Chapter Sixty Five: Mr Pitiful

After several weeks in Madripoor, Roberto Da Costa was in desperate need of what he termed as “a proper shave and haircut”. Despite his team mates’ incessant teasing about his high maintenance grooming habits (particularly Dani and Amara), the swarthy Brazilian was not about to lower his standards. As the face of his company, he did have an image to maintain. Just because he was presently on a covert mission did not mean Roberto had to completely let himself go. Unlike his team mates, Logan and Remy, he was not about to attempt the shaggy, unkempt look.

Fortunately, Roberto’s business trips to the tiny island nation allowed him to make the acquaintance of an impeccable barber shop. These clients included CEOs from international corporations and top fashion designers. The proprietor, an Italian immigrant named Leo, was descended from a long line of artisans—bespoke tailors, shoemakers—but chose to mould himself into a craftsman of hair. The timelessness and longevity to his style of cutting (scissors and straight razor, no electric shears, no styling products) attracted a devoted following. While the shop was basically hidden away among the skyscrapers of Hightown—no sign, no intercom. Long-standing clients were determined to make the trek to indulge in an exceptional cut. The establishment was also exclusive; so much so that no appointments were accepted without a referral from one of his small circle of patrons.

With the team meeting scheduled for the late afternoon, Roberto seized an opportunity to pay a visit to Leo’s establishment. However, the recent increase of tension within the capital city and the past several days of overcast skies made him reluctant to venture out on his own. Without sufficient amounts of solar energy to absorb, Roberto believed himself to be vulnerable. Reason dictated that if uncertainty existed regarding his safety, then the appointment was to be cancelled. Opposing this position was his sense of vanity, which was fuelled by his perception that his reflection harkened a younger but better-looking Logan. Ultimately, it was this side that won out.

Upon careful consideration, Roberto decided that narcissism did not have to be associated with a lack of prudence. Asking someone to accompany him constituted a sound solution to his dilemma. Perusing the list of possible candidates among his team mates, there was only one person he could trust with his life and most importantly, not to make fun of him.

“Ah don’t know, man,” Sam Guthrie said sheepishly, zipping up his green, hooded sweatshirt over his grey T-shirt and chino shorts. They were exiting the automatic sliding doors of their hotel to make the three-block journey. “These kinda places make me uncomfortable. Couldn’t ya have hired a car service ta take ya over?”

Roberto gave his good friend a quizzical look, a slight breeze rumpling his thick, raven waves. “True,” he acknowledged lightly. “But that would mean calling attention to myself and I thought that was the last thing we should be doing given the circumstances.”

“Ya don’t have ta use your real name ta reserve the car,” the Southern gentleman pointed out as the two of them rounded a corner.

Raising a sceptical brow at the tall, lean Kentucky native, Roberto was feeling somewhat slighted by the simplicity of this proposition. He peered into Sam’s guileless face before launching into an explanation. “The Da Costa name is like a key that opens even the most trying of doors. I suppose it’s like a platinum card for other people.”

“Oh come on, Bobby,” Sam scoffed, taking the edge off his words with a chuckle. He was well aware of his friend’s penchant for self-importance. However, this latest assertion seemed to be especially narcissistic—even for Roberto. “Doncha think that’s takin’ it a bit too far?”

The swarthy Brazilian shook his head. “Not at all,” he replied nonchalantly. A few years ago, Sam’s response would have prompted an altercation. But with the passage of time, Roberto was now a patient man who had moved beyond the short temper that characterized his youth. As they waited at the crosswalk, he added, “How do you think we got those seats for the NBA finals? And what about those tickets to the after party sponsored by that champagne company? You remember the one where we had cocktails served to us by those bikini models? If you gave the Professor’s name, I doubt you’d get that kind of treatment.”

The former coal miner was about to respond when a rumbling growl derailed his train of thought. His attention, along with that of his friend, had been captured by the appearance of a silver, V-6 Morgan Roadster pulling up alongside them. The vehicle itself was a masterpiece with its signature swooped wings, exposed fasteners, wire wheels, and missile-shaped, and louvered bonnets. The well-heeled sheet metal and sparse but luxuriant interior belied what was often a wilful, impractical, often temperamental machine.

Equally intriguing were the occupants inside. The driver was a striking, dark-haired beauty with maroon eyes, high cheekbones, and wide smile. She wore a black, faux-fur vest over a pink, stitchwork silk dress. Her companion, a petite, curvy young woman with mocha skin and a blond afro, was slightly more covered up in a short-sleeved, grey sweater with sequins sewn around the neckline and a long, black skirt. While waiting at the stoplight, the women smiled at the nearby pedestrians before exchanging what could be construed as sly glances.

Sensing reciprocal interest, Roberto seized the moment. He affixed one of his most charming smiles as he made his way over to the car. “Good morning, ladies,” he drawled, onyx eyes sparkling. “It seems that this day has become even better since your arrival.”

Sam groaned inwardly. As Roberto’s ‘wingman’, he had the unfortunate experience of being privy to his friend’s repertoire of lines to entice members of the opposite sex. There were times when he was completely astounded as to what Roberto could get away with. Statements that were trite beyond imagination were often rewarded with a smile, a dance, a phone number, or a combination of the three. This gift seemed to transcend beyond the attributes of wealth, good looks, and charisma. It was as if Roberto possessed some secondary ability to be disarming to the female species.

Much like many others who encountered the charms of Roberto Da Costa, the women inside the roadster succumbed with girlish laughter. The passenger flashed him a blindingly white smile and said, “You’re very sweet… I’m pretty sure you’re not from around here. Most of the men in this part of town are Type A, sexist pigs who think talking is needless foreplay.”

He grinned. “Not only beautiful but perceptive as well,” he replied lightly, moving closer to the car. “You’ll also find that I believe in the importance of conversation. It enhances so many things.” He punctuated his remark with a mischievous wink.

This elicited another round of titters from the women. When the laughter subsided, the blonde extended her hand. “I’m Casey and this is my friend, Kim.” She nodded towards the driver, who gave Sam a flirtatious smile.

Roberto stepped forward, taking the proffered hand and raising it to his lips to plant a soft peck. “My name is Bobby,” he drawled as he stared deeply into Casey’s eyes. He smiled, his confidence growing incrementally by the second. Experience in these affairs had long taught Roberto about the value of reading subtle cues in order to refine and tailor his methods. Based on how things were proceedings, he was certain there was entertainment to be had once this mission was complete. The fact that his good friend would be getting attention was an added bonus.

