GO WEST

Chapter 20: "Chains of Luck"

Well, Happy New Year.

I know I haven't written in a while, which isn't good, but truth to tell, I haven't had much to add. Most of my time here as houseguest and co-conspirator with Jenny and Paul Stavros has been pretty uneventful, as mostly we're just waiting for things. Waiting for Paul to do the fake ID's (he finished another set today, and I have to say they're unsettlingly well done), waiting for James to get the guns, waiting for Jenny to... I don't know WHAT Jenny's doing, but it must be important.

Actually, I DO know what Jenny's doing, or at least one of the things she's doing. I swear, I think she's trying to seduce me.

I'M DEAD SERIOUS. I can accept her going around the house in those tiny little shorts and half-shirts. I mean, this is as close to home as she has, and she feels comfortable here. But it seems that more and more often I find myself "accidentally" bumping into her when she's just gotten out of the shower, or she'll come into my guest room wearing nothing but a couple of scraps of lace to ask my opinion choosing between a couple of outfits, or something even more embarrassing.

At first I figured that she was just comfortable around me, seeing me as a non-threatening "Oh-that's-okay-he's-gay" kind of friend. But lately, the looks she's been giving me... This is beginning to go beyond friendly flirting, boys and girls.

I'm worried about her.

And I'm not just worried about her over the Road To Vengeance thing, either, since we're stalled out on the onramp right now. I've known Jenny a while, now, and I've talked with people on the Hellions who've known her even longer, or better. She's ALWAYS been with someone. Or more to the point, when she hasn't been in one of her long-standing relationships (she was with Thunderbird for a while, then Jetstream most recently), she's been the flirt of the world. Not a slut, just a flirt. She LOVES seducing people, the way I hear it. She loves it when men fall in love with her. She loves GETTING A REACTION.

I wonder what Mick would say if he were here? Well, I've only got the dime-store psychology to fall back on, but I think she's got some serious self-esteem problems, and she needs that feedback from other people to give her satisfaction with herself. When men fall for her, it makes her feel beautiful. When men lust after her, it makes her feel wanted. I've seen her reduce men to drooling blobs of protoplasm, and I think she likes it.

Not to say that she does it to be cruel -- I think she just does it for herself, to make her feel good about who she is however she can.

Maybe she thinks that if she can seduce the gay guy, she must REALLY be hot stuff. Maybe I'm way off base. But damn, it feels like that's what she's doing.

HELLO, JENNIFER. IT'S ME, GILBERT. YOU KNOW, THE FRUIT?

Shall I be honest here? Oh, hell, why not, this is the best place for these thoughts. The truth then. Here is The Truth About What Gilbert Thinks Of Jenny.

She is a knockout. I don't NEED to be straight to see that, and appreciate it. She's beautiful, she's got charm when she wants to, and my God, she has sex appeal. I'd have to be DEAD not to notice that. She can scream sexuality when she wants to. And she's been doing it a lot lately.

And you know what? I'll bet sex with Jenny would be great. If she puts half the passion into the act that she does into the look, well, no wonder Haroun was such a happy guy for those several months.

But there's the kick. While I can SEE all of this, and can BELIEVE it, I'm just not interested. I wonder how she'd feel if I told her that I find her brother far more attractive than her? (Paul is gorgeous, kids.)

So what happens if the seduction continues? Would I ever sleep with her? I can see it happening, but distantly, like the thought isn't really mine. I might even enjoy it, like I said above. But what would be the point? I don't love her. I mean, she's my friend, but I don't love her the way I want to love somebody. I couldn't form that kind of emotional closeness with her -- it just wouldn't be... right.

I can see my fellow male Hellions even now gaping in shock if I were to tell them that I chose to ward off Jenny's advances rather than go with them. Sorry, guys. I mean, go team and all, but no.

You know what, though? I might be so completely off interpreting this whole thing. I might have this read all wrong. For all I know, if I brought this up with Jenny, she'd probably give me an "ewww, gross" look and say "Buns, why would I want to seduce YOU? Give me a BREAK!" It's quite possible that this is just The Way She Is, and she does this to all the guys around her.

I just wish she'd stop doing it to ME, that's all.

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Tuesday, 4 January 1994 4:50 pm EST

Michael MacPherson had fully expected change once he returned to the Massachusetts Academy from his extended walkabout. He'd been with the Academy, and with the faculty, for quite long enough to know that change was the rule of the day. There were always new students, there were always new team lineups, and there were always new policies.

He never would have expected quite so much, though.

From his arrival that afternoon, things had seemed normal enough. He and his companion Chance (whom Mick had recruited right out of the L.A. mutant shelter called the Heartbreak Hotel) had immediately been shown in to see Miss Frost, and she had welcomed him back by awarding him his degree certificate for the Masters thesis he'd sent in over walkabout. He'd introduced Chance, which had gone well enough (though the young Korean mutant had been notably unimpressed by both the MassAc and her future teacher), and Emma had even seemed notably relieved to have him back, the emotion occasionally cracking through her icy exterior.

It was after this, though, that the bomb had been dropped, and Mick realized just how much he had missed in the last four to five months. When he'd left the school in August, the Hellions were in the hands of Frost herself, her assistant Devin Johnson (whom Mick had actively disliked -- he generally liked everyone unless given good reason, and Johnson had worked very hard to give him just that), and his fellow graduate Hellions, Tarot and Roulette.

Frost very matter-of-factly gave him a rundown of the following months. In early October, Frost finally severed ties with the Hellfire Club, something Mick had often suggested, making the MassAc a separate entity, not bowing to the whims and wants of Hellfire. A week later, Johnson had attempted to deliver the Academy back to Hellfire by taking over the minds of the entire Hellion roster and having them try to kill Frost; she was saved by Catseye, who was immune to Brainwash's influence. This had led to Johnson's dismissal, and a serious increase of security, as Johnson pointedly delivered threats on the lives of both Frost and Catseye.

Then, in late October, while most of the Hellions were out with Frost on a three-day field-test, former Hellion Empath had returned to the school, and that very night was murdered in the Hellions' dorm, even as Tarot and Catseye were abducted, vanishing without a trace aboard a stolen flyer. All attempts to find them had been futile, and the entire incident reeked of Johnson -- it was suspected that he had invaded the Academy with the help of the terminally insane former Hellion called Camouflage, a shapechanger and psychic chameleon. Physical and psychic evidence left in the wake also indicated that Tarot had been raped by the intruders.

Frost had said all of this in a completely businesslike tone, which horrified Mick almost as much as the news. She went on to add that the three teams of Hellions had spent much of the intervening time in disarray, and the semester had ended with Roulette finally giving up and leaving, and Rabbit going AWOL.

It was then that she also informed him that she had decided to bring in some outside help, now that her staff was all but gone. She'd promoted her assistant Tessa to a supervisory position, and hired on one Dr. A.C. Kokiadis, a longtime associate of several members of the Greenbriar Academy faculty, in a similar role. Mick was asked if he would be willing to assume leadership of the training (C) team in the continued absence of Tarot, and he agreed to this, but wondered how his role would be affected by these new supervisors. He found himself wishing that he'd come back sooner, so that she would have had at least one member of the old staff to pass the torch to.

After the briefing, which Chance endured with a good deal of fidgeting and yawning, the two were brought to the training room, where one of the newest Hellions, a blonde girl apparently in her early teens, was having a solo training session, with several others supervising.

When Mick came into the room, the first person he saw was Cassie Spangler, and both of their faces lit up. The training session forgotten for now, Cassie cried out his name, dashed up to meet him, and nearly knocked him over with one of her hugs. Mick returned her embrace with all he had, and then Cassie took his face in her hands and started kissing him.

Apparently Cassie had missed him as much as he'd missed her. They went on kissing, oblivious to the world, until Emma finally intervened. "As soon as you two are finished..."

They broke, and Mick gave Frost one of his trademark Aussie smiles, trying hard not to blush. It was only then that he noticed the room's other occupants -- the blonde girl, a casually dressed man with long hair and an earring, and the more familiar face of Jean-Pierre, the elder of the Delacroix brothers.

"Mick MacPherson," Emma nodded to him, indicating the long-haired man, "I'd like to introduce you to the man who'll be joining Tessa as Hellions general supervisor: Dr. A.C. Kokiadis."

Mick smiled, partly to conceal his surprise (Emma hired a man with an earring? Times had changed!), but mostly in welcome to the new fellow. He carefully disentangled himself from Cassie and gave the man a firm shake. "Pleased t'meetcha, Doctor."

"Call me A.C.," Kokiadis nodded, "and the pleasure's mine."

Emma carried on with the introductions, indicating the young girl. "This is Kelly Adams, code-named Current. She is part of the B-team: one of the four mutants we recruited right after you went on walkabout. Kelly, this is Dreamwalker, who'll be taking over the C-team."

Mick offered his hand, and she smiled as she shook with him. "Kelly," he nodded.

"Good to meet you," she replied. "Cassie -- and the others -- have told us a lot about you."

Mick shot an amused look at Cassie, who rolled her eyes happily. He'd no doubt hear about this later. "Well, I hope I live up to the hype," he shrugged, then turned to Jean-Pierre. "Johnny! Good t'seeya, mate!" He then surprised the young Frenchman by giving him a big hug.

"And you as well, mon ami," Jean-Pierre sighed. "We definitely could have used your smile around here lately."

Mick's face fell as his thoughts went back to the jumble of events of which he'd been told. "Yeah, I heard," he said, gravely, but then tried to put his grin back in place. "Still, no sense worryin' about it now, eh? You keepin' Stevey outta trouble?"

Jean-Pierre gave a mock-exasperated sigh. "As best I can."

"Yeh, I can imagine," Mick started to say, but he was interrupted by Emma, who suddenly seemed to remember that Chance was there. "Ah, yes. This is the latest addition to the Hellions. She calls herself Chance. She has the ability to neutralize or increase someone's mutant power."

Chance looked as though she wanted to object to being referred to in the third person, but Mick shot her a warning look. "I thought maybe she could help out with Aaron," he said to A.C.

