, still without looking at him. "So, I moved on. I stopped marking anniversaries on calendars. I stopped cherishing those two-sentence postcards you sent every once in a while."

"Jubilee."

Her mouth then set into a grim line, something he had never seen her do. "I needed you the most during that time. I was still recovering from what Bastion and his goons had done to me. I needed to feel protected and secure and the only person I thought could provide that sense of both was you. Then you leave." She turned to him, her lovely face filled with bitterness. "Do you know what that did to me?"

Logan found himself at a loss of words. Finally, he shook his head.

"It convinced me that Bastion and his lackeys were right," she said flatly. "When they had me in their hideout, they did all sorts of things. They played with my head to make me think that all of you were dead. They beat me so that they could find out more about the Professor and the X-Men. Sometimes it hurt so badly, I even thought of breaking, but I didn't because that's not what I was taught to do.

"Then one night, a group of the men broke into my cell and tried to rape me. Fortunately, they didn't. They just took one look at me and said I wasn't worth it because I was a stinking mutant kid. They said that no one would ever want to get close to me was because that's all I am. I was ugly, undesirable and that I would be lucky to have anyone close to me." Her voice changed as she re-enacted the event, still fresh in her mind as ever.

"After that, the verbal abuse continued, mixed in with the psychological manipulation and the physical torture. You know, there were times when I actually believed it. But then, you found me and I thought everything was going to be fine. As long as you were around, nothing could bring me back to that place again."

Logan watched her struggle to hold back her tears. He wanted to reach out and wrap an arm around her, but he wasn't sure how that was going to be received. He continued to sit next to her, his face drawn with worry and horror as she relieved her ordeal.

"When you left, I began to think they were right. I drove you away. It was like I became that undesirable, hated thing Bastion's goons said I was." Jubilee was determined not to cry, especially not in front of him. She had worked so hard all this time to be stronger than that.

"That's not true." He wanted to strangle those bastards for what they did to his beautiful Jubilee.

"You weren't around to argue otherwise." She turned to look into his eyes.

"I'm telling you now. You could never drive me away. It was never about you."

She nodded, finding some comfort in his delayed response. "Then what was it?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Logan hesitated. The day after the Danger Room incident with Hank, he became involved in a heated traffic argument while he was driving into town with Jubilee. The teenaged driver, probably Jubilee's age, had cut Logan's truck in traffic and given him the finger on top of that. Instantly incensed, Logan pulled up to the young man with green hair and multiple facial piercings at the stoplight. He hopped out of his truck and grabbed the boy from the open driver's side window. He began screaming at him threats of bodily harm. The younger man's face paled as he stammered incoherent apologies. Horrified at the scene that was unfolding in front of her, Jubilee attempted to intervene, begging her Wolvie to stop. When she pulled at his arm, he shoved her against the truck without thinking. While she was unhurt, Logan knew that he could not trust himself around her or anyone for that matter. He soon left after that, not wanting to tell anyone else about his fears.

"I thought I was going to hurt you," he said after a long silence. "I couldn't let myself even think of what if, so I left."

Jubilee stared at him, puzzled. "Why? I know you would never do that."

"I would never intentionally do it, but I was losin' control of myself. There was nothing anyone could do. Even the Professor." He did not want to go further with any details and hoped she would be satisfied with what he had just given her.

"Did you give him a chance? He's helped you before." She had heard stories from Scott and Jean about how he had acted when he first arrived to the mansion. Jean told her that the Professor had dedicated a great deal of time helping Logan face his demons.

"Yeah, didn't work. It was better for me to deal with my stuff alone. You didn't need me around. You had Scott and Jean. Turned out fine to me." He narrowed his eyes as the thought of Cyclops playing Daddy Dearest raced through his brain.

She detected the bitterness in his voice and knew where it stemmed from. "They've done a lot for me," she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But what you've taught me about being strong also helped, too. I remember everything you passed on to me when you were living here. I wanted to make you proud."

"You have, kid." A hint of smile crossed his lips when she touched him. "Seems like I missed out on a lot." He fingered a silky strand of her hair.

"But you're here now."

"Yeah, kid, I am." With that, he extended a muscular arm and pulled her to his chest.

Jubilee paused before asking, "Are you here to stay?" She knew what she wanted him to say, but wasn't sure if he was feeling the same way. Immediately, she began to brace herself not to get her hopes high.

He looked deeply into those clear, blue eyes, which were imploring, but wary of him. Here was his chance to make things right again between them. Things would be different because he was different. He had control of the beast and rage inside. There was no chance now that he would ever hurt her again.

And, he owed it to her. It was becoming more apparent how he had let her down all those years ago. He had no idea what kind of impact his absence had on her until now. Like Cyclops needing the Professor's approval, Logan needed Jubilee to believe in him again.

"Yeah, kid. I'm here to stay." He rested his stubble-ridden chin on the top of her head. He breathed in the scent that was uniquely hers and sighed. For the first time since he left the mansion on Graymalkin Lane, the Wolverine felt a soothing calm wash over him. There was no need to run anymore.

At the top of the stone path that led to the dock, a figure with a boyish face and sandy hair observed the happy reunion. He watched with some happiness and concern for the young girl. As he turned on his heel to walk back to the mansion, he hoped that the loner would keep his word.
 

Chapter Four: Two Points for Honesty

Logan had been back at the mansion for several weeks. His return garnered some mixed reviews from the other residents. While old friends and colleagues, like Jean and Kurt, greeted him warmly, others who had strained relations, like Scott and Warren, with him before were less enthusiastic. The younger students, many of whom did not know him well, were wary of the hairy, brooding man who liked smoking cigars with Bishop. They simply stayed away from him for fear of being growled at.

For his part, Logan quickly adjusted back to his old life. He resumed his vigorous physical training with the others in long Danger Room sessions. He went along on the occasional mission, even following Scott's brusquely delivered orders. Surprisingly, he allowed the Professor to talk him into teaching several self-defense classes at the school. He also returned to sneaking off with Scott's prized motorcycle every once in a while; just to get under the other man's skin-that and incessantly flirting with Jean in front of him.

Even though he was still attracted to the statuesque redhead, he soon realized that there could be nothing between them except for friendship. She had chosen stable, boring, vanilla Scott over him long ago. Her behavior demonstrated devotion to her husband and their married life together. At first, he began to experience those old feelings of jealousy and angst over his unrequited love for her. However, as time passed since his return, it became easier for Logan to deal with.

This was because he had found a new priority. Despite the understanding he and Jubilee came to on the docks weeks ago, Logan found that he still had some work to do in repairing their relationship. He had never expected it to be easy. In his experience, nothing ever was. He yearned for the days she would eagerly tag along by his side, chatter on and on about their great adventures in "the old days", and hang on his every word. Now, she was the one who was approached, not the other way around anymore.

But he had her back and that was all that mattered. Getting to know the new Jubilee was interesting. There were parts of her personality that remained the same, such as the incessant need to shop, wisecracking sense of humor, and wide-eyed innocence. However, Logan could discern traces of Scott and Jean's influence in his young prot‚g‚e-thoughtfulness, analytical sense, and empathy. While he resented Scott for taking charge in the girl's life, he could not help but be somewhat grateful to the other man for doing a wonderful job in raising Jubilee.

I just won't give One-Eyed the satisfaction of knowing, he smugly smiled, lighting a Cohiba cigar Bishop had given him as a gift. He was now sitting on one of the benches by the rose garden, staring at the flowerless shrubbery in the early evening hours. Logan pulled out a photograph from his jacket pocket. Gently, he fingered the dog-eared edges of the picture. In it, stood was a grinning thirteen-year-old Jubilee with her prized teddy bear he had bought her one Christmas. As he stared at the photo he had carried everywhere, he realized she needed him as much now as she did then.

"Hey, Logan," a familiar voice broke into his thoughts.

Startled, he quickly shoved the picture back into his pocket and looked up. A curvy, young woman stood in front of him, dressed in a pair of low-riding, black flared pants, a midriff-baring, red T-shirt with a silver-and-black X on the front, and black-and-white sneakers. Even though it was slightly cool outside, she also wore a pair of black leather gloves. Her hair, which had been long and curly before, was now straight and bobbed just below her chin. However, the color or colors remained the same-brown with white streaks framing her face.

"Rogue," he finally replied in greeting. He had not seen much of her since he had returned. She had been on vacation with her new boyfriend, Joseph, or "Joeneto" as Popsicle and Jubilee liked to call him, up until last week. As wary as he was of the amnesiac version of the Professor's old friend and nemesis, Logan was relieved that Rogue had found someone to establish a relationship with, where touching could be done without harm. From what he had observed of her since coming back to the mansion, she seemed happier, more at peace. This was in stark contrast during her time with the Cajun. Logan remembered the many nights he watched her pine and angst over the man she both loved and did not trust. To this day, she rarely said anything about Remy LeBeau and what exactly happened before she left him in Antarctica.

She seated herself next to him. "Ah heard from Kitty ya were back. Welcome home." Her hazel eyes were genuine as she spoke.

"Thanks."

"Life on the road treated ya OK?"

"Pretty much. Good to have time to myself."

"Ah bet Sweet Pea's glad you're back," Rogue observed, using the pet name she had given to Jubilee. While Jean and Ororo had taken on maternal roles toward the young girl, Rogue was more of the fun, older sister.

He wanted to think that was the case, but wasn't sure since she was still a little reserved around him. "Yeah, I guess she is."

Rogue gave him a sympathetic look. "She is. She's a teenager now and things ain't as simple as they used to be. We've all been there."

If I was, I don't remember any of it, he thought, puffing on his cigar bitterly and peering down at the ground under their feet. Suddenly, he said, "I'm not leaving her again, you know."

"Course not, sugah."

"I really mean it. Some people around here think I'm going to up and leave again, but I won't." His eyes narrowed, recalling the judgmental glares he had received from Scott, Warren, and Betsy when he first arrived. He was no mind reader, but he could instantly tell what the three of them were thinking.

Rogue placed a gloved hand on his cheek, turning his head to face her. "Logan, Ah believe ya," she said softly. She was suddenly surprised to see the anguish on his face. This man, a loner who prided himself on being tough and cynical, was now on the verge of breaking down-or something close to that.

Shocked from her touch, Logan pulled away slightly. He was not afraid of what she could have done since she was wearing gloves. It was just that he was not used to being as open and honest as he was with his thoughts and feelings. Not unless he was being subjected to a mind-scan by Jean or the Professor. He was beginning to feel exposed and vulnerable, which made him very uncomfortable. In order to save face, he decided to change the subject.

"So, where's your other half?" he asked.

Same old Logan, Rogue thought, hiding her amusement. He gets close to talking about his feelings and clams up. She was not annoyed or offended that he shut down, but hopeful for the day when he would stop reverting to that defense mechanism. "He's at the mansion," she replied. "resting from our trip. We just got back from Bali."

Logan nodded. "Everything OK with the two of you?"

"Yeah. Ah have to say Ah'm real happy now. He's a good man, Logan."

"Good. You deserve it."

She beamed brightly, but then her expression became thoughtful. "Everyone's comin' home now-Kitty, Sam Guthrie, you, and Bobby. Ya evah think about who else might be comin' back?"

Logan raised a brow at her. He could tell she was dancing around the question she wanted to ask. "We talkin' about Gumbo?" he asked. Never the diplomat, he was always the type to get to the point.

A mixture of shock and irritation crossed the Southern Belle's face. "Course not," she retorted haughtily, almost snorting with disgust. "Haven't thought about that swamp rat in ages."

He knew she was lying from what he saw in her eyes, the tone of voice she used just now, and the smell of anger coming off from her. This was not the reaction from a person who did not care, but someone who was passionate and desperately hiding her conflicted feelings. Logan tried to hide his own amusement, chewing on his cigar thoughtfully.

"That seemed to be where you were going with the conversation, darlin'," he finally replied, watching her cheeks flush red with indignation.

"Ah was not!" she informed him hotly, rising to her feet.

"Right."

"Just wanted to speculate with ya, but ya wanted to make it into something else." With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to the mansion.

How he missed teasing her to the point of losing her temper. Drake was right. This was fun.

Since Logan's return to the mansion, Scott kept a close eye on him. It was no secret the two did not get along well. Logan was the rebel, the man who went about things by the seat of his pants. Rather than evaluate the evidence, Logan's inclination was to follow his instincts. This was antithetical to Scott, who followed the rules and analyzed things to the finest detail. Their differing life philosophies often clashed, both in and out of battles. Had it not been for the interventions of others, their verbal sparring would have escalated to physical altercations.

He was no longer concerned about the other man's intentions towards his wife. Jean had chosen him, not Logan to be her husband. He had figured that the flirting Logan engaged in with her was just to make him mad. Initially, it worked, but after they got married, Scott figured out how to ignore the Canadian's antics or respond with a dry, sardonic comeback. It also helped to have Jean's repeated assurances at night.

Even though he still considered Logan a loose cannon of sorts, there seemed to be an inner peace within the man Scott had never witnessed before. Before his departure, Logan seemed to be overwhelmed constantly by wild rages. Anyone was a target at any time, even members of his own team. Scott had consulted the Professor about this. He was concerned about the safety and well being of the others while they were on mission. Now, Logan was able to focus his aggression on the field, while keeping his head.

Scott turned on the solid brass pharmacy reading lamp at his desk. His eyes flicked to a framed photograph of Jean and Jubilee taken last year. It was Jubilee's birthday and they were on a picnic by the lake. The two were beaming brightly as the sun that shone behind them that day. It was the happiest he had seen Jubilee in sometime. There was no trace of the angst she had been experiencing since Logan's disappearance, no fear and trauma from her time with Bastion. It was simple, unadulterated joy in being alive that radiated from her face.

Scott seated himself at his desk, wishing he could keep her that way forever. With Logan's return to the mansion, he was not sure it was necessarily the best thing for the young girl. In spite of the other man's newfound inner peace, he was not the epitome of stability. Jubilee's history of loss and trauma required just that.

So, he and Jean created a home life that was supportive and loving for her. They invited her into their home and doted on her as if she were their own. She reciprocated, opening up about her experiences while she was captive and allowing both of them to help her recover. While she had been wary of being close to anyone else other than Logan, Scott sensed that she was now attached to both himself and Jean. It was as if they were a real family.

He only hoped that Wolverine's return would not jeopardize that. Even though she appeared to have adjusted well, Scott was still concerned. There was no telling when Logan would leave again. Sure, he was here and promised Jubilee he would not run. But given Logan's troubled past, how could anyone trust him?

He had discussed his worries with Jean, who had assured him that Logan was a different man. She had faced him in Ororo's greenhouse when he first returned. From their conversation and a mind scan, Jean informed Scott of his reasons for leaving in the first place as well as his honorable intention of remaining at the mansion for Jubilee's sake. She was adamant that Logan was being genuine this time. In response, Scott expressed his doubts, but promised his wife he would keep his opinions silent around the young girl.

However, that was not going to stop him from being vigilant. While he did not confront Logan with his concerns at the request of Jean, Scott continued to watch the other man's every move with suspicion. This was particularly true whenever he was with Jubilee.

His worried thoughts were interrupted when the front door opened. He heard the girlish laughter of Jubilee over his wife's lilting voice. Both walked by the study, arms filled with shopping bags.

He managed a dry smile. "I take it your outing was successful?"

Jean nodded. She motioned for Jubilee to step forward. "Jubilee even got a present for you," she told her husband, green eyes twinkling.

Jubilee pulled out a slim, white box and presented it to Scott. "Go ahead and open it," she urged, exchanging a knowing glance with Jean.

"This better not paf in my face," he mock-warned, but began to uncover the contents of the box anyway. Inside, was a pair of wrap-around, ruby-quartz sunglasses. He was taken a back and found himself at a loss for words.

Jubilee broke the silence. "I was watching MTV and saw this U2 video from a while ago. Bono was wearing some shades similar to these and I thought you would look great in them. Also, you really need to update your look, Scott. Square frames are totally out this season." She added a laugh.

"Thanks, kiddo. This is a great gift," Scott said, not taking her fashion criticism too seriously. He closed his eyes, removed his old sunglasses, and slipped on the new ones, which were surprisingly comfortable. "How do I look?"

"So handsome," Jean pretended to gush. She followed her comment with a wink.

"If we could only do something with this hair," Jubilee said, reaching forward to tousle his thick, brown locks. "What about blond highlights?"

He ducked out of her reach and smirked. "Forget it."

The two laughed and began to chatter about their excursion to the mall. Scott's mind soon drifted off into his own thoughts about Logan and Jubilee again. He suddenly set his mouth into a grim line.

Jean noticed the serious look on her husband's face. Is there something wrong?

No, nothing's wrong, Jean. He quickly flashed her a wan smile and focused his attention on Jubilee, who was describing an outfit she had just purchased. Watching her now, she seemed to project such light and happiness. There was no way he was going to let Jubilee get hurt again.
 

Chapter Five: The Man Comes Around

"I don't know about this," Katherine "Kitty" Pryde said to the white-haired weather goddess sitting across from her, pulling her thick, wavy brown hair into a messy ponytail. "Not everyone's going to be happy about what we've found."

"You do not know that for sure," Ororo replied calmly, finishing her favorite drink, an Oscar 75 cocktail, which was made by combining sparkling wine and mango liqueur. The two women had just completed a mission in Bermuda, and were enjoying a well-deserved break at Henry VIII Restaurant & Pub on South Shore Road. The Tudoresque establishment was known for serving Ye Olde Fayre amid pewter knickknacks.

The coral cliffs, protected coves and dozen of scenic beaches bedecked with palm trees and hibiscus taunted them as they furiously worked to track down a missing, Apocalyptic scroll from the Mesopotamia era. Fortunately for them, they were able to locate the undamaged artifact while browsing a local flea market within days of their arrival. Through contacts Ororo already established during prior missions in the area, they were able to find out who was behind the theft and why it had been taken. It had turned out that one of the museum administrators was experiencing financial difficulties and was desperate to earn fast cash. Needless to say, after the two women resolved the situation, they caught up on sightseeing, shopping, and restaurant/bar-hopping-not necessarily in that order.

As she studied the concerned expression on Kitty's round face, Ororo was reminded how fond she was of the young girl she considered a daughter. She was pleased that Kitty decided to return after graduating from college with her degree in computer science. The failed relationships the girl had faced during her brief lifetime-the first with her estranged father in Chicago, the second with the late Colossus, and the third with the Englishman Pete Wisdom, a former member of Excalibur and now ex-boyfriend in London-had devastating effects. She had become depressed, finding little joy and comfort in the people who cared for her at the mansion.

Bitter with these unsuccessful relationships, she decided to leave Xavier to pursue a new life, where no one knew of her abilities and no one could place any expectations on her weary shoulders. Kitty had been a gifted student and team member at the mansion. Eager to please, she sought the approval from others at the mansion, particularly the Professor, who often acted as a surrogate guardian. Looking back now, Ororo feared that the Professor held the young girl to too high of standards-training her vigorously in Danger Room sessions, asking her to lead Excalibur.

The years away from the mansion, immersed in the real world benefited the girl who had come to them, unsure of her abilities and her place in the world. She was more confident in her decisions and not as anxious when it came to what others thought of her. Despite these changes in her personality, Kitty still retained her tendency of wanting to please everyone all the time. Her ambivalence regarding their latest discovery in the tropics was a testament to this pattern.

Kitty frowned, not taking much solace in her friend's words as she would when she was younger. She played with the gold Star of David that hung from around her neck, contemplating the ramifications of bringing back what they had found to the mansion and wishing for Ororo's stunning fashion sense. Wearing a faded, pink tank top and army green cargo shorts with flip-flops, she felt somewhat inadequate and tomboyish sitting with a woman in a flowing cotton, cream-colored sundress with coral flowers and thong sandals with matching sequined flowers. Kitty was convinced that if Ororo had not devoted her life to Xavier's dream, she could have easily been a model.

"I still don't know about this," Kitty said, returning to the subject at hand as she took another sip of her pinot grigio. Unlike her friend, she preferred sparkling wines to mixed drinks. "It's just that people might not totally embrace the idea of bringing home."

Ororo cut her off in mid-sentence. "And what would you suggest we do?" she asked.

The younger woman shrugged her shoulders, brown eyes hesitant. "I don't know, Storm," she replied, taken aback from her friend's directness. Her brusque manner was usually reserved for Scott and Logan during missions or sessions in the Danger Room. As second in command to Scott, she cultivated and developed that demeanor to keep her head in battle.

Seeing how her words had stung Kitty, Ororo gave her an apologetic smile and placed a comforting hand over the younger woman's. "I'm sorry, dear," she said quietly, "it's just that we do not have a lot of time before our flight leaves tonight. We just need to have some faith in the others. They might not react as badly as you anticipate."

Kitty sighed, her heart-shaped mouth and cat-like, brown eyes working together to form a troubled frown. "I just wish we could have talked to the Professor about this. He would definitely know how the others would respond. If only he weren't visiting Lilandra and the Shi'ar." Her voice trailed off wistfully. "I don't want to make people upset if they don't have to be."

The weather goddess nodded in agreement. Xavier's input would indeed prove to be helpful in this situation and would provide some peace of mind to Kitty. However, contacting him at this point would take nine days-time they did not have. She could only resign herself to trust her own instincts. Surely, the others could not be angry when confronted with what she and Kitty were about to bring home. Could they?

Back in Westchester, it was a blustery, autumn late afternoon. The sun was beginning to sink behind the hills of the mansion property. Classes had ended for the day at the school and many of the children were outside, enjoying the crunch of the dead leaves on the ground under their feet as they played. Despite the cooling temperatures of the season, it was still warm enough to go outside without heavy layers of clothing.

Logan and Jubilee found themselves taking the opportunity to enjoy the seasonal weather as well. The two were walking towards the Summers' home on the other side of the mansion. The farm-style, white clapboard house provided a crisp contrast against the darkening sky overhead.

Since Scott and Jean were away on a romantic getaway in the city for the next couple of days, Logan had taken it upon himself to look after Jubilee. It seemed like a logical decision. He could get to know the older Jubilee and repair their relationship at the same time. Slowly, he began to see results. He noticed that she was more open with him and less wary when he was around. Granted, she no longer overwhelmed him with boisterous hugs and yelps of glee when she saw him, but at least things were getting better. They could talk again without tension, without anger about who was abandoned.

Logan pulled out a cigar from the pocket of his worn leather jacket. He slipped between his lips as he searched for his silver Zippo lighter. Grunting after not being able to locate it, his stony, green eyes glanced sideways at Jubilee. "Can ya spare a light, kid?"

She paused in her steps, blue eyes disapproving. "You know smoking can kill you, right? I can show you the pictures from my health textbook." She shuddered at the thought of the photographs of diseased lung tissue and the emaciated, bald victims of lung cancer.

"Listen, kid, I've faced Sabretooth, Magneto, Sentinels, and Apocalypse more times than you've practiced driving. I don't die easy."

Can't argue with that logic, she mused, summoning a spark between her index and middle fingers. Grinning and raising one of his brows at her, he leaned forward, lighting his Cohiba. She then absorbed the light back into her hand. Logan nodded his gratitude.

"So, what do you want to do tonight?" he asked, continuing their pace towards the house. "We can order pizza for dinner again." He made a face as he uttered the last sentence. The thought of another night of Chicago-style pizza was beginning to be too much.

"I know this doesn't sound like me, but I'm kind of sick of eating pizza for dinner every night. How about chili cheese fries? We can go the mall and get a huge thing of them." Jean had tried to wean her off junk food, but Jubilee found that old habits die-hard. Unbeknownst to Scott and Jean, she hid candy, chips, and gum in her bedroom.

"Sounds good. Live it up, kid. Your freedom away from One-Eyed won't last forever."

The wind suddenly whipped her long, black hair with midnight blue streaks across one side of her face. Underneath her veil of tresses, she was frowning. "I wish you wouldn't talk about him that way," she said quietly, pushing her hair behind her shoulder.

"Care to repeat that, kid?"

"Wolvie, it's just that when you say things like that about him, it makes me uncomfortable. He's a good man."

Logan stared at her in disbelief. He almost doubted his super sense of hearing. "You're taking sides with him?"

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her brown corduroy jacket, blue eyes on the ground. "I'm not on anyone's sides. It's just that spending all this time with him made me realize he's not that bad a guy, really. When you say mean things about him, it's not cool."

Logan scowled, puffing on his cigar. He hated to admit it, but the girl was right. He had known it for some time, but could not help but to take every chance to get under the other man's skin. However, he found that like Jubilee, old habits were hard to break. Besides tearing up the occasional bad guy, putting Cyke in his place was what he lived for.

"You're right," he muttered, grinding his cigar between his teeth. He wanted to spit on the ground in disgust, not quite believing he made his admission out loud.

"I'm sorry, Wolvie. What was that? I couldn't hear you just now."

"Don't be a smart ass. You heard what I said."

She grinned mischievously and placed her arm through his. "I know," she replied. "I just thought it would be funny to hear you say it one more time."

He grunted, pulling her closer to his side. With anyone else, he would have threatened them with a taste of adamantium. Staring down into those sparkling sapphire eyes, he softened somewhat. There had been a flash of the old Jubilee. Granted, it was at his expense, but the outcome still brought back memories of the way things had been between them.

When he was not residing in his Park Avenue apartment to oversee the day-to-day functions of his company, Warren Worthington lived in the east wing of the mansion. The wing was separated from the common areas and sleeping areas of the students and other team members by the front foyer. This provided him with the privacy he craved and accessibility to the going-ons in the mansion.

Despite how many times he had been in this area of the mansion, Bobby still could not get over how affluent his old friend truly was. Not that Warren constantly flaunted the fact in other people's faces. He seemed to keep a low profile when it came to discussing monetary matters. It was almost as if he were embarrassed about being himself sometimes. As Bobby stood by the French windows of the living room, he wondered why a man who had everything-good looks, wealth, education, and charm-would curse his own existence.

His eyes flicked to the sofa, where Warren and Kurt were sitting, engrossed in chess match. The two men made a contrasting pair in terms outward appearances. With the exception of large, feathery wings protruding from his shoulder blades, Warren was the epitome of the All-American boy. His perfectly coiffed, wavy blond hair flopped over his blue-green eyes, complimenting his sculpted, unblemished features. Tall and well built, Warren maintained his physique through Danger Room sessions and missions. The fact that he was a former polo, lacrosse, and soccer player also helped.

On the other end of the spectrum was Kurt. His earlier career as a circus acrobat provided him with the agility and small build needed to jump high in the air. What was most noticeable was his demon like appearance-long tail, fang-like teeth, and piercing yellow eyes. Also, unlike most humans and other mutants, Kurt only had three fingers on each hand instead of the usual five. His hair was black and cropped, which seemed to blend in with his dark blue skin. Upon his face were tattoos, symbols derived from an ancient, angelic language. He had told Ororo and Bobby long ago that each tattoo was for each sin he had committed before he devoted his life to the scriptures. Despite his frightening appearance, Kurt was the gentlest soul one could ever come across. He was thoughtful, patient and kind, always taking a spiritual perspective when it came to approaching missions and teaching at the school.

"I believe ve are at a stalemate, mein freund," Kurt observed, rubbing his chin and peering over at the pieces on the board. Both even had equal number of pieces captured.

Warren nodded in agreement. A gifted businessman, he disliked unresolved situations, which he viewed this stalemate as. He began to rack his brain for a plan of action when he noticed Bobby staring out the windows intently. Curious, he asked, "What's got your attention, Bobby?"

The younger man did not turn to face his friends, but continued his vigil. "Nothing."

Warren exchanged a knowing look with Kurt. "Nothing?"

"That's what I said."

"So, I suppose staring at nothing is more compelling than pulling one of your charming practical jokes?" Warren recently heard about the fallout from Bobby's latest prank. Bobby had planted a cigarette load (a tiny exploding piece of wood) in the end of one of Bishop's cigarettes and slipped it back into the pack. One of the older students, Ray Crisp, had joined a group on an outing to the local bar and asked for one. Bishop slid one out and the boy slipped between his lips. Just as the brawny time traveler began to light the cigarette, Ray expressed second thoughts. Suddenly, the smoke blew apart with a loud BANG! Needless to say, the young man swore off cigarettes for the rest of his life.

Bobby did not reply. He had been watching Logan and Jubilee, who were beginning to make their way to the mansion from the Summers' home. Even in the dimming light of the early autumn evening, he could still discern Jubilee's fine, delicate features. She looked radiant. Her smile was broader than he had ever seen it. As he continued to observe, he could not help but wonder why he was suddenly fascinated with the young girl. It was almost unnerving because he still could not make out the nature of this interest. He had always seen her as the loud-mouthed teenager who was also his partner in crime. Now, things were different.

"I believe he's admiring the view," Kurt piped up, winking at Warren. Even though he could not see what was out the window, he was sure that Jubilee was within Bobby's view. Since Bobby's return, Kurt noticed how the young man's behavior was different whenever she was around. He seemed more nervous and unsure of himself.

Bobby turned around, startled. For a moment, he thought Kurt was insinuating something. However, the other man looked innocent and guileless. Well, as innocent and guileless as a man with a tail, yellow eyes, and blue skin could look.

Bobby recovered and flashed a grin. "You know how I love fall."

Before Warren or Kurt could comment, they heard the door open in the foyer. The unmistakable smell of Logan's cigar wafted inside by the cooling wind. This was followed by the scent of Jubilee's bubble gum. The three men in the east wing of the mansion quickly made their way to the foyer to greet them.

Jubilee was asking Logan about the possibility of getting another set of piercings in her ears. Jean had expressed reservations about allowing her to get them, but Logan did not seem to mind. As she was about outline how she was going to pay, she bumped into a wall, covered in jersey material. For a moment, she lost her footing and began to fall backwards. Quickly, the wall's arms reached out and grabbed her, pulling her close.

"I've got you, Jubes," Bobby said, staring down into her surprised blue eyes. No matter how many times he had seen them, he continued to be fascinated by their color and sparkle. He also noticed that this was the closest he had ever been to her. Suddenly uncomfortable, he pulled away and began to chuckle. "Try not walking and talking at the same time. I'm not sure if your brain can handle both."

Jubilee's eyes flashed with indignation. She was about to come back with a smart response of her own when Logan interjected. "This comin' from the kid who went into the women's locker room while talkin' trash after a Danger Room session," he commented, wrapping an arm around the young girl's shoulders.

Bobby gave him a smug smile. "How do you know that wasn't on purpose?"

"Ja, I think I saw you running from Rogue and Kitty," Kurt interjected, yellow eyes mirthful. The sight of horrified Bobby Drake racing for his life from two women in bath towels was enough to produce a smile.

Jubilee began to giggle, but quieted when she received a warning glare from Bobby. She cleared her throat and said, "We're heading to the mall. Does anyone want to come along?"

At that moment, the door opened once more. This time, the travel-weary face of Kitty Pryde appeared. She looked as if she had been sleeping on the plane ride back to the states. Her ponytail was slightly rumpled and her cat-like brown eyes were heavy-lidded. In preparation for the cooler temperatures at home, she had changed from her summer attire to faded jeans, black-and-white sneakers, and her favorite, but oversized University of Chicago sweatshirt. She sauntered inside with her two travel bags slung over her shoulders.

Kurt quickly took the bags from his friend. "It's good to see you home. How vas your trip?"

"Must not been that good. You look like hell." Bobby observed. Logan growled at the boy, who paled in response.

She wrinkled her slightly upturned nose at Bobby, and then turned her appreciative eyes to Kurt. "It was good, thanks," she replied, patting his shoulder. "We found the scroll, undamaged. It turned out no mutants were involved in the taking of the scroll. Storm is going to return it to the museum tomorrow."

Warren nodded. He of all the people in the room had the most reason to be wary of anything related to Apocalypse. Hearing her brief them as to the results of the trip, he could not help but sense there was something else she was not disclosing. There was something in her voice-unsure and hesitant.

Ororo was the next to enter the foyer, pulling her suitcase on wheels with one hand and carrying multiple shopping bags in the other. Unlike Kitty, she appeared relaxed and well rested. "Hello, everyone," she greeted, tossing her long, white hair behind her. "I trust that Kitty has informed you of our activities?"

Warren frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "About finding the scroll, yes. Is there something else we should know?" He knew Ororo would not be as evasive as Kitty could be about bad news, if there was any.

Logan's nose began to detect cigarette smoke in the air. Neither Kitty nor Ororo smoked. The cigarettes were a particular brand; one that Bishop never cared for. Yet, they were familiar. At that moment, he realized what else the two women brought back with them besides the missing scroll. He smiled slightly, waiting for Ororo and Kitty to explain.

"We did find something else while in Bermuda," Ororo admitted, ignoring Logan's sly glance.

Just then, a tall, lean figure stepped inside from the early evening shadows. He carried with him a knapsack over his shoulder and a long steel staff. Red pupils glittered from underneath a mop of wavy, auburn hair. The glow from the lighting fixture overhead traced his attractive, chiseled facial features, which had aged since his last appearance. Wearing an ankle-length, brown leather duster, one could not immediately discern what else the person was wearing underneath. However, those who knew him could be sure that he was sporting his trademark body armor.

"You mean someone, chŠre," the man corrected huskily, his voice reminiscent of whiskey and cigarettes. His distinct accent, Louisiana Cajun, was stronger than ever.

Jubilee's brilliant blue eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. She pulled away from Logan and raced to the man standing before them. Her arms immediately went about him. The young girl buried her face against his coat, the smell of cigarettes filling her nostrils confirming his identity. "Gambit." she murmured.

He smiled down at her gently, stroking her long, dark hair. "Miss me, petite?" he inquired. He felt her arms tighten around him in response and chuckled. "I reckon so."

It was all that Warren could do to keep his mouth from hanging open. He did not share Jubilee's enthusiasm over the Cajun's return to the mansion. The man had a shaky past and could never be trusted as far as Warren was concerned. He couldn't believe Ororo and Kitty would even think that bringing him back to the mansion was remotely a good idea. The man was a thief, a liar, and worst of all, a murderer.

Suddenly a voice drawled, "Remy."

All eyes peered up the stairs to trace the source of the voice. Rogue stood at the top, gripping the railing. Her hazel eyes were wide and her bow mouth was set in an impassive line. Despite her emotionally stunted expression, she looked quite lovely that night. She was wearing an elegant, silk green robe; a present Remy had given her years ago.

Remy stepped forward, releasing Jubilee. "Rogue." he whispered, feeling a sudden flood of emotions overwhelming him. There was love, anger, betrayal, and sadness. He was beginning to lose himself all over again staring at her.

She opened her mouth to say something. However, she decided against it. The woman with the brown hair with white streaks quickly turned on her heel and darted away. Seconds later, the sound of the door slamming shut could be heard.

Logan smirked, leaning against the wall. "Good going, Cajun," he commented, grinding his cigar between his teeth. "It's like you were never gone."
 

Chapter Six: One of These Things First

Winter came rather slowly to Westchester that year. By now, first snow would have fallen on the grounds of the mansion. Only crisp winds and cooler temperatures signaled the beginning of the season. This was rather disappointing to the children and some of the adults who wanted to partake in snow-related games. More disturbed was Ororo, who was tired of fielding questions about the strange weather patterns.

On a bitterly cold afternoon, Professor Charles Xavier found himself in his study, catching up on correspondence to various senators in Washington, DC. He was writing to them about the impending Mutant Registration Act, which was going to be voted upon following the winter recess. The Professor was hoping that his eloquent words would be sufficient to sway these individuals to vote against the proposed legislation.

The d‚cor of the famous study was reminiscent of a converted carriage house in London, which had been a childhood vacation home. The walls were a glossy midnight blue, which were accented by lush, red velvet curtains, ancestral tartans and jacquards, and gold-framed sketches of horses, jockeys, and handwritten poems. Hurricane vases with brass trim sat on the coffee table next to textbooks and notebooks. Throughout the study, clean-lined chairs were upholstered in carriage-blanket plaids, while quilted velvet and suede pillows and drapes appeared to recall padded horse blankets. Navy pillows edged in gold trim inspired by cavalry epaulets, and gold buttons and leather buckles evoked crisp, tailored riding jackets. Beautifully appointed campaign furniture crafted from honey-hued mahogany and detailed with brass trim and mounts added to the English theme. There was a handkerchief-top game table that opened to reveal a leather-bound playing surface, while the traditional cane-sided sofa with sleek black leather cushions commanded the attention of the room. On the sofa, silk scarves featuring belted equestrian motifs were made into luxurious oversized throw pillows backed in navy suede.

Despite the classic feel of the space, there were contemporary touches. These touches could be traced to the tartan chairs with nail head trim and aged walnut trim, a red ostrich-leather ottoman with the same type of trim and recessed casters, and the Secretariat chest of drawers with its clean lines, honey-hued finish, and brass corner brackets. While the walls were dark, there was plenty of lighting from the floor-length windows and the numerous brass floor lamps.

He was in the midst of signing another letter when he noticed that he was not alone. He had not heard the door open. Instead, he felt familiar presence in the study with him. Without looking up from the piece of paper in front of him, he said, "Come in, Jean."

The statuesque redhead smiled, closing the door behind her gently. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"No, not at all." He put down his pen.

Jean had accompanied him to many of his trips to Washington, DC, where he had testified in front of the Senate. She knew the kind of work that was entailed outside of these visits. Eyeing the stack of envelopes with completed letter inside, she asked, "How's it going?"

He motioned for her to sit down. "I've gotten quite a bit done, but there is always more to do." Without probing her mind, he could sense something was troubling her. "Is there something you would like to discuss?"

She stared into the aged, but kindly features of the man she considered a second father. While he could appear frail at times, he conveyed a quiet, but powerful strength about him. It was that strength she admired most about her beloved mentor.

"I could never hide anything from you." Jean sighed, green eyes weary. "Have you noticed the tension that has come over the house recently?"

The Professor folded his hands together thoughtfully. "I have," he acknowledged, nodding. While he had an idea as to the source of the tension, he wanted to hear Jean's thoughts. He raised his brows expectantly for her answer.

She immediately took his cue. "I suppose the tension could be traced to the recent homecomings," she began, remembering Scott's heated reaction when he found out that Remy LeBeau had returned. It was similar to when he had discovered Logan had returned, but with more reservation. He was outraged that Ororo and Kitty had invited him back without consulting the others. He was unsure as to how safe it was to have him in their midst given his past.

"I'm certain not everyone shares Scott's hesitation about Gambit."

"True. People like Ororo and Jubilee are very happy that he's returned. Then there are people like Warren and Bobby who are sympathetic to Scott's concerns."

"It is true that he has done some things that not a lot of us would be especially proud of. However, the circumstances were quite different. You and I understand that he did what he did under extreme duress, Jean."

"Yes, Professor, I do. It's just that some people are more focused on the act, rather than the situation. The deaths of many mutants, unintentional or not, has a sobering effect on people. There are times when I do empathize with Scott. He is simply looking out for the safety and welfare of the others here. I can't really blame him for that, can I?"

"No, you can't. At the same time, Gambit proven to us that he is worthy of our trust again. During the missions he has been on since his return, he has always been steadfast in the fight. He has also expressed his remorse for his part in the massacre. I know he is genuine and sincere about attaining atonement."

The Professor's mind drifted to a conversation with the Cajun thief days before. He had accompanied the Professor on a stroll around the grounds, now empty of the fallen leaves and blooming shrubbery. Despite using his humor and bravado, Gambit had seemed deeply troubled over what he had done. He had also expressed some unease about being constantly scrutinized by other members since his return. The Professor listened for some time, acknowledging his concerns. He then challenged the young man as to what he was going to do to address these issues. Initially, Gambit was taken aback, but then nodded in understanding. He had realized what he would have to do.

Jean's voice broke into his thoughts abruptly. "I agree with you. He is a good man, in spite of the front he tries to display to us." She likened him to the scoundrel in old stories, who was constantly trying to show his worth to the others. He seemed to take pride in being the sly, bad-boy thief rather than as a hero.

"The same could be said of another colleague and friend." The Professor popped one of his peppermints into his mouth.

Logan, Jean mused inwardly. A smile came to Jean's lips as she recalled Scott's initial impressions of the Canadian who flaunted the rules and made a point to go his own way.

"Yes, and as you recall, he was not exactly embraced with open arms."

"True. It took time for him and the others to trust one another."

The Professor nodded. "I would daresay that the same would apply to our friend, Gambit. As you said with Logan, these things take time."

"I know you're right," Jean replied, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear anxiously. "People like Scott and Warren will come around."

The Professor could hear the hesitation in her voice. He knew there was some other aspect relating to Gambit's return that was troubling Jean. "But?" he inquired, hoping she would elaborate further.

"You remember how close he and Rogue were before Antarctica?"

"Yes, I seem to recall that."

"I sense the other origin of the tension may stem from their fractured relationship. I have felt his frustration during his time here, trying to adjust to the idea that she has found someone else. She, on the other hand, has been experiencing a myriad of feelings."

"I have sensed that as well. Some guilt and confusion." The Professor turned around in his wheelchair. He was facing the window of his study. Unless Gambit and Rogue are able to discuss openly their unresolved issues, I do not see an end to this tension.

Rogue pulled her quilted, silver down jacket closely to her. Despite the frigid temperatures outside, she decided to take a walk on the grounds. Fortunately, she had dressed in anticipation of the wintry air. Underneath her heavy coat, she was wearing a long-sleeved, thermal white T-shirt, a thick, zip-up black sweatshirt and matching pants with her black-and-white sneakers. A white, cashmere scarf around her neck and chin and black leather gloves completed the bundled-up look.

She needed to clear her head. Outside of the mansion seemed like the only place she could find solitude. The grass was crisp under her feet as she made strides toward the dock and the lake. There was too much going inside her to share with anyone else, even with those she considered closest to her.

When she reached her destination, she seated herself on the edge. Her legs dangled over the nearly frozen lake. She couldn't feel the wind beating at her back any longer. However, she was able to see her ragged breath in the air.

It had been several weeks since Remy returned to the mansion. Rogue had viewed that time as the most miserable and torturous of her life. She did not share Ororo and Jubilee's delight that he had come back. Both were comfortable enough to talk with him, to enjoy his company again. Even Logan, the man who claimed to not need friends, seemed pleased that his old friend had come home.

Meanwhile, Rogue found herself unable to face him. For several weeks, she had done everything she could to avoid speaking to him. Her own guilt was too much to bear. Whenever she looked at his beautiful face, she was reminded of how she had left him to die. She could still hear his pleas for help ringing in her ears. Their last moments replayed in her mind over and over again since his return.

She was hovering above him. The arctic wind stinging her cheeks as tears streamed down. However, these tears did not change her resolve. She had to do this.

"ChŠre, what you doin'?" he cried, struggling to stand up. He was still weak from the trial and the trip.

"Ah have to go, Remy," she replied bitterly.

"No, wait! Don' leave me!" he yelled, reaching for her. His fingers brushed against the heel of her boot as she ducked away from him. "Gambit won' make it here!"

Rogue sneered at him. "Ah don't care. Should have thought of that before ya killed all those people!"

His eyes looked wounded as his lips turned an unsightly shade of blue. "ChŠre, you don' understand."

"Ah understand perfectly. Ah understand you're a cold-blooded murderer!"

"No, chŠre, it's not like dat!"

"Save it, swamp rat. If ya ask me, you're gettin' off easy compared to those Morlocks ya helped kill."

"Rogue, Gambit didn't want to kill anyone." He exhaled heavily. Even carrying this conversation with her was draining him. It took all his strength to rise to his feet and continue talking. "Please, chŠre. Gambit loves you. You love Gambit, too."

She had turned away her face from him, wanting to hide the tears. What he said had been true. But that was a long time ago. That was before she kissed him and found out the truth; about what kind of person Remy LeBeau truly was. Now, all she was left with was lies.

Rogue's head quickly turned to look down at the man she had considered her soul mate. "Love? How could Ah evah love a liar and a murderer? Ya really don't know me at all, do ya?" she snapped. She winced, feeling the sting of the words coming from her mouth.

Red on black eyes widened in disbelief and sadness. "You don' mean dat, chŠre. Not after what we've been t'rough. We mean too much to each other."

She cut him off, soaring higher in the air. "You're wrong, swamp rat. Ya mean nothin' to me. Nevah have, nevah will."

"Rogue, wait! Please don' leave me here! I love you!" He collapsed and sank to his knees. The cold was beginning to weaken him again. "Please tink about what you're doin'."

Her lovely features twisted themselves into an angry scowl. "Ah have. First time Ah've seen clearly in years, sugah," she purred sweetly, her eyes cold. "Ya where ya belong, now and forevah!"

With that, she turned around and disappeared in the clouds.

Not a single day after that did she not feel some remorse for what she had done. There were so many times she had tried to convince herself what she had done was right. After she was only providing justice where justice was needed. While the others at the mansion had seemed somewhat understanding of her actions, she still continued to be her own harshest critic.

That and she loved the man. Despite what she had told him in Antarctica, Rogue still loved him with every fiber of her being. Granted, their relationship had some problems. He had been a notorious womanizer and flirt with a long list of broken hearts in his dust. She had problems getting close to others because of her abilities. Needless to say, theirs was an intense, tempestuous romance. However, it worked on many levels. They were as devoted to one another as any other couple, even without physical contact.

Then everything changed when she kissed him.

Yet, she was able to find love again after abandoning Remy. His name was Joseph and was far different than Monsieur LeBeau. A younger version of the Professor's archrival, Magneto, but with amnesia, he was wide-eyed, kind, and honest. He considered her the only woman central in his life. His eyes never strayed far from her. Most importantly, he had found a way for them to touch one another without getting hurt. For the first time since she kissed her childhood sweetheart, Cody, she could demonstrate her affection for another person physically.

When she told him of her former lover's return, he was understandably concerned. They had not been together for very long when the Cajun thief came back to the mansion. He wondered what she was feeling at that moment. In response, she swore she no longer had feelings for him.

"There's no one for me, 'cept you, sugah," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. They were in their bedroom, secluded from the excitement downstairs.

His mouth was set into a grim line. He did not seem assuaged by her words easily. "You and Gambit have had a long history together. It would not be surprising if some residual feelings surfaced after seeing him again."

"The only feelings Ah'm feelin' right now are for ya," Rogue insisted, planting a kiss on his mouth and silencing him for the rest of the night.

As she sat on the dock, she drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Looking back on that night, she was not certain she was being all that honest with Joseph. Something deep inside her was different as they made love that night. Her mind was not on the man she was with at that moment. Instead, she found herself thinking about Remy and what he was thinking about after he had seen her that night.

Reaching into the deep pockets of her coat, she pulled out her CD Walkman. Rogue slipped on her headphones. She pressed play, waiting for the music to start flowing into her ears. As the CD played, tears began to sting her eyes. The CD was one that Remy had purchased for her while they were dating. It contained an assortment of jazz songs, performed by artists such as Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Charlie Parker. He had said their music reminded him of her-sometimes sad, but beautiful nonetheless.

What is wrong with me? I'm happy now-more than I've ever been in my life. Why am I thinking about someone else?

There, on the dock by the lake of the mansion, a woman with brown hair and white streaks was sobbing over an uncertain present.
 

Chapter Seven: With or Without You

"Looks like you scratch again, Wolverine," Gambit observed, rubbing some chalk on the end of his stick.

