Working Title: Days Of Our X – Chapter 5 – possibilities
Authors: ebonbird & kassia
Summary: Chapter 5 - where do we go from Bobby at home, Storm at
the mansion and Jean awol.

***********    
Kitty was stealthy. Good at sneaking up on people even without 
using her mutant powers to phase herself intangible and thus 
render her steps soundless, but he'd trained her and she wasn't 
trying that hard. 

Wolverine perched on a convenient stump and waited for her to 
approach. 

Her head popped out from behind a convenient spruce. 
"Wolvie?" 

Wolverine glanced at his protege sidewise, pausing in the 
middle of lighting his cigar.  Kitty hadn't called him that 
in a long time. 

"Yeah, pun'kin?" he replied. 

The old nickname, the diminutive of pumpkin, and the 
casual tone with which it was offered clashed with his 
rough appearance - coarse sideburns, ax-blade blue eyes, 
craggy cheekbones, biting nose and wind-polished skin. 

Her cheeks rosy with surprise she giggled.  Then, "How 'bout 
you write a check?"  She waggled her eyebrows at him, settled 
her rump on the edge of the stump by him.  She nudged him 
with an elbow. "Help the school out." 

"How 'bout you write a check?  Girl like you oughtta be 
sittin' on a couple a patents worth a lot o' money 'bout now." 

Kitty blinked. He shrugged a shoulder. Put away his match and 
puffed on his stogie and then she scowled because she *should* be 
sitting on a couple of patents. 

"Damnit," she slumped; her elbows resting on her jean clad thighs, 
her slim hands crossing at the wrists.  "I wouldn't be good for it." 

Smoke leaked out of Logan's nose and slightly canted mouth and 
Kitty relaxed further at the rich, scorched leaf, chocolatish 
smell of the smoke. 

"If we were solvent we could get the water back on and and 
do something about our wells like we should've the last time 
they conked out." 

"You a hydrogeologist now?" 

"We got water.  We just need to pipe it into the house." 

"You clear it with the Professor?" 

"He's headin' out, didn't you hear? Got other mutants to train. 
Apparently, they really need him." 

He blew a smoke ring.  Put the hand that held the smoking 
cigar on the stump beside her.  She looked down at it, 
looked a question at it.  He nodded, most slightly.  She 
took it from his hand and examined it, glistening end to 
burning end. 

"Didn't you give these up?" 

"Yep." 

She handed it back to him.  She didn't ask about Jean. Didn't ask 
about anything.  She sat for him for a bit, and eventually, went 
back to the mansion. 

* * * 

In a section of her workroom clear of Forge's stuff, Kitty 
stood over a partially unrolled sheaf of dusty, faded 
schematics of the Xavier institute.  She pressed a yellow 
bandana over her mouth while she studied documents that 
dated from the original construction of the house by the 
light of an adjustable fluorescent lamp. 

"Hrm," Kitty said, her finger tracing the location of the 
spring fed cold house which used to be by the outdoor 
kitchen which was now - sheets of paper rustled and slid as 
she moved the old designs over for the recent grounds map 
- the chapel cemetery?  The bandanna fell from Kitty's 
hand as she bent forward while reaching for the fluorescent 
lamp and bring it and her head closer to the old schematics. 
Where was the well?  There had to have been a well for 
water back then.  And it wasn't by the cold house…. 
Kitty's finger, bitten back nail and dry cuticle, traced 
around and around until she did indeed spot the well. 
"Bingo!" 

"What's this got to do with Skrull code?" Forge asked at 
her shoulder.  His breath smelled like fresh coffee. 

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," she grumped, 
scrolling closed the designs.  His large, fine-boned, red- 
skinned hand flattened a corner open. 

"1855," he read from the upper left hand corner.  "We've 
got the architectural designs for the Institute going back to 
the late eighteen hundreds on database." 

"Don't like ESRI." Kitty pronounced but he was already 
walking away from her and heading towards his temporary 
workstation, complete with desk and bank of flat screen 
computers and ergonomic pullout everything.  His black 
hair, longer and thicker than hers, snaked down his back 
from a leather-cinched ponytail. 

He favored her with a dubious look. 

"I don't like ESRI," Kitty insisted. 

"That mean we're not working today?"  Forge asked, 
hitting power buttons and flipping toggles in rows as he 
turned on his system.  "You're the one who called me in to 
help you with security." 

Kitty's nostrils flared but she did not share that the 
Professor had suggested she call Forge and speed up the 
process. 

Strings of code appeared on the central screen of Forge's 
computer bank.  He stood with his hands planted on the 
pullout keyboard drawer.  He squinted as he scanned the 
code as quickly as it appeared. 

"We've got this water problem," Kitty said. 

"Took a shower earlier this morning," Forge answered 
turning off his system. 

"City water.  We can't afford city water." 

He stared at her. 

"Not for long anyway. Have you considered making a 
donation to the school yet?" 

"Pryde," he took a deep breath.  The words that followed 
were measured, even.  He was being patient, and this only 
made Kitty screw up her face in annoyance.  "I'm here for 
one reason, one reason only, and specifically at your 
request. And, you're no hydrogeologist."  He ducked under 
his desk.  He was a bendy one, managing to fit his length 
beneath it though his legs went on and on against the floor, 
ending in duct-taped cowboy boots. 

Kitty could hear the 'fsst' noise of an air duster.  Forge 
cleaned his station before and after every use.  It was wild. 
Fsst!  Fsst! Fsst! Before and after he powered down. 
"Forge!" she yelled.  The fssting noise stopped.  His foot 
began to bend back and forth. 

How was she going to put this?  "You've built a house 
from scratch before, right?" 

Forge's foot stilled. 

Kitty winced.  Forge crabbed out from under his desk. 
Pens tumbled from his chambray shirt pocket and he 
reached for them.  When he lifted his head to address Kitty 
it was doubly red.  Kitty told herself it was from blood 
pooling in his features but she knew better. 

"With running water, right? And, and --" 

"Storm told you." 

She nodded. 

"I've built a house before. From scratch. Not the same 
thing you want to do." He gripped the back of his chair, 
punctuated that movement by extending and retracting his 
chin. 

"I'll be down in the tunnels.  Don't test those security 
protocols until I get back." 

"Right," Forge answered, his mechanical hand holding the 
chair steady while he lowered himself into it.  Kitty spared 
him a glance, noted the breadth of his shoulders, the size of 
his arms, the fluid yet massive grace of them and shook her 
head. Storm had her reasons, but Kitty very much doubted 
that they went beyond the aesthetic.  Falling in love with 
Forge that was.  Not being in love with Forge anymore - 
and, oh god she hoped so, well - Kitty got that just fine. 

Forge, deep in study, made a noncommittal grunt seconds 
after Kitty had exited the room.  Her work area looked as 
cluttered as normal, and even the dust from old designs had 
been wiped away by the yellow bandana that had been 
shoved into the bottom of the wastepaper basket by the 
door. 

* * * 

Dressed in her super-comfy jeans, knock-around-boots 
that had become an indeterminate color long-ago but 
were still watertight, and a black, long sleeved, faded 
black, thinsulate lined tea-shirt, Kitty took the elevator 
down to the deepest level of the Institute. 

She tried to catch her reflection in the gleaming, scrubbed 
metal walls of the elevator.  They looked much the same as 
they had when she'd first come to the institute – then 
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters – as a thirteen year 
old four years earlier. 

The elevator came to a sudden, silent halt, and the doors 
slid open without a sound.  Kitty remembered her legs 
shaking so hard she'd been sure she would pee her pants. 
She'd clasped her hands together and smiled while 
following the Professor to the Danger Room where her 
mutant powers were tested for the very first time ever – 
and here she was, four years later, with a tool belt hitched 
around waist, strolling through secured areas like she 
was in the rumpus room of her mother's house in Oak Park. 

The spun with only a few hard turns.  She left it open 
behind her. A maintenance robot, puttered at the wiring 
along the door. 

Only arming the motion detector so that if someone crossed 
the threshold the mansion security would pick that up, Kitty 
turned on her flashlight as soon as she slipped over the 
lip the hatch. Studied the map by it's light while she headed 
east, her hand grazing the wall.  She looked to where the 
cameras were when she passed them, and made a mental note to 
service them. 

She's followed the path she marked out on the map, the one 
That leads to the former cold house, but where there should 
be a door, there is a blank wall.  She passes the recess in 
the stone several times until she stops, closes her eyes, 
and walks straight where she's supposed to go. 

The stone she faces is unyielding.  She's staring at it, 
studying it. "Hunh," she says. 

She finds the cave. Dank, damp. Indeed, the ground is silty 
with water. Stalactites and stalagmites and wonder of wonders – a path 
leading around the still pool.  On a hunch, Kitty approaches the still 
pool.  Phases her hand and sweeps it in the water. 

It feels like water.  Phased, Kitty takes a breath and slides 
in.  Kitty could deep Sea dive without O2, Danger room sessions and 
training with Wolverine have seen to that, so in she goes. 

She turns on the flashlight, takes her time, knows that what 
she's doing is dangerous, but she is an adventurer and she's 
got to go.  It's a still, shallow, pool. Nothing in it, not even 
blind-eyed fish.  Sediment, stirred by her progress 
roll grayly and slowly in the cool water.  The sediment and 
water pass through her, but still she feels gritty, but strangely clean. 

She kept swimming around the cave wall where it met the 
water, because it wasn't supposed to be there.  She'd 
alternate between taking a deep breath and walking into the 
stone with swimming along methodically. 

Eventually, Kitty got out of the water, went out from the 
cave and back into the mansion to get a wetsuit. 

