Rating:(...... R, NC-17, X,....)
Fandom: X-Men and Excalibur
Pairings: Not yet
Spoilers: None
Warning: Silliness
Summary: A new mutant is discovered. Bobby has too much sugar, etc.
Feedback: Yeah baby
E-mail: kladyelf@yahoo.com.au
Archive: Yes
Note: I had chocolate. Oookay, basically this is just a fanfic my slightly weird brain came up with one night when I was working late on a University assignment. I guess this qualifies for the "anything but a telepath!" writer's challenge, (isn't that neat?) Oh, and for all you continuity people, Onslaught and all things after that haven't happened, what Raab did with Excalibur didn't happen either but Brian and Meggan got married anyway (ask me nicely and I may write that too!).
Disclaimer: Disclaimer? What disclaimer? We don't need no steenking disclaimer! What? Sue? But I'm just a poor student trying to have some fun! Oh okay then (grumble):)
Excalibur isn't mine, nor are The X-Men, especially Wolverine, Cyclops and Nightcrawler. However, Caarin is mine as is this fanfic. If you want to use her or refer to my work then get my permission, otherwise I will set my evil horde of cloned rabid Teletubbies onto you. (cackles evilly as lightning strikes in the background) Oh, yeah, no Pop-ups or MST's please.

Part 1 The Beginning.

Caarin Reed was not happy. Initially, her day had begun nicely enough. She had woken up with the requisite number of arms, legs and other body parts that were generally considered useful for getting around. And in addition to that it was only the second day of the school holidays, and that meant basically a day for messing around and having fun. Unfortunately, things went downhill from there.

In any situation, waking up in a strange bed, bound hand and foot is usually a matter of extreme concern for anyone, especially when you can't remember how the hell you got there. This goes the same for suddenly discovering you are (due to a previously unknown mutation in your genes) as white-pale as death, with fangs and ruby-red eyes. However, waking up in a strange bed, bound hand and foot, and finding that you now look like Dracula's girlfriend is usually a cause for even greater concern. Therefore Caarin did the only thing she could sensibly do.

She panicked.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!! LEMMEOUTAHERE LEMMEOUTAHERE LEMMEOUTAHERE!!!!!!"

This sort of thing went on for a while until she realised that her "lemmeoutahere's" were not helping. No, I will not cry, she told herself, whoever did this has had their little bit of fun, and I'm not going to give them any more. She lay her head down on the pillow and shivered.
 

When people think of superheroes they tend to think of men and women running around in tight-fitting clothes.

They are usually right.

Also, they think of people who are often endowed with physiques and powers beyond the norm.

This also is the case.

They may even consider the sheer power that is embodied by these heroes, both as icons of justice and as a force for what is generally perceived as "good."

This is an undeniable fact.

Unfortunately, no-one really considers what superheroes do when there are no evils to vanquish, when there is nothing on the TV and said heroes have ingested three boxes of sugar bombs, washed down with a litre of Red-Kool-Aid and Jolt Cola.

"Drake! Ah'm gonna kill you!"

 "That's it, ya're dead iceboy!"

"Mmmf mmfmmf!"

 More's the pity.

 Giggling insanely and zipping through the Mansion like Daffy Duck on speed, Robert Drake, aka Iceman of the X-men, was doing his level best to avoid his pursuers -- Wolverine with uncharacteristically neon-pink hair, Rogue unexpectedly covered in some strange green goop (oh, and dusted with coconut as well), and Cyclops with his jaws glued shut (don't ask).

 Of course he couldn't avoid them forever, but the looks on their faces was worth it, Bobby thought, cackling and holding the camera closer to his chest.

 Elsewhere, in the mansion's underground hangar, oblivious to the ruckus inside, a sleek black aircraft was landing; it was Excalibur's Midnight Runner, here for a reunion with friends and loved ones, and (in the case of Dr MacTaggert) to discuss research into the Legacy virus.

 Captain Britain and his newlywed wife Meggan were the first to disembark, quickly followed by Kurt Wagner and the rest of the team.