The two were playing a friendly round of pool in one of the recreation rooms in the mansion. Since there were children around, both Logan and Gambit agreed not smoke (at the request of Storm and Jean). It was late afternoon and classes had adjourned for the day. Since the air outside was cold, many of the students were inside watching television and talking about the day's events. This was fortunate for both men, who did not consider themselves to be great babysitters. Logan often cited the trouble he, the Cajun, and Jubilee used to get into when they were all living at the mansion together.

While his arrival received mixed reviews among some of the team members (notably Scott, Warren, and Bobby), Gambit found acceptance with his old friend, Logan. The older man was one of the few X-Men who did not pass judgment upon him after the trial. Given Logan's own shadowed past, he felt he had no right to. The two always had an affable rapport since they often found common ground. In addition to their shaky pasts, both men were seen as the renegades of the group who paid little heed to the rules. They also had histories of having to prove themselves constantly to the group on many occasions.

Just now, Logan found himself irritated with his colleague. He grunted, fishing the white pool ball out of the side pocket. "Shut up and play pool, Cajun." The pretty boy had running his mouth more than concentrating on the game. It was almost enough to make him want to threaten the man with his claws.

Remy extended his long, lean body over the pool table. He wanted to set up his shot perfectly. With a flick of his wrist, he aimed for the last striped ball on the table. "Dere it goes," he announced smugly, straightening his posture and watching the ball sink into the corner pocket. "It don' get better dan dis."

Logan scowled. "You didn't charge your stick, Gumbo? If you did, I'd have to do something about it."

The other man feigned a look of angelic innocence as he racked up the balls. "Gambit's always honest," he informed his old friend. Then he added with a wink, "When it comes to playing pool."

Logan rolled his eyes. The way the Cajun talked about himself in the third person was irritating at times. He sounded like he was speaking in code to an intergalactic, alien colony. However, whenever they were out at a bar together, there were always plenty of women who found it irresistible.

There's no accounting for taste sometimes, he thought, narrowing his eyes. He had even noticed that some of the female students, including his Jubilee, were making goo-goo eyes at the tall, good-looking man from the Bayou.

"I want a rematch, Gumbo," he announced, motioning for him to hurry in racking the balls.

"Sure, Gambit has time to beat Wolverine again," Remy replied, smiling broadly. He centered the balls in the middle of the table. Then he pulled the wooden rack away. "Finis. Solids or stripes, mon ami?"

"Lemme shoot first, then I'll decide."

"'Course, whatever you say."

Logan raised a brow at him and then shook his head. He walked to the other side of the table to line up his first shot. Watching the white ball collide into the multicolored ones, he noticed that he had knocked in two solids into opposite corner pockets. He sauntered over to Remy, nudging him.

"Looks like I'm solids again," he told him. He could not wait to show the pretty-boy how to play the game. "You're up, Cajun."

No response. Not even a snide remark.

It was then he noticed that the Cajun thief had a distant and cold expression on his face. The man's red-on-black eyes were focused on something on the other side of the recreation room. Logan decided to follow his gaze. He then realized that his friend was intently staring at someone.

Standing on the other side of the room, was Rogue, who was talking with Kitty and Kurt. Wearing a green-and-white baseball shirt that came to above her navel and faded jeans with slightly scuffed boots, she appeared to be dressed for comfort. However, her body language conveyed the opposite. She looked nervous. It was as if she knew she was being watched at this moment. She was playing with her black leather gloves idly as she spoke with her friend and her blue-faced brother. When Rogue was not doing that, she was pushing her bobbed hair towards her face.

Just then, Joseph entered the room. He immediately found Rogue and wrapped a possessive arm around her curvy waist. Like Magneto, he had an imposing presence because of his stature and shared the same white hair, patrician facial features, and piercing blue eyes. His hair was longer than his predecessor's, which he tied back in a ponytail. Since their vacation in Bali, his tan began to fade, but he still looked quite healthy. He was more of a formal dresser than his girlfriend, wearing a pair of slate-gray, wool slacks with a navy button-down shirt, and polished black loafers. It was no mystery why Rogue had been attracted to him.

Either he was unaware that they were being watched or he was quite adept at ignoring the stares, Joseph appeared to join in the conversation. Rogue seemed a little relieved that he was by her side now, but still uncomfortable. She turned her head into his shoulder so that Remy nor Logan could see it. At this point, she looked as if she were draped over the other man like an article of clothing. Logan also noticed that she was tugging insistently on her boyfriend's arm.

Probably to tell him she wants to get the hell out of here, Logan thought, leaning against the railing of the pool table. Not that I can blame her.

"Merde," Remy muttered bitterly. His eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. Situations like this made him yearn for the isolation for Antarctica again. Being cold, alone, and dying was heaven compared to this everyday drama.

It was hard enough that Rogue refused to have anything to do with him since he came back. What was worse was seeing her with someone else. He felt as if a knife twisted into his chest every single time he saw them together. Someone else had her love and devotion. Someone else would be there to comfort her. Someone else would know what it was like to touch her. He should have been that someone.

It would have been easy to hate Joseph, to say nasty things behind his back, to spread rumors about the man's intentions toward the mansion, to doubt his feelings for Rogue. However, things did not work out that way for Remy and his new rival. Much to his dismay and surprise, he found himself actually liking the man. From what he was able to observe, Joseph was an honorable man. He was patient, open, and sincere. During his interactions with Rogue, Remy saw that Joseph treated her like a princess. He never teased her, never looked at other women, and never was coy about his intentions. Joseph proved to be someone she could depend upon.

Not like me, Remy inwardly spat. He could not remember a moment during his relationship with Rogue when they were not involved in heated arguments. It was difficult to make something work when the other person did not trust you completely. There were times he wanted to give up.

Yet, he had always come back to her. While Remy had had many loves before, he did not want anyone else. He had known lust and passion. However, things with Rogue were different. Despite the fact that they could not physically express their affection for one another, there was still a bond that was undeniable. She had been the first woman since Belladonna to hear that he loved her.

And what does she do? She gives up and run when she finds out I'm not perfect, he thought, placing his stick on the table. He could feel himself suffocating in just standing where he was.

"Why don' we play dis game later, mon ami?" Remy suggested, trying to hide the distress in voice and his face. He ran his half-gloved fingers through his thick, auburn waves. Then he began to make his way to the door. A nice walk would do him some good.

Logan instantly knew what was troubling his friend. Unlike Jean, he was not going to pry into someone else's personal business. If he wanted to, the Cajun was certainly not going to be receptive to that sort of thing. "Sure thing, Gumbo," he said, watching him leave.

Upstairs in the Summers' home, Jubilee was in her bedroom, reading the latest email from her former roommate, Paige Guthrie. The younger sister of Sam Guthrie and self-appointed leader of Generation X was now in Europe with their former headmaster, Sean Cassidy. After the dissolution of the Academy, Sean had decided to move back to Europe and to start a faction of the X-Men. Many like, Paige, Monet, and Jono, decided to join and continue their training. Jubilee, meanwhile, had been too young at the time and needed to continue her studies. As a result, Sean had decided it would be beneficial for her to return to the mansion.

Not that Jubilee was complaining. After her experiences with Bastion, she did not feel ready to go out and save the world once again. And, while she was attached to many of her friends and teammates from Generation X, she also missed those at the mansion. They had been the closest thing she had to a real family.

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a pack of pixie sticks. According to the email Paige had sent, the group was now in London, England. They had just infiltrated a Neo-Nazi group, which had been behind several vicious attacks against mutants in the city. Paige described how she worked to insinuate herself into the group, using her abilities. Then she teamed up with Monet, Jono, and Angelo to undermine the group's plans to execute a mutant-rights attorney.

Jubilee tore open one of the sticks, ingesting the contents. Their lives sound so much more exciting, she thought, tapping the keyboard idly. The closest she was going to come to leaving the mansion was for Thanksgiving. Jean's parents were hosting dinner that year in Connecticut and invited them to come. Still, Jubilee did not mind the mundane quality to her holiday plans. Scott always seemed a little more antsy and flustered around Jean's parents, Dr. and Mrs. Grey, which was entertaining.

She was about type her response on her laptop when she heard a rapping noise at the windowsill. Curious, Jubilee walked to the other side of the room and pulled the gauze-like, cream-colored curtains aside. Opening the window, her eyes widened.

"I was wondering when you were going to let me in," Bobby Drake said in greeting. He quickly shed his ice-form body as he climbed inside her bedroom. Not affected by the cold outside easily, he was comfortable in a gray pullover, thermal shirt, jeans, and hiking boots.

Jubilee stared at him in disbelief, and then at the ice slide he created outside of the house to travel up to her window. Closing it and the curtains with a brisk snap, she informed him, "Scott is going to kill you when he finds your lovely forget-me-not out there."

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "So, you guys have a lawn ornament for a few days. There are worse things."

He then stared around her bedroom. Before he had left to take care for his father, he used to spend some time up here, plotting many pranks. The walls were a creamy shade of white, which offset the modern floral prints and rosy solids of the canopy bed against the back wall. Pine furnishings, such as her desk, bookshelves, and side tables, complimented the walls and bedding. Framed photographs of various members of the X-Men hung on the wall along with movie posters. A cluttered bulletin board contained postcards, concert ticket stubs, photographs, notes, and magazine clippings.

She studied his face thoughtfully, noting he was observing his new surroundings. "You want to trade decorating secrets?" she asked, walking over to her CD player to turn down the volume. Her favorite U2 CD, Rattle and Hum, had been playing.

"Good taste in music," he commented, ignoring her teasing remark. Then he said, "I was in the area and thought I would stop by."

Jubilee offered him a pixie stick, which he took gratefully. "So, what's up?" she inquired, spreading out on her bed. She motioned for him to join her.

"Not much," he replied, taking a seat next to her. "I just got kicked out of the lab." Up until today, Bobby had been his friend's lab technician. He would spend the long hours in the lab, assisting his friend with data entry, the procurement of tools, and collection of samples.

"What happened?"

"Let say that I knocked over several beakers while telling this story to Hank and that new doctor, Cecilia Reyes."

"Oh."

"Well, that and I think our Beast wanted to be alone with Dr. Reyes."

"No way!"

"Hey, Jubes, we all have our needs, you know."

She rolled her eyes at him, propping herself up on a pillow. "I don't even want to think about Scott and Jean like that and they're married," she told him. "Besides, I thought Dr. McCoy was above all that emotional, lovey-dovey stuff. At least, that's how he comes across sometimes."

Bobby finished his pixie stick. "Nope. He's a hopeless romantic, just like the rest of us."

Jubilee nodded. "I could see that. I mean, he's always reciting lines from poems all the time, even during Danger Room sessions." She paused, then said, "Somehow, I can't see you being romantic, Bobby."

He looked a little hurt. "What do you mean?"

She touched his arm and smiled gently. "It's just that you're always goofing around all the time," she explained, blue eyes sincere. "I can't see you being the passionate hero. You know, the guy who sweeps a girl off her feet and sends her in a tizzy."

"I'll have you know that many women find a sense of humor an extreme turn-on," he informed her huffily. "Also, I've had many girlfriends. They seemed to like it." For a while, he added silently, noting that these girlfriends were now exes.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Jubilee said apologetically.

Bobby snorted, leaning back on the bed with her. "I don't need you pity," he said with mock pain. Then he turned to her and asked, "So what about you? Any action I should be looking out for during class? Any public displays of affection I should break up?"

"No, because one, I don't have any classes with you, and two." Her voice trailed off. She shook her head emphatically. "There isn't anyone. Not since Everett."

Everett had been the object of unrequited love for the young girl. Good-looking, charismatic, and intelligent, the young man had been everything she was looking for. He had been a member of Generation X until his untimely death. The loss hit Jubilee particularly hard, forcing her to wonder what might have been.

Bobby frowned with concern. He noticed how her mood suddenly became more somber. "Jubes..." He moved closer towards her.

To her credit, she was not crying. Never had she cried in front of anyone else besides Logan and Jean. She was certainly not going to do so in front of Bobby Drake. Instead, she sighed wearily against him.

"I guess I'm still waiting for that guy to sweep me off my feet," she said, laughing weakly. Immediately, she could hear Bastion's lackeys taunting her all over again. "But who would want to date a mutant freak?"

Bobby suddenly wrapped his arms around her, stroking her long, silky hair. He rested his chin against her forehead. His nostrils were filled with her scent, bubblegum and cinnamon. Then he whispered, "You're not a freak. Don't you ever say that. You'll find him, I promise, and he's going to be one lucky guy."

It was then he realized he was very close to her. This time, he was not uncomfortable. This time, he did not want to pull away. In fact, Bobby found himself to be very at ease and content as to where he was at this moment.

Outside of the Summers' farm-style, white clapboard house, a pair of red-on-black eyes glittered in the early evening shadows.
 

Chapter Eight: Here Comes Your Man

According to Ororo, Kitty, and Kurt, yoga was the original mind-body workout. The postures, or asanas, helped to align their muscles and bones, which promoted a sense of unity and balance (something needed following exhausting Danger Room sessions or missions). They also found that practicing yoga strengthened their bones, increased flexibility, improved heart and lung functioning, boosted energy, and reduced stress. Being the spiritual one of the group, Kurt found that yoga had some less tangible benefits. From his own experience, he found that he developed more patience, compassion, and curiosity-tools that assisted him navigate life's many ups and downs.

That afternoon, the trio invited Rogue to join them. Both Kitty and Kurt expressed concern about their friend. Since Remy's return to the mansion, the Southern Belle had not been herself. She was less focused, more distractible, somber, and constantly on edge. They also noticed she was doing everything in power to avoid any interaction with the Cajun thief. She would schedule Danger Room sessions when he was not around. There was the fact that she and Joseph were taking their meals in their room, instead of eating in the common area. Kurt had even overheard her talk to Scott about assigning her to a different team; one that Remy LeBeau would not be on.

For her part, Rogue was willing to try anything to take her mind off her anxieties. Her usual workout involved weight training and kickboxing. She was finding yoga not as stimulating as she had hoped. Instead of feeling relaxed, she felt quite silly. All I'm doing is breathing and stretching, she thought woefully. How is this supposed to help me?

"Remember to breathe, Rogue," Ororo instructed, "each movement should occur on an inhale or exhale. Your breathing should be done through your nose and not your mouth."

Rogue watched the white-haired weather goddess straighten her body in the top of a push-up position, supporting herself on her hands and toes. "Ah don't know," she began, trying to emulate her friend. "Ah'm not feelin' any more at ease, y'all."

"It vill take time," Kurt assured her gently, exhaling. He was engaged in the child's pose. Pressing his lower back onto his heels, he was stretching his blue arms forward and resting his forehead on his yoga mat. This was his favorite pose since he found that it calmed his mind, opened his hips, and massaged his abdomen.

Kitty nodded emphatically. "Yeah, the results are gradual. Just trust us." She was now inhaling, dropping her stomach toward the floor as she lifted her pelvis, chest, and face toward the ceiling. A loyal follower of yoga for years, she considered herself an aficionado of poses.

Rogue gave her friend a cautious look, exhaling sharply. "Ah still feel like Ah'm doin' nothin'," she muttered.

Suddenly, the door to the workout room swung open. Logan, freshly showered from his workout in the Danger Room, strolled inside. He had changed into a pair of faded jeans, boots, and a white T-shirt. While his hair was still damp, those trademark points had already formed. His stony eyes widened slightly as he took in the scene before him.

"Joseph's a lucky guy," he remarked, raising a brow and watching Rogue shifting her chest forward and placing it on the floor between her palms with her chin on the floor.

She flipped herself on her back, hazel eyes blazing with indignation. "Ah don't want to hear it," she grumbled. Then she slumped her shoulders and sighed, turning to the others who were undoing themselves from their respective poses. "What do y'all say about callin' it a day?"

Ororo pulled up the strap of her light-blue tank top. "Fine idea," she replied, "we have been here for an hour already."

Kitty bounced to her feet and rolled up her purple yoga mat. "Great. I can make smoothies for everyone then. I got this cool recipe from the paper last week."

"Vat kind of smoothies?" Kurt asked, already heading towards the door with yoga mat under his arm. His yellow eyes appeared intrigued.

Following him, she said, "Peanut butter and banana. Sounds good, huh?"

Ororo tried to suppress a look of disgust. Her tastes did not dabble in such heavy ingredients. "I think I will pass," she told the younger woman, patting her arm kindly. "Besides, I need to work on my lesson plan for tomorrow's classes." She then slid between them to exit the room.

"I'm fine, Kit-Kat," Logan assured her when she turned her eyes to him. He exchanged a knowing look with Rogue.

Rogue nodded, catching on. "Me, too, sugah. Maybe another time."

"OK. More for us, Kurt." Kitty linked her arm with Kurt's, who still appeared fascinated with the idea of peanut butter and banana smoothies.

After they left the room, Logan shook his head. "I love the girl, but she could never cook." He leaned against the far wall across from his teammate.

Rogue smiled, pulling her knees to her chest. "To each their own, right?"

He stared at her, curious. "So what were you doing?" he asked. "Looked like you were dancing with the ground or something."

She smiled for what could have been the first time in several weeks. "Yoga," she answered. "They thought it might help with relaxation or somethin'. Ah just felt weird, y'know. Ah would have felt better hittin' a punchin' bag." She paused, her gloved fingers brushing against her lips. "Ah just sounded like you, Logan."

He snorted. "There's hope for you after all, Rogue."

She rolled her eyes at him and hunched her shoulders slightly. "So, did ya come to talk to me about somethin'? What can Ah do for ya, sugah?" Not that they were not friendly, but lately, she had chosen to avoid him since he seemed to be around Gambit all the time.

Logan crossed his arms over his broad chest. She was more perceptive than he had given her credit for. "What's up with you lately?"

"Ah don't know what ya mean, hon." Her voice became defensive. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands.

"I guess I'm hallucinating when you run away from the Cajun."

"Ah still don't know what you're talkin' about. And, Ah don't run from anyone, ya hear?"

"Cut the crap, darlin'. What's your problem lately?"

She glared at him. "Ah don't see how this is any of your business," she snapped, rising to her feet and stomping towards him. "How Ah handle things ain't no concern of you or anyone else!"

He leaned towards her, his breath hot against her cheek. "Oh, it's my business, darlin'," he told her. "It's my business when our people are sent out on missions thinned out 'cause someone can't deal with her personal life."

Rogue sniffed, stepping away. She crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "So, whaddaya want me to do, sugah? What's your advice?"

"Act like an adult. Decide what you want."

At the moment, the door swung open. Joseph stood in the doorway, his face curious. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

Rogue could only stare at Logan open-mouthed, and then shook her head slowly at Joseph. Words seemed to fail her at that moment.

"Okay, whose turn to deal?" Warren asked, blue eyes narrowing in concentration.

"Mine," Scott replied, and Warren passed the deck of playing cards to his right.

While it was mid-winter in Westchester, the first snow had yet to fall on the grounds of the mansion. Instead, cold and bitter rain fell from the gray sky. Given the conditions outside, all of the residents remained inside the mansion. That day, Scott, Warren, Ray, and Bobby were seated around a small, round table in the center of one of the recreation rooms with Jono, a former member of Generation X who was visiting from Europe. To entertain their guests, Warren suggested a friendly card game. Mindful that were children in the mansion and not wanting to set a bad example, Scott insisted that no gambling take place. Minutes later, an open bag of salt 'n' vinegar potato chips laid open on the table and each card player had his own pile of potato chips in front of him. Warren placed two of his potato chips in the center of the table and Scott dealt the cards. The men eyed their cards and then eyed each other, looking for any sign of emotion.

Jono scratched the side of his nose, his fingers brushing against the navy bandages around the area where the lower half of his face should have been. I'll bet two chips, he told the others telepathically, placing two of his potato chips in the center. Your turn, Drake.

"Huh?" Bobby looked up from his cards. All that remained of his chip pile was a few scattered crumbs.

"Your turn to bet some chips," Warren informed him, shaking his blond head slightly. Typical Bobby. Some things never change.

The younger man looked down at the crumbs in front of him. "Uh oh," he said, grinning sheepishly. "I think I ate mine again."

"Bobby, for the last time, you can't eat your chips until we're all done!" Scott groaned, dealing his teammate a new pile of chips.

"I think I'll only bet two."

"You're just trying to save all your chips so you can eat them all when we're through!" Scott then turned to Warren and said, "Gimme four cards."

His old friend watched him toss four chips into the center pile. Always competitive, Warren decided to follow Scott's lead. "Hell, I'll bet five," he finally said.

A few hands later, Warren turned to Jono. "Do you want to draw any new cards?"

Let me think about it, Jono replied thoughtfully, using his psionic voice. Before making a decision, he briefly scanned the minds of the others around him. He started with the ever-competitive Scott Summers.

Hmmm, I think I'll stay in since I've got two aces, Scott said to himself inwardly, adjusting his ruby-quartz sunglasses. Jono moved onto his Bobby Drake. He decided to skip Warren since he was probably engaged in similar thinking as Scott. When he peered over at Bobby, he noticed that the New York native was smirking behind his cards.

What a dumbass! Jono hasn't even noticed that I stole, like, ten of his chips! Bobby thought smugly, brushing the crumbs from the sides of his mouth.

Jono frowned and narrowed his eyes in concentration.

Suddenly, Bobby felt a sharp, stinging pain at the base of his skull. He squealed, "Ow, my head!"

I think I'll fold, Jono told the others, placing his cards down. His brown eyes were solemn as usual.

After he recovered from his mysterious assault, Bobby gave Warren a quizzical look. "What's a Royal Flush again?" he piped up.

"It's when you have the ten, Jack, Queen, King and Ace all in one suit," Warren replied, an errant lock of blond hair falling into his eyes. He knew that Bobby rarely played cards and did not mind helping him out every once in a while.

"And that's the highest hand you can have?"

"Yes, Bobby."

An impish grin spread across Bobby's face ever so slowly. "Cool," he finally said.

The others glanced at each other.

"I'm folding," Warren announced, throwing his cards down. He was competitive, but he was also a shrewd businessman. He was not afraid to cut his losses.

"Me, too," Ray said glumly, following Warren's example.

Bobby's gray eyes turned uncharacteristically steely as he declared, "I'm not. In fact, I'm gonna bet all the rest of my chips." He then pushed his chip pile, which was suddenly the largest, into the middle of the table.

Scott found himself staring at the younger man in disbelief. He sighed resignedly. "I'm out."

"All right, I win again!" Bobby cried with childish glee as he drew the pile of chips nearer.

Suddenly skeptical, Scott was not ready to hear his teammate gloat. "Wait a minute," he interrupted, grabbing the younger man's arm. "What did you have?"

"A Royal Flush," Bobby answered innocently.

Scott wasn't entirely convinced, however. "Let me see your hand," he demanded sharply. Bobby held up his palms, forcing Scott to groan in frustration. "Your cards, smartass."

Bobby laid his cards facedown on the table and slowly pushed them over to Scott. He folded his hands in anticipation of the other man's reaction.

Scott's eyes carefully inspected the cards in front of him. His face suddenly became a shocking shade of pink. "King of hearts, two of spades, seven of hearts, ten of diamonds, three of cl.....Bobby, you don't have anything!"

"I know," Bobby flashed him a catlike grin. There was no one in the world he loved to irritate more than Scott-something he seemed to share with Logan. He could not explain the rationale, but Scott's response, usually centering on anger and irritation, was quite satisfying to say the least.

"Who would have t'ought that Iceman would pull a fast one on you, Cyclops?" drawled a husky voice.

Scott bristled, turning to the doorway to see Remy LeBeau leaning against the frame. He looked amused and aloof at the same time, shuffling a deck of cards. From the expression on his face, it was apparent that he had been observing the game for some time.

"Bobby was lucky. It's not likely to happen again." Scott answered through gritted teeth, ignoring Warren and Bobby's snickering.

Remy shrugged. "Seems like Iceman find luck in more than one place, mon ami." His red eyes peered over at Bobby, who appeared confused and somewhat indignant.

Scott was oblivious to the interaction between the two. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Mebbe you ask Monsieur Drake why his latest favorite song is 'Tank Heaven for Little Girls." With that, the Cajun thief turned on his heel and sauntered into the hallway.

Bobby clenched his fists at the table, unaware of the curious stares of his friends and Scott's immediate line of questioning.
 

Chapter Nine: Don't Know Why

A few flakes began to spiral to the ground, signaling the arrival of the first snow of the season. Since it had yet to snow until that late afternoon, many of the farmers and other outdoor vendors had continued to sell their goods in the town square. As the flurries began to drift down, stands were being packed up and trucks and cars were being loaded at a quick pace. A few shoppers were still roaming the lumpy field full of tangled vines behind one of the farm stands to pick the remnants of the last pumpkin crop of the year. Meanwhile, children were scampering to gobble the last of roasted pumpkin seeds.

The frosted grass crunched underneath Logan's feet as he and Jubilee walked away from one of the farm stands. Cook had sent them out to buy some apple cider, pumpkins, and apples for dinner that night. Around this time of year, she always prepared her special tart apple and creamy pumpkin pies, meals of stews and roasts with robust red wines, and pots of chicken soup. Her most beloved specialty was her hot chocolate, which seemed to instantly disappear as soon as it was made. She made many servings of it for the students and the staff. Her secret was blending powdered cocoa, whole milk, sugar and a bit of salt and vanilla.

This was Logan's favorite time of year. It reminded him of past winters in his native Canada. He often spent the first few days of the season splitting oak logs with his old hammer and wedge, and sometimes, his claws. This winter was especially kind to the self-professed loner. Recently, he began to spend his evenings, visiting Jubilee at the Summers' house. He would bring hot drinks in a thermos and a wool blanket to spread in front of the fireplace. Sometimes, they would talk into the late hours of the night (or until Jean hinted for him to leave) about life at the mansion or his travels on the road; sometimes, they would simply curl up together to watch the flicker of the vibrant flames. Despite how much she had changed, she was still able to connect with him without using any words. Those were the nights he liked the most. They reminded him of the way things used to be.

He turned to his young companion, who looked especially beautiful that day. She almost looked ethereal as her long hair whipped behind her in the wind. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold wind and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement from their day out together. As they trudged towards his truck, he knew he did not have to worry about the native Californian being too cold. Jubilee appeared to be quite bundled in her khaki, wool toggle coat over a gray, turtleneck sweater and navy, boot-cut jeans with black suede clogs.

While they were browsing the various stands, Logan had become acutely aware of the stares he and Jubilee were garnering. Over the years, he had gotten used to them and immediately sensed what thoughts were racing through their minds. His rapid healing ability also made it impossible to tell how old he was by just looking at him. For the last twenty years, he never looked a day over thirty-five. Walking around with a teenaged girl who clearly did not look like his child easily gave people the wrong impression. Not that he ever cared what people thought. Still, it was irritating nonetheless.

Besides, he wasn't interested in any of that now. Logan had his share of one-night stands, brief encounters, and relationships. His past with women was extensive and often centered around lust rather than romance. There were many-Caley Blair, Elektra Natchios, Gahck, Kayla, Yuriko, Silver Fox, Stacey the waitress, Mary Walker (Typhoid Mary), Mystique, Viper, and those twins from California.

Despite his raucous past, he knew what real love was. The closest he had come to it, something pure was what he had with Mariko. As he reacquainted himself to the young girl he considered his family now, he was reminded of those emotions. When he was around her, he was no longer the animal who experienced violence fits of rage, who was deemed too dirty and tainted to be worth anything. He was redeemed; he was saved. Granted, his feelings were not the same for Jubilee as they were for Mariko, but they were just as intense and gratifying. There was the same devotion and affection, but channeled and directed in a different way-a way he was content with now.

"How's it going, kid?" Logan asked, balancing the two crates of produce in his arms. He could not wait to dump them in his truck. It wasn't that they were particularly heavy. It was just that the wooden crates were proving to be more awkward than he initially thought. Fortunately for him, his gray pick-up was only a few yards away.

She walked alongside him, carrying a paper bag of candied apples and a jug of apple cider she had purchased. "OK," she replied, shivering slightly. While the rest of her body was covered, her face was still exposed to the chilling wind and drifting snow. "I'd like to get home and warm up. I don't think I can feel my nose anymore. Or any other part of my body for that matter."

"We're almost there, kid. Anyway, it's not that cold." His tone was slightly teasing at the end of the second sentence.

"That's easy for you to say. You practically lived in this weather all-year round for the past few years. Well, that and you have tons of body hair."

"Care to repeat that last one?"

"What? I didn't say anything!" She laughed merrily as she watched him growl softly and then lapsed into silence. After a brief pause, she said, "Wolvie?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"I had fun today."

"Yeah, me, too."

"We should do this every year. You know, make it a tradition-just you and me."

"Sure, kid, we can do that."

Her eyes were thoughtful as they approached closer to the truck. "Really?" she asked, voice filled with some wariness.

Logan frowned at her. He could tell from her tone she did not quite believe what he was saying to her. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know.I just didn't think shopping at the farmer's market was really your thing. Actually, anything not involving alcohol, cigars, or tearing apart stuff wouldn't be up your alley."

"That's a pretty shallow picture."

"Sorry. I'm working from what I remember. Most people can't picture angry Wolverine spending the day at the farmer's market."

"Shows what they know.And you."

She gave him a small, wistful smile. "Yes, you're always full of surprises, Wolvie."

Logan raised a brow at her, his ears detecting the teasing tone in her voice. It was exasperating, but still part of the charm that was all her own. He growled at her softly, trying to pretend she wasn't bothering him.

"Don't look so smug," he told her gruffly, shoving her gently with his shoulder. "You're not that funny, kid."

Jubilee's smile broadened as they reached the truck. She knew she had touched a nerve ever so slightly, just enough to evoke a reaction. There was a delicate balance between annoyance and rage with Wolverine. It was a difference between being on the receiving end of a stony glare and being threatened with sharp, adamantium claws. Fortunately for her, she was always able to sense how far she could go with him.

The young girl juggled the paper bag of candied apples to fish the car keys he had given her earlier out of her coat pocket. She opened the driver's side first for Logan. Then she circled around the truck to open the passenger's side door. "I may not be funny, but I'm really cold. Can we go home, Wolvie?"

Logan placed the crates in the backseat and hopped into the truck. He gently brushed her silky hair from her face. "Yeah, kid," he said quietly, "we're going home."

Many years had passed since an orphaned child had found a savage man crucified and near death in Australia. All that rage and violence had been frightening to a thirteen-year-old girl. Yet, she could sense his pain and isolation, which were very much like her own. Now, as they were heading back to the home they shared, the two found themselves sharing something else-peace.

The wintry afternoon found Ororo sitting in her bedroom. The area reflected her calm and feminine persona, as well as her taste in old world style and modern flair. Beeswax candles burned bright, giving the room a soft, yellow glow to the cream-colored walls. The lustrous natural brass of the hurricane lamps imparted a subtle radiance. A Renaissance-inspired, four-poster bed with twisted columns and a gently curved, padded, raffia headboard was situated against the back wall of the bedroom. The bed was outfitted in layers of polished poplin, cream crewel lace, luxurious suede, and a soft, cream-on-cream, floral piano shawl with silk trim. Beaded, cream pillows accented the bed. Meanwhile, a 17th-century Mediterranean-style armoire sat across from the bed. The large piece boasted a highly distressed and darkened cedar finish with rich details in its paneling. In front of the bay windows was a pair of butterfly chairs, complete with leather slings and saddle stitching and mahogany frames.

The weather goddess was seated on her bed with a small, neon-blue box with a white ribbon on her lap. Her face was pensive as she opened it slowly. It had been a ritual she performed repeatedly since receiving it so many months ago. No matter how many times she participated in this private ceremony, she was still awed with what was inside.

A two-carat solitaire diamond set in a four-prong setting of platinum.

She struggled to blink back the tears that welled up in her eyes. They always came whenever she thought about the person who had given her the ring. As much as she wanted to forget the pain associated with the person, her mind would never allow her to do so.

If only, Ororo mused sadly, slipping the ring out of the box. She held it between her fingers and fondly stared at the fiery, white gemstone. If only you had waited for me, I could have, I would have.Things would have been different. I know it.

"It's beautiful, chŠre."

She turned around to see Remy LeBeau leaning against the doorframe. His red eyes glittered mysteriously as they gazed upon the large diamond. She wasn't able to figure out how long he had been standing there, which was quite unnerving. Quickly, she placed the ring back in the box and snapped it closed.

"It is rude to sneak up on someone like that," she informed him stiffly.

"Your door was open, chŠrie." He gave her a coy smile as he sauntered inside. The tall, lean Cajun thief appeared relaxed, his wavy auburn locks flopping over his red-on-black eyes. With cat-like grace, he seated himself on the bed with his old friend.

Her eyes peered up at him warily. "What can I do for you, Gambit?" Ororo knew that her friend had sworn off his thieving ways while he was living at the mansion. However, there was a part of that sensed he never really gave up that lifestyle at all. It was as if his old life was firmly ingrained into his personality, which made it difficult at times to know whether or not to trust him.

"Rest of de mansion is trŠs froid. Gambit figure Stormy's room always warm." Part of it was true. Coming from the Bayou, winter was not his favorite time of year, something he shared with Ororo. He was always fiddling with the thermostat in his room to achieve the mild temperature he desired. Even now, he was wearing his trademark brown leather duster over his jeans, long-sleeved black T-shirt, and scuffed boots.

He had also sensed that something was wrong with her. Ever since they had arrived back from Bermuda, she seemed more distant. As a result of actively monitoring her emotions, Storm sometimes came off as distant and cold. However, Remy noticed this was more exaggerated. It was as if she were struggling to keep something locked inside her. After seeing the diamond solitaire and his friend's reaction, Remy was immediately aware of what was troubling his friend.

Ororo nodded, white hair spilling down her slim shoulders. "You are welcome to keep me company," she informed him, "as long as you do not call me Stormy."

He watched her lean over to her bedside table and slide the box inside the drawer. "Whatever you say, chŠre." He paused and then said, "You keep dat for long time."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Gambit talking about de ring. Gambit t'inks it might be troubling you, chŠre."

"Why would a piece jewelry be troubling me?" Ororo felt a strange surge of fear and confusion beginning to creep over her, feelings she was quite unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.

The wiry thief placed a hand on her arm. "Mebbe de person who gave it to you," he said softly, his red eyes very gentle.

He knows, she thought, biting on her lower lip furiously. Her eyes quickly averted from his intense, concerned gaze. "How?" She was shocked that she could even manage to speak that much.

"Gambit saw de way Forge fawn over you, Storm. Not surprising de old man ask you to marry him."

Despite his long absence from the mansion, the Cajun thief still remembered the Cheyenne contractor who swept Ororo off her feet. He had never seen the weather goddess so happy around another person. Fiercely private and almost constantly stoic, Ororo fought to keep her personal life under wraps. Joy, rage, and sadness were never expressed, but suppressed for fear of losing control of her powers. It had been a lonely and isolated existence for the weather goddess, but one she had accustomed herself to over the years.

That soon changed when she met Forge. After saving her life, he returned with her to the mansion. There, the two became closer eventually leading to a romance. During that time, it was obvious how Storm had changed. While she managed to keep her emotions in check for the most part, she also expressed how happy and carefree she was. Many around the mansion suspected it was no accident that there were many sunny and fair days while she and Forge were a couple.

Ororo's eyes were distant as they scanned the room. "That was a long time ago, my friend."

"Looks not so long to you, chŠre," Remy commented, placing an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close to him and surprised how vulnerable she was at this moment. He was quickly reminded of the times he had comforted her when she was a small child.

To his amazement, she did not jerk away from him. Instead, she heaved another resigned sigh. "He left before I could say anything," Ororo told Remy, still refusing to look at him. "I never got a chance to give him an answer. He just assumed." Her voice trailed off.

"Assumed what, chŠre?"

"That I would say no."

"Why he t'ink dat? You were in love."

"You don't understand, Gambit."

"Den enlighten me."

Ororo stared at him. Never had she seen such sincerity in those red-on-black eyes as she did now. Without thinking or reasoning, she decided it was safe to confide in the man with a shaky past. "When Forge proposed, he wanted to know that he would have all of me."

"Dat makes sense, chŠre." Remy nodded.

"I suppose it was because he knew that I had devoted my entire life to Xavier's dream," she continued, "and he wanted to have something of a 'normal life' for a while. A life where we weren't fighting or looking over our shoulders to see who would be after us."

He gave her a quizzical look after he had processed her explanation. "What would you have said?" he finally asked.

She smiled at him bitterly, her eyes flat and emotionless. "The strange thing is that I actually considered it," she admitted and rested her head against Remy's chest. "I suppose Forge did not know me well enough to hear my answer."
 

Chapter Ten: When You Sleep

The Professor had sent six members of the group to investigate possible mutant phenomena in a small farming town in Pennsylvania. The town in question was encased in darkness that was traced back to one of the inhabitants. While the townspeople were able to access to electricity, their crops, the source of their livelihood, were dying.

Scott had been assigned to lead the group. Logan, Bobby, Kurt, and Sam Guthrie were sent to collect information from the townspeople. Finally, Hank McCoy accompanied the group to consult on scientific aspects of the phenomena. To keep themselves as inconspicuous as possible, the team used Sam Guthrie's navy-blue Ford SUV for the road trip and Kurt used his image inducer. Meanwhile, Hank opted not to use one, relying on the perpetual darkness and bulky clothing from the local Big and Tall to conceal his features.

The winter weather was making it difficult to continue any sort of reconnaissance work. In addition, most of the group was tired from the long car ride from New York. Scott decided that the team should get a good rest for the night to start their investigation the next day. Quickly, they located the nearest inn for a relaxing respite.

Or so they thought. Scott found himself in a lengthy conversation with the innkeeper about the rooms. The others opted to wait in the lounge to watch the local news and polish off a round of beers and a plate of potato skins and Buffalo wings.

"Okay," Scott announced when he rejoined his teammates. "This is going to be hard to deal with, but the innkeeper only has two vacant rooms for us tonight. This means we're all going to have to sleep three to a room. Logan, you're with Bobby and Hank; and Kurt, you're with Sam Guthrie and me. Anyone have any problems with those arrangements?"

Logan grunted, narrowing his green eyes. "I do. I've had lots of experience roomin' with the Odd Couple, and I already know it's not gonna be fun. Can I switch with someone else?"

Scott struggled to hide a smirk. "Sure."

Logan turned to Kurt, who was fiddling with his image inducer. "Okay, Elf, switch with me."

"Right, Herr Logan. I'm not stupid."

"Aw c'mon!"

"Nein."

"Fine, then." Logan next turned to Sam Guthrie. "Hayseed?"

The tall young man from Kentucky swallowed nervously, wishing for some more beer. He was known for his politeness. However, he knew there was no way to provide a graceful response in this situation.

"Um, Mr. Logan, sir," he began, running a thin hand through his sandy-blond hair. "Ah'm gonna to have agree with ya about roomin' with those two not bein' fun. So, Ah'm afraid Ah'll have to say no."

Logan growled at him, but received a warning look from Scott, who was struggling to hide his amusement with the situation. Meanwhile, Bobby and Hank exchanged looks.

"I don't know why no one wants to room with us," he said to his old friend, popping the last potato skin into his mouth. "Just because you snore and I scream in my sleep." He and Hank immediately broke out into laughter.

"All right, everybody get to bed," said Scott, hoping to cut off the duo's loud chuckles. "We have a busy day tomorrow."

The team went into their respective rooms and settled down for the night. Each room contained two queen-sized beds with a TV, desk and armchair. This meant that one person would have a bed to himself, while two would be forced to share.

Bobby decided to take a shower before retiring for the night. He wanted to clear his head and warm up from the cold outside. As he stood underneath the stream of water, he thought about Gambit's comments from the other night. For the last few days and nights, all he could do was think about what the Cajun thief had said. While no one else caught on as to what was implied, Bobby still uncomfortable nonetheless. He wasn't sleeping well and found himself tensing up whenever he saw Gambit, who seemed to have that coy and knowing smirk permanently affixed to his face. What made things worse was the fact that he was unable to figure out why he was so bothered by the other man's comments.

"Seems like Iceman find luck in more than one place, mon ami. Mebbe you ask Monsieur Drake why his latest favorite song is 'Tank Heaven for Little Girls."

Maybe all that cold weather's gotten to Gambit's brain, Bobby snorted, turning off the water. He never knows what he's talking about. So I visit Jubilee. Logan does it all the time. Hell, sometimes, he sleeps over at Scott and Jean's just to spend time with her. No one makes anything out of that.

He had been tempted to tell Jubilee about it. She would have found it hysterical. He could picture them laughing over the whole thing. Yet, he did not. Looking back, he wasn't sure why.

While Bobby was in the bathroom, Logan and Hank crawled into their beds and drifted off to sleep. They didn't remain that way for long, however. Bobby came out of the bathroom, clad in his boxers and a Georgetown University T-shirt, and rolled a pajamas-clad Hank over next to the wall. Then he plopped himself down on the bed.

"No, Bobby," said a groggy Hank, pushing him away with a large, furry hand. "You're sharing with Logan."

"He's still pissed about that impromptu snowball fight. I think he wants to make me into a Picasso painting."

"I don't care. I'm not sharing the bed with you. Besides, Logan doesn't bite...hard."

"Fine." Bobby attempted to crawl into Logan's bed, only to be greeted by a rumbling growl and a flash of adamantium claws.

"Get outta here, Icicle. I don't share my bed with anyone."

Hank sighed, feeling sympathetic for his friend. He knew he was going to regret his decision in the morning. Cursing himself for being a pushover, he said, "All right, you can share my bed then. Just don't drool on me, kick me or even breathe on me."

"Fine." Bobby plopped himself down on Hank's bed and settled in. Hank rolled over and faced the wall. The room was silent, but only for a short while.

"Hey, Hank?"

"What, Bobby?"

"I can't sleep."

"Well, try."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"Just go to sleep."

"But I just told ya--"

"Bobby, go to sleep!"

That silenced Bobby for only a minute. "Hey, Hank?"

"What?"

"What's your favorite bar?"

Hank didn't answer. He hoped that ignoring Bobby would discourage him. Unfortunately, he underestimated how persistent his young friend was.

"Hank?"

"What?"

"Aren't you going to answer?"

Hank sighed heavily, clutching his pillow tightly. "If I do, will you shut your mouth and go to sleep?" he demanded warily.

"Yeah." Bobby replied innocently, blinking his eyes.

"Okay. Tony & Joe's in Washington, DC."

"I like that place, too."

"That's nice. Now go to sleep."

"Yeah, go to sleep!" Logan barked and pulled his pillow over his head. One-Eyed is gonna pay for this.

Hank rolled over and started to finally fall asleep. His snores were rhythmic in the dark. Even the ever-vigilant Logan was peacefully slumbering.

However, Bobby found the silence less than comforting. It forced his mind to replay Gambit's sly comments in head over and over again. He could feel his apprehension and anger wash over him as they did many nights before. Still unable to find rest, Bobby broke the silence again. "Hey, Hank?"

"What?" Hank growled between clenched teeth.

"What's your favorite kind of beer?"

"Bobby, who cares? Go to sleep!"

Bobby rolled over away from Hank, flipping on his side. He was immediately greeted with Logan glaring back at him from his bed. "Hank?"

"What?"

"Logan's looking at me weird."

"Ignore him and go to sleep."

This time, Bobby was quiet for almost five minutes. However, his anxiety began to seep in, which forced him to start the conversation again. "Hey, Hank?"

Hank cursed himself for not bringing a set of earplugs with him for this trip. "Now what?" he asked flatly.

"Do you think the Mets are going to win the World Series this year? I mean, they've been looking pretty good this season." Bobby asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"Shut up!" Logan hissed.

Bobby gave him an indignant look. "Hey, I'm askin' my buddy a question!" he snapped, and then he turned back to the big, blue lump of fur next to him. "So what do you think, Hank?"

"I think you should shut up and go to sleep, that's what I think."

"But--"

No longer able or willing to contain his anger, Logan interrupted. "For the love of all that is good and holy, shut the hell up!" he barked, sitting up in his bed.

"Well jeez, I just wanted to ask Hank a question. Is that a crime?" Bobby responded matter-of-factly.

"No, but you know what is? What I'm gonna do to you if you don't shut your hole and go to sleep!" Both sets of claws sprang from the back of Logan's hands. In the dim moonlight, they shone brightly, highlighting their sharpness.

Yikes, Bobby thought, his eyes widening at the sight. Then he rolled over on his back and closed his eyes. He sighed, willing himself to go to sleep. Unfortunately, his body was not complying. Instead, he decided to take a walk around the inn to relax. He pulled on a pair of jeans, socks, a green roll-neck sweater, and his brown leather boots before leaving the room.

Bobby wandered downstairs to the gift shop. To his surprise, it was still open at ten o'clock at night with several straggling customers. Like the rest of the inn, the shop boasted natural wood furnishings, which gave it a European country feel. In addition to quilts, stuffed animals, and other assorted items, the store boasted a collection of vintage jewelry. He found himself browsing the glass case and the surrounding shelves.

"See anything you like?" An older gentleman, presumably the manager, asked Bobby. His dark eyes were kindly as they scanned Bobby's face for an answer.

"I didn't think stores were open this late. At least in the country."

"Since the blackout, it's hard to tell what's late and what's early. To my surprise, it's been good for business. Since I live at the inn, I can open and close whenever I like."

"Must be nice." Bobby observed, studying a necklace that had caught his eye. A slim strand of pink beads with a sterling silver lobster clasp surrounded a small, silver flower. It looked like something Jubilee would wear.

The manager followed his gaze and nodded approvingly. "That's a pretty one, isn't it?"

"It sure is." Bobby agreed, tapping his fingers against the glass. Christmas was coming soon and he had not started shopping yet for anyone. Shrugging, he figured he could use a head start. "Could I take a look at it?"

"Sure thing, son." The manager quickly unlocked the case and gently slipped the necklace out of the case. He held it out to Bobby. "It's made by a local artisan. One of a kind piece, you know. The woman who receives it as a present is guaranteed to love it."

Bobby took the necklace from the manager. His gray eyes inspected the delicate piece carefully. Then he checked the price tag. Reasonable, he mused. "I'll take it," he announced, handing it back to the manager. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

The manager looked pleased. "This for someone special?" he asked, walking to the register.

Bobby watched him ring up the necklace. Handing the manager his credit card, he said, "It's for a friend."

The older gentleman carefully wrapped the necklace in tissue paper before placing it in a small box. "Must be a special young lady," he observed.

Bobby found himself blushing. For the first time that evening, he had nothing to say.
 

Chapter Eleven: Bad Reputation

The mansion was in the midst of preparing for the upcoming holidays. With the upcoming holidays came a relaxed atmosphere, which had eluded the mansion for some time. Classes were winding down at the school. Many of the students were enjoying the goodwill of their instructors, who were using the last fifteen minutes of their classes to enjoy some down time. First there was Ororo, who brought her class freshly baked sugar cookies and fruit punch from Cook. Jean showed holiday themed movies, such as "A Christmas Story" and "It's A Wonderful Life" (her personal favorite), to her class. Meanwhile, Warren allowed his students to sneak time in the Blackbird simulator. Kurt brought his class trinkets from a recent trip to his native Germany. Then there were Bobby and Hank, who took the children on a "nature expedition" to build snow forts and engaged in some winter warfare.

Scott, Warren, and Bobby had left several hours ago to buy a tree for the mansion. Rather than wait for them, Rogue and Kitty decided to proceed with their mission of decorating the mansion. They had recruited the help of some of the students in getting the storage boxes from the attic (thanks to promises of Cook's gingersnaps). The two friends were now sorting through the various decorations before hanging them up. Meanwhile, many students were piling into the living room, assisting in the decorating project. In the background, a CD of jazz-flavored holiday songs was on. Rogue's favorite song on the album, Chet Baker's horn-infused version of "Winter Wonderland" was currently playing.