"That would be nice," A.C. nodded, reaching out to shake Chance's hand. She gave him a prim little smile that Mick knew was completely fake.

"So where's everyone else?" Mick asked, changing the subject.

A.C. considered this. "Well, Tessa, Haroun and Akiko are off in the mountains doing flying stuff, and Buford's got a bunch of the kids in the gym -- he's showing them the finer points of throwing people into walls."

Mick chuckled at this; he'd missed Buford. "Sounds like a typical day 'round here."

"Indeed," Emma said. "I'm afraid I must now leave you all. As it is, I've delayed my flight by an hour. I will be back Friday afternoon. Tessa knows where to reach me in an emergency, but I'm quite sure she and A.C. can handle any problems that might crop up."

Mick was surprised by this vote of confidence, and realized that this Kokiadis must have a good head on his shoulders. For his part, Kokiadis gave Emma an amused look and said "Have a safe trip."

"Thank you, A.C.," Emma nodded. "Gemini, if you'd be so kind as to introduce -- or reintroduce -- Mick and Chance to everyone, and give Chance the tour of the Underground..?"

"Sure," Cassie affirmed.

This seemed to satisfy Frost, as she took her leave after a chorus of goodbyes from her students and staff.

Cassie turned to A.C. "Can you and Jean-Pierre manage without me?"

A.C. laughed. "I think we can wallow through the mire somehow, yeah." He then nodded to Mick and Chance. "It was good to meet you both. Chance, you up for a little demo of your abilities? Say tomorrow at 10 a.m.?"

Chance shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"I'll set up the session," Mick suggested, then suddenly realized that he might be overstepping his new bounds. "If that's alright, mate," he added, quickly.

"I was actually going to suggest that you do," A.C. agreed, "since you've been travelling with her, so I assume you know best how her powers work. And I doubt that the programming protocols have changed much since August."

"Cripes, I hope not," Mick laughed. He then looked from Chance to Cassie. "C'mon, my loves, let's go get acquainted."

"Yipee-kie-yay, I can hardly wait," Chance replied in a bored tone.

Taking that as a yes, they were off. As they left, Mick smiled at Cassie, then was struck by a thought. "So how long've we got, Cassie?"

"Ages," Cassie replied, giving him a V-shaped smile. "Paul won't be back until almost four in the morning."

Mick grinned.

MacPherson apartment, Claremont Hall, MassAc
Wednesday, 5 January 1994 3:05 am EST

Typically, Cassie and Paul Spangler didn't require sleep. At the end of each fourteen-hour "shift," when the one sibling would change into the other, the awakening twin would be fully rested and ready to take on the new day, presumably having rested in some unknown limbo while the other had been at the helm. This ability to stay awake twenty-four hours a day was one much appreciated by Frost, and was certainly a consideration in making Gemini the leader of the B-team: a team which had the potential and the training for serious espionage if the need ever arose.

Cassie Spangler was asleep now, though. Blissfully so, the traces of a smile still on her face.

Mick was smiling too, as he traced one finger along her face. He loved to watch her sleep, and heaven knew he didn't often get the chance.

They lay together for a while in the darkened bedroom, but at length, thoughts of the day's news began to bubble up to the surface of Mick's mind, beyond the numb happiness left in the wake of their rather exhausting reunion.

He very carefully slipped out of her arms, then pulled the covers back up over her, bending to kiss her lips, then her throat, then just over one collarbone. "Sleep tight, Cass," he whispered, then carefully pushed himself out of bed. Cassie stirred slightly, but did not wake.

Not bothering to dress (hell, the room was warm enough), he crept barefoot to his desk, sat at his chair, and reached to turn on his PC, which had gained quite the layer of dust since his departure. He'd have to give this place a good turning-out the next day.

The computer cold-booted, active now for the first time since August, bathing Mick's face in a dim glow as the monitor came to life, displaying memory tests and virus checks one after the other. After a while, it went to Windows, so he took a mouse and mouse-pad from a drawer, plugged in the former, and double-clicked on the MULTIVAC icon, connecting him to the MassAc's internal computer system.

When he logged on, he found a substantial amount of Email waiting, but none of it looked pressing, so he left it to read later. This reminded him that he would probably have voice-mail as well, though, so he reached for his speaker-phone (his computer was hard-wired into Multivac, freeing up his phone line for voice), turned the volume way down, and began dialing.

At least they hadn't shut off the phone in his absence, he noted.

"Hello," came the soft digitized voice. "You have six new messages."

Mick started the messages playing, then turned back to his computer, keying in the commands to get him to the private directories. With his new status at the school, he'd been given greater access, and he wanted to see just how extensive it was. He made a beeline straight for Security, to see what he could find there.

"Hi, Mr. MacPherson, um, this is Donovan Tveit -- I was in your psych class last spring. I was just wondering if you were going to be teaching any other classes this fall. Um, that's it, really. I'll try back again."

When he arrived in the Security sub-directory, he found that he did indeed have extended access, as there was a whole hell of a lot more available to him now. Scanning the list of topics, he found one that looked promising: "C-S-D Investigation"

"Colbert, Smith, De la Rocha," he whispered to himself, then called up that topic.

"Um, Hi, Mr. MacPherson, this is Donovan Tveit again, I called last week to see if you'd be teaching any other classes this fall. I didn't see your name in the catalog, and I was just... interested in taking another. Well, I'll keep an eye out. Thanks."

The first document Mick found was Jetstream's report on the incident. He and Roulette had been the first to discover the body of Manuel De la Rocha, and also the first to find that the other two were missing. He scanned the report, looking for more than what Frost had told him. Haroun had given a good account, all things considered, noting the evidence of the struggle Catseye, Tarot and Empath had no doubt put up, estimating the amount of time Manuel had been dead by the time of their arrival, even making a couple of speculations of his own about the nature of the crime.

"Hullo, Mick, it's Elle. Give me a call when you can, okay?"

Roulette's account of the night was short and very distant, so Mick skipped it, moving on to the report by Security Chief DeCandido. This one was the most detailed of all, and even with a quick scan, Mick noticed the added information, such as that of the stolen flyer, upon which Catseye and Tarot had presumeably been taken, and its crash near the Rhode Island border. No bodies were found at the crash site, and a search of the area turned up a very short blood trail -- the blood had been Catseye's. The shortness of the trail seemed to indicate that she'd escaped, but just as quickly been re-captured.

"Hello, Michael, this is Erin Kilvarough of the Greenbriar Academy. I was looking at your file in preparation for the big fair this Halloween, and I was wondering if you'd like to appear on a panel discussion regarding the role of... Oh, wait a moment... Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see that. It says here you're on a leave of absence until further notice. Oh. Well, that's embarrassing. Um... never mind, then. I hope you're enjoying your leave, and maybe we'll talk again later. 'Bye!"

Two more accounts, then. A very brief report had been submitted by Gilbert Dane, who had used his rabbit body, and rabbit senses, to search out the two attack sites, in both Catseye's and Tarot's dorm rooms. Apart from the stench of blood, there was nothing he could contribute, as the perpetrators had fumigated the rooms with spray-scents to mask any trace of their own odor. Mick sighed, remembering Gilbert's AWOL status, and wondered what had driven him to depart so abruptly. He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

The next was written by Frost herself, on behalf of Marsha Wilson. As Mick read it, his eyes went wide. Marsha had actually farsighted back into the past to try to see what had happened. Catseye's presence had blocked most of the psychic residue, but apparently Marsha had not only detected, but to an unsettling extent relived Marie-Ange's rape. He hadn't been told this part, and he found the knowledge sickening. Bad enough that any one person should have to be subjected to that, but... When he'd seen Marsha earlier, she'd seemed fine, if a little distant. Maybe this was why.

Looking away from the documents, then, he noticed a set of graphics files -- scanned photos of the attack sites. Briefly, he considered whether or not he wanted to see these, but then he called the first one up.

"Bonjour, Michael! This is Marie-Ange. On the off-chance you're checking your voice-mail... from wherever it is you've taken yourself... I wanted to talk with you about the Ph.D. program, now that I've heard a bit more about it. Please call if you can, and leave word either at my room or my office. Merci, Michael, and I hope you're staying out of trouble. Au revoir!"

Mick stared unblinking at the first image on his screen. He'd spent many hours visiting Marie-Ange in her room/sanctum, talking school, talking mutants, discussing the training of the junior Hellions -- a task the two of them had shared for ten happy and productive months... He barely recognized the place from this picture. Everything was scattered, in total disarray, and the first thought he had, incongruously, was how upset she'd be, considering how neat she'd always kept things. Furniture overturned, blood everywhere...

The next scanned photo showed Sharon's room, in a similar state of upheval. The blood was just as plentiful here, and the evidence Haroun had mentioned was even more apparent: the claw-marks on the walls, the shredded posters and linens, the gouged mattress... They'd caught Catseye in bed, apparently, but she'd put up a hell of a fight.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, softly.

"Mick... Mick, this is Cassie... I hope you get this message soon, Mick, 'cause... we... We really need you right about now, Mick. Some serious shit's gone down here on the home front, and... God, we need you back. Please come home..."

Mick closed his eyes. He suddenly felt very cold inside.

From behind, hands closed over his bare shoulders, and he felt a kiss on the top of his head. As usual, Cassie had not made a sound.

"Right after I hung up, I wished I hadn't left that message," she told him, slipping her hands down along his chest and holding him to her.

He leaned against her, enjoying this contact. It amazed him sometimes how Cassie was so hard and so soft all at the same time. "I should've stayed, Cass," he whispered.

"You had to go," she reminded him. "You and I both know that. Even then, I understood."

He turned in his seat and slipped one arm around her waist, holding her close, laying the side of his face against her prominent clavicle. "I should've been here, Cass. I shouldn't have stayed away so long."

"If you'd been here, you would have gone to Australia with the rest of us for the field test -- probably shown us around the place a little. You wouldn't have been here to stop it from happening."

"Maybe not," he sighed, "but I should have been here after."

Cassie came around to the front of his chair and gently set herself down on his lap, then put both arms around him again and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Remember what you said to Jean-Pierre in the training room? No sense worrying about it now?"

