Chapter Sixty: I’m the Man Who Loves You (Explicit)

The more prosperous section of the capital, known as Hightown, seemed to bear the brunt of the extreme climate conditions. Much of this was traced back to the rapid development of the city’s infrastructure, producing pollution levels that rivalled Beijing. Eschewing environmental concerns, the government often boasted that the projects resulted in services representing twenty years of advancement. With the concentration of wealth situated in Hightown, hotels, bars, and restaurants frequently competed to bring the newest, most opulent, or most outlandish attractions to wealthy locals and foreign visitors alike. Breathtakingly towering and ultramodern pavilions mingled with classical and modern Western architectural styles—art deco, Gothic, Beaux-Arts.

This late spring day was proving to be an uncharacteristically pleasant and tranquil one. The skies overhead were clear, devoid of the smog that often shrouded the city and its inhabitants. Those already venturing outside were surprised by the lack of humidity in the air, replaced by a crispness not usually associated with Madripoor. Noise from bustling crowds and vehicles fixated in the complicated network of surrounding highways were operating at a lowered volume, which made the chirping of native birds audible. In short, this new day was appearing to be a refreshing start for all in Madripoor.

With the exception of one person.

Sam Guthrie awoke with a start, his heart slamming against his chest violently. The white cotton sheets clung to his long, lean frame, which was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Exhaling shakily, the Southern gentleman leaned against the upholstered headboard of the antique-style hotel bed. As the sunlight filtered into his room through the gauze-like curtains hanging from the windows, the shackles of slumber began to loosen their grip.

For most people, being roused from consciousness in such a jarring manner would have left them unnerved but later relieved that such an occurrence was rare. However, the Southern gentleman failed to experience either one of these responses. For him, joining the waking world like this had become customary. It was part of an inescapable cycle which consumed the young man from Kentucky, taunting and punishing him to the brink of sanity.

He had another dream.

About her.

The former coal miner raked his calloused hands through his straw-coloured hair—the same hands he could have sworn had been buried in silky raven locks with midnight blue streaks and touching soft, creamy skin. Tried as he did to escape the torture inflicted upon him by his own psyche, Sam was helpless. No amount of physical distance or distraction of any kind would allow him that luxury.

The Southern gentleman closed his eyes in an attempt to shield them from the brilliant light streaming in from the hotel window. He cursed softly at himself for what seemed like the millionth time. The deep recesses of his mind betrayed him, instilling an unending sense of torment that penetrated his soul. It was as if there was a part of him that was not satisfied with the pain of realizing she was completely out of reach and that she would always choose another over him. Rather, it seemed this toxic aspect of Sam Guthrie wanted the agony of her absence to be further intensified through the incessant repetition of unfulfilled desires.

Not surprisingly, these nocturnal disturbances did little to assuage the internal turmoil that constantly tore away at him. The rational portion of his mind argued how inherently wrong it was to want someone who was not available, and to harbour feelings that could never be realized. However, this facet of his psyche was soon overwhelmed by a part that was driven by powerful feelings of ache and desire. They threatened to shatter what little control he had left these days, unwilling to abate until Sam could have what he desperately wanted for so long.

Unfortunately, cogent thought soon prevailed, reminding him that this could never be.

Jubilee had gone after Bobby.

Sam pursed his lips in disgust. Here he was, waking up alone and the fool yet once again. As painful as the illusions were, he found his reality even more excruciating. He was not only reminded that Jubilee would never be his but also of his own futility and hopelessness.

Bitterly reflecting upon his predicament, Sam chided himself. How could he be so naïve? One of the reasons he was so eager to leave Westchester was to alleviate his anguished mind. The Southern gentleman honestly believed that if he could place some substantial distance between himself and Jubilee, his feelings would diminish. Perhaps by not seeing her beautiful face everyday, he could have some semblance of relief.

Much to his disappointment, the former coal miner found the very opposite to be true. Despite his best efforts, his ambitions of being honourable were falling short. Since his arrival, Sam felt as if he were being bombarded with reminders of Jubilee. The colour of the waters surrounding the island was reminiscent of the blue in her eyes. The spicy sweetness of the tea Xi’an drank elicited memories of the combination of bubblegum and cinnamon permeating from her. The satiny smooth feel of the silk sold at the nearby outdoor markets Amara and Rogue visited evoked sensations of her hair and skin under his fingertips.

When he first arrived in Madripoor, he set out a goal to purge the memories of these dreams from his mind. His attempts to resolve his predicament included re-reading his dog-eared copy of Starship Troopers; listening to his iPod shuffle of Neil Young, Johnny Cash, Bob Seger, and Wilco; watching several minutes of some Orlando Bloom movie with Rogue, Amara and Dani before admitting to himself that option was even pushing the envelope too far; and sitting through a discussion between Roberto and Gambit about where the best gambling houses were located.

In spite of his best efforts, the Southern gentleman was disappointed again when he was haunted by the restrained hopes and desires once he succumbed to slumber. What made things worse was the fact that each dream was more vivid than the last, leading him to believe that he was experiencing reality. He felt as if all his consciousness had distorted his encounters with her, warping them so that they were aligned with his deep-seated wishes in order to punish him.

Peering down at the empty space next to him in the king-sized bed, the Kentucky native was overcome with familiar feelings of despondency. Almost immediately, his mind was inundated with vivid images. Even now, in spite of attempting to utilize every ounce of mental strength to focus his thoughts elsewhere, Sam found himself reliving the night time reverie.

The content of the dreams were unchanged from one night to the next. Almost as soon as he drifted to sleep, Sam would find Jubilee lying next to him. She often greeted him with one of her dazzling smiles, lighting up her entire face with an ethereal glow that humbled him. The only barrier that separated them now was the cotton sheet draped strategically over her lithe body. It was enough to evoke a rare smile from the Southern gentleman.

Sam swallowed hard. Although the circumstances of Jubilee’s presence stirred feelings of ecstasy Sam had not known for some time, he was keenly aware that there were many incongruous things about this situation. So many questions pulsed through his brain, including ones that yearned to know why she lying naked in bed with him. As badly as he wanted to vocalize this and other queries, his tongue failed to cooperate.

After what seemed like eons of being rendered speechless, Sam mustered some semblance of coherent thought to question the peculiarity of the circumstances. “What are ya doin’ here?” he finally asked her.

The smile faded slightly, giving way to an earnest and thoughtful expression. Those old-soul blue eyes were shining as they peered at him. “It didn’t feel right to leave things like we did,” she replied softly, biting her lower lip ruefully. “I hurt you, and I’m sorry for that.”

Sam shook his head, wishing he could lift the guilt from her and add it to the existing burden that weighed upon him so heavily. At the same time, he could feel his heart swell inside his chest when he learned of her concern for him. Her capacity to be so loyal to those around her was one of the reasons he loved her so. “No,” he told her, “ya could never hurt me. Ya never have ta worry about that, sweetie.”

This time, she was the one shaking her head. “But I do,” she insisted, her sapphire gaze still fixed upon his handsome face. “Back in the garage, I was scared and confused. I…I felt like I made you leave.”

“Ya didn’t,” he lied, finding it increasingly difficult to retain his veneer of control. It was taking every ounce of willpower not to gather her into his arms. He could hear his own heart beat wildly as he struggled to compose himself.

Jubilee edged closer to him, the space between them diminishing to the point where he could feel the heat emanating from her with fierce intensity. It was amazing her obliviousness to the effect she had on him. Otherwise, he would have considered her actions beyond cruel.

“It’s just that back in Westchester, you seemed so…down. I did that to you, didn’t I?”

“No, ya didn’t.”

“Sam—” “No. Ya could never hurt me. Don’t ever think that, sweetie.”

“It’s hard not to. I mean, the timing of it all, especially after that dinner date. I couldn’t help but think you were too willing to volunteer to go here.”

“There are other reasons for me bein’ here and ain’t none of ‘em have anythin’ ta do with you.”

Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she frowned. “But I felt like I drove you away by acting so weird. That’s the last thing I wanted. It’s just that…after Thanksgiving, I had a lot of stuff going on in my head. You know, with Bobby and all.”

The Kentucky native bristled at the mere mention of his romantic rival’s name, which was then followed by a pang of guilt. Why did he have to want her so desperately? She was already with someone, who, unlike Sam, was good enough to deserve her and be everything he was not. In the end, Sam knew he had to resign himself to this simple truth.

Drawing back from her, the Southern gentleman tried not to grimace as he willed himself to do the right thing. “Ya ain’t responsible for anythin’,” Sam whispered, struggling to tear his eyes from her lovely face. “Ya have ta know that, sweetie.”

Jubilee’s frown deepened further upon his attempt at deception. She moved closer to him until they were separated by mere inches. “I know you’re lying,” she chided gently, “I don’t deserve it, though. Not after how I’ve been around you.”

He tried to protest yet again but found himself silenced under her crystalline gaze.

She continued speaking, sapphire eyes shining underneath her thick lashes. “I shouldn’t have left so fast. I should have stayed so we could talk. I shouldn’t have made you do this… But now, I’m here.”

His eyes widened in disbelief as his stomach dropped. Had he been standing, it was quite probably he might have stumbled backwards. Finally, he licked his lips nervously as he verbalized the only things racing through his brain at that moment. “What? Why?”

“Because I don’t feel bad about what happened,” she replied, her small red mouth trembling as the corners lifted upwards in a shy smile.

Sam’s breathing quickened when he heard her words. They nearly echoed the ones she had during her conversation with Hank several weeks ago. Back then, that statement had been accompanied by confusion. However, this was different. The Jubilee making this confession was not consumed by awkwardness or uncertainty. There was a confidence and sincerity behind her declaration that nearly chipped away at the last of his armour of self-control.

Yet, there was just one outstanding issue—one that would not allow him to completely surrender. His pale eyes roved over her delicate features gently as he summoned the courage to make his query. “What about…him?” Making the effort to even utter Bobby’s name was proving to be difficult at that moment.

Then Jubilee provided Sam with the answer he longed for during all those lonely nights. “I want to be here with you.”

Instinctively, the Southern gentleman pulled her close to him. His fingers tangled in her raven locks, pulling her head towards his. With closed eyes, Sam could feel Jubilee seeking his lips with a fervour he shared. His tongue pressed to her lips and parted them, tenderly exploring her mouth. He could not help feeling pleased when she moaned softly in response.

Meanwhile, his other hand wandered to her hip and pressed her against his burgeoning arousal. As they continued their frenetic kisses, Jubilee’s fingers slid over his chest. Sam groaned as he raised himself over her. He had almost forgotten how wonderful she felt. Thanksgiving night seemed so long ago.

He drew back slightly as his calloused fingers traced a line from her jaw to the supple skin of her throat. “So beautiful,” he murmured, pale eyes staring deeply into those hypnotic sapphire depths. The journey continued on to the smooth line formed by her collarbone, to the hollow in between, and pausing at the edge of the bed sheet draped over her.

“Ya have my whole world here,” Sam declared huskily, taking her small hand and placing it over his heart. “Ah ain’t got anythin’ left. It’s all yours.”

Jubilee smiled when she felt it beat faster. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Realizing he was at the point of no return, the Southern gentleman bared her breasts. His gaze once more followed his fingertips, which now traced a path over her supple skin. They ran a path lightly around the outer curve of her breast, eventually cupping it in his hand. With a rough thumb he grazed her nipple gently, watching the surrounding pink skin pucker slightly at his touch.

She exhaled shakily, her fingers gliding from his chest to his stubble-ridden face. “Are you sure? Are you sure you really want me?”

Bewildered, Sam stared at her to discover she was there was nothing duplicitous about her query. As if to reassure her, he first kissed her and then murmured against her sweet mouth, “Ah do, Jubilee. More than anything. Ya never have ta doubt that.”

Jubilee smiled up at him as he stroked her silky hair affectionately. “Things are going to be different now.”

The Southern gentleman was taken aback slightly by the cryptic nature of her remark. “What do you mean, sweetie?” he inquired.

Staring intently into his eyes, the young firecracker brushed his straw-coloured hair from his forehead. “There’s been a lot going on,” she answered, her tone softening the enigmatic quality of her response.

Before Sam could obtain clarification about what she meant, Jubilee pressed her mouth against his. He could feel his resolve melt away as she cradled his face in her small hands. Any semblance of rational thought disappeared in the wake of the ardour that seized upon him. Just the slightest touch from her elicited shivers of desire that wracked his body.

Meanwhile, his calloused fingers surrounded her breast once more. The former coal miner broke the kiss gently. “Ah’m yours,” he told her huskily, trembling slightly from what was transpiring. “Ya have me no matter what happens. Ah’d rather die than let anythin’ or anyone hurt ya.”

Then as if to reinforce the passion fuelling his declaration, Sam lowered his mouth to her breasts. His tongue darted out and flicked at the nipples as his hands slid downward. She moaned softly, her hips shifting under his touch.

“Ah love ya,” he murmured against her skin, allowing himself to give in to intoxication of her. There were so many other confessions the Southern gentleman yearned to make. Yet, he was finding himself more and more entranced by the feel of her softness, the taste of her, and the sweet cries she made for him. As he began making love to her, Sam believed he could die happy. He had everything he wanted; he had Jubilee.

Reflecting upon the dream now, Sam shook his head in disbelief. It was as if everything about her was forever imprinted in his brain so that she would always be with him. To the Southern gentleman, it was a torturous existence one that he was coming to accept.

The former coal miner found himself reflecting on last night’s dream as the sunshine continued pouring in through the windows. Sam began to realize that there were some genuine aspects to what played out his mind. He did love Jubilee and he was more than willing to pledge his heart and himself completely to her. There was nothing more he wanted in this world than to make her feel treasured and loved. In fact, he would have done anything to ensure Jubilee’s happiness.

Even it meant, for him, dying a little inside.

Xi’an Coy Mahn pulled on a lightweight, orange crewneck sweater over a pair of khaki chino shorts. The waif-like, former New Mutant was enjoying a rare of moment of solitude in the hotel room she shared with Dani and Amara, who had decided to check out the rooftop pool this morning. It was not that she was irritated with her friends. No, quite the contrary was true. Like Amara, Xi’an relished the reunion with the others after years of living separate lives under the guise of establishing independent identities from the Professor. As someone whose early experiences were rooted in tragic loss, Xi’an had come to love each and every one of her team mates as if they were members of her family.

Since their first night in Madripoor, when she received the sudden and intense psychic backlash, Xi’an felt as if she were being smothered by her friends and team mates. In the hours that followed, Dani and Sam had appointed themselves as her caregivers. Together, they sought to ensure that their friend was resting properly given the physical trauma of the experience. Their zealousness towards their roles nearly saw them accompany her to the restroom, fearing she would collapse once left alone. Thankfully, Amara intervened on her behalf, pointing out the ridiculousness of said plan. But then she insisted on standing guard outside of the door should something happen. Even the self-centred Roberto expressed his concerns for her welfare by arranging for a doctor’s visit at the hotel through one of his contacts. Although the examination revealed no presence of serious injury or any negative residual effects resulting from the backlash, Rogue and Gambit were reluctant to allow her access to the portable Cerebro uplink for the time being. Much to Xi’an’s chagrin, the others supported this decision.

As altruistic as their intentions were, Xi’an did not care for the role of the frail patient requiring special treatment. It was completely antithetical to who she was. Life forced her to grow up quickly, developing strength and maturity beyond her peers. As a result, she became used to shouldering a great deal on her own, including raising her younger siblings, grieving for her parents, and coping with her own trauma while fleeing Vietnam. Despite the hardships encountered during her young life, Xi’an never engaged in self-pity or lost faith in other people. Rather, she was able to derive lessons learned from these experiences, which allowed her to flourish and grow. To be treated as someone who could not even be trusted to use the restroom without falling apart discounted all of that.

