GO WEST

Chapter 26: "The Big Wheel"

Rictor was becoming something of a regular feature at the Heartbreak Hotel on weekends. Considering that La Jolla was less than a two-hour drive away, he could jaunt up and back pretty much anytime, to hang around with the friends he'd made there. It was one way, at least, to get away from the rabid "let's-start-a-band" atmosphere Doug had been pumping into the homestead lately.

This weekend, he'd convinced Rahne to come with him, to serve the dual purpose of letting Rahne meet these new friends of his, and to introduce his oft-heard-of girlfriend to the gang at Heartbreak.

Rahne had approached with trepidation. Meeting new people had never been one of her strong suits, but Ric was sure that she'd be a hit with Mickey, Lucy and the others. A few hours in the company of the gang, and she'd probably fit right in.

True to form, though, Rahne had been quietly polite during introductions to all and sundry, smiling a lot and saying very little. At dinner, she sat very close to Ric at the table, ate quietly, and spoke only when directly addressed, seemingly content to let Ric do most of the talking.

As the evening wore on, Ric, Rahne, Lucy, Mickey, Link and Gomi moved the dinnertime talk to the big patio on the second floor, overlooking the cliffs and the ocean. There, they lounged around in the comfortably cool SoCal night air, listened to the distant crash of waves, and talked well into the night, about nothing in particular.

At length, though, Rahne (silent through most of the conversation) stood and told the group that she would be off to bed.

"You sure, baby?" Ric asked her, giving her hand a squeeze. "It ain't too late yet. And we don't have to be up early for anything."

"Aye, 'tis just... driving always makes me tired, even as short as this one was."

"Well, it was great to finally meet you, Rahne," Lucy smiled. "You'll be here for the weekend, right?"

"Aye," Rahne smiled in reply, if somewhat thinly.

"Cool," Gomi nodded. "Hey, why don't we all go out into the city tomorrow? See some of the sights?"

"Tha' sounds lovely, Gomi," Rahne answered. She then looked down at Ric. "Will ye be comin' t'bed soon?"

"In a little bit, Rahney," he smiled, giving her hand a kiss.

"G'night, Rahne!" Mickey waved, echoed by the others. Rahne smiled yet again, gave them a little wave in reply, then stepped back inside.

"Is she okay?" Gomi asked, after a suitable pause.

"Yeah, she's just nervous about meeting new people," Ric shrugged. "She'll be fine once she gets to know you all a little better."

"She seems really nice," Lucy added. "I'm glad things are working out for you two."

"Yeah," Mickey nodded.

"Definitely," Link put in.

It was at that point that Ric saw that everyone else was looking at Lucy, except Lucy herself, who was looking at no one in particular.

"Hey, has Hector written lately?" Ric asked, trying to break the silence.

"Oh, yeah!" Mickey brightened. "Yeah, we just got a letter from him a couple of days ago."

"Great! How's he doing?"

"Well, he's still in Mexico with Juan Cantolobos," Mickey explained. "I guess he's working on improving his powers without the Wolfsong necklace."

"The language he used was pretty vague," Link elaborated, "but it was clear enough to us what he was talking about."

"I guess he was worried the letter might fall into the dreaded Wrong Hands," Lucy chuckled, "so he didn't specifically say 'Hey, guys, I'm doing better with MY MUTANT POWER, and with any luck I'll be able to CHANGE INTO A WOLF just like I used to!'"

"You know," Gomi considered, "I never really made the connection before, but he and Rahne have the same power, don't they?"

"Ahh, it's a little different, I think," Ric shrugged. "Hector's got that fear-gaze, or whatever the hell he calls it."

"True," Link nodded. "I hope he comes back soon."

"Speaking of old friends, though," Lucy frowned, her expression darkening. "Ric, you haven't heard about Mick and Chance, have you?"

"Well, no, what happened?" Ric asked, suddenly concerned. Lucy's tone sounded pretty serious, and it made him uneasy.

"I guess Mick's school got attacked by a mutant assassin, who wanted to kill the headmistress and one of the students, and he psychically tortured Mick, Chance, and some of the others before they could bring him down."

"Holy crap!" Ric gasped. "Are they okay?"

"Sort of," Gomi frowned.

"Mick sounded fine when he called us," Lucy went on. "He said he didn't really get hurt, but his girlfriend Cassie's in a pretty bad way. And Chance took off after it happened, and no one's really sure where she's gone."

"Why'd she do that?" Ric asked.

"I guess during the fight, the assassin got killed, and she was partly responsible for it. Mick thinks she took off because she thought she'd be in some kind of trouble. He was a little sketchy with details: said it was for security reasons, but he just wanted us to know about it, in case Chance shows up here."

"I hope she's okay," Mickey sighed.

"Hopefully she'll have the sense to come back here," Gomi added. "I've known her long enough to know she's not stupid. She'll be fine, wherever she is."

It was then that Ric made a somewhat startling connection. Was Mick's school the same one that Angie and Sharon had come from? Even after all this time, he still didn't know all the details of why the two of them had come out to the west coast in the first place (and he didn't really think it was any of his business), but from what he'd gathered, it had been because of an attack by some evil mutant. If it was the same school, the place obviously wasn't much of a safe haven. He made a mental note to ask Angie if she knew Mick once he got back to La Jolla.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Rahne's voice came from inside the patio door. "Ric?" she called. "Are... are ye comin' t'bed soon?"

There was something very wrong with her voice. Looking around at the others, Ric saw that they had heard it, too.

"Yeah, I'm on my way now, babe!" he called back.

"What's wrong?" Lucy asked, very quietly.

He shook his head. "I don't know. Look, I'll see you guys in the morning, okay?"

"Yeah, g'night," Gomi waved. He looked just as concerned as the others, though.

Ric stepped inside, then went down the hall to his old room, which he and Rahne were sharing for the weekend. By the time he opened the door and slipped inside, Rahne was already back in bed, under the covers. Even in the near darkness, he could tell that she was shaking.

At first, he'd almost wanted to be annoyed with her. She was behaving like a complete dink in front of his friends. Easiest gang in the world to get along with, and she just refused to open to them. But seeing her huddled under the covers like that, his irritation evaporated quickly, to be replaced by concern. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Not really," she whispered.

He sat down next to her in the bed, and proceeded to slip off his shoes. "What is it, then? Don't you like 'em all?"

"'Tis not that. They're friendly, wonderful people, and they're bein' verra nice. They're verra fond of ye."

Realization hit. "Are you jealous?"

"Oh, yes, I'm verra jealous," she said in a low voice.

"Why?" he sighed, continuing to get undressed. "Rahne, they're my friends, same as everyone back at the house. That's why I wanted you to come meet 'em, so you'd see how cool this place is, and so you wouldn't feel like I was leavin' you out of it. You got nothing to be jealous of, baby. It's not like I come here to get away from you or something."

"An' what of her?" Rahne whispered.

Ric paused for a moment. "Who, Lucy?"

"Ye canna tell me ye havena' noticed the way she looks at ye, Ric."

He slipped under the covers and scooted up next to her. She was lying on her side, so he moved over to lay right behind her, and placed one arm around her to hold her close to him. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" she asked. "She's... beautiful, and she's obviously verra sweet, intelligent, easygoin', and ye had so much t'talk about..."

"Yeah? Well, so what?"

Rahne did not reply to this, so after a while, Ric went on. "Sure, I like Lucy fine, but just as a friend. Sure, she's a nice girl, but still, she's just a friend. I'm not goin' anywhere, baby."

"She'd probably be better for ye than I," Rahne replied in a desolate voice.

For a while, Ric said nothing, but then, he spoke in a facetious happy tone. "You know, you're absolutely right. Gee, Rahne, thanks for clearin' that up. She's a much better human being than you are." He then dropped the tone and hugged her more tightly. "God, don't you hear how ridiculous that sounds? I'm not leaving you, Rahne, not for Lucy or for anyone. I promised to stay with you, and I meant it, and I'll do it gladly 'cause I love you. Not her, you."

Here, the sobs which had been threatening to break all along finally did so. Ric held her more tightly still, trying to ease her shaking.

"I love ye, Ric," Rahne cried. "I love ye, but I'm scared..."

"You ain't got nothing to be afraid of," he shushed her, bending to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll never leave you, I promise."

They lay in the dark until Rahne's shaking subsided, and eventually, they fell asleep together, in that same position.

As he drifted off to sleep, Ric realized that she would never, ever leave him. The concept of forever was not one that he was accustomed to: in his life, everything had been transitory, temporary, or otherwise limited. The young lady in his arms, though, was so afraid of losing him that she saw threats all around her, and in a bizarre and somewhat unsettling sense, he found that reassuring. She needed him, and would never go away.

And now he had made the same promise to her, and he knew, in his half-awake state, that he would always be true to her. Forever was really going to happen, and this thought brought a smile to his face as he fell asleep.

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Saturday, 5 February 1994 9:22 am EST

Tessa ascended the short flight of steps that led up to the front door of the headmistress's on-campus home. She paused a moment to transfer the videocassette she carried from her right hand to her left, then rang the door chimes. After a few moments, a voice came from a nearby intercom panel. "Who is it?"

"Good morning, Emma. It's Tessa."

"Oh! Come in, dear, come in." There was a buzzing sound, followed by the click of an automatic deadbolt sliding back. Tessa opened the door and stepped inside.

Emma's cottage was fairly small (at least, compared to some of her other homes around the globe), but decorated to the hilt with actual gas-burning lamps, several unusual potted plants, shelves stacked with antique books, and works of art ranging from thirteenth-century Europe to a sculpture Tarot had made for her less than a year before, and every era between and before. To say opulent would be understating the matter considerably.

The sitting room, however, was presently uninhabited, so Tessa went looking elsewhere, eventually finding Emma in the dining room. The headmistress was still in her dressing gown, and had her wheelchair pulled up to the oak dining table. She was drinking a tall glass of a liquid Tessa did not immediately recognize, and did not particularly care to.

"You're looking well," Tessa offered, amiably.

Emma indicated the seat opposite hers at the table, which Tessa took. "I will feel much better, I'm sure, once I'm able to eat solid food again."

"Perhaps, but I must say, you're looking healthier by the day."

"Thank you," Emma chuckled, but then winced at this motion. "To kill the cliché, it only hurts when I laugh. Try not to tell me any jokes, and I should be fine."

"Humor was not the purpose of my visit, I assure you."

"Do you want to know the most irritating part?" Emma said, suddenly.

Tessa paused. "What would that be?"

"Before you started working for me... years ago, it was... I made considerable efforts to make this institution accessible to those bound to wheelchairs. It was no mean feat, considering how old many of these buildings are: when they were built, accessibility for the disabled was hardly a concern. In the past few days, I've had ample reason to appreciate the efforts that were made to rectify this. But there remains one building on campus that was not refurbished for wheelchairs."

"Your cottage," Tessa nodded.

"Exactly," Emma half-smiled, pointing across the table at her assistant. "And of course, given the time it would take to refit this place with ramps and such... I am finding myself at a loss. I've been sleeping in the downstairs guest bedroom, since I can't reach the second floor."

"Enough to make you wish for telekinesis, eh?"

"Let's just say that I deeply envy Jean Grey at this time." She then took a look at the videocassette Tessa had placed before her on the table, and regarded the other woman with a more serious expression, "But I imagine you're not here on a Saturday morning to listen to me complain."

"I actually have news which might interest you," Tessa replied, in a rare use of understatement.

Emma arched her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"You did ask, after all, that you be notified if Security should find any news of Roulette's location."

"Where did they find her?" Emma asked, all humor vanishing from her expression.

Tessa regarded her employer steadily. "On CNN."

There was a long silence before Emma spoke. "Could you elaborate on this?"

"Of course. In the last hour, the CNN Headline News network has been running updates on a situation involving the Friends of Humanity, a single hostage described as a female with blonde hair... and Go West."

"Show me."

They headed off for the study: the only room in the cottage which had a television set and VCR. Tessa turned on the power to same, inserted the tape, and pressed PLAY.

The recording was of a live broadcast, with a reporter standing a good distance from what appeared to be the remains of a large building. The wreckage was surrounded by police vehicles, fire engines, and hundreds of onlookers being held back by police lines. A caption beneath the reporter read "LAS VEGAS, NV."

"--all that remains of the once stately Landmark Hotel. Once a popular attraction here in Las Vegas, but closed in recent years for structural instability, and today, the site of a head-on collision between the Friends of Humanity and a mutant group identifying itself as 'Go West.'"

The picture switched to a view from a circling helicopter, giving an unparalleled look at the collapsed hotel. The reporter's voice went on narrating. "The Landmark, apparently, had recently become the meeting place for the local chapter of the anti-mutant Friends of Humanity. From the limited information currently available, it appears that a captured mutant was being held here, but somehow managed to escape long enough to attract police attention before hiding herself in the tower. When police tried to enter the building, however, they were met with gunfire."

Next came an interview-clip with an LVPD officer, a tall black man with a bandaged arm. "When we got here, we didn't know anything about the situation, anything about mutants, any of it. What we did have was a young woman on the sixth or seventh floor calling for help, and a couple of guys trying to overpower her. When I tried to enter the building to assist, these 'Friends of Humanity' tried to gun me down. Later on, when we were draggin' these guys outta the building, they said it was for my own protection." He snorted. "Like the old saying goes, with friends like that, who needs enemies?"

The reporter continued the narration, and the picture went to footage of firefighters sifting through the rubble. "Before police backup could arrive, however, in stepped a third party: a heretofore unheard-of mutant team calling itself 'Go West.' Again, details are sketchy as to the events which transpired within the hotel, but the aftermath is all too apparent."

Again, they switched to an interview with the injured police officer. "There was a man in high-tech gear, said he and a couple of others were gonna get their friend out of the building, and he warned us to stay back and let his team handle it. We went ahead with SOP, but not long after we got our guys in at the ground floor, we got a radio transmission from these 'Go West' people."

Here, the view switched back to the reporter, framed by the view of the distant wreckage. "The transmission, apparently, was a warning that the building had become unstable, and was on the verge of collapse. Police were able to evacuate survivors from the tower before it fell, but of the mysterious 'Go West,' and the object of their rescue, there was no sign. From Las Vegas, Mike Boyle, CNN."

Tessa stopped the tape, and turned to face Emma, who was staring at the now-blank screen with a very bothered expression.

"There was an earlier broadcast, before we started taping," she went on, "which described the mutants in question, based on the accounts of surviving FOH members. We had the man in high-tech battle armor, as they said, along with a tall woman with a sword who conjured images, a red-haired woman who turned into some sort of 'snarling beast,' and a tall man with ghostly black wings."

Emma nodded. "Cypher and Warlock, Mirage, Wolfsbane, and..." She blinked, then looked up at Tessa. "What was the name of that young man from Santa Barbara?"

"Shadowwing," Tessa replied. "Believed killed in a fire last November, but given the limited description, he seems the most likely."

"And Rictor, no doubt, was the one who caused the building to eventually collapse," Emma finished. "I wonder if this Shadowwing person has joined Go West? Not that we'd ever hear of it from them, but..."

Anticipating the direction this was taking, Tessa went on. "I had Dr. Kokiadis telephone Go West at their home number, considering that of all our staff, he is on the best terms with them. As expected, he reached their answering machine."

"Did he leave a message?"

"Of course."

"Good. That should be sufficient. I imagine we shall hear from them soon."

"And if we do not?"

Emma paused to consider this, then shook her head. "We shall. It should only be a matter of when."

Interstate 15, east of Barstow, CA
Saturday, 5 February 1994 6:50 am PST

The drive out of Las Vegas had been quiet, sure enough.

Doug drove this time, trying to concentrate on the road (or anything else, for that matter). Jennifer sat in the passenger's seat, staring numbly out the window. Her left hand, wrapped in bandages from the glove-box first aid kit, rested on her lap. In the back seat, Gene sat very quietly to one side, trying very hard not to bleed all over the upholstery. Marie-Ange was in the middle, with Sharon, still catatonic, supported against her on the other side. Warlock made himself scarce, folding up under the front seats and resting.

All the while, no one said a word, and the only sounds came from Marie-Ange, who was trying to get some response from the impossibly human Catseye with soothing whispers. All in all, not the very model of the victorious team returning from battle with their skins intact.

Intact was hardly the word, and Doug knew this as well as any. Only Warlock, and to a lesser extent Angie, had come out unscathed. Doug himself was powerless, as were Jennifer and Catseye, though Catseye seemed to be taking it particularly badly: her body apparently hadn't been ready for the shock of a fully human form. Jennifer and Gene were also sporting some pretty serious physical injuries, and Angie was at the very least badly bruised by the shots which had impacted with her bulletproof costume.

Again, hardly triumphant.

To make matters worse, the ENGINE light on the dashboard had come on about five miles before, and the motor was beginning to make a very odd sound. A road sign indicated that there was a rest area a couple of miles ahead, though, and Doug steeled himself to get them that far.

This, at least, was accomplished, and no sooner had they pulled off into the roadside rest area than smoke began to trickle out from under the hood.

"Douglas, why are we stopping?" Marie-Ange asked.

"Engine trouble," he sighed. He found them a parking spot well away from any other 'resting' travelers, and stopped the motor. It insisted on kicking a few times before giving up and coughing to a stop.

Doug pressed the control to retract the convertible top, then unbuckled his seat belt and swung himself out. Warlock emerged from under the seat and poured himself into his standard human form. "Does frienDoug require assistance in engine repair?"

"Actually," Doug considered, "this likes as good a place as any to just rest for a while. Warlock, do you think you could sneak off, go airborne, then find Dani and lead her here? I didn't see her pass us on the way, so she's probably still on the approach."

"Affirmative, selfriend," Warlock nodded. He then gave an approximation of a grin, and headed off alone, to find a safe takeoff point.

Doug reached to pull the lever to pop the hood, but before he could, Jennifer's voice brought him short. "I just wanna know one thing."

"What is it?" Marie-Ange asked before Doug could.

Jennifer rounded on the other girl, scowling. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?!"

The shout actually made Marie-Ange lurch back a few inches. "Jennifer, I..."

"Do you have any idea what I've been through for the past few months?! Do you have any idea what my life has been like?! And now I find out you've been alive all this time, and you never thought to tell me!?"

"Please, let me explain," Marie-Ange said evenly, once Jennifer paused for breath.

"Explain what?! That you two didn't care enough to tell your best friend that you were okay?! Well, fuck you!"

