Title: Elemental
Characters: Scott Summers, Remy Lebeau Summers, Alex Summers, Adam Darr
Summers; (also Rogue/Marie D'Acanto, Warren Worthington, Bobby Drake,
Jubilation Lee, Piotr Rasputin, Logan/Wolverine, Ororo Munroe, Charles
Xavier, the partridge in the pear tree, and the kitchen sink).
Rating: Teen/Mature (lots of strong language)
Archives: Katt's Aerie (http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/elemental.htm),
FF.net, LeBeau Library, Quills & Ink. Anyone else please ask. I'm not likely
to say no but I'd like to keep track.

Summary: Someone is after the Summers brothers. The bad news is they've
already succeeded in taking Adam. The worse news is that Scott, Remy, and
Alex have to work together to save him. And you thought the Brady Bunch was
dysfunctional.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Chapter 1: Most Roads Lead Home

Sunshine left Xavier's Institute the day Jean Grey died. Heavy rain drowned
out any hint of summer time. Rogue would have chalked it up to Ms. Munro
except that it had been three months and a bit since that horrible day in
Canada. Ms. Munro was powerful but not that powerful. At least, Rogue didn't
think so.

"If it rains any more, we're going to have to build an ark," said Piotr,
glancing up from his physics textbook to trace patterns on the glass.

"Does ark building involve physics?" Rogue asked him.

Piotr smiled. "Yes."

"Fabulous."

The second floor study was empty except for the two of them. The gloomy
weather drove everyone else downstairs to watch movies, play foozball, make
cookies-- anything but dwell on the depressing atmosphere. The only reason
she and Piotr closeted themselves in the room was because Rogue desperately
needed help with her physics homework and Piotr was the only one who had the
patience to explain everything coherently.

"I'm so sick of this!" said Rogue, throwing her pencil down. "I understand
the concepts. I know how to solve the formulas. But when I try these stupid,
freakin' questions, I never seem to use the right formulas in the right
freakin' order. Why did I take the danged class anyway?"

"Because you want to blow Frank Gehry and Franklin Lloyd Wright straight out
of the water," said Piotr in that deep, mellow voice of his.

"Won't I have underlings to think about that? I want to be an architect not
an engineer; I'm just supposed to spontaneously come up with genius
designs."

The corners of Piotr's mouth lifted. "Yes, and I just pop acid to paint. We
all have to take some good with the bad."

"Isn't the saying 'take some bad with the good?'" Rogue said.

"I'm Russian. We're genetically pessimistic."

Rogue threw a kernel of her eraser at him. "That's not what I want to hear
from my tutor."

Brushing the bit of white rubber from his black hair, Piotr said, "At least
if you expect the worse, the mediocre becomes awesome."

"Keep it coming, Buns-o-Steel. I got a big eraser."

"You're just stalling."

"Damn straight. If I have to figure out the relationship between tickertape
and the angle of the incline one more time, I'm going to completely--" Rogue
broke off, seeing Piotr's attention dart to her left. Placing a finger over
his lips, he gestured to the window beside the table.

Slowly, Rogue turned her head. White-tipped fingers grasped the window
ledge, a ledge that just barely covered a shaggy head of hair. As she stood
to get a better look, another hand reached up over the ledge, holding
several little tools. They looked like they could be related to dental
equipment.

Piotr and Rogue exchanged glances. Piotr shrugged and, casually, went
metallic.

The climber had braced one arm on the ledge now. His head popped up, hair
plastered to his face, and he grinned, wiggling his fingers at them. The two
students stepped back, surprised, going into a ready stance. There was
something naggingly familiar about his features-- his cheekbones or
jawline-- but Rogue couldn't quite put her finger on it. His shades threw
her off.

"Uh, Pete?" Rogue eased her textbook and binder to one side. "Should we do
anything?"

"There's a man with lock picks climbing up our house," said Piotr. "I
definitely think we should do something."

"Like attack?"

"I was thinking of calling one of the teachers," said Piotr.

"You do it," Rogue said quickly.

Piotr's brows rose. "Are you sure? It would make more sense if I stayed
behind; he could have a gun."

Smirking, Rogue said, "It'll take him at least five minutes to pick the lock
and divert the alarms on that window. You'd've gotten some of the teachers
up here by then." When Piotr still looked doubtful, she added, "Five minutes
and counting, Buns."

She let out a small sigh when he finally turned on his heel and ran out of
the room. Piotr looked as though he would have questioned her knowledge on
lock-picking and Rogue didn't know how she would have replied. No one except
Logan and the Professor knew about her mutation's little mental side-effect.