The constant attention also served to interfere with her ability to analyse the nature of the telepathic feedback. Her mental faculties had been overwhelmed by the flood of images and thoughts. At the time, it was difficult for Xi’an to discern where this information was coming from or what was behind the phenomena in the first place. It was like being struck by a truck on a deserted road.

Further compounding matters was the heavy sense of dread engulfed her as she collapsed against Sam and Dani. Not since her mother’s death had Xi’an felt such anguish and fear. It twisted her inside, prompting a visceral reaction not usually associated with the reserved Vietnamese refugee. As the tears and blood flowed, Xi’an struggled to identify the source of this pain but found herself at a loss. Instead, she could only provide the others with a vague statement that something was amiss.

The following evening had been Roberto’s meeting at the Princess Bar with the mysterious contact. He had been trailed by Dani and Amara, who managed to keep their amusement at bay in order to monitor the situation from inside. The co-leaders on the assignment, Rogue and Gambit, had decided to keep abreast of things from their base in Hightown. Rogue had insisted that Roberto wear a wire during the conversation as well as keep his communicator switched on. The Southern belle had argued that whoever this individual was, her use of Logan’s past alias made it likely that she had some sort of history with Tyger as well.

This had left Sam and Xi’an as the odd ones out for that evening, although she later suspected that Rogue asked the eldest Guthrie to continue watching over his friend. Without the Cerebro uplink or the files related to the assignment (Gambit had decided to pour over them while he and Rogue were listening in on Roberto’s meeting), the two former classmates had found themselves in the hotel restaurant for a late dinner. The choice had been a compromise, borne out of Xi’an’s increasing restlessness from being confined to the suite and Sam’s wariness to venture far from their lodgings for fear of compromising her health.

The setting for dinner had been strange one for the two long-time friends. An authentic bistro adjacent to the concierge desk, the restaurant exuded a cosy—almost romantic vibe. This had been evident in the atmosphere of dark wood floors; dimly lit, bare Edison bulbs; classic brasserie tables; and leather couches. Both glanced at one another with amused expressions upon observing couples whispering intimately over their meals. There had been a moment when they reconsidered their decision but this was ultimately cancelled out by their collective desire to be away from the suite. Once they had been seated, their waiter, a bald and round-faced man named Paul, presented them a single wood-framed chalkboard, which contained a menu of classic dishes.

Sam’s brows furrowed underneath his straw-coloured locks as his pale eyes roved over the choices. “Ah can’t understand any of this,” he pretended to grouse. “All Ah know is that French folks like frog legs. Just steer me away from that and everythin’ will be fine.”

For the first time since their arrival in Madripoor, Xi’an smiled. She had forgotten how refreshingly unpretentious Sam could be. Despite his experiences travelling this world and others, the Southern gentleman refused to become jaded like some members. Rather, he seemed all the more determined to be loyal to his Kentucky roots. It was a distinction he was proud of.

“Well, you are lucky you are dining with someone who is very fluent,” she remarked, unfolding her napkin and placing it across her lap. Having grown up in the French-dominated part of Vietnam, Xi’an had mastered English, French, and Vietnamese. “Don’t worry. I will make sure your dinner is frog-free.”

Flashing her a grateful look, the Southern gentleman said, “Thanks, Xi’an. You’re a nicer guide than Bobby and Nate. When we were in Rio, they tried to get me to order raw sweetbreads in Portuguese.”

She made a face before providing her dinner companion with a brief introduction to the menu in English. Her amber eyes widened at the prices listed. Normally, the extravagance of such a meal would have deterred the pragmatic Xi’an. Fortunately, the expense account for the mission allowed for the occasional treat. After deliberating with Sam for several minutes, she provided Paul with their selections: baby clams stuffed with spinach and walnuts as the shared appetizer, the hanger steak served with red-wine sauce and buttery chanterelles mixed in with golden potatoes for Sam, the chicory salad with mustard dressing and snips of bacon for herself, and the white chocolate mousse sandwiched by elegant, wafer-thin tuiles for dessert.

Taking a sip of her Gigondas, Xi’an leaned back in her seat and sighed contently. In the faint glow of the restaurant lighting, she felt quite relaxed. The physically taxing experience of the psychic backlash was dissipating.

The corners of Sam’s pale eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You seem ta be doin’ better,” he observed, reaching across the table for a piece of bread.

“I am,” she replied, watching him slather some butter onto baguette slice. Then she added dryly, “I think it’s been the coddling by everyone that’s made me tired more than the attack itself.”

A slightly wounded expression drifted across his handsome face as he placed his butter knife on the small plate along with the piece of bread. “We were just worried about ya,” he told her earnestly, “What happened last night… That looked mighty intense. Ah ain’t seen anythin’ like that before. Worst of all, it was happenin’ ta someone we all care about.”

Xi’an bit her lower lip ruefully upon hearing her friend’s touching remarks. Yet, she found the need to communicate the frustration of the past several hours following the incident. “I appreciate that,” she said, mulling over her words carefully. “It’s just that treating me as if I might break at any moment made me believe all of you doubted me and what I could contribute. I was beginning to feel a bit suffocated, too, with you and Dani never leaving my side. I mean, the first few hours were okay but now, it’s just been a bit much, don’t you agree?”

Sam popped the piece of bread into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It was apparent that he had not considered his and Dani’s actions as being detrimental towards their friend. The last thing they had wanted to do was to undermine Xi’an’s abilities. “Ah guess,” he agreed after swallowing. “Ah’m sorry. We all are. We were just concerned for ya, that’s all. And also, there ain’t ever been a moment when any of us thought ya weren’t an equal on this mission. Ya gotta believe that, Xi’an.”

Sensing the sincerity present in the Southern gentleman’s apology, she nodded. There was no need to make use of her abilities to grasp the lack of duplicity in his words, voice, and expression. He was genuinely contrite as well as deeply concerned for her as a friend. Studying him now, Xi’an was amazed that despite the years that had passed and the life experiences Sam accumulated, he remained the kind-hearted soul she came to depend on.

Then she took a deep breath, hoping to inject some levity between the two of them. “I suppose I should be grateful,” she observed as Paul returned with their appetizer, “that I have great friends who care about me. Even Roberto. I could not believe how fast he had that doctor come to the hotel.”

Sam grinned while the waiter set the plate between them before wishing them ‘Bon appetit’ before darting back into the kitchen to retrieve another table’s orders. “He had his moments,” the former coal miner said, amused. It was rare for the CEO of Da Costa Industries to reveal his compassionate side. In fact, he went out of his way to hide his charitable contributions and activities, insisting he had a reputation to maintain. Rather, the former Hellfire member seemed to pride himself on being opportunistic, using his understanding of human behaviour to manipulate situations to his advantage (primarily directed towards new business acquisitions and girlfriends). This reputation prompted Dani and Amara to half-jokingly suggest the possibility of their friend washing up on shore one day, with no teeth or fingerprints after being attacked by ninjas hired by business rivals or former girlfriends.

The remainder of dinner was spent talking about other topics unrelated to the mission at hand. It was as if they decided, on a subconscious level, to capitalize on what was a rare free evening. Sam talked at length about his new interest in motocross racing which developed after catching the last minutes of a televised event in Chile. He was so taken with the sport that he was planning to purchase a bike upon his return—a Maico 360 cc with air-cooled engine and twin shock absorbers on the rear suspension. Meanwhile, Xi’an confided in the Southern gentleman her ambivalence over a date Dani set up prior to their departure with the owner of the Grind Stone, a popular coffee shop frequented by the students. While there was no doubt of their friend’s altruistic intentions, the execution left much to be desired (namely, the fact that Dani did not consult Xi’an before approaching Luna).

As the meal concluded over snifters of cherry-flavoured brandy, Sam suddenly looked grave. He took a deep breath as the pianist began to play Debussy’s ‘Reflets dans l'eau’ softly over the din of customers and wait staff. Then the Southern gentleman asked quietly, “Do ya remember anythin’ about…what happened?”