This seemed to wake Gene up, as he opened his eyes, leaned forward, and reached to place a hand on Jennifer's shoulder. "Look, Jenny, why don't you just calm down a second, and..."

She batted his hand away. "And you! You're no better! What the hell were you doing, playing dead in the basement? Jesus Christ, I thought I'd killed you! I told you I'd go over the frigging edge, remember?!"

"I was not playing dead," Gene replied. "I was in fact trying very hard to avoid being dead."

"And you," Jennifer ranted on, ignoring Gene completely and turning to Doug. "Some friend you turned out to be! 'Oh, yeah, sure, Jenny, I'll be there for you. I'll be supportive. Of course, I won't tell you that the people you think are dead are living in my house, but other than that...!'"

"Jennifer, please," Marie-Ange insisted.

But Jennifer would hear none of it. She flung off her safety belt, threw open the car door, and stalked off, still shouting random profanities.

For a few moments, Doug could only watch her go. She was still barefoot, and still dressed in the tattered remains of what had probably once been a rather fetching black dress, but now served only to call attention to itself.

Given his general state of mind and lack of sleep at that moment, Doug was tempted to just let her wander off until she realized that there was no place to get away to, but that wouldn't be productive. "Angie?" he sighed.

"I'll try to talk to her," Marie-Ange replied, softly. She climbed out of the back seat, stepped out beside Doug, and gave him a small hug before she went off to find her friend.

Once she was gone, Doug went ahead and popped the hood release, then opened the hood itself and propped it up. The engine was still smoking a little bit, but there were no obvious problems. He found himself wondering darkly if he'd remember any of the knowledge he'd picked up while grease-monkeying with Rictor.

At length, Gene spoke up. "Well, at least she's venting."

Doug peeked around the side of the hood. "Excuse me?"

"Jenny. At least she's venting. I think it's a good sign."

"Geez, I hope so."

"It sounds like she's back in touch with reality, at any rate."

Doug nodded, then got back to inspecting the engine.

"Of course," Gene continued, "I don't know any of the back story here, so I can't really judge."

"That's a tale to be told at another time and another place," Doug replied.

"I figured as much."

A few moments later, Dani's truck pulled up next to them, and out stepped Dani herself, along with Warlock and... Brynn? Doug blinked a few times, but his cousin's presence was definitely not a hallucination.

"FrienDani was less than five miles south on Route15," Warlock reported. "Good timing, as selfriend would say."

Doug was about to reply, but Dani had reached him by this time, and enfolded him in a huge hug. "Spirits, I'm so sorry I wasn't there. Are you okay?"

"My powers are gone," Doug said, simply.

Dani gave him a worried look. "How?!"

"A state-of-the-art power-neutralizing ray-gun, which is currently sitting in the trunk." Here, Doug looked over at Brynn, who was standing a respectful distance, but looked equally worried. "Not to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?"

"It's not Dani's fault," Brynn said right away. "I insisted on coming. When I heard you were in danger, I just... wanted to help, somehow. I... brought my rifle, but..." She ground to a halt. "I just wanted to make sure for myself that you all were okay."

"Thanks," Doug nodded, giving his cousin a one-armed hug. "As it turns out, you're just in time to help fix the car."

Brynn smiled weakly. "Well, that I can do."

"Doug, what in the world happened to Catseye?" Dani suddenly exclaimed, looking at the comatose Sharon with wide eyes.

"She got hit with the same ray," Doug explained. "I guess it pulled her all the way to human: her tail's even gone."

"Is she okay?" Brynn asked, aghast.

"She hasn't regained consciousness yet, so we don't know."

"Why'd that happen, though?" Dani asked. "You'd think it would just freeze her in whatever form she was in at the time, and keep her from changing. That's what used to happen to Rahne whenever Leech was around."

"I don't know," Doug admitted. "When I was with the Hellions that time a while back, I remember there being whole areas of the MassAc Underground where powers were nullified, and none of them ever did anything like this to her." Or to himself, for that matter.

"I think the design was a little different here," Gene spoke up. "This wasn't the first time this particular gadget had an unpredictable result."

Dani looked over at Gene, apparently noticing him for the first time, then looked back at Doug. "Is this the guy who was with Jenny?" she asked.

Doug nodded. "Gene, meet Dani Moonstar and Brynn McAudry. Dani, Brynn, this is Gene Corvus."

"How do," Gene waved.

For a while, Dani just stared at him, but then memory seemed to kick in. "Hey, aren't you Shadowwing?" she asked, amazed.

Gene smiled widely. "I see my rep still precedes me."
 
 

Marie-Ange found Jennifer sitting on a cement bench off behind the restrooms (the only actual buildings in this rest stop), looking out at the desert, hugging herself against the chill of the morning breeze. "May I sit down?" she asked, pulling up short to one side of her friend.

When Jennifer did not answer, Marie-Ange sat down next to her anyway, and for a moment, both women looked out at the desert. The early-morning sun cast long shadows from the cacti and shrubs. In the distance, a cottontail rabbit bolted from cover and disappeared into a hole at the base of an ocotillo bush.

"Do you have any idea how much you hurt me?" Jennifer asked, wretchedly.

"I'm sorry," Marie-Ange whispered. "Believe me, I wish things could have happened differently."

"Everyone kept trying to tell me it was gonna work out. They kept saying 'Don't worry, Jen, they'll be fine. They're tough. They'll turn up.' But I knew you wouldn't. I knew you had to be dead, because if you weren't dead, you would have come back, or at the very least, you would have found a way to let me know you were okay. I really believed that. And I mourned you, and I... Jesus, I shot some kid because I thought he'd been responsible. I woulda killed him if Gilbert hadn't stopped me... And it was all for nothing."

"We wanted to tell you," Marie-Ange sighed. "We wanted so badly to tell you, but we couldn't."

"Why not?" Jennifer shot back, showing a trace of her earlier anger.

"Because if you knew where we were, then Emma would know it as well."

"So? What's that got to do with anything?"

Marie-Ange took a deep breath. "Do you know why we left in the first place?"

"I thought I did. Guess I was wrong. Guess we were all wrong."

"Manuel raped me, Jennifer."

The words hung in the air between them for a long time before Marie-Ange continued. "He raped me, and Sharon caught him in the act and killed him."

Jennifer did not reply; she could only stare off into the distance, her face suddenly cold and stony.

"I... do not know exactly what happened afterwards. He... was not gentle with me, mentally or physically, and when he died, I went into shock. I was catatonic for over two weeks. All I know is that Sharon covered her tracks to make it look like a break-in, then literally carried me all the way across the country, to the only people she knew she could count on to help me, to the only place she knew that we'd be able to hide."

"But why?" Jennifer asked. Tears began to fall slowly from her bloodshot eyes. "We would have helped you. You didn't have to hide anywhere. I mean, that's self-defense! Sharon would have gotten off without day one in jail!"

Marie-Ange shook her head. "But if it went to trial, how to explain his wounds, except by Sharon admitting that she is a mutant? And if Manuel's family chose to investigate further, how much of the Academy's secret would they uncover? If this matter were to go to court, it could expose Emma, the Hellions, and the entire Academy. All that we've worked for could be lost, and every one of the mutant students could lose their only opportunity at leading normal lives."

"Isn't that kind of a worst-case scenario?" Jennifer asked, with what was very nearly a wry laugh.

"She chose not to take that chance. She weighed the options, and decided that her only choice was to remove us from the board."

Jennifer shook her head slowly and repeatedly. "She didn't have to do that. She didn't. Emma... Emma could have covered it up. She could have found some way to... to keep the heat off, to pin it on someone else or something, and then... you could have stayed, and we could have got our degrees together, and we could be... we could be working on our Doctorates right now instead of sitting out in the middle of the goddamn desert, and we could be playing the clubs with Cassie, and watching all-night movies on Saturdays, and... and..."

She broke down into huge, wracking sobs, but Marie-Ange quickly pulled her friend's head to her shoulder and held her close. "It's alright, Jennifer, it's alright. What matters is that we're alive, and we're together again. We can leave the rest in the past."

"Oh, god, Angie," Jennifer managed. "I... I missed you so much..."

"And I missed you, chère," Marie-Ange whispered, and now she was crying right along with her.

They held each other there for a long time, until Jennifer's shaking subsided somewhat. It was then that Marie-Ange realized that they were not alone. Looking up, she was somewhat surprised to see Brynn standing a few feet off, looking concerned.

"Bonjour," she smiled, weakly.

"Hi, Angie," Brynn greeted her, quietly. "Is... everything okay here?"

"I believe so. Are you here with Danielle?"

"Yeah," Brynn nodded.

Marie-Ange patted Jennifer's shoulder and kissed her on the top of the head. "Jennifer, there's someone here I'd like you to meet. This is Brynn McAudry."

Jennifer looked up slowly, making an effort to wipe her eyes. "McAudry?" she asked.

"I'm Doug's cousin," Brynn explained. She then took a clean handkerchief from her back pocket, crouched down next to the bench, and offered it to Jennifer. "Here, take this."

"Thanks," Jennifer whispered.
 
 

As it turned out, Warlock had been able to diagnose the engine difficulty within seconds, and he quickly set to work fixing it, assuring the others that he'd have it up and running in minutes. Brynn took the opportunity to go see how Marie-Ange was doing with Jennifer, and Doug removed the ray-gun from the trunk at Dani's request, so that they could take a look at it.

"How does it work?" Dani asked, turning it over carefully with both hands.

"Point and shoot, looks like," Doug shrugged. "As for the whys and wherefores, I haven't got a clue. I'd have to take it apart to even try to figure it out."

"Well, I guess more to the point, do you think it's reversible?"

Doug shook his head. "I don't know. It's not like it has a dial somewhere with a 'restore' setting. Again, I'd need to pull it apart and figure out the specs, like its power source, its output, reasons why it affects human mutants, but not powered non-mutants like Gene or mutant aliens like Warlock... and to be perfectly honest, I don't know if I can do that anymore."

Warlock peeked around the open hood. "Self will assist frienDoug."

"I appreciate that, 'Lock, thanks," Doug replied, though his smile was still more forced than not.

"I hate to ask," Dani grimaced, "but what happens if you can't reverse it?"

Doug pointed to Catseye, still huddled in the back seat, oblivious to the world around her. "We'll just have to make sure we can, won't we?"

"She's been like that ever since she was stripped?" Dani asked.

"Yeah. She hasn't even opened her eyes."

"I could try to wake her up, if you'd like," Gene suggested.

Doug and Dani both looked over at him. "How?" Doug asked.

"Telepathically. I may not be great at it, but I think I could handle contact from two feet away."

"Won't work," Doug shrugged. "She's immune to psychic powers."

Gene looked at Sharon, then looked back at Doug. "How do you mean?"

"Her mind's a blank spot to telepathic powers."

"Well, she's not a blank spot to mine," Gene replied. "Her thoughts are awfully quiet, but they're still there."

Dani looked at Doug, and her eyes widened. "Do you think maybe she lost that, too?"

"See if you can sense her," Doug suggested.

She nodded, then did so. "He's right," she whispered. "I can sense her there, alright. I'm not getting any surface fears or desires, though: she's pretty far gone right now."

"Do you want me to try?" Gene asked again.

Doug thought about this for a long time. On the one hand, she would probably wake up in an extraordinarily bad mood, but on the other, having her awake would be a big step above catatonic. "Okay, but be careful."

"As always," Gene nodded. He then settled back in the seat and closed his eyes.

Lacking any real way to participate in this, Doug continued looking over the ray with Dani. Doug knew full well that he wouldn't be able to do anything at all until he got back to the house, where he had a decent set of tools at his disposal, but doing these preliminary checks at least helped him to feel like he was doing something. He couldn't help Sharon, he couldn't talk to Jennifer, Warlock didn't need his assistance, and he was starting to feel an uncomfortably familiar sense of utter uselessness.

"Holy crow," Gene whispered, opening his eyes and shaking his head.

"Did it work?" Doug asked him. Catseye had not stirred, so he had a good guess as to what the answer would be.

Gene shook his head again, then laboriously turned around in the seat to look back at the two of them. "Well, like I said, I'm not very good at this. I haven't had much experience dealing with the complexities of the human mind."

"And?" Doug prompted him.

"Well," Gene replied, looking over at Catseye, "after that, I'm no better, 'cause that is not a human mind. I didn't recognize anything. Her mind is... completely alien to any of my experience... which is limited, yes, but..." He shook his head again. "Her thought patterns are neither human, nor any type of animal I've ever been in contact with. Are you sure she's not... an alien?"

Doug opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again, as he really needed to think about this. At length, he had to admit that he wasn't sure at all. "To be honest, I haven't the foggiest. But the ray worked on her, same as me and Jenny, so that would seem to lump her in with human mutants."

"I couldn't find her," Gene frowned. "I didn't even know where to look. That was... very bizarre."

"Well, we've always known she's unique," Danielle sighed.

Warlock emerged from under the hood, then closed it. "Self has repaired vehicle," he reported. "Selves may continue return to LaJolla."

Doug nodded. "Let's round up the crew. The sooner we get home, the sooner we can try to fix this mess..."

Underground Complex, MassAc
Saturday, 5 February 1994 9:51 am EST

A newly shorn Haroun Al-Rashid made his way down to the men's Underground locker room, all the while thinking of how nice it was to be able to move again. His recovery at the FTI facilities had taken a touch longer than expected, but he felt that the extra time had been worth it. After all, he could catch up on his studies with little difficulty: recovering from having seventy percent of his body re-fitted with cybernetic implants was far more strenuous, and better to play it safe in this case than to push his new enhancements too much too soon.

At this point, all systems were functioning just fine, and he found, to his partial amusement, that he was having more difficulty with his lack of hair than he was with his new bionics. His head had been shaved completely to allow for updates to his cranial implants, and after having lived the previous year with hair past his shoulders, it was an odd sensation, to say the least, and the new look was something he'd just have to get used to until it grew back.

His arrival the previous evening had been quiet, at his request, as he hadn't seen the need for any sort of fuss to be made over his return. He'd spent the evening in the quiet company of Buford, Kristina, Akiko, Keiko, and Tom, who'd brought him up to date on what he'd missed during his rehabilitation at FTI. The news of Giancarlo Annichiarico's promotion to the Alpha-team had been a topic of much discussion, as had the condition of Jean-Pierre and Etienne Delacroix. Haroun would not be expected to formally meet with his newly re-structured team until Monday, and that was just as well, as he felt he needed a little time to get used to the idea of yet another new lineup.

Not to mention that he wanted a little time to get used to using his powers and new bionics in the Combat Room by himself before launching into any sort of team exercise. Hence the morning workout.

As he arrived in the locker room, he found that he was not the only one up early this Saturday. His senses, now honed to a razor's edge, picked up on the presence of other Hellions sharing a lively conversation, out of sight behind the rows of lockers.

In a rare whimsical moment, Haroun decided that this would be as good a time as any to begin testing himself, by trying to see if he could determine, without looking, just who was there.

The voice currently speaking was E. Raymond Joel, who was apparently trying to explain the workings of his power to someone. Accompanying this voice were two other distinct sounds of breathing, so that meant three people. Along with this came three distinctly different sounds of dressing (and from the sounds of the snaps, buttons, zippers and so forth, they were dressing in their street clothes, not in their uniforms, implying that they had just finished whatever workout they had undergone), affirming his assessment.

"See, it's got some restrictions to it," Ray was saying. "It's not like I know the answer to any question I'm asked. It has to fit into certain parameters. For one thing, the questions have to have numerical answers."

"Sorta like asking how many mutants were born in 1993, or something like that," another helpful voice added. Sean McDermott. That was two of the three accounted for.

"But I can't predict things," Ray went on. "If you asked me, say, how many mutants were going to be born this year, I wouldn't get the answer."

"Man, this is givin' me a headache," came Giancarlo's voice, and this one took Haroun off-guard, as it didn't match any of the three breathing patterns. Of course, he realized, Giancarlo did not breathe, and did not have to change clothes due to his shapechange abilities, so Haroun hadn't heard him. There were four, then, but the fourth had not yet spoken.

"Tell me about it," Ray sighed.

"So, numbers, huh?" Giancarlo went on. "So if I asked you what Frosty's bra size is, could you tell me that?"

"Carlo, that's not cool!" Sean admonished him, but he was laughing.

"I, um, couldn't tell you that anyway," Ray replied, with a touch of his characteristic stammer creeping into his voice. "That kind of number doesn't come to me. It has to be something to do with the past, and with human experiences, like a number of times a certain person has done something, or a number of people that have done a certain thing, or been in a certain area, or something like that. Statistics. They just come to me."

"You know," said Sean, "I read in a magazine that the average male teenager thinks about sex every seven seconds. Is that close, Ray?"

"Um... you'd have to ask it a different way, like how many times per minute."

"Man, you could get some real dirt on people with that power, couldn't you?" Giancarlo asked.

"He sure could," came the voice of Robby Jefferson, the as-yet-unidentified fourth presence. "Sorta like... hey, Ray, how many times did Haroun and Jenny Do the Dirty Deed before they broke up?" He laughed evilly even as he said it.

Ray made a small choking sound, apparently having received the answer. After all, it was a question well within his "parameters," and Haroun knew it. "That... that's private!"

Haroun chose that moment to turn the corner and approach down the locker row. Jefferson's back was to him, but Giancarlo, Sean and Ray all noticed him right away. Sean and Ray both went white as sheets as they eventually recognized him, and even the irrepressible Giancarlo noticeably flinched.

"Yes, it is," Haroun smiled, putting his hand on Robby's shoulder in a companionable manner. "And I would appreciate it greatly if you would refrain from asking such questions in the future, to avoid placing Ellis in the embarrassing position of knowing something he should not."

Robby went completely rigid, then slowly turned to see Haroun standing there. "Oh, hi, Haroun," he grinned, nervously. "Uh, didn't know you were back! Hey, I like the Shaq look!"

"Thank you," Haroun smiled, thinly. He then turned to the other three. "Ah, Giancarlo, just the man I wished to see."

"Who, me?" Giancarlo asked.

"Yes. I have been informed that you have been assigned to the Alpha-team, under my leadership. I imagine we shall be working very closely in the future, yes?"

"Uh, yeah, sure!" Giancarlo smiled. "Lookin' forward to it, pal!"

Haroun would have continued the scene from there, but he was interrupted by a beeping from his pager. Checking the display, he saw from the coded readout that he was to report to Security at once. So much for his workout.

"We shall continue this discussion later, gentlemen," Haroun nodded to the group, letting his voice practically drip with honey. "I have other matters to attend to. Our first workouts with the new teams are Monday, as I'm sure you've been informed."