He let a short laugh escape. "You think I meant that?"

"Of course not. I know you'd never just ignore things and hope they'd go away."

"I've been doin' it for five months, Cass," he whispered, bitterly.

She brought her eyes around to meet his. "Stop that," she said, in a forceful, quiet voice. "Stop taking it all on yourself. You can't take responsibility for the world, Mick MacPherson, so don't even try. Now listen to me. What you said made a lot of sense. You can sit here and let yourself get depressed over what happened -- Lord knows most of us did -- or you can stop worrying about what did happen and worry about what's going to happen."

She paused to let him speak, but he was gazing silently into her eyes, so she went on. "You weren't here for the aftermath, and that's too bad. Yes, we missed you, and yes, we could have used your help holding things together. But that's the past, Oz, and it's over. We need you now. Emma put you in charge of the C-team, right?"

He nodded. "Actually, before she left, we talked telepathically. She said she'd also like to make me the third supervisor, 'long with Tessa an' that new fella."

"Well, I hope you said yes," she smiled.

"Yeh, I did. Feels kind'a strange, bein' in charge..."

"You'll do fine."

After a pause, Cassie looked down at her watch (it was the only thing she'd left on) and let out a short, heavy sigh. "Paul's gonna be here in a few minutes," she said, standing up. "You'd better put something on."

"Yeh, you too," he nodded.

They went about the room, locating their scattered clothing (they really hadn't been paying attention to where any of it landed at the time), and getting at least halfway decent. Cassie retrieved her pack from over by the door, and dug out a pair of men's briefs and blue jeans, hastily slipping them on, following this with a pullover sweatshirt. She then checked her watch again. "Forty seconds."

Mick looked at her in the dim light, and let a soft smile return. "I love you, Cass," he said, quietly.

She stepped over to him, gave him one last kiss, then stepped back. "I love you too, Mick. See you tomorrow."

They waited the last few seconds, and then Cassie was gone, replaced by Paul. The male half of Gemini took a moment to shake himself off, look around, and get his bearings. "You know," he said to Mick, "as soon as I heard you were coming back today, I knew I'd be waking up at your place. You're lookin' well, Mick."

"G'day, Paul," Mick grinned, giving him a hearty handshake. "Hope you don't mind too terribly."

"Hey, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have be involved with the sister I've never met, Mick, what else can I say? I can handle showing up here two or three times a week. Just promise me you won't lose track of time during the kissing marathons like you did last spring, okay? Neither one of us needs the embarrassment."

Mick snorted. "Yeh, you can say that again, mate." He then went back over to his computer and reached to turn the monitor off.

Before he could, though, Paul both noticed and recognized the image. "Oh... Oh, yeah, you just heard about all that, didn't you?"

"Yeh. Been a hell of a time, eh?"

"'Fraid so. I just wish there were something we could do about it."

There was a pause, and Mick scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "Maybe there is."

"Uh oh, he's getting an idea," Paul chuckled. "What is it?"

"Well, I need t'get t'bed here pretty soon anyway. Maybe a little dreamwalk'll point me in the right direction."

Paul nodded. "Sounds like a plan. Want some company?"

"Nah, I don't think so, mate," Mick frowned. "Been a while since I took anyone else in with me -- I think it'd be best if I went this one on my own."

"Suit yourself," Paul shrugged. "Well, I'll go get some food and leave you to it, then, okay?"

"Thanks, Paul," Mick nodded, gratefully.

"Hey, no worries, mate," Paul grinned, doing his best impression of Mick's accent. He gathered up all of Cassie's things, put on the shoes she'd left for him, and was off with a cheery wave.

Once he was gone, Mick logged out of Multivac, shut off the computer, then let himself fall back into bed. Putting himself under would be easy enough at this hour, but first he had to consider what he was after.

If they were alive, he could find them. Or at least he could find Marie-Ange, since Sharon was as immune to his power as she was to any other mental power. If they were sleeping, that is. He'd need to check sleeping minds everywhere, looking for that familiar mental "feel." He'd visited her dreams before, once or twice, just as a friendly thing, and after he'd been in contact once, he never forgot the way the mind "felt." But of course, if Catseye had been taken with her, it was possible he wouldn't be able to find either one of them.

He also had no idea where to look for her. Maybe that was the first step. Maybe it would be better to try and follow her path, and let the dreamscape show him the way to wherever she had gone. He closed his eyes, and began to take a series of deep, relaxing breaths...

Mick dreamed.

He recognized the scene at once: Dent Hall, the Hellions' dormitory. He'd briefly lived here upon first coming to the Academy, but once he went into grad studies and started student teaching, he'd been moved to the apartments at Claremont. Marie-Ange and Jennifer had been given the option to do so as well, once or twice, but they had chosen instead to remain in their current suites, as these were familiar, happy surroundings.

That had changed, though. He walked down the hall, stepping slowly. He was in the wing where Marie-Ange and Sharon had lived, he recognized. The doors to their suites were open, just as had been described in the report by Haroun, and light shone out into the hall.

He passed by Sharon's door, vaguely noting that it had been ripped from the hinges, but he kept going, hearing noises coming from further along.

The next open door was Marie-Ange's, and he turned and looked inside. It was just as he'd seen it in the photo, with everything strewn about the room randomly, blood everywhere (he even smelled it in the dream), and the body of De la Rocha in the floor, lying in a pool of congealing blood.

Sitting in the middle of the floor was Catseye, in her human form, cradling Tarot to her. Marie-Ange was naked and lifeless -- Mick could not tell if she were dead or alive -- and Catseye, like the room, was covered in blood. She rocked back and forth, trying to reassure her friend, trying to get some sign of life from her.

Mick had walked the dreamscape countless nights, and was no stranger to nightmares. Still, sometimes something would happen in a dream that would terrify him to the very core.

And this terror came to him as Catseye did something that should never have happened to him in a dream. She looked up at him, staring him straight in the "eyes."

And her face became filled with fury.

"GO AWAY," she growled, her voice deep and distorted. Her eyes lit with a violet glow.

"Catseye?" he tried to say.

Very gently, Catseye set her friend down, then in the same fluid motion, she sprang for him, changing into a hideous parody of her cat-form, growing to ten times her own size, claws slicing through the air, huge fangs dripping blood and saliva, her growl shaking the room. He didn't even have the chance to run before she swallowed him whole.

Mick awoke in a cold sweat, quickly sitting up in the bed. His heart was hammering against his ribs, and small wonder. That never happened! That shouldn't have happened. In these sorts of dreams, he was always an observer, and never a participant. Something had gone very wrong...

After a while, he managed to calm himself down enough to try and interpret what he'd seen. The best he could come up with was that his fears had been correct -- Catseye's psi-blindness was preventing him from following their psychic trail. Catseye had been defending a helpless Marie-Ange, which made sense, as Tarot was extremely vulnerable to psychic powers, and this vulnerability had translated in the dream as nakedness. He realized that trying to find them through the dream wouldn't work, as Catseye, whether she meant it or not, would have covered their trail.

Looking at his bedside clock, he saw that the dream had taken an hour: it was five a.m., and he had that training session with Chance scheduled for ten.

Somehow, though, he douted he'd be able to sleep, as every time he closed his eyes, he saw Catseye's snarling face, telling him to go away...

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Friday, 7 January 1994 11:15 am PST

Douglas Ramsey gratefully kicked the front doors closed behind him, took a look around the tiny foyer, and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Home at last," he grinned. "Gads, it feels like we've been away for months."

"Was my country so horrible, then?" Marie-Ange Colbert asked, giving him a mock-pouty look.

"Ohhhh, not at all, sweetheart," he smiled back. "It just seems we've crammed a lot of living into the last week, if you know what I mean."

"Mmm hmm," she nodded, raising her eyebrows just slightly.

They headed down the circular hall together, luggage and carry-ons on their shoulders, in their hands, or dragging behind them, then headed into the living wing. "Hello the house!" Doug called down the hall. "Anyone home? Sharon? Ric?"

No reply came -- the house was quite silent. "When is everyone due back?" Marie-Ange asked, setting her suitcase down on the floor of the whatever-room.

"Well, Dani and Warlock should be driving in tonight," Doug replied, considering this. "Rahne's flight comes in tomorrow, and I'm not sure about either Ric or Sharon. I guess they'll get back when they want to get back." Noticing that the answering machine was blinking furiously, he stepped over to the telephone table and pressed the PLAYBACK button.

When he looked back at Marie-Ange, she was staring right at him, her long, deep red hair falling into her face and half-veiling it, so that he could only see the one eye, and half of the knowing smile.

"The whole house to ourselves?" she asked, in an innocent voice.

"Looks that way," Doug nodded, deadpan.

Marie-Ange let her carry-ons drop unceremoniously to the floor, then stepped across the room, took Doug's face in her hands, and kissed him.

"<BEEP> Hey, everybody, it's Brynn! Welcome to 1994, and I hope you all had a happy new year! And Doug, give me a call when you get back from gay Paree, let me know how it was, okay? Y'all take it easy. 'Bye!"

Doug and Marie-Ange wrapped their arms around each other, still kissing furiously and passionately, only pausing at odd moments to breathe. It was all either of them could do to keep from falling over. Doug brought his hands up to run through her wonderful, wonderful hair, brushing long tendrils of it from her face. "Angie," he managed between kisses, "don't you... think we... should maybe..."

She paused. "Should maybe what?"

"Um... I forget..."

"Mon cher," she said in a playful growl, "just shut up and kiss me."

"<BEEP> Hi, Doug, it's Harris. Give me a call when you get back; I've got some new lyrics I want to try out on you. Oh yeah, you may be interested in knowing that while you were gone, Jim took Gauntlet out again to make room for yet another Mortal Kombat II. He also wants you to call back and let him know when you can work again. That's all. Later!"

Doug suddenly tightened his arms around her waist, then lifted her up off the ground. She yelped with surprised delight and tightened her own grip around his shoulders as he kissed her throat. Given that the two of them were about the same height, though, they began to overbalance, and Doug took a couple of crazy steps backward, until his legs met one arm of the couch, and he tumbled backwards onto it, Marie-Ange landing completely on top of him.