Xi’an stopped swirling the brandy when she noticed the change in her friend’s demeanour. His attempt at broaching the subject of last night’s events was tempered by a need to be cautious. Despite Sam’s assurances earlier, it was obvious he was still anxious over her well-being. Again, she was touched but knew she had to press forward in order to understand what happened to her.

The young woman otherwise known as Karma shook her head. “Not really, no,” she finally replied, still cupping the glass in her small hand and studying the caramel-coloured liquid. “I remember talking with you and Dani. And then my head became full of these…things.”

“What kind of things?” he inquired, brows furrowing underneath his straw-coloured hair. Though his friend and team mate emanated calm as she spoke about her experience, Sam was still concerned. He appeared as if he were mulling the option of changing the topic.

Upon perceiving his trepidation, Xi’an decided to feign ignorance. She needed to talk about this in order to try to make sense of it. What transpired had been an unusual occurrence to say the least. Since the manifestation of her abilities, she had never experienced anything remotely like that. The sudden and overwhelming influx of psychic information followed by searing pain and fear was something that both confused and unnerved her. Had she been allowed to access the Cerebro unit, Xi’an could have consulted with the Professor, Jean, or even Emma. However, given the constraints imposed by a cautious Rogue, the former refugee found her options limited.

“I was hearing and seeing other people’s thoughts—but it was like watching twenty television programs at the same time.” She raised the snifter to her nose but did not take a sip. “Normally, I can shield myself from that kind of attack but last night was…different.”

“What do ya mean, Xi’an?”

“I couldn’t defend myself at all. It was so sudden. And then, within seconds, it was over.”

“Do ya think it had anythin’ ta do with Tyger and whatever’s been happenin’ with her?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“Maybe we should talk ta Rogue and see if we can get the uplink back.”

“Wait. Let me try something.”

Narrowing her amber eyes, Xi’an began to sort through the psychic static that clouded her mind. She placed the snifter down as she focused on separating and organizing the material. Instantly, she was confronted with a miasma of information, relayed to her through projections and internal voices. Separating and compartmentalizing each item would take a great deal of concentration.

As the mental haze started to clear, Xi’an was beginning to relate material to the origins. There were the thoughts of the hotel staff, who were concerned about the security perimeter around Hightown. The internal voices of some residents from Lowtown followed, bemoaning economic conditions in their part of the capital while denouncing the ineptitude and corruption of the current administration.

Her focus soon narrowed, concentrating on the projections from those in the suite. It was then that she became privy to Rogue’s suspicions about a new student named Foxx and the resulting tension between the Southern Belle and Gambit. Next, she heard the Cajun thief’s deep-seated insecurities about their relationship after Rogue’s powers subsumed the inhibitor collar’s effects months ago (“Mebbe dis no touchin’ t’ing is gettin’ to me…more dan I t’ought.”). Dani’s internal monologue followed. Xi’an could sense her friend’s concern over the events leading to Rahne’s departure from the school and the painful rift that resulted. Amara, meanwhile, was shaken by memories from a week prior to leaving for Madripoor. The sight of her roommate, Tabitha, cornering Kurt Wagner in their kitchen with a can of whipped cream left the Nova Roma native considering other living arrangements. As for Roberto, his thoughts centred around the rendezvous with the mysterious caller. She could hear him mentally voice his wariness, especially in light of his recent break-up with a volatile swimsuit model from Berlin.

For Xi’an, unwittingly stumbling across these private thoughts and feelings was quite shocking, to say the least. Yet, her astonishment was not about to end there. In fact, it seemed to exponentially increase upon deciphering the secrets of the last remaining individual in the room.

Sam.

Suddenly, her mind was inundated with information previously embedded deep in the Southern gentleman’s psyche. Xi’an observed the events of the last year and a half from his perspective. She experienced his angst as images of Jubilee and Bobby together flashed before her eyes. Sam’s euphoria pulsed through her veins in the wake of his memories with Jubilee—passing conversations around the school, dancing together on Valentine’s Day, attending the concert with her in New York, and the kiss they shared on Thanksgiving. His dreams and reveries, where Jubilee was free to be his, also evoked a sense of poignancy she never knew was possible. This was rivalled by the guilt and shame associated with wanting Jubilee as well as his own transgressions—sleeping with the waitress, kissing Jubilee, and being responsible for her ensuring confusion. In response, the moral voice of his conscience bitterly rebuked him on what seemed to be a never-ending basis. What ultimately trumped his feelings of despondency and self-loathing was one simple truth.

God help me, I love her.

“Well?” He looked expectant and worried.

Startled, Xi’an blinked and racked her brain for a response. Having experienced heartache similar to her friend, she was quite empathic to his struggles. Yearning for someone who was unable to reciprocate and then being forced to see that person everyday—it was a predicament she was well acquainted with. Sensing her friend, a good man, in such pain made her want to reach out and reassure him that he would find peace. However, the matter was complicated by the manner in which Xi’an learned of his turmoil. How could she possibly explain this invasion of his privacy? Granted, she had not sought out this information but her awareness of his secret could be inimical. Knowing him as well as she did, the mortification would possibly drive him further into his hell.

In the end, she decided on what she believed was the appropriate course of action. “Nothing,” she lied, averting her eyes and taking a sip of her brandy. “Nothing at all.”

Settling herself on the brown leather cushions of the lavishly scaled, barrel chair woven in heavy wicker, Xi’an was still affected by her dinner with Sam Guthrie. She began to slip on a pair of bronze moccasins, feeling very uneasy about what transpired. While she hated lying to him, the prospect of confessing to him that she knew about his feelings was even less appealing. Known for his genial nature, the Southern gentleman could also be very reserved, particularly in regards to his relationships. Given this and the fact that the object of his affections was not available, it was no surprise that Sam was desperate to conceal things. The intensity of the emotions surrounding this secret only provided further evidence. No one else was meant to know.

Xi’an sighed. Upon further reflection, peculiarities about his behaviour were now making sense—his eagerness to leave Westchester, his seemingly neutral stance on the open-ended nature of this assignment, the passing expressions of sadness, and the slightly nervous presentation whenever anyone attempted to gauge his state of mind. Even more disconcerting was how determined Sam was not to disclose what was troubling. Despite the efforts of his friends to press him, the Southern gentleman believed he deserved to suffer in silence.

As for the revelations, Xi’an was unsure as to what to think. Recalling the gathering of the Lonely Hearts’ Club last Valentine’s Day, she now understood why Sam had been so pleased when Jubilee appeared. Back then, it struck her as somewhat strange. The two rarely spoke and seemed to have very little in common given their different status around the mansion (he as an active field team member and she as a part-time mentor to the students). But when his thoughts and feelings entered her consciousness, this view changed. Seeing Jubilee from his eyes, Xi’an experienced his fascination with her resilience, playful charm, kindness, intelligence, and stunning beauty. The rush of euphoria evoked from a simple smile or her voice calling out his name was addictive as any drug, forever ensnaring him.

Following this, she understood his passionate devotion to Jubilee and the ensuing internal struggle to reconcile these feelings with what was appropriate. This was especially true in regards to the kiss they shared on Thanksgiving. While the event was initially viewed as one of the most thrilling ones in his young life, his emotions took a turn once Jubilee attempted to distance herself from him. Xi’an felt his guilt for inflicting confusion and guilt upon the woman he loved. Her sympathy increased when she saw how deeply he cared for Jubilee, allowing her to follow Bobby even though he hoped for otherwise.

Rubbing her temples gingerly, Xi’an wished for the millionth time she had not been able to access the contents of her friend’s psyche. In the hours that followed, she tried to purge what she had gleamed. It felt completely odd to be partaking in what seemed to be regular activity for Sam. While the motivation for doing so was different, the desire to be free of the burden associated with those memories was a commonality.

This is torture, Xi’an mused, shaking her head as disbelief mingled with admiration when considering the Southern gentleman’s position. I can’t imagine living like this. I don’t know how you’ve managed all this time, Sam.