Kitty had just finished setting up a silver menorah on the mantle of the fireplace. "There," she said with a small smile of satisfaction, "just like how Mom and Dad used to do it."

Rogue pulled out a worn, baseball cap with mistletoe hanging from the brim. Her brows furrowed together in confusion. "What in the world.."

Kitty rolled her cat-like brown eyes behind her square, black-rimmed glasses. "It's Bobby's, remember? That Christmas before he left, he was chasing all of us with it." It puzzled her sometimes how Bobby could keep his inner child alive for so long. Maybe this is why he doesn't have a girlfriend, she observed inwardly.

"Then it goes in the trash. We have enough mistletoe hangin' in this place." Rogue tossed it behind her, shaking her head. A couple of days ago, Jean bought several bushels of mistletoe and hung them in the doorway of each public room of the mansion.

Her friend grinned as she eyed a large star pendant Rogue was now holding. Intrigued with the intricate, shimmering gold and silver printing over the thick, rice paper of the star, she said, "I haven't seen that before."

"That's because it's new," Rogue informed her, suddenly looking wistful. "Joseph left it here before he went to Guatemala."

Having heard about the earthquake that devastated the Holy Sepulcher Orphanage, he traveled to assist in the relief effort. He had told Rogue about his feelings of guilt from killing the criminals who had kidnapped Sister Maria and the children from the orphanage. By helping them rebuild, he thought he would be atone somewhat for the violence.

While Rogue understood and empathized his intentions, she could not quite feel disappointed. She had been looking forward to spending the holidays with him. Even though he was a grown man, the amnesia he had suffered made him childlike in many ways. This was going to be his first Christmas and Rogue wanted to teach him everything about the holiday, from the religious to the secular.

Maybe next year, she told herself. For a moment, she found that she was trying to convince herself there was going to be another chance. Angry with herself, she quickly pushed her uncertainty from her mind.

Kitty patted Rogue's sleeved arm gently. "Well, it'll just be us girls for the holidays then. We can make potato latkes and sing carols by the fire, you know."

Rogue's hazel eyes were surprised. "Ya not goin' home, sugah?" She knew that while things were less than functional in the Pryde home, Kitty longed to put her family back together. There were many nights Rogue remembered consoling her good friend over her parents' divorce and later, her father's violent death.

Kitty sighed, shrugging. "My mom's spending the holidays with my brother and his wife. And, unfortunately, Marla isn't too fond of mutants. It's just as easy for me to stay here." Despite her sunny smile at the end of her sentence, there was something in her eyes that spoke her disappointment.

"Ah'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's her loss, you know. Besides, I'm looking forward to catching on some shopping."

"Don't worry, sugah. Ah haven't even started. Maybe we can go out to the mall tomorrow and check out the sales, y'know."

"Sounds like a plan." Kitty opened another box and lifted several strands of red pepper berry garland. "Oh, this would be perfect on the railing, wouldn't it?" Then she removed a strand of sparkling bay leaf garland and tilted her head slightly. "But this one is nice, too. Which would you choose, Rogue?"

Rogue was about to voice her preference when she noticed a woman saunter in from the foyer. She was curvy, wearing an outfit that accentuated her figure-tight, white pants, a zipped-up bodice, and a white blazer with white stiletto heels. Around her neck was a choker with a gold X. Golden tresses cut in stylish layers framed nearly teal-blue eyes, refined yet delicate bone structure and silky, translucent skin. Her face reflected a mixture of boredom, coolness and detachment-an expression she often wore.

"I see that Frosty is back," Kitty observed, following Rogue's gaze and invoking Jubilee's nickname for Emma Frost. Like most of the other women in the mansion, she had rather mixed feelings about the former Hellfire member. Emma was icy and reserved towards many people, especially women.

In addition to her psychic abilities, she frequently and freely used her sexuality as a means in getting what she wanted. This was not only true with adversaries, but with many of the male team members. Related to this was the fact that Emma continued to dress provocatively. This would not be so bad if she wasn't an instructor at the school. Kitty recalled recently observing some of the male students and Bobby gawking at Emma, who was wearing her usual white field uniform-long leather pants, platform boots and leather trench coat with strategically placed scraps of fabric on her breasts and neck that left enough of her chest and stomach to form an X.

"What Ah want to know is how she ain't cold in that get-up," Rogue whispered, feeling somewhat frumpy in her black, drawstring leggings, gray, zip-neck sweater, and white sneakers.

Kitty pursed her lips, peering down at her own jeans and University of Chicago pullover. "More importantly, how does she keep everything so white?"

"Ah guess all that bleach isn't only used for her hair." Rogue raised a brow at her friend. She had her own reasons for disliking Emma, many of which stemmed from the way the White Queen treated Bobby in the past. Being a close friend of Bobby's, Rogue hated how Emma would tease and lead him on. She thought of the blonde as a predator of sorts, preying on Bobby's loneliness and using the promise of sex to manipulate him.

The two of them immediately burst into a fit of giggles. For her part, Emma did not seem she was paying any mind to the two women in the living room. Not that either Kitty or Rogue cared.

Suddenly, Kitty turned her eyes briefly from her friend to the doorway where Emma was standing. There, she saw the tall, lean form of Remy LeBeau next to her. He did not seem aware that Rogue was in the next room since he was smiling flirtatiously at the blonde Emma. His red-on-black eyes flicked to the hanging mistletoe over both their heads, then back to her.

While Kitty could not hear what the Louisiana native was saying, she was sure what he wanted at that moment. Emma, usually immune to his charms and wiles, seemed receptive as she was continuing to listen to him. Ever so slowly, the Cajun thief flashed a seductive smile and leaned over, pulling Emma close to him. He then planted his perfectly sculpted lips over hers for a kiss.

Oh, noooo. This is the last thing Rogue needs to see... Even though her friend was involved in a new relationship, Kitty couldn't help but sense that Rogue still harbored feelings for Remy. Kitty's head quickly whipped around to try to distract Rogue from the scene unfolding. She found that her friend had disappeared; leaving the star pendant in the spot she had been sitting.

On Sub-Basement Level Two of the mansion was the Danger Room. The area had recently been enhanced by Shi'ar technology as a result of the Professor's relationship with the Empress. The revamped training facility now used highly advanced robots and sophisticated holographic projectors in many of the training simulations.

This late evening found Jubilee, Tabitha, and Sarah exiting the Danger Room after a particularly rough session. This was thanks to a physically exhausting simulation Sarah had programmed. The three young students were leaning against the wall outside of the training area, panting and wiping sweat from their brows. The girls were dressed in the standard attire for the students-form-fitting, black leather uniforms with black combat boots and padding around the elbows and knees. Needless to say, their clothing forced them to sweat even more.

"Okay, who's gonna tell Scott about those broken robots?" Tabitha asked, her wide aqua eyes sparkling. She was a wiry teenager with blonde hair that was cut into chunky layers around her edgy, but cherubic features. The girl was a recent recruit at the school, leaving an abusive home life behind her.

Sarah made a face at her, absorbing the bone structures back into her forehead. A Morlock whose abilities included generating blade-like bone structures, she had worked for many months at the school to gain control over her powers. Her rugged but arresting features became more visible, which were framed by her magenta locks, now pulled into a ponytail.

"Why don't you do it? You're the one who fried them. I saw you." She was referring to Tabitha's ability create balls of explosive and concussive energy, which earned her the nickname, Boom-Boom.

Tabitha smirked, sinking to the floor to sit. "How do we know it wasn't one of your bone spikes that didn't do it?" she asked, eyeing the holes in the other girl's black, leather uniform.

"I was on the other side of the room!" Sarah turned her pale blue eyes to Jubilee, who was moving her head from side to side in an effort to stretch out her neck. "Why don't you tell him? You live with him and he treats you like his kid. He can't be too mad."

"Since he treats me like his kid, he can punish me like his kid," Jubilee pointed out. She could almost picture Scott having a fit about the equipment being broken-especially since the girls did not have one of the instructors with them. "Maybe we should tell him together. That way, Tabitha's not completely on the spot."

Tabitha nodded slowly, fingering her choppy hair. "Do you think we should have Jean around? He wouldn't flip out too much if she were in the room with us. Maybe she can zap his head or something."

Jubilee was about to respond to this suggestion when she heard a loud crash. "What was that?" she asked, straightening her posture.

The other girls frowned as they peered around. While the sound was loud, they were not able to discern where it came from. Immediately, shard-like bone spike sprang from one of Sarah's arms. She pulled one of them out and gripped it tightly. Tabitha followed her teammate's move and summoned several balls of energy into her hands.

Just as Sarah was about to dismiss the event and tell Jubilee she was hearing things, there was another crash followed by the sound of breaking glass. This time, the noises could clearly be heard from the doors of the women's locker room. Tabitha tossed one of the balls at the steel doors that led to the women's locker room. The doors immediately blew open with a thundering boom, which was not loud enough for the rest of the mansion to hear, given the soundproofed walls.

Jubilee was the first one to race to the doorway, summoning sparks from one of her hands. The room was dark, which made it hard to see anything. However, as the light from the hallway and her sparks poured into the room, she was able to discover the source of the loud noises. Quickly, flicked on the light switch, and slowly walked inside.

There, slumped against a row of lockers outside the shower stalls was Rogue. Her eyes were closed and her chin was pressed against her chest. The woman's hair was rumpled, as were her clothes. Despite the doors being blown open, she appeared oblivious, almost appearing as if she were asleep.

"Rogue!" Jubilee raced to her side, her eyes darting around the room to see if any possible attackers were present, which there was none. She absorbed the sparks into her hand. "Are you OK? What happened?"

"Mmmph." Rogue waved a hand at her, disoriented. Her hazel eyes were heavy-lidded. Smiling widely at Jubilee, she patted the young girl's head. "Ya grew up, didn't ya, Sweet Pea?"

Sarah was several inches from the two of them, crouching. "I would say this happened," she said, holding up an empty bottle of Southern Comfort and pointing at shards of glass in a pool of amber liquid, presumably remnants of another bottle Rogue was in the midst of consuming.

Tabitha peered at the bottles and then at Rogue, who was flashing her a lazy smile. "Oh, man," she cried, almost with glee, "Rogue's totally wasted!"

Jubilee rolled her eyes at her, then looked over at Rogue. Relieved not to find any cuts on the Southern Belle, she asked, "How long have you been here?"

Rogue placed a gloved hand on Jubilee's cheek. "Long enough, Sweet Pea. Don't ya worry. Ah can handle my liquor." She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

"Rogue? Rogue?" Jubilee started to shake her shoulders to wake her up. When the other woman opened her eyes, Jubilee turned to Tabitha and Sarah, who appeared fascinated with a drunk Rogue. "We have to get her upstairs."

"And get this place cleaned up," Sarah added, standing up again. "Scott's going to flip out more if he sees this."

Tabitha crossed her arms over her muscular chest. "You know, we could just leave her here and pretend we never found her. Why should we have to do anything?"

"Because she'd help you if you were in the same situation."

"Fair enough."

Jubilee bit her lip as she bent down and placed one of Rogue's arms around her shoulders. "Come on, Rogue," she coaxed, trying to pull her up. Being smaller than the other woman and not having super strength made the task more difficult than she thought it would be.

"Yeah, come on," Tabitha grunted, taking Rogue's other arm and trying to prop her up on her feet. "Ugh, she's heavier than she looks. Must be all that fried chicken and grits she eats."

"Hey!" Rogue suddenly exclaimed, then rested her head on Jubilee's shoulder.

Sarah watched the two girls successful raise Rogue to her feet. Then she sighed as she stared down at the bottle and broken glass at her feet. "I guess I'll take care of this then." Her pale eyes then looked rather amused, as if she got the better end of the deal and knew it. She decided not to let the other two on.

"Good luck," Jubilee told Sarah, now dragging Rogue to the door with Tabitha.

The girls decided it would be easier to take the elevator from Sub-Basement Level Two to the second floor, where all the private living quarters were. During the elevator ride, Rogue became increasingly alert. Her eyes remained open and she was able to stand. However, she still required the assistance of the two girls to keep her gait steady. In addition, she started to talk-or rather, babble. Much of what she was saying either came out of left field or was unintelligible altogether, expressed in a series of grunts.

"Finally," Tabitha said as the elevator doors open. She wasn't sure what was more burdensome-carrying Rogue or listening to her babble on and on about country back roads.

Jubilee glared at the taller girl, assisting Rogue out of the elevator. "We have to do this quietly. Some of the kids are already asleep." She nodded towards a row of closed doors down the hallway.

Tabitha scowled, but then gave Jubilee a resigned look. They proceeded to lead Rogue to her bedroom, which was at the other end of the hall. Rogue was being cooperative and surprisingly quiet. She simply rested her head on Jubilee's shoulder, eyes dazed at her familiar surroundings. However, their trip to her bedroom wasn't going to be as effortless as anticipated. Without any warning or provocation, Rogue threw herself on the floor and buried her face in her arms. The girls immediately raced to hoist the intoxicated woman to her feet. This time, Rogue was not easily moved.

"Rogue. Come on, Rogue, get up." Jubilee pleaded, struggling to pull her up. "We're almost there."

"G'way. Ah like it here." Rogue mumbled, kicking the hardwood floor with one foot.

"Rogue!" Tabitha hissed. She peered around frantically to see if anyone heard. The last thing she needed was to be associated with another disturbance. She was still serving out her punishment, cleaning out the Blackbird after every field mission, for tossing a handful of energy balls into the men's locker room.

Unfortunately for the two girls, someone did hear the commotion. A light flicked on in one of the bedrooms. The occupant was definitely an instructor or simply a field team member since most of their rooms were located at the end of the hall. Footfalls could be heard sauntering across the hardwood floors. The mahogany door slowly swung open very slowly, pouring light into the dim hallway where the three women were.

Tabitha quickly rose to her feet, shaking her head and throwing Jubilee a sympathetic look. There was no way she was going to be written up again. "That's it. I'm outta here." She then sprinted down the other side of the hall, towards the room she shared with Sarah, Theresa, and Dani.

Great, Jubilee groaned inwardly, her eyes on the belligerent figure next to her. Still on her knees, she gave up on trying to help Rogue to her feet. Then she heaved a sigh and waited for the reprimanding adult to ask her what was going on.

Who confronted her was the antithesis of a stern, reprimanding adult.

"Petite, what's goin' on?"

Her eyes stared up at the tall, lean Cajun thief. Despite the fact he was dressed for bed in only a pair of black, silk pajamas pants, Remy LeBeau appeared as if he had not been sleeping for long. His red-on-black eyes were alert, surveying the scene in front of him. The usual amused and smug expression he wore was missing, replaced by one that communicated concern.

He raked a hand through his thick, wavy reddish-brown hair and knelt down by Jubilee and Rogue. His nostrils were already filled with the strong smell of alcohol, permeating from Rogue. He shook his head in dismay. Then he turned to Jubilee and asked, "Well, Petite?"

"I found her like this," Jubilee explained, sapphire eyes widening. She decided to leave Sarah and Tabitha out of the entire situation. No sense in making things any more complicated.

He nodded, knowing the little one would not lie to him. With a swift and rather graceful move, he scooped Rogue into his arms and rose to his feet. To his relief, she did not stir. "Come, Petite," he whispered, watching the young girl stand up. "Help me wit Rogue, huh?"

Jubilee nodded and followed him to Rogue's door quietly. As they made their way down the hall, she realized this was the closest Gambit had been to Rogue since he returned. She kept her questions to herself, knowing full well the Cajun never shared his feelings with anyone. Once they reached the bedroom, she moved past him to open the door and flicked on the lights.

The room was composed of a palette of delicate pinks, soft greens, Gustavian blues, and champagne and gold. Painted, timeworn furniture complemented a patchwork of florals, aged damasks, glistening beadwork, and dressmaker details. The smell of fresh pears wafted in the air faint, but strong enough to detect.

Remy strode inside, surprised that nothing had changed. He remembered spending many nights here; some good, some bad. All that time in Antarctica, he could have never predicted he would have ended back here. There were many nights he dreamed about being here with her. Needless to say, he was not expecting that he would be under these circumstances.

Then he stared down at the sleeping woman in her arms. Rogue's comely features were peaceful, making her appear innocent and unassuming. Gently, he brushed a lock of white hair from her cheek. There was so much he was thinking, feeling, and wanting to say. For now, this was fine enough for him. He knew if she were awake now, she would never allow him anywhere near her.

Remy found the king-sized sleigh bed in the middle of the room. As he laid the still sleeping Rogue over the luminous Odelette quilt, he saw Jubilee walking out of the private bath with a glass of water, a trashcan and a bottle of Advil. She placed the water and Advil on the classical, iron-wrought night table, a piece reminiscent of Pompeian-inspired and Napoleonic campaign furniture with its lion's paw feet and lion's heads with rings capping each leg. Then she placed the trashcan by Rogue's bed. Surprised that the young girl knew what to bring, Remy looked taken a back.

"My last foster mother was a raging alcoholic. I always had to take care of her after drinking." Jubilee explained, her blue eyes reflecting a hint of sadness and pain. Then she quickly changed the subject. "Is Rogue OK?"

Remy nodded. "I t'ink so. She be sleepin' it off." He paused, and then asked, "Petite, you know how much she have?"

"Maybe a whole bottle of whiskey and a half? I don't know. The other bottle was broken by the time I found her."

"How long she be drinkin', Petite?"

"I don't know. By the time I found her, she was already like this."

"When dat be?"

"Almost twenty minutes ago."

The Cajun's thief's mouth formed an uncharacteristically grim line. He peered down at Rogue, who looked rather comfortable. Hard liquor consumed in large amounts for an indeterminate amount of time. Who knew how much damage Rogue had done. As much as he hated to do it, he knew he needed to wake her up. However, he did not want to do so in front of Jubilee. He had figured she did not need to see that.

He turned to the concerned face of the young girl. Touching her cheek with slightly calloused fingers, he leaned towards her. "You did good, Petite. Gambit take care of Rogue from here, huh? You go home and get some rest." Then he craned his neck low and placed a soft kiss against her forehead and her cheek.

Jubilee immediately turned beet-red, realizing she was living out the fantasy of almost any woman in the free world. She smiled weakly and slowly walked toward the door. "Good night," she murmured, rubbing her cheek as she left the room.

Remy smiled fondly after the girl. Gone was the irresponsible child, replaced by a thoughtful young woman. Scott and Jean had done a good job, indeed.

"So, now ya moved on to little girls?"

He turned around to find Rogue, sitting up in bed with the quilt thrown off of her. Her hazel eyes were blazing with a mixture of anger and confusion. She straightened her position, her mouth curled in a seductive sneer.

"ChŠre," Remy drawled, his demon-like eyes filled with concern. He walked by her bedside. However, he stopped short of sitting next to her. I'm not going to push.

"Ah swear, ya touch her again, ya won't need to worry about Logan. Ah'll take care of ya myself." The last statement came out in a slur.

Realizing that she was not herself, Remy decided not to acknowledge what she was saying. Instead, he picked up the glass of water by the bedside table and offered it to her. "Here, chŠre. Drink dis."

She pushed his hand away and scowled. "Get the hell away from me," she snapped. "Ah don't need your help and Ah certainly didn't invite ya here."

Remy winced. He placed the glass back on the bedside table and sighed. "ChŠre, you don' know what you sayin'," he whispered huskily.

"Oh, Ah know, swamp rat. Ah know someone like ya can't nevah be trusted." Her head rolled to the side and she closed her eyes. Then she laughed. "But who can blame ya, sugah? We all have needs."

He gave her a quizzical look, watching her open eyes, which were now heavy-lidded. "What does dat mean, chŠre?" he asked, edging closer to the bed.

"Ah know what you want, Remy. Ah know what you always want."

"And what dat be?"

"Don't deny it, swamp rat. Ya always were a lousy liah."

"ChŠre, please. You need to drink some of dis water. You not goin' to feel so good if you don'."

Rogue smirked at him. "Know what ya need?" When he did not answer her, she continued to speak. "All those years in the arctic made ya lonely, didn't it? Lonely enough to sneak kisses from Emma and Jubilee?"

Remy bristled, eyes narrowing. He understood she was drunk, but for some reason she had hit a nerve with him then. His lips pressed together in an effort to keep himself from saying something he would regret. In their previous fights, he had never seen this side of her. This was someone who wanted to do her best to hurt him now.

In her drunken haze, Rogue winked at him seductively. "Ah know what ya wanted since ya got here," she said, her voice soft and whispery. "Ah've always known."

"So what is it dat I wan?" He hoped that by participating in this drunken conversation, he could convince her take some Advil with the water. She was going to be in bad shape the next morning if she did not.

Her gloved hand took his arm and guided him to the bed with her. Then she removed her sweater, leaving her with only her bra and leggings on. She ran her slim fingers through his wavy hair, remembering how she had done so many times before. She was now close enough to smell him-cigarettes and pine.

Remy found himself transfixed with the half-naked nymph, tempting him. His red-on-black eyes were smoldering as he stared at her. Even disheveled, she was still beautiful to him. There were many thoughts racing through his brain at that moment. So intent on his thoughts, he did not even notice her gloved hand traveling from his bare chest, down his washboard stomach toward his tapered waist.

Suddenly, he inhaled sharply and pulled away. "No, chŠre," he said quietly, placing her hand back in her lap. Abruptly, he turned his back to her. His heart was now thudding in his ears loudly.

"What's the matter, sugah?" Rogue cooed, her gloved hands now roving over his muscular back. "Ah'm here for the takin'. Don't ya want me, sugah?"

Remy jerked away, jumping to his feet. He shook his head and said quietly, "No, chŠre. Not like dis." He was almost insulted that she could have such a low opinion of him to think that he would even.

Her face flushed red as she glared at him. Then she threw herself back down on the bed, flipping on her side to face away from him. For his part, Remy approached the bed again. Wordlessly, he draped the pompadour cotton paisley jacquard flat sheet over her. Next, he moved the trashcan to the other side of the bed. He noticed that Rogue had passed out again, her mouth wide open as she slept.

He decided to sit with her for a couple of minutes, in case she needed anything. The water was a lost cause, but he thought she would probably drink it when she woke up next. From his experience of alcohol-induced slumbers, they never proved to be restful. Sinking into an overstuffed armchair with floral prints, Remy sat across from the bed. He leaned back, watching his former lover sleep. As he sat, he realized how shockingly different things now were.
 

Chapter Twelve: The Good One

Rain lightly pelted the snow-covered grounds of the mansion on a gray afternoon. By and large, the halls of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters were quiet. Many of the students had accompanied Betsy, Neal, Jean, and Storm on a shopping expedition at the local mall. Others remained at the mansion to catch up on final projects and study for exams before the end of the semester. Some of the instructors, like Hank and the Professor, were in the midst of preparing their lesson plans for the closing weeks before the holiday. Meanwhile, a field team composed of Scott, Rogue, Warren, Chamber, and Bishop was en route to California to investigate violent hate crimes against mutant businesses.

Bobby hated the quiet and inactivity he was surrounded by that day. Both forced him to contemplate the many thoughts that raced through his head. The holidays were soon approaching and his family, particularly his mother, was expecting him to come home. Instead of looking forward to the Drake family gathering, he felt a sense of dread. Before leaving, he and his father never really reconciled their differences that came between them over the years. Rather, it was more of an uneasy understanding that Bobby was a mutant and would always be different. There was no further communication beyond that.

Until his mother called the other night to remind him about the invitation extended to him for Christmas. During the thirty-minute phone call, he noticed not once did she mention anything about his father being pleased that Bobby was coming home. When he did manage to confront her about the glaring omission, she nervously dismissed his concerns and told him as she did many times before that the elder Drake was not one to express his feelings so openly.

So, as usual, Bobby had forsaken his own ambivalence to please a loved one. He would be leaving quite soon-right after administering his last trigonometry final to his class for the year. In anticipation of the trip to his parents' Long Island home, he had taken out his old duffel bag from his college days from the back of his closet. It was now hanging from the back of a chair in the room, empty.

Equally troubling was the return of Scott's brother, Alex, otherwise known to Bobby as "that dork who stole my girlfriend". The younger Summers was visiting for the holidays from Washington, DC, where he was attending graduate school in physics. Much to Bobby's dismay and irritation, the tall, blond Alex was staying with Scott and Jean for a couple of weeks until school started.

Despite the fact that Alex had broken off his engagement with Lorna Dane, Bobby could not help but still feel some lingering resentment and bitterness towards the other man. Lorna had been his first serious girlfriend, someone he had seriously considered proposing to until Alex came along. It had taken some time for Bobby to recover and to accept the fact she no longer cared for him the same way. To this day, he had been convinced that their breakup was a harbinger for the many disastrous relationships he would become involved in.

Not that he made any effort to make things work. He did. Maybe he tried a little too hard. According to Jean and Rogue, Bobby seemed too eager to please when it came to women. This approach always seemed to set up him for heartbreak. Whether it was Opal or Zelda, the result was still the same: he was alone.

He was still ruminating over those issues when there was a slight rapping at his door. Frowning slightly, Bobby walked over to the door. After opening it, his frown immediately disappeared.

"Hey," Jubilee said in greeting, sapphire-blue eyes twinkling as she smiled up at him. She had walked from the Summers' home to the mansion, which was evident from her flushed cheeks. To keep warm from the wintry weather outside, she was wearing a pair of boot-cut jeans, a pink, lambswool sweater that fell to her hips, and a dark-camel pea coat. Her long, dark hair tumbled down her slim shoulders, framing her delicate features.

"Hey, Jubes. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She held out a pair of purple-tinted, wraparound sunglasses. "You left these in my room last night," she informed him, "Scott was kind of suspicious as to why they were on my desk. I told him they were part of an old Halloween costume. I didn't even want to explain how your version of a lawn ornament appeared outside my window."

Bobby grinned, taking the glasses, a part of his uniform, from her. He had visited her after returning from a mission, wanting to tell her about how Hank picked up some network reporter and asked her for cocktails. They spent the rest of the night, talking about their holiday plans and playing cards. He did not leave until late that evening, around eleven-thirty or so. As usual, he had formed an ice slide to her window and knocking for Jubilee to let him in.

"You should have told him it was an early Christmas present from me," Bobby replied, motioning for her to come inside. When she obliged, he closed the door and then said, "So, you came all the way here to return these, even though you're supposed to be studying? Did you miss my smile that much?"

Jubilee smirked at him, peering around the room. She noted the framed posters of the Three Stooges as well as movie posters from 'Animal House', 'Blazing Saddles', and 'Porky's'. The room was reasonably neat, compared to other males she had known (who could forget Jono's underwear hanging from his bookshelves?), but still had a disheveled quality to it. Clothes were haphazardly piled on a chair and on his king-sized bed, while issues of Sports Illustrated and Maxim were stacked on his black lacquer desk. CDs and loose papers were scattered on top of his 32-inch television. His collection of his favorite comedy movies and standup comic performers on DVD was proudly exhibited in two black-framed, glass display cases that flanked the television.

"Um, you wish," she finally retorted, "I'm also looking for a movie to watch on my study break."

"Do you want to look through here?" He motioned towards the two display cases. "There are a couple movies I could recommend."

She peered into the case, dropping to her knees and eyeing the titles inside carefully. "As long as they don't have any gratuitous nudity or any smutty stuff, I'll be OK."

"If want any of that, you should visit Gambit." Bobby laughed.

Jubilee opened the sliding glass door and pulled out a copy of 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail'. "I heard Dr. McCoy talking about this one with Scott. They both seem to think it was funny, but the production quality doesn't look so good." Her blue eyes narrowed as she inspected the back cover.

"Well, it was the seventies, you know. The production quality takes nothing away from the yuks." Bobby lowered his voice, surprised at how defensive he was about the film. It was on his top-ten list for favorite film of all time. Then he asked, "Besides, what do you know about movie production? I didn't think we offered those classes here."

She continued reading the back cover. After a brief pause, she answered, "I have first-hand experience."

His gray eyes were puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"When I was living in L.A. with Angelo after Gen X broke up, I decided I wanted to be an actress," Jubilee began, facing Bobby who was now kneeling next to her on the floor. "So, I got a couple of gigs in these movies."

Bobby remembered that time. Jubilee decided to follow her good friend Angelo to the West Coast to get her thoughts straightened out after the school closed for good. As she was talking, he was beginning to sense he wasn't sure he was going to like where her disclosure was going. "What kind of movies?" he asked, his voice concerned.

"Just these low-budget Asian flicks. They were bit parts, you know. But, they still helped to pay the bills." Jubilee shrugged. She studied the increasingly troubled expression on his face with curiosity. "What's with you?"

He ignored her question and pressed on. "What did you do in these parts?" He was hoping they didn't involve the images flashing in his head at that moment. If they did, he was going to personally ensure the people involved were going to pay.

"Well, in one I was a waitress and had one line about picking up the check. Then in this other movie, I was a secretary but I had no lines. The last one I was in, they made me play a Geisha girl, even though I clearly do not look Japanese."

Jubilee shuddered as she recalled spending long hours in make-up and wardrobe for that particular role. To make things worse, she still looked quite ridiculous. She didn't even recognize herself in the mirror when the crew was done.

Bobby was relieved. "No, you don't," he said quietly. After a brief silence, he seated himself on the floor and inquired, "So, what made you leave show business?"

She bit her lower lip before responding. "I was on an audition for this action movie," she began, "and one of the producers says I could use make more of my talents if I only wanted to. I asked him what the hell he meant by that, to which he said my clothes were holding me back from making it.

"After I kicked him in the crotch and tore the toupee off his bald head, I made a decision that being an actress was not in the cards." She rolled her eyes and eased herself on the floor.

He fought to suppress a smile, pleased to hear how she was able to take care of herself. "The world truly missed out on the next Meryl Streep," he commented teasingly, "if only we could see the early work."

"Well. I guess.Never mind."

"What, Jubes?"

"Nothing, Drake."

"No, what is it?" Bobby leaned towards her, his gray eyes solemn. Whatever secret she was keeping, he wasn't going to let it go.

Jubilee stared into his boyish face, which was uncharacteristically free of any mockery. She sighed when she realized he was not going to laugh or make fun of her. "I still have the tapes," she admitted, two pink spots coloring her cheeks.

He couldn't quite hear her since she seemed to mutter her response. "What was that?"

"I still have the tapes," she repeated crossly.

"Really? Why didn't you show them? I'm sure everyone around here would have a kick out of seeing you on the screen."

"No, no. No one knows. You're the first and only one I've told."

"Really? Not even Logan?"

"Not even Wolvie."

"Wow. Um, why not?"

"Are you kidding? I mean, he would totally get the wrong idea and explode. He'd yell and scream at me about how I could be so stupid to be taken advantaged of even though I wasn't. Next, he'd try to go after every single person at the studios and tear them all new ones. I think we're all better off if he doesn't know. In fact, I think we would be better off if no one else knows about this, OK?"

"Then why do you keep the tapes?"

"I don't know. They're like souvenirs of the whole experience. I mean, I guess some day, it would be fun to watch them."

"Then let's."

"Huh?"

"Let's watch the tapes. You and me."

"I don't know, Bobby.."

Bobby stared into her blue eyes, which were filled with uncertainty and wariness. He edged closer to her and whispered, "Listen, I know it took a lot for you to tell me about the movies since this is the first time you've mentioned this to anyone. If you we watch the tapes, I'm not going to laugh or make fun. It's up to you, Jubes. No pressure, OK?"

She looked intently at his face and realized the second time since she had come in to see him that he was being completely serious. It threw her off somewhat because she, like many in the mansion, was used to the Bobby Drake who constantly cracked jokes. This was a sensitive, thoughtful version of the man who won the mansion's St. Patrick's Day contest by sticking two green markers up his nose. While this part of him was unfamiliar to her, she found herself surprisingly comforted. It was as if it were easy to tell him everything and anything on her mind now.

"OK," Jubilee said softly, nodding. Other than Logan and even Scott, she never thought she could trust another man the way she did Bobby at this moment.

"Really? I don't want to pressure you."

"You're not, Bobby. It's about time I saw them, too. And, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather see these cheesy movies with than you."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended by that last part." Bobby snorted, but was thrilled inside that she was willing to share this deeply private part of her life with him.

She grinned at him. "Flattered, I would think," she replied, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

"So, when do you want to do the premiere?" he asked, the scent of bubblegum and cinnamon suddenly filling his nostrils. "I need to know since I have to roll out the red carpet and make the popcorn."

She rolled her eyes at him, still grinning. "Oh, please."

"Come on. This is important. It's not everyday I find out one of my friends is a movie star. So, when are you going to premiere your work?" His gray eyes were teasing as he spoke.

Jubilee looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "Why don't we do it now? I could go home, grab the videos, and the rest of my stuff. I could say I'm going to be studying over here. I don't think Jean is going to have a problem with that."

"Then I'll make the popcorn and get sodas while you're gone and we can meet back in my room," Bobby informed her, rising to his feet. He extended a hand to help her up. She took it and he pulled her up gently.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, finding herself still holding his hand after she was on her feet. To her surprise, it was warm, not at all icy, as she would expect. Quickly, she released it and began to head to the door. "I'll see ya, Bobby."

He smiled after her, watching the door quietly close. As he was clearing space in his bedroom for them to sit to watch the tapes, he began to feel his spirits rise. She saw something inside of him that she did not see in either Logan or Scott or even Jean that she could open up to. The fact that Jubilee, someone who was constantly wary of the world for good reason, was willing to trust and share with him this secret she had been harboring for some time was extraordinary to him. It made him feel special and important-feelings he had not experienced for a long time.

Several doors from Bobby Drake's bedroom, Remy LeBeau leaned against the doorframe, shuffling a deck of cards. He had watched the young girl walk into Iceman's room. The Cajun thief began to become concern regarding how long she was in there until the door opened again. He noticed how flushed her cheeks were as she made her way down the hall and down the staircase.

Staring after her, Remy was tempted to march into Drake's bedroom and confront him as to what happened. However, he managed to restrain himself. After all, he was not Logan. There were other ways to deal with things.
 

Chapter Thirteen: The Day I Tried To Live

Bluish-gray smoke billowed from the butt of Logan's cigar as he circled his motorcycle up the hill and towards the mansion. Much to Scott's surprise and unstated elation, Logan finally broke down and purchased a vintage Harley-Davidson late last month. It was a gorgeous, sleek piece of machinery, which purred ever so softly but was swift as the wind. He was as protective of it as he was of Jubilee. Now, he could go out on long rides without putting up with a lecture from the Boy Scout.

Logan raced through a thicket of black trees, their limbs devoid of any life. The snow that had fallen several days ago crunched underneath the tires of his motorcycle. As he turned a corner towards the gates, the wind suddenly began to die down. He pulled out the remote from his pocket of his worn leather jacket to open the wrought iron gates. As they slowly slid open, he peered up at the darkening sky overhead. While not threatening of any snow or rain, Logan decided he should get inside as soon as he could. There was something he did not like about the way it looked. He almost laughed at himself, shaking off his wariness and riding through the gates and into the garage. You'd think I was Storm or something.

To his surprise, inside the mansion was quiet and inactive. Closing the door behind him, he attributed it to the approaching holidays. Some of the students had finished their exams early and consequently, went home for the three-week long break. Not that he was complaining. Unlike Jean or Ororo, a house filled with noisy kids wasn't his idea of domestic bliss. Not that anyone could accuse Logan of being the domestic type. He welcomed the peace and tranquility that came with limited occupants at the institute. It reminded him of his solitary days in Canada.

Logan trudged up the winding staircase that led to the floor where his bedroom was located. Still puffing on his cigar, he made his way down the hallway to his room. He noticed that things were equally still, which was quite strange since many of the instructors/field team members on his floor had agreed to stay behind for the holidays. As he opened the door to his bedroom, he shrugged off his concerns. At least I can get some sleep in peace, he thought, pulling off his leather jacket and tossing it on a chair next to the door.

Unlike many of the rooms in the mansion, one would never know that Logan actually occupied this area. There was nothing that indicated any attachment to this place. The walls were stark, without any photographs or paintings hung up. On the far side of the room was a plain dresser, which was half-filled with the clothing he had brought with him from his last trip. Against the wall closest to the door was his bed-a queen-sized mattress and box spring on a metal frame. Next to his bedside was a small, wooden table with a black desk lamp and an alarm clock. On the other bedside table was a box of Cohibas Bishop had picked up for him a couple of weeks ago. Underneath the box was the dog-eared photograph he often carried of Jubilee as a young girl.

He remembered how Ororo and Rogue had constantly chided him over the emptiness of the room. This was many years ago, when he first arrived at the mansion. Rogue even bemoaned how cold it was, offering to help him redecorate. She and Ororo had even brought in fabric swatches and paint samples. He had responded with a raised brow and a trademark grunt.

While the idea was ridiculous to him, Logan did not disclose the truth behind his reluctance. He found it difficult to personalize the room when he had no idea what kind of person he was. Sure, he was tough and the epitome of strength and stoicism. However, those were aspects that were consciously available, known to him within the last fifteen years. Prior to that, there was no recollection as to who or what he had been. To cover up the emptiness, would be, in a way, lying to himself.

Logan stripped off the denim and flannel shirts he had been wearing over his white tank top. His wiry, muscular body was about to sink on to the comforting softness of his bed. He stopped himself when his ears picked up noises from outside his door. His brows knitted together as he willed himself to be quiet.

Thump, thump, thump.

He frowned as he yanked the door open and stared into the hallway. Nothing. He narrowed his eyes into razor-thin slits, still unconvinced that he was not alone.

SNIKT.

"Who's there?" he called out, adamantium claws already bared. One could never be too carefully, especially with the likes of Friends of Humanity out in the world. It wasn't too long ago that the school had been broken into and the children terrorized by those slime bags.

Silence.

Logan grunted, briskly walking down the hallway and opening the door to each room he passed. Every time, he found that each were missing their occupants. He grunted again. If someone was trying to scare him, they weren't close to doing it. However, they were doing a great job of pissing him off. He hated playing games.

"Come on out!" he barked, contemplating where he was going to aim his claws when he caught the person.

There was a long, deafening silence. Suddenly, a deep, condescending voice drawled, "Well, well, Logan. No need to get excited. It's just an old friend popping in for a visit."

Logan's green eyes widened; he did not need to see the person to know who it was. He growled, clenching his fists. "Get out here so I can see what I'm shredding to pieces!"

Chuckling softly, a solid-looking man in his late fifties sauntered from behind a column. All those years in the military could still be seen in his aging form. His graying hair and beard complemented the silver framed bifocals perched over his crooked nose. Always the crisp dresser, he wore a slate-colored, wool suit and a black turtleneck. As he edged closer to Logan, his fleshy lips curled into a sneer, his eyes flat and soulless.

"Now, now, Logan," the man said, his voice dripping with mockery, "that's no way to speak to an old friend."

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Not even a hug for old times sake. I'm crushed, Logan. Absolutely crushed."

Logan held out an arm, claws still extended. "You're going to be more than crushed in a minute," he informed him, tracing a circle under the other man's chin. Then he spat out the man's name in disgust, "Stryker."

The former military general, William Stryker, paused in his steps, but retained his smug expression as if he still held the upper hand. "Well, at least you remember my name. Looks like that memory isn't all that bad, after all."

"You didn't answer my question, old man. What the hell are you doing here?" Logan tried to hide his shock at seeing the man who was responsible for his claws and shady past. The last time the two encountered each other, Logan had left him at the bottom of a snow covered mountain just before an avalanche swept through the Canadian forest. While he was no psychic, Logan had just assumed that Stryker met his fate as the billowing rush of snow tumbled down the mountain.

"You didn't think I was going to let you believe you were happy?" Stryker laughed sharply, taking a step backwards. "Only people can know happiness. You-you're nothing but a science experiment that's gone wrong. A mistake."

Logan leaped at him, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the wall. He strategically placed his claws inches from the other man's throat. "I don't have listen to anything else, bub," he snapped, green eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and pain.

"Oh, but you do."

"Really? Looks like these claws you put in me say otherwise."

"That's right, Wolverine. Blame me for what you've become. The truth is, you were a mistake to begin with. I only tried to improve you. Let's say I tried to help you. How does that sound?"

"Shut up."

"Perhaps that's why you're alone. I mean, what person in their right mind could ever see something decent in you?"

"You don't know a goddamn thing."

"That's where you're wrong, my dear Logan. I do know. I know you blame Scott Summers for taking Jean from you, and then Jubilee. What made you think you could make either one of them happy? You see, Scott, while a mutant, is more of a man than you could ever be."

Logan's grip tightened. "I'm over her, bub."

If Stryker was experiencing any fear of the man who was close to slicing his throat, he was doing a good job of masking it. He continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "A real man doesn't run at the first sign of trouble. A real man doesn't abandon those he claimed to hold dear. A real man takes responsibility. Given what I've said, I don't think you meet the criteria, do you?"

"And a real man doesn't sacrifice his kid to get revenge," Logan countered, referring to Stryker's late son, Jason, whose telepathic abilities rivaled that of the Professor's. He had died in that same avalanche all those years ago.

The verbal jab did not even faze Stryker. His face was expressionless as he replied, "Expendable. Much like you are. Face it, Logan, if you were to die tomorrow, do you honestly believe anyone would notice?"

Logan scowled. "Maybe you should be asking yourself that same question, bub." My hand could slip and accidentally stab him in the throat. Who's to say otherwise?

Stryker ignored his last comment. Instead, he laughed again. "Don't tell me you think that anyone here would miss you, would grieve for you? People are missed, not mistakes-and that's all you'll ever be, Logan. A mistake.

"Take Jean Grey. She's happily married to Scott, and I do believe they are thinking about starting a family. She feels pity for you, like she does for any freak of nature. How could you think she could ever love you? She has a real man to take care of her.

"And your dear Professor? I suppose he pities you as well. But it's nothing compared to the frustration he must feel. As much as the old man has tried to help you, Logan, you always manage to disappoint him by losing your temper and running off. How many times has he had to chastise you, like you were some poor animal? Hmm.Too many it would seem, would it not?

"Your teammates? Hah. Most of them either distrust you or quite afraid of you. You'd do them a favor if you just disappeared. You can't deny that I'm right on that one. Just observe how they look at and treat you. You're a disease to them, Logan. Fascinating, but nothing to get attached to.

"Finally, there's your precious Jubilee. Looks like she's doting on Scott Summers as well. Tell me, Logan, how did it feel that day you came back to see her embrace him the way she used to embrace you? And don't tell me the irony of the situation hasn't been lost on you as well. The man you consider responsible for not allowing you a future with Jean Grey is now taking on the role you tried to play years ago. Personally, I find it all quite amusing."

That was it. All that rage-blinding and hot-suddenly overwhelmed him. With a choked out scream, Logan plunged his claws into Stryker's abdomen. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, hoping it would help him process what he had just done. When he opened them again, he had been expecting to be greeted with the sight of a pain-filled and dying Stryker.

He immediately retracted his claws when he saw the anguished face now had wide, pleading eyes.

"Logan?" Jean managed to whisper. Blood began to rain down from her pink lips and onto the cream-colored, wool turtleneck she was wearing. She coughed, revealing her blood-soaked teeth. "Why?"

"Jean, I-I didn't. I didn't mean." Logan watched in horror as he watched the statuesque redhead begin to sink to her feet, still pressed against the wall. He quickly began to apply pressure to her wound, the thick, coppery liquid flushing through his fingers. "Stay with me. Come on, don't."

Then he screamed, "Someone help me! Help me!"

Jean's eyes rolled in the back of her head. The coughs coming from her mouth were getting softer and lessening in frequency. Suddenly, she was very still. Logan, shocked and horrified, was frozen as he stared at the now dead woman in his arms. This beautiful creature was now gone. He had done this; he alone. He pulled her close and buried his face against her swan-like neck.

"Why, Wolvie?"

His eyes snapped down at the face that was now beneath him. Jubilee's crystalline blue eyes were brimming with tears, which were mixing with the blood that was streaming from the corners of her mouth. Her face was growing increasingly pale as she continued to lose blood from the wound in her abdomen.

Confused, he began to breathe shallow breaths. Sweat beaded at his brow furiously. He found himself paralyzed, unsure of what to do now. All his super-sensitive senses were stunted, particularly his sense of smell. For the first time in his life, Logan felt a sense of uncertainty and fear-emotions foreign and unknown to him. What is happening? How is this happening? Oh God.

"Why did you do this to me?" Jubilee whispered, holding out a hand with her palm open. It was now dripping with blood-her blood, blood from a wound he thought he had inflicted on Jean.

How? I-I-didn't mean to, kid. Please. Angry, bitter tears flooded his eyes. Logan's face twisted itself into an expression of anguish. His hands shook violently as he struggled to rack his brain as to what he should do next.

He had failed again. Why had he failed again? Blinking the stinging tears away, he scooped her into his arms and whispered, "Hold on, kid. Just hold on. You're going to be OK."

"No, she won't."

Logan peered down at his arms, which were now empty. Then he looked up to see a smirking and wound-free William Stryker. The other man crossed his arms over his broad chest. Logan's face now reflected a myriad of new feelings-confusion and fury. His jaw clenched as he darted down the hall, toward the other man.

SNIKT.

Logan's rumbling growl soon turned into a loud roar. With claws extended, he hurled himself towards the other man, who was still smirking, still smug. He slashed at Stryker's face, slicing into his cheeks, forehead and chin. His other set of claws gouged into Stryker's middle, digging deep and tearing through flesh and muscle until he could feel them scraping at the other man's vertebrate. However, while Logan could watch himself repeatedly stab Stryker, he could not smell the growing pool of blood around him.

He was so consumed with his own fury that he could not hear his own name being called out.

Only, it wasn't Stryker's voice that was calling it out.

Suddenly, it became very cold. A strong wind barreled from behind him. It forced him to knees, forcing his arms away from his body.

Then things went pitch-black.

"Logan!" Ororo Munroe lowered her arms, calming the swirling winds that lifted her long, white tresses from her shoulders. She had just arrived at the mansion from a day at the mall with Rogue and Kitty when she heard Logan screaming from upstairs. Being the only one inside (the other women were unpacking Rogue's car), she went up to investigate. After repeated knocks at Logan's door, Ororo had let herself in.

What she found was quite horrifying-Logan screaming and howling in pain while slashing in the air with his adamantium claws. It was reminiscent of when he had first arrived at the mansion, where he suffered from recurrent hallucinations of tortured, but mysterious past. The weather goddess called out to him over and again, wary of getting close to him as he attacked his imaginary foe. When it was clear she was not going to get through to him, she summoned a paralyzing wind to attempt to shake her old friend out of his confused state.

Her wide eyes watched him collapsed in a heap in the middle of his bedroom floor, claws retracted. Quickly, she darted to his side and knelt down to inspect him. He was unconscious, but he appeared to be otherwise unhurt. Sweat beaded at his brows while his breaths came out shallow and rapid.

"Oh, Logan," Ororo whispered, her heart becoming heavy with sympathy and some confusion. He had been doing so well since his return to the mansion-so stable and free of his traumatic re-experiencing. "What has happened?"

She was contemplating taking him to the med-lab to Hank and Cecilia when his eyes fluttered open. Logan's brows knitted together as the rest of his face drew itself in a perplexed expression. No Stryker, but Storm, who was kneeling over him and looking as if she were going to cry.