When she returned, she re-entered the pool and found what she was 
looking for, a shadow that was really a lip, wide enough to admit 
someone of the size of Peter wearing snorkeling gear. 

Certain that it was only a short trip, Kitty made it with a pounding 
heart anyway.  She swam with her hands ahead and above her, her legs 
kicking gently.  The light was gradual, but there, a dim glow, yellowish, 
and she followed it to a still pool that opened up into a cavern that was 
with smooth stone. 

The pool sloped up to a gravelly shore.  A hoverchair was nestled in 
stone rack and computers, large television monitors glared at her. 

Kitty walked towards the monitors, dripping, and her feet broke a 
green laser light beamed across the floor that was in her path. 

Dripping water, she sat at the largest chair.  Her enormous eyes were 
opened at their widest and a sick thrill went through her. 

The professor had been keeping secrets. 

She had to tell, Storm & Wolvering - NOW! 

She got up for the chair, felt rather than heard the chain swinging 
at her for behind, grabbed the chair by the arm and flung it behind 
her, turned around to face a black-garbed, hard and curvaceous woman 
with tattoos beneath her eyes.  Sage.  Formerly Tessa of the Hellfire 
club. Assistant (handmaiden? Concubine?) of the X-Men's arch nemesis, 
Sebastian Shaw, the Black King of the Hellfire club's inner circle. 


Despite the O2 tank on her back, Kitty cartwheeled 
gracefully, coming right into the flat of Sage's extended 
foot. 

Foot struck bone, stunning Kitty.  Kitty dropped backwards 
with the force of the blow her arms flung out for balance as 
Sage's fist swiped the air where her head used to be. 
Sage's second fist hurtled towards Kitty, then her shin. 
Kitty avoided the blows, reversing and ducking her head. 
Arms crossed and blocking Sage's blow, she grunted and 
shoved the older woman back.  Followed with a kick that 
grazed Sage's blocking forearm.  The follow-up kick 
caught Sage by surprise but she bracketed Kitty's limb, 
twisted and Kitty whirled to avoid losing her kneecap.  The 
women fell apart – Kitty grappling with the tank of air 
strapped to her back.  Grasping it by the hose she swung at 
Sage with it, again and again, forcing Sage down the gritty 
slope and into the water. 

* 

Storm was packing a bag when the X-Com on the breast 
of her shirt sounded and Forge's breathless voice informed 
her that Kitty was injured in the Morlock tunnel. 

She met Rogue and Forge in the elevator.  The doors 
opened and the stench of brimstone sucked into the 
elevator.  Kurt was already at Kitty's side.  He'd ripped 
open her plaid workshirt and was applying artificial 
respiration. Kitty's hair was damp with blood. 

A maintenance bot, buzzed brokenly beside them.  It gave 
off sparks and the telltale odor of scorched circuitry. 

[The clothes change is signficant. I don't want Kitty 
remembering what she found.] 

[Storm was packing a bag because she'd resolved to find 
Jean. She decided that it was the worst time for Jean 
to be alone and that the other X-people could worry about 
Jean. I at least want to include that but have her desire 
to go to Jean be continually thwarted.] 

* 

Kitty awoke on a stretcher.  Storm stared down at her with 
concern while Kurt monitored her blood pressure. 

"Whuzza?" Kitty asked.  She noticed she was soaked and 
inadvertently coughed up gritty water. 

"Security protocols," Forge gritted. "My fault." 

"Did you set them off?" Storm asked. 

"No, but I was at the controls." 

"Then it was most certainly not your fault!" 

"Pryde told me she was going down into the caverns. 
Those machines shouldn't have gone on but they did –" 

Impatient, Storm scowled and made a curt gesture with her 
hand. "Enough!" The corner of the stretcher she was 
supposed to be holding dipped and Kurt dived for it, 
casting a sharp look her way, which she missed. 

Kitty belched and more water came up. 

"We gotcha, hon," Rogue said worriedly.  "In the future, I 
vote we don't do boo without everyone bein' informed. 
What were you doing in those caverns, sugar?" 

For the life of her, Kitty couldn't remember.  To her blurry 
surprise, she heard herself mumble, "Checking s'curity 
protocols, maint'nance 'bots…buggy." 

Forge snorted. "Almost killed you," but Kitty had passed 
out again. 

* * * 

Sarah was curled up in the corner of the living room 
couch, a ragged yet surprisingly comfortable piece of 
furniture, shivering slightly. She'd heard other women 
complain about cramps, sometimes. Seen them hunch 
over, put their hands over their stomach, whine a bit 
about the pain. Ha. What did they know about cramps? 
What did they know about pain? 

Though the blood rushing through her body was making a 
deafening noise, she still heard the soft footsteps of 
an X-Man entering the room. She groaned, and then 
realized that they'd probably interpret the noise as 
an expression of pain, instead of the expression of 
annoyance it was meant to be. She straightened out, 
and fixed a surly expression over her anguished one. 
*Yes, I have bones popping out of me, but I'm not in 
pain.* She had seen people go hysterical, even faint, 
from injuries involving protruding bones. It made her 
want to laugh; sometimes she had. 

She looked over to see which X-Men had invaded her 
privacy- it was Rogue. "Hey," she said 
sympathetically. "How ya doin'?" 

Marrow just raised her eyebrows. So much energy was 
going into pretending she wasn't in pain, she didn't 
have any left with which to think up an answer. 

"I mean, ya feelin' okay?" 

"Fine," Marrow bit out. 

"It's okay if ya don't want to talk to me. Lord knows, 
Ah do my best to not talk to other X-Men about 
things." She smiled slightly. "But, about the X-Men- 
you can't fool 'em, Sarah. No point in pretending, 
'cause no one is falling for it. Ah speak from 
experience." 

"That's great. Glad we had this chat. Bye." 

"Like Ah said, no one's falling for it." 

"Would you fall for me jamming a bone spike into your 
throat?" Marrow growled. 

Rogue forcibly straightened out her smile. "Ah'll stop 
botherin' you now. Just wanted to point that out. Hope 
ya feel better soon." 

The moment Rogue was out of view, Marrow gave in and 
emitted a body-wracking sob. Two tears, grown fat from 
standing in her eyes, raced each other down her 
cheeks. She quickly took hold of herself again, 
suppressing any further tears before things got out of 
control. 
The pain was abating. She'd had worst spells, and even 
they hadn't lasted that long. 

"Sarah?" 

Soft, heavily accented. Of course, that described half 
of the X-Men's voices. But this was the softest, 
certainly. Didn't grate on your nerves like Rogue's 
stupid hic talk. "Hey," said Marrow, glancing up at 
Colossus. Would he go, and then another person come, 
and then another and another until she finally broke 
into a sobbing heap and babbled about childhood 
traumas, just so they'd stop? 

"Are you in too much pain to put up with a little 
conversation right now?" 

"Not in any pain," she denied. 

"Hmm." Rogue's word echoed in Marrow's mind. *Not 
fooling anyone.* Marrow had long ago decided she 
perferred the men on the team to the women. It was a 
close call, seeing as how X-males got her people 
massacred and the X-females ripped her heart out, but 
what it came down to was that the males were less 
likely to ask searching questions about her feelings. 
"I was going on a drive. To search for inspiration. 
Would you care to accompany me?" 

Marrow scowled at this bit of kindness, and was 
debating whether to give into temptation and agree, or 
reply scathingly, when Kitty rushed into the room. An 
endless stream of X-Men, indeed. *They're trying to 
break you, girl. Yep. All this is just to torment 
you.* "Hey, Sarah," Shadowcat said breathlessly, 
"Piotr, I need, need, *need* your help. There has been 
a slight mishap involving large, heavy pieces of the 
mansion." 

Colossus glanced quickly, covertly, at Marrow. "Sarah 
and I were about to go out..." he began. The look he 
gave Kitty was pregnant with meaning, Marrow 
suspected, but she had no idea what sort of meaning. 
Probably bad. For her. 

"Uh- well, uh." From the look in Shadowcat's eyes, the 
lump of mushy grey matter which lay beneath her skull 
was putting in its share of work trying to translate 
Colossus' hidden message. It comforted Sarah a little 
to see that she was also confused. "I guess it can 
wait," Kitty said at last. 

"Are you sure?" said Colossus softly. Always softly. 
Even when he was angry. 

"Positive." Kitty flashed a bright smile, and 
disappeared out the entranceway. 

Colossus turned back to Marrow, and said 
apologetically, "I'm afraid I spoke out of turn. *Are* 
you and I about to go out?" 

*Sometimes, you just have to humor them.* "Fine," she 
said, sticking out her lower lip. He smiled. *You 
can't fool 'em, Sarah.* Marrow sighed, a sigh of 
resignation more than anything else. *No one's falling 
for it.* 

* * * 

The three people eating dinner at the kitchen table 
were absolutely silent, the only noises those 
repulsive eating noises that TVs were invented to 
cover up. But the Drakes didn't eat in front of the 
TV, oh, no. Never mind the silences it would've 
filled. Never mind that, right now, you could've cut 
through the tension in the room with a knife. 

Well, not the knives you had set the table with. 
Couldn't cut through a thing with those, as Bobby had 
found from the ages of eleven to fourteen- his 
knife-experimenation days. Not wood, not plastic, not 
human flesh. So, the question was, how did they cut 
through Maddy Drake's cooking? 

Bobby said something complimentary about the food, and 
Maddy thanked him graciously. Bobby briefly mulled 
over a mental image of him leaping up and launching 
into a dramatic monologue about keeping secrets from 
your nearest and dearest, and betrayal, and stuff like 
that. He asked for his father to pass the mashed 
potatoes. 