Then he gestured to Sam. “And this is my good friend—”

Before Roberto could finish his introduction, the Southern gentleman cut him off. “Ah’m gonna haveta apologize, ladies,” he began, his handsome features filled with sincere contrition, “but Ah’m afraid we haveta be on our way. Bobby here forgot we have an appointment ta keep.” The tone in his voice as he uttered the last sentence reflected a sense of urgency.

Roberto turned to stare incredulously at Sam Guthrie. For a moment, he thought his ears were deceiving him. Over the years, the dynamic the two of them developed while on assignments later translated to their lives away from the field. While the tall, lean young man from Kentucky did not share Roberto’s manner of dealing with women, he remained a loyal supporter. He could always be relied upon to back up a story no matter how outlandish or to assist with reconnaissance in a crowded nightclub. However, Sam’s behaviour at this moment was indicative of a transgression that undermined their friendship.

Casey pouted and then peered up at them imploringly. “Can’t you guys reschedule? Maybe make some time for a quick coffee?”

“Ah’m afraid that ain’t possible,” the former coal miner told her sheepishly, raking a calloused hand through his straw-coloured locks. “Much as we hate ta run off afta bein’ lucky enough ta meet ya, we haveta go. It’s a real important meetin’ and we’re runnin’ late as it is.”

It was now Roberto’s turn to be lost in the throes of disbelief. After all, this was the same guy who turned several shades of red during Alex Summers’ bachelor party. But here was the normally reserved Sam Guthrie, laying down the charm and playing up his farm boy appeal. The incongruity of the situation seemed impossible to fathom let alone witness.

“How about we meet up later?” Kim piped up, red eyes twinkling playfully at Sam before reaching into her purse. She retrieved a pen and a scrap of paper, and began scribbling furiously. “Here is my mobile number. Call me and we can get together later. There’s this fabulous wine bar on the high street Casey’s being dying to try.”

Sam was about to protest but was rendered speechless as Kim passed the piece of paper to Casey who then thrust it into Roberto’s hand. The young CEO, having recovered from his initial shock, nodded and smiled. As the light turned green, he said, “I’m sorry our time has been so short but do know that we’re definitely looking forward to seeing you two again. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”

“Likewise,” Casey replied breezily, waving her fingers at Roberto and Sam.

A provocative smile tugged at Kim’s lips as she nodded towards the Southern gentleman. “Goodbye, boys.”

With that, the roadster sped away from the corner and further into the city centre.

Immediately, Sam grabbed the scrap of paper from Roberto and tossed it in a nearby rubbish bin.

Roberto felt a mixture of indignation and surprise in the wake of these events. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he demanded, scowling darkly underneath his mop of glossy, black curls. He thought about diving in to retrieve the information but thoughts of diseases and other unpleasantries dominated the picture.

“Ah was gonna ask the same of you, Berto,” the eldest Guthrie answered evenly as they resumed walking. It was a tone he had often used to quell conflicts in his boisterous household or among his team mates. Based on his friend’s expression and tone of voice, Sam sensed that confrontation was afoot.

For Roberto, confusion was soon included in the myriad of emotions descending upon him. “What are you talking about?” he inquired.

“Ah’m talkin’ about you tellin’ those gals your name—”

“So?”

“So, we’re here on an assignment…one that requires us to keep a low profile.”

“Please. I only gave them a nickname. What’s the big deal?”

“That ain’t the point.”

“And what would that be?”

“We don’t know who those girls were or what they really wanted.”

“Are you kidding? I was having a perfectly innocent conversation with two lovely ladies—one of whom was very interested in you—and you act like we should be running for the hills out of some displaced paranoia.”

“Ah ain’t bein’ paranoid…just cautious. For cryin’ out loud, Berto, we coulda been compromised. All of us.”

“I hear you but I’m not buying into your argument. The whole safety and security thing… That’s not what’s got you worked up, Sam. The last thing on your mind while we were talking to those two didn’t involve any suspicions about them being agents for Tyger. I mean, if they were, then kudos to the government for their recruiting efforts.”

“Roberto—”

“Listen, just because you’ve decided to do the brooding, monk-like existence does not mean I’m going to follow suit.”

Sam’s blond brows shot upwards before knitting themselves together in a puzzled frown. “What?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” his friend countered, shaking his head emphatically. “Over the past several months, I’ve watched you mope around and close yourself off in an effort to hide from the world. I didn’t say anything because we both know how talking about these things isn’t necessarily my strong suit. But I was hoping that a change in scenery would do you some good…help snap you out of this funk.”

The former coal miner was slightly taken aback. The level of insight and observation being demonstrated by the usually self-centred Roberto was nothing short of astounding. Although Sam held no illusions about his demeanour remaining under the radar, he had been confident that his closest friend was oblivious. It was this certainty that allowed him to feel at ease whenever they were together. Unlike Dani or Xi’an, Roberto could be relied upon not to pry or persist with concerns over Sam’s wellbeing. However, given his friend’s revelations, the Southern was uncertain if the conditions were still valid.

In an effort to re-establish some normalcy between them, Sam scrambled to engage in damage control. He was not necessarily going to confide in Roberto about what had been weighing heavily on his mind. However, he knew that once his friend became fixated on a particular issue, very little could be done to dissuade him from pursuing it. It was this tenacity that made Roberto an asset in the board and on the field. Given this, the Southern gentleman was cognizant of the need to tread lightly.

“Listen, man, Ah’ve been goin’ through a lot,” he began, rubbing a broad, calloused hand over his stubble-ridden jaw. His mind began racing as he struggled to choose his words carefully. He tried to focus on the pace of their steps in order to compose himself.

However, Roberto interjected before Sam had the chance to continue. “It’s been over a year, Sam,” he said in a low voice.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky froze in his tracks. He could feel the colour draining from his face as Roberto’s words reverberated in his head. Panic seized him as thoughts of his own carelessness swirled through his consciousness. No matter how unbearable the situation had been in Westchester, Sam strove to conceal things as best as he could. Granted, Paige and Logan were able to come to their conclusions sans psychic intervention. However, the eldest Guthrie believed these cases reflected anomalies. Overall, he was under the impression that he had operated under complete discretion. As he stared at his good friend, familiar feelings of embarrassment and shame washed over Sam as he came to the realization that this was not the case.

As much as he wanted to eloquently explain his perspective, words failed him. All he could muster at that moment was, “Ah know.”

