TITLE: In Flight
AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fishfolk@.... Feedback is better than chocolate.
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Yes, just let me know.
CATEGORY: Drama, S/J
RATINGS/WARNINGS: G
SUMMARY: Jean finds that train rides are good places to think deep thoughts.
DISCLAIMER: The X-Men and the X-Men movieverse belong to Marvel and
Twentieth-Century Fox and other entities with expensive lawyers.
CONTINUITY: X2 didn't happen, okay?
NOTES: This is based on a Challenge in a Can from
http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/: Jean/bittersweet/jewelry. Tremendous
thanks are due to Domenika, Naomi K., and Victoria P., all of whom
provided assistance on New York commuter trains to this Washington-area
commuter. This story was written in October 2002, but abandoned nearly
completed. Minisinoo and Ozchick tried to convince me to finish and post
in February 2004. Thanks to both of them for helpful suggestions I'm
sure they've forgotten about!

* * * * *

The hiss of the rattling heaters almost drowned out the other sounds of
the train, but Jean could faintly hear the clickety-clack of wheels and
it soothed her. As she stared out the window, half her mind watched the
passing scenery: industrial parks, gray and dreary; aluminum-sided
houses, almost painfully neat in their identical rows; rows of trees,
planted to beautify the train tracks.

Around her, people heading out of New York City into upstate napped,
read, chattered on cell phones, and looked out the window. It was the
usual assortment for a commuter train off-peak, commuters in suits and
ties rummaging through briefcases, and occasional tourists or one-timers
using the train to get in and out of the city without driving. The
tourists clutched their paper tickets, while commuters tucked their
monthly passes away.

The train whistle blew several long blasts and Jean glanced down at the
papers in her lap. She'd brought the seniors' biology exams along on her
trip, intending to grade them, but she was distracted by the world
outside the window and the press of her own thoughts. Her meeting with
other doctors working with mutants had gone well, and that's where her
mind drifted.

"Did your husband give that to you?"

Jean looked up, startled by the words from the stranger next to her.
"Excuse me?"

The Metro North train was surprisingly full for mid-afternoon, so Jean
could hardly have complained when an elderly woman sat in the aisle seat
of the three-seater. Now, the woman smiled at the confusion on Jean's
face. "Sorry to interrupt your thinking, dear. The necklace is so
lovely, though, I was just wondering if your husband gave it to you."

Jean looked down at the charm on a silver chain with which she'd been
fiddling and let it slide through her fingers. A bird caught in flight,
wings outstretched, it was a piece of jewelry she loved, but rarely
wore. Why had she put it on this morning? "Yes, my husband did give it
to me. Several years ago, before we married."

"You were thinking about him." It wasn't a question.

Jean reached out with her mind, paranoia making her wonder if this was a
telepath, a trap of some sort, hidden in the guise of an old woman in a
tidy green polyester pantsuit.

Apparently unaware of Jean's test, the woman continued. "I'm sure that's
just how I look when I think about my husband Arthur, God rest his soul."

"I'm sorry," Jean murmured automatically. The woman didn't seem to be a
telepath, just perceptive.

"Thank you, dear. He died five years ago, so I've had some time to get
over it." But the woman blinked a few times, pushing back tears before
smiling at Jean again. "But I do still miss him."

"I understand."

"I hope you were thinking good thoughts about your husband. So many
unhappy marriages these days, I find it upsetting."

Jean picked the charm off her chest and looked at it again. "I wouldn't
say we have an unhappy marriage, it's just...difficult. We both have so
many responsibilities."

The woman patted her hairsprayed coiffure and leaned her head to one
side as she regarded Jean. "Responsibilities."

Jean felt her face flush. Why did she feel a need to justify herself to
this stranger? She frowned and glanced back at the papers in her lap.

The woman seemed once again to sense her thoughts. "I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to interrogate you. You just looked as if you were worrying about
something, and it might help to talk."

Sighing, Jean relaxed. Not everything is a threat, she told herself, and
not everyone you meet is a supervillain. "You're right, I suppose I was
worrying a bit."

"If you'd like to talk about it, I've 'been around the block a few
times,' as my son says. Perhaps I could give you some advice."

"It's a complicated situation."

"Aren't situations involving other people always complicated?"

"I suppose so." Jean laughed, and leaned back in her seat, freed somehow
by the anonymity of the train. Outside, the air was chill and damp, and
numerous mutant problems awaited her, but for now, she was just a woman
on a train with marriage problems and someone willing to listen. It was
almost as if they were outside of time and space.

"So what *is* the trouble, then?"

"Too many things to do, not enough hours in the day." Jean held the bird
charm in her hand, sliding it back and forth, reminded of the day Scott
gave it to her. "I feel as though we're moving apart."

"It doesn't take a great deal of time to keep your marriage alive." Jean
looked up at the woman, who was looking at her diamond ring with a fond
smile. "Arthur and I ate breakfast together every morning for 42 years.
Sometimes that breakfast consisted solely of a piece of toast and some
juice, but we only missed breakfast if he was out of town."

Jean chuckled at the thought of her and Scott facing each other over a
breakfast table, surrounded by arguing children and teachers discussing
lesson plans. "That sounds lovely, but it's not entirely practical for
us. By the time I get to breakfast, Scott is already...," shooting
robots in the Danger Room, "exercising. And then our teaching schedules
and other duties keep us separate."

"It doesn't have to be as formal as breakfast. When was the last time
you told him you loved him?"

Jean had to think about it. Of course, Scott could feel her emotions to
some extent through their psilink, but she couldn't say that, and she
suspected that wasn't quite the same thing.

"You'd be surprised how helpful it is to look him in the eye and say you
love him. Men need constant reminders of these things."

"I'll try that." Jean looked down at the bird again. "I know I like it
when he says it."

She could see Scott's hands holding the necklace and wearing a cockeyed
grin. "I'm not sure why," the Scott in her memory said, "but the bird
reminds me of you, so I had to buy it. I love you, Jean."

Two blasts on the train whistle reminded her where she was; the memory
faded and Jean let the bird drop back onto her chest.

"It's important," the woman said, leaning forward in her seat. "You
never know how long you'll keep your husband, so be certain that if the
Lord takes him, you're ready."

Jean had a sudden vision of Magneto pinning Scott to the wall inside the
Statue of Liberty. "It could happen at any time."

"Life is dangerous."

"And considering that we're school teachers, ours are considerably more
dangerous than one might expect." Jean managed a smile.

A few seats ahead of them, a mother and child argued over a piece of
candy, both obviously exhausted from a day of sightseeing. Jean was tall
enough to see the look on the woman's face as she tried to explain the
necessity of dinner before dessert.

"Do you have children?"

Jean looked back. She'd momentarily forgotten the old woman, who was
regarding her now with some amusement.

"No, not yet. Well, unless you count our students. The school is
residential, so we're in loco parentis for some very...troubled
students." Jean sighed, reminded that the matter of Rogue's mutation
still had yet to be solved, and she'd promised to do some extra tutoring
for Jubilee, who was having trouble in chemistry. Not to mention the
necessity to keep Angelo and Jono busy and out of trouble. So much to do
and so little energy.

"That's difficult work, working with troubled youngsters. I was lucky
enough to be blessed with wonderful children. Although," she smiled a
mischievous smile, "my youngest could be quite a handful. The mouth he
had on him!"

"We have a few of those as well." Jean chuckled, reminded of the time
she caught Logan and Bobby having an awkward conversation about why
*Logan* could use certain words, and Bobby couldn't.

"It sounds as though the students are very important to you."

"Oh, they are. No matter how difficult they can be, our jobs are so
important. It wasn't what I planned to do, perhaps, but now I couldn't
leave. And Scott feels the same, I know."

"But is it more important than your marriage?"

"They're not comparable." Jean frowned.

"But they do compete."

"I suppose so. And Scott wants me to avoid certain..." she paused,
searching for safe words, "activities. He worries so much, that
sometimes he tries to coddle me."

"Because he loves you."

"Yes, but...when I left this morning we fought over it. He says I'm
being too stubborn, doing things I don't have to just to prove something."

"Is he right?"

"Sometimes." Jean managed a wan smile. "But not all the time. I do
what's necessary to get the job done. He's just taken so much on
himself, he feels responsible for the whole world and it maddens me to
see him like that. So we fight."

"But you're wearing the necklace he gave you," the woman said, pointing.

Jean realized her hand had crept up to hold it again. "Yes," she said
slowly, "I suppose I was thinking about how happy we were when he gave
it to me."

"Your school is residential, you said?"

Jean nodded.

"Then perhaps you haven't considered that you owe it to your students to
work on your marriage." The woman smiled.

"I'm not following you."

"As teachers, you're role models to your students, and it's your
responsibility to give them the best model for their future life that
you can. Show them that work is more important than a spouse and that is
the lesson they will take with them."

Jean stared down at her hands. "I never thought of it that way."

"Mamaroneck," the conductor called over the loudspeaker.

The woman glanced out the window. "This is my stop."

There was a squeal and a shiver as the train slowed down and made its
way along the outdoor platform.

The woman stood up in her seat, but didn't enter the aisle. She turned
back long enough to say, "Good luck, Dr. Grey."

Jean froze. "How..."

"My grandson and I saw you on television last year when you testified
before that congressional committee. My grandson loves C-SPAN."

Jean was speechless.

The woman looked past Jean, her expression worlds away. "I remember when
blacks went to separate schools. I was born not long before Hitler
killed the Jews. You do very important work, Dr. Grey. But remember what
I said: Your marriage is as important as that job."

"I'll remember."

The train shuddered to a stop and the woman made her way out of the
train onto the platform, late afternoon sunlight slanting across the
tracks. Still dazed, Jean watched the woman--whose name she'd never
learned--walk down the platform. With a slight jerk, the train pulled
away, taking her back home, back to her husband.

--end--

Title: Elemental
Author: katt (xeno3kattz@...)
Rating: teen/mature (PG-13 only with more swearing)

Fandom: X-Men movieverse, post-X2
Characters: Eveyrone pitches in although it's mostly Scott Summers, Remy
Lebeau Summers, Alex Summers, and Adam Darr Summers.

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.

Disclaimer: All the characters you can recognize belong to Marvel
Entertianment. The movieverse verisions also belong to Fox, Brian Singer,
David Hayter, and Zak Penn. The pictures aren't mine either; they're gacked
from The James Marsden Web, Josh Holloway Fan, Paul Walker World, and
Desiring Hayden.Net. Yes, I believe in "X-Men: The End". No, you can't make
me think otherwise.

Archived: Katt's Aerie & Lebeau Library; I'd hardly say no to anyone else if
they ask.
---

Chapter 4: Present Interlude #1 =
http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EI04.htm
Chapter 5: My Place at the Table =
http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EI05.htm

The entire fic can be found at:
http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/elemental.htm

---

As always, thank you so much to my beta readers (who wish to remain
anonymous which suits me fine; now I have them all to myself1
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!). Thanks also to everyone who has left feedback so far;
it's all digital chocolate to me.

Katt

I meant to post this here last Dec. I don't know what happened. I
guess better late than never. :)

A SIMPLE HOLIDAY MEAL
By Linda J.

Christmas fic for `05
RATING: PG-13 for strong language and violence
TIMELINE/UNIVERSE: movie, takes places after X2
SUMMARY: The brotherhood of evil mutants gather around the table for
a holiday meal.
FEEDBACK: Oh please. oh please, oh pretty, pretty please!!!!!

