Hopefully, Elizabeth Harding and her Date may become regulars (ie the non-mutant Kitty and Pete). These two characters are mine.

If you really want to sue over this, I suggest you go and get a life.

If, however, you want to praise or criticize it, feel free to send me an email.

Thank you.

Part Four

Pete Wisdom rarely liked stakeouts. Sitting in a car, cold, tired, and thirsty. He couldn't even light up a cigarette, not where he was. A fag smoking shadowy figure in a car was definitely out of place in the trendier outer suburbs of London. "Stupid Chain-Smoking-Man..." he muttered, mostly to himself. "You'd think the bloody X Files writers were stalkin' me, like, ter make 'heir character." So yes, he didn't like stakeouts. He didn't like them when he was with Black Air, he definitely didn't when he consulted for Scotland Yard, and those really irritating ones for John requiring him to look out for paranormal things really got up his shirt and rubbed him up the wrong way.

Not, of course, in the same way Kitty's hand was. She was rubbing him in all the right places.

"Kit, I can't concentrate wi' yer ticklin'," he muttered. He didn't sound too convinced of that.

"Something's concentrating in one spot," she said seductively, and then pinched his shoulders hard, feeling the muscle give way and relax under her fingers. "Anyway, you were silly enough to bring me along to this long wait. I need to do something or I'll  fidget."

Pete shushed her gently, then peered out over the dashboard at the approaching couple.  One was a sweet, pretty young thing, a scarf stylishly wrapped around her neck, framed by lush brown locks extending to her shoulders. She was smiling slightly, and her cheeks were pink, her breath disappearing into the night mist. The other looked scruffy, his hair unkempt, his expression one of utter bemusement, as if he could not entertain the possiblity that this... this angel could find him attractive.

"Is it their first date?" Kitty asked, looking fondly at the two as they reached a door and looked at each other for a long time. "Looks like they had a better time than we did on our first date."

"'tis," Pete answered, then added, "Methinks they didn't 'ave access ter any old Black Air secret lair facility." He smiled grimly. "Got ter 'ave some perks to me job."

The man leaned in slightly toward the girl, who didn't seem to mind. Her smile increased as her cheeks brightened a little more, and she stayed stock still. Pete reckoned that  now would be an excellent time for him to work his magic. Time to open the car door...

"What th' bleedin' ell?" Pete stammered, as the car door refused to budge. He gave the jamb another experimental tug, and was rewarded with a plastic mess adorning his glowing, smoking hands. In front of Pete's rather surprised eyes, the plastic bits formed into a collection of words, saying "You have been Screwed by the S MEister." He was getting more than annoyed now.

Kitty had not noticed. She was looking at the woman approaching the house. "Pete, isn't  that..."

"That Tart from wahtsit, 'Sex an' the City'?"

"Samantha." Kitty frowned, looking a little harder at the figure. "There's something glowing at her fingertips..."

Elizabeth Harding had been quite entranced by the dishevelled man standing in front of her... Funny, amusing, and emanating the true zest for life of any man who couldn't care less what he looked like because there were far more exciting things to do. He had listened to her, played the most enjoyable of word games over dinner, kept her companionable company as he walked her home. But, looking into his eyes as he moved closer, she asked herself questions that any girl would ask. Was he shy and being so hesitant because he was afraid of offending her, or because he didn't care too much about her?  His rumpled visage wiped it all away as he began to close on her cheek, a simple goodbye kiss with the hope of more, but only if she wanted. Elizabeth thought that for a first date, everything had gone exceedingly well indeed.

Of course, that was before the car down the road exploded.

"PETE!!!! I could have phased out of the CAR!!! THAT THING COST TEN THOUSAND POUNDS AND  YOU BLEW IT UP!!!"

"Explain later, love, busy foiling anti Cupid," puffed Pete, running after the blonde woman who had turned momentarily in mild surprise as to what had caused a car to blow up.