Roberto took a deep breath and treaded into territory often reserved for more empathic individuals. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I just think there are times when you have to let certain things go so you can find peace and move on.”

Hearing such perceptive words from a young man who believed self-reflection should be left to the likes of hippies, telepaths, and wannabe therapists left Sam beyond perplexed. However, as the former coal miner studied the solemn expression on his friend’s face, he soon came to a realization. Roberto’s initiation of this topic not only reflected maturation on his part but also an evolution in their relationship. In order to sustain their friendship into adulthood, their interactions needed to be commensurate with their life experiences.

Taking the matter under further consideration, Sam was suddenly struck by something else. If there was anyone who would understand his perspective, it was Roberto. Granted, the circumstances were profoundly different. Roberto’s involvement with Tabitha had been borne out of shared loneliness. Sam recalled his friend’s explanations regarding the affair, where he had been subjected to internal conflict that threatened to consume his soul. These words, which had inflicted such hurt and shock at the time, now resonated with Sam deeply.

Before he could delve deeper into his musings, Roberto tapped his shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

Startled, Sam nodded quickly. “Uh, yeah…sorry.”

Silence descended upon them and lingered until Roberto asked, “Did I offend you?”

The Southern gentleman’s pale eyes widened in surprise. “No,” he replied, shaking his head emphatically. “Course not.”

A sigh of relief escaped from his friend’s mouth. “Good,” he said, his feet moving once again. By his estimation, they were within minutes of their destination. Given Leo’s penchant for running a smooth but tight ship, Roberto was cognizant of the importance of punctuality. With the clientele he had cultivated, tardiness often equated to a missed appointment and an opportunity for someone else to experience his services.

As they neared the shop, the mutant known as Sunspot maintained his focus on the issue at hand. “I just didn’t want to overstep any boundaries,” he continued quietly. “I’m worried about you, man. It’s like you haven’t been the same since.”

A gentle breeze rumpled Sam’s straw-coloured hair. “Ah know,” he agreed, walking alongside his friend. The tension that usually seized every muscle in his body dissipated as he became accustomed to the idea of being open with Roberto. Despite this, the eldest Guthrie felt the need to exercise caution. The experience was still novel and very daunting.

“I know she’s great and all but honestly, Sam, there are other options available.” Roberto tried to sound kind without being too condescending. Then he added, “As you witnessed only mere moments ago.”

“Ah ain’t interested in any of that,” Sam replied glumly, shoving his hands into his pockets. There’s only one girl I want.

The swarthy Brazilian shook his head. “You don’t have to be interested,” he argued as they neared the shop’s entrance. “All I’m saying is keep an open mind. Who knows? You might be surprised to find out that there is life beyond Lila Cheney.”

Sam instantly felt his hopes of connection extinguished. Although his friend was able to decipher the situation for what it was, he made one very important mistake. The apprehension Sam believed he had been free from emerged and clamped down upon him fiercely. In spite of the fact that he was standing next to Roberto outside of the barber shop, Sam felt himself withdraw from his friend. There would be no understanding between them.

Before opening the glass door, he said under his breath, “If only ya knew.”

The interior of the shop reflected a classic, elevated style the Brazilian businessman was accustomed to. The fact that its polished decor recalls a luxury ocean liner just serves to magnify its old-world charm. White-painted wood walls were combined with polished silver accents, etched deco glass, rich saddle-brown leather chairs, and a black-and-white floor. Photographs on the wall were reminiscent of the elegant glamour from old Hollywood.

Leo was a stocky, balding man with a thick, curling moustache and grey skin. He wore a three-piece, brown chalk-striped suit, dress shirt with contrasting dandy collar and red necktie. Greeting Roberto and Sam at the door with a warm embrace, he guided the two to the seating area. This was followed by cups of delicious espresso and fresh hot towels served by his assistant.

He studied Roberto’s head of ebony curls carefully, as if he were formulating the answer to a complicated math problem. “Will it be the usual, Mr. Da Costa? I see it has been three weeks since your last haircut.”

Roberto handed the assistant his used towel. “It’s like you’re a psychic—only with hair,” he joked.

Leo beamed proudly. “I’d like to think of it as one of my gifts.” Then he turned to Sam who had declined both the espresso and hot towel. “And for you, sir? What can I do for you today?”

The Southern gentleman smiled politely as he shook his head. “Ah’m fine, thank you.”

“Actually,” Roberto said, peering over at Sam before exchanging a look with his barber, “he could do with a haircut and a shave. The hair is an amalgamation of the Justin Bieber swoosh and a borderline mullet.”

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed, genuinely hurt by the assessment. Not that he was particularly nuanced in style as his good friend but he believed he had moved beyond the lack of sophistication characterized by his younger years.

Leo conducted a discreet appraisal of his own, examining Sam’s eyes, ears and nose. “I actually think this length suits you,” the barber told him. There was warmth in his voice, emphasizing the candour in his statement. “It is not in my interest to turn away business. However, my professional integrity prevents me from taking my tools to a style that needs no alteration.”

Roberto nearly rolled his eyes when Sam flashed him a triumphant smile.

“That being said,” Leo continued, oblivious to the nonverbal exchange between the two young men. He clasped his small hands together and leaned towards Sam. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a shave? I’m sure your girlfriend would like to see more of your handsome face.”

Immediately, the eldest Guthrie blushed. He was about to decline the offer when Roberto piped up, “If that were true, I’d question her eyesight.”

Sam shot him a withering look.

His friend grinned smugly in response. The twinkling in his onyx eyes conveyed not only his amusement but his satisfaction in obtaining retribution. Apparently, he had not forgiven Sam for the missed opportunity with Casey and her friend.

In an effort to shield Sam from further teasing, Leo quickly guided Roberto to one of the leather salon chairs. For him, the process was focused on the path as much as the destination. There was meticulous attention to the grooming services he provided—including the haircut, shave, and shoeshine.

Back in the waiting area, the Southern gentleman was thumbing through a recent issue of GQ. He paused when he came across an article about the late Hunter S. Thompson’s favourite Puerto Rican haunts. However, his attention soon drifted from the glossy pictures depicting San Juan’s pretty bright blue, orange, pink and purple neo-classical houses set on steep hills, as well as its traditional bars and dusty cafes with ancient waiters serving rum and more rum. Thoughts became centred on what proved to be one of the most significant conversations of his young life.