"Trying to sweep me from my feet?" she laughed, pushing herself up over him with both arms.

"Can't blame a guy for trying." His next words were smothered by further kisses. He took her shoulders and pushed her back for a moment, holding her there at arms' length. "You," he said, "are an animal when you want to be, you know that?"

"Moi?" she said, exaggerating her accent. "Petite moi? An' do you have a problem with zis, m'sieu?"

"I didn't say that."

"<BEEP> Hello, this message is for Lea LaChatte. This is Jason from Pacific Eyes and T's at UTC. The Ray-Ban 'Cats 8000' sunglasses you ordered have come in, and you can come pick them up anytime. Thanks."

Marie-Ange began working with the buttons of his shirt, so Doug returned the favor by reaching up to unbutton the blouse she was wearing. When he had it finished, she stripped it off and tossed it to the floor. Doug ran his hands along her back, found the strap of her bra, and with a deft flick of the fingers, unfastened it.

She stopped cold, then narrowed her eyes at him. "You know," she said, trying to sound menacing (her smile didn't help matters), "you are awfully good at that..."

"Hey, I catch on quick, what can I say?"

"And how much practice have you had, hmmm?"

"<BEEP> Hi. This is a message for Erica Blackeagle. Erica, this is Ben Aldridge, calling to say Yo, and wondering when you're getting back from break. Give me a call -- you know my number. Seeya."

She slid the apparel in question down off her shoulders and was about to toss it in the direction her blouse had gone when Doug snatched it from her hands.

"So let's see," he said, studying it carefully. "In Tarot lore, this would be the Two of Cups, yes?"

There was a short silence, and then she buried her face in her hands. "Douglas, that's awful."

"Sorry, had to be said," he grinned.

She gave him a mock-exasperated sigh. "You're impossible."

"And is zis a problem, ma chère?" he asked, innocently.

The smile returned to her lips. "I didn't say that."

"<BEEP> Greetings, this is the Geraldo Rivera Show. We're doing an upcoming program on 'Deranged Mutant College Students Who Have Had Children By Elvis And The Women Who Love Them,' and we'd simply love to have you lot on. If you're interested in participating in the program, please call our booking agent, Dr. A.C. Kokiadis, at the Massachusetts Academy For The Terminally Pretentious. The number is..."

Marie-Ange began to very industriously work with the buttons of his jeans. Before she could get them undone, however, she cast a look to one side, and both her face and her hands froze.

Doug quickly pushed himself up onto his elbows. "What is it?" he asked, craning his neck to try to look past the top of the couch.

Sharon was standing in the doorway of the room she and Marie-Ange shared, cat-eyes wide, looking a mix of extremely amused and equally mortified.

The answering machine went on, nonplussed. "<BEEP> This is a message for Lea LaChatte. This is Krista from Pacific Eyes and T's in UTC, calling back in case you missed our first message. The Ray-Bans you ordered have come in, and you can come pick them up anytime. Thanks!"

"Hello, Sharon," Marie-Ange said, because someone had to.

Sharon held up one hand in something resembling a wave, then absently pointed to the exit. "Hello! Um, do not mind Catseye. Was just leaving."

"Oh, no trouble at all," Doug said, trying his damndest to sound nonchalant. "How was your trip home?"

"Just fine," Sharon nodded, edging her way around the central room to the hallway. "Um, Catseye will go mallplace and get shades, yes? And go to many other shops, too. Could take all day."

"You can take my car if you'd like," Doug offered. "The keys are on the pegboard."

"Thank you, goldenmane," Sharon nodded, still apparently trying (and failing) to get the shit-eating grin off her face. "Um, have fun, yes?"

"You as well, ma chatte," Marie-Ange smiled warmly. "It's good to see you back."

Sharon gave them one last wave, then was off down the hall at a sprint. In the distance, they heard her laughing hysterically.

Doug looked at Angie. Angie looked at Doug.

"Now, where were we?" he asked.

"Oh, I believe right about... here."

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Friday, 7 January 1994 2:52 pm EST

Chance hated the uniform. More than anything else she'd encountered at this stuck-up little yuppie breeding ground, she hated the uniform she'd been given to wear as a member of the Hellions.

For one thing, it was skin-tight. Chance never wore skin-tight anything, preferring loose jeans and the nice bulkiness of her leather jacket.

For another thing, it was purple. Not only purple, but a shade of purple she'd never seen before, alternating with black in two or three broad diagonal stripes. It had big impractical boots and equally bulky gloves, and worst of all, the damn thing was cut way too low in front. She guessed that whoever had designed the suit had had a thing for cleavage, but that just wasn't gonna happen here. Maybe someone like Sybil or even that Cassie ditz that Mick was so ga-ga over could fill it out, but...

She looked at her reflection in one of the many mirrors situated around the locker room, then sighed. No way. No friggin' way was she going to go out, even into the Underground, dressed like this. She went back to her locker to get her jacket, and pulled up short as she saw that someone else had arrived. It was a girl with long black hair, who looked maybe a year or two older than Chance herself.

The other girl paused in the process of slipping her own uniform on and gave her a smile. "Oh, hello! You must be, um, Chance, right?"

"Yeah," Chance nodded, leaning up against the row of lockers.

"I'm Kristina Yarborough. Call me Kris. You're here for the C-team, right?"

"Looks like, yeah."

"Well, great! About time we got another girl on the team. Me and Keiko always feel so outnumbered out there."

"Keiko?" Chance asked.

Kristina looked around. "Oh, she's usually the first one here. I'll bet she's already in the training room, practicing."

Chance nodded silently as Kristina straightened her uniform, noting with some displeasure that the other girl actually made the stupid thing look good on her. "I hate these uniforms," Chance grumbled.

"Yeah, you have to get used to 'em," Kristina nodded, sympathetically. "A bunch of us have been lobbying to get the necklines raised -- these things are body-armored and insulated, but having 'em cut this low kind of defeats the purpose, you know? I'm amazed no one's broken a collarbone before."

Chance blinked. No one had broken bones yet and she was amazed?

Maybe this would be fun after all.

Still, this uniform wasn't going to do it alone, so she opened her locker, reached back inside, and pulled out her jacket, slipping it on over the skinsuit. Checking herself out at the mirrors again, she felt much better with this addition.

"Think anyone would mind the jacket?" she asked Kristina.

"I don't know," the other girl admitted, pulling on her boots. "The way I hear it, though, Mick wears his hat with his uniform all the time, so maybe they won't mind."

"Yeah."

"Well," Kristina said brightly as she got to her feet. "Shall we be off, then?"

"I guess so." Chance found that Kristina's cheery attitude was really beginning to grate on her nerves, but she didn't say anything.

The two went out of the locker room, down a short hall to the small 'waiting room' just outside the main training room, and then into the training room itself.

Mick was already there, standing in the center of the huge white space, wearing his Hellions uniform (the purple and black went horribly with his everpresent wide-brimmed khaki outback hat) and holding a clipboard. Several other mutants, mostly guys, were gathered there with him.

"G'day, ladies," he grinned at them as they came in. He widened his eyes slightly at Chance's jacket, but said nothing. "Well, that's all of you, so it looks like it's time for re-introductions. Everyone, I believe you've all met Chance briefly. She's our newest recruit, and she'll be with the C-team at for at least a while so's we can gauge her powers. Chance, this is the C-team."

"H'lo," she said, waving absently.

Mick began introducing them one by one. The first was this enormous guy, about as wide as he was tall, and all of it fat. "This is Dan Weller, code-name Dough-Boy. He's the co-leader of the team, and his power is durability -- ain't much that can get through that thick skin of yours, eh, mate?"

"Not much," Dan agreed, smiling. He nodded to Chance. "Nice to meet you."

Dough-Boy? Chance thought to herself. I'm gonna be taking orders from a guy who calls himself Dough-Boy? She imagined his real mutant power was to polish off twelve pizzas in one sitting...

"Next is Ellis Raymond Joel, code-name Stat."

"Call me Ray," the kid said, automatically.

"His powers are all based in numbers and stats and such -- kinda' hard to explain," Mick went on.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Chance thought, nodding to the kid. He looked like the classic young scientist -- messy brown hair, thick glasses... the only thing missing on his uniform was a pocket protector. And a pocket, for that matter.

"Anyway," Mick continued, "this is Keiko Kimota, code-name Floater. She's a telekinetic -- she can move her own body with her mind."

Chance nodded, as that sounded kinda cool. Keiko herself looked like one of those goddamn tight-assed Japanese schoolgirls, though, always bowing and apologizing for things, being so damn polite all the time... Even now, Keiko gave Chance only a meek little smile and a few bobs of the head.

Mick had to consult his clipoard for Kristina. "Kristina Yarborough, code-name Embers. She's a low-level pyrogenetic."

"A what?" Chance asked.

"I make fire," Kristina explained. "Just not very well, I'm afraid."

"I could fix that," Chance grinned.

"We'll get to that in a minute, love," Mick warned. "Anyway, next is Robby Jefferson, code-name Bacchus. He can make folks intoxicated by touchin' 'em with his bare skin."

"'Lo," Robby waved to her, with a lopsided smile.

Chance looked at him appreciatively. Now this one could make staying at this preppoid place worth it, she decided. Not too tall, nice bod, and she liked the sound of his power. Besides, she'd always heard that once you go black...

"And last up is Aaron Jorgensen, code-name Rush. His power is super-speed, 'cept there's one problem. He can't shut it off too well." Mick said this last bit with a meaningful look in Chance's direction.

Chance looked at Aaron. All she could really tell about him was that he was almost as short as she was. Beyond that, his constant twitching and quick movements made it difficult to tell. He said something she assumed to be a greeting, but it was garbled and high-pitched. Chance realized that this had been the one Mick had talked about back at Heartbreak -- the one whose powers were killing him.

"Man, slow down, willya?" she said, and blanked his powers.

Aaron quite literally stopped in his tracks, holding perfectly still for a moment, staring at Chance in amazement. He then slowly looked around at everyone else, and his eyes grew wide. "Oh, God," he said, softly. "I don't believe it!" He looked at Chance. "Did... did you do that?"