There were exclamations of delight and the rise and fall of several voices as old friends and teammates mingled, gossiped and talked of old times as Excalians and X-Men alike moved towards the double doors leading to the mansion.

"MWAHHH HAAHH HAAA! GANGWAY!!"

 Mutant heroes scattered as a hyped up Iceman burst through the doors, followed by three irate X-Men.

 "I see that very little has changed around here, mein freunds," Nightcrawler drawled, trying not to laugh at the varying states of his friends. His yellow eyes finally resting on Wolverine's hair, Kurt grinned. "A new look, Herr Logan?"

"Blame the ice-cube," growled the stocky Canadian as he popped a claw to point at Iceman.

"It suits you."

"Shaddup, Elf."
 

Fighting her way out of murky unconsciousness Caarin again had to take stock of the unpleasant situation she was in.

Body parts? - Yep.
Nausea? - Yep.
She glanced down at herself.
Weird new look? -Yep.
Garnet-red eyes flickered as she took in her surroundings.
Hmm, lessee, big cold room filled with computers. Me tied to a table (hey, I'm naked), spreadeagled at that (naked!), freezin' my bum off.
Still look like a vampire (I'm totally nude!), with a rather nasty looking contraption above me (hey I'm freakin' nude here!), with LOTS of needles (this is humiliating!) and to top it all off I'M FRICKIN' STARKERS!!!!
It's official.
I hate this!

 "Fascinating..."

 A single dry word from a previously unnoticed figure gave Caarin something to glare at. The tall, spindly figure was leaning over one of the larger computers, staring at an image of a slowly rotating DNA-helix.

"A perfect genetic-assimilator, with enhanced physical and empathic senses, as well as bio-manipulative capabilities." Pale, spidery fingers wove an intricate dance over a nearby keyboard as the dry voice muttered on, "Capable of passing on absorbed traits down to offspring as if it were originally possessed of that particular X-factor itself."

 The man (if indeed it was a man) turned to face the girl and two things dawned on Caarin. The first was that even though he looked as though he had been stretched out of all proportion and left somewhere to bleach, he was the perfect image of the stereotypical mad scientist, complete with beaky nose, deep-set eyes and a little fringe of wispy white hair around the ears.

The second was that he had referred to her as an 'it.'

"You... you bastard," she croaked, unsure exactly which particular action first deserved that word and not particularly caring.

A bleach-pale brow quirked over a watery blue eye.

"Specimen also shows remarkable regenerative tendencies, although regrettably they are not beyond expected parameters." Thin lips twisted in what might have been a smile. "Although one cannot have everything, can one?"

"One wants to get one's extremely pale backside out of here and into some clothes!" Caarin snapped. Oh god, what am I saying? I'm tied to a table in front of Dr Frankenstien and I'm being a smart aleck, Oh god...

Again that humourless twist of the mouth, again the dance of pale, too-long fingers over control consoles, this time making the device above the girl hum into life and fluidly twist down towards her, reminding Caarin that she really hated needles.

 "Oh bugger."
 

The scent of barbecuing food mingled with the usual scents of a warm spring evening as the Uncanny X-Men and Excalibur relaxed around the swimming pool, friends catching up on old times.

"Good food, good friends and delightful female company," Nightcrawler sighed happily, cuddling his girlfriend Amanda Sefton, who grinned in response and wriggled further into his embrace. "It does not get any better than this, does it not, mein freund?" The last remark was directed over his shoulder at a now appropriately redeyed Logan, who merely grunted in response.

 "Ya forgot about the good beer, elf." The shorter man grinned, waving a dark glass bottle in the direction of his best friend.

 "Ah, but I do apologise for the oversight, Herr Wolvie," the elf chuckled, enjoying the banter and mock saluting with his tail.