"OI, YER UNDERDRESSED TART!" yelled Pete at the New York socialite, who had now regained her senses and was gesturing arcanely with her hands. A large ball of energy began to form about a metre in front of her. "Oh nah," Pete said, suddenly slowing down, "Yer don't want ter be pointin' 'em hands at me. We can work this out, yeah?" Pete put his hands up in a conciliatory pose.

...Which essentially was a mistake, since a large bolt of power screamed out of Sam's hands and smashed into Pete. He flew back, through Kitty (who had run behind Pete, and was somewhat surprised at her sudden instinctive phasing) and into the bonnet of his rather trashed car, then fell to the ground in a heap.

Kitty ran back to him, and crouched over. All around her, lights began to turn on as concerned Londoners began to try to work out who the ****ing hell was making such a noise so late at night.

Elizabeth and her date looked at the sudden display of superhuman powers and thought it best if they could help the poor man thrown back into his car, and find out what on Earth was prompting this woman now advancing at them with bloodshot, glowing red eyes...  The two simultaneously suddenly decided the best course of action would be to leave this freak to the police. With a quick, unspoken look of communication, the two scurried  into the house and locked the door securely.

As people streamed out of houses with flashlights, challenging the scantily dressed woman advancing toward little Ally's house (as her fond neighbours liked to call her) with police reprisals and a little home grown English vigilante justice, the woman gestured slightly with her hands with a dissatisfied look on her face and disappeared, a crimson ball of energy lingering for a while before it went too.

"Pete, are you all right?" Kitty cried, looking over her lover's body and deciding it was an injury that Pete would live through (considering that she and her kind had a remarkable ability to cheat the laws of physics and causal temporal mechanics in dying and returning to life.) Pete groaned once and then opened his eyes groggily.

"Fuck you, bitch," Pete stammered, looking quite strangely down at his mouth, as if he couldn't understand what he was saying.

"WHAT?" Kitty cried, rather taken aback. "Say that again and I'll do something unmentionable to you..."

Pete waved his hands in supplication, a look of pure fear in his eyes. "I want to fuck you so hard it hurts," he said, and then his eyes opened up again in shock. He then waved his hands futilely in a warding gesture as Kitty's hand phased through it and gave him a thorough slap to his cheek. "What the hell has gotten into you, Pete? The sounds from your mouth don't bear thinking about too hard... " Kitty suddenly cocked her head to the side, her brow furrowed. "Wait... You had no accent when you said those things."

Pete nodded, then, flapping his hands around, motioned her to continue her train of  thought.

"So it's not really you speaking," she said, understanding. Pete smiled and hugged her. A few curious bystanders had reached them, and were pointing quite frantically at the flaming car. Kitty and Pete got the idea, and Kitty half dragged Pete away, to await the  ambulance that the very quick thinking Elizabeth had called.

"I want you so bad, you're such a sexy bitch," Pete said, as Kitty cradled his head in her arms.

"I know," Kitty replied, smiling ruefully. "I know you're sorry too."

After extricating himself from Hospital (in which he insisted on writing down all his communications with hospital staff), Pete started to swear profusely in the car on the way back to their central London apartment. He was swearing with an accent, so all the four lettered words and other colourful epithets were actually his.

"Bloody Yank bitch goin' round blowin' shit up!" he grumbled.

"Very nice, darling," Kitty said. "But how are we going to fix your potty mouth?"  Then she smiled wickedly. "Anyway, how am I going to blow anything when you're so obviously unattractive? The accent really did it for me." Kitty put her attention back to the road. She was not sure whether the "Evil Bitch" she heard muttered from the passenger seat was accented or not, nor to whom it was directed to, but she felt good about it anyway.