“She ain’t with Drake anymore… It’s over.”

Logan’s gravelly voice conveying this piece of pivotal information echoed inside Sam’s head. It continued to do so following their return to the hotel, persisting into the passing hours of that day. Attempts to distract himself from what the laconic Canadian told him yielded ineffective results. Those words and the implications woven into them were never far from his mind. Even during his encounter with the two women this morning, Sam never lost sight of what he had learned and how this would impact him.

“She ain’t with Drake anymore… It’s over.”

Still fixated in the wake of Logan’s revelations, Sam was unsure as to how he should have reacted. At the restaurant, he had been too stunned to immediately respond. Silence hung in the air as his mind struggled to process these new set of facts. After what seemed like eons of contemplation, he mumbled a comment professing his sympathy for Jubilee before suggesting they depart for the hotel. To make any further remarks about the situation seemed impossible to fathom and rather gauche. Much to Sam’s relief, Logan seemed content to allow the topic as well as his discovery of the younger man’s feelings drop from conversation for the time being.

When his disbelief finally dissipated, the eldest Guthrie attempted to sort through the morass of ensuing emotions. It would have been duplicitous to deny the initial euphoria experienced. His heart pounded in slow, heavy strokes as he considered the repercussions. Following over a year of pining and enduring heartbreak, the object of his affections was free. There was no longer any reason to feel ashamed. He did not have to admonish himself for coveting someone else’s girlfriend. For the first time in several months, Sam was not consumed with self-loathing whenever his thoughts turned to Jubilee. Picturing her beautiful face and hearing her sweet voice, the Southern gentleman was finally free to experience the rush of euphoria associated only with her. As far as he was concerned, the world seemed to be filled with possibilities now. His mind raced with various scenarios. Knowing that they could be grounded in reality nearly sent him soaring against the skies.

Given his sense of excitement, it only seemed natural that his thoughts became consumed with his anticipated return to Westchester. Usually, Sam was content to remain for the duration of a mission—no matter how long it took. It was not that he viewed life at the school as mundane compared to his adventures. Rather, the Kentucky native never felt that irresistible draw that implored him to come back immediately. Granted, he did miss his family and friends while on extended assignments but somehow, Sam found the inner resolve to remain committed to the task at hand without allowing his yearnings cloud his judgment. But in light of Logan’s news, things were now different. He found himself to be uncharacteristically impatient for the team to wrap things up. Instead of thinking about what approaches the team should take next, Sam’s ruminations were concerned with taking Jubilee into his arms and telling her that all women before her were like unfulfilled promises.

Despite the ecstasy that surged through his veins, Sam could not help but feel somewhat sad about Jubilee’s situation. There was the fact that her newly single status was courtesy of Bobby ending things between them. Disconcerting as it was to acknowledge the extent of Jubilee’s feelings for Bobby Drake, Sam was forced to admit this was a definite drawback. She had been with Bobby for almost two years—a significant amount of time for any relationship. To experience an abrupt break in their bond would have likely left her devastated. His theory was further supported by the concerned expression Logan wore when he made his disclosure. It was clear the gruff Wolverine witnessed his young protégée in the throes of heartbreak—something that continued to resonate with him even as he made his disclosure.

As much as Sam relished learning of Jubilee’s freedom, he took no pleasure in her suffering. Images of an anguished Jubilee flashed before his eyes, causing his heart to wrench inside his chest. This was further intensified when he considered Jean Grey’s death. Knowing that she was grieving for these significant losses, more or less on her own, was unimaginable. He cursed the distance separating them now. It was viewed as an obstacle, preventing him from providing her comfort. His desire to take away her seemed to fuel the urgency of his return to Westchester.

What finally brought Sam down to earth were feelings of apprehension and guilt. Granted, these emotions had been constant and familiar companions but what evoked them was different. Namely, the Kentucky native began wondering if he played a part in the break-up. His thoughts immediately went to the kiss he shared with Jubilee on Thanksgiving last year. While it was a moment that affected both of them deeply, the resulting awkwardness was not lost on him. Their interactions since that fateful night had been tinged with a palpable tension, where Jubilee seemed intent on fleeing from him every time he was near. He surmised Jubilee perceived the kiss as a form of betrayal. And yet, there were moments when Sam could discern her wariness was masking something other than remorse.

The day they last saw each other, Jubilee mentioned she was off to see her boyfriend. It would not have been unthinkable to speculate she had mentioned the incident. Her integrity and loyalty to Bobby probably compelled her to confess what happened. Despite Bobby Drake’s carefree and laid-back nature, he was still a man and like most men, would have been upset when confronted with any reports of infidelity. At first, Sam viewed his romantic rival’s decision to declare the relationship was done over a kiss as rash. But after further consideration, he soon came to understand the underlying motivations for this. Love could make the most even-keeled person act irrational. The eldest Guthrie certainly empathized with this argument, especially when the target of these affections was Jubilee.

Finally, there were a plethora of unanswered questions Sam had to contend with. Even though Bobby broke up with her, would Jubilee try to win him back? What if the couple reconciled by the time Sam came back? What then? If this was not the case, what were her thoughts on Sam? Would she even want him? Did she hold him responsible for what happened with Bobby? For Sam, how would he even approach her? After so much time drowning in his own angst and want for her, what could he possibly say?

In the end, Sam Guthrie found himself no closer to a resolution.

After a late night strategy session with Logan and Remy lasting into the early hours of the morning, Rogue found herself woefully sluggish as she prepared for the afternoon meeting. While she was grateful to the Cajun thief for allowing her to sleep in (a note left on the bedside table indicated that he and Logan were using the hotel’s gym), the Southern Belle was unsure if the extra hours provided much respite. Groaning, Rogue finally managed to drag herself out of bed and into the shower. All the while, she wondered how her partner and the Wolverine were able to function given the limited amount of rest they had. Following a rousing shower, she pulled on a form-fitting, black jacket with gold metallic piping over matching tank top and Capri pants.

As she began drying her hair, Rogue began to mull over the intelligence collected thus far. Based on the descriptions provided by Roberto, Dani, and Amara, Logan identified the source as Jessica Drew, an old friend. Given their shared history, he had been able to verify the authenticity of the information she provided. Although Rogue and Remy had done a preliminary scan of the flash drive’s contents, it was only after Logan’s confirmation of legitimacy that a more thorough analysis was performed. The team had divided the documents and compared them with existing data collected prior to their arrival in Madripoor. While Rogue, Logan, Remy, and Sam had focused on logistical reconnaissance, Dani and Amara had poured over photographs of new players in Tyger’s circle. Xi’an, meanwhile, had been tasked with translating intercepted emails between officials close to the reclusive leader from French and Vietnamese into English. Roberto’s business background had been put into use as he went through a series of contracts and ledgers. Throughout the team’s examinations of this new intelligence, there was one name that repeatedly came up in every file.

