Hiya.  Not a professional writer...not associated with 
Marvel...borrowing X-Men without permission...making no 
money.  Suing would be futile.  Our mystery guest towards the 
end of the story also belongs to somebody else, but darned if I 
know who!  But even so, I still make no mula from using him, 
so I'd still appreciate not getting sued.  (Who is the mystery 
guest, you ask?  Give ya a hint...he's a womanizer with a 
smidgen of charm, a few good lines, and an old enemy with 
teeth that'd scare Sabretooth.)

Kai, Zach, Jack (in absentia), and Three Eyes are mine, as well 
as anything involving said organization.  DO NOT BORROW 
THEM WITHOUT PERMISSION.  (Heh.  I like caps. ;-)  I 
have a temper, a black belt, and a car with good gas mileage.  
I'll find you.

This story is dedicated to one of my favorite readers; James.  
James has faithfully sent me feedback on every story I've 
posted (I think...sometimes I lose track<g>), and it hasn't just 
been the token "I read your story, gee that was nice" feedback, 
either.  Nope, we're talking thought out words expressing 
whatever _worked_ in the story and how it affected the reader.  
More encouragement, I think, couldn't be wished for.  James, 
I told ya I'd get one written for you.  It'll be waiting for you as 
soon as you get back online on October.  Oh, and the MI-6 
agent is just for you, bud.  Unless you hate him.  Then he's 
just for someone you hate. ;-)

And the story's also for Poi Lass, who wanted to see Zach 
again.  And Shera, who put up with having to read the rough 
parts.<g>

What's this story?  It's a _long_ story...lotsa elements...special 
guest cameo...and _no Logan._  (Okay, I couldn't _entirely_ 
keep him out.  He gets a phone call.  I...I couldn't take the 
pressure!  I caved!)

Archivists - A couple of archivists have blanket permission 
for whatever they want of my stuff (you know who you are), 
but if I haven't expressly told you that you're one of them, 
please ask before archiving.  I'll say yes...I just wanna know 
where they go.  And by the by, I'm pretty willing to grant said 
blanket permission when asked.

Other stories are archived in various places, but the most 
complete run is at Tag Team, the Kai & Logan subarchive at 
Fonts of Wisdom - 
http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/kailogan.htm  

Comments to Kaylee1109@aol.com.  Writers get paid in 
feedback.  I want a raise.  A nice fat juicy one.  With a cherry 
on top.  Oooh, and chocolate syrup!  Maybe a few nuts...am I 
wandering off topic?  Why yes, yes I am.  But while I'm off 
topic, I just wanna mention that I was talking with a fellow 
writer and we discovered - brace yourselves - that there are 
people _reading our stories_ and _not sending feedback!_  I 
know, I know, it's hard to believe...I'm sure no one reading 
this note would _ever_ discount the value of feedback...I 
mean, understanding how very fragile a writer's ego can be 
would _obviously_ encourage people to drop a simple note 
letting the writer know that the work she's _slaved_ over is at 
least being read...  Am I right?  I think I'm right.  If you 
disagree with me, though, why don't you drop me a line? ;-)

Enjoy!

"Kai & X-Men: Palos Verdes 'Vacation'"
By Kaylee (Kaylee1109@aol.com)

"Ahhh..." I sighed blissfully.  "This is the _life,_ m'friend."

"Oh?" Zach asked, stretching his leanly muscled body out to 
better catch generous rays from the California sun.  "Getting 
tired of what you do?"

"Nah.  Just nice to have a peaceful, drowsy moment with 
absolutely nothing demanding my immediate attention."  I 
tugged a shoulder-strap of my one-piece over just a bit.  
"Relaxing on a Palos Verdes beach...nice.  I oughtta visit you 
more often, Sparks."

"Hmm."  His golden-haired head bobbed lazily in the 
direction of some _rather_ attractive young men in the process 
of setting up a game of volleyball.  "Okay, Spunky...which 
one?"

Tough call.  They were all something to look at.  I'm not much 
of one for eye candy when it comes to the real emotional crap, 
but purely for aesthetic value I can appreciate a nice bod...  
"Oh, yum.  The Nubian god over on the far side."

Zach gave that slow, utterly heart-stopping grin.  Man's a 
looker in a _big_ way, and he knows it.  Thankfully, he's not 
so interested in playing the fields these days - tough 
competition, y'know.  Not that I have cause to worry 
nowadays...  "I'd have to go with Mister Briefs over there."

I gave an ungraceful snort.  "You're just saying that 'cause he 
looks a little like Jack."

A considering frown...only a trace of one.  Zach doesn't want 
wrinkles.  "No...he doesn't have Jack's eyes."  He actually 
gave a _dreamy_ sigh.  "Nobody has Jack's gorgeous eyes..."

"You, pal, are pathetic.  You're the only bisexual mutant I 
know who can be biased about people for their looks.  I'd 
think bearing the brunt of prejudice for _two_ aspects of your 
life would teach you to be open-minded about everyone and 
everything."

"Mm hmm," he commented sagely.  "And I'll completely 
ignore the fact that the Nubian god you picked just so happens 
to be short and stocky, not _at all_ like a certain man you 
seem to be getting tight with..."

"I _like_ short and stocky!"

"I know."

"This has nothing to do with Logan.  I can appreciate a guy 
who looks nothing like him."

"So pick another one and prove it."

I gave him a little growl - Logan's been teaching me.  "Fine.  
That one."

"Which one?"

My chin jutted towards my choice.  "Right there."

"You mean the hairball?"

"I _like_ a hairy chest!  This has nothing to do with Logan."

"Riiight."

"Don't make me hurt you, Sparks."

"Don't make me laugh, Spunky."

"Asshole."

"Uncivilized cretin."

"Republican."

"...I _am_ a Republican, Kai."

"You...are?  A bisexual mutant psivamp who works for 
probably the most covert international organization in the 
world is a registered _Republican??_"

"Yes."  Another winning smile, a touch mischievous this time.  
"And what about you?"

I shook my head slightly.  "I don't vote.  I figure I'm not 
gonna follow the laws they make, so I don't really have a right 
to pick who makes 'em.  Plus...I'm still not legel."

"I thought you had the organization set you up with an ID."

"They made me a couple of falsies, but I haven't gone so far 
as to have the whole schbang made up.  I _like_ being 
anonymous."

"You would."  He took any sting from it by catching my hand 
and bringing it gallantly to his lips for a courtly kiss, fixing me 
with those intense sapphire-blue eyes and dropping his voice 
into a knowing tone.  "So...you haven't said much about 
what's been going on between you and the X-Man."

"Heh."  Zach's got a bit of a cold surface, but beneath that 
he's a guy who's _quite_ interested in emotions, particularly 
that damned "L-word" and the like.  He's happy as a clam 
with his lover, Jack...which of course gives him the right to be 
nosy about my business, since he's such an "expert" about 
relationships...

But I don't resent it too much.  Zach's one of very few friends 
I've got who've known me for years, and he's been with me 
through a lot.  More than that...he actually met Sensei.  He saw 
a little of what his...death...meant to me.  That means I'll put 
up with an awful lot from Zach that I won't tolerate from most 
other people.

"What's been going on?  I've been working with the team, and 
Logan and I are, uh...together."

"You've been with him for what...six months now?"

"Roundabouts."

"That's the longest relationship I think you've ever had, 
Spunky."

"Nuh uh.  There was John back at the dojo..."

"That's right...I almost forgot about him."  Yeah, right.  Zach 
doesn't forget much.  "But that didn't end under the best of 
circumstances, if I remember correctly..."

The accustomed scowl twisted my mouth.  "How that ended 
had nothing to do with John, and you know it.  He was...is...a 
good guy.  I was just a bit messed up, and..."

"And ran like a rabbit."  No scorn.  Zach knows better than 
that.  "If it hadn't been for your teacher's death...do you think 
things could have worked out with John?"

"I dunno..."  I scooched back on the towel and propped elbows 
behind me, idly watching the men as they worked up to a truly 
aggressive game of volleyball.  "I think he was a stage in my 
life, and that's pretty much it.  Probably nothing woulda come 
of it."

"You two had a lot in common."

"And I left him without a word when Sensei died.  I didn't 
even regret it, Zach.  Somehow I don't think that's a sign of a 
deep, meaningful relationship."  I shook my head sharply to 
clear it of memories.  "But while we're on 
relationships...what's the scoop with you and the boy?  He 
hasn't gotten sick of you yet?"

"God, I hope not!" he said fervently, humor fleeing before the 
seriousness that he more often displays.  "Spunky, he's...he's 
just unbelievable.  I've never met anyone like him before.  
He's so...worldly and innocent all at once.  I mean, with the 
life he's lived you'd think he'd be jaded, but he's got this 
incredibly optimistic outlook on life...and what's stranger is 
how often he's _right_ in his optimism!  It's like he 
just...brings out the best in people somehow."  His gaze went 
distant, doubtless seeing the young man in question.  "He just 
has to look at you with those emerald eyes..."

"Whoa!  Put on the _brakes,_ Zach...you're sounding more 
and more like a schmooze with every word."

A half-smile as eyes willingly focused on me.  "What's a 
'schmooze'?"

Another voice intruded.  "It's what she calls me all th' time 
when Ah'm talkin' about Remy."  Rogue thumped down on 
the towel on my other side unceremoniously, carefully 
keeping her bare limbs away from me.  Considering her 
powers, you'd think she'd wear something a bit more 
concealing...but nope, it's bikinis all the way with this gal.  
"So why's she callin' _you_ that, Zach?  Ah only caught that 
last part."

His half-smile stretched into the real thing: unconscious charm 
oozed outta him almost as much as it does from Remy.  He's a 
dashing son of a gun when you first meet him...it's only after 
you get to know him that you find he's got an arrogant streak 
that'll choke you if you don't have one to match.  "Same 
thing, I suppose."  He kept his voice level and tactful - Rogue, 
Scott, Jean, and I had only been out here for a couple of days, 
and we weren't too sure how much the others had figured out 
about Zach's preferences...or how they'd feel about them.  "I 
was talking about _my_ significant other."

"Oh yeah?"  She chewed a cheek, a brow quirking upwards in 
consideration.  "Ya mean that cute guy in th' pictures all over 
your apartment?  What's his name...Jack?"

A smooth, unflustered nod.  "That's the one.  He's on 
vacation, now...doing some camping off in the 'great wide 
open.'"

"Where's that?"

"Greenland."  Distaste fairly layered the word.  He keeps in 
shape...enjoys physical activity as much as the next 
person...but Zach does _not_ understand the point in 
wilderness hiking and camping.  The closest he'll come to it 
willingly is a tame little national park.  "He'll be back in a 
couple of weeks."

"So y'all hooked up after you pulled that save on Muir, right?"  
Bless her heart, she seemed genuinely interested.  Eased my 
mind a bit to find my teammates - or at least one of them - 
could be open-minded about this.  "And you're still t'gether.  
Y'all must be pretty close."

A sigh escaped me - muted enough not to draw attention - 
and I sat back as Zach took the oh-so-tempting invitation to 
pour out more sappy talk about his lover.  It occurred to me to 
wonder briefly if Zach knew about Rogue's powers...about the 
inability to touch others that kept her always one step away 
from what he talked about so enthusiastically.  But she didn't 
seem to be getting maudlin at all, and he thankfully stuck to 
emotional topics, rather than physical...

My mind took to wandering, half my attention following the 
conversation in case someone decided to draw me back into it, 
the other half drifting somewhere in the vicinity of the plump 
cotton clouds floating drowsily above us.  For all that we were 
taking a little time to enjoy California, this wasn't a vacation.  
Scott wanted to follow up a particularly strong mutant-
signature that Cerebro picked up, and I figured that if we were 
gonna be in Palos Verdes, we might as well crash at Zach's 
luxurious pad.  (He tried to raise a fuss, telling me he'd 
_gladly_ pay for my teammates' rooms and let me stay at his 
place without them, but I can be persuasive...and besides, he 
owes me for hooking him up with the 'love of his life.')