"Yessir," Ray nodded, nervously. "Um... I'm sorry about..."

"Forget about it," Haroun interrupted, leaving the interpretation to his younger teammates. He then turned and stepped briskly out of the locker room. Once he was clear of the other four, he finally allowed himself a small chuckle. Oddly enough, he didn't feel particularly offended by the highly personal question, nor the knowledge that Ray knew this particular factoid about Haroun's relationship with Jennifer. He took this as a good sign. Perhaps her memory was affecting him less as time passed.

When he arrived at the Security office, he noted that Miss Frost herself was present, as were Tessa, Michael, Kokiadis, and of course the Chief. He noticed a somewhat surprised expression from the latter three, none of whom had seen him since his return. Let them look, he thought, with an internal shrug.

"Good morning, Haroun," Frost smiled, turning her wheelchair to face him as he joined them.

"Good morning, Headmistress, all," he nodded in reply. "Is there a problem?" he added, noticing the grave expression Frost wore.

"You'd better sit down, mate," Michael suggested, indicating a chair. Haroun took the indicated seat dubiously, and scanned his superiors' bearing and expressions.

Something had happened to Jennifer. He knew it just by looking at their faces. Something had happened to her, and they didn't know how to tell him.

"This morning," Frost began, slowly, "there was a news report of mutant activity in Las Vegas, Nevada. The Friends of Humanity were holding a mutant captive in an abandoned hotel, and we believe the mutant in question was Jennifer."

He felt his pulse quicken (even though many of his organs had been replaced by bionics years before, he was still prone to "gut reactions" like this), and his well-developed battle-sense immediately kicked in, trying to devise a rescue with the powers at hand. The Alpha-team was short-handed, but they could manage... "We have to go there," he stated, simply.

"Actually, that's no longer necessary," Frost continued. "You see, Go West beat us to it. As near as we can tell from the reports on CNN, they dealt with the terrorists, freed Jennifer, and escaped with her. We... are not entirely certain of this, however."

For a while, there was silence, as Haroun pondered this. "What," he asked carefully, "shall we do about this, then?"

"At this point, we wait," Kokiadis shrugged. "I left a message for them at their home number, so with any luck, they'll be calling back soon."

"We should go there," Haroun countered, shaking his head. "We have their home address. We could use the Security computers to find latitude and longitude, and Pathfinder could take us there."

"We have considered that option," Frost nodded, "and if we do not hear from them soon, it may become necessary. For the time being, however, we feel it would be best to wait."

Haroun nodded, clenching his jaw to stop himself from rebutting the decision. Every instinct was screaming for him to rush to Jennifer's side and help her in any way he could.

With a twinge of somewhat morbid humor, he realized he may have been a little hasty in judging himself as unaffected by her memory. His urge to protect her was as strong now as ever, even two months after her departure. It wasn't getting any easier after all. Nor, he imagined, was he going to be able put this concern out of his mind for even a second until he knew she was safe.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Saturday, 5 February 1994 11:22 am PST

"Selfriends, we have arrived."

Warlock's voice stirred Doug from his uneasy sleep. When his eyes focused, the first thing he saw was the steering wheel of the BMW, causing him no small amount of disorientation. Then recent memory clicked, and he remembered that Warlock had taken control of the car back around Temecula, allowing the rest of them to doze for a while. Doug had been grateful for the offer, as he had long since come down from the prolonged adrenaline rush of the encounter, and he wasn't in much shape to drive.

Looking out the windshield, he saw that they were parked in the driveway back home. At that same moment, Dani went ahead and pulled her truck past them to park in the garage.

"We're home," he announced to the car, as several of the other occupants began to stir as well.

With slow, stiff movements, Doug opened his door and stepped out, taking a long moment to stretch. In a few moments, Jennifer (who looked even more dead than Doug felt) followed suit, and Marie-Ange and Warlock carefully got Catseye out of the back seat. Gene had to very slowly hover his way out, as his legs still wouldn't support him.

"This is your place?" Jennifer asked, vaguely.

"Yep," Doug nodded. "I think we can skip the tour for now."

"Right now I just wanna shower and crash," she agreed.

"That makes most of us, I think," Doug agreed. "Gene, how you holding up?"

"Oh, not too bad," Gene replied. "If you've got a spare flat surface of any sort for me to pass out on, I'd be obliged."

"Right," Doug nodded. "I'll show you where."

He led the way through the front doors, and around the hall to the living wing, where they were met by Dani and Brynn. "We've got three bathrooms this side of the house, so anyone who needs a shower go right ahead. Ah, Jenny, you can go ahead and crash in Ric's room... it's right over there."

"I'm there," she nodded, going through the indicated door and closing it behind her. Doug stared after her for a moment, then shook his head and looked over at Marie-Ange.  Warlock, by now, had set Sharon on the couch, and Marie-Ange had settled herself opposite him, still holding one of Catseye's hands.

"Angie?" he asked. "She... probably shouldn't be alone when she wakes up.  Do you think..?"

She nodded, understanding his meaning. "I'll stay close to her." Warlock once again gathered their comatose friend in his arms, and this time carried her to her room. Marie-Ange followed, but paused at the door to give Doug a small, weary smile before she went inside.

"Uh, Gene, you can go ahead and take our room for right now," Doug waved, indicating the corresponding door. "We've got guest rooms on the other side of the house, but we should probably stay in one area for the moment."

"I appreciate that," Gene nodded. "Do, ah, any of these bathrooms have a tub, though? I don't think I could stand up long enough for a shower."

"Master bedroom, around the corner," Doug nodded, waving toward the hall. He rubbed one hand over his face, hoping this would do something to relieve his splitting headache. No such luck.

Once everyone was more or less settled, this left Doug, Dani, and Brynn in the whatever room, in various poses of exhaustion. Warlock rejoined them a moment later.  "FriendCatseye is resting comfortably," he reported.

"Good." Doug let himself carefully collapse on the couch, then noticed the answering machine sitting there on the endtable next to one of their many phones. The message indicator light was blinking.

"I wonder who called?" he asked aloud.

"Self noticed two incoming telephone transmissions from the monitor self had placed on line," Warlock explained, "but self elected to allow answeringmachine to record messages."

"One's probably from Papa," Brynn guessed.

Doug nodded, and punched the PLAYBACK button.

As predicted, the first was Papa. "<BEEP!> Douglas, this is y'r grandfather. Call us as soon as ye get home, son. We saw on the news that ye got away clean, but we'd like t'hear for ourselves. So call back. Soon. We'll be waitin'."

"On the news?" Doug repeated, looking over at Dani.

She closed her eyes. "Wonderful."

The machine continued. "<BEEP!> So I'm sitting here flipping around through 57 channels and nothin' on, and lo and behold I stumble across a news story on CNN about a guy in high-tech armor, a tall woman with a sword conjuring images, a redhead turning into a beast, and a couple of others, and I think to myself, 'Self,' I think, 'you know those people.' Sho' 'nuff, they identify this group as a 'heretofore unknown group of mutants called Go West.'"

"A.C.," Dani half-smiled.

"Observant little bugger, innhe?" Doug nodded.

"'Heretofore unknown, my foot,' says I, 'they've been known to me heretofore, theretofore, and everywheretofore.' My main concerns now are twofold. One fold is whether or not you guys are all okay. These rescue missions can be trying, after all, and one worries. The second fold is the blonde woman that was being rescued from the Fuckers of Humanity sounds suspiciously like someone we've been looking for for the last fortnight or so. If you could give me a call and unfold these folds, I'd greatly appreciate it. Oh, by the way, congratulations -- those FOH twerps are coming off real bad right now. One of 'em shot a cop, for one thing. Graydon Creed's been doing spin control up the kazoo, but this may be the biggest negative PR those guys have gotten in a while. Nice work. Anyhoo, call me back as soon as you're able. Better yet, call the MassAc Security line, at..."

"Spirits, I can't believe we made CNN," Dani laughed, but there wasn't much humor to it.

"Yeah, but..." Doug shook his head. "It doesn't sound like Ace and the others know."

"Descriptions given by friendAiCee could easily be attributed to friendsDaniandRahne rather than friendsAngieandSharon," Warlock pointed out.

"Oh, man, that's way too close for comfort," Doug sighed, loudly. "I'm just glad Sharon chose red for her Dye Color Of The Week."

"We should call them back," Dani added. "Before they go looking too closely at the story."

"Like that'd stop 'em, but... yeah, we should..."

"I'll go call Papa on the other line while you do," Brynn volunteered.

"Thanks, cuz," Doug smiled, vaguely. He then picked up the phone and dialed the number A.C. had left.

After only one ring, there was an answer. "Security. This is Corsi."

Doug was mentally rocked back on his heels by this familiar voice. "Corsi? Tom Corsi?"

"Who is this?" Tom asked.

"Tom, this is Doug Ramsey! When did you start working there?"

"Doug! Glad to hear from you! The whole place has been waiting for you to call. Let me transfer you to Ms. Frost." Before Doug could get a word in, he was placed on hold.

"Tom Corsi's at the Academy?" Dani asked, as amazed as Doug.

"I guess so," Doug shrugged "He's putting me through to Ms. Frost."

A few moments later, there was a click, followed by a female voice. "Douglas? This is Emma Frost." Her voice had a distant quality, indicating that she was using a speaker-phone.

"Hi there," Doug replied. "Glad to hear you're up and around, Ms. Frost."

"Thank you. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, we're fine," he sighed, deciding not to concern her with the details. "I don't know what the news has been saying, but we're all okay, Jennifer's okay, and we got her here safely."

"May I speak with her?"

"She's probably in the shower by now, actually. We got a little banged up, but it's nothing a little rest won't cure. Or a lot of rest, more likely."

Frost sighed audibly. "Very well. Do you require any assistance, Douglas?"

There was a long pause, as Doug thought about this.

The honest truth was that yes, they needed serious backup. Gene hadn't been able to help Catseye with his admittedly limited telepathy, but Frost almost certainly would be able to do something for her. And as for the device that had stripped their powers... well, most of Frost's vast corporate wealth was in technologies. She certainly had people who could figure that ray-gun out and whip up a reversal far more readily than a powerless Doug.

The secret would be out, yes, but that seemed inevitable at this point.

He looked at Dani, and saw his own stony expression reflected in her face.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said at length. "What we really require right now is sleep. I appreciate the offer, but we'll be fine once we've rested. These rescue things are tough enough even when they're not in the middle of the night, y'know?"

"So I've noticed," Frost replied. "By all means, then, get some rest, but I must insist that you call again very soon. It isn't that I don't believe you, of course: merely that it would be a tremendous relief for a number of us if we could hear from Jennifer herself."

"Understandable." Doug checked his watch. "It may not be for a while yet, if even today. How about we just take today to get situated, and we'll call back tomorrow, I promise."

Again, Frost sighed loudly enough for Doug to hear it. "Very well. We'll expect to hear from you tomorrow, then."

"We won't disappoint you."

"And Douglas?"

"Yes?"

She paused. "Thank you. And thank your team for me as well."

"Just doing our part. But you're very welcome. Bye, now."

Doug hung up the phone, then traded long looks with Dani. "Well, it doesn't seem like they suspect anything yet."

She nodded. "Get some sleep, Doug."

"Oh, I plan to. This couch has my name all over it."

"Save me the beanbag chair: we can put Brynn up in my room." She stood up, somewhat wearily. "Do you think I should leave a note for Rahne and Ric, in case they get back early?"

"What for?" Doug asked, furrowing his brow.

"Well, how do you think Ric would react to coming home and finding a gorgeous naked blonde in his bed?"

"I dunno. Knowing him, he'd probably say something like 'There is a God!'"

"Har har," she snorted. "I'll leave a note in the hall."

Marie-Ange was stirred from an uneasy sleep: one filled with vivid, unsettling images, no doubt brought on by the night's activities. She opened her eyes to take a look around, and was momentarily disoriented by the surroundings.

Then she remembered. She was in Sharon's room, after having put her comatose friend to bed and then just fallen asleep next to her. With a start, she realized that Sharon was no longer there.

She looked around, blinking furiously in an effort to focus. "Sharon?" she called.

There was no answer, so Marie-Ange swung herself out of the bed gingerly. She still ached all over from the blows she'd taken in the fight, but it was a dull, background ache, that didn't seem to matter much at the moment.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw a figure standing at the closed door, looking into the full-length mirror that had been mounted there. Marie-Ange reached for Sharon's bedside lamp and switched it on.

The figure was Sharon, having apparently regained consciousness. She had peeled off the top half of her costume, and was staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face bore an expression of wide-eyed shock.

Marie-Ange quietly stepped up beside her, not certain of what she should say. Sharon did not seem to notice her, as she was now studying her hand, as though seeing it for the first time. In a sense, Marie-Ange knew, she was seeing it for the first time.

Sharon slowly turned around, then looked over her shoulder to study her bare back. She reached one hand around to trace her own shoulder blade, then the length of her spine.

"Smooth," she said in a low voice.

"Yes, it is," Marie-Ange whispered. Even as human as she had ever been, Sharon had always maintained a fine layer of fur over most of her body, including her back. This, too, was a new sight for her.

Again, Sharon turned, then leaned closer to look her reflection in the eyes. She reached up with one finger to trace the bridge of her nose, then along her cheek. Her eyes, for which she had been named, were now those of a normal human being, except perhaps for the color. "Eyes," she whispered. "Eyes are... purple."

"It's a fine color," Marie-Ange assured her.

"Not too strange?" Sharon asked, apparently acknowledging Marie-Ange's presence for the first time.

"No, they're beautiful eyes. They're unique."

Sharon blinked a few times, then turned those same eyes on Marie-Ange. "You have to help me," she whispered.

"We will," Marie-Ange nodded. "Douglas and Warlock will..."

"No, not that!" she hissed. "You have to help me! Not them!"

Marie-Ange took a shaky breath. There was something very wrong with Catseye's voice. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to help me find them," Sharon went on, staring unblinking at the other woman.

"Find who?"

"My parents. They're in Boston. I have to go there. Will you take me there?"

"I... don't understand."

"Don't you see? I need to find them! I need to show them!"

Marie-Ange reached to take her friend's hand. "You never wanted this before," she whispered. "Sharon, why would you want to go there?"

She snatched the hand back. "Don't call me that!" she spat. "That isn't my name! Don't call me that! I don't like her!"

"Then..." Marie-Ange took a slow breath, suddenly wishing that Emma were here, or Michael, or anyone else with more experience in this area. "Then what is your name?"

"You don't know me?" Sharon asked, her face creasing with dismay and hopelessness. "I'm Emily!"

There was a long pause, as Marie-Ange searched for anything she could say to this. "Why do you want to find your parents?"

Sharon turned and looked at herself in the mirror. "Don't you see? I'm the little girl they always wanted! I'm the daughter they never got to have! I'm not a thing anymore! I have to find them, and show them!"

Marie-Ange took hold of Sharon by the shoulders, and spun her around so that they could see eye-to-eye. "Sharon, don't do this!"

"Don't call me that!" she screamed. "That's not my name! I'm Emily! I'm not Sharon, I'm Emily, and I want my mother! Please, please, you have to help me find her!"

"Listen to me," Marie-Ange went on, forcing her voice to remain level. "I have to talk to Sharon. Please, let me talk to Sharon."

"No!" she hissed, shaking her head. "I don't like her!"

Marie-Ange looked away for a moment, trying to think of some way to get through to her. Then, inspiration struck.

"Catseye?" Marie-Ange asked, raising her voice up half an octave. "Catseye, is redhair. Talk to redhair, please?"

"No," Sharon quavered, shaking her head slowly and closing her eyes.

"Please talk to redhair, pretty Catseye. Catseye knows that redhair hates to be alone, yes? Please come back to redhair."

Sharon took a series of deep, shivering breaths, and when her voice finally returned, it was as though it came from a great distance. "Redhair?"

"Redhair is here, pretty Catseye," Marie-Ange assured her, pulling her friend to her and holding her close.

"Redhair," Sharon repeated, shuddering violently. "Catseye is scared, redhair."

"Ssssh, is okay. Goldenmane and 'Lectro will fix Catseye, make her all better, be soft and pretty like before. Catseye will see."

"Stay with Catseye," Sharon whispered. "Please, redhair? Do not leave Catseye?"

"Redhair is not going anywhere, sweet Catseye. Come, rest now."

Sharon nodded, then let Marie-Ange guide her back to the bed and tuck her under the covers. Marie-Ange stayed beside her as she fell back into a fitful sleep, and was there to shush her and reassure her every time she jarred awake.

All the while, she wondered what they would do if Douglas and Warlock could not find a way to restore Sharon's power, and with it, her true form. She wasn't sure if Sharon's already fractured psyche could take much more of this.

"Please, Douglas," she whispered to herself. "Please..."

Heartbreak Hotel, outside Los Angeles, CA
Saturday, 5 February 1994 10:46 pm PST

Day two had been a considerable improvement. With no school and morning chores finished quickly, the Heartbreak gang plus Rictor and Rahne hit the city, spending the entire day walking the streets in Hollywood, taking the tour at Universal Studios (Ric's treat), and generally having a marvelous time. Of the normal residents, only Kate and Sybil had not come: Kate had simply declined, and Sybil was nowhere to be found this weekend. For her part, Rahne was still a bit uneasy at first, but as the day wore on, she began to loosen up. After a while, Ric could swear that she was actually enjoying herself.

Ric also noticed that Lucy seemed to be going out of her way to talk to Rahne, to walk next to her, to sit opposite her at lunch, and so on. Lucy was nobody's fool, after all. She probably recognized how uncomfortable Rahne was around her, and was making this effort to sweep that discomfort aside. Ric appreciated it greatly, to say the least.

Eventually, though, after spending most of the day on their feet, they packed it in and returned to Heartbreak for a late dinner. Afterwards, Link, Mickey, Lucy and Gomi adjourned to the TV room to catch a late episode of Star Trek while Rahne and Ric headed up to their room to get some rest. Rahne had not slept very well the previous night, and the day's activities had left her exhausted.

Ric himself was not really that tired, but after the previous night, he figured it would be best to stay close to Rahne tonight.

And so, he lay awake in their shared bed, gazing idly up at the ceiling. Rahne lay close by, one arm draped across his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Ric had spent many nights sleeping next to her, which was sometimes about more than he could stand, having her close enough to touch, often in fairly intimate contact, yet having very precise borders which he just couldn't cross.