CH1
Normally the table Magneto sat in front of was used for much more
important business to advance the brotherhood's agenda. `This is a
conference room, not a dining room,' the mighty man of magnetism
groaned silently to himself as he quietly sat back in his chair,
legs stretched out under the table, crossed just at the ankles. With
his elbow propped up on the arm rest, he leaned over to one side
just a bit, lightly resting his cheek on the tips of his fingers; a
look of puzzlement and perhaps some displeasure could be seen on his
tired face. He quietly observed Toad, who was setting five
decorative plastic plates around the large metal oblong table while
Pyro came behind him and set up the plastic eating utensils along
with green napkins next to the plates. It was not the sight of these
two young men working together in harmony that Magneto found mildly
peculiar, but to see a candy cane sticking out of Toad's mouth like
a cigar just seemed a bit out of place.
"It's kinda odd for her to do something like this, isn't it?" Pyro
mentioned as he reached in a grocery bag and retrieved the plastic
glasses. "Odd indeed," Magneto sighed, breaking his silence but not
his aloof composure. "Yeah, Blue's always full of surprises, ain't
she Mags?" Sabretooth bellowed as he strutted into the room, taking
his place at the far end of the table.
"That's the most I've `eard you say in a month!" Toad pulled out the
candy cane and smacked his lips. "What's got you in such a jolly
mood?" The felinoid said nothing, then tilted his head back and
opened his mouth wide. He put a can of "Reddiwip" up to his lips and
pressed the nozzle to release the creamy sustenance of decadent
delight.
Still stretched out and leaning in his chair, Magneto focused his
unhappiness on the daring and impertinent thug. "We've discussed
this matter of you calling me "Mags" at least a hundred times,
Sabretooth. But I suppose a creature of your intellectual powers
would need to have something repeated at least a hundred times more
before it would find its way into that huge but essentially
ineffective cranium of yours." Sabretooth looked out across the
table, his mouth so full of whipped cream that it oozed out from the
corners of his mouth. Had anyone else dared to insult him like this
they would have never lived long enough to insult him again, but
Sabretooth merely grinned at the old man and licked the escaping
cream from his lips and beard. "It ain't my brains you keep
me `round here for…Mags."
Magneto almost seemed disappointed by Sabretooth's lack of anger and
quickly looked away, shifting his weight to the other side of the
chair. "At least that's one thing we agree upon." He then turned his
attention back to the more irritating situation at hand. "Does
anyone have an idea of how long this little get-together will take?"
"Why do you want to know, Magneto?" Mystique wondered as she walked
in the room carrying a roasted turkey on a silver platter; its aroma
instantly filling the room. For a moment or so all the men in the
room, including Magneto, just stared at her with lust in their eyes,
but for once it was not for her bare blue body. "You haven't made
plans for this evening, have you?"
"Maybe," Magneto grumbled under his breath.
"So change them," she softly commanded. "All the years we have
worked together, we have never shared a holiday meal."
"And the problem with this is…?" Magneto gently jibed.
"Nothing per se," Mystique explained as she set the turkey on the
table. "But aren't you always telling us how much like a family we
are?" The old man's eyes fluttered a bit as he sat up in his chair
to get a better look at his dinner. The bird itself was enormous and
caramelized to perfection; full of stuffing and sitting on a
luscious bed of leafy lettuce, colorful dried fruit and orange
wedges arranged around its sides. "I may have vaguely mentioned
something on the topic. Is that…" a faint sound of hopefulness broke
through his gloomy demeanor, "…apple and wild rice dressing?"
"Mmm-hmm," Mystique nodded enticingly. "We also have potato and
carrot latkes with scallion sour cream sauce, green bean casserole,
cranberry sauce…"
"Whole or jellied?" Toad anxiously interrupted.
"We have both," Mystique proudly declared. "There's also ..."
"Gravy?" Toad again broke in as Sabretooth stood up and leaned over
the bird. inhaling deeply. "I sure hope you made plenty of gravy."
"Made? I didn't make any of this," she indignantly informed him. "It
just so happens that this bountiful feast comes to you already
prepared."
"Oh great," Pyro suddenly looked quite upset. "In others words, this
is all glorified cafeteria food."
"This don't smell like no cafeteria food!" Sabretooth purred,
picking up a grape from the silver platter and popping it in his
mouth. Suddenly a very sour expression covered his face. "I think I
found a bad one."
"I didn't have time to run all over the store and find real fruit,
Sabretooth; those are fake." Without hesitation he spit out the blob
of wax onto the floor and kicked it under the table. "I knew that."
"Damn the bloody fruit," Toad urged. "I need to know if we have
enough gravy!"
"Yes of course," she reassured him. "Does a gallon of gravy sound
like enough?"
"Just a gallon?" No one could tell if the amphibinoid was being
sarcastic or skeptical.
"It better be," she fearlessly warned him. "Besides, I bought enough
food to feed even this little army, there's..."
"What about pumpkin pie?" Pyro was now the one to interrupt.
Mystique sighed in frustration. "Yes, we have pumpkin pie. There's
also cherry and chocolate cream. There's also..."
"Oh, what about eggnog? Did you get eggnog?" Pyro impatiently
interrupted. This time, however, Mystique didn't answer.
"OK, you," she grabbed Pyro around the collar and began to pull him
out of the room with her. "You just volunteered to help me bring all
the crap to the table."

CH2
"It's not e'ry day we get to sit back and relax for a bit." Toad
took off his leather jacket and folded it over his seat then plopped
himself down in the metal chair. For a moment or so the three men
sat around the table listening to the faint sounds of clanging metal
and Pyro complaining coming from the kitchen. "Wouldn't you two
rather be doing something else tonight?" Magneto proposed, hoping
that if Toad and Sabretooth were to leave then Mystique might give
up on this whole ridiculous idea spending a little quality time
together. Suddenly Sabretooth's eyes became quite dreamy as he gazed
upwards. "Well there is this little cathouse in town I've been dying
to check out…"
"Ahem!" Toad faked a cough and gave him a hostile look.
"Oh yeah," it was as if the felinoid suddenly remembered
something. "Sorry Mags, but we promised Blue we would stay here
tonight."
The felinoid's answer seemed to depress the old man, and he sighed
hopelessly, "Oh joy." He then looked back toward the turkey. "Well,
perhaps it will not be completely intolerable." Just then, however,
the noise of Sabretooth spraying more whipped cream into his mouth
and hearing Toad slurp his own saliva from his candy cane caught his
attention, "or not."
"Hey," Magneto figured Toad must have been getting bored waiting
when he recognized the antagonistic tone in the amphibinoid's
voice. "You're gonna share that, right?"
"Hell no, Wart" Sabretooth sneered back. "Just keep suckin' on that
teeny little stick of yours."
"Yeah, chum?" Toad was almost gleaming with mischief. "I've got a
stick you can suck on, and trust me, it ain't a bit teeny!"
"Humph," Sabretooth grunted. "I got one already and it's ten times
bigger than yours! Wanna see?"
Magneto just rolled his eyes as Sabretooth reached into a pocket in
his leather trench coat and pulled out a candy cane stick which was
a good ten inches long and about an inch thick. "See Wart, it's
called a Big Jim."  The giant seemed quite proud of his prize.
"Big Jim, huh?" Toad taunted. "My girlfriend likes to call mine
Kermit."
For a moment Sabretooth seemed a little confused. "Ah, no, I mean
the candy's called…"
"How nice," Magneto groaned. "Is this what you ruffians consider
lively dinner conversation?"
"Hey Mags," Sabretooth grinned devilishly. "So what do you call
yours?"
"I beg your pardon?" Magneto sat up shooting Sabretooth a very
insulted glare. "You know," Sabretooth then glanced down at his own
groin. "Your shlong…"
"Your wanker; your dick..." Toad added. "Your cock." Sabretooth went
straight to the point.
"I understand perfectly well what you two degenerates are talking
about," Magneto spat angrily and looked away, disgusted to the core.
"C'mon Magneto," Toad lowered his voice and leaned in closely as he
continued to taunt. "We're all buds here. We won't laugh."
"Toad, I assure you it's only out of morbid curiosity that has me
wondering why you suppose you would laugh." Magneto cocked his
eyebrow suspiciously.
"Well you know," Sabretooth almost whispered as he chose his words
carefully. "In case you call yours something…unique."
"Unique?" their leader repeated in a huff. Toad decided to speak up
on Sabretooth's behalf. "What `Tooth is getting at is you're a man
of high standards right? So it's rather hard to believe you'd name
your cock Bill or Ted…"
"You're absolutely correct about that." Magneto admitted.
"Oh, so you DO have a name for your cock!" Toad's eyes glimmered
with wicked joy. Just then Mystique and Pyro came into the room
carting the evening's banquet on a rolling tray.  "You left me alone
with the children, Mystique! You know how I despise being left alone
with the children," Magneto sneered at Mystique as she started to
place a large bowl of mashed potatoes on the table in front of him.
"You know how they get when they've been eating sugar," she coolly
reminded him. "Oh, is that their problem," Magneto rolled his eyes
and groaned. "I could have sworn it was that they are both witless
idiots."
"Alright you two," Mystique began to chastise Toad and Sabretooth as
if they were her sons. "I won't have either of you ruining this
dinner, understood?"
"Yes mama," Toad mocked as he reached over and grabbed a Brussels
sprout from the bowl. "Yeah, whatever Blue," Sabretooth conceded as
Mystique tapped him on the shoulder.
"Here, you, carve," she ordered as she handed him an electric
carving knife. "And this time, use this."

Ch3
Mystique gazed upon the table loaded up with a feast fit for a king
and rendered a smile, entirely pleased with her accomplishment. "You
know, for never doin' somethin' like this before, you did a damn
fine job, Mystique," Sabretooth warmly complimented her as the rest
of the men agreed. "Thank you very much, but I'll have you know that
there was a time when I did this sort of thing quite often."
"You, as a `appy `omemaker," Toad shook his head. "I woulda never
guessed it."
"Yes," Magneto joined in the conversation. "Mystique has lived many
a life." Mystique's smile broadened even more. "I do recall a time
when I had to wear an apron; however, I find I'm much more
comfortable with entertaining royalty and other heads of state." She
then raised her glass of wine for a toast. "Here's to a better and
brighter future."
"Anything would be an improvement compared to our past," Pyro
reminded everyone. "You're a fine one to talk," Toad scoffed. "When
it comes to suffering, you `aven't a bloody clue."
"Hey, I've had it hard too, you know," Pyro insisted. "Yes, I'm sure
all the X-men got together every night, tied you up, beat you and
then threw you into a closet," Toad argued back.
"I didn't live there ALL of my life, Toad; it just so happens I come
from a really shitty…"
But the instant he saw Magneto calmly raise his hand, Pyro went
silent. "I agree, no one should doubt your personal history was
nothing short of pathetic, Pyro; but since Mystique has gone through
the trouble of putting together this elaborate meal, and even though
I still see no real value in any of this, we should all show her our
appreciation and keep our tongues. Understood?"
"I say let `em argue." Everyone looked down at the other end of the
table where Sabretooth happily sat in front of what could have very
easily been his second plate full of food. He then tried to talk
with a roll he had crammed into his mouth. "If their lips are busy
flappin' that just …" he swallowed the roll, "…leaves more food for
the rest of us."
It didn't take long for Toad to stop picking on Pyro and set his
sights on Sabretooth instead. "Didn't you ever learn any manners?"
"Manners…manners…" Sabretooth tried to recall mockingly. "Nope;
musta been out that day."
"Obviously," Pyro murmured under his breath as he watched the
felinoid chomp down a turkey leg, bone and all. "You eat like that
all the time?"
Sabretooth took another bite from the leg and gave Pyro an odd look.
*crunch* "Yah."
"And it…doesn't…cut up your mouth or at the very least the lining in
your stomach?" Pyro curiously wondered. "Healing factor," Sabretooth
simply replied, taking yet another bite. *crunch*
"Well now that the family pet has shared what was on his mind,"
Magneto tried to regain control of the conversation and lifted his
glass, "I believe Mystique has made a toast, and we should…"
*knock knock knock*
For a moment or so everyone at the table exchanged confused looks
with each other. "I thought this was a secret lair!" Magneto snapped
angrily as he put down his glass. "X-men." Sabretooth's eyes
narrowed after sniffing the air. "Can we kill `em?" Sabretooth then
asked hopefully.
"Well let's find out what they want first, shall we?" Magneto calmly
stated as he got up to answer the door as a very sad and heartbroken
Sabretooth pouted.