"What's going on, Princess?" He used the old nickname he reserved just for her, his voice husky. Then he made an attempt to sit up, but instead slumped against her, feeling very weakened. "Is everyone alright?"

Ororo's dark eyes attempted to hide what the fear she was suddenly feeling as she held him up. He has no idea. "Yes, Logan," she replied, "everyone is fine."

As she uttered the last part of her sentence, the lie left a bitter taste in her mouth.
 

Chapter Fourteen: More Than This

Remy LeBeau had just stepped out of the shower, his muscles still weary from the Danger Room session he had with Storm earlier that evening. During the session, he could tell there was something on his friend's mind that had troubled her for days, but that she was also hesitant to share with him. While he did not want to pry, he was still concerned and offered to end the session early so that she could sort things out. After all, who was he to force someone to open with his or her secrets when he had so many of his own to guard? To his surprise, she had taken him up on his offer.

That was before she played rough with Gambit, he mused, stretching his lean, muscular arms over his head. Despite her graceful appearance, Ororo was quite the competitor. Not only were her powers at manipulating the weather awe-inspiring, but also she had become skilled in hand-to-hand combat, thanks to Logan's training. No amount of charged objects or Cajun charm could take that away from her. Not that he wanted to. She had come a long way since the little girl he had met in the Bayou many years ago.

He leaned over the white porcelain sink, peering at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The years had aged him, adding tiny lines around places where they had not been before. However, these signs of aging did not diminish the attractiveness of his chiseled features. Despite the cool and gray weather of upstate New York, he had managed to maintain his golden skin from his days in the tropics. His wavy, auburn hair, which he had worn long in his younger days, was now cut short, leaving sideburns and the top slightly longer so that his locks would flop over his brow. Steamy days in Jamaica saw to that decision in a heartbeat. The Cajun thief's long, lean body was still muscular and tight, thanks to daily Danger Room sessions and the occasional field mission.

Remy knew he was a good-looking man. To deny it, would be lying and to him, he had told enough lies to last himself a lifetime. A person would be hard-pressed to think of a time when a woman did not flirt with him. This was especially true at the mansion, where he had cultivated a fan base among both the female instructors and the female students. He was, as Alex Summers put it in a conversation last week, "A chick magnet."

Naturally, Remy made good use of what he had born with. While he was in Jamaica, he had his share of female acquaintances-all of whom were only to eager to please. Who was he to say no? Besides, he deserved their comfort after all he had been through prior to coming to the island. He had been to hell and back, both physically and psychologically.

Yet, for all the companionship he had, there was still something missing.

Rogue.

It always came back to Rogue.

The first woman he had declared his love to. The first woman he had relationship with without being physically intimate. The first woman he thought of during those months in Antarctica.

Now the woman who was with someone else, who was not Remy LeBeau.

The first weeks after his return to the mansion had been incredibly awkward. He could see that she was doing her best to avoid him in all situations-whether it was during Danger Room sessions or on field missions. She clung to her new boyfriend, Joseph, as if for dear life whenever Remy was in the same room.

There were times when he wanted to confront her, to demand to know whether or not she really loved that man. However, Remy could sense that like him, Rogue was still hurting-from his lies and from what she had done all those years ago. No amount of coercion was going to change that. So, he had given her space, allowed her to treat him as if he had the plague.

Why? He supposed it was because he was still in love with her. At the same time, every opportunity he saw her, Remy could not help but feel some growing resentment and anger towards Rogue. Who was she to play the victim? It was he who was stranded alone in the arctic. He was the one was betrayed. He was the one who was left to die. He was the one who was now struggling to prove his loyalty to the likes of Scott and Warren in order to gain their trust again (other than Storm, Wolverine, Jean, and Jubilee, his allies were scarce). And her? She got to start all over again without him. She has the sympathy of some of the teammates.

His red irises flashed as the wave of frustration soon subsided. Non, he decided, no one is to blame. Not for any of this.

There was a soft rapping at his door. Without thinking of who could be on the other side of the door, he swung the door open while clad in only a white towel around his hips. Nothing could prepare him for who the visitor was.

Rogue's cheeks immediately turned crimson. Her eyes cast down to the floor as she mumbled, "Oh, Ah'm sorry. Ah'll come back later.When ya decent." She began to turn on her heel to leave.

His fingers grasped her sleeved arm gently. "Non, chŠre," he said huskily. Then he added teasingly, "Come on in. Gambit not modest."

"No, really. It wouldn't be right."

"When you get shy, chŠre?"

"Ah'm not shy."

"Den what?"

"Ah just don't think Ah should be talking with ya when ya half-naked, swamp rat."

"And why dat be?"

"It's not decent, is all."

"Afraid you get distracted, chŠrie?"

"Distracted? Don't flatter yourself."

"It's been known to happen, Rogue. Call it a phenomenon."

She groaned and shoved him back inside the room with her gloved hands, closing the door swiftly behind her. Her hazel eyes were simmering with irritation, which she masked behind a controlled countenance. She was dressed less casually, wearing a pair of black, flannel cropped cargo pants, a black-and-white wool, zip-up cardigan, and a pair of mid-calf, black high-heeled boots. Her brown hair with white streaks was loose, framing her lightly made-up face.

Rogue scanned the room, a place she had spent a great deal of time a long time ago. Nothing much had changed since its occupant returned. The decor was a mix of sophisticated, cutting-edge modern touches with English classics, outfitted in black-and-white menswear fabric and accents of regal purple. Against the rich backdrop of the glossy purple walls was an ebony bedside chest with distinctive graining and striations. A stately, crystal hurricane with a silver and ebony base echoed the elegance of the chest it was perched upon. On the far side of the wall was his king-sized bed with its tufted leather frame and shirting striped and necktie silk bedding with dapper black-and-white patterns. The comforter, which she had purchased for him still remained-a herringbone alpaca blanket with touches of purple velvet, alligator, and mink. At the other end of the room was a sitting area, composed of a Lawson-style sofa upholstered in purple, plush auburgine velvet with rolled arms and nailhead trim, and a sleek modern chair made of high-tech carbon fiber and streamlined black leather.

As comfortable and inviting as the sitting area was to her, Rogue remained standing. She nervously crossed her arms over her chest, acutely aware of Remy's eyes gazing upon her with great intensity. "Ah wanted to say.Ah wanted to say." Her eyes fluttered away from his face, wanting desperately to finish her thought. Suddenly, it wasn't the fact that he was almost nude that was distracting her.

"Say what, chŠre?" While he was standing not very close, he could still feel her discomfort. He thought about touching her arm as an act of placating, but decided against it. He could never be sure if she would take it the wrong way.

"Forget it. Ah should have never come."

"Wait, chŠre. What is it?"

She turned her back to him, realizing it was the only way she was going to be able to express a cogent thought. "Ah wanted to say thank you. for takin' care of me that night. Ah wasn't right in my head."

Remy felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. This was a start. She was trying to be civil. She was the one initiating a conversation. After a brief pause, he said quietly, "You're welcome."

Then he inquired, "You remember everyt'in, chŠre?"

"Some-a little here and there with some help from Tabitha and Sarah. Ah remember ya tryin' to get me to drink some water and take Advil. Ah should have listened to you on that one. Ah felt like hell the next day. Almost thought about absorbin' Logan again to get some healin' factor in me."

Then she turned around to face him again, chewing on her lower lip. "Ah also remember sayin' really nasty and cruel things to ya, Remy," she continued, her voice dropping in volume to a slight whisper. "Ah.Ah didn't mean 'em. An don't know why Ah said 'em in the first place."

"Sometimes, we say t'ings we don' mean when we drink. Alcohol is like dat, chŠre."

"Still, Ah shouldn't have said those things."

"ChŠre."

"No, let me finish. They were hurtful."

"ChŠre, you didn't know. You were not yourself."

"Ya too kind, Remy. Ah basically called ya a child molester and then Ah.then Ah."

His red-on-black eyes watched as his former lover struggle to contain her emotions. There was so much going on inside of her at that moment. He wanted to pull her close to him and tell her that it was fine; that she could never hurt him as badly as she thought she did. Instead, he edged closer to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You don' have to say anymore, chŠre."

She did not pull away, but finished her sentence. "Ah threw myself at ya as if ya were goin' to go for that, like some monster. That's not what Ah think of ya, Remy. Ah know you're a decent man."

He stared at her. For so long he had wanted to hear those last words come from her mouth. Now that he heard them, he wasn't sure how to react. Surprised, elated, smug? No. He simply continued to stare at her.

For her part, Rogue did not sense his confusion. She interpreted his stunned reaction as something else. Disgust? Anger? She didn't want to find out. "Ah know ya must not think too highly of me..."

At that moment, she wanted to run to the door, open, and race out before she lost her composure. However, her body was not cooperating. Rogue found herself planted in place, her eyes meeting the Cajun thief's, which were now smoldering. He took a few steps closer to her and she could smell his freshly showered skin, which had a fresh pine scent to it.

"ChŠre, how could you say dat? Gambit never judge you."

"Cajun, Ah know. Ah'm sorry Ah put you in an awkward position."

He leaned towards her. "Rogue, you t'ink Gambit look down at you after a night of drinking? Just because you drink a little too much, you t'ink you hurt me? Den you don' know Gambit well." Both of his hands were on her shoulders, gripping them tightly. There were so many things that were going through his mind at that moment that he wanted to say, but was afraid to. All he could think of doing was to hold her closer, to see if she could understand by just meeting his gaze.

Slowly, gloved fingertips grazed his stubble-ridden cheek. "Remy." she whispered, hazel eyes brimming with tears. What is happening to me? Why am I acting like this? I just came to apologize and I'm totally losing my mind. I shouldn't have.What was I thinking? Was I thinking? Oh, God.

"Why you cry, chŠrie?" he asked, his hand holding hers gently.

"Ah.Ah didn't mean to hurt ya." From the way Rogue choked out that statement, it was unclear if she meant that night or before. "Ah never meant to hurt ya."

"Shh." He stroked her hair, careful to keep his fingers away from her face. Then he placed an arm around her waist and drew her close to him. He made sure that her face and neck did not come close to his bare chest, which did not take anything away from the embrace. His lips brushed against her hair. He could smell her familiar and warm scent, pears and vanilla-sweet but subtle.

Rogue's gloved hands raced up and down his muscular back. Her fingers traced light, feathery circles into his sinewy skin. She was breathing heavily, her breath hot against his chest. She also found herself pressed against him tightly, feeling every inch of him underneath. Slowly, she raised her head to stare into those handsome features she had loved for so long-perfectly sculpted lips, chiseled cheekbones, red-on-black eyes, and thick, wild hair of winter fire. Not at all like.

Suddenly, she pulled away, taking several steps away from. Her back was against the door. "Ah can't," she breathed, face flushed pink. She nervously smoothed out her sweater and her hair.

Remy sauntered towards her, his face filled with confusion. "ChŠre?" He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away abruptly. What happened? What changed?

"Ah can't," she repeated, almost stoically. Then she blurted out, "Ah love him."

Remy almost winced when he realized what stopped her. Rather, who. Even when he was thousands of miles away, Joseph still managed to have the upper hand. He groaned inwardly, wanting to tear his hair out in frustration. Instead, he whispered, "I know. He's a good man. Gambit see how he treats you."

"Then ya understand." Rogue wanted to convince herself that he did. It would be easier for her if he did. Then all of this would go away.

He sighed in resignation. "Non, chŠre. I just want you to be happy. You deserve it."

"So that's what ya want."

"Oui, Rogue. Vraiment."

She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. Gripping the doorknob, Rogue nodded slowly. "Then everythin's settled."

Remy returned the nods, glumly. There was nothing he could else he could say to her without feeling like traitor to himself. He allowed her to continue to think what she wanted.

"Good, good. Ah'm glad we talked." She opened the door and slipped outside, retreating into the safety of the hallway. Her footsteps were lightly as she jogged towards her own bedroom, which was on the other side of the hallway.

Remy closed the door behind her. He rested his forehead and palms against it, feeling the cool wood against his skin. His shoulders heaved as he said softly, "I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy wit' me, chŠre."
 

Chapter Fifteen: All That I Know

On the day he was to travel home for the holidays, Bobby found himself mediating a conflict between two of the younger students at the mansion, Artie and Leech. He was almost out the door with his travel bag in hand when he heard the two boys yelling from one of the rec rooms. Curious and not in a particular hurry to get on the road, he decided to see what was going on.

The two were best friends from their days in Generation X. Given that they shared similar appearance and were roughly the same age, they naturally forged a bond. However, like many close friends, the two had their differences from time to time. Today, this was over who was the winner of the latest X-Box tournament. Artie was under the impression that he was the champion since Leech left his seat to grab a soda from the kitchen, and thereby forfeiting. However, Leech did not agree with this conclusion.

Since Bobby did not see any of the instructors around, he decided to intervene. First, he separated the two boys physically from each other (when he arrived, Leech had Artie pinned underneath him). Then he attempted to instill some knowledge about friendship difficulties through an anecdote.

"You boys know Dr. McCoy, right?"

The two nodded wordlessly.

"One time, he and I got into a fight over which one of us was 'Da Man.' That one got ugly. There was crying, screaming, kicking, biting... and that was just Hank. Scott made us go into our rooms so we could think about how silly we were acting. We came back out after a while and apologized to each other. Then we decided that we were both 'Da Man.'"

Artie and Leech exchanged brief, but confused glances. Then they peered up at Bobby blankly. "What's the point?" Leech finally piped up, scratching the side of his head.

"That we all go through these difficulties. In the end, things work out." Bobby raised his brows expectantly at the boys before sighing. Somehow, he thought Jean or Scott would be doing a better job at this than he was now. Coming off as the disciplining adult did not fit Bobby Drake.

The two boys continued to stare at him quizzically before nodding that they understood. Then their eyes began to gaze past him at something. Immediately, both began to smile, nudging each other. Curious, Bobby turned around to see Jubilee, grinning and in the midst of mouthing something to Artie and Leech.

"Hello," she said somewhat nervously, but still grinning. Dressed in a pair of distressed jeans, a green-and-navy argyle sweater, and loafers, she looked quite relaxed. Her long, dark hair was pulled away from her face in a makeshift bun, held in place by two pencils. However, there were some pieces of black-and-blue hair that were loosely framing her face. She was holding a medium-sized box, wrapped in shiny, silver paper.

He smiled wryly at her. "What were you telling them?"

"That you're a fountain of knowledge and not to be messed with, of course."

"Oh really?" Bobby turned to the two boys behind him, who were giggling. "This true?"

"A hundred percent." Leech managed to snort out before he and Artie retreated into the kitchen. Their gleeful laughter could still be heard even after they left the room.

Bobby feigned a stern look as he turned back to Jubilee. "Listen, young lady," he told her, "I don't like that you're undermining my authority."

"What authority?"

"Oh, thanks, Jubes. That hurts."

Her sapphire eyes twinkled up at him. Then she said, "So, you're going home. Anything exciting in store at the Drakes'?"

"If you count being asked by my mother why I'm not married and giving her grandchildren by now as exciting, then no." Bobby rolled his eyes, unbuttoning his brown corduroy car coat he was wearing over his charcoal-colored sweater with a Fair Isle pattern and gray wool slacks. "And you?"

She nodded. "Scott and I are going into town today to pick up Jean's present. It's this antique china cabinet we saw a couple of weeks ago. We're going to bring it back here and hide it in the mansion. Other than that, I'm not sure. But, there's going to be some other people around, so I'm guessing we'll be doing something else."

As soon as she said the word 'present', Bobby was quickly reminded of something. He opened his travel bag and pulled out his gift to her, the necklace he had bought weeks ago. Rogue had helped him wrap the box in elegant blue paper with curling white ribbon.

"I wanted to give this to you before I left," he said, handing the box to her.

She smiled at him, and then held out the box she had been holding. "I was looking for you to do the same thing."

Bobby held the box to his ear. "Well, it's not ticking," he joked.

"Very funny. Trust me, you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will."

"Well, whatever this is. Thank you."

"No problem. Thank you for the non-explosive present."

"Bobby!"

"What, I'm thanking you. Jeez!"

She stared at the travel bag he was carrying, and noticed he wasn't carrying much. She learned from Jean and Rogue that Bobby had been dreading the visit home since he did not get along with his father very well. "How long are you staying with your mom and dad?"

"Until New Year's, then I'm coming back," he replied, bracing himself for the less-than-receptive welcome he was going to receive from his recovering father and the constant clucking about being a single man from his mother. He grimaced. As soon as possible, I'm outta there.

"At least you still have parents that care about you to want you home."

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?"

"You know it's true, Bobby. You just won't admit it."

"Jubes.."

Jubilee sensed his dread and placed hand on his arm. "It'll be OK," she assured him softly, "Maybe things aren't going to be as bad as you make them out to be. Who knows, maybe you'll have a great time and never want to leave." The twinkle left her blue eyes as they became quite solemn. For some reason, the thought of him not returning to the mansion struck her as quite sad.

"Maybe," Bobby mused quietly, but silently doubted her words. "Thanks, Jubes." He took her small hand in his and squeezed slightly, gazing into those beautiful old-soul blue eyes.

"No problem." The way he was looking at her suddenly made her anxious. It was an intense stare, something he had never done in all the years he had known her. While she was uncomfortable, she did not want to pull away from him. Instead, she returned the gaze, studying the serious expression on his boyish face.

Suddenly, a familiar, deep and husky voice drawled, "Petite?"

Jubilee turned around to see Remy standing in the doorway, dressed in his brown leather duster over his blue jeans, boots, and a navy shirt. She pulled her hand away from Bobby's and smiled nervously. "Hi," she greeted. "Um, what's up?"

His red-on-black eyes were quite amused with he had walked in on and he made no attempt to hide it. He smiled smugly. "Scott say you and he goin' into town to pick up a present for Jean," he said, surveying the situation and noticing how Bobby was struggling to hide his frustration. "Wants me to come wit' you to help. We be leavin' now."

"Oh, OK." She turned to Bobby and gave him a small smile. "I guess I'll see you when you get back. Have a good time, OK?"

"I'll try," Bobby managed to say, eyes narrowing at Remy who was still smiling coolly at him. He didn't know why or what the Cajun thief had done to make himself so irritating at that moment. However, there was no denying his anger, coupled with a nagging sense of disappointment. Where the latter was from, he did not know. He thinks he's so great because of that stupid accent.. If I could talk like Pepe LePew, then I'd be a chick magnet, too..

"Merry Christmas, Jubes," he finally managed.

Remy motioned for her hurry along. "Come, petite. Scott be waitin' in de car and you know how cranky he gets when he has to wait." Looks I came here just in time, he thought, watching a furious blush stain Bobby's cheeks.

She nodded and walked over to him by the doorway, tossing Bobby an apologetic look. When she reached Remy, the tall, lean man from the Bayou peered up at the doorframe and pointed out, "Look, petite. We be standin' under de mistletoe."

"Oh yeah," she said, nodding. She wasn't too excited about it since Jean had hung bundles around their house, giving her an excuse to make out with Scott in every room. At least, that was Jubilee's impression. As for any possibility of being kissed, Logan had done a good job seeing that no one came near her to even contemplate it.

Remy chuckled, deciding to surprise Jubilee and to test Drake. He then drew the young girl close to him. Very slowly, he planted a gentle, but chaste kiss on her lips. "Happy holidays, petite," he whispered when he pulled away, his arm still draped around her slim shoulders.

Shocked, her knees almost buckled underneath her. That was two kisses from Gambit-in the same month! Now I can say I truly lived, she told herself, her fingers brushing against her lips. Presents be damned.

The Cajun thief smiled down at Jubilee, amused. Then he turned around to face Bobby, who appeared as if he were going to charge at him at that moment. Instead, Bobby mouthed bitterly, "Whore."

In response, Remy mouthed back, "Eternal virgin." Then he gave him a sly wink before ushering Jubilee out of the room.

Professor Charles Xavier folded his hands together, his face grim. Sitting across from him were three of his prized pupils, Dr. Hank McCoy, Ororo Munroe, and Jean Grey-Summers. The four of them were sitting in his study with the door closed and locked this afternoon, an unusual gesture since the Professor often liked keeping the door open to his students and X-Men.

Jean, dressed in a maroon turtleneck sweater, charcoal wool slacks and black flats, appeared uncharacteristically drawn and concerned as she peered over at her mentor, who was sitting behind his desk. She twisted her engagement ring (a 2-carat oval diamond with 8 pav‚ diamonds surrounding set in platinum) and plain, platinum wedding band nervously. She often did that, not out of conflicted feelings surrounding her marriage, but when she was concerned in general. This afternoon happened to be one of those occasions.

Ororo had just finished retelling her account of what happened several days ago. The usually calm weather goddess struggled to maintain her composure. However, her unease was quite apparent as she fidgeted in her seat. She would smooth the skirt of her black-and-white, jersey shirtdress or brush off imaginary dust from the knee-high, black leather boots she wore.

After discovering Logan in his delusional and hallucinating state, she convinced him to see Hank and Cecilia Reyes to "check things out". She even stayed by his side during the examination, still concerned over what she had witnessed. For his part, Logan was unaware that he had been hallucinating until Hank brought up the possibility during the exam and recommended that he seek help from the Professor and Jean. Surprisingly, Logan, now lucid, did not object. In fact, he saw both telepaths that same day.

Hank slipped off his wire-rimmed glasses before placing them back on again. Like the women, he was worried about his old friend's state of mind. While he and Cecilia ruled out chronic mental disorders (primarily schizophrenia, delusional disorder, and schizophreniform disorder), deep down Hank realized something was quite wrong. He knew that Logan had a history of trauma, stemming from the implantation of his metal skeleton and claws. However, he, like many around the mansion, believed he had already come to grips and moved past what happened to him. To see him relapse was quite disheartening for those who were close to him.

"What now, Charles?" he finally asked, startling the two women next to him.

Professor Xavier frowned before responding. "Logan has had a setback and he realized it during our session," he began. "He allowed me to scan his mind briefly in order to discover what triggered the latest episode." This had been quite a feat given Logan's fear of being vulnerable. To him, allowing the Professor or any other telepath to do that made him feel quite exposed.

"And?" Ororo raised her brows expectantly.

"And, he has shields so entrenched in his psyche that it was nearly impossible for me to even scratch the surface." The Professor's blue eyes narrowed while he shook his head. "There is a great deal of pain and rage so deep inside that it came back and destroyed the work Jean and I had initially done with him when he first arrived. Very characteristic of post-traumatic stress disorder, particularly the bad cases."

Jean chewed on her lower lip. "Then I suppose we will have to start another round of sessions with him?"

"I'm not sure if that will be at all helpful."

"What do you mean? It worked before. Why can't it work again?"

"We could. I'm not sure it would do any good."

Hank gave him a quizzical look. "Why not?"

The Professor sighed. "In addition, to the deeply entrenched shields, I sensed that Logan is desperately engaged in a fight. It is a struggle to keep himself under control. This makes it quite difficult to engage him in the therapy we conducted with him in the beginning."

Ororo shook her head slowly, not liking the resigned tone in his voice. "So there is nothing we can do for him. He's simply going to be treated as a liability or a freak, forced to stay here during field missions? Professor, his delusions and hallucinations centered around that theme. I heard him telling himself that during his episode. If we give up, then we are, in a way, fulfilling.."

"I'm not saying that all, dear Storm," Professor Xavier replied.

"Then what is it?" Jean asked quietly, now wringing her hands.

The Professor sighed. "I will be conducting private sessions with him. To have you, Jean, in the room would be quite dangerous, I think."

"Because he thought he hurt her during his hallucinations," Hank piped up, nodding.

"Exactly. In a vulnerable state, I'm not sure how he will react with your presence in the room." The Professor looked at Jean.

Jean nodded in agreement. "Understood. However, I'm not sure if I'm all that comfortable with the idea of you being alone in the room with him during the sessions. According to Ororo, Logan was quite violent during his episode, exposing his claws and slashing in the air. I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"I understand your concern and I appreciate it, but I assure you I can hold my own. I am not afraid." His blue eyes were kind, but firm.

She was relieved, but still determined to be worried. She feigned a smile, knowing that the Professor could sense her apprehension anyway. Ororo reached out and patted her friend's arm comfortingly.

"When do these sessions start?" Hank inquired, furry brows stony over his eyes.

"As soon as possible," Professor Xavier answered. "I wanted the three of you here since all of you were aware of the situation. I have already talked to Cecilia and Annie about this as well. Logan has asked to keep this as much under wraps as possible. I will say that I agree with him. It's not going to be helpful for the rest of the mansion to know." He turned to Jean and said, "This means not telling, Scott."

The statuesque redhead sighed wearily, realizing that keeping Logan's condition from her husband was going to be difficult. Given their psychic bond, what the Professor was asking was going to be quite a task. "It's not going to be easy, but I'll try."

"Does this mean that Logan will not be able to go on field missions?" Ororo asked. It was going to be quite suspicious if Logan was suddenly excluded. She did not even want to think about how she was going to fabricate an explanation to Scott.

The Professor pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. "No, Ororo. That would draw more attention to the situation. I suppose we will have to hope that by the next one, Logan will be stable."

"What is Logan's reaction to all this?" Hank folded his hands together thoughtfully. He couldn't imagine Logan passively accepting the situation.

"He took it well, but was a little hesitant about what I had proposed." The Professor admitted. Hesitant was an understatement. Logan was furious with the idea of being treated as the Professor's special patient. It took Professor Xavier over an hour to first calm Logan, then to persuade him that the solution was the only one.

"He has our support. He has to know that." Ororo declared firmly, as if in an effort to convince that her words were true.

"Of course, Storm. Although I would not make it a point to let him know that you know what is happening. He might see that as threatening as well. I would advise to interact with him as you do regularly."

There was a pall in the room as soon as the words left Xavier's lips. To help save the sanity of the most troubled member of the team, would mean having to lie to everyone else, even those closest to them. The three members sitting across the older man exchanged wary looks, unsure if they could truly live up to these terms.
 

Chapter Sixteen: Happy Christmas

Christmas morning finally arrived in Westchester. Fresh snow had fallen the night before, adding another layer of frozen white to the blanketed land around the mansion. The children who still remained peered out their windows excitedly, planning for many sled rides and snow fights after opening presents. Their squeals of delight echoed throughout the walls of the mansion.

The opening of the gifts was done in the living room of the mansion as the smell of cinnamon and apples hung in the air. Logan had carried wood from the shed outside to prepare warm, glowing fire. Jean and Ororo were serving cookies and punch, while Rogue and Kitty were handing out presents to open. The younger students were in one corner of the room, tearing through paper and showing each other their new prized possessions. Hank was at the new baby grand piano Warren had purchased for the mansion, taking requests. He was now attempting to coax the Professor into joining him in a duet of "White Christmas". The Professor, reluctant at first, but eventually broke down, revealing a smooth tenor voice he cultivated during his college days.

Jubilee was seated on one of the corduroy chairs in the room with a pile of wrapped gifts in her lap. She was in the midst of sorting through the many boxes and envelopes when Logan found her. He perched himself on the arm of the chair, wearing his most cynical expression and his usual blue jeans and flannel with a white T-shirt.

"Having fun, kid?" he said in greeting. He didn't need to hear her answer to know that she was. It was the happiest he had seen in her in sometime, which made him soften somewhat.

She peered up at him. "Yes," she replied, blue eyes questioning. "You're not?"

"This kind of thing ain't my style." He motioned to the crowded room around him, wincing at the shrieks of joy and laughter. Then he rolled his eyes in disdain.

She nodded. "I could see that." She paused and said, "Thanks for staying, though. I know you'd probably be somewhere up north by now."

"Yeah, well.." His voice trailed off, signaling his awkwardness. She was right even though he would be determined to deny it to the end. He hated the holidays and desperately wanted to be alone since the recent episode. However, he had made a vow to stay and stay he did. Besides, he felt he was making some progress during his individual sessions with Charles.

Her blue eyes were solemn. "No, really. It means a lot to me that you're here."

Clearing his throat abruptly, Logan asked, "Aren't you going to open your presents?"

Jubilee gave him a small smile, knowing that was his way of changing the subject. She held up the first box she could locate on her lap. From the widening grin on Logan's face, she instantly knew it was from him. Tearing into the paper quickly, she discovered it was a Palm Pilot. Her smile became broader as she circled her arms around him. "Thanks, Wolvie. How did you know?"

"I heard ya talk about it with Kitty," he admitted, not wanting to let go of her just yet. For a moment, it seemed like old times when she was the adoring little girl and he was her hero who could do no wrong. He had missed those days.

Meanwhile, Ororo, Kitty, and Rogue were sifting through their gifts and showing each other their new treasures. Even though she was Jewish, Kitty still partook in the holiday activities, exchanging presents with her friends. Rogue, eager for the distraction from her loneliness and conflicting feelings about Remy, was tearing through paper and boxes at a rapid rate.

"Ooh, looky here!" Kitty cried, as Rogue pulled out a pair of black pearl earrings. "You have to let me borrow those."

"Only after Ah wear them once," Rogue replied, turning the gift card over. As she suspected, the Professor had given them to her. He was known for her elegant taste in gifts for his students. She made a mental note to thank him later on.

Kitty tossed a crumpled ball of pink tissue paper over her shoulder. Her perky features crinkled in a look of confusion and irritation. "Why does Bobby buy the worst gifts ever?" she wondered aloud, rolling her eyes.

Ororo's eyes were amused. "Whatever do you mean, child?"

The younger woman held up a copy of a book, "1001 Things to Do on a Date: From the Romantic to the Silly and Weird". "I swear I'm unhappy enough about being single again," she groused, brown eyes flashing, "but does he have to rub it in?" Then she turned to a giggling Rogue and snapped, "You knew about this! I know because I saw you helping him wrap his presents!"

"Oh hush, sugah." Rogue waved a hand, trying to suppress her laughter. "If it makes ya feel any bettah, he got me a dancing Coke can. Ah heard he got Scott a pair of X-ray glasses, so you ain't the only one. Bobby does this every year. You know that, hon."

Ororo nodded, white ponytail swinging behind her. "Yes, I have to agree with Rogue. Bobby just doesn't have taste when it comes to gifts." To demonstrate her point, she showed her friends a pair of red polka-dotted gardening gloves she received from him. "I believe Jean said it is part of his charm."

Kitty rolled her eyes again, plopping the book down next to her on the floor. "Then this is going to be someone's gag gift, for sure."

"Fair enough," Rogue said, green eyes twinkling. She moved onto the next gift. Already she could tell it was an article of clothing from the shape and size of the box. The paper used was quite nice-handmade and in a lovely shade of sage. Immediately, she knew who it was from and took greater care in opening the gift. She gasped quietly when the contents were revealed-a black silk nightgown trimmed in lace.

Kitty peered over her friend's shoulder and then giggled. "Wow. Maybe you should put that away before one of the kids walks by."

Blushing, Rogue snapped the box closed. Joseph must have snuck it before he left, she thought. "Well, Ah won't be wearin' it any time soon. Gotta wait until my man comes back."

"Actually, I think you can wear it tonight," a voice announced.

She and the others stared up. Standing over them was Joseph, his face tanned from his time in Guatemala and his white hair cropped closely to his head. His steely blue eyes were a mixture of amusement and joy as the woman he loved suddenly rose from the floor and threw herself into his waiting arms.

Red-on-black eyes surveyed the scene unfolding on the other side of the room. He suddenly became consumed with rage, envy, and sadness. The air in the room was suddenly too suffocating for him to breathe. His only source of consolation was a walk around the grounds with his cigarettes. He was about to make his way out when he found himself face to face with Jean.

"Are you OK?" she inquired, green eyes reflecting the knowledge of his intentions.

"Course," he lied, trying to force a coy smile. "Didn't know you cared, chŠre. Mebbe you had too much eggnog."

"You're my friend," she replied matter-of-factly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course, I care."

"Den you know Gambit has to go."

"Wait."

"What, chŠre?"

"Storming off isn't going to help anything. Come and hang out with us."

"'Cause holidays time for sharin'? Gambit don' do dat, chŠre."

"So being alone in the cold is better?"

"For me? Oui."

"Remy, please. If Rogue sees you leave, then she'll feel responsible."

"In a way, she is, chŠre." As soon as the words left his mouth, he instantly regretted them. He shook his head regretfully. "Non.. Gambit didn't mean dat."

Jean nodded empathetically. "I know you didn't. But right now, you're in plain view." Her eyes traveled to the other side of the room.

Remy followed her gaze. With bitter resentment, he watched Joseph and Rogue kiss, holding each other close. Rogue's face was in sight and her eyes met his briefly. For a brief moment, she looked lost and very guilty. Then Joseph turned her around, her body disappearing behind his.

"I know it hurts," Jean whispered, touching his elbow lightly. "But being alone isn't going to help."

He exhaled, still craving a cigarette but realizing that the redhead had a point. "Suppose Gambit could sit wit' de Summers family for a moment," he said, shrugging. "You jus' need to make dis ol' t'ief a stiff drink."

"Wow," Scott said, watching Jubilee reveal the necklace Bobby had given her. He had joined her and Logan after talking his way out of joining Hank and the Professor in a round of 'Silent Night'. "Are you sure that's from Bobby?"

She nodded and handed him the tag, studying the delicate pink beads in fascination. "Yeah.. It's beautiful."

Logan snorted. "Maybe Icicle got one of the girls to go shopping with him," he observed, watching her put the necklace around her slender neck.

Jubilee shrugged, fingering the silver flower gently. She, like the rest of the mansion, was aware of Bobby's reputation as the worst person to receive gifts from. The fact that he had taken some careful thought into purchasing hers was surprising to her---in a good way.

Rogue, Joseph, and Kitty made their way over. As Kitty was handing Logan her gift to him, she bent down to inspect the piece of jewelry around Jubilee's neck. "Nice," she commented, straightening up to her full height. "Who's it from?"

"Bobby."

"No way!"

"It's true," Scott piped up from the well-worn sofa he was sitting on. He greeted his wife with a smile as she and Remy settled down next to him. He handed Kitty the gift tag as evidence.

"So that's what was in that tiny box," Rogue said, smiling. "Y'all didn't see how nervous he was. Didn't want me to even know what it was when Ah was wrappin' it."

Before any speculations could be made about this anomaly, Jubilee raised an envelope from her pile. "From Scott," she read aloud, tearing into the flap. Before removing the contents, she pressed it against her forehead. "It's a blank check."

Scott snorted, reaching over to give her a light shove. "You wish."

She laughed and opened the envelope. Suddenly, she stopped giggling. Her sapphire eyes widened as she pulled out a plane ticket. "It's to Paris for one week," she whispered, gazing upon Scott's face. It was one of those rare occasions where she was desperately searching for words to express herself. "I'm going alone?"

Scott leaned towards her, a loving and kind smile creeping across his face. His cheeks were beginning to burn with a slight blush. He could feel everyone else's attention focused on him and the present through stares and whispers and gasps of awe. "No, sweetheart. I'll be with you." He squeezed Jean's hand before continuing. "You see, I thought it would be nice if you saw Paris for the first time with a man that will always love you."

She placed a hand over her mouth in the hopes of keeping a sob deep within her throat. She hated crying, but was helpless in forcing her tears back. Shaking, Jubilee placed the pile of presents that were sitting in her lap on the floor and raced to Scott's side, throwing her arms around Scott's neck. She sighed, shuddering against him. "Thank you," she whispered.

He squeezed her tightly and kissed her forehead. "You're welcome." Drawing back, his fingers brushed her saline tears from her cheeks. His heart began to expand in his chest from the euphoria that radiated from the young girl he now considered his daughter.

Meanwhile, Logan felt as if he could not keep his rage within long enough. His rugged features twisted themselves into an angry scowl. A soft growl could be heard emanating from his throat. Much to his ire, the others around him excitedly crowded Jubilee, firing suggestions as to where to go, where to shop, what to eat, what to pack. That just seemed to make things even more unbearable. Quickly, he rose to his feet and proceeded to slip out of the living room, but not before "accidentally" smacking Scott on the back of the head on his way to the door.

Scott was the only one who took notice, feeling his ruby-quartz sunglasses nearly slip off his face. Jean focused her telekinetic energy to keep them firmly in place. The couple exchanged a look, and then began to follow Logan outside into the foyer. They found him in the midst of making an exit through the front door.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Scott demanded, knowing he was not within earshot of the people in the living room.

Jean held her husband's arm. "Scott.."

"It's OK, Red. I ain't afraid of the Boy Scout here." Logan snorted, backing away from the door somewhat. He made his way towards Scott and leaned towards him, sneering.

Scott glared at him. "You know what? I've taken enough from you. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Should be asking you the same question." Logan made a face and feigned a syrupy sweet expression, knocking his voice higher by a few octaves. "Oh, Jubilee, you should go to Paris with a man who will always love you."

Scott jerked his arm out of Jean's grasp, obviously not amused with Logan's mocking impression. "Well, maybe I should have added 'who will always be there for you'."

Remy wandered out into the hallway, observing the confrontation. He stood next to Jean, who looked quite upset. It was only a matter of time before this happened, he thought to himself. He decided to stay in the event the two men had to be physically separated. Otherwise, he was going to remain neutral over the situation.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Please, Logan. Don't try to act delusional over that one. You go running every time something doesn't go your way. Not exactly the model of a loving, stable parental figure, huh? You know what? I don't even think you even give a damn about her. Otherwise.."

Logan could hear and see Stryker in front at that moment, replacing Scott. Immediately, he lunged at Scott and pinned against the wall. "You wanna finish that sentence, bub?"

Scott's fingers began to lower his shades as if he were going to give the other man a taste of an optic blast. "With pleasure."

"Stop it!" Jean cried, watching Remy attempt to pry Logan off of Scott. When he did, he held onto his friend's arms to keep him from attacking Scott again. "The two of you are acting like children. It's Christmas for goodness sake. We're supposed to be.."

"United? Happy?" Logan spat bitterly. "Apparently, One-Eyed here thinks I can't do that."

Jean's green eyes met his. Then prove him wrong, Logan. I know you can. Jubilee knows you can. Isn't that enough?

Logan raised a brow at her. A long time ago, he would have relented. He would have swallowed down his feelings and returned to the living room. He would have pretended that nothing was bothering him. But things had changed. It was becoming increasingly clear that the kid didn't need him anymore. She had found what she needed in the man he could not stand the most. And it ate him up inside severely. It was like being betrayed by your closest friend. The worst thing was that there was nothing he could actively do to change any of it. To badmouth Scott or anything overt like that would make him look like the bad guy, which wasn't what he wanted at all.

He simply grunted at Jean. Then he glared at Scott, tempted to leave him with a verbal barb. He realized that wasn't going to accomplish much of anything. Finally, he shoved Remy aside---hard against the wall. "Outta my way, Gumbo."

The Cajun thief narrowed his red-on-black eyes as he withdrew a card from the pocket of his brown leather duster. He gave it a slight charge, watching Logan begin to exit the door. Not enough to injure him, but enough to provide a shock.

Scott stepped forward, placing a hand on his teammate's shoulder. "No, Gambit." Obviously, he had his fill of physical confrontations for one day.

Remy peered over at him, realizing Scott was right. He tossed the card on the floor, listening to it hiss as it discharged its energy. "Eh, you right," he said flatly, "He not wort' it."

Logan's keen sense of hearing picked up the Cajun's last words. He found his way into the garage and hopped onto his bike. As he sped away from the mansion in the bitter, icy cold, he began to discover that he could not agree with Gambit more.
 

Chapter Seventeen: I Hung My Head

New Year's Eve arrived several days later. The late afternoon soon turned to early evening as the sun began to set over Westchester. A sharp, stinging wind began to pick up, swirling through the barren trees. The snow and ice that had begun to melt slowly during the day were now beginning to freeze again.

Inside the local pool hall, a lone figure sat at the bar, hunched over a half-empty glass of beer. Bluish-gray smoke billowed from the person's mouth, concealing bitter features. Other lonely patrons who had been drinking as long as the loner had knew better than to approach him. Severe consequences were definitely guaranteed.

"Another Newcastle Ale?" the bartender inquired, drying off a few shot glasses nonchalantly. Fresh-faced and somewhat chubby, she looked as if she had just turned twenty-one. Her hair was choppy, reddish-blond on the ends with black roots growing in and she wore heavy, caked-on make-up. She was the foil to the owner and the regular bartender, Harry, a haggard, plain man in his late fifties who looked like he lived a hard life, which was evident from the many lines in his face.

"Yeah.. Why not? Put it on my tab."

"Sure, mister."

At the rate this customer was going, she was guaranteed a nice tip. Nice enough to compensate for the fact she was working on New Year's Eve. She quickly found a clean stein and proceeded to fill it up from the tap. Before passing it to him, she asked, "You gonna be here for a while?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Liability. Can't let you on the roads until you sober up. You've had, like, eight beers in the four hours you've been here. The roads are gonna be a mess and the cops are likely gonna be on the look-out."

"Listen, I don't need advice from a kid. Besides, alcohol doesn't get to me."

"Whatever, dude. That's what they all say. Listen, I'm just givin' you the spiel I give to all the customers." With that, the bartender darted to the other side of the bar to wait on another customer. A new tattoo can't be worth this trouble, she thought.

"Why is it that you feel the need to pick on people outside of the mansion?" A voice inquired from behind.

He turned around and inwardly groaned. "What do you want?"

Ororo Munroe peered around the dank and dark bar, which smelled of stale cigarettes and alcohol. The floor was sticky with beverages that had spilled hours before but not attended to yet. Loud, hard rock belted from the jukebox on the other side of the room. Not exactly her idea of a place to lounge around, but definitely the type of establishment she would find her friend. The elegant weather goddess certainly stuck out like a sore thumb in the bar, dressed in a long, double-breasted camel coat, a white cable-knit, turtleneck cashmere sweater, heathered wool slacks, and brown high-heeled boots. Her thick, white hair streamed behind her shoulders, slightly rumpled from the wind outside.

She seated herself next to her teammate. "I wanted to see how you were doing, Logan."

Logan puffed on his cigar, eyes narrowing. "As you can see, I'm doin' fantastic."

"Really?" She suppressed the urge to wrinkle her nose. "You haven't been at the mansion for several days."

He finished the last of his beer then moved on to his new one. "I've been around. You just haven't seen me."

"I see." She couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

"Well, now that you've seen that I'm fine, you can run along and report that to the others. I'm sure you have other lost souls to save."

"First of all, no one else knows I'm here. I came here for myself and the child."

Logan almost winced at the icy tone she used just then. However, he managed to keep his stony demeanor. He decided not to say anything and hoped she would get the hint. She was always smart enough to other times.

Ororo shifted in her barstool, aware of what he wanted her to do. This time, she was not going to comply. Instead, she said, "Jubilee is very concerned. She had been looking for you these past few days. She thinks you are avoiding her."

"What if I am?" Logan demanded flatly. "I figured she would want time to bond with One-Eyed before their trip to Paris."

Ororo noted the growing bitterness in his voice. She had heard from Remy about the altercation in the hallway between Logan and Scott several days after the incident. At first, she thought her friend was telling her one of his tall tales. When a concerned Jean confirmed the events of that day, Ororo knew her old friend was more troubled than they had originally thought.

"You are jealous."

"If that's what he told you, then he's full of it."

"Scott did not tell me that."

"I would have thought the Boy Scout would----"

"Actually, I can sense it from you."

"So now you're a telepath?"

"I would not have to be. Your anger is quite apparent, Logan."

"Then maybe you should get outta here. I might hurt you or something."

"Is that why you picked on Scott?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Logan was genuinely confused as he stared at her. The beginnings of a scowl darkened his features. While he was quite fond of Storm, he was feeling very hostile towards her at that moment.

Her eyes pierced into his, unwavering and revealing no fear. She had that rare ability to stand up to him when she wanted to. It was something that was endearing to him, demonstrating her loyalty and unconditional acceptance of who and what he was. In a low voice, she said, "Do you know what I think? I think you intentionally instigated that fight with Scott to drive some distance between you and Jubilee."

Logan rolled his eyes at her. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Besides being jealous over their relationship, you want to protect her-protect her from your rages because you feel you cannot control them. However, you promised her that you would stay with her, so you could not just pick up and leave. So, instead, you're pushing her away in the hopes of keeping her safe. But you are doing more harm than good. She is very worried about you."

Logan was silent, allowing her words to sink into his head. He never wanted to hurt the kid. He had done enough of that over the years. He was supposed to be atoning for what he had done, to start over with her. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Yet, as he stared into Ororo's guileless eyes, he wasn't sure how else he would have handled things.

Ororo straightened her posture. She didn't have to ask whether or not he thought she was right. His body language spoke volumes at that moment. She watched him brood as she ordered a beer from the young bartender.

Logan raised a brow at her. "Didn't think you were the beer type," he mused, finishing his second.

She gave him a gentle smile, taking a sip. "I appreciate it every now and then," she informed him. Her smile soon disappeared as she observed him stare glumly at the empty stein.

There was silence between the two old friends. Both stared ahead aimlessly at the collection of hard liquor bottles behind the bar. Logan continued to smoke his cigar, while Ororo was making headway in finishing her beer. Every once in a while, his eyes would glance at her absentmindedly, but they were curious nonetheless.

Finally, he asked, "Why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Princess, I know you have better places to be than here. Why are you wasting your time?"

She detected the bitterness in his voice. In front of her was not the snarling, irrational animal, but a man who knew who knew hurt. It was one of those rare moments he allowed this side of him to be seen by someone else other than Xavier. At first, she didn't know how to react. Then the white-haired weather goddess extended a slender hand and placed it over his weathered one.

"Wasn't that an amazing concert?" Jean asked, green eyes bright with excitement.

Scott nodded, smiling fondly at his wife. They, along with his brother, the new nurse, Annie Ghazikhanian, and Rogue and Joseph, had attended a program performed by the National Symphony Orchestra in the city earlier that evening. The tickets had been left for them as a generous gift from Warren before he left for his family's home in Switzerland. The group was now seated in an upscale restaurant and bar in Manhattan, recommended by Warren. After putting in their orders with the waiter, they relaxed with a bottle of 1999 Estancia, Napa, Warren had reserved for them.

The interior of the establishment was reminiscent of the vacationing Worthington: very swanky, very posh. It began with the small bar at the front, with its black marble fireplace, mahogany paneling and brass- and ebony cocktail tables. The dining room beyond completed the image with navy blue walls, interspersed with more mahogany, and was covered with artwork from Lauren's private collection. Herringbone hardwood floors lead to plush, caramel leather- upholstered chairs and banquettes. A blend of black and white photos (Mick Jagger, Gary Cooper, Frank Sinatra, for example) with old English oils that somehow complemented one another.

While the men wore almost identical-looking, black tuxedos, the females decided to express their own sense of style through their outfits that evening. Jean had chosen a fitted, strapless, navy cashmere dress with organza and matching heels. Her thick, red hair was swept up, which brought attention to her swan-like neck. To complete the look, she wore the double-strand of pearls Scott had given her last year. Meanwhile, Rogue kept more covered up than her friend, wearing a black pantsuit with gloves. However, her face was more made-up than usual---darker eyeliner and red lips. Annie maintained the simplistic style she was accustomed to as a nurse and working mother. Her dress was a muted gold, silk dress that skimmed her ankles, but fitted around her chest. The brunette's hair was pulled back in a soft ponytail, leaving curly tendrils around her wide-set eyes.