Rogue knocked on the window. The guy looked up; the tip of his tongue peeked
out between his lips in concentration.

"We're calling the police," she said loudly.

The guy smiled again and continued to fiddle with something under the ledge.
Rogue put her books away-- if this was going to turn ugly, she didn't want
her homework damaged to top it all off-- and continued to watch the would-be
burglar.

Her indifference melted away when he pulled out a small drill and waved it
at her, mouthing a retort. Rogue couldn't quite hear him but the expression
on his face was enough of a hint.

"You are one cocky sonuvabitch," she said, trying to tamp down that part of
her that admired his ballsiness.

The guy bored a small hole in the window, less than a quarter inch in
diameter. Quickly tucking the drill away, he inserted a small tool in the
hole with a tiny blade at the tip. Angling the tool just so, he jabbed the
window sill, twisted and pulled, cutting a wire that Rogue hadn't even
realized was there. What a great time for the Voices to stay quiet.

She backed away from the window, tensed for a fight even as Cyclops'
instructions screamed at her to get out of the room and get help.

The window creaked open-- a mere hook-latch was nothing after disabling a
window-foil alarm from the outside. The burglar shoved the lower pane up
then, amazingly, lowered himself until only his fingers were visible again,
gripping the ends of the ledge.

*Now!* Rogue's mind hollered. *Get help now!*

She half-twisted for the door.

In one quick, smooth move, the burglar lifted himself back up over the ledge
and jackknifed feet-first through the window. His feet found purchase on the
edge of the table-- she shouldn't have cleared the mess, her subconscious
admonished-- and using that for traction, he curled his body up and over
into a perfect shoulder roll. Water droplets flew everywhere.

What Rogue did next was entirely her fault.

As the burglar came up from his roll, she kicked out with toe pointed,
exactly how Cyclops taught her not to kick. The pointy tip of her stylish
pumps caught on his collar so that when he reflexively dove away from the
kick, he dragged her with him.

Rogue's knees hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thunk. Her next move was
less amateurish, as her training--or mind-Logan-- took over. She slammed her
forearm against his throat and, after hearing him gag in a very satisfying
manner, grabbed his hair. She gave that handful of damp brown hair as
vicious a yank as she could muster.

"Yow!" He pushed her away but she still had his hair in her fist.
Frantically, he reached for her forearm. "Let go my hair, girl!"

"Not a chance in hell," said Rogue. She was trying to figure out how to get
out of his reach and still inflict pain. "You're stayin' right here until
our teachers come and then, you'll be in such shit."

His struggles eased. "What, they gonna give me KP duty for a month?"

Rogue smirked. "You're in a world of hurt an' you don't even know it."

"I think I know more than you can guess, girl."

"Stop calling me girl!"

"Whatever you say, sweetie-pie."

Rogue squawked.

"Princess? Shorty? Honeybuns?" He grunted, pulling his body into a more
comfortable position. "Throw me a freakin' bone here, sugar."

"That is completely disgusting," said Rogue. "You're not only a bad thief,
you're a dirty old man."

He frowned. "Hey, now you're being mean. I ain't a bad thief."

Cyclops' voice cut in. "But you're definitely a dirty old man." He stood at
the door, arms crossed, his mouth bracketed by frown lines that were deeper
than they'd ever been when school first started. Piotr stood behind him,
less aggressive although he was still in metal form.

Rogue looked up, relieved. "I managed to subdue him, Mr. Sum-- I mean,
Cyc--uh…"

"Rogue, Piotr, go downstairs and alert the professor," her teacher said.
"I'll take care of this guy."

Puzzled by his unusual curtness, Rogue nevertheless scurried out the door
after Piotr. Scott blocked the door again as soon as she slipped through.

The burglar got on his feet, still smirking despite the fact that he was
rubbing his throat.

"You'll take care of nothing," he said. "Bad enough this place has more
handholds than a cabinet factory, your alarm system is completely
craptastic."

"Well, you were the one who set it up," said Scott.

"Ever heard of upgrades?"

"Ever heard of doorbells?" Scott shot back. He pinched the bridge of his
nose. "What are you doing here, Remy?"

"What, I can't drop in and say hello to my favourite baby brother?" Remy
shook his head sadly. "Youth these days; they squander family ties like so
much gum wrapper."

"*I'm* older than *you*," said Scott.

"That has yet to be proven. For all anybody knows, I'm an extremely youthful
forty year-old."

