*               *               *

    Just a little note of explanation about this piece of fan-fic.

        The story is a re-write of X-men #49, the one where Bishop goes into
the bar to confront the barwoman who kept watching him, and ended up smashing
up the place...yeah, you know the one.
    Anyway, while I thought the first half of that ish was pretty good, I was
somewhat annoyed at the ending (well, it was Lobdell, so that's not
surprising). So in all true fan-fic tradition, I decided to re-write it the
way I wanted to.

    The story starts off by repeating pages 11+12 (excl ads) of the issue, and
I take it from there. It might seem a little disjointed at first, to those of
you who haven't read the issue, but it should become clear after the first few
paragraphs.

    Enjoy

                *               *               *

        Disclaimer - not only are the characters portrayed in this work the
sole property of Marvel Comics, but the dialog in the first hundred lines or
so was written by Mark Waid, and the story accompanying it was written by
Scott Lobdell. It was translated into text by me, and all stuff after that was
written by me, and is copyright by me.
    I doubt I could make money out of it even if I tried, so Marvel have
nothing to worry about.

                *               *               *


    "Are you crazy, girl?"

    "Mrroaw" the little kitten replied, shifting slightly into a more
comfortable position while flicking a lazy eye open at its owner.

    "What are you doing there? You want to wake him up?"

    Pamela looked down at the both of them - 'him' being the large man lying
asleep on her sofa, currently providing a warm bed for her little kitten.
She knew it was a mistake to bring him here, she should have just run at the
first opportunity and left him, but somehow she felt she could trust him,
should trust him - give him a chance to explain what had happened, and
hopefully get to know him better...

    She still couldn't quite believe what was going on - a few hours ago this
man had burst into the bar and all but destroyed the place in a fit of anger,
using the incredible mutant powers he had to smash the place apart before
almost collapsing in sudden exhaustion in front of her. She barely knew him,
and had no idea why he was so angry at her, but on an impulse she had helped
him away from the place before the police arrived, and had half carried him up
here to her apartment to recover.

    She reached down to remove the cat.
    "C'mere, sweetie"

    "Meeaow" the cat complained, unhappy at being removed from its warm spot.

    "I know, I know - Mommy doesn't usually bring home strangers... well,
strange mutant men anyway - but what can I tell ya?" she scratched the kitten
behind its ears, to apologize for disturbing it and looked back down at the
man on the sofa.

    "There's something to this guy, something Mommy's been... looking for, you
might say."

    Bishop was his name. At least that's what his friends always called him.
She'd first seen him a few weeks ago, when she started work behind the bar. He
was always there with the same group of friends, and always drank the same
drink - a Dr. Peppers. She had noticed him the first time he walked in, and
had been unable to stop herself from stealing small glances at him all
evening.

    She'd hardly ever spoken to him, although she always managed to be the one
serving their group when they were in, but even so she still found him...
attractive. He was always polite, very formal and removed even around his
friends, as if he never relaxed, but she still sensed something... right ...
about him, as if she could trust him with anything.

    Until tonight.

    The kitten struggled in her arms, bored of being held now.
    "Oh, you! Yeah, yeah... I'm watching my back, okay?" She gently dropped
the kitten to the floor. "Sometimes, though, " she mused to herself "sometimes
someone special comes along... and you know that if he opens up to you, it'll
be --"

    "-- a mistake." The deep, gruff voice growled from behind her. He was
awake.

    "Lousy nap. I'm not thinking any clearer than before. Unfortunately for
you."

    She turned round with a sudden sense of panic - he was up, looming over
her with an angry snarl on his face. The panic clenched her heart tighter.

    "Aaah!...You can't-- what's that--"

    He was pointing something at her, something small and metal held inches
from her face.

    "- that g-gun?!" Oh god! It wasn't supposed to happen like this...
    "If you're a muh-mutant..." she stuttered, sudden fear thumping sickly in
her stomach "..why do yuh-you need a weapon?"

    "I absorb and rechannel energy. Energy's not something I have a lot to
spare at the moment." He was utterly still, not moving a muscle, watching
every move she made.  "I can probably work up enough to pull a trigger,
though."

    "God! No! Please!"  He's mad - he's going to kill me - "Why... why are you
so angry? Why?" In confusion and panic, her legs gave out and she sank to the
floor, beginning to cry.