However, she was not as relaxed as the rest of the people around. Her face formed a worry frown as she clutched her cell phone to her ear. She turned away from her date to focus on the call.

Concerned, Alex leaned over and asked, "What's wrong?"

"No one's answering at the mansion," she told him, tugging nervously at a lock of dark hair. "What if something's happened? I've never left Carter for this long before at night.."

Rogue waved a gloved hand in the air. "Don't worry, sugah. Ah'm sure the gals got everything under control at the homestead." She took a sip of her wine.

Jean nodded, giving Alex's date a reassuring smile. "Rogue's right. Jubilee and Tabitha have sat for the children before. They're probably watching a movie and don't want to pick up the phone. Besides, if there were any problems, they would call."

Annie hung up and slipped her phone into her silver-beaded clutch. Her lips curled into a self-conscious smile as she said, "I'm sorry. I know you're right. The girls are very responsible. It's the mother-part of me that won't go away."

Scott refilled her glass with some more wine. "Understandable, but it's alright to have a night out every once in a while."

She smiled at him shyly. This was the first time she had been around them outside of the mansion and outside of her duties as the nurse. "Thank you."

"No problem," he replied warmly. Though he knew little of her, Scott found himself genuinely enjoying her company. She seemed the perfect fit for his younger brother, whose relationship with his ex-fianc‚e ended very abruptly. While Lorna could be overly aggressive, Annie was quite sweet and soft-spoken. Even looking at her now, she appeared to be happy to be with Alex. Fortunately this time around, the feelings were mutual.

Rogue leaned back in her seat, feeling Joseph's fingers tangle in her hair. She exchanged a knowing glance with him. He gave her a small smile before turning his attention back to the conversation. As the discussion steered towards concert, she began to tune the voices out. So this is what it's like to be in a real couple, she thought happily. We can touch and go out with other people who can do the same thing. I don't have to worry about putting someone in a coma. It's almost like being normal.

For so long, she had dreamed about having a moment like this---where she wasn't the person people felt sorry for. She fit in for once. And she was in love with a good man, who took care of her, was honest, and would do anything for her. He was the one who brought this normalcy to her life. As she reflected on that last thought, she leaned over and squeezed his hand affectionately.

"Rogue?" Jean waved a hand in front of her face, grinning. "Earth to Rogue?"

Startled, Rogue shook her head. "What's up?"

"We were talking about New Year's Resolutions," the redhead informed her. "Do you have any to share?"

Rogue frowned thoughtfully. "Ah'll pass for now. What about y'all?" She finished her glass of wine in one gulp.

"I resolve to feel less guilty about spending time away from Carter," Annie piped up, earning some chuckles from the others.

Alex nodded, taking his turn. "And I resolve to finish my degree this year," he declared.

Scott snorted. "You have to," he told him wryly, "You've reached your limit as far as time is concerned. Otherwise, aren't they going to kick you out if you don't finish?"

"Shows what you know. I have one more year."

"Alex, it's been seven years. Get it over with!"

"Listen, you try saving the world and writing a dissertation on shifting plates. Then we can talk, bro."

"Fair enough."

Jean turned to her husband, an amused grin crossing her model-perfect features. Despite the length of time they had been away from each other, the Summers brothers acted as if they had been together for most of their lives. "So, what's yours honey?"

Before Scott could open his mouth to respond, Alex blurted out the answer for his older brother. "To stop picking on his better-looking, smarter sibling." He smiled when he earned giggles from Jean, Rogue, and Annie.

Behind his ruby-quartz lenses, Scott glared at Alex, then rolled his eyes. He could see why Bobby found him irritating to be around sometimes. "I resolve to send Alex back to school and not let him continue to eat me out of house and home."

Rogue was saved from revealing her resolution or lack thereof. The efficient waiter then brought out the appetizers ordered earlier. He placed the steamed mussels with fennel, tomato, basil, and pernod in the center of the table. Next to that platter was the grilled duck foie gras ... la Murphy with an apple-pecan-lavender-honey-cognac sauce.

Rogue shrank away from the two platters, eyeing them skeptically. Unlike the others who were eagerly looking over the dishes, she wasn't sure about ingesting either one of them. In particular, she found herself especially concerned about the innards of some poor duck. She shuddered inwardly.

"What's wrong?" Joseph inquired, already helping himself to a couple of mussels. Thankfully, he was keeping his voice low as not attract any attention.

"Ah don't know, hon.. Ah don't think Ah can eat this stuff."

"You don't think you'll like it?"

"Nah.. It's not what ya call traditional country cookin'."

"Understood. But don't you want to try? It won't hurt. If you don't like what you eat, I'll gladly finish the rest."

"Maybe," she said warily. "But let me brace myself first, sugah." Then she placed her napkin from her lap on her plate and stood up. "Ah'll be right back, y'all. Ah need to powder my nose."

Joseph peered up at her perceptively, but hid his amusement over his lover's way of coping with something new.

If I stay here long enough, maybe they'll finish everything and I won't have to try something new, Rogue thought, closing the door of the ladies' restroom behind her firmly. Exhaling loudly, she sauntered to the sink and opened her purse to retrieve her compact. She hummed softly as she dabbed a small amount of powder on the bridge of her nose and forehead. As she slipped the compact back into her purse, she noticed there was something else inside. Curious, she removed it.

When she discovered what it was, she froze. Suddenly, tears began to flow down her cheeks, ruining her make-up. She felt her knees begin to buckle. To support herself, she leaned against the counter and tried to recollect her strength.

Lying on the gray, marble counter was a tattered, playing card. It was the Queen of Hearts to be exact. Written lightly in one of the corners was the word, "Always".
 

Chapter Eighteen: The Luckiest

Logan tossed his worn, leather jacket on the back of a chair in his bedroom. He had just gotten back from a long bike ride around town, which was becoming a force of habit nowadays. Almost like clockwork, if you will. It was a hell of a lot better than picking fights with other people around the mansion. There were no judging stares or comments when he rode. It was simply him and the elements. The speed and the wind combined together to create a rush, emptying his mind of its conflicts and concerns.

That night at the bar with Ororo was a long one. He never admitted that she was right about her suspicions. He never gave anyone the satisfaction of doing something like that. Instead, the two spent the rest of New Year's Eve, engaged in superficial conversation and knocking back a couple of beers. Logan was impressed with the fact that she was keeping up with him. However, she was not going to go as far as to smoke one of his cigars. That was where the weather goddess drew the proverbial line.

He stepped into his private bathroom to splash some water on his face. The warm and gentle water was like a caressing hand to his weather-beaten face. He leaned over the sink, sighing. Then he grabbed a towel from the rack and buried his face in the mothering darkness. He stood in the bath for several minutes, head in the towel. Things were so much easier if one didn't have to face the world on a daily basis.

His musings were interrupted by a knock at his door. He groaned, throwing the towel on the rack and stormed to the door. This better be good, he snarled inwardly, I don't do people at this hour. He yanked it open, preparing himself to growl at the person on the other side. Logan softened when he saw who it was.

"Can I come in?" Jubilee asked, nervously playing with her scarf around her neck. She wore with it a V-neck, cream-colored sweater with gray wool elbow patches, faded jeans, and a pair of brown boots.

He nodded gruffly, closing the door behind her. "Where's your coat?" he asked in greeting. "It's cold outside, kid."

She gave him a strange look, and then shook her head, her long, ebony hair spilling over her slim shoulders. "I left it on Sarah's bed," she explained, seating herself on his bed. Her blue eyes peered up at him solemnly.

"So, what's going on?" he demanded, suddenly feeling uneasy. It unnerved how she looked at him like that sometimes. He hid his discomfort by frowning back at her.

"I know you're mad," she began, palms resting on her thighs. "No one told me. I just know."

Logan raised a brow at her and grunted. "What makes you think that?"

"You've been gone a lot since Christmas."

"It is the holidays, Jubes. Time for celebrating, you know."

"By yourself?"

"I don't do the people scene."

Her sapphire eyes appeared distant as she mused, "Yes, I guess I forgot about that, Wolvie," she said softly. "But you never said you weren't mad."

Logan grimaced. She was using that tone of voice she used when she was around the younger students. To him, it sounded patronizing. Anyone else, they would have seen adamantium. He forced restraint when it came to Jubilee. "So what?"

"You don't have to be angry," Jubilee told him, crossing her slender ankles together. "Scott's not taking your place."

He frowned at her, pretending not to know what she was talking about.

She continued. "You see, it's different with him, but he's not replacing you, Wolvie. I still need you."

Transfixed by her confession, he sank on the bed next to his Jubilee. "Kid?"

She turned to face him; lovely as the day he first met her all those years ago. "I just need you in a different way."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not a little girl anyone. I'm not going to hang on every word you say or jump out of my skin when you come around. I haven't done that in a long time."

"Because I left you?"

"No, because I grew up. I'm responsible for making sure I'm happy, not you, not Scott." She sighed and then pressed on. "It's not that I love you any less, but you can't expect things to be the same. If they were, I'd be committed by now."

His green eyes stared ahead for a moment. He then peered back at her. "So how do you need me now?" he asked wearily. Logan wasn't sure whether or not he was going to like her answer.

Jubilee's brows knitted together as she pondered. "I don't know," she said finally, "it's like knowing that you're here no matter what and that you care about me is enough. You don't have to protect me from anything. I can handle things just fine."

"And One-Eyed?" he inquired, wondering if Ororo or Jean said anything to her about his recent episode. Listening to her determined tone of voice, she sounded as if she were talking about issues in general.

"He sets the boundaries. As much as I hate to admit it, I need that structure. Otherwise, I'd be a total anarchist. Just don't tell him that. It would kill me."

Logan snorted, pulling her against him. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her long, silky hair. "Trust me," he told her, "there's no chance of that happening."

Bobby Drake arrived at the mansion late in the evening New Year's Day. To his relief, traffic on the roads from his parents' Long Island home was light, which allowed him to make it back in record time. He peered around the front hall, noticing some activity in one of the rec rooms. He could hear Tabitha, Dani, Theresa and Sarah deciding on a movie to watch with the other children. Most of the students were beginning to trickle back from their vacation with their families. School was scheduled to start again later that week. Those that were back did not acknowledge his arrival, but continued to focus their attention on their leisure activities. Smiling, he climbed up the spiral staircase that led to his room so he could unpack.

As expected, his mother immediately greeted him with questions about possible girlfriends. This was soon followed with a point-by-point report on people he had grown up with and how they were married. Adding to her fervor was a visit from his cousin, Joel, who announced that he was engaged to be married. Bobby's mother was overjoyed and began to chirp about how she would be more than happy to help. At the same time, Bobby could sense her disappointment with him. Needless to say, he kept a low profile as Joel and his mother went over the news.

For his part, Joel was sheepish over the attention his Aunt Madeleine was giving him. Later on that night, he quietly approached Bobby and asked him to serve as his best man. Bobby was taken aback, but realized his cousin was the closest thing he ever had to a brother. Before contemplating the repercussions of his decision, he said yes. Looking back, he wasn't sure this was one of his better choices. He would have to put up with possible machinations from his mother's pursuit of finding him a wife and future bearer of grandchildren. Knowing his mother, she was probably interviewing the bridesmaids by now.

His father was still recovering physically, using a cane to make his way around the house. While he and Bobby were never all that close, the elder Drake had made an effort when his son visited for Christmas. He was still wary of his son's adventures and status as a mutant. However, there was a calm and understanding when they spoke. Bobby found it easier to relax and spend time with him, finding a respite from his mother. Unlike his wife, William Drake knew his son was young and did not worry about him living a lonely life for long.

Bobby opened the drawers and placed his freshly laundered clothes inside. His mother had insisted on doing his wash before he hit the road. No matter how old he was, she still considered him her little baby, much to his father's chagrin.

He stared at one of the new presents he had received this past Christmas. On his desk, was a set of Three Stooges bobble head dolls. Out of the presents Bobby received, he had to say this one was his favorite. He smiled fondly as he remembered the card that accompanied the gift. To the biggest Stooge I know. Merry X-Mas, Jubilee. He fished the card out of the pocket of his coat and placed it next to the bobble heads.

I wonder what she thought of the necklace, he thought. Is she wearing it now? He remembered how nervous he was when Rogue was wrapping the gift for him. It was silly, really. Why was he getting wound up over a little present? He kept attempting to rationalize the situation in his mind. After all, he wasn't anxious about the gifts he was giving his parents or his closest friends at the mansion. What reason could he possibly have to get bent out of shape over something that was going to a friend? It was almost as if----

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door. Startled, Bobby almost jumped. It took a brief moment to compose himself. "Come in," he called out, his back still turned to the door and tossing his empty travel bag into his closet.

The door slowly swung open and slow, methodical footfalls crossed the floor in his room. "Hello, Drake."

Bobby immediately whipped around. His gray eyes were surprised when he discovered who the visitor was. "Hello, Emma," he greeted, uncertain to what think of the cool blonde's appearance this evening. "What can I do ya for?"

The corners of the White Queen's full mouth curled up slightly in a smile. "I knew you were back," she told him, crossing her arms around her curvy chest. She was dressed rather conservatively that evening---well, conservative by her standards---in a knee-length, white silk dress with spaghetti straps and matching stiletto heels.

She continued to talk, her tone aloof. "Anyway, I've been bored since I've gotten back. I need a real adult to talk to."

He smirked. "Gee, Emma, that's the best compliment I've gotten from you. A real adult, huh?" Given their past history together, he was right to be somewhat wary of her intentions. After all, she had taken his body hostage and warped his mind in the process. That, and she relished in using his loneliness for her own amusement, often teasing, inciting a chase before leaving him to dwell on his frustrated state.

"Well, I thought you might appreciate it..Maybe now you won't be thinking about little girls and whether or not they like you." She laughed softly at the end of her sentence.

Bobby scowled at her defensively. "You and Gambit have a meeting of the minds?" he snapped, gray eyes narrowing.

She circled around Bobby and stood behind him. "No," she purred, her arms sliding around his waist. "I know you think about her or have you forgotten what I can do?"

With that, she untucked his shirt from his chinos. Her manicured nails traced patterns around his taut stomach, drawing a gasp from his lips. Her mouth began to nip at his earlobe. Then her tongue began to flick at his one earlobe in quick darts. Meanwhile, her other hand continued to pull his shirt up.

"Like that?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes were closed tight as he willed himself to ignore her and what she was doing now. At the same time, he was summoning the mental strength he had left to tell Emma to leave. She laughed, instantly reading his mind.

"Bobby, you can't do that," she informed him snidely, "I'm afraid you like this too much. You're having too much fun."

Suddenly, she froze and her hands dropped away from his torso. "Hello, Jubilation."

Alarmed, Bobby turned around, frantically straightened his rumpled shirt. A blush crept across his cheeks as he pulled away from a smirking Emma. There was Jubilee, standing in the doorway, the door partially ajar. Her face was a mixture of many things just then----shock, confusion, and something else he could not put his finger on at that moment.

Bobby stepped towards her, still flustered. "Uh, hey. Didn't know you were there." His gray eyes immediately noticed his necklace around her neck. "You're wearing my gift." He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

She fingered the pink beads gently. "I wanted to thank you for this and to see if you wanted to catch up before I leave." Then her blue eyes warily traveled to Emma. She never felt comfortable around her former headmistress since Emma murdered her own sister for money to keep the school afloat. "But I see you're busy, so we can talk when I get back." This is incredibly awkward to say the least. I wish I were Kurt now and just teleport right outta here.

He watched her turn on her heel to leave. "Wait," he said, gripping the doorknob. "Where are you going?"

Jubilee's eyes were cast down on the floor, feeling very embarrassed for some unknown reason. "Scott and I are going to Paris for a week. We're leaving tonight to stay at a hotel near JFK. Tomorrow morning, we'll be flying out."

"Wow, that sounds great. Maybe I can come by with you to the house and we can talk."

"Actually, I'm not going to be there for long. Scott wants to get in the city as soon as possible so we can rest. It's an early flight and all."

Bobby's face fell in disappointment. "Oh," he said quietly. "Well, I guess I will see you when you get back. I hope you have a great trip."

She gave him a small smile, fiddling with her scarf. "Yeah, me, too." Then her eyes went to the bobble heads she had gotten him. Instead of commenting, she decided to nod her head emphatically and sauntered away.

He watched her leave, his disappointment giving way to something else.
 

Chapter Nineteen: The Name of the Game

Hank McCoy was in the middle of placing some specimens in the laboratory freezer when he heard the elevator doors open down the hall. While he did not have Logan's sensitive nose, he was certain he smelled cigarette smoke. A smile crept over his lips when he realized who it was.

"My Cajun friend," he drawled, closing the door to the freezer and walking to the stainless steel sink next to it to wash his large hands. "While I don't mind your habit, but I insist that you keep your cigarettes out of the lab. It's not good hygiene, you know."

Merde , Remy groaned inwardly before tossing the cigarette on the concrete floor outside of the lab doors and promptly stamping it out. He briskly walked inside and commented, "There's nowhere dis homme can go for a smoke."

"Perhaps it is a sign that you should give up."

"Hah. Now, you sound like Storm. Took me four tries to light one up outside. ChŠre kept blowing out de matches wit' de wind. Gambit saw her flying over him wit' dis big smile."

Hank smiled, adjusting his glasses and seating himself at his workbench. "She's very caring like that, isn't she?"

"Call it what you want. Still annoyin'." Evidently, he was still somewhat bitter. "And she not de only one. Ever since de petite got back from Paris, she be on some crusade to get me to stop. You'd t'ink she'd be used to it 'cause everyone in de city smokes."

"Ah, I'm not sure that's even the reason. You see, my colleague and Annie were special speakers in one of the health classes. They brought in pictures of cancer victims and damaged lung tissues for the children to look at. Apparently, the message was particularly salient to our little firecracker." Hank reached for a steel box at the corner of the workbench.

Remy leaned against the edge of the desk, snorting. "Why she bother dis homme and not Wolverine?"

Hank pulled out a screwdriver and peered up at his friend. "You want to tell Logan he can't smoke anymore?" he asked, skeptical. "Really?"

Remy frowned, taking some time to consider the proposal he had made. Logan followed orders (sometimes), but to mess with one of his beloved vices seemed to be crossing the line. "Suppose you're right," he finally admitted, immediately feeling some embarrassment for his words. "I should know better."

Hank chuckled, turning his eyes to a large, metal ring. "Well, that reminds me," he said, bending over the object and carefully manipulating it with the screwdriver. "I need to stop by and talk to Scott about something later."

"Don't t'ink you can do dat. Petite say he and de wife plannin' some romantic evening. Dey gave her permission to stay here at de mansion for de night." He resisted the urge to make the same face he had made when Jubilee told him, which earned him a light slap on the shoulder from her.

"Understood."

Remy was quiet for a moment, his red-on-black eyes observing the larger man's effort with the mysterious metal object. "Beast?"

"Hmm?"

"What you got dere, homme?"

"Oh, this? Do you remember our last trip to Genosha?"

"Oui."

"Well, Kurt found this collar on one of the mutant slaves outside one of the caves. It always struck as strange as to how the humans on the island were able to maintain control over the mutants, given the special abilities and strengths." Hank then pulled a screw from the ring, which cause the ring to split into two sections. "Apparently, the humans exerted their authority through collars like this one."

Remy gave his friend a quizzical look. "And what's so special about de collar?" he asked, noting there was an undisturbed version of the collar next to Hank's toolbox.

"It suppresses mutant abilities," Hank answered, extracting several chips from the collar.

"And what you doin' wit' it now?"

"All I want to do is understand how the technology works. It's quite fascinating since it doesn't discriminate. The collar simply neutralizes the mutant's powers."

"Interesting."

"Yes, it is. And very dangerous as well, my friend. The possibilities are quite frightening. Imagine if these collars were to fall into the hands of the Friends of Humanity, and other mutant-hating groups?"

"Den we have all de collars?"

"No, just the two you see here. I am hoping to prepare in the event that the collars do fall in the wrong hands. There has to be a way to disable them.." Hank held the chip far away from his face. "Fascinating."

"Why dat be, Beast?" Remy asked.

Hank pursed his lips. "Something so advanced could be used to oppress and destroy. That's what's so fascinating."

Remy shook his head, reddish-brown hair flopping over one brow. "Beast, you have strange tastes," he commented, smiling gently to take the edge off of his words. Then he decided to change the subject. "I came here 'cause I want to talk to you about your ami."

Hank's furry brows shot up. "Bobby? Oh, dear. What has he done now? If it was that silly impression of you, trust me, no one thinks it's accurate." He bit the inside of his cheek, choking back the urge to laugh. On the contrary, Bobby did a brilliant imitation of the Cajun thief. He had done it while they were coming home on the Blackbird, receiving a chorus of laughs from Hank, Jean, Kurt, Warren, and even Ororo.

"He does an impression of me?"

"Um, no.. I mean, you want to talk about Bobby?"

Remy narrowed his eyes. He could tell when people were being deceptive and Hank was a notoriously lousy liar. "Yes," he finally said, feeling his annoyance dissipate. "I see he be hangin' round de petite a lot."

"Well, they're friends. They have been since she first came here. That, and they have a lot in common." Their shared sense of humor was legendary around the mansion.

"It's different dan dat."

It was Hank's turn to look confused. "I'm not sure I know what you mean," he said, pausing in his dissection of the collar.

"Oh, come on, Beast. Dis ol' t'ief seen what's been goin' on." Remy leaned towards Hank, eyeing him. "Has Drake said anyt'in' to you?"

Hank shook his head, but appeared somewhat uncertain. He did recall an incident where he had run into Bobby the day after Scott and Jubilee left for Paris. He seemed edgy and distraught, but was close-mouthed as to why. That mood seemed to continue even after the two arrived back from their trip several weeks ago. "No. I'm sorry, Gambit, but what are you trying to get at?"

Remy set his mouth into a grim line. "I'm talkin' 'bout Monsieur Drake's interest in de petite," he said, stepping back from the workbench. "Gambit sees de way de homme goin' after her. Den dere's de present he got her---nicest t'ing he got for anyone at de mansion."

"You sound like you might disapprove."

"Listen, Gambit don' have a problem wit' de homme personally. He just needs to stay away from de petite."

"Why? I mean the age difference isn't all that much. Bobby's about seven or eight years older, but if you take into account his maturity, you can cut the difference by six years."

"Dis is serious. Gambit loves de petite and do anyt'in' for her. He also knows about Monsieur Drake's dealings wit' de femmes."

Hank's blue eyes widened incredulously. "Gambit, I don't know what you know, but I can certainly tell you that Bobby's problems were not attributable to him. He's dated a lot, but then again, who hasn't? It doesn't mean he's a bad person."

Remy shrugged indifferently, noting that the usually calm Hank McCoy was surprisingly defensive all of a sudden. "It takes two to tango, mon ami." He had actually received a lot the information from Rogue while they were dating, but she framed her friend's issues with women a little more sympathetically.

Hank sighed wearily. Being Bobby's best friend, he witnessed the young man's many romantic troubles. It was sad really since Bobby tried so hard to make many of these relationships work. Despite the humorous front he put on for his friends and colleagues to see, there was still something that was lost to him only Hank could sense. Peering over at Gambit, he knew he was going to have a hard time convincing him of that.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," he finally said, exhaling sharply.

"Even so.. Gambit still don' t'ink it's a good idea." Remy still looked skeptical. He should have known better than to confide in Drake's best friend.

"Well, if Bobby was interested in our little firecracker, I am sure he would be careful not to hurt her. He's not like that." Hank was still trying to get accustomed to the idea of Bobby being romantically interested in Jubilee. He simply did not see it. He always saw them as being more brother and sister than anything else.

The Cajun thief crossed his arms over his well-toned chest. "You may t'ink dat, but dis ol' t'ief be keepin' an eye on de petite," Remy informed him, as if administering a warning. "Better me dan Wolverine, non?"

Hank watched him stalk out of the lab quietly. Shaking his head, he turned his attentions to the collar he was dissecting. As he was placed one of the chips on a glass slide, he noticed that the other collar he had on the tabletop was now gone.

Red-on-black eyes glittered in the dimness of the elevator that led back to the main floors of the mansion. Remy stared down at the metal collar in his hand before slipping it in the pocket of his brown leather duster. Maybe there are other uses for this thing , he thought, a sly smile crossing his chiseled features. His mind began to race with the possibilities.

The elevator stopped on the first floor. Greeting him with an amused expression was Ororo, who was carrying several shopping bags from a recent trip to the shopping mall with Betsy. She studied his expression and shook her long, white hair out over her shoulders.

"You look like you swallowed the proverbial canary, my friend," she observed as the doors slid close. She pressed the button for the button to her floor. "Anything you'd like to share?"

"Hah. Gambit still upset about dis mornin', Stormy." His smile told another story. She was one of those rare people whom he could never stay upset with for very long. Though she had returned to her adult state, he still thought of her as the adolescent girl he rescued so long ago.

She nodded, pretending to ignore his jovial face. "Just trying to look out for you. It really is a filthy habit. And, you're not setting the best example for the children, I'm afraid. They see you around the mansion, smoking after they learn effects in health class. What are they supposed to think?"

Remy smirked. "Kids have parents and Cyclops as role models. Not Gambit."

"Ah, yes." She pulled her long, double-breasted camel coat tightly around her slim form. "I almost forgot about you like to play the black sheep."

"Someone has to. Ot'erwise, life dull around here, non? Besides, you like it, Stormy. Gambit makes t'ings more fun around here. Dat's why you asked me to come back." He leaned towards her, red eyes dancing with fire.

She frowned at him, looking at him as if he had grown a second head. "That was not the reason why."

"Oh, non?"

"No, Gambit. This is your home. You should be here with your friends and teammates. It was not right that you were so far away, thinking that no one cared about you."

"I never t'ought dat, chŠre. Gambit just takin' a long break from savin' de world is all. You should try it sometime."

Ororo bit her lower lip, realizing this part of the conversation was going nowhere because her friend would not allow it to. She hated it every time he tried to shut down like that. He was very much like Logan in that respect, except Gambit was more charming when he was being evasive about things he didn't want to talk about. While this would easily placate most people, she knew better. She knew him for too long and too well.

She finally managed, "Perhaps I will take your advice."

He noticed the restrained expression across her exotic features. She had wanted to press him, but did not do it. Her knowledge regarding other people's limits was one of the qualities he liked about her. Good old Storm , he mused, gazing at the weather goddess fondly. "Glad to hear dat, Stormy."

She made a face at him. Of all the nicknames he could have thought of, that one irked her the most. "I told you to stop calling me that."

"Force of habit, chŠre. Dis ol' t'ief forgets sometime." His grin became broader, which would be all the more infuriating to a woman he did not know very well. However, this was Ororo, the woman who rarely took him seriously.

The elevator doors slid open. As she made her way out, she turned around and stared at him for a moment. Her face was drawn in concern, looking as if she wanted to say something to him. She was aware of the torment he was going through during the past few weeks. Since she was a friend with both him and Rogue, it was impossible to say or do anything without appearing to take sides. Like many, she simply chose to stay neutral in the whole affair and hoped the two could settle their differences privately and quickly. Yet, at that moment, she felt the urge to leave him with some comforting words. Despite his carefree front, she could tell he needed them.

Instead, she picked up her many shopping bags and flashed him a smile. "Stay out trouble, Gambit."

He watched her breeze down the hall through the closing doors. "You, too, chŠre," he said softly. "You, too."
 

Chapter Twenty: Call and Answer

"If I have to listen to Scott go on and on about his romantic dinner with Jean, I'm going to freeze his lips together," Bobby Drake groused, shoving his hands into the pocket of his chinos.

Warren held up two suits while standing in front of the floor-length mirror in his room. "It's Valentine's Day, Bobby. He's just trying to do something romantic for his wife." He raised a brow as he scrutinized one of the suits. It was charcoal-colored, designed with side vents and a soft sloping shoulder that molds to the body for a comfortable and flattering fit. The lapel was rolled to the middle button, where the top button could be undone for a deeper gorge and a softer shape. The jacket was finished with flap pockets, pick stitching and a Bemberg lining while the trousers had double forward pleats and a seven-loop belted waist. "Does this say dashing, millionaire playboy or wannabe?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, ignoring his friend's solicitation for fashion advice. Instead, he cleared his throat and puffed his chest out. "You guys," he intoned in his best Scott voice. "I'm nervous because this is my first time really cooking for someone. I've got the whole menu planned out because I'm anal like that. First, we're going to have a zesty salad, then pan-seared scallops over linguini and a tomato cream sauce, and finally, chocolate chunk bread pudding. You think she'll like it? Oh, golly, I sure hope so. I've only been telling you guys about it for the last two hours because I am so whipped.

"If it's not that, then there was this going on." Then he paused before switching into another character, batting his eyes and swinging his hips. "Like, girls," he squeaked in his best Kitty voice. "Let's go out to the club and dance tonight. Let's set up a circle around our pocketbooks and dance around it. Screw guys. I just wanna dance!"

Warren's ice-blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He, too, had overheard Kitty lay out plans with some of the other female residents, including Tabitha, Sarah, Dani, Theresa, and Rahne, who was visiting from out of town. While she did not use that exact language, Bobby was pretty much on the money.

"And here's my personal favorite," Bobby said, setting up for his next impersonation. He placed the back of his hand over his forehead and sighed dramatically. "Oh, gawd.. What's a gal to do? Ah love ya, Remy, but Ah can't touch ya. Ah'm just gonna cry and have my way with Joeneto 'til Ah can decide what the hell to do." He then feigned loud sobbing.

"You know," Warren said, hanging the suit he had chosen for his date that evening on the closet door. "You're lucky they're at that bed and breakfast in Vermont. Otherwise, she'd kick your ass." Then he paused, his eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"It's finally happened."

"What?"

"You've finally turned into that bitter, old man. Hank owes me money."

Bobby scowled at him. "I don't need to take your abuse," he told him huffily, heading to the door. "I can get abused somewhere else by someone who doesn't have bad taste in ties."

Warren laughed, waving for him to come back. "Oh come on. You're not the only one who can joke around." He watched his friend trudge back to where he had been standing before. "So I take it you don't have any plans for this evening?"

Bobby shrugged indifferently. "What's so special? It's like any other night. Maybe I can get Hank to come with me to shoot some pool and have some beers in town."

"Uh, he and Cecilia are going out to some foreign film in town." Warren pulled out his tie rack from the closet door. He picked out a blue-gray, silk tie and slipped it over the suit jacket hanging on the door. "Some French flick that's black-and-white.."

Bobby groaned. "That's it. I'm officially a loser."

Warren gave him a sympathetic smile, raking a hand through his wavy blond hair. "Well, there are other people staying in. Let's see there's the children.. No, wait. They're going out, too. But, there's.. No.. Well, I'm sure you can entertain yourself fine."

"You're officially on my s-list, Worthington."

"Sorry, I was trying to be helpful. Listen, I can call up Claire and see if she knows anyone.."

"No, thanks. A pity date is just as bad as having no date at all."

"I guess I could understand that."

"Why do I highly doubt that?"

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, come on, Warren. You of all people have no trouble with females. You've got the looks, money, and wings. Me, on the other hand.."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You could have anyone you want if you put some effort into it. What about Emma? I see the way she looks at you."

"Yeah, like a cat going after a new scratch toy. That woman is scary. If we were dating, I'd be in desperate need of Logan's healing factor or a lifetime supply of Neosporin."

"Really? How would you know?"

"I did share a body with her in case you've forgotten."

"Right. Must have had the time of your life."

"If you call having your mind twisted around like silly putty loads of fun, then yes. Maybe you should ask her to do it to you. Then we'll see how you like it."

"Don't tell me you can't stand having her around now. You've always been a little ga-ga for Emma."

Bobby didn't answer him. He could still see Jubilee's face that day. There was bewilderment, confusion, and what he thought was sadness and disappointment. Though what she probably witnessed was brief, it seemed to be enough. For Bobby, it was difficult for him to look at her even after she arrived back from Paris. Every once in a while, they would pass each other in the hall. He would struggle to come up with the nerve to even utter two words to her, but found himself at a loss for words. Either that, or Gambit would "conveniently" be nearby to whisk her away.

Even the night visits to her room had stopped. He would pause in front of his bedroom window, which had the Summers' home in plain sight. Staring at her lit bedroom window, Bobby often ruminated about making a trip over to talk. He would rehearse breaking the ice (no pun intended), explaining why it was so difficult to approach her all those weeks, asking if they could be buddies again, and even throwing a joke in the mix. At the last minute, he would lose his nerve and turn away from the window for the rest of that evening. The rest of the night would be spent lying awake in bed, cursing his futility and willing himself to get over whatever it was inhibiting him. Then the ritual would start all over again the following night.

What was the most frustrating about the whole situation was that he felt he was blowing things out of proportion. He constantly questioned his reaction. Why was this bothering him so much? It wasn't as if he and Emma were in an especially compromising position. Also there was no way she could see what Emma was doing, he rationalized. Furthermore, it wasn't like he owed Jubilee an explanation. He was an adult, who could be in the company of anyone he chose. And, as Warren pointed out, he was also single, not accountable to anyone at the moment---certainly not to Jubilee.

"You look a million miles away," Warren observed, his voice breaking into Bobby's thoughts. He was in the midst of opening a mahogany box and searching for his Rolex watch. Then he added, "Not just now, but lately. Something you want to talk about?"

Bobby's gray eyes feigned puzzlement. "What are you talking about?" he asked, hoping that Warren would drop his investigation. He hadn't told anyone about what happened, nor was he intending to.

The taller man frowned at him, slipping on the watch. "It seems like something's weighing you down. You just seem like you've been preoccupied these past few weeks. Is there anything wrong?"

Bobby snorted. "You almost sound like Jean."

Warren shook his head at him. "I'm serious, Bobby. What's up?"

"Nothing.. I'm just.." Think of something or Warren's never going to drop it , he told himself. Suddenly, an idea raced through his head. "Um, Joel's bachelor party. You know, as the best man, I have to plan it and it's getting complicated. There are all these people to invite and make hotel accommodations for in Vegas. That, and it's only a month away."

Well, partially true, he said to himself. You still need to do that, by the way, Bobby.

Warren nodded, blue eyes not completely guileless. "I see," he said, hiding the suspicions in his voice. As one of Bobby's closest friends, he could always tell when his young friend was lying---the joking coupled with the lame excuses. He knew for a fact that Bobby had yet to make the arrangements for his cousin's bachelor party. No, there was definitely something going on, but Bobby seemed bound and determined not to talk about it.

Despite the light-hearted exterior, Warren, like Jean and Hank, was aware that there were a number of things that often haunted his young friend. There was the rocky relationship with his recuperating father, the failed romantic relationships, the self-blame for Madelyne Pryor's descent into madness. Yet, Bobby was insistent on stifling these things inside. Watching the young man struggle with whatever it was eating at him, Warren silently wished sometimes Bobby didn't feel the need to constantly "be on" all the time, acting as the team's source of comedy relief.

Bobby peered at Warren out of the corner of his eye and noticed a concerned look on his friend's face. Not wanting to be confronted again, he said, "Well, you should get ready for your date, Warren. Hell hath no fury like a woman kept waiting five minutes late---something I learned from Opal." He cracked a weak smile, which appeared more like a grimace than anything.

Before Warren could respond, Bobby was already out the door. The tall, blond mutant heaved a sigh and shook his head. Same old Bobby, he mused.

Bobby closed the door to his bedroom, sighing wearily. He walked over to his desk and flicked on the lamp. Staring up at him blankly were the Three Stooges bobble head dolls Jubilee had given him. He sat down in front of them, wrinkling his forehead.

"Well, guys, have any advice?" he asked pointedly.

The Stooges did not answer back.

"Larry? Curly? Moe? Come on. Give a guy a break."

Not even a nod.

"Just as well. Wouldn't be taking advice from you guys anyway." Then he rolled his eyes and groaned. "Great. Now, I'm trying to get advice from a bunch of dolls. I'm really losing it."

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples gingerly, then raking his fingers through his sandy hair. His eyes darted around the room as he racked his brain of things he could do besides stare out his window at Scott and Jean's home, located across the lawn. He was determined not to put himself through that tonight.

There were the quizzes he had given out earlier this week---they needed to be graded. He gave himself a raspberry for coming up with that idea. TV? Nix that idea. Probably some sappy programming he didn't need to see anyway. His eyes briefly scanned his CDs, but soon realized there was nothing he really wanted to listen to anyway. The same line of thinking applied to the possibility of popping in a DVD.

After futile efforts of searching for other things to do, Bobby decided to wander downstairs to the kitchen. He knew that Cook had made an extra batch of gingersnaps before leaving for the night. Not exactly the best way to distract himself, but certainly a pleasant one. He immediately bounded down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen.

Along the way, he passed by one of the rec rooms and noticed that the lights were on and the plasma screen television and VCR were both on. It appeared as if whatever was currently playing had been stopped. The smell of buttered popcorn permeated through the air. Curious and somewhat hungry, he sauntered into the room. He approached the oversized, brown sofa and leaned over to greet the occupant. When he discovered who it was, Bobby was startled.

Jubilee looked up at him, blue eyes wide with surprise. "Hi," she greeted, a hint of wariness creeping into her voice. She was cradling a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a can of soda in her other hand.

"Hey," Bobby finally managed, straightening to his full height. It had been several weeks since he had even come this close to her, but she was still as pretty as ever. The purple roll neck sweater and faded jeans she was wearing seemed to deepen the blue in her eyes. Her long, silky hair with midnight blue streaks framed her delicate features gently.

After a brief silence, she nodded slowly and asked, "So, how's it going?"

Bobby pressed his lips together before responding. "OK," he replied, trying to hide his discomfort.

"Good."

"You? I mean, how was Paris?"

She placed the bowl on the coffee table in front of her and then turned back to him. "It was great," she said softly, resting her cheek against the chino material of the sofa. "Someday, I'd like to go back.. It's an amazing city. I tried to talk Scott into a return trip for my birthday, but I think he pretended to fall asleep while I was asking."

Bobby smiled, realizing he was suddenly relaxed at that moment. There was something disarming about the young girl in front of him. Maybe this was the kind of effect she had Logan. It might explain why she was the only one in the mansion who could stand to spend long hours with the perpetual curmudgeon.

His gray eyes traveled to her slender neck, which was adorned with the necklace he had given her. He could feel his smile broaden, feeling quite pleased inside. She followed his gaze and fingered the pink beads, then the silver flower.

"I like it," she told him, almost as if to reassure him.

He nodded quickly, his eyes darting to the floor. Suddenly, he blurted out, "I'm sorry."

She frowned at him quizzically. "Bobby?"

"For.. For acting strange, Jubes. I guess for not talking to you for the last couple of weeks."

"Oh."

"I thought things were kind of weird since the last time we saw each other."

"Bobby, you don't have to.."

"No, Jubes. I don't want to lose a good friend because of some misunderstanding."

"A friend?"

"Yeah.. I mean are we still friends?" He could feel his heart begin to race as he awaited her answer. This was not how he had envisioned things playing out.

Jubilee looked thoughtful, taking some time to carve out an answer. "I just always thought you saw me as that annoying kid you played pranks with. I never thought you saw me as anything else. To everyone, I'm still a child and nothing more."

It was Bobby's turn to be confused. "I don't think that," he said quietly, leaning over the sofa. "It's always been us against the rest of the mansion. You know, sticking together since we were the youngest. I've always thought of you as a friend, even when you were that whiny, skinny kid."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Gee, thanks."

His smile soon faded as he began to pick up where he had left off. "About that misunderstanding.."

"Bobby, you don't have to say anything. It's none of my business.." For some reason, she felt very uncomfortable. The idea of Bobby describing whatever he was doing with her former headmistress struck as kind of eerie and creepy.

He cut her off before she could say anything more. "I need to, Jubes. Just hear me out, OK?"

"OK," she said slowly.

His gray eyes flicked away from her face briefly, then returned to stare into her sapphire eyes. "Emma and I.. Nothing was going on. I want you to know that. It's important that you know that."

There was a pleading tone to his voice as he spoke, which was accentuated by the earnest quality in his gray eyes. Jubilee studied his boyish face carefully. There was nothing mocking or duplicitous, as she would first suspect of him (After all, here was the person who used to tease her constantly about how skinny she was). Just that it was essential for her to believe him at this moment. As she peered up at Bobby Drake, she realized that it was also important for her to believe as well. Looking up at him, she knew that she did.

Finally, she nodded. "It's OK, Bobby. I believe you."

He breathed a sigh of relief inside. Not able to express anything eloquently, he managed, "Thanks, Jubes." Then he peered down at the empty space on the sofa next to her and saw the opportunity to change the subject towards something less serious. "So what are you watching this fine Valentine's Day?"

"Monsters, Inc."

"That's not really a romantic movie."

"I think that's the point."

"Ah, I see. Well, you mind if I join you?"

"I don't know if my date would like that."

"Your date?" Bobby tried not to express the shock he was experiencing at that moment in his voice. Granted, he had avoided her for several weeks, but he had not noticed her with anyone. Well, anyone except for Gambit and Logan. While Logan was more of a father to the young girl, the Cajun thief was kind of questionable. He was single and actively flirting with anyone female. However, he was pretty sure he had seen him leave the mansion for a hot date in the city.

Jubilee nodded, wondering what was eating at Bobby of all sudden. "Yes, my date," she repeated slowly, as if he had not heard her the first time.

Still reeling, he asked, "Anyone I know?" He immediately racked his brain for a list of other suspects. He had seen Sam Guthrie hanging around her the other day after one of the Danger Room sessions.

"Yeah. He's actually going to be back any minute." She tucked her feet underneath her. "He went to the kitchen to get some more sodas. That's why I have the movie on pause."

Bobby nodded stiffly. "Well, maybe I should.."

"Jubilee, there isn't any more Cherry Coke left," Carter announced, barreling into the rec room with two regular Cokes. The ten-year-old boy stared up at Bobby Drake in surprise. "Hello."

Bobby turned to Jubilee, resisting the urge to smirk. "Your date?"

Her sapphire blue eyes were guileless. "Yes, my date," she said, feigning defensiveness. "Carter and I are going to spend our night, gorging on junk food and watching movies. Isn't that right?"

Carter nodded, plopping down next to Jubilee. He handed her a soda and peered up at Bobby again. "Jubilee's my date," he informed him proudly. "She's my girlfriend."

Bobby grinned. "You're a lucky guy, Carter." He exchanged a sly look with Jubilee, who stuck her tongue out at him.

Jubilee turned to Carter, placing her soda on the coffee table. "Listen, would it be all right if Mr. Drake joins us for movie night?" she asked gently, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile.

The young boy's brows wrinkled together as he deliberated. Then he glanced at Bobby warily, showing how reluctant he was to go along with the idea. After a few moments, he drawled, "But I still get to pick the movies, right?"

"That was the plan."

"OK."

Bobby seated himself next to Carter, still grinning. "Thanks, Carter. You won't regret it, kiddo." His gray eyes peered over at Jubilee, who flashed him a knowing smile.
 

Chapter Twenty-One: I've Been Delivered

For the past several weeks, Logan had been making rapid progress in his individual sessions with Professor Xavier. During these individual sessions, he found himself frustrated, particularly when they first started. Logan cursed what he thought was his own ineptitude. He had been convinced that "his problems" had stopped. He thought he had confronted all these demons while he was alone in Canada. To him, his latest episode was a reflection of his lack of self-control, inner mental strength. He had failed himself, and ran the risk of failing and possibly, hurting those around him. It was tempting to pack up his belongings and hit the road again. Yet, he managed to stop himself. Now, he was aware there were other people to consider in his decisions.

So, he worked furiously with Xavier. Logan committed himself to the task, working more feverishly than he did in previous attempts. The process was painful. Facing inner demons comprised of shame, guilt, anger, and fear was taxing. There were times when he doubted his sanity; unsure what was real and what had been fabricated. The memories that flooded him were vivid and almost tangible, as if the events had occurred yesterday. Still, he pushed his mind and his sometimes, his body, to confront these disturbing issues, realizing that a part of him would never completely get over what had happened to him and what he had done in the past.

Logan had not experienced those violent and vivid hallucinations since that day Storm had found him. After the long sessions with the Professor, Logan found that his mood had stabilized and that he was feeling less hyper vigilant. He knew he would always experience that tension. After all, it was that gnawing feeling of being prepared for fight or flight that helped him to survive these many years. However, it was not as severe or crippling as it had been.

This progress prompted the Professor into sending him on a field mission to Stockholm for several days with Storm, Beast, and Rogue---the first he had seen action outside of the state since their sessions started. After reading an article in the Guardian UK about a series of power outages that plagued the city for the last six months, he suspected the involvement of a mutant. Using Cerebro, Xavier confirmed his suspicions. While there was no hostility he could sense from the city's inhabitants, he stressed to the team that it was still paramount that they locate the individual before others did.

Prior to his life as a X-Man, Logan had done some extensive traveling. However, he had never been to Sweden in all his years. He found that he liked the icy city, which was a mix of stimulating urban life and pure nature simultaneously. Stockholm was a fantastic city, where Lake M„laren met the sea. It was a vibrant, modern city with historic charm, built on 14 islands. As a result, there was nearly always a view of the water. Magnificent buildings stood alongside green oases and the city pulsates with cutting-edge culture and life, despite the centuries-old alleys and historic squares around every corner. Because Stockholm was blessed with endless amounts of clear and clean water, he observed many people swimming or fishing in the middle of the city.

The team had been in the city for three days. While they had the opportunity to observe the power outages, they were unable to locate information regarding the source. According to the local news, the government was attributing the outages to possible viruses in the computer system. As field team commander, Storm felt it was important to rule out all possibilities. She and Rogue decided to contact one of Warren's friends in the power company in order to get his read of the situation. Meanwhile, Logan and Hank decided to explore the rest of the city, hoping to find something with one of Hank's tracers, which were linked with Cerebro.

The two friends decided to stop into Akkurat, one of Sweden's most famous specialist beer bars, located in the S"dermalm district, south of the Gamla Stan. The pub occupied the ground floor of a hideous modern concrete building, which probably needed of a few sticks of dynamite to improve its exterior. Inside was fairly spacious. There were some pleasant enough bits of leaded glass and the odd old wooden door. The casks of beer on stillage behind the bar were an even more beautiful sight. There were usually 3 or 4 cask-conditioned beers on sale at any given time, the precise beers changing constantly. There were also a wide range of Swedish draught beers, including examples from some of the better new micros. The bottled range was extensive with many American microbrews, which were rarely seen outside the States.

Given the frigid temperatures, no one seemed to give Hank's hulking figure under his green down jacket and baggy, cargo trousers a second thought. However, his blue-furred face and large, sharp incisors seemed to attract quite a bit of attention. The blond waitress could not stop staring, even when she was setting down the Herold Dark Lagers they had ordered. Logan merely raised a brow at her and exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke, dismissing her immediately. Following that, the two drank and began to map out their strategy for tracking down the unknown mutant.

They were undisturbed until a tall, thin Swede with platinum blond hair and a black leather snowsuit brushed by their table. He pursed his lips at Hank and gave him a shove to the shoulder with his elbow. Hank merely frowned at him, but made no move to retaliate---that just wasn't his style. In contrast, Logan immediately rose to his feet to confront the offender. He leaned towards the younger man, cigar smoke billowing around him.

"Mammaknullare," Logan snorted, suppressing the urge to unsheathe his adamantium claws.

Oh, dear, Hank thought, anticipating the worst.

The Swede narrowed his eyes. Still glaring, he briskly walked past the table. Satisfied, Logan returned to his seat in the booth.