There was a part of her that understood his heartache. A couple of months ago, she had been in a similar position. When Kitty returned to the mansion, Xi’an was immediately taken back to their time in Chicago together. The months spent cultivating their friendship had given way to something more profound. In her fellow X-Man, she believed she had found her soul mate—someone who understood and accepted her completely. Unfortunately, her confession of undying love did not receive the reaction she had longed for. Although haunted by what could have been, Xi’an was able to move forward—something she hoped Sam would do in the future.

Finally, the former refugee rose to her feet and made her way to the door connecting her room to the main suite. Her friends’ voices floated from the other side. While the content of their projections were innocuous compared to Sam’s, Xi’an still felt awkward and guilty. The prospect of facing them following her discoveries was daunting. Yet, avoidance was not an option at this point. Gripping the doorknob tightly, she braced herself for what lay ahead.

When she entered the room, Amara was the first to greet her. “Good morning,” she chirped warmly, appearing every bit the Roman aristocrat she was. Her honey-hued hair spilled down her bronze shoulders in loose waves, anchored by a single bobby pin. She wore a white, strapless cotton maxi dress which bloused at the waist, and gold, strappy sandals. “Did you sleep well?”

Xi’an nodded, watching her pour water into two glasses. When the Nova Roma native held one out to her, it was received gratefully. “Yes, I did,” she replied, taking a sip. “How was the pool?”

“Crowded with trophy wives,” Dani remarked, making a face. The young Cherokee’s wiry frame was cradled in the deep, navy-and-white cushions of the English sofa. “I couldn’t even get a lap in. Trust me, you did not miss anything.”

Amara rolled her sea-blue eyes. “Ave, Dani, we were not there to swim,” she pointed out as she and Xi’an joined their friend on the sofa. Having grown up with tropical temperatures, the lithe blonde was quite appreciative of the mild conditions afforded to her at this time. While she missed the mansion, she definitely did not care for the blustery nature of spring there.

“To catch rich husbands then?” Roberto wagged his brows rakishly. He was stretched out on the champagne cushions of the French gilded mahogany chaise lounge.

Dani tossed a gold throw pillow at him, nearly causing him to drop his iPad. She stifled a laugh when he gave her a warning look. Then she turned to Xi’an and asked quietly, “How are you doing?”

It was difficult for Xi’an not to flinch under the focused and worried eyes of her friends. She could discern their continued anxiety over her condition. Nodding slowly, she began to issue her reassurances. “I’m fine, really,” she told them with a small smile. “While you three were out on your clandestine operation, Sam and I enjoyed a quiet and relaxing dinner. After a good night’s sleep, I am feeling very refreshed. There really is no need to be concerned.”

Upon hearing this, Dani, Amara, and Roberto looked relieved.

Xi’an took another sip of her water and peered around the room. “Where are the others?” she asked. When she noticed Sam’s absence, her forehead wrinkled slightly as her features arranged themselves in a troubled frown. Having experienced his existence in that brief moment, she could only speculate what the Southern gentleman would be doing after another tortuous night of dreams.

Amara observed her friend’s vexed state, misreading it as apprehension over an aspect of the mission. “Relax. Rogue and Gambit are picking up Logan from the airport. And Sam is probably still asleep.”

“I don’t know why he would be,” Roberto said grumpily. “He wasn’t the one who was in the ghetto last night, meeting up with some strange lady and risking his life. I was a real hero.”

His friends exchanged amused glances while trying to bite back smiles. Granted, the Princess Bar was located in Lowtown. Amid the debauchery and squalor, the Princess Bar was an oasis of elegance and style. Reputedly modelled after the Madripoor salon of an eccentric, colonial-era socialite, the establishment was known for its over-the-top design featuring paintings, travel artefacts from across the globe, and objets d'art. Frightened by the surrounding area’s dangerous reputation, tourists often avoided the Princess Bar after dark. However, for local residents from both Hightown and Lowtown, it was the local gathering place to eat and drink, be entertained, conduct illegal business dealings, and seek out illicit vices.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Dani chided playfully, fingering the necklace Josh had given her before the mission. It was ring-linked, pink-beaded chain with colourful feathers and carved leaf charms, an early Mother’s Day gift. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, when you get worked up about it, you hardly sound heroic.”

Amara nodded in agreement, enjoying the good-natured ribbing. She had forgotten how much fun it was get under Roberto’s skin. “And you needed protection.”

He snorted as he finished reading an article about Russian commodities. “Some protection you two were. While I was talking to our source, you and Dani decide to order chocolate martinis and flirt with those cabaret musicians. Thanks a lot.”

Xi’an smiled when her roommates rolled their eyes. “Well, you’re alive so I suppose the meeting went well,” she observed wryly. Then her tone became serious as she asked, “What exactly happened? Could someone get me up to speed?”

The trio took turns detailing the events of last night. Once the group arrived at the bar, Roberto sat alone at the bar as directed by the caller while Dani and Amara took a nearby booth with clear sight of him. Ten minutes later, he was joined by a tall, voluptuous woman with long, chestnut tresses that tumbled down to her waist. Despite the warm summer air, she wore a white, double-breasted trench coat and black stiletto boots. Her facial features were difficult to make out given the dim lighting and the oversized sunglasses covering she wore.

According to Roberto, she spoke with a British accent and initiated the conversation by asking questions about Patch. Based on the nature of her inquiries, the relationship had been a close one, spanning Logan’s time on the island nation years ago. Roberto, who was not very close to the gruff loner, tried to answer as best he could but was forced to lie when she queried about a possible return to Madripoor. Although she seemed like an ally and confidante of Logan’s, Roberto decided it was best to be cautious. After all, he hardly knew her.

Quickly, he steered the discussion to the reason behind their meeting. His request was met with an enigmatic smile followed by a hand to his thigh. While such a gesture would have normally been received with flirtatious banter, Roberto was determined to stay the course. The woman then took him into one of the bar’s four semiprivate, themed alcoves. Dani and Amara managed to secure the adjacent alcove after convincing a group of German businessmen to give up their reservation. Despite losing visual on Roberto and the source, they were able to maintain audio surveillance through the use of the communication equipment all three wore.

Once settled, the woman leaned in and informed Roberto that Tyger had been compromised for some time as were members of her inner circle, including her bodyguards. The only person unaffected was a recent addition to the dictator’s advisors, a young woman named Claudine Renko. It was rumoured that after striking a close friendship with Tyger, Ms. Renko was provided with access to the inner workings of government. She quickly moved up the ranks and soon became Tyger’s closest confidant and counsellor. Over the next several weeks, the former banking executive turned crime lord became reclusive, choosing to only to speak through Ms. Renko who allegedly relayed the leader’s directives to the rest of the advisors and the press. Access was granted through Ms. Renko alone, and it was rarely provided. No one had directly seen or heard from Tyger in quite some time. However, the source was doubtful that the head of state was dead.

Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she retrieved a flash drive and passed it to Roberto. The woman told him that every piece of intelligence she gathered was contained there, including photographs and biographies of major players, new schematics of the presidential palace, and internal memos. When the Brazilian queried her as to how she was able to obtain this information, she smiled again and kissed him before whispering, “A good PI never gives away her secrets.”

After that, Roberto said he suddenly felt a wave of pleasure wash over him. The sensation had been so overwhelming that he could not tear himself away from his seat to follow the woman as she was leaving. He tried to vocalize other questions that had been racing through his brain during her briefing—“Why do you think I want this?”, “How did you find me?”, and “Why are you doing this?” However, he found himself completely enamoured with the feelings of ecstasy that he was rendered speechless.

Amara then disclosed she and Dani had attempted to confront the woman when she left Roberto in the alcove. As soon as she walked by their alcove, the young women were suddenly frozen to their seats. At that moment, they were suddenly seized by a heavy sense of terror. Dani remarked that she was baffled by this as there was no immediate threat to elicit such a response. Yet, the intensity of these feelings was enough to cause herself and Amara to remain in their chairs, allowing the source to slip into the crowds and make her exit.