Borders. Limits to the topic of conversation: there were things she just refused to talk about, such as her own anxieties and insecurities. The catharsis the night before had been a rare glimpse past these walls, but for the most part, her fears and neuroses were strictly her own, no matter how much Ric wanted in, or how much he offered to talk things out with her.

And God forbid if he should ever bring up the one and only time they had made love.

With that came another set of very particular borders. Rahne liked to touch, and to be close, and Ric did too. Rahne had decided, apparently, that kissing was not particularly sinful, nor was sleeping in the same bed, nor was lying in Ric's arms, as she was now. But Ric had to watch himself. Physical contact was fine, so long as he kept away from anything even resembling an erogenous zone, particularly anywhere on the upper front torso or anywhere between waistline and upper thigh. If his hands ever got too adventurous while they were making out, she'd break off, give him a stern look (sometimes amusedly so, sometimes nervously so), and say "Careful now, Ric..."

Right now, his hands were resting on her lower back, which was safe enough. Over the months, he'd grown very accustomed to the feel of her back through any number of materials (such as flannel, like now). This in mind, he ran one hand gently up and down her spine, and tried not to think about the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully through this, but he knew by experience that she'd wake up immediately should any of the borders be crossed. One time, when they'd been lying on their sides together, her back against his chest, they'd both awakened suddenly to find that his hand had found its way all the way up her shirt, seemingly of its own accord, which had been mortifying for Rahne and embarrassing for Ric all at the same time.

Most frustrating of all for Ric was that in spite of that reaction and others like it, he could swear that she liked it when he got risky, or that it excited her. What she really seemed to be scared of was the fact that these "sinful" acts were exciting, and tempting, and made her feel good.

But God forbid anyone do anything to make Rahne feel wanted, or attractive, or anything like that.

He tried to stop this train of thought, as it wasn't fair to her, and he still loved her in spite of all that. But at the same time, he couldn't help comparing his lot with those around him. Doug and Angie, for example, appeared to have a very productive sex life, now that the danger of "listening in" had been eliminated by an invention of Warlock's. Recognizing the need for mental privacy after what had happened last fall, 'Lock and Doug had whipped up a device which emitted sufficient "psychic static" (whatever that was) to prevent the psi-linked teammates from inadvertently listening in on each other's more emotional moments. Which meant, basically, that Doug and Angie could bump like bunnies without worrying about Ric's mind being along for the ride.

Lucky for him. The thought of sex with Angie was not one he was too keen on (where in the world would you hold on?), but hey, he and Doug obviously had different taste in women. Except that Doug was also Rahne's ex...

It wasn't going to do any good to think about all that, but in the dark, with no sound but the distant murmur of the gang watching TV, or the ocean outside the closed windows, or Rahne's breathing, his mind was utterly free from any distraction. Or rather, any distraction but Rahne's body against his.

"Ric?" Rahne whispered.

He literally jolted at the sound of her voice, and his first thought was that she had "heard" him. No static here, after all. The link wasn't particularly strong between the two of them, but it was still there...

"Ric?" she asked again, with some concern in her voice. She pushed herself up so that she could look into his eyes. "Are ye alright?"

"Fine," he nodded. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Nae, I canna sleep. I've been... thinking..."

Oh, great.

"What about?" he asked, hoping it wasn't what he thought it was.

She paused, then lay her head against his chest again. "Ric, why do ye stay with me?"

"What kind'a question is that?"

"It's jus'..." She paused a moment. "It's jus' that I canna understand why ye've stayed with me so long."

"Why not?" he asked, feeling his hackles raise just slightly as he thought of what she was saying in relation to what he'd just been thinking. Was she asking in regard to her insecurities and thoughts of being unlovable, or in regard to her surprise that Ric would stay with anyone this long without sex?

"Well... d'ye realize how long 'tis been?"

"Yeah, I do," he nodded. "Even if you don't count when we first got together, back with the New Mutants, it's been since we met again at Xavier's, almost a year ago." That's right, Ric, don't think about the months apart after Genosha, don't think about how you were ready to dump her and join the X-Men at the end of last summer, don't think about how you drove off in a huff The Morning After...

"Aye, almost a year, an'..." She broke off, then turned over to lay on her back, beside him, and gazed up at the ceiling. "An' what have I done to deserve that kind'a devotion?"

He stopped himself mid-thought, and decided to take it from another angle. "What do you mean? What is it you think you ain't done?"

"Ric, I see ye in school with other friends, I see ye with yuir friends here, an'... I feel like I'm holdin' ye back, or not lovin' ye the way ye ought t'be loved, jus' b'cause I'm too frightened. I feel like every lass I see ye with could love ye better than me."

"But they don't," he whispered. "They don't, and I ain't leavin' you, Rahne. What you give, it's enough, I promise."

Again, she turned over, and propped herself up on her elbows so that she could look down into his eyes. "Ric... d'ye find me attractive?"

He gazed into her eyes, then took in the whole of her outline in the dim light of the room. "Oh, God, yes..." he whispered.

"D'ye..." She stopped, and her face creased in thought. "I canna think of any other way t'ask it. D'ye... want me?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I... were not such a frightened, silly lass, would ye... make love t'me?"

Ric took an involuntary deep breath. Those borders were coming down tonight, that much was certain. "Why're you asking me that?" he sighed, shaking his head.

"Ye dinna have t' answer," she said quickly, looking away.

"Yeah, I would," he whispered.

There was a pause, and she slowly brought her eyes back to meet his.

"I would, because yeah, I do want you, and yeah, I think you're attractive. Rahne, you're the most beautiful woman in the world t'me, and I ain't just sayin' that. You're compassionate, you're gentle, you're always thinkin' about other people..." He brought one hand up to trace along the side of her face. "I'd love to. Not sex for the sake of sex, not just tryin' t'score some points or have somethin' t'brag about at the gym, nothin' like you see on TV or anything. We're talkin' about something people do when they love each other. An' I don't think it's wrong to love someone that way, if it's what you really feel."

He quickly stopped himself, wondering if he'd gone too far. Damn! He didn't want to sound like he was denigrating her faith. He knew that the two of them had different ideas about God's intentions, yeah, but this was no time to argue religion.

"But I know things're different for you, and that's fine," he continued, trying to fill the silence. "When you're ready, baby, I'll be waiting right here, I promise."

Again, she lay her head on his chest, and he put his arms around her, resting his hands in that comfortable spot on her lower back.

"It doesna' seem so wrong, put that way," she whispered, "when 'tis for love's sake, and not for lust alone."

"Well, I think there's a little lust in there, too," he chuckled. "I mean, I'm only human, and you are quite a girl, you know." Hell, as long as he was across the border, why not enjoy it for a while? "Some nights, layin' here with you, feelin' you next to me... it's tough to keep my hands to myself, know what I mean?"

"Aye," she whispered. He'd hoped to get a laugh out of her, but her voice sounded awfully serious.

"You okay, baby?" he asked.

"Ric," she said, very quietly, turning her face to his and meeting his eyes. "Would ye... make love t'me?"

"I just told you I would," he replied. "Whenever you're ready, I..."

"Ric," she interrupted.

There was a pause. "What?" he asked.

"I wasna' asking hypothetically," she whispered. "Would ye make love t'me?"

It took him a second to figure out what she meant, but then he felt his pulse begin to race. "What, here? Now?"

"Aye."

There was the briefest of pauses.

Ric wanted to say "Baby, this ain't the time or the place. When we do it again, it should be special, not just on the spur of the moment in a bed that ain't even ours."

Ric wanted to say "Rahney, baby, you don't have to do that. I just told you, I love you even without the sex. You've got your own rules, and they're different from mine, but I respect that."

Ric wanted to say "Look, we don't have to prove anything here. Don't just have sex with me if you think it's because you don't love me enough, or because you think I need more than what you give me. Besides, using sex to try to prove a point was, if you'll excuse the expression, what royally screwed up our relationship last fall. For love, yes, but not out of some kind of obligation."

However, Ric said none of these things. He simply pulled her to him and kissed her, letting his emotions run away with him.

They kissed for a long while, then sat up together, so that he could start working with the large buttons of her flannel pajama top. Still kissing her, he got the buttons done one by one, then slid the top off of her shoulders.

Here, Rahne gasped, momentarily breaking away and taking a few shuddery breaths. She paused to look down at herself, then up at Ric, and he could see fear warring with excitement in her eyes.

Again, he nearly said something to bring this all to a halt before they did something they might later regret, but again, he couldn't hold onto this thought long enough to voice it. "I love you," he said instead, giving the words a low, growling undertone that signified that the aforementioned little bit of lust was present and accounted for.

She let out another shaky breath, but her smile was wide and genuine. She kissed him again, and he returned it, letting his hands roam over her body, from her face, to her neck, to her shoulders, and straight on into the forbidden zone, caressing her as gently as his excitement would allow.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, followed by a voice that Ric recognized as belonging to Mickey. "Ric! Rahne! Wake up!!"

Ric broke away from her kiss for a moment, but she kept right on going, kissing his face and neck. "We're just a little busy right now, Mickey!" he shouted back.

"Guys, this is important!" Mickey insisted.

"Unless the place is on fire, it ain't important enough! Tell us in the morning!"

"You guys are on a team called 'Go West,' aren't you?"

This brought them to a complete and abrupt halt. "Yeah, we are," Ric called. "So?"

"Well, we just saw on the news that Go West was in a fight with the Friends of Humanity this morning in Las Vegas!"

"Lord in heaven!" Rahne gasped, absently reaching for her top. "Ric, we have t'call them!"

"Yeah," Ric nodded, not certain which was worse about this interruption: the disappointment, or the unsettling sense of relief.

Mostly, he just found himself wondering what would happen next.

McAudry House, 10:48 pm PST

Doug looked up from the half-disassembled raygun as Danielle stumbled out from the hall and toward the kitchen. She paused as she passed the dining table, where he was sitting, and gave him a bleary look.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

She paused, then answered in a low, dramatic voice. "Red Valkyrie needs food, badly."

Doug gave a single snort of laughter. "Coffee's on."

She nodded, then went into the kitchen to rummage for something edible. "We need to make a shopping trip," she noted.

"Another weekend project that got sidelined," Doug agreed.

She eventually joined him at the table with a mug of coffee and a bag of beef jerky. "Eating healthy, I see," Doug noted, dryly.

"So sue me. You know, we should both still be sleeping."

"I would if I could, Chief, trust me."

"Yeah, me too. There's only so much you can do with a beanbag chair before it gets uncomfortable in any position."

"I imagine so," Doug agreed, studying an open panel on the stock of the rifle.

"Just so you'd know," she went on, "Brynn and Jenny are still sleeping. Angie's awake and keeping watch, and... she doesn't look so good, but she wouldn't say why. And I didn't see Gene anywhere."

"He was up a little while ago," Doug explained. "We chatted a little bit, and he brought some things to my attention."

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that during the rescue process, the last phone call he made to me was made using a cel-phone he scrounged off of one of the dead FOH guys. Which means that I'll need to do some hacking to get that particular call scratched off of this guy's phone records, just in case any of his next of kin wonder who he was calling in La Jolla just after his estimated time of death."

"Good point," Dani agreed.

"So that's yet another reason to get this thing working in reverse ASAFP," he finished, indicating the rifle.

"True. So how come Warlock's not helping you?"

"Because Warlock's on the road back to Vegas."

Dani very nearly did a spit-take with her coffee. "Come again?"

"That was something else we didn't think about before, but Gene clued me in. He's got a hotel room full of stuff there, and so does Jenny. And there's also Jenny's car. Warlock's heading back to get all that stuff out of there before anyone investigates."

"You sent him alone?" Dani exclaimed.

"Chief," Doug said, levelly, "who could we have gotten to go with him at this point? He promised he'd radio in if he needs backup, but he and I agreed that he could probably pull this off better by himself than with any of us along."

"Has he got the power to make the trip?"

"He'll be fine if he sticks to the road instead of flying. It's less power output for him to mimic a car or a motorcycle than it is to fly. If all goes well, he'll drive Jenny's car back."

"Ah. So where's Gene now?"

"Guest room," Doug said, indicating the opposite hallway. "He needs time to stitch himself back together, and he said he'd be able to concentrate better away from other people." He shrugged. "I guess he feeds off light energy to use his powers, so we brought in a couple of extra lamps and cranked 'em up."

Dani nodded, took a bite of jerky, and chewed it thoughtfully for a while. "This stuff has no taste whatsoever," she commented.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Smoked meat was pretty common when I was in Asgard," she continued. "Some of the long trips, that was all we'd bring with us. They didn't call it jerky, but..."

"Dani," Doug snapped, "if this is going to be another 'this stuff's nowhere near as good as it was when I was in Asgard' thing, could you please just take it somewhere else? I'm really not in the mood." He immediately regretted saying it, but it was too late to call it back.

To her credit, and to Doug's relief, Dani didn't take his little explosion too much to heart. "Well, aren't we just in a dandy mood this evening?" she asked, grinning sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Come on, Doug," she sighed. "Better tell me what's eating you. I don't think I have the energy to coax it out, powers or no powers."

"That's just it," he sighed, setting the ray down. "In this case, it's 'no powers.'"

"You'll get 'em back," she assured him. "Have you made much progress?"

"None at all," he frowned. "I haven't got anything even close to a clue about how this thing works. I'm no closer now than I was when I first looked at it. I mean, I still remember all the electronics I've learned over the years, but it's just not... connecting."

"Then why, silly man, don't you wait until Warlock gets back?

"Because," he replied, deliberately, "I need to know what I'll be capable of in the event that I don't get my powers back. And let's just say that it's not looking too good for the Dougster. I've never felt so helpless in my life, and for me, that's saying something."

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "But you know what? Your inferiority complexes back when we were the New Mutants weren't necessary, and neither is the one you're working on now."

They paused a while, as Dani sipped her coffee and Doug stared unblinking at an open panel on the stock end of the rifle. After a few moments, Doug took a breath to speak, but Dani beat him to it. "It's bugging you a lot, isn't it?"

"It's like an instant replay," Doug sighed. "Back then, I was neurotic about how language powers just plain didn't help in the field when I was surrounded by teammates with super strength, invulnerability, lava-blasts, magical powers, shapechanging... I felt useless. That's why I was glad to get away to here, where my power actually makes a difference to me, but..."

"Go on," she encouraged him.

"After the concert with A.C.'s band, when we were at Lila's place, A.C. made a comment to me that I know wasn't meant to be hurtful, but in retrospect, it really stung. He mentioned that he was initially surprised at how good I was on the piano, but then he realized that my power would have helped me learn it. Which I'm sure it did, because I've always been good at picking up on things, ever since I can remember. The Professor once told me that my power was a rare case, because it's probably been active almost my entire life."

"And now that it's not," Dani went on, "you're worried that you won't be able to do anything right, is that it?"

"That's exactly it. And it's really annoying. Even now, people who know what my powers are have waved a lot of my accomplishments aside, saying that it was my power. Which makes it sound like I, Doug, had nothing to do with it. Learning the piano, learning karate, getting straight A's, none of it's on account of Doug: it's all because of his power. Dammit, I can't accept that without this power I'd be some complete moron, who can't put two thoughts together, but..."

"And you figure that if you can fix the gun on your own, you can prove it to yourself and the world that Doug's a clever person even without his mutant abilities." She said it as a statement, and not a question.

"Damn right. It's a stubborn, prideful, hubris-laden thing to do, but I'm a stubborn, prideful, hubris-laden kind of guy."

"Uh huh," she nodded. "Which is where I come in, I think."

He pulled a blank, and looked up at her. "Excuse me?"

"D'you remember waaaay back in the dawn of pre-history, when we told Professor Xavier we were leaving? I told him that I was going to be along to keep the visionary... which means you... from making an ass of himself. So let's get real, Doug. Tell me what you're going to say to the rest of the team if your pride gets the better of you, and you actually manage to break this gun in your stubborn attempt to fix it. Tell me how you're going to explain to Catseye that she's going to be stuck as a 'smoothskin' for the rest of her life because you had to prove your worth as a person to a bunch of people who already believe in you."

Doug pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, angrily. "That's not fair!" he growled, stepping away.

"Yeah, but it's reality!" she shot back, putting a heated edge in her voice. "Pack it in, Doug. You're not going to get anything done in this state of mind, and you stand a pretty good chance of throwing a wrench in the works if you keep at it. Just leave it until Warlock gets back, okay?"

He leaned against the opposite wall, still looking away from her. "I should still know how to do it," he whispered. "It can't all be gone."

Danielle took a deep breath. "Doug, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you to forget about this entire Doug Versus His Powers thing you've got going in your mind right now. You say you don't like other people talking about you and your powers like they're two different entities? Fine. Then you need to stop thinking about it that way. Our powers are a part of us, ingrained in us, just another element that makes us what we are. What this gun did was make you less than what you're supposed to be. Face it, Doug, you're basically just injured right now, because you're not up to the level that you should be at. And just like any other team sport, an injured player can't perform as well as when that player's healthy, and if you keep at it, you'll aggravate the injury, and you'll be a liability to the team. You need to take a seat on the bench and let the rest of us take up the slack for a while until you're better, okay?"

At length, Doug turned and gave her an almost humored look. "Where do you get off sounding like my old little league coach?"

"Don't knock it. I've got a curveball that could knock you on your butt."

"I don't doubt it."

After a while, Doug returned to his seat and looked at the gun, but this time, he was just looking, not studying.

"You know," Dani went on, "this may be a really bad time to bring up the future, considering, but if we can pull ourselves out of the here-and-now for a second, I'm concerned about some things."

"Such as?"

"Such as what are we going to do about Jenny, now that she knows the story?"

Doug shrugged. "Ask her to join us?"

"You think it'd be that easy?"

"Something needs to be, that's for sure."

Dani snorted. "How about Gene?"

"What the hell, we can ask him too."

"Do you think he'd accept? He seems to have his own agenda, from what I can tell."

"Then we give him the full lowdown, swear him to secrecy, and he goes on his merry way. Honestly, I think those concerns should be relatively easy to resolve. It's the immediate stuff that I'm worried about."

"Understood," Dani nodded. Her expression slowly widened into an evil grin. "Of course, if Jenny joins up, it could be dangerous for us."

"How so?"

"Well, have you taken a good look at her chest lately?"

"I dunno, have you?"

Dani gaped. "Ouch!"

"You walked into that one, Chief. Seriously, what does Jenny's chest have to do with danger for us, other than being highly distracting for the two happily coupled men and one happily coupled Valkyrie of the house?"