Hank heaved a sigh of relief. Then he gave his friend a perplexed look. "I didn't know you spoke Swedish, Logan." He finished his lager in one last gulp.

"I only know that one word," Logan replied, chewing thoughtfully on his Cohiba. "See, part of my preparation for these overseas trips was to learn how to say 'mothaf***er' in different languages."

"How very diplomatic of you," Hank observed, rolling his eyes. Still, he was impressed that his old friend managed not to get into a physical altercation with the young man. Perhaps the Professor was truly making headway this time around. Hank was tempted to comment upon his friend's progress, but remembered that Logan did not want anyone else to know about his situation. Immediately, he refrained and popped a piece of bread into his mouth.

Logan nodded, smirking. "So you got anything on that tracer?" he asked.

Hank shook his head. "Not yet. The mutant has been within a 10-mile radius of where the tracer is in order to pick up on anything."

"Even when it's linked with Cerebro?" Logan was surprised.

The larger man nodded grimly. "Yes. The fact that we're overseas doesn't help out, either. I'm afraid we're relegated to playing the waiting game. At least, for now."

Logan rolled his eyes. "I'm tired of waiting." He took another gulp of his lager and chewed on his cigar. "Storm and Rogue are at least getting out and doin' something."

"Are you saying you would like to approach a corporate office?" Hank looked at him skeptically, blue eyes round as saucers behind his thick, black-framed glasses. "This is quite a change, Logan."

Logan shook his head. "No, I didn't say that."

Hank smiled mischievously. "I know. I meant it in jest."

"You've been hangin' around Icicle too much. You both think you're comedians." Logan frowned, taking the edge off of his words with a quirk of his brow. He genuinely liked Hank, although the other man could be a little long-winded at times. But his fairness and good-natured spirit made it easy for anyone to feel comfortable around him, in spite of his physical appearance.

Hank noticed the reference Logan made about his good friend. There was a part of him that wanted to bring up the conversation he had with Gambit the other day. Perhaps Logan, having known Jubilee for much longer than anyone in the mansion, would have a better idea as to what was going on. Or, he could take the information and use it as an excuse to harass poor Bobby. The image of Logan growling and chasing his good friend around the grounds of the mansion with extended claws was all too vivid for the scientist. Given the latter, Hank found himself suppressing the urge to share with his friend his thoughts.

"What's up with you?" Logan inquired, stubbing out his cigar in the glass ashtray.

Hank was startled. "Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking about the lesson plans I have to work on once we return." His eyes cast to the tabletop as he lied.

Logan, perceptive being that he was, did not take the bait. "Really?" he asked in an attempt to test the other man. Hank's reputation as a bad liar was known throughout the mansion. Even the students knew about it.

"Oh, yes. My work is never done." Hank nodded vigorously, stuffing more bread into his mouth. He was hoping that by doing so, Logan would drop the interrogation.

Unfortunately, Logan wasn't known for giving up easily. "I don't think you're talking about your work at the school," he observed, finishing his drink. He motioned for the waitress to come by their table to take his order. After he asked for another lager, he glanced at the other man expectantly.

Hank continued chewing, trying to act as oblivious as possible. After a few minutes of this act (or lack thereof), Logan had about enough. He exhaled loudly and drawled, "So what is it, Hank? You wouldn't get this keyed up over some class you're teaching."

Before Hank could formulate another lie, there was an almost deafening crash from outside. Both men craned their necks to peer out the window of the bar, along with the rest of the patrons. Two rather large men were laughing and shouting in Swedish as they stomped towards a smaller, frail-looking boy, who looked like he was about Jubilee's age. While their words were not immediately comprehendible, the men's hostile intent was strikingly clear. The boy appeared as if he had already been roughed up already---his hair was rumpled, clothes were torn and his lip was bloody. He had his arms in the air, as if to shield himself from any further blows. At the same time, he was crying, pleading with his aggressors in Swedish.

Logan growled, bolting from his seat in the booth. While he wasn't the epitome of altruism like perhaps Scott or the Professor (he was far too old and cynical for that), he did hate seeing an unfair situation. How is two against one fair? He began to head to the door, still growling.

"Logan!" Hank called after him, suddenly feeling quite apprehensive. "Logan, where are you going?"

"I'm just gonna help even things out," he responded, shoving open the front door and disappearing outside.

"Oh, dear," Hank mumbled, pulling out his wallet and extracting cash to pay for their drinks. "I am afraid of what you might do." With that, he followed his friend outside of the bar.

Logan had a couple of seconds on Hank. During that time, he pursued the two men and the younger man into a dark, wet alley between an apartment building and a pharmacy several feet from the bar. The two men were still jeering at the boy, who was now cowering behind a dumpster. In response, one of the men kicked the side of the dumpster and screamed something in Swedish.

Disgusted, Logan decided to make his presence known. "Hey!" he called out.

The two men were startled, turning towards him. One of them, a large, bald man with a black goatee and a snake tattoo on his neck sneered at him. "Get out of here," he told Logan coldly in a thick Swedish accent. "This is between us and the boy."

"Yeah," his friend agreed, still kicking the side of the dumpster as if he were trying to drown out the boy's cries. "We just have to work some things out."

"Like what?" Logan demanded warily.

The bald man scowled. "I said we're working things out."

Logan smirked. He doesn't even know why he's doing this. They are as dumb as they look, he mused to himself, walking towards the men at the other end of the alley. "That involves beatin' up on a kid?"

The bald man glared at him, placing his face close to Logan's. "I told you to get out of here," he hissed. "Unless you want to be hurt."

"I think he does!" his friend chirped, snickering loudly. "Why don't we help out in that department, Sven?"

Logan raised a brow at the other man, then peered over at the dumpster. The boy looked back him with terrified, tearful eyes. He then turned back to the bald man and said, "Listen, what about this? You two get the hell outta here, and we can forget about the whole thing. That way no one gets hurt."

The bald man exchanged a cynical look with his friend, who was now doubling over with laughter. "I say we don't have to listen to a stupid American who can't mind his own business," he sneered, taking a large hand and giving Logan a hard shove.

Control, Logan, the Professor's soft, gravelly voice echoed his mind at that moment. You must claim it. You are the only one who can do so. The urge to act on instinct might be strong, but consider other options..

Logan growled. Easy for you to say, Xavier, he wanted to tell him. Instead, he returned the man's glare. "I don't think you want to do that," he informed him in a steely voice.

The bald man spat at him, missing Logan by a couple of inches. "Know what? I've had enough of you and your lame words, hairy man. I'm gonna take care of you before messin' up this kid for good."

Rage is an emotion, Logan. It does not control you unless you allow it.

Logan narrowed his eyes, unsure if it was the Professor telepathically reminding him of the work they did during their sessions, or if it was his own memories. He eyed both men, who were storming menacingly towards him. Snarling at both, his muscles tensed up in anticipation of the altercation ahead.

He knew what he wanted to do. Take the easy way out. Extend his claws to scare these two losers out of the alley. Show them what an animal he could be.

Let it go, Logan.

The larger, bald man pulled back his fist to deliver a blow.

Let it all go, Logan.

Logan blocked the other's man fist with his own, filled with adamantium. The two met with a loud CLINK! Howling in pain, the bald man stumbled backwards, clutching his wounded hand. He began to scream a string of curses in Swedish, his eyes tearing up in pain. He turned to his friend and cried out to him, presumably to tell him to go after Logan. His friend, terrified, turned his eyes to Logan.

It was Logan's turn to sneer. "Go ahead. I have all day, bub."

The other man's lower lip began to tremble. He mumbled something incoherently before screaming out, "Monster!" Then he lunged at Logan, still yelling.

Logan caught him by his jacket and pinned him against the wall. He growled at him, while keeping another eye on his bald friend, who was still crouched over in pain. "Let's say I go easy on both you morons and you can run right on out, huh?"

Both nodded wordlessly. Smirking, Logan threw the other man down and watched them scramble out of the alley. When he knew they were completely gone, he sauntered to the dumpster, where the boy was still hiding. He knelt down and asked, "You OK, kid?"

The boy responded with only a wide-eyed stare.

Logan sighed. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

"Logan?" After searching several places near the pub, Hank finally managed to find his friend. He slowly ventured into the alley, tracer in hand. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah," Logan replied grimly. "Kid here's kinda roughed up. But no one got hurt.. Badly."

Hank pulled his hood tightly over his head, not wanting to frighten the child. He approached the dumpster and looked at both Logan and the boy. His brows shot up as he peered down at his tracer. "Logan?"

"Yeah, Hank?" Logan was wrapping his leather jacket around the boy's shaking shoulders. He helped him to his feet, allowing the boy to lean on him to steady his gait.

The larger man's eyes widened, studying the tracer. "Congratulations," he finally said.

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you may have found our mutant. And you did it by waiting."
 

Chapter Twenty-Two: If It Were Up To Me

"Hey, ref! Wassup?"

"What are you----blind? That was a foul, for sure!"

Scott's head jerked as he made his way down the steps towards his seat at the stadium. He had been away for a few minutes to call Jean, telling her that the basketball game was going into overtime and that he and the others were going to be late. Instantly recognizing the voice of Bishop, he regretted his decision to invite the brash time traveler with himself, Warren, and Alex to the Knicks vs. Celtics game at Madison Square Garden.

Warren had received four tickets for third-row seats from a grateful client of Worthington Industries. He decided to invite a group from the mansion for a "guys night out" in the city. Originally, the group was supposed to include Bobby, but he had dropped out when he discovered that Alex was going. While Scott could understand his teammate's resentment towards Alex, he had thought Bobby was over Lorna long ago. When Bobby announced his decision to back out, Bishop was nearby and asked about the basketball game. He explained that in his time, he had never heard of such a sport. Scott, in an especially generous mood that day, offered Bishop the extra ticket, not noticing Warren's expression of dread and irritation.

In retrospect, Scott wished he had picked up on Warren's nonverbal communication. At first, things were fine. Bishop was enjoying the sights and sounds of the arena. As the game went on, it became painfully obvious that Bishop had never been to a live sporting event before. He kept asking questions about the smallest detail of the game, much to Scott's annoyance. It finally got on his last nerve, forcing him to retreat from his seat to call Jean in order to get some reprieve.

While Bishop's behavior was annoying, Scott was somewhat troubled over the potential for a scene. It was no secret the brawny man had a temper, which often guaranteed violent and disastrous consequences. Too many times he and the others had the opportunity to observe him impulsively whip out his gun or making threats. Sighing heavily, Scott decided that for the sake of the group, as well as the other fans, Bishop would need to be subdued.

"Alex," he called over to his younger brother, "Alex, make him stop!"

Alex cupped a hand to his ear, blue eyes puzzled. He couldn't hear Scott through the roaring crowd and Bishop's insistent needling of the referee. Warren, who was sitting next to Alex, leaned over and peered over at Scott. He grimaced and rolled his eyes when Bishop started throwing his fists in the air, hooting.

Scott raised his voice a little more. "I said make him stop!"

Alex held up a stack of five empty beer cups and pointed at them. Then he pointed at Bishop. He then shrugged and threw his older brother a look that conveyed, "There's nothing I can do."

"I don't care how drunk he is!" Scott shouted. "Shut him up!"

Glaring at Scott, Alex turned to Bishop. He leaned over and began to talk to him, gesturing to the people sitting around them. Bishop gave him a skeptical look and shrugged. He then stood up and starting jeering at the umpire again, much to the chagrin of those sitting around him. Alex turned back to Scott, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

I really don't need this, Scott groaned inwardly, still making his way down the steps to his seat. Things around the mansion were crazy enough. As field team commander, he was struggling to make sure not only their missions were successful, but also that everyone on the team could work with one another.

There was the situation with Bobby and Alex. Since Alex had finished his dissertation and was waiting to graduate, he returned to the mansion as an instructor and team member. Despite the fact that Alex had broken off his engagement to Lorna and his repeated attempts at making peace, Bobby still refused to even utter two words to the younger Summers. He acted as if it was just yesterday Lorna had broken things off with him to be with Alex. While Bobby was known as the lighthearted joker of the group, evidently there were some things he was willing to let go. He went as far as to request that he not be on the same team as Alex during field missions.

Many times Scott had been tempted to call Bobby out, but was stopped by either Jean or Hank. The two had always coddled him out of concern when they were going through the ranks, much to Scott's irritation. As usual, he honored their requests and did not confront the young man about his behavior. There were times he wanted to ask the Professor to telepathically force Bobby into maturity. Other than the Alex situation, Drake continued to leave ice sculptures on the lawn in front of his house, which was annoying to take apart the next morning..

Then there was Rogue and Gambit. When the Cajun thief first returned to the mansion, Rogue had gone out of her way to avoid him. She participated in Danger Room sessions when she knew he was on mission. She also intentionally went on missions with teams that did not include him. For his part, Gambit seemed to take her actions in stride, not letting on whether they truly affected him or not.

Lately, however, things seemed to be a little less tense between the two. The two were seen intermittently talking in the hallways of the mansion, but these conversations appeared to be quite brief and less intimate. When Scott approached Rogue about the possibility of serving with Gambit on the same time for an upcoming mission, she muttered that she would if she had to. During the conversation, she refused to meet his eyes and soon stormed off, leaving Scott bewildered and confused.

Scott was fully aware of his own ongoing conflict with Logan. The two had not spoken to each other since he and Jubilee had returned from Paris, which was fine with Scott. Storm, second-in-command, was now recruiting him on missions with her, as if alleviating Scott of the responsibility. There was also the fact that Logan seemed to be more involved with other activities----Scott hardly saw him around the mansion as much as he used to. He had asked Jean in passing whether or not she knew what the loner was up to, she responded rather skittishly. Not being all that concerned about the situation, Scott refused to pursue the issue any further. All he needed to know that the man was in control of his emotions and could be depended on during missions.

Scott was five rows back when he suddenly heard a POP! Startled, he was prepared to replace his wraparound sunglasses with his visor. He stopped himself when he saw several players from the Knicks pointing at the seats where his friends were sitting. Bishop was slumped over in his seat, the basketball in his lap.

Warren picked up the basketball and inspected it. "Hey, Alex," he drawled, beaming. "We've got the game ball!"

Alex poked Bishop in the side of the head with his index finger. When the bigger man didn't move, the younger Summers brother shrugged and took the beer cup from his hand. "Guess he won't be needing this anymore."

Scott was struggling to squeeze his way through the crowd of onlookers to get to his friends. Almost immediately, the paramedics arrived to take Bishop away. Given the size of the time traveler, it took about three of them to lift him out of his seat and place him on the stretcher. The tight space of the seats also proved to be quite awkward as well, forcing one to block Alex's line of view.

Alex tapped one of them on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he piped up, placing his foam finger in his lap. "But could you move over a little to the left? I can't see the game."

"Now I can't see!" Warren groaned, blue eyes impatient. "You guys better hurry up! We're tied in overtime!"

Scott struggled to keep from smiling as he watched the paramedics carry the tall, muscular Bishop away on a stretcher. The people who had been sitting around him stood up and cheered. Well, all except for Warren and Alex. They were still waiting for the paramedics to get out of the way so they could watch the rest of the game. Sighing reprovingly, Scott motioned for Warren and Alex to accompany the paramedics. They pointed at themselves and Scott nodded. Alex gave him a pleading look, but Scott remained insistent.

Scowling, Warren and Alex stood up and began to gather their things. Both were making it very clear that they were unhappy about the situation. "This is so unfair," Warren snorted.

"You're telling me," Alex grumbled, pulling on his brown suede jacket and picking up his soda from his cup holder. "Why is it that whenever Bishop gets himself in a mess, the rest of us get dragged down with him?"

"Next time, we're leaving him at home."

"And crazy-gluing him to the floor."

Remy LeBeau pulled his brown leather duster closely over his lean, muscular frame as he trudged on the sprawling grounds of the mansion. His cigarette hung between his sculpted lips, gray smoke swirling around him. The frost from last night still covered the grass, crunching under his footsteps.

Logan smokes his cigars around the place and no one says anything, he grumbled inwardly. The man can smoke anywhere and anytime at this place. When Gambit lights one cigarette by the front door, everyone has something to say.. He winced as he remembered Storm and Jean chiding him for his "filthy habit" and "setting a bad example for the children". One femme admonishing him was bad enough, but two of them was all too much. Plus, they seemed to be using the same tone of voice when they were scolding him. Fortunately, he managed to make a graceful exit through the front door.

When he was turning around to leave, he saw Rogue at the top of the stairs. She appeared as if she had observed the entire scene. The Southern Belle was trying her best to look Stoic and indifferent. However, there was a faint twinkle in those green eyes----something he had come to know while they were dating. It always came when he had done or said something amusing. As he began to slip outside, she nodded her head firmly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her red hooded sweatshirt.

While she was no longer actively avoiding him or acting hostile, there was the reality that she was with someone else and there was very little he could do about it. However, instances like that sometimes gave the former thief a sense of hope. He wasn't going to delude himself into thinking that she was suddenly in love with him and that all was forgiven. Too much time had passed for that to happen right away. Too many things had occurred. But, it seemed like for a brief moment, they had that understanding that was lost all those years ago.

He never realized how much he had missed her until he returned to Xavier's. Yes, he did think about her while he was away, but that was often clouded by feelings of anger and hurt. It took seeing her around the mansion with Joseph, being happy, that finally did it for him. He compared it to seeing someone else with a piece of jewelry you once had, but had to sell. Now, on another person, that piece of jewelry looks more desirable than ever.

The old Remy would have pursued Rogue, forced her to see things his way, use that Bayou charm to get to her. However, he restrained himself. He knew she was happy; there was no way he could deny that. She smiled and laughed more than he could ever recall when they were together. She let go of some of the inhibitions she had when she thought she could never touch another person. For that, she was enjoying life for the first time. Who was he to take that away? Why would he even think of doing that?

Because I love her, he told himself, flicking ash from his cigarette.

He reached the halfway point between the mansion and the Summers' house when he noticed a lone figure, standing under one of the great oak trees. The swirl of gray smoke billowed from the person's head, obscuring his or her face. Curious, Remy sauntered over to the tree. The only other smokers in the mansion were himself, Logan, Bishop, and one of the new recruits, Stacy X. Logan was at the movies with Jubilee, while Bishop had gone to a basketball with Scott, Alex, and Warren. Meanwhile, Stacy was in the Danger Room with Sam Guthrie and Kurt. As he drew closer, he was surprised at discovering the identity of the fellow smoker.

"Filthy habit, isn't it?" Joseph asked in greeting, tossing his cigarette on the ground and promptly stomping it out. He was dressed quite stylishly as usual in a gray, three-quarter-length wool coat over black slacks and shiny, black leather loafers. His silvery hair had grown out somewhat, but it remained short, brushing against the collar of his coat.

"Eh, what isn't, homme?" Remy tried to laugh, but could not muster the sound. Instead, he raised a brow at him and asked, "Rogue knows about dis?"

"No, she doesn't. I didn't even know I liked it until recently. I suppose it was something Magnus liked." He tapped the side of his head gently. "One of the things about being a clone with amnesia. You don't know what memories are yours and what memories are the original's."

Remy nodded. "Sometimes, it's good not to remember everyt'ing, homme."

Joseph frowned at him thoughtfully. "I have to say I disagree with you, LeBeau. You don't know what it's like having to carve out a life for yourself. At least you have your identity."

Remy snorted. "Hah. Gambit knows what it's like. More dan you know."

The other man stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded thoughtfully, realizing that the Cajun had his own share of struggling for survival in this world as well. He was all too aware of the circumstances of his banishment. It had been a great source of trauma and guilt for Rogue when they first started their relationship. Many nights he had spent, comforting her and assuring her that she was not a bad person; that she was not to blame; that she had a right to be happy. Recently, he found himself in the same position, right after her former lover returned. Yet, he continued to be by her side to comfort and support her, despite nagging doubts and ruminations about the possibility that he might lose her. For her part, Rogue remained faithful to their relationship, refusing to even bring up her past with Gambit. Looking back, Joseph was not sure if this necessarily signaled her commitment.

After a brief silence, Joseph suddenly asked, "Do you still care for her?"

Remy smirked, turning his back to the other man to smoke his cigarette.

"I think I'm entitled to know." Joseph's voice was suddenly cold and forceful.

The tall, lean Cajun turned to face him, red-on-black eyes blazing. "You t'ink you're entitled? What makes you t'ink dat, homme?" His own voice was uncharacteristically raised.

"Because I love her."

Remy's insides froze. He struggled to regain his composure. "What you say?" he asked, slipping the cigarette from his lips. His hand was suddenly shaking uncontrollably.

"I love her."

"Oh."

"I love Rogue."

"I t'ink I heard you de first time, homme."

"I would never hurt her for anything in the world."

"What makes you t'ink Gambit wants to hear dis?"

"Because in spite of you wanting to see us apart, you want her happy."

Homme not as stupid as he looks, Remy mused, resisting the urge to smile. "Dat mebbe true," he said coolly, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

Joseph watched the other man continue to smoke. "You never answered my question."

Remy raised a brow at him and said flatly, "Gambit never said he would."

Joseph narrowed his eyes. He considered telling him how happy he and Rogue were together. He thought about informing him how Rogue never talked about him anymore. Following seconds of deliberation, he decided to be the bigger man and made his way to the mansion wordlessly.

As he watched Joseph's figure walk briskly a few feet away from him and towards the mansion, Remy slipped the metal collar he had taken from the laboratory. It would be so easy to place it around Joseph's neck without him knowing----use a charged card, pour on the charm. It would be so easy to watch Joseph lose his powers. It would be so easy to sit back and watch the other man touch Rogue without the magnetic field he created as a barrier and suddenly pass out in shock. So very easy, indeed.

Remy exhaled bitterly, cigarette smoke escaping from his lips. He stared down at the metal collar in his hand. Another time. Another place.
 

Chapter Twenty-Three: This Moment

The early spring afternoon in upstate New York was unusually warm. Typically, one would have to still bundle up in a coat before venturing outside in Westchester. Instead, only gentle breezes and mild temperatures welcomed people outside, which was refreshing given the long and bitterly cold winter. Many of the students decided to extend their leisure time on the grounds. Even the more studious ones sprawled out on the manicured lawns, reading and catching up on the semester's work. Some of the instructors, like Kurt and Hank, were holding their classes outdoors in a veiled attempt to enjoy the good weather and the raised spirits associated with it.

Bobby was in high spirits as well, but not only because of the weather. He had just finished finalizing the plans for the bachelor party in Las Vegas for his cousin, Joel. Being the procrastinator that he was, he kept pushing the task off, finding excuses in his teaching work or being out on missions. When Joel called last week about the trip, Bobby frantically realized that he had to take care of it. Despite spending almost an hour and a half on the phone with the airlines and the hotel, he managed to get a decent deal on the trip for the group, which also included Hank and Warren.

He stuffed his cell phone into the pocket of his chinos as he wandered outside the French doors of the living room and onto the stone deck. He contemplated bragging about his accomplishment to Hank (Warren was away on business), but noticed he was busy teaching a group of students on the other side of the back lawn with his new teaching assistant and former Generation X member, Paige Guthrie. Shrugging, Bobby's eyes then traveled around the spacious grounds of the mansion to see who else was outside. Most of them were the younger students from his math classes. Upon seeing him, a couple gave him friendly grins and/or waves in greeting. He returned the gestures cheerfully, walking past them and their teacher. It was no secret he was one of the more popular instructors at the school. His youth, sense of humor, and stories of pulling pranks on Mr. Summers and Dr. McCoy helped to ensure that status.

Hank looked up briefly from his lecture notes on ecological systems in nature. Through his black-rimmed glasses, he gave Bobby a wink. Then he quickly returned to asking the children questions about the previous night's readings.

Bobby's smile faded slightly when he passed the group. His mind drifted to a peculiar conversation he had with Hank the day before. Hank was known for being long-winded and often used vocabulary that sometimes went over other people's heads. However, that was not the case during their talk after arriving home from a mission. Bobby had just showered when Hank approached him. His old friend seemed distracted, but at the same time, trying to beat around the bush to get to his point.

"What's up?" Bobby had asked, buttoning his black Hawaiian shirt with palm leaves printed all over.

Hank peered around the room nervously before responding, "I need to ask you something." His voice was lowered to almost a whisper. "It's very important."

"Sorry, Hank. You're my friend and all, but I just don't do blue fur." Bobby had laughed at his own joke before slipping on his purple-tinted sunglasses. When he noticed that his friend wasn't sharing his enthusiasm, his laughter quickly died down. "Is something wrong?"

Hank shook his head emphatically. Then he played with the hem of his black periodic table T-shirt, which fell over his baggy jeans. "No, no. It's just that.. You're a good guy, right?"

"Um, if I'm not, I'm on the wrong team." Bobby had given him a strange look. "Seriously, what is this all about?"

Hank frowned, acting as if he didn't hear the question. "I mean, you wouldn't deliberately hurt anyone, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Like women."

"Have you been talking to Opal?"

"No, I mean in general."

"Hank, I told you I'm not interested in that Dr. Eglinton friend of yours. She's nice and all, but she's also got scary teeth."

"Just answer the question. I need to know."

"Why?"

"Please, Bobby. Just for.. My peace of mind."

"Your piece of mind rests on my answering that weird question? That's really sad, man."

"Bobby!"

"No, I wouldn't. You know me better than that. Hank, what's going on? What's with the Inquisition?" Bobby was beginning to get worried. He had contemplated contacting Jean to conduct a mind scan on their friend. Obviously, something seemed wrong at that moment.

Hank was already out the door, clearly relieved. "I knew it. No worries, Bobby. I will see you at dinner." His bare feet slapped against the cool steel floor of the basement as he briskly retreated to his laboratory.

Since then, Hank refused to explain the conversation---what he was talking about, why he approached Bobby in the first place. He was also noticeably jumpy whenever he, Bobby, and Logan were in the same vicinity. His nervous rambling and chuckles were clear indicators of that. Still, he continued to decline commenting on what was on his mind. Hank could be very irritating like that, Bobby found. Not the brooding rebel like Logan, but rather the talkative, nerdy scientist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jubilee a couple yards away. Despite the warm weather, she also had on a dark denim jacket over a white T-shirt and a pair of cropped, cargo pants with flip-flops. Her long, dark hair streamed behind her as she closed the door to the Summers' home. She slung a blue-and-white canvas bag over her shoulder as she began to walk away from the farm-style, white clapboard house. After a few steps, her head turned to his direction. A smile brightened her delicate features as she waved over to him. Bobby grinned back, making his way to where she was standing quickly.

"Hey," he greeted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his chinos. He eyed her bag with curiosity. "Where are you off to?"

Her blue eyes followed his gaze before traveling to his face. "I'm going to the lake to work on my photography project," she replied. Then she asked, "Do you want to come with me?"

Starting in January, Jubilee started taking introductory photography classes at the nearby state college. She decided to pursue the idea after perusing through one of Jean's fashion magazines. Much to her surprise, she had a talent for it, specializing in black-and-white landscapes and other still life. Scott, Logan, and the Professor each had framed pieces hanging in their respective areas.

"Sure," Bobby said, nodding and adjusting his purple-tinted sunglasses. "Anything you want me to carry?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm OK. It's just my camera and other stuff. I was thinking about taking out one of the boats or a pontoon on the lake. You know, to get different angles of the lake."

"And I get to steer?"

"Sure. Just don't crash us into anything, or capsize.."

"Oh, please. Give me some credit. That only happened yesterday."

During their walk to the dock, there was the lively chatter that was always there whenever they were together. Bobby was telling her about the last mission he had been on with Hank, Rogue, Storm, and Scott recently. Since she was not an active member of the team, Jubilee often lived vicariously through others. Primarily, it was either Bobby or Paige, who had recently come to live at the mansion as a teaching assistant and a member of the team.

As Bobby was relaying the details of what happened, he stared at her. Her face was thoughtful and attentive, her sapphire blue eyes focused on his boyish features. He then realized this was the most comfortable he had been with someone for quite some time. Even with his closest friends like Hank, Warren, and Rogue, Bobby always felt compelled to be Mr. Entertainment with his quick comments, pranks, and impersonations. After all, that was his role in the group. While Jubilee appreciated his sense of humor, she didn't need for him to joke around and play the part of the clown to get her to listen. He could relax and being himself. That was good enough for her. The nightly conversations they would have in her room were a testament to that.

He couldn't say the same for other people in his life. To his parents, he was the dutiful son who joked his way out of serious conversations. To his teammates and students, he was also the jokester, who was guaranteed to provide laughs whenever he was around. To his ex-girlfriends, he was a passing interest, someone they could never commit to. Even Lorna Dane, who was now staying at the mansion, who was on speaking terms with him, still expressed her ambivalence about their previous relationship. He had overheard Jean confiding to Scott about the change in their old friend, saying that Lorna had commented that she didn't she slept with Bobby but rather she put up with him when they dated.

Bobby felt himself stiffen involuntarily as he recalled the incident in his mind. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong in that relationship. Or in any of the other ones that followed it, for that matter. All he knew was that he put all his effort into them, to try to be everything the other person wanted, only to be left alone in the end.

But he wasn't alone really. Bobby had his friends at the mansion, and his students. They were almost a second family to him. Then there was Jubilee. Grown-up, thoughtful Jubilee who made him feel at ease whenever he was around her and never judged him.

"Bobby?" Jubilee's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. They had reached the point where the stone path met the dock when she noticed his sudden silence after finishing his story and his tense facial expression and body language. Never having seen him like that, she became concerned. "Bobby, are you OK?"

He quickly forced a smile, nodding. "Sure.. I was just thinking."

"About what?" Obviously, it was something that was weighing him heavily from the way he had been acting. While she wasn't one to pry too much, she wanted to reaffirm to him that he could tell her anything. She placed a comforting hand on his arm and paused in her steps. Her blue eyes were round as they peered up at his boyish face, which still seemed troubled in spite of the smile he pasted on.

Bobby's gray eyes flicked to where her hand was. He could feel his the skin underneath tingle and become increasingly warm. At first, he thought she was exerting her powers. He then became conscious of the fact that she wasn't doing anything of the sort.

"Um, about whether or not we should take the pontoon or one of the boats," he lied. "My vote is with the pontoon. It's easier for me to steer and you can walk around to get different shots if you want. This time, I promise not to crash into anything." He could still remember her startled expression when he accidentally rammed the head of the boat they were riding in into a rock ashore. She had come very close to lurching over the side when he caught her.

"OK. Sounds good." Jubilee removed her hand, still unsure if he was really being honest with her. She turned her head in the direction of the boathouse nearby and nodded. Then she began to fumble around in her bag. "Oh, wait."

"What?" Bobby stopped in his footsteps. He was already ahead of her, wanting to put the awkward moment behind him.

Jubilee already had her camera out. It was a Canon SLR Logan had purchased for her a month ago. The camera came with a 28-90mm, zoom lens. "I want to take a photo of you," she explained, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear.

He gave her a teasing look upon hearing her strange request. "But I haven't had my make-up and hair people pretty me up yet," he pretended whine.

"Very funny," she said, rolling her eyes. Then her face was serious once again. "Really, I want to take a picture of you."

"So you can blow it up into a poster for your room?"

"Ha ha. I'm thinking about moving into human subjects. And since you're the closest thing I'm going to get to a model.."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Uh, nothing. So, can I?"

"Sure, but no nude shots."

Her cheeks suddenly became flushed pink. She tried to compose herself and retorted, "I don't want my lens to crack."

He laughed and nodded. "Sure, sure. So, what do you want me to do? Ice up?"

She shook her head, ebony tresses spilling down her slim shoulders. "No, I want you just the way you are. Just stand there and be relaxed." Jubilee began focusing her lens, crouching over slightly to get a good angle.

As he posed for her by simply standing in place with a grin, he recalled the first part of her instructions, "I want you just the way you are." Modeling as her subject aside, Bobby knew she meant it in another way. It was the mantra for their friendship over the years. Suddenly, he found himself thinking about if she could have meant it in other ways as well. He admonished himself as soon as the idea emerged, wondering why it had entered into his mind in the first place.

After two shots, the two readied the pontoon to take around the lake. It was a gorgeous, idyllic day to take to the water. The sun shone brightly overhead and there was a slight, cool breeze that rustled the trees surrounding the lake and rippled the water. True to his word, Bobby was the careful driver. He steered the boat slowly around the waters before Jubilee asked him to stop so she could take some shots of the mansion in the distance. She snapped a couple of pictures, commenting about how the sunlight refracted off the water's surface.

Bobby locked the steering wheel in place and sauntered over to her side. "Anything good?" he asked after she had taken another picture.

"A couple shots look promising, but I won't know until I develop the film." Jubilee had been kneeling, but then straightened to her full height as she winded the film inside. Raising the camera to her face again, she was poised to take another picture. Then she lowered it, frowning and peering down at the camera.

"What's wrong, Jubes?" Bobby watched her turn the camera over, inspecting the various buttons and switches.

She shook her head, struggling to adjust the focusing ring. "I can't figure out what's going on," she said, brows furrowing together in frustration. "It's jammed or something." She raised the camera again and tried to move the ring again to no avail.

Bobby moved behind her. "Here, let me help." He circled his arms around her and tried moving the ring himself. When he heard a click, the ring shifted. "How's that?"

"Perfect. Don't move." She leaned against him slightly to set up the shot. The swaying trees played the perfect backdrop to the placid calm of the blue-green waters of the lake. This was going to be a great picture.

Bobby kept his arms around her, his hands on the camera. He willed himself to be motionless as she took the photograph. He tried to think of other things to keep himself still, like the picturesque day, being on the boat. Then his mind drifted to the way Jubilee smelled of bubblegum and cinnamon, the way he felt so comfortable with her. At that moment, there was no place he rather would have been.

Jubilee turned up to him, sapphire eyes sparkling after she had taken the picture. "Beautiful," she breathed.

Bobby smiled down at her. "You're right about that."
 

Chapter Twenty-Four: Learning to Smile

Early spring not only summoned thoughts of warmer weather and less clothing to wear outside, but the annual spring brunch party at the mansion. This was an opportunity to bring together the instructors, team members, students and staff for a relaxing gathering. The morning of the brunch found Jean, Ororo, and Rogue decorating the mansion and organizing the logistics (securing enough seats, plates, and silverware). Meanwhile, Cook had been up since six o'clock in the morning, preparing the menu for that day. However, unlike the previous years, she decided to recruit assistants from the instructors and students, sending them to the various shops and markets in town to pick up last minute items.

Bobby Drake pushed open the kitchen door with his shoulder, carrying in the rest of the groceries from his car. He found himself as an unwilling recruit after he was caught eating strawberries for the tart she was going to make. He flashed a busy Cook a grin, who seemed engrossed in boiling her rice. As he unloaded the groceries onto the counter, he saw Kurt sitting at the kitchen table cutting asparagus.

"Hey, Kurt," he greeted, sauntering over to him. "Where are Warren and Scott?" During his repeated trips from the garage to the kitchen, he had run into almost everyone with the exception of Cyclops and Archangel.

Kurt's yellow eyes looked amused, tossing a few spears into a large bowl. "They vent to the cellar to get some vine."

"But I bought some already." Bobby frowned, crossing his arms.

The other man shrugged. "Vell, they took one look at vat you brought home, and decided to get something else."

"What? It's a perfectly good box!" Bobby threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

"Sugah, good wine don't come in boxes," Rogue drawled, walking into the kitchen. She carried a bouquet of white roses, freshly cut from Storm's greenhouse, and a crystal vase. Nodding hello to Cook, she went to the sink and promptly filled the vase with water before placing the flowers inside.

Both men greeted the young woman, noticing that she was very dressed than usual. She wore a black pull-on dress with a deep V-neck and an all-over, retro-inspired floral print that had a bias-cut georgette frame through hip with diagonally seamed overlap. Long, opera-style black gloves stopped just above her elbows. Her hair was loose, but swept to the side, which complemented her lightly made-up features. However, her bare feet offset her formal dress.

"I think there's something missing from your outfit," Bobby observed, stealing an asparagus spear and popping it into his mouth.

She turned off the sink. "Ah know," she replied, rearranging the flowers. "Ah like my bare feet. Makes this ol' gal feel free, ya know."

Bobby turned to Kurt, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe I should use that line when I want to walk around in my boxers," he mused, slipping off his purple-tinted sunglasses.

"That's not wantin' to be free, Bobby. That's just bein' disgustin'." Rogue chided, exchanging a sly look with Kurt. "Can't have the whole mansion gougin' their eyes out."

Bobby feigned a hurt look, clutching his heart. "You really know how to hurt a guy."

"Only if they're lucky," Rogue laughed, winking.

Kurt's golden eyes widened in disbelief as he tried to shake the pictures of his foster sister doing very carnal things out of his head. He was quickly trying to tell himself she meant that statement in another way. Embarrassed, he continued to silently cut up the asparagus and tried to avoid looking at her.

"Rogue," Jean said, entering the kitchen in a black, sleeveless dress. Her thick, Titian hair was swept up in a bun, exposing her graceful, swan-like neck. She flashed a smile to everyone before turning to the curvy young woman. "We're out of plates."

"Already?" Rogue could have sworn she and Logan had brought down at least three crates from the attic.

Jean nodded, sighing. "Well, kind of. Ororo and I were setting the table up when Artie and Leech knocked over a stack of four plates. By the time I saw what happened, it was too late. Do you think you could go to the attic and bring down another crate while I clean up?"

"Sure, hon," Rogue handed Bobby the vase and began to head out of the kitchen. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that many of the students were gathered around the staircase, talking and laughing excitedly. She decided to forego squeezing through the masses and take the elevator to the attic floor.

The steel doors were about to close when she arrived. Quickly, she slid her arm between them and slipped inside. She punched the '4' button for the attic level. As the doors closed, her nose detected a familiar scent---pine and cigarettes. Slowly, she turned around to face the source.

"Remy," she greeted, feeling her insides jump. Her green eyes took in the tall, lean man from the Bayou. He was leaning against the back wall of the elevator, shuffling a deck of cards. It appeared that he had just had a Danger Room session since he was still in his trademark body armor and his brown leather duster.

"ChŠre," he responded. His red-on-black eyes roving over her clingy dress and the curves it hugged, leaving very little left to his imagination. It was taking all his self-restraint not to reach out and touch her arm, her hair. "You look trŠs belle."

She blushed. The intense, smoldering quality to his stare made her feel self-conscious all of a sudden. She hoped that the rid to the attic would be a swift one. "Thank you, swamp rat."

"So, everyt'in' ready for de party?" Remy asked, trying to act casual and nonchalant.

Rogue nodded, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, Ah just gotta get some more plates for the party." There was a brief pause before she suddenly inquired, "Ya comin'?"

He stuffed the cards into the pocket of his leather duster. "Non, Gambit not interested."

"Why not?"

"Gambit not in de mood to party dis year, chŠre."

"Oh..Ya know, ya should go."

Before she could answer, the lights in the elevator suddenly flickered overhead. Suddenly, the car jerked to a completed stop. Rogue was flung backwards. Fortunately, Remy was quick to reach out and catch her in his arms as he was thrown against the back wall. He held her tightly for a moment, relishing the softness and warmth of her body against his. What seemed like an eternity was more like seconds as he hoped that this would never end. It was almost like those days he longed for, before he was in Antarctica. Unfortunately, he knew that all good things had to end when he felt Rogue gently pull away.

She stumbled to her feet, her hands on her hips. "What in the world?"

Remy stood up. He pressed a series of buttons. No movement. "Looks like we stuck, chŠre," he observed huskily.

Rogue frowned and opened the telephone box to call to the control room. She hit the speaker button. "Hello? Anyone there?"

The kindly, deep voice of Hank McCoy answered back through the speakers in the elevator. "Hi, Rogue. What can I do for you?"

"Remy and Ah are stuck in the elevator," she explained, tossing Remy an amused look.

"Oh, dear. Let's see.." She could picture him fumbling at his computer from the sounds in the background. "Oh, yes, you are."

"How soon can ya get us out?"

"In about fifteen minutes. There's a faulty connection in the computer, which I'll have to attend to."

"Would it help if Ah went up to check things out? Maybe there's somethin' Ah can do."

"No, no. Actually, that would hinder the situation. Is anyone hurt?"

Rogue turned to Remy, who shook his head. "We're fine."

"That's good to hear," Hank replied, sounding relieved. "Just sit tight and I will have you two out as soon as possible."

Rogue nodded, pressing her lips together. "OK. Oh, Beast?"

"Yes, Rogue?" The sound of his fingers tapping against the keys of his computer could be heard in the background.

"Could ya tell Jean Ah'm in here. Ah was supposed to get some stuff from the attic." Rogue credited herself for remembering her task. Lately, her memory seemed to be all over the place.

"Will do." Click. Beast was gone.

Rogue heaved a sigh, shoulders sinking. She gave her former lover a rueful smile. "Ah guess it's just us for now," she said.

Remy crossed his arms over his chest. "Dere are worse people to be stuck wit, non?"

Her green eyes fluttered. "No, Ah didn't mean that Ah.. Ah mean.." Then she scowled at him. "Ya just tryin' to put words in my mouth, Cajun."

"No, chŠre. Gambit would never do dat." His eyes twinkled merrily, which seemed to irritate her even more.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Same old swamp rat," she mused, her expression softening. "Always tryin' to start somethin'."

"Dat's what you liked about Gambit, chŠre." He flashed her a mischievous smile, seating himself back on the floor. When he saw that she was still slightly peeved, he said, "Come sit wit' Gambit. You heard Beast. We not leavin' for a while." He patted a spot nearby.

Rogue stared at him warily for a moment. She wasn't sure if it was the logic he laid out or his charm, but she reluctantly sank down to the floor. She made sure there was some distance between them. Despite the friendly banter they engaged in before the elevator stopped, she still felt some discomfort and anxiety whenever she was around him. Even when she first stepped in the elevator with him, Rogue could feel his eyes roaming possessively over her. The expression on his face, though determinedly detached, still conveyed some tension. She was tempted to ask him about it, but realized she was better off knowing.

Because I'm with someone else, she told herself.

Gambit pulled out the deck of cards and began to shuffle them absent-mindedly. He could tell something was troubling her from her lapse into silence. "Somet'in' you want to share?"

Startled, she shook her head. Then she glanced down at his hands, which were dealing the cards out. "Solitaire?"

He nodded. "Oui. Gambit would ask you to play a game, but we both know how you hate cards." He chuckled softly, flipping a card over.

The corners of her bow mouth curled into a sheepish grin. "Ya remember?" she asked softly, watching him intently flip over another card in the deck.

His auburn hair flopped over his brow as he nodded. "Oui. Dis ol' t'ief remembers lots of t'ings."

"Like what?" She was genuinely curious.

"Like de time you bought dat nice red sportscar. Gambit went wit' you to de dealership. Gambit t'ought he was goin' have to step in and break up dat fight wit' you and dat other femme." He looked amused as the memory replayed in his head.

Rogue threw her head back and laughed. "Well, Ah saw that car first. She was the one who tried to hit me first. That gal didn't know who she was messin' with."

"Well, if dat's what you want to call it," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

After her laughter died down, she was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "What else do ya remember, Cajun?"

"Gambit remember de first we met, chŠre."

"Oh, gawd. That was a long time ago."

"Gambit remembers everyt'in' about it. Let's see, you started flirtin' wit' me.."

"Ah did not. You started it!"

"Whatever. You were trŠs belle.. Gambit knew you were somet'in' special."

Suddenly, undulating warmth crept from her neck to her cheeks. "Swamp rat." she murmured, her green eyes lowered shyly.

His fingers brushed against her soft hair, his eyes solemn. "Gambit never been more honest," he whispered.

She beamed up at him, placing a gloved hand over his. Hearing him just say that seemed to spread the warmth from her skin inside. This was the first time in a long time she truly smiled and meant it. This sense happiness and contentment soon expanded when she saw that he was smiling broadly as well.

Suddenly, the elevator car jerked upwards. It traveled slowly, but finally stopped on the second floor. Startled, both rose to their feet as the doors slid open.

Joseph stood there, holding a crate in his arms. His blue eyes coolly traveled to Gambit's face, then flicked to that of Rogue's. "Everything all right?" he asked, his voice very controlled and tight.

Rogue nodded emphatically, wringing her hands nervously. "Sure, sugah. We've been stuck.. Do you need help?"

He shook his head, clearly not pleased with finding her in an enclosed space with her former lover. However, he forced a smile and said, "No, dear. Let's go downstairs and finish the preparations for the brunch."

"OK." Rogue's green eyes turned to meet Gambit's red-on-black ones. She gave him a small smile. "Ah'll see ya, Cajun."

Gambit nodded, his mouth forming a taut line. He watched the Southern bell depart with the man she was happy with. Cursing fate, he tried not to think about how close he had been to the one thing he wanted for so long. It would be all too much.
 

Chapter Twenty-Five: Needle in the Hay

The first night in Las Vegas for Joel's bachelor party had started off innocently enough. The group, which included Bobby, Warren, Hank, Joel, and a few of Joel's childhood friends (Peter, Richard, and Jeff, three burly men who constantly smoked cigars and played football at Villanova with Joel), had landed in the city early afternoon. After checking into their rooms at the MGM Grand, the men visited the various casinos, such as the Belagio, along the strip. They had voted down Bobby's idea of seeing a magic show instead of gambling. Warren and a group of Joel's friends made a beeline to the Blackjack table, while Joel and Bobby took to the craps tables. Meanwhile, Hank kept himself occupied at the slot machines, calculating his probability of wins along the way.

Following a meal at one of the restaurants with an all-you-can-eat buffet and several bars for drinks, the group returned to the hotel. At that point, Joel's friends had disappeared to make some phone calls from their rooms. Bobby and the others stayed in Joel's room to make some drinks at the bar. Hank had appointed himself as the group's bartender, taking requests. His specialty for that night---screwdrivers.

After a couple of minutes, Joel's friends returned, announcing they had a surprise for their friend. Before Bobby could come up with a witty comment, Peter and Richard went into the hallway and led in a curvaceous blonde and an equally curvaceous brunette, wearing a nurse's outfit and carrying in a stereo. Bobby, already past his limit (usually, that was four alcoholic drinks---he had about six rum and Cokes), asked who was sick. For that remark, he received strange looks from Joel and the others.

As the brunette began her routine to the soundtrack of the latest Britney Spears CD, the blonde asked which one of them was the groom. When Richard asked why, she responded that she wanted to give him a special wedding present. Alarmed, Joel turned to the others and wiped a bead of sweat from his balding head nervously. He told them he wasn't comfortable with the situation, noting that his future bride expressly forbade him from having any interactions with strippers. Then he asked his three friends if they could stand in for him. All three shook their heads, commenting that they had received similar prohibitions from their wives.

Joel turned to Warren and Hank. "What about you two?" he inquired, finishing his martini.

Warren ran a tanned hand through his wavy blond hair, shaking his head. "The old me would say yes, but I'm seeing this new girl back home. It just wouldn't be right." His blue eyes glanced over at Hank, who was hurriedly chewing on a potato chip. "Beast?"

Hank was relieved that blue fur covered his cheeks. "I will have to respectfully decline," he said in a tone of voice, which forbade any further questioning. He hid his face behind the room service menu, finding that he had the urge to eat again. He then approached Peter and Jeff about joining him for another meal.

All eyes then turned to Bobby, who was working on his record seventh drink. He returned with a quizzical look, pointing a finger to his chest. Then he shrugged. "Sure," he slurred rather loudly, kicking off his sandals. "I'll get my check-up."