"Yeah," she nodded, with a slight shrug.

"An' that's Chance's power," Mick said, not missing a beat. "She can either amplify or cancel someone else's mutant powers. Congrats, Aaron, you've been cancelled."

Aaron took a couple of slow steps forward, much to the amazement of the rest of the C-team, all of whom were looking from Aaron to Chance.

Then Aaron laughed, and all but picked Chance up in a huge hug. "Oh, God, thank you! God, it feels so good to slow down!"

Chance quickly squirmed out of his hug and backed off, uncomfortable with this sudden affection. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's cool, man, take it easy. I mean, you're welcome, but... lay off the leather, man."

"And you can do that with any power?" Kristina asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, sure," Chance smirked. "Go ahead, try to start a fire."

Kristina held out one hand before her, palm up, concentrated, and then lurched back in surprise as an arc of flame erupted straight up from it. She was so surprised that she lost her balance and landed flat on her backside. "I've never been able to do that!" she gasped.

"Well, that's really nice, Chance," Mick said, stepping in here, "but before you go an' zap anyone else, let's make sure we're in controlled conditions, just to be safe." He looked around at the rest of the group. "Now, since her power only works in synch with someone else's power, one of the first things I want to do is see how she interacts with each one of you, and what the effects are. You all up for this?"

The team nodded and verbalized assent, and Chance looked over at Robby, who was giving her a curious smile. She grinned at him.

It looked like she was going to be okay here after all.

McAudry House, 10:24 pm PST

The late Friday evening found Doug and Danielle sitting up in the kitchen, drinking tea and discussing their various vacation endeavors. Danielle, Warlock and Brightwind had arrived at the McAudry family ranch at about the same time that Doug, Marie-Ange and Sharon had driven out to meet them there, and once they had Brightwind once again situated in his stable at the ranch, the four mutants and one alien had headed back to the house for some much-deserved rest and recharging.

Well, at any rate, Marie-Ange and Sharon were resting, and Warlock, at least, was recharging. Doug and Dani were each too wired to sleep right away, so they sat up talking.

"You've been giving me the most intolerable looks all night, you know that?" Doug told her at length.

She smiled. "So how was your vacation?"

"Pretty good."

"'Pretty good,' he says."

"Well, how about yours?" he asked in reply. "You've been looking pretty smugly self-satisfied, Chief. What's the deal?"

Dani took a breath, then smiled across the breakfast bar at Doug. "Mist came," she said, simply.

There was a long pause, as Doug considered this. "I'll bet she did," he nodded. "And by the look on your face, she wasn't the only one."

Dani laughed. "Well, it was her mount's time to mate, so she came looking for Brightwind -- he's her mount's chosen mate. And since we were pretty much all alone in the middle of nowhere, with no one but a very understanding Warlock for company, we..."

"Am I old enough to hear this?" Doug asked.

"It's nothing I haven't told you before," she shrugged, happily.

"May I assume then that A Good Time Was Had By All?"

"Oh, yes, I think that would be a safe bet."

Doug snorted. "You're a hopeless romantic, Chief."

Dani chuckled, then shook her head. "Ohhhhhh, Doug... I've come to a realization, I think..."

"And what would that be?" he prompted her.

For a moment, Dani looked off into space, the humored expression remaining on her face. "I'm a dyke," she said at length. "I am such a dyke. I am the bull-dyke in the china shop. A complete lez. A sweet Sapphic soul sister. An inhabitant of Lesbos. A woman with comfortable shoes... A rug-mun... Doug, are you okay?"

Doug was, in fact, choking on his tea. Dani reached over the bar to give him a swat across the shoulders, and once Doug got his breath back, it became apparent that he was laughing.

"Jesus," he managed. "What happened to my old friend Danielle 'I Refuse To Be Labeled' Moonstar?"

"Well, I do refuse to be labeled. If I catch any of you calling me any of those things, I'll plant my comfortable shoes in your rear ends."

He shook his head. "Damn, Chief, you know how to make a guy feel worthwhile, you know?"

"How's that?"

"We have a summer fling, and it's enough to make you go and change your bloody orientation on me. I figure Angie'll be dumping me for Sharon any day now."

"Doug," Dani said, meaningfully, taking Doug's hand, "I hope you mean that as a joke, because (a) who says I changed, and (b) what we had was not a fling. You know that."

"Of course I know that," he said, squeezing her hand. "And I think I was ninety percent joking. It's just kind of a weird thing to hear that a woman you were once... involved with..."

"Every man's nightmare?" she grinned.

"I wouldn't say that, but..."

"I hear you, Doug, I hear you." Dani took a deep breath. "Okay, enough about me. How about your break? How are things with you and Angie, as if I couldn't guess by the way you were carrying on?"

"Carrying on?" Doug asked, wrinkling his brow.

She burst out laughing. "Come on, Doug, give me some credit for observation here. All night you were holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes, looking all googy-googy in love with each other. Your feet haven't touched the ground yet, have they? So come on, tell."

Doug took a deep breath. "Well, we went back to her home estate back in France. I learned a couple of things there. First off, her family is a whole lot wealthier than I thought. Second, her home life is even more screwed up than I ever would have ventured to guess. We left there a couple of days early, after her mother climbed in bed with me one night and tried to seduce me."

Dani gaped. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"That's... that's..."

"I know, Chief, trust me. I was there. Anyway, the three of us hopped a train to Paris, and while Sharon slept, Angie and I sat up in our compartment and she told me all about her childhood. I... don't want to say any details -- those are hers to tell you if she wants to -- but it was all pretty intense. She was afraid telling me would drive us apart, but... all it really did was bring us... closer together..."

Dani's smile grew wider. "Is that right?"

"Um, yeah."

"How much closer?"

"Ohhh, quite a bit."

"Doug," she said, "are you telling me that the two of you made love on a train to Paris?"

"Well, I don't really need to tell you, do I?"

"That's wonderful!" she smiled. "That's one of the most romantic things I've ever heard!"

Doug thought about this, remembering the urgency and confusion of the moment -- it hadn't been what he would consider romantic, exactly... "Well, we stayed in Paris for a few days after that. Sharon left early, left us a note that she was going home, wherever that is, and..."

"Yes?" she prompted him.

"Well..."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Doug, it's me, Dani. You know, Imzadi? You can tell me, it's okay."

"We... didn't get out much," Doug said at last.

"I knew it!" she crowed. "I swear, I could see the afterglow all the way from Colorado, you sneak!"

"Dani," Doug insisted, looking her straight in the eye, "there's a lot more to it than that. A lot more. She's wonderful. She's sweet, she's brilliant, she's talented, she's sensitive, she's loving, she's... quite passionate... I love her. Deeply."

"Of course you do," she nodded, suddenly as serious as he was. "I've always known you to be capable of that, Doug. Always. She's a lucky woman, and I mean that. All the joking -- that's just my dirty mind. Pay it no heed."

He nodded, but didn't say anything. Right away, she picked up on it. "There's something wrong, though, isn't there?"

"Well... it's hard to say. Dani, you know that this is just between us, right?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Right," he sighed. "Okay, the truth is that I honestly love her, and I honestly believe that she loves me. We share a lot more than physical closeness, even though we both seem to... enjoy that a great deal."

"Uh huh," she nodded, a trace of her grin returning.

"I'm worried about her, though. She's been through a whole hell of a lot, y'know. The childhood traumas -- those she's put mostly behind her, but after what happened to her at the MassAc last October..."

Dani nodded slowly. "She seems to be handling that pretty well."

"And most of the time she does. But there are also times when she really doesn't -- when her guard's down, and it all still affects her. Like when she's asleep."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. In the few days we spent together in Paris, she woke up screaming in the middle of the night twice. The same nightmare. And sometimes when I'd wake up at night, and I'd reach over to touch her, she'd flinch, or cringe away from me in her sleep. One time she woke up from it, and once she was conscious of me, she was fine, but when she sleeps... I hate to think who she thinks I might be when she's dreaming."

There was a short silence, broken by a sigh from Danielle. "I don't know what to tell you, I'm afraid." She paused, looked thoughtful, then went on. "Except one thing: You can't change what's happened to her, and you know that as well as I do. What you can do, though, is love her. Love her the way we both know you can, and give her every reason to believe. Eventually -- I don't know when, but hopefully soon -- she'll be able to take faith in you, and all of the shit she's had to suffer through will just fade away to bad memories."

Doug closed his eyes. "Amen to that."

After another pause, Dani ventured another grin. "Good break, then?"

"Good break, yeah."

Stavros home, Atlantic City, NJ
Sunday, 9 January 1994 3:51 pm EST

"So tell me, Buns, you feel lucky? Do ya?"

Gilbert, who had been lying back in his guest bed reading in his journal, looked up at the sound of Jennifer's voice. And froze.

Jennifer had a pistol in her hands, and was pointing it at him in such a way that suggested she'd used one before, and knew exactly what she was doing.

For a while, he stared up past the barrel of the gun to Jennifer's smirking face, paralyzed with fear. Tharn, to use the rabbit word.

Then, quite suddenly, and almost before he was aware of his actions, he shifted into his rabbit form and did as any sensible rabbit would do under the circumstances -- he panicked and bolted for cover.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Gilbert, you can come out!" she called after him, her voice sounding a mixture of amused and peevish. "It's not even loaded, okay? Geez, like I'd really shoot you or something."

Still in rabbit form, Gilbert peeked out from under the bed to see that she still had the weapon in hand, but was holding it loosely to one side. Silently chiding his rabbit-like sense of paranoia (but at the same time glad it was still there), he changed back, standing up to his full human height. "That was not funny, Jen," he said, evenly.

"I dunno, the look on your face was pretty funny where I was standing," she chuckled.

"Gee, thanks."

"By the way, James brought the guns."

"I kind of figured that." Gilbert took a seat at the foot of the bed, then brushed back his hair with his fingers, took a deep breath, and tried to get his pulse rate back under ninety.