"Remy, please, I've got marking to get back to and another class to prep
for. Make this quick."

The smile leeched out of Remy's face. He ran his hands through his hair,
leaving half of the shaggy locks standing straight up. Scott allowed himself
a smile; Remy's hair had always been a bane to his vanity.

"We need you to come home," said Remy abruptly. "Adam's missing again."

#

Excused from the impromptu introduction in Professor Xavier's office, Ororo,
Hank, and Kelly St. Anna, the newly-hired junior history teacher, headed for
the staff kitchen to muse things over. Logan set off in the opposite
direction muttering about piping in the pool annex while Kurt Wagner
teleported to... well, wherever he wanted on the grounds.

After the incident at Striker's base, enrolment boomed. To be honest, Ororo
thought the opposite would happen-- that the children's parents would take
them away in fear of other attacks and that other families would go into
hiding. In fact, some parents did withdraw their children from the school
but many more replaced them. Testing at Xavier's increased eighty-five
percent from last year and of the number tested, almost a third stayed in
the school. Storm supposed the rest of the children had minor mutations that
lent itself well to distance education.

The professor found the influx encouraging; he said it was a sign of
acceptance that he never would have seen five years ago. He had other
concerns, mainly to do with staff. Four teachers adequately met the needs of
forty-eight students. A hundred and fifty was a bit much. Besides adding to
the five core permanent staff-- Ororo, Hank, Scott, Kelly, and Xavier
himself-- Scott suggested a permanent cook since the school's licensing
didn't qualify it for the state's cafeteria program or the mobile kitchen
programs. The fall enrolment also called for a permanent school nurse and a
secretary. At the moment, Logan acted as the groundskeeper but he hadn't
indicated how long he would stay on.

"I don't remember Scott ever talking about his brothers to a great extent,"
Ororo said.

"The Summers brood exemplify the adage 'absence makes the heart grow
fonder,'" said Hank McCoy, the senior Biology and Literature instructor.
"The tales I could tell of our founding days. It would make your skin
crawl."

"Were they that bad with each other?" asked Kelly.

Hank only shuddered delicately in reply.

"You're one of the infamous five, huh?" Kelly snagged the closest bar-stool
and clambered on top. "Tell all. Scott used to mumble about 'The Bavarian
Hamster Incident' back in college."

"Yes, I've heard about that too," said Ororo.

"There are some things in life that are not meant to be revealed," said
Hank, bowing. "Consider that one of them." His colleagues groaned but Hank
was adamant. "Ask me anything else. The hamster, whether or not it was
Bavarian, will have to remain a mystery."

"Tell us about Scott and his brothers, then," Ororo said promptly. "Why was
Remy not in your original five? Isn't he only a year younger than Scott?"

"Less than," said Hank. "Remy chose not to enrol in the school. Not only was
he born with a physical mutation-- his eyes are sensitive to the infrared
spectrum-- but his powers manifested unusually early. I'd love to run a few
tests on his vision one day if only I could keep him still for longer than
five minutes. Perhaps if I bait a cage with a pack of cigarettes and a
bottle of Dr. Pepper... but I digress. Control came to him much easier than
Scott."

"Why?" asked Kelly.

"Apparently, Scott had been in a car accident as a child," replied Hank.
"While his mutation was latent, the brain damage he sustained did not affect
his every day skills. Unfortunately, that very section is needed to control
his optic blasts."

"That's such a shame," said Kelly. "He's way too young to be burdened like
that."

Ororo nodded but said nothing. Only when it came up in casual conversation
did she remember that society viewed Scott as handicapped.

"So it's just Scott and Remy?" Kelly said.

Hank shook his head. "No, no, no, that would be too easy. Nature, in its
perversity, created four Summers. Scott, Remy, Alex, and Adam. I believe
Alex is in Hawai'i studying volcanic rocks and Adam is in the home perch of
San Diego. Last I heard of Remy, he was in Louisiana. You will notice that
while they are all still in the United States, they have spread themselves
as far apart as possible."

"They hate each other that much?" Having no living relatives, Ororo found
the idea distressing.

"Hate is so strong a word," said Hank. "Rather, let us call it a healthy
respect for personal space. Perhaps even magnetic repulsion. You've heard of
the Aristotelian theory of the four humours-- melancholics, phegmatics,
cholerics, and sanguines? Or perhaps the four cardinal directions? The four
elements? "

"I think I get the idea," said Kelly. "I think it'll kind of nice to have
him around. Scott's looking more animated than I've ever seen him."