It wasn't that he could blame his mom for wanting to 
have an affair, not at all. Sickening reflection, but 
there it was. Bobby Drake knew exactly how unpleasant 
living with William Drake could get. 

Then again, who knew what unpleasantnesses his mom had 
borne the brunt of? Maybe he didn't know the half of 
it. His mom had never had the opportunities of escape 
her son had been prevented with. 

That is irrelevant, he told himself. All his faith in 
her had just been undermined, and her motives were 
completey irrelevant. She had shattered his image of 
her as the perfect mother. You just shouldn't *do* 
that to your son. 

"Pass the barbecue sauce, please." 

"Drenching perfectly good steak in barbecue sauce," 
sighed William Drake. "It's obscene. Save the barbecue 
sauce for the barbecue, boy." 

"I could use ketchup," Bobby suggested brightly. His 
dad, the meat purist, flinched at his son's depravity 
and handed him the barbecue sauce. "Anyhoo, I was 
thinking of maybe going up to see some of my old 
Dartmouth buddies tomorrow. 'Kay by all of you?" 

William bobbed his head disinterestedly. Maddy rested 
her chin in her hand and asked, "What do you *tell* 
them, Bobby?" 

"Oh, just that I'm a superhero and save the world 
regularly, that I've combatted evil and won about a 
zillion times, and that my average working day 
involves being surrounded by beautiful women in 
spandex." His father raised sardonic eyebrows at him, 
and Bobby said dully, "Actually, I just make vague 
references to accounting stuff." He grimaced, real 
chagrin underlying his joking words, "I swear, I'm the 
only person who lies about having a job that's *less* 
cool than their real one." 

"That's the price you pay for having such a cool job, 
dear," said his mother. Anyone else, and he would've 
suspected them of sarcasm, though there was definitely 
a bit of humor gleaming in her eyes. "But at least we 
know." 

"Yeah. That does make things a whole lot easier." *But 
speaking of keeping secrets...* said the mental-image 
Bobby, raising an eyebrow at his mom. Good thing 
mental-image Bobby didn't run the show, or Bobby's 
family would no longer be speaking to him, women would 
be beating him up regualarly for using the horrible 
pick-up lines real-life Bobby didn't dare say, and 
Hank would probably still be pissed at him for shaving 
a line down his back. Sometimes, survival depended on 
resisting temptation, or, as in this case, on 
pretending nothing was wrong even though you knew 
something was. 


* * * 

It took a while for Kurt to realize that the insane 
rhythm pounding in his head was not part of a dream 
but actually the sound of someone knocking at the door 
at an hour so ungodly it was downright sacrilegious. 
He sat up and stared drearily at the clock for a 
few moments. It was 3 AM. Only the building being on 
fire or death would excuse this. No, he corrected 
himself, only fire. If someone was dead they could 
very well wait. 

He stumbled to the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 
"Who is it?" 

"Rogue," came the painfully awake voice. Kurt swung 
the door open, revealing the X-Woman arrayed in 
uniform and all the redundant accessories said apparel 
entailed. Kurt twisted his mouth and waited 
expectantly for her explanation. 

Rogue smiled brightly. "We have a situation, and the 
alarm isn't working, so Ah have to go from door to 
door." 

"What sort of situation?" Kurt forced the words out 
with some effort. His mouth felt like it was filled 
with cotton. 

"Um... Ah'll tell you, but don't ya think you'd maybe 
better put something on first?" 

Kurt glanced down in surprise at his state of undress. 
"Eh... yes. Excuse me." He gave Rogue with an 
extremely quick, embarrassed smile in return for her 
amused grin, and shut the door in her face. 

He paused uncertainly a moment, and then opened the 
door just enough to poke his head around. Rogue was 
still standing their, grinning. "Uniform?" he asked. 

"Yes." 

He got dressed quickly, and then opened the door. 
Rogue beckoned to him to walk along with her. 

"Please," he said, as they walked quickly down the 
hall, "what's the emergency?" 

"Some kids held up a convenience store. The police 
were called in, and the kids panicked and took 
everyone in the store hostage. Problem is, one of the 
kids is a mutant, and is zapping things right and 
left. Ah sent Kitty and Piotr in to quietly get him 
out of there, but it seems by the time they got there 
some hot-shot self-proclaimed defender of mutant 
rights had turned the kids' stupid stunt into a 
full-scale mutant/humans war. It's getting full news 
coverage now, and Ah gather more crusaders are joinin' 
by the minute. 

"And *that*," she said irritably, "is how a stupid 
trick suddenly becomes a mutant-terrorist act. Damn 
it!" 

"I can't see that dropping me in the middle of this 
will help sooth the mob," Kurt said neutrally, a small 
nod indicating his body and its odd appearance. 

"Soothing's not gonna work, not any more. This is a 
mission to save the dangerous muties from themselves 
and then go and knock their head against a wall until 
they get the message. Anyway, Ah need you to teleport 
us in, so they won't see our approach. Plus," her 
voice grew slightly less confident, "Ah wouldn't mind 
a little backup from someone with more leadership 
experience." 

"Ah. Speaking of which, is Storm aware of the 
situation?" 

"No, she's out with Forge, and Ah didn't think we 
needed to bother her. Ah need the practice, anyway. 
Ah, Logan," she greeted the bleary-eyed man exiting 
the kitchen, "just who Ah wanted to see. Kurt and Ah 
are gonna go stop people from killing each other. Ya 
hold down the fort while Ah'm gone, 'kay?" 

Logan, usually fairly eager to be in on any fighting 
that was to be done, merely nodded. He was definitely 
not at his best. "Sure thing. You two have fun." 

Rogue smiled viciously. "Oh, Ah will. Kurt, hun, Ah'm 
gonna have to carry you most of the way. Don't mind, 
do you?" 

"Most of my travel is done in the arms of beautiful 
women," Kurt sighed. "I've grown resigned to it by 
now." 

"Glad to hear it," said Rogue, opening the door. She 
scooped him up and took off out the doorway. Logan 
gave them a brief wave of farewell, and wandered back 
into the kitchen, not bothering to close the front 
door. 


More for this later. It's just establishing Rogue as 
the leader, or at least a leader. I think 'Ro's gonna 
be pretty annoyed about them not bringing her in for 
this. Mainly because Rogue will carry on so 
competently without her. Not to say Storm's petty, but 
it's never nice to realize you're expendable. 


Another Scene 

The neighborhood Bobby had grown up in did not so much 
consist of many houses and many yards as it did of 
many houses and one giant yard. With the exception of 
areas which contained large dogs, and a few gardens 
owned by botanical enthusiasts who didn't want to take 
the chance of children and other large, obnoxious 
animals uprooting their plants, nobody had fences. 

It was twilight, and the warm-cool air was tinged by 
the nostaligic smell of summer. School-vacation 
summer, not hot, humid, maybe-take-a- 
week-off-from-work summer. A summer of freedom and 
waterguns, of sneaking through other people's yards, 
playing with other people's children and pets, never 
realizing just how fortunate one was to be able to do 
so. It was all the ideals of socialism combined with 
the practical benefits of capitalism. 

Bobby and Warren sat on the back porch, beers in hand. 
Bobby reminisced of things that he knew were only of 
interest to the teller, though, in all fairness to 
himself, Warren did seem faintly fascinated by the 
idea of Bobby having a life B.W. Before Warren. 

"But you have to admit," Warren said at the end of a 
story about the scary old lady next door, "the years 
at Xavier's were pretty good, too." 

"Maybe. But I can't help it if I want to hang around 
the playground and scream 'Live while you can!' at all 
the first graders." 

"But we had fun," said Warren defensively. 

"Yeah, War, but it was pretty forced," said Bobby, 
with a new reckless honesty that may have been a 
result of his third beer, or may have been a result of 
his annoyance at Warren for acting like he hadn't 
spent his adolescence brooding. "I was pretty much 
depressed all the time." 

"Weren't we all," said Warren, giving up the denial. 
"Though you put up a good front. I thought all your 
clowning around was annoying at the time, but in 
hindsight... it was pretty brave." Bobby blinked at 
hearing his aggressively stupid behavior explained in 
such flattering terms. Warren took a gulp of his beer, 
and leaned back, looking contemplative. "Not that you 
didn't have your lapses into angstiness, too." 

"Not angstiness," denied Bobby. "Just lapses into 
stupidity." 

Warren inclined his head in agreement. "Yeah, that's 
probably more accurate but... huh. Remember the first 
time you snuck into town by yourself? When me and 
Scott found you, you were babbling about anything and 
everything- you would've been spouting state secrets 
if you'd known them- and you were completely convinced 
you were being rational and intelligent. I doubt you 
would've made it home without us, you were so damn 
drunk." 

Bobby's brow furrowed. "Couldn't be. I never drank 
alone back then. I was pretty stupid, but I wasn't so 
stupid I didn't realize I'd need someone with a higher 
tolerance for alcohol and a driver's licence to take 
me home." 

A strange gleam appeared in Warren's eyes as listened 
to this speech. "Don't tell me you don't remember. We 
took you back home, and ran into Xavier..." 
Encountering Bobby's blank look, Warren grinned 
suddenly. "You don't remember, do you? I'm not that 
surprised, come to think of it. And here I thought you 
were closed mouth because you were embarrassed. 
Anyway," Warren said, growing more aggressively 
gleeful with each word, "you know how Xavier was about 
drinking, *especially* for you and Jean, since if you 
guys lost control of yourself and your powers... well, 
it'd be bad. When we ran into Xavier-" 

"It must've been someone else," Bobby interjected. 
"Even if I didn't remember the night, I'd remember 
Xavier punishing me." 