    "Why?" He kept the gun trained on her "Because I look at you and I see
doubt! Because I want to trust you... and every instinct I have tells me to
blow you to Kingdom come! Because..."

    He took a deep breath. The woman was huddled on the floor in front of him,
she was no threat to anyone. It was the recent memories he was plagued with,
confusing him, making him see friends as enemies and enemies as friends...
He lowered the gun, trying to regain control over his feelings.

    "Because for the first time in my life... I can no longer rely on
instinct." Because I am confused "Get up, girl"

    "Pamela." she sniffed, her face hidden behind her hair. "My name is
Pamela."

    "Pamela." He put the gun back in its holster and stood over her, head
bowed in shame as he realized what he was doing. She looked up at him,
confusion and fear in her eyes. "Pamela. My name is Bishop, and I will not
hurt you. Get up."

    She stood up and ran her hands through her hair, sniffing back the last of
the tears, eyes still wide open looking at him. He had made a mistake. This
was not his time anymore, this was the past. Not everyone was a threat.

    She took a deep breath, watching him to see if he moved. He was still, his
head bowed, hands limp by his sides, all the anger gone out of him. The danger
and tension of the moment had passed, leaving her feeling suddenly drained as
the adrenaline surge sank away from her. He wasn't going to hurt her.

    "Then what the HELL were you DOING!?!You were going to KILL me!!" She was
suddenly angry, furious at him for making her feel so scared, furious that he
had had so much control over her life. She pointed a finger at him, hand
shaking through the backlash of fear and anger. "What is wrong with you?!"

    "I am sorry."

    "Not good enough! I want an explanation! I want you to... I want..." she
took a deep breath, regaining control over herself. "I'm going to get a
drink." She wiped her eyes with her hand and half ran out of the room into the
kitchen.



    Bishop moved over to the sofa and sat down, trying to make sense of what
he was feeling. His instincts told him she was a spy - he had watched her
watching him every time he went to that bar - seen her eyes on him in mirrors,
furtive glances towards him every time he moved away from his friends. In his
experience that was surveillance. Cheap and clumsy, but still not something he
could afford to ignore.

    But since arriving in this time he had come to learn more and more that
his experience wasn't necessarily relevant to this time, and that things were
very different here - more different than he could hope to understand. When he
was growing up, he had to watch everyone - everyone could be watching him,
spying on him, preparing to betray him. No-one was really innocent. No-one was
really trustworthy, except maybe his family, and the few friends he had.

    But here...? He was beginning to realize that his friends were right -
maybe she was just watching him because she liked him, maybe she was just
'flirting' with him... maybe the reason he found her so .. intriguing .. was
not because he had seen her before, or should be suspicious of her. Maybe
there was something else there...

    No. He was here for a reason. His whole purpose here was to do a job - to
defend the X-men from whomever it was who was going to betray them - to make
sure his own dark future never came to pass. Nothing else could be allowed to
impinge on his ability to do his job. And yet...



    Pamela stood in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil while wiping away
the last of her tears. She was calming down now, slowly, letting the rush of
panic and anger ebb from her body as she watched the steam rise from the mouth
of the kettle. She knew she was being stupid - she should have phoned the
police as soon as she got away, or at least got him out of the house, or
something. But she couldn't. She had dragged him home for a reason, and she
believed him when he said he wouldn't hurt her. He'd just made a mistake, was
just confused about a few things, that's all. And even though he had just
scared her more than she ever wanted to be scared again, she still found
him... attractive.



    She moved back into the room, carrying her hot cup of coffee with her,
enjoying the feeling of warmth spreading inside her from the first few
mouthfuls. He was sitting on the sofa, elbows on knees, a look of deep thought
and confusion on his face. Looking at him she saw once more the man she had
been looking at the past few weeks in the bar, the man she had grown so
curious about. She sat down on a chair opposite him, several feet away to let
him know she still didn't entirely trust him.

    "So." she said, cupping her hands round the hot mug.

    He looked up, all the anger gone from his eyes.
    "I am sorry" he said, simply. "I was mistaken, and I acted wrongly. I will
pay in full for damage done to the establishment." He was not used to this. In
his experience apologies were rarely necessary, and even if mistakes were made
there would always be a guilty party somewhere, someone who deserved
retribution for crimes done in their life.