But of course, it couldn't be that simple.  When Zach dutifully 
requested time off to visit with me (which he has no trouble 
getting...he's a pretty valuable commodity to Three Eyes, and 
they like to keep him happy), he actually told them _why._  
Normally that wouldn't be a problem...but normally there 
wouldn't be an MI-6 agent being held "somewhere in Los 
Angeles" that was in need of a rescue.  This guy had been 
snagged by a not-so-well-known group of "international 
terrorists" (and I use the term facetiously) who resented him 
spying on American soil.  They resented it so much, in fact, 
that they'd worked him over in a bad way and sent a videotape 
of the beaten agent back to his home agency, demanding one 
million dollars for his release.  MI-6 was up in arms, and the 
atmosphere of spook-relations between the US and England 
had started to get turbulent.

That's one of the things Three Eyes is for, though.  Darius 
pulled a string here, nudged an official there...and now 
everyone thought another agency was handling the problem 
while in fact it was the nicely anonymous Three Eyes that was 
taking the burden of getting the spook back unharmed.  No 
one could get bitter about risking operatives if everyone 
thought the _other_ guy was the one taking all the risk.  In 
fact, when I talked to Darius part of the conversation went 
something like this:

"So what's MI-6 been told?"

"That the CIA is handling it."

"And the CIA thinks...?"

"That the DCI is handling it."

"And the DCI believes...?"

"DCI is covert enough that no one will question their 
involvement or know how to contact them to confirm.  
They're a safe cover to dump credit on."  And then he of 
course had to put in a leaderly warning.  "Just don't go getting 
this man killed during the op, Kai.  I do _not_ need another 
political mess to straighten out like the IRA disaster."

"I'll do all I can, Darius."

And that was that.  Sorta.  Now all I had to do was find a way 
to dump my teammates off on the wayside while I dropped in 
on the local Three Eyes outpost and collected equipment and 
Intel.  Darius had offered me a team - a Snake unit; one of the 
Cells.  Snake Eyes are the elite of Three Eyes active ops 
teams, and the Cells are an even smaller division within that 
subgroup; the "best of the best" in more ways than one.  You 
know they're damned good without having to question, and it 
showed just how seriously the First Commander was taking 
this that he was willing to send such.

But from what I understood the situation was precarious 
enough that _more_ wouldn't equal _better_...only more risk 
to the hostage.  And if this guy died, that would be a Bad 
Thing in more ways than the obvious death thing.  
Repercussions would taint US/England covert relations - no, 
not in the "world-shattering" way.  One agent wouldn't cause 
that.  But it _would_ cause harm, and that harm could be 
avoided simply by keeping the man alive.

So I was getting information and equipment tonight and going 
in tomorrow night on my own.  _Then_ I'd be working solely 
for Three Eyes, no other ties even thought about.  For now, 
though, and until then...I was an X-Man, and I'd enjoy the few 
hours of freedom Rogue, Zach, and I were snatching before 
Scott and Jean pinpointed the mutant we'd come here to find 
and called Rogue and me in to go to work.

"Did he tell _you_ anything about it, Kai?"

So much for tracking the conversation...  "Huh?"

Rogue gave me an impatient look.  "Remy.  Ya talk t' him all 
th' time...  Did he tell you anything about th' dinner we had 
th' other night?"

"Um..."  Had he?  I thought about it for a minute, running 
through the half-dozen important or interesting conversations 
I'd had over the past few days.  "Oh yeah.  He said your dress 
looked nice."

"That's _all?_"

"Well, actually he said something to the effect of, 'It made her 
look like an angel wit' invisible wings...an' a shriek like a 
harpy when she get mad.'"  Heh.  That'd teach Remy not to 
smoke my last cigarette...I get even.

And that shriek, if not exactly like a harpy's, was certainly 
shrill enough to hurt my sensitive ears.  "He said _what?!_"

"I could be remembering wrong..."  Though I wasn't.  He'd 
actually said quite a bit more, and most of it considerably less 
complimentary than that.  The dinner hadn't gone well at all.  
The dancing had been even worse.  Remy had come back that 
night, torn off his nice dinner clothes, thrown on jeans and a 
T-shirt, and been all set to tear outta there at warp nine.  
Looked like he'd had a bit too much to drink - which 
doubtless contributed to their lousy night - so I'd stopped him 
from leaving.  He probably still has the bruise.  I'd have one or 
two of my own lingering if it wasn't for this handy healing 
symbiont...

But regardless of his mental state, I've got pretty strong 
feelings about people driving under the influence, so I'd made 
damn sure he wasn't going to do that...and once I'd thrown his 
butt in the Jeep and taken the both of us for a ride to cool off, 
he'd started talking.  A lot.  In French, mostly.  And being a 
rather passionate man once he opens up, he'd poured a whole 
lotta heat and anger into those words.  I wasn't _about_ to let 
Rogue hear any of the important stuff he'd said...that'd be 
enough to send her flying across the country back to New 
York to find him and kick his Cajun tail across the grounds of 
Xavier's School.  Twice.

"He also said he wanted to find something to make things 
right between you two, though."  After a six-pack and a _lot_ 
of talking he'd said that...but I was inclined to believe he 
meant it.  He's too focused on her for him to be playing her.  
He, at least, is convinced it's the "real thing"...most of the 
time, anyway.  Though as to what _Rogue_ thinks...

She thumped back to lie flat on the towel, tossing her white-
striped auburn mane above her head with a huff of irritation.  
"Ah swear, y'all...Ah dunno what t' make of th' man.  
Sometimes he's so...so...  And then other times Ah just wanna 
wring his schemin' Cajun neck!"

I started to open my mouth - never a good thing in 
relationship issues - but Zach knew better than to let me 
ramble, so he cut in.  "So what's the problem?  Other than the 
fact that he's an insensitive bastard who doesn't take your 
needs into consideration, I mean."

Sunlight to a flower.  She turned towards him, flashing eyes 
lighting and more-than-pretty face transforming into a blanket 
expression of 'he understands!'.  I tried not to choke and 
firmly put an arm over my face as if shielding it from the sun, 
working hard on containing laughter.  "That's right...an' 
maybe that's th' whole problem right there, sugah."  Damn, 
he'd already earned a 'sugah.'  Impressive.  "Ah mean...Ah'm 
just not too sure Ah wanna be goin' as fast as _he_ wants.  Ah 
_care_ about him a lot, but...how do Ah know Ah can trust 
him?  How do Ah know it's not just a game t' him?"

Tact or not, I _had_ to put in a comment here.  Remy's a 
friend, after all, and he's talked with me more than once about 
this.  "It's not a _game_ for him, Rogue.  He's as scared about 
this as you are."

"He...is?"

"Hell, yeah.  He doesn't know if he's coming or going any 
more than you do.  I think he's got less idea of how _you_ feel 
than you have of how _he_ feels.  And you sure as hell don't 
help when you-"

I was cut off by a hand clamped down over my mouth, Zach 
giving me a tight smile and a look that said, 'Shut up and 
leave this to the expert, idiot.'  My glare might have been 
enough to melt a glacier, but he withstood it with that easy 
arrogance of his.  "Rogue, you're a lovely, alive, vibrant 
young woman.  You're also, I can tell, inexperienced with 
relationships that count.  I think you're holding a storybook 
image in your head and expecting real life to match it, 
and...that's just not going to happen.  No matter how much 
you want him to be, this man will _never_ match your image 
of perfection.  _No one's_ perfect."  Except Jack, his eyes 
added silently.  Schmooze.  "But that doesn't mean he can't 
make you happy, or that he'll only hurt you.  You'll never 
know if you don't allow yourself to take a chance."

Her eyes were locked on his face as if he spewed holy words.  
I took his wrist and irritably pulled his hand away from my 
mouth, resisting the urge to pinch the nerve in the process.  
Her gaze flicked to my fingers as they closed over his arm, 
and I saw the line of her mouth tighten in what looked like 
pain.  It only took a heartbeat for me to figure out why; bare 
skin to bare skin...something she may well never know.  

But she swallowed it down tightly, forcing a small smile.  "Ah 
know you're right, sugah.  It's just...Ah believe in takin' a 
chance, but is _Remy_ th' right one t' take a chance on?  
Or..."  Something hollow and scared in her eyes.  "Or am Ah 
just all tangled up 'cause he's the first guy in ages who seems 
t'...want me so bad?"

Zach's eyes crinkled a little in sympathy.  He's explained it to 
me a time or so...the two major aspects of being a psivamp.  
The first and most obvious is the _hunger_ that has to be fed 
with the life energy of another living being, preferably human.  
That's the dangerous side of what he is.  The side that could 
probably take down just about anyone he faced from a nice, 
safe distance...the thing that makes me very glad he's a 
_friend_ and not an enemy.  But there's another aspect to his 
psivamp nature - the senses that accompany it.  Sometimes he 
labels them generally "psi-sight," though that's a limited 
description.  From what he says it's an empathy, of sorts, that 
runs the spectrum from visible to mental connection.  The 
stronger the emotions, the more he's drawn to them.  The 
more negative drives are even more attractive.  

But all that aside, when Zach's well-fed and not having to 
maintain control over the hunger with his iron discipline, he's 
essentially an empath...and it didn't take much for me to figure 
out just how many not-happy rays Rogue hadda be tossing out 
at him without realizing.

So his voice was softer than usual when he spoke.  "You'll 
never be able to honestly answer that question unless you give 
him a chance, Rogue.  You can choose to go the rest of your 
life wondering...or you can bite the bullet and go for it.  Toss 
your heart out there and see if it flies."  Hell, even _I_ was 
getting caught up now!  "I'm not saying that it won't hurt...it 
does sometimes, no matter how much you love someone or are 
loved by him.  But I think in the end...it's worth it.  Even if it's 
only to _know_ the answer..."  The faintest, gentlest smile I'd 
ever seen from him.  "I've heard it said that if you can't look 
back over each year and find something that makes you cry for 
joy or sorrow, you haven't _lived._"

A schmooze, maybe, but one with a good point.  Not that I 
entirely agreed with him...but he was reaching Rogue, and I 
supposed I should thank him for that.  The tension between 
Rogue and Remy had been driving everyone on the team nuts 
and interfering with both of their training, particularly in team 
exercises.  It couldn't go on like this much longer without 
someone cracking.

I'm sure Rogue was about to answer - probably with 
something flustered and enthralled by the born romantic's 
words - but she suddenly choked off whatever she was going 
to say, eyes going distant as if hearing something.  Jean, most 
likely, talking to her and respecting my distaste for telepathic 
communication by leaving my head alone.  

And I was right.  She blinked and shook her head slightly as if 
shaking off the strange sensation of having someone talk to 
you inside your mind, then the green eyes fixed on me.  "Gotta 
go t' work, Kai.  Jean says they've got th' general location 
pinpointed already."

I sighed, stretched, and pushed myself to my feet.  "So much 
for the vacation part of this trip."

"You want company?" Zach asked, not sounding overly eager 
to get off his toned butt and accompany us.

"Nah.  We've got it.  Meet you back at the apartment later?"

"Do you still have your key?"

"Yep."  I bent to drop a kiss on him - I'm not typically a 
huggy/kissy person, but Zach's the exception to a lot of my 
self-imposed rules.  As usual, he returned it in full measure, 
pretending in his oh-so-charming way that he'd actually be 
interested in sleeping with me, or vice versa.  Considering that 
I met Zach when he was little more than a snot-nosed 
seventeen-year-old cocky yuppie-type brat, that's never been 
an option either of us have entertained.  (Well, _I_ never did, 
anyway.  If Zach did, he never mentioned it.)

Mid-kiss, I noticed that Rogue had dropped her eyes.  It 
suddenly occurred to me that I was being, simply put, an 
insensitive bitch.  I pulled away from Zach and chucked his 
chin affectionately with a forefinger, then bent to gather my 
stuff as Rogue stood and threw her belongings together.