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," Hank warned, becoming concerned as he observed his friend's unsteady gait.

Warren grinned. "We're doing him a favor," he quipped, rubbing his chin. "The way I see it, this is going to be the first time he's seen a naked woman in years."

"I heard that!" Bobby yelled over his shoulder, which elicited laughs from Joel and the others. Apparently drunk Bobby was more amusing that sober Bobby.

Joel and the blonde quickly worked out the arrangements to send Bobby as his proxy. They agreed to allow his cousin some privacy by setting up the entertainment in Hank, Warren, and Bobby's neighboring room. Bobby, still very intoxicated, was oblivious to the conversation. Instead, he was asking the now-naked brunette about her nursing credentials. Sighing, Joel grabbed his cousin and ushered him and the blonde out of his room.

Bobby fumbled around in his pocket for the key card. "Can't find it," he muttered, his gray eyes heavy-lidded.

"It's in your hand, babe." The blonde pointed out. Realizing that he was lacking the fine motor skills to open the door, she went ahead and did it for him. Then she led him inside. Gently, she helped him sit down on one of the king-sized beds.

"Just relax," she purred, sliding her fingers in between the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt. She quickly pulled the shirt down, her eyes admiring the toned chest underneath.

Bobby blinked rapidly, feeling very much out of his body at that moment. It was as if he were observing the scene from the corner of the room. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the situation, or a combination of both responsible for the dissociative experience. He looked down at the dancer, inhaling the mixture of cigarettes and liquor that emanated from her skin. He frowned thoughtfully as she stood up, swinging her hips and arms from side-to-side.

"What's your name, honey?" she whispered as she slipped off her nurse's hat.

"Bob. Bobby," he slurred, noticing how her uniform was not at all like Annie's back at the mansion. The skirt was too short. He made a mental note to make a suggestion to her the next time they talked.

"Hi, Bobby. I'm Ginger." She began to unbutton her dress very slowly, edging closer to him.

"Ginger.." The name rolled off his tongue quickly. He was startled when she began to brush her hair against his chest.

Ginger smiled at him. "Do you like that?"

An inaudible, but affirming sound escaped from his throat. She laughed softly, pulling off her white dress to reveal a lacy black bra and matching thong panties. His eyes widened in surprise, watching her step away from him to continue dancing for several minutes.

"You're cute," she cooed, running her hands through her hair and lowering her lashes coyly. "I could just take you home with me, you know."

He nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to. His ears thudded with the rush of blood seeping through his veins from the adrenaline. He inhaled sharply when she slinked towards him again, placing her hands on his thighs. Bobby stared down at the hands, which were small and white with shiny red nails.

Ginger leaned over and rested her cheek against his. "I'm gonna do something to you'll definitely remember. You have to stay still, Bobby. I want you just the way you are."

Bobby froze (not literally), an image of sapphire blue eyes and their warmth flashing in his head. I want you just the way you are. It seemed to immediately snap him out of his alcoholic cloud. He was now aware where he was. He was aware that his shirt was gone. He was aware that a strange blonde woman was straddling him, shoving her chest in his face and unbuckling and unzipping his pants.

More importantly, he was aware how wrong it all was.

Quickly, he picked up the young woman and lifted her off of him. "I'm sorry," he said, face flushing. "I just---I can't."

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, no. It's just that.. I can't."

"Oh, I see. You're gay."

"What? No, it's not that. It's complicated, s'all."

"So you've got someone who won't let you, either? Man, you guys are whipped."

"Not 'actly." Despite somewhat more lucid thoughts, he was still slurring. Quietly, he handed her hat and dress. "Sorry."

Ginger sniffed haughtily, standing up. She quickly got dressed and began to head to the door. "Well, I hope she's worth it," she said flatly, closing the door behind her.

Still slightly disoriented, Bobby sighed. All of a sudden, he felt the need to change into different clothes. His drunken mind's logic dictated that if he wore different clothes altogether, he could immediately put the episode behind him. He stood up and stripped off the rest of his clothing, including his snowflake boxers. Then he stumbled to the walk-in closet and opened the door to step inside, the door swinging behind him closed.

Well, at least he thought it was the closet. Why was it so bright in here?

Bobby quickly sobered up when he realized he had actually walked out into the hall. Frantic, he also realized he had no key card to get back inside. He racked his brain as to what to do. He cursed the alcohol that stunted his ability to come up with a plan. His eyes darted around him, looking for anyone else in the hall. Crouching down low, he remembered that the others were next door.

On his way to the door, Bobby tripped over a loose piece of carpeting and banged into something hard and metal. He didn't bother to look as to what it was, but could feel something wet and slimy on his legs and back. This did not deter him from his mission to get to the Joel's room. He managed to form a fist and rapped it against the door.

Warren answered the door, poking his head through the door. His blue eyes widened when he saw his friend. "Bobby, what the hell?!" he exclaimed.

"Shh!" Bobby hissed, desperate for Warren to let him inside. "Don't make a scene!"

Warren acted as if he didn't hear him and continued his line of questioning in disbelief. "What happened to our room service food.... and why the hell are you standing in the hallway, buck-ass naked?" he demanded.

"I, uh, got locked out of the room." Bobby's face was now pink from embarrassment.

"So you took it out on our food?" Warren countered, staring at the room service cart behind Bobby.

Bobby sheepishly followed his friend's gaze. The cart had been knocked over and the food, or what was left of it, was scattered all over the hallway. Warren shook his head at the devastation. Something shriveled and purple that may have once been a stuffed eggplant; slices of bread, lettuce and tomato, which he presumed had been BLT sandwiches Hank wanted, only they were now missing the bacon; faint traces of the lasagna they were going to save for Bobby; lettuce from a sesame chicken salad they thought sounded good; and whipped cream from dessert was smeared on the floor like finger-paint.

"What happened, Bobby?" he finally asked warily.

"I dunno," was Bobby's knee-jerk response. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Um, it was like that when I got here."

It was then that Warren finally noticed that the younger man had a few smudges of whipped cream on his nude body. "Don't tell me this was part of some perverted sex game between you and that stripper," he groaned, looking away.

"No, it wasn't a sex game between us," Bobby snapped, gray eyes indignant. "If you really want to know, nothing happened."

"Then why the hell are you naked?" A disturbing thought popped into Warren's head and his eyes widened. "This wasn't a, um, one-player game, was it?"

"What? No!"

"Oh, Bobby..." Warren shook his head like a disapproving parent. He knew his friend was lonely, but this was ridiculous.

"For Chrissakes, Warren, let me in and give me the damn room key!" he snapped. Bobby angrily snatched up the white tablecloth from the toppled cart and wrapped it around his body like a toga.

"What's going on?" Joel asked as he shoved his wide head in the gap between the door and doorframe, just below Warren's. He immediately started smirking when he saw his cousin. He's not as innocent as we all thought..

"Bobby was jacking off with our food!" Warren exclaimed.

"Could you say that a little louder, Warren?" Bobby asked sarcastically. "I don't think they heard you in CANADA!"

Joel gave him a quizzical look. "You were jacking off in the hall, Bobby?" He knew his cousin was kind of strange, but this was kind of too much. Maybe he should have asked someone else to stand in as his best man. He wondered if it was too late to ask Peter, Richard, or Jeff.

"No!"

"Are you naked under that...that toga thing you're wearing?"

"Yes, and it's a tablecloth, for your information."

"What's all the yelling about?" Hank asked from inside the room. Hungry and impatient for the room service to arrive, he had opened a can of macadamia nuts and a bag of pretzels from the bar.

"Bobby was beating off in the hallway," Joel replied, rolling his eyes. He received a chorus of chuckles from his friends inside.

"I was not beating off!" Bobby suddenly noticed that some of the other guests had gotten curious from the commotion and were peering out of their rooms to see what the commotion was about. Bobby sighed and shook his head. "Oh, goddammit."

A red-haired bellhop approached the area. He stared at Bobby, then at the service cart. "Is there a problem here?" he asked.

Warren shook his golden head. "No, everything's fine," he answered, an amused sparkle in his bright blue eyes. "Our friend is just sexually frustrated, that's all."

Bobby screamed through his teeth. With as much as dignity as he could muster, he pushed the door open, knocking Warren and Joel backwards. Then he shoved his way into Joel's room, and away from the gawking onlookers in the hallway.

"Hey Bobby, what happened to your date?" Hank asked teasingly, popping a handful of pretzels into his mouth.

Bobby stopped in the doorway. "She had to go."

"I don't blame her," Richard teased from his spot on the couch, lighting another cigar and admiring the naked brunette in front of him.

Hank instinctively put out his arm and caught Bobby in the chest just as he lunged at the bigger, muscular man. He fished his room key card out of his pocket and handed it to Bobby. "Get some clothes on," he told him, somewhat exasperated. "Nobody's paying you to be naked."

Bobby nodded. He was still confused as to what exactly happened moments ago and why. The only thing he was sure of was that he had done the right thing.
 

Chapter Twenty-Six: Jealous Guy

Grinding his Cohiba between his teeth, Logan parked his motorcycle in the garage and headed inside through the door that connected the garage with the laundry room area. He had just gotten back from another ride to clear his head. The Professor tried to equate the experience to meditation, but Logan found that it was more than that. The rush of the wind on his skin and the speed seemed to make things, according to Logan, "fade away".

There was a need to make things fade away when he found out that the kid and One-Eyed were going on a road trip together. They were visiting colleges and university campuses nearby. Jubilee had received acceptance letters from these places and wanted to see what the schools were really like since she had neglected to do so during the application process. After all, she had reasoned, this was going to be a life-altering decision. Already she knew she was not going to be living on campus given that many of the schools were facing a housing shortage for freshmen and only out-of-state students were going to receive top priority. He was secretly pleased with this news. He wasn't going to completely lose her like he did Kitty when she went away to school in Chicago.

Logan had been one of the first to find out, along with Scott and Jean. He could not help but feel a rush of pride when she informed him. She was the closest thing he had to a child. Seeing her grow up and mature and achieve something like getting into college was.. Logan desperately searched his head for the right word, but was unable to for fear of sounding "sappy". There was a part of him that could not quite believe it either. His Jubilee, the 13-year-old he had met in Australia, the girl who loved roller-blading and incessantly popped bubblegum, the girl who would include the word 'dude' in every other sentence, was going to college. It forced him to face the realization that she was no longer his little girl anymore. He had to finally accept that she was truly grown up.

However, that was not what had troubled him to the point where he had to get away from the mansion. He could deal with that. Hell, he had been trying to deal with that reality since he arrived back months ago. It was still difficult, despite the talk they had months ago. There were times when he waited for her to spring into his arms whenever he returned home from a mission only to receive a small smile and a "Welcome back".

No, it was the fact that she had asked Scott to come with her to visit the schools and not him. She never even approached Logan about the idea; Scott had been her first choice. Granted, Logan would have declined since he didn't know very much about higher learning. Hell, he couldn't remember if he even went to college. And, yes, One-Eyed was a college graduate and knew some of the schools on her list. Sure, he looked like the right person to bring with you to a college campus for a visit---clean-cut, pretty boy with his preppy little khakis and sunglasses. He was bland and vanilla like that. Strange enough, a lot of people liked that about him.

What made it worse for Logan, but good for Jubilee was that Scott showed a genuine interest. He was just as affectionate with her as he would be with his child, which was almost sickening. During the preparations for the trip, Logan noticed small things. Like how he had mapped out their trip, making sure they would do something fun and interesting along the way to the schools. Like how he seemed to research each school, explaining the merits and drawbacks to each. Like how he would repeatedly say how proud he was of her. The type of things a father should say and do.

But still, why hadn't she asked Logan? He could have done the same things.

When she noticed the look of disappointment as she and Scott were packing their things into his car, Jubilee then asked him if he wanted to come along. She oblivious to the sudden tense and anguished expression on Scott's face, and to his credit, he quickly masked it by hiding in the car. Logan decided to keep his hurt to himself, not wanting to ruin her trip. He quickly came up with a lie and told her that he was only going to miss for those few days she was away from the mansion. As soon as he said it, he could feel a knife twisting inside of him. He, a man who valued honesty, found himself having to deceive and consequently, hated himself for it.

Fortunately, she thought nothing more of it and gave him a hug, her slender arms clutching him tight for a brief, wonderful moment. Then it ended when she slipped away to join Scott in his black Honda Accord. Logan then bitterly watched the car speed away from the driveway.

His mind drifted to a conversation he had with Jean while they were on a mission. This had occurred before she married Scott. They were discussing his confusion as to what she really saw in her future husband. Logan, still dealing with his own feelings of rejection and jealous, finally confronted her.

Jean gave him an enigmatic smile. "Girls flirt with the dangerous type," she had told him, "In the end, they want to settle down with a good guy."

Logan shrugged nonchalantly. "I could be the good guy," he had said. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

Jean laughed softly and patted his arm to try to take the edge from her laughter. "That wouldn't be you."

Logan exhaled a cloud of bluish-gray smoke, entering the large, spacious kitchen of the mansion. Damn telepaths. Why is that they seem to know everything? He sauntered to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. Usually, he would have settled on beer, but he had already made a pit stop at the local dive during ride into town.

It was then that he noticed he was not alone. Sitting at the kitchen table was Joseph with a glass of merlot in front of him. He looked very haggard at that moment, which contrasted against the sharpness of his attire-blue cotton dress shirt and pressed, black slacks with black leather loafers. When he saw Wolverine, he silently nodded in greeting.

Logan nodded back, twisting off the cap of his water and taking a swig. He was never sure what to make of the guy. He looked and talked like Magneto, but he wasn't trying to goad Xavier about his dream for peaceful coexistence. At times, he even served with the team. Still, there were definitively things that were unknown about the younger clone. He supposed that was a commonality they both shared.

Joseph's flicked from his wine glass to Logan's face. "You know, it is all right with me if you want to sit down."

Logan raised a stony brow at him. "What makes you think I'm afraid to sit?" he asked.

The other man shrugged. "No reason. Forget I said anything. Perhaps the alcohol has gotten to my head already." He followed that sentence with a bitter smile, indicating that was not the case.

Logan grunted, grudgingly seating himself across the table from the white-haired man. They continued drinking in silence until Joseph said, "I saw that young Jubilation is gone."

"Yeah." Logan narrowed his eyes, uncertain if he was going to like where this conversation was heading. He decided to keep his cool until he found out.

Joseph nodded absently. "You must be very proud of her. Rogue told me you two are like father and daughter."

"Something like that." Logan wasn't even sure anymore what their relationship was anymore. He wasn't in the mood to discuss it, especially with Joeneto.

Joseph took a sip of his wine. "It must be hard to let her go."

"What do you mean, bub?"

"I don't know."

"Sure, you do. Just say it."

"Well, seeing her grow up, not needing you as much anymore. I heard college does that to you."

"Life does that to you. That's what being an adult is all about."

"I wouldn't know. I never had a childhood of my own. At least one that I could remember."

"Join the club."

The two men were silent for a moment, studying each other with hesitation. Joseph raised the glass to his lips, his eyes glossing over Logan with interest. He said, "I think we have something in common. Haven't you noticed how situations parallel one another? It's almost amusing. Amusing if you're not us."

Logan frowned at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

The other man swirled the fruity bouquet of the merlot in his mouth before responding. "You and I.. We're being slowly being replaced by other men." There was no denying the stark bitterness in the tone of voice he used just then.

Green eyes narrowed. "Still not gettin' you, bub."

"You know, Scott for you, and.." Joseph's faced hardened as his voice trailed off. He didn't need to name the other person in his situation. It was too obvious after all these months.

Logan pursed his lips bitterly. "You have no idea what the hell you're talkin' about," he snapped, "at least where I stand. One-Eyed is just bein' nice to the kid. Plenty of other people around here do the same thing."

"And, yet it's not the same thing, is it?" Joseph watched with mild amusement as the other man winced, feeling the sting and truth of his observation. "Don't forget I was here before you got back. I've seen the way he treats her. I've heard the comparisons like, 'Scott took Jubilee driving today? That's something Logan would do.' I've also seen the way he looks at her with affection when she's around, and the way she reciprocates. It's quite precious, really."

Logan glared at the man's smug expression. He thought about threatening him with a flash of adamantium, but then decided against it. He had been doing too well lately to just lose his temper over someone else's interpretation of the situation. There was also the fact that the guy had Magneto's abilities, which might prove to be painful if he was pushed to defend himself.

"So, he's a good guy."

"Yes."

"Last I heard that ain't a crime."

"No. No, it isn't. Perhaps you should be grateful for that."

"Perhaps you should keep your half-assed opinions to yourself and concentrate on your problems." Logan smirked, all too aware of the little melodrama playing out between Joseph, Rogue, and Gambit. He, too, had observed many things as well.

The other man scowled, stiffening in his chair. After a brief silence, he sniffed loudly. "If you must know, I have been."

"So that's what you call drinking wine by yourself?" Logan jeered, gesturing to the now empty glass. "I have to hand it to you, that's real constructive."

"You don't anything," Joseph told him coldly. "You don't know what it's like.."

"From what you just told me, I'm supposed to understand. We're in the same situation, remember?" There was a certain glee Logan experience as he threw the other man's words back into his face.

"I said our situations parallel one another. I never said they were necessarily the same."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Anyway, there's no way you could ever comprehend what I'm going through."

"So, Rogue's angstin' over pretty boy Cajun. What's left to understand? I understand completely and I'm not even involved."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Well, because it is."

"Shows what you know, Logan. I'm the one who loved her. I'm the one who showed her that she could have human contact without hurting anyone. I'm the one who makes her happy. At least I used to be."

He stared down at his hands, which were now shaking in frustration. "Then he comes back to the mansion and overnight, everything is different. She's more distant, but tries hard not to be when we're together. She cries a lot. She hides the fact that she does, but I know. I always know."

Logan was tempted to rise out of his chair and leave the kitchen. He hated hearing about other people's angst, particularly the romantic kind. It always made him feel uncomfortable, almost voyeuristic in a way. However, for some strange reason, he remained seated.

Joseph failed to even notice as he went on. "Then there are the stares they exchange when they're in the same room. It is almost as if I do not exist when he is around. I may not say anything or to try to challenge, but I'm aware. I'm not as blind or na‹ve as some around here might like to think. I know there's quite a bit of history between them. I would be stupid not to even think about it. But what's been going on has gone beyond that, I think."

He stopped to laugh harshly. "You know, I have to give him some credit. He hasn't tried anything with her. From what I heard, he's not the most trustworthy person in the world."

Logan bristled. He had a point. The Cajun wasn't exactly the model of good behavior all the time. But he was always could be depended on in the heat of battle. There were times Logan believed that Gumbo actually relished being the scoundrel who had to repeatedly prove himself again and again to the team. It seemed like some form of challenge for the former thief.

When it came to women, that was an entirely different story altogether. Gambit was a notorious ladies' man, and continued to live up to that reputation after his return to the mansion. He went into town almost every night to meet with some girl he had met. His returns to the mansion often clocked in during the wee hours of the morning. To his credit, the man was no braggart regarding his sexual rendezvous. However, the perpetual glint in those demon-like eyes told an entirely different story.

Logan said simply in defense of his friend, "He has his good moments."

"I see." Joseph pushed aside his glass and sighed. "I think this makes my decision easier to make."

"What decision?"

"I'm going to Guatemala for a while. The orphanage I helped to rebuild still needs some work."

"Rogue goin' with you?"

"No, it might be best that we have some time apart. For a while."

"Does she know about this?"

"Not yet. I think it will be good for us to have some time apart to work out some of the issues."

"You mean so she can decide who she wants."

Joseph shrank back, not quite ready for Logan's bluntness. "Well, if you put it that way.."
 

Chapter Twenty-Seven: I've Been Waiting

She had offered to go with him.

He refused. He said something about how he needed to be on his own for a while. He told her that he had to find his own place in the world. But he never said when he was coming back.

Liar.

She knew better. She knew why he had left. And yet, she did very little to stop him from leaving.

Then, as quickly as he came into her life, he was gone.

Rogue heaved a sigh, seating herself on the well-worn sofa in the recreation room. She wished she could have said she never saw this coming; that this was unexpected. However, to do so would be lying to herself. She had done enough of that lately.

She rested her chin against her knees, which she had drawn to her chest. What was worse was that she had lied to him. Not deliberately or with malice, but it was still deception nonetheless. And, he had seen through all of it apparently. At one point, she would have told anyone that she was happy with him. After all, this was the first relationship where she could have physical contact with another person without hurting them. Joseph had given her not only love and companionship, but also a sense of normalcy---something she had craved for many years. For that, she would always be grateful.

Despite this, there was always something missing from their relationship. Contrary to what many around the mansion thought, her misgivings started prior to Gambit's return. Initially, Rogue wasn't able to put her finger on what it was exactly. On the surface, things seemed fine. Joseph was kind and compassionate, exercising a great deal of patience around her insecurities with her powers and herself as a woman. He never looked at other women while they were together. Repeatedly, he would tell her that his heart only belonged to her. Taking his cue, she responded with the same sentiment. Looking back, she realized how empty her words and actions had been all this time.

What had been missing all this time was any sense of real connection. Yes, she did feel some affection towards him. And, yes, she felt close to him physically. But, there was a lack of any real passion in the relationship; that drive where you would do just about anything to be with the person you committed to. There was never that spark that lit inside her belly, making her heart race and skin flush warm with excitement---all the elements of a romantic high. There was never that twist inside whenever she was away from him for long periods of time.

In the beginning, Rogue would tell herself to wait and that it would come eventually. Other times, she would admonish herself, saying that she could never expect for her relationship with Joseph to be like previous ones. That simply wouldn't be fair to him. So, she continued investing herself in the relationship, in the hopes that something would happen.

It never did.

Instead, what evolved was a sense of safety and reliability to their relationship. Joseph fostered this image of him always being there for her, offering her his loyalty no matter what. She came to conclusion that safe was good. It was a hell of a lot better than being alone for the rest of her life.

But safe was not the same as love.

In the weeks following Gambit's return, Joseph was Stoic, and at times, indifferent. Rogue waited for him to say something beyond that one night where he expressed that he was aware of the history between her and the Cajun. He never did, choosing to remain distant and Stoic about the situation. She wasn't sure how she would feel if he did express some sort of jealousy or anger. Maybe she would be more willing to fight for their relationship. Maybe she would be tempted to end it right there and then. It was too late and too useless to speculate either way now.

She was hurting him by being duplicitous about her own feelings, which made her feel truly disgusted with herself. She hated every second of it, but found that she could not stop. He deserved better than that. He deserved a person who could truly reciprocate his feelings and did not think of other possibilities when they were together. He deserved to be happy.

Then there was the Cajun. Many nights she had spent trying to get over her feelings for him, trying to get over what she had done to him so long ago, trying to convince herself that she could be happy without him. In the end, she was lying to herself once again. She had done even more damage by trying to push him away and then trying to put up a fa‡ade that she could be friends with him. Rogue spent the past few weeks, trying to be friendly towards Gambit, but at the same time, reminding him that she was with someone else. Sometimes, she actually thought she could be nothing more than friends with him.

In spite of her best efforts, her thoughts were always about those red-on-black eyes and the voice that evoked images of whiskey and cigarettes. It was not that the attraction was based on Remy's looks alone, although they helped to make the case a great deal. Rather, it was a combination of things that continued to draw her to him. There was the Cajun charm he exuded from almost every pore like it was a pheromone.

There was also sly and devious air about him, which made people uncertain as to where they stood with him. He was like Logan in that he often threw caution to the wind when it came to restrictions, choosing to handle things his way instead of going through the proper channels. It was not uncommon to see either Scott or the Professor admonish him for some transgression. "Another loose cannon" as Bobby had put it during their cross-country road trip together. And, while Rogue would sometimes join in on the scolding, there was a part of her that was fascinated with his rebellious behavior.

But there was a different side to him; a side he rarely showed to anyone outside of herself, Storm, and Jubilee. It was a side that was devoid of the teasing, smug, devil-may-care attitude. Underneath all of that, was a gentle and reflective soul---something he desperately hid from others in the mansion.

Her mind drifted to last week when she passed by his room on her way to meet Jean and Ororo for coffee. His door was wide open and she could see him standing over his record player. Unlike the younger people in the mansion, Remy LeBeau was a purist when it came to his music. His position was that modern technology ruined the true nature of the pieces, especially his favorite genre jazz. He had selected a Billie Holiday record to play.

"Ya feelin' sad, Cajun?" she had asked in greeting from the doorway. She had tried to resist the urge to look him up and down as she had observed many of the other female residents do. However, it was hard to resist when he was in those jeans that seemed to cling to the right places.. She remembered blushing wildly at the thoughts racing through her head at that moment.

He had looked up, surprised. Then he shook his head, auburn locks flopping over one brow. "Non, chŠre," he had replied, a sly smile curling his sculpted lips. "Just appreciatin' de music. Dese kids around here don' know anyt'ing about music. Rock and roll. Hah. Give me Charlie Parker and Billie Holiday any day, eh?"

She had nodded in agreement, taking a few steps inside. Rogue wasn't sure if it was the music that had enticed or if it was the room's occupant. "You really like Billie, huh?" Her voice had suddenly sounded thick and foreign to her own ears.

"Oui, chŠre," he had answered huskily, approaching her very slowly with a catlike grace. "Her voice reminds dis ol' t'ief of the Bayou. Don' she remind you of home?"

Rogue found herself staring up at his perfectly chiseled features. His words at that moment seemed to drown out the lush, angst-ridden voice of the legendary blues singer. "Sometimes," she had managed to say. Then she inquired, "How does she remind you of home?"

He looked thoughtful. "She sounds hot, like de summers in de old neighborhood. Like she got a fire comin' from her belly to her heart and she got to let it out." His voice had gotten huskier and softer as he made his observation. Then he had paused for a moment before asking a question of his own. "You know what dat like, chŠre?"

Drifting back to where she was sitting in the recreation room, Rogue winced as she recalled her reaction. In retrospect, she likened it to that of a nervous schoolgirl---staring at him for what seemed like an eternity, and then mumbling something inaudible before scrambling off. She sighed and cursed her lack of grace; her lack of courage. Even now, she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to handle things any differently.

A pair of red-on-black eyes observed the Southern Belle from the hallway. The owner of those demon eyes stared longingly at her from where he stood. Then he clutched the metal collar taken from Hank McCoy's laboratory with a grip so intense, it nearly overwhelmed him.

Bobby was in the middle of packing for his cousin's wedding in Long Island. He was supposed to leave that night to help with the preparations. Who the hell gets married a week after his bachelor party? he wondered, feeling somewhat travel weary. It felt like he had just arrived back from the trip to Vegas and now he had to head out again for another week. He supposed this was what Bon Jovi was singing about in that song, "Dead or Alive".

Speaking of that trip, he spent the rest of it being known as Bobby, the best man who likes to do weird things with food. While it was humiliating, it was better than Bobby, the guy who got some from the stripper. He realized that latter would have afforded him some respect from his cousin and his friends, but Bobby really wasn't into that kind of thing. Fortunately, the teasing had not followed him to the mansion, although every time Warren saw him in the kitchen, the other man would give him wary looks and shake his head.

As he folded another Hawaiian shirt to pack into his travel bag, he began to think about what had pulled him from his alcoholic haze with the stripper. He really didn't process what happened at the time or the days following. The only thing he was aware of was that what he had found himself doing was wrong. Now, reflecting on the incident, Bobby began to realize why.

The time he had found himself in a compromising position with Emma, Jubilee was there. The look of surprise and disappointment had tugged at him for days after she left for Paris. It had kept him awake for many nights. He found himself anxious as to whether or not he had lost her friendship. Maybe it was this fear that compelled him to end things with the blonde before they went any further. Maybe their friendship alone was enough for him not to engage in something meaningless and that he would regret later on.

No, it was something else.

It was the thought of her those old-soul, blue eyes. It was the memory of the bubblegum and cinnamon that emanated from her soft skin. It was the silky hair he had threaded through his fingers when he held her that night. It was the rush and euphoria he experienced whenever he was with her. It was the overwhelming need to protect her from anything and everything. It was the way things seemed to be right in the world when he was near her.

I want you just the way you are.

Bobby paused in his packing. All of a sudden it hit him. Things suddenly made sense. Why hadn't he seen it before? His stomach suddenly turned as he seated himself on his bed. Nervously, he raked a hand through his sandy hair.

No, he couldn't be. They were friends. They had been for so long, from that moment she stepped into the mansion in that ridiculously loud yellow raincoat and neon-colored clothing. No, it wasn't that. Bobby was lonely and had been for so long--that was it. His loneliness was making him think about Jubilee in that way. Yes, that was it. She was the nearest sympathetic female who took the time to reach out to him and he was mistaking that for something else..

Stop it, Drake. You're in love with her.

He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. This could ruin things. He couldn't allow that to happen. He wasn't sure what he would do if he lost her, as a friend or otherwise, like he did Lorna Dane and the others. It had been quite painful to lose these relationships, taking him a great of time to recover and deal with his loneliness. However, the prospect of losing Jubilee seemed all the more agonizing.

At the same time, Bobby didn't think he could live with himself if he kept denying the truth any longer.

He sighed wearily. He was relieved to have figured out the confusion behind what he had been feeling for the past several months. However, it was still unsettling. There was also the fact that he had no idea how she felt. He knew that she thought of him now. He was Fun Bobby, the guy she watched comedy movies with, the guy she played pranks with, the guy she told things to when she thought the other adults in the mansion, like Logan, Scott, or Jean, wouldn't understand.

Fun Bobby, the guy she didn't think could sweep a woman off of her feet. Would it be possible for her to think of him in another light? How would she react if he revealed his feelings to her?

Bobby's eyes flicked to the window. Out in the distance, he saw her window was alight from where he was sitting. He could stay in his room and continue to pack, speculating as to what she might do or say. He realized he wasn't going to get any piece of mind if he took that option.

Taking a deep breath, he tossed the shirt he was folding into the travel bag and quickly jogged out of his room. He then moved quickly down the spiral staircase and out the front door. In all his life, he couldn't remember the last time he moved so fast and with such a sense of purpose. It was as if his feet had a mind of their own at that moment.

Suddenly, he stopped a few yards shy of the Summers' home. Bobby realized he had no planned speech, no eloquent words to express his feelings. Panicking, he contemplated turning back and heading to the mansion. That would be the safer thing to do until he could compose himself.

I want you just the way you are.

His gray eyes were steely as her soft voice echoed his head. No, if he was going to do this, he was going to do it sans prepared statement. Otherwise, it wouldn't be him. I'm just going to be honest and tell her how I feel and hope that she feels the same way.. His heart raced as he thought about her reaction if she responding with the same feelings.

Bobby walked a few hesitant steps toward the house. Before he could ice up and form his usual slide to her bedroom window, he was tackled from behind, his chest slamming against the ground. As he struggled to turn around and defend himself from his mysterious attacker, he felt something cold and metal slide around his neck, closing with a crisp CLICK! Finding a surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins, he flipped over, throwing the attacker on the ground. Then he held his hands in front him, preparing to shoot ice at the other person.

Nothing happened.

Confused, Bobby stared down at his hands and tried again. Nothing. Then he stared into the darkness. When he discovered who his assailant was, he was furious.

Scrambling to his feet, he yelled, "Gambit, what the hell?" He then pulled at the metal collar around his neck. When he discovered it was not coming off, he thought he was going to explode. He knew what it was from Hank, who had been concerned about a missing collar his team had retrieved from Genosha. "This is really sick if this is your idea of a prank!"

Gambit's red-on-black eyes regarded him coolly. "No prank, homme. Just wanted your attention."

"Well, you got it," Bobby snapped, continuing to pull at the collar. "Now get this off me!"

The Cajun gave him a Cheshire cat smile. "Soon, Drake. But you need to listen first."

"Listen to what? How you're scheming to go after Rogue now that Joeneto's gone? Please, everyone's been waiting for that." Bobby rolled his eyes in disdain. This only served to cement his opinion what a jerk this guy was. What on earth could his friend possibly see in him?

"You be in a precarious position maintenant. Gambit advise you to shut your mouth and listen to what Gambit has to say, non?" When that rendered the younger man silent, he continued. "Gambit see what you been up to wit' de petite. Gambit t'inks it's not a bon idea."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Gambit not stupid, Drake. You can't handle femmes your age, so you go after de petite. Again, not a bon idea."

"It's not how you're making it sound."

"Oh? And where you goin' den?"

"To see de petite---I mean, Jubilee."

"To do what?"

"None of your business."

"I t'ought so."

"Whatever it is you're thinking, only guys like you do that kind of thing." Bobby felt some satisfaction when he saw the other man scowl and advance towards him.

Gambit thought about charging a card. He had one ready to go in his pocket. However, he decided against it. No sense creating a scene. He wanted to take care of Drake privately. "Gambit may be a lot t'ings, but not a child molester."

Bobby's gray eyes widened with disbelief. Of all the nerve.. "You're accusing me of being a child molester? You son of a.."

"You can call Gambit all de names you want, homme. Gambit cares about de petite and will do anyt'ing to protect her."

"You want to protect her from me? That's hilarious."

"Not'ing funny about it, homme."

"It is since I'm not the one she needs protecting from."

"You don' t'ink she be too young for you? Or, mebbe you like dat sort of t'ing."

"She's going to be eighteen soon. Besides, there's not that much of an age difference between us."

"So you worked out de math, eh? Not surprising."

"What? No! Listen, Warren's seeing a new girl, and there's a bigger age gap between those two. Why don't you go harass him with your lame attempts at being the morality police?"

"Gambit don' know Paige. Gambit cares for de petite and would do anyt'ing for her."

"So would I."

"Do you really?"

"Yeah, not that it's any of your business. I care about her. That's why I was going to see her. To tell her that."

"Gambit can't let you do dat."

"Listen, I don't need your approval for anything.."

"You say you care about de petite? Den let her be, homme. Let her be wit' someone closer to her age. Let her be wit' someone who don' carry baggage when it comes to de femmes. Let her be truly happy."

Bobby shrank back, grimacing. He couldn't help but feel some sting from the words that left the Cajun thief's mouth. He never really thought of any of that. Some around the mansion might frown on his 24 years to her 17 years, particularly Logan and Scott. Yes, she was going to be 18 in a couple of months, but then what? There would always be that gap between them, different life experiences between them. Perhaps being with someone closer to her own age, who shared similar experiences because of that age, would be a better idea.

There were also Bobby's own issues surrounding women and his failed romances. In his own mind, he had screwed up so many of those relationships. While he could do his best not to hurt her, it was still too risky. He couldn't let Jubilee down the way he had done the others. He was damaged goods. She deserved better than that. She deserved better than him.

"Maybe you're right," he finally said somberly, his face withdrawn. He cast a forlorn look at Jubilee's bedroom window. His mind continued to reel of thoughts of what could have been if the Cajun thief had not intervened. No, she was better off not knowing. He hoped she would be happier this way.

The Cajun thief silently removed the metal collar from Bobby's neck. He then watched the younger man make his way to the mansion. Moments later, Drake's Volkswagen Jetta pulled out of the garage. Red-on-black eyes glittered in the darkness of the spring night as the car sped down the winding drive before disappearing through the wrought-iron gates.
 

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Hurt

Paige Guthrie twirled a lock of straw-blonde hair around her finger, her eyes flicking to the security monitors in the lower level of the basement. It was her turn to watch the grounds of the mansion, a task that many of the senior team members often looked down on. Her brother used to call it "over glorified babysitting" when he used to visit her at the academy. But Paige didn't mind. After all, she was starting on the team and if this was the way she had to move up the ranks, then she was more than happy to do it.

"Hey, Guthrie," Jubilee greeted, entering the control room. She handed her two fashion magazines she borrowed from Jean. Then she seated herself next to her former roommate, tossing her long, black hair over one shoulder. "Inside are the latest fashions from Europe. Now, you can look a waify, heroin-addicted model, too."

Paige wrinkled her nose at her friend's attempt at sarcasm. "Well, as long as there's something in here I can afford, I'll be happy. I can't go to the wedding in something like this." She stared down at her black turtleneck, pink corduroy shirt, and gray trousers.

"Well, you'll have to bundle up in any case," Jubilee said, reminding her of the cold front that suddenly enveloped Westchester. Unfortunately, mild spring weather usually came late in the area, forcing residents to continue to wear sweaters (at least) until mid-April. Case in point, Jubilee wore a gray V-neck sweater over corduroy pants and black flip-flops.

The blonde sighed, flipping through ads for various designers. "Why is it that you have to be high or brain-dead to actually wear some of this stuff in public?" She showed Jubilee a picture of a 90-pound woman, posing in a bikini that appeared to be made of moss.

"Bleech," Jubilee said, echoing her friend's sentiment. "And people think mutants are weird."

Paige shook her blonde head, continuing to browse through the pages. Then she said, "By this time next year, you'll be finishing your first year of college, Jubes."

Jubilee turned to her friend, thoughtful. "Yeah," she replied finally, still surprised with the notion herself. Given her lack of interest in academics when she was younger, she never thought she would actually be putting herself through another four years of school. "It's weird, you know? I always thought it would be you going and not me. What happened, Hayseed?"

Paige checked the monitors again to make sure nothing was going on before responding to Jubilee. "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I mean, I thought I would be going to school right after the academy. When I was in Europe with Sean, I realized that there were other things out there that were just as important. Maybe I'll go back someday, but not now. I want to focus my efforts on becoming a full-fledged member."

The younger girl gave her an amused smile. "There's the Guthrie I know---the perpetual overachiever. Maybe by the time I finish my freshman year, you'll be running this place instead of Scott."

Paige blushed at her friend's comment. While it was secretly her aspiration to do so, she didn't think she was ready to do so at this point or anytime soon. She decided to focus the conversation on Jubilee. "So, what gives, Jubes? You're abandoning life as an X-Man to be a scholar?" Her tone was teasing to take the edge off her words.

Jubilee frowned thoughtfully, absorbing the questions in silence. Then she answered, "I don't think I was ever cut out to do the superhero thing. I mean, the whole idea appealed to me when I was a kid---fighting the baddies with our powers and saving the world for both humans and mutants. And for a while, when I was with you and the academy, it was right. But now, I know it was never for me. I mean, look at what happened. I nearly died. I almost took about a bunch people when I paffed that building that one time. Thank God, no one got hurt or.. Well, I'm giving a normal life a try and see how that works out. I just don't trust myself otherwise."

"What about additional training here? I mean, you could talk to Scott or Logan.."

"No, it's not only my powers. I have better control over them thanks to Danger Room sessions here. It's something inside of me. I don't know what it is exactly."

From the tone of voice Jubilee used, Paige could tell her friend was wary about going any further with the conversation. She nodded empathetically. "I think I get you now. Well, I hope you'll be happier. Do you know what you might study?"

"Well, the school I'm going to is known for their fine arts program and their psychology program. So, I'm interested both, but I don't have to decide on a major until the end of freshman year." Jubilee had finally decided on a small, well established, private university that was 30 minutes away. The school had also offered a generous scholarship as well, which made the decision easier to make.

Paige smiled. "Well, I guess I'll have to live vicariously through you then instead of the other way around."

"Yeah, the glamorous life of a frazzled college student." Jubilee laughed. When she and her friend stopped, she asked, "So, what's going on between you and Worthington?" Like others in the mansion, she was aware that the millionaire playboy had recently asked Paige to attend Joel's wedding with him, which appeared to be an indication of something serious. While some bemoaned the age difference between the two (his 33 years to her 19 years), Jubilee was secretly relieved that her friend had found someone after Jono. She liked both of them, but found that the Englishman's defense mechanism of constantly pushing Paige away took its toll.

"I don't know what it is yet," Paige answered quietly, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I'm crazy about him, Jubes. I babble about him all the time to anyone who would listen."

"Yeah, I know." Aside from the institute's nurse, Annie, Jubilee was the second recipient to most of the babbling.

Paige glossed over her friend's comment. "It's just that it's early, you know? I guess that's why I'm nervous about finding something to wear. I mean, most of his girlfriends were models or former models. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

"You shouldn't feel like you're competing at all," Jubilee told her, frowning thoughtfully. "If he really cares about you, then you could wear a burlap sack to the wedding and he wouldn't think twice about his decision asking you."

Paige nodded quickly, realizing her friend had a valid point. "You're right, but this is coming from me. This is my first relationship since Jono and I.. I just want to do my best to make sure I don't get hurt."

"Isn't that the risk anybody takes when they get involved with anyone else?" Jubilee countered.

Paige quirked a brow at the younger girl with an amused expression on her face. "Your psychology class with Jean?"

"No, watching Dr. Phil with Scott yesterday." Jubilee grinned.

Paige giggled at the image of Cyclops watching daytime television. It was almost too much. When she recovered, she inquired, "Well, what about you? Are you going to this wedding with Bobby?"

Jubilee's sapphire eyes widened in surprise. "No," she answered. "Why are you asking?"

The younger Guthrie shrugged, tossing one of the magazines on the table next to her. "Well, I've seen you two together a lot. I thought he would ask you before he left."

Raven hair with blue streaks spilled down the young girl's shoulders as she shook her head. "No, he didn't. He's probably wrapped up in helping his cousin get things together for the wedding."

At least that's what she had concluded since he had not conducted his usual nightly visit to her bedroom. She remembered waiting up for him so that she could say good-bye since he was going to be gone for a week. When he never appeared, she simply assumed that he became overwhelmed with last minute planning tasks. As she went to sleep that night, she could not help but feel somewhat disappointed about not being with him. His visits had become part of a ritual, something she often looked forward to.

Paige nodded in agreement. "I guess that's the burden of being the best man." She paused for a moment. "So, I take it that you and Bobby are not dating."

"Well, he says we're friends."

"He says you're friends?"

"Yeah. He says we're friends."

"Um, OK. So what do you say?"

"I say.. I say that one of the cameras is busted."

"Huh?" Paige's blonde head quickly snapped up to see static on one of the monitors. She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Great. I hope nothing happened."

Jubilee stood up and began to head to the door that led to the elevators to the main floor. "No big deal," she told her friend reassuringly. "That camera's on my way to the house. I'll check it out for you and see if I can fix it. If I can't, I'll give you a holler from the house, OK?"

"Thanks, Jubes," Paige said gratefully, watching her friend disappear through the steel doors of the security room. Moments later, she realized that Jubilee never addressed her question.

"See anythin' ya like?"

Remy LeBeau's lips formed a seductive smile, taking in the pert blonde bartender standing across from him at the bar, wearing a low-cut top. "We not talkin' 'bout de drinks, are we, chŠre?"

The bartender tittered helplessly. "No, I don't think we are."

Oh, for God's sake, Logan groaned inwardly, chewing on his Cohiba. He immediately regretted his decision to invite the Cajun out for drinks and pool at the local bar in town. Not that interactions like this with the female species were completely out of the ordinary. It was just that they tended to slow Logan's beer refill rate substantially. Logan kicked himself mentally for not being more mindful of this fact.

"I'll have another beer," he piped up, shoving his empty stein in front of the blonde.

The bartender's brown eyes flashed at him in a brief moment of anger and irritation. Then she sighed, picking up the stein and walked to the other side of the bar where the taps were located. Rolling her eyes, she began to refill Logan's beer.

Remy exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, looking rather entertained. "I t'ink you made her mad, mon ami."

"She's getting paid to serve drinks, not to make goo-goo eyes at you," Logan pointed out. He nodded his thanks to her when she returned, which was ignored since she was being called over by another customer. Wordlessly, he slapped some cash on the sticky, wood tabletop for her to pick up later on.

"Mebbe it's one of the perks, non?" Red-on-black eyes twinkled with mirth.

Logan snorted, his eyes drifting around the increasingly crowded bar. "Call it what you want. It's annoyin', Gumbo," he told him, taking a gulp of his pale ale. "You don't have to come on to anyone female. See, there's this thing called self control.."

Remy gave his friend a stunned look. "First, Storm and Cyclops tell Gambit he can't be a t'ief no more. Den you tell Gambit he can't flirt no more. Why doesn't Gambit just lay down and die?" He laughed as he watched Logan scowl.

Logan grunted at him, continuing to work on his drink. "Very funny, Cajun." It was bad enough he had beat him in three consecutive games of pool, but now he felt the need to show off what kind of comedian he was. Maybe a flash of adamantium would take care of that.. He decided against it.

"I t'ought so." Remy took another drag of his cigarette, smirking. Grating on Wolverine's nerves was almost as fun as stealing or picking up a beautiful femme.

Logan shrugged, pretending to watch someone stuff a quarter in the jukebox across the room. He then turned to the tall, lean Cajun thief. "So, Joseph split."

"You're tellin' Gambit like he don' know." It was Remy's turn to be irritated. He narrowed his eyes into razor-thin slits.

Logan resisted the urge to smile. "Well, I'd thought you would capitalize on your chance."

"Chance for what?"

"Cut the innocent act. I've known you for a long time and I'm not a moron. With him outta the way, you can go after Rogue."

"What makes you t'ink Gambit would do dat?"

"Listen, bub, I've been forced to watch this pathetic soap opera play out since you got back. Hasn't that been what you wanted for these last few months? Your competition's gone."

"Hah, Wolverine. You don' know what you're talking about."

"Really? I think I've pretty much summed up what's been goin' on."

"Hah. Just because dat homme is gone, don' mean dat Gambit is goin' to do anyt'ing."

"Oh no?"

"Dat's right. Gambit don' go where he's not wanted."

"She said that?"

"No, Gambit just knows."

Since Joseph's departure, Rogue had been keeping to herself. The day he saw in the recreation room was the first time he had seen in her in several days. As much as he had wanted to approach her, he wasn't sure how she would react. She could be irrational and decide to blame him for her lover leaving the country, blame him for the demise of her relationship with Joseph, blame him for being alone all over again. Gambit knew he did not want any of that.

So, instead, he decided to wait. He would wait for her to come to him. As long as it would take, he was determined to do it. He would not pursue her and force himself on her, as he knew others around the mansion had expected---this was quite evident from what Bobby, and now, Logan said. No, that wasn't going to accomplish much of anything. Gambit was too old for that, too wise for that. He needed to know that he had at least a chance. Otherwise, his longing and whatever he would have done to "go after Rogue" would be worth absolutely nothing in the end.

There was also his uncertainty about how Rogue actually felt about Joseph. She could have actually been honest with him all those weeks ago when she said she was in love with him. There was the possibility that she did not really want him at all. In that case, Remy did not want to be her second choice, the old reliable lover she could then move on to since the one she had cherished left. No, there was no way he would have any part of that either.

Gambit put out his cigarette in the dirty ashtray in front of him. He placed a pile of bills next to his empty beer stein. "Come, Wolverine," he said to his old friend. "Let's go home. Dis ol' t'ief has had enough for one night."

The two rode on their respective motorcycles from the bar back to the mansion in silence. While this was fine with Logan, he was aware that this somewhat out of character for the Cajun, who would toss out unneeded comments during their rides. He realized that something was probably troubling the mysterious man from the Bayou, but thought against inquiring as to what it was. That was something Jean or Ororo would do, not the Wolverine.

He pulled out the remote control for the gates from his jacket pocket. Logan peered over at his friend next to him as the gates began to draw open. The Cajun flipped up the visor to his helmet and gave him a wink. Logan rolled his eyes and then raced ahead of him, towards the garage. As the two sped along the winding road that led to the garage, Logan's nostrils began to pick up on a familiar scent. Actually, it was a mixture of familiar scents. He quickly veered his motorcycle off the side of the road and onto the front lawn of the mansion. He parked it and hopped off, sniffing the night air.