"Remember a while back, when I said we can't possibly be considered a mutant team because we lack two of the necessary features of every well-to-do group?"

"Oh yeah!" Doug nodded, allowing himself a grin. "We don't have any guys built like Mack trucks, or women with..."

"Exactly. And while Gene wouldn't qualify for the team brick, Jenny sure would add a new... dimension to the lineup."

"Well, we'll just have to be really choosy about who we let in from now on, then."

"I guess so."

Dani finished her coffee, then regarded Doug. "Come on, spud, don't sit here looking at that damn thing. It's not going to do any good."

"I guess you're right," Doug sighed. "Warlock has a better chance with this than I do."

"Well, there's no saying that you and he can't still merge and work on it together, right?"

"Not as well as we could before," he admitted. "I guess my power was a large part of the reason we worked so well as a gestalt. When I lost it, we had to separate before I went..."

Doug trailed off, and his eyes slowly widened.

"Before you what?" Dani asked.

"That's it!" he whispered. "Warlock and I were merged when I got zapped! That means he's seen me before, after, and during the drain! He'll be able to tell how it affected me! Once we know that, we can figure out a way to undo what's been done!"

"Yaaaaaay!" Dani applauded. "There, you see?" She proceeded to do a surprisingly realistic sportscaster voice. "And so, ladies and gentlemen, Douglas Ramsey proves, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that even without his mutant powers, his manhood is the same size it ever was!"

"It ain't the size, Chief, it's the technique."

She stared blankly at him, then laughed. "I will respectfully refrain from further comment."

"I appreciate that. It's been a hell of a day, you know."

She nodded. "Okay, that settles it. We wait for Warlock. In the meantime, I think you're needed elsewhere."

He gave her a questioning glance. "Oh?"

"Yep."

After a few moments, he got it. "Oh. Of course."

Just about then, though, the telephone started ringing. Doug went for the nearest phone, mounted on the wall in the kitchen, and picked up the receiver. "McAudry House."

His eyes went wide. "Rahne! Um, yeah, we're okay. Yeah, we did. Well, we're a bit the worse for wear, but we pulled through. No, no, it's fine, you couldn't have known. Yeah, it was Jenny."

Here, he looked over at Dani. "Well, you don't have to come back, per se. We're out of danger, but... Okay. Yeah, that's fine. We'll wait up for you. Okay, sweetie. Bye."

"Heard the news, did she?" Dani asked.

Doug put his hand over the receiver. "Yep. She's putting Ric on." Turning his attention back to the phone, he went on. "Yeah, hi, Ric. Don't worry, we're more or less fine. Sorry you missed the action, though, we could have used the assist. What's that? Um... okay, whatever you say, Ric. See you in a couple of hours. Bye."

"What did he say?" Dani asked as Doug hung up.

"He just said he wanted to congratulate us on our timing."

She looked at him askance. "I don't think I want to know."

"I know I don't."

"Go talk to Angie, spud."

"On my way."

MacPherson apartment, Claremont Hall, MassAc
Sunday, 6 February 1994 2:39 am EST

"You're all set," Mick said quietly, re-adjusting the telephone receiver between shoulder and ear as he finished typing. "Your flight leaves Wednesday at three p.m. You c'n pick up your tickets at the second terminal. There'll be a forty-minute layover in L.A., then your connector flight to Boston. I'll be at the airport t'pick you up. Now, you do have passports, right?"

"Yeh. Mick, y'r savin' m'life again. How'd y'do this so fast?"

"Miracles of modern technology, of course," he chuckled. "Just my own little side-street on the Information Superhighway. I logged into the airline computers and bought the tickets with my AmEx card."

"You'll have t'show me how t'do all that," she replied. "I love my computer, but I never got the hang of the modem."

"We'll have time t'do all that, I promise." Mick paused, then let out a sigh. "I'm not sure what else to say, Shon. It doesn't seem appropriate to apologize, but it doesn't seem like congratulations are in order, either."

"It's just so unexpected," she sighed in reply. "Y'know, there was a part of me that never wanted t'believe that you were really... different. That the dreamwalkin' came from studyin' with the Abos, not from a..."

"Shon, these phone lines are as secure as you'll find. You can say 'mutant' an' 'power' t'me. I don't mind."

"'Msorry, love, it just seems like an odd thing t'be discussin' on the phone. Y'see... if I really b'lieved you were a mutant, that would mean people might... hurt you, an' I was afraid for you. But at the same time, I was..."

"Afraid you might be a mutant, too?"

"Mick, this is supposed t'happen when you're a bleedin' teenager!"

"There's always exceptions. But it's nothin' to be afraid of. We've got people here who can help you. Including one very accomplished dream therapist, if I do say so m'self."

She snorted with laughter, which was reward enough for Mick. "I'll be takin' you up on that."

"Hey, we MacPhersons gotta look out for each other, yeh?"

This time the laugh was more sarcasm than humor. "I'm glad you at least feel that way."

"'Course I do. Now, are you gonna be able to hang in there until Wednesday?"

"I talked my way into some vacation time, so I won't have to go to the clinic. I'll just stick 'round home 'til then, so I don't risk droppin' anyone else."

"Alright. Call me if anything comes up. Otherwise, see you at the airport in a couple'a days."

"Thanks much, Mick. Give Cassie m'best. Love you."

"Love you too, Shon. Take care."

He waited until she'd hung up, then did the same. With a sigh, he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up.

"How is she?" Cassie asked, quietly.

Mick settled down next to her in the bed. "She'll be fine; she's just scared right now, same as anyone else the first time. She said t'give you her best."

Cass gave him a little smile. "Well, it'll be good to see her again, anyway. She'll turn some heads, that's for sure."

"Somehow, I don't think she's gonna be joinin' the ranks, love," Mick chuckled. "I can't picture her wearin' the uniform, is all."

"Jesus, Mick, she'd have her own cheering section, same as Jenny used to."

"Wonderful."

Cassie paused. "What're you going to tell Emma?"

"Dunno," Mick mused, considering this. "I s'pose I'd better leave her word on Multivac. Why don't you try t'get back to sleep, meanwhile?"

She nodded. "Workaholic. Just... don't go too far, okay?"

"I'll be in earshot if y'need me, love," he whispered.

"Good," she whispered in reply. She was already most of the way to sleep, and it didn't take much longer for her to drift off.

Mick waited a while, watching her sleep. Once he was convinced that she had gone past first-stage, he slipped out of bed and went back to his computer desk.

He broke his Internet connection and headed into Email mode. How, exactly, should he put this to Emma? "Guess what? As if there weren't enough confusion lately with the attack and the disappearance and the leaves of absence and the arrival of a new student, we've got another incoming mutant!"

Probably not. Rather than start with Email, then, Mick decided to go over the file of Linda DiAmato, who was due to arrive Monday morning, the same time the Hellions were to get back onto a regular training schedule. He hoped she wouldn't be scared away by all the stories she was likely to hear in her first couple of days.

A small window of text suddenly popped up on his display, accompanied by a digitized "Narf!"

ACK is paging you:

Geez, Mick, don't you ever sleep?

(R)eply, (I)gnore

The reply came fairly quickly, accompanied by another "Narf!" Mick opened another window of options and clicked on "Disable Sound," so that Cass wouldn't be disturbed.

ACK is paging you:

Funny you should ask. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to get some work done.

(R)eply, (I)gnore

ACK is paging you:

Actually, if you're up anyway, mind if I come over? I don't think I'll be back to sleep tonight.

(R)eply, (I)gnore

Once he got the affirmative "On my way" from A.C., it occurred to Mick that he might want to put some clothes on. He got his robe from the closet, slipped it on and tied up the sash, then went from bedroom to living room to kitchenette to set the aforementioned pot of water boiling. He made a mental note to keep a close ear out, so that he could get to it before it whistled loudly enough to wake Cass.

A few minutes later, A.C. arrived, tapping lightly at the front door. Mick opened it for him, and motioned toward the couch. "Have a seat, mate. Cass is sleeping, so we'll need to keep it down."

"No problem," A.C. nodded. He then flopped down on the couch and gave Mick a somewhat disgusted look. "You know, you could at least have the decency to look tired."

"Would it make you feel better?" Mick shrugged.

"It might. I repeat my earlier question: do you ever sleep?"

"Not a lot. It's a genetic thing."

"Your power, you mean?"

"Nah," Mick replied, getting the kettle from the stove and bringing it out, along with a couple of mugs and teabags. "I'm one of those fortunate blokes who only needs a couple hours sleep a night to get by. It's an inheritable characteristic, an' most of my family has it."

A.C. blinked at him. "Well, fuck you, then," he said, well-meaningly.

"Emma thinks that with a genetic predisposition like that, a power like mine is just a step further."

"I can't imagine it," A.C. frowned. "I need my eight hours. I've pulled some all-nighters, I've taken finals on two hours of sleep, I've taught classes after late rehearsals, and I swear I just can't function properly."

"It's all sleep cycles. How much psychology did you take back at Seagate?"

"Not as much as you, I'm sure."

"Me? Hell, mate, I didn't take any at Seagate."

"Hardy har har."

"A'right, how much do you know about theories of dreaming?"

"Again, not as much as you, I'm sure."

"Well, strict textbook first-year psych explains a few of the more popular theories. There's Freud, who said that dreams are the way we resolve all the pent-up sexual desire and aggression we keep in during our waking hours. There's the theory that while we're dreaming, our mind is processing all the information of the day, and tries to make sense of this stream of data by giving it images, which is why dreams are often so fragmented and random. There's even the theory that they have no purpose at all: they're just random synapses firing during sleep. And outside of psych classes, there's the belief in the Dreamtime, prophetic dreams, and dream travel."

"Great," A.C. nodded. "Well, you're the expert. Which one of 'em is it?"

"None of the above. At least, no single theory. From a biological stance, the information processing theory is pretty close, but I've seen too much in my time to think it's all purely scientific."

"I can bet."

Mick paused. "And you know, that's something that bothers me."

"Beg pardon?"

After checking on the status of his tea, Mick went on. "Seeing what I've seen, I could do some write-ups in the psych journals that could revolutionize the field of dream research. Only I can't do that, b'cause I'd have to say how I got my data, an' I don't think anyone's ready to accept the word of a dream-traveling mutant psychologist. It's just yet another way a mutant could do good for the world as a whole, but can't because of the consequences it'd bring."

A silence ensued, as A.C. apparently couldn't think of a thing to say to this.

"Anyway, that all ties in with my not needin' much sleep. Some folks' brains process the day's data in one sleep cycle, usually about ninety minutes. I'm one of 'em."

"You make me sick."

"It ain't without its downside. The body still needs rest, even when the mind just needs a couple hours. It's really easy to burn myself out if I don't get enough rest during the day."

"I think I'd be able to bear that particular cross."

"Who knows, you might get a chance to try it."

"What do you mean by that?"

Mick took up his mug, decided the bag had steeped long enough, and took a sip. "It just so happens," he then replied, "that this is why I'm awake right now."

"I don't follow."

"I got a call from my sister about an hour ago. Seems she's had a latent power that finally came to the surface."

"Really? Anything like yours?"

"Not exactly." Mick took another sip before he continued. "It seems she's got the power to put people to sleep."

"A power she shares with most of the faculty at Seagate," A.C. nodded, without missing a beat. "Is she another power-snooze wonder like you?"

"Yeh. Growin' up was interesting, the whole house bein' on a two-hour sleep cycle."

"So... how exactly does she do this?"

"That's what I hope to find out. She'll be comin' here to work on it later in the week. I haven't figured out how to break it to Emma yet."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something."

Mick nodded slowly. "From the way she described it, she's able to give someone else... what did you call it... a 'power-snooze,' just like us. She puts 'em into a deep sleep that lasts one cycle, and they wake up in a couple hours feeling mentally refreshed."

A.C. stared at Mick for a moment. "You're kidding."

"Maybe once she gets here, you'd like to be a test subject?"

"I might. Lordy, she'd be popular around finals week. That'd be an easy power to abuse."

"Tell me about it," Mick sighed. "I hope it's easy for her to get control of it."

"That would be nice," A.C. agreed. "Hey, do you have a picture of her?"

"Sure," Mick nodded. He got up from the couch, ambled over to one of his three bookcases, and took a framed picture down from the third shelf. It was a photo of the two of them during one of their jaunts to the outback in Mick's old jeep. Mick was seated in the driver's seat, while she was standing at the side, leaning against it.

He returned to the couch and passed the picture to A.C. "That was a while back, but she still looks pretty much the same.

"Wow," A.C. said, quietly.

"What?"

"If you don't mind me saying, she's beautiful. Hey, isn't she the family fashion model you were telling me about?"

"No, it's my cousin who's the fashion model. This is my sister, the psych intern."

"What's her name?"

"Chanda. Most everyone calls her Shon."

"Hm. Well, I'm looking forward to meeting her."

"Sure you are. Careful not to drool on the photo, mate."

"No, seriously! I didn't even know you had a sister. Do you think she'll be staying long?"

"I hope we can avoid that. She's got a career back home that doesn't need the interruption."

"True. Though I'm sure most of our strapping young lads on the team wouldn't mind having her around."

"That's just what Cassie was saying."

"Hold on, though... Is this an older or younger sister?"

"About two years older. She'll be turnin' twenty-six this fall."

"Ah. Well, not that this would discourage some of them... Mick, you okay? Sorry, I really don't mean to offend, it's just late..."

Mick shook his head. "It's not you, mate. Just... that's not a comfortable subject for me."

"What, your sister being too old for most of our hormone-driven student body?"

"Nah, just thinking about what folks'd say 'round here. People saw her with those kids, they'd probably say she was cut from the same cloth as her brother."

A.C. furrowed his brow. "Mick, what are you talking about?"

"Just some things you weren't here for," Mick sighed. "It was when Cass and I first got together. There were some people who wanted me off the faculty, out of the school, preferably off the continent. 'Maybe that's the way they do things in Australia,' one of 'em told me, 'but this is America. We're civilized here.'"

"Who said that?" A.C. asked, aghast.

"The chair of the Psychology department. A tenured professor."

"That's ridiculous."

"Look at it from their end, mate. Here was a twenty-two-year-old grad student and teacher dating a seventeen-year-old prep school student. It didn't help matters that Cass was in one of the classes I taught during her senior year. They saw a teacher datin' one of his students, an' nothin' past it. Never mind that we didn't start seein' each other until after she was outta my class. Never mind that things never got really serious between us until after she turned eighteen. That same bloke I was tellin' you about finally marched straight into Emma's office and demanded I be brought up on charges of statutory rape."

"What happened then?"

"Couple of weeks later, he packed up and left. Took a job at another school. And so help me, mate, I think Emma might've 'convinced' him to leave. I can't believe he'd up and abandon a tenured spot just because he thought one of his grad students was scum."

There was a short silence, then A.C. shook his head. "Well, you know, that's kind of a hot topic here in the states, Mick. Abuse of minors, I mean. And it's a serious issue, and it needs to be treated as such. Unfortunately, that means that some people are going to be looking for it everywhere, even in a relationship between two people of consenting age who just happen to be teacher and student at the same institution. That itself is kind of a boogeyman topic for people, and they react without thinking."

"Well, the good news is that most everyone's forgotten about it since I went away on walkabout. Now that Cass is in college, I guess that makes it all okay to them." Mick shook his head. "I tell you what, Doc, I appreciate people bein' careful, an' watchin' out for kids. But we ain't kids now, we weren't kids then, an' I wish people would butt out an' let us be happy."

"Hey, we civilized folk love to stick our nose in other people's business. It's part of what makes this country great."

At that moment, Cassie's voice sounded from the bedroom. "Mick?"

Mick and A.C. looked over as Cassie pushed open the bedroom door and leaned into the room. She was dressed in another of Mick's robes, and her eyes were puffy with interrupted sleep.

"Sorry, love, did we wake you?" Mick asked, getting up from the couch.

"No, it wasn't you," she replied, crossing the room to join them. Mick sat back down, and she seated herself on his lap. "Just another nightmare."

"Want me to fix that?"

She nodded silently, then turned to give A.C. a half-smile. "Evening, Ace."

"Same to you, Cassie. How're you feeling?"

"Like hammered shit," she sniffed.

"I... don't think I'm quite familiar with that term."

"Well, you take a pile of absolute shit," she explained, holding out her left hand, palm-up. She then clenched her right hand, as though gripping a hammer. "You then take a hammer, and you go WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM." She mimed hammering the contents of her left hand repeatedly.

"Thank you very much for that image, Ms. Spangler," A.C. mock-bowed. "Well, it's been lovely, but I think I'd best leave you two to a little nightmare-bashing. Good night."

"G'night, Doc," Mick waved.

"Night, Ace," Cassie added.

A.C. showed himself out, giving them a salute just before closing the door. Once he was gone, Mick looked Cassie in the eye. "So how much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," she whispered. "But all that's over now, Oz. And if anyone else gives us any guff, I'll kick their butts. If anything, they should be saying you're not old enough for me."

"C'mon," he chuckled. "Let's get you some rest."

She nodded. "I miss not having to sleep."

He wanted to say something reassuring about it not being necessary once Paul got better, but he knew her better than that.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Sunday, 6 February 1994 6:41 am PST

After half a day of exhausted and dreamless sleep, Jennifer had spent the following hours drifting in and out of consciousness, sleeping more out of momentum than anything else, along with a distinct lack of desire to have to face any of the people outside this room.

Eventually, though, she knew she'd have to get up. She was vaguely aware that she'd been checked on several times by her hosts, and they were bound to keep checking until they found her awake.

Jennifer wasn't at all sure she wanted that. Even after having that One Good Cry with Angie, she was still more than a little uncomfortable about... well, everything. She felt betrayed, even with the reasons Angie had given her. She felt frustrated to think that all of her emotional trauma for the past months had been needless. And she was worried about Sharon, which prevented her from the more natural state of being pissed off at the way Catseye had basically caused all of this by panicking and running away last October.

She didn't really want to talk to Angie right now, because she was pretty sure she'd either get angry again or get all weepy again, neither of which were at all appealing. She didn't want to talk to Doug, because she was still holding onto her earlier annoyance at the fact that he could have and should have told her about everything a long time ago. At least now she knew why he'd stopped calling a couple of weeks after the Mutant Fair.

That left one person, really, that she felt she could talk to at this point.

This in mind, she finally pulled herself out from under the covers and gingerly stepped on the floor. She was still sore all over, and imagined she would be for days. A month of no regular workouts combined with the business in Vegas had about done her in.