"Well, that's the thing. He didn't." 

"Huh?" 

"Let me tell the story, okay? Scott and I were walking 
you back, and I was ready to strangle you, because you 
kept falling over *on purpose*- really, Bobby, you can 
be so annoying- and Scott was looking grim and 
disapproving. Then we saw Xavier, and I was sure you 
were in for it. I was perfectly ready to abandon you 
to your well-deserved fate-" 

"Thank you, Warren darling," murmured Bobby. 

"-but Scott just whispered to you to shut the hell up. 
What amazed me was that you *did*. Usually, when we 
told you to stop talking, you'd just talk more." 
Warren's gaze grew more distant. "I'm sorry you don't 
remember. Scott was wonderful. He was perfectly calm 
when he talked to Xavier, despite the fact that he 
risked losing all the hard-earned trust he had been 
building up." 

"You mean all the sucking up he was doing," Bobby said 
wryly. 

"Hey, the man worked hard, okay? Anyway, he made up 
some lie about what we had been up to. Walking, or 
training, or something. I wasn't really listening, I 
was so busy admiring Scott's nerve." 

"Don't tell me Xavier bought it," put in Bobby, 
fascinated. 

"He must have," shrugged Warren. "I know Xavier's 
almost impossible to lie to. You have to not only look 
calm, you have to *think* calm. But that's what Scott 
did. He even made a friggin' joke. God." Warren 
knocked back the remainder of his beer. "Then he took 
you upstairs, and stood by while you puked up all your 
meals of the day, and I guess he must've put you to 
bed, too. Most heroic thing I ever saw." 

"He never told me that." 

Warren shrugged. "I guess he didn't want you to think 
he endorsed that sort of behavior. And- well, I gather 
he thought you were somewhat justified. You were 
pretty depressed about something. I don't know what." 

"Oh," said Bobby, and then a more enlightened, "Oh." 
His eyes widened as he was at last able to put the 
beginning and the ending on Warren's story. He could 
remember just what he had been so depressed about, and 
his horrible hangover the next day. Hank would 
probably remember the time, too. But not Warren... It 
occurred suddenly to Bobby that each of his friends 
held different parts of his past. It was real, because 
they could corroborate it. *Part of my past died with 
Scott. Part of all of our pasts. How many days have 
you lost, War?* How many days had Jean lost? 

"What was that 'Oh' about?" Warren asked suspiciously. 
"What were you so depressed about?" 

"Nothing. Nothing important, at least. Anyway," time 
for an abrupt subject change, so as to avoid reliving 
tumultuous teenage years, "you saw my mother in all 
her rosy-cheeked happiness. What's your diagnosis?" 

Warren snorted. "What am I, an expert? I think you're 
refining too much on too little. And..." Warren 
hesitated, then plunged on, "if the woman's happy, you 
might as well let it alone. It's not really your 
business any more who she... er, what she does in her 
free time." 

"What, just because I'm over eighteen they stop being 
my family?" said Bobby indignantly. 

"No, no. But your parents' decisions don't control 
your life like they used to, and, in turn, you can't 
go around trying to control theirs." 

"Huh," said Bobby dubiously, and then added, with 
sudden, beer-induced decisiveness, "There's only one 
thing to do." 

"And what's that?" Warren asked doubtfully. 

"I'm going to have to follow her." 

Warren groaned. "Bobby, if you're every my son, remind 
me to disown you." 

"You assured me," Bobby pointed out, suddenly 
suspicious, "that there was no danger of that ever 
happening." 

"Bobby," said Warren levelly, "you are insane." 

"I thought we established that 'round about the first 
day we met." 

"Yes, but if I ever needed confirmation... God, Bobby, 
she's your *mother*." 

"Which is why I must know the truth," Bobby said 
dramatically. He posed for about two seconds, and then 
said, "Want another beer?" 

"I could do with one," said Warren drily, "but no more 
for you, I think." 

* * * 

Storm stood still by the stove and allowed the steam 
to hit her face, the screeching kettle merely white 
noise in the background. She rubbed the sleep from her 
eyes, and turned as she heard a soft tread behind her. 

Sarah was sucking on a cut lower lip as she plodded 
into the kitchen, and her left eye was beginning to 
swell. She made a beeline for the refrigerator, and 
unless that head toss had been a greeting rather than 
a method of removing hair from the eyes, Marrow gave 
Storm no sign of acknowledgement. 

The younger woman frowned at the contents of the 
fridge for a moment, then slammed the door shut with a 
muttered curse. Then, as if noticing Storm's scrutiny 
for the first time, she turned to face her. She stuck 
out her cut lower lip, and lifted her chin defiantly, 
as if in challenge. 

A number of questions sprang to Storm's mind as she 
watched the girl. She settled on what seemed the 
safest. Turning off the stove, she said brightly, 
"Tea?" 

"No." 

People shouldn't have to put up with surly children 
this early, Storm reflected, pouring the boiling water 
into the teapot. "There's an icepack in the freezer," 
she added. 

"Huh." 

Marrow seemed disinclined to seek out the ice pack, 
and Storm wasn't about to persist. *Rebel against my 
disinterest if you can, child.* She sat down at the 
kitchen table, tented her fingers, and watched out the 
window while the tea steeped. The other X-Woman 
hovered in the kitchen for a moment, then flung open 
the fridge door with one swift, frustrated movement, 
grabbed an apple, and marched out. Storm smiled. 

"I'm famished," declared a cheerful voice. Storm, 
still maintaining her outward appearance of serenity 
to a degree that would do a Zen master proud, turned 
her head to regard the newest intruder. It was Kitty 
and- Storm blinked- she was sporting a bandage on her 
forehead. Kitty got herself some corn flakes and sat 
down a few chairs over. Storm rose to pour herself 
some tea. 

"So," she said conversationally, "did you get up this 
early on a whim, or was it actually for the purpose of 
fighting with Marrow?" 

"For the purpose, of course." Kitty shoveled into her 
cereal with relish. "She really has promise. Well, 
obviously. We all know what she can do. But she's 
sloppy." 

Storm raised her eyebrows, waiting for the whole 
situation to be explained. 

Kitty took it as an invitation to expand upon her 
topic. "But I guess that's a rather hypocritical 
accusation, 'cause I let myself get sloppy, too. As 
you no doubt gleaned from Marrow's appearance." 
Kitty's energetic manner became suddenly 
introspective. "It's good for both of us, since we 
have no compunctions about hurting each other, but 
that results in less controlled, less refined 
techniques." 

Storm nodded sagely, and sipped her tea. 

"I'll be happy when Kurt's ankle gets better. But now 
I can see just how much I'm out of practice. These new 
training sessions were a really good idea of-" a 
slight tremor in her voice, "course." She looked 
thoughtfully at Storm. "We need all the practice we 
can get. Uh, how goes it on the domestic side?" 

Storm was stunned to silence by the idea of being the 
domestic side of anything, so it was perhaps fortunate 
that Marrow tromped in at that moment and tossed her 
apple core in the sink. Kitty could attribute Storm's 
suddenly wide eyes and tightened lips to that, 
instead. 

"I am sure that you will regain your control and 
refinement in battle with time, Kitten," Storm said, 
choosing to ignore the last question. She could see 
Marrow smirk as she took out a package of cookies. 

Kitty glanced warily at Marrow. "I hope so." She 
swiveled her head and said placatingly in Marrow's 
direction, "Sorry about your f- the injuries." 

"Don't apologize to me, Kitten," her voice was angry 
and mocking at the same time. "You meant to draw 
blood, same as me." She stuffed about three cookies in 
her mouth and sauntered out, nose in the air, chewing 
loudly the whole time. 

Storm watched her leave, then turned to Kitty. "So, 
are these training sessions to become a daily thing?" 

"Every other day, I think," she replied, with a 
lopsided grin. "But it depends on the number of 
people. I really want to train with Logan again, if 
only I could get him to stay still long enough to do 
anything so mundane as training." 

"Training with this group is never mundane," sighed 
Storm. 

"Too true." Kitty lifted the bowl to her lips and 
finished off her milk, favored Storm with a 
half-salute, and left, pausing to throw the apple core 
in the trash can on the way. 

* * * 

Bobby was half-way down the stairs when the voices 
reached a volume he could hear. It was impossible to 
make out most of what was being said, but the swear 
words were unmistakable. 

"Fuck, Maddie. What the hell were you thinking? Do you 
realize-" There was a soft, somewhat weary-sounding 
interjection, a mumble at this distance, then a 
snippy, condescending reply. Bobby retreated as softly 
as possible up the staircase. The voices seemed to 
grow louder in proportion to the increase in distance, 
though, and he found himself retreating a few more 
steps into the bathroom. 

The bathroom door didn't lock- it never had for as 
long as Bobby could remember. He sat on the floor, 
with his back pressed against the door to keep it 
shut. A bathroom without a lock was a better sanctuary 
than a bedroom with one. People were more wary of 
entering an occupied bathroom than their son's 
bedroom. The familiar tones could still be heard 
through the door, and his stomach knotted in response, 
but he could no longer make out any words. Not even 
four-letter ones. 

He hugged his knees, automatically falling into the 
same old position. His eyes traced the cracks in the 
ceiling, but either the cracks had changed, or his 
eyes had, because he could no longer find in them the 
pictures he had thought to be so distinctive as a 
child. The tiles used to have pictures, too, but they 
had been redone. 

There was the drip-drip-drip of the faucet, which 
pounded on his brain like he was being subjected to 
Chinese water torture. He considered doing something 
about it, but, for some inscrutable reason, decided 
against it. Maybe he just felt more comfortable 
keeping his back to the door. 