"This is an interesting problem..." St. Peter's image said to Kitty as Pete paced around their Soho apartment, pausing every now and then contemplatively while blowing out a smoke ring.  Peter, direct from above, was having an instant conference with them on Kitty's Cray SuperComputer. "This Samantha appears to be Pete's Nemesis." The Saint paused for effect while Pete coughed slightly, and his cigarette went out. Mumbling another curse, he lit the remains with a well controlled Hot Knife. "With all attendant anti powers. Whilst Pete causes people to fall in love, she does the opposite." Pete swore repeatedly as his cigarette gave out again, and the words did not have the same Cockney lilt. "It seems she does something to make the other person repel their partner..." the Saint thought out loud.

"Is she an agent of the..."

"Ain't no such bleedin' thin' as 'ell," Pete muttered, then looked surprisedly down at himself.  "Kitty, I love you," he said, slowly, feeling the words. Pete's face lit up with joy as he proceeded to kiss Kitty passionately. In between gasps for breath, Pete started to babble.  "Aha, I can say things again," he cried. "No more swearin' fer me."

The Saint watched benevolently as his two respondents proceeded to make out in his full view, but then started to get worried when the two dropped from his field of view under the table. A  small, dainty hand phased through the table and turned off the visual controls.

"Bah," the saint muttered, mostly to himself. "I trust you can still talk to me?"

The Saint could hear Pete mumble "yeah," dispersed within moans and grunting.

"Yeah... the real reason for this anti Cupid..."

St. Peter began to get alarmed at the soft, high pitched moans he was hearing from the screen. The answer that came back was disjointed and slightly confused.

"Wha' 'he bleedin 'ell's she doin' if 'here ain't no 'ell?"

When Pete screamed "OH MY BLOODY GOD!" Kitty wasn't sure if it was because she'd kept on reading the Cosmopolitan's Sealed Section after she'd promised not to or because St. Peter had just told Pete that Samantha was a bit of a prank that Cupid had set on the world before leaving on vacation. She never worked that one out, because moments later she wasn't  in the mood for thinking very much at all either.

"Nice to know he gave us the fax." Kitty stared incomprehendingly at the piece of paper which her computer had spat out.

"Don't bloody need it," came the reply. "At 'he moment, I ain't in the mood."

"I'm sure he's amenable to someone else." She heard a gruff snort of laughter.

"Toffer git's amenable to 'imself, the bleedin narcissist," Pete grumbled, as he lit up a cigarette and pondered how to deal with this new problem. "Plus I ain't goin ter be able ter just jump 'im, wot with all the spandex brigade surroundin him an' all 'is mind bendin' rubbish. And it ain't cheap ter call up some intergalactic empress ter blackmail 'im just fer that evil woman..."

"She was quite nice," Kitty said, suddenly remembering. "Plus she gave us all that stuff to put into the institute."

"Bah," Pete said irritably. "MIB deals in stuff 'd make your dear god think 'is things were stone age." Finding that the cloud of smoke from his cigarette had not cleared his thoughts, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one shot. "Plus, we're goin ter hav ter deal wit the bloody anti cupid. Don't want er ter show up."

"How are we going to deal with that?" Kitty asked, then her eyes lit up in pure malice.

She whispered in Pete's ear, and his eyes bulged in shock.

"Now THAT'S worth a bleedin intergalactic phone call..." he muttered, very impressed. "You still got the number ter Doc Freud...?"

As the wheelchair bound man rolled down the modified Lockheed spyplane's loading ramp, he took a deep breath, and felt the harsh Northern Scotland air blast its way through his nostrils.  Yes, life was good. What was odd was the fact that the good Doctor had asked him to come, specifically, rather than talk over the Video Link.

He was quite bemused when he saw a standing clone of himself waiting at the foot of the ramp, dressed in a black, neat uniform with 4 rank pips on his collar. A quick scan of his mind revealed nothing.

"Good day, Professor," the man said, extending a hand. "Jean Luc Picard, USS Enterprise."

"Likewise," the professor replied, in a cultured New England Accent. He noticed the other man had an equally pleasing British tone.