Not to mention her left hand, which she quickly realized was practically unusable at the moment, even to push off the covers. Wincing, she peeled off the latest bandages and took a look.

It was just as bad as she remembered. She hadn't let on to the others that it was a particularly nasty cut, but while showering yesterday, she'd gotten a really good look, and had nearly blacked out from the pain a couple of times as she painstakingly cleaned the wound out. With a sinking feeling, she realized she'd probably have to get to the hospital if she ever wanted this thing to heal properly. Even a day later she was having trouble flexing her fingers (if the extreme pain shooting up her arm could be simply termed "trouble"). The slice went all the way across her palm, probably deep enough to sever tendon and muscle, which would mean surgery.

She went into the bathroom, looked through drawers until she found another suitable set of bandages, then re-applied them, trying not to think about it. She then carefully washed her face (with the one good hand) and drifted back into the bedroom she'd been given, wondering what in the world she was going to wear.

It was then that she noticed the small pile of folded material on the foot of the bed. Investigating this, she found a pair of sweat pants that looked at least half a foot too long, a grey sweatshirt with a UCSD logo on the front, and yesterdays underthings, which someone had apparently laundered while she'd been sleeping. Her dress was missing, but given its condition, she wasn't surprised. Her bra was pretty much a lost cause, too. The panties looked intact, though, so she put those on, then followed these with the sweat top and bottoms, and steeled herself to venture forth into the house.

As she peeked out of the bedroom door, she saw nobody active in the living area. Taking this as a good sign, she crept down the hall and peeked into the next bedroom, which appeared unoccupied.

The trick was going to be in finding Gene without attracting anyone else's attention. She thought she remembered hearing that he was being given the room next to hers, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he was up and about elsewhere in the house.

Retracing her steps from the blur of her arrival, she headed down the nearby hallway, toward the glass-walled hub of the house. Now that she was more awake, she noticed that the glass walls enclosed an open-air patio complete with swimming pool and weights. No one was out there, though.

As she emerged from the hallway, she was so intent upon studying the patio that she very nearly ran right into Rahne, who was coming down the hall from off to Jennifer's right.

"Oh, ye're awake!" Rahne said, somewhat startled by her appearance.

It took a while for Jennifer to figure out how to handle this. She remembered, distantly, that Rahne was a member of Go West, but she hadn't been at the rescue. As a consequence, Jennifer wasn't sure how to react to her. Rahne hadn't, to the best of Jennifer's knowledge, done anything particularly annoying lately, so she was probably safe to talk to.

"Yeah, I guess. Can't sleep forever."

"'Tis good to see ye're alright," Rahne went on, with that polite, nervous concern of hers that Jennifer had never understood. "I'm sorry I wasna' there t'help, but Ric and I were in Los Angeles, an' Douglas an' the others didna' tell us of the trouble, an'..."

"That's fine," Jennifer interrupted. "I'm not dead yet."

"I'm glad. Um, I hope the clothes're alright for now. Dani an' I were plannin' t'head out to get you some things later on, but the malls're nae open this early on Sunday." Rahne's expression twisted into almost comic discomfort as she continued. "I wish we had somethin' more t'give ye, but I didna' think that anythin' of mine would've... um... fit ye..."

Jennifer snorted, and actually cracked half a smile at the image of trying to fit into Rahne's clothes. "That's okay, don't worry about it. Hey, could you tell me where Gene is?"

"Gene?" Rahne asked, looking puzzled.

"You know. Tall guy, darkish skin, long black hair?"

"Oh, Shadowwing!" Rahne nodded, the light dawning. "Aye, of course. He's in one of the guest rooms. Douglas says he's puttin' himself back t'gether."

"Cool," Jennifer nodded. "So... where's the guest rooms?"

"Oh, aye, that's right, ye havena' had the tour yet," Rahne stammered, waving one hand absently back down the hall.

"I can catch the tour later. Just point me toward the guest rooms, okay?"

"Aye, of course."

Rahne led her down the circular hallway, past the foyer and main front doors, and down to a panel-door in the outside wall. Once she had a clear path, Jennifer thanked Rahne and shooed her off as politely as she could manage, stating that she really wanted to talk to Gene alone.

This particular so-called "guest room" was well out of the way, almost hidden completely. She had to go through a laundry room and past a door to the inside of the garage. Kind of a dark and dingy corner to what had looked like an otherwise squeaky-clean house, and Jennifer had to wonder why they had gone and put Gene back here.

She opened the door and stepped into complete blackness. Fumbling blindly, she found a lightswitch on the inside wall, but it appeared to be in the up position already. Probably a multiple-switch, she figured, and flipped it down. The room, however, remained quite dark.

*Hey, who turned out the lights?* came Gene's mental voice, out of the darkness.

"It's Jenny," she called, somewhat baffled.

*Oh! Hold on a second,* he said. Then, gradually, the room seemed to brighten, and Jennifer began to see outlines. Soon, she could see that there were several other lights in the room, all lit up, and Gene was sitting in the lotus position on a neatly-made bed.

As the lights grew still brighter, she noticed that he was not sitting on the bed but above it, hovering about a few inches up. He appeared to be meditating, as his eyes were closed, and his features were relaxed. It was the most peaceful she'd seen him since they'd met.

She also couldn't help noticing that he was wearing nothing more than a pair of running shorts. She'd never seen him in anything but long sleeves and long pants until now, and as she took a good look at him, she saw why. There was something very weird about his skin.

It took her a while to realize that the weird quality was in fact burn tissue. Below the neck and above the wrists, he was almost completely scarred. His legs were in about the same condition.

Jennifer quietly sat down at the foot of the bed to get a better look, as he still seemed deep in his meditation.

His chest, Jennifer saw, was in fact unscarred, and as she studied him, she realized that there was a perfect line separating scarred tissue and unburned skin, tracing an equally perfect circle on his chest. While his sides and shoulders were a mess, the middle of his chest looked fine. Similarly, his hands and feet were unburned, with perfect straight lines on his forearms and calves forming borders between burned and whole. There was another such border around the base of his neck, leaving his face unharmed.

It was while she was studying his face that he opened his eyes and seemed to look right through her. He lowered himself to the bed, and slowly shook off his trance.

"Hey," she half-smiled.

"Hello," he nodded.

For a while, neither of them said anything, but then Jennifer reached out and pointed to the circle on his chest. "What happened to you?" she asked.

"I thought you knew," he said, quietly. "I was in a fire last fall. The fire itself was bad enough, but the explosion..." He broke off. "I didn't even have my costume to protect me; the situation kind of caught me off guard."

"No, I knew about the fire," she replied. "That's why I thought you were supposed to be dead."

"There were times I wished I had been," he admitted. "This was a pain that lingered, I can tell you."

"It didn't get all of you, though," she pointed out, indicating his chest. "How come?"

"Just the way my power works," he explained. "I'm not a conventional telekinetic. It's... kind of hard to explain."

"Try me."

He took a slow breath. "It all has to do with focus points. I can concentrate on a point of telekinetic focus, then I can move it, change its size, pick things up with it, or move things with it. So far I've got it up to keeping seven foci at a time. So when I fly, I use several of them together, magnified in size, holding me up. One on each of the hands," he indicated the lines on his forearms, "one around the feet, one at the... waist, one at the chest, and one around the head. That leaves one other that I can use on outside things while I'm flying."

"Oh," she nodded. "So... these points protected you from the fire?"

"Only where I had them, though," he grimaced. "The rest of me took a beating."

"Just so you managed to protect the important parts," she shrugged.

"Indeed."

"So... what about your wings?"

"Oh, the wings are for show, mostly, plus the fact that the light I absorb keeps the other powers running. I could fly without 'em."

"God," she whispered, shaking her head as she continued to stare at the extent of his injury. "How can you... deal with that? I never would have known, the way you get around."

"Old martial-arts trick. You have to shut off the pain and keep going. Being telepathic makes it a lot easier. And it's really not so bad anymore. I haven't had time to do any cosmetic work, but the underlying injuries are mostly fixed by now. Once everything's running smooth internally, I'll have the time to spend on reconstructing the skin and getting rid of the burn scars." He gave her a very small smile. "The last two days have been kind of a setback, but with enough time, light, and quiet, I should be okay."

Jennifer thought about this, then suddenly remembered the ache in her hand. "Hey... can you do that on other people?"

Gene narrowed his eyes, studying her more carefully. "I've never tried. I think I could, but I've never had the need to. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's..." she started, but broke off.

"Your hand?" he finished for her.

"Yeah, it's... looking pretty bad. I guess I'm lucky I didn't lose my fingers, but it's..."

There was a brief silence, then Gene offered one of his own hands. "May I see it?" he asked.

"Sure," she agreed, holding her injured hand out to him. He very carefully unwrapped the bandages, and visibly winced as he got a look at the cut. "Not good, is it?" she asked.

"No, it's not," he agreed. "I've dealt with worse on myself, but..."

He hesitated, and she noticed a nervous flicker cross over his face. "What?"

"Well..." he frowned, "it works for me because I know my body, and I know how it works, and how to fix it. To do it for someone else... well, let's just say it'd be difficult."

"You just said you thought it could be done. What do you mean, difficult?"

"I mean that I'd need to... project into your mind, telepathically, so I'd know where to send the foci. Without the mental contact, I wouldn't know if I'd be helping you or just hurting you more. And for that level of contact... well, let's just say that we'd be... really close."

"So?" she asked.

This seemed to surprise him. "A lot of people wouldn't like having their minds invaded like that."

She nearly laughed. "Gene, my teacher was one of the most kick-ass telepaths in the world. I know what it feels like to have someone in my mind."

"Yeah, but..."

"Look," she interrupted. "You saved my life out there, for no good reason that I can think of. You nearly got killed trying to get me out of that basement. And then you got up off your frigging deathbed and came after the bitch who caught me. I think I can trust you to do this, so long as you think you can, okay?"

He considered this for a long time, then gave her a questioning look. "You're sure about that? I mean, I'd be the last one to take advantage in a situation like this, but it might... seem like I am."

"Fine. If you cross the line, I'll tell you to stop it."

Another pause. "You're sure?"

"Yes," she sighed, trying not to be exasperated. "I trust you. I'd even say I'm getting close to actually liking you. So let's get on with it."

He nodded slowly, then took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Okay. I'll need you to sit in front of me."

"No problem," she shrugged.

He positioned himself at the head of the bed, with his back braced against the wall, and indicated that she should sit in front of him. She did so, facing away from him. Then, to her surprise, he scooted up right behind her, and reached around her, one arm to either side. "Put your hands over mine," he said, his voice very close to her ear.

Jennifer was quite conscious of his proximity, but she didn't object. The warmth of his chest against her back and his arms around her was actually quite comforting. She found his hands, and placed her palms against his.

"Other way," he whispered. "Keep them parallel with mine. My powers aren't too strong, see, or I wouldn't have to keep so close..."

"I believe you," she assured him, adjusting her hands as he indicated. If he was planning to make a grab, he would have done so by now. "How's this?"

"That's fine. Okay, now just relax, and I'll... see what I can do."

Somewhat amused by his suddenly awkward demeanor, Jennifer did as he asked and tried to relax. It wasn't very tough, considering how long she'd been asleep already. As she relaxed, she waited for his mental presence to arrive.

When it came, though, it was in such a way that Jennifer could never have anticipated. She'd been on the receiving end of psychic projection before, of course, both with Emma and Manuel, and she'd been visited in her dreams by Mick once or twice, but none of their psychic touches had felt anything like this. Gene's presence crossed the borders of her consciousness so silently that she was not aware of him until he was all around her. He then seemed to enfold her in his dark wings, and she could swear she heard the rustling of feathers. His wings touched every part of her, but not threateningly so: she actually felt, for the first time in ages, as though she were completely safe.

No words were exchanged between them, mentally, but the oneness of thought was something altogether new to Jennifer. In her adult life, she'd felt herself come close to a number of people, and she'd felt emotionally united with another a time or two (typically during sex), but no one, not Carlos, not James, not Haroun, not even Manuel with his (often selfish) use of his powers, had brought her this close. She was, in a word, awed. It never even occurred to her that she should be scared, or should fight it. It was a very welcome, very unique, and very pleasing sensation. And to Jennifer, for whom emotional and physical closeness had always been too intertwined for her own good, it was more than slightly erotic.

Then a new sense added itself to this, as he guided her inner vision to take a look at her injury. Biology had never been her best subject, so she was again awed, this time at the sheer complexity of her own arm. Muscle, bone, sinew, all working together. Mother nature's machinery.

This in mind, she was positively sickened by the "sight" of her hand. From the outside, it had seemed bad enough, but viewing from the inside, she was dead certain it would never heal. There was just too much structural damage done to the machinery, and she had no idea where even to start.

But then Gene showed her, by giving her the mental view of his own hand, in soft contact with hers. He juxtaposed the two images, and she was able to see, as he did, which parts needed mending, and where to start.

And then he went to work, his seven focus points buzzing around like fireflies, pulling together torn muscle and fusing it, closing gouges in the bones, re-attaching the tendons and putting them back in place, joining broken arteries and veins and clearing away the already-formed scar tissue so the blood could flow again, and finally, and most painstakingly, sealing up the multiple layers of skin, joining each and every one of thousands of capillaries swiftly and efficiently.

And then it was done, but his presence lingered, perhaps reluctant to go. She couldn't blame him: she could go on feeling like this forever and never get tired of it.

But finally, with another imagined rustle of feathers, he was gone, and Jennifer's sight once more was her own. She slowly opened her eyes, and looked down at her left hand. The cut was gone, leaving nothing more than a line of discoloration where it had been.

"It's not exactly good as new," Gene whispered, his voice broken and distant, "but it'll heal now. Just try to avoid using it for a little while: some of the connections are fragile."

She nodded slowly, then took a deep, shaky breath. "You weren't kidding," she noted. "That was... pretty intense."

"Yeah," he replied, quietly.

She turned to look over her shoulder at him. He had his eyes closed, and was visibly tense. "Thanks," she whispered.

"You're very welcome," he said, opening his eyes to look into hers.

For a long while she sat there, leaning back against him, absently rubbing the line of discoloration on her palm with her opposite thumb. "I think I'd better go," she said, finally. "Gotta clear my head."

"Alright," he nodded.

Part of her was hoping he'd ask her to stay a while longer, but once he agreed with her, she took that as her cue to leave. She pushed herself up off the bed, then backed out of the room, watching him as she went. He, in turn, watched her.

As she reached the doorway, she smiled as best she could. "Thanks again."

This time, he simply nodded. He then closed his eyes, returned to the lotus position, and continued his meditation. As she watched, he began to hover again, and then his shadows came out. First came his wings, wrapped around himself, and then the blackness spread out to encompass the room.

Jennifer stepped out and closed the door behind her before it reached her. She then turned and leaned back against the closed door, taking a series of deep breaths. "Jesus Christ," she whispered to nobody in particular.

Wide awake now, she retraced her steps to the hallway, making a conscious effort to slow her racing pulse. Just when she thought she'd felt and experienced it all...

This time, as she came out into the main hall, she ran into Dani. "Hey, good morning!" Dani grinned. "How're you feeling?"

"He fixed my hand," Jennifer said absently, showing Danielle her mended palm.

"Wow, not too shabby!" Dani nodded. "Listen, I was just heading out front. Warlock just buzzed open the front gate, so I guess he made it back with your car!"

"My car?" she parroted. She'd forgotten all about it!

Dani led her out through the main front doors just as Warlock pulled the slightly weathered and dusty MR-2 down the cobblestone driveway and parked it right out in front of the doors, next to Doug's BMW. He then stepped out, and grinned at the two ladies from behind a pair of shades.

"Salutations, friends DaniAndJenny!" he called. "Self is home with The Stuff!"

McAudry House, three hours later

"Yes, but will it work?"

Doug gave Dani a sideways look, then indicated the rebuilt raygun in his hands. "If Warlock and I were right, then yes, it should. We made a full scan of my current physiological state, compared it with Warlock's memories of my previous state, and figured out how this little sucker made those changes."

"And now it can undo it?"

"Affirmative, frienDani," Warlock reported. "Self is certain that the correct modifications have been made. It was simply necessary that self and frienDoug..."

Dani held up one hand to him. "No, stop right there. I really don't want the technobabble explanation. I'll take your word that you know what you're doing."

"Well, I'm still not certain, though," Doug admitted, rubbing his face with one hand. "Warlock can't merge with Jenny or Sharon without risking the Virus, so I have to assume that a reversal that would work for me would also work for them. It's completely invalid scientifically, it involves a lot of guesswork, and..."

"And it's all we've got," Dani reminded him.

Doug frowned at this reminder. He didn't really want to think about that part. "Before we take it to Jenny and Sharon, though, I want you to use it on me."

"Me?" Dani asked, surprised, as Doug held the rifle out to her. "Why me?"

"Because Warlock's going to be merged with me when it happens, to monitor whether or not it's working as intended, and I'd rather not sample the output at pointblank range. It's not going to blow up, trust me."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as ever."

"That's what worries me."

"Dani," Doug said, looking at her straight on, "we're never going to find out if we talk this to death. Since we don't have controlled laboratory conditions to do this in, we just have to make do with what's at hand."

She accepted the rifle from him, nodding slowly. "Okay, if you're sure this won't hurt either one of you."

"Selves are willing to assume this risk, frienDani," Warlock replied.

"Why do I find that less than heartening?" she sighed. She then placed the stock against her shoulder and sighted down the barrel at Doug. "I hate guns, you know. Give me a longbow anyday."

"I doubt they had you in mind when they designed it," Doug commented, dryly. "Okay, 'Lock, you ready?"

"Affirmative."

Doug and Warlock crossed to the opposite side of the garage, away from the workbench, paused a moment to ready themselves, then stepped into one another, and merged.

As always, the psychemerge was a rush for Doug, as his senses shifted to technoid parameters, but here again, the input was simply too much for him to handle without his powers. Thankfully, Warlock shut down most of the input, allowing Doug his own vision. Blinking a couple of times to restore focus, Doug looked across the space at Dani, who was regarding them somewhat hesitantly. Without further comment, though, she once again set the stock against her shoulder and sighted down the barrel at them.

"Whenever you're ready," Doug told her.

Dani fired, and as before, a green beam of energy shot from the rifle and enveloped the merged pair in an aura of brilliant light. The radiance persisted for only a couple of seconds, then faded.

As it did, though, Doug felt that no discernable change had occurred. "Oh, crap," he sighed.