Within moments of her disappearance, the three friends were able to shake off the strange haze that had descended upon them. Reflecting on their transient experience, all three were certain that no psychic manipulation was involved. What occurred was quite different from that as far as Dani could determine. Unfortunately, they were at a loss as to how their behaviour was manipulated. A search of the bar for the woman proved to be fruitless. Roberto then called his local driver to whisk them back to the hotel.

“I wish I had been there,” Xi’an said when her friends finished their accounts. “Perhaps I could have helped…at least identified this mysterious woman. Maybe I knew her.”

Dani was rolling up the sleeves of her blue-and-orange plaid shirt which she wore over a white, mesh camisole, dark flared jeans, and suede clogs. “Once we give Logan the rundown, I’m sure he’ll come up with a list of probables,” she said, shrugging. “On the upside, Rogue and Gambit checked out the contents and everything she told Roberto would be on it was.”

Xi’an was about to ask about the authenticity of the documents when Sam entered the room. The tall, lean young man from Kentucky looked exhausted but tried to mask this by plastering on a smile across his handsome face. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans which he wore with a black-and-blue, rugby T-shirt underneath an olive green, long-sleeved shirt and maroon Chuck Taylors. His blond hair was rumpled, brushing against the collar of his shirt.

“Morning,” Roberto greeted, raising his eyes from the Bloomberg feed on his iPad. When he gaze fell upon his haggard friend, the swarthy Brazilian shook his head. “Man, you look terrible.”

Dani, Amara, and Xi’an glowered darkly at him.

“Are you alright, Sam?” Dani’s onyx eyes roved over his stubble-ridden features with concern. She, too, had noticed the change in his personality. Along with Rahne and Xi’an, Sam was another person she managed to keep in contact with once they had left the school. Having been close during their formative years, it was disconcerting for her to see him so bogged down lately. There were times she had meant to approach him but was quickly embroiled by the Rahne-Josh situation. She made a mental note to approach him in private.

Sam nodded, fighting the urge to blush. The idea of lying to yet another person was something he was not ready to deal with in his current state. Yet, he had no choice in the matter. “Ah’m still jet-lagged.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

Xi’an’s amber eyes soaked the floor, feeling as if she were a co-conspirator in the deception.

Amara motioned for him to join them in the sitting area. “We were just talking about Roberto’s meeting last night and how brave he was,” she said, smiling as Sam seated himself in a royal blue armchair.

“Hey, I can be heroic,” Roberto protested indignantly.

Dani smirked. “What about the time we drove by that car accident and you pretended to be blind when we were talking to the police?” she asked.

Roberto rolled his onyx eyes, clearly irked. “You know we were running late for that movie,” he huffed. “I didn’t want to miss the previews. Honestly, why must you bring that up?”

Dani and Amara giggled hysterically. This further intensified when Roberto shot them a nasty look. Then he proceeded to bemoan his status as the group’s whipping boy.

The former coal miner yearned to join in on the light-hearted repartee and laughter. Never did he feel more like an outside than he did at this moment. Here, he was with his closest friends, and rather than enjoying their time together, Sam wanted to hide. Knowing that he was responsible for their concern increased his guilt. Dodging the sympathetic gazes, deflecting questions, and lying—these were things that had become integrated in his everyday existence.

Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed that Xi’an was the only one not laughing or smiling. In fact, she was studying him, a shadow of sadness falling across her face. Her brown eyes seemed to be filled with could only be construed as pity. It was then that he froze as he was forced to make a devastating conclusion.

She knows.

Sam’s mouth suddenly became parched as his stomach lurched. A plethora of questions flooded his brain. How did she find out? Did he do something to give himself away? What was her opinion of him now? Did she see him as contemptible, pathetic, or both? Would their friendship change based on what she knew? Given his embarrassment and shame, how would he ever summon the dignity to work alongside her for the remainder of the mission?

The answers to most of these were elusive. However, he was utterly certain of one thing: Xi’an would never invade violate anyone’s trust by invading their privacy. It was a principle she strongly adhered in the wake of her own traumatic history. In all the years they had known one another, she had never used her abilities against any of her friends. Instead, Xi’an preferred to capitalize on her communication skills, which were refined by her empathy, maturity and life experiences.

Despite this knowledge, Sam was still unnerved. He thought it was bad enough that Paige discovered his secret. She had gazed upon him the same way Xi’an was at that moment. While the younger Guthrie refrained from passing judgment about the matter, her efforts to provide him support (notably, repeatedly broaching the subject of his feelings and suggesting that he ask out other women) exacerbated his mortification. When Sam departed for Madripoor, he was hoping to leave that behind. At least while on assignment, the ignorance of the others regarding his struggle would be one less thing weighing him down. But as he deciphered Xi’an’s thoughtful gaze, the Southern gentleman resigned himself to this predicament once again.

Meeting his friend’s eyes, Sam nodded glumly. It was as if he were serving Xi’an with confirmation. As far as he was concerned, there was no point in deceiving her. Now, he was left to dread her response to the discovery of his secret.

Xi’an bit her lower lip ruefully. I’m sorry. Her telepathic voice was echoing inside his mind as a faint pink glow surrounded her head. I…I didn’t mean to, I swear. You must believe that.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Sam nodded again.

His friend continued. That night—just before I collapsed, I was assailed with other people’s thoughts. The static I was telling you about…that was it. I could hear everyone at that moment, including you.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky sheepishly cast his gaze away from her. It was obvious how contrite Xi’an was. He did believe her when she told him that she did not intentionally pry inside his head for this information. Although he was relieved to learn of her continued integrity, it did nothing to lessen his sense of embarrassment and shame.

Don’t worry, she quickly told him, I’m not going to say anything to anyone else. You don’t have to be anxious about me passing judgment on you about your feelings. I think _ you know why that would be.

Sam frowned quizzically at her. At first, he was unsure as to what she might be referring to. Then a series of images flashed before his mind as Xi’an gently guided him through the narrative. He saw his friend with her younger siblings and Kitty Pryde. The four of them were laughing as they traipsed through the University of Chicago campus during Summer Breeze. What struck him was the pure and unadulterated joy in Xi’an’s face as she walked alongside Kitty, Leong and Nga following closely behind them.

When the projection faded from his consciousness, Sam peered over at Xi’an. She nodded and gave him a small, sad smile. He found himself returning the gesture.

The others, who had been oblivious to this exchange, were discussing the events of surrounding the mysterious ally when the main door to the suite opened. A morose-looking Gambit was the first to enter, his sculpted lips forming a thin, taut line. He was followed by Rogue, whose eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy nose contrasted against her alabaster skin. Closing the door firmly was Logan. The laconic Canadian appeared preoccupied, his normally stony expression replaced by one that reflected a rare vulnerability.

Perplexed by this scene, the former New Mutants became alarmed. By no means were the three experienced veterans immune to human emotion. But it was Logan’s reputation for being completely Stoic or embroiled in the throes of feral anger that made what they were witnessing incongruous. This version of the wizened warrior seemed lost, devastated and unfocused—a complete foil to the man they knew. Whatever was affecting the trio had to be quite grave, indeed.

Dani was the first to speak up. “What happened?” the young Cherokee inquired, nervously fiddling with one of her braids. Already, she was bracing herself for the worst. Her thoughts immediately went to the school and the students, particularly Josh. “What’s wrong?”

Rogue fished a tissue from the pocket of her black, drawstring Capri pants, which she paired with a form-fitting, black jacket with ruching. The Southern Belle blew her nose, fighting back the tears desperate to flow down her cheeks. “The school was attacked last night,” she explained, eliciting gasps and horrified looks from the younger team mates. “Folks back home are tryin’ ta figure out who’s behind it all.”

She swallowed hard before continuing. In an effort to assuage the fears of her audience, particularly Sam, Dani, and Xi’an, she said, “All of the kids are alright. Colossus got ‘em inta the tunnels before anythin’ else could happen.”