"True," said Ororo. "Warren will be visiting soon as well. Scott will have
all those near and dear to him then." She drew a wicker basket filled with
tea bags from one of the cabinets

Horror effused Hank's face. "Oh, my stars and garters, I'd completely
forgotten about Warren." He plucked it from Ororo's fingers and shoved a
beige ceramic container with the word "Coffee" emblazoned on its
circumference in large, raised black lettering.

"You'll need this," he said. Then his forehead wrinkled and he added, "We'll
all need it."

#

One wing away in the headmaster's office, two of the Summers brothers sat
before Xavier, one a long-time pupil, another a long-ago drop-out.

Remy never found Xavier's office as relaxing as Scott seemed to. There were
too many distractions-- huge diamond-grilled windows looking out into a
weary Italian garden, shelves over-flowing with thick leather-bound tomes,
mahogany and oak furnishings with better pedigrees than most of the
occupants in this building. Even the fireplace seemed to crackle richly in
its Italian marble surroundings. His fingers ached to fondle the treasures
and his mind kept calculating their resale prices.

"I'm very pleased to have you visit us," Xavier said, pouring tea from--
Remy's lungs double-clutched-- a Sevres tea set. "It's been too long."

"Y'know how it is when business is good, Professor," said Remy, accepted his
cup. He was holding a cup from a Sevres tea set. From the pattern, he'd
guess it was from the 1790s. He wondered how quickly he could drain it so he
could look at the stamp underneath.

There was a twinkle in Xavier's eye that made Remy think the older man had
skimmed that particular thought from his head. Indeed, when Xavier poured
Scott's cup, he tilted the pot just enough that Remy saw the factory mark
embossed on the base.

Jesus, he was growing a hard-on right fucking now.

"I'm glad that the market for antiques has grown again," Xavier said.
"Although I must confess a weakness for Bauhaus rather than Louis XVIII."

"Whuh?" was all Remy could come up with.

"Give it up, Professor," said Scott. "It's hard enough to get a full
sentence out of Remy when all his gears are working. This long after lunch
with all your family heirlooms around, he can barely remember his name."

Remy flicked a charged sugar cube at him which Scott caught unerringly and
zapped into oblivion.

Allowing himself one last Neanderthal snort, Remy pulled on his business
persona. "I was about to say, Professor, that the market is currently
booming. Recent events as well as the continuing economic trend towards
globalisation and robotics that're making people nostalgic for their
traditional roots and Scotty, if you clap, I swear I'm going to beat you
with your own glasses."

"I can't express admiration at your ability to memorize?" Scott asked. "Last
time you came, you were still working on reading three-syllable words."

"Professor, Scott's bugging me."

Xavier sipped his tea, presumably to hide a chuckle. When he lowered his
cup, he was all business. "So, how long do you think Scott needs a leave of
absence?"

Scott put his cup down. "Sir, you know Adam's a professional runaway. He's
probably sulking in one of his friends' basements because Dad took his
Mustang away."

Shaking his head, Remy said, "Actually Pops bought him a Land Rover last
Christmas."

"Fantastic," said Scott, deadpan. "Where the hell did Dad get the money to
buy a Land Rover? Did you lend him money again?"

"Do I look that braindead?" When Scott's expression didn't change, Remy
threw his hands up. "No, I did *not* lend him any money. I got better things
to do with my hard-earned cash than watch Adam and Pops burn it on bad car
mods and the latest combination mp3-DVD-blender-toaster-wide screen TV."

"I'm glad you finally learned your lesson after the first five times," said
Scott.

"You think I would've left New Orleans if it was like the other times?" Remy
demanded. "Adam's been gone for four weeks, Scott. His friends haven't seen
him--"

"They always say that."

"--and none of his theatre buddies have either. Believe me, no actor on
Earth would've turned down my bribes."

"I believe you," said Xavier.

Scott looked nonplussed. "Professor, we'll play right into his hands if I
go."

"I know that, too." He leaned back on his chair. "Perhaps Adam did run away
for attention again but what if this time, he encountered real danger? No, I
think it would be best if we looked into this matter."

Resigned, Scott sighed. "Whatever you say, sir."

"However," Xavier said before Remy's grin could fully form. "I also believe
that we are better equipped to find Adam here than if you two were to return
to San Diego this instant. Let me ask my connections, Remy. You may stay and
supervise if you'd like."

"I'd like," said Remy firmly. "It'll give me a chance to update your
security system. Did Scott tell you it was craptastic?"

"He mentioned something along those lines."