The voices were subsiding gradually. He looked down at 
himself, and the part of him that had actually grown 
up was surprised to be seeing himself here again, 
sitting like this, listening to the angry voices 
through the door. That part of his brain told him to 
stop being an idiot, stand up for God's sake, but the 
habits of childhood won over. There was a moment of 
silence, and he thought he heard a door slam. He 
wasn't sure, so he waited a few more minutes. He got 
up, splashed his face with water, rubbed his eyes, and 
then pressed his ear against the door. He opened it 
slowly, tip-toed out, and started cautiously down the 
stairs. 

He could hear his mother's voice, reassuringly soft 
though a tad distressed. Perhaps his dad hadn't left 
as Bobby had thought. He stood in the kitchen a 
moment, and listened intently. 

"No, no. Don't say that.... I just don't know what to 
do sometimes when... Yes, right." And then a breathy, 
small, "I love you." 

She was on the phone. 

Bobby went quietly back upstairs. 

* * * 

There was a knock on the door, Bobby's back stiffened. 
He turned from his contemplation of the ceiling, 
picked up the book resting on his beside table, and 
opened it to a random page. "Come in." 

Bobby practically melted into the bed with relief when 
Warren poked his head through the door, rather than 
Mr. or Mrs. Drake. "War, come in. What the hell are 
you doing here?" 

"Just thought I'd drop in to say hello. Your mom told 
me you were hiding up here. Wanna go to lunch?" 

"So you thought, I'm hungry, I'll swing by New Jersey 
and see if Bobby also wants food." 

Warren bobbed his head. "That's about it, yeah." 

"Warren," said Bobby, suddenly feeling very smiley, 
"you're a saint. Lem'me get my shoes and we're outta 
here." 

"Well, also Betsy said I was mopey and needed to do 
something like this," Warren said to Bobby, as he 
bulleted past to the door. Bobby waved Betsy's part in 
his friend's actions aside, and rushed down the stairs 
as noisily as possible. Warren followed at a more 
staid pace. 

* * * 

"Bobby, if it's getting to you that much, just talk to 
her." 

Bobby stared at Warren as if he had just sprouted 
another head. Actually, that concept was less 
repulsive than Warren's suggestion. "Are you crazy? Do 
you know how horribly awkward that would be? What 
emotional scenes could ensue? I just got a semi-normal 
relationship with my dad. I'm not gonna ruin my 
relationship with my *nice* parent." 

"I know, I know. But you have to make exceptions. This 
is eating away at you." 

"I can't ask her, Warren. Put yourself in my 
position." 

Made brave by the fact that he wasn't in Bobby's 
position, Warren replied immediately, "I'd just catch 
her alone, ask her for an honest answer and..." Warren 
suddenly realized Bobby was eyeing him with a 
speculative gleam in his eye. "What?" 

"Warren," said Bobby in a singsong voice, laying down 
his hamburger, "would you mind very much..." 

"No way in hell." 

"But you just said..." 

"I am not asking your mother if she's cheating on your 
dad. No fucking way." 

"You could ask as a friend of hers. Pretend it's not 
for me. Be all tactful about it." 

"There's no tactful way to ask if someone's cheating 
on their spouse." 

"Warren, it's eating away at me!" Bobby declaimed 
melodramatically. 

"Then you'll just have to ask her yourself. Family 
business." 

"You're like a brother to me." 

"So's Hank." 

"But you're closer to my mom." 

"Right. More of a relationship to ruin." 

"Listen, if something goes wrong, what's the worst 
that can happen? You don't have to eat my mom's food 
anymore." 

Warren shook his head emphatically, and Bobby looked 
so crestfallen that he added reassuringly, "Listen 
Bobby, I've spoken with your mom a good deal, and if 
it makes you feel any better, I don't think she's 
having an affair. Women, especially older women, who 
are cheating on their husbands tend to have a certain 
air about them..." He trailed off, realizing Bobby was 
given him a rather odd look. He cleared his throat. 
"Anyway, maybe it's none of your business." 

Bobby nodded, and looked away from Warren. "You're 
right, of course," he said, voice trembling slightly. 
"I'm- I'm sorry I even asked you to do such a stupid 
thing." He rubbed his eyes, quickly, and turned back 
to Warren with an unconvincing smile plastered to his 
face, and said, with cheer as false as his smile, "I'm 
just going to let it go, people do all that at the 
time, right? Shouldn't be that hard." 

Warren's mouth tightened with concern. "Bobby..." 

"Don't, Warren. Please, don't." 

Warren regarded his friend's ghastly smile and damp 
eyes and said, "If it means that much to you... okay, 
I'll ask her." 

"Really? You promise?" 

He answered, "Promise," before Bobby's calculating 
look had registered. 

Bobby cheered up with suspicious speed once Warren had 
uttered the word 'Promise'. "Thanks, War, you're a 
real pal." 

"You tricked me! You weren't on the verge of tears or 
anything!" 

Bobby chortled. "You've promised already, no going 
back." 

"There is if you tricked me..." began Warren. 

"Nope, nope. Your word of honor. A sacred bond." His 
face suddenly took on a look of exaggerated solemnity, 
and he pronounced, "A Worthington does not go back on 
his word." 

"Son of a bitch," said Warren. 

"That," said Bobby, "is inaccurate." 

* * * 

It was rare that Professor Xavier let emotion overcome 
him, at least in front of his five young students, but 
this time was a notable exception. The first 
overpowering emotion which showed on his face was 
shock, but the four assembled boys standing across 
from him all had an uncomfortable feeling it would 
soon be replaced by anger. 

"You did... what?" the professor asked faintly. 

The four boys looked at each other, and seemed to 
tacitly appoint Scott as spokesman. Scott cleared his 
throat and asked diffidently, "Which of us did what, 
sir?" 

"That was a plural 'you'. As in, using your combined 
talents, what have you managed to destroy, and how is 
the car involved?" 

"I wouldn't say it was destroyed..." Hank began. 

Scott's eyes glinted with amusement. "Try 
obliterated." 

Bobby put in, "I'd just like to say that I had nothing 
to do with any of this." 

"I sure didn't see you trying to stop us," said 
Warren, with a dark look at the youngest X-Man. 

"I didn't travel back in time and fling myself in 
front of the bullet that killed Lincoln, either. Gonna 
blame that one on me, too?" 

"If you go by that analogy," said Hank, "then you're 
the guy egging on John Wilkes Booth, so maybe you'd 
better let it drop." 

"Much like War here let that gasoline canister drop, 
I suppose." 

"I thought it was closed! I'm not the one who didn't 
put the lid back on highly flammable material, okay?" 

They went on, arguing pointlessly for a little while 
longer before they at last recalled that such a 
display would do little to assuage Xavier's anger. But 
it was perhaps just as well for the Professor's 
fearful reputation that they were distracted. As it 
was, Scott was the only one who saw the quickly 
suppressed smile that flickered across Xavier's face. 

* * * 

Storm glanced into Xavier's office. It seemed to be 
whispering to her, which was insane, but not 
unpleasant. Memories. Not all hers, but some were, and 
each room had a different set. 

Jean decked out in her wedding dress. Storm, secretly, 
disliked its design, but Jean had made it beautiful. 

Since Xavier seemed to be somewhere else, she drifted 
down the hall towards the staircase. 

Xavier and Forge playing chess, the two extremely 
intelligent men so pleased to be able to play a game 
without seeming childish- though the delight they took 
in checkmating each other rivaled any five year olds' 
delight at winning a game. 

There was no one around, which was wrong. You'd think 
the place would always be swarming, as it seemed to be 
in memory. 

Jubilee rollerblading down the hall despite being 
told, time and time again, not to. Or maybe, upon 
reflection, *because* she was told time and time again 
not to. 

Storm mounted the stairs towards the attic. 

Basketball, never just a game, always an event. Rogue, 
propelled by a kinetically charged basketball, 
crashing through the wall. Or so she had heard, and 
the giant hole in the wall had seemed to indicate that 
Jubilee had not exaggerated. 

A voice made her pause on the stairs. She turned 
around, to see Kitty. Kitty, a small, gracile 
creature, a dancer, ingenuously telling Storm that she 
had never seen anybody like her before, her young girl 
eagerness making the simple words into an extremely 
gratifying compliment. 

"Ororo?" 

Storm blinked away the young girl in her mind's eye 
and focused on the young woman standing at the bottom 
of the stairs. "Sorry?" 

"Could you spare a minute?" 

"I think so. What for?" 

"I was hoping we could try the new communicators out 
in some adverse weather conditions, and the equipment 
we have can only simulate so much. Would you be so 
good as to summon us up a storm?" 

Storm started back down the stairs. "I will see what I 
can do." 

The rain coming fast and thick, pounding aggressively 
on the small, sad, white-haired girl- and then the 
sudden rush that she still felt sometimes even these 
days, the rush of realizing she had caused *that*. 

Rogue was waiting in the entrance hall for them. 
Rogue, new to the team, trusted by no one, mistrusting 
everyone- but trying so hard. Heartbreakingly hard. 
She had worn green, then. Storm had always preferred 
the green, but nobody asked her about these things. 

"Storm, girl, ya gotta pay attention." The image of 
the memory-Rogue vanished before Rogue's amused voice. 
"Ah don't want ya zappin' me while Ah'm up there." 

"The things you ask of me! Next you will be asking me 
to make small, *friendly* lightning bolts." 

"If you could make them small..." began Kitty, but 
stopped at an exasperated look from Storm. 