Relief washed over the three upon learning that the children in their lives were safe. This reprieve was temporary as they prepared themselves for the news to come. Rogue’s shaking shoulders signalled something grim on the horizon.

When it was clear the Southern Belle was encountering difficulty composing herself, Gambit placed a comforting arm around her. It was then that Logan decided to step in. Summoning some inner reserve of strength, he found his voice and began to describe the events of that night. Logan was finding that by focusing on the facts of what happened helped him, he was not hurting as much. In a flat and wooden voice, the gruff loner told of the mysterious soldiers invading the property, shooting off tranquilizer darts and rendering those hit helpless. He detailed the investigation he and Jubilee had conducted in search other men while making their way to the observation tower.

His resolve to remain emotionless for the sake of the briefing began to crumble as he edged closer to the tragic conclusion. Logan was unwillingly taken back to that moment, when he, Scott, and Jubilee stood in front of the house as Jean was being taken away by the soldiers in the helicopter. Again, he could see stunningly beautiful smile while one of those bastards pointed a gun against her head before they were engulfed in flames. It was a sight that continued to haunt him, forcing him to confront his ineptitude and impotence. To Logan, he was just as culpable as those soldiers were in Jean’s death.

When he finished, Logan turned towards the bay window at the other end of the room. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. The urge to scream or knock something over to the ground was overwhelming. Somehow, he managed to maintain his mask of composure.

“Incroyable,” Remy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. The Cajun thief was still reeling from the devastating news that Jean Grey was gone. He pulled Rogue closer to him, stroking her hair gently as she began to sob.

Stunned silence blanketed the room. The younger members of the team sat back in their seats, bewildered in the face of what had just been shared with them. It was not as if death was a foreign opponent to them. Over the years, they had experienced their share of tragic losses, individually and as a group. Although none of them had been especially close to the Titian-haired telepath, her gracious and kind spirit had made a positive impression. Until recently, she had been a prominent fixture at the school, balancing her duties with her obligations as a field team member and the Professor’s emissary. In short, Jean represented a shining example of what training under Xavier could accomplish.

The laconic Canadian shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans, grunting. An overnight flight from JFK combined with fatigue and grief were proving to be taxing on his already frayed nerves. Even though he understood his obligations to Rogue and this assignment, Logan was desperate not to be here. In retrospect, he should have made more of an effort to fight Cyclops on this one. As far as he was concerned, he should have been back at Westchester. His expertise in covert operations and familiarity with various military organizations would have been ideal in conducting the investigation. Granted, those assets were needed in Madripoor as well, given that he was the only member of the team who had intimate knowledge of the workings of the tiny island nation. But for this assignment, Logan did not have much emotional investment to achieve the objective. Had he been allowed to remain in Westchester, his rage and need to exact vengeance would have provided a singular focus to smoke out those sons of bitches and unleash hell.

Also troubling Logan was the fact that he would not be able to properly pay his respects. Preparations for Jean’s funeral were already taking shape as he was leaving for his assignment. While the normally brusque Logan had become accustomed to grieving privately, there was a part of him that felt remorseful for being absent. This was not based on any desire to seek solace from others who were mourning for the telepath. Rather, as he told Ororo on the phone while he was waiting in the airline lounge, Logan felt as if he were dishonouring Jean’s memory and their friendship by not attending the services. Despite the weather goddess’s protestations to the contrary, he continued to be hounded by regret and a desire to replace his final memory of saying good-bye with one that was more serene and dignified.

Finally, his reticence to depart was also complicated by Jubilee. He hated leaving her behind again, especially given the circumstances. Her sad, old-soul blue eyes haunted him, leaving him as heartbroken as she was. By not being available to her when she needed him the most made the gruff loner feel as if he failed yet again, repeating a pattern from their past he had vowed to break. Granted, the current circumstances were quite different and she understood that. But that did little to diffuse the intensity of his remorse. His chest felt heavy with guilt, recalling her arms around his neck and the smell of bubblegum and cinnamon as she bid him good-bye at the airport.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of bringing her along. Westchester was currently a place tied to pain and despair. She would not only be haunted by the memories of Jean but also forced with the additional burden of facing Drake. It was expected that the young man would return to the mansion given his long-standing friendship with Jean. Logan knew Jubilee was very much aware of this reality. Even though she tried to immerse herself in her current responsibilities (counselling the students, providing logistical support in the investigation, and helping Lorna and Ororo plan the funeral), there were cracks in her brave façade when hearing her former boyfriend’s name. The restless quality in her movements, the lost and panicked expression that marred her lovely face, and the screams and sobs of frustration that were released when she believed no one could hear were all indicators of the hurt Drake had inflicted. While Scott was in complete agreement of the younger man’s culpability and shared in the experience of anger towards him, Logan did not trust him to handle the situation in the firecracker’s best interests. What Drake had done was cruel and unforgivable, which required a response that went beyond Scott’s standard lectures—promises or no promises.

But in the end, he left her behind.

Abruptly, Logan turned around and began to head for the door.

Rogue’s emerald eyes widened incredulously as he brushed past her and Gambit. “Hey,” she said in her Mississippi drawl, “where ya runnin’ ta?”

Logan bristled when he reached the door. “I gotta get some air,” he answered flatly, refusing to meet her gaze. “I can’t think in here.”

The Southern Belle’s mouth gaped open in disbelief while her brain attempted to reconcile what was transpiring. While she empathized with Logan and those who were mourning (she, too, was deeply affected by Jean’s death), the luxury of processing the emotional devastation was not a luxury the team could afford now. There was still the matter of the assignment to contend with. Although Roberto was able to obtain crucial information last night, there were still many unknown variables at play. These uncertainties made her feel as if she were operating blindly in spite of the hours spent in preparation. It was a feeling she truly disliked.

With Logan’s arrival, she was counting on him to guide her and the rest of the team. Having spent several years living in Madripoor, the laconic Canadian had intimate knowledge of the land and its people—an asset she and the others did not have despite hours of pouring over documents and photographs. When Logan announced that he was not interested in delving into the task immediately, Rogue perceived this to be not only unproductive but also insulting.

“Ya can’t go now,” she told him quietly, drawing away from Gambit who looked instantly alarmed. Normally, her response would have been characterized by anger and indignation. However, given the nature of the events preceding his desire to leave and her own emotional investment in grieving, the Southern Belle was struggling to expend the energy to talk. Following Logan to the door, Rogue shook her head and placed her hand over the knob. “We have work ta do.”

He arched a stony brow at her, clearly displeased as to where this was going. Had this been One-Eyed or Worthington pulling this nonsense, there would have been a torrent of choice words to follow. Given that he was dealing with a close friend and the emotionally draining nature of the circumstances, Logan willed himself to be disciplined. They were all feeling stressed. The last thing needed was an internal meltdown.

Leaning in close, he said quietly, “I need to clear my head.”

She cringed. The last time Logan said that was several years ago after Jubilee was kidnapped and tortured by Bastion. Blaming himself for what happened, the Wolverine stayed away from Westchester for two years. Following what happened to Jean, who was to say that the same thing would not happen again? The anguish simmering beneath his veneer of calm indicated he viewed himself as culpable. “Ah can’t have ya runnin’ off,” she insisted, shaking her head and wishing she could articulate something beyond that. At the moment, Rogue, too, was hurting.

“Ah’ll go with him,” Sam volunteered, rising from his seat. He rubbed a calloused hand over his stubble-ridden face, his long, lean legs carrying him from the sitting area to where Logan and Rogue were facing off. After the revelations regarding Xi’an’s discovery, the Southern gentleman was empathizing with the older man’s need to escape from the hotel for a while. “Ah can give him a rundown of what’s been goin’ on while we pick up some food. Sound good, Logan?”

Logan was both surprised and irritated with the proposition. He had been looking forward to some reflection in solitude. The gruff loner soon realized that without the younger man accompanying him, the likelihood of leaving the hotel was almost nil. After a few seconds, he found himself nodding stiffly in agreement.