CH4
Magneto valiantly opened the door to a porch full of obnoxious do-
gooders. The instant he saw them his stomach churned and his
patience grew thin. "And to what do we owe this untimely
intrusion?"
"Happy, merry Kwan-Hana-Christ-ka-zaa-mas!" Jubilee sputtered out,
trying not to giggle. "Gesundheit," Magneto mocked unhappily. "What
on earth do you think you're doing here?"
"Oh, show some holiday spirit, Erik!" Charles chuckled from his
wheelchair. "We're not here to start anything, just to spread a
little cheer."
"Yes," Scott plainly explained with a peculiar smirk on his
face. "We just want to wish you and your lackeys, I mean your
followers, a happy, merry Kwan-Hana-Christ-ka-zaa-mas,"
"And just what in God's name is Kwan-Hana-Christ-ka-zaa-mas?"
Magneto repeated impatiently.
"We're going out of our way to be politically correct this year,"
Rogue dryly informed him. "Well stop it!" he yelled back. Mystique
then came up from behind him and smiled. "You're letting the cold
air in Erik; invite them inside."
"I don't want to," the so-called alpha male complained under his
breath. "Oh, don't be a humbug," as she quickly stepped in front of
him. "Please make yourselves at home."
In an instant the X-men were inside and brushing off the snow from
their clothes. "We'll only stay for a minute," Storm mentioned as
she spotted a certain blonde-haired villain. "No need to rush off,
we have all different kinds of pie," Mystique tempted with a smile.
"Did she say pie?" Bobby spoke up then out loud. "Hey everybody,
pie!"
It didn't take long for those at the table to see the stampede of
teenagers heading their way. "Bloody `ell, we're under attack!" Toad
shot straight out of his seat. "We're not, but our dessert is," Pyro
quickly corrected him as he watched his former classmates make a
beeline toward the pie rack. Sabretooth meanwhile sat in his chair
growling. "Now can I?" he asked Magneto referring to the question he
had asked earlier. Magneto's face suddenly brightened as if to
concede.
"You'll do no such thing!" Mystique commanded. "Magneto says it's
OK!" Sabretooth argued. Mystique merely walked over to the pie rack
and started handing out plates. "We can all show a little good will,
can't we?" she remarked strangely as if she were sending a cryptic
massage. "But I don't see how killing…"
"Mystique said no mate, now just drop it," Toad reminded him in a
quiet but very serious tone. Sabretooth frowned considering the
number of mutants he would have to face alone and reluctantly gave
into his colleague's wishes. He glared viciously at Marie and
growled, "Yer just damn lucky you ain't a bunch of Jehovah's
Witnesses."
In just a matter of a few minutes there were a dozen or so kids as
well as the other guests standing around Magneto's beloved metal
conference table making light conversation and chowing down on
pie. "So," Scott dared to ask as he stood dangerously close to the
felinoid, "you don't like Jehovah's Witnesses?" Sabretooth shoveled
another mouthful of candied yams into his mouth and thought about
the question. "Oh for the most part they're OK," he took another
bite. "But the older ones can be a little tough and chewy."
"You're kidding, right?" Kitty asked Sabretooth in disbelief.
"Does that look like the face of a kidder?" Toad chortled
disgustedly; he could hardly believe he had to point out such an
obvious fact. Kitty turned to give Sabretooth a good look just as he
turned to look at her with a broad smile and licked his lips. "S-s-
scott, I wanna go now."
"Yes Scott, I think we should leave before we wear out our welcome
here," Charles commented politely and in a flash the X-men left as
quickly as they invaded, leaving behind an array of dirty disposable
plates and forks. "Well that was fun." Pyro noted sarcastically.
"Whoopee," Toad added with equal disdain. "Yes," Magneto included in
a tired worn voice. "I hope you are happy, Mystique; I don't think I
can take any more of this `celebrating'."

CH5
"I know this little holiday celebration I planned hasn't been
entirely wondrous, but I for one would like to have at least a few
favorable holiday memories in my life." Suddenly Magneto seemed
remorseful as he began to realize how important it was to Mystique
that he not only participate but enjoy what she had coordinated for
him and his `brothers'. "My apologies Mystique, I really do
appreciate all that you do for me, and this dinner is no exception;
it's just that I'm not really accustomed to looking on the brighter
side of life, as it were. So, where are those latkes?" as he seemed
to perk up and forced himself to smile. "And I believe I'd like some
of that white meat, Sabretooth."
For the next several minutes or so the dinner went splendidly; that
is, until Toad decided it was time to reminisce. "Speaking
of `bad `olidays'," Toad mentioned as he greedily smothered his
mashed potatoes with ladle upon ladle of gravy, "did I ever tell
you `ow I used to spend Christmas in the orphanage?" Pyro, who was
still a little sore at Toad for his earlier remarks, immediately
spoke up. "Only every chance you get." Toad looked up from his plate
for a moment and glared at Pyro.
"Not that your stories of being rejected and mistreated as a mutant
child aren't fascinating, Toad, I mean, for being someone who has
lived a sheltered life I can only imagine the shame and disgrace you
must have suffered growing up."
"You think you're such a clever li'l shit don't you?" Toad viciously
concluded. "Yeah, pretty much." Pyro agreed sarcastically.
"Oh won't you two grow up!" Mystique snapped impatiently. "Haven't
either of you figured out by now that we've all had it hard? We all
have our own scared lives, our own wounds that never healed."
Mystique lectured them in a huff. "But that's what separates us from
the X-men. Those pussies haven't had it rough, they're either too
pretty, or too rich, or too cowardly to have ever seen humanity at
its worst. And if they did, they weren't smart enough to figure out
they needed to get just as ruthless in order to survive."
"An easy life makes one weak," Sabretooth spoke in a musing tone as
he lifted his head and gazed off into space. "Only by the fires of
tribulation may a will of iron be forged." A moment later however,
his concentration was broken by the deafening silence around him. He
looked at those surrounding him with astonished faces. "Vic, that
was remarkably…deep," Mystique gasped, seemingly impressed.
Sabretooth then glanced at Toad and Pyro who just sat there with
their mouths partially open while Magneto studied him
suspiciously. "Ah, yeah," his voice no longer sounding as
philosophically profound as it had a moment ago. "I think I got that
from a fortune cookie."
"Clearly that would be the case." Magneto seemed satisfied with
Sabretooth's explanation. After all, to consider his loyal attack
dog as having any real wit was not absurd, but ridiculously
absurd. "I'm just amazed you were able to comprehend the meaning
well enough to see its significance and apply it to this situation."
The big cat-man gave no response, but smiled to himself instead.
For the next several moments little more was said as the dinner
gradually came to an end. "Well, Mystique," at last Magneto seemed
relaxed and at ease, "I must say that I have found this evening to
be rather pleasant. I can't recall the last time I enjoyed spending
time with all of you. Thank you."
"Ah, are you getting all warm and fuzzy on us, Mags?" Toad cooed
teasingly. "Perish the thought!" Magneto surprising smiled and
lightly joked back. He didn't even seem bothered that Toad was now
repeating Sabretooth's favorite form of rebellion. "But when I
compare you scoundrels to those whom I've had the extreme
displeasure of knowing, I feel as if I'm among gods!"
"Oh, Charles is a bore," Mystique added to the conversation, "but
surely you don't think THAT little of him do you?"
"Of course not!" Magneto defended his friend. "I was mostly
referring to the homo-sapiens, like those who ran that little
plastic bubble in which they kept me imprisoned, for instance."
"Prison guards," Sabretooth nodded his head as if to agree. "Those
bastards really know the meaning of "season's beatings", don't they,
Mags?" Magneto leaned over his plate resting his elbows on the table
and took a long drink of wine. "So true," and the old man's face
suddenly seemed far too worn and weary for even a man his age. His
eyes gazed upward though he did not seem to be focusing on anyone
there. He took another drink and swallowed slowly; the jovial
atmosphere now was replaced by an eerie and very somber mood.
Magneto hardly noticed Mystique give Sabretooth a quiet nod to which
he got up and headed for the door. "Well Erik," Mystique announced
decisively. "I think it's time we gave you your present."
"Present?" he repeated stiffly. "Yeah," Toad spoke up bashfully. "We
all feel kinda bad that while we were all out having fun, you were
in that plastic shit hole." Feeling a bit humbled himself, Magneto
offered a subtle smile. "My brothers, you have nothing to feel
guilty about. Those days were bleak indeed, but not just for me, I'm
sure. Even though I was being led to believe that all of you had
been killed, I never stopped believing that someday one of you would
rescue me from that hell. I never lost hope on you, just as I'm sure
you never lost hope on me."  He then surrendered an awkward grin as
he saw the irony in his words.
"But you haven't seen what we got you yet!" Pyro said with a twisted
smile. "Would you like a tiny `int?" Toad teased as he pulled out a
small tape-recorder from his pocket and hit the play button. "Who,
who the hell are you freaks? Get the fuck outta my face unless you
want some trouble!" a vaguely familiar voice came from the recorder
that was quickly followed by the sound of gunshots being
fired. "Holy…shshshsh…"  Static was the last sound to come from the
speaker.
A peculiar look of curiosity and mischief crossed Magneto's
face. "Yes, that voice does ring a bell," he confessed amusingly. "I
just can't quite put my finger on the name." Just then Sabretooth
came strolling in with a large bundle slung over his shoulder; the
sound of muffled cries coming from it. "Blue tried to get me to wear
a Santie Claus suit, but that's where I drew the line. Well..." he
tossed the bundle onto the floor in front of Magneto. "Here you go
Mags! Merry Christmas!" For a moment or so, Magneto looked at the
bundle that was in the obvious shape of a bound man squirming and
yelling, then at his fellow evil mutants. "Well, ain't you gonna
open it?" Toad asked excitedly. Magneto slowly but curiously removed
the hood covering the man's face to reveal someone whom he was quite
familiar with. "Mister…Reed, isn't it?"
Magneto's expression of true delight was a stark contrast to that of
terror on his captive's. "Yes, I believe that is correct," Magneto
assured himself, then looked up at Mystique. "How on earth did you
know about my friend here?"
"When I downloaded the files from Stryker's computer, I read that
Mr. Reed had been transferred from your prison due to the excessive
and unauthorized use of force." Magneto chuckled at her answer a
bit. "Oh, not that Stryker really minded Mr. Reed taking his
frustration out on me of course, but he did nearly kill me once or
twice as memory serves and at the time I was still of importance to
the Colonel's plans."
Magneto then turned his attention back to the bundle on the
floor. "I must say, Mr. Reed, no one could match your brutality, not
even that buffoon Laurio. Yes, I really should congratulate you; you
would have made an outstanding officer in the SS. Was he any
trouble?" he then asked his colleagues.
"Not after he lost these." Sabretooth pulled out a bloodied rag from
his pocket and threw it onto the table close to Magneto who
carefully unfolded it to find what looked to be a set of
testicles. "It's times such as this, Sabretooth," he said with a
certain amount of pride, "that I remind myself why I keep you
around. And as for you, Mystique, I can't believe you went through
all this trouble just for me."
"Oh it was nothing," she sheepishly smiled and appeared to even
blush, in a shade of blue of course.
"Yeah, when I saw those X-men come in I thought the gig was up for
sure!" Pyro gasped excitedly. "So did I!" Toad agreed, almost
chuckling.
"I'm fairly certain Charles suspected we were up to something,"
Mystique joined in. "I'm sure they came over in the first place just
to see if they could uncover the plot."
"Well there's no point in wasting time," Magneto said with a
smile. "What do you say we take my new `toy' outside for a little
target practice? Pyro, would you like to go first?"
"Sure you don't mind?" the young man asked eagerly.
"No, of course not!" Magneto happily replied. "Say, I have an idea;
all of you did such a fine job putting this together for me, why
don't you take Mr. Reed outside and wait for me while I clean off
the table and put the dishes in the machine?" As Magneto began to
clear the table, he could hear the joyous laughter and conversations
coming from his followers, mixed in with the terrified screams and
pleas coming from their hopeless victim. `Yes, the fires from
tribulation may forge the will of iron, but it would seem that
perhaps a little too much fire warps the hearts of gold,' he
somberly thought to himself and for a moment and even considered
sharing it with his companions.
"Oh but why spoil their fun," he finally concluded and went outside
to join in the villainy.
THE END

The moderators have given me permission to post this announcement

I have started a new list for fanfiction involving former Generation X members
Chamber, Jubilee, and Skin.  I wanted to invite anyone interested in them to
join my new list.