"Didn't work?" Dani asked.

"According to self's scans," Warlock said aloud, "process has been reversed, and powers have been restored."

"It doesn't feel any different, though," Doug frowned. "Well, only one way to find out, I guess. Warlock, let's go back to a complete merge, okay?"

"Affirmative, frienDoug."

And then came a very noticeable shift of perspective, as Warlock once again opened Doug's mind to the technoid's own sensory input. As before, Doug suddenly perceived the world in thousands of ways, all different, all combining into a cohesive picture. Each piece of data was translated and comprehended, taking its place in the larger image.

"That's it!" Doug whooped. "Warlock, open it up! Give me as much as we can take in!"

In silent assent, Warlock began adjusting to take in countless radio signals, picking up every radio station, television channel, CB, police broadcast, incoming sattelite signal, cel-phone and cordless phone in the greater San Diego area. Not since the Techworld had Doug experienced so many transmissions coming in at once.

But he understood them. Through the babble, his reawakened power filtered out each individual signal, allowing him to discard the private calls, then "channel-surf" through the public broadcasts, understanding each perfectly as he went.

"Yes!" Doug shouted, pulling one fist back in a gesture of triumph. "Warlock, bud, we did it!"

Warlock separated himself from his partner, took on his human form, and offered one hand for a high-five. "Observation: Team Supreme again proves equal to task."

"I'll take that as a success, then?" Dani asked, raising her eyebrows at them.

"The Cyph-meister is baaaa-aaack!" Doug grinned. "Come on, let's go find the others."
 
 

To Doug's relief, they found Jenny, Catseye, Angie and Brynn all together, in Catseye's room, having what appeared to be a meaningful talk. Sharon was sitting up in bed, hugging her legs to her chest, while Marie-Ange sat beside her, holding her friend close. Jennifer had pulled up a chair beside the bed, and Brynn was leaning up against Sharon's desk.

All four ladies looked up as Doug, Warlock and Danielle crowded in. "Good news," Doug told them.

"You got it working?" Brynn asked, brightening.

"Affirmative, CuzEntityBrynn," Warlock replied.

"Oh, c'est bien," Marie-Ange sighed, looking immensely relieved. She turned to Sharon and hugged her closer. "You see? Everything will be alright soon."

Sharon, however, looked decidedly uncheered by the news. She looked up at Doug with eyes red and puffy from crying. "Catseye hates being smoothskin," she whispered.

"Are you sure it'll work?" Jenny asked, looking skeptical.

"All I can say for sure is that it worked for me," Doug admitted. "Whether it'll do the same for you is still up for debate. The question now is whether the two of you want to risk it."

"Give Catseye's fur back, goldenmane," Sharon said in a low but hard voice.

"Okay, we will," Doug assured her. "We'd better go someplace other than this to..."

Before Doug could finish the sentence, Sharon leaped out of Marie-Ange's reach, grabbed Doug by the front of his shirt, and brought her face right up to his. Though her eyes were human now, and she no longer had her fangs, she was one of the most menacing sights Doug had ever beheld. "Do now," she growled. "No wait! Now!"

"Okay, okay!" Doug assented, as Marie-Ange and Jennifer both pulled Sharon away from him. "Just... go back to where you were sitting. Angie, Jenny, move back. We'd better do this one at a time. We, ah, might want to clear the room, though. This could be dangerous..." He said this last looking right at Brynn.

"I'm not going anywhere," Brynn replied, in a purely conversational tone.

Doug looked around at the rest of them, and saw that they echoed the sentiment. "Fine," he sighed. "Can you all at least get behind me? You know, humor me, make me feel like I really am team leader, that kind of thing?"

"Come on, let's move it back," Dani said in humored agreement. "Wouldn't want to bruise our fearless leader's ego, now, would we?"

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Doug snorted. He then regarded the rifle in his hands, and looked up at Sharon, who was looking back at him, anxiously. "You ready?"

She nodded quickly. "Do. Please."

"Right," Doug replied. He then raised the rifle, sighted it, and fired.

Sharon barely flinched as the beam hit her, and as the glow faded, she sat there, blinking, looking positively baffled.

"Did it work?" Jenny asked in the silence that followed.

"Don't know," Sharon replied, looking at her still-human hand.

"You won't be able to tell until you try to use your powers," Doug told her. "What do you usually do to..."

Before he could finish, Sharon morphed right there in front of them, back into her familiar big-cat shape. With an ecstatic cry and a huge grin, she leaped straight for Doug and bowled him over, knocking the whole crowd into a tangle as she hugged Doug and licked his face.

"I think it worked!" Dani laughed.

"Ooh, thank you, goldenmane and 'lectro!" Catseye purred. "Is much better now!

"Er- you're welcome!" Doug managed, trying to maintain his grip on the gun. "Careful now, kittycat, we don't want to break this thing just yet."

Catseye hopped back, grinned at all assembled, then took a deep breath. "Well! If smoothskins do not mind, Catseye has muchneed for romp in yard to stretch."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Marie-Ange asked, kneeling beside her and giving her a concerned look.

Catseye returned the look with a puzzled expression. "Of course, redhair! Catseye fine, Catseye happy! Is nothing wrong. Must go romp now, though." With a last grin at everyone, she sprang for the open door and disappeared through the whatever-room and down the hall.

Marie-Ange stood up, shaking her head. "And here I thought she might be a long time recovering."

"The wonders of denial," Dani snorted.

"Well, at least she's fixed," Doug sighed.

"You oughtta be careful using the word 'fixed' around a cat, Boy Lingo," Jenny added, giving him a sardonic look.

"Yeah, well, it's your turn now, Jen," Doug told her, indicating the rifle. "You feeling lucky?"

Doug was expecting another rejoinder, but instead, Jenny just stared at the gun, arms crossed, looking thoughtful. "You know... I was thinking that maybe it'd be best if I just stayed like I am now."

"Quoi?" Marie-Ange asked, shocked.

"What're you talking about?" Doug asked.

Jennifer sighed heavily. "Well, it's my powers that got me into this mess. Using 'em too much was killing me, and then having 'em taken away ended up killing a bunch of other people. I don't like having that kind of potential. It might be better for me if I just forgot about having powers and got on with my life."

There was a long silence, as no one could think of anything to say.

At length, though, Jennifer's mouth slowly twisted into a smile. "On the other hand, it'd be boring as shit. Shoot me."

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Sunday, 6 February 1994 3:21 pm EST

The gala in the underground Ready Room ended up serving two purposes, both intended (a seventeenth birthday party for Hellion C-Teamer Keiko Kimota) and unintended but very welcome (giving the kids a chance to get together socially one last time before classes and responsibilities kicked in). All of the current Hellions were in attendance, including both Cassie Spangler and William Buchwald, the former of which was met with much rejoicing, the latter considerably less so (but Gilbert was determined that he would fit in, and in time, he did).

Mick spent most of the party on the "sidelines," chatting amiably with any of the kids who drifted his way, but mostly watching. Watching as Cassie, her pain for the moment forgotten, played guitar/hand-drum duets with A.C. to entertain both themselves and the others. Watching as Gilbert introduced William to those who had not yet met the mysterious Camouflage. Watching as Kyle Burns and Marsha Wilson spent most of the gathering sitting off by themselves, having what looked like an uncharacteristically heavy talk for the circumstances (Mick hoped that Marsha would admit needing help soon and come to him, but until then, there really wasn't much he could do as a therapist). Watching as Keiko, easily the most introverted Hellion ever to grace the Academy's hallowed halls, tried to deal with being the center of most of the attention, never leaving the side of her best friend, Akiko Tanaka. Watching as Kristina Yarborough fielded question after question about her heart condition, apparently reassuring everyone present except herself and Buford McGwynn, her ever-loyal boyfriend. Watching as Giancarlo Annichiarico drifted from conversation to conversation, flirting in that subtle-as-a-brick way of his, finally sidling up beside Akiko for a chat, and thus annoying the hell out of Haroun Al-Rashid, who'd already been talking to Akiko, but who would not let himself get visibly upset at the interruption.

Watching the wildlife. The innerworkings of one of the most complicated groups of peers Mick could imagine. Kids from any number of radically different backgrounds thrown together under the common name of mutant, and it was Mick's job, along with Tessa and A.C., to make sure they all worked together as a single well-oiled machine. As if they had a hope in hell of attaining that lofty goal, Mick knew, but he had to admit, they were doing quite well given the circumstances. Perhaps the recent trials had done them some good after all.

The party was over an hour old by the time Emma showed up, rolling onto the scene in her wheelchair, looking an odd mix of humored and relieved. Mick noticed she had a cellular phone on her lap, and found himself idly wondering what for.

"Headmistress, you came!" Akiko smiled, noticing her first.

"Of course I came," Emma smiled in reply, carefully wheeling up beside where Akiko, Keiko, Haroun and Giancarlo were sitting. "I wouldn't have missed it, Keiko. Happy birthday."

"Arigato," Keiko nodded, nervously (one of these days, Mick hoped, she'd be able to address the Headmistress in something other than a nervous tone). "I am glad to see you are well."

"I would have been here sooner," Emma went on, "but..." She then paused, and cleared her throat. "If I may have everyone's attention?"

Her voice alone didn't quite do the job, so she repeated herself, this time adding in her telepathy. *If I may have everyone's attention, please?*

This time, she got the desired effect. Conversations gradually dwindled down, and all eyes went to Frost. She smiled at them. "Thank you. As I was just telling Keiko, I would have been here sooner, but I received a telephone call from Jennifer." She held up the phone she'd been carrying on her lap. "I have her on the line now, and she'd like to speak with each of you."

As soon as her name was spoken, Mick immediately looked to Haroun, to see his reaction. While several others immediately volunteered to be the first to speak with Jennifer, Haroun was somewhat less enthusiastic. He took the ensuing reaction as an opportunity to slip away from Akiko and wander over to the refreshment table, this time making a visible effort to maintain his composure.

It was by no means a perfect machine, Mick reminded himself. Every once in a while, it was bound to strip a few gears.

McAudry House, twenty minutes later

Jennifer sat back on the couch, not sure how to take this latest news. "And no one knows what happened to Paul?" she asked. "Not even Emma?"

"Well, we haven't had the chance to find out," Cassie replied over the phone. "Ms. Frost's been in recovery herself, you know."

"Yeah, she told me."

"So that makes any deep-mind work impossible right now. Not that any of that ever did anything before, but it's gotta be worth a try."

"God, I'm sorry, Cass..."

"Ehh, you know Paul. He's probably taking his own sweet time getting better just so's he can piss me off in the interim. He'll be along."

Jennifer nodded, but from the tone of Cassie's voice, she didn't really believe her own reassurances. But all the same, Jennifer found herself half-heartedly echoing them. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"So, when you coming home, skins?" Cassie asked, making an obvious effort to wrench the topic of conversation away from herself. "We miss you 'round here, y'know."

"I know, I miss you guys too, but... I still need a little time off."

"Yeah, I guess you weren't really taking much of a vacation, were you?"

"Not really."

"So you gonna hang with Go West for a while? Can we reach you there?"

Jennifer took an involuntary look around the room, just to check that no one was listening. Her hosts had vacated the room to give her space, but she just had to be sure. "Maybe. I'm really just not sure right now. I'll need to think about it some more. But this time I'll keep in touch."

"You'd better, girl. Don't make me have to come out there and kick your butt."

In spite of herself, Jennifer gave a snort of laughter. "I'm shaking."

"Hey, look, this call's already costing Ms. Frost her entire fortune, so lemme put someone else on. Now you call me, Jenny, I mean that! If I'm not at my place, I'm probably at Mick's."

"Aha!" Jennifer crowed. "You and mister tall, tan and Aussie getting serious, eh?"

"Yeah, well, some part of life has to be good. Lemme grab Gilberto for you. Take care, willya?"

"Don't I always?" Jennifer replied, but by then, the phone was already being passed. After a few moments of relative silence, a new voice spoke. "Jenny?"

"Hey, Gilbert," she said in a wry tone. "How're you feeling?"

"Lemme get back to you on that," Gilbert replied. "There's someone here I'd like you to talk to."

"Who?" she asked, but there was no immediate answer. After a while, yet another voice replaced Gilbert's, and for the life of her, she couldn't place it.

"H'lo?"

"Um, hi. Who's this?"

"It's... Will. Will Buchwald."

The name took a few moments to click, but once it did, she felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. "Oh. Oh, hi."

"How ya doin'?"

"Oh, Jesus, I... I'm sorry. How are you?"

"Shoulder still hurts. Nothin' major."

"Geez, kiddo, I... I don't know what to say, I..."

"Gilly and Mick told me what happened," he said, almost nonchalantly. "I guess I kinda can't blame you."

"Oh," she said, quietly, and then stopped dead. What kind of pleasant conversation was she supposed to make with someone she'd shot and threatened to kill for a crime he hadn't committed?

Thankfully, Will seemed to feel the same way. "I'll put Gilly back on. Take it easy."

"Yeah, you too," she whispered.

After a pause, Gilbert came back. "So how's tricks, Jen?"

"Tell me something, Buns. Have you always had cojones this big, or is this just a recent development?"

"I think I got 'em traipsing across the country with you."

"Great. I've created a friggin' monster. What did you have to do that for?"

"Just wanted you to know that he doesn't hold a lot against you. And I hope you realize how lucky you are that he doesn't. His brother still refers to you as 'that crazy blonde bitch,' though, far as I know."

"Wonderful." Jenny paused before going on. "Here I was, gonna say something nice to you, and you have to give me attitude."

"Well, you have to admit, you took me for the ride of my life."

"I know; that's what I wanted to tell you about. I just wanted to say thanks. I don't know what I would have done out there without you. You... you do know I never would have hurt you, even there at the end, right?"

"I preferred to think that you missed me on purpose," Gilbert said softly. "It helped me sleep nights."

"Oh, yeah, I also have all your stuff. I'll get that sent out to you soon as I can, okay?"

"I'd appreciate that. It's not much, but it's pretty important to me."

"I figured. Don't worry, I didn't read your journal."

"Appreciate that too. Are you coming back anytime soon?"

Same question. everybody was asking it. "I don't know. Probably not for a little while, but I really will be in touch this time."

"Good. Um, anyone else you want to talk to?"

"Oh, just grab whoever's there."

"Here, I'll get the birthday girl. See you soon, okay?"

Another pause, and then a very small voice replaced Gilbert's. "Konnichi wa, Jennifer-sama."

"Keiko!" Jenny replied, brightly. "How's the big day been for you?"

"Very well, thank you. It is... better... to have heard from you."

"Aw, that's sweet," Jennifer smiled, and actually meant it, with no sarcasm in the tone. "How many is this for you?"

"Seventeen."

"That's a good year to be. You make the most of it, now."

"Arigato. Are you coming home soon?"

This time, Jennifer had to laugh. "Not right away, but thanks for asking. I'll probably wander back that way after a while, but not just yet."

"I hope it is soon. We have missed you, Jennifer-sama."

"Thanks, kiddo, I miss you guys too. I'll get a card sent your way real soon, okay? Sorry I missed the party."

"I will..." Keiko suddenly broke off. "There is someone else here to speak to you."

"Okay. See you later, then!"

Again, another pause. Again, another voice. "Jennifer, it's Haroun."

She'd recognized his voice even before he said his name. "Hi," she said, simply.

"Are you well?"

"Yeah... pretty much."

A pause. "Did they hurt you badly?"

"Ehh, I've had worse." She wasn't even going out of her way to be particularly terse: it just seemed to be happening on its own. She hadn't expected he'd even be at Keiko's party, much less willing to speak with her on the phone. "How've you been? Doug tells me you got ripped pretty hard."

"Much better, thank you. In fact, I'm in better condition now than ever. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," she sighed, frustrated. Way back when, she'd found his overprotectedness a somewhat laughable, though loveable quality. Now, it just rode her nerves. "I'm not completely helpless, you know."

"Yes, I'd noticed," he replied, in an odd tone. He didn't sound reflexively sarcastic, as she expected: he said it in a purely conversational way. "I'm glad to know your trip ended well, then. Let me give you back to the Headmistress."

Before she could get a word back at him, she heard the phone being passed yet again, and the next voice was Emma's. "One moment, my dear." The sounds of the party gradually faded, and eventually, she came back on the line. "There. We're at a safe distance. What in the world did Haroun have to say?"

"Just being himself," she growled. "Don't worry, I won't hold it against him too much."

"I'm sure he would appreciate that," Emma chuckled.

"Not that he'd ever tell me that he did."

"True. Now, if I may echo a question you've no doubt heard from all of your classmates, do you have any intention of returning soon?"

Jennifer let out a long sigh. "Not yet. I'm not sure that'd be a good idea right now."

"I understand. Will you at least be staying with Go West until you recover?"

"I... don't know. I'm not sure that'd be a good idea either. A little more time alone might do me some good, or at least time with people who're completely disconnected from the whole Good Fight, you know?"

"Of course. I had hoped that was your original intention when you left, though I must admit I suspected otherwise."

Jennifer had no desire to get into that whole topic. "Wherever I end up, though, I'll let you know first thing, okay?"

"Thank you. I will say, though, that you are still welcome to return. No one holds your actions against you. Even William seems to have accepted your motives."

"Yeah, that's what he said. I, um, don't really know what I could say to him, though."

"A bridge to be crossed at another time," said Emma. "To be honest, that one should be relatively easy after some of the others."

"I guess so." She let out another breath slowly. "I guess I'd better go. I've got things to... think about."

"Alright. You know where to find us."

"Yep. I'll give you a call soon, okay?"

"Very well. And Jennifer..?"

Emma's voice broke off, so Jennifer prompted her. "Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself. I would... that is to say I..."

Again, she stopped. "What?" Jennifer asked, as gently as she could.

"Let me just say that if anything were to happen to you, I would be..."

"I know," Jennifer whispered. "Thanks, Ms. Frost."

"Jennifer, you always refer to me as Emma behind my back. The least you could do is call me Emma to my face." She said this with humor, rather than irritation, and Jennifer had to smile.

"Okay, if you say so, Emma. 'Bye."
 
 

Out in front of the house, Doug, Brynn, Dani and Harris stood in a loose clump near the garage, just enjoying the relative peace and quiet outside. The lattermost had arrived a while before, after having heard, belatedly, the news of the battle on television. Since Harris by now knew about "The Whole Mutant Thing" (as he described it to Doug), his concern had been immediately piqued, and he'd headed over with all speed to get the full report.