Any retort Logan would have made was cut short by a telepathic summons from Professor Xavier. * X-Men, Excalibur, could you please join us in the Cerebro Suite? [Image of Charles Xavier sitting with the Cerebro helmet on his head, concern on his features.] We may have a situation on our hands *

 Logan exhaled in irritation, setting his bottle down on a nearby table. "Even when Chuck says 'please' it's still an order, c'mon Misfit, let's see what the old man wants."
 

Drake was already in front of the Cerebro when the others arrived.

 "Whoaa, guys, we've got a live one," he crowed, pointing to a pulsing light with a grin, which faded in response to the light blinking out. "Oh, maybe we don't..." The light flicked on again, "We do..." and off... "We don't... We do, we don't, we do, we don't, we do, we don't..." he began bouncing on the spot in perfect rhythm to the lights, humming.

 "He's still on that Kool-aid stuff, isn't he?" Logan growled in disgust, pushing a giggling Iceman away. "Outta the way, Drake-cicle."

 "The light which Robert is referring to indicates the life-signs of a previously undiscovered mutant," Hank pointed out softly, looking grim. "The flickering means that he, she or even it, is in serious danger."

 "We found the bio-signature when examining various locations where known mutants have disappeared in recent months. We have suspected individuals such as Sinister to be at work in these areas." Xavier scowled at the control panel. "Whatever the cause, if this mutant can be saved then we must act swiftly."

 "In that case, Herr Professor, consider Excalibur at your disposal," Nightcrawler said, glancing at his teammates for confirmation, his yellow eyes haunted as he remembered his own experiences of Sinister's Marauders.
 

Floating, serene nothingness, quiet peace, disturbed by a sensation of cold pressure on her neck.

Caarin tensed and shuddered, instinctively twisting away from the uncomfortable coldness around her neck, hands spasming blindly against fabric before sense and senses returned.

 She was in 'her' room again, this time covered by a simple white shift made of some kind of slippery fabric, and a metal collar around her neck.

 Next to the bed was a plate containing food and water and a note:

This needs to be said but once, if you do not eat, to provide sustenance for yourself, then you will be force-fed until you can eat without assistance. Your host,
Ataros

 She glared at the food, the ceiling, the note, and just for variety she glared at her stomach which had treacherously begun reminding her body that it had been a long time since she had eaten last. Reluctantly, she began to nibble at the food.
 

Peter Wisdom was not a happy man.

This was nothing new as it generally described the persona that he presented to the world as a protective shield, lowering it only in the presence of those he loved the most. But this time he had a particular reason for being unhappy.

The X-Men and Excalibur had divided up their teams between the Blackbird and the 'Runner, and somehow Pete had gotten himself wedged between two X-Men that he really didn't want to see -- Wolverine and Storm.

[Author's note: in this continuity Pete has not met the X-men face-to face as yet, and I will be basing my character reactions on how I think the X-men would act, thank you - evil:)]

 He squirmed for a moment, uncomfortably, aware of the two's observation. Logan he already knew from one or two missions that had sent him to Canada, but Ororo Munroe was more of an unknown quantity. He had been aware of her leonine gaze on him earlier that afternoon, and now he was again experiencing the strange (but not unfamiliar) sensation of being an unusual bug brought out to be examined beneath a microscope.

 Whatever the feeling, Pete knew from the way his lover and teammates had spoken that he was now sitting in front of the equivalent of Kitty's parents. And based on a long and fairly lecherous life he knew with painful clarity exactly how far the 'my precious little girl' syndrome could go.

 Shit, bloody hell Pryde, what did I do to deserve this?

 Desperate for something else to look at, he glanced around the plane. Wagner and Pryde were in the cockpit, heads together, examining a map of the local area. Kitty brushed chestnut curls from her face and absently tossed them over her shoulder. Distantly he could hear the sounds of his own hormones sloshing... God, but she was beautiful.

 "Mr Wisdom." Pete jumped slightly, dark blue eyes meeting electric azure. "I understand that you are currently having a... relationship with Kitty?"

 Logan's eyes flickered uneasily between the two "'Ro, darlin..."

 "Yes, Logan?" she inqired sweetly, but with a hint of steel, not moving from her relaxed position nor taking her eyes off her subject.