  Chamber, Jubilee, Skin Fanfiction
  CJS_fanfiction@yahoogroups.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/CJS_fanfiction
  This group is dedicated to fanfiction involving Jonothan Starsmore, Jubilation
Lee, and Angelo Espinosa of Marvel's Generation X comics. All pairings, ratings,
and genres are welcome as long as at least one of the above characters plays a
primary role in the story. Please rate and warn as appropriate.

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Title: Elemental - Part 1
Author: Katt
Fandom: X-men Movieverse, post-X2
Characters: Ensemble, but mostly Scott, Remy (Lebeau), Alex, and Adam
Summers.
Rating: Teen/Mature (for strong language and some nudity)

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.
Disclaimer and Author Notes in 0/17

Access all the chapters at http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/elemental.htm

NEWEST CHAPTERS:
Present Interlude #1 --- "His prison was frightening in its sterility..."
03 - My Place at the Table --- "Riding didn't come naturally to Scott..."
Past Interlude #2: Bellevue, NE, USA - 1991 --- "Despite the high percentage
of army brats..."
04 - The Exercise  --- "he tools in Logan's hands felt very comfortable..."

---

Special thanks to E, who has read a frillion versons of the same chapters.
As always feedback is adored and bronzed.

cheers!
Katt

Jim Beam is My Valentine by RocketJ (PG)

While Scott and Jean spend Valentine’s Day in a romantic B&B, Logan and
Ororo sit on the roof of the mansion commiserating with each other. The
characterizations are funny as heck.

“You wanna watch it, ‘Ro.  If you get zits from all that chocolate then
you’ll never get a man."

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/194537/1/


Queer Eye For the Mutant Guy, by liyah123 (G)

The Fab Five visit Logan just before Marie's 18th birthday. Logan's in
character. So are the boyz. The dialog just cracked me up. I think the
author must have listened to a lot of episodes.

“Well, this looks like the closet of the spokesperson for the Brawny paper
towel man."

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1736355/1/



XTrash, by TheMerryVingian (PG)

Welcome to Charles Xavier's Trailer Park for the Gifted. Scott and Jean are
kissin’ cousins. The portrayal of Logan will make you cry laughing.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2145879/1/

I'm looking for a few good betas :-).  Folks on these
lists have come through for me before and been
wonderful betas, who have greatly improved the
stories.  I'm grateful for that help and I thought I'd
try again now.

I mostly write story series, with each story being
from 1500-4000 words.  My series have ranged in length
from 4 stories to 18 and from 12,000 words to 55,000
words.

My fiction is X-Men movieverse and I'm currently
writing an X2-based series. For readers of my previous
fiction, it is the third and final series in my
version of the Phoenix Saga.  It bears little
resemblance to the Phoenix story within the comics,
but is a "Jean comes back from the dead" series and
uses some phoenix imagery as a nod to the comics.  The
first two series were called "After the Fall" and
"Returning Spring."  The working title for this one is
"Summers in a Sea of Glory."

I've written about 7000 words so far, in three stories
and expect this series will be around 8-10 stories and
around 20,000 - 25,000 words when finished.  It's
NC/17 slash but it is not focussed solely on sex and
relationships and it's not devoid of heterosexual
characters and heterosexual relationships.  There's an
X-Men adventure/action plot that's the public story
and a Scott/Logan/Jean triangle story that is the
private one.

I like process betas, who will read stories as they
are written and answer questions like "What do you
think happens next?" as well as do the more
conventional proofreading and copy editing.  This
helps me to see whether my foreshadowing is too
heavy-handed, too subtle, or just right.  I ask
questions about how the beta is reacting to the story
and what s/he'd like to see happen or done
differently.  I don't always take that advice but I
profit from it.  I'm looking for the kind of impact
the stories have on a few readers.  It's not required
that you have read my previous stories.

I don't usually post WIP, but I'm posting a draft of
the first story in this series, to give a sense of
what you'd be getting yourself into.  Of course, if
you've ever beta'ed for me before, you know what
you're getting yourself into, and I'd be happy of your
help again.

First story follows my signature.  It is followed by
the questions I would ask betas to answer for this
story.  If you are interested in beta'ing, write me
offlist.  Thanks in advance for your attention and
consideration.

Mo
www.mo.fandomnation.com/fic/
www.livejournal.com/users/mofic


I was going to tell Jean.  There was never any
question about that.  Not in my mind, anyway.  And
there shouldn’t have been any in Logan’s, either.  I’d
told him – long before anything had happened between
him and me – that Jean and I didn’t keep secrets from
each other.  I would have told her about Logan and me
even if we’d just been fuck buddies.  Which, of
course, was all we had been when it started.

Now it felt like we had something a lot more than
that.   I’d told him I was in love with him and I’d
meant it.  And I’d believed him when he told me he
felt the same.

I’d thought Jean was dead at the time, thought that
we’d had an imposter in our midst.   I’d since found
out otherwise, now knew that she had been invaded or
possessed or something.  Whatever had taken over her
body and her mind was gone now.  Jean was back, really
back this time.

That didn’t change anything.  Not for me, not for my
feelings for Logan.  I’ll always care about Jean, I’m
sure.  We’ve been friends since we were kids and we
were lovers for years.  We’d planned on marriage.  In
some sense I’ll always love her, but I’d known for
some time that I wasn’t in love with her anymore.

I wasn’t going to try to live a heterosexual life
again.  It had taken me some time to clearly
understand that the relationship Jean and I had tried
to build was a mistake, but I did understand it now.
It never would have worked, I realized.  I hadn’t been
true to my nature.  Now that I was in love with a man,
I’d learned something essential that had always eluded
me before.  Now I understood that deep love and
intense desire could have the same object, and it was
a life-changing realization.  It was very clear to me
that there was never going to be anything but
friendship between Jean and me.  This was information
Jean had a right to know and I was definitely going to
tell her.

Still, it was something I needed to do carefully, not
just blurt out.  Jean was in no condition to hear news
like that without some preparation.  Logan should have
understood that.  He knew what had happened to her.
Well, as much as any of us knew, which wasn’t a whole
lot.

I’d called Charles as soon as I could, as soon as we
were sure that *thing* was truly gone from Jean.  As
soon as we’d established that the inhabitants of the
Vermont house it hadn’t killed were safe and well, as
soon as I was sure the house was secure.   I’d
explained to Charles what had happened to Jean and
about the deaths of the FBI agents assigned there.  I
don’t know what he’d told the G-Men’s superiors, but
he assured me that Jean would not be arrested for
their deaths.  Then he and Hank joined us in Vermont,
to run interference with the FBI as needed, as well as
to try to get a better sense of what had gone on there
and to formulate a plan for what to do next.

Two more grim-faced FBI agents showed up shortly after
Hank and Charles, looking almost exactly like the ones
who had died.  They interviewed us all and took
extensive notes.  Neither of them betrayed any
emotion, even when Logan and I described finding their
colleagues dead, hearts pulled from their bodies and
placed neatly on the hall table.  Logan and I
exchanged glances when they muttered about satanic
cults and ritual murder, but didn’t try to correct
them.

The G-Men left with the bodies of their fellow agents,
and no local law enforcement showed up.   I checked
local newspapers as long as we were in Vermont, and
nothing about two gruesome deaths interrupted the
articles about school funding and ski tourism.

We stayed on for a few more days, in order to look for
clues as to what it was that had taken over Jean’s
body, and in order to interview our Alpha Flight reps
and Cassandra, our Mutant Protection Plan resident.
They were the people who had been on the spot and knew
best what had happened.  Logan and I had come into it
too late to have the whole picture.  Both Sasquatch
and Cassandra had been attacked by “Jean” and we hoped
we could find out more about the being that had
invaded her from them.

Sasquatch was no help to the investigation.  We’d
found him unconscious, but without a mark on him.  He
awoke a couple of hours after Jean became herself
again, but with no memory of anything that had
happened that day.

His memories before jibed with the rest of ours, but
added nothing.  He’d noticed a difference in “Jean”
from when he’d first arrived in Vermont to work with
her.  She had seemed changed, unlike the woman he’d
known for years.  He and Northstar had compared notes,
speculating that she might be an imposter, a
shape-shifter taking Jean’s form.  That she was Jean
but possessed by some inhuman entity had never entered
their minds.

By contrast, Cassandra’s memories were clear and
complete.  She was able to tell us exactly what she’d
experienced.  Her mutant power for predicting
catastrophe had warned her that she’d be attacked by
Jean.  As soon as she had the vision, she’d tried to
escape, planning to return to Westchester.  Jean had
tried to stop her and Cassandra had taken refuge in
the panic room.  We’d had to coax her out of there
afterwards.  It took some doing to convince her that
Jean hadn’t really been the one who attacked her, and
was no threat to her now.

After we’d learned everything we could on site, we
returned to Westchester.  We brought Cassandra with
us, and also Ethan Leeds.  Charles had asked him to
take a few days off to join us.   We needed his
expertise and his established therapeutic
relationships with both Cassandra and Jean.

Hank examined Jean carefully and did pretty much every
test modern medicine had available to assess her
physical and mental state.  Charles examined her
telepathically, and assessed her mutant powers with
Cerebro.  Ethan Leeds interviewed her at length,
bringing his professional expertise, his experience
with mutant psychology, and his long professional
relationship with Jean to the table.  The three of
them were a formidable team.  If anyone had been able
to figure out what had happened to her, it would have
been that trio.  Still, with all the expertise,
intelligence, and mutant power brought to bear, we
weren’t clear on just what had invaded her body or
what that being had done to her.  We were referring to
the invader as “the Phoenix” – a reference to the
fiery, bird-like shape that seemed to be coming out of
her body when Jean became Jean again.  But giving it a
name wasn’t getting us any closer to figuring out who
or what it was.

As far as they could tell, Jean seemed physically
unaffected by more than a year of having her body and
mind under Phoenix control.  It also seemed that it
hadn’t diminished her mutant powers at all.  If
anything, it seemed to have intensified them.  Her
telekinesis was exponentially stronger than it had
been.  And Charles said her telepathy was now so
strong it was rivaling his.  It wasn’t clear how that
had happened.  Had possession by the Phoenix had an
intensifying effect on her gifts?  Or was it a natural
progression that had just coincidentally happened at
the same time as the possession?  I tended to think
the latter.

Ever since we’d fought Magneto at Liberty Island
Jean’s powers had seemed to be growing by leaps and
bounds – growing faster than her ability to control
them at first.  During more than a year of Phoenix
possession, perhaps they continued to grow, and to
stabilize, so that she was now in better control, now
that she had her body back.

So, physically Jean was perfectly well, surprisingly
so.  And her powers were stronger than ever.  Still,
that didn’t mean she was emotionally healthy.  It
didn’t mean she was ready to take what was bound to be
hard news without some preparation.

Psychologically – well, it would take time to know
just how badly hurt she was, but she had clearly been
traumatized by the experience.  Ethan reported that
she was suffering from acute anxiety – trouble
sleeping, having panic attacks, nightmares when she
did manage to sleep.  And the way she had clung to me,
shaking, when the Phoenix finally left her body didn’t
leave me thinking that it was a good time to tell her
I had a new lover.  A man.  A man she’d thought had
been in love with her, thought I’d been jealous of.

Jean certainly knew something was up.   In Vermont
she’d been assigned a room by herself.  She’d looked
at me questioningly when Walter said he’d show her
which room was hers, but said nothing.  When we
returned to Westchester, she asked Ororo where she was
staying, not looking at me.  ‘Ro took her to the room
that she’d lived in – under Phoenix possession – for
the last several months.  All of her things were
already there.  She had no need to come back to our
room, and didn’t.   I wasn’t finding myself alone with
her.   If I’d wanted to explain about Logan and me –
and I really didn’t think it was a good idea to do so
yet – I’d have needed to ask to talk to her privately.

She didn’t spend much time with me, in general.  I saw
her at faculty meetings, in the dining hall, at team
meetings.  She didn’t sit with me and she didn’t look
at me.