Claudine Renko.

From what was gathered in the emails, Ms. Renko’s appearance had been shrouded in mystery as were details of her life before arriving in Madripoor and the nature of the relationship (no one could confirm if there was anything romantic between the two women). Despite this, it was clear how quickly she ingratiated herself into every aspect of the leader’s life. The updated schematics of Tyger’s residence and the security protocols and standard operating procedures for obtaining access to Tyger had been specifically outlined by Ms. Renko. Financial information named her as the trustee for most of Tyger’s holdings. Transactions dating back as far as two years ago had been made under her authority. In official memos, Tyger had named her new companion as a prime advisor. Subsequent policy decisions and media statements were to be issued only through Ms. Renko. She also appeared in almost all of the surveillance photograph as if to emphasize the prominent role she had in Tyger’s life.

Studying the pictures in greater detail, no one from the team could recall ever encountering her. Even Logan, who was the most well-travelled and experienced among his peers, was at a loss as to who this woman was. Despite this, there was something very familiar. The cloud of raven hair, chiselled cheekbones, bee stung lips, alabaster skin, and bright red eyes were striking even among a population where mutants accounted for more than half. In some of the photographs, she appeared to be wearing some kind of tattoo on her forehead but the poor picture quality made it difficult to determine what the symbol was.

But it was the expression of haughty arrogance that seemed permanently etched across her features that evoked a sense of wariness among the team. Each member felt as if they had seen that face before under very challenging circumstances. Remy, who usually projected an air of casual indifference to most aspects of a given assignment, was especially disturbed. He had later confided to Rogue that Ms. Renko reminded him of someone whom he wanted to believed had disappeared from this world. In spite of her cajoling and prodding, the Cajun thief refused to discuss the matter any further.

When Dani and Xi’an’s efforts to use the Cerebro uplink as an investigative tool had proved fruitless, Rogue began to suspect the involvement of a telepath. It was unclear to her whether this person was involved in the psychic attack several days ago but the fact that Cerebro could not yield any information was a telling sign. As a precautionary measure, she had asked the former New Mutants to construct a protective psionic barrier to shield the team for the remainder of the mission. Xi’an, who had recovered from the assault, was only happy to oblige.

With new and more accurate information in her team’s possession, Rogue had been confident there was enough intelligence to start planning. Although she had grown weary of Remy’s complaints of inactivity, the Southern Belle was forced to admit that she yearned to engage in some action. As day turned to evening, Rogue had informed her team mates that there would be a meeting held to go over their respective areas of analysis in detail. From there, they would start planning their strategy. Citing increasing unrest in the streets, Rogue had stressed the urgency of their investigation. It was clear that finding out what happened to Tyger would need to occur sooner rather than later. Fortunately, the prospect of developing and executing a course of action under pressure was nothing new for the Southern Belle and for her team mates. In fact, it was a scenario many of them (notably Logan and Remy) relished.

During the course of that evening, Rogue had noticed some strange behaviour on the part of Logan and Sam Guthrie. Following their return from lunch downtown, the two men were noticeably subdued. The dynamic between them had been laced with awkwardness, where neither was willing to engage the other in conversation. Initially, the Southern Belle had attributed her observations to each man’s present circumstances. For the laconic loner, he had already expressed his ambivalence about being here in the first place. Jean’s death, a desire for vengeance against those responsible, and his longing to be reunited with Ororo were all possible factors feeding into his reticence. As for the young man from Kentucky, it was no secret that he had been in the throes of brooding for quite some time. The fact that he continued to be withdrawn should have been no surprise. Finally, these were men who were not necessarily known for their garrulous ways, even with each other.

However, Rogue was not satisfied with these conclusions. Turning off her hairdryer, she remembered how unsettled she felt as she watched both men that evening. While some of this stemmed from curiosity as a team leader, what overrode this was her concern as their friend. Over the years, she became well acquainted with the two and regarded them as close as family. As such, the Southern Belle was adept at reading Logan and Sam well enough to understand that there was something else going on.

What troubled her about Logan was that he was not only despondent but also there was a simmering rage that emanated from him. It seemed to go beyond for his wish to seek revenge upon those involved in the attack against the school and in Jean’s death. No, there was something qualitatively different about this anger. Having touched Logan before, Rogue was familiar with the many facets of the gruff loner’s emotions. While his presence in her psyche had faded over time, the Southern Belle was able to distinguish what was unique in this situation. There was a focus to his anger—a target for his frustrations. Whoever the party or parties were, there was a guarantee that the Wolverine was biding his time until they could meet face to face. Contrary to his reputation as a feral-like combatant who was willing to use deadly force, Logan could be very calculating and patient when it came to aggression as well. He once told Rogue that he viewed the process as a form of hunting, where the intelligence gathering and waiting proved to be steady build-up to the penultimate moment of confrontation. Logan framed his approach as delayed gratification, allowing himself to carefully craft the details of the plan before delighting in its execution.

Applying a slick of burgundy gloss over her bow-shaped mouth, the Southern Belle wondered who the unfortunate person or persons were. The first suspect that came to mind was Scott. It was a safe assumption given the pair’s acrimonious history over the years. However, she soon ruled the bespectacled widower out. Despite vociferously disagreeing with Scott’s decision to send him to Madripoor, it was clear that Logan was sympathetic to the grieving leader’s position. Rogue suspected that the wizened warrior had complied with Scott’s directives in an effort to lessen the burden on his already weary shoulders. While most would have perceived this move as out of character for the Wolverine, she was well aware of Logan’s capacity for compassion though it was deeply concealed from the greater public.

Eliminating Cyclops from the equation, Rogue was at a loss. She struggled to compose a list of other suspects. Was he angry at God for taking away another person close to him? Could it be the Professor for assigning him to this mission in the first place? Perhaps, he blamed an anti-mutant politician for having a hand in the tragedy. The longer she mulled over these possibilities, the less convinced she was of their involvement. Anger towards any of these individuals would not have explained Logan’s unease around Sam, which seemed as palpable as his rage. The inability to make eye contact, the pointed attempts to sit apart from him as they examined schematics of Tyger’s presidential penthouse, and the wavering tone in his voice were all indicators that other dynamics were at play. It was as if he were embarrassed by something he knew about the Southern gentleman.