    "So why did you attack me? What sort of threat did you think I was to you?
You've been coming into the bar for weeks now, so what happened?"

    He watched her. She was quieter now, the shaking gone from her voice. He
realized she was a stronger woman than she seemed. "I believed you were spying
on me. I saw how you watched me every time I was on the bar. I saw you
watching my friends, and assumed malicious intent. Tonight I intended to
confront you with this and find out who you were spying for."

    He's completely serious, she thought. "So, are you always this paranoid
when a woman tries to flirt with you?" She suddenly realised what she said -
Yeah, okay I was flirting. There, at least I admit it to myself...
She hoped he hadn't noticed her sudden blush, but fortunately he seemed to
miss the little signal.

    "Pamela, you know I am a mutant..."

    "Kinda hard to miss, really"

    "I am not from here. I am not even from this time. Where I come from
things are much... different." Where I come from, he thought, I would not be
alone in a strange persons' house, saying this much about myself.  "I was
brought up in a war. I learned to trust no-body, except the little family I
had. I ... am not used to the way life is here." He was worried. He knew he
was mistaken thinking she was a spy, but a lifetimes instincts had taught him
many hard lessons, and he was not comfortable with the openness with which
Pamela was making him talk.

    She knew he was telling the truth - she could see it in his face, and she
had seen him often enough to know a few things about him. She didn't quite
understand where exactly he came from, or what war he was talking about, but
she could see he was telling the truth. He lived with mistrust so long he
couldn't live without it.
    "Y'know," she said, almost regretting it the instant she opened her mouth,
"you could do with learning to trust someone..."

    He carried on talking, not even seeming to notice the bluntness of her
comment. "I have been having some .. problems of late, as a result my
judgement has been somewhat impaired. My collegues tried to warn me of my
mistake, but..."

    "Collegues? You mean the friends you always come in with?"

    He gave an inward sigh. True, the X-men were his closest companions here,
and he would willingly lay down his life for almost any of them, but the way
he saw them, looked up to them all, he could hardly call them 'friends'.
    In his childhood he had been taught stories about these people. They were
his heroes, the almost godlike beings he looked up to and spent his lifetime
trying to emulate. Now he was living among them, seeing his heroes every day,
and of all of them, the only one who had really tried to befriend him was
Ororo - the one least likely to succeed in breaking through the barriers he
put up. Every day, he had to be his best, had to prove himself worthy of the
task he had undertaken, had to be perfect, the perfect X.S.E. enforcer, the
perfect protector of Charles Xavier. He could never just 'relax and hang
loose' as Bobby always said. Too much was at stake.

    "I could hardly call them friends " he said, suddenly realising just how
much he was revealing to this woman. "It was only recently that I came to this
time, only recently that I met them. There were two people I knew here, as
friends, but they... left." The long hidden stab of guilt hit him again as he
remembered his friends and fellow X.S.E. enforcers, Malcom and Randall, who he
had failed...

    "You're a new guy in town as well, huh?" she said, with sudden empathy.
"Well, I sure know what _that_ feels like. I only moved to this town a month
ago, y'know. Left all my friends back home to come to this place, looking for
something different. I knew it would be rough, starting a new life in a place
where I didn't know anyone, but it gets better, y'know?" She finished off the
coffee in one long mouthful and continued talking, eager to show him how much
she understood.
    "I mean, look at this place. I live here on my own, no-one to share it
with except Curdles --"

    Bishop did the nearest thing he could to a double-take. "Curdles?"

    "My cat. I think you've met him. He likes you, anyway. But yeah, I've met
a few people working in the bar, got a few friends. It's taking time, and it's
not wonderful coming home to an empty flat at the moment, but things are
picking up. After all, I met..." Pamela stopped herself from finishing the
sentence 'I met you.'

    What are you doing, girl? she mentally scolded herself. You're behaving
like a giggly schoolgirl again, and this is the guy who was holding a gun in
your face not so long ago...

    "Anyway, I'm going to make myself another coffee. You want one?" She stood
up, using the question as an excuse to give herself a little breathing space,
time to clear her head.

    "Thank you, no. I will leave details of where to send the repair bill, and
then I will be leaving." He stood up also, ready to leave.

    "Leaving?!But...you..." she stuttered, trying to think of something to
say, suddenly realising how much she wanted him to stay. "But couldn't you ...
just... stay, for a coffee?"