It wasn’t to me that she turned to find out what had
happened while she’d been possessed.  She gave an
overview of her experiences of the past year at the
first team meeting after her return.  Or more
accurately, her non-experiences.   “It feels like I
fell asleep at Alkali Lake and woke up the next
morning in Vermont,” she said.  “I know over a year
went by, but I only know it intellectually.  I have
some moments of memory – at Xavier’s and in Vermont –
but it’s like little bits of a dream.  Incomplete,
hazy, only barely remembered.  I’ll look to you,” she
added, turning from me and towards Charles and ‘Ro,
“to fill me in on what I did during the time after I
came home.”  She shrugged.  “I hope none of you will
hold me responsible for my actions.”

Everyone quickly assured her that she was in no way
responsible for her Phoenix-controlled behavior.
Charles added, “We’ll do our best to fill you in on
what happened while you were with us, Jean.  It’s also
possible that Ethan and I can help you fill in some of
the time before you showed up here.”

“How?  I’ve really tried to remember.  I know that may
well be the key to finding the Phoenix, or at least
figuring out what its intentions were.  But there’s
nothing there, no matter how hard I try.”

Dr. Leeds weighed in.  “It’s possible there is
something there, just not accessible to you.  Maybe
the experiences were too traumatic to remember.  Maybe
the Phoenix has walled off the memories, hidden them
from your conscious self.   Maybe both are operating.
I think that with a combination of hypnosis and
telepathy, Charles and I may be able to help you
recover them.”  He paused, as if unsure whether to
continue.  “It wouldn’t likely be a pleasant process.
Ultimately I think you’ll find that the more you know
the better, but revisiting trauma is never easy, and
can often be re-traumatizing.”

“I want to do whatever I can to get answers,” she’d
replied without hesitation, “for all of our sakes.”
She smiled weakly.  “I’ll count on you to pick up the
pieces, if necessary, Ethan.”  As always, I admired
her courage, persistence, and commitment to the team.

I tried to talk to Jean after the meeting, following
her to her office.  I began by expressing that
admiration for her fortitude and telling her I wanted
to do what I could to help her.  I told her to let me
know when she felt ready to rejoin the team, but that
she shouldn’t feel under pressure to do so right away.

She didn’t say anything for a long time.  When she
spoke, it wasn’t in response to what I said.  “It’s
over, isn’t it?” she asked.

I nodded.  “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, smiling sadly.  “Nothing to be sorry
about.  We always knew it was a long shot.”

“Jean, I’ll always –”

“Don’t, Scott.  Don’t finish that sentence.   I don’t
think I can take hearing that right now.  Maybe some
day.”  She turned her head away.  “I think I need to
be alone now.”

How could I have told her then?


Questions:

1.  If you have not read the series that precede this,
could you tell what was going on?  What, if anything,
was confusing?  If you have read the others, was there
too much recap?  In particular, it's essential that
the reader understand who Cassandra and Ethan are,
since they will be major players in this series.  Is
there too much info about them, not enough, or just
the right amount?

2.  How do you think Logan has been behaving towards
Scott during this period?

3.  Why is Scott so defensive about his decision to
not tell Jean about his relationship with Logan yet?

4.  What do you think happens next?


__________________________________________________
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RENTER'S BLUES
By Linda J.
Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah, they're not mine, I don't own them,
they won't make me rich!
Rating: PG
Setting: Takes place after X2
Summery:  The brotherhood is looking for a new headquarters

"It's not much to look at…" The landlord warned the strange and
rather odd looking group as he opened the front door.  "But it's the
only furnished place I have right now."
	 "It will do nicely," Erik assertively declared before he
even saw the inside the aged two story house.
	 "Um…some things may need a little fixin',"  The older
white `normal' looking male explained as the rest of the group
slowly strolled into the house, examining what was probably to
become their new hideout.  "I'll get to them soon. I promise"
Pyro leaned over to whisper to Mystique who had taken the form of an
ordinary looking woman,  "Like hell he will."
She gave him a flirtatious smile.  This young juicy boy was next on
her "hit" list and winked.
	 "Have you ever known a normie who wasn't a born liar?"
Magneto gave the two mutants a harsh `keep quiet' look and began to
rush the landlord over to the side to discuss the leasing
arrangements.
	 "Hey!"  The ferocious mutant, known to most as Sabretooth,
bellowed as he started walking up the stairs, "Can we keep animals
in here?"
	 "You better hope we can,"  Toad who was testing all the
light switches, spoke in a teasing manner.  "Otherwise, you'll have
to stay outside." *Grrrrrrrr* Victor gave his quasi friend a
threatening look but chose to ignore his remark for the moment at
least and continued to walk up the stairs.
Meanwhile Mystique and Pyro made their way into the kitchen.  It was
dingy and the walls were covered with faded, old and poorly designed
wall-paper.  The ceiling was covered with water spots from the
leaking roof.  Pyro walked over to the double sink and looked down
at the rust stains and the dripping faucet.  He nervously played
with his lighter opening and closing its lid with even more fervor
then usual, perhaps the annoying noise it made was John's way of
unconsciously expressing his dissatisfaction to his new home.
Mystique opened the door to the pantry and flipped the light switch
on.  Suddenly, the cool, calm, commanding and ever in control
Mystique came running from the kitchen screaming at the top of her
lungs!
	 "AAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!" She cried. "Mouse!"
	 "Um…yeah, yeah," The landlord tried to explain away the
problem.  "The last tenants were a bunch of slobs…never cleaned up
after themselves.  We've been trying to get rid of the pests for a
couple of weeks now, but there might still be a couple of rodents
hanging around.  A few bugs too but nothing really bad."
	 "Then you live here and we'll take YOUR house!"  Pyro
threatened the landlord only to have Magneto grab him by the
shoulder and whirl him around to speak to him.
	 "This place will suit our needs just fine young man.  Now,"
Magneto used a caring and fatherly voice. "Go check on Mystique, she
is probably hiding in the van." At that moment both Toad and
Sabretooth were making a mad dash into the kitchen.
	 "Mouse?  Where?"  Sabretooth asked excitedly as he leaped
from the balcony to the living room floor with a thud.
"It's mine!" Toad yelled,
	 "I was here first!"  A moment later both Erik and the
landlord could hear the two mutants in the kitchen struggling to get
the mouse first.
	 "I called it!"  Sabretooth growled as Toad kicked him into
the wall.
	 "Too bad, you mangy ol' cat!"  Toad retorted as Sabretooth
through a kitchen chair at him. *crash*
	 "Ah! There it is!"  The mouse was hiding in the corner of
the room praying for dear life.  *ZAP* and suddenly the mouse was in
Toad's mouth and swallowed in one gulp.
	 "Don't feel bad Vic."  Toad tried to comfort Sabretooth
before his temper got the best of him. "I'll let you have the next
one."
The landlord looked at Erik and made sure he pointed out the part of
the lease that said the renter was responsible for paying for all
damages incurred to the property as long as the lease was in there
name.  Erik signed the papers and paid the landlord in cash a six
month advance, so no questions were asked and there whereabouts
where kept secret.  The brotherhood moved in and started to stake
out their rooms.
Mystique insisted on having her own bedroom, much to Erik's
disappointment.  This left four men to share two bedrooms.
	 "Don't worry `bout me."  Sabretooth happily chirped as he
carried in his sleeping bag which was actually a collection of furs
that he'd piled together and rolled up into a bundle for easy
transporting.  "You know where I'll be."  And with that he opened a
window and started to climb onto the roof.
	 "Where the hell IS he going?"  Pyro wondered strangely.
	 "Creed's rather fond of perching."  Erik mildly explained
the huge felinoid's habits to the newest member of the brotherhood.
	 "The bloody wanker's got a lot of quirks, but we love him,"
Toad smirked as they heard the heavy foot steps pounding above there
heads.
	 "Well…"  Erik then asserted himself.  "That settles things
rather nicely.  I take this room, and you two can have that one."
Toad and Pyro looked dreadfully at each other.
	 "No thanks… I'll take the couch,"  Pyro sounded depressed as
he began to walk down the stairs.  He was beginning to wonder if
coming over to the brotherhood was such a great idea after all when
he heard an ominous sound coming from the roof.  A creaking,
crackling noise that seemed to get louder by the second.  Suddenly
just as everyone heard Sabretooth's howl the roof gave way and he
came crashing through the roof through Mystique's bed room, which
was on the second floor, through the living room, narrowly missing
Pyro, on the first floor and finally ended up in the unfinished
basement.
	 "I'm OK.  I'm OK."  Sabretooth reassured his colleagues as
he climbed out of the new pit in the middle of the living room.
	 "Like any of us care."  Mystique quipped as she came down
the stairs in a huff.
	 "Surely we're staying HERE any more!"  Pyro insisted.
	 "Fine… fine,"  Erik gave up and threw his hands in the
air.  "We'll stay at a hotel tonight and look for somewhere new
tomorrow."  The group left the house in shambles and began searching
for a hotel.  The only one open was a ringky dingky "No-tell Motel"
type of hotel just on the other side of town.
	 "I only have one room left so all of you will have to
share,"  The night manager said as he greedily counted the extra
money Erik threw at him.  Pyro shook his head,  `Wonder if Charles
would take me back,' he thought to himself just as he heard Mystique
once again scream "Mouse!" while Toad and Sabretooth once more
chased the rodent around the property trying to catch it first.
  –THE END

I'm looking for a fic - unfortunately I can't remember title or
author.  It's most Scott and Rogue, but completely a friendship
piece.  I'm pretty sure it's post-X1.  At some point in the story,
Rogue and Scott go into the Village (Greenwich) to go shopping, and
Rogue 'channels' Erik/Magneto after an employee makes some comments
about Scott.  Does anyone remember this fic?  I would greatly
appreciate any help in finding it.

Thanks

Rebel Yell

P.S.  The fic introduced me to the word purient, as I recall - if that
helps anyone.

Well its kinda a fic. Its a fic done in photographs, tasteful nudes
with bios and interviews of the Xmen, and a few other mutants ex.
cable, northstar and others..

I really, really would like to find this fic, so if anyone could help
out I'd appreciate either the author or the site where it may be
housed.

Thanks.

That's Jane St. Clair's "Imaging the X-Men."

http://www.ravenswing.com/~mirrorgirl/imaging.html

I'm posting this to the list at large because anyone who's *not* seen
this piece really should.  It isn't, technically, movieverse, and it
references a lot of (comics) characters who don't show up in the
films.  Nor are the images used those of the actors in the movies.
But it's perhaps one of the most *unique* pieces of 'fanfic' that
I've seen.

(Be aware that the images DO include frank nudity, including
full-frontal, but it's not pornography any more than Michaelangelo's
David.)

--Minisinoo

--- Carrie <raggedyredd@...> wrote:
> Well its kinda a fic. Its a fic done in photographs, tasteful nudes
>
> with bios and interviews of the Xmen, and a few other mutants ex.
> cable, northstar and others..
>
> I really, really would like to find this fic, so if anyone could
> help
> out I'd appreciate either the author or the site where it may be
> housed.
>
> Thanks.
>
>
>
>
>
>


--Min
The Medicine Wheel: X-Men Fanfic
http://www.themedicinewheel.net/

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Title: Elemental [8-9 of 17]
Author: Katt
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse, post-X2
Characters: ensemble but mostly Scott, Remy, Alex, and Adam Summers.
(Cyclops, Gambit, Gavok and Xtreme, ye comic book readers)
Rating: Mature for strong language, nudity and sexual situations.

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.


Present Interlude #2 ---
http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EIpsnt2.htm
     "Once in a while, Adam woke up in a cell, six feet all around..."

Chapter 5:  The Pursuit ---
http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EI05.htm
      "Locks and alarms made most people feel safe. They made Remy giddy..."


Disclaimer: All the characters you can recognize belong to Marvel
Entertainment. The movieverse verisions also belong to Fox, Brian Singer,
David Hayter, and Zak Penn. As always, feedback is adored like chocolate
after Lent.

Can anyone recommend some good Toad/OC fanfics (not Mary-Sue-ish)? There is
a severe lack of them and for some reason I find myself really enjoying
them.

I love Sabretooth honest I do, but its so much fun making fun of him
too!