From the pocket of the baggy pair of shorts she was wearing, Jenny produced another pistol identical to the one she'd been aiming at him, and tossed it his way. It landed beside him on the bed with an unceremonious flump. "I probably should've asked you this weeks ago, Buns, but can you fire a gun?"

"I don't know, I've never tried," Gilbert admitted with a shrug. He picked the pistol up and held it dubiously at arms' length. The metal felt heavy and cold, not to mention completely foreign in his hands.

"No, no, no, that's all wrong," Jennifer sighed heavily, sitting down beside him and taking it from his hands. "Like this. It's not like a .45 magnum or anything, but it's got a pretty good kick. Get a good grip, like this." She demonstrated the two-handed grip for him, and Gilbert found it frankly unsettling that she seemed so comfortable with these firearms. "Safety is here. Clip goes here, and you take it out like this." She did some fiddling that Gilbert didn't really follow, then pulled the empty clip free. "It's pretty easy, really. Try it."

He took clip and gun from her hands, then tried to replace the former in the latter.

"Just go ahead and shove it in, Buns," she suggested, coyly.

There was a pause, as Gilbert considered the sly tone she'd used with that little comment. Damn, didn't she let up?

He slammed the clip into place, then tried the grip she'd demonstrated for him, determined not to rise to the bait. "How's this?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"Not bad, not bad," she nodded. She then scooted into position behind him, and reached around him to guide his hands with hers. Gilbert was quite suddenly and thoroughly aware of her scent, mostly a mix of apple-scented shampoo and a dab of perfume. More than this, though, he was all too conscious of the way she brushed against him. She didn't seem to be wearing a bra beneath her tank-top, and Gilbert briefly and incongruously wondered how uncomfortable that would be for her.

"Do like I did, okay?" she went on, molding his hands around the weapon. "How're we doing?"

As she asked this, she got up on her knees to look over his shoulder, again brushing against him in a way that seemed too deliberate by half, and positioning herself so that her breasts hovered within an inch of the side of his face.

Gilbert looked over, blinked, then looked up at her face. She was looking not at the gun, but at him, and he saw the traces of a knowing smile on her lips.

"Jennifer," he said, in a firm, level voice, "stop that. Please."

She flinched back in surprise at his tone, then her face took on a defensive look. "Stop what?"

Gotcha, Gilbert sighed inwardly. "Never mind, Jen," he added aloud.

"Fine, I won't," she nodded, heatedly. She got to her feet and made a quick exit, the irritated look never leaving her face.

Only when she was gone did Gilbert let himself sigh out loud. For all her defensiveness, he could tell that it was more contrived than genuine. Gilbert had become quite accomplished at reading emotions and reactions by sight and scent -- he'd been taught by Catseye, after all, who was one of the very best at this sort of thing. Jennifer's reaction was more out of getting caught in the act than anger at his accusation.

Which left the question of her intent, however. More and more, Gilbert was beginning to think that she wasn't even aware of the suggestive motions, minimal dress and double entendres she presented herself with. It didn't seem anymore that she was actively seducing him so much as she was doing what came naturally.

The idea that such behavior did come naturally to her was one that concerned Gilbert greatly. Not for his own sake, but for hers.

University of California, San Diego
Monday, 10 January 1994 10:52 am PST

As it turned out, six of the seven members of Go West had registered for the UCSD chorale, making it a central meeting-place for all of their schedules. Only Rictor had refused to sign up for the class, a fact that the majority of his teammates had incessantly nagged him about, but he'd stood firm to his confidence, or more specifically his total lack thereof, in any singing talent he might possess.

Doug and Rahne were the first of the six to arrive, even as they had been the first to leave the house that morning. Both of them had been unable to dodge the 8:00 Class Demon this quarter, and each of them had already sat through three classes by this comparatively early hour.

"How's it shaping up for you so far?" Doug asked her. In the general chaos before class, he'd come over to the alto section of the rehearsal room and taken a seat to chat with her.

"Och, they didnae let up for a second, Douglas," she sighed, heavily. "M'last two classes were both continuations from last quarter, and they didnae waste any time gettin' back into the material. I've two bloody assignments due Wednesday already, and it isnae even noon!"

"Ahhh, you can take it," he grinned, giving her a playful cuff on the shoulder. "You're a pre-med, remember? You can handle anything!"

She gave him a sarcastic look from beneath one raised eyebrow. "Thank ye, Douglas, I'll be keepin' tha' in mind."

"Good, good," he nodded, then lowered his voice to add "Keep in mind also that it's Aaron, remember?"

She grimaced. "Ach, I'm sorry... Aaron. 'Tis been a while since..."

"I know," he nodded. "I doubt anyone was listening, anyway." He indicated the milling students, most of whom were engaged in conversation and post-break reunion. He then spotted Danielle, who drifted over their way.

"You're sitting in my seat," she said to Doug, her tone menacing in spite of her smile.

"No I'm not -- I've decided to sing alto this quarter."

"You don't get out of my seat, chum, and it'll be soprano."

Doug considered this, then vacated the seat for her. "My, my, aren't we testy this morning?" he chuckled. "Did we have another class with Dr. Wood, hmm?"

"Actually, this is my first class of the day, remember?" she grinned. "Unlike you poor souls, I get to sleep in a little on Mondays."

"Aye, rub it in, why don't ye," Rahne muttered.

Warlock was the next to arrive in the class. He quickly spotted the other three and zeroed in on them, waving a greeting. "Salutations," he said, giving them each a nod in greeting. He was getting better, Doug noted with satisfaction, both in his imitation of normal human movements and his smooth approximation of a human voice. It was an effort for the technoid to keep the facade up through an entire school day, but by the look of things, he had made some advances over break.

"Hail, hail," Dani waved, beckoning him over. "The gang's... well, mostly here. Where're our resident newbies?"

"I've not seen either of 'em all day," Rahne shrugged.

"Well, they were gone before I left the house," Dani added.

"Damn, that's right, I forgot to ask," Doug sighed, snapping his fingers.

"Forgot to ask what?" Warlock queried.

"Well, I was meaning to ask -ah- Lea what she was going to do by way of looking inconspicuous. I mean, she really needs to do something about the hair -- lavender isn't exactly a common shade 'round these parts."

"Well, she said she had a plan, right?" Dani asked.

"Yeah, but I'd feel better knowing what the plan was."

At that moment, Rahne, who'd been looking toward the open doors of the rehearsal hall, went slack-jawed with shock. "Um... maybe this'll answer yuir question," she said, pointing.

Catseye had come into the room, all six feet three inches of her. She was dressed casually enough, wearing a long patchwork skirt and a tight, low-backed sweater. Her eyes were hidden by the new Cats 8000 shades she'd picked up the previous week, and while she was smiling, as she always did, she was not showing teeth. None of this, however, accounted for the fact that every head turned to look as she came into the room.

Sharon's hair was yellow.

Not blonde; not even platinum blonde. Bright yellow. Her entire mane was approximately the same color as a lemon meringue.

"Holy smokes," Dani said, absently.

Thankfully, attention was drawn from the new arrival by Dr. Kitson, the choir director, who arrived on the scene and raised his voice above the din. "Okay, everyone, let's get seated in your sections... Aaah! Tenors! Where are all my tenors?"

"Guess that's our cue," Doug said, tearing his eyes from Catseye, who by now had drifted over to the soprano section. "Shall we go, Dave?"

"Alarm," Warlock said, vaguely. "If goal was to appear inconspicuous, Lea has faltered..."

As the two of them crossed the hall to the opposite side of the risers (where the tenors were sitting), Marie-Ange, who had just arrived, caught Doug by the arm as he passed through the crowd of students. "Bonjour, M'sieu McAudry," she grinned.

"Bonjour yourself, Mademoiselle Loiseau," he smiled back. "Um, what exactly has Mademoiselle LaChatte been smoking this morning?"

Marie-Ange glanced over at Catseye, then looked back to Doug, her eyes sparkling with merriment. "All part of the plan, mon cher."

"I see," he nodded, even though he didn't. By this time, though, most everyone had found a seat, so the conversation would have to wait. With a wave, Marie-Ange retreated to join Catseye with the sopranos, and Doug and Warlock found a place to sit with the tenors.

For the first twenty minutes of class, though, as Dr. Kitson talked about the music they'd be working on for the quarter, Doug could not take his eyes off Catseye, and he noticed many other glances directed her way by the rest of the class. He had no idea what she'd done to herself to make her mane that obnoxious color, but he agreed with Warlock. The new look was hardly what he would call inconspicuous...

Stavros home, Atlantic City NJ
Friday, 14 January 1994 10:18 am EST

Once Paul Stavros brought his sister's MR-2 Turbo around to the front of the house from the garage, it was only a matter of a few minutes before he and Gilbert had it packed up with everything Jenny and Gil would be taking on their trip. The two men worked in near silence, only speaking to coordinate the packing. Gilbert found that he didn't trust himself to say more, for fear of what would come out. After the seemingly endless wait here, the Road to Vengeance about which he'd written in his journal was about to begin, and he was beginning to wonder, certainly not for the first time, if he would be able to go through with this. More than anything, he wanted to prevent Jennifer from making a mistake, but would killing the men who'd raped and possibly murdered their friends be a mistake at all?

He kept his questions to himself, as he had no answers, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask Jennifer's opinion on the matter; he already knew what her answer would be.

At length, it was time to go. Jennifer came outside at last, more dressed than Gilbert had seen her in weeks, wearing jeans, sneakers, a grey sweatshirt, a jacket to cover the shoulder-holster, and a heavy wool coat. Gilbert was not wearing his own gun, but it was stuffed in his pack, close by in case (God help them) he needed it.

The three of them, Paul, Jennifer and Gilbert, stood on the front porch together, and for a while, there were no words spoken between them.

"I know I've asked this a million times," Paul said at last, looking down, hands in the pockets of his jeans, "but do you really wanna go through with this, Jen? I mean it, if you'll just point the way, me and James'll do this for you."

"They're mine, Paulie," Jennifer replied, shaking her head. All traces of the flirtatious side were gone now, Gilbert noticed. Now there was only the need for revenge.

Paul hugged his much smaller sister, then. "Just promise you'll make it home, okay?"