And then it was off to "work"...the first part of it, anyway.  I 
only hoped it didn't conflict with what I had to do for Three 
Eyes.  A contest of loyalties was _not_ in the game plan.

***

"What's with you?" Rogue asked after I'd shifted 
uncomfortably in the back seat for the dozenth time.

"Nice neighborhood," I said by way of explanation, thinking it 
enough.  Nice, of course, was an understatement.  We were in 
the "old money" segment of Palos Verdes, and not a house 
here could be considered less than a mansion.  Not a one less 
than seven figures, either, and a few that might run towards 
eight.  The falsely "natural" landscaping...the carefully 
ordered neatness of even the rocks...they combined to make 
me a bit uneasy.  Claustrophobic, almost.  I can handle 
rubbing elbows with the scum of the earth.  I can take working 
alongside any person from any class in the interest of getting 
the job done.  But here, where we were supposed to try to fit 
in while hopefully contacting this mysterious mutant, I was 
feeling like a wren in the midst of peacocks.  And a pretty 
natty wren, at that.

Sitting back comfortably in the really lovely green pants-suit 
she'd brought, Rogue gave me a half-grin that seemed at least 
a bit understanding.  "It's all an act, Kai.  Ya just smile 
nice...bat your eyelashes..."  And she suited actions to words.  
"Remember t' cross your legs when ya sit, an' you're fine."

I scowled, working not to snap.  "I know what to do.  I've 
worked undercover."  And hated it, for the most part...at least 
when it was in _this_ sort of environment.  When I was just 
getting to know Logan, he startled me with his observation 
that though I might be a good actress, I probably didn't like it 
too much...being more of the brash and outspoken mindset, 
that is.  He was right.

"We're not exactly 'undercover' here," Jean put in from the 
front seat.  "We just don't want to draw undue attention.  
There's no telling what to expect from this mutant."  Her eyes 
were closed, her words distant.  She was busy working on 
telepathically pinpointing our mystery target.

"Kai, are you armed?" Scott asked when Jean fell quiet.

Yes.  "No."  I was _not_ gonna let him order me to leave the 
knives in the car...not in an unknown situation like this.

But he surprised me.  "Careless, Kai.  We're walking into an 
uncertain situation, here."

I grinned into the rearview mirror.  "Well in that case..."  A 
slim blade was flicked from the concealed arm sheath into my 
right hand, steel catching the light with a little flash.

The ruby-quartz gaze met mine, a strange little smile on his 
face.  "That's what I thought.  Now leave the knives in the 
car."

I blinked at him in silence for a minute, barely even noting 
Rogue's amused snicker.  <No, I did _not_ just fall for that.>  
I was...distracted by our environment, that's it.  Mentally 
preparing for battle or whatnot.  Yeah.

Then I said in a low voice, "I _like_ my knives, Scott."

"And we've had this conversation before, Kai.  Knives are 
weapons primarily intended to maim and kill.  Carrying them 
is like asking for trouble."  

"If they're used right, they can just disfigure," I protested half-
heartedly.

Steady, hidden gaze.  "You know how I feel about this."

"And you know how _I_ feel going unarmed into who-knows-
what." 

"Ah'd think ya'd hardly need _knives,_ Kai," Rogue put in 
peaceably.  "Why not just do as the man says an' leave 'em?"

Arguing might have been fun and a good release of 
tension...but I wasn't feeling strongly enough on the issue to 
have a session of 'I'm independent, you can't order me, kiss 
my butt' at the moment.  And besides...that sorta thing is 
usually just a pretentious act of rebellion.  I didn't need to 
bother with that.

He didn't know where _all_ the knives were hidden, after all.

I shucked two, making certain to look pissed about it - which 
wasn't hard to do, since I _was_ rather irritated - and then 
under the weight of his steady gaze I reluctantly pulled the 
"final" blade from its downward facing sheath on my left calf.  
Scott seemed satisfied with that, Rogue amused, and 
telepathically-scanning Jean indifferent.  I was just rather 
proud of me when I resisted the urge to bury the abandoned 
knives in the imitation-leather seats of the rental car.

"There," Jean said suddenly, opening her eyes and nodding 
towards one of the nicer dwellings.  "I'm feeling a sort of 
'null-psi' area, as if someone's either blocking me or naturally 
resistant to telepathy."  Unconsciously, she tugged her beige 
business skirt and jacket into order.  "Can't tell which...but 
god!  Look at that _house!_"

"Ah'm lookin', Jean," Rogue agreed, sounding a bit less 
impressed.  "So we might be findin' a spoiled rich-kid 
mutant."  A drawn-out sigh.  "Ain't we got enough a those?"

I snorted.  Scott smiled faintly.  Jean grinned and opened her 
door, stepping out with the ingrained grace she still holds from 
her modeling days.  The rest of us followed suit, standing for a 
moment just outside the car and staring at the house, mentally 
preparing for...whatever might come.  Too often the unknown 
turns around and bites you when you start towards it, 
particularly when dealing with mutant issues.  For sanity's 
sake, you can't obsess on it...but there's almost always this 
little moment of 'here we go again' each time.

"Rogue, Kai...there's something else you should know," Scott 
commented idly.  "You've heard about that city bus that 
disappeared?  Well...the spike picked up by Cerebro happened 
simultaneously, and the bus disappeared from right down in 
the valley below."

Rogue gave a muttered curse of annoyance.  I looked at Scott, 
at the house, at Scott...and started to open the car door.

"What're you doing?"

"Getting my knives, Scott."  But the damn door was locked, 
and he didn't look like he was about to change that.  I glared at 
him.  "You _would_ wait to mention that 'til _after_ I've 
disarmed."

"Coincidence," he informed me mildly.

Jean started towards the mansion without us, tossing over her 
shoulder, "Can we get on with this, please?  I'd like to get 
finished and back home before the millennium."

"Ooh," I grumbled under my breath.  "Jean made a funny."  
Rude and immature...but I blamed it on the environment.  And 
besides, no one heard me.

Like any civilized visitors, we rang the bell.  I stood a little to 
the side and back, hands cupped innocently behind me where 
it'd be easy to go up under my shirt for the switchblade tucked 
into the back of my sports-bra or - if the situation got _really_ 
intense - the 9mm in a specially designed concealment sheath 
at the small of my back and hidden by the baggy T-shirt.  
Scott would absolutely have my hide for that one, but it wasn't 
like I planned to _use_ it (or any weapon, really, since I _do_ 
prefer unarmed combat) unless I had to...but I've learned the 
hard way that quite often all the martial skills in the world 
won't do you a damn bit of good against the kinda people we 
face.  'Course, guns aren't really too effective a lot of the time, 
either...

We weren't kept waiting.  The door opened on a maid that was 
about as haughty-looking as you'd expect the owners to be.  
"Yes?" she asked in one of those 'you're wasting my time, I 
can tell already' voices.

Jean would be telling Scott telepathically what she picked up, 
and evidently she told him that this wasn't our mutant.  He 
took the spokesman's position, smiling politely despite the 
woman's tone and asking to see the owners of the house.  We 
were guided into a living room that could have contained 
every apartment I've ever rented, then told to be seated in a 
voice dripping with distaste.  My teeth were clenched tightly 
together to keep me from saying anything that'd get us kicked 
out.  <It'll be over soon.  You're just here for support.  No 
picking fights with the hired help.  Even if the hired help 
happens to be an arrogant bitch who could use a good taste of 
getting her tail whipped to teach her money doesn't equal 
superiority...>

And anyway, nice as this mansion was, it couldn't even 
_compare_ with Xavier's.  Somehow I found that comforting, 
though I had no claim to Xavier's whatsoever except as a non-
rent-paying tenant.

The maid left us.  Scott and Jean sat quietly beside each other 
on the lush, off-white couch.  Rogue took the love-seat across 
from them, and I sat uncomfortably in a chair that sure as hell 
hadn't been picked for relaxation.  My eyes did a quick survey 
of our surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary.  
I'd loved to have poked around and been nosy, but I didn't 
think that'd go over well with our host or hostess.  

And when she came, I was rather glad I'd suppressed my 
urges.  She was tall - nearly six feet, I'd guess.  Handsome 
rather than pretty, with a forbidding demeanor that seemed to 
suit this home very well.  Dark hair pulled back in a coiffure 
that would have been attractive on a woman with a less-severe 
face, but on this one only served to emphasize the hard 
features and cold eyes.  Jasmine and harsh soap tainted her 
scent.  I could picture her as the type who might run an 
orphanage in one of those movies about the miserable 
conditions in such.  It only took a glance to tell me that this 
was a strong, determined, stubborn woman.

Jean gave the tiniest, barely perceptible nod when we caught 
sight of her.  This, then, was our mutant.

She didn't cut corners.  "I'm Beatrice Denmarth.  And you 
are...?"

Scott stood to greet her, Jean following suit.  Rogue just 
watched.  "Good afternoon, Ms. Denmarth.  I'm Scott 
Summers, and this is my wife, Jean."  She didn't offer to 
shake, so he just gestured towards Rogue, who of course he 
wouldn't introduce by her 'name.'  "Robin."  Towards me.  
"Kate Smith."  I love aliases.

A brief nod of the regal head at each of us.  "And why are you 
all here...unannounced?"

She didn't look like she was about to sit, so neither did Scott.  
"Ms. Denmarth...I'll keep this short and to the point.  We're 
looking for someone who may know something about the 
disappearance of city bus 319 two days ago.  We have reason 
to believe you may be that someone."

A slow tilt of an elegant eyebrow.  "Oh?  And why would you 
believe that, Mr. Summers?"

Jean, now; voice carefully level and unthreatening.  "Because 
we know that you're a mutant, and your powers manifested at 
around the same time the bus vanished."

"Did they."  Not a question; flat and cold.  "And how do you 
know that?"

"We have a device that registers strong mutant signatures and 
alerts us," she answered calmly, refusing to be flustered.  "The 
bus disappeared at the bottom of the mountain, so it could 
easily be within your range, and-"

"My range?"  Now Beatrice sounded amused.  "And what 
would you know of my 'range,' Mrs. Summers?"  Her arms 
crossed over her chest; thin arms with some tone, as if from a 
mild workout in a gym a couple of days a week.  "In fact, 
what would you know about any powers I may or may not 
have?  And just _how_ would you know these things?  And 
why should I answer any of your questions?"  The woman 
spoke like a professional talk show hostess; all brass and 
unflinching superiority.  Her heartbeat, which my keen ears 
caught easily when I listened, barely picked up at all.  I 
admired her and disliked her at the same time.

Scott answered her, speaking in a quiet and professional tone 
completely on the other side of the sound field from the 
commanding bellow he sometimes uses during training and 
Situations.  He told her that we were just interested in seeing 
that the bus and passengers were recovered safely, and that our 
only interest in the mutant responsible was making certain she 
had enough control over her powers to prevent "accidents."  
Nowhere in there did he outright _say_ any of us were mutants 
(or other), but he implied it in such a way that she could 
hardly make any other conclusion.  Jean was the perfect 
balance to him, jumping in every now and then with a word 
here or there that lent emphasis to just what she wanted the 
woman to focus on.  Watching them, listening to them, I had 
to appreciate the benefits of being on a team with diverse 
talents such as ours.  Rogue and I, from the sound of things, 
were only there for extra muscle.  Not my favorite thing, being 
considered for that and nothing else, but I wasn't gonna cause 
a stir in this case.  Enough times came around that I was in my 
element that there was no need to bitch and moan when I 
wasn't.

Beatrice's arrogance was what finally made her talk.  In a 
high-handed 'you can't touch me so why not' way, she 
informed us that, "The bus nearly hit my son.  I sent it to the 
Other Place to protect him."

"The 'Other Place'?" Rogue echoed.  "What's that?"

Beatrice looked down her nose - literally - at her.  "I don't 
know what it is.  I only send things there when there's need."  
Another raised eyebrow at Scott.  She was almost as good at 
that expression as I was.  "And other than the fact that I don't 
know how to bring things back from there, I have excellent 
control of my abilities, so I won't be in need of 
this...'training'...you offer."