    He wanted to. For the first time since he had arrived in this time Bishop
found himself feeling able to talk freely, to relax, and to let go of some of
his responsibilities for a while. He knew he shouldn't. He wanted to get back
to the mansion after being away for so long, wanted to make sure everything
was clear there; but at the same time he was beginning to realise how much he
wanted to stay, take some time off from his constant watch and talk to someone
who didn't demand he be at his best all the time.
    He sat down.

    "Maybe just one coffee, then."

                *               *               *

    It was getting late.

    The coffee mug stood on the floor by his feet, its contents long since
cooled beyond drinking, his mind on more important things than his thirst.
They talked endlessly, each one finding themselves revealing things they had
kept hidden for too long, little bits about their lives that needed to be
shared, small secrets that can only be revealed in the secrecy of the early
hours between two people who know too little about each other to judge what
is said.

    He told her of his youth, the time he grew up in, of the darkness that was
his past, and the war which had done so much to his world. He talked about his
family, and friends who died while he watched, of how much he had given up to
come back to this time, and how important it was that he prevent that future
from coming to pass.

    She talked about why she had come here, why she had moved away to the big
city to make her life instead of staying at home in the small, quiet little
town she'd grown up in. She talked about old friends she missed, old
relationships that should have worked out better, old opportunities missed -
about how moving away, starting her life in a place where no-one knew her,
no-one had any expectations of her gave her the freedom to think for herself
more clearly than before.

    "So, where does that leave you now?" Pamela asked. She had moved onto the
sofa beside him, all the fear and mistrust gone by now.

    "Now? I have a job to do." Bishop said calmly, looking off at a point on
the wall. "People have given their lives that I can be here, and I cannot let
those lives be lost in vain."

    "That must be one hell of a responsibility, everyone expecting you to be
at your best, all the time."

    "I have to be."

    "But that's silly! No-one's perfect. No-one can be everything, do
everything they have to all the time. Everyone has to have a break now and
then, it's part of human nature."

    "Pamela, that is very easy for you to say, because you live in a world
where that is an easy thing to do. You are a human in a world that is run by
humans for humans. You haven't seen the sort of things I've had to see."
He thought back to his experiences here in this time. He knew things were
going to be difficult when he came here. He knew what sort of world it was,
but even so some of the things he'd seen ... mutant hate parades, the Friends
of Humanity, a boy being beaten to death purely because he was a mutant. Were
things truly this bad even this far back in time?

    Pamela laughed, almost half-sarcastically. "You're talking about
prejudice, right? Mutant prejudice? Bishop, I'm a black woman trying to make
my life in a white city. There's not much you can tell me about prejudice
that I don't already know. Believe me, dealing with hate is something we _all_
have to do..."

    He looked up at her.

    "Maybe."

                *               *               *

    Pamela looked over to the window, stifling a yawn. Her head ached slightly
from the nights events, and her jaw was tired from all the talking they had
done. The light outside the window was bright, with the brilliant yellow edge
of the sun just creeping over the corner to burn its way through the thin
curtains she had up. It was morning.

    "Oh god," she smiled, rubbing her eyes. "How long were we talking?"

    "About five hours." Bishop replied, not showing how tired he felt himself.
"And now it really _is_ time I left. I'm sure we both have things to do." He
stood up, disturbing Curdles from his sleep and moved towards the door.
    "And thank you for tonight. I needed it more than I had known. If I can
ever do anything for you..."

    "Is that it?" Pamela asked, startled by the suddeness of it all. She
didn't want the night to end like this, not with him just...leaving...

    "I don't understand."

    "I - I mean, uh... will I see you again?" God, that sounded bad.

    Bishop turned in the doorway. This night had revealed many things to him,
reminded him of things he never realized that he missed. He had a job to do,
and he would do it to the best of his abilities. But he was also human, and
there were other things to life that he needed.

    "Maybe."

                *               *               *

    Comments, queries, blank incomprehension accepted gratefully at...

 //                  Ian Phillip Foster                          \\
 \\                  ianf@cogs.susx.ac.uk                        //
 //              "Moines a pint 'a Scrumpy"                      \\
 \\                                                              //
 //  "Whatever happened to the good old British justice system,  \\
 \\   where a man was innocent until proven Irish?" - Cracker    //