A Challenge for Sabretooth
By Linda J.
RATED: PG
MOVIEVERSE/AFTER X2
SUMMERY: A one shot wonder, based on a joke my sister-in-law sent to
me.

It was almost daybreak when Mystique heard a soft tapping on her
door. "Blue…Blue?" she heard Sabretooth whispering her name from the
other side.
The shape-shifter was certain there could be only one reason for
usually virile mutant to be at her door, but she couldn't figure out
why he was being so quiet about it. She got out of bed, and opened
her door.
"Sabretooth, if this is another one of your half assed booty calls,
so help me God I'll skin your hairy ass with my own bare hands!" she
crossly huffed before she even saw the look of despair in the
felinoid's worried face.
"This ain't no `booty call'!" Sabretooth quietly growled trying to
keep his voice low while he nervously looked over his shoulders
making sure no one else was aware he was there.
"I…I need your help on something Blue, you're the only one who won't
make fun of me," he humbly whispered his plea.
"Is that so? What exactly do you need help with?" Mystique wondered.
Sabretooth once again looked around for see if anyone else might be
listening.
"OK," the normally confident felinoid bit his dejected lip. "Here's
the situation. I found a jig-saw puzzle last night and I thought
that if I put it together, then Mags will stop wondering if I'm just
a dumb blond. I took all the pieces out of the box and I've been
working on the damn thing all night but I, well…the damn things
impossible to put together! All the pieces look alike! I can't even
get one damn corner started Blue! If you could just help me find the
edges, I'll get the rest done on my own." Mystique thought for a
moment and reluctantly decided she could at least do this much for
her ex-lover.
"Fine; where is it?" she asked Sabretooth as she stepped out of her
bedroom and closed the door.
"In the kitchen;" he informed her as they made their way down the
stairs.
"I've got all the pieces spread out over the table,"
"What is it supposed to be once it's finished?" she asked.
"According to the picture on the box, it's a tiger," he calmly
remarked as they walked toward the kitchen.
"How ironic," Mystique openly mused. "How many pieces are there?"
Sabretooth shrugged his shoulders "I dunno, a thousand I guess.
Here, see for yourself," he offered as he opened the kitchen door
for Mystique.
For a second or two she just stood there in the doorway with a
stunned look on her face. Finally she walked over to the table a
picked up the box, giving its picture a long hard look.
"Sabretooth, did you find this box here in the kitchen?" she
carefully asked the murderous brute knowing how overly sensitive he
can be at times.
"Yeah, over there in the cupboard," he casually admitted to her.
Mystique thought hard before she decided on her words. "Vic, first
off, you could spend the rest of your life putting these pieces
together and they will never end up looking like this tiger." She
raised the box and pointed her finger to the cartoon character on
the front.
"Now please just put all these frosted corn flakes back in the box
so that Pyro can eat his breakfast this morning," she set the box
back down and gently patted him on the chest. "And just forget about
jig-saw puzzles for a while alright?"
-THE END

I loved it!

I really believed that Sabretooth's puzzle was real.

Until, Mystique said to put the cornflakes back in the box.

I loved it.  I almost choked with laughter!

I hope to see more fics from you soon!

debrarae

Hi Everybody,

While Sourspunk101 finishes working on her interview, I'd like to get
started on next month's interview. April's WRFA interview will be
with Akscully, the author of "To Be a Man", "Dance Fearless Leader,
Dance" and the "Home" series among others. The stories can be
read at the WRFA archive. I will be conducting the interview around the
end of the month.  Thus, if you would like to suggest a question,
please contact me by March 31st. at the address below. Another
announcement will be made when the completed interview has been posted.

Thanks for your interest and participation.

Diane
deh@...

Title: Elemental
Author: Katt
Fandom: X-Men Movievese, post-X2
Characters: ensemble but mostly Scott, Remy, Alex and Adam Summers (Cyclops,
Gambit, Havok, and the Xtreme, respectively)
Rating: Teen/mature (for strong language and non-sexual nudity [for now])
Archive: My website (http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/writers.html), the
Lebeau Library (http://lebeaulibrary.com/), and FF.net
(http://www.fanfiction.net/u/351411/); working on getting it on XMMFF
(http://www.xmmff.com/). All others, just ask. Thanks!

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.


NOW AVAILABLE at http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/elemental.htm

Past Interlude #3:  San Diego, California - 1995</a> --- Alex fumed as he
watched Remy, oh so charming Remy, place his hand at the base of Selina Ki's
back...
Chapter 6:  Green --- Jubilee nattered on about the mission. "Seven whole
days in a car with Remy is, like, my ultimate dream!"


Disclaimer: All the characters you can recognize belong to Marvel
Entertainment. The movieverse verisions also belong to Fox, Brian Singer,
David Hayter, and Zak Penn.

I'm looking for a fic called "Living Ever After" by Elizabeth.  I've
looked everywhere and the links are always dead.  If someone has this
fic saved and would kindly share it w/ me I would love you forever!
Email to fvnesscafe @ yahoo.com

Ness,

hey everyone, we did a story inspired by e x-men. do hope you guys can
drop by for a read at:

www.freaks-xposed.blogspot.com

regular postings of new chapts ensured.
comments/tags on e site deeply appreciated! n certainly hopes it
entertains. :)

Blessed Are the Peacemakers
by Ridesandruns
Rating: T for profanity, snarking, sexual references
Characters: Warren, Scott, Logan, Jean, Emma Frost
Summary: Scott and Jean's argument creates unlikely conciliators.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2883726/1/

Enjoy.

ridesandruns

Title: Elemental
Author: Katt
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse, post-X2
Characters: Ensemble but mostly Scott, Remy, Alex, and Adam Summers. Yes,
Summers. Have a cookie; it makes it all better.
Rating: teen/mature (for frank language, some nudity, and sexual innuendo)

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.

NOW AVAILABLE:
Present Interlude #3 --
http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EIpsnt3.htm
One guy-- roughly his age, curly red hair, freckles all down his back--
always fought back when the orderlies came...

Chapter 7: Shedu and Lammasu --
http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EI07.htm
By the end of the week, two of the four teachers they'd interviewed accepted
the position and Scott had his fill of talking to people...


Archive: Katt's Aerie, FF.net, and LeBeau Library. If anyone else would like
to archive it, please just ask. I really don't think I'd say no.

Disclaimer: All the characters you can recognize belong to Marvel
Entertainment. The movieverse verisions also belong to Fox, Brian Singer,
David Hayter, and Zak Penn. I wish I had enough money to make sueing
worthwhile.

May's interview will be with Pepper, author of such stories
as "Prolix," "Most of the Time," and "Ginko" among others.  You can
read her stories at the WRFA archive
(http://www.wolverineandrogue.com/fic/search.php)  People can suggest
questions through May 5th.  Send them to the address below.

Thanks for your interest and participation,

Diane
deh@...

Title: The First Time
Author: Rachel Martin
Rating: PG-13
Complete
Pairing: Scott/Jubilee, Warren, Ororo
Summary: The first times before the first time.


The first time she saw the "Jubilation" line in Macy's she thought
her heart just might burst right out of her chest. Her designs. Her
name on the label. Her line of pre-teen clothes, for sale in a major
department store.

http://www.greatestjournal.com/users/rachel_martin64/12145.html

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

Note: I've moved my WIP "Player on the Other Side" to this journal,
and have deleted it from Geocities.com and FanFiction.net

http://www.greatestjournal.com/tools/memories.bml?
user=rachel_martin64&keyword=X-Men&filter=all

I loved this!  All the characters - even the ones you
just sketch briefly - are drawn so convincingly.
Brava!

Oh, one minor typo you might want to fix:

"She knew would be no Jubilation, Inc. at all without
his financial backing and social patronage."

I think you're missing the word "there" in there.

And isn't Pratt in Brooklyn?



Mo
Mofic Website: http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic/
www.livejournal.com/users/mofic

__________________________________________________
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Tired of spam?  Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around
http://mail.yahoo.com

Thanks for letting me know about the typo, I'll fix that.

Pratt has 2 locations:

Pratt Institute
Brooklyn Campus
200 Willoughby Ave.
Brooklyn, NY

Manhattan Campus
144 West 14th Street
New York,NY
Pratt is located between Sixth and Seventh Avenues on the south side of the
block, closest to Seventh Avenue.

And I realize now I was really thinking of the Fashion Institute of
Technology, LOL! I’ve been away from home too long. I’ll probably go back
and change it in the story

Fashion Institute of Technology
Seventh Avenue at 27 Street
New York City 10001-5992


Glad you liked it, thanks for the kind words.

Rachel


>From: Mo <mogbrg@...>
>To: xmenmoviefanfic@yahoogroups.com
>Subject: Re: [xmmff] FIC: The First Time
>Date: Tue, 25 Apr 2006 03:38:21 -0700 (PDT)
>
>I loved this!  All the characters - even the ones you
>just sketch briefly - are drawn so convincingly.
>Brava!
>
>Oh, one minor typo you might want to fix:
>
>"She knew would be no Jubilation, Inc. at all without
>his financial backing and social patronage."
>
>I think you're missing the word "there" in there.
>
>And isn't Pratt in Brooklyn?
>
>
>
>Mo
>Mofic Website: http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic/
>www.livejournal.com/users/mofic
>
>__________________________________________________
>Do You Yahoo!?
>Tired of spam?  Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around
>http://mail.yahoo.com

Welcome to our Haven of Fanfic. We'd like to see you send out your own
fic, as well as give feedback to ones being posted here. :) This group
allows every kind of fic out there, from Buffy/Angel to X-Men, etc.!!

Your Owners (Benjamin & Amanda) and Moderator (Purple) are willing to
help if you need it. :)

Thanks for joining!

Current Group Picture: X-Men Evolution Cast

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Fanfic-Haven

Title: Elemental - Part 1
Author: Katt
Fandom: X-Men movieverse, post-X2
Characters: ensemble but mostly Scott, Remy, Alex, and Adam Summers
Rating: Teen/Mature (strong language, violence, and nudity)
Archive: Katt's Aerie: Writer's Block, LeBeau Library, FF.Net.

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.

Disclaimer: All the characters you can recognize belong to Marvel
Entertainment. The movieverse verisions also belong to Fox, Brian Singer,
David Hayter, and Zak Penn.

NOW AVAILABLE:
Past Interlude #4: Everett, Washington - 1994
(http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EIpast4.htm)
--- Scott and Remy always hissed when they fought. They hissed and told
themselves that no one else could hear it but Adam could hear it.

Chapter 8: Something Creepy This Way Comes
(http://www.madweasel.com/kattsaerie/Elemental/EI08.htm)
--- Remy hiked to the ridge over looking the mine, glancing over his
shoulder to check on Rogue every few minutes.

Is there added value to posting a story notice both on the yahoo mailing
list and also on the live journal for this group?

Do the same people belong to both? Do entirely different people belong to
each? What is your impression?

And for your amusement this fine evening, I present More Story Summaries
From FanFiction.net:

i'm not good with titles or spelling.

Logan fights his way through tragidie after tragidie

A new student arrives at the institute and she is exactly like Logan!

An new outlook on Rogue's powers and past. We'll see abotu a plot later.

Logan mets the daughter he never knew. Ashlee Ryder or Tigress as people
call her.

Sucky title, but I couldn't think of anything better.

Scogue everyone. It's okay i guess, not the best story but whatever.
[Scogue?? Is this Scrooge and Rogue? An X-Men - Christmas Carol crossover?]

Rogue, Warren, Kitty and Jubilee hear a weird noise one early morning and
find Logan playing the glass harp. gasp. yes. not as pathetic as it sounds,
but it comes pretty close.

The Call of the Wolverine
By Ridesandruns
Rating: T for profanity
Characters: Logan, Scott, Hank, Darwin the beagle. Jean, Ororo, Jubilee
mentioned.
Summary: A bored Wolverine and a cell phone mean trouble.
Don't own 'em, am making no money off 'em, etc.
All hail rachel_martin64, beta goddess, who improves everything I do.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2918987/1/

(I know it's been a while since you've all heard from me. Life has pretty much
been one long string of calamities for some time now, and in the midst of
dealing with that, I'm afraid my story-crafting skills may even have gotten a
bit rusty. All the same, here is a little something I've finally succeeded in
completing. I hope you enjoy it.)



Title: Nepenthe
Author: Jordanna Morgan (librarie [at] jordanna.net)
Archive Rights: Please request the author's consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Logan.
Setting: Begins fifteen years before X1, and ends after X2.
Summary: An alternate history. What if Logan had escaped from Alkali Lake with
his memories intact?
Disclaimer: Marvel and Fox create the characters that sell. The narrator of this
story is mine.
Notes: Yes, it's another one of my peculiar variations on movie!Logan's past.
However, please note that this "alternate theory" of sorts has no connection
whatsoever to my "Past Imperfect" series (in fact, it mildly contradicts those
stories). If anyone is interested, I may consider spinning this one-shot into
something longer.


Nepenthe


"Get outta here, Brain-Sucker!"

Shawn Hodgson, the local high school hero-jock, loomed over the counter of his
father's general store and glared at me. He was as dumb as a rock and about as
much fun to bump into--especially if you happened to be a scrawny runaway who
everybody in town knew was a freak.

In other words, if you were me.

I was used to names by now, and I figured he couldn't do much else to me as long
as he was on the other side of the counter. I edged a few steps farther into the
store, ready to bolt the instant his steroid-soaked brain managed to generate a
signal to all those muscles.

"Chill out, Shawn. I'm hungry. All I want is to buy some food. I've got money,
see?" I demonstrated the point by holding up a handful of wrinkled dollar bills.

"We don't want your stolen money, freak."

Well, he had me there. On the other hand, I knew Shawn helped himself from the
till every time Mr. Hodgson left him to run the store--but I was in no mood to
argue with that big side of beef about the moral points of "stealing to eat"
versus "stealing to take your latest girlfriend to the movies". I crept a little
closer to the nearest shelf, piled with bags of junk food that, at the moment,
looked like manna from heaven.

"Please, Shawn... I haven't eaten in two days." I reached for a bag of pork
rinds. I hated them, but they were the closest thing within reach.

That did it. Shawn lurched around the end of the counter, grabbing the hockey
stick he'd left leaning against the wall. "I said get outta here, you little..."

With a squeal of alarm, I spun to make a break for the door--and collided
face-first with a guy who felt like he was made of iron.

I felt a hand drop onto my shoulder, probably out of reflex, but it halfway
prevented me from falling over backward as I bounced off him. The startled
breath I gasped in brought me a whiff of cigar smoke and pine tar. I looked up;
the man was a big hairy lumberjack type, and he didn't look all that friendly.

But he wasn't looking at me. Instead, his deep green-gold eyes were fixed calmly
and steadily upon Shawn.

"You got a problem, bub?" he asked quietly.

It was the first time I'd ever seen anything intimidate Shawn. He shifted his
weight uneasily, but he gave the stranger a defiant glare, and jerked his head
toward me.

"That kid's a mutie. She'll suck your brain out."

The lumberjack guy didn't recoil from me in horror, the way other people usually
did. Instead he just looked down at me, without any trace of fear or doubt or
even curiosity. Then he turned that same flat gaze back to Shawn.

"So?"

Shawn's expression got a little blacker--and his knuckles got a little whiter
from clamping down on the hockey stick. However, he fell back another step from
the older man, whose hand still rested almost proprietarily on my shoulder.

"We're closed," Shawn grated.

The stranger took a breath to speak--presumably to debate the point--and I
decided I'd caused him enough trouble. I didn't want anybody to make a scene
over me.

Ducking under his arm, I bolted past him and out the door.

The cold air stung my face as I emerged into the snow, which had started to fall
again in just those few short minutes since I went into the store. A storm was
blowing up. Just great. With any luck, I might freeze before I starved.

At the back of the lot stood a rusting, unlocked metal shed, where Mr. Hodgson
kept the canoes and kayaks he rented out in the summertime. It wasn't much, but
it was better than wandering around in a blizzard--as long as his son the Jason
Voorhees wannabe didn't come snooping around. I trudged over to the shed and
slipped through the half-open doors. Bumping into protruding canoe paddles in
the pitch-dark interior, I probed around until I found a clear space on the
concrete floor, where I could settle down for the night.

In the morning I would leave town for good, and find a new place where nobody
knew what I was. I didn't know how I'd get there, but I would, because if I
stayed around here I'd either starve or get lynched. I might not have enjoyed
living all that much, but I didn't really care to break the habit in such an
unpleasant way.

Resolved, I laid down on a dry-rotting piece of old canvas, resting my head on
my knapsack. As I closed my eyes, a little part of me hoped--and not for the
first time--that I just wouldn't open them again.

A moment later, the hollow ring of knuckles against the metal siding of the shed
nearly scared me out of my skin.

"Come on out, kid."

That terse voice belonged to the lumberjack guy--and his tone made it clear that
he *knew* I was there, so there was no point in pretending I wasn't. Reluctantly
I crept to the doorway of the shed and peered out. He was standing outside with
his hands on his hips, a dusting of snow caught in his haphazard mess of hair.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked him unhappily.

He shrugged. "Smelled you."

If it was a joke, it wasn't funny. If it *wasn't* a joke... I didn't want to
know.

"If you're waiting for me to say thanks, then thanks. But what you tried to do
back there won't do me any good--not with him or anybody else in this town. So
you don't have to get yourself in trouble with 'em on my account."

"No reason for me to care what they think. I'm not stayin' around here." He
reached beneath his jacket and came up with a cigar, which he casually proceeded
to light. Then he glanced up at me.

"I heard what you said. About being hungry. I can give you something to eat."

Curiouser and curiouser. I regarded the stranger suspiciously, but he merely
puffed his cigar and stared back at me with a look of complete and total
indifference.

"Lemme get my bag," I muttered, and retreated again into the depths of the shed.

When I returned, the man strode off without a word toward the side of the
parking lot. Taking it as implicit that I should follow, I trudged after him
through the snow to a dented brown van that was starting to show signs of rust.
When he opened the rear door and told me to get in, I didn't think; I just
obeyed.

For all I knew, he was a serial killer, but I didn't much care. If he wanted to
murder me, it wasn't as if anybody would miss me.

Least of all myself.

The back of the van was a campsite on wheels: portable stove, sloppily
bundled-up sleeping bag, packs of clothing and supplies. I blanched at the
glimpse of a rifle butt protruding from beneath the driver's seat, but the man
didn't notice. He was looking for something amidst the clutter. Some part of me
might have expected a knife or a rope, but all he came up with was a battered
canteen, which he tossed at me. Then he threw back a canvas and fished around in
a torn cardboard box that evidently served as his pantry.

What followed was a strange meal of cold pork and beans with stale saltines. I
wasn't complaining; it was food, and that was all that mattered. I hadn't been
lying when I told Shawn I'd gone hungry for two days.

Neither of us said anything for a while as I ate. The lumberjack guy just sat
with his arms folded, puffing at his cigar and watching me, without much
interest. Apparently he didn't feel any particular sense of satisfaction from
having done a good deed.

Maybe I was going to be *his* dinner.

As I finished the meal, I resigned myself to whatever might come next.
Swallowing the last bite, I looked questioningly at the man.
"Why did you want to do this?"

It wasn't quite the question I intended. I was thinking something more along the
lines of "What do you want to do with me?"--but that just isn't what came out.

The man simply shrugged. "Starving ain't fun." He took the cigar from between
his lips and appraised me; but there was only curiosity in his face, rather than
some less palatable intent. "So what did Hockey Boy mean about you sucking
people's brains out?"

I had wondered if he was going to get around to that. I stared down at the
threadbare Indian blanket I was sitting on, and shrugged in turn. "I can make
people forget things."

From the corner of my eye, I saw him move slightly, straightening his slouched
posture. I looked up again to see him regarding me with new interest, one
quizzical eyebrow raised. "Things like what?"

"Like where they left their car keys." I bit my lip. "Or like... everything."

"Everything?"

I snorted bitterly. "Just ask my stepdad. They should have him back up to
spelling his own name by now."

Of all the crazy things... The guy actually looked *impressed* as he gazed at
me. "And *you* did that?"

"Hey, it's not like I *meant* to," I snapped back defensively. "Joe was drunk.
He... wasn't a nice guy when he was drunk." I rubbed my upper arm unconsciously,
the memories of bruises and worse still fresh after two years.

The stranger seemed to understand that well enough. His eyes hardened and his
mouth twitched, but he made no comment. After a moment he rose and went forward,
sliding into the driver's seat of the van.

"I can drop you off somewhere, if you want."

By this time, I'd pretty much come to the conclusion that the guy wasn't going
to hurt me. I got up and squirmed into the front passenger seat beside him.
"Where are you heading?"

"Noplace in particular."

I folded my hands in my lap and shrugged, staring at the cracked dashboard. "I
might as well go with you as far as the next town. Everybody knows about me
here. I can't even get by anymore."

Without a word in reply, he turned the key in the ignition, and the engine
grumbled awake.



For more than two hours, neither of us spoke. He simply concentrated on the
snowy road, as I watched the night fall over the empty scenery that flashed past
the windows. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Neither of us had any interest
in getting to know the other, and we shared the small space of the van in
peaceful indifference.

On the other hand, the mere presence of somebody who didn't hate me or fear me
was kind of nice--and I couldn't help being a little bit curious about *why* he
didn't.

There was something hard about him that didn't come from mere hard living. He
didn't have the scars on the outside that a man like him should have had... but
I had a strange feeling there were scars inside. Maybe it was something in his
eyes, the few times they met mine. It was no business of mine, and I wasn't
going to ask any questions; but somehow I felt that his plain, careless kindness
toward me was more than the world had shown to him in a long time.

When he finally pulled into a gas station on the edge of a small town, I was a
little bit disappointed.

"I guess this is it," he murmured.

Feeling suddenly awkward, I fumbled in my pocket for my handful of dollar bills.
"I'd like to pay you something. For the food and the ride."

He glanced at the money with a skeptical eye. "Where'd you get that?" he asked,
and when I shamefacedly dropped my gaze, he uttered a faint snort. "That's what
I thought."

A feeble stirring of defensiveness prickled through me. "Look, I never take more
than a few dollars from anybody. Besides... I make sure they never even remember
afterwards. I'd work if anybody would have me, but they won't, so what else can
I do?"

"You oughta be in school somewhere," he muttered.

"They want me even less." I looked away, staring out at the snowflakes that
swirled past the window. "I only wish they *would* have me. If I had the chance
to figure out how, I know I could do something right with the power I have. I
could help people. Even if it was just, maybe..." I shrugged uselessly. "To help
them forget the ways they've been hurt."

The man was silent for a long moment. At last, in a quiet voice, he spoke one
unfamiliar word.

"Nepenthe."

Hesitantly I glanced back at him. "What's that?"

"It's an old word... for something that takes away pain." He turned away,
staring out through the windshield for a long time. Then he looked back at me,
with a sudden thoughtfulness in his eyes that I wasn't sure I liked. "There is
one thing you can do for me, kid."

"Oh?" At this point, I was getting a distinctly bad feeling about the
conversation.

"That memory trick of yours. I... want you to do it to me."

*And there it is.*

"What?" I asked dumbly.

"I want you to take away my memories." He stared out through the windshield, his
jaw set, his fingers closed tightly around the steering wheel. "All of 'em."

I frowned, shifting away from him slightly. What he was asking was nothing short
of suicidal. On another day, or to someone else, I might not have felt so uneasy
about being *asked* to use my power like that--but somehow, in all that silence
between us, I'd caught a glimpse of something in this man that I didn't want to
hurt.

"I couldn't do that," I protested. "You're the first person to be nice to me in
ages. How could I do something so awful to you?"

"Nepenthe," he repeated quietly.

It took me a moment, but I finally understood.

I had been right. There *were* scars inside this man--and they had never healed.
He must have carried memories so black, so bitter and soul-consuming, that he
was willing to do anything to find relief from them... even if it meant
destroying everything he was in the process.

"No," I said resolutely, shaking my head. "It's not right. Supposing I did it,
and you spent the rest of your life wondering who you are, trying to find
yourself? I'm pretty sure that'd be worse than whatever it is you're running
away from."

The man, as it turned out, was able to move a lot faster than his previous lazy
behavior had suggested.

I had no time to react with anything more than a yelp of surprise as he lunged
from his seat and caught my arm, twisting it with just enough force to push me
into the back of the van. As his left hand remained clamped around my upper arm,
he raised his right fist. In the faint, watery illumination that filtered in
from the gas-station floodlights, I caught the glint of a blade.

Correction: *blades*.

"You'll do it," he growled, squeezing my arm a little tighter.

His grip hurt, but I don't think he realized how hard he was holding me. Maybe I
should have been afraid; yet for some reason, I wasn't. Not of him--not even
with those sharp things pointed at my neck. I stared back at him coldly over
their gleaming edges, and shook my head again.

"If you want to commit suicide, don't ask me to help you."

"If I *could*... I *wouldn't* be asking you."

He said those words in a very strange, raw-edged tone of voice. As he spoke, his
right fist moved upward slightly--perhaps unconsciously, perhaps by design--and
I finally got a good look at the knives he was brandishing.

The three naked blades were sticking straight out of his knuckles, as if they
had grown there.

Came the dawn, and as my breath caught in my throat, it was only from the shock
of realizing that he too was a mutant.

I understood it all too well now. Like myself and so many others of our kind, he
had been hated, and had hated in return; he had received pain, and was clearly
better equipped than most to *give* pain. Heaven only knew what he might have
done with those savage things he was holding over my heart. But whether he hurt
because of what he had done to others, or because of what they had done to him,
it didn't matter. Either reason was enough to make a man want to lose himself
forever.

Yet surely he was made of more than only his pain. With the random kindness he
had shown me, and the depths I had seen in his eyes, he had to be. I didn't have
the right to unravel the threads of his life--even if he asked it of me.

"I won't do it," I muttered. Slowly I leaned forward, just barely pressing my
throat against the tips of his gleaming claws. "You might as well go on and do
*me* a favor."

I might have meant those words a few hours before, but now it was only bravado.
In that very moment, I had made another curious realization. I wasn't unafraid
because my life meant nothing to me; I was unafraid because, deep down, I knew
he didn't have it within him to kill me after all.

As he realized that his bluff had been called, a lot of reactions passed across
his face: surprise, anger, dismay, perhaps even a little bit of disgust. Then he
closed his eyes, and his claws retracted, shrinking back into his fist and
disappearing as if they had never been there. His left hand released my arm to
rub the knuckles of his right, and he turned away from me.

I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw a faint shudder pass through him.

"If I can't lose the memories of the ones who did this to me... what's inside of
me is gonna break someday."

The understanding of just what was inside of him--both physically and
figuratively--was suddenly the first thing during that whole ordeal to frighten
me for real.

Those metal blades in his hands were no mutation. Somebody had done that to him
deliberately. Somebody had made him into something that was meant to kill. And
they hadn't just given him the weapons; they gave him hate enough to use them.
From my own experience, I knew that hate was the most efficient and
inexhaustible fuel known to man.

If nothing was changed, someday, that hate inside him was going to let
loose--and then he was going to kill somebody. Maybe a lot of people.

Maybe he already had.

Mechanically, without feeling, I reached out to put my hand on his shoulder. As
he turned to look at me, I distantly heard my own voice say, "Sit down."

He slowly obeyed, sinking to the floor of the van. I dropped to my knees beside
him. I was glad I couldn't see his face in the shadows there.

"I'm not so great at controlling it, but I can try not to take away any of your
skills. Just your memories of the people and places you know, and the things
you've done, and... everything like that." A lump rose in my throat, and I
swallowed it down. "It won't hurt. You'll just go to sleep, and when you wake
up, you won't... *be* anybody."

The man was silent. Slowly, with hands that trembled just a little, I reached up
to touch his face.

He caught my hands in his--stopping me not for second thoughts, but only for an
afterthought. "What's your name, kid?"

I smiled bitterly. "It doesn't matter. You won't remember me tomorrow."

"It matters." I couldn't see his expression, but something in his voice told me
that for the first time in our brief acquaintance, he had smiled. "It matters to
me."

Tears stung my eyes, and I closed them. "It's Kyla."

"Kyla," he repeated softly. Slowly he released my hands, and said nothing more.



FIFTEEN YEARS LATER...


"I want you all to meet Doctor Kyla Morris, a former student of mine. She's a
therapist who specializes in helping young mutants, and she's here to provide
help to those of you who may need it."

The roomful of children and teenagers greeted me with resounding silence.

A few of the youngsters slouched in doorways like wary animals, while others
sprawled listlessly on the couch, counting the bullet holes in the ceiling. The
more attentive ones sat shifting uncomfortably on chairs that looked like
salvage from a barroom brawl. It was the same story of battle and sudden
destruction that I had seen all over the Xavier Institute since my arrival that
morning. But the broken windows and ominous dark stains on the carpets were not
half as depressing as the fear and suspicion on all those young faces...

Or the fact that Jean Grey was dead.

In his summons to me over the telephone, Professor Xavier had told me no details
of the recent crisis. I learned the full story only after I arrived, when I
could see firsthand the effects--both physical and emotional--of an armed
invasion of a school. Twelve years of studying psychology was not quite enough
to prepare me for that.

I was going to give it my best shot, though. With a nod to the Professor, I
stepped forward and faced my reluctant young audience.

"There's not much I can say, except that I know how hard it is to be a mutant at
your age. I've been there. And while I can't say I know the kind of trauma
you've just been through, I'm going to do my best to help you cope with it. My
job is to help you understand that what's happened is a memory now--and memories
can't hurt you, unless you let them."

I smiled sympathetically at the students; every one of them reminded me of
myself. "Until the Professor says otherwise, I'm going to be here every Monday
and Thursday. If any of you want to talk to me, please, don't hesitate. Even if
you don't want me to give you any guidance, I promise I'll just listen, because
talking it out goes a long way too. The important thing is to share what you're
feeling, and that's exactly what I'm here for."

I turned back to Professor Xavier. He dismissed the students, who shuffled out
of the room, obviously glad to escape. I smiled ruefully and shook my head,
moving to the desk to gather the notes I had written while talking with the
Professor earlier.

"I guess I can't blame them. I would have reacted to a psychologist the same way
when I was that age."

Xavier maneuvered his wheelchair around to the side of the desk. "Don't worry
about the children. Your invitation to them was very eloquent, and I'm sure
those in need of counseling will reach out to you."

"It's not the kids I'm worried about." I paused, glancing sideways at the
Professor. "I saw Scott when I got here this morning. He... wasn't in a very
welcoming mood. I didn't understand until later, when you told me... about
Jean."

"It's going to be very difficult for him to heal," Xavier replied quietly.

"He's probably afraid I'll want to play therapist on him. I'm no good for it in
situations like his, though." I smiled sadly and shrugged. "Psychology is a fine
thing, but nobody will ever convince me it can comfort a person who's lost
someone they love."

The corners of Xavier's mouth turned up slightly. "I thought psychologists were
supposed to believe that their science, when properly applied, is the answer to
every problem."

I chuckled. "I couldn't exactly psychoanalyze my way out of that anti-mutant
campus rally you rescued me from twelve years ago."

"The fact that you made it that far on your own is the real credit to you, Kyla.
Few young mutants could change from a runaway to a serious and accomplished
student in so short a time as you did." Xavier rested his chin on his hand,
regarding me with curiosity. "You never did tell me what it was that motivated
you to turn your life around, or to take the field of study you chose."

"Oh. That." I glanced away from the Professor, thinking back to a cold, dark
Canadian night fifteen years earlier. "You might say I met a man--one who was
terribly in need of help. And I tried to help him... With my powers, I tried.
Only I'm afraid I may have done more to hurt him than anything else ever had."

I shook my head, regretting the choice I had made that night, as I had so often
through the years. "I realized then that wasn't the way to help people, and I
wanted to learn the *right* way. So I started studying, and I never looked
back." I smiled ruefully. "I guess in some way, I'm trying to make it up to that
man. As a psychologist, I suppose I ought to know better, but I can't help the
way I feel."

Xavier gazed at me, with a peculiar light in his eyes. "What happened to that
man?"

"I don't know." I shrugged, hugging my folder of notes to my chest. "I never saw
him again. I just... hope he's happy. Wherever he is."

A few beats of slightly uncomfortable silence passed, and I cleared my throat.
"Well, I'd better get settled into that office you set aside for me. Some of the
kids might want to talk."

Clutching my notes, I made my way to the door. With a backward glance at the
Professor, I opened it...

...And collided with a man who felt like he was made of iron.

As I bounced back in startlement and my notes fluttered to the floor, he
automatically caught my shoulder. Opening my mouth to apologize, I breathed in a
smoke-and-pinewoods scent that had been locked in my memory for fifteen
years--and suddenly, incredibly, I knew.

*It was him.*

I don't know how I found the nerve to, but I looked up into his face. It *was*
him: the same penetrating, wolf-like eyes, the same crazy hair, and the same
hard-set jaw, although now even more thickly forested with whiskers. Impossibly,
the man who had changed my life--and whose life I had taken away--did not look a
day older than I remembered him.

He stared at me, and for a single, terrifying instant, I was *sure* he
remembered me.

Then his hand dropped from my shoulder, and he looked past me, toward the
Professor. "Who is this?"

I'm not sure what I felt then was relief; something like it, perhaps, but there
was a strange sadness to it as well. I *was* grateful that his bad manners, in
addressing his question to the Professor instead of me, gave me a brief moment
to absorb my feelings and suppress them before he looked at me again.

In any case, Xavier answered from behind me. "This is one of my former students,
Doctor Kyla Morris. Doctor, allow me to introduce Logan, our... *security
specialist*."

So, his name was Logan--at least now. I never asked his name all those years
ago. I wondered if it was his name then, or the name of someone he had cared
about. Perhaps it had a deep enough emotional connection to survive my powers,
and linger in his mind.

The ghost of that indifferent stare I remembered was now tainted with
belligerence, and although he was looking at me, he still addressed his words to
Xavier. "A doctor? To replace--Jean?"

He revealed more with that single hesitation than I might have learned from an
entire therapy session.

"No," Xavier replied patiently. "Doctor Morris is a psychologist. She'll be
visiting twice a week for counseling sessions with the students."

I didn't dare to turn and look at the Professor. If he was reading my mind,
discovering what I had once done to this man, I didn't want to know. I was more
afraid than I had ever been in that distant first encounter. Of what, I'm not
sure; perhaps of what Logan, if he knew the truth, would have liked to do to me
with those things inside his hands.

I wondered suddenly if they were still there.

However, he showed no sign of recognizing me, and he must have put down my
reaction to him to the fact that he (still) looked like an angry timber wolf.
His expression became a little more disdainful, but that was all.

"So. A shrink." He raised an eyebrow at me. "Lotsa luck."

Then, as I continued to stand in weak-kneed astonishment, he bent down and
gathered my fallen sheaf of notes. He held them out to me as he straightened,
and I numbly reached for them, taking an irrational care not to touch his
fingers.

"Thank you," I mumbled half-coherently, and slipped past him, forcing myself not
to run down the hallway.



I can't tell him.

In the weeks since my counseling sessions at the school began, I've had a
glimpse of the man who calls himself Logan. I've seen him out on the school
grounds, teaching self-defense to the students; I've seen him prowl the darkened
hallways, alert and watchful. I've seen the ghost of that same careless kindness
I once received--only it isn't really careless anymore. Beneath all the shadows
in him, he *does* care about these people. Something here has filled the empty
spaces that I left in him, and those who hurt him before me left...

Or at least, it's beginning to fill them.

It doesn't really ease my guilt. I'll never know what might have been, if I
hadn't erased his tracks and set him on a new course. All I do know is that the
story of that one night--of the improbable favors exchanged between two broken
strangers who eventually found their paths after all--could tell him nothing
about who he was before. It would only compound the damage I did to him, and I
can't rob him of the fragile peace and purpose he's managed to find.

As for me, I owe everything I've made of my life to him... and I can never tell
him.

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© 2006 Jordanna Morgan - send feedback