They went outside, and walked to area of the grounds 
chosen for the experiment, though Storm doubted her 
ability to keep a thunderstorm so contained that it 
would not spread to the whole of the grounds. 

"Colossus has one inside the mansion, too. These 
things are heavy duty- distance is no problem- but I'm 
not sure how they're gonna respond to close-by 
electrical interference." 

Rogue nodded. "And if the X-Men are gonna be using 
'em, they need to work while whoever's got them is 
dodging lightning bolts." 

Storm nodded absently, closed her eyes, and worked her 
magic. 

*Because it is magic.* The skies opened when she told 
them to. That went beyond a mutation. That ran deeper 
than any power that resulted from a genetic mistake. 

*Let's not get carried away,* she thought to herself, 
with a rueful inner smile. *You already did the 
goddess bit.* 

"Um, that's a start," Rogue said after what must have 
been close to ten minutes. 

Storm opened her eyes and looked distastefully at the 
pathetic drizzle she had created. 

"I guess the weather conditions aren't conducive to 
creating a thunderstorm," said Kitty. "'S'all right. 
We'll try again later." 

Storm tightened her lips and the patronization she 
sensed in their voices. "Give me a moment." 

A little time passed. It felt like a lot of time. Each 
additional lightning-less second was an embarrassment, 
though she knew it shouldn't have been. 

She wanted to stamp. She wanted to scream. She wanted 
to go up there and strangle the stupid, un-thundering 
clouds. Instead, she contented herself with glaring 
fiercely at them. 

The rain began to fall, fast and hard. There was a 
distant rumble, and then a louder, closer one. 

"All yours, ladies," she said, favoring the rain 
clouds with a smug look. "Enjoy." 

She walked away, but she didn't go inside. Instead, 
she sat down on the porch and watched the lightning 
and rain, and tried to forget that, for a quarter of 
an hour, the skies had completely ignored her. 

* * * 

"Warren, hello. Would you like to join us for dinner? 
We won't be eating for about an hour, but-" 

"Thanks very much, but I can't." 

"He's spent the whole damn day with me, Mom. I'm sure 
he needs a break now." 

"Nonsense. How could someone need a break from you, 
dear?" 

"Beats me, Mom. The spaghetti sauce smells like 
heaven." 

"It's just garlic so far, dear." Maddy Drake turned to 
Warren and said candidly, "It's just that Willy's not 
eating with us tonight, and he's usually the person 
that eats the most food, and I can't stand too much 
leftovers." 

"Ya know," Bobby went on, "I've been in lots of 
different countries, and several different dimensions, 
and not a few different time periods, and I never 
found better spaghetti sauce than yours, Mom." 

Warren glanced over at Bobby. "You're father's out, 
huh?" 

"Nothing to compare to it," said Bobby. "No sirree." 

"I suppose I could brush of my other engagement. I'd 
be happy to eat with you tonight." 

"You gonna ask her?" Bobby asked, looking doubtful. 
"Tonight?" 

Warren smiled, a smile that had made better men than 
Robert Drake long to punch him in the nose. "No, 
Bobby. I'm gonna make sure *you* ask her." 

* * * 

Lately, Bobby's life had seemed to revolve around food 
and house repairs. He supposed he could get used to 
it, if only meal times would stop being so 
excruciatingly painful. 

"What's the matter, honey?" said his oh-so-helpful 
mother. "You look distracted." 

"Actually," Warren put in, as Bobby hesitated, "he did 
have a question he wanted to ask you. Later, though." 

"You can ask me now, Bobby, if you want. What is it?" 

"Huh? Nothing. I don't know what Warren is talking 
about." 

"Yes, you do." 

"Bobby?" 

"Nothing." He stabbed his food violently, glowering 
into his mashed potatoes. "I have nothing to ask 
anyone." 

"Okay..." Maddie said, looking rather bemusedly 
between Warren and her son. "You don't *have* to ask 
me anything." 

Warren frowned at him. Bobby glared in return, put his 
fork down, and said politely to his mother, "Actually, 
I did have a question, come to think of it." He heard 
Warren inhale sharply, and smiled. "Mom, would you 
mind very much if I went back to the X-Men? I don't 
think Dad needs any more help on the house, though if 
you want me to stay longer I can." 

"Oh, honey, this is your home, too. You can come and 
go as you please. Though of course I appreciate you 
telling me before you do either." 

"Of course." Bobby smiled brightly and falsely, even 
as Warren kicked him sharply under the table. 

After dinner, Bobby followed Warren into the hallway. 
"You should've just done it," Warren said, as he took 
his jacket off the hook by the door, and arranged his 
wings to fit underneath it. 

"Why do you do that?" Bobby asked. 

Warren raised his eyebrows. "Which? Insult you? Or 
wear a jacket?" 

"No, cover up the wings. You shouldn't wear them 
wrapped up all the time. I mean, what're people gonna 
do, see you walking down the street and scream 'Hey! 
Let's attack the man with angel wings!'" 

Warren licked his lips together and glanced sideways, 
apparently at the photograph of some of Bobby's 
cousins hanging on the wall. He stepped back, opened 
the door, and glanced outside before turning back to 
Bobby and asking, "Are you going to ask her now, or 
stop angsting over it?" 

Bobby shrugged. "Stop angsting, I guess. I've got a 
feeling I know the answer already, anyway." 

"First of all, you have no idea what's going on, and 
don't pretend you do. For God's sake, you'd think you 
didn't even know your own mother!" He ignored Bobby's 
murmured, I feel like I don't, and continued, "Second 
of all, when the hell are you going to grow up, 
Drake?" 

Bobby pressed his lips together and didn't deign to 
reply. Mainly because he couldn't think of a good 
one. 


*** 

Kitty discovers the underground cavern thing at the 
mansion. 


*** 
His mom was working diligently in the kitchen when he got 
home. In fact, most of 
his recent memories of her involved her in the kitchen. He 
have to get her out of 
there, soon, and get to know her again. Lots of people got 
to know their parents 
better once they were adults, some people even became 
friends with their 
parents. Yeah, so Bobby had gotten to know his dad fairly 
well after that horrible 
event a while back, but his mom was still a cypher. A 
cypher who cooked a lot. 

He sat down at the kitchen table, since his mom seemed to 
like to have 
someone to talk to while she cooked. 

"So, how's the team getting along after that horrible 
accident?" she asked, with 
surprising insight. 

"Okay, I guess. Everyone was holding up fine when I left, 
at least." 

Maddie Drake pulled something out of the freezer and set it 
on the counter to 
thaw. "The news of your friend's death upset your father a 
lot, you know." 

"Know, I didn't. Why was he upset?" 

"Well, he worries about you, you know, and this is just 
another example of the 
dangers involved in the job you do." She began chopping 
tomatoes. "So, how 
long are you going to stay this time? A week? Two?" 

"Huh? I thought a lot longer..." 

His mother looked at him aghast. "But don't you have to be 
getting back to your team? Not that I don't love having you 
hear, but I thought you loved it." 

"Well, yeah, it's just that I..." His mother had never been his 
greatest confidante, but, dammit, he needed to be candid with 
someone. "I don't think I can do much good there." 

Maddie snorted. "Of course you can, Bobby. Anyway, I've 
been so proud of you, and what you're doing..." 

"You have?" 

"Yes." His mom turned towards him, and he was surprised 
to see a distinct twinkle in her eye. 

"After all, it's not every mother who gets to have a son in a 
line of work as interesting as yours.  And with your uncle 
going to prison for a few years, I say your work here is done." 

Well, he knew he had inherited his sense of humor from 
*one* of his parents. And it wasn't his dad. 

"Your father's gotten to be proud of you, too. Except the 
worrying. But Willie's always been a worrier." 

"Yeah, I've noticed." 

"So," his mother repeated, "when will you be going back?" 

Bobby looked thoughtful. "I dunno. A week." He smiled at 
his mother. "Or maybe less." 

"Good," she said, with a satisfied nod, then added, "Not 
that I mind having you here..." " 

"It's okay, Mom. I know." 

* * * 

Ororo mentions not going on with leadership. 

Marrow and Peter and Kitty start training on the really 
deadly arts.  Jean leaves. 

* * * 

Storm had a headache. 

She didn't usually get headaches. She was against them 
on principle. This one hurt too much to ignore however, 
and she was even more on edge that day than usual. 

Everything was spiraling downward into chaos. She began 
to understand why, but the knowledge didn't help much. 

Previously, no matter how angry, how upset she got, their 
had always been a little pocket of calm fearlessness deep 
down inside. The eye of the storm, for lack of a more 
original metaphor. [She wasn't quite sure if it was her own 
self-confidence, or the reassurance she gained from her 
religion, or the knowledge that she was fighting for the 
side of right, or a mixture of many things, but it had 
always been there.-C We may want to tackle this elsewhere, 
state it explicitly elsewhere.  It's important, but I don't think 
*here* is the place.] Scott's death had somehow offset that 
little ball of certainty, though, and suddenly she could 
be sure of nothing. 

It might have regenerated itself soon, had it not been for 
all the other factors which prevented it from doing so. She 
vaguely remembered a quote- something to do with  sorrows 
not coming in single spies, but in battalions. How 
true. If there was a kind of problem you could have- 
emotional, mental, economical- she had it. No, that wasn't 
it true. At least she still had her health. She suppressed a 
bitter laugh at this reflection. 

There were two particular people who were especially 
tormenting her, albeit unintentionally. One of them was 
Xavier. Charles seemed unimpressed by her leadership as 
of late. Of course, Ororo was unimpressed with her own 
leadership, but the man could show a bit of understanding 
every now and then. 