Rogue stepped out of the bathroom and proceeded to gather her laptop and files for the meeting. As she did so, her thoughts soon turned to Sam Guthrie. His reserved and solitary inclinations were not lost on her. Since approaching him on their first day on the tiny island nation, Rogue noticed that he was intent on avoiding any similar conversations. In fact, the Southern gentleman did everything in his power to ensure that there was at least another person nearby so that any discussions were limited to the assignment. Her attempts to apologize for overstepping any boundaries were hurriedly accepted with a sheepish smile, which was followed by a mumbled excuse that required him to make a hasty exit. The encounter left Rogue reeling, wondering what she had done or said to provoke such a response.

The Southern Belle grabbed her key card from the bedside table and slipped into her pocket before making her way to the door. As she exited her room, Rogue racked her brain to determine what her transgression had been. She tried piecing together their conversation on the terrace. From what she was able to recall, nothing specific had been identified with respect to what was troubling her friend and team mate. She remembered inquiring about his motivations for accepting this assignment, as well as offering a supportive ear for any disclosures he was willing to make. When both were met with a polite dismissal, Rogue had imparted some words of wisdom based on her own experiences. Taken together, she was unsure how any of these had contributed to the tension between her and Sam.

Equally peculiar was the uncomfortable air between Sam and Logan. While the two men were not close friends, there was a healthy respect for one another. The Southern gentleman was one of the few younger team mates whom Wolverine held in positive regard. His earnest demeanour, work ethic, and willingness to do whatever he could to assist in achieving a given objective were qualities the sometimes-brutish Canadian admired. Whenever the two were assigned on the same team, it was not uncommon to see them working together or while off-duty, hanging out at a local bar. Following their return from lunch that day, Sam looked ill at ease around Logan. Similar to the Wolverine, his body language was suggestive that something was amiss. Not quite a rift or a disagreement but something just as troubling for both men.

Rogue had also noticed that the Southern gentleman seemed preoccupied, his mind far away from his obligations in Madripoor. As they examined the layout for the government offices, Remy had to remind Sam at least twice which floor Tyger kept her suite. This struck Rogue as quite odd. Normally, the eldest Guthrie could be relied upon to maintain his attention to the tasks at hand. She considered fatigue as a factor in the young man’s distracted state. They had been working for several hours only to break for a room service dinner. But her theory fell apart when she saw the expression on the Kentucky native’s face as they continued working into the late hours of that night. It was a blend of different emotions: apprehension, concern, delight, and sadness. Before she could query him as to what was responsible for his preoccupation, Remy suggested that they turn in for the evening. Whatever captivated Sam’s attention, it was safe to assume that the subject was probably responsible for the awkward air between him and Logan.

But Rogue could not afford to think about any of those things at the moment. Much as she wanted to conduct her own investigation into these matters, she needed to remain resolute. There was a mission to complete. Narrowing her green eyes in determination, the Southern Belle made her way into the team’s suite.

Closing the door behind her, she was pleased to see that her team were already convened inside. Dani was helping Xi’an set up the LCD projector while Remy drew the curtains to a close. A freshly showered Logan was soundproofing the room by sealing the doorways and running several white noise machines. Sam and Roberto were wheeling in a room service cart under Amara’s directions. The Nova Roma native had taken the initiative to order lunch for the meeting. Per her request, the meal consisted of roast beef and horseradish mayonnaise tea sandwiches, smoked salmon mousse and cucumber tea sandwiches, chilled potato-leek soup with fennel and watercress, strawberry shortcakes, and bourbon truffles. Much to Logan and Remy’s collective disdain, choices of beverages were limited to black and green teas, and iced water.

Rogue walked over to the white, Versailles-style desk with ormolu trim and brass ferrules and unloaded her laptop and assorted files. She was contemplating the offerings from the lunch buffet when Gambit ambled over to her side. The Southern Belle placed a gloved hand over his mouth before planting a kiss.

The rakishly handsome Cajun thief smiled tenderly, taking her into his arms. Admittedly, the nature of the contact represented a regression after months of being able to touch one another following the use of the inhibitor collar. But in contrast to previous occasions, Rogue was willing to fight through this obstacle. For Remy, it was a refreshing and welcome change in perspective.

“Afternoon, chère,” he greeted huskily, a lock of auburn hair flopping over his forehead.

Rogue tried to suppress a smile but failed. It was almost criminal how Gambit could be radiating with primal sensuality with very little rest. Then again, this should not have been surprising. It was part of his appeal and one of the reasons that drew her to him.

Drawing back slightly, she reached over on the desk to retrieve the flash drive. “How was the gym, Swamp Rat?” she asked.

Normally, he would have responded with a flirtatious quip about how working out was an inadequate substitute for physical activity with his girlfriend. However, Remy found himself in a more serious frame of mind following this morning’s session. He quickly cast a glance at Logan before returning his maroon gaze to the Southern Belle.

In a hushed voice, the Cajun thief told her, “Sometin be up wit Wolverine.”

Rogue was taken aback by his statement. Fatigue had prevented her from confiding in him her observations. To hear Remy draw similar conclusions about their friend was alarming to say the least. “What do ya mean?” she whispered, relieved when Amara had approached the gruff loner with a glass of water. With the golden-haired mutant engaging Logan in conversation, there was hope that he would not be able to listen in on the hushed discussion.

Also mindful of the Wolverine’s keen hearing, Remy wanted to keep his answer concise but sufficient to communicate his concern. “He almost tore apart de weight room after Gambit asked about de petite.”

His girlfriend peered up at him, perplexed. “What did you say exactly?” It was no secret that Logan was quite protective of Jubilee. Although he had mellowed in the past two years, Logan continued to be vigilant against anything perceived to be detrimental to “his little girl”. This would have included any comments reminding him that she was now an adult and attracting commensurate attention.

“Just wanted to know how she was doin’ after what happened,” he replied earnestly. Given that Jubilee had witnessed the last moments of Jean’s life, her mental health was a genuine concern. His forehead wrinkled as he recalled Logan growling and storming around the weight room in response. At the time, Remy’s primary concern had been to stay out of his friend’s way. Experience had taught him that once Logan slipped into one of his rages, it was in one’s best interest not to be in his path. When the Cajun thief inquired as to why this seemingly innocuous question provoked such violence, Logan would only grunt before leaving his friend to stare wordlessly after him.