"I'll never understand how you guys manage," Harris commented at length. "You're going to school full-time, you're trying to put a band together, you're most of you going to be in the show on-campus, and yet you still find time to go out and battle the Friends of Hypocrisy on weekends."

"Trust me, man," Doug sighed. "I don't know how we do it either."

"I just hope no one suspects you," Brynn pointed out. "I mean, none of you guys are really celebrities, but lots of people know who Shadowwing was. If people see him hanging around here, they could put two and two together and figure out that you guys are the people who were with him in Vegas."

"What in the world would they have to suspect?" Doug shrugged. "We're just a bunch of people from wildly different ethnic backgrounds and nationalities all living together under one roof and spending most of our spare time together. Never mind the very quiet VTOL jet that tears out of here every once in a great while."

"Sarcasm?" Dani asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Maybe a little. That's a good point about Gene, though I'd hate to just give him the boot after all he went through for Jenny's sake."

Harris looked at Doug askance. "You do know that there's a pretty strong rumor in the music department that Lea -- I mean Sharon -- is a mutant, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Doug sighed. "That really can't be avoided. Do they ever ask you about it, since you hang around with us?"

"Sometimes, but I've just been saying that she has funky eyes, so she has to wear shades all the time. I think it's pretty much accepted that if she is a mutant, she's just one of those mutants who just looks a little different, so no one really worries about it."

"Then hopefully they won't start worrying now," Brynn added.

"I don't think they will," Harris replied. "Everyone seems to like her."

"I hope that's enough," Doug nodded.

"Hey, here's an idea," said Harris, snapping his fingers as the idea came. "Maybe we could have her speak at a M.O.N.S.T.E.R. meeting sometime, and that way we'll head off the rumors at the pass. She's not the only low-level mutant to have secretly gone to this school, after all."

"We may want to wait a while before trying something like that," Doug answered, shaking his head. "That might bring on a little too much publicity, whether we ask for it or not. And then it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out about the rest of us."

That said, there followed a lengthy, thoughtful silence, then Dani pushed herself to her feet and looked over at Brynn. "You ready for that ride home?"

"Sure," Brynn shrugged. "Whenever you are."

"Thanks for coming, cuz," Doug smiled at her.

"What for?" Brynn asked him. "I couldn't do anything!"

"You might think that, but you came anyway," he nodded. "That makes all the difference."

Brynn smiled, gave Doug a hug, then she and Dani got into the truck and headed off, waving back as they left the driveway. "I'll tell everyone you're all okay!" Brynn called through the open window.

"Thanks!" Doug shouted back.

After a while, Harris clapped him on the shoulder. "So, since I'm already a member of the in crowd, when do I get to meet this certain blonde you guys rescued?"

"Soon as she's off the phone, I guess."

"Always willing to meet friends of friends, especially blonde ones. She'll probably hate me."

"Could be," Doug replied, deadpan. "I hear she's a drummer, though."

"Really? Cool. We can talk about playing the spaces."

"I don't doubt it."

From the journal of Etienne Delacroix (Translated from the French)
Dimanche, 6 Fevrier 1994

I am not certain where to begin. It has been years since I kept any sort of written account of my life, and I must admit to being out of practice. With all that has happened since returning home, however, I have decided to continue. My friend, counselor and teammate Mick has often spoken of the therapeutic value of keeping a journal, so I am starting with this.

Still, where should I begin the narrative? I suppose the recent difficulties all go back to the attack on the Academy by the madman Brainwash, and the damage wreaked upon my brother's mind. Jean-Pierre survived, but lost all of his recent memory, including the whole of our time at the Academy. I felt it would be best if we returned home for a time. My idea was that Jean-Pierre's memory might improve if he returned to a place he still remembered.

Then, of course, there was the selfish motive. I had to get away, before all of my friends could be turned against me.

The battle could have ended so many ways! But it ended with me, with my lightning, and with the death of Brainwash at my hands. As much as I hate to think it, the man had to die. He would have killed us, one by one, as he killed Paul, and tried to kill Jean-Pierre. It was a true fight for our lives, where we had no choice but to kill or be killed. If it had not been me, it could have been Akiko charring the man to a blackened husk, or Buford crushing him with one blow, or any number of deaths. I honestly believe that all of us, at the time, were fighting to kill. It just happened to fall to me.

And then the word, the ugly word. Murder. The word Doctor Kokiadis used to describe what I had done. Not defense of myself, my brother, and my friends. Murder. Suddenly I was the villain, and not the man who had tortured and tried to kill us.

I know that my actions were understood, at least by Buford, Kristina and Mick, but I saw the way some of the others looked at me. "How could you, Etienne?" their eyes seemed to say. As if they would have done differently, all of them. They were not there! They did not see what we endured, so they believed Doctor Kokiadis. They saw me as a murderer, as he did.

And why not? They follow him so blindly, and accept his every word so readily, desperate as so many have been for guidance since we lost Marie-Ange those months ago. Along came this man with his non-conformist ways, drawing the students to him to improve his position in his obvious and continuous disagreements with the Headmistress, charming them with his music and informality and constant affected jesting. When he called me a murderer, they were only too apt to agree.

But enough about that. I did what I had to. Those who know me would understand that.

I had hoped that returning home would be a solution, but unfortunately, it has been anything but. Instead, I am even more troubled than before.

When father died years ago, his last wish was that his children would be well cared for in his absence. Legally, the home belongs to the three of us -- myself, Jean-Pierre and Monique -- with the provision that it could not be sold until such time as I, the youngest, turned eighteen years of age. After this, if we all agreed, we could sell the home, split the value evenly, and go on with our adult lives. A simple enough twist to father's last will, to make certain that his three children would have a home, and income from a trust fund, until adulthood.

When Jean-Pierre and I left for America, Monique, by far the oldest of father's children, remained here in Tarascon, living in this house where we grew up, working as a schoolteacher and doing quite well with herself. In our letters and telephone calls, Jean-Pierre and I discussed with her what was to be done with the house, but since she was putting it to such good use, and since we were lacking for nothing at the Academy, there seemed no need to take the option of selling even after I turned eighteen. To be honest, I was relieved, as I was uncomfortable with the idea that this house would leave our family, and I hated to think that I would not have this home to return to ever again.

But now, quite suddenly, this has all changed.

Recently, before Jean-Pierre and I returned, Monique became engaged to be married. At the time, this seemed like wonderful news, but in light of recent events, it has put the three of us in a most uncomfortable position. When she marries, she intends to join her husband in Paris, and seek employment there.

I love my sister dearly, and to me she has always been of my blood, even though we had different mothers, and even though she is so much older than Jean-Pierre and myself. I am overjoyed to know that she is in love at last, and will not be the "old maid" she often imagined herself to become.

But in order to move to Paris and start her new life there, she will need her part of the inheritance, and this means that the house must be sold. She had intended to ask us, of course, for our approval, but even as she made plans to seek a buyer, along we came, in desperate need of a familiar home, Jean-Pierre's memory shattered by a madman.

In returning, we have placed our sister in a terrible dilemma. After what we have suffered, she had no wish to welcome us with the idea of finally losing our family home. It was in fact three days before she even told me about her intentions. And what a choice we have given her. She loves her fiancé, and wishes to move to Paris and marry him, but she cannot do so while maintaining this home in Tarascon -- she simply cannot afford it, and her husband-to-be is not, to put it mildly, an affluent fellow. And yet she has no wish to put our poor brother though the trauma of losing the only home he remembers, now that he has returned to it. Nor do Jean-Pierre and I have the resources to simply buy her third of the home.

So many problems to be faced. For my own part, I pray that Jean-Pierre regains his memory soon, or at least comes to peace with the idea that it may indeed be gone forever, for we cannot stay here. We cannot allow Monique to jeopardize her own long-awaited happiness. The question, though, is how do I tell Jean-Pierre that we must leave, now that he is finally home?

Wherever we go, though, it shall be together. I will never allow such harm to come to my brother again.

I am beginning to wonder why Mick and so many others speak of the value of writing such a journal. All I have managed to do is upset myself further. Perhaps if I have more to say later, I shall continue.

-EFD

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Sunday, 6 February 1994 11:07 pm PST

Rahne Sinclair was having considerable trouble falling asleep.

She couldn't really blame the tumult of the past twenty-four hours, though that probably had at least a little to do with it. Somehow, she got the idea that Jennifer's arrival was going to complicate matters, simply from the way Douglas was reacting to things. Rahne herself was no great friend of Jennifer's, but she had nothing against allowing her to stay as long as she needed to, or even permanently, as Sharon and Marie-Ange had. This made yet another founding member of the Hellions that had abandoned the Academy, though, and Rahne had no idea why. There probably was a reason, just as there was a reason that Marie-Ange and Sharon no longer even contacted their former school, but no one had apparently seen fit to inform Rahne what this reason was.

Given her own previous experiences with the Hellions, though, it was probably best that she didn't know. Her imagination could come up with plenty of horrible scenarios as it was: she didn't want to find which of them was reality.

It could have been the tension over Sharon's condition, but Sharon's condition was no longer an issue. Since having her powers restored, she had been her old self, and did not even hint that anything had ever been wrong. There was vague worry over her unnaturally speedy recovery, but this wasn't what was keeping her from sleep.

More likely, it was Ric.

Tonight, as so many other nights, they lay together in her bed, holding close, falling asleep in each other's company. Any other time, this was fine, but after what had happened last night, Rahne's anxieties were riding high.

Maybe she'd been shocked out of her insecurity by the past day's events. Maybe her more natural state of shyness had returned. Maybe she'd just recovered her senses. Whatever it was, she found that whatever had been pressing her to... be with Ric the night before was not there. Again, it felt too soon. She wanted him, and she knew that she did, but tonight that want was not at the very front of her mind. As a result, she was terrified of what she would say to him when the subject of the previous night came up in conversation.

To her disquiet, though, it had not come up tonight. Ric had not even mentioned it. It had been like any other night, and the longer Ric did not ask the inevitable, the more tense Rahne had become.

Finally, she could bear no more of the waiting. "Ric?" she said into the darkness.

"Hmm?" he replied, sleepily.

"We... should talk."

"'Bout what?" he yawned.

How could he be so relaxed about this? "About what happened last night."

"Okay."

Silence reigned.

"What about it?" Ric asked, finally.

"Are ye not angry with me?" Rahne sighed, exasperated. "Last night, I all but ripped off yuir clothes, and..."

"And now?" he asked, when she stopped.

She couldn't tell him. As much as she wanted to make him understand, she couldn't find the words.

"It was too soon, wasn't it?" he asked.

It took Rahne a while to register that he had just echoed her own thoughts, and once she did, she found she could not believe it. "Aye," she whispered. "I... dinna know how to explain, but..."

"It's okay," he whispered in reply. "I figured it was something like that. Maybe you were just scared, maybe I was givin' you pressure, maybe it was 'cause we'd had that talk about Lucy the night before... Whatever it was, don't worry 'bout it."

She propped herself up on her elbows, and tried to find his eyes in the darkness. "Ye mean that?" she asked. "'Tis that easy?"

"Never said it was easy," he murmured, sleepily, "but yeah, I mean it. Look, we've gone through this before. Whenever you're ready, I'll be here. I mean it. I'm not goin' anywhere. If you're not ready now, that's okay, 'cause you're worth waiting for."

Still somewhat amazed that he was being so understanding about this, Rahne gratefully lay her head on his chest and held him. "Thank ye, Ric. 'Tis not that I dinna want ye, 'tis just..."

"I know," he said, his voice on the edge of sleep. "Don't worry about it. We can just wait 'til we get married."

After a long, long pause, Rahne again pushed herself up, and this time gave him a thoroughly amazed look. By this time, though, he seemed to have fallen asleep.

Needless to say, she was no closer to falling asleep than before.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Monday, 7 February 1994 6:30 am PST

Most of the time, Doug had a pretty good internal clock, and didn't need an alarm to wake him in the morning. This morning was an exception, though, as the weekend had thrown him more than a little off-kilter.

He did manage to get the alarm shut off after the first two beeps, though, hoping to avoid waking Marie-Ange and Sharon unnecessarily. Marie-Ange did stir slightly, but did not seem to awaken, and Sharon, curled up in cat-form at the end of the bed as so many times before, did not so much as twitch her ears. Doug had the feeling that she could wake up if she wanted to, but was simply choosing not to.

He quietly slipped out of bed, stretched, and considered his options as he crossed the short distance to the bathroom door. Marie-Ange and Sharon were already planning on taking the day off from school to be with Jennifer, and Doug was tempted to do the same, even as much as he needed to go to a couple of his classes. Then there was the matter of the Rush concert tonight: would it be prudent to go off to a rock show so soon after the new arrivals' arrival? He considered offering Jennifer his ticket: while he'd hate to miss one of his favorite bands in concert, it might do her more good to have this chance to go let loose at a nice, loud show.

By the time he got to the bathroom and noticed the handwritten page taped to the mirror, though, this train of thought went straight off the tracks.

Before reading the note, even, he poked into Ric's room, which she had been borrowing (and which shared this bathroom with Doug's), and took a quick look around. All of her stuff, such as it had been, was gone. He didn't even need to check for the absence of the MR-2 to know that the note was a goodbye letter.

Nevertheless, he took it down from the mirror and read it.

Dear everyone:

By the time you get this note, I'll have already left. Don't worry, this time I know what I'm doing. I'm grateful that you guys came to my rescue, and I'm thankful for the offer to stay a while, but I really need a little time to think about some things first.

Angie+Sharon: I don't know what to think about you guys still being alive. I really thought you were dead for a long time, and even though you had your reasons, I don't know if I'm ready to see you two on a daily basis again just yet. You two are my best friends ever, but I need to get used to you not being dead, now that I've spent so long getting used to the other. I don't know whether I should be doing cartwheels or being royally pissed off. Either way, I know I'll see you guys soon.

Doug+Warlock: Same goes for you guys. Thanks for the rescue, and double thanks for getting my powers running again. Forget what I said yesterday- I'm feeling a lot more human now that I've got them back, however much sense that makes.

Gene: Sorry to leave just as things were getting interesting. No offense to anyone else, but I was really thinking about asking you to come with me- I'd really like the chance to get to know you better sometime down the line. If you end up taking off, be sure to leave word somewhere of how I can look you up, okay? I'm not the mushy type, really, but I owe you whole bunches of thanks. You had no reason to get into this kind of trouble to save an ingrate like me, but you did it anyway. Whatever anyone else said about you back in S.B., you're a real hero. Just don't go getting killed, okay?

Everyone: Like I said, I'll probably be back. You can't get rid of me that easily. Meanwhile, though, I'll be having a little Fun Therapy. That's always been a good cure.

See you soon,

Jenny

Doug sighed. All of a sudden, he didn't feel much like going to school, but for an entirely different reason.

He went back into the room, where Angie and Sharon were still sleeping. He knelt down next to his sleeping love, and absently reached to brush her long hair away from her face. She smiled, and nuzzled her face deeper into her pillow.

He considered waking her up to tell her the news, but there was no sense disturbing what looked like a good dream just to tell her. Better to let her rest, and when she awoke, he'd make sure he was here to tell her.

Just to be sure, though, he tied on his robe, put on a pair of sandals, and quietly made his way around to the front of the house. As he stepped out into the relatively chilly morning air and took a look around the front driveway area, he saw that Jennifer's car was, in fact, gone.

He stood there for a few moments, arms crossed, lost in thought. At length, he became aware that someone had joined him out on the porch, and as he looked over, he was not nearly as surprised as he probably should have been to see Gene there, already fully dressed, wearing black jeans and a black turtleneck. He looked as though he could barely stand, and was doing so out of sheer bravado.

"Up early?" Doug asked.

He nodded, then took the same look around. "She's gone, isn't she?" he said at length.

"Yeah. I'm afraid so."

"Somehow I had the feeling she'd go. There was a lot she wasn't saying, but..." He left the last thought unsaid.

Doug nodded slowly, but didn't say anything.

"Seems like that back history I don't know anything about might have something to do with it." Gene went on.

In spite of himself, Doug laughed at this blatant hint. "Yeah, probably. You hungry? I can make breakfast and tell you about it."

"Sounds marvelous."

Next: "Young Girls are Coming to the Canyon" ("Twelve-Thirty")

Go West #26: "The Big Wheel"
by Jeremy Bottroff, 26 May 1996

This story (c) 1996, 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

"The Big Wheel" performed by Rush, lyrics by Neil Peart, music by Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson, (c) 1991 CORE Music Publishing, from the album ROLL THE BONES

Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Beef, Bevatron, Chance, Marie-Ange Colbert (Tarot), Tom Corsi, Graydon Creed, Manuel De la Rocha (Empath), Sybil Dvorak (Gypsy Moth), Emma Frost (White Queen), Gomi, Jean Grey (Marvel Girl), Kate The Owner, Leech, Link, Danielle Moonstar (Mirage), James Proudstar (Thunderbird), Douglas Ramsey (Cypher), Rictor, Carlos Santiago, Mickey Silk (Poltergeist), Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane), Sharon Smith (Catseye), Jennifer Stavros (Roulette), Lucy Sterling, Tessa, Warlock, Charles Xavier (Professor X), Friends of Humanity, Hellions, M.O.N.S.T.E.R., New Mutants, X-Men, Genosha, Heartbreak Hotel, Massachusetts Academy, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters (c) 1999 Marvel Entertainment Group

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

Mike Boyle, William Buchwald (Camouflage), Kyle Burns (Wraith), Gerald Corvus, Jr. (Shadowwing), Gilbert Dane (Rabbit), Chief DeCandido, Jean-Pierre Delacroix (Lightningrod), Monique Delacroix, Linda DiAmato (Silence), Tom Grindle (Hardbody), Robert Jefferson (Bacchus), Ellis Raymond Joel (Stat), Keiko Kimota (Floater), Chanda MacPherson, Michael MacPherson (Dreamwalker), Michael McAudry, Hector Sanchez/Cantolobos (Wolfsong), Cassie and Paul Spangler (Gemini), Akiko Tanaka (Dragon), Marsha Wilson (Farsight), Kristina Yarborough (Embers) created by Jeremy Bottroff, (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

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

Devin Johnson (Brainwash), Sean McDermott (Pathfinder) created by Michael Jones, (c) 1999 Michael Jones/Everbard

A.C.'s answering machine message was again provided by Keith R.A. DeCandido.  Thanks, Keith!

Harris Finkelstein is (c) himself, as always

Star Trek (c) 1999 Paramount

So many fonts, so little time.  I sure hope this works...