Then there was Forge. Lingering in the mansion, his help 
invaluable but he was ignoring her and she him but with little 
success.  His impassive facade masked his raw intensity from 
everyone but her. 

Those eyes of his... if she could only view him as a solicitous 
relative or a valued colleague, but no.  Her arms were frozen 
to her chest and her words rang with stentorian tones which 
rang strident to her ears. 

Memories of his kiss did not make her shiver. She did not wake 
up in a hot sweat, shaken by a very real dream, and said his name 
with a curse and cry when it registered that she was very 
much alone, and without him the night before. 

They had settled it. She had settled it. She had not been 
dreaming of him since Scott's funeral. She had not ached for 
him the night before. No she hadn't. She'd eaten poorly and late 
and was exhausted and - headachy.  And anxious.  And anxiety 
registered as arousal in her dreams.  Also, there were the early 
mornings and late nights disturbing her. The radiator had broken, 
again. And the pipes had frozen, again. And the maintenance robots 
had broken through the roof to pull out the insulation and firebreaks. 
Not again, the week before, they'd ripped out the gutters lining the roof 
of the east wing. 

She was beginning to loathe the mansion. 

But she hadn't completely lost her touch, not at all. She 
was at this moment running the house on the basis of the 
strictest economy, and there seemed no danger of starving 
soon. In fact, Kitten had managed to get water running in the 
house. 

Now if only she could get her own mind and emotions back 
to their former state of organization. Every time she saw 
the layers of dust on the furniture, or the paint peeling of 
the walls, or the empty rooms all around, she found it 
difficult to repress a shudder. 

A knock sounded at her door, and Kitty slid through before 
Storm could answer. She smiled rather sheepishly at 
Ororo, and the older woman sighed. "What is it now?" 

"Well, I wouldn't be bugging you except Kurt and Peter 
have taken Marrow somewhere, with the ostensible 
purpose of doing you a favor by getting out of your way. 
And I think Kurt intends to do a few things in town. And 
Logan's down in his cabin, or hunting down his dinner, or 
whatever the man does at this time of day. But the point 
is..." 

"Oh, no, do not discuss the point on *my* account, Kitten. 
Please, ramble on for a little while longer." 

Kitty pressed her lips together at Storm's sarcasm, and 
said curtly, "Basement's flooded." 

Storm looked relieved. "Oh, that does not matter. There 
was nothing down there of importance..." 

"And the water's rising," Kitty interjected. "Plus, we just 
moved some papers and old furniture down there." 

Ororo's relieved look vanished. "Goddess! What 
possessed you? We do not exactly have furniture to spare, 
and you decide to move it down to the basement? And 
papers?" 

"It was threadbare and stained," Kitty began, "and 
the papers weren't exactly of immediate importance," but 
Storm didn't stay to listen. Instead she was out the door, 
and Kitty had to run after her to offer to phase her 
downstairs. 

*** 

Though there were gathering clouds, it was neither 
snowing nor raining nor even very windy outside the 
mansion, which was probably a good sign, Bobby 
reflected. Storm must have things under control. 

He made his way up the front steps, grateful no one had 
seen his arrival. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone 
quite yet-at least, not any of the people who were currently 
residing  at the X-Mansion. 

The door was unlocked. Well, that saved him about ten 
minutes of searching for his keys. He pushed through, and 
stood a moment in the hall, to rest his arms after carrying 
his suitcase for so long. He peeled some paint off the 
chipping wall, and then began to scratch at it until it the 
paintless areas spelled out 'Bobby'. He glanced down the 
hall, glanced at the stairs he would have to carry his 
suitcase up, and decided resting a little longer wouldn't 
hurt. So he added, 'wuz here' and a drunk smiley face. [Come what may, 
this bit stays. 4-evuh.] 

"Bobby?" He looked ahead Katherine Pryde coming up 
through the floor. He was positive she existed just to make 
him feel immature and useless. When they had recruited 
her, she had seemed just another bubbly mutant teen, but 
somehow she had surpassed him in maturity and skill 
around the age of fifteen. Damn her high IQ and ninja 
training. 

"You just got back? That means you haven't done anything 
to make Storm angry yet, right?" Kitty asked, her tone 
caught between anxiety and hopefulness. 

"Uh, I don't think so." 

"Good." Kitty alighted beside him and propelled him in the 
direction of the basement stairs. "Then maybe you can 
help her without her telling you you're doing everything 
wrong." 

They reached the entrance of the basement and she 
added, in a rush, "Thanks a lot. I'll take your suitcase up for 
you, 'kay? Uh... good luck." She floated up to the ceiling, 
and disappeared from view. 

After a moment's bemused hesitation, while he glanced 
around at some damp furniture and file cabinets that 
surrounded the basement entrance, Bobby opened the 
cellar door and descended. Downstairs, he could see the 
sheen of water covering the floor. Flooding. 

The cellar had never been extremely well-lit, but today it 
was even less so than usual. Only a single bulb was 
functioning, and Storm stood by it, hands on her hips, 
muttering in a what sounded like Arabic curses, but 
knowing Storm, it could be anything. The water was up to 
her knees, and Bobby's first thought was that she had 
been extremely angry and created a mini-storm in the 
basement. The idea was immediately discarded as 
ridiculous though. This was just your average case of 
flooding, no superpowers or magic portals involved. 

He reflexively iced up his legs before launching into what 
were probably icy waters, not that he could tell so focused 
was he on Storm, who's very hair seemed to rise with her 
temper. 

"Hey, Boss Lady. Let me say, that even when you're 
exhausted, pissed off, and sopping wet, you still look 
divine." 

"Robert?" Her annoyed look vanished, to be replaced by 
one of confusion. "What are you doing here?" 

His mind went through a few possible answer, mainly 
flippant or joking, but from the look of it Storm wasn't 
in the mood for jokes. So he replied, "My mom didn't want 
me. She told me to go make myself useful. So here I am." 

He glanced around at the water. "Can I, ah, make myself 
useful?" 

"I doubt it," she sighed. "You would think that in a house 
filled with novel and unlikely superpowers, one would have 
the ability to dry up water, but that is not the case." 

"Couldn't Kitty just phase it out? Or would that cause an 
atomic explosion or whatever?" 

Her eyes tracked to him, narrowed. "I am not quite sure." 
Something electrical sizzled and snapped near the ceiling. 
Her eyes tracked to that. "and I really have no desire to 
find out." 

"I don't see what standing down here, getting soaked is 
going to do for you." 

"Nothing," she hissed. "Absolutely nothing! This house is 
the most tiresome, tedious building ever erected on this 
planet! And, as if I have not been tormented enough, my 
legs are numb!" The last statement was in a tone of 
righteous indignation. 

He only just bit back an enthusiastic exclamation of 'I'll 
carry you, then!' 

Bobby took her arm, and made soothing noises. "Look, 
'Ro,  I've got an idea, okay? Don't glare at me like that. 
Here's my plan: you go change into something dry. Then 
we will go into Salem Center, and sit down at a cafe, get 
you something hot to drink, and you'll tell me all about 
everything that's been going on, okay?" 

Storm shook her head as they emerged from the 
basement. "I can't, there are too many things to attend to." 

"Then make Kitty do them." 

"I had better..." 

"Come with me. Please. I need to know what's going on." 

"The cafe's around here are much to expensive," 
countered Storm in a dream-like voice. "And there's so 
much to do. We never truly appreciated the combined 
efforts of Jean and the cleaning service." 

"We'll spend no more than eight dollars," Bobby assured 
her, addressing the first of her concerns. "Eight dollars for 
a brief moment of sanity for you. Sound good?" 
"Hmmm," replied Storm. 

Bobby lead her on. He had handled people like this before. 
In Rogue especially. Even Hank, the tireless doctor, would 
occasionally go robotic on him, and Bobby'd have to drag 
him away and force feed him Twinkies. Of course, 
Twinkies probably would not be greatly appreciated by 
Storm, but the principle was the same. She'd be back to 
her old self in awhile, still bemoaning the amount of work 
to 
do, but at least able to do it. 

*** 

"So Jean and Remy *both* left. They had their reasons, 
but I can't help wish that... And Logan has been a great 
help, actually, as have all the X-Men. It is certainly not 
their 
fault that I seem unable to keep my head on straight." 

Bobby and Ororo were sitting in a cafe downtown- since 
that's where most of the cafes in Salem Center were 
located-and drinking cappuccino and herbal tea, 
respectively. They had been there for almost half an hour, 
and, despite her initial impatience to get back to the 
mansion, Storm now felt no inclination to hurry. While she 
was careful not to complain or pour out to many of her 
innermost thoughts, it was quite a relief to talk to someone 
as undemanding as Bobby, with no rebukes, pity, or false 
sympathy to give her. 

"What about Kit?" 

"Kitten is *occupied*. She tries, but her hands are full 
rebuilding our computer system, s. And Emma has her 
consulting for the Massachussetts Academy." 

"How's Kurt helping?" 

That question touched off more talk, and Bobby could only 
nod and sip while she vented. 

"Sounds like you've been having a hell of a time," he said, 
when she at last finished explaining just how it wasn't 
anyone's fault that she was so on edge. "As I see it, the 
crux of the matter is money." She shook her head at this, 
but he waved her down. "Hear me out, 'kay? There are two 
main changes that have occurred recently. Number one is 
Scott. Number two is that we're poor as dirt. Now, there's 
not a damned thing we can do about Scott..." She watched 
him intently, wondering if his flippancy was sincere, or just 
a way to cover his grief. "But we can do something about 
the money." 