Curious, Gambit followed his lead. He removed his helmet and surveyed damage the tires of their motorcycles had done to the manicured grass. "De Professor not goin' to be happy about dis," he joked, trying to figure out what was going on with his friend.

"Shut up, Cajun," Logan snapped, continuing to pick up the smells that wafted in the spring evening air. He began to briskly walk away from his friend, towards a grouping of trees on the other side of the grounds.

Gambit rolled his eyes, following him. The homme thinks he's a tracking dog or something, he mused, his own steps reluctant. He sighed, catching up with Logan and matching him stride for stride.

What they both found was chilling.

A few yards away was Logan's old nemesis, Victor Creed. The large, powerfully built mutant was on his knees; his face was blistered and covered with soot in some places. His usually thick mane of blond hair was now patchy on his mammoth head. The clothes he wore had massive burn holes in them, which left random scraps of fabric on his body. He was hovering a small body on the ground.

The small body belonged to Jubilee. She lay unconscious in front of the monster. Her palms, lying face up, were emitting wispy clouds of smoke.

"Ya little brat!" he snarled wildly. His jagged claws then tore her sweater into shreds. Surprisingly, he had been careful not to claw at her flesh underneath. His eyes lewdly grazed over the creamy, youthful skin and the soft curves of her exposed torso.

He bared his teeth, lowering his mouth just above her neck. "I'm gonna enjoy tastin' yer blood in my mouth, girlie. I bet ya taste real sweet."

Horrified, disgusted, and furious, Logan extended his adamantium claws and darted over. A primal, guttural scream burst from Logan's lips. His eyes were wide with anger and intensity as he stared at the monster over his Jubilee. If he does anything else, I'm going to kill him..

Gambit was by his side, his own mouth set in a grim line. As he gazed at the girl lying on the ground, fear and concerned washed over him like a tidal wave. "Hang on, petite," he whispered, "Gambit on de way." No one is going to touch the petite while Gambit is here..

Looking up, Creed sneered, which paralyzed both men in their tracks.

"Well, looks like I'm gonna get what I really wanted," he snickered, his hideously burned face glowering. "I guess the frail and the pretty boy sidekick of yours are bonuses. You two can watch me show the brat what a real man does and then we can dance." He leaned over, about to pick her up into his arms.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light hit him in the face as he was about to lower his face to Jubilee's slender neck. He screamed, howling in pain and stumbling backwards. This was followed by additional flashes of white-yellow light.

Gambit held up a deck of cards he pulled from the pocket of his brown leather duster. "De name is Gambit," he yelled, charging each one and tossing them at Creed to get him away from the girl. Pretty boy, indeed. "Remember it!"

Logan took the opportunity to rush at Creed while he was temporarily blinded. He slashed his claws at the hulking man's side, kicking him down to the ground. "Tryin' to use the girl to get to me?" he demanded, delivering a hefty blow to the man's face. "Real class act, Creed!"

Creed growled, wincing. Then he grabbed one of Logan's ankles and flipped him over. "Anythin' to get yer attention, runt." He scrambled to his feet, teetering slightly.

Meanwhile, Gambit reached Jubilee's side. "Petite?" he whispered, stroking her cheek gently with his calloused fingers. He noticed there was a small bruise beginning to form on the side of her forehead, turning a lavender color against her creamy skin. Yet, she did not stir even with the fighting around her.

He looked over his shoulder at Logan, who was already on his feet with his claws extended. The older man would take a couple of steps forward and then backward as he and Creed circled each other. Without taking his narrowing eyes off of Sabretooth, who appeared to be equally intent on doing some harm to Logan, he called out to Gambit, "Cajun, take the girl and go. Creed's all mine!"

Gambit nodded, stripping off his leather duster and wrapped it around the girl's half-naked form. Then he scooped her into his arms, holding her against his lean chest. "You safe now, petite," he told her softly, sprinting across the lawn and away from the two fighting men. "You wit' Gambit now. Gambit protect you."

His pace increased in speed when he noticed that she was not responding. He clutched her closer to him, cursing how far the med lab was at that moment. His muscles tightened with his fear as he finally reached the mansion. Kicking the foreboding oak door open, he dashed through the front hall to the elevator, ignoring the gaping stares of the students gathered in the nearby recreation rooms. Sweating, he punched the button for the basement floor, med-lab level.

He cradled the unconscious girl in his arms, waiting for what seemed like an eternity to reach his destination. Thank God he and Logan had arrived when they did. From what he knew of Creed, he was not above raping an unconscious Jubilee. Gambit just hoped that the girl had not been too badly hurt. He was becoming increasingly concerned about the fact that she still had not regained consciousness. She continued to lie limp in his arms, head resting against his chest. The bastard probably knocked her out, using his full strength behind the blow.

But not before you gave him a good fight, petite, Gambit mused silently to the girl in his arms. He remembered seeing how blistered and burnt the larger man was just before he and Logan attacked.

As soon as the elevator doors slid open, the Cajun thief's lean legs swiftly carried him and Jubilee down the hall. He had been so focused on getting her to the med-lab that he had not noticed anyone else in the area. Vaguely, he thought he could hear his name being called out. His head snapped in the direction of the voice.

"Remy?" Rogue drawled, stuffing her gloved hands into the pockets of her low-riding, olive cargo pants. Her green eyes widened in surprise when she saw Jubilee in Gambit's arms. "What in the world.."

Gambit cut her off before she could finish her question. "Is Beast here?" he asked abruptly, clutching the girl even closer to him.

"Sure, sugah. He and Cecilia are in the lab.." Quickly, she led him to the end of the hall, where the med-lab was located. She pushed the heavy, steel doors wide open and raced alongside him. "Hank? Cecilia?"

Gambit joined her in calling out the names of the two doctors. "Beast? Cecilia? We need you!" The volume of his voice did not hide the desperation underneath. Usually, he would care about looking so vulnerable, but in this situation, he pushed his insecurities aside.

Hank McCoy bounded out of his office, slipping on a pair of thick, black-framed spectacles. "What's going on?" he asked. It wasn't unusual to provide medical treatment at this hour. However, that only applied to individuals who went out on missions. The only team that was out (Scott, Jean, Storm, and Warren) was expected to arrive home sometime tomorrow. As a result, Hank thought he was going to be in for a night of free time for some research.

Then his eyes traveled to Jubilee in Gambit's arms. "Oh, my. What happened?"

"Wolverine and Gambit found Monsieur Sabretooth on de grounds of de mansion. He attacked de petite." Gambit explained breathlessly, watching Cecilia Reyes and Annie race out of their respective offices to bring over a gurney. "Petite's been knocked out. Beast, is she.."

Beast was already gathering the unconscious body of the girl and lowering her on the gurney. "We're going to have to do a scan to see if there's any head trauma or any other injuries from the blow. Did you see it happen?"

His large hand took her tiny wrist to take a pulse; careful to make sure she was still stabilized on the gurney. At this point, he wasn't sure if he was only dealing with a head injury or if there were any broken bones involved as well.

Gambit shook his head, watching Cecilia take out a penlight from her pocket and examining Jubilee's pupils carefully. "No, we got dere just after it happened," he replied, red-on-black eyes filled with concern and worry.

"So, you don't know how long she's been out?" Hank asked, relieved that her pulse was strong.

"Don' know. Mebbe ten minutes. Gambit not sure exactly." The tall, lean Cajun thief leaned over to take a look at Jubilee, only to be motioned out of the way by Annie. The dark haired nurse then stood over the girl, calling out her name and asking her if she could hear her. Annie shook her head when she received no response.

"Hank, her pupils are fine, but we really need to do a scan," Cecilia pointed out, motioning for Annie to assist her with moving the gurney to the other end of the laboratory.

Hank nodded quickly. "Agreed," he called over his shoulder. He was about to turn on his heel to join the rest of the medical personnel when he was stopped by Gambit.

"Beast, is de petite.. Is she goin' be all right?"

Hank looked almost taken aback. Never had he heard such fear and desperation in the other man's voice in all the years he had known him. These feelings were also reflected in his expression---furrowed brows, lips that were usually curled in a smile or smirk now formed an uncertain line. At this moment, Remy LeBeau, the man who prided himself on being the cool, smug loner was vulnerable.

He patted the wiry man's shoulder compassionately. Then he said quietly, "Jubilee is a strong girl. We will do our best to care for her."

As Hank McCoy's hulking form disappeared into another room, presumably where Cecilia and Annie were scanning Jubilee's body, Rogue stepped towards Gambit. She placed a sympathetic, gloved hand on his arm. "Remy, Beast is right," she said quietly, giving his arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "He's gonna take care of her."

"I know, chŠre." He gave her a weak smile, placing his hand over hers. He was relieved to have her with him at that moment.

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. Then she remembered the account of what happened Remy had provided earlier. "Where's Logan?"

Meanwhile, outside of the mansion, by the far end of the grounds, Logan found himself being flipped over on his back by Creed. He landed with a thud on the soft grass. Quickly, he sprang to his feet and sneered at old enemy.

"Hey, bub," he said, panting slightly with his claws extended at his sides. Sweat began to bead at his forehead and around his thick sideburns. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Great," Creed responded, laughing sharply. "I'd hate to come all this way and be disappointed. Heard ya gone soft, Wolverine. Looks like that cue ball Xavier finally got to ya. Guess it was only gonna be a matter of time, runt."

"What the hell do you want, Creed?"

"Just want to talk, old pal. Heard ya were in town and I didn't get a phone call. I'm hurt, Wolverine. What's the matter? Not happy to see me?"

"I would be if I gouged my eyes out."

"Maybe I could take care of that for ya, if ya asked real nice."

Logan growled, charging at him. He shoved the burly man to the ground and pinned him down. Snarling, he raised his adamantium claws in the air. As he was about slash Creed's face, which was still blistered and swollen in some places, the trapped mutant managed to free one of his arms. Using his battered fist, he rammed Logan in the chest. This sent him a couple of yards away, near the mansion's rose garden.

Creed was somewhat wobbly as he struggled to rise to his feet. "Well, look at you," he spat, his voice rough like sandpaper and broken glass. He took a few steps toward the fallen Wolverine. "In the old days, I could have never gotten this far into your precious mansion. I guess ya X-morons are getting old and sloppy."

Logan grunted, pushing himself up with his weathered hands.

The larger man continued his taunting, the discolored burns on his face beginning to heal as he approached closer to where Logan was. "Ya know, it was real easy to get in here. Just had to take out a camera is all. Ya must have some brain-dead kid workin' security in that big house of yours."

Creed threw his head back and laughed. It was a raw, throaty sound that contained no joy, no other emotion that his pure hatred for the man on the ground. "Then I saw yer frail. She grew up since the last time I saw her at that other school. Not that skinny, little brat that used to follow ya around. Nah. When I saw her tonight, she looked real nice and smelled good, too. I could almost taste her where I was standing. But, I watched her for a while, walking in plain sight with no Wolverine to protect her. It was almost ya wanted me to take her." He licked his thick, chapped lips ferally, revealing a set of sharp canines.

Logan narrowed his eyes when he heard the singsong quality to Creed's voice. He could feel the cut on his forehead Creed had inflicted earlier begin to heal. The blood that had been dripping from the wound was still fresh on the grass under his body.

"Then I thought, 'Why can't I have some fun before I tear you apart?' So, I took my chance and grabbed the girl. Ya shoulda seen the look on her face. Ya know how I always like 'em scared. I could even smell it on her. Then she starts screaming for me to let her go. I tell her I'm gonna let her go when I'm done showin' her a good time. Then the little bitch zaps me in the face with her stupid fireworks. I was so mad I almost let her have it right there and then."

Logan managed a small, satisfied smile when he heard how Jubilee defended herself. From what he and Gambit had seen, the kid had inflicted quite a bit of damage to Creed. "What's the matter, pissed that the kid wasn't goin' down quietly?" he asked, gingerly regaining his footing.

Creed snorted when heard Logan taunt him. "Didn't take me long to show her who's boss," he responded, jeering. "She went down like a little rag doll. 'Course that might be what ya like about yer frails, huh, Wolverine? Who can blame ya? Little girls who need their hero to protect them. Hah. How pathetic. I guess that's what ya've come to."

Logan growled, hurling his sleek, muscular body at the other man. He attempted to stab a set of claws into Creed's massive midsection. At the last minute, Creed managed to move out of the way, darting to the side. Logan sprinted after him, determined to shut up that filthy hole Creed called a mouth.

However, Creed was feeling especially talkative that evening. This was unusual since he often resorted to slapping people around than working out things verbally. He spat on the ground, his small eyes gloating.

"Face it, Wolverine. As long as yer livin', I'm always gonna be around. Ya might've saved her sweet ass tonight, but I'll get her later.. The best part is ya never know when." He lowered himself on his haunches and launched himself in the air. Squaring his shoulders, Creed aimed himself for Logan below.

Logan's quick reflexes helped him to shift out of the way. He watched his old enemy land on the ground a few feet in front of him. "It's kinda hard to keep that promise, don't ya think?" he sneered, kicking him in the ribs and knelt over him. Then he grabbed a patch of his sparse hair.

He pulled the man's grotesque head from the grass, high enough to meet Logan's face. "I'm gonna cut up your ugly carcass into shreds," he hissed in his ear. To make his point, he took the tip of one of his claws and traced a circle under Creed's rough-hewn chin. His eyes almost lit up as he watched the blood trickle down.

Almost immediately, his sessions with Xavier started to flood his head. All that time, all that effort, and all that control he now had---everything could all go away with one slash to the bastard's throat. He had spent the last couple of weeks, convincing himself that he was not an animal, that he was better than an animal, that he could be trusted to be around other people. The rage he had worked so hard to contain was now threatening to overwhelm him.

It would be too easy. No one was around. The sharp edge of his claw just under Creed's chin was so close to his jugular. A flick of the wrist and it would all be over. Logan knew. He had killed before and he could do it again.

But if he did kill Creed now, he would be proving Stryker right. He would be succumbing to that negative, inner voice that told him that he was no good. The same hands used to help Jubilee into his truck, would be tainted with the blood of the piece of trash before him.

Let it all go, Logan.

Gambit folded his hands together, his mouth forming a grim line as he sat in the room Annie had set up for Jubilee. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this combination of fear, concern, and anxiety not for himself, but for someone else. All those years in the artic by himself and later in the tropics, taught him to be more selfish. It was easier that way. Now, he found himself nearly jumping out of his skin from concern over someone else beside himself.

The last two hours were a blur to him despite the fact that he had not left the med-lab. Fortunately, Hank and Cecilia found no skull fractures or any other injuries when they examined Jubilee. However, both told Gambit they would not be sure of the extent of her head injuries until she regained consciousness. Specifically, Hank said he was concerned about any memory loss that might have occurred as a result of the blow to the head. He and the others had been hoping that she would wake up, but were dismayed when she remained unconscious.

All the Cajun thief knew was that he wanted to stay with the child until she woke up. After what she had been through with that monster, she did not deserve to wake up alone. Besides, who knew when Logan was going to return from exacting his revenge? It slightly irked Gambit how his friend decided to go after Creed rather than accompany the girl he said he cared for. However, he also understood that was how the old man worked. Going after Creed was Logan's way of taking care of the child. Anything different would definitely be out of character for the man who prided himself on being the ultimate tough guy.

Jubilee lay across from him. Her body appeared quite small in the sterile, metal-framed bed. She was now wearing a pale blue hospital gown, her torn clothing discarded. The new nurse, Annie, had tucked Jubilee in after she had been scanned, using a crisp, white blanket covering the lower half of the young girl's slender body. She appeared at peace, unaware of the violence, fear, and concern that swirled around her.

Gambit's lean hand stroked her silky, black hair tenderly. Pauvre petite, he thought sadly, taking her small hand into his. You've been so much for your lifetime. Gambit knows what that's like..

"Just got off the horn with Scott and Jean," Rogue said, her Southern twang breaking into his thoughts. Quietly, she walked from the doorway of the room to where her former lover was sitting. Her green eyes traveled to his concerned, exhausted features.

"When dey be back, chŠre?" he asked wearily, not taking his eyes from the girl in the bed.

Rogue found a stainless steel chair in the corner in the room. "Scott hopes tomorrow morning," she said, drawing the chair to where Gambit sat and settled herself down. "Ah tried not to tell 'em how Sweet Pea hasn't woken up, but Ah think Jean already knows. It's hard to hide things from a telepath."

She then pulled nervously at her moss green, cable-knit sweater, her own face reflecting concern for Jubilee's condition. "Nothin'?"

The Cajun thief shook his head, a lock of auburn hair flopping over a furrowed brow. "It's like Sabretooth put her to sleep," he observed, eyes narrowing with contempt as he uttered the name of the monster who had hurt her.

Rogue nodded empathetically. Then she said, "Sweet Pea's a fighter. Ya said she got him before he hit her."

"Oui. Gambit hope de petite has some fight left." His voice sounded uncharacteristically somber.

"She does. Thanks to you and Logan, sugah. Two of ya got to her before he could do anythin' else." Rogue extended a gloved hand to give Remy's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

He turned to her, his lips curled in a grateful smile. "Merci, chŠre," he whispered. "Where's Beast?"

"He's with Sweet Pea's friend, tryin' to calm her down. She's real upset 'cause she thinks it's her fault." Rogue shook her head, recalling Paige's hysterical fit of sobbing when she was told what had happened. The girl wanted to sit in the room with Jubilee, but Hank and the others were uncertain as to whether or not this was a good idea. The last Rogue knew of what was going on, she had overheard Annie asking Cecilia about sedating Paige for the night.

Rogue turned to Remy, frowning slightly. "Ah don't see why ya wouldn't let us go after Logan," she began, sharing his irritation over the noticeable absence of Wolverine.

Gambit's expression was a mixture of surprise and defensiveness. "You know Wolverine, chŠre. Homme like to dake care of his business alone. If you and the others go out dere, he tell you to leave."

"Ah know he would, but that guy's dangerous. Ah know Sabretooth ain't above attacking innocent kids for kicks."

"All de more reason why Wolverine t'inks he needs to take care of de homme alone. No sense in ot'er people gettin' hurt, chŠre."

"Well, he should be here with her, too. Also, we should be thinkin' about the students. What if something goes wrong and Logan can't handle him this time?"

"Wolverine's a big boy. He take care of Sabretooth before easy. Homme can do it again."

"Well, Ah don't like how he wants to handle everythin' alone."

Gambit's red-on-black eyes gazed into his former lover's face. There was a brief flash of pain in their depths. "Sometimes," he said in a low voice after a long silence, "it be better to handle t'ings alone."

Rogue bit her lower lip, moving her hand from his shoulder. "Remy.." She wasn't sure if they were talking about Logan or if he was referring to another situation. Either way, she was uncertain as to how to respond. She just knew she couldn't look at him anymore.

When he saw the way she reacted, he immediately regretted his words. Gambit drew back from Jubilee's bedside. He studied the Southern Belle's grave-looking profile. It was painfully obvious that she struggled to be the strong woman she wanted everyone to think she was. Tentatively, Gambit reached for her gloved hand. He gave it an apologetic squeeze.

"Sorry, chŠre."

"No, Gambit.."

"ChŠre, Gambit didn't mean it."

"Yes, ya did."

"Non, chŠre.. Gambit was talking about Wolverine."

"Ah.. It's OK, Remy. Ah understand. It's just that.. It's just that it's good to let someone in every once in a while. The right person, Ah mean. Sometimes, ya have to be strong and smart enough to know that." Rogue returned the squeeze, her solemn expression accentuating the poignancy of her statement.

At that moment, Jubilee began to stir. A soft moan escaped from between her lips. Startled, Gambit turned to the young girl, pulling away from Rogue and grabbing Jubilee's hand. He rose from his seat and began to push her long, black hair from her face lovingly.

"Sweet Pea?" Rogue leaned over the bed railing. When she saw Jubilee shift in the bed, she raced out of the room to find Hank and Cecilia.

The Cajun thief pressed his sculpted lips against her forehead. "You safe now, little one," he said huskily, relief suddenly washing over him. The tension he felt for the past few hours began to dissipate. He watched her eyes begin to flutter open.

Just before Jubilee opened her eyes, she whispered, "Bobby.."
 

Chapter Twenty-Nine: King of Pain

Scott Summers adjusted his ruby-quartz, wraparound sunglasses nervously, sitting back in the metal chair across from Jubilee's bed in the med-lab. No longer in his black leather field uniform and visor, he was now dressed in a striped, banker shirt, a pair of gray wool slacks and a pair of black loafers. It had been several hours since he and his team had returned to the mansion from their mission, bordering on late afternoon.

After debriefing the Professor as to how things had went, he and Jean immediately went to the med-lab area. Unfortunately, by the time they arrived, Jubilee had fallen asleep. However, they were able to meet with Hank, who assured both of them that she was fine and was only resting comfortably. The blow she had received from Sabretooth was not severe enough to cause any trauma to her skull or any other injuries other than the bruise on her forehead. After conducting a mental status exam, Hank was relieved to find that her memory and other cognitive abilities were perfectly intact.

Scott decided to relieve an exhausted Gambit from keeping watch over the young girl. He thanked him for saving Jubilee, noticing how quiet and subdued the usually gregarious Cajun thief was. If he weren't so concerned about Jubilee, Scott would have asked what was going on with Gambit. However, he quickly dismissed it as the New Orleans native being preoccupied with Rogue.

Scott rubbed his chin wearily, the stubble rough under his fingers. When Rogue had informed him about what had happened, he had been tempted to take the Blackbird back to Westchester. Her assurances that Jubilee was fine were not sufficient enough for him. He needed to know for himself that she was not badly hurt. As soon as he was able to sit in the room with her, his anxiety for her well being had faded. Now, he could see for himself that she was safe and that she was doing fine.

What was distressing was the fact that Creed had actually gotten on the grounds in the first place. While Gambit reported that Logan was dealing with him, a survey of the grounds and the surrounding areas by Rogue and Storm in the air turned up nothing. Jean attempted to locate the two men by using her telepathy, but was only receiving faint, vague information. However, she was able to reassure Scott that Creed was far from the mansion.

Scott was at first undecided as to who he was more furious with---Sabretooth or Logan. The former, he knew, was quite capable of terrible things. The man was a psychopath, who fed on the pain and anguish of others. During their many clashes, Scott had the opportunity to observe that side of the man. While it was horrifying what could have happened, it was not surprising that Creed was about to rape Jubilee for entertainment while waiting to attack Logan.

Then there was Logan. Scott was well aware that the man had become quite peeved because he perceived that he was being replaced. Even though he never explicitly said anything, Scott could still sense the other man's resentment towards him. It was obvious in the way Logan looked at him, especially when he and Jubilee were together. Yet, as much as Logan claimed to care for the girl, to be angry over not being the number one man in her life, he was not here by her side. Instead, he chose to take revenge against an old enemy. It was as if he would rather get some of his aggression out than be there for Jubilee.

Looking at her now, Scott was reminded of his own son, Nathan, and the rush of feelings he experienced when he and Jean were caring for him. It was a mixture of love and the feeling that he would lay down his own life in order to ensure the child's safety. When he and Jean had discussed their options the evening before, he could tell his wife shared his sentiments as well. Before this incident, they had been talking about starting a family. He had expressed reservations, uncertain of his readiness to be a father. Sitting with Jubilee now, Scott realized that he was more than ready.

Scott quietly rose from his chair, leaning over the railing of the bed to check on Jubilee. Then he slipped outside the room to grab a bottle of water. His mouth had grown increasingly dry like cotton.

As he strode towards the kitchen in the laboratory, he noticed Jean, in her short-sleeved, fuchsia sweater and navy, A-line skirt, talking quietly to someone in the doorway. Her facial expression reflected concern while she was engaged in this conversation. Venturing closer to where she was standing, Scott's mouth formed a frown. He made it clear he was not pleased when he finally reached her side.

"Oh, Scott," Jean said, turning her face to meet his. She extended a graceful hand to hold his. Immediately, she could sense her husband's irritation.

He took it, grasping it tightly. "Hello, Jean." Then he turned to the other person she had been talking to. "Logan." His voice was steely as he addressed him.

Logan raised a stony brow at him. "Cyclops." He looked like he had been dragged to the gates of hell. His dark hair had been rumpled. The clothes he was wearing---worn leather jacket, red flannel shirt, gray T-shirt underneath, and faded jeans with boots---were torn in different places. While Logan appeared to be unhurt thanks to his healing ability, there were patches of dried blood, mud, and grass stains on various spots of clothing. He appeared haggard, his face drawn with lines. It was almost as if he aged some additional years since the last time Scott had seen him. Apparently, dealing with Sabretooth the night before took some years off of him. Scott nodded stiffly. "Thankfully," he echoed.

Logan narrowed his eyes. He could tell the choir boy wanted to say something at that moment. However, he could tell One-Eyed was holding himself back because Jean was around. "I'm goin' in to see her," he finally announced, deciding that he had enough confrontations for the time being. He slipped between the couple and began to make his way to the room where Jubilee was staying.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Scott called over his shoulder. Jean gave him a quizzical look.

Logan turned around, scowling. "Why the hell not?" he demanded.

Scott crossed his arms. "She's asleep."

Logan shrugged. "Don't worry, Cyke. I'll be as quiet as a church mouse. Besides, I want to see her for myself."

Just as the other man was going to enter her room, Scott asked, "Where were you just now?"

"Scott.." Jean looked up at her husband with pleading eyes. Not now. Please.

Logan's face was as cold as the steel walls of the area. "Why do you need to know?" he countered.

The bespectacled man shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I was just curious. I mean, after finding out that Jubilee was hurt, I would have thought you would be by her side."

"I had somethin' to take care of." Logan's response even sounded cryptic to him.

"Sabretooth? How did that go? Did you win?" Scott pressed his lips together.

Logan narrowed his eyes as he sauntered where Scott and Jean were standing. "Where are you going with this?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm concerned about Jubilee's safety."

"So am I."

"Really? Hard to tell since you decided to go after Sabretooth instead of taking care of her. Fortunately, Gambit was around to do what you couldn't."

"You weren't even there. You don't know."

"You're right. But I do know while I would have wanted to tear Sabretooth apart, I would have taken care of her first."

"I was taking care of her."

"Getting revenge was taking care of her?"

"It's not about that, and you know it. I care about that kid more than you know. More than anything in the world."

"Oh, come on, Logan. You care more about how the slime ball violated your turf than you do about Jubilee. That was clearly evident when you took off to have it out with him. I think she's been through enough already."

"Go to hell, Cyclops."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Shut up. I did what I had to do."

"And what exactly was that?"

"Makin' sure that piece of trash never hurts Jubilee again."

"By abandoning her to satisfy your violent urges? Real effective, Logan."

"Look, pal, you can take your accusations and shove them up your.."

Before Logan could finish his sentence, Jean jumped between the two men. She placed her palms on both of their chests in the hopes of preventing any physical confrontations. "Stop it, both of you. All of this is not helping." She glared at Logan first, then at her husband. "No one but Victor Creed is to blame for what happened to Jubilee. And, it doesn't matter how one of you would have handled the situation. The important thing is that she's going to be fine.

"It's clear that the two of you love her," the statuesque redhead continued firmly, "She knows that. So, it shouldn't be some sort of sick contest between the two of you.. But Scott's right. She's been through enough already. How is seeing the two of you fight supposed to make things better? It's not going to change anything."

Scott pursed his lips, wincing slightly at his wife's tirade. Deep down, he knew she was right. The last thing Jubilee needed was to awaken to the sound and sight of him and Logan arguing. She was probably still shaken up about facing off with Creed. However, there was a part of Scott that was very wary of allowing the loner anywhere near her at this moment. Logan was a wild man, a savage. Logan was the one who was more concerned about handling situations with violence.

He was also a man who clearly loved the child. As much as Scott wanted to tell Logan that he could not see her, he could not deny how the other man felt about her. He was also forced to admit that their relationship had been a source of stability for the both of them. Perhaps seeing Logan would be reassuring to Jubilee.

Scott stepped aside from the doorway, sighing. He couldn't stand it when he was wrong. It made things harder for him to let go. Things made less sense to him. There was also his pride to think about as well. Gruffly, he said, "Jubilee's down the hall. Remember, she's sleeping."

Logan eyed him cautiously. While it wasn't an apology, it was probably the closest thing he was going to receive to the proverbial olive branch from Scott Summers. In response, he nodded. Then he turned on his heel to walk to her room.

Jean gave her husband an encouraging smile. "Now was that so hard?" she inquired while kissing the back of his hand gently.

Scott sniffed haughtily. There was a part of him that theorized she had something to do with his softening. Instead of calling her on it, he gritted his teeth. "You have no idea, Jean."

"Come on," Jean said, struggling to hide a smile and leading him to the elevators to the main floor. "Let's go ask Cook to make up some of those strawberry pancakes Jubilee likes. Maybe if you're still a good boy, I'll ask her to make some for you."

Logan quietly opened the steel door. The smell of antiseptic immediately flooded his nostrils as he closed it behind him. He hated this part of the mansion. It always brought back memories of his surgery all those years ago. He stiffened involuntary, trying to shake his head of those vivid thoughts.

"Did you catch the bad guy?"

Logan's eyes widened when he saw Jubilee sitting up in the hospital-style bed. Other than the small bruise on the side of her forehead, she looked no worse for wear. He walked to her beside, taking a seat in one of the metal chairs next to her. Looking at her now, she appeared quite small and fragile, almost like the little girl he had met in Australia all those years ago and not like the older child he had returned to.

He exhaled loudly, trying to muster a carefree grin. Quickly, he stopped himself since he knew it was not his style. "You scared me, kid," he said, taking both of her tiny hands in his. "How are you doing?"

Her sapphire blue eyes peered down at the rough, weathered hands that held hers. "My head hurts and the rest of me feels like someone sat on me for hours. Other than that, peachy." As she struggled to change her position, she winced slightly.

He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Last time I checked, it was Sabretooth who knocked me out, not you." She studied him quizzically.

He shook his head emphatically. "No, I didn't. But in a way, it's my fault."

"How so?" she asked, still confused.

"Because of me, he attacked you. He was trying to get to me." Logan's shoulders slumped dejectedly. "If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. You would be safe and sound."

She leaned against the overstuffed pillows that were propping her up. Her expression was one of disbelief. "What? That's not true."

"Let's face it," he said flatly. "I'm not good for you, kid."

She shook her head, still surprised. "That's crazy. None of this is your fault. You didn't make him attack me."

"But still, kid.. All those times the bastard's got to you, it was all because of me. It's the story of my life, Jubes. Everyone I care about gets hurt or worse."

"I'm OK, though."

"This time, but what about the next time? Seeing you like that, I.. I don't think I was ever so scared in my life."

"You were scared?"

"Yeah, kid. I was scared. You were hurt really bad and I thought I was going to lose you. Now, it goes to show that I'm no good to anyone. You're better off if I left. I'd just attract trouble."

"If anything, you're good for me, Wolvie."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, when Sabretooth first came out at me, I was so scared. I don't think I could remember the last time I felt like that. Honestly, I was hoping it was some kind of bad dream. Then it became really clear that it wasn't. So, I had to think of what you would do. I knew you would want me to fight him, not to be his victim. I wanted to be brave for you. I wanted to show you I could try to take care of myself. So I paffed him with everything I had."

"I saw your handy work. His healing abilities weren't helping him grow his hair and eyebrows back."

"Cool." A small smile of satisfaction crossed her pink lips. She wasn't able to reflect on the harm she had inflicted on him since Creed immediately dealt the blow that knocked her out. From the tone of voice Logan had used, he sounded somewhat proud of her.

The two of them lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Logan pulled the steel railing of the bed down to get closer to her. He tried to absorb what she had said. He wanted so desperately to believe what she said---that he was good for her, that he had helped her to survive her encounter with Creed. However, there was that ever-present negative voice inside of him, filling him with doubts. To him, he was still that savage monster he had always been.

"Wolvie?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Where were you? I'm not mad. It's just that I was really worried about you. Sabretooth doesn't really take it easy on adults, either."

"I'm OK, kid. I took care of him."

"You did? Well, how?" One thing that the older Jubilee never outgrew was her love of Wolverine's stories about fighting the bad guys. To her, they were better than any Grimm fairy tale.

He stared into those lovely, sapphire blue eyes. There was a richness and sparkle to their color. While they reflected a mature quality to their owner, there was still a sense of childishness to them as well. They were hypnotic, ensnaring Logan into their depths. Every time he looked at them, he could not help but to be candid. They made it hard to protect her from him sometimes.

"I.. All you need to know is that I took care of it." Logan's gaze went to the corner of the bed.

Jubilee frowned at him. "What does that mean?" She didn't like how he was being evasive just then.

He shrugged. "It means I took care of it."

It was then she completely took him in. Logan's healing ability helped to erase any evidence of scarring, blood, or bruising. His clothes, however, were more indicative that he had been engaged in a struggle. Torn, and caked with mud and grass stains, it was obvious they had seen better days. She also noticed something else.

Blood. Lots of blood. Dried patches almost everywhere.

Logan followed her stare. Then he bowed his head down, unable to even meet her face. He attempted to pull his hands from hers. He was surprised to find the kid had a tenacious grip. Clearly, she was not going to allow him to wriggle away so easily.

"Wolvie? Wolvie, what happened?" Gone was the hint of the child he thought he saw before, replaced by the older Jubilee.

Logan shook his head. "Kid.."

"Please. You don't need to protect me." Her voice was placid and solemn. She took a deep breath and said, "Wolvie, did you.. What happened? What did you do?"

Logan looked up at her face. There was no judgment, no fear, and no revulsion. Instead, there was only concern. As much as he wanted to hold back from her, he found himself slowly breaking down his wall of inhibitions. He cleared his throat, hoping that he would be able to finish what he was about to say.

"I wanted to protect you," he began quietly, "I wanted to make sure that bastard never got his hands on you again. He even told me that if he had another chance, he would try to get to you. Everyday, every hour, every minute, every second, I would have to look over my shoulder, worried if Creed was out there, lurking. I couldn't let him hurt you again, kid. I decided to make sure it would never happen."

He looked away from her face; his own filled with the weariness that constantly tore at him. "After Gambit took you away, Creed and I kept fightin'. Then I got the better of the bastard. I had him right where I wanted him. That look on his face---I had him, kid, and he knew it. My claws were out and ready to shred him into a million pieces. I was so pissed I could see myself doin' it. I could see myself covered with his blood and not carin' 'cause I kept you safe. Jubes, I lost it."

She waited for him to go on. When he did not do so immediately, she asked, "Then what?" Part of her wanted him to stop right there, her own imagination filling the blanks. The images that filled her head were bloody, violent, and contained much of the rage she knew Logan was capable of. However, she needed to know for sure what truly occurred. She wanted to believe that something else happened.

"Then I saw your face. I kept seein' how afraid you would be. I kept seein' how disgusted you would be.. I couldn't have that either. It hurt more than anythin' else. More than any fight I've been through, more than seeing you grown up and not being that little girl anymore.. And, as angry as I was and as much as I wanted to make that mothaf***er pay for what he did to you and for what he was saying he wanted to do to you, I knew I was gonna lose you if I killed him. You would always look at me and think of me as some wild animal to be scared of. That was the last thing I wanted.

"So I stopped myself. It was hard, but I did it. The piece of trash was still out cold. I still had my chance to take care of him."

Jubilee inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. In spite of his past dealings and what others around the mansion thought of him, she always believed that there was a rational side of him that could transcend the violent part of him. It sounded as if the rational side of him won the night before. Still, there was the question as to what exactly happened to Victor Creed. Since Logan chose not to kill him as he wanted to, then what? Her brows were raised expectantly as if to tell him, "Go on".

Logan took his silent cue, sighing. "So I dragged him to the hangar and threw him in one of the jets," he said, picturing himself tie up Creed with ropes and chains he had found nearby. "Then I pulled a Rogue."

"A Rogue?" The young girl gave him a funny look. "What does that mean?"

"I dropped Creed over Antarctica. Figured all that hair's gonna keep him warm." Logan smirked at his own joke. "Anyway, it's gonna take him a while to get outta there." While he sympathized with Gambit for being left isolated and with no means of surviving, his blood ran cold for Creed. With no means of surviving the cold, desolate land or leaving, the bastard was going to be lucky to die quickly. No food or shelter and dropping temperatures all combined to make things quite difficult. If Logan weren't so upset now, he would have smiled.

After a long silence, she said softly, "You did good, Wolvie."

It was his turn to give her a funny look. "Kid, I almost got you killed. Because of me, that jerk attacked you and hurt you. How is that good?"

"I'm not talking about that. That was never your fault. I was talking about how you handled Sabretooth."

"What do you mean?"

"It means that you didn't let the animal out. You said it yourself. You could have easily killed him like that. But you didn't. You proved that you're better than that."

"Better than that?" He shook his head. "You're better off without me. Kid, I'm just damaged goods. Always have been; always will be. You don't need that."

"No, that's not true. You saved me tonight. You took care of that monster." Her smooth, warm palms cupped his face gently. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that you're not the failure you think you are? You always strive for this ideal---a model of courage, honor and valor. But then you discount it because you think you're nowhere near that. You become so consumed with those thoughts that you don't see that you've already achieved this ideal. It's like it's easier for you to hide in your self-doubts than to admit that you're worth something."

As much as he wanted to dismiss what she had just said, her words rang with a certain sense of truth. He did do all those things. After being regarded as some kind of wild savage who was viewed as some kind of science experiment gone terribly wrong, it was hard not to think that way. He simply ingrained that into his daily mode of thinking. He was a freak and an animal not capable of anything other than killing. There were many in his past that could attest to that.

Yet, he could tell from the way the girl was staring into his face that she could see some light. Jubilee was speaking from her heart and from her own experience knowing him after all this time. She never stopped believing in him even during those years he had been away. If she saw hope in him, maybe it was worth considering.

Logan exhaled loudly as his shoulders slumped slightly. He nodded in her direction. "Got any room there?" he asked, referring to the bed she was resting in. "I'm tired."

"You've had a long night," she commented, shifting to one side. Then she patted the vacant spot invitingly. "Just don't drool on me."

He grunted at her, climbing into the bed. Wrapping an arm around Jubilee's slim shoulders, Logan pulled her head to his chest. He then closed his eyes. As he drifted into slumber, he could not recall the last time he had felt so at peace in some time.
 

Chapter Thirty: All I Want

"So, how does it feel to have your wings clipped?" Bobby asked his newly married cousin wryly as they walked with Warren to the wine bar in the spacious reception hall of the Long Island country club the Drake family belonged to. His gray eyes peered sheepishly at his friend. "No offense, man."

Warren shrugged, quite used to Bobby's sense of humor. "None taken, Bobby."

Joel finished ordering three glasses of Chardonnay from the bartender. He turned to his friends and shook his head. "If you're referring to me officially committing the rest of my life to the woman I love, it's pretty good."

Bobby made a face. "Officially committing the rest of my life to the woman I love?" he mocked, leaning against the wood railing of the bar. "Have you been reading her Harlequin novels again?"

Joel smirked, passing him a glass of wine. "This coming from the man whose idea of romance is a bucket of fried chicken and watching reruns of The A-Team," he teased. He and Warren laughed.

Bobby feigned sarcastic laughter of his own. He then imbibed most of his wine in one sip. "Some chicks like that kind of stuff," he responded defensively, "Besides, I haven't had time to refine my skills at romancing."

Since that night he was confronted by Gambit, Bobby made a conscious effort to focus his attention on Joel's wedding. Not that he had a great amount of responsibility as the best man. Besides keeping the wedding bands and writing up a witty speech for the reception dinner, there was not much for him to do. Well, there was his offer to do stand-up at the reception, but Joel would have nothing to do with that.

The end result was a picture-perfect Protestant ceremony at St. Paul's with all the details set into place. The groom and his groomsmen in their traditional tailored black tuxedos. Bobby had wanted to wear a Hawaiian shirt under his, but was promptly scolded by his mother and the other women involved in the wedding planning. Joel's wife looked radiant walking down the aisle in a strapless, cream-colored gown with a long train and hand-made, French-lace veil. The flowers at the church---cream-colored roses with baby's breath---had been arranged throughout the church, complementing the soft music from the string quartet hired. Vows were tenderly exchanged without any dramatic pauses. After an hour, the bride and groom triumphantly marched down the aisle as Mr. and Mrs. Joel Drake.

His mother and his Aunt Cathy had taken care of much of the preparations with the bride's family. Mrs. Drake had recently taken up baking special cakes as a hobby and provided her services to her nephew. Here at the reception, she baked a four-tiered, white cake with Nutella filling and lemon-butter, white frosting. The decorative piece of the cake was two white doves, spun from sugar.

Unfortunately, the dearth of duties left Bobby with plenty of time to ruminate. Time to ruminate about things left unsaid. Time to ruminate about feelings he still carried despite his efforts to push them aside. Time to ruminate about someone he wanted to be with desperately.

As soon as he was on the road, he regretted not being able to see Jubilee before he left for home. His nightly visits had become a ritual for him, something he looked forward to at the end of the day. It was during those visits that he truly felt at ease. There was no anxiety about needing to perform his role as the clown. Being Bobby Drake was fine enough for Jubilee.

Many times he found himself considering dialing up Scott and Jean's phone number to talk to her in order to explain things. There were times when he had his cell phone in hand, ready and waiting to hear her voice again. Each time, there was always something that forced him to hang up as soon as the second ring came.

His own internal resolve that in the end, Gambit was right.

Bobby narrowed his eyes, finishing off the rest of his Chardonnay. No, he affirmed to himself inwardly, things are better this way. She'll be happy and I can be miserable for the rest of my life---like it should be.

"Hey, slow down, Bobby," Warren said, a worried frown creasing his blond brows. In all the years he had known Drake, he had never seen him down a drink quite that fast. Even during their trip to Las Vegas, Bobby did not guzzle his alcohol.

Joel grabbed the empty wine glass from his cousin by the stem. "Yeah, slow down---until after you give your speech. Then you can get blasted all you want." He met the gaze of his wife who was talking with her parents and his sister, Mary. He waved to her, instantly receiving her mental summons. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm needed for a family gathering."

Warren watched the shorter, balding Drake cousin strut towards the other side of the room. "I don't know if I'll ever get where he's at," he mused, loosening his blue-gray silk tie.

Bobby looked quizzical. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You know, settle down with one woman for the rest of my life." Warren took an olive martini puff from a passing waiter.

Bobby observed Warren's date, Paige Guthrie, who was dancing with Hank on the dance floor. The two made an odd couple---a lithe blonde in a sleeveless, cotton navy gown with a slit up the side and black heels with a blue, feline-like creature in a black tuxedo and white shirt that barely fit his large, hulking frame. "So, Paige is just someone to occupy your time?"

"I didn't say that," Warren shot back. He shrugged after a moment of silence between them. "It's just that I don't know where things stand with her. I don't know if we would get to the point where we'd be here." He waved a tanned hand at the reception hall.

"I didn't know you were feeling pressured to settle down, Warren," Bobby teased.

The taller man took a sip of his wine. "I'm not. But it's something I think about sometimes. Seeing Scott and Jean, and now Joel, I wonder if I could find that kind of happiness with someone; the person that makes you feel whole and completely right for this world. You've got to admire those people who have that kind of contentment with another person."

Bobby suddenly felt uncomfortable---his palms began to sweat and his bow tie was almost constricting his airway. He had not confided his feelings about Jubilee to Warren or Hank, whom he considered his closest friends. Hearing Warren speak just now, Bobby felt as if the other man knew. He tried to shake his paranoia off, reminding himself that Warren was no psychic.

Quickly, he decided to change the subject. "So, where have you, Hank, and Paige been? We had the rehearsal dinner last night and none of you showed. What gives? I needed moral support for my part as the best man."

Warren took another sip of his drink. "Sorry, but there were some things happening back at the mansion."

"Like what?" Bobby demanded, motioning for his friend to follow him to the other bar where beer and other alcoholic drinks were being served. When they arrived there, he ordered a Newcastle and began to ice the glass to his liking.

Warren finished his wine and placed his glass on the bar. "Like Sabretooth getting on the grounds of the mansion," he replied, contemplating whether or not he should have another drink. After a few seconds, he broke down and requested a martini.

"Oh man," was the only thing Bobby could think of to say. While he never had the pleasure of taking on Creed, Bobby was aware of what kind of violent psychopath the man was. Most of the information he received was primarily from Logan and the Professor. One of the anecdotes Logan shared during a debriefing session involved Sabretooth taking out an entire Inuit village, including women and children, just because he was bored. In short, this was not the type of guy a person wanted to bring home to meet their family.

"Yeah. He took out one of the cameras so security never knew he was around."

"Yikes. So, I take it Logan was around to take care of the sleaze?"

"What do you think? Like he'd let anyone else get a piece of his old buddy?"

"How foolish of me. I should have known. So, all of you had to stay behind to clean up whatever Logan left of Sabretooth?"

"Not quite."

"Well, then what?"

"I stayed back to help Rogue track down one of the X-Jets--turns out Logan took one to drop Sabretooth over Antarctica...."

"Nice."

"And Paige stayed back to debrief Scott about the breach since she was on security detail at the time. She still blames herself, even though it was clearly not her fault."

"What about Hank? Was anyone hurt?"

"Unfortunately, yes, but not too badly."

"Who was it?" Secretly, Bobby was hoping Gambit had been the victim of Creed's indiscriminate wrath. While he had agreed with the Cajun thief that night about his decision, he was still upset nonetheless. The thought of a mild ass kicking for that smug bastard was enough to make him smile.

Warren took a sip of his martini, which was dry---the way he liked it. He finally answered, "Jubilee."

Bobby's smile faded as the guests began to make their way to their assigned tables. "Is she OK?"

"Yes, she's fine," his friend replied reassuringly. He became somewhat alarmed when he observed the younger man's face draw itself into an anxious and grim expression.

"What do you mean by OK?" Bobby demanded, his fingers gripping his glass tightly. He was unaware of the thin layer forming around the Pilsner. "What did that monster do to her?" As he waited for Warren to answer, flashing images of horrific possibilities raced through his mind. He prayed none of them actually happened.

Warren eyed his friend cautiously. The way Bobby was holding the glass; he was likely to break it into shards any minute. Carefully, he pried it from his friend's fingers and placed it on the bar behind them. "She's fine, really. Hank and Cecilia took good care of her and everything."

"You didn't answer my question," Bobby snapped, insulted by Warren's attempts to assuage his concerns like a child. "What happened to Jubilee?"

Warren frowned at him, concerned. "Easy, easy. Just take a deep breath and relax.."

"Easy nothing." Bobby wanted to grab the millionaire playboy by the lapels of his navy, double-breasted jacket and shake him, but realized he did not want to create a scene. Most of the guests were now settled in their seats, waiting for the new couple and the best man to be seated for the toast. Had he not heard about Jubilee, Bobby would have been the first to be at the table, warming the crowd up before his speech.

He leaned towards Warren, his gray eyes steely. "Tell me what happened to her. Now. Please."

In all the years Warren knew Bobby Drake, he had never seen him act this way. The carefree jokester was now replaced with a man who was so desperate, so scared, and so serious. It was as if he were talking about someone he cared about a great deal, more than he would a person he just considered a casual friend. He was sure Bobby would never react this way if it were Hank or Rogue that got hurt. It was not that he woul