"I'll be fine. I've got luck on my side, remember?"

He nodded, and forced the corner of his mouth into a smile. He then looked over at Gilbert, extending his hand to shake. "Nice having you over, Gil," he nodded. "You take care of my baby sister, got it?"

"Oh, please," Jennifer sighed.

"I'll do my best," Gilbert said, in as reassuring a tone as he could manage.

Jennifer rolled her eyes at the both of them. "Come on, Buns, time's a-wasting."

With that, the two mutants headed down to the parked MR-2, leaving Paul to watch them go. Jennifer unlocked first her own door, then climbed into the car and unlocked Gilbert's. In a few moments, both were inside, belts buckled, doors closed, nothing but road ahead.

"Here goes," Gilbert thought to himself. Looking out the window, he saw that Paul was still standing on the porch, waiting to see them off.

Jennifer started the engine, then revved the motor for a few moments, leaving it in neutral. At length, Gilbert finally asked a question that had been on his mind for a number of days now.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

In reply, Jennifer held her left hand to her side, palm-up. Her eyes glazed, and a white disc of light appeared, hovering above her palm. She kept this good-luck disc there as she shifted the car into gear.

"I'd say... this way," she said in a distant, distracted voice.

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Tuesday, 18 January 1994 11:15 pm EST

After seeing Chance to her quarters, Mick made the trek across campus from Dent Hall to the admin building, to make his last report to Emma for the evening. He found himself hoping that this would be an end, to some degree at least, of the unusual goings-on these last two days.

Once again, he'd returned to the Academy after an absence to be met with strange news. After a pleasant weekend alone with Cassie (and Paul, but that couldn't be helped) in Cape Cod, he'd felt ready to come back to the school and take on the world.

The first news he'd been given was that there had been an earthquake in Los Angeles: the worst the city had experienced in many years. He'd finally managed to get through to the Heartbreak Hotel, to find that they had suffered minimal damage and no injuries (Kate had good-naturedly joked that the quake had been no more damaging than Mickey Silk on a stressful day), but even once most of the phone lines had been restored, nobody had been able to get through to former Hellion Kyle "Wraith" Burns.

For some reason he couldn't put his finger on, that worried Mick greatly. Kyle's phone line was alright -- his bloody answering machine was even working -- but there had been no reply from Kyle himself. Not that Kyle could be hurt by an earthquake anyway, given that his "smoke-form" could just waft right out of any wreckage, but that hadn't stopped anyone from worrying.

Stranger still were the events that had transpired when the new guy, Dr. A.C. Kokiadis (whom Mick had discovered to be a capable, likeable bloke in their shared supervisory activities and single recruitment mission together) had taken a large number of Hellions and Greenbriar students into New York to a Native American dance exhibition and a pleasant dinner, only to be thrust into a dangerous rescue mission which had put A.C.'s abilities as leader to the acid test, and resulted in dozens of lives saved and scarcely a scratch on the kids. He should have known that trouble would follow the Hellions, as it always had, wherever they might go.

And then there had been the matter with Chance the previous day.

Mick had been working with Chance and the rest of the C-team for a number of days, seeing how her power worked with theirs under controlled conditions, and he'd been tremendously impressed. Not only was she able to help poor Aaron (every time his speed powers got "stuck," she could turn them off for him, and even after turning them back on, he'd remain at normal speed until using them again), but she'd also helped both Keiko and Kristina with her power-boosting ability, showing the both of them what a little more power and experience could do. In both cases, it had been like breaking a mental block; in the few days since Chance's introduction, both Floater and Embers had made dramatic improvements on their own, now that they could see what the next step was. Mick had been quite impressed, not only with the results, but with the fact that Chance seemed to really enjoy helping her teammates and making a difference, even if she didn't show it on the surface. Unlikely as it seemed at first glance, Mick believed that Chance had all the makings of a fine teacher beneath the attitude and leather.

She was also, apparently, becoming increasingly friendly with Robby, which made an odd kind of sense: his power of intoxicating skin secretions left him unable to touch other people (at least without getting them good and sauced), and Chance could neutralize that power. Maybe they'd be good for each other.

But yesterday's incident had put everything in doubt.

During a B-team training session, Chance had apparently seen fit to play a joke on the lot, by surreptitiously blanking their powers. Intended as a harmless joke, Mick was sure, but the results had been far from harmless. She'd nearly killed the Hellions' other new addition, a fella by the name of Giancarlo Annichiarico. Giancarlo was a shapechanger whose entire body was made of energy, and by blanking his power, she'd rendered him unable to hold himself together. It had apparently been the first time Giancarlo had felt pain of any kind, and he'd gone berserk, nearly killing Chance in his desire to return the favor.

After twenty-four hours of confinement and a stern talking-to, though, Mick was mostly confident that Chance would never pull such a stunt again. The trick, of course, was going to be in convincing Emma of this.

Mick tightened his leather duster around himself (bloody cold New England winters...) and tried not to think about it just yet.

The admin building was locked, but Mick had the keys. He nodded and tipped his hat to a security sentry at the front desk. "Evenin', mate. Is Emma still in her office?"

"I assume so," the sentry shrugged. "She hasn't come out through any of the normal exits, anyway."

"Thanks," Mick grinned, then took the stairs up to the second floor.

The door to Emma's office was closed, but light shone through the cracks from within. She was still here. Mick was mildly relieved; he'd hoped to be able to have the chance to talk to her in person. And all things considered, it wasn't surprising to find her up: she'd practically lived in this office for the past week, burning the candle at both ends even more than usual.

He knocked twice at the door, expecting the usual answering mind-scan, checking to see who was there. No scan came, though, and no answer. He knocked again, but still, nothing.

Feeling a sudden, nameless dread, Mick checked the doorknob and found it unlocked. Cautiously, he turned it, and pushed the door open.

As he poked his head in, he was greeted by the unmistakable stench of alcohol and another, more pungent aroma that he couldn't place.

Then he saw Frost, seated, or rather slumped at her desk, her head lying on the desktop at an odd angle. Bottle after bottle stood in a neat row to one side of her, and one of her hands still clasped a glass, its contents spilled over the edge and onto the carpet.

"Jesus," he whispered, and hurried across the room, shucking off his coat and tossing it aside as he went. As he carefully knelt beside her chair, he saw, with dawning horror, what the source of the other smell had been: she'd apparently drank so much that she'd passed out, then thrown a good portion of it up again. She was lying in a pool of her own sick, a trail of it running down the side of her face.

"Ah, Christ," he grimaced, his stomach knotting with nausea and fear. He placed one hand to her throat, and another to her chest. Relief flooded him as he felt both her pulse and her breathing still going. She'd been lucky, but even with the relief this brought, he still found himself sickened by the thought of Emma Frost, one of the world's most powerful telepaths and accomplished teachers, dying the ignoble death of aspirating her own vomit.

Leaving her side for a brief moment, he hurried into the adjoining bathroom, grabbed a set of towels that looked as though they'd been hanging there since time out of mind, and brought them back to her desk. He also grabbed a wastebasket and set it close by in the event that moving her triggered her nausea.

Mick gently lifted her head, set a folded towel beneath it, then let the side of her face come to rest there. He then cleaned out her mouth and wiped off her face and hair as much as he could, all the while trying to get some response from her. "Emma, f'r God's sake, wake up. C'mon, wake up."

After a while, Frost began to moan quietly and indistinctly. Then, at great length, she opened her eyes and looked vaguely at Mick, apparently unable to focus. A gradual change came over her features, eyes and mouth opened wide.

Recognizing what was about to happen, Mick moved to her side and held her steady by the shoulders as she spewed noisily into the wastebasket he had provided. This went on for some time, punctuated by a wracking bout of the dry heaves, and then gradually, her convulsions ceased, to be replaced by equally wracking sobs.

"It's okay, Emma, it's alright," Mick assured her, using one of the remaining clean towels to wipe her mouth. "You're gonna be fine."

Then, a burning, furious presence was in his mind, angrier than anything he'd ever felt before. *Get OUT!!*

Mick lurched back away from her with a vague grunt of pain, grabbing his aching forehead with one hand. His mental defenses kicked in, and to his surprise, his comparatively weak psychic shields held against the onslaught. "Stop that!" he growled through clenched teeth.

The mental attack faded, but when Mick opened his eyes, he saw that Frost had turned to look at him, her eyes practically boring into his. The look of fury on her face combined with her matted hair gave her an almost inhuman appearance. "Go away, Michael," she whispered. "I don't want you here!"

"Too late," he replied, softly. "If y'didn't want anyone to see you like this, it's too late."

"I wanted," she said, stiffly, "to be left alone." She kept her tone level, but it was obvious she was fighting back sobs.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Mick's fear was rapidly shifting to irritation bordering on anger. "Why, so you could die in peace? Christ, Emma, if your head had been tilted a little more to the side when you'd passed out, you'd have choked on your own puke an' died! You never let y'rself get like this! Why now, for God's sake?"

The war against the sobs seemed to be turning in favor of the tears. "Michael," she managed, "with all that's... with... and that -- that child you brought, nearly killing her classmate, and... so many of them in danger and I... where was I when... where was I..?" Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch, then dissolved into a miserable wailing, eyes jammed shut against the tears, her entire body trembling.

Irritation evaporated just as quickly into genuine concern, and Mick once again knelt at her side, gingerly putting his arm around her shoulders in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Sssh. C'mon, let it go. It's really not as bad as all that, y'know."

The entire scene seemed almost surreal to Mick, and he found himself wondering who else had ever seen the stoic Emma Frost reduced to this. "I came t'tell you that A.C. an' I have worked things out with Chance and Kilowatt, for now at least. An' you were there, Emma. If it hadn't been for you holdin' him off when he went berserk, who knows what would'a happened?"

"And where was I when... when so many of them could have... could have..."

"You weren't there," he agreed, nodding. "But y'can't be everywhere at once; y'can't help everyone all the time. That's just the way it is. An' that's what y'got us for, remember? Please, just trust us. Y'got good people here, an' we're doin' the best we can."

"I..." She broke off to take a ragged breath. "I can't take this very much longer, Michael. I can't."