"You send people off," Scott began slowly, "without having 
any idea where they _go?_"  Only now that I knew him a bit 
could I read the real anger starting to churn just beneath his 
composed surface.  "Ms. Denmarth...for all you know you 
could be _killing_ these people."

"Oh, I doubt that," she answered, waving that off.  "I'm sure 
I'd know if that was the case."

"How?" Jean demanded, somewhat _less_ calm than her 
husband.  "I can't believe you're so indifferent to what you 
may be doing!"

"I am a Denmarth."  Beatrice drew up to her full, impressive 
height, towering over me and taller than everyone in the room 
except Scott.  I suppose the name was meant to explain away 
whatever she wanted.  Who would argue with a _Denmarth,_ 
after all?

Me, of course.  I snorted loud enough to draw her icy eyes to 
me.  "Yeah," I told her, giving a half-grin.  "By _marriage._"  
At her startled, confused look - quite subdued, of course - I 
gestured towards all the pictures, certificates, and the like all 
over the walls.  "Beatrice Ann Wyler-Denmarth.  Either your 
parents liked funny extra middle names hyphenated to the last, 
or your maiden is Wyler and you married into the Denmarths.  
I'm guessing option two."  Then I stretched the grin into a 
smile and gave her _my_ raised-eyebrow look.  "So are you 
widowed, Beatrice?  Was your hubby's body _lost_ by any 
chance?  Maybe he disappeared without a trace...?"

A first-class glare accompanied by a little increase in heart 
rate.  "My husband left me to follow a dream and travel the 
world until he dies.  I had nothing to do with it."

"I'll bet."  Hell, even if she thought she was telling the truth, I 
was willing to wager she had _something_ to do with the 
Mister running.  I could see a mean streak not too far beneath 
that hard surface.  

"All we want is to recover those people," Scott cut in, sending 
a _look_ my way that plainly said, 'Thank you, I'll take it 
from here, shut the hell up.'  "Will you help us?"

She gave me another glare, but her words were for him.  
"What do you want me to do?"

Evidently Jean and Scott had discussed this telepathically, 
because he responded readily.  "Send me to this 'Other Place.'  
My wife and the others will remain here.  Hopefully Jean will 
be able to keep track of me and help you to bring me back."

Beatrice was actually surprised enough to stop glaring at me 
and look to him.  "But there's no telling what waits there for 
you.  And certainly no guarantee I can bring you back."

He nodded.  "I understand the risks, Ms. Denmarth.  I'm 
willing to try if you are."

The hard, cold face softened just the slightest bit, some of her 
defensive offensiveness backing off.  She didn't ask how Scott 
expected Jean to keep track of him.  Maybe she didn't wanna 
know.  "If...that's what you want."  Was there just a trace of 
respect in her voice?  "When?  Now?"

He looked at Jean.  Her eyes hinted at her worry, but she only 
gave him a smile.  Scott nodded slightly at her, some private, 
hidden message passing between them.  Then he turned back 
to Beatrice.  "I suppose now's as good a time as any."

"Hold up," I told them.  "Lemme call Zach, first."

"What?" Scott asked as I stood and invited myself to use 
Beatrice's phone.

"I'm coming, too," I told him distractedly, willing Zach to 
have come back from the beach already.  "No telling what'll 
be there.  Two's better than one."  <We had _better_ get back 
quick...>  

"Well hell, why don't Ah come along, too?"

<'Cause Scott doesn't trust Beatrice farther than she could 
throw me, and he's not happy about leaving Jean here with 
her.>  But I left Scott to find a way to explain that tactfully, 
because Zach answered the phone then.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Sparks.  Listen, I'm about to...uh, go somewhere, I 
guess.  Not sure how long I'll be gone."  <If I'm not back by 
tomorrow, Darius is gonna murder me...>  But I couldn't just 
let Scott run off into who-knew-what all on his lonesome.  
"Would you mind telling those friends I was gonna meet 
tonight that I'll be by as soon as possible?"

"Darius isn't going to like this, Spunky."

No shit.  "I know.  I'm doing all I can to hurry it."

"Where are you going?"

"I dunno.  Another dimension or something.  Look, I'm kinda 
in a rush here as is...just give 'em the message, would you?  
And if I haven't gotten back with you by noon tomorrow go 
ahead and tell them someone else should run the game."

"Another...dimension?"

"Yeah.  Long story.  Just say yes, Sparks.  I gotta go."

"Uh...all right, Spunky.  I'll keep an ear out.  And you all have 
a visitor here."

A visitor?  That was unexpected.  "Who?"

"Man calling himself 'LeBeau.'  He one of yours?"

Curiouser and curiouser.  "Yeah...he's ours.  Just tell him to sit 
tight.  We'll get back ASAP."

"Will do."  A pause.  "Be careful, Kai."

I smiled cheerfully at my watching audience.  "Always, 
m'friend."  

When I hung up the phone Beatrice gestured for me to go 
stand beside Scott.  Jean and Rogue stepped back, veiled 
concern on the first face, a touch of wistful envy on the 
second.  Beatrice's mask of haughty invulnerability was 
slipping just a bit, uneasiness taking its place.  Now was she 
afraid of what she was about to do, or what we would 
_find_...?

Scott looked at her, but spoke in an undertone to me.  "You 
sure you want to do this, Kai?  You don't have to come."

"Gotta catch up with the rest of you somehow.  So far I'm 
_way_ behind on planet and dimension hopping."

A faint little grin, and he started to say something else.  Right 
then, though, Beatrice got an intense look of concentration on 
her face and gestured with her hands.  Something _shifted_ in 
the room - the temperature dropped ten degrees in a heartbeat.  
A shadow blacker than pitch reared up behind us, though 
neither Rogue nor Jean seemed to see it...

And it swallowed us.

***

Stomach.  Lungs.  Liver.  Kidneys.  Heart.  Brain.

"Yep," I croaked.  "All there."

"What's...all there?"  Scott sat back with a groan.  A deep one.  
Considering he's not usually the sort to bitch and moan, that 
said something about how bad he felt.

I suppressed my own groan with an effort as I rubbed a palm 
over eyes that seemed little more than windows to an aching 
brain.  "Internal organs.  They're all there."

He coughed heavily, probably trying not to gag.  "Glad 
to...hear it."  A hand went to his skull.  "Oooh...  What's it 
look like?"

Probably didn't wanna open his eyes yet.  Light is _cruel_ 
after teleportation.  "It looks sorta like..."  I frowned.  
"Texas?"

"_What?_"

"Well that's what the billboard says."

"Bill...board?"  He looked up.  I looked up.  And down.  And 
all around.

And I thumped back to plop on my butt and scowl.  "We're in 
_Texas._  Not even another fucking dimension.  Just a big hot 
Southern state.  Whoopee."

"Where's your...enthusiasm, Kai?"  Scott, seeming less put out 
than me, stood with a quieter groan.  "We just got teleported a 
good chunk of the way across the country.  That should be 
worth something on your scorecard."

"I don't _like_ teleporting."  I glared at our surroundings.  
"And I don't like dusty abandoned highways that probably 
lead to nowhere towns."  A little note of seriousness crept into 
my tone.  "And I don't like two-day-old diesel fumes and sun 
tan lotion choking up my nose."

"So they _were_ here."

"Possibly.  I can't exactly tell buses apart...but this doesn't 
look like a very traveled road, and the timing's right."

"So when Beatrice sent people to the 'Other Place' she was 
really just sending them to...Texas."

I nodded, scowling at the inanity of it all.  "Texas."

A strange sound from Scott drew my attention.  He noticed my 
regard and clamped his mouth firmly shut, but the lips were 
quirking up at the corners.  Even as I watched the mouth 
twitched, fighting back the smile.  "Beatrice Denmarth sends 
people to Texas."

As my headache faded, it seemed a bit funnier.  "That's...some 
mutant power, there."

Another of those strange sounds escaped him.  After a moment 
I realized it was a suppressed chuckle.  I raised an eyebrow at 
him - not in the same cold way I did to Beatrice - and just 
looked.  More of a smile crept through under the steady 
gaze...and then he just gave up.  Collapsing to his butt with a 
thump, he let the laughter come; deep, hearty laughter that 
rumbled from his gut and made him clutch at his stomach.  I 
fought my own share of hilarity back for a moment, trying to 
maintain my irritation at the situation...but couldn't maintain 
the reserve for long.  I mean, the bitch sent us to _Texas._  It 
was so utterly..._ridiculous._

When I could speak past the chortling, I gasped out, "Can 
you...reach Jean?"

He was nodding and trying to still his mirth at the same time.  
I snorted laughter again at the sight.  "I can...feel her.  Dimly.  
She'll try to set up a...link for Beatrice to follow."

"To Texas," I said seriously.  Then buried my head in my 
hands to chortle again.  Being so busy dying of laughter made 
it easy to miss the dark thing that loomed over us again until 
the last moment...and then it swallowed us once more, and I 
quickly lost my sense of humor as organs resumed their 
enthusiastic line-dance in my body.

***

"So where'd you go?" Zach asked when we made our tired 
way into the huge apartment.  He was reading some thick 
book of indistinguishable subject, sprawled with unconscious 
lazy grace on the plush couch in the middle of the living room 
and looking disgustingly well-rested and tanned from his day 
at the beach.

"It's a long, stupid story that I don't wanna talk about," I 
answered tiredly.  Exhaustion was crashing in, and I still had 
work to do tonight.  Little seemed more important at that 
moment than a good hour-long nap.

At least Scott had let me break the news to Beatrice myself.  
That'd been fun.  Almost as much fun as when it came on the 
news that the missing Californian bus 319 had limped into a 
little Texas town earlier that day, though no one, of course, 
had any idea how it got there.  Beatrice, somewhat chastened, 
had actually agreed to come to Xavier's sometime in the next 
few months to work on better controlling her powers.  And 
she'd confessed reluctantly to having sent Mr. Denmarth to 
the 'Other Place'...and this explained oh-so-clearly the 
anonymous postcard she'd been sent from a town just outside 
of Houston, Texas that had said only, "Thanks, I'm much 
happier here."

A moment after entering Zach's apartment I started paying 
attention enough to notice the scent, and I groaned to myself 
as I realized I'd forgotten to tell the others he was here.  
"'Bout time y' got back," he said from the doorway to one of 
the spare bedrooms.  "Was gettin' tired a waitin'."

Rogue froze in the entrance, suit jacket half-off where she'd 
been stripping it free.  "_Remy?_"  Her eyes went wide with 
astonishment.  "What're ya _doin'_ here?"

He didn't answer directly, sliding a glance at the others 
uncomfortably.  "C'n we talk, chere?  Alone?"

Guess she wasn't quite over being angry at him yet, because 
she drew herself up stiffly and gave him a glare.  "Anythin' ya 
gotta say to me you can say in front of my friends."  Ouch.  
'My friends.'

He matched the glare, those sparks starting to dance between 
them again.  "I paid a lot a money t' fly out here, chere."

Scott chose then to enter, head turned to say something to Jean 
as she came in behind him.  His face came around sharply at 
Remy's voice.  "What're _you_ doing here?  Is there a 
problem?"

"Yeah, dere's a problem.  I need t' talk t' Rogue _alone,_ an' 
y're here."  Remy always seems to reserve the charm for 
anyone _but_ Scott.

"He's got more right t' be here than _you_ do, swamp rat," 
Rogue told him heatedly.  "_We're_ here on a mission.  
_You_ prob'ly just came to cause trouble."

His head shook sharply.  "Non.  I need t' tell y' sum'ting, 
Rogue.  It's important."

Guess she didn't agree.  The jacket was thrown violently over 
the back of a chair and she crossed her arms firmly over her 
chest.  "We got nothin' t' say to each other, Remy."  And with 
that she stalked past him into the guest room she'd been 
sleeping in, slamming the door loudly enough to make Zach 
wince in sympathy for the poor abused doorframe.