Just as Rogue was about to share her own musings, she could feel a pair of eyes resting upon her. The Southern Belle turned her head slightly to find Logan staring intently at her and Gambit. The golden flecks in his green eyes glittered as he returned her gaze. Curious, she searched his craggy face for any sign that he knew he was being discussed. Rather than indignation, there was an air of calm surrounding him. It was as if he was perfectly aware of what was being said and did not give a damn how his actions were being perceived. Granted, his indifference to the opinions of others had always been one of the defining features of his personality. Yet, there was something different about this situation.

Much as she wanted to confront Logan at that moment, Rogue was cognizant she did not have the luxury of time to do so. As long as his behaviour did not compromise the mission, she was relegated to placing this issue on the backburner. Knowing her old friend as well as she did, there was no way he would allow whatever grievances he might have to interfere with his contributions. Her shoulders sank slightly in resignation as she exchanged a warning look with Remy before calling the meeting to order.

To start the briefing, Xi’an informed everyone that she had effectively devised a shield to protect them from any form of psionic attack or detection. Using the Cerebro uplink as an amplifier, Dani explained that the shield was imprinted to each member, ensuring protection no matter where the individual was during the assignment. Given the intricacies of this process, the two noted that maintenance of this defence required Xi’an to be positioned nearby the uplink. This ultimately meant that when the time came for the team to conduct their search for Tyger, she would be forced to stay at the hotel. While the former refugee was clearly unhappy about this development, she acknowledged that there was no other way around the predicament.

Next, Dani and Amara provided an update of their analysis of the photographs from the flash drive. Both reported there were no recorded images of Tyger two months following Claudine Renko’s arrival to Madripoor. Most of the pictures were of Ms. Renko and other cabinet officials, dating as recently as one week ago. As for the mysterious woman who had infiltrated the presidential circle so quickly, Amara told the team that a visual scan of her image through various databases yielded nothing. Internet searches also proved to be unsuccessful. Based on what they could gather from the photographs, Dani and Amara surmised that Ms. Renko seemed to be operating as leader of the tiny island nation. The only caveat to this argument was her preference to remain behind the scenes as much as possible. Most of the pictures provided had been taken outside the context of public events where the media would be involved.

Xi’an addressed the team again to discuss the intercepted emails. Following her translations, she learned that the government was interested in meeting with private companies. There were active solicitations for heads of corporations to discuss possible investment opportunities. The types of companies were primarily focused on healthcare and pharmaceutical development. From what she was able to gather, these individuals would be meeting with Ms. Renko first before conducting further negotiations with Tyger herself. As of the most recent correspondence, there had been no interest in pursuing this opportunity given the documented turmoil in the country.

Logan, Remy, and Sam presented findings from their examination of the security procedures and architectural plans of the presidential offices and Tyger’s apartment. Information relating to the security detail for Tyger indicated that she continued to employ a number of individuals from the military for her protection. This included bodyguards stationed outside of her home and the presidential offices. With respect to Ms. Renko, her security detail was limited to one bodyguard who was only identified as ‘D’ in the documents. Remy noted that this person had no ties to the military and appeared around the same time as Ms. Renko did. After consulting with Dani and Amara, he was able to locate a single photograph of the individual in question. Unfortunately, the poor picture quality made it impossible to distinguish any remarkable features other than a thick, black Mohawk.

As for the layout of the buildings considered as targets for the mission, Sam pointed out that recent riots in the capital necessitated the closure of certain floors. He cited internal memos included as addendums to the standard operating procedures, which highlighted the stretched resources of the military as a primary factor in this decision. Day-to-day functions were limited to only two office suites as opposed to the original three floors of the presidential offices. With respect to Tyger’s private living quarters, it appeared that most of the security efforts were concentrated around her bedroom and Ms. Renko’s adjoining room. The Southern gentleman was able to determine that access to the building would be difficult given the recently sealed backdoor and emergency exits. This left entrance through the front as the remaining option, where measures such as metal detectors and a thorough grilling by guards would be obstacles.

When the trio’s part of the briefing concluded, Rogue turned to Roberto and asked for his assessment of the financial reports. He shifted uncomfortably as he sat alongside Sam on the overstuffed, and blue-and-white striped sofa. It was one of those rare instances when his bravado failed to surface, an experience he loathed deeply.

Following what seemed like eons of silence, Roberto cleared his throat. “Well,” he began, cringing when he heard a crack in his voice. “You see, I’m not exactly done with my analysis...”

This piece of news was greeted by stunned looks from his team mates. The mutant known as Sunspot enjoyed a reputation based on his ambition and overachieving tendencies. From an early age, he had been encouraged to develop high standards both intellectually and physically. Before enrolling at Xavier’s school, the young Da Costa was heavily recruited by the Brazilian Olympic soccer team. In addition to graduating at the top of his class for business school, he was one of the world’s youngest CEOs of a Fortune 500 company. While Roberto liked to boast that most of his success was attributable to his business acumen and charm, those who knew him best were likely to highlight his work ethic as another asset. It was not uncommon to hear of Roberto spending long nights at the office for weeks at a time or engrossing himself in research to prepare for possible acquisitions.

Not only was his dedication found in his business dealings but was also reflected in his mission-related assignments. Despite not possessing the inherent strategic planning skills of either Sam or Dani, Roberto could always be relied upon to contribute. His penchant for being organized and prepared for team meetings was one of his major strengths, which ultimately paved the way for their many successes over the years. To hear him make this incongruous admission was nothing short of shocking.

As team leader for this mission, Rogue was none too pleased with this development. There was a limited window of opportunity to execute any plan to access Tyger. With discontent growing everyday, there were persistent fears that rioting would spread to the prosperous section of the city. In the face of civil unrest, there was no way to predict how the regime would respond. Given this, the Southern Belle was inclined to exploit the government’s desire for overseas investors as a means to convene a meeting with the reclusive ruler. She envisioned using the financial information from the flash drive to determine what Madripoor’s economic standing was, and tailoring their cover accordingly. Unfortunately, Roberto’s inability to fulfil his part of the assessment was proving to make this difficult.

“What exactly is the problem?” she finally asked evenly, giving warning looks to Remy and Logan. Both men appeared as if they were contemplating strangling their younger team mate.