"No, not like this y'can't," he nodded again. "You're killin' y'rself here, can't y'see that? Y'wanted me an' Tessa an' Kokiadis t'take up some of the slack for you, so for your own good, let us. There's bound t'be danger, sure, but we can handle it. An' there's been so much good, too, that y'might be missin'. Ace is gettin' on great with most everyone, Tessa has things more organized than ever, an' I've been makin' some serious strides with the C-team, that I might never have been able t'make if it weren't for Chance."

After a pause, Mick went on. "I'm gonna be straight with you. Losin' Angie was the worst thing that's ever happened t'this school. Losin' Sharon and Jenny made it even worse. We can't lose you, too. We're survivin' without the others, but we need you. An' as strange as it sounds, the best thing you can do for us now is t'back off a little and get your life back. We need you alive an' healthy, Emma, an' if that means backin' off, that's what y'gotta do."

"I can't do that," she whispered. "I'm needed."

"That's exactly why y'gotta back off," he insisted. "Take some time off, maybe go on a vacation, or just some time bein' alone for a while."

At the word "alone," though, she was shaken by another sudden sob. "Alone," she managed. "Oh, yes, alone. Robert, you son of a bitch..."

"Please, Emma, y'gotta trust me. Now listen, can y'clear your head enough to get back to your apartments?"

She took a few deep breaths, then nodded quickly.

"Okay. I'll get you home, then I'll come back here and straighten this place out. No one's gotta know about this 'cept you an' me, if y'don't want it."

After a few moments, Frost nodded again, then allowed Mick to help her to her feet. She leaned on him as they left the room, and Mick was surprised at how frail she felt, and how small she seemed next to him, considering that she always seemed so much larger than life.

Only after he'd seen her safely home and to bed did it occur to him to wonder who Robert was.

Motel 6, Shreveport LA
Tuesday, 18 January 1994 11:51 pm CST

Gilbert cupped his hands under the faucet, let the warm water fill his hands, then wet his face with it. For a long time, he slowly scrubbed at his face with his hands; it was a good, mindless bit of motion, not requiring much by way of thought. After a while, he looked up at himself in the mirror, and just stared into his reflection for a while.

One thing was sure: he couldn't keep this up very much longer.

"Gilbert?" Jennifer called weakly from the main room of their rented suite. She coughed, then called out again. "Gilbert?"

"Yeah, Jenny?" he called back over the noise of the faucet.

"C'mere... I need to tell you something."

He took a breath, held it for a few heartbeats, then shut off the faucet and grabbed a towel to dry his face, letting the breath out in a sigh as he did.

As he emerged from the bathroom, he saw that Jennifer was in bed, but still awake (as expected -- he imagined she hadn't slept much at all of late). "What's up?" he asked her.

"Just c'mere," she repeated.

Gilbert crossed the room, then carefully sat down on the side of her bed. Just looking at her was enough to make him involuntarily grimace with concern, but he did his best to mask this reaction.

The preceding days had not been kind to Jennifer. Apart from not having slept, she hadn't eaten much of anything, in spite of Gilbert's constant insistence. She hadn't bathed or showered, and her hair was tangled and knotted. Her skin was an ashen color, and her eyes and cheeks seemed to be recessing further and further back by the day. Jennifer had always been at a good healthy weight (Gilbert guessed that she had even put on a few pounds staying with Paul), but now, in a matter of days, she was visibly wasting before his eyes, and it was about all he could stand.

The source of it all hovered somewhere in the vicinity of her head: a white good-luck disc, still maintained. She'd been riding on her powers, pouring good luck into herself constantly, ever since they'd left Paul in Atlantic City. She said that it would help them make all the right turns, and go all the right directions as they went after Brainwash and Camouflage. This had seemed like a good idea to Gilbert at first, but after seeing what this was doing to her... Her luck was like a drug, keeping her from eating, keeping her from sleeping, and wearing her away in body and mind.

"Gilbert?" she asked, though her eyes remained focused somewhere past the ceiling.

"I'm here," he said, quietly.

"I'm gonna need you to do something for me, Buns," she whispered.

"Sure, of course. What do you need?"

"I... want you to drive tomorrow. I could probably handle it... luck would keep me from hitting anybody if I lost it... but I'd rather not take that chance. Can you drive a stick?"

"Yeah, I can. Are you sure you don't just want to rest here a couple of days? Pick the trail up later?"

"No," she replied. "I'm... I guess you could say I'm past the point of no return here, Gilly."

"Don't say that, Jen, come on..."

"Seriously. If I let the luck run out now, there'll be big trouble. We need to keep going and get those bastards before I stop, or there'll be hell to pay."

"But it's killing you..."

"Don't worry about me."

"One of us has got to."

Slowly, as though her body was being operated by remote control, she turned and looked at him. She brought her left hand up, and he took it in both of his. "Gilbert, there's one more thing I need to ask you to do for me."

"What is it?"

"I need you to make me a promise. Can you do that for me?"

"Tell me what it is."

She closed her eyes, grimaced, then opened them again. "I'm not... doing so hot right now..."

"No shit."

"Just listen, Buns. I... don't know how long it's gonna take to find these guys, but by the time we get there... I might not be, ah, upwardly mobile. Know what I mean?"

He couldn't think of a way to answer, so he just nodded.

"If that happens, Gilly, if we find 'em and I'm too wasted to do anything about it... I need you to pull the trigger for me. If I can't pay those sons of bitches back personally, I need to know you're there with me to give 'em what they've got coming. Can you do that? Can you promise me that, Gilbert?"

There was such desperation in her eyes, such pleading, that Gilbert had to look away, unable to meet her gaze. "I will," he whispered. "I promise. Just rest, okay?"

"Thank you," she whispered, closing her eyes. After a pause, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When her next words came, it was as though from a great distance. "There's actually one more thing I need you to do for me, if you could?" she whispered, brokenly.

"What's that?" he asked, tears beginning to run down his cheeks.

"Could you... just... hold me for a while? Please?"

Gilbert blinked a couple of times, then without a word, he settled down beside her and put his arms around her. She held him in return, and this time, there was nothing seductive about it. There was only desperation. Then, more than ever, Gilbert realized just how alone Jennifer had been since October, even in the company of friends.

They lay together in silence for a long time, and Gilbert wondered what he, a guy who could change into a rabbit, could do to help her before it was too late. One call to the Academy could get them back home before she could do anything to stop it, but what then? He doubted that forcing her to abandon her quest, even to save her life, would be the end of it.

The rabbit in him wanted to run and hide, but he couldn't allow that. He needed to do everything he could to keep his friend alive.

Even if there were nothing he could do at all.
 
 

Next: "Running to Stand Still"

Go West #20: "Chains of Luck"
by Jeremy Bottroff, 28 January 1995

This story (c) 1995, 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

"Chains of Luck" performed by Wall of Voodoo, words and music by Chas T. Gray, Andy Prieboy, Ned Leukhardt, (c) 1987, 1999 International Record Syndicate, from the album HAPPY PLANET

Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Beef, Bevatron, Brightwind, Chance, Marie-Ange Colbert (Tarot), Manuel De la Rocha (Empath), Sybil Dvorak (Gypsy Moth), Emma Frost (White Queen), Kate The Owner, Mist, Danielle Moonstar (Mirage), James Proudstar (Thunderbird), Douglas Ramsey (Cypher), Rictor, Mickey Silk (Poltergeist), Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane), Sharon Smith (Catseye), Jennifer Stavros (Roulette), Tessa, Warlock, Hellfire Club, Hellions, Heartbreak Hotel, Massachusetts Academy (c) 1999 Marvel Entertainment Group

William Buchwald (Camouflage), Kyle Burns (Wraith), Gilbert Dane (Rabbit), Chief DeCandido, Jean-Pierre Delacroix (Lightningrod), Robert Jefferson (Bacchus), Ellis Raymond Joel (Stat), Aaron Jorgensen (Rush), Keiko Kimota (Floater), Dr. Kitson, Michael MacPherson (Dreamwalker), Cassie and Paul Spangler (Gemini), James Stavros, Paul Stavros, Akiko Tanaka (Dragon), Donavan Tveidt, Daniel Weller (Dough-Boy), Marsha Wilson (Farsight), Dr. Wood, Kristina Yarborough (Embers), Dent Hall created by Jeremy Bottroff, (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

Brynn McAudry created by David Olson and Jeremy Bottroff (mostly Dave by a longshot), (c) 1999 Ol' Sambu and Wolfsong

Kelly Adams (Current), Devin Johnson (Brainwash), Erin Kilvarough (Oracle), Greenbriar Academy created by Michael Jones, (c) 1999 Michael Jones/Everbard

Giancarlo Annichiarico (Kilowatt), A.C. Kokiadis, Claremont Hall created by Keith R.A. DeCandido, (c) 1999 Keith R.A. DeCandido/Albe-Shiloh

The scene of Mick's arrival and introduction to A.C. is based on HUMAN TOUCH Chapter 6 ("Man With a Mission") by Keith R.A. DeCandido (meaning all the dialogue is his, I just did it from a different perspective).  A.C.'s message on the Go West answering machine was likewise furnished by Keith.  The events preceding, including and following the road trip to see the American Indian Dance Company are told in HUMAN TOUCH ANNUAL #1.  And the details of Chance's close encounter with Giancarlo are documented in HUMAN TOUCH Chapter 8 ("Walk Through This World").

Ben Aldridge and Harris Finkelstein are (c) their respective selves

Windows (c) 1999 Microsoft

Gauntlet (c) 1999 Atari Games

Mortal Kombat II (c) 1999 Midway Manufacturing Co.

Cats 8000 (c) 1999 Ray-Ban

Pacific Eyes and T's, last time I checked, had locations in University Towne Center, Horton Plaza and Grossmont Center.  It's extremely Californian.

The concept of Imzadi is of course from Star Trek: the Next Generation.  It's also a great novel by Peter David.

"Tharn" is lapine for stupefied or paralyzed (as though by onrushing headlights).  Yes, of course Gilbert has read Watership Down.  Wouldn't you have?