"I don't appreciate telepaths dredging my thoughts, professor," Picard said amiably as the two began to approach the facility, where a small figure waited for them, dressed in a white lab coat. "Dr MacTaggart will tell you the details."

"What make you think I did?" asked Xavier in reply.

"You're within 10 metres of me. You could never resist the temptation." Picard chuckled.

Xavier smiled, a thin, not very pleasant one. He was going to find out every little secret about the good captain that he could, and damn civility. The Doctor motioned impatiently to the two men to get inside the building, flicking a strand of hair from her face at the same time.  "Ye want ter ken what I want ter tell ye, ye better 'd be in quick."

The professor was by now quite confused. There he was, with a future doppelganger of himself and Moira acting in a very odd way. He was a bit more confused when his wheelchair hobbled into Moira's sickbay (somewhere that was usually off limits) and he saw the graceful, avian Queen of the Shi'ar Empire sitting elegantly on the edge of one of Moira's beds.

"I trust you won't be asking for another back to break?" She said pleasantly.

Shock was quickly displaced by quick anger. Xavier turned to Moira, who was now looking sheepishly at him, a crooked grin on her face. "What is the meaning of this?" he said, cold fury in his voice. His mind began to race as he began to read through everyone's minds in the room, and he caught Lilandra's utter arrogant amusement, as befitted an Imperial Majesty, Moira's hint of mirth, and the iron clamp of the Captain's mind which was even then interfering with the Professor's reading. How dare the One who had denied him a new body sit there and mock him, with Moira helping, and...

The Professor thought he felt Pete Wisdom's presence, but he could never confirm it -- since it was Pete who materialised out of Moira's computer bank and shot him with a blast from his fingers.

"Pete, that was very well done," Kitty said, holding her lover's hand while he lit up another cigarette with a flame protruding from the end of his finger. The two were sitting sprawled on the runway, whilst Lilandra waited patiently for Picard to signal the Enterprise for two to beam up.

"Ain't too hard when e's distracted," Pete replied, puffing cheerily. "Good thing good ol' Captin Baldy 'elped us out, and 'er Majesty 'ith 'he distractions." He then turned to Kitty and stroked her cheek. "And you fer phasin' me inter 'he bleedin' Scot's computers." As the two galactic personages began to fade out in the transporter beam, he gave a good natured middle finger to them in departing. The tip of Picard's mouth twitched ever so slightly upward.  The Empress of a Million Worlds, of the Empire of Empires, chuckled.

"Thank you," Kitty said demurely, a wicked gleam of mischief in her eye. "Good thing Sam didn't turn up. Wouldn't want to ruin Moira's and Xavier's little party."

"Two bleedin' deserve each other," Pete said irritably, and then the two phased instinctively as Kitty felt a pulse beam hit her back.

Samantha ran toward the doors of the facility, hoping to get a shot at the Professor and Dr MacTaggert, but Pete was thoroughly sick of this stupid game now. His fingers twitched.

Pete's ball of light knocked Samantha back to otherworldly insubstantiality. She didn't even notice she wasn't at Muir any more. Pete turned around and looked over Kitty, lying prone and mumbling under her voice.

"Kit, Love, yer alright?" He asked, concerned for her. In a gesture he didn't even realise, he took his cigarette out of his mouth lest ash fall on her. He wouldn't have done it for anyone else.

Kitty looked up at him quizzically, then her face relaxed when she realised it was him.

"Fuck you, you shitty two timing Pommy Bastard," she said, then looked down at her mouth with shocked horror.

"I love yer too, Kitty, I luv yer too." Pete smiled, rather wistfully.
 

TBC...
 
 
 

Now, St Peter, what next?

"I'm watching "The L word." Come back later. It's really depressing for those in search of true love."

But...

"Oh shut up. I'm an evil conservative Patron Saint. Can't I have a few hangups??? It's Sex and the City with Lesbians... Actually, come to think about it, lesbians..."

I think we'll leave it there, OK? :)