From Roberto’s perspective, it was an awkward position and one that was foreign to him as well. He immediately felt as if he were in junior high again, sheepish after learning he had forgotten to turn in a term paper. Aware that he had earned the enmity of Wolverine and Gambit, the swarthy Brazilian was mindful to choose his words carefully.

“Most of the stuff is pretty complicated,” he informed her, gesturing to the stack of dog-eared printouts on the coffee table in front of him. “There are numbers that don’t make sense.”

Logan, who was pouring himself a glass of water from the caddy, raised a stony brow at him. “Can’t you figure it out? I thought you business people were good with numbers.”

Roberto made a face, finding the idea of being lumped in with number crunchers as distasteful. “I’m a CEO,” he pointed out, trying to modulate the haughty tone in his response, “not an accountant.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rogue inquired, folding her gloved hands together. Irritating as his reply was, she needed to maintain her calm. Making decisions while under emotional duress was not something she was keen on doing.

“I need someone to help me go through these numbers in greater detail,” he explained. “There are what I suspect to be fraudulent accounts but don’t know for sure. I’ve been looking at three sets of ledgers but can’t decide which the master one is. There’s shorthand and code I’m not familiar with.”

Amara pushed up the sleeves of the white cardigan she wore over her navy-striped, strapless maxi dress. “What about calling in one of your people?” she suggested. Surely, Roberto had to know of at least one person who could provide some assistance.

The Southern Belle shook her head. “That ain’t an option,” she said, sighing. Peering over at a crestfallen Roberto, she continued. “Ah’m sure whoever ya know is trustworthy but Ah prefer ta keep what we have among us. Bringin’ in someone who ain’t familiar with what we do can complicate things.”

Disappointed, Roberto was forced to concede the point. He was glum as he thought about the prospect of hunkering over those damn numbers once again. Failure was a rare but very much despised companion. No matter how determined he was not to let his team mates down, there was a part of him that feared very little progress would be made in sorting out the accounting.

Rogue was equally pessimistic about Roberto’s chances given his blunt assessment. Still, she was wary of introducing someone who was not part of the X-Men into the fold. The covert nature of the assignment required that every precaution be made in order to ensure the team’s safety. Frowning thoughtfully, the Southern Belle racked her brain for a solution. If only she knew an accountant who had the necessary clearance to be brought in for a consultation.

Just as she was about to continue lamenting her lack of foresight, Rogue considered slapping herself for being dense. She brightened, realizing she did know someone. Best of all, the individual in question was someone who could be trusted with the sensitive material involved in this mission. “What about callin’ on Bobby?”

The glass in Logan’s hand suddenly shattered, startling everyone in the room.

“No way,” he growled fiercely, the bloody cuts on his hand quickly disappearing. Shards of glass that had been embedded in the lacerations fell away, joining the rest of the shattered pieces on the hardwood floor.

The Southern Belle’s emerald eyes became as round as saucers. “Why not?” she demanded, genuinely unaware of what precipitated this reaction. Rogue knew that Logan was not a fan of Bobby, especially since he started dating Jubilee. However, she came to believe that he had made peace with that situation. The intense anger radiating from Logan indicated that no such resolution existed. It was as if Bobby had committed some unspeakable transgression, triggering a violent rage that was normally concealed from the world.

Equally puzzled was Roberto, who had been hopeful about Bobby Drake’s assistance. Having sought the Long Island native’s advice about his own tax filings, Roberto found him to be very professional. Bobby’s knowledge about all sorts of exemptions and intricate policies rivalled his efficiency in processing complicated account information. If there was anyone who could make sense of all these discrepancies, it was Bobby Drake.

Reluctantly, Roberto entered into the conversation. “He’s one of the best accountants I’ve ever worked with,” he chimed in, waving at the stack of papers in front of him. “Whatever Tyger and her people have been doing with the books, I’m sure Drake will be able to identify any funny business in no time. The man can crunch numbers like he does candy bars.”

Logan scowled, clearly unhappy with what he was hearing. The prospect of serving on the same team as Drake nearly sent his adamantium claws from their flesh-covered sheaths. At the mere mention of the young man’s name, thoughts immediately focused upon the pain he had inflicted on Jubilee. His heart ached inside his chest as he recalled seeing her that night. The woeful expression etched across her delicate features, the glittering of tears in her sapphire eyes, and the overall perception that her heart had shattered into a million pieces were seared into his memory. Granted, Logan was privy to her side of the story but as far as he was concerned, it was the only one that mattered to him. The kid had been through so much in her young life, including the loneliness brought about Logan’s absences. For the brutish Wolverine, witnessing her experience that kind of emotional devastation was excruciating. He made an oath to himself that he would never allow any harm to come upon her again. With this in mind, Logan knew that once he laid eyes on Bobby Drake, he could not be held accountable for his actions.

Meanwhile, Sam was finding the idea of Bobby Drake joining the team equally disconcerting. Similar to Logan, he was angry about what his romantic rival had done to Jubilee. He despised the thought of her being hurt. Even imagining what she was going through evoked a yearning to some form of retribution against Bobby. Although his thoughts surrounding this did not necessarily focus on violence (as he presumed was the case with Logan’s ruminations), he knew he would do anything to take away the pain she was experiencing. At the same time, Sam was consumed by feelings of uneasiness. Working alongside Bobby was going to prove to be awkward given that he was now aware of what happened on Thanksgiving. While the two men had never been close, they did enjoy a good working relationship during previous assignments. Now that Bobby knew of Jubilee’s kiss with Sam, whatever rapport there might have been between them was surely fractured. Stealing a glance at his equally-distraught team mate, the eldest Guthrie wondered how the matter would be explained.

Much to Sam’s amazement, the brutish Wolverine acquiesced. “Fine,” he said flatly, ignoring the Southern gentleman’s wide-eyed gaze. His tone reflected a dead calm, consistent with his drastic reduction of tension in his body. “Drake can come.”

Rogue and Roberto exchanged surprised looks, as did the remaining team members. Logan’s about-face was jarring. After expecting more of a confrontation from her disgruntled colleague, the Southern Belle was trying to adjust her bearings. Years of friendship taught her to be mindful if something was amiss. When the gruff loner objected to something, it usually took a great deal of effort to convince him of the opposing side’s argument. Given the degree and expression of his disagreement, Rogue was bracing herself.

Before she could inquire as to what inspired this change of heart, Logan added with a gleam in his eyes, “In fact, I’ll escort him from the airport myself.”