Remy stared after her.  I wondered if he'd be so caught up in 
whatever his reason for coming was that he'd go pound on her 
door and demand that she open it.

Nope.  Instead he turned that burning red-black gaze on me 
and said shortly, "I could use a drink."

I wasn't too eager to comply with that.  He'd been hitting the 
bottle a bit too hard for my comfort, lately.  "Why don't you 
just sit down and get your head straight for a bit, Cajun?"

Jean had come in somewhere during this, and she added her 
own concern.  "Let her calm down a bit, Remy.  Going out 
and getting drunk isn't going to solve anything, and you know 
it."

"T'ank y', Jean," he began in a borderline cold tone, "but I 
wasn' talkin' t' you, was I?"

Jean's recoil wasn't exactly visible, but I could see the hurt 
withdrawal in her face.  And Remy, being a generally 
observant fellow, also saw it.  A glimmer of guilt, quickly 
suppressed, flashed into his eyes.  Scott started to say 
something - probably nothing to ease the situation, seeing as 
Scott and Remy _never_ get along - but Remy didn't wait for 
it.  He slid another glance at me in silent message before 
stalking forward to push his way past Scott and take himself 
outside.

Silence for a moment.

Then- "Well," Zach commented in a dry voice.  "You people 
are entertaining, at least."

I wasn't in the mood to joke.  "Gimme the keys to your car, 
Sparks."

"Huh?"

"Your keys."  The classic raised-eyebrow look.  "Or are you 
paying for my cab?"

Zach sighed in defeat, digging into his pocket and pulling the 
keys out.  "Just don't forget those friends you're supposed to 
meet tonight, Spunky.  You've only got a couple of hours 
before you need to leave."

I caught the keys when he tossed them.  "I'll meet 'em.  This 
won't take too long."  When I brushed by Scott, he put a 
lightly restraining hand on my arm.

"Keep him out of trouble, Kai."  It was his 'leader-voice,' but 
there was a hint of real concern there.  Scott takes it personally 
when anyone on the team raises a ruckus, but he's not 
insensitive, and he does give a shit about all of us.

Knowing this, I didn't snap out the usual retort I might've.  
"I'll handle it, Scott."  Looked to Jean.  "And why don't you 
see what's got her so riled, huh?"

"I'll see if she wants to talk," Jean agreed with a little nod.  
"Now go.  Before he hot-wires a car to get out of here faster."

I went, irritation warring with worry and generally resulting in 
overall annoyance.  <So much for my fucking nap.>  But if 
something had been important enough to send Remy haring 
off across the country - no doubt paying an arm and a leg for 
plane fare - then I was willing to give him the benefit of the 
doubt.  For now.

<But if I find out this is all some romantic bullshit...>  Well.  I 
would be a less-than-happy camper.  And that tends to make 
other people less-than-happy, as well.  Particularly whoever 
_made_ me that way.

***

In the only dingy bar I was able to find in upscale PV, I 
matched him drink for drink.  By the end of the hour, that 
meant that _he_ was damn near soused and _I_ was just shy of 
tipsy.  And that's when he finally started talking...a little.

"She don' und'stan'.  Everyt'ing I try t' show her...not'ing.  
S'all...not'ing."  He nodded with drunken seriousness.  "Why 
do I try, Kai?"  A pause, then he chuckled softly.  
"'Try'...'Kai'...dey rhyme."

"Yeah, isn't that something?  Now tell me...why the _hell_ did 
you come all the way across the country to have a door 
slammed in your face?  I mean, couldn't you just wait 'til she 
got back for that?"

The red and black eyes tried to glare, but were a bit too 
unfocused to make it good.  "Y' bring me out...get me 
drunk...all so y' c'n ask f' my secrets?  Dat it, Kai?"

I snorted and took a swallow of whatever the hell this latest 
drink was - I'd lost track.  "Don't be a dumbass, Remy.  I'm 
not interested in your dirt.  You oughtta know that by now.  I 
_am_ interested in seeing you keep your head straight."  A 
hand gestured towards the little shot glass between his fingers.  
"This sure as hell isn't helping, y'know."

The eyes dropped to stare at the amber liquid in the glass.  
"S'my business," he mumbled.

"Yeah, well I don't wanna see you turning into a drunken 
sop."

"I don' drink dat much."

"Bullshit."  He looked at me again, expression hollow.  I met 
his eyes and continued in as cold a voice as I could muster 
past exhaustion.  "For the past two weeks you've gotten drunk 
every other fucking night.  And I haven't forgotten having to 
pick you up at two AM from the Bullet last Friday, either.  
You've been sneaking off...moody...sullen..."  A frown 
creased my forehead.  "You're turning into Logan in a 
_mood._"  Now I let the tone soften just a little.  "What the 
hell's going on, Remy?"  His eyes crinkled at the corners and I 
went on before he could draw back any farther.  "I told 
you...I'm not interested in your secrets.  Just...let me know if 
there's something I can do to help."  <I'm just turning into a 
regular Samaritan, aren't I?  Sensei'd never believe it...>

He tipped back the shot glass and downed the contents in an 
abrupt motion, then clunked it to the table and fixed me with a 
gaze that was surprisingly steady despite the liquor he'd 
ingested.  His voice, however, had the faintest uncharacteristic 
hesitance to it.  "Y' my friend, Kai," he said, then waited as if 
he needed my confirmation before continuing.  He sounded 
uncertain.  It made me wonder how many people there are that 
he considers friends in the world.

Maybe not so many more than mine.  "You know I am."  
Damn, I _hate_ openness.

A nod.  "I c'n trust y'."  Another pause, waiting.

"Yeah."

A waitress started to head our way again, but he caught her 
eye and shook his head.  After she turned away his eyes met 
mine once more, wary and nervous.  "I did sum'ting, chere.  
Long time ago.  Sum'ting bad."  Cloth shifted as he fumbled 
with unaccustomed gracelessness for a cigarette.  A raised 
eyebrow at me once he got the pack out - I accepted with a 
little nod.  Since we were in a public place he didn't light it 
with his finger.  I kinda missed seeing that trick.

After a long inhalation he continued, smoke trailing out with 
each word and lending a peculiar visual emphasis.  "Dere's a 
man who knows all about it."  Lips drew back in a half-aware 
snarl.  "He _caused_ it, chere.  Everyt'ing.  So many people..."  
A quick head-shake cut off those words.  "De bastard tryin' t' 
blackmail me.  Tryin' t' get me t' betray...my friends.  _Dat 
won' happen._"  Not a hint of drunkenness at those last three 
words, and he said them so firmly I knew that he, at least, 
completely believed them.  "But I need a way t' make him 
b'have himself, non?  So I fin' sum'ting important t' him, 
sum'ting he needs...an' now I'm goin' after it.  Soon.  T'ree 
days.  Und'stan'?"

If some of the others heard this, they'd have kittens.  I only 
nodded.  "I gotcha."  Tossed back my booze, feeling the liquid 
heat burn down into my stomach, and set the glass aside.  
"And it's risky," I ventured.  "Risky enough for you to wanna 
settle things with Rogue in case you get taken out."

"Oui."  He took a long, slow drag off the cigarette and visibly 
collected his thoughts past the haze of liquor.  "Y' done t'ings.  
I know y' have.  I seen de _look_ y' get sometimes...de same 
look Logan gets.  Betsy too, 'caisionally.  An' even Rogue, 
when she bein' honest wit' herself.  T'ings y' ain' proud of."

Another nod.  "Only for about half my life," I told him with 
somewhat painful honesty.  <Half the life I _remember,_ 
anyway.>  "I wanna help you with this one."

"Non."  Sharp negation, emphasized with a stream of smoke 
from his nostrils like the puffing of an angry dragon.  "I ain' 
draggin' y' into my fight, chere.  Dis sum'ting I got t' handle."

"Bullshit," I informed him again.  "It sounds too fucking 
dangerous to do alone."

"An' dat's why y' ain' comin' along.  I ain' lettin' y' risk 
y'self f' me."

Why does every man in my life have to be so damned macho?  
"Cut the crap, Remy.  You tell me you're heading into 
something that might get you killed and expect me to just sit 
back and accept it?  I don't think so.  Save the chivalrous 
posing for someone who'll appreciate it.  I'm more interested 
in keeping your hide intact."

"I 'preciate de offer, chere, but...well, Logan would have my 
hide if I let y' in on dis."

Whoa!  "What the fuck do you think I am?  Am I his goddamn 
_property_ now, Cajun?"

A hint of a grin crept through.  "Jus' tryin' t' get a rise, Kai.  I 
didn' mean it.  An' I ain' scared a y' boyfriend."

I glowered.  "Well, you got your damned rise.  Now does this 
mean you'll quit being a fucking idiot and let me help you?"

"Hmph."  Another long drag, strange eyes scanning over 
mine.  "Make y' a deal."

"What's that?"

"Y' let me help y' wit' whatever y' got goin' on out here, an' I 
let y' help me wit' my problem."

Clever little rat...  "What makes you think I've got something 
going on out here?"

"Got a feel f' dis kinda t'ing."  A little more of the grin.  
"T'ieves intuition."

"Heh."  I didn't really wanna let Remy know about Three 
Eyes...though he couldn't exactly do anything if he _did_ 
know; the organization's too good at covering its tracks.  But 
if I didn't take him in tonight, and just let him come along for 
the op tomorrow night...  Well, I'm not one to sneer at help.  
Particularly help from someone I know is damned good.  And 
I _really_ didn't wanna leave him unsupported when he went 
off to do whatever the hell he was planning.  "Deal."

More and more people getting dragged into my life, and me 
into theirs.  I was slowly beginning to realize that the days of 
being safely alone were well and truly over.  The strange thing 
was that I didn't know whether to be nervous at that...or 
pleased.

So I was both.

***

"I hate California," I told the temperate night air as I climbed 
the outside staircase to Zach's place.  "I hate missions.  I hate 
being worshipped by all the young punks in Three Eyes that 
think I'm a goddamn legend and ask me for my goddamn 
_autograph._"  The words were broken with a yawn, and then 
I admitted the thing I _really_ hated.  "I _hate_ being so 
fucking _tired._"

No answer to my ramblings, but that was just as well.  If I'd 
started hearing voices I'd have to _really_ worry about me.

I had the Intel.  'Agents from MI-6' were gonna meet with 
representatives from the 'international terrorists' (and I still 
use that term facetiously) early tomorrow evening.  That's 
when they were supposed to receive their payment...and the 
recognition they so craved.  It was really textbook simple.  
While they were at their meeting - which would of course be a 
trap - I'd be sneaking in their diminished base to snatch the 
spook and get him safely away.  Turned out that their hideout 
was just a warehouse in South Central LA, and not even a too-
well-guarded one, either.  The only worry was that they'd 
have time to kill the hostage when they realized they were 
under attack, and that's why Darius was having me handle this 
instead of one of the teams.  I'm pretty good at sneaking; and 
more...if they _did_ catch sight of me before the agent was in 
the clear, they'd be far less threatened by a five-foot-nothing 
woman than a team of heavily armed Snakes.  It's an 
advantage I don't really _like_ to use, but too valuable to 
ignore.

Zach - who'd been along with me tonight but had caught a 
ride back earlier - was coming along as back-up, though it 
wasn't so much that I needed him.  It was because of an ugly 
part of what he is...the need to feed in order to survive.  He's 
got amazing control - learned it quickly, the hard way, back 
before Darius took over Three Eyes - but he still needs the 
energy that he can only get from other living beings, and only 
in truly sufficient quantity and quality from humans.  And 
since he hooked up with Jack the need's been even stronger, 
as Jack typically feeds off of _him._  So Zach's eating for two 
these days, and that means he's gotta put himself in the right 
position to take the kinda person he can live with taking.  He'd 
never forgive himself for losing it and taking an innocent.  
Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt.  Control's an 
obsession with him now...a _necessary_ obsession.  Which 
means that in order for him to live without killing innocent 
people, occasionally someone else has to die.

One more thing I tend to keep from my teammates.

The phone rang with an irritating jangle a few minutes after I 
walked in the door.  Swearing under my breath, I snatched it 
from its cradle before the second ring, forcing my voice into a 
semblance of not-bitchiness with effort.  "Yes?"

A pause, then a very familiar voice.  "Ya sound pissed."

A grin split my face.  I didn't try to fight it.  "What the hell are 
you doing calling here so late, Logan?  And where'd you get 
the number?"

"'Ro gave it to me.  Been kinda busy, or else I'd've called 
earlier.  How're things?"

The inviting cushion on the chair by the phone called to my 
butt, so I obliged it by plopping down and relaxing.  "I worked 
on my tan, the mutant we came to check out turned out to be a 
bitchy teleporter who can only send people to and from Texas, 
Remy flew across the country to make nice with Rogue, she 
slammed the door in his face, he got drunk, and I just got in 
from a very long night."

"So...same old, same old?"

"Scary how true that is, isn't it?"

A snort.  "How's that friend o' yours?  Zach?"

"Sappy," I told him dryly.  "And before you ask, Jack's fine 
and on vacation.  But enough of my news...how's everything 
in Tokyo?"

"Ah...'bout like always.  Got in...did what I came t' do...had a 
little run-in with the Hand..."

"Can you _ever_ go to Nippon without crossing paths with 
them?"

"It's not my fault!"

"Course not.  Everything okay there?"

"Yeah.  Old friend o' mine showed up to lend an assist."

"Oh?  Who is he?"

Right about then I heard the voice in the background - a 
woman's voice, and she said, "Hurry up and get off the phone, 
lover."

"Not funny, Yukio," he countered.  "I told ya not to call me 
that."

I had a momentary pause, then spoke.  My voice was nice and 
calm.  "Logan?" 

"Yeah?"

"If that woman has reason to call you 'lover' I'll string you up 
from the ceiling by your toenails," I informed him pleasantly.

He gave a reassuring laugh.  "No reason, darlin'.  There ain't 
nothin' goin' on."

"Keep it that way."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't call me 'ma'am.'"

"Any other orders while you're givin' 'em?"

"Not right this second."

"Good, 'cause I gotta go get Amiko outta bed."

"Amiko?  How the hell many women do you _have_ there, 
Logan?"

"She's my foster daughter, Kai," he told my dryly.

His _what?_  "You have...a foster daughter?"

"Yeah.  Long story.  Yukio's takin' care o' her."

"A woman who calls you 'lover' is taking care of your foster 
daughter?"

"You're not gonna get all insecure on me now, are ya?"

Arrogant bastard.  "What the hell do I have to be insecure 
about?"  <Just the fact that you've got a damn _kid_ you never 
told me about, that's all...no big deal...>

"Not a thing.  But this call's costin' a fortune.  I'm headin' 
outta here in a couple o' days...I'll give ya a ring then, okay?"

"Sure.  You gonna have any more surprises for me when you 
call again?"

His grin was almost audible.  "I just might.  Think you can 
handle it?"

"I can handle whatever you dish out."  _And_ pay him back 
with interest...

"Atta girl.  I gotta run, Kai.  Tell whoever I'd wanna say hello 
to 'hello.'"

"Will do.  Be careful."

"You too.  'Night, darlin'."

"S'long."  I hung up and stared at the phone for a minute, 
telling myself firmly that I was _not_ gonna get all jealous 
over what was probably nothing at all.  That's right.  Not a 
thing.

"Yeah," I muttered.  "I'll bet _lots_ of men have foster 
daughters they never mentioned to their lovers before.  And 
female friends who call 'em 'lover.'"  It took tremendous 
strength of will to keep from doing something utterly childish 
like throwing the phone across the room.

"Fuck it.  I need sleep."

Not an argument to be heard, in head or out.  Once again, I 
took that as a good sign.  And went to bed.

_After_ throwing the phone across the room...but only onto 
the couch so it didn't make a racket and wake everyone else.  
I'm a considerate tantrum-thrower.

***

Hammering at my door...some insanely early, cruel hour...a 
person who _really_ wanted me to wake up...

A person with a death wish.

"_What_ do you fucking _want?_"

"Ah gotta talk to ya, Kai, an' ya locked the door."

"Gee...I wonder why..."

"Why don't ya come open it so Ah don't 'accidentally' knock 
it down."

"Are you actually threatening me at..."  I glared at the clock, 
trying to make sleep-lagged eyes focus.  "...ten-fifteen AM?"

She didn't answer directly, but only reiterated, "Open the 
door."

Dragging sheets, I rolled out of bed with a grumble and 
shuffled my way to the door, flicking the lock and turning 
immediately to shuffle my way right back to the bed.  Rogue 
stepped on a trailing end of the bed-sheets and halted the 
motion.  "We gotta talk."

An irritated, tired glare was tossed over my shoulder.  
"About...?"

Flatly- "Remy."

No more seemed forthcoming, so I prompted- "What about 
him?"  About then I started to notice that not only did Rogue 
look very awake, she also looked very, very pissed.  Her hair 
was pulled back in a high tail, revealing the tight jaw and 
drawn line of her neck.  Green eyes were narrowed and almost 
sparkling.  <What the hell's got her in a snit?>

"D'ya think Ah can't figure it out, Kai?" she asked in a 
dangerously quiet voice.

I tugged half-heartedly at the sheet she had trapped beneath 
her foot, then gave up and dropped all the sheets, plopping 
down onto the bed in my boxers and T-shirt.  "I dunno.  Can 
you?"  

"Ah'm not stupid."

"Never said you were."

"Ya took him out for drinks last night."

<No, really?>  "Sure did."

"An' then he got a motel room."

"Guess he didn't feel a warm and welcoming atmosphere 
here."

She glared.  "And _then_ ya went out later and were gone for 
hours.  An' Zach came back alone an' wouldn't say where ya 
were."

"Do tell."

That's when she dropped the brick.  "You're sleepin' with 
him, aren't ya?"

I blinked.  Swallowed a laugh.  Blinked again.  "_What?_"

"Ya are.  All the signs're there."

"We're just _friends,_ Rogue."

"You expect me to b'lieve that?"

"Of course I do.  It's true."  <Oh, this just takes the cake...>

She wouldn't be mollified.  "When'd it start, Kai?  How 
long's it been goin' on?"

"_Nothing's_ going on!" I nearly shouted in exasperation.  "In 
case you've forgotten, I'm kinda seeing someone right now."

"An' Ah don't know how ya could betray Logan like that."

"How I could...what the fuck's gotten _into_ you?"  I hate 
being on the defensive.  I'd much rather attack.  "If you'd stop 
being such a goddamn bitch to the little ass, maybe you 
wouldn't have reason to get so fucking insecure."  Wow, that 
was a cussy line even for me.  I justified it by reminding 
myself that she woke me up.  Rudely.  

"The way Ah see it," she informed me coldly, "there's only 
one way Ah can be sure you're tellin' me the truth."  

It took a minute for her meaning to hit.  When it did, I stood 
abruptly and took a hasty step away from her.  "Keep your 
fucking hands to yourself."

"Scared a what Ah'll find?"

<Let's see...I've got tons of extremely personal crap buried in 
my brain, not to mention about a thousand secrets I can't 
afford to let get out, and a real thing against people knowing 
too much about me...whadda you think?>  Aloud I told her, 
"Let me make this really goddamn simple for you, Rogue.  
You try to lay so much as a finger on me, and you've got an 
enemy for life.  Clear enough?"  I was painfully aware of bare 
arms and legs, already planning to grab for a sheet and try to 
cover her so I could get the hell outta there if she went for me.  
<Wish I'd borrowed one of Bishop's guns...might have a 
chance to stop her...>

For a moment she held the glare, indecision in her bearing.  
"Ah wanna _know,_ Kai.  How the hell can Ah ever trust ya if 
you're hidin' things like this?"

"Like any normal person would," I nearly growled.  "By 
_listening_ to me, for starters.  By not getting yourself all tied 
up with jealousy over _nothing._"  Where were the others?  
Damnit...I'd heard them leave for breakfast earlier...

"But...you're with him so much of the time..."

"That's 'cause I _like_ him, Rogue!  As a _bud,_ not a..."  
Angry as I was, it was still hard to keep from laughing at this.  
"A _lover._"  Then the anger obligingly came back and chased 
away amusement.  "And if you think I'd lead Logan along like 
that...well, you just don't fucking know me at all."

"An' god forbid anyone gets t' know _Kai,_" she said 
mockingly, ice in the words and in her eyes.  "God forbid ya 
be open enough that anyone knows if you're a cheatin' bitch."

It might've struck harder if I wasn't already so much on guard.  
"_Don't_ put your fucking insecurities on me.  You got a 
problem with Remy, take it up with him.  Fight...kiss and 
make up...I don't really care!  Just don't drag me into it like 
this."

Her face twisted, eyes glistening with more than anger.  "Ah 
can't _touch_ him, Kai!  Ah just want..."  Teeth ground.  Eyes 
closed.  She sat down with a soft plunk on the bed and clasped 
her head in her hands.  "Ah'm sorry.  Ah didn't mean t' say all 
that.  Ah don't know what's...what's gotten into me..."

Still wary and uneasy, I didn't move any closer to her.  "I'm 
_not_ sleeping with him."

"Ah...Ah know."

"Don't put your shit about your powers off on me."

Another emerald glare, tears frozen in her gaze.  "Ya don't 
know what it's _like._"

<How many times have I heard that?>  "Never thought I did."

"It's like bein' in prison _forever._  Never bein' able t' get 
out...to hold someone's hand..."

I wasn't in a mood to try to make her feel any better.  "Get 
over it."

"What would _you_ do?!" she demanded heatedly, thankfully 
not rising from the bed.  Nervy as she was making me, I'd 
probably have jumped a foot if she did.  "What would you do 
if ya were so sure ya were gonna lose someone...someone 
important to ya just 'cause ya couldn't _touch_ him??"

"He's stuck by you so far," I pointed out.

A tear slid down her cheek.  "What would ya do?" she asked 
again, voice dropping to a harsh thing just above a whisper.  
"If ya had t' be _alone_ forever..."

<For once in your damned life, try to be a little sensitive to 
another woman, Kai.  You can do it.>  "I dunno...I guess I'd 
get myself a really good BOB."

She frowned just a little.  "A what?"

Did this qualify as sensitivity?  <Close enough.>  "Battery 
Operated Boyfriend."

Her head dropped again, shoulders shaking.  I heard muffled 
laughter, sobs...smelled the salt tang of tears.  She was 
laughing and crying, and all I could do was stand there 
awkwardly and uselessly and bear witness to her pain, unable 
to find a single word to ease it at all.

***

"West-side clear."

"Check.  East?"

"Got two men wit' concealed pistols.  _Badly_ concealed."

"Check.  I've got three men on the south entrance, boys.  
Anyone with heavy arms'll be just inside with our guy.  
How's that window look, Gambit?"

"Easy.  Distract 'em an' I be in quick."

"You ready, Sparks?"

"Whenever you are, Spunky."

"All right."  I took a breath; pushed it out slow.  "Let's do it."

No street lights immediately surrounding the warehouse.  
They wanted to draw as little attention to their hidey-hole as 
possible.  The three men in front also wore concealed pistols 
in slightly-too-bulky shoulder holsters.  They couldn't exactly 
walk around outside with submachine guns, since they didn't 
wanna draw eyes from local law enforcement.  Wouldn't that 
be humiliating?  'International terrorists' (and I continue to 
use the term facetiously) wiped out by the LAPD...

The north side of the warehouse was backed up against a 
defunct candy factory.  West had no entrances, and Remy 
waited for his opportunity to sneak in through the east-side 
window and nab the spook while I drew the fire of the other 
half-dozen or so armed agents inside.  Zach was coming up 
behind me, but he was gonna hang back and play the psivamp 
version of 'hostage negotiator' - meaning that anyone who 
went for the spook before Remy got in or I got to him would 
get _taken,_ plain and simple.

First thing, though, was to remove the tangos on the outside so 
they couldn't sound a warning before we got in.  And since I 
was an X-Man now, that meant trying to do so without killing 
them.  ("Trying" being the operative word.  I'd take 'em out in 
a heartbeat if I had to.)  Now all I had to do was take down the 
three at the main entrance without alerting the rest.

<This'd be much easier if I could just kill these bastards.>

No exterior cameras...they hadn't been at this base long 
enough to really equip it.  I crept up silently, taking my time 
and keeping every sense scanning for anything unexpected.  
The tranquilizer gun was in my hand.  I wanted to be close 
when I used it so I could jump in and subdue the third guard - 
I'd have time to dart two, probably, before number three 
kicked it into gear.  Zach was ready and waiting, eyes closed 
to shield the brilliant light the hunger gave to them.  He didn't 
need to see with eyes - his psivamp senses would tell him 
more clearly the location of every living being within range.

Radio silence as I approached, slipping from shadow to 
shadow and drawing steadily closer...

Now.  I was near enough to smell them despite the lack of 
breeze.  Sweat, after-shave, musk...blood.  Looked like they'd 
been working over the agent again.  Their hearts pumped with 
that steady, regulated rhythm.  Their lungs drew in calm 
breaths.  The one I'd mentally labeled Two lit up a cigarette, 
the rich tobacco smoke drifting lazily up through the air in a 
slow, broken spiral.  One had turned to pace back towards me.  
Three stepped over to murmur something in a jocular tone to 
Two.

The tranq took One in the neck - a tiny, bullet-shaped pellet 
that would just pierce the skin before releasing the dug.  More 
reliable than darts.  He barely had time to grasp for the wound 
before falling, and before his body hit the ground with a too-
loud thump I was moving forward, taking aim on Three and 
firing at the third step.  He went down with a  choked little 
gasp.  Two started to turn, hand reaching beneath his jacket for 
the pistol, mouth opening for a warning shout to his 
companions.  I was already on him; an elbow to the nose 
knocked him back with a grunt.  A leg sweep sent him 
crashing down to concrete, and then I snatched his own gun, a 
.45, and jammed it beneath his chin in one motion, digging 
cold steel into pale flesh.

He froze, wise man.  I could hear the buzz of a voice in the 
radio receiver tucked in his ear; one of the men inside asking 
if everything was all right.  The muzzle of the .45 shifted just a 
little and I smiled warningly at the man, doing what I could to 
put out the message, 'There's no bargaining with me...I'd 
enjoy this...gimme an excuse.  Please.'

His voice was almost steady as he answered the query.  
"Everything's fine.  Just...stubbed my fucking toe."

"Clumsy dumb-shit," his radio friend called him, chuckling.  
He chuckled nervously back.  When the other didn't say 
anything else, I quietly pulled the receiver from the man's ear 
and tossed it.  

"How many inside?" I asked him in a low voice.  Before he 
opened his mouth I pressed the .45 more snugly against his 
skin and warned softly, "Don't lie."

His voice cracked a little on the words.  "Five men and the 
prisoner."

"Good man."  My left hand brought the tranq gun forward.  
He winced as the pseudo bullet struck, then sagged into 
unconsciousness.  Checking the safety on the .45 - it was off, 
and I flicked it on - I shoved the gun in the waist of my black 
BDU pants and murmured, "Any movement from our boys to 
the east?"

"Non."

"Sparks?"

"He told you the truth...six men on the inside, one of them in a 
lot of pain."

"Watch my back when those guards from the east come 
running, Sparks.  I'm going in the front...Gambit, you ready?"

"Oui.  Be careful, chere."

I didn't bother answering as I readied the tranq gun and 
slipped to the door.  The little weapon wasn't any good at all 
unless it hit bare flesh - even cloth would interfere with it 
enough to keep the pseudo bullets from piercing skin - but I'm 
a pretty good shot, so I should be able to take down a couple 
before they started firing.  And after that...well, that's what a 
healing factor's for, isn't it?

A few slow, deep breaths just outside the door...a count of 
three...

Now...nice and easy...  I put a hand on the doorknob, turning 
painfully slowly and listening for a catch, a squeal of metal, 
anything that'd draw attention.  The greasy smell and the 
silence of the motion made it clear: the dumb bastards had 
actually _oiled_ the knob and the hinges to keep the door from 
creaking!  <How nice of 'em to make my job easier...>  Light 
from inside spilled out over me.  I peeked through - three men 
at a table playing cards and talking, one answering nature's 
call in a far corner, and the final one reclining in a rickety 
chair a few feet from our objective.  The only one actually 
holding a weapon was this last one, and he had a full-auto 
rifle.  Various armaments scattered across the table along with 
the cards...the guy who couldn't be troubled to find a 
bathroom wasn't armed at all.  And as a whole, these tangos 
were about as alert as a sow after slop.

I aimed carefully; the warehouse was big, and the guy 
watching our agent was across it.  Tightened my finger on the 
trigger...a little chuff of air as the tranq was fired...

He lurched forward out of his chair, hand slapping at his neck 
even as he started to go limp and fell in a heap to the ground.  
The MI-6 agent raised a bruised and bloody head, eyes 
startled.  The card game broke up abruptly as hands snatched 
for weapons and the shouts started.  That's when I dived 
through the door, feeling adrenaline kick in overtime, and 
went for them.  Another fell to the tranq, but the next got 
_me_ with a .45 much like the one I'd relieved from the guard 
outside.  Thankfully he wasn't that great of a shot...the bullet 
grazed a rib on its way by, but didn't tear through anything 
more vital.  A little grunt escaped me.  Lips drew back.  
<Don't kill 'em.  You're an X-Man.  Don't kill 'em.>  Only 
two left at the table, ducking down for cover behind it as they 
fired at me.  Final guy actually took the time to zip up his 
pants, and then he started in our direction.  

No cover to be had.  I dropped the tranq gun and whipped out 
the .45, flicking the safety off with the motion, then turned my 
dodging run into a dive for the floor, shooting low.  The one 
on the left screamed and fell back as his kneecap was 
shattered, blood spraying out from the nicked artery.  Right-
hand-man shouted something profane and renewed his efforts 
towards depriving me of life.  I rolled, firing again - double 
tap to the torso.  He went down with a scream.

Radio in my ear; Zach telling me to- "Watch your back!"  
My arms snapped around, head craning up for a better look.  
Both the east-side tangos were coming in with pistols ready, 
one of 'em having the sense to use the door as a shield while 
he took bead on me.  The stupider one got a bullet just a few 
inches shy of his groin.  Smarter guy planted one in my thigh, 
wringing a shouted curse from me.  From the corner of my eye 
I made out Remy launching from the window towards the last 
guy - he could handle him easily, so that just left mine.

And suddenly he wasn't a problem either.  Over the radio I 
heard a rapturous hiss from Zach - he's a different man when 
feeding, and it can be enough to give even _me_ shivers.  But 
with that sound the gunman stiffened, eyes going wide and 
frantic...a strangled groan escaped him, meaning that Zach 
was toying with him; mentally stimulating his fear to make the 
take more "flavorful"...and then he collapsed limply to knees 
before knuckling forward in a lifeless heap.

"Thanks," I told him, regulating my breath and trying not to 
curse any more at the pain in my thigh.

"My pleasure."  Literally, I was sure.

The man I'd hit in the torso was half-conscious, giving bare 
little moans with every breath.  Liquid rattled in one of his 
lungs...he'd need medical care quick if he was gonna live.  
The one whose knee I'd taken was holding the leg by the 
thigh, staring with wide eyes at the ruined joint and breathing 
in rapid pants, slowing as shock set in.  Groin hit was howling.  
The rest were out.

Remy's man was down too, and it didn't look as if the Cajun 
had even bothered with his powers for that one.  Quick thief 
hands freed the MI-6 agent, and then Remy was helping him 
to his feet with a few words of encouragement and a 
supporting arm.  Despite the fact that this man had been a 
hostage for days, been beaten severely, and probably been 
starved to boot, he maintained a sorta steadiness in expression 
and bearing that I couldn't help but respect.  

In my ear- "I've called in for the medics and the unit that's 
taking the prisoners in.  They'll be here in a few minutes."

"Good."  The graze in my side was healed, but the bullet was 
lodged against bone in my thigh...soft tissue was closing 
around it, meaning surgery.  _My_ kinda surgery, which is 
basically "tear it out and let it heal."  It could wait for the 
medics, though, and I needed to make sure the men who were 
down didn't get any ideas.  With a groan - disguised artfully 
as a rather vile oath - I levered myself to feet and limped to 
the tranq gun, keeping an eye on the tangos all the while.  
Groin hit actually looked relieved in the heartbeat between the 
quick shot and the following unconsciousness.  When I 
hobbled over and treated the man with the shattered knee to 
the same he almost seemed to not even notice, his watery blue 
eyes remaining locked on the injury until the tranq took effect.

The man I'd double-tapped had taken both to the left lung.  I 
didn't wanna tranq him and risk that complicating things 
further, so I just kicked all weapons out of his reach, did a 
quick search of his unresisting body for more, then set about 
doing what I could to keep him alive.  <Soft plastic...soft 
plastic...>  There.  On the table...some discarded wrapping that 
should do.  I snagged it and brought it over, listening to the air 
hiss through the entrance and exit wounds.  Brown eyes rolled 
to me.  I didn't meet them, but kept an impassive mask over 
my face while I stripped off his shirt and pressed the plastic 
over each wound, watching it get sucked in a little bit to 
haphazardly plug the holes.  Some super-adhesive tape from 
the little pouch of useful trinkets I wear with my BDUs was 
enough to finish the job, and I taped up three sides of the patch 
over each bullet hole, leaving the fourth free to vent.

He spoke, his voice a thready, pained whisper.  
"We're...patriots."

"Terrorists and kidnappers is more like it," I told him levelly, 
securing a last patch.  

"It was...for our country..."

"Sure it was."  

Cars pulled up outside.  Zach told me they were ours.  I stood, 
balancing most of my weight on the good leg, and watched the 
amazingly efficient cleanup of this little mess.

The MI-6 agent, leaning heavily on Remy's arm, cleared his 
throat for my attention.  I turned and nodded a greeting, 
mentally running through the files I'd read last night for his 
name.  But no...they hadn't given us one.  "All I've got on you 
is a number...you have a name?"

A slow, unconsciously seductive smile, even with the bruised 
face and traces of blood.  "Bond," he told me in a collected 
voice.  "James Bond."  Smooth, cultured tone...something told 
me this guy was one of those types that kept his cool even in 
the midst of chaos.  "I just wanted to thank you in person 
before I have to leave to prove to my agency that I'm indeed 
still alive."

<Hmm...nice face, gorgeous eyes, classy...this guy's probably 
used to women swooning over him.>  "Welcome.  Glad we 
could help."

Remy grinned.  "Dis homme was sayin' he wants t' get out a 
here 'stead a sittin' 'round while dey run him t'rough red 
tape."

"Not much of one for procedure are you, James?"

"Not when there's a lovely woman I'd like to treat to a drink."

I snorted.  I'm not bad-looking, but 'lovely' isn't usually a 
word I hear used to describe me.  "How the hell hard did they 
hit you?"

He put a hand to a lump on his forehead, winced and dropped 
it back down.  "Hard enough that I _deserve_ a drink," he 
informed me with a pained smile.

Couldn't help it...I laughed and relented.  Soon as my leg was 
treated (which hurt like hell and nearly had me punching the 
medic) and James was patched up, I pulled rank and dragged 
us outta there, snatching Zach on the way.  ("Pulling rank" 
involved calling up the raised eyebrow look and reminding the 
Three Eyes agents of who I was.  I have a rep with the agency 
- mostly undeserved and exaggerated by Darius for the 
purpose of having a poster-child for his revolution - and 
occasionally it comes in handy.)  Arrangements were made for 
a car to pick James up at the ugly little bar around the corner 
in half an hour, and so a few minutes later the four of us were 
seating ourselves at said ugly bar and ordering drinks.  Remy 
and I had beers, Zach actually ordered a _Zima,_ and James?

"Vodka martini.  Shaken, not stirred."

***

We stopped by the room Remy'd rented the other night to get 
cleaned up and presentable for when we faced the others.  
After a companionable half-hour of flirting with me and subtly 
sizing up Remy and Zach in that casually male way, James 
had gone on with the Three Eyes unit back to an outpost 
where he could be put into contact with his people at MI-6.  I 
kinda thought I'd miss him.  

I showered, scrubbing thoroughly enough so that even 
someone with _my_ nose woulda had trouble guessing what 
was up.  It's a minor paranoia of mine...assume everybody 
matches your skills, and you're not likely to screw up too bad.  
Zach tossed me the jean shorts and T-shirt I'd brought to 
change into, then I handed the shower off to the next and set 
about vigorously toweling my hair.

Remy came out swathed in a towel around his hips, and Zach 
took the shower after him.  Soon as the water was running 
Remy sat down in the chair across from where I sat on the bed 
and waited for me to meet his eyes.

So I did.  "Yeah?"

"C'n y' tell me who we were workin' f', chere?"

Gave him a broad grin.  "Three Eyes."

He eyed me a moment, then snorted in amusement.  "So y' 
won' tell me.  Shoulda known."  I said nothing, keeping a bit 
of the grin until a corner of his mouth quirked to answer it.  
"Y' all healed up?"

In answer I pulled up the bottom edge of the shorts to show 
the little white mark that'd been a bullet hole earlier, then 
turned the leg to reveal the faint dash where the medic'd cut 
into my thigh to get the bullet out.  "Good as ever."

A nod.  Then hesitantly- "Kai..."

"Nope," I answered readily, starting to run a comb through my 
hair.

His mouth twisted wryly.  "I ain' even asked de question yet."

"Now you don't have to.  You've already got my answer."

Stubborn man asked anyway.  "C'n I get y' t' f'get about 
helpin' me wit' my...problem?"

The comb caught on a few crossed hairs.  I set about 
smoothing them with my fingers.  "I know you were 'under 
the influence.'  I know it's probably not fair to hold you to 
something said after you'd had that much to drink.  And I 
know you've had time to kick yourself repeatedly for ever 
telling me any of it or agreeing to that.  But you know what?"  
Another grin.  "I don't care.  I trusted you.  Your turn to try 
it."

"Are y' always dis stubborn?"

"Stubborn?  You haven't even _seen_ my stubborn side yet, 
'migo."  I tossed the brush in my bag and stood, leaving my 
hair loose to dry.  "See, I've got this real thing against letting 
friends get killed without doing a damned thing to help 'em.  
I'm afraid that means you're stuck."

"Y're pushy," he said irritably.  

"Occasionally."

"S'like havin' a sister naggin' me."

"A sister, huh?"  I showed teeth.  "I kinda like that.  Never had 
a brother before."

A smile won out over irritation.  "Den maybe I could..."

"Could what?"

He shook his head, smile fading.  "N'importe.  F'get about it."

<Tell me to 'never mind' will you?>  French isn't my best 
language by any stretch of the imagination, but I know a little, 
and I pulled out some now to reach him.  "Ne sois pas bete," I 
told him.  'Don't be stupid.'  "If it was important enough to 
bring up, it's important enough to tell me."

"I was jus' t'inkin'...well, y' might as well be ma soeur, de 
way we talk about t'ings."

His sister.  He was thinking of me as his sister.  I was touched, 
flattered...and surprisingly at ease with the idea.  <Now why 
the hell is _this_ kinda closeness so much easier than what 
I've got going with Logan?>  Oh yeah, _that_ was a hard 
question.  

Digging into memory, I pulled out probably my last bit of 
French.  "Je l'aime beaucoup."  'I like it very much.'  Then 
added with a broad grin, "Mon frere."

He matched the grin and looked as if he would say something, 
but right about then the shower shut off and I heard the 
dripping of a wet body and the brush of a towel against flesh.  
Zach poked his head out, blond hair hanging in wet locks to 
his sapphire eyes.  "Would one of you call the apartment and 
tell Rogue I'll be there soon?"

"Why would Rogue care when y' gon' show up?" Remy asked 
suspiciously, perhaps really taking note for the first time that 
Zach's a damned good looking guy.  

Zach gazed at him mildly.  "They're heading out tomorrow...I 
assumed you were, too...and she told me earlier that she 
wanted to talk to me before she left."  A slight hint of a sneer.  
"Most likely about you."

"What y' doin' talkin' t' Rogue about me??"

"Just trying to help the poor girl sort through a lot of 
confusion that _you_ aren't helping with, that's all."

Remy hissed something in French; a word I didn't know.  
Evidently Zach _did_ know it, however, because he 
immediately spat something back.  Whatever it was musta 
been quite an insult - Remy stood and actually took a step 
towards the bathroom, furious tension in his bare shoulders.  A 
familiar glow started in Zach's eyes.

I stepped between them, glaring first at Zach and meeting the 
alien psivamp gaze unflinchingly.  "Cut it out.  _Now._"  
Turned to Remy.  "Use your head, dummy.  He's a 
_psivamp._  He'll eat you for a snack.  Literally."  Back to 
Zach again.  "Sparks, just get yourself dressed so we can hurry 
up and get the hell outta here, huh?"  

Zach didn't even say another word as he closed the door.  
Remy glared at the plain wooden face as if he could somehow 
bore through it with his eyes.  "Can' say y' got th' best taste in 
friends, chere."

"I'm sure he'd say the same thing."

A mutter too quiet for even me to hear, then he bent and 
snatched clothing.  I turned my back while he changed, though 
I doubt he'd've cared much if I watched.  Remy doesn't seem 
like the body-conscious type.  "And you wouldn't be so angry 
if he didn't hit home."

Nothing for a minute.  Cloth whispered over flesh.  Then- 
"Y're right."

Well.  They didn't usually give in that easy.  "So what're you 
gonna do?"

"Steal his car an' go talk t' Rogue."

I blinked.  Turned to face him.  He'd already donned jeans and 
was shrugging his tank top on.  "Huh?"

"Y' heard me."  He tugged the shirt into a semblance of order, 
then gave me one of his most charming grins.  "Unless y' 
wan' give me de car keys..."

"Remy..."

His face went abruptly serious.  "I need t' talk t' her, Kai.  I 
need t' settle some a dis b'fore...b'fore what y' an' me gon' 
do.  It's _important._"

I considered carefully.  Remy's an onion, with layers and 
layers of jocularity and seriousness that're sometimes hard to 
tell apart...but I didn't think he was playing around here.  

"Don't crash it," I told him while I fished out keys.

The grin again, startling in its brightness.  He crossed the two 
strides to me and snatched the hand with the keys, gallantly 
kissing the back of it in a move Zach would've appreciated.  
"Merci beaucoup, ma soeur."

"Je vous en prie.  Now get outta here before I change my 
mind."

He took the time to wrap arms around me in an affectionate 
hug.  "Y'know, chere...if we're family we'll never get t' make 
mad passionate love all night long."

I squeezed him back briefly.  "Every relationship's got its 
drawbacks, Cajun."

A quick kiss was planted on my forehead, then he drew back 
and said simply, "Au revoir."

"See ya."

Then he was gone.

"Where's _he_ going?" Zach asked from the bathroom as he 
heard the door shut.

"Um."  Bite the bullet, Kai.  "Well, it's kinda funny, 
actually..."  

Oddly enough, Zach didn't seem to find it funny at all.

***

"What'll you have, miss?"

"Vodka martini.  Shaken, not stirred."

Zach raised an eyebrow as the airport waiter went to fill my 
order.  "That's not a usual for you."

"Well, James seemed to like it...thought I'd give it a shot."

"Ah."  His gaze swept over the rows of chairs across from the 
bar where the others sat waiting for the boarding call.  Scott 
was reading a newspaper, Jean sitting beside him with her 
head resting on his shoulder and her eyes closed.  In the next 
row Rogue and Remy sat next to each other talking quietly.  
"So she's putting up with him for a while longer, I take it."

"Looks like."  My drink came.  I took a little sip and savored 
it.  "So am I ever welcome back here again?"

A resigned smile.  "You're always welcome, Spunky.  Even 
when you piss me off."

"Good.  'Cause I'd really like to spend some more time on that 
beach."

He chuckled.  "Nubian god, huh?"

"And don't forget hairball."

"Honestly, Kai..."  Uh oh...he had that teasing look...  "I 
suppose I can see the 'rugged wild man' attraction in Logan, 
but wouldn't you prefer something a little more...polished?"

"What...so _my_ rough edges could be all the more obvious?"

He ran a critical eye over my scuffed shorts and the slightly - 
okay, more than slightly - worn flannel shirt tied just beneath 
my breastbone over the form-fitting tank top.  "I think I could 
work with you.  Elbows off the table...a lady says 'please' and 
'thank you'..."  A quirky grin.  "Maybe we'd even get you in a 
dress one day."

"Same day we get you in a kilt, maybe."

"Deal."

Over the speakers- "Delta flight 246 to Dallas with 
continuing service to New York is now boarding rows 30 and 
higher."

It _would_ have to go through _Texas._  "Welp Sparks...that's 
me.  Coach seats all the way."  I slid the drink across the 
counter to him.  "Here you go.  Enjoy.  I think I'll stick with 
beer."  Hopped off the bar stool and shouldered my bag.  "Tell 
Jack hey from me and Logan when he gets back."

"Sure thing."  We shared a brief parting hug, then I waved a 
cheerful goodbye and headed for the plane, falling into the 
slowly crawling line.  The others had already filed on ahead of 
me.  The woman collecting tickets handed my stub back to me 
and I started down the ramp with all the rest to head back to 
my cramped little coach seat, but-

"Ma'am?"  One of the flight attendants smiled brightly at me.  
"We have a First Class seat reserved for you."

"You do?"

"Please follow me."

I followed.  She pointed.  Scent registered even as sight did, 
and a broad smile split my face.

"I decided the least I owed the woman who saved my life was 
an escort home," said the rather bruised-looking Englishman 
in the seat next to my 'reserved' one.  "Join me for the flight?"

"Don't mind if I do."  The broad, cushiony seat was only a 
thousand times more comfortable than what I'd been looking 
forward to.  I snuggled into it with a contented sigh.  "You 
always get perks like this, James?"

"Usually.  Though not always with such welcome company."  

"Flatterer."

He smiled - a little lopsided because of a swollen lip - then 
looked past me and motioned to a passing flight attendant.  
"Could I have a drink while waiting for takeoff?"

"Certainly, sir," he answered.  "What would you like?"

"Vodka martini," he began.  I grinned and finished it for him.

"Shaken, not stirred."

--end--


Notes from Kaylee:  Well, I figured if I could get away with 
having Kai & Logan contract the Elbonian plague, I was 
perfectly justified in bringing in ol' 007 himself for a guest 
shot. ;-)  

Got a nifty thing from Sassy.  (SassyKat82@aol.com)  This 
song is called "Canadian Sunset" and is by Eddie Haywood 
and Norman Gimbel, written in 1956.

*Once, I was alone.  So lonely and then,
You came, out of nowhere, like the sun from up the hills.
Cold, cold was the wind.  Warm, warm were your lips, out 
there on that ski trail where your kiss filled me with thrills.

A weekend in Canada, a change of scene was the most I 
bargained for.
And then I discovered you and in your eyes 
I found a love that I couldn't ignore.
Down, down came the Sun fast, fast beat my heart I knew, 
As the Sun set from that day we'd never part.*


Sassy says it brings to mind "Canada" and "Hunting."  Must 
say I agree.  Kinda cool, innit?

END