Rogue peered over at Sam and then at Logan. She was not in the mood for an altercation either. If the Southern gentleman was offering her an out, then she was going to take it. The two men had built up a reasonably good working relationship, with the eldest Guthrie being one of the few earning the laconic man’s respect. Should Logan attempt to flee, Sam could be trusted to reason with him. However, she was still irritated. “Fine,” she relented, backing away from the door and making her way to where Gambit stood. “Ya got an hour and then it’s back here. Understood?"

At Logan’s suggestion, they went into the centre of the capital for xiao long bao, traditional soup dumplings. The former Madripoor resident steered them into a Taiwanese restaurant located in a somewhat drab area of Hightown. Seated a long counter, the two men watched the dumplings being made by hand by a tiny woman with silvery hair and a smattering of freckles across her perpetually smiling face. Then she covered the delicately wrapped pork filled dumplings in a shot of flavourful broth.

Sam provided Logan with a cursory briefing of the events since the team’s arrival. Scooping off the top of the soup to release some steam, the Southern gentleman touched upon the mysterious call Roberto received. When he told the older man that the contact referred to his seldom-used alias of Patch, Logan appeared surprised. There was only one living person who called him by that name. Adding some bracing vinegar sauce to his soup, he suddenly became nostalgic as memories associated with that individual flooded his mind. He had forgotten how much fun she had been. The laconic Canadian made a mental note to confer with Roberto to confirm his suspicions.

The conversation then turned to the telepathic attack Xi’an experienced. Sam highlighted the severity and used his friend’s words to describe the type of feedback she had experienced. When he heard about the unusual intensity of the psychic assault, Logan was reminded of his conversation with Ororo, who had told him about something similar happening to Emma and Sage when they were in Cairo. Their reactions had been nearly identical to that of Karma. After Sam informed him of the timing, the likelihood of what transpired being a coincidence was looking quite unlikely.

Logan swallowed hard, placing his bowl and chopsticks down. The gold flecks in his green eyes glittered. He thought about the graceful redhead and her last moments. What did this all mean? Was this her way of reaching out before dying? Why would she unleash a telepathic attack upon everyone else? Everything about what transpired that night was still a damn mystery.

Sam’s Kentucky drawl broke through his musings. “Ah guess we should head back ta the hotel,” he said, peering down at his olive, flight chronograph watch. “When Rogue says one hour, she means it.” He tried smile but could only manage a grimace instead.

Logan pulled out his wallet and peered inside. He grunted when he realized that in the frenzy of the past several hours, getting proper currency had slipped his mind. “Think you can spot me, Hayseed?”

The former coal miner nodded. “Sure thing,” he replied, reaching into his back pocket. With the cheque sitting in front of him, Sam fumbled through the bills to retrieve the appropriate amount. Then he tossed the money onto the counter before nodding at the smiling cook. “OK. Let’s head out.”

“Wait,” Logan said, fingering through the cash before pulling out a strip of paper measuring 40 mm wide by 205 mm long. “You forgot this.”

Sam felt his heart stop when his gaze travelled to the item in Logan’s hand.

He was holding the photographs of Sam and Jubilee from their New York trip.

If there was ever a moment when the Southern gentleman wanted to be swallowed up by the earth, it was now. Inwardly, he cursed his luck. Of all times to be careless, why did it have to be now and with Logan? The man was like a father to Jubilee and fiercely protective of her. Sam had first-hand experience of the Wolverine’s paternal instincts after giving Jubilee a brief hug several Christmases ago. This seemingly innocuous act elicited a brief flash of adamantium—a sight that haunted the eldest Guthrie’s dreams during the holidays.

Meanwhile, Logan studied at the pictures thoughtfully. When he last saw Jubilee, she had been so despondent and forlorn. It was an image that had been imprinted into his brain since that night. Seeing her radiant smile and sparkling eyes again reminded him of what she had been before Drake decided to crush her heart. Sadness mingled with anger as he tried to remember this happier version of her.

After what seemed to be eons of silence, the wizened warrior spoke up. “She looks happy with you,” he remarked, handing the pictures to the Southern gentleman.

Sam’s cheeks burned as he silently accepted the photographs. He quickly slipped them back inside his wallet. “Ah…” he began but found himself floundering helplessly for words. Rational thought escaped him, much to his dismay.

For Logan, observing the Southern gentleman’s flustered state revealed a wealth of information. He was immediately taken back to a conversation he had with Jubilee several months ago. When Logan voiced his opinion about the younger man’s feelings, she raised her doubts regarding his hunch. To her, the idea was completely implausible. Sam was like an older brother, who would forever see her as that thirteen-year-old girl. He would never perceive Jubilee any other way. For a moment, Logan was almost convinced by the arguments she put forward.

Until now.

Sitting next to the younger man, the Wolverine could pick up on a variety of physical indicators to bolster his argument. The sound of Sam’s racing heartbeat thudded in Logan’s ears. He could see the sweat beading at his brow. The nervous movements—rubbing the lower half of his face, refusal to meet his eyes, and raking his hands through his straw-coloured hair—seemed to be responses of a guilty man who struggled to conceal deeply conflicting and overwhelming feelings.

It was a battle Logan had once known.

It was strange to be the observer rather than the being the cursed individual. Before Ororo, he had spent his existence pining for a woman who had chosen to be with “a good guy”. Every moment of his life was spent vacillating between enduring the pain of being close to her and the realization that she would never be his. The part of him that was bound by honour refrained from acting out, which completely frustrated the more passionate aspect of his personality. It was an existence that bordered on madness.

Glancing over at Sam Guthrie once again, Logan was taken aback as to how their situations mirrored one another. The Southern gentleman seemed intent to adhere to a noble path, preferring to subsume his yearning in favour of her happiness. It was probably this principle that factored into the eldest Guthrie’s decision to take this assignment. He would rather be plunged into his own hell than be responsible causing her any undue pain.

Given what Logan already knew of the young man, his choice was hardly surprising. Although the Southern gentleman was younger than Drake, he seemed wise beyond his years in comparison. In fact, Sam seemed to be the complete foil to Drake—mature, "salt-of-the-earth", honest, and well-mannered. Where the latter was invested his energies in pulling pranks and making silly jokes, the former maintained the values of civility, hard work, and a strong commitment to his family, friends, and beliefs. Logan supposed the differences in personalities could be attributable to the men’s circumstances in life. Bobby was the only child from a suburban upper middle class family while Sam was the oldest of ten from a southern, rural background. The former coal miner’s humbling beginnings probably developed a deeper and more profound appreciation of the opportunities afforded to him. It was evident in the manner in which he treated his responsibilities and those around him.

Without thinking, the Wolverine muttered, “Seems like she’s been with the wrong person all this time.”

The young man from Kentucky had been preparing himself for a stern lecture, a flash of adamantium, or both options when he heard Logan’s declaration. He frowned at him, puzzled. “What do ya mean?”

The older man realized his faux pas and grimaced. First, there was his slip with Cyclops and now this. It was fortunate that he was not tasked with espionage activities at this moment. He would have surely been compromised. Rather than dwell on what precipitated these uncharacteristic lapses, Logan considered how to best approach the situation.

Finally, he decided his course. “Let’s just say that next time; Jubes won’t make the mistake of gettin’ involved with a guy who thinks Hawaiian shirts are part of the uniform.”

Sam’s pale eyes became round as saucers. He heard the words “next time” and “mistake”, and felt as if time were standing still. From the way the gruff loner was speaking, it sounded as if… No, it couldn’t be true…could it? His stomach fluttered nervously as his mind raced with the implications of the statements being made. After over a year of living a life based on hypothetical scenarios and wishes, Sam needed certainty.

A minute of silence passed before he summoned the words. “What are ya sayin’, Logan?” he asked hoarsely.

“She ain’t with Drake anymore,” the older man told him matter-of-factly, peering into the younger man’s face. “It’s over.”