 Wolverine opened his mouth, paused, thought better of it and shut it with an audible clack. Ororo smiled and continued.

 "I understand that you have taken the relevant medical tests?" The African beauty smiled, keeping her voice light and warm. Pete was outraged, was she suggesting...?!

 "Bloody hellfire, woman..."

 "I shall take that as a yes, then... Do you use adequate protection, Mr Wisdom?"

 "... 'course I do, damn it!"

 "Is she happy with you, Mr Wisdom? Can you continue to make her happy?"

 "She is, and I can, actually," Wisdom growled, hands balled into fists. This is Pryde's mum, I won't hurt her, this is Pryde's mum...

 "Ah, very good. I had hoped so, very well then, let me say this one last thing..." Azure eyes flared white, small bolts of electricity crackled around the woman, but she still kept her voice calm and mild. "If you ever, in any way. hurt my Kitten, there will not be enough left of you to fill a thimble. That is not a threat, nor is it a promise -- it is a fact. Mr Wisdom. Am I making myself clear?"

 "Crystal." Pete growled, thrn the Englishman glared at Logan. Might as well get it over with... "You got anything t'add to that?"

 "Nah..." shluckt! Three foot-long claws popped from the Canadian's hands, the tips brushing against Pete's neck as Logan treated Wisdom to his best berserker grin, "...just that you'd better hope that Excalibur gets to ya first, bub."

 Wisdom muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, gave a curt nod, and stalked off. Logan retracted his claws and eyed his team leader contemplatively. "Bringin' out the claws, darlin', haven't seen that side of ya for a while."

 "I believe that it was necessary." Ororo smiled indulgently at her friend. "Although I am unsure just what she sees in him, I can accept that Kitten has made her choice. I have to trust her judgement, and I must admit..." The smile widened into a grin. "...It was quite enjoyable watching the man squirm."

 The two planes approached the area where the last signal had come from. The sound from the Blackbird's noisier engines was lost in the upper atmosphere as the 'birds' circled the area.

 "This it then?" Pete murmured, squinting through the 'runner's windshield. He rolled his eyes and chuckled softly, "Bloody hell, I should've known!"

 "And was would that be, Herr Wisdom?"

 "The signal, Wagner -- it came from down there right? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that an abandoned warehouse?"

 "Stereotypical plot device No #3, hhmmm?" Kurt's mouth twitched, hinting at his own amusement as he studied the dilapidated building, "Somehow I cannot see Herr Sinister using such a traditional abode for top secret villainy. Yet Cerebro indicates that there is a mutant down there who may need our assistance..."

 "So we might as well help the poor bastard, right, fine, don't have to tell me twice, it just better not be a bloody trap, that's all."

 Cyclops surveyed the inside of the warehouse cautiously, frustration and disgust boiling within. From the outside the warehouse looked as though it hadn't been used in a decade and, contrary to expectations, so did the interior.

 Currently he was in the deserted office area in one corner of the building; the room had been stripped, even down to the fixtures. Scott glanced up as Kurt 'ported in with a disgruntled Logan.

 "Anything?"

 "Nothin', One-eye, this place is clean."

 Scott tensed "too clean perhaps...?"

 "Nah -- any traps in here woulda been triggered by now."

 "Famous last words, mein freund."

 Outside the office Hank McCoy studied a tricorder-like device, frowning. "What's up, buddy o' mine?"

 "Ah, Robert, I see you have recovered sufficiently from your culinary experiment to achieve your usual coherency. If you could direct your eyes to the device in my hirsute hands you can see it indicates a slow buildup of esoteric energies somewhere within the building. Which may indicate a significant translocation of living matter -- to whit, my friend, I believe we should inform our fearless leader of the oncoming event."

 "Uh?"

 "Somebody's going to use a teleporter, we should tell Scott..."

 "Yeah? Where's it gonna happen?"

 In the office, light flared; there was a brief cry of alarm and then silence.

 "There..."

 "Oops."

 "Exactly."