"As I have already told you, Robert. I am doing all I can. 
Unfortunately for us, many transactions involving virtual 
money also necessitate proof of credibility, and an ability to 
pay back the virtual money. I don't see that in our near 
future." 

"If I were you," he said, apparently undaunted, "I'd make 
everyone go get jobs. You're in a position of power, Boss 
Lady. Use it to your advantage! Make 'em all pay!" 

"This is why, Robert," she replied tiredly, "*you* are not in 
a position of authority. Thank you for the gift of chicken 
bouillon in the morning, by the way." 

He looked a little embarrassed, but, as usual, sprang back 
up. After all, she reflected, Robert Drake would have been 
crushed under the weight of derisive comments long ago if 
not for his amazing resilience. He grinned sheepishly, 
"Yeah, well I probably would manage to start a civil war, 
or 
a revolution. But back on topic- money. Right. Why don't 
you take advantage of one of our many rich friends?" 

"I can hardly ask Warren to give us money. The Professor 
would agree, it is beneath us." 

"No, not Warren. God, you guys are dense when your 
pride's involved." Unreasonably annoyed by this comment, 
Storm only just managed to bite back a comment to the 
effect of, At least we have some pride. Now that would 
have been beneath her. Bobby continued, "Emma Frost. 
She's enough of a businesswoman that you wouldn't be 
indebted, and enough of friend that she wouldn't be 
pushing you about paying her back." 

"I admit," said Ororo, her anger assuaged, "that it did pass 
briefly through my mind, but sometimes I forget about 
Emma..." 

"I don't," said Bobby. Storm looked up, with the intention 
of 
catching his eye, but he was staring into his coffee cup. 
Poor man, he tried so hard, he always had... even though, 
so often, he didn't want the others to see it. 

She took a sip of tea, and when she looked up, he was 
staring right at her. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, 
and he started. "Oh, sorry! Just thinking." Watching her, his 
face broke into an irresistible smile. "And, you know what? 
I think the future just got a bit more promising." 

*** 

Ororo, wrist deep in dishwater, stood with one slender foot 
hooked behind an even more slender ankle. She wore 
linen, green as ice-cream, and an intricate head-band held 
back her hair. 

She was getting the breakfast things ready for the dish 
washer and staring out the window at the lawn. The newly 
laid sod was velvety looking beneath the silver of dew and 
the complicated shadows cast out of the sky. 

And what a sky. 

It was enormous. Brilliant with light and loaded with many 
clouds, Leviathan-like cumulo-nimbus and feathery cirrus 
tracking sunshine and weaving through blues so pale they 
almost weren't. Far in the east distance the sky was 
powerful with white and gray. 

Ororo stared out without expectation, so large the 
inarticulate feeling in her heart. 

The creak of Remy's new leather jacket gave away his 
entrance. He had returned the day before and his 
presence had added to general contentedness Ororo was 
feeling since Bobby had gotten a loan. Remy leaned his 
arms on the counter beside the double-sink and said, 
"What's up, p'tite?" 

"It is a good morning. Or perhaps the end of a good 
evening?" Ororo asked. 

"Non," Remy replied. "Perfect day f' a ride. Your doing?" 

"No." She rinsed dishes and stacked them in the second 
sink. "Do you remember climbing the twin arches on a day 
such as this?" 

"You couldn't tell if the sky was gonna split open water on 
us or not!" 

Ororo did not like to be reminded of the limitations of her 
second childhood, but her flashing tip-tilted eyes were 
gentle. 

Remy said in an imperious and high-pitched voice, "I'm 
queen of the mountain!" 

"I was." 

He nudged her, "Want we do it again? Float down the Big 
Muddy to New Orleans?" His red on black eyes were 
mostly unreadable, but the curve of his mouth, the lift of 
his 
eyebrows lent earnestness to his otherwise cavalier 
expression. "We had us some grand times, cherie." 

Lifting a glass from the water and shaking it out, her smile 
widening Ororo said, "I thought you had forgotten." 

Straightening, Remy lifted his hands in a half shrug Ororo 
couldn't read. They made quick work of the plates and 
silverware. Remy humming a zydeco melody, Ororo 
moving her head to the rhythm of the song, but otherwise 
standing still; but Remy, the same man who made her 
waltz to a rock song because he claimed it was the only 
step he knew, let his slim hips rock with the tune. 

"We had us some real good times, Stormy," Remy said 
leaning down to pull open the dish washer door. 

"But not to be repeated, I am afraid." 

Gambit stopped what he was doing, leaned a hand on his 
knee. "Afraid. You used to never say dat word when it was 
just you and me." 

"I was." 

"Non. Frightened. Dat the word you used." They both had 
been. 

"But you were with me," Ororo said, her voice was softer 
still. The glass she held in her hand, stayed in her hand. 

"It's not so far away, Stormy. New Orleans." Gambit took 
the glass from her, stood it in his sink. "Lot's of laughs. 
A little trouble..." he had his game grin on, wicked and 
sweet all at once. 

"Laissez les bons temps rouler?" 

"Oui." 

"I cannot." 

"Stormy-" 

"And do not call me by --- must I say it in French? Ki- 
swahili? Skrull?" 

Remy stood there, the dishtowel twisting in his gloved 
hand. His finely cut mouth turned down at the sides in a 
true frown. 

"And save your pout for someone else." 

His hand darted low. 

Her wet hand deflected the slap. "You dare?" 

Once, twice, the twisted up dish-towel flicked forward. 
Caught her on the thigh before Ororo snatched it still. 

"Enough!" she cried. 

Pulling hard Remy demanded, "Whatcha gon' do-" he let 
go - "if I do it again?" 

"You dare not," she said, laughing, blocking his hands, but 
he was singing, voiced cracked and wavery, "I'm Remy the 
rake, I yem, I yem," and caught her good and stinging on 
her ass. 

Ororo grabbed for him, Remy scooted back on his toes, 
flinging his arms up into the air, twisting at the hip. 
Whirling, Ororo fell forward, and grabbed for the table. 
Spit hair out of her mouth. 

Their eyes locked. His, brilliant sherry centered black, were 
laughing. 

He had her headband in his grip. 

"Impossible man!" 

Grinning Remy dashed out the door. 

Hard on his heels, Ororo followed. 

The door swung shut behind them catching the hem of her 
skirt. 

There was a rude noise of woven threads parting. Then 
nothing but old kitchen sounds. Water dripping from the 
faucets into the sink. The click time-pieces keeping time. 
The slide of a magnet down the refrigerator door. The 
thrum of the refrigerator. The swush of the opening dining 
room  door. 

"Hello?" said a light voice and Bobby entered. Spotting the 
dropped dishtowel on the floor, picked it up and walked 
over to the window. He looked out, and whistled at what he 
saw. Gambit dancing like a monkey, on the green lawn, 
waving a complicated headband at the normally elegant 
Storm. Her hair was a torrent of white, blowing every 
which 
way, her mouth furious with imprecations. She was as fast 
if not as sleek as Gambit, her narrow dress interfering with 
her natural grace. Sunshine flashing off the bangle around 
her ankle and her bare feet twisting and digging in the 
grass. 

No bra of course. 

He had noticed quite some time ago that Storm rarely wore 
a bra. Not that he minded in the least. 

Stretching so he could keep Storm and Gambit in view, 
Bobby got a mug down from the cabinet, rinsed it in the 
tap. He winced as Storm's feet tangled in her sun-dress. 
Chuckled as she fell. 

Quick, she pushed herself up by her hands and swung 
both legs into the back of Gambit's knees. 

Gambit dropped. Bobby laughed out loud. Storm pulled 
herself atop Gambit and pinned his hands to the ground. 

The two lay there for what seemed like an awfully long 
time. They hugged. 

Bobby turned his back to the window, biting down a bit of 
envious wistfulness, and reached over for the Mr. Coffee, 
and poured himself the muddy last of what looked like the 
morning's first brew. 

He took a sip. 

"Yagh." 

He sniffed the cup and took another. No improvement over 
the last sip, but hell, it was caffeine, and that was enough 
for him. 

The outside door was pulled open and the Storm Bobby 
knew re-entered. 

For maybe half a second, no more than that, she was 
supermodel superhero, too sexy for the kitchen and 
everything in it. Standing tall with a deadly tilt to 
her hips and not even breathing hard, an utterly 
expressionless Robert Palmer girl expression on her 
face, her complicated headband set perfectly on her 
'glorious mane,' shoulders straight and back, chest 
high, neck longer than a giraffe's. 

A set of keys dangled from her fingers. 

"Hey, Rain Lady." 

"Hello, Robert. Do you by any chance know how to ride a 
motorcycle?" 

He grinned, and glanced at the keys again, this time fully 
aware of their import. "Ah, no... can you?" 


"I have a vague idea. But now I have the material 
necessary to learn, do I not?" She smiled, a brilliant, 
impish smile that Bobby would have loved to have directed 
at him. It was partially directed at him, though, and that 
was good enough. "I want to thank you for handling that 
loan. It is a relief not to have to bother the Professor with 
such details." 

Bobby blinked at this modest thanks. Looked down at his 
arms. Made like to look at his ears. 

"Of course," she added, "it also means that we can at last 
begin the hard work. You will help me get everything and 
everyone started, won't you, Robert?" 

He had intended to help as much as possible, of course, 
but he hadn't expected Storm to request his help. She 
must have seen the pleased surprised in his eyes, 
because, when he replied, "Of course!" her smile grew 
even wider. Then she started off towards the door. 
"Robert, would you by any chance like a crash-course in 
motorcycling?" 

"Why do I think you mean that literally?" he asked, 
